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Saturday, July 20, 2013

My Kind of Camping With Noboko

It's 1993. Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken, Japan.
I'm in the midst of my third and final year of the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme (back then that was the maximum number of years one could teach). I have Noboko over at my apartment.
Noboko is a Japanese teacher of English (JTE) at one of the junior high schools I teach at. Although I fell in love or lust or severe like with her when I first saw her - enough to write a gushy but decent enough love poem in the form of a haiku, Noboko was not that enthralled with me until our students began singing my real virtues to her and not her imagined ones.
For whatever reason, Noboko listened to a bunch of 14-year-old Japanese girls in Sailor Moon outfits when it came to affairs of the heart.
It's fine. Despite being 28 years old, I'm pretty much a 14-year-old boy, so the advice could be considered relevant.
After I cooked dinner for her, she decided  a couple of days later to retaliate and cook for me.
She brought over some groceries and cooked me dinner.
Sadly, no unagi (eel) were hurt during the making of this dinner. I love eel.
We are not dating, though we are in the midst of our first kiss as you join this blog.

To say that I was excited when Noboko leaned her face into mine for a kiss, would be an understatement.

I'm sure some of you might understand what I mean when I say that sparks exploded in my brain - you know... like fireworks - and if I wasn't trying to stifle an erection before, the kiss pretty much did that in, and I was popping a tent. It sleeps two. Three if you're lucky.

No matter the length of that kiss, it wasn't long enough. It never is.

Heads tilted just so. Mouths lightly parted. Lips sufficiently moist - not too moist and not too dry. Breath seemingly fine. Teeth not rubbing. Tongues dancing lightly but passionately against one another, as I moved my hand to cradle her face. My other hand dropped to wrap itself around her waist.

It makes me all hot and bothered just remembering it. And even though I hate camping, I do like tents.

How long did we kiss? No idea. It really didn't seem long enough... and truth be told - because I can - I didn't break the kiss. She did.

Either she felt something pressing up into her belly (my wang), or she went numb from having to hold a difficult position - who knows. It certainly wasn't my idea, because years later, I can still feel her warm lips pressed just perfectly against mine own.

You see all of those things that make up a kiss? Head position, mouth opening, lip moisture, breath, teeth, action of the tongue... those are just the technical aspects. Don't forget there actually has to be chemistry. The Breaking Bad kind.

Getting it just right? On the first kiss? Come on! Some people are just right for each other. And sometimes it works out.

I've actually kissed a lot of women. Probably around 50 before Noboko and hundreds more after.
There is an obvious divergence here... some women know how to kiss - and some don't. For the record, I apparently know how to kiss.

But there are women out there who don't... women who have their tongue so rock solid hard that when they drive it into my mouth it's like I'm performing fellatio - I assume. I don't want to perform fellatio.

Those tongues are so hard, and sometimes the woman is so urgent with that hard tongue trying to maintain its position in my mouth that I can't get my tongue into their mouth! WTF?!

I've actually been with women (plural) with whom I have been so sexually turned on - and haven't yet kissed - that after I've had that whole crappy kiss thing happen to me, after we've had sex, I simply don't want to be with them again. I'll take the crappy kissing if I can get laid... but yes... not wanting to see them again is because of the kiss.

And, while I did experience that crappy kissing technique with a few Japanese women, I also experienced it with Russians, Germans and Hungarian. Even a French woman. You would think a woman from France would know how to French-kiss!!! And yes, I plowed through more of Europe than Hitler did. What? Too soon?

So... Noboko pulled her face back... but just a couple of inches away... and I looked into her chocolate brown eyes... and saw a dazed look on her face that was like: "What the hell was that? That was good. I want more. But this is so wrong. He's a gaijin."

Okay, I'm lying. All I saw was her beautiful face. No layers of psychoanalysis necessary.

But... I did re-arrange our bodies a bit - remember... I'm still draped around her... I moved her to lie down on the couch with me beside her... and suave man about town that I am, I banged her. Her head. I banged her head on the arm of the couch.

A-ha! You thought I meant something else. Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves. But thank you for assuming I did.

Bang! Owtch! Sh!t! Gomennasai (I'm so sorry!)

To kiss her on the top of the head (where the boo-boo was), I, who am still lying on the inside part of the couch, use my elbows to scrunch myself upwards.

A man should always be on the outer part of the couch. I think there's some sort of make-out law about that.

Itai! Itai! (Ow! Ow!)

I was now accidentally pulling her long hair down with my elbows.

Okay... now realizing that I am a schmuck, I say: "Don't move!"

I'm afraid that if she moves while I move, someone is going to end up with a black eye.

I lunge with my right hand, grasp the arm of the couch and push myself upwards as though I was doing a sideways push-up.

Even though I am about 20% stronger now, I was about 100% fitter then. (It's noon as I write this, and I am currently eating a Blue Moon hamburger from Hero Burger - over at Fairview Mall in Toronto - screwed up my order by giving me fries rather than onion rings. I hate that. But... there's blue in the burger... Gorgonzola cheese! Yum.) (I just wanted to say that I love the burgers, but am disappointed with the screwed-up order. It's not like I have a small, mousey voice. I have a voice and face built for radio and television voice-overs. Hint-hint!)

So... having lifted myself up and away from Noboko, she slid herself off the couch and down onto the floor beside it.

She looked at me and laughed and laughed.

"What's so funny?" I asked. "Did I hurt your brain?"

"I was just kidding! You didn't really pull my hair!"

That's sort of what the conversation was. I tend to see red when people laugh at me. Now... was she laughing with me or at me?

I sat there in stunned silence... slid down off the couch and sat beside her. Let's find out what type of laughter that was...

I leaned to my right and moved down onto her - pushing her under me... and kissed her again... and hours later (or maybe it was 10 seconds), I told her that for her joke...

"Be prepared for revenge."

Now... just to show you what a strange woman I am writing about, she slid her hand down between us, grabbed hold of my denim tent, and said, "I look forward to your revenge."

My what now?

Just as I was about to reciprocate and slide a hand up her blouse to grab her small breasts and begin thinking about revenge, she says: "No."

OMG! Don't tell me I have to wait until we are married?! I won't do it!

"Really?" I ask. "No? You are still holding onto my...  "

She shakes her head sadly, "No... I just noticed the time on your watch. It's 9:30, and I have to go home."

That's the problem with a lot of single women in Japan. They have to be home thanks to a curfew erected by their parents or boarding house. This one was from her father.

Noboko's dad was the boss of the high school principals (I think) for the northern sector of Tochigi-ken, that included Ohatawra-shi where I lived, and Kuroiso-shi, where Noboko was currently living.

She said she had to be home by 10PM. I looked at that stupid watch of mine on my left wrist... the same watch I have on there now in 2013...

Even as a relatively inexperienced young man... even that very fist time ever... 30 minutes wasn't long enough... and I sure as hell didn't have 30 minutes now, as it would take her that long to drive home from my apartment.

I stood up, helped her to her feet, while staring at her and smiling, I pushed my hand down into my pants in an effort to break down the tent. It wasn't going to be easy.

She walked with me to the front door, stepped into her stylish tan-colored heels, moved forward and hugged me, and then kissed me long and deep and cried that she didn't want to leave.

"Then don't."

Somewhere not expecting that to work,
Andrew Joseph
PS: Eel, perhaps because of its shape, is supposed to be akin to an aphrodisiac to help get the old wiener cooking.
I'm pretty sure that I did not require any help, but I sure did and do eat a lot of eel.


  1. dude, i love your diary posts! me and my gf read them all the time and talk about it some more. Keep them coming and I hope you find those diary/memories you lost.

    Cheers from the PH

    1. Thank you! The memories keep coming back as I sit down to write them. The diaries are lost... but that's okay... the memories seem sharp for an old guy.