Search This Blog & Get A Rife

Sunday, August 11, 2013

Coming Clean - Rife With Noboko

Okay… when last we left off on my real life story of my relationship with Noboko, a Japanese woman I fell in love with at fist sight back in 1993, she had just broken up with me after our third date.

That all important third date... when sex is generally accepted to be allowed entrance into a relationship… though I have not had too much of an issue (LOL!) with having sex before I actually dated anyone.

At this point in time with or without Noboko, I was fudged, all right.

And the only wetness achieved was from her tears cascading onto my shirt as she continued to claim that I surely must know why she was breaking up with me after the previous two dates had ended in ever-greater levels of forwardness and friendliness involving much tightening within my Gorilla Biscuit tri-colored jeans.

I really did not have a clue as to why Noboko was breaking up with me. I had never uttered a critical word towards her or even thought such things, and had attempted to conduct myself with as much suave sophistication as I could muster, which while not a hell of a lot, was still more than most men could… I assume. 

I have manners, a carefree demeanor (I thought I did, anyway) and a razor sharp memory for things that are important to me. I can also speak and write eloquently when I desire. I'm not stupid.

But somehow, in Noboko's eyes and heart, I became quite stupid, quite quickly, as repeated proddings (not the fun type) could not get her to reveal just what my transgression was or is.

Finally… to physically end that third date that had gone so well until her bombshell (and the Academy Award goes to… )… she said she had to go home to make her 10PM curfew (I can only imagine how early that curfew was before she turned 26!)… but that she would tell me later how I had ruined any chance of us of ever having a relationship.

(She didn't say that, but anyone in a relationship does need to know how to understand things never said to one another.)

Almost 30 minutes to the hour (I know, I'm being funny) after she left my apartment in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken to drive back to her parent's house in Kuroiso-shi, my telephone rang.

I picked it up before the first ring had finished its peal.

"Hi," I sighed, or cooed… both sound like something I would do… "So… I assume you got home in time?"

"Mnm," she nodded from 10 kilometers away to the north.

"Uh… so… can you please tell me what's wrong?"


I'm the type of guy who prefers that there be conversation in a conversation. I know some people, women in particular, who are quite content to let the sound of silence deafen the air during a telephone conversation… whereas to me, hearing that thunderous silence, it could mean I've done something wrong to offend her.

So I said, "Hello… hello? Are you still there?"

Sighing and again nodding in the affirmative at where I imagined she thought I was, Noboko explained to me that she was breaking up with me because I got some girl pregnant.

I'm a dad?!? Why wasn't I told by the mother?!

Pregnancy… while always a possibility, that little rubber thing I wear on my John Thomas was supposed to make it 97% safe against that sort of intimacy occurring.

"What?" I said in total disbelief because I didn't know the percentage back then. "Are you kidding! With who?! That's bullshirt! I always wear a condom!"

My argument was sound for 1993 and my way of thinking.

Apparently, and this took some yanking, Noboko heard it on good authority that I got a Japanese woman pregnant, and that I paid for an abortion and then never talked to the woman again.

Now… I don't even know if that's what you do in Japan, and besides… even if I did get a woman pregnant - Japanese or other - I sure as hell never paid for an abortion even though "I don't know nothing 'bout birthing no babies." (That's a line from Gone With The Wind during an era when Ashley was only a guy's name.)

Okay… in my head… now that I really know that I didn't do anything wrong (have you ever sweated inside your head?)… I decided to have some fun.

"Which woman are you talking about? There where three of them."

Man, that was stupid. If I hadn't already broken Noboko's heart, I had apparently taken a sledgehammer to it now.

Cruel? Yes. But hearing her-say and accusing me and believing me capable of this stuff deserves an unusual punishment.

But I could punish her more when we got back together. Ha-ha. That's a triple entendre. Maybe even quadruple. I have no idea what it means as I don't speak French. I know Greek and Japanese, etcetra, however. Not the type of Greek a clean-family blog is thinking of, though. I don't speak Greek. Filthy language.

(Dear Greece... sorry about that crack about your language being filthy. I have never been to Greece, but I assume my joke in poor taste was not an accurate representation of your bankrupt society. Morally-speaking, that is.)   

There was silence on the other end of the telephone, followed by a loud squeak of "Bakayaro!" (stupid idiot!) and then the unexpected dial tone indicating that we had been accidentally cut off.

Yes… I can look back on this crap with bemused distance… but back then I was devastated.

Did she speak Japanese to me?  

The phone rang again: "I'm sorry… I was just joking!" I blurted out.

"Nani?" asked a confused Matthew who often spoke more Japanese to me than English much to my bemused inability to learn ninhongo

I quickly explained the situation and begged off the phone, as he pointed out there was no way in hell she would be calling me back.

Lacking call-waiting and call-display or even an answering machine on my 1993 telephone, I could have missed her calling back.

'Why would she?' I thought to myself within my echo-y skull obviously not hearing Matthew until 20 years later.

So… I decided to call her for the first time ever - praying her father wouldn't pick up. Apparently picking up Japanese women is not the same as picking up Japanese. I was good at one and hopeless at the other.

But, as fast as lightning flashes, Noboko seemed to pick up her phone before I finished dialing. Saved by the bell, so to speak.

Apparently she was calling me.

Kismet. What's wrong with kismet? Nothing. Kismet should count for more than it does. (sigh)

I was in love with this woman - or severe like, lust or what have you, but all I knew is that I wanted her. Not badly, though. Her-I was going to pleasure well and proper.

(All just jokes within the truth.)

So we talked… or rather I talked and she listened. When I'm not agitated, my voice sounds deep and smooth… and can be considered somewhat hypnotic or boring. (Call me and chat because you want to hear my voice.)

Because I was confident… confident I had done nothing wrong to harm our relationship and truly did want to take it to another level and then some, my voice was velvet. Manly velvet. Velour, anyways.

I asked her to go back to her source… and to get a physical description of the impregnator… or rather the guy who owned it…

Days later… Noboko shows up at my door, hiding her beautiful face behind a large bouquet of flowers - also perhaps so no one in my apartment block could identify her.

Check out this fairly faithful LEGO model I built of my place: HERE.

No… those flowers on my LEGO model were usually in there… as I weekly had someone weakly slaughter posies on my behalf. Death to flora!

Noboko's were a dozen red roses, however… something I yearn to buy for her, but was already asked not to do for fear of drawing attention to her being in a relationship… then people would start questioning her - and she didn't want to lie. I don't mind a lie if it will get things going...

Anyhow… flowers aside, and dinner cooked for me… Noboko profusely apologized for believing heresy, also know as her-say.

It turns out that a Japanese girl who frequented the 4C did indeed get pregnant by way of a foreigner. But it wasn't me. Or Mark, I was later able to determine because I went over and asked him.

Noboko made the classic small-town mistake of assuming that I was the only foreigner in town capable of getting a Japanese woman in the sack. It's a logical assumption, just not accurate. I... appreciate the thought?

Still… despite the drama… it was 9:30PM when I looked at my watch and informed Noboko that it was time for her to go.

Reluctantly she agreed, but said she would be busy for the next few days, but wondered if she could see me on Saturday afternoon?

Sure...  what's another few days of self-abuse? Am I right? Am I being pursued now? Slowly?

Somethings and some people are worth the wait.

Somewhere in a holding pattern,
Andrew Joseph
Yup... Noboko sure looks tired of something in the photo above.

No comments:

Post a Comment