Regular readers are aware that for some stupid reason, when I lived in Japan between 1990-1993, I was either the luckiest bastard in the country, or the most-handsome, and since even fading vision in 2013 can't dull the fact that I was better-looking then than now, I must have been lucky.
How else to explain how I could remain a virgin for nearly 26 years in Toronto, but come to Japan and sleep with over 30 women. I think. I would have to count, and while I am usually more crass than I need to be, I'm not going to be that way now.
I suppose personality played a huge part in my luck with women in Japan... as perhaps we could excuse the fact that the language barrier dulled the lines of communication in my favor, but aside from a one-off with a female physical education teacher, I did not sleep with a Japanese woman until my second year as an assistant English teacher (AET) on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme.
I was either cursed, or blessed with the fact that I lived about 100 kilometers north of Tokyo, in a sleepy little city named Ohtawara-shi in Tochigi-ken that literally rolled up what passed for sidewalks at 9PM.
In spite of the early closing time of the 50,000+ strong farming city, it had a vibrant night life, with many a popular eating and drinking establishment available for those looking for whatever it is they are looking for.
I used to frequent the very classy 4C bar that housed 15 stools or so and usually an Aussie or Kiwi bartender - invariably better looking than you or I.
Despite the healthy competition for Japanese women here at the 4C, no one stepped on anyone's toes, and I had a very good friendship with the folks who worked there.
The lads… they weren't interested in the gaijin women - which meant I had no problem, as the gaijin women immediately saw the guys as major players - but the first time I brought Noboko into the place, Mark was ready to pounce.
I should mention, that this was my third date with Noboko… see HERE for a previous story… and this was indeed the first time she agreed to be seen in public with me.
Noboko, in 1993, was a fresh-faced, gorgeous Japanese woman who had only recently begun working as a junior high school English teacher at Nozaki Chu Gakko (Nozaki Junior High School) in Ohtawara. I fell immediately head-over-heels for her the first time I saw her, while she… well… read on.
Because I was a well-known and well-recognized foreigner in the town… popular with damn near everyone… Noboko was reluctant to be seen out in public with me, lest people think she was allowing herself to be screwed multiple times a night - because that's what every Japanese person believes every foreign guy is doing when they are seen beside a Japanese woman.
Let's not be stupid here… of course that's what ever foreign guy wants… in my case, it was… but we have only had two dates… and I must say it was like owning six dogs, 12 cats, 47 tropical fish, three snakes, five rabbits and 10 hamsters. That's right… heavy petting.
I have no idea what the definition of 1st, 2nd or 3rd base implies, but I knew I hadn't slid home, or into any base. The kissing and the mild groping and lifting up and pressing of clothed parts was certainly stimulating for my very muscular right forearm, but I was pretty sure it was still a scoreless game. I needed a bunt. Sorry... I can't say my B's… A-B-B-D.
Python humor aside, I was more than pleased that Noboko agreed to come out to the 4C with me for a drink and pleasant conversation.
For me… it was all ego. I know it now, and I knew it then. Noboko was drop-dead sexy, and I wanted to show her off to the world. "Look what I got!" (I'm just saying it was how an immature guy thought.)
After sitting in my usual place - a bar table with multiple chairs to the left of the 2nd-story entrance, but in the middle of three round tables, I asked Noboko what she wanted to drink (a sparkling water since she had to drive home - she was 5'0" tall and maybe 100lbs, so one alcoholic drink might have impaired her quite easily), and I marched up to the bar.
Mark had already checked her out and grinned in approval to me… and assuming that there was no way in Hell that I could have got such an amazing looking piece of ass as Noboko (you have to say stuff like that in a New Zealand accent - and it sounds nicer than it is), he asked me if she was single.
"She's my date, man!" I snapped.
You could have knocked Mark down with a feather, as I must have earned some major Brownie points then.
Noboko and I talked our small talk… and drank-up and left the 4C at 9PM and walked the five minutes through the well-lit, but still dank alleyway/street to my apartment on the third-floor.
Was it my imagination… did every place we pass by have the curtains in the windows move slightly?
Back inside my apartment on this Saturday night, I knew she had no school on Sunday, and that this was our third date - so that scoreless streak was hopefully going to be broken with a three home-run night. And maybe a ground rule double.
Sitting on my couch that has seen far too many disturbing innings with previous teams, I stepped up to the mound. I had not even toed the rubber when I wound up and was ready to make my pitch when I obviously committed a balk… (you have to pretend there was already a runner on 1st for the analogy to work - if you are a baseball fan). (A pitcher has to touch the rubber.)
I am unsure of the exact order of things here, because I have to admit that I became a bit dizzy and daffy (more baseball stuff) with the sudden onslaught.
Basically… Noboko wanted to break up with me.
Chez what?, if you'll excuse my French.
Where the hell did that come from? Earlier this week we were ready to rip each other's clothes off with our teeth.
Prior to this evening, I hadn't talked with her since Thursday night when we had our second date… Friday… I had to go out to an office party… and I would never drunk-dial anyone. That's a blessing of having a strong enough physical and emotional constitution whereby no matter how much I drink, I'm not going to do anything more stupid than puke (which I have only done four times in my life).
So… where the hell did this 'break-up' crap come from? We were ecstatic… one day apart… and now we're breaking up?
Effing women. I said it then (and then some) and I'll say it again now.
Ha ha ha ha ha
Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want
So tell me what you want, what you really, really want
I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want
So tell me what you want, what you really, really want
I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha)
I wanna really, really, really wanna zigazig ah.
That's the opening stanza to The Spice Girls "Wannabe" song which is rather catchy even though I'm still more of a suburban punk.
Noboko is crying and looking angry at the same time, which in retrospect is quite impressive, and I'm sitting there on my sex-couch looking stunned beyond belief, as I didn't even get a chance to come up to bat before the game was called on account of tears.
That tears it! For me, a good defense is ably abetted by a strong offense… and I took offense at having been placed on the defense for a penalty infraction I knew I had not committed.
I was out with the boys yesterday evening… I ate and I drank and I sang karaoke… badly, to be sure, but not enough to have someone who wasn't present break up with me over it!
I tried to settle her down, but Noboo was having none of it, telling me nothing about why - except the old classic - "You know why" schtick.
No, I don't. It's why I am asking.
This went on a couple more times… and that's when I raised my voice and got onto the offensive…
I don't know what I said - as I mentioned earlier… I was also emotionally distraught and horny and further distraught that my horniness was not going to be erased any time soon… but apparently getting angry with Noboko for something she thinks I did wrong… well… that was the wrong thing to do.
I'm unsure if you've ever been flailed upon by a 100lb pitbull dog… but this was nothing like that, as she attempted to hit me with closed fists against my chest… which in 1993 was solid enough. As well… not being prone to violence, I assume, Noboko cried out in pain after hitting me with both barrels on my chest, as she did not know that when making a fist to strike someone or something you should not tuck your thumb inside or behind the curled fingers.
Great… she's angry, sad and now in physical pain. Thank god she's not loud or I'm pretty sure someone would be calling the police right now.
I didn't think about this at the time… but throughout this entire discussion/ argument/ break-up/ crying/ accusing/ flailing and now hurting-thing, she did it all in English.
That kind of freaks me out right now as I write all of this. That's effing impressive.
Tears of pain have replaced tears of anger and tears of sorrow, and I'm able to gather her saltiness and press her against my chest as I kiss the top of her wavy, black hair that still smells of apple blossoms.
I'm not very good at discerning smells or flavors, but when it's important, something kicks in and I just do.
Anyhow… pressed up against my rock-solid chest (man, I have an excellent memory!), Noboko calmed down - snuffling god knows what through my dress shirt.
"So… why are you breaking up with me?" I asked calmly in my standard deep and shaky voice.
"I'll tell you later," she says. "I have to be back home soon. My curfew."
Okay… hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, so whatever it was I did to upset her was going to have to wait a bit a bit longer to be revealed. The same with you.
Somewhere washing my shirt,