Anson and Jorge in Japan - a Sequel

Anson whispered that he and Jorge were partners. This didn't faze the concierge at all. "Ah, of course there are now discrete places where Western gays can be entertained or play. They are called gaijin gei parlors. The entertainment is all male—and the patrons have the option of participating with the actors, receiving an erotically stimulating massage, or of retiring with a partner to a room, filled with every imaginable toy, while watching the actors "perform" through one way mirrored walls. Each couple (or party) is given a private viewing room—very unlike the clubs in the US, I am told. Some cater only to Westerners."

"Let's book one of those nights—as soon as possible since we may wish to revisit." The concierge picked up the phone, and after a flurry of Japanese conversation, he looked over at Anson, seemingly sizing him up. He spoke a few more words into the phone, then turned to Anson, "They only have one night open this week for Westerners—the next to last night you have booked here. It's pretty expensive—about $2000 in US currency, cash only. But, you will have one of the rooms for so long as you want it—and the performers will be at your disposal for at least part of the night. They only do safe sex with foreigners. "

"I'll take it. I'll visit the ATM tomorrow—but I'm pretty sure it will only dispense yen here in Tokyo."

"Bring it to me and I'll take care of the details." So, Anson collected all the paperwork and headed back to the suite where he found Jorge just waking. He explained the plans, and Jorge readily agreed.

"I've never been in Japan. I'm up for anything. But right now I'm starving—for you and for food, in that order." Anson undressed and crawled under the duvet—and into Jorge's welcoming arms. Jorge flipped, pushed his ass into Anson and squirmed while throwing one leg forward. He loved it when Anson gripped his hips and slid slowly into his ass. In this position, he was very prostate sensitive. Soon Anson was entering Jorge's welcoming chute and pumping nourishment inside while he edged Jorge to a satisfying, but enormous orgasm. And with the orgasm came Jorge's typical move—he shoved hard back into Anson and squeezed his dick, milking it of every last drop of cum. Then he turned and took Anson into a loving embrace, bringing their lips and their cum-soaked dicks together.

The days that followed were everything hoped for. Early morning sex—typically started with early morning wood, exercise or tennis, a light sushi lunch, sightseeing, a long, languorous bout of sex and a delicious, exotic dinner.

The highlight, of course, was the visit to the famous red light entertainment district in the heart of Old Edo—the name of the ancient capital. The hotel driver took them to a small collection of wooden houses, mostly unpainted and well-weathered, on narrow, dimly lit cobblestone streets. Each had a wooden garage door on the street. Patrons (typically only one or two pre-formed parties in the small places), texted their arrival to the proprietor, pulled into the garages, and the doors were closed. No casual observer would know they were in the establishment. Again, typically, each house had a small window to the street, with a dim light and heavy drapes. No signage was obvious—a single Japanese pictograph by each garage door. Patrons needed to know where they were headed. Some were for parties seeking the company of beautiful young female performers; others were for gays. You had to know—and to have been introduced and reserved, before admission.

There was no obvious entrance door to each of the houses. Arrive by car or carriage, enter anonymously, and enjoy. Each was also reached by a labyrinthine series of back alleys—used by the performers, chefs and bartenders. Patrons were carefully segregated with their partners or party into the private rented room. This establishment was small, with two "party" rooms on either side of a room with a stage. The party rooms were equipped with futons, cushions, low tables, mats and a double massage table, one on either side of the performance space and separated from the performance area by a one-way mirror. All the lighting was dim. The atmosphere was perfumed and quiet. Other than the performers and their co-partiers, the patrons would see only one other, and the master of ceremonies for that particular party for that particular night or the proprietor. It was mysterious. And Anson and Jorge had the feeling that they had stepped back hundreds of years to a time of elegant courtesans and concubines. discreet same sex partnerships, and perhaps some exposure to ancient techniques of pleasure.

The hotel car delivered them to a small non-descript place. The driver texted and the garage door opened. The men exited the car which then pulled back to the street—leaving a card with a number to text for the return journey. They entered the house, and of course immediately removed shoes. Then the proprietor presented each with a warm moist cloth and a silk robe after a complex series of greetings with much bowing with clasped hands. Street clothes were abandoned in lockers in the entry, and the proprietor led them to their assigned room. He scanned the two men carefully, and remarked under this breath (in Japanese, of course, and so not understood by Anson), "These gaijin gei are so generously hung that I'm glad they will entertain each other, or they would ruin my actors' ability to give pleasure for days." Anson's eyes opened when he heard the words "gaijin gei"—he understood what that meant—and it was obvious that the proprietor was impressed with his significant equipment. It rivaled the exaggerated phallus of the ancient erotic woodcuts that the Japanese so loved. Then he noted that Jorge was already chubbed. He smiled, mostly understanding the comment. They had been complimented, but in that unique Japanese way that recognized reality and the needs of commerce (even if the commerce was sex). Maybe the proprietor should pay him if he and Jorge agreed to "help" the performers.

Soon, they heard the familiar pentatonic (five-toned) stringed instrument. When they were led to their viewing "playpen", they noted the music was being played expertly by a small young man, seated on the stage, and nude save for a long dark red kimono draped over his shoulders, pulled away from his front and flowered out behind him in an elaborate pattern—with white chrysanthemum petals strewn over the surface. A single dim spotlight shone on his chest and the instrument he held there. He was totally hairless, but he was admirably endowed. He looked like a sacrificial offering—perhaps to the Japanese goddess of love.

Anson and Jorge were motioned to and reclined on the futons and focused on the stage, noting that they could not see through the mirror adjacent to theirs on the other side of the performance space. Obviously, there were two parties tonight. A half-screen was discretely drawn back and face-less robed hands slid a beautifully carved wooden tray onto a low table. It contained several ceramic pots of warm sake and several small cups. Another plate contained cut-up fruit, nuts, and various pickled vegetables. Still another contained a selection of dildos, dick extenders, and prostate teasers. A little bowl contained the familiar light blue pills. This was definitely a full service parlor.

For a few minutes, the guys relaxed into each other, tasting the warm sake. Anson backed into Jorge's arms who began to feed them both from the warm cups. Then the young man stood and moved to the rear of the platform with a gracious swirl of his kimono, deliberately exposing his lithe small body and scattering the petals around the stage.

Almost immediately, the screens behind him parted and two men entered. They were large, dark-skinned, and menacing. Muscles bulged on their naked torsos. Their upper arms showed years of sword training. They wore white painted faces and elaborate shogun headgear. Their loins were partially covered by a narrow length of fabric drawn around their waists and between their legs, loosely tied at the side—sumo wrestler style. A large bejeweled samurai sword was in each of their hands. They bowed to each other and then bowed again before each of the mirrored walls—showing off muscled asses that bloomed below the fabric belt. Then, the music turned violent and the lights turned red. The actors faced off and began a series of seemingly-ritualistic thrusts and parries with the giant swords. As they swirled around the stage, the loin clothes dropped, exposing shaved erect phalluses, obviously excited by the combat. Round and round they "danced" showing the audience every part of their oiled bodies. Then, one swordsman charged and apparently disarmed and injured the other. The injured party fell to the stage, and the victor climbed on top. A large lubed dildo, really a carved and painted wooden penis, materialized in the hand of the victor. He pushed the fallen to his side and seemingly with violence used the dildo to penetrate deeply inside. The vanquished opened his mouth in a large O in surprise and pain. Then he relaxed into a smile as he reached up and brought the lips of the victor to his own. He had surrendered, but he knew he was going to be the one to be pleasured while he was being punished.

The victor pumped a few times and then withdrew the dildo and pulled the other man into his lap. Soon his own massive, hard cock was hilting his companion who feigned pain with each thrust. Climaxes were reached—or possibly faked. And both men rose and bowed low to each other. Then they turned to the mirrors on either side and bowed to the audiences—holding their rampant cocks high in invitation and enticement.

Shortly, the men exited—apparently headed for the other room of partiers.

Several minutes later, the performance was repeated. Almost every gesture, every motion was identical—although the men were different in "Act II"—they were smaller and seemed to be clad in the rags of the street. One finally triumphed and tore the clothing from his opponent. Then he pulled him into his chest, forced him to bend forward, and impaled him roughly on his cock. The exit was repeated.

Of course, Anson had warned the proprietor that he was committed to his companion and would not be requiring services from the performers, but he had left open the possibility that he and Jorge would have a change of heart after seeing the performances. But, they did not. Both of the men were incredibly aroused. Anson looked at Jorge, "Let's take the top off our arousal." With those words, he stretched out and took Jorge into his mouth. Jorge followed and did the same. For several minutes, in the typical yin-yang position, they were each intensely sucking and swirling as cocks strained to ever harder erections. Fingers pushed on taints and rims. And soon the sake was flavored with their cum. Anson laughed, "I think we have invented a new cock-tail. I predict it will be one of our favorites."

Act III was quite different. All four men appeared on stage together, but the two smaller men were now made up as geishas in elaborate robes with contrasting obis. The "men" sat cross-legged in the center of the stage and the "geishas" began an erotic dance around them. The seated men seemed to have total control over their cocks. They started small and shrunken, but slowly began to rise as the geishas continued their seduction. Then the large warriors reached up and simultaneously pulled on the obis, causing them to loosen and fall to the stage. The robes fell open. He geishas were "gei." The dancers bent over and took the men into their mouths, seeming to play them like a flute. Anson laughed and whispered to Jorge, "That the first all-male flute duet I've ever witnessed. I think I'll recommend it to the SFO."

The men pulled the geishas into their laps, began to play with and pinch their nibs into erection, and began to push their cocks into them, contorting them into impossible positions to tighten the ass crevice and increase their pleasure. It was truly a work of erotic art as robes flowed open to disclose one view of the penetration and seduction after another—like the woodcuts in one of those pillow books. The geishas writhed in pleasure—and this time there was no perfidy—the geishas exploded enormous quantities of semen onto the chests of the warriors. The men arched back, drove deeper, and obviously filled their lovers with similar amounts of cream. Then the geishas fell onto their men and huddled on their chests as the men embraced them with their huge powerful arms. The lights dimmed on the tableau, but the sexy seductive music continued.

Jorge was incredibly turned on. He looked at Anson. "Take me now, lover. I won't make it back to the hotel. Let's see what we can do with these toys." Jorge reached over to the tray and removed a prostate teaser and remote. "We're going to try this."

Anson pushed him on his back on the futon, spread Jorge's legs and, using his lips and tongue began to open his partner. Jasmine-lubed fingers came next, Jorge moaning in pleasure throughout. He lifted his legs, grabbed his ankles and pulled them to his shoulders, presenting his swollen opening to Anson. Anson too had been affected by the tableaux. He was as ready for pleasure as he had ever been in his life. He knelt below and began to push the head into its now familiar home. As he did so, Jorge used his free hands to insert the teaser. Jorge was definitely ready. Anson scraped the prostate and Jorge gasped. "I need you all the way in now. I'm going to explode." With those words, he punched the remote and Anson felt the teaser stroking his own prostate and vibrating his taint. So two could play the prostate game!

Anson flexed his hips and thighs and plunged to the very bottom of Jorge's being. Jorge's eyes went wild in lust. He could feel he vibrations through Anson's rock hard cock. It was like a jack-hammer. Anson had claimed victory and was reveling in his conquest. So Jorge rolled back even farther, in total submission, pulling Anson up so that he was plunging almost vertically into the chute. He plunged again and again, bringing Jorge higher and higher. Each time he did so Jorge turned up the teaser. Anson reacted by grasping and squeezing Jorge's swollen balls. Jorge's pre-cum began to drip to his lips. Then in a violent spasm, Anson stretched out his legs, rested on his outstretched arms, drew in his abs, and shot into the dark tunnel of paradise—perhaps the most he had ever cum. He felt Jorge's muscular spasms, looked down and saw that his face was covered with his own cum. So Anson backed off, released Jorge's legs and dropped down to lick the cum from Jorge's face, finishing with a deep soul-reaching kiss. Jorge turned off the teaser. Then both collapsed.

Obviously the sounds (or perhaps the sights—for presumably the proprietor has techniques for spying on his patrons—if only to protect his performers from harm) signaled that his guests were over—or at least resting. The lower screen slid open again. On the tray this time were a steaming bowl of perfumed water and two large warmed towels. Some very sweet pastries were also provided.

The night was over. Soon they were off to the hotel. This had been an experience which changed them. They had witnessed another culture—and other beautiful men enjoying other men. The brotherhood of men loving men was universal. But their own relationship was reaching new heights.

Anson, ever the intellect-lawyer, began to wonder. They had witnessed the powerful, militarist, sexual acts of warriors that climaxed in powerful orgasms—one taken and one accepted. Yet Japan was a culture that was decidedly pacifist, at least for the last 70 years. Why did sex need to be violent combat—even the feigned geisha Act III? The fiercest warrior, the largest sword (cock), always vanquishes the smaller weaker opponent—and then owns his soul by penetrating and depositing seed.

He and Jorge had also enjoyed fabulous joy and pleasure—but theirs was founded on compassion, sensuousness—and possibly love. What did combat have to do with it? Why was some sex a battle between a dominant top and a submissive bottom while other sex was the exchange of pleasure between two magnificent creatures? He wondered whether he would ever be able to puzzle out that paradox.

He decided to discuss it with Jorge. The last three weeks had been among the best in Anson's life. After a few years of "playing the field," he had married someone he was expected to marry. He then had about a dozen years of vanilla sex with her, certainly enjoyed by both. Although he was always the initiator and the dominant partner, it was ultimately not life-shattering. This was followed by about a half dozen years of desert celibacy, punctuated by porn-assisted self-stimulation, as his spouse died. Then he had discovered Jorge. It was like a new spring. He didn't want to screw this up. He wanted to understand the possibilities.

Tomorrow they would be off by train to Kyoto. It was quieter and less intense there. He would definitely have the "talk" in Kyoto.

*********

The Kyoto experience was very different. It was as though they were in a different country. A loud, lively, and bright metropolis was exchanged for a quiet living museum. Anson had selected an exclusive ryokan—similar to a small old boutique hotel, but totally in the Japanese tradition—for Kyoto was the ancient capital of Japan and held much of its ancient imperial treasures and ancient architecture. The train arrived on time (of course) and they traveled to the guest house. When they arrived, after removing shoes, they were assisted to a reception room where they would leave most of their clothing and luggage (dressing in Japanese style while at the resort). Their room was large, by Japanese standards—six mats—or about 180 square feet. Bedding would be brought in at the appropriate time. The adjacent bath had a glorious natural-looking rain shower with screens that slid back to display a garden. Near the shower, outside on the wooden deck was a deep wooden soaking tub. One wall of screens in the bedroom opened to a well-tended Zen garden, with sand carefully raked into pleasing patterns, "meditation" rocks and exotic plants. Dinner would be served Japanese-style--on low tables with diners seated on cushions. This was a spa designed to achieve relaxation and harmony. Sightseeing would come later when they transferred to the Hyatt.

So each morning was spent with long walks in the gardens, exacting, directed, yoga-like exercise sessions, massages, soaks, skin treatments and the like. The spa was gay-friendly, but not exclusively gay. Activities were directed by both men and women—all beautiful, young and scantily clad in the Japanese servant tradition. It was quiet, meditative and soul-enriching. Anson and Jorge began to understand the power of Zen equilibrium and universal order—as the bedrock of Japanese character. Each to his own place in the cosmos. They enjoyed the respite—and they enjoyed each other, spending many hours in joint company, caressing and loving—but their intercourse was gentle and loving, punctuating the quiet days. Curiously, there was no bottom and no top in these experiences—both were engaged in giving and taking maximum pleasure—and extending the experience as long as possible—often for more than an hour. The Japanese had brought the art of edging to masterpiece level.

Anson had the feeling it was the quiet before the storm. Rested and completely relaxed, they moved to the Hyatt—itself a restrained statement of a hotel—but definitely more Western and at the nexus of modern and old Kyoto.

Two days of intense sightseeing—temples, gardens, castles, museums were interspersed with some tennis and in a spotless and well-equipped Western-style gym. And they were back to a bed, king of course, which they enjoyed each afternoon. In fact afternoon sex, before cocktails, was becoming a steady part of each day. Both were settling into a "couple-routine."