Cherry Blossoms

Cherry Blossoms

Stepping off the bullet train and into the crisp Tokyo air, my whole body vibrated with nervous excitement. Here I was, fresh out of university with a TEFL Masters certificate and a backpack full of dreams, ready to conquer the Land of the Rising Sun.

Admittedly, my desire to teach was not born from a love of language. It was the prospect of teaching pretty girls that motivated me, and I spent hours dreaming about cuties in sailor suits giggling and flicking their long dark hair as I waited for my visa to arrive.

By the time I arrived in Japan I was buzzing with sexual anticipation and the thrill of adventure. But my lurid fantasies were swifty dispelled when I arrived at the language academy.

Ms. Watanabe, the diminutive principal, met me at the door and greeted me with a bow so deep her forehead almost kissed the floor. I offered a polite greeting, and the tiny woman ushered me into a room that could only be described as...bleak. Instead of the pastel-coloured posters and cartoons of animal mascots I had envisioned adorning the walls, a sterile beige scheme reigned supreme, replete with a white board and a row of uncomfortable-looking fold out metal chairs.

"This is the Sakura Business English Class," Ms. Watanabe chirped in heavily accented English, gesturing to the vacant chairs. "All men, very serious."

My glued on smile faltered. Men? Serious? What about the giggling girls with Hello Kitty pencil cases I'd spent weeks preparing for? A knot formed in my stomach. Teaching horny 18-year old females with fluttering eyelashes was one thing, my enthusiasm for such students would help overcome any potential difficulties in communication. But Japanese businessmen?

The door creaked open, and the students entered the room. Three men, all old enough to be my grandfather. Their faces etched with wrinkles, suits impeccably tailored but somehow rumpled. Obvious distain showed on their faces, and they barely acknowledged Ms. Watanabe or myself, with only the first to enter offering so much as the slightest nod in our direction.

Ms. Watanabe bowed again, her smile strained.

"Sensei Max, from South Africa. Please, introduce yourself!"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to smile.

"Hello everyone! I'm Max, and I'll be your English teacher."

Silence. The only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioner.

"Konnichiwa," I tried, remembering the only Japanese phrase I knew.

This elicited a flicker of something in their eyes - amusement? Despair? It was hard to tell. One of the men, his hair a distinguished salt-and-pepper, finally spoke. His voice was a low rumble.

"Business English, right?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Let's begin."

That first lesson was a masterclass in futility. My improvised icebreaker activity - a role-playing exercise where they had to pitch a product to a potential client - fell flatter than a sumo wrestler on ice skates. Their English, while strictly grammatically correct at times, was largely devoid of any inflection let alone genuine emotion. Each answer was delivered in a monotone, a litany of "yes" and "no" answers punctuated by the occasional, "We will have to discuss this further with our superiors," which seemed to be a well-rehearsed phrase.

By the end of the hour, I felt pretty dejected, and I left the school that day wondering if I had made a mistake in coming to Japan.

The following few days did nothing but suggest an answer in the affirmative. Outside of teaching, Tokyo, a city that had promised neon lights and bustling nightlife, seemed determined to match my darkening mood. Rain lashed against my tiny apartment window, day after dreary day. Unlike the sun-drenched beaches of Durban or the majestic mountains of Cape Town, Tokyo offered no escape from soulless modernity. Only endless stretches of grey concrete under a leaden sky.

On the packed rush-hour trains, faces were buried in cellphones, a sea of glowing rectangles offering a glimpse into a world I wasn't part of. Unlike the easy camaraderie I'd enjoyed back home, there were no friendly hellos, no shared smiles. Here, everyone was an island, lost in their own digital world, barely speaking with each other, let alone a weary foreigner like me.

Loneliness, cold and damp like the weather, started to seep into my bones. Was this what I'd signed up for? Where was the vibrant, exciting Japan I had dreamed of? Was there any way to bridge the cultural chasm that seemed to be widening by the minute? These were the questions that echoed hauntingly in my mind as I stared out the misted window, the Tokyo rain blurring the neon lights into a meaningless smear of unending disappointment.

The weather kept getting colder as autumn drifted towards winter and the only thing frostier was my class of grumpy elderly students who remained unenthused about my carefully constructed lesson plans. As the leaves turned brown on the autumn trees I felt ever lonelier until finally one day the sun peaked out between the tall buildings and lifted my mood. I decided to go for a walk to see if I could find a bar or restaurant where I might find someone to talk to.

Bundled up in my warmest clothes, my faithful jacket a defiant splash of green against the city's monotone, I ventured out, navigating the labyrinthine streets, determined to find a place where the warmth wasn't just from the heating but from some relatable company. Perhaps a change of scenery, a chance encounter, was all I needed to break this isolating spell. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a spark of connection in this seemingly indifferent city.

Eventually, after getting completely lost, I entered a narrow alleyway that seemed to be from a totally different era. Cobblestone streets glistened mysteriously beneath the soft glow of paper lanterns and the leaves of a maple tree swayed hypnotically as I passed. I could not understand the calligraphy on the lanterns, but they gave off an inviting glow and being hand painted gave a sense of authenticity to the scene.

As I walked deeper into the alleyway, the old fashioned wooden buildings, likely survivors from the pre-war period, teleported me back in time, and although their wooden awnings had been weathered by centuries of use, everything seemed novel to me, as though I were finally seeing the real Japan for the first time.

I walked on, the old alley capturing my imagination, luring me in. I couldn't explain it. Although it was eerily quiet, it seemed like this place was alive, as though it had somehow been expecting me. Time moved at a slower pace and a sense of serenity washed over me as I ventured further down this peculiar lane. Halfway down the street, a small, unassuming door emanated a warm glow that beckoned me. Pushing aside the curtain, I stepped inside a bar from a bygone era.

The bar was like a museum piece, adorned with polished wood, a pair of samurai swords in a glass case, and walls covered with faded photographs of old patrons, long since departed this world. The air smelt like paper, which was oddly comforting and behind the counter stood a wizened old man, his beard flowing in long white cat-like whiskers.

With a gentle gesture, the barman welcomed me inside and gesturing with his hands he offered me a seat at the bar. The barman wore a kindly expression characterized by a curious smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. In my broken Japanese, I poured out my woes to him over a cold Kirin beer and though his replies came in measured doses of incomprehensible Japanese, his warm glowing eyes and gentle affirming nods conveyed a sense of understanding I hadn't felt in weeks.

The elderly man endured my self-pity with good grace while I drank my beer, and his attention did not waver until I drained the last sip from my glass. Then he excused himself with a bow, disappearing momentarily behind the bar. Reappearing a short while later, he carried a small bottle cradled in his wrinkled hands. The label, faded and peeling from the bottle, offered no clue as to its contents, but the mysterious golden liquid within shimmered enticingly.

I asked what it was and without answering he offered me a glass, a mischievous glint in his eyes. I was a little nervous, but I agreed. It would have been rude for me to have declined. The barman careful poured out some of the golden liquid. Hesitantly, I brought the cup to my lips. The sake, if that's what it was, had a pungent aroma, far removed from the light, floral varieties I'd tasted before. But as the liquid touched my tongue, an instant warmth spread through me, comforting like a living room fire, and there was something else too, which I couldn't quite put my finger on.

The old man watched me, his smile widening with every sip. He spoke again in Japanese, his voice a soothing rumble. Though I couldn't understand the words, the sentiment was clear - encouragement, perhaps even a touch of wisdom.

I took my time savouring the strange drink and admiring the décor of the bar. We had fallen into silence and yet there seemed to be an understanding passing between the barman and I that went beyond words. Touched by his hospitality, I fumbled for my wallet, determined to pay for the exotic speciality he had so generously offered me, but the elderly barkeep waved my money away and absolutely refused to accept compensation. And then, with a final, enigmatic smile, he pointed to the door and ushered me back out into the deepening night.

Emerging from the warm haven of the bar, my stomach rumbled instantly. The mysterious sake had awakened a ravenous hunger within me and with renewed purpose I set off down the alley, determined to find something to eat. My strides were brisk, and the cobblestone streets soon gave way to the familiar neon glow of modern Tokyo. Spotting a brightly lit sign with a cartoon duck eating Raman, I hurried forwards.

Stepping inside the noodle bar, I slid into a plastic booth and scanned the menu. I placed my order and reflected on the unusual experience I had just had. I decided then, that I would go back some time and have another drink with that friendly old timer. Something felt... different. Suddenly, life didn't seem so bad anymore and for the first time I was happy to be in Tokyo.

Something else felt different. Something more immediate. I glanced around the room and then it hit me - the clientele. The patrons in the Raman shop were all beautiful young women. Their conversation, punctuated by giggling and excited squeals of delight, was like music to my ears.

Just then, a loud burst of laughter cut through the animated chatter, and I looked up to see a girl in a navy outfit with black stockings and a white tie, walking towards me from across the room. Her eyes, wide and curious, sparkled with possibility.

"Excuse me," she began hesitantly, "do you speak English?"

My heart skipped a beat. A smile bloomed on my face.

"Actually," I replied, a touch of pride in my voice, "I'm an English teacher."

Her eyes widened further. "Perfect!" she exclaimed, relief washing over her features. "I've been looking for someone to practice with! Would you mind if I joined you?"

Before I could answer, a group of her friends, equally vibrant and curious, materialized beside her. Introductions were made in a flurry of broken English and enthusiastic gestures, and soon the small table was overflowing with laughter and conversation. The girl's name was Kameko, and she and her friends spent the whole evening sitting beside me, practising their English.

It was the best meal I had eaten since arriving, although the company no doubt made the roast pork in my soup bowl taste all the more delicious. One by one, Kameko's friends melted away as we delved into a whirlwind of topics - food, culture, travel, dreams. She definitely spoke the best English, which helped us bond, but I also got the feeling that she wanted me to herself. Kameko shot a withering glance at one of the other girls, a very pretty girl named Kita, for laughing at my Japanese, and it wasn't long afterwards that her friends bid their farewells and we were alone.

A definite spark crackled between us. Kameko's smile was warm and genuine, and her eyes, a deep brown that seemed to shimmer with unspoken emotions, held my gaze a little too long. A lingering warmth from the sake and the meal was sustained by her obvious affections and I felt a rush of excitement when she placed her hand on top of mine while we talked. As the night wore on, the ramen shop owner began hinting at closing time and I was delighted when Kameko, her voice barely a whisper, asked, "Would you like to continue our conversation at my place?"

The train ride to her apartment was a comfortable silence, punctuated by the rhythmic swaying of the carriage. We didn't need words; the electricity that crackled between us spoke volumes. Her leg, brushing gently against mine, sent shivers down my spine. When we finally reached her minimalistic apartment, and the door closed behind us, the air was filled with unspoken desire.

In a swift move, reminiscent of a Karate master delivering a mortal strike, Kameko closed the distance between us, her lips melting against mine in a gentle and inviting kiss. The warmth of her body sent a jolt through my loins, and I took her head in my hands as my tongue entered her luscious mouth. The warmth I felt in my body was strangely reminiscent of the enigmatic sake I had sampled earlier that evening and the barman's welcoming smile flashed in my mind's eye for a fleeting moment before dissolving in the heat of the kiss.

I returned my full attention to Kameko's pulsating body and was rewarded with the tactile joy of desperate flesh. I felt her up through her clothes, making sure to touch and squeeze every part of her of her body, the crevice between her ass cheeks, which radiated heat like a furnace, and the firm mounds of her youthful breasts. The further I went the more encouragement she gave me, biting my lip, and feeling for my hardness in the dark.

We moved to the bed and Kameko bent over to expose her silky panties. I gently caressed her through her underwear until her wetness seeped through the fabric, coating my gently probing fingers. She removed her tie and unbuttoned her shirt, and I admired the tops of her breasts, showing above her bra, silverly blue in the moonlit.

I felt a sudden urge to remove the rest of her clothes and take her nipples in my mouth, but she told me to get undressed I was not one to disobey the orders of a beautiful young woman in her own apartment. Once my trousers and underwear had passed beyond my ankles, she kneeled at my feet and immediately took my erect penis in her mouth. The pleasure was dizzying, and I couldn't believe how my fortunes had changed.

Kameko looked up at me, her eyes moist with lust as she slobbered all over my manhood as though she hadn't eaten a thing all day. When I began to shake and moan, begging her to slow down, she doubled the intensity of her sucking, inflicting the most pleasurable pressure on my cockhead as I strained to stop myself from cumming down her throat.

Thankfully, I managed to hold off and having savoured the taste of my penis and brought me to my full hardness, Kameko, satisfied, stood up, slipped her white lace panties off and lay down on the bed with her knees pulled up to her chest. She was still wearing her little navy skirt and her unbuttoned shirt, but her slickened pussy was fully exposed and glistening, ready for me.

Taking a few moments to admire her exquisite beauty, I soon joined her on the bed and a night of passionate lovemaking ensued. As a gentleman, I wouldn't want to reveal too many details, but let's just say her needy Japanese pussy was extremely receptive to my pent up sexual frustration and I'm pretty sure she came at least half a dozen times as we tried multiple different positions, our sweaty clothes eventually totally discarded and strewn haphazardly about the room.