One of the things that hit me suddenly as I sat on the defensive end of my couch in my living room in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken, Japan listening to Junko make me think I was defective, was that she was full of sh!t.
Her colored lights may hypnotize, but they can sparkle someone else's eyes.
No. I'm not the one who has done anything wrong. I was a shy person maybe three years before arriving here in Japan in late July of 1990. But I did a modeling course, and did a couple of shows here in Toronto. It helped me get over my shyness.
I'm not great-looking, but I'm okay... and I could walk the walk.
Three years later, after working as a newspaper reporter for the Toronto Star (I was the first Canadian College student to ever get into their summer internship program), I got over a lot more of my shyness. It helped me learn how to talk the talk.
Here in Japan, I've learned how to put it all together: to walk the walk and to talk the talk.
Yes I have slept with 13 women in the past 16 months - this despite having a girlfriend in Ashley for eight months... and never cheated on her.
We've broken up many a time. The last time six months ago for good, and until recently we were friends-with-benefits. I always wanted more, of course... but please don't take that for pussy-whipped weakness from me.
No... I just hate to lose. I don't mind losing, because it happens - but that doesn't mean I have to like it. No. If I am going to lose, I'm going to exhaust every option to avoid it. That was me and Ashley.
And.. I'm not a poor sport either. You could ask any of the people I ever played soccer or baseball with, or the teams I coached - I never show how much I hate to lose and will always congratulate anyone for being better than me at that time... but then... I try to ensure I don't lose again.
What the heck is wrong with that?
But this is Junko.
No. I'm not the damaged individual in this relationship. I'm not the one who stalked anyone, day and night or quit school. No... that was Junko. I had to get my school board to intervene to get her the hell away from me - to get her help - to make sure she didn't jeopardize her future by quitting school for sexual liaisons.
She seemed better when we began hooking up again a few weeks later - but now she had a boyfriend and didn't want to leave him for me, despite her always coming around to my place for Sex Ed 101. Hell - scratch that! We were performing grad-school sexual relations! I have no idea what that means.
With my thoughts racing in piqued anger, I ask her: "How many boyfriends do you have?"
I saw it in her eyes - for just that second... she did not expect me to go on the offensive just then.
"Why? You know I only have the boyfriend at school (Utsinomiya University) and you."
"Really? Just the one boyfriend for appearances - at school; the one boyfriend for sex - me; what about the boyfriend to buy you stuff? A hot-looking babe like you... I'm sure there are plenty of men who want to buy you stuff."
I knew I had her now... because she had never seen me angry before. I've always been good ol Andrew. Happy go-lucky, Andrew. Big stupid Andrew who was happy to have any one acknowledge his existence,
She just kind of stared at me for a second before answering: "Four."
And then added for effect, "But you are the only one I have sex with!"
Well, thank goodness for that. I'm being sarcastic. Personally, I don't care if she's boinking other guys - I had assumed she was boinking her university beau... but I do want to be her one and only boyfriend now - only she doesn't want to.
"So, you have four boyfriends?"
And just when I think she can say nothing to surprise me after what we have done together sexually, "No. I have four boyfriends who like to buy me things."
Now... I'm no longer angry. In fact, I am damn curious. It's that part of my nature that drives me to know as little about everything as possible so that I could talk to anyone about anything.
In my head I am pretending to be Ricky Ricardo talking to his wacky redheaded wife: "Lucy - You got some 'splainin' to do."
Instead, I grind out a disgusted look and vomit out: "Explain." Hey. I'm curious, but I don't want to lose whatever advantage I think I have.
She reiterates that she has her boyfriend for appearance, me for sex and then says she has boyfriends who buy her stuff - four of them!
"And you don't sleep with any of them?"
"My real boyfriend is waiting until we get married."
That 'real' crap stung a lot. Hell... I wanted to marry her when I thought she was sane.
"The four who buy me things only think they have a hope of having sex with me. They don't."
I'm unsure if my respect for her went up or down. Here's a person who knows how to use her feminine and sexual wiles to get what she wants.
Then again... she is using her feminine and sexual wiles to get what she wants.
Good for her for doing what she has to do to get ahead. But bad on her for doing it in what I consider aa dishonest way.
I should feel dirty, but I don't - probably because I'm the only one getting laid - if she is telling the truth. And... truthfully, Junko is difficult to read.
But I do know how to play people with human nature just as much as she does.
Ha. This is going to be a battle of wits against an unarmed opponent.
Some background. When I was back in University, I majored in the psychological behavior of political science. Essentially, it's how to get what you want without people realizing they are doing it.
It's kind of like Tom Sawyer getting other kids to pay him for the joy of whitewashing his aunt's fence.
I've never used it before. It's why I was a virgin until one-month after arriving here in Japan at the age of 25-3/4 years old. That's the problem with university. Too much theory and not enough practical!
It's time to go back onto the offensive. Okay.. maybe it's time to start going on the offensive. It will hopefully throw Junko for a loop.
I may not get sex from her again, but at least I'll gain a bit of self-respect back.
So I says to her, I says (I love saying that with a dumb, tough guy voice): "Junko, I don't like how you are using people. You should leave."
Now... just so you know (or remember), Junko and I had spent a rollicking night screwing each other's brains out - as she had orgasm after orgasm. How do I know she wasn't faking it? It wasn't just the orgasm. She had the ejaculation. So... despite what else she may have been, she never faked with me.
Thank goodness. I'm unsure if I could have handled being faked with her or anyone. I have a fragile ego, I suppose, when it comes to things like this.
I repeat: "Junko... you should probably leave."
True to form, her response was wordless, as with a snap of her fingers, her clothes mysteriously drop to the carpet - including her bra and panties. How the fug does she do that?
Okay! You're getting distracted!
Man she's hot... FOCUS!
Damn, she's good. She's using her feminine and sexual wiles on me! Crap! The blood is leaving my brain.
Uh-uh. Because I know what's she's doing... I know what she's doing. I'm wise to your tricks, Moriarty.
"What are you doing, Junko? I said you should leave."
She drops to her knees and places her lips around me.
When the hell did she get my pants down?
The blood continues to flow out my head and down to my head where I am getting head, but I still have a head about me to head Junko off at the pass.
You know... I surprise myself when I write a sentence like that. I'm pretty sure that word has a different meaning for each typed utterance.
With teeth scrapping nearby, I know enough not to get her angry.
I thrust once, twice and then pull back far enough to pull out and turn around. I quickly pull up my pants, zip up and turn around to face her.
She's still on her knees - looking down at my feet. She looks up as though she can't believe anyone would ever do anything like that to her.
I don't tell her this, but I didn't do that to her. I did it for me. It makes sense in my mind.
Hell... I was sleeping with her when she was stalking me - and got help to have her stop doing both! She knows I can reject her and still want her.
I place my right hand under her chin and gently lift so she knows she has to rise. I continue to hold her there as I bend down and calmly look into her dull eyes: "You really should leave now, Junko."
To her credit, she does after getting dressed. I've never seen her work so slowly with clothing before. Even so, she doesn't say anything and neither do I.
To my credit (?) I watch her slowly getting dressed savoring every moment as though it may be our last together - because it might be.
I'm not jealous of those other guys. Not at all. I feel sort of sorry for them, because I'm the only one she is honest with.
But despite that partially satiating my ego, I'm still not HER boyfriend. I'm just the guy who screws her.
You know... 20 years later... I'm reading what I just wrote, and I'm thinking to myself - shut the fug up, Andrew! Why buy the cow when you get the milk for free?
Oh, how completely idealistic I was! How naive! How naive? No... I just wanted to be her number one and only guy. I don't think that is weak or wrong.
And now I've kicked Junko out of my apartment - perhaps never to stink my room up with sex and apple blossoms again.
Still... this is Junko. The woman who stalked me for weeks... The woman who begged me to tie her up, gag her, do what ever I wanted to her (and I did)... where else will she find a sick and depraved sexual partner like me in Japan?
Oh yeah. Anywhere in Japan.
I feel like a whole person again, but a lot less manly. Oh god... I think when I grew a pair, I grew a pair of breasts.
Shut-up! You did the right thing, Andrew. She'll be back. Just remember what your mentor, Doug McIntosh, wrote to you about: the 4F Club, where every heterosexual man can be a member: "Find her, feel her, fug her, forget her."
And what's that in my pants pocket? Her panties? When the hell did she put that there? Junko!!!
Somewhere the smell of sex in the room makes it extremely hard to forget,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by Queen because song lyrics and band name fit so bloody perfectly:
Her colored lights may hypnotize, but they can sparkle someone else's eyes.
No. I'm not the one who has done anything wrong. I was a shy person maybe three years before arriving here in Japan in late July of 1990. But I did a modeling course, and did a couple of shows here in Toronto. It helped me get over my shyness.
I'm not great-looking, but I'm okay... and I could walk the walk.
Three years later, after working as a newspaper reporter for the Toronto Star (I was the first Canadian College student to ever get into their summer internship program), I got over a lot more of my shyness. It helped me learn how to talk the talk.
Here in Japan, I've learned how to put it all together: to walk the walk and to talk the talk.
Yes I have slept with 13 women in the past 16 months - this despite having a girlfriend in Ashley for eight months... and never cheated on her.
We've broken up many a time. The last time six months ago for good, and until recently we were friends-with-benefits. I always wanted more, of course... but please don't take that for pussy-whipped weakness from me.
No... I just hate to lose. I don't mind losing, because it happens - but that doesn't mean I have to like it. No. If I am going to lose, I'm going to exhaust every option to avoid it. That was me and Ashley.
And.. I'm not a poor sport either. You could ask any of the people I ever played soccer or baseball with, or the teams I coached - I never show how much I hate to lose and will always congratulate anyone for being better than me at that time... but then... I try to ensure I don't lose again.
What the heck is wrong with that?
But this is Junko.
No. I'm not the damaged individual in this relationship. I'm not the one who stalked anyone, day and night or quit school. No... that was Junko. I had to get my school board to intervene to get her the hell away from me - to get her help - to make sure she didn't jeopardize her future by quitting school for sexual liaisons.
She seemed better when we began hooking up again a few weeks later - but now she had a boyfriend and didn't want to leave him for me, despite her always coming around to my place for Sex Ed 101. Hell - scratch that! We were performing grad-school sexual relations! I have no idea what that means.
With my thoughts racing in piqued anger, I ask her: "How many boyfriends do you have?"
I saw it in her eyes - for just that second... she did not expect me to go on the offensive just then.
"Why? You know I only have the boyfriend at school (Utsinomiya University) and you."
"Really? Just the one boyfriend for appearances - at school; the one boyfriend for sex - me; what about the boyfriend to buy you stuff? A hot-looking babe like you... I'm sure there are plenty of men who want to buy you stuff."
I knew I had her now... because she had never seen me angry before. I've always been good ol Andrew. Happy go-lucky, Andrew. Big stupid Andrew who was happy to have any one acknowledge his existence,
She just kind of stared at me for a second before answering: "Four."
And then added for effect, "But you are the only one I have sex with!"
Well, thank goodness for that. I'm being sarcastic. Personally, I don't care if she's boinking other guys - I had assumed she was boinking her university beau... but I do want to be her one and only boyfriend now - only she doesn't want to.
"So, you have four boyfriends?"
And just when I think she can say nothing to surprise me after what we have done together sexually, "No. I have four boyfriends who like to buy me things."
Now... I'm no longer angry. In fact, I am damn curious. It's that part of my nature that drives me to know as little about everything as possible so that I could talk to anyone about anything.
In my head I am pretending to be Ricky Ricardo talking to his wacky redheaded wife: "Lucy - You got some 'splainin' to do."
Instead, I grind out a disgusted look and vomit out: "Explain." Hey. I'm curious, but I don't want to lose whatever advantage I think I have.
She reiterates that she has her boyfriend for appearance, me for sex and then says she has boyfriends who buy her stuff - four of them!
"And you don't sleep with any of them?"
"My real boyfriend is waiting until we get married."
That 'real' crap stung a lot. Hell... I wanted to marry her when I thought she was sane.
"The four who buy me things only think they have a hope of having sex with me. They don't."
I'm unsure if my respect for her went up or down. Here's a person who knows how to use her feminine and sexual wiles to get what she wants.
Then again... she is using her feminine and sexual wiles to get what she wants.
Good for her for doing what she has to do to get ahead. But bad on her for doing it in what I consider aa dishonest way.
I should feel dirty, but I don't - probably because I'm the only one getting laid - if she is telling the truth. And... truthfully, Junko is difficult to read.
But I do know how to play people with human nature just as much as she does.
Ha. This is going to be a battle of wits against an unarmed opponent.
Some background. When I was back in University, I majored in the psychological behavior of political science. Essentially, it's how to get what you want without people realizing they are doing it.
It's kind of like Tom Sawyer getting other kids to pay him for the joy of whitewashing his aunt's fence.
I've never used it before. It's why I was a virgin until one-month after arriving here in Japan at the age of 25-3/4 years old. That's the problem with university. Too much theory and not enough practical!
It's time to go back onto the offensive. Okay.. maybe it's time to start going on the offensive. It will hopefully throw Junko for a loop.
I may not get sex from her again, but at least I'll gain a bit of self-respect back.
So I says to her, I says (I love saying that with a dumb, tough guy voice): "Junko, I don't like how you are using people. You should leave."
Now... just so you know (or remember), Junko and I had spent a rollicking night screwing each other's brains out - as she had orgasm after orgasm. How do I know she wasn't faking it? It wasn't just the orgasm. She had the ejaculation. So... despite what else she may have been, she never faked with me.
Thank goodness. I'm unsure if I could have handled being faked with her or anyone. I have a fragile ego, I suppose, when it comes to things like this.
I repeat: "Junko... you should probably leave."
True to form, her response was wordless, as with a snap of her fingers, her clothes mysteriously drop to the carpet - including her bra and panties. How the fug does she do that?
Okay! You're getting distracted!
Man she's hot... FOCUS!
Damn, she's good. She's using her feminine and sexual wiles on me! Crap! The blood is leaving my brain.
Uh-uh. Because I know what's she's doing... I know what she's doing. I'm wise to your tricks, Moriarty.
"What are you doing, Junko? I said you should leave."
She drops to her knees and places her lips around me.
When the hell did she get my pants down?
The blood continues to flow out my head and down to my head where I am getting head, but I still have a head about me to head Junko off at the pass.
You know... I surprise myself when I write a sentence like that. I'm pretty sure that word has a different meaning for each typed utterance.
With teeth scrapping nearby, I know enough not to get her angry.
I thrust once, twice and then pull back far enough to pull out and turn around. I quickly pull up my pants, zip up and turn around to face her.
She's still on her knees - looking down at my feet. She looks up as though she can't believe anyone would ever do anything like that to her.
I don't tell her this, but I didn't do that to her. I did it for me. It makes sense in my mind.
Hell... I was sleeping with her when she was stalking me - and got help to have her stop doing both! She knows I can reject her and still want her.
I place my right hand under her chin and gently lift so she knows she has to rise. I continue to hold her there as I bend down and calmly look into her dull eyes: "You really should leave now, Junko."
To her credit, she does after getting dressed. I've never seen her work so slowly with clothing before. Even so, she doesn't say anything and neither do I.
To my credit (?) I watch her slowly getting dressed savoring every moment as though it may be our last together - because it might be.
I'm not jealous of those other guys. Not at all. I feel sort of sorry for them, because I'm the only one she is honest with.
But despite that partially satiating my ego, I'm still not HER boyfriend. I'm just the guy who screws her.
You know... 20 years later... I'm reading what I just wrote, and I'm thinking to myself - shut the fug up, Andrew! Why buy the cow when you get the milk for free?
Oh, how completely idealistic I was! How naive! How naive? No... I just wanted to be her number one and only guy. I don't think that is weak or wrong.
And now I've kicked Junko out of my apartment - perhaps never to stink my room up with sex and apple blossoms again.
Still... this is Junko. The woman who stalked me for weeks... The woman who begged me to tie her up, gag her, do what ever I wanted to her (and I did)... where else will she find a sick and depraved sexual partner like me in Japan?
Oh yeah. Anywhere in Japan.
I feel like a whole person again, but a lot less manly. Oh god... I think when I grew a pair, I grew a pair of breasts.
Shut-up! You did the right thing, Andrew. She'll be back. Just remember what your mentor, Doug McIntosh, wrote to you about: the 4F Club, where every heterosexual man can be a member: "Find her, feel her, fug her, forget her."
And what's that in my pants pocket? Her panties? When the hell did she put that there? Junko!!!
Somewhere the smell of sex in the room makes it extremely hard to forget,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by Queen because song lyrics and band name fit so bloody perfectly:
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