by Guy Willard
“Hello?” said Fumio.
“Hi. What’s your name?”
Fumio gave a false name he’d prepared beforehand, then asked, “What’s yours?”
“Yasuo. How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Are you a student?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you sounded like one. I’m a student, too. Is this your first time calling a tele-club?”
“Yes. And I’m a little nervous.”
“Don’t worry. Everyone is, at first.” The boy sounded sincere and natural. “So...are you really...gay?”
“Are you?” Fumio countered.
“Of course. I only asked because sometimes boys will call in just out of curiosity, and they’re not actually interested in meeting anyone. Let me rephrase my question: have you ever had sex with another boy?”
“No. Not yet.”
“But you’re interested in trying it, right?”
“Yes…I think so.” Fumio couldn’t believe he was finally admitting it. Feeling his throat go dry, he asked: “Are you sexually experienced? I mean, with boys?”
“Yes. In fact, I don’t have any interest in girls at all. I’ve known ever since I was eleven that I’m homo. How about you?”
“Well…the truth is, I’m still not sure, even now. It’s only recently that I’ve had the guts to try to find out.”
“Well, you’re doing the right thing, believe me. I’ve heard stories of men who were afraid to admit it their whole lives, and by the time they finally dared anything, it was too late. They were too old.”
“That’s sad,” murmured Fumio.
“Could you describe yourself?” said the other boy brightly.
“I’m…not very attractive, actually.”
“Come on. You’re probably being modest. But actually that’s a good sign. From my experience, most boys who describe themselves as being handsome usually turn out to be disappointing when you meet them in person. How tall are you?”
Fumio had a sudden intuition that the other boy regularly used these tele-clubs to seek one-time sexual encounters—he sounded a little too eager. Fumio decided to stall. “Uh, you know, actually I called here just to have someone to talk to.”
“Well, why don’t we talk face-to-face, then? That way we can be more comfortable with each other. How about it? I’m in Shinjuku right now. Would you like to meet tonight?”
“It’s a little late, I think.”
“How far away do you live?”
“Listen, I—”
“If you’re too shy to meet me in person, would you like to do some telephone sex? You’re at home, right? Do you live by yourself?”
“Actually—”
Just then the stairs outside began reverberating, and Fumio said: “Sorry, I have to go. Someone’s just come back.”
He hung up and listened to the footsteps walking past his door. But they didn’t stop at Tatsuya’s room, continuing on instead to the room beyond, where a middle-aged woman lived.
Fumio let out his breath. Only now did he wonder what it would be like to masturbate with another boy over the phone—listening to your partner’s soft sighs and moans, knowing he was stroking his erection simultaneously with you…and hearing his grunt as he came.
He picked up the Barazoku and flipped to the photos of the boy in front, to the one showing him in the black mesh briefs. Yes, his genitals were clearly visible through the fabric. Delicious. It would have been so much sexier if the boy had been completely naked, but beggars couldn’t be choosers….
4
With the coming of autumn, cooler weather had returned to Tokyo. In his room Fumio lay on his back, idly smoking a cigarette. The veranda window was open, and the temperature just right. If he leaned his head back far enough, he could just make out the clear turquoise sky above, etched with rows of herringbone clouds. The radio was tuned to the Far East Network, the U.S. military radio station. Fumio couldn’t understand a single word the disc jockey was saying, but the sound of the American voice gave him a feeling of being in a far-off land.
He hadn’t gone to school again today, having slept in till noon and lazed away the whole day. Nothing seemed to interest him anymore. And his lack of money was beginning to depress him. What he made from tutoring barely paid for his necessities, with a little left over for entertainment. He really worked too hard for too little, making just enough money to scrape by from month to month. Shouldn’t he find another job which paid more? But tutoring was considered to be one of the highest-paying jobs for college students.
He opened his eyes and immediately realized he had been asleep for quite some time. The sun had set and the sky had faded into a murky twilight. He glanced at his watch and noted it was half past seven. Getting up from the floor, he slid the veranda window shut and closed the curtains. Then, clicking the room light on, he lay down on the floor again and shut his eyes for a moment.
The room began to reverberate to the rhythm of steps pounding up the stairs and, thinking it might be Tatsuya, Fumio felt his heart quicken. But as he waited for the footsteps to make their way to his neighbor’s room, they suddenly halted just outside his own door. There was a knock.
“Yes?”
He got up and opened the door. It was Mori.
“Hi, Fumio. I was in the neighborhood, so I decided to drop by to see if you were in. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Of course not. As you can see, I’m just lying around listening to the radio. Come on in.”
Mori had dropped into a convenience store on his way here and bought several cans of beer, along with some snacks. Pulling the table into the center of the room, Fumio got a couple of glasses from the kitchen, and the two boys began drinking.
“So, what have you been up to, Mori?”
“Nothing much. Just the usual. And you? Are you still tutoring?”
“Yes. Isn’t it pitiful?” They’d both reverted to Yamagata dialect, and the change made Fumio feel more comfortable. “I wish there was a way to make more money.”
“Why?”
“Well,” said Fumio, “there are so many things I’d like to do. I mean, here I am living in Tokyo, and all I do is lie around in my room. Your father’s a doctor, so you must be enjoying Tokyo a lot more than me.”
“Well, I don’t know about that….” Mori scratched his head in embarrassment
“How are all the others doing? I haven’t seen much of the old gang lately. Can you bring me up to date on them?”
“Actually there’s not much to relate. Harada found a girlfriend and is living with her now.”
“Really? Is she a Tokyo girl?”
“No, she’s from Akita.”
“Even more of a country hick than us.”
“That’s true. But she’s very nice. I met her once.”
“How about Kurita? I thought he would be the first to get a girlfriend. He’s the best-looking of us all.”
“Kurita is still unattached. But I suspect he has a girlfriend back in Yamagata whom he hasn’t told us about yet—probably because he’s serious about her.”
“Hm. How about you, Mori? Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Me? No.” He took a quick sip of beer. The lenses of his glasses flashed back the reflection of the room light overhead.
Fumio grinned. “Have you ever gone back to that fashion health parlor we visited this summer...what was its name?”
“Petit Doll? No. Of course not. I can’t afford those kinds of prices.”
“Nonsense. With your allowance, you should be living it up. If I were you, I’d be having a ball learning my way around Shinjuku.”
Mori laughed feebly as Fumio picked up a piece of dried squid and began nibbling on it. For a while they said nothing more. Mori had a thoughtful look on his face.
“Fumio?”
“Hmm?”
“About that time we all went to Petit Doll....”
“What about it?”
“Do you remember what
happened that night?”
“Of course. We all envied you because you took so long. You really got your money’s worth, didn’t you?”
Mori gave a brief laugh, then said quietly, “Listen. If I let you in on a secret, will you promise not to tell the others?” He looked guilty, almost apologetic.
“Of course.”
“Well, the real reason I took so long is different.”
“What do you mean, different?”
“The truth is, I couldn’t get an erection. That’s why I was in there so long. Finally we just gave up.”
Fumio fell silent. He himself had barely managed to get aroused by his girl.
“I guess I was nervous,” continued Mori, speaking more rapidly now. “That’s what the girl told me. It happens to a lot of guys, she said, a lot more than you’d think. According to her, quite a few of the customers who go there are drunk, and alcohol causes temporary impotence.”
“I guess we were drinking quite a lot that night.”
“Yeah.” Mori fell silent, apparently mulling over what he was about to say. “And another thing…. I think I watch too many porno videos. I’m worried that I’ve begun to rely on them too much for stimulation. Maybe that’s why I’m no good with women when it comes to the real thing. What should I do?”
“Don’t worry,” said Fumio, not knowing what else to say. “I’m sure there’s no problem with you physically. You just have to relax, that’s all.”
“Do you think it could be something else?”
“Something else? What do you mean?”
“I mean, my problem might be deeper than that.”
“I don’t understand.”
Mori lowered his voice even more, speaking so softly that Fumio had to lean forward to hear what he was saying. “I have this fear.... What if I’m homosexual?”
Fumio felt his blood freeze. “What are you talking about?”
“Maybe I couldn’t get excited by the girl in Petit Doll because I’m a queer.”
Fumio forced a laugh. “Don’t worry, Mori. You’re not a queer. Why, you’re the most normal person I know.”
“That doesn’t mean I might not get abnormal urges occasionally.”
“Abnormal urges?” Fumio felt his ears get hot and his mouth went dry. He cleared his throat before continuing, “A lot of boys probably have the same fear. It’s nothing to get worried about.”
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Worry that you might be a homo?”
“Of course not,” he shot back almost angrily. Then, seeing the stricken look on his friend’s face, he softened his denial. “Uh...well, maybe I do, sometimes. But it’s only one of those pointless anxieties that pass through everyone’s head now and then. You should just forget about it.”
“Did you ever wonder if someone we know might be ‘like that’?”
“You mean a homo?”
Mori nodded slowly. “I mean, just think of it. It’s possible, isn’t it?”
“Sure. Anything’s possible, I suppose. Sexual feelings are so confusing and complicated that sometimes it’s hard to tell what’s what. Half the time we don’t even know what’s going on, even within ourselves. A guy might be a homo and not even know it.”
“What would you do if you were one?”
“Huh?” A bright light seemed to flash before Fumio’s eyes. “You shouldn’t joke about things like that.”
“Sorry. I just….”
Firmly, decisively, Fumio stated: “I like girls. Period. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with you. But when you come right down to it, who can say what’s normal and what’s not? As for me, well, I like girls, too, but—” Suddenly he seemed to lose confidence in what he was about to say. After a brief hesitation he continued, “Sometimes I feel so—”
“So…?”
“I mean, I wish I had the courage.”
“The courage?”
“Yes. To do things.”
“What sorts of things?”
Mori looked down at the table and began carefully picking apart a piece of dried squid on the plate before him. There was a long silence. Fumio felt almost suffocated. He knew that every word from now on could only lead to a mutual confession, or to a complete denial. Now that he thought of it, Mori’s roundabout way of getting to the point had probably proceeded along some well-planned design, and could have happened in no other way.
Still, even though Mori had practically admitted to being a homosexual, Fumio couldn’t quite believe it was possible. Queers were supposed to be either girlish sissies or rugged and sexy…just like the boys in Barazoku. Neither of those images fit plain-looking, normal-acting Mori. And somehow Fumio couldn’t accept the idea that someone he actually knew could similarly be attracted to boys.
And then suddenly he wondered why Mori had chosen him to be his confessor. Was it because he suspected Fumio might also be queer? And his visit today: had he come here with the intention of spending the night? At this thought, Fumio felt himself shiver.
Mori noticed it, for he said, “Are you cold, Fumio?”
“No...I’m not cold.”
“What is it, then?”
“I…. Actually, I haven’t been feeling well lately. That’s why I was lying down when you came.”
“Oh. Are you all right?”
“Yeah. It’s probably just a virus I caught. Nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”
“I see….” Mori looked at his watch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was this late. And here I am, blabbing away and keeping you up with my stupid talk.”
“No. I enjoyed seeing you, Mori. I really did.”
“That’s good. And it cheered me up too, to chat with you after such a long time. You shouldn’t keep yourself hidden away in your room so much.”
“All right.”
Mori glanced at his watch again. “What time is the last Tokyo-bound train?”
“About 12:15. It’s a ten-minute walk to the station, so you should still have plenty of time to catch it.”
“All right.”
Both boys got to their feet and Mori headed to the door with Fumio right behind him.
“Thanks for the beer and snacks, Mori.”
“No problem. And why don’t you drop by my apartment sometime? You know where it is, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Mori was standing in the doorway gazing hesitantly at Fumio. “You won’t...tell the others, will you? I mean...about what I said here tonight?”
“Of course not.” Fumio’s throat felt raw. “I’m your friend, aren’t I?”
Mori’s eyes seemed to glow and his lips trembled slightly as he turned away to go.
Fumio closed the door and remained standing there listening to Mori’s footsteps descend the stairs. Then he went back and sat down on the floor feeling pierced by a keen sense of loneliness. Would it always be like this?
He glanced at his bookshelves where a double row of manga books hid his copies of Barazoku. The most recent issue had contained a novella describing the loving relationship of two college boys who shared an apartment in Tokyo. And it had a happy ending.
5
Tokyo’s one and only gay porno theater—called, innocuously enough, World Masterpiece Theater—was located in Ueno, and was open on weekday nights until nearly twelve, and all night on Saturdays. According to the map accompanying the ad in Barazoku, the theater was a few minutes’ walk from the station, in an area where numerous other porno theaters were located.
Fumio took the train to Ueno one Thursday evening when he hoped the streets would be fairly empty. This part of Tokyo had a faintly sleazy atmosphere, perhaps because of its many small machine shops and food markets. There were very few people walking about as he exited the station; here and there were homeless people seeking shelter for the night in the many underpasses.
After walking past several porno theaters along the main street, h
e turned down the narrow alley leading to Shinobazu Pond. At the far end he spotted the neon-lit marquee of a theater which, as he approached it, turned out to be the Ueno Star Theater, whose gaudy posters made it obvious that it featured porno films aimed at heterosexuals. However, a stairway on the left side of the building led upstairs to two other theaters: Japanese Film Classics and World Masterpiece Theater.
Fumio slowed his steps and, seeing no one else about, quickly ascended the stairs. About halfway up, his knees suddenly went weak and his feet became leaden and heavy. He almost had to force himself to continue upward.
On the second floor was a circular counter behind which an old man of about sixty was sitting. Next to the counter was a ticket vending machine with buttons indicating choices for either World Masterpiece Theater or Japanese Film Classics. The latter featured heterosexual porno. Apparently this set-up had been designed so that a gay man could keep his true destination a secret from anyone watching him enter the building.
Fumio bought a ticket for the gay theater and handed it to the man. World Masterpiece Theater was down a short hallway to the left. Standing all along the hallway were groups of young men, mostly in business suits. Were the seats inside all taken? The men seemed strangely silent. At the end of the hall was a darkened waiting room of some sort, and this too was filled with young men. Fumio opened a door to the side and entered the theater.
It was a smallish venue with perhaps about seventy seats. The whole rear area was filled with men standing around or leaning against the walls. To Fumio’s surprise, only the seats in the very back were filled, while the rest of the theater was almost empty.
Fumio tried to move forward but found his way blocked by a man’s leg. As he bumped against it and pushed, it was withdrawn. He continued on and took an end seat about five rows from the front. His knees were shaking and his face felt hot. The theater seemed much too brightly lit up inside. Worried that someone he knew might recognize him, he peered cautiously around trying to see the other customers.
Although the movie was in progress, Fumio found his attention drawn more to the people around him than to what was onscreen. No one else in the theater seemed particularly interested in the movie either. He could hear muffled conversations from the back, and some of the men up front were openly yawning or smoking. This was the only theater, in Fumio’s experience, where smoking was actually allowed. He noticed many of the men continually glancing around in a furtive manner. In fact there seemed to be a relentless tension in the air, a feeling of expectancy which was almost palpable.