by Guy Willard
Fumio could hear constant shifting and creaking sounds throughout the theater as people moved around. Someone might sit down in a seat several rows in front of him, watch the movie for about five minutes, then get up and go. Another would stand near the side wall and watch the movie from there for a few minutes, then suddenly walk to the rear of the theater.
Presently a man sitting a couple of rows forward got up and headed out a side exit. A moment later another man sitting in a nearby seat suddenly left by a different door. It was almost as if their movements had been timed to coincide. Then a man who was sitting in one of the front rows abruptly got up and began walking slowly toward the back of the theater. He stopped at a spot about two meters away from Fumio and leaned against the wall.
Fumio was too scared to look at him. Out of the corner of his eye he could tell that the other was casting glances his way, so he turned his head just enough to see what sort of man he was. It was hard to tell without looking directly at him but he appeared to be an ordinary salaryman, perhaps in his early thirties. Fumio felt he was being closely observed by him yet he didn’t dare verify it. The man even scraped his shoes loudly against the floor as if trying to get Fumio to look his way, but Fumio kept his eyes steadfastly on the screen. After a moment the man faded away toward the rear of the theater. With the blood throbbing in his ears and a hot flush on his face, Fumio tried to concentrate on the movie.
It was, in fact, something of a disappointment, cheaply made and badly filmed. The flimsy, almost non-existent story line was pitiful, and Fumio could barely keep his attention on it. He’d expected homosexual porno to excite him more, but this was tame stuff. The sex scenes were so obviously faked and very little nudity was shown.
When it finally ended, there was a brief break during which the lights remained dim. The second movie started right away and it was as dreary as the first. Obviously most of the audience hadn’t come here to watch it anyway. Fumio doggedly attempted to see it though, constantly aware of little noises all around him—murmurs, whispers, the doors opening and shutting. The minty smell of chewing gum and other mildly aromatic odors filled the air. Fumio felt a strong urge to smoke a cigarette yet didn’t have the nerve to light one up.
The second movie finally ended. Glancing at his watch he saw that it was a little past eleven o’clock. The curtains on either side of the screen drew together and the lights came on. For the past ten minutes or so, the old man who had been at the counter in front had been banging doors and sweeping the corridors, and now he pushed open all the side doors and began cleaning the inside of the theater. As Fumio got up to leave, he saw to his surprise that only about eight customers remained. When he’d arrived there’d probably been about fifty. Apparently they’d slipped quietly away all during the second movie, trickling out one by one.
Outside, he saw that the Ueno Star Theater had closed for the night, its neon lights now darkened. Fumio needed a cigarette badly. He began walking towards Shinobazu Pond, away from the main street with its bright, colorful lights. He knew he would feel much more comfortable in the dark.
Far across the pond, the lit-up city seemed like a toy-scale model of the real thing, the sounds coming from it faint and illusory. A hush prevailed all around Shinobazu Pond. Fumio gazed at the grotesquely huge water lilies covering the dark surface of its water. His nerves were still wrought up; he took out his pack of Mild Sevens and tapped out a cigarette with shaking fingers.
Sitting on isolated benches beneath the willow trees were boy-girl couples nestled closely together. He chose a quiet spot away from them and lit up the cigarette, took a deep puff and felt a soothing calm envelop his body.
Just then a man came up beside him, leaned against the railing and turned toward him with a questioning look. For a moment Fumio thought it might be someone he knew, but before he could respond, the man abruptly began walking away. Fumio gazed after him, thinking it was probably a stranger who had mistaken him for someone else. And then he saw the man stop again and peer straight back at him. Now Fumio had a twinge of doubt. Could it be someone who’d seen him back in World Masterpiece Theater? He felt a chill run up his spine.
However, before he could do anything, the man began walking off toward the park. As Fumio watched, he stopped at a vending machine and pretended to be pondering what to buy, glancing briefly back at Fumio before walking on. Fumio realized he was being silently invited to come along. Feeling his heart begin to pound, he got up to follow.
The man had stopped at another vending machine further on and was looking back. When he saw that Fumio was coming, he continued on. They were heading toward the park. Officially Ueno Park was closed after sundown but there was no way of enforcing this rule. As soon as it got dark, young couples made their way into the concealing privacy of its shadows.
The man now turned straight up a narrow bicycle path. It was quite dark but Fumio could pick out couples hidden in the shadows, boys and girls pressed tightly together and kissing quite passionately, as lovers did in American movies. They didn’t seem to care whether anyone saw them or not.
Ahead of him the man continued on in a businesslike manner, occasionally glancing sideways, perhaps ensuring out of the corner of his eye that Fumio was still following. Strangely, Fumio felt no fear. They were taking paths which led into ever-darker areas where few lights broke the pervasive gloom. Here, the trees grew more thickly and in their heavy shadows the sounds of the outside world seemed muted. In a little while Fumio spotted a public restroom among the trees. Either its lights were out or someone had broken them, for all was dark within. The man hesitated outside this restroom and, peering back once more at Fumio, entered.
Fumio felt his insides churning with excitement. He had never before experienced such a mixture of fear and anticipation. There could be no doubt now what the conclusion of this silent pantomime would be. Yet he wanted to verify it.
Peering around and seeing that no one was about, he stepped into the restroom. Inside, there was a strong smell of urine and damp cigarette butts. Not knowing what else to do, he stepped over to a urinal, glancing around. The man was standing in front of one of the toilet stalls. At Fumio’s look, he stepped inside it, closing the door softly behind him. Fumio didn’t hear the sound of the lock clicking.
Suddenly feeling scared, he stopped his charade of urinating and turned toward the entrance, determined to leave as quickly as possible. But just as he took his first step, the toilet door creaked open. Startled, he turned and saw the man standing in the doorway, gazing at him with an expressionless look.
Fumio felt undecided about what to do. As he hesitated, the man opened the door a little wider. Feeling sucked in by forces beyond his control, Fumio turned and resolutely made his way into the stall. The door shut behind him and this time the lock clicked into place.
The stall was rather smelly, and there was barely enough room for both of them. Without any preliminaries, the man reached down and brazenly rubbed the front of Fumio’s jeans. Fumio felt slightly dazed. Everything was happening so quickly. Did homosexuals always act as if they had so little time, rushing through everything at a breakneck speed before it all dissolved away, before the fantasy vanished...before the police came bursting in and hauled them away to jail?
Fumio tried to make his mind go blank. He could feel the man’s fingers caressing him intimately but it all seemed so remote, having nothing to do with him. He wished he had the luxury of being able to appreciate more directly what was happening.
Taking a deep breath, he reached over to touch the other man’s genitals. The penis was hard. Feeling his mind grow faint, Fumio let his fingers press gently against the rigidness he could feel under the slacks.
Now the man pushed Fumio’s hand aside so he could undo his own fly. The sound of the zipper being lowered was loud. And when the man pulled the fly open, his naked penis flipped straight out.
It was long and stiff.
Hesitantly Fumio touched it. The man made no response: he was
apparently used to this sort of thing. But this was the first time Fumio had ever fondled another man’s penis. He reveled for a while in the warm velvety feel of its flesh before carefully sliding the loose foreskin back to uncover the glans. Immediately a strong smell of semen rose up from it—that smell which was so familiar to Fumio. Immediately his own penis stirred into erection.
He moved a little closer so he could be more comfortable stroking his partner, but when he glanced at the other’s face, he saw that he had his eyes closed, with his head leaned back against the partition wall. He was perhaps in his early thirties, not unattractive, with a somewhat slender build.
Fumio looked down at his own hand stroking the other’s penis. It seemed like a dream that this was actually happening. He purposely slowed down his movements, perhaps to calm his own excitement: his heart was beating so fast that his breaths were coming short. He could tell by the expression on the other’s face that he was feeling good.
But Fumio couldn’t stand it anymore. He stopped stroking the penis so he could undo his own fly. With trembling fingers he freed his erection. The man, seeing it, quickly reached down and gripped it. Without any preliminaries, he began stroking it firmly and smoothly. Fumio shifted around to face him, the better to continue his own caresses.
They were now facing each other with their cheeks almost touching, but looking in opposite directions. As they continued their mutual stroking, Fumio started to feel his pleasure mount. Stifling a moan, he lowered his face and let his head come to rest on the other’s shoulder. He breathed in its pungent smell of masculine sweat as he murmured helplessly, “It feels so good….”
The ensuing silence was broken only by the sound of their ragged breaths, and the occasional clink of a belt buckle hitting something.
And then for the first time the man spoke:
“I can’t hold back anymore….”
His hand dropped away from Fumio’s penis. Fumio shifted around so he was at his partner’s side, and continued to stroke the other’s erection in a steady rhythm. He could sense the man’s whole body grow taut, and even without any sign of it, knew exactly when he’d ejaculated. It was too dark to see how far the semen had shot, but Fumio continued stroking for a little while longer, knowing that this felt almost as good as the moment of climax. Gradually he let his hand slow down.
The man had slumped back against the partition, and was breathing hard. Fumio stepped around so he could let one hand remain on the other’s penis while he stroked his own. He was so excited by now that he ached to have his own orgasm. Within moments, he was clenching his teeth and tensing up, unable to keep from crying out just before he came.
“Oh!”
His hips bucked spasmodically as he ejaculated hard, with a loud rasping sound. The smell of semen became pungent. Feeling his head spin, he reeled around and leaned back against the wall, panting hard and trying to catch his breath. When he finally got control of himself, he saw to his dismay that his partner had already done up his fly and was now buckling his belt. And then, without a single word or glance, he unlocked the toilet door and slipped out.
The door creaked slowly closed again, coming to rest with a soft bang.
Fumio was still breathing hard. It was only now, as his excitement slowly died away, that he realized the danger he’d just been in: anyone could have walked into the restroom while he and the man had been at it. He’d been so intent on what he was doing that he wouldn’t even have noticed any sounds.
In a panic he began doing up his own fly, not worried if any semen might get on his underwear. And then he stepped out of the toilet cubicle. Going over to the sink, he tried to wash his hands but the faucets were out of order. It didn’t matter.
As he exited the restroom, he was hoping that the man would be outside waiting for him. But he was gone without a trace, vanished into the night. It was as if Fumio had dreamed up the whole encounter. Only the faint smell of semen in the palms of his hands remained as proof that it had actually happened.
He glanced around. Luckily, no one had seen him coming out of the restroom right after the other man. Feeling as if his guilt was written all over his face, he crossed the park in the direction of the station. But just as he passed a bench along the path, he was startled to see the dark silhouette of a man sitting there. The orange glow of a cigarette grew brighter, then faded. No, it wasn’t the man who’d been in the toilet with him, but another one, an older man in his forties or fifties, who was now getting up to intercept Fumio’s escape. They came face to face for a brief moment and Fumio saw the hungry look in the other’s eyes before hurrying past him toward the bright lights of the street beyond. But even as he sprinted away, he could feel the other’s gaze at his back, following him, following him all the way out of the park.
6
Fumio opened his eyes and realized he’d been fast asleep. His room was all dark, but from somewhere outside came the sound of a loud car rapidly approaching. With a squeal of tires, it pulled to a stop just in front of his apartment building. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was 4:30 in the morning. Opening his veranda window, he peered down at the street below and spotted a bright red convertible parked there. Its canvas top was down, exposing to plain view the two people within: a woman in the driver’s seat and a young man sitting next to her in the passenger seat—Tatsuya. The woman seemed much older than the girls Tatsuya usually brought back to his room. Perhaps that explained why it had been so long since Fumio had last been able to enjoy a private sex show.
The two of them remained in the car talking for quite a while, though their words couldn’t be made out. The woman was cuddling Tatsuya, running her fingers through his hair as he meekly listened. And then they embraced for a long, passionate kiss before Tatsuya got out of the car. The woman revved the car’s engine loudly once more before pulling away with a loud squeal of tires.
And then all was still.
Fumio could hear Tatsuya coming up the stairs outside, but his steps seemed rather uneven. All of a sudden there was a loud thud, followed by a clattering sound. Worried, Fumio rushed to his door and opened it, peering down the stairs. Tatsuya had apparently stumbled on his way up. He was wearing an expensive-looking gray suit.
Fumio went down the stairs and helped him to his feet. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” He carelessly brushed at his suit once or twice before looking at Fumio. “Thanks,” he said. “Sorry to have created such a disturbance.”
“Don’t worry about it. Here. Let me help you to your room.”
He supported Tatsuya as they made their way up the rest of the stairs and to the door of Tatsuya’s room. There, Tatsuya fumbled in his pockets and brought out his keys, but was so befuddled that Fumio had to unlock the door for him. He had obviously drunk far too much tonight.
Fumio helped him into the room, pulling off his shoes and guiding him to the bed, where he sat heavily down. The bed was quite a large one, taking up almost half of the floor space—the most important piece of furniture in here, and a blatant symbol of where Tatsuya’s priorities lay.
As Fumio glanced around the room, he couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that he’d already been here many times before. Suppressing his urge to locate the peephole to see how visible it was, he glanced at the mirror atop the dresser which had always been so helpful to him. But the sight of it gave him such a feeling of guilt that he had to look away.
In the meantime, Tatsuya was gazing at Fumio with an unfocused look. “What did you say your name was?”
“Fumio. I live next door.”
“Oh yes, I remember you. You lent me some soy sauce once. But I’m afraid I’ll never be able to repay the favor, because I’ll be moving out at the end of this month.”
“You’re moving?” Fumio hoped his disappointment didn’t show. “Why?”
“Well, I’ve recently come into a bit of money, so I can afford to pay for a better apartment now. This place is much too old and cramped for my purposes.”
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“I envy you. I wish I could move out, too.”
“You should find a way to make more money, like I did.”
“What do you do for a living, if you don’t mind my asking.”
Tatsuya pointed at the suit he was wearing. “Can’t you guess from the way I’m dressed? I’m a host.”
“A host? You mean, like in a host club?”
“That’s right. I’m just a male version of a club hostess, serving drinks to our women customers, sitting next to them, laughing at their jokes, flirting with them, singing karaoke songs, playing kissing games, and sometimes letting them touch my penis under the table. And if they want to pay extra for the privilege, I even go out to dinner with them before the club opens.”
“Like with that woman in the car just now?”
“Oh, so you noticed her. Actually, she paid extra for what we call an ‘after,’ a date with a host after the club closes. Normally on such dates, we just go out for a drink or two, but Midori-san is special: she always requests me whenever she comes to the club, and then pays out even more to keep me from being rotated to another table. I’m her ‘only,’ as we call it in the trade. That means she’s entitled to a little extra service on our dates.”
“Meaning…?”
“Yes.” Tatsuya lightly rubbed his genitals and gave them a fond squeeze. “We paid a visit to a love hotel before she drove me home tonight.”
“What an enviable job—to get paid for having sex.”
“No, no. Believe me, it’s not as good as it sounds. Remember, we don’t get to choose our customers. Most of them are women who can afford the high prices we charge—meaning they’re usually older, not very attractive, and sometimes have rather unpleasant personalities. Otherwise, why would they have to come to a host club to seek male companionship?”