Merchant Seaman

Paul dreamed he was back on leave in Tokyo. It was in one of the Oyasumi, (the bathhouses) now westernized and common as massage parlors in America. But this was a special place-of a bygone era now to be found only in fiction- where a gentleman, or at least a man of some means could purchase unique and pleasurable experiences without reservation or inhibition.

In a room walled only by beautifully printed sheets of rice paper and lit softly from behind by paper lamps and from within by many candles, Paul reclined in a sunken bath. Hot perfumed water roiled luxuriously around his waist and a sake bottle and cup rested on the edge of the bath near his head. He had been well tended to, it was clear, but at present, he was not the center of attention.

Roughly two-thirds of the room was occupied by a mat, which fully touched three walls and was upholstered in black vinyl or perhaps rubber. On the mat, two beautiful young Japanese women squared off in a squat position, as if to grapple. Lean, muscled bodies gleamed dully with some subtle oil. Their black hair was pulled back tightly in buns and they wore only the traditional chotto matte of the Sumo wrestler, one girl red and the other blue. The wide belt and thin crosspiece between the legs, while seeming somewhat bizarre to Paul’s western sensibilities, looked extremely provocative on the startlingly lithe bodies of these two girls.

They stared at each other with intent concentration. This was obviously no Sumo match, however, as suddenly the red clad girl lunged forward and seized the other girl around the waist, twisting her off balance and to the mat. The blue clad girl raised her pale, sleek legs and with amazing deftness hooked them in front of the other girl’s shoulders, then proceeded to push her off with the leverage. The move was effective, and the red girl was catapulted onto her back, her small breasts quivering tautly, the shock of the blow registering momentarily on her dryad’s face. The blue girl pounced quickly forward onto her, clasping her outstretched hands. They grappled with each other in this manner with fierce concentration on their lovely faces for fully thirty seconds. Dark strands of the blue girl’s hair hung down over her soft face, and she blew at one of them distractedly.

Then, with a forceful reserve of strength, the red girl almost succeeded in throwing her opponent completely off of her. They ended up in at tight bear hug and began to wriggle, neither able to gain much ground. Their soft grunts and gasps echoed and Paul could see their youngish, rounded breasts heaving and sliding against one another as they began to roll clumsily across the room. They became an indivisible writhing of slick skin, damp hair, and flashes of tight, brown nipple, each one’s head thrown back with the strain of effort showing on her sweet face. Paul realized with some small bit of shame that he had an immense erection.

Now the red girl had the blue one in a sort of half-nelson, kneeling astride her back with one of the girl’s arms hooked behind her and a hand on the back of her head. The blue girl could do nothing to retaliate as the side of her face was pressed firmly into the mat. Her red lips pouted, a groan of frustration escaping them, and she thumped her leg slowly and rhythmically on the mat, making a slapping sexual sound.

Paul looked absently down, where the swollen, crimson head of his cock inexplicably jutted from his clenched fist. He felt faint, as if the sake and the steam conspired to work a fever in him. The room darkened, but strangely, the thumping of the pinned girl’s leg on the floor grew louder.

He woke on the floor, breathless and discon- certed. The kerosene lamp had gone out, and as he reached blindly for the doorknob to admit the lamplight from the hallway, he felt the still-warm dampness of his seed among the hair of his inner thighs. Paul had indeed been too long from a woman’s arms.