I'm a proud nineteen year old Japanese young woman, born and raised in Tokyo, but I never really felt that I truly belonged there. My wild and free American soul has always felt constrained by Japanese customs. That's why I moved to the United States. Yes, I'm a typical petite long haired Japanese woman raised by traditional parents, but according to my mother, I've always been a 'willful and disrespectful child.' I love American music and culture and the freedom to be true to yourself. I tried it once, hanging out with the Harajuku crowd with my pink wig and outrageous clothes until my parents found out and forbade me from ever doing it again. I just wanted to be me. So I hatched a plan to go to America as a student. I secretly applied for a student visa and to several American universities. I was accepted to three in California and when I informed my parents of my plans, they weren't very supportive. They said they weren't paying for it and if I wanted to go, I'd have to finance it myself.
In the summer after graduating from upper secondary school, I worked at my father's company as a receptionist. My father's associates, all older men, wanted to date me; propositioning me with dinners, offering money and gifting me with luxury handbags and such. That's when I got the idea that perhaps an older man or two or three could help finance my American education. On the internet, I discovered the term for what I had in mind; a sugar baby. I found a sugar baby website, uploaded some photos of me in my uniform, in casual street clothes and in sexy lingerie and received a few replies. Three lonely men in the San Francisco bay area said they would pay thousands of dollars for my company. With their support, my savings and a couple of scholarships I received, I could pay for everything; tuition, books, food, and a room in a campus dormitory. So I said yes to UC Berkley's acceptance letter, told my crying mother and stoic father that I was leaving, packed up things, and left Japan to start a new life.
One of my sugar daddies, Mr. Singh, works in Silicon Valley. A generous man in his early thirties, he's the youngest sugar daddy who doesn't have time to date as he works at a computer company all of the time. He likes to lie around nude in the bed all weekend when I come to his house. He plays video games and has me lick whip cream off his genitals like a cat. I usually spend a weekend a month catering to his needs. The other man, Mr. Cooke, lives on a houseboat in Sausalito. He's a silver haired man in his late fifties who owns a lot of land. He likes to bike, bar-b-cue and get blow jobs. I do my very best to please. But my favorite sugar daddy is Mr. Sager.
Mr. Sager lives in San Francisco. Every other Friday night, he sends a car to my dorm and I'm ferried across the Bay Bridge to his luxury apartment on Clay Street. Mr. Sager is a pleasant man in his early fifties with a fit body, steel grey eyes, and short blondish brown hair. When we get together, he speaks in fluent Japanese. It's nice to speak to someone in my native language. Upon our first date, he explained to me that he loves Japan, having worked there several years as an executive in a car factory. He especially loves Japanese women. His wife was a geisha who he met when the other executives took him to a tea house tended by traditional geishas in Kyoto. He fell in love with her grace and beauty as she entertained them with a fan dance. After wooing her for many months, she agreed to marry him. They returned to the States when his contract was over. He says I remind him of her. She loved American culture and music too. And though she was a well-trained traditional geisha, she had a bit of a wild side. Her favorite artist was Prince. The two had fifteen good years together before she passed away from cancer.
When I go to Mr. Sager's home, he has me dress in one of his wife's many kimonos. I've worn kimonos before, upon my mother's insistence, for family portraits and spring ceremonies. She taught me how to tie an obi as her mother taught her. I find kimonos constrictive and too old fashion though if I have a daughter, I will teach her the proper way to put on a kimono and take pictures of her to keep our tradition alive. I usually dress in a blue silk kimono with pink chrysanthemums but this being Valentine's Day, he had me dress in a red silk kimono adorned with sprigs of white cherry blossoms. The slippery smooth white silk interior caressed my naked body as I secured the wide gold obi around my waist. Within his bathroom, I pinned up my hair up as best I could though it did look somewhat sloppy with tendrils of hair trailing around my temples. I pushed the beautiful geisha hairpin with dangling silver beads and a cluster of tiny flowers into my hair before starting with my make-up. With a sponge, I applied the milky white liquid makeup to my face and lips. With a smudge of pink pencil on the outer corners of my eyes and a line of black liquid eyeliner applied with a steady hand, I ended the make-up routine by applying a small red heart of lipstick on the middle of my lips. I looked at myself in the mirror. This is as geisha as I can get. I heard the bell tinkle outside the bathroom door. It was time for the tea ceremony.
Dressed in a comfortable pair of grey sweat pants and a t-shirt, Mr. Sager was seated at the low, narrow candle lit table where the tea utensils, kettle and various bowls of water were neatly laid out in a row. I bowed before kneeling across the table from him and began the tea ceremony. A proper tea ceremony has far too many steps for me to remember so we shortened it to a manageable style. He watches me intently as I wash my hands in a bowl of clean water and dry them on a hand towel. Then I rinsed my mouth with water from another cup and spat it back into the cup which I set to the far side of the table.
It's hard to keep my kimono's sleeves from dragging across the table but that is part of the art of proper tea service. With my right hand, I pick up a small ceramic cup called the chawan. I warm it by rubbing it in between the palms of my hands. Then I set down the chawan and scoop the macha, a powdered green tea, into it. With a wooden ladle, I scooped boiling hot water from the open kettle to pour into the chawan. Then I pick up a bamboo whisk and whisk the macha and water as Mr. Sager silently watches. I stop when foam froths in the center. I set down the whisk to my left before picking up the chawan with my right hand. I place it on my left palm, turn the bowl two times and then turned my head away from him as I lean forward to place the finished tea in front of Mr. Sager. I bow before sitting back upon my heels. Mr. Sager bent forward to retrieve his cup of tea. It is now the proper time to talk.
He asked, "How was your day?"
"Good."
He sipped his tea. "The tea is very good. Thank you."
I closed my eyes and with a demure smile, gave him a slow appreciative nod.
"Sit," he said.
I sat upon my behind with my legs tucked beneath me.
"Happy Valentine's day, Mariko," he said. "Do you like chocolate?"
"I love chocolate."
He reached behind him to an end table beside his couch and opened a drawer. He pulled out a gold box of chocolate, placed the box upon the table and opened it to reveal the marvelous pieces of hand crafted candy. He took out a piece and held it out towards me. I leaned over to accept it with my mouth, grasping it gently between my lips. It began to melt on my lips before it even hit my tongue. He gazed at me as I sat back, gently chewing the delicious melting milk chocolate. He placed the lid upon the box and slid it my way.
