Saturday morning in Shinjuku, Tokyo. I woke up with the stinging memory of my humiliation with Miu last night. As I had walked with her to the station, I had felt just a little hopeful that I could redeem the relationship and have a successful fuck with her on Sunday. In the cold light of morning, I knew that wouldn't happen.
The more I thought about it, the more I burned with anger. He - my humiliatingly floppy member - had only let me down because Miu was such a bitch. She had enjoyed humiliating me. What was her problem? She must have been abused by older men when she was a girl. I knew this was an occurrence of epidemic proportions in Japan, but why did she have to take it out on me? I was nothing but friendly and generous with her. I vowed to tell her on Sunday that I knew it was her fault, and I knew she had serious psychological issues that needed to be resolved, not acted out on harmless guys who just wanted some consensual fun in bed.
One thing was clear, though: I couldn't risk a floppy cock on my date this afternoon. Whether my Saturday girl was sweet or nasty, I wanted to be prepared. So after a careful Internet search, I headed over to Shibuya, a 10-minute ride on the train. I'd found a men's clinic that specialized in things like hair-loss and erectile dysfunction, and offered their services in English as well as Japanese.
Shibuya, the fun-capital of Tokyo. All of downtown Tokyo is lively, but Shibuya has earned a world-wide reputation. Its popularity is due in part to its reasonably-priced restaurants, bars, and brothels. Lots of young people come, including many without a ton of cash to throw around. It's the kind of place that's almost brighter at night that during the day.
I had visited Shibuya a couple of nights before, looking for condoms. I'd figured they'd be really easy to find there, but I'd had a problem. I couldn't find the kind of shop that would sell them, and anyway they'd be labelled in Japanese. As I said last time, the Japanese are funny: they have tons of options for purchased sex, but they're prudish in public. Public displays of affection are embarrassing to almost all Japanese, and the idea of a shelf full of condom boxes with an illustration on the front would have sent them through the roof.
So I hardly thought Family Mart was the place to look. Not a problem, I thought! There are plenty of prostitutes around - they'd be sure to know where to get condoms. So I stopped walking and stood still on the sidewalk for a couple of minutes, looking around, and sure enough, a young woman appeared asking (in fair English) if she could take me to a place where I could get a great blowjob. No, I said, but could you tell me where to find condoms for me and my girlfriend? Her response was frustrated - our blowjobs are really super, and the girls are young and pretty! But I have a girlfriend...! She started to walk away, then turned around and said, OK, come with me!
She led me uphill for about five minutes, through increasingly dark streets. Then into a high-rise (but all the buildings are pretty tall in Shibuya) and up to the 6th floor in a tiny elevator. I fully realized this was not the store that sold condoms, but played along out of curiosity and sense of adventure. What did a Shibuya brothel really look like?
All I got to see was a small, dimly-lit hallway or ante-room with a table and a well-worn loose-leaf binder. My guide - who was faintly attractive but very business-like, about 25 years old, I thought - opened the binder to reveal pages of ink-jet photo prints of young, scantily-clad girls, all carefully mounted in vinyl page-protectors.
No! I said. I came to buy condoms! I have a girlfriend!! I left and retraced my steps to the better-lit parts of Shibuya to try again. I absolutely had to have condoms, so there was no giving up. Not long after getting back, another young woman appeared with a similar offer. My friendly request for condoms seemed to puzzle her, so I tried to use gestures to explain what I wanted (without being too graphic on the street!). After a few minutes, one of the tough-looking men who just happened to be hanging around started to make his impatience clear to the young woman. Of course, I had known the pimps would be around to make sure the girls were safe and under control. So after a quick glance at her minder, she quickly pointed to the Family Mart I had dismissed earlier, and scampered off to her next potential customer.
In the garishly-lit convenience store, I circled round and round looking for anything that might resemble a supply of condoms. I had been right: nothing was labelled in English, and certainly not illustrated with a nice, clear photo of a condom. My frustration mounted until I overcame my embarrassment and asked the young man behind the counter. With a look of extreme scorn and embarrassment he took me to the right shelf and hastily retreated behind the counter.
Knowing where they were, I had only a little trouble finding a premium set, and also a set of stimulating condoms with bumps all over, in case my partner was into that sort of thrill. I sheepishly paid and gratefully headed back to my hotel in Shinjuku.
That was a couple of nights ago, and now in the light of a bright summer sun Shibuya looked quite respectable. The swarms of pleasure-seekers and prostitutes had been replaced by hoards of bargain-seekers and stylishly-dressed women. Probably many were the same as the women I'd seen at night, but now spending rather than earning.
