The snow was coming down heavy when I drove the rental car off the ferry in Tomakomai, the port city of the Japanese island of Hokkaido. It didn't relent as we drove the fifteen miles northwest to the traditional hot springs inn Professor Blackwell had booked us into on Lake Shikotsu. He was due to give lectures at Hokkaido University in Sapporo, further into the interior of the island, but he had wanted to have the traditional Japanese hot springs experience before we got there. I was along as his twenty-two-year-old graduate student assistant and to warm his bed. I suppose, being half Japanese, but all American in upbringing, I was to be part of his emersion over the Christmas break in all things Japanese.
My problem was that I wasn't warming his bed. So far, all I'd been to him on this trip to Japan was his chauffeur and valet. He was overdoing it to exhibit that I was just one of his students, not a sex partner. I was highly sexed. I'd looked forward to this trip as letting us hang it all out without worrying where his wife was. I liked older men, he was good-looking and in great shape for his age, and sex with him had been just fine. But that had unexpectantly stopped as soon as we landed in Japan. The three days we'd been in Tokyo before coming to Hokkaido hadn't been at all what I'd expected.
So far the Japanese element Hal Blackwell had emersed himself in the most was sake and more sake, and if Blackwell was getting it on in Tokyo, it was with someone who was fully Japanese, not just half, as I was.
I had driven to the inn in Hokkaido because he would have driven us the wrong way off the ferry in the Tsugaru Strait. He was one of those American elitists who had to be chauffeured. He didn't drive. So far on this trip he also hadn't touched me--and I wasn't used to be ignored sexually like this.
As it was, we were lucky to get to the old Japanese-style inn at the Ashero Hot Springs before I'd driven into a snowbank, it was snowing so hard. Once there, we were shown to our room. No one raised an eyebrow that we were sharing a room because Blackwell had selected this inn carefully. It was an inn where gay men were able to meet discreetly. The professor went almost immediately to a snoring sleep on the low platform bed. If I'd thought we'd have sex here at last, I thought wrong.
The inn was quite atmospheric. We'd left our shoes at the door. The floors were of highly polished golden wood covered here and there by tatami mats with low tables set around as the only furniture, some with silk pillows by them and others supporting bonsai trees and pottery urns. The walls were rice paper screens in dark-wood frames. Everything was stark, pristine, and aesthetically pleasing. Condom packets, bottles of lube, and dildos were tucked away in night stand drawers. Restraints were tucked up under the four corners of the bed frame. I found it sexually arousing, although also frustrating, as here was no evidence that Blackwell was going to take advantage of my mood.
The building was a series of pavilions set on a slope above the lake and surrounding a Japanese garden with a bubbling hot springs pool meandering through it, creating small, isolated pools hidden by dense foliage. The attendants, all young males other than the older host who met us, wore Japanese kimonos, robes, with loin cloths--fundoshi--as undergarments. The host's kimono was scarlet, with an embroidered golden dragon weaving around on it. The attendants wore black kimonos with white dragons on them and a white fundoshi. They all moved silently, with heads respectfully bowed. They were all handsome, well-built young men. The kimonos were artfully arranged so that enough of the attendants' chests and abs were exposed to confirm the were all built.
I was happy to consider that I fit right in with them once I'd changed into a kimono over a fundoshi, with, like most of them, my black silky hair in a bun at the back of my head. I was enough Japanese looking and built well enough that I could have been one of them.
The professor was sober enough to notice that and to say I'd fit right in. I chose to take that to mean I also was a handsome young man rather than that I was as subservient to him as these attendants were. But I guess since I was being his bed boy on this trip--when he wanted me, which wasn't at all so far--the word "subservient" fit me. I certainly was his valet and gofer. If only he commanded me into submission, I would be happy being subservient to him sexually. But he was a little wishy washy in the sexual domination department even back in Boston. I'd thought it was him always worrying about his wife catching us. But his wife wasn't here.
I was not pleased that Blackwell zonked out as quickly as he did. The drive in the snow hadn't worn me out. It had made me tense and jumpy. The host noticed that and suggested that I try out the hot springs before bedding down. There was only the one bed in the room, so the host had no illusions what I was there for. I'd read the brochures on this place. I could tell, reading between the lines, and seeing a photo of two guys together here that this place was gay friendly. I had thought that was why Blackwell had chosen it. I had been looking forward to nights in bed with Blackwell with no worry about being caught fucking.
A soothing soak in a hot springs sounded like a great idea to me. The host also told me that, while we were here, we were to wear the traditional Japanese clothing designated for the guests--gold kimonos, with a scarlet dragon weaving on it. My fundoshi was scarlet. An attendant led me to an isolated bend in the hot springs. He was called away and motioned me to wait for him to return before going into the pool, but I didn't wait. I stripped off the kimono, letting it puddle at my feet on the stones, and slipped into the springs. I immediately started to relax, the bubbling water doing magic on my muscles and disposition. The attendant returned, gave me a strange look that indicated I had done something wrong, but he wasn't about to make an issue of it, and, giving a shrug, he left.
I looked around and saw an even-more secluded section of the hot springs, an oval pool area almost totally surrounded by a narrow stone terrace and dense, snow-dusted foliage and with a cloud of steam rising from the surface. I swam over to, into, and at the far end of the remote pool section.
I was lying in the water, my arms stretched out on the rim of the pool, when an older man, in a gold kimono, and two attendants appeared on the stone terracing on the opposite side of the pool. I figured out then what I was supposed to do in waiting for my attendant to reappear. The two attendants, calling the older man Shogun Furukawa, helped him take off both his kimono and fundoshi. He was perhaps one side or the other of sixty. He was tall, solidly built, not quite fat, but hard-bodied. He was graying and rugged looking, but had most likely been quite handsome in his day. He obviously was a military man, and I deduced that "shogun" must be a military title for general. He gave the impression of being battle worn, too, as there were scars--pock marks and healed slash marks on his torso and thighs.
The attendants handed him a couple of pills and a porcelain cup. He took the pills and washed them down with whatever was in the cup. I only later learned what the pills were for. He crouched down into a squat that Asians seemed to easily manage when Americans--even as young and fit as I was--couldn't, and the attendants sluiced him down with water from small wood buckets, filled from a nearby spigot.
So, that had been my sin, I reasoned. I was supposed to be sluiced down and to enter the hot springs naked and clean. My bad. Couldn't do anything about that now.
While the attendants worked on the general--I thought of him now in my mind as the general--he looked at me intently from across the pool, and I could see that he hardened, his cock, which formerly had respectable length and girth was now engorging into monstrous size and hardness. This, thus, was an explanation for the pills he had taken. I didn't know then why he would need to be in erection to dip in the hot spring. I didn't then see the relationship to me being in the hot springs as well. He touched himself, not taking his slitted gaze at me from across the pool.
The general was uncut. He pulled the foreskin of his engorged cock back to expose the mushroom cap, and a pinky finger went to his urethra slit, spreading it open and worrying it with the tip of his finger. All the time he was looking at me from across the pool.
I shuddered in arousal. I was in heat myself and had been stroking myself in the pool before he arrived. I had stopped when he and the attendants appeared, but now, seeing him in huge erection and with a very good body for his age, I resumed stroking myself. I returned the old man's lustful gaze. The water was transparent, which I wasn't thinking about, and I think he could see me slowly jacking myself. His hand went to stroking his cock, maintaining the pinky connection with his cock slit. The attendants didn't seem to notice or at least didn't appear to.
After washing him down, the attendants helped the general lower himself into the pool across from me and they departed.
We were there, the two of us, in a privacy area lush with tropical foliage that was dusted with snow. The pool itself, though, was quite warm and dotted with gas bubbles. We eyed each other, and he smiled at me.
"Koki ni kite," he said, his voice commanding, almost a growl. Then, when I gave him a confused response and said I looked Japanese but that I was American and didn't speak the language, he said in Oxford-quality English, "Ah,
Gaikoku hito baishunpu
. Come here. Come to me." Of course I didn't know that
Gaikoku hito baishunpu
translated to "foreign prostitute." It would have clarified the situation if I'd known what he'd called me. He was every inch the general. His voice was commanding, leaving no room for argument.
I was in heat and I'd already been thinking of him on top of me, inside me. I don't think I'd ever sheathed a cock as thick and long as his was at this moment. I didn't know if I could. I ached to try.
I moved across the pool. When I reached him, he opened his arms and drew me onto his lap. His erection slid up between my thighs. His hips rocked a bit in the water, the shaft moving between my thighs. His hands glided over my torso, fondling and massaging.
