Anson began to revel in Jorge’s hands-on affection. He had always been somewhat aloof, not preferring too much physical contact. But Jorge changed that. Anson soon began to anticipate and enjoy the fact that Jorge was a lover, not a hook or a passive bottom. He was falling under the spell. Their hands were often on each other.
The weekend was quickly over. Jorge left for the hospital early Monday—the first day of his last five days. He was going to spend family time most evenings and expected that the administrators would demand significant amounts of overtime before he departed. He wouldn’t see Anson until the next weekend—and they were scheduled to depart mid-day on that Sunday.
Anson for his part concentrated on getting the remaining furniture moved to storage, selling or giving much of it, meeting the architect and general contractor, and hiring a “personal engineer” who would be his eyes, ears, and paymaster as the work progressed in his absence. He was hoping that only infrequent and inconsequential contacts would be necessary about the reno from Asia. Friday afternoon, he moved to the Hyatt. Jorge would join him on Saturday when they would spend their last full day in San Francisco before the trip began. (His family had insisted on a going-away celebration after work ended on Friday.)
Saturday was one of those rare cool, dry days—with no fog, no rain expected. So Anson had booked one of the courts on Pier 13A for several hours and he and Jorge went to play. Jorge was not a skilled player, but he had played some. He knew the way to hold a racket, how to serve, and he was athletic and indefatigable—and he hit hard and fast. He was obviously a fan of the two-handed, “grunt and smash” international players. Anson won, but realized that by the end of the Asian tour, Jorge would be his match. He was learning fast and was a natural. This was something they could enjoy together throughout the trip.
Sunday arrived. Hyatt did a famous Sunday brunch in the giant atrium and both guys decided to partake rather than use room service. Then they were off to the airport, detouring briefly at the condo to pick up luggage for the mid-afternoon non-stop departure for Narita. The trip was long, but they were in business class with reclining flat seats. (Anson had not sprung for the first class bedroom for two since he had been warned that the airline’s policy that no sex was permitted was rigidly enforced.) They would need to wait until arrival. The plane arrived only a few hours after departure on the clock—but the next day (because of the International Date Line) and they took the fast train to downtown. Their hotel was the newly-renovated Imperial—the hotel that Frank Lloyd Wright had designed nearly a century before—old, distinguished, in a magnificently manicured park, but with large modern rooms and baths. So it was early Monday night when they finally checked in.
Anson had booked a small suite with two king beds. He wasn’t at all sure whether he wanted to broadcast their relationship to hotel staff. Japan tended to be tolerant of various sexual practices, including gay relationships, but there was always an overlay of privacy and discretion. A society which lived so densely was very careful to protect the personal space and privacy of its people—and there were no religious taboos—only an intense desire not to embarrass a family member (including a spouse) with public sexual indiscretion. Even “fidelity” had its own meaning in Japan. The shower was huge—with two rain showers and wall sprayers. And that of course was the first place that attracted both of them. The grime and dehydration of the long trip needed to be cured. And it had been more than 24 hours since they had enjoyed each other. Both were rampant and ready. The shower was wonderful. Anson remarked that he had planned something similar for the condo reno—essentially a water proof room with potential for soaking, steam, or joint showers.
Then jet lag caught up and both of the guys headed for the king. Anson spooned Jorge and wrapped him in an embrace. Within minutes both were asleep.
Later Anson woke first and decided it was time to plan their days with the concierge. He allowed Jorge to sleep as he dressed and went down to the concierge. There he explained his desires: each day of the four they would have in Tokyo would have the same pattern: mornings at tennis or in the gym followed by a massage; lunch at a sushi establishment, then a car and driver for sightseeing (the Imperial Gardens, the shogun’s castle, a Shinto shrine, the famous art museum—and it turned out that this was chrysanthemum week in Tokyo—so a visit to the garden club competition was a must. Sightseeing must end each day around five. After a few hours in the suite, they would have dinner at one or two of the famous restaurants of downtown—certainly including Nobu. The concierge suggested an evening of typical Japanese entertainment—at one or more of the famous geisha parlors.
Anson whispered that he and Jorge were partners. This didn’t faze the concierge at all. “Ah, of course there are now discrete places where Western gays can be entertained or play. They are called gaijin gei parlors. The entertainment is all male—and the patrons have the option of participating with the actors, receiving an erotically stimulating massage, or of retiring with a partner to a room, filled with every imaginable toy, while watching the actors “perform” through one way mirrored walls. Each couple (or party) is given a private viewing room—very unlike the clubs in the US, I am told. Some cater only to Westerners.”
“Let’s book one of those nights—as soon as possible since we may wish to revisit.” The concierge picked up the phone, and after a flurry of Japanese conversation, he looked over at Anson, seemingly sizing him up. He spoke a few more words into the phone, then turned to Anson, “They only have one night open this week for Westerners—the next to last night you have booked here. It’s pretty expensive—about $2000 in US currency, cash only. But, you will have one of the rooms for so long as you want it—and the performers will be at your disposal for at least part of the night. They only do safe sex with foreigners. ”
“I’ll take it. I’ll visit the ATM tomorrow—but I’m pretty sure it will only dispense yen here in Tokyo.”
“Bring it to me and I’ll take care of the details.” So, Anson collected all the paperwork and headed back to the suite where he found Jorge just waking. He explained the plans, and Jorge readily agreed.
“I’ve never been in Japan. I’m up for anything. But right now I’m starving—for you and for food, in that order.” Anson undressed and crawled under the duvet—and into Jorge’s welcoming arms. Jorge flipped, pushed his ass into Anson and squirmed while throwing one leg forward. He loved it when Anson gripped his hips and slid slowly into his ass. In this position, he was very prostate sensitive. Soon Anson was entering Jorge’s welcoming chute and pumping nourishment inside while he edged Jorge to a satisfying, but enormous orgasm. And with the orgasm came Jorge’s typical move—he shoved hard back into Anson and squeezed his dick, milking it of every last drop of cum. Then he turned and took Anson into a loving embrace, bringing their lips and their cum-soaked dicks together.