The days that followed were everything hoped for. Early morning sex—typically started with early morning wood, exercise or tennis, a light sushi lunch, sightseeing, a long, languorous bout of sex and a delicious, exotic dinner.
The highlight, of course, was the visit to the famous red light entertainment district in the heart of Old Edo—the name of the ancient capital. The hotel driver took them to a small collection of wooden houses, mostly unpainted and well-weathered, on narrow, dimly lit cobblestone streets. Each had a wooden garage door on the street. Patrons (typically only one or two pre-formed parties in the small places), texted their arrival to the proprietor, pulled into the garages, and the doors were closed. No casual observer would know they were in the establishment. Again, typically, each house had a small window to the street, with a dim light and heavy drapes. No signage was obvious—a single Japanese pictograph by each garage door. Patrons needed to know where they were headed. Some were for parties seeking the company of beautiful young female performers; others were for gays. You had to know—and to have been introduced and reserved, before admission.
There was no obvious entrance door to each of the houses. Arrive by car or carriage, enter anonymously, and enjoy. Each was also reached by a labyrinthine series of back alleys—used by the performers, chefs and bartenders. Patrons were carefully segregated with their partners or party into the private rented room. This establishment was small, with two “party” rooms on either side of a room with a stage. The party rooms were equipped with futons, cushions, low tables, mats and a double massage table, one on either side of the performance space and separated from the performance area by a one-way mirror. All the lighting was dim. The atmosphere was perfumed and quiet. Other than the performers and their co-partiers, the patrons would see only one other, and the master of ceremonies for that particular party for that particular night or the proprietor. It was mysterious. And Anson and Jorge had the feeling that they had stepped back hundreds of years to a time of elegant courtesans and concubines. discreet same sex partnerships, and perhaps some exposure to ancient techniques of pleasure.
The hotel car delivered them to a small non-descript place. The driver texted and the garage door opened. The men exited the car which then pulled back to the street—leaving a card with a number to text for the return journey. They entered the house, and of course immediately removed shoes. Then the proprietor presented each with a warm moist cloth and a silk robe after a complex series of greetings with much bowing with clasped hands. Street clothes were abandoned in lockers in the entry, and the proprietor led them to their assigned room. He scanned the two men carefully, and remarked under this breath (in Japanese, of course, and so not understood by Anson), “These gaijin gei are so generously hung that I’m glad they will entertain each other, or they would ruin my actors’ ability to give pleasure for days.” Anson’s eyes opened when he heard the words “gaijin gei”—he understood what that meant—and it was obvious that the proprietor was impressed with his significant equipment. It rivaled the exaggerated phallus of the ancient erotic woodcuts that the Japanese so loved. Then he noted that Jorge was already chubbed. He smiled, mostly understanding the comment. They had been complimented, but in that unique Japanese way that recognized reality and the needs of commerce (even if the commerce was sex). Maybe the proprietor should pay him if he and Jorge agreed to “help” the performers.
Soon, they heard the familiar pentatonic (five-toned) stringed instrument. When they were led to their viewing “playpen”, they noted the music was being played expertly by a small young man, seated on the stage, and nude save for a long dark red kimono draped over his shoulders, pulled away from his front and flowered out behind him in an elaborate pattern—with white chrysanthemum petals strewn over the surface. A single dim spotlight shone on his chest and the instrument he held there. He was totally hairless, but he was admirably endowed. He looked like a sacrificial offering—perhaps to the Japanese goddess of love.
Anson and Jorge were motioned to and reclined on the futons and focused on the stage, noting that they could not see through the mirror adjacent to theirs on the other side of the performance space. Obviously, there were two parties tonight. A half-screen was discretely drawn back and face-less robed hands slid a beautifully carved wooden tray onto a low table. It contained several ceramic pots of warm sake and several small cups. Another plate contained cut-up fruit, nuts, and various pickled vegetables. Still another contained a selection of dildos, dick extenders, and prostate teasers. A little bowl contained the familiar light blue pills. This was definitely a full service parlor.
For a few minutes, the guys relaxed into each other, tasting the warm sake. Anson backed into Jorge’s arms who began to feed them both from the warm cups. Then the young man stood and moved to the rear of the platform with a gracious swirl of his kimono, deliberately exposing his lithe small body and scattering the petals around the stage.
Almost immediately, the screens behind him parted and two men entered. They were large, dark-skinned, and menacing. Muscles bulged on their naked torsos. Their upper arms showed years of sword training. They wore white painted faces and elaborate shogun headgear. Their loins were partially covered by a narrow length of fabric drawn around their waists and between their legs, loosely tied at the side—sumo wrestler style. A large bejeweled samurai sword was in each of their hands. They bowed to each other and then bowed again before each of the mirrored walls—showing off muscled asses that bloomed below the fabric belt. Then, the music turned violent and the lights turned red. The actors faced off and began a series of seemingly-ritualistic thrusts and parries with the giant swords. As they swirled around the stage, the loin clothes dropped, exposing shaved erect phalluses, obviously excited by the combat. Round and round they “danced” showing the audience every part of their oiled bodies. Then, one swordsman charged and apparently disarmed and injured the other. The injured party fell to the stage, and the victor climbed on top. A large lubed dildo, really a carved and painted wooden penis, materialized in the hand of the victor. He pushed the fallen to his side and seemingly with violence used the dildo to penetrate deeply inside. The vanquished opened his mouth in a large O in surprise and pain. Then he relaxed into a smile as he reached up and brought the lips of the victor to his own. He had surrendered, but he knew he was going to be the one to be pleasured while he was being punished.
The victor pumped a few times and then withdrew the dildo and pulled the other man into his lap. Soon his own massive, hard cock was hilting his companion who feigned pain with each thrust. Climaxes were reached—or possibly faked. And both men rose and bowed low to each other. Then they turned to the mirrors on either side and bowed to the audiences—holding their rampant cocks high in invitation and enticement.