Gina in the floating wor.., p.23
Gina in the Floating World, page 23
One evening, two weeks after the confrontation between Mr. Tambuki and Hiro, the three came in again. Mama-san 2 directed Victoria and me to their table.
As I approached, Shinytop addressed me. “Banker is beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you,” I said, twirling around playfully to show off the tight midnight-blue sequined dress I’d found in the dress cupboard. I was feeling more cheerful again. After a period in which Mr. Tambuki seemed preoccupied and had even canceled one of our dates, we had spent a pleasant evening together, with no unusual demands. He was almost boring.
“Too young to be banker. More like schoolgirl, I think,” Shinytop said. He patted the space next to him, and I sat down.
Japanese men had an odd obsession with schoolgirls. “Not that young,” I said.
Shinytop pulled my hair into a ponytail. “With horse tail, see how young?” He looked at his companions for agreement. Shrubbrow nodded.
“Kat—she is most young. So pretty with yellow hair,” Scarface said, flicking Victoria’s hair with the hand that was draped over the back of the booth.
“Gina look good with yellow hair—more young, too,” Shinytop said.
“What do you think, Kat? Should I go blond?” I asked, jumping into their game.
“What fun!” Victoria said. “We could be twins.” She pulled her hair back in a ponytail. “Schoolgirl twins.”
“At top of class,” Shinytop said. “Best students.”
The trio left around eleven o’clock. Later Victoria cornered me in the dressing room. “Adachi-san is taking me out tonight to a late dinner.” Adachi was Scarface’s surname. “He is really rich, you know.”
“That missing finger doesn’t creep you out a little?” I asked. Apparently, she had moved on from the businessmen.
“I think it’s almost as sexy as the tattoos. Anyhow, it shows he has been repentant for doing something wrong, doesn’t it? I think the one you call Shinytop likes you, if you’re interested.”
“He prefers blondes. Young blondes,” I said.
“So? You could bleach your hair.”
“Just for a guy?”
“No. For you. To do something different.”
The idea took root quickly. The customers certainly salivated over Victoria. Maybe as a blonde, I’d be rewarded monetarily. But more importantly, I thought it would make a public statement about my willingness to take chances, and privately, it would make me feel more in control.
The next day I enlisted an expert.
When I reached Berta’s house, I almost lost my nerve. Berta brought out the schnapps to relax us both. Before long, we were giggling like a couple of girls at a slumber party.
“Do blondes have more fun?” I asked.
“Honey, I haven’t had this much fun since I told that toad of a boy to go fuck himself with a chicken wing.”
“That was just a couple of nights ago.”
“Like I said, it’s all fun, all the time. You sure you want to do this? What’s your Mr. Tambuki going to think?” Berta was standing behind me, studying me in the mirror.
“I don’t give a shit,” I said. “He’ll either love it or hate it.” The schnapps had done its work. And at that moment, I didn’t care what Mr. Tambuki thought. This act was a symbol of my independence.
“That’s the spirit. Be your own person. Men are just a bunch of fucks, and some of them aren’t very good at that.”
It wasn’t a perfect job. There were patches of orange, but in low light it wasn’t bad. After Berta gave me some curls, I looked even younger. We decided to leave my eyebrows alone. It was obvious I was a fake blonde. But I liked that. It was all part of my great act.
That evening I wore the boots Mr. Tambuki had given me, a thigh-high blue mini, and a tight top. I had fun playing a strumpet at the Snack. With the blond hair, I felt free.
“Who the new girl with sexy legs?” Licker asked.
“That not new girl. I know Gina tits,” One Eye said.
“Fuck me!” Licker said.
“You want me to fuck you?” I asked Licker, as I leaned across the counter, pointing my breasts at him.
“Fuck me?” Licker asked, acting confused at having his bluff called. He took a large swallow of beer.
“Yeah, you and your dick.”
“Dick?”
“Yeah. Right here. Right now. In front of your friends to show them what a man you are.”
“Now?”
“I’m all ready. I’m not even wearing any underwear.” I started to pull up my short skirt.
One Eye laughed and pointed at his hapless friend.
I turned to him and squinted into his one visible eye. “If you think this is so funny, how about you? You wanna fuck?”
“Me?” One Eye squirmed on his stool and pushed his hair back off his face, revealing his green eye.
“Yeah. Both of you. Together.”
Licker and One Eye mumbled something about having dates and scurried from the Snack, like two beetles about to be crushed.
Afterward, Berta said, “Honey, I don’t know what was in that bleach, but you were really hopped up tonight.”
I felt like Samson. With this blond hair, I thought I could do anything.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Two nights later, I dressed for my date with Mr. Tambuki. I wore a simple shift as well as the boots he’d given me, as I thought that would please him. I met him at his studio.
“Gina, what has happened to your hair? I do not like it,” Mr. Tambuki said when he saw me.
I touched my head. It felt strange, like straw. “I wanted to do something different. It’s just hair.”
“I have not helped to make your life interesting enough?”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“It is your choice. But I can offer you something different as well.”
“Oh?”
He unfurled a hand scroll of shunga pictures, like the ones he’d shown me first at the love hotel. “Do you think you are capable of this?” He pointed at two twisted bodies, their colorful robes parting sufficiently to leave little to the imagination. “Or this?” The woman’s back was arched like a bridge, her head turned unnaturally too far to the side, her toes curling. The man’s oversize penis penetrated her at an odd angle.
I winced. “I don’t know, Tambuki-san. It looks painful.”
“Pleasure-pain—how far apart are they really? Of course, you can do it.”
I laughed nervously. “Aren’t they just inspirations for sex, to be imitated at one’s peril?”
“We shall live dangerously, then. Just a practice session. You will be well-rewarded. Are you up for the challenge?”
Despite my initial reaction to the strange contortions in his hand scroll, I wanted to experiment.
Mr. Tambuki was remarkably flexible; I, less so, even though I was so much younger than he. I could approximate some of the positions. Others I could hold for just a few seconds after much urging. Still others were not within my reach. After more than an hour, I was exhausted and sore but excited from the novelty. Neither of us had come. He brought me on top of him, a rare event, and we reached our peak together. I had just one orgasm, but it was magnificent, with wave upon wave of sensation.
Afterward, as we lay on the futon, he said. “I would like to paint my own shunga.”
“But it takes two. How can you paint if you’re doing it?” I had visions of him using a movie camera.
“Ah. That is so. I will need a stand-in.”
“A stand-in?” This solution hadn’t crossed my mind.
“I have a nice young man in mind. You will like him.” He turned to me and stroked my cheek with uncharacteristic tenderness.
I recalled the odd threesome with Big Sumo-san and Tadao. My relationship with Mr. Tambuki wasn’t exactly wholesome, but it had always been private. “Oh. You mean you watching me doing it with another man?”
“Of course, you will not actually be ‘doing it,’ as you say. It will be simulation.”
“Not stimulation,” I said, to add a note of humor to this new twist in the ever-bending, unpredictable road I was on with Mr. Tambuki.
On our next Sunday date, Mr. Tambuki took me to Hotel Venus, where he’d set up a temporary studio. He had me change into a kimono and don a black wig swept back into a bun “to increase the authenticity.” My partner, Nobu, was indeed handsome, with a shaved head and even features. He was not as young as promised but still younger than Mr. Tambuki. He also wore a kimono-type gown and held a black wig in his hand.
We all sat on the floor and drank whiskey together. Nobu did not appear to speak English. Mr. Tambuki spoke to him only in Japanese, and he showed no signs of following the conversation between Mr. Tambuki and me. From time to time, he smiled at me close-lipped.
“Has Nobu modeled for you before?” I asked, chugging back my third glass of whiskey. I was going to have to be good and drunk for this episode.
“No, but he is very strong and agile, and he is an experienced shunga model.” Mr. Tambuki stood up and prepared his inks. “You should both go on the bed and become acquainted so that you are ready.”
“This feels very odd, Tambuki-san.” My wig was heavy and made me sweat.
“Do not worry,” Mr. Tambuki said, his tone more dismissive than reassuring. He turned to Nobu and said something in Japanese that I didn’t understand. “Nobu will know what to do. I will give you two some privacy.”
Mr. Tambuki left the room. Alone with Nobu, I felt awkward and virginal. He led me to the bed, and we kneeled, facing each other. He untied my robe’s sash and then his own to reveal a swirl of tattoos on his upper chest, back, and biceps. Rather than just a series of random designs, they formed an unbroken bolero of ink. On either well-sculpted pectoral muscle, matching frowning heads of angry kabuki characters with down-turned mouths glared at me. The heads appeared to rest on a background of stylized blue clouds, but two pale hands held upturned swords, curving against each other to form the outer edges of the tattoo jacket. It was as though Utamaro had carved his woodblocks directly on Nobu’s skin. Was Nobu a yakuza? I stared, fascinated and apprehensive.
Nobu laughed. It wasn’t a mean laugh, but it seemed patronizing, perhaps a response to my disconcerted wonder. I looked up at him. He smiled at me, his eyes softer and less opaque than Mr. Tambuki’s. I relaxed. He slid his hands over my body, tentatively at first and then with more sureness. He motioned to me to lie down. I was surprised when he spread my legs and used his tongue to explore my inner crevices until I was wet and wanting him. It was as though Mr. Tambuki had told him exactly what I liked. He grabbed his own flaccid penis and gave it a few yanks until it was stiff and waiting for orders. Erect, it was both thick and long, with a small black tattoo of a bee at its tip. I’m sure I stared at his penis even harder than I had at his body art. I wondered how it would feel inside me. Then I realized I hadn’t turned Nobu on. Perhaps he, too, was a monk who had perfect control over his body. Were he and Mr. Tambuki part of a special clan of yakuza monks? It was an incongruous notion, but not out of the question in this country of odd juxtapositions.
When Mr. Tambuki returned, he busied himself setting up his chair and lap easel. “We will start with something easy.”
Because of my previous practice session with Mr. Tambuki, the first few positions weren’t too much of a strain. Then, they became more convoluted and bizarre. Nobu was lither than Mr. Tambuki. His body and his penis bended in unnatural ways, with never more than its mushroom-shaped tip inside me. He stayed hard throughout, responding to the briefest commands. We were required to hold one uncomfortable pose after another while Mr. Tambuki glanced up and sketched, expressionless. I needed all my concentration to keep still. But, as on other occasions when I modeled, I was aroused. Was it from this tortuous teasing or from Mr. Tambuki’s gaze and its promise of potentially mind-blowing sex?
After an hour, Mr. Tambuki put down his brush. “Thank you,” he said. “That will be all for today.”
I stretched to unknot the kinks in my tired muscles and pulled my robe around me.
“Gina, what would you like now?” Mr. Tambuki asked.
“To see the pictures you’ve painted?” I was curious about how he’d rendered us. Would he have made Nobu’s penis outlandishly supersized as it often appeared in shunga? Would my vagina be a tufted cavern? “Not yet. They need additional work. But surely you would like something else?”
“What do you mean?” I wasn’t going to say outright in front of Nobu that I wanted Mr. Tambuki to make love to me, even if Nobu didn’t know English.
“Would you like Nobu to give you an orgasm? He will do what I ask,” he said.
I was stunned. This had to be a trick question. Surely Mr. Tambuki didn’t need me to say how much I desired him? That only he could satisfy me? Or was this another one of his Zen teaching sessions, and I was supposed to indicate indifference to his proposal? Or did he actually want me to get off with another man? I had to admit I was curious about Nobu’s capabilities. “What do you want?” I asked.
“I asked you first.”
“You taught me that the end point doesn’t matter. That sex shouldn’t have a goal.” Of course, I didn’t believe that for one minute, not when the goal was so delicious.
“So I did, but were you not aroused just now?”
I was stumped, but I came up with the best answer I could. “Was I meant to be aroused by someone other than you?”
A flicker of a smile passed over Mr. Tambuki’s lips. “I am not interested in sex right now, but Nobu will oblige.” He began to pack up his gear.
Nobu was sitting patiently on the bed, his wig by his side, his robe still open. His shrinking penis twitched as though the tattoo bee had irritated it.
“You have my permission. Go on. I will disappear.” Mr. Tambuki didn’t bother to wait for another response from me. “I have paid for a full night.” He nodded at Nobu and left without acknowledging me.
His methods were so infuriating. Did he expect me to run after him?
Nobu patted the bed and took off his kimono. I pulled off my wig, relieved to free my now matted hair. I was annoyed at Mr. Tambuki for manipulating me, and I felt rejected. I would have sex with Nobu out of spite.
I let my robe slip off and lay down on the bed. Nobu treated me to some of his expert tongue work. I closed my eyes, focusing on the pleasurable feelings and pushing out everything else as Mr. Tambuki had taught me to do. Then before I knew what was happening, Nobu had fastened my wrists to the bedposts with handcuffs. I opened my eyes. He was squinting at me, and his lips were curved down into a sneer, as though he were channeling the mean kabuki characters on his chest.
Then he laughed and said in English, “You have a big juicy pussy.” He flopped down next to me.
“I didn’t think you spoke English,” I said, at a loss. Where was this going?
“You Americans think we are dumb because our English isn’t perfect. I hear the gaijin speak when they think I don’t understand.”
“I don’t think Japanese are dumb at all.”
“You say that because you are in handcuffs.” He laughed again.
“No!” He was right. Even if I had thought Japanese were dumb, I’d hardly admit that in this vulnerable position.
“You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?” He flipped his agile body so that it hovered over mine, his weight resting on his hands, the evil eyes of the kabuki men appearing magnified.
My heart started to race. “No,” I lied.
“I think you are.” Nobu stared at me. He lifted one hand and dangled the key to the handcuffs in front of me. “Tambuki-san is very generous, isn’t he?”
I raised my eyebrows. I didn’t want to do or say the wrong thing.
“Not only did he pay me for the modeling. He paid me to fuck you good and hard. He said you liked that.”
Those didn’t sound like Mr. Tambuki’s words. “I’d like to go home now.”
“Before I fuck you? You know you want it.” He slid a finger from his other hand into my still wet vagina, which had not yet moved in sync with my mind.
I tried not to betray any further emotion as I knew it would not help my cause. “Please unlock the handcuffs,” I said as firmly as I could.
“Maybe I don’t want to fuck you,” Nobu said. “But I’ve been paid, and that’s not honest, is it? What would Tambuki-san say if he knew?”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
“That I didn’t fuck his girlfriend or that I did fuck her? Which do you think he’d prefer?” Nobu laughed a third time, tossing his head back triumphantly.
These questions with unknowable answers sounded like more Zen mumbo jumbo than I was able to tackle. Both fear and the effects of whiskey battled for supremacy, but the fear was winning and sobering me up too quickly.
“Unlock the handcuffs,” I said again. “And I’ll do what you want.” If I was going to have sex with this madman, I wanted it on my terms, with my hands free.
Nobu paused, as though considering this question. “Hmmm. What do I want?” He sat back on his heels and tapped a finger on his lips. “I think I’d rather fuck Tambuki-san.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that Nobu might be gay.
“He’s very good in bed, isn’t he?” Nobu continued. “That delectable cock. Such control. He can fuck me for hours. Is it that way for you, too?”
I could feel the blood drain from my face. “You’re lying. Mr. Tambuki isn’t gay.”
“It doesn’t matter what you call him. He likes boys, too. Especially me.” He played with his penis until it sprang to life again. “You can see why. I give it as good as I get it.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Since we share a boyfriend, I thought we could get to know each other. Maybe we should fuck after all.” With his now hard penis, he flipped back on top of me again, his tattoo swords appearing to aim for my face.
