A few years ago I was in Japan and had a wonderful encounter and a fun session. It almost didn't happen.
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| Tokyo's Shinjuku district by day (Image: Easy Voyage) |
"I'm walking on sunshine, yeah yeah yeah". Probably because Tokyo in summer is hot. Hot and humid, but who cares, I'm loving it. By any means Japan's capital is huge. Each district is a town on it's own.
Dirndls and Biergartens
The observation deck of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building gives you a great view of the city - and it's free. I arrived in Tokyo a few days before. Of course I visited Ginza, by chance on a Sunday. The streets were cordoned of with tables set up outside. Not that I really cared. Ginza is the shopping district. They sell stuff. D'oh. It took less than 11 minutes before we were fed up. Then we discovered a German Biergarten, yes in the heart of Tokyo. As we say in Dutch: one and one makes two. Good, because hot weather and an endless array of stores selling stuff makes a man thirsty. Before we knew we were inside the Biergarten. Obviously beer had nothing to do with it. The place was not just huge, it was also very crowded. Our party was ushered to a table. After being seated we had a look around. Remember, this is the groundfloor of a 40 story building in the heart of Japan. The place was dimly lit with a low-hanging ceiling and faux arches, resembling something of a Bierstube, a traditional German beer house. But that was not the real surprise.Some guys into crossdressing are so unconvincing it makes you laugh. I always thought nothing could ever top that, until I saw the local Dirndls. Back home Dirndls are maids dressed in traditional Bavarian dress, think the women you see at the Oktoberfest in Munich. Most men focus on the - presumed - luxurious size of the bosom of their waitress. But what happens if you dress up a Japanese woman as a Bavarian maid? The short version: nothing makes sense anymore. On average, Japanese women are shorter and skinnier than their German counterparts. That voluptuous bosom also mysteriously disappears. Culture shock!
Two weeks earlier, some 200 kilometres South we stumbled into a jazz club for drinks. Nothing excessive, just having a good time. Japan has a strong after work drinking culture, despite that, the waiters were clearly impressed. Three of them bowed in awe as we left the club, so dumbfounded they were by our drinking abilities. It was a first for me too. In Tokyo, however, the waitresses are overworked, so it takes us forever to order.
On a Mission
After two beers, me and my mates split up. Tokyo has so much to offer and you can't see everything, so for the rest of the afternoon I'm on my own. Not that I can really tell my buddies what I have planned. One of the things that surprises me most about Japan is that the locals hardly speak English. I more English speakers in China. It's also where the kinky trouble begins. Before I got on the plane, I did a little research. An inquiry on Fetlife confirmed what I already suspected. Yes, Japan has its own version of Torture Garden. There also is the Japan Fetish Ball and of course Department H, perhaps Tokyo's craziest fetish party, but if you don't speak the language, it gets complicated. Most parts of the Japanese kink scene, like the fetish bars, are closed of to foreigners, even if you speak the language, which I don't. Part of that has to do with foreigners not understanding the complex social conventions - rules - governing these clubs as well as society at large.With the local scene out of reach, why not sample a bit of play? After all when in Tokyo, do like the Japanese do. Over the years my awe for Japanese kink has grown exponentially. It started as a hunch. My mind works in mysterious ways - hey I'm into kink - and that soon turned into an idea. Today, many years later, that idea has morphed into an universal truth, at least in my mind. Japan is the kinkiest country in the world. Who would want to miss out on that? Certainly not me! But was it possible? A little more research showed my chances ranged from the perhaps to the possible, but I definitely shouldn't get my hopes up. Well if you don't try. As for expectations, they were at the low end of the "I don't know what to expect"-scale. On the other hand, it wouldn't be the first time Lady Luck - she has a big crush on me - turned a chance encounter into the event of a lifetime. Happiness is all about taking risks. Better to be disappointed than never have tried at all.
More by chance than by research I stumbled upon their website. With English a perennial problem in Japan, I called La Siora from a local phone booth. To my pleasant surprise the receptionist spoke flawless English. What was I looking for? Somebody who speaks a decent bit of English, else there is no point. Other than that it was mostly about not missing out on an unique experience. Don't take this as disrespect but I had decided that if things didn't work out, I would tell her and leave. Of course you hope for fun, but above all this was an experiment of sorts. As for the money, it's just that. Besides there is no point in continuing something neither party enjoys. Things would work out differently though.
By law, commercial dungeons are not allowed in Japan. How that works for the Alpha Inn BDSM hotel, I don't know. You can play at home, in my case a hotel or rent a room in a love hotel for a few hours. My hotel room was not an option, being only slightly larger than a capsule hotel, never mind the privacy. I received instructions to be at the meeting point at the designated time, but first I had to get money. Of course, after a flawless trip so far, the first few machines refused all my cards. It took over an our before I finally found one that worked. The rest of the afternoon I enjoyed Tokyo's Shinjuku district.
Lost (again)
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| Metro map of Tokyo vs London |
With that in mind I decided to be early, as in really early at the meeting spot. Shinjuku is home to the world's largest train station and the metro station I found myself at must have been only nominally smaller. A bit puzzled I waited at the designated, very crowded exit, one of at least two dozen. Some ten minutes after the agreed time, my cell phone rang. Where was I? I explained I was at the station, but was wondering I had the right exit. Wrong and wrong again. I was not only at the wrong terminal, I was at the wrong metro station! What probably saved me in the end, is the fact that, an hour after I requested the meeting, I'd called reception a second time for clarification. Being at the wrong meeting point made me feel very bad. I suggested, I'd walk towards the taxi stand and hand the driver my phone, so reception could give him directions. Most likely a no-no in Japanese society, but as a foreigner I'm permitted a few gaffes. The first driver looked surprised as I handed him my phone. Nobody on the line, the reception must have taken another call in the mean time. He handed me back my mobile and took off. Then reception came back on the line and this time it worked. The second cab driver told me to get in and took off.
Ten minutes later the taxi stopped, the driver pointed towards a metro exit. An elegant lady with a large suitcase was waiting. After making sure it was her, I apologized profusely, literally. Asked if she'd been waiting for a long time, she answered "yes". This being Japan, it took me by surprise. As we started walking, I offered to carry her trolley. By any means it was huge, definitely not cabin luggage. Must have about a meter high and heavy. During our brief walk I apologized again for being late and thanked her for her patience, which was really remarkable. It also made me reflect on what it takes to be a pro-domme. I never understood why some people dislike pro-dommes. If anything, those haters can learn a thing or two from them. Take me, a stranger from a very different culture, not only showing up late but most likely also breaking most social conventions. Somebody you know hardly anything about, but who is looking forward to an intimate and deeply personal experience. To make something like that work, you need a strong personality, excellent people skills and guts.
My English is far from perfect, but good enough to get by. Mistress' English however was better than mine. Yes, the irony, of all the people I meet during my trip to Japan, only mistress speaks perfect English. In university I took a two-semester course in Mandarin Chinese. Sadly, I forgot most of it, but what I do remember is how vast the differences are between the Indo-European and East-Asian language families. It made mistress' English all the more impressive.
In Another World
As we entered an alley, mistress asked what kind of hotel I had in mind and what my budget was. Apparently the street was lined with love hotels. And no it's not a single blinding row of obtrusive neon signs. "Please pick one you like ma'am". She looked a bit surprised, so I repeated. A few minutes later we were walking downhill into something that looked like a parking garage. It has a wall with a large board featuring the various types of rooms. Some occupied, but still more than enough choice. Not that I could make out the differences. "Do you prefer a Japanese or European style room?" the woman I'' be surrendering to in a few miutes, asks. To you it may sound like a feeble mind, but I had no preference. "What would you prefer mistress?" There is the odd chance she looked a bit quizzed because mistress believed I am the world's greatest slave with no personality of his own, but that's highly unlikely for such an intelligent woman. I try to explain how the type of room isn't1 really that important to me, and ask her to choose one that she likes.Press a button and your ticket gets printed. The cashier is hidden in a booth with the upper half of the window blinded. It gives the impression he cannot see you, but no doubt there are camera's everywhere. After handing him the ticket and the money, I receive a key in return. Following mistress' lead we take the elevator. This being Japan, you take of your shoes before entering the room, even in a love hotel. Mistress has choosen a large size Western-styled style room with two couches, a big bed and a few other things. Apart from the oversize mirrors - most likely they are in all rooms - I very much liked the place. Too often you run into hotels [for sleeping] that are rundown and shabby. The carpet is gone and the towels look like rags. This place is clean in a most pleasant way. And trust me, by the time guys notice a place is clean, it can compete in the Cleanliness Olympics. During my shower I realized there was not a single spot of dew anywhere you looked.
With me still taking in the room, mistress opened her trolley and got out some paperwork. The way the system works, is that you become member of a club. Don't know why, probably for legal reasons. After I filled out a form - the name 11Dutch proved an insurmountable obstacle - I had to fill out a list of preferences, ticking boxes here and there. The list was in English, but something went wrong, different logic I guess. Not terribly so but it was the first time cultural differences popped up.
On top of the one-time membership fee there is a session fee. For some reason the basic session time is 70 minutes. La Siora has several categories of dommes. Depending on their experience and skill there is a surcharge. The reason I'm telling this is not because I'm balking at the money but to explain how it works. I brought up me being late one more time and offered to pay for her waiting for me. After all, it's only fair. She turned it down. Then I went to shower, while mistress unpacked. What a comfortable shower that was and so roomy, wonder why that is.
Freshly showered, I was ordered back in the room. In the mean time mistress had changed and was wearing a mind-melting rubber dress. Still in post-chaos mode from being late, I wasn't prepared for that, but stunned I was. The look on my face must have been awesome. Other than rubber being rubber, the dress itself was not that revealing, it covered everything from shoulders to knees. Mistress looked elegant and beautiful. Generally I prefer curvy women, but mistress was breathtaking.
Soon after the real fun began we ran into inter-cultural troubles again. Strap-ons apparently come in one size only in Japan: that of a pencil. Having attached one clamp to my nipple, she wanted to place the other between my legs, but the metal chain was too short. In hindsight that surprised me, but when it happened I tried hard not to laugh.
One of my most evil slave qualities is shaking with uncontrollable laughter at its most inappropriate, kink bloopers for instance. It took me a while to realize but it is not all that bad. Dommes who always take everything seriously are not for me. Other dommes, a bit more laid-back, enjoy the moment, but make sure I'll regret it later.
One thing there was no shortage of, is rope. Japan basically invented bondage, they call it shibari, and before I knew, I was completely immobilized - and loving it. Then mistress brought out a whip. Nothing too intense but after a while that first "ouch" just had to escape from my lips. "Oh, I love that" mistress said in a most pleasant, very seductive voice. That's where she had me. Often wondered if I'm into kink because I'm a thrill-seeker or perhaps easily bored, but even if that is true, it's not the whole story. Neither deeply masochistic nor very submissive, there is one thing I absolutely love: a dominant, sadistic woman enjoying the suffering of her victim. Complicated, yes but then again the building blocks on the road to happiness never add up, do they?
According to the La Siora website a successful session is a 50/50 mix of goals of the submissive and the dominant. I was clearly holding up my end of the bargain. Then the phone rang. As a standard precaution mistress had phoned in when we arrived at the room. I cannot stress it enough, safety first, always and everywhere. It was La Siora reception checking up on her, we were running late. After apologizing for the intrusion, we continued a bit longer with me participatiing in the try-outs out for tied-up turkey of the year and some other things. It must have been another good half hour before she finally untied me. Instant rope marks began to appear on my upper arm. Mistress apologized, but there was nothing to apologize for. It happens. That day I was wearing a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt with short sleeves, after all it was still summer in Tokyo. I didn't really care about the locals seeing my marks, but my friends? Rather not. Nothing I could change about it so I took a shower. When I put my t-shirt back on, it highlighted the rope marks. Black t-shirt, white skin and red rope marks, kind of funny.
Lady Luck Loves Me
Meanwhile mistress had changed back into her everyday outfit and was packing up her trolley. Of course I offered to help, but only she knows how she likes. Same thing with her shoes as we left. Before I could get on my knees, she already slipped into them. We left the hotel, me carrying her trolley - guess one out of three ain't bad - talking about life, kink and relationships. Such a pleasant conversation. As we approached the meeting point, I offered to walk her to the office, a few blocks down the road. She accepted and we chatted some more. Originally not from Tokyo, she had spent years abroad and for now settled on Tokyo. Like most of us she would love to meet a partner who is kink-compatible. She very much enjoyed the idea of having her personal slave clean her apartment in a French maid's outfit. It made me smile, another archetype crossing cultural boundaries, just like the Dirndls in the Bierstube earlier on. As a domina she regularly travelled to Hong Kong and Singapore and in the past had visited Residenz Avalon in Berlin. Outside kink she was passionate about Japanese literature and blessed with a deeply philosophical nature.As it turned out my little kink-in-Tokyo experiment had worked out so much better than I'd ever imagine. Not because the kink was fantastic, we all know that's impossible when the nipple clamps don't fit, but because of mistress. I have to say I really like her. What makes people interesting is the various sides to their personality and how they mix. She is a versatile, skilled domme with a natural love of kink. The way it contrasts with the vanilla side of her persona is just gorgeous. On top of that she is well-read, educated and has travelled the world. Add to that a pleasant personality and an interesting mix of kindness and cruelty and you understand why I like her so much.
The session itself wasn't that special. Of course not, how can it be? People need to get to know each other first. Keep that in mind and it was pretty good for a first encounter, mainly thanks to mistress. There is something special about being tied up at the other side of the world. It adds to that feeling of helplessness and being out of your comfort zone. The latter not that much because in Japan I never really felt out of it, but you definitely have less control than back home. It's pretty cool.
When we arrived at Mistress HQ - my mind getting over-excited here, sorry - mistress and I said goodbye and I walked towards the nearest metro station. Dark outside but all of a sudden "Walking on Sunshine" started playing in my mind just like this afternoon.
"The next time I'm in the neighbourhood [loosely defined as a 1.000 kilometres from Tokyo] I'm gonna see her again", I promised myself. "Perhaps bring a few Dutch novels, translated into English." By the time I was back, she had retired. I hope she did find that special guy who doubles as her French maid.
As for those ropemarks? Luckily nobody saw them. Anyway, they faded pretty quick.
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