It was 1993 and I was wandering the Shinjuku area of Tokyo. Having had a successful first international business trip, and having had the wherewithal to ditch my boss and co-worker. I had a couple of nights in the city to explore. Now I’m not saying I was totally innocent in my wanderings but let’s say this night marked the beginning of the end of whatever innocence I had in me. I meandered through the district with hawkers constantly trying to persuade me to visit their massage parlor or see their show. One was so persistent in his selling that I finally relented to attend an “all nude” extravaganza for pretty high price. He hustled (literally) me into a crowded, standing room only show hall where I stood in the smoke, watching a traditional Kabuki Geisha show, wondering when the real action was going to start. After about 45 minutes, I realized I’d been swindled and continued my search for the right entertainment in the alleys and streets of Shinjuku. Another guy promised me that he could take me to a great massage parlor. “No sex”, “No Sex”, he kept saying as he led me on. But I’d heard that the Japanese massages were the best and I thought, “What the heck! Why not finish the evening with a massage and head back to the hotel for a good night’s sleep.” He led me up some stairs and through some rice paper paneled doors to the front counter. After some haggling, which in retrospect ended in me paying way more than I should have, my guide left and I was whisked into a massage room; nicely decorated with a Japanese art and outfitted with a bed and shower. My masseuse came in an introduced herself as Hitome. She was cute and probably not much older than 18; your typical good looking Japanese girl, dressed in a kimono, with a nice figure, smooth white skin, small breasts, pretty smile. She spoke very little English and she led me first to the shower. Now I had been warned about the service girls in Japan and how it was typical to find them in the men’s restrooms (in fact, I’d experienced that already on this trip) or in the public baths that the Japanese so love. So, I was not too surprised when Hitome stepped into the shower with me. I was a bit surprised that she didn’t expect me to do the washing as she lathered me up. No one apart from my wife had soaped and washed my penis in a long time and I was certainly aroused when Hitome reached that area. Still, she squealed and backed away when I tried to return the favor. I was not even allowed to dry myself off and at this point I was thinking how awesome it would be to take a shower like this every morning before work. She led me to the bed and settled me there face up. I was now thinking this had been a bad idea; not because I was doing something wrong but because now I would return to the hotel hornier than ever. Then Hitome asked me a question in her broken English that I will never forget. “Do you want me to use my hands or my mouth?” All willpower that existed in me evaporated instantaneously. My obsession for Asian women and massage parlors began at that moment in time…or shortly thereafter. I won’t get too graphic in this story except to say that when she proceeded to take my semi-hard penis into her mouth and swallow it wholly and expertly, I was hooked. So much so that my guilt only lasted for about 12 hours and I went searching through the alleys of Shinjuku the next morning to have one more encounter with Hitome before I left for the U.S.
