2010-09-13 - 7:04 p.m.
A Spin and a Prayer

We met the usual way, Saturday night. I answered his online ad. He caught the train out to me around 7 pm. A 22 year-old slim, tall and, although not as cute as his picture, cute Japanese guy, fairly fluent in English, who prefers older guys. Let’s call him Ryoichi.

Dinner at Doma-Doma, a cheap chain izakaya. Get-acquainted conversation that was nice enough not to be boring. Ryoichi lives a 90-minute train ride from me so I knew in advance that it wouldn’t be a late night. As we (I, actually) paid the bill, I asked if he wanted to head home then or go for a walk, go for a drink somewhere else, or come back to my place. Either my place or a walk sounded good, he said.

So of course I walked him directly to my apartment.

Once here, we nursed our drinks (his a grapefruit juice, mine a grapefruit sour) and attempted to make small talk. I cut to the chase. I didn’t expect sex, I said, but it sure’d be nice to touch him. With that, he moved over to sit beside me on my narrow bed.

And then a lot began to happen. Ryoichi writhed and guffawed under my caresses and protested that he was incredibly ticklish. Absolutely everywhere. I didn’t know what to do so after a little more tentative touching I asked for clarification. “When you are ticklish, does it feel scarey or exciting?” The latter, he replied.

Permission granted.

Soon he was gloriously naked. Laughing and fighting off my caresses while murmuring “Yes, yes, yes…….” Excitedly pointy nipples on a smooth hard chest, the smoothest skin you can imagine. Extremely erogenous hands. It was the only part of him I could lick and suck where his pleasure was uncomplicated by ticklishness. This became important later.

Perhaps there is nothing comparable to the joy of beholding the ass of a 22 year old. At least not in my vast experience. Ryoichi was endowed with the smooth taut roundedness of a peach. And boy, was he sensitive down there: we tugged-of-war over and over and his ‘yesses’ exclaimed against his pushing my tongue away. My favorite wrestle.

He began to kiss back. I began to fall away. Deeper.

His midriff, balls and throbbing dick were especially sensitive to my tongue. Eventually, I cottoned on to his predilection: I could lick these spots only if he spread his hands overtop them. Never have I encountered such conditions before, but it soon became, well, hot: I would lick and suck his beautiful fingers and hands overtop these erogenous danger zones, and would be permitted to continue beneath. Only then was it tolerable. Ryoichi’s ‘yesses’ jettisoned their writhing defenses.

I got it. So much so that when I ventured back to his sweetest most nether region I dragged his hands down to protect and permit me to worship. It allowed for a prolonged communion. I baptized myself and his moist hot center became a drum. I pounded and pounded and pounded.

“Are you okay?” he kept asking. Of course I was. He couldn’t cum, and that certainly didn’t matter a whit to me. I certainly could’ve, but refrained until moments after he left to catch his train home. The post-pseudo-coital exchange of emails that night went something like this: Are you ok? Yes of course, why? No one has ever licked me everywhere before. I hadn’t showered. Are you ok? Yes I am okay. You were absolutely delicious. I hope I didn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. No I am okay. I just wanted to make sure you were ok. Of course I am ok. I had a great time. I hope we can meet again.

All of this transpired Saturday night. I slept like a proverbial baby. Sunday night I sent Ryoichi a follow-up email. It is now 7 pm on Monday and I have yet to receive a reply. Undoubtedly this means it was a one-night stand. Typical.

And, I, an aging, beer-bellied, joyous, Japan-obsessed, kind, horny, soulful, immature 44-year-old white guy in Japan, can’t help but sing. What I do, how I am, may not make a heck of a lot of psychological sense, but I still know how to pray, and how to spin a flame.