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I Think I'm Turning Japanese . . .

4/21/2012

I had no way of knowing when the Asian hottie sat down next
to me in my Chemistry class one bright Fall morning that
my life would be forever changed from that day forward.



It was my preference to sit down front in a lecture hall so
I could have a better view of the instructor and so the instructor
would have a better view of me, too. You see, I was one of those
curve-breaking straight-A students that most other students
grow to resent, if not hate, and I knew my homework grades
and test scores would cause the instructor to take notice.
So part of the reason for sitting down front was so she could
put a face to the name more easily. Arrogant? Not really
-- just stating facts. Another big part was because I didn't
want to have to strain to hear, and I wanted to be able to see
clearly what she was doing. It was a good-sized lecture
hall, seating around 300 students, and this class was always
full.


What I didn't know then, and didn't find out until
some months later, was that at least one other person in
that class had their eyes on me as well. And she had a plan.
Her plan was simple on the surface: to pass that Chem course,
and she'd decided that I was the guy who was gonna help
her do it. My preference for a seat in the third row no doubt
made things easier for her, as she most likely sat in the
back of the class before she made her move. We were about
a week into the class by that point. Far enough along so that
the students were getting a feel for the general pecking
order amongst themselves, and certainly long enough so
that people tended to gravitate toward the same seat for
that lecture class. It was that latter bit of habitual human
nature that made me notice a departure from it, when suddenly
at the beginning of the class that fateful day, this Asian
beauty maneuvered her way over to a seat immediately to
my right, and sat down with a flouncy huff, a light fragrance
of perfume wafting gently in my direction. Smart woman
– she had engaged three of my senses already.


'Scuse me, but I couldn't help but notice. A wallflower
she wasn't. Her hair was a very un-Asian rich, tawny
color, and she had full, pouty lips. And oh-so Asian eyes
that seemed to find hidden recesses inside my soul whenever
she looked into mine. And look she did. But I'll admit
that the very first thing that got my attention about her
-- and held it -- was her cleavage, which deeply revealed
a very ample bosom. She was wearing a clingy V-neck sweater
and her attributes were rather plainly on display. You
know how, when a woman wears a bra that's just a bit too
small for her, the breasts sort of poof up above the tops
of each cup? Well, despite their generous size or perhaps
because of it, she had that action going on as well. Of course,
all this was taken in with just a quick, furtive glance in
her direction. She didn't seem to mind, though. In
fact, if anything, she appeared to be aiming those Grand
Tetons at me.


She was taking rather copious notes during that lecture,
emitting frequent soft sighs and occasionally, rather
pointedly in fact, glancing over at my own notes, which
were much more sparse than hers. I was about to turn the page
in my notebook at one point, when she rested a hand on it,
and said, “Wait -- I haven't gotten it all down yet.”
I was rather startled, yet oddly pleased that a stranger
– and a beautiful one at that – had bothered to focus
so closely on my own actions. “Okay, ” she said. So
I turned the page and resumed my note-taking, by that point
with only half a mind devoted to the instructor's words.
The other half was already entertaining various fantasies
involving a voluptuous, tawny-haired Asian hottie. When
it came time for me to turn another page in my notebook, I
looked up at her first before doing so. She smiled prettily
and nodded. Things progressed normally for the balance
of the lecture.


When class was finished, I turned to her, and introduced
myself, offering her my hand. She took it, and said, “Setsuko.”
(pronounced Sets-ko). She spoke fluent English, but with
a noticeable accent, which I would later come to recognize
as Japanese. I found myself groping for small talk after
the intros, but she had already prepared her opening move.



“You know, I'm having so much trouble with this, ”
she pouted. “It's easy for you, isn't it?”



“Well, so far . . .”


“Oh, I'm sure you will make an A.”


“Well, sure, I hope to . . .”


“You will. You're very smart, I can tell.”


I blushed, not knowing quite how to handle the praise, especially
coming from a beauty who was showing such an obvious interest
in me.


“I could really use a study partner, ” she said. Then,
looking into my eyes, boobs front and center, she said,
“Do you think you would have the time?”


Time? I thought. Me? I had nothing but
time at the moment. “Yeah, sure, ” I said. “Why not?”



“Coffee?”


I nodded. So we walked to the cafeteria and chatted about
things of little consequence, then settled down at a table,
each with a cup of coffee.


She was a Geology student and I was a Chem major. For that
semester, this was the only class we had in common. She was
animated as she talked about her Geology coursework, which
I found rather fascinating in and of itself. I had never
understood how somebody could get so excited over a bunch
of rocks, but clearly she was one of them. And her enthusiasm
was contagious. As she talked, she would frequently rest
her hand atop mine, leaning forward to give me an even better
view of her bounty. I was spellbound. Each time she touched
my hand with hers, a thrill would race up and down my spine.
All thoughts of rocks and ionic solutions slipped hopelessly
into the background, despite her chatter, which was mostly
on-topic.


Eventually, she glanced at her watch. “Oh, I have to go, ”
she said and began to organize her books and things. “Can
I have your number, in case I have questions?”


“Sure.” I gave it to her, and she gave me hers. She gave
my hand a final squeeze, then left. I sat there for several
minutes after watching her go, waiting for the boner in
my pants to subside before I got up and left myself.


* * *


I'll be honest. I found myself anxiously awaiting
the next Chem lecture like I've been anxious, even
excited, about very few things before in my life. It was
right up there with the excitement I felt when buying a new
guitar – something you non-guitarists probably wouldn't
understand. Good thing I had to wait only two days for the
next lecture. I had resisted the impulse to call Setsuko,
and felt a bit of fleeting disappointment that she hadn't
called me. Trying not to think about Setsuko was like trying
not to think about the color red when somebody told you not
to.


The day arrived and I snagged my regular seat down in the
lecture hall's third row. She wasn't there yet,
but then I was a bit early. The hall was filling up quickly,
and I tried to stay calm. To take my mind off her, I began to
review my notes from the previous lecture. Soon I was engrossed
in the subject matter. Call me odd, but I really did enjoy
Chemistry. It couldn't be more different from my former
major – music – but I found it stimulating because it
was a rigorous scientific investigation of many of the
processes of the physical world that were hidden from plain
view. I was coming to appreciate the Periodic Table as not
just a work of pure scientific genius, but also a work of
art, the way everything so naturally fit together. I was
so engrossed in my thoughts that I only peripherally noticed
a familiar waft of perfume, followed by a quiet swish as
Setsuko slid into the seat next to mine. Looking to the opposite
side, she gave her long, tawny tresses a flick, and they
brushed my shoulder and neck. Okay, she had my attention
now.


“Hi, ” I said. “You're back.”


“Hi, how are you?” Setsuko responded, smiling at me
warmly. I nodded. I was smiling too, hoping it didn't
look too dopey. “Did you understand the reading assignment?”
she asked, her face beginning to pout.


“Sure. Why, didn't you?” She shook her head. It
had been really simple stuff. Just loose electron bonds
of basic formula units, like salts, acids and bases -- easy
stuff. “You should have called me, ” I said.


“I don't know. I didn't want to bother you.”
She sighed.


“You should have called. I don't mind, really.”



“Really? You mean that?”


“Of course.”


She appeared to think a minute, then said, “What are you
doing after class?”


“I have an hour's break after this class, ” I said.
“We could go over some of the stuff you're not clear
about then.”


She looked unhappy all of a sudden. “That's probably
not enough time, ” she said. “How about later?”



“Well, Physics is my last class today. I was planning
on heading home after it was over, but . . .”


“Oh!” she said, “Could I come over to your place then?
We could take our time that way.”


Could she? Hell yes, she could! “Sure, ”
I said, then suddenly felt a twinge of fear. My place. Heh.
My place was a rented room in an old house a few miles from
school. I shared a bathroom and kitchen with the other three
residents there. I was the proverbial poor college student.
Lived in a rented room and rode a bicycle to school on days
it didn't rain. Took the bus on days it did. Counted
my pennies since dollars were frequently few and far between,
and rent got most of them.


“Um, my place isn't much, ” I admitted. Then told
her about it just being a room in an old house.


She shrugged. “That's okay, ” she said. “As
long as we have room for our books.”


Just then the professor walked in. She strode up to the podium
and immediately launched into the day's lecture.
Our attention turned to the topics discussed, but as I completed
each page of my notes, I looked at Setsuko before turning
it. Sure enough, by this point, she had abandoned taking
notes on her own, and was just transcribing mine. Feeling
a bit of added responsibility all of a sudden, I tried to
make my notes as thorough and complete as possible.


After the class finished, we walked over to the cafeteria
again and had coffee. I gave her directions to my house and
drew her a simple map. As I drew out the map, she managed to
find reasons to touch my left hand a few times (I was drawing
with my right), and when it was done, she leanedleaned close,
ostensibly to have a better look at my handiwork, her right
breast pushing against my left arm. I gulped. Suddenly
my pants were beginning to feel a little tight. Did she have
any idea what she was doing to me? I wondered. She appeared
to be oblivious, though. After a few more seconds of boob
contact, she drew back, almost reluctantly, it seemed.
She took the map, folded it neatly, and put it in her purse.



“When can I come by?” she asked, looking right in my
eyes, her own full of innocence. Oh, those Asian eyes!


“Um, ” I stammered. “Well, I'll be home by three
or so, so anytime after that, I guess.”


She seemed to give the matter some thought. “Four o'clock
then? Is that okay?”


“Yeah, four's fine.”


“Okay, ” she smiled happily. “See you at four.”



* * *


Time crawled once Setsuko left. I felt as if I were caught
up in Einstein's relativistic universe, where as
an object's speed increases, time slows down. My mind
must have been traveling a couple million miles a minute
because each second seemed like hours. I did a rough calculation
in my head. Yep, that would be about 18% of c. Huh,
probably a bit on the slow side, I thought. Make that about
5 million miles a minute.


Eventually, Physics ground to its inevitable conclusion,
and I was homeward bound. Once I arrived home, I walked into
my room and for the first time, saw it through a possible
date's eyes. OMG, the place was a mess. My bed
was unmade, my desk had books and papers and a miscellaneous
collection of junk scattered all over it. A couple guitars
lay around, out of their cases. Hey, I might have been a poor
college student, but I was also a guitarist, and I somehow
managed to find the funds over the years to buy pro-quality
gear. Besides, it was my guitar playing that provided me
with most of my spending money. I played in a casual band
on the weekends. We did parties and anniversaries and wedding
receptions, that sort of thing. And actually made pretty
decent money at it. I could make more money playing a single
gig on a Friday or Saturday night than I could working part
time at a hamburger or pizza joint all week long. I stowed
the guitars in their cases and stacked them up in a corner.
Then I removed a pile of only slightly dirty clothes from
the bed, shoving them into the closet, and made the bed.
I was still working at getting my desk organized when I heard
a soft knock on the front door. Ulp. Showtime!


I greeted Setsuko at the front door and invited her in. She
had been dressed rather formally for class, and had changed
into a comfortable looking pair of jeans and one of those
V-neck sweaters of hers that did such a fantastic job of
showing off her ample bounty. I was still dressed in the
old pair of jeans and Hawaiian shirt I wore to class. “My
room's back this way, ” I said, leading her down
a hallway toward the rear of the house. Just then one of the
other residents opened his door and peered out.


“It was for me, Mr. Feinman, ” I said to the old gent.
He was a retired widower with no family. A nice enough old
man, he was quiet and kept to himself. I felt a little sad
for him that he was all alone with nothing much to do, but
he seemed to have accepted his lot in life and was usually
quite polite, although seldom cheerful. He looked at Setsuko
and his eyes brightened.


“Hi, ” Setsuko said to him. “So sorry to disturb
you.”


Mr. Feinman straightened up a bit, a youthful gleam flickering
in his eyes. “Oh, that's quite alright, young lady.
No bother. No bother at all.” He looked at me, and for the
first time since we'd met a few months previously,
he smiled at me knowingly and gave me a wink. I felt my face
get hot. The randy old coot!


I showed Setsuko into my room and began making excuses.
“I was working on getting rid of some of the clutter on
my desk so we'd have room to work, ” I said. I hadn't
really gotten very far.


“Oh, that's okay, ” she said. She sashayed over
to my bed and sat down, then began to dig her textbook and
notebook out of her book bag. “We can sit here, is that
okay?” She patted the bed beside her, making it clear
where she expected me to sit.


“Sure, that'll work, ” I said. I grabbed my book
and notebook and sat beside her, consciously locating
myself at a discreet distance. I didn't want her to
feel as if I were being forward. Not yet, at least. So what
did she do? As I opened my notebook on my lap, she leaned over
toward me, placing a hand on mine, touching shoulders,
and began to examine my notes. I hadn't a clue why, since
she had copied them verbatim just a few hours before. Idiot!
Of course I had a clue why. I just couldn't believe I
was getting lucky with such a hot babe.


So we sat there for a while, at least making a show at discussing
chemistry topics, but all the while and with more and more
regularity, Setsuko found an excuse to lean into me, touch
my hands, and graze various upper parts of my anatomy with
her boobs. Suddenly it was getting rather hot in my tiny
room. The space between us had disappeared and her long,
honey-colored tresses were resting atop both our shoulders.
Whenever she looked up at me, chemistry appeared to be receding
further and further from the front of her mind. She gave
me a hungry look and leaned in again, her passion-filled
eyes locked onto mine, her mouth open in a soft “O.”
Our lips found each other and miniature lightning bolts
shot through me. Our books slid to the floor, forgotten.



I took her into my arms, holding her close, our tongues dancing
hungrily with each other. My mind must have hit the relativistic
light speed barrier because time had stopped for me. I was
living in the moment, feeling the surge of her breasts against
me as her hand rubbed my stiffening crotch. She began to
moan softly. I broke off from her lips and brought mine down
along her neck, stopping where her neck and shoulders met.
I found the spot I was looking for and kissed her lightly
there. She gasped and shivered explosively, grabbing
the back of my head with both hands pushing me down toward
her breasts. I went, tongue flicking at her cleavage. She
shuddered again, moaning even louder, and then pushed
me down onto the bed. She climbed atop me and began grinding
her pussy into my hardened cock, kissing me fiercely. She
reached up under my shirt and found a nipple and began to
tease it.


I don't know how it is with other folks, but I have very
sensitive nipples. Even light caresses give me such a jolt,
they're almost painful. Well, her caresses were lighting
me on fire. It was everything I could stand, just lying there
and taking her caresses of, first one, then both of my nipples.
It was my turn to shiver – and jerk, and spasm. She chuckled
with obvious glee, a sound coming from somewhere down deep
in her throat, teasing both nipples with renewed vigor.
Then she began to pinch them. Arrgh! I couldn't stand
it!


Hoping to distract her, I grabbed desperately for her breasts
and squeezed them hard. She moaned again, but wouldn't
relent with my nipples. I reached under her sweater and
pulled it up, exposing her bra. I pushed it up and freed those
lovely tits. They bounced playfully against my hands.
I began to squeeze and massage her nipples, hoping this
might be the distraction I needed. She ground her pussy
against me even more forcefully, moaning loudly, and began
unbuttoning my fly. Thankfully, she had to remove a hand
from one of my nipples to get at my pants. I wanted to breath
a sigh of relief. I fumbled with her jeans' closure
and finally had it undone. Then almost at the same instant,
we both reached into each others pants and found what we
were looking for. She grasped my cock tightly and pulled.
Her pussy was hot and felt wet as my fingers explored her
cleft.


Suddenly Setsuko sat up. What did I do? I thought, feeling
a brief surge of panic. Then I saw: she was shucking off her
jeans and panties. So I got busy and did the same. In seconds,
we lay against each other, naked, our hands eagerly exploring
each other's body.


* * *


I have a confession to make. I love making women cum. I love
feeling it, I love seeing it, I especially love hearing
it. If I could smell it and taste it, I'd love that as
well. Maybe one of these days I'll be lucky enough to
get a woman to squirt and I'll be able to taste and smell
it too.


To me, getting my own rocks off is secondary. I hadn't
always been this way. When I was younger, often I didn't
care whether my partner came or not, as long as I got my nut.
I think back to those times with chagrin and not a little
shame. Somewhere along the line, though, I grew up some.
I discovered the wonders of the female orgasm, and grew
to relish the sense of contentment a woman feels after she's
gotten her clock thoroughly cleaned. Looking back at my
relationship with Setsuko, I now realize that she probably
had a lot to do with the attitude I have now. Getting her to
cum was just as pleasurable an experience for me as I hope
it was for her.


We had been lying in bed, side by side, when Setsuko pushed
me onto my back and mounted me. Resting her hands on my shoulders,
she began massaging my cock with her pussy in a back and forth
motion. Oh -- god -- damn, did that feel good! I
teased and fondled her breasts, kissing one whenever it
dipped into range of my lips. She reached down and grabbed
my cock, pressing it into her pussy. I stopped what I was
doing.


“Hold it, ” I said. She looked at me questioningly,
eyes glazed with passion. “Not yet.” I flipped her
over on her back and disengaged myself from her, pushing
her up on the bed as I slid down.


“Nan da?” she said.


I gave her a questioning look as I maneuvered into position.
“Huh?”


She giggled. “Oops, ” she said. “Japanese. What
– what are you going to d—Unnh! Ahhh!” My tongue had
found her clitoral folds. She spasmed and thrust her pussy
into my face.


“Mmph. Tastes good!” My tongue darted in and out of
her opening and teased at her clit. She groaned and heaved
some more, and soon that wonderful sound began – the sound
of a woman reaching a sexual climax. She shivered and spasmed,
but I kept my tongue at it. She grabbed the back of my head
and pushed me down hard. My nose was now rubbing her clit,
but I stayed with the tongue action. Finally she let loose
a drawn out moan, more jerking spasms, and then she began
to pant and sigh. I gave her another flick with my tongue
and she spasmed again. God, that was fun.


“Aahhh! Oh, please!” she moaned, pushing her pussy
against my face. “Onegai!” Whups, I thought.
More Japanese! I didn't know what it meant, but it sure
sounded good when she said it. I gave her pussy a final flick
with my tongue, and yet again she spasmed. “Unnh!”



I made it back up alongside her and began kissing her tits.
She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed hard. At least,
I thought she was squeezing. But then I realized that she
was trying to pull me up so that my face was even with hers.
So I went along. Our mouths met again, tasting of each other
hungrily.


“Fuck me, ” she breathed softly. “Fuck me!”


“You know, ” I said, “I like the woman on top.”
But she didn't look up to it – yet. So I parted her legs,
and entered her gently. She was hot and so wet I couldn't
believe it. Almost instantly I began to feel a powerful
urge. I withdrew hastily and she moaned, shoving her pussy
up against me.


“Hang on a sec, ” I said. “I need to get ready for this.”



Time for another confession. I'm one of those unfortunate
guys who suffers from premature ejaculation. I've
always felt humiliated by this almost uncontrollable
urge, and often literally helpless. But then I discovered
something. Well, two somethings actually. One, I discovered
that I was a person who took hypnotic suggestions easily,
so I had begun to give myself autohypnotic suggestions
using self-hypnosis to control my PE. Two, I also discovered
that if I did multiplication tables in my head, I could usually
eliminate the urge to release prematurely. That being
said, however, doing times tables in ones head during intercourse
isn't exactly the sort of thing a guy should admit to
his lover, I eiscovered. Sometimes a woman just doesn't
understand. But it was effective, so I made use of it, and
learned just to keep it to myself. And I found that if I combined
autohypnotic suggestions with times tables that I could
last virtually all night long. So I had gone from being a
helpless victim of PE to a super stud – well, maybe not
size-wise, but definitely stamina-wise. It was a very
liberating feeling. But Setsuko was so hot and so gorgeous,
that I had let my concentration slip, and I had almost blown
it – quite literally.


So, with my mindset in place and times tables primed and
ready to go, I entered Setsuko again. She was just as hot
and wet as she was before, but this time I was ready. Two times
two is four. Two times three is six, two times four is eight
. . . all the way up to twelve times twelve if I needed it, although
usually before I got to that high of a table, I had the PE fully
under control.


I like to start off with a slow, grinding motion when I'm
on top, and I'll usually finish things much faster
and much more aggressively. So I started things off slowly
with Setsuko. She pumped eagerly against me at first, then
slowed and caught the rhythm. We enjoyed this for quite
a while. Then I began slowly turning up the wick – by the
time I'd reached five times seven equals thirty-five
or so. Say, did you know that nine times any single digit
number gives a resulting value that, when adding the two
numbers of that value together, they equal nine? Like nine
times seven equals sixty-three. Add six and three together
and you get nine. Nine times eight equals seventy-two.
Add the seven and the two together and you get nine. And so
on. I think about stuff like this too when I'm engaged
in sex, but I'll never my partner. They tend to think
of it as being unromantic, for some reason. But I don't
care because it gets the job done. And job one is to get the
woman's rocks off.


So anyway, I'd turned the wick up, and Setsuko began
to moan again, softly at first, then louder, and louder
with each thrust. We were doing some serious fucking by
this point: I was banging her aggressively, and she had
her legs locked around me, hanging on tightly. Her moan
had become one continuous, long cry, modulated into a shaky
vibrato by my continued thrusts. Then she shrieked and
spasmed up against me, wrapping her arms with her legs around
me, lifting herself off the bed. I continued my thrusts,
listening to her wailing taper off into . . . sobs?


No way. Was she crying? Thoughts of reaching my
own orgasm vanishing, I asked her what was wrong.


She shook her head. “Nothing, ” she whimpered, wiping
tears from the corners of her eyes. Then she sobbed again,
and I wiped the tears away this time. She grabbed my hand
and kissed it, then gazed up at me with a look that seemed
to be filled with equal parts wonder, relief, and yes, sadness.



Aw, shit, I thought. What the fuck did I do?


“Please, ” I said. “Tell me.”


“It wasn't supposed to happen, ” she said.


Huh? What? “What wasn't supposed to happen?”



“You're the first, ” she said. Now I'm thinking,
no fucking way. I'd know it if she were a virgin. She
wasn't a virgin. And I said as much. She shook her head.



“Making love, ” she said. “Fucking. I've never
had a . . . a . . . you know --” Suddenly, it dawned on me.


“An orgasm you mean? But you had one earlier --”


“Yes, ” she nodded. “But I've never had one
. . . that way before. From a fuck.” She let out a small sob
again. “I didn't think I could, ” she said, putting
her fist to her teeth, then biting it. Tears began flowing
again.


Relief washed over me. And a strange sense of pride.


“Well, my lovely, I got news for you, ” I said. She looked
at me questioningly. “We're not done yet. We've
got a whole night of fucking ahead of us, and I don't
plan to let a minute of it slip by!”


She grabbed a hold of me again and gave me a fierce hug.


“Okay, ” she said and sniffed happily. “But this
time I get to be on top!”


* * *


After that first fun-filled night of hot sex, Setsuko and
I became an inseparable pair. We hung out and did just about
everything together. If she wasn't spending the night
at my room, I was over at her apartment spending the night
there. The sex was fantastic. I had never been with such
a beautiful, exotic woman before, and I relished every
minute of it. I had introduced her to my band mates, and she
would even accompany us to some of the gigs we played. Setsuko
was a very gregarious person, had an infectious laugh,
and got along great with everybody.


Oh, and I should mention that our original reason for getting
together had not been abandoned. I tutored Setsuko the
best I knew how in Chemistry, and it helped. She became more
confident of the subject matter, and soon was doing quite
well on her own. Mission accomplished. After that introductory
class was over, we even enrolled in the next Chem class together,
Inorganic Chem as I recall. This class was quite a bit tougher
than the first one, but I managed to pull out an A in that one
also, and Setsuko did well, too.


I mentioned at the beginning of this story that meeting
Setsuko was a life-changing event for me. And it was because
of what she was: Japanese. Previous to my meeting her, I
had never met a Japanese person before, and knew little
of their culture. But because of my fondness for her, I developed
a curiosity about Japan and its people, especially Japanese
women. I learned a great deal in a relatively short period
of time. George Mikes wrote a great book about Japan in 1970,
called The Land of the Rising Yen: Japan. I got a
hold of a copy and read it from cover to cover in little more
than a day. Even though it is quite dated now, the book still
provides a very valuable look at Japan and its culture,
and a penetrating view of the Japanese psyche through the
eyes of a Westerner. To me, it was invaluable. It explained
clearly some rather puzzling characteristics of Setsuko's
behavior.


Setsuko was, in many respects, a typical Japanese woman,
yet in others she was quite different. Her gregarious nature
was rather atypical for a Japanese woman, for example.
Most Japanese women are, at least in public, unfailingly
polite, often submissive, and very demure. Setsuko, on
the other hand, had an excellent sense of humor and just
liked to have fun, which was much more typical of a Western
woman than a Japanese. But in other respects, she was Japanese
to the core. You see, with Japanese women, there is the public
image and then the private person. And the two are often
not at all the same. The Japanese women I have met since I
knew Setsuko have all had one thing in common: an unshakable
will. When a Japanese woman makes her mind up about something,
that's it. It is impossible to dissuade her from her
point of view. A Japanese woman's will is like a finely
crafted katana, the Samurai warrior's fighting
sword. If pressured, she will bend, but she will never break,
and as soon as the pressure is eased up, she will spring back
to her original position. Japanese men can bluster and
pose all they want, but they know very well that their women
often have the final say in matters of any import. For example,
in Japan, the man may work and the woman may stay home to raise
the kids and tend to the house, but she also controls the
purse strings. The husband turns over his paycheck to his
wife, who then gives him an allowance, and then does with
the rest of the funds as she thinks is fit and proper. The
vast portion of the wealth and income in Japan is controlled
by its women. And they are good custodians of it.



It was this very strong will that I noticed in Setsuko. She
would set her mind to something and there was no talking
her out of it. She could be unfailingly polite, and would
often shamelessly use her womanly wiles to advance her
position (if you've never experienced the power and
persuasiveness of a Japanese woman's pout, trust
me, you don't have a chance – you likely don't
even if you have), but she got her way when it was something
she cared strongly about. Like zeroing in on me to insure
that she passed our Chem class, for example. Or when she
decided to trade her old Toyota in on a new Honda Civic. She
was determined to keep the purchase price of that car below
a certain amount. The result was a cool little white Civic
with a 5-speed transmission. Only problem was, she had
never driven a stick before. But because she had made up
her mind to save money and forgo the automatic option, she
also made up her mind that she would learn to drive a stick,
and perhaps more to the point, that I would be the one to teach
her how. So once again, I got to don the hat of the teacher.
At least she was a quick study. She rapidly got the hang of
operating the clutch and the gear changes, and within a
couple weeks of practice, it had become almost second nature
to her.


Yes, Setsuko was a very goal-oriented person, and more
often then not, achieved the goals she set for herself.
But she was also a very generous person, and a very loving
one. She was quite a bit better off financially than I was,
and she would insist on buying me things, even when I told
her not to. She was a fantastic cook, and would regularly
prepare sumptuous meals just to please me. Whenever we
would go out, she insisted that I drove her car (I had a bicycle,
remember?), and almost always picked up the tab. I literally
had to fight her for it when I felt I was overdue in paying
for a meal.


Yet for all this, Setsuko was also a very sensitive person.
Iron will or no, she had feelings and there were occasions
that, because of stupidity and clod-like behavior on my
part, I managed to run roughshod all over them. At times,
my boorish behavior would bring her to tears, which made
me feel incredibly lousy and small as a result. And as a result,
I learned. I learned how to treat a Japanese woman with kindness
and respect, which ironically few enjoy in their homeland.
The Japanese woman may control the purse strings, but the
man is still lord of his domain, and is often cold, and stingy
with his affections. So just by treating Setsuko the way
I hoped to be treated, I had gained from her an almost fierce
loyalty. And it was one I was disabused of ever hurting.
Which was why it was so painful to me whenever I realized
I'd made a faux pas that ended up hurting her. And because
often my mistakes were things I didn't realize were
even mistakes, I learned what it was I'd done to offend.
More often than not, most of my offenses could be chalked
up to cultural differences, but when she explained to me
why she felt hurt, it always made sense. Thus I did my best
to learn more, so I wouldn't repeat my mistakes.


The result of all this was I'd become something of a
student of Japan and its culture. Setsuko was an invaluable
help. She taught me a little Japanese – I should have tried
harder, but at the time I didn't see why I should. And
she taught me about the Japanese culture. She was the one
who got the copy of Mikes' book for me to read. She'd
read it, and recommended it highly. She introduced me to
sushi, which was a revelation all in itself, how to order
it, and proper sushi-eating etiquette. Oh yes, there is
such a thing. With the Japanese, there is a proper eating
etiquette for every dish they serve, and almost all are
different from each other.


As the months passed, I realized I had fallen in love, and
I knew the feeling was mutual. I was powerless to stop it,
and really I didn't even consider doing so. I had met
the most loving, generous, thoughtful, fun to be with person
I'd ever known. Setsuko was a godsend. A dream come
true. And I found myself grateful, truth be known, that
she felt the same for me.


But sadly, sometimes the fates have different plans for
our lives, and other things are just simply not to be. Such
was the case with Setsuko and me. She was here in the U.S.
on a student visa, and its expiration date began to loom
large. She assured me that having it renewed was a simple
matter. But it involved her having to return to Japan to
get it renewed, so we steeled each other against the inevitability
of being apart for a short time. The day she left, we were
quiet. Words were unnecessary. The night before had been
filled with the most tender lovemaking I'd ever experienced,
and I was wondering how I'd be able to last the short
time it would be before she returned.


I accompanied her to the airport, and saw her off. I was pretty
choked up, I don't mind admitting. Setsuko was miserable,
tears flowing freely. But we told ourselves it would only
be for a short while, and then she'd be back home.


The weeks slipped slowly by, turning into months. At first,
we were writing to each other almost every day, and I looked
forward each day to the letter carrier's arrival.
There had been some unexpected difficulties at the visa
office, she wrote in one letter, but she wasn't specific.
In a later letter, she wrote that things had gotten complicated
at home. And then her letters became less frequent. A week
would go by, and later two weeks or more, between her letters.
And in the letters she appeared to grow more distant and
less intimate. It was as if they had become a formality,
almost an obligation. I had begun feeling desperate by
then, and all too many of my missives were pleading with
her to return. And then, one day, after over a month had gone
by since her previous letter, another one arrived. Her
wording was brief and to the point. She wouldn't be
returning. She was sorry that things turned out the way
they had, but she had no choice. Her parents were providing
the funding for her schooling and had decided that she would
be better off attending university in Japan.


Some months later, I found out from a mutual friend of ours
what really had happened. Setsuko hadn't wanted to
hurt me, but had confided in our friend. Her parents had
found out about our relationship and had disapproved.
They wanted her to marry a nice Japanese boy and considered
me to be gaijin, literally 'outside person',
but which generally means “foreigner” with connotations
of “barbarian” mixed in as well. I was crushed and despondent.
And, knowing her as well as I did, I wondered just how difficult
it must be for her to have to change her ways so that she could
fit back into Japanese society. In Japan there is an expression:
The nail that sticks up gets hammered down. I feared that
the weight of an entire culture might succeed in bowing
her indefatigable spirit, where mere individuals had
not been at all successful.


I wrote back to her, telling her that I'd found out about
her parents, and that I didn't care what they thought.
I still loved her and always would love her. She never wrote
back. Occasionally after that, I would send off another
letter, hoping against hopes for a reply, but I never received
one.


A few years later, working for an oil company and making
more money than I'd ever made before in my life, I took
a 16-day vacation to Japan, the first time I'd ever
been out of the country. I had made my preparations, continuing
my studies of Japan and its culture, and had taken about
a year's worth of Japanese language instruction.
I had a good survival level of communication ability, and
could even carry on basic conversations. I had also studied
the Japanese writing system some, which although very
similar to Chinese on the surface, was actually quite different
and not nearly the challenge to learn, although it was still
plenty tough. I even briefly entertained the idea of looking
up Setsuko, to see if any of the old spark remained. But I
decided against it, fearing that I might open up old wounds.
I didn't want to cause her any pain. Because somewhere
deep down inside, I still cared deeply for her. In fact,
even though I never admitted it to my friends, I hadn't
even made love to another woman since Setsuko. But a funny
thing happened when I was there. I met another Japanese
woman, who was also quite delightful in her own way, and
for reasons that I was never really clear about, she had
become quite smitten with me. A year after that, she would
become my wife. Which is another story entirely, and not
without its own share of woe, I am sad to say.


Japanese women are wonderful creatures, but they can break
your heart. And I honestly don't know a good way to defend
oneself against them. It's been a little more than
thirty years since Setsuko and I said "goodbye, "
and there are days that I still find myself missing her,
wondering what life is like for her now. Perhaps it's
better that I'll never know.

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One of the better stories that I have read on this site. Now please pass on your experiences with the lead up to your
new japanese bride.

4/21/2012

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this is a touching human story that anyone with feelings
would love

4/21/2012

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quote rm_slr308:
One of the better stories that I have read on this site. Now please pass on your experiences with the lead up to your new japanese bride.
I was afraid somebody would ask for this . . . I'll have
to give it some thought. I'll admit that our honeymoon
was pretty spectacular. There's probably a story
I could eke out of that event.

4/22/2012

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quote huggycarebear00:
this is a touching human story that anyone with feelings would love
Thanks very much. I'm glad you like it. Namaste.


Oh, and in case you folks are curious, yes there really was
a Setsuko, yes that really was how we met, and yes to much
of what I wrote, including and especially the sex scene
and everything that led up to it. I changed a number of details
in the interest making it a more compelling story, although
not the essence. This much is also true: even though 30 years
have passed, I still miss her.


Sometimes I try to convince myself that Alfred Lord Tennyson
knew what he was talking about regarding love, when he wrote:



I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.


But when I sorrow most, I can't help but envy those who
haven't experienced love's loss.





.

4/22/2012

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Beautifully and intelligently written. This is the very
best article I have ever read on this site and would be a welcome
addition anywhere.

4/22/2012

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Thank you very much for your kind words. They mean a lot.

4/22/2012

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With 3 years in Okinawa and trips to Tokyo, I really appreciated
your story. Well done. You should have mentioned that Japanese
do no have the negative, forbidden view of sex we find in
USA. Very open and very good partners.

4/26/2012

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quote rm_frisky691:
With 3 years in Okinawa and trips to Tokyo, I really appreciated your story. Well done. You should have mentioned that Japanese do no have the negative, forbidden view of sex we find in USA. Very open and very good partners.
Yes, this is very true, and quite refreshing, actually.
I thought about mentioning this fact in the above story,
but I guess I wasn't too sure about how to fit it in. I'm
about to post another story that is set in Japan, and even
though I don't make this same point explicitly, I think
the story itself sort of makes the point rather obvious.



Thanks for your kind words. Namaste

4/26/2012