by Frank Harris
I began to fuck her ass, tentatively at first, and when she groaned with pleasure, more strongly, almost brutally. At the same time I encircled her lower torso with one arm, my wrist pressed against her belly and my fingers working in the wetness of her sex and clitoris. She uttered a long moan of pleasure which had the effect of stimulating me to further and even more brutal effort. She wished to be taken just in this way! At that point, I ceased altogether to treat the strange intrusion as an experiment. With my free hand, my forearm across her lovely shoulder blades, I grasped her by the hair at the scruff of her neck, forcing her face firmly against the bed. Then, with regular strong strokes, I was at her, sheathing and unsheathing myself madly, working her clitoris wildly with my fingers. At the same time the passion once again rose in my member and the flow of my semen moved upwards. I shot a steaming load into her anal canal, continuing my brutal motion until the tightness of her muscle had wrung me dry. But this time, when I was finished, she was not. She made me withdraw immediately and thrust me away from her. At first I thought she was angry with me. Anger is sometimes almost indistinguishable from erotic passion. This young Japanese girl was given over to it with almost religious fervor.
“Just a moment!” she cried.
Crossing the room in a few bounds, she returned with one of those spade-like, stiff brushes for clothes. This time she would have none of the bed. Setting herself on her knees on the floor, she threw herself in a rippling and naked arch backwards so that her thighs, belly, the moist smile of her slit, and her breasts were exposed to me. I was gazing from her to the stiff, straw-bristled brush which she had thrust into my hands. But her voice cut through my hesitation.
“Quick!” she cried passionately. “Beat me hard!”
I had no alternative but to do as I was bid. Quickly, to bring relief to her warm and anxious lust, I was over her. I brought the brush down with a hard thwack on the soft mound of her belly. A tremendous vibration passed through her rippling flesh.
“Harder!” she cried.
Although nervous, I took my courage in both hands and set about warming the entire front of her body. The more she flinched, the more punishment she required. Soon she was rolling about on the carpet calling upon me to continue the brutal rain of blows. Once again she succeeded in making me lose control. I found myself slashing at her cruelly as she rolled about ecstatically. My arm rose and fell with increasing vigor. The desire to punish fused in my imagination with the desire to hear her triumphant, pleading sobs and see her pale, sweat-sheened body leap upwards and sideways lustfully to meet the blows. And then suddenly, she emitted a tearful wail and hurled herself at my thighs. One of her hands grasped my cock and thrust it into her mouth. Gazing downwards at the pretty head which sought to bury itself at my groin, I was amazed to see myself once again rigid. No sooner did the realization come over me, than I toppled sideways onto the carpet. She sucked me deeply for several minutes, running her tongue over the shining expanse of my prick head and its turgid length. We wrestled and fought uncontrollably until, once again, her belly rose upwards to expose her naked cunt. I pulled her legs over my shoulders and drove my prick into her with all my might, all thought of precaution forgotten. All I wanted to do was fuck this girl senseless! She breathed deeply between her sobs and our passion caused our flesh to shudder more deeply than I can remember. By this time I had pinioned her hands on either side to the floor so that she lay as though crucified below me. I rose and fell against her, our bellies smacking together in a welter of sweat until, just as the new inundation coursed through the sensitive tissue of my meat, I felt her body grow weak, accepting the ichor of my passion. Her lovely young face, tearful and ecstatic at the same time, pleaded with me to stop.
“Oh,” she cried, “stop nowI can't bear any moreI shall die of pleasure! Please…”
Her eyes were closed and her tremulous young bosom rose and fell out of control. Her limbs were slack and spread on the floor. All possibility of effort had deserted her!
Gently, more tenderly than ever, I rose from her, lifted her in my arms and carried her to the bed.
Ten minutes later she opened her eyes. The coffee which I brought to her was only lukewarm, but it seemed to revive her and she drank it gratefully from the cup I held to her lips.
“You gave me so much love!” she said when she had drunk. “Really, I thought my body would burst with pleasure.”
I kissed her gently and told her to rest for the remainder of the day. I would explain to the manager, I said. She should have no fear of taking the rest she so well deserved and so badly needed. I kissed her, drew the bedclothes upwards over her lovely shoulders and went about my own toilet feeling that I had found at last a country in which love in all its varied beauty was accepted gratefully without shame as the most important gift in a good life.
The manager proved to be a very nice fellow. He cut short my explanations and prayed me to say no more about it. The chambermaid-waitress was a good girl, he said. He would gladly excuse her from her duties for the remainder of the day.
All through the country I had the same experience. Both love and courtesy were present to a degree unknown in Europe. Of course, I soon learned that this courtesy is developed in the home, where everyone bows to age. The grandfather and grandmother are most respected, then come the father and the mother, and then the children. And the children obey the same law: The eldest girl or boy come into the room first, the others follow in order of agean astonishingly courteous people to whom deference is a pleasure. The Japanese language, too, is full of ceremonial phrases which are impossible to translate into any European tongue. They are the politest race in the world and perhaps the most amiable.
Many scenes stand out in my memory. I remember an up-country town where my rickshaw was stopped by some naked girls and women who came out of a bathing place. They all wanted to see if I was white all over and I could only laugh and let them convince themselves. The crowd increased to half a hundred. They were of all ages and all entirely naked. When I touched the breasts of a pretty girl she seemed pleased and the whole crowd laughed as at a good joke. Unfortunately, I had not the time to ascertain whether I could make love with her. I had an appointment which I could not break.
Bit by bit I came to understand that there was not a trace of sexual modesty in Japan from one end to the other. Most of the women could not even understand what Europeans meant by the concept!
Every foreigner is eager to see geishas dancing, but usually is astonished at first to find how modest and how graceful the dances are, more like those of ancient Greece perhaps than any I can think of. But the “modesty” is purely formal. It does not reflect a Puritanism of spirit.
The geisha ya are places where the dancing girls are trained and let out day or evening to tea-houses or private parties. They are generally managed by women. Little girls are taken into these houses and trained not only in the art of dancing, but are also taught singing and samisen playing and all the etiquette of entertaining guests. The geisha is always willing to become the mistress of any foreigner who desires her and from whom she can expect a fair sum of money; but in Japan she is not looked down upon as she would be in Europe. The geisha are the pleasantest part of Japanese entertainments. As soon as the dainty girls enter the room, sometimes in gold or scarlet, and dance as though they are leaves driven by the wind, all the guests wake up. Sometimes the girls will play warrior and copy the warlike gestures of old heroes. Then, suddenly, they give up pretences and come and sit beside their temporary employers, laughing, jesting and drinking.
Soon the foreigner finds out that the geishas are really dancers and that the prostitute or joro is of a lower class altogether. Every city in Japan has its joroya a licensed quarter of prostitution. The supervision is rigid. But even these women are not looked down upon in Japan as they would be in Europe. Many of them are apprenticed in childhood to the keepers of the houses and there trained for their work. A few have sacrificed themselves freely for those they
love. Many romances are written about a virtuous joro who has sacrificed herself for her loved one and finds a lover willing and eager to make her again a respectable wife and a mother of decent children.
There are theatres for men and theatres for women, but the two sexes never play on the same stage. I don't know why. The performances last all day from eight or nine in the morning till eight or nine in the evening. They were not especially interesting to me.
But the most peculiar and important entertainment is the fortune-teller. Of course they have a great deal of influence with the lowest class, but they are consulted on important occasionsmarriages, journeysby all classes.
The freedom in Japan is very interesting. I remember being asked by a court official to stay with him and study Japanese manners in his house. My friend, the captain, advised me to accept and I did so.
The first evening, my host told me in his broken English that his wife would be too old to be attractive to me and his daughters too young, but he would send me a pretty girl to entertain me during the night. I laughed, never thinking that he meant what he said.
But when I got to my bedroom, I found a pretty maid awaiting me. As soon as I entered she began to undress. She was too pretty to be sent away. I recognized her at once as the most charming of the servants who had waited on us at table.
Much to my delight, I found that she had an exceedingly small cunt that she had scented with rosewater. We fucked in every position imaginable. I took her flat on her back, with her legs upraised, on her knees in canine fashion, and even as she lay on her side. She seemed to love seeing my stiff cock shuttle in and out of her sopping pussy. She reacted passionately to every variation of embrace and reached her climax at least four times until finally her soft and sweat-lathered body fell limp in my arms. My friend, the captain, laughed when I told him and said that nothing was more usual.
Nevertheless, it is undoubtedly the system of concubinage that degrades the whole status of women in Japan. The Emperor, in accordance with the old Chinese code, is allowed twelve concubines or mekake, the samurai two. All men of the upper class are allowed to introduce these mekake into their families and naturally these concubines, though beneath the wife in position, are often more beloved than the wife herself.
In the lower classes, the wife often protests and maintains her exclusive rights, but the wife of the nobleman is not powerful enough: The nobleman is not dependent on her toil. Consequently, the position of the wife of the noble in Japan is usually unhappy and often tragic. By a recent law, no child of a concubine can inherit a legal title and this may do much to establish the upper class woman in a more secure position.
During my travels in that country I often came upon some woman or girl taking a bath. Never did I see the slightest trace of embarrassment, much less modesty. The woman would get out of the hot bath and proceed to dry herself with her little blue towel just as if there was no man within ten miles of her. I would watch excitedly as she dabbed her breasts, belly, and the generous mossing on her mount. She would proceed without concern. At the same time I have heard Japanese ladies speak scornfully of the low-necked dresses worn by English and American ladies at Court. Who will ever explain the thousand eccentricities of manners?
In many respects I found life in Japan much saner than life in Europe. But in one respect there was no comparison. If you took a geisha as a mistress and asked her whether she was healthy or not, you could rely on her answerespecially if you treated her fairly. Consequently there was far less danger of foul venereal disease in Japan than in Europe. Also, there was less danger of begetting a child, for every geisha knew how to prepare a little wad of oiled paper which she introduced into the vagina and so made pregnancy practically impossible.
In many ways, I came to regard Japan as the France of the East, not only in the disdain of ordinary modesty, but also in love of art and appreciation of artists and writers. Besides, just as there is a heroic soul behind all the flighty heedlessness of the French character, so there is an extraordinary heroism in Japan that every now and then astonishes the observer. If a wife injures her husband, or a soldier makes some blunder that brings ruin to others, each does justice by taking his or her own life. I could go on almost interminably, extolling the virtues of this great people, but try as I would, I could never, considering the shortness of my stay in the country, hope to give an adequate historical document. Instead, I shall move on at once to what I can speak of with authority, to the subject of the young woman who, more than any other person, was responsible for the longing I still feel after all these years for “the land of flowers.”
I was invited by my friend, the captain, to a festive evening. He had brought together a special corps of geishas, and they were attended by women who came and sat with us while their more exalted sisters danced. The young lady who came to me was the prettiest of the whole lot; I suppose I showed her that I admired her. At any rate, the dance was not half over when her hand began to stray against my thigh. She soon went on to bolder demonstrations of desire, brushing the stiffening bulge of my cock with her fingertips. At length I said to her, “Later,” one of the few Japanese words I knew. She pouted and then laughed with enjoyment. I allowed my hand to move softly over the silk of her tunic.
When the geishas finished their dance and came back to sit with us, I said to my host: “Is it possible for me to keep my attendant?”
“Sure,” he replied, and with a word or two made my resolve known. Never did I see such gratitude in any human face as the young lady showed to me there. I was sure that the compliment paid to her in preferring her to the more important geishas would be returned in full. I was not mistaken.
As soon as we were alone together in the bedroom, she evinced a mixture of affection and passion such as it has seldom been my good fortune to experience. She was pretty and beautifully formed and had all the wisdom of a perfect lover. She drew my trousers down and took my engorged tool in her mouth without hesitation. She swished around the mushroom head, flicking lightly over the tip, then used long strokes to lave the length of my shaft. When she arrived at my balls she gently took them into her mouth one at a time, then released them with a wet popping sound. She returned to the darkly blushing crown while she manipulated me with her hand, urging me to spend in her mouth. So relaxed was I that this was not long in coming. Yet, as my spunk rose, she gripped me tightly enough to force it down, only to commence the voluptuous cycle once again. By the third repetition I was squirming with incredible desire and raging orgasms that had been brought upon me without the release to which every man is accustomed. This was the sign of my geisha's skill and I have never met another woman who could emulate her talents. At last, seeing that my body was unaccustomed to such unadulterated pleasure, she once again brought me to the precipice and this time urged me over. I fairly exploded in her mouth while she expertly swallowed every drop, though she let some dribble past her lips and shared this with me in a long and lingering kiss. A strange thoughtful mistress, she was clever enough to cease exciting me when she knew my body was satiated, her own body a perfect instrument of love. Both by her passion and by her self-control she made the nights memorable for me.
I made the mistake of thinking that after the first night it was all over. When the captain and I met in the morning, I told him all my feelings and give him a ten pound note to convey my satisfaction to my little friend. To my wonder and his, the money was refused! The beautiful and gracious woman told me with a brave glance that she would always be willing to welcome me gratis. My friend declared that it was the first time in all his twenty years' acquaintance with Japan that such a thing had happened.
About a week later, I received a letter from the woman saying that she cared for me and if I wished she would come and be my servant until I left Japan. Thank God I had sense enough to accept her offer. Of what happened then, I shall speak now.
It was my little attendant who taught me all I know of Japan and a good deal about female nature to boot.
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First of all, she showed me that the position of women in Japan among the better classes was far lower than I had ever supposed. She assured me that the boy in the family was everything and that the girl had to do what she was told. If she married, the inferiority only intensified. Whatever her husband did was good, and if his will ran counter to hers in anything, she had simply to give in or be broken. She taught me that the Japanese wife was everything to her husbandnot only a mistress but a valet as well. She takes care of his clothing, brings it to him in the morning and helps to put it on and must put away with care whatever he takes off. In the poorer families all the washing, sewing and mending is done by the wife. Every Japanese woman (excepting those of the highest rank) knows how to sew, and makes not only her own garments, and those of her children, but her husband's as well.
It is the wife who gets up first in the morning, wakes the servants and prepares the breakfast. As soon as she puts out the andon, which is the only night-light used in Japanese houses and is merely a piece of wick floating in a saucer of vegetable oil, she opens the sliding doors, lets in a flood of light and completes her hasty toilet.
Certainly a Japanese man is lucky in having all the little things in life attended to by his thoughtful wife. She is a good, considerate, careful body-servant, always on hand to bear for him all the trifling worries and cares.
Once the husband is started on his daily rounds, the wife settles down to the work of the house. Her sphere is within her home, and though, unlike other Asiatic women, she goes without restraint alone through the streets, she does not concern herself with the world. Yet she is not barred from all intercourse with the outer world, for there are sometimes great dinner parties, given perhaps at home, when she must appear as hostess, side by side with her husband, and share with him the duty of entertaining the guests.
So rigid are the requirements of Japanese hospitality that no guest is allowed to leave a house without having been pressed to partake of food, if it be only tea and cake. Even tradesmen or messengers who come to the house must be offered tea. If carpenters, gardeners, or workmen of any kind are employed about the house, tea must be served in the middle of the afternoon with a light lunch, and tea sent out to them often during their day's work. If a guest arrives in rickshaw, not only the guest, but the rickshaw men must be supplied with refreshments. All these things involve much thought and care on the part of the lady of the house.
