At the Myoko Hot Springs Spa

[This story was written for a writing exercise limiting the text to exactly 750 words.]

Toshio, my Tokyo artist teacher, checked into Hokkaido’s Myoko Hot Springs Spa as a gnarly old Japanese man in a black silk kimono, which barely covered the necessities, brushed by me. He lingered, touching my hip with long, slender fingers and then my nipple, pulling gently through the gauzy material of my polo shirt on the ring I had pierced there.

“Atode fac you,” I heard him murmur as he passed.

“What? Who was that?” I asked. “What did he say?”

“That’s General Kohei Oshiba,” the desk clerk said, his eyes lowered, showing a look of embarrassment.

“He said he’d fuck you later, Dan,” Toshio said, with a laugh. “Guess he thinks he can be forward with a young blond coming to the spa with an old man like me. Fat chance, though, I can get you in bed but you won’t let me fuck you.” He stopped there, but, giving me a smile, he added, “Yet.”

I had suspected he’d brought me to this spa to remedy that. I would let him—eventually. But I was in no rush.

The clerk’s eyes were still downcast as we went to our room, the rooms being separate wooden units topped with thatched roofs, positioned haphazardly around stone pathways, with small terraces here and there, and it all following a meandering steaming waterway bordered by lush foliage. Each unit, a wooden tatami matting-covered platform, walled by sliding rice-paper-covered screens, was positioned for privacy.

There was no privacy from sound, though. I saw the general guiding a young Japanese man in a loose kimono into the adjacent room as we returned from dinner. It wasn’t long before I heard the sounds of vigorous sex. The youth was moaning, groaning deeply, whimpering, and being very vocal.

“Onegai, onegai, yukkuri. Anata wa totemo okii desu. Anata wa totemo nagamochi shi masu. Onegai, onegai, shi masu,” I heard the young man cry out.

“What was that? What did he say?” I asked Toshio. “Such a plaintive cry.”

“Apparently the old man has a really big one and can use it vigorously and at great length,” Toshio answered. “But come, come to the bed with me. Perhaps . . .”

I entered his bed, but though we embraced and I let him fondle me—and I stroked him to completion—I did not let him fuck me.

In the night, the sighing of the wind through the bamboo stalks along the wandering waterway woke me. I rose, naked, disconcerted by dreams. I shrugged on a white silk kimono and went out to follow the stream in melancholy.

I came to a man in just a fundoshi—loincloth—arranging oils next to a massage table. He smiled and gestured toward the table. I was tense from dreaming of the general covering the youth in the next room, so, thankfully, I disrobed and mounted the table and lay on my stomach. The man’s hands were magic. I was barely awake when he became intimate. I was in heat enough to let him massage my buttocks and touch my hole. I moaned as he rubbed his fingers across my hole and gasped as he entered me with his fingers. I whimpered and moaned, opening to the fingers, which became something colder and thicker. I turned to see he held a jade dildo.

“Hai?—Yes?” he asked.

“Hai,” I whispered, in heat.

The dildo spread me open. I felt it withdraw and a slight weight coming onto my back, hovering over me, gnarled hands on sinewy arms stiffed armed by my shoulders, knobby knees hugging my hips. I turned and looked. The masseur was gone. The general was on top of me. Looking down the length of his gaunt, hard, wound-scared torso, I saw the longest cock I’d ever seen, in angry erection.

I moaned, “Please. Wait,” and then cried out, as he dipped his pelvis, attained penetrating position, and entered, entered, entered me. I writhed under him as he slid up into the core of me—conquering, slaying me. He came quickly at first in a long flow, but turned me on my back, held me captive, and, taking the ring in my nipple in his mouth and giving suck, fucked me and fucked me as, spreading my legs wide, I surrendered to his deep penetration and interminable flow.

Toshiro was asleep when, purring, I hobbled to the room. He no longer was asleep when I saddled on his loins, descended on his cock, and rode him into the dawn.