The Man in The Bullet Train

He must've napped for a good thirty to forty minutes, the last ten of which saw his head resting on my shoulder. I made every effort to remain both nonchalant and motionless, wanting to preserve the feeling of physical contact for as long as possible. He'd slouched down in the seat, at least as far as his suitcase allowed, and as a result, I could risk another sideways glance at his groin, hoping for another tantalizing glimpse of his red underwear.

But instead, to my very great delight, I discovered that 'afternoon wood' can also strike unannounced. My attempt at nonchalance crumbled and I stared at the clear, unambiguous outline of a respectably sized hardon, trying to peel off the layers with my eyes. I was forced to shift in my seat, needing to adjust my own 'downstairs', lest my own body's reaction become equally visible.

He woke up, yawned and immediately became aware he was erect. He pushed back into the seat, grabbed the plastic bag containing snacks and placed it on his lap to give himself a chance to subside. I followed his example and for a similar reason, acutely conscious that my body was responding sexually to a man. And quite unambiguously so.

I stuck out my hand. 'Benoit desu. Haji-something! I can't remember the word for 'pleased to meet you! Gomenasai!' . He laughed and grasped my hand firmly 'Ha-ji-me-ma-shi-te. Wataru desu.' I repeated the word a couple of times stopping when I received a thumbs up from him and then he asked for my name again. 'It's French so a bit difficult so most friends just call me 'Ben' ... or 'you stupid fool'. He got the joke and chuckled, putting his hand to his mouth and leaning his head in towards me as he laughed softly. A gesture so disarming that I immediately wanted to make him laugh again and again. When he shifted his position in the seat, l knew things had calmed and this he confirmed by indicating he wanted to get up for the toilet. I leaned in and whispered 'Your flies!'. The blank look he returned told me a quick mime was needed. He twigged straight away and again gave me a charming laugh as thanks for stopping a further addition to his collection of embarrassments.

I swivelled my legs out to the right and as he got up, instead of the seat, he put his hand on my shoulder to steady himself. The next thing i knew was that my eyes were zeroed in on his firm round buttocks as he strode away. I was clearly attracted to him, that much was pretty obvious, but did the hand on my shoulder, rather than the seat, indicate something on his part? Was I reading too much into a nothing?

Confused, I gave myself a quick talking to 'Don't be so ridiculous!' and gazed, unconvinced, out of the window until a light tap on my arm told me he was back. I stood up to let him in this time, only to have my confusion worsened when he put a hand either side of my shoulders as he manoeuvred himself into his seat again. Hadn't I read that Japanese don't touch? But he ... ?

'Are you travelling to Kyoto? Or Hiroshima?' he asked, choosing the two most logical stop-offs for a tourist hurtling south. 'Kyoto, for the big festival tomorrow. I'm really looking forward to it. Only just managed to book a week in a ryokan there. Then down to Hiroshima for two days. After that, I don't honestly know yet!! You?'

'I'm going to Beppu, my hometown. It's famous for the 'Seven Hells of Beppu'. You should visit!'

Desperately pleased that he seemed keen to chat with me, and instead of going for the more obvious line of conversation about why Beppu had cornered what struck me as an unpromising niche market, I blurted out 'Are you going there for work?'. As if anyone goes to their hometown for work. His face fell, his eyes darted up to where the cardboard box was stashed and l knew l had put my size twelves full square where they could do the most damage. Beautiful dark eyes bore into me as he debated whether to tell me what I'd guessed the minute his eyes shot up to the company archive storage box that likely contained the sum total of his working life. 

The twin facts that he was never going to see me after I got out very shortly in Kyoto and that my appalling Japanese limited whom I could tell decided things. 'I was asked to leave. I don't have a job now.' His pain was all too clear. My size twelves wanted to march in to ask why but l was saved from my tactless noseyness for once by Japan Rail. The loudspeaker burst into a machine gun of unusually firm-sounding Japanese, the announcer's voice to my mind betraying far more emotion than l cared to hear as we hurtled down at 250 kph. The carriage erupted into agitated conversations. Mobiles were rapidly dug out of bags and pockets and texts were hurriedly hammered out. In some cases, the usual Japanese train etiquette was ditched and calls were made from inside the carriage. I looked blankly at Wataru for an explanation. 'There's been a big earthquake in Hiroshima. The train will terminate at the next stop. In Kyoto. For safety reasons.'