SEX IN JAPAN AND THE PERFECT LIFE OF HOSTS AND HOSTESSES
January 25th 2009 04:28
Sex is everywhere. People try to hide it, strangers try to deny it, but it glows over all of us like a giant, mother-like moon. In Korea, they hide sex behind so called barber shops. In Thailand, sex is hidden behind the friendly old massage parlour. In our homes, our parents hide it in their bedrooms when you’re gone, or in their drawers when you’re home. We all try to condone it yet we can’t stop paying for it, crawling back to it. It’s like we need that in our lives, that dirty little secret, that thing that makes us uncomfortable, that thing that makes us embarrassed, that thing makes us interested, that thing that makes us cover our mouths and giggle.
In Japan, particularly in Tokyo, where we stayed for the meanwhile, sex came as often as a McDonald’s or a Starbucks. Tokyo hosts places called “Soaplands,” where, for a certain cost, you may choose a companion to not only bathe you, but also potentially offer the services of a prostitute. Unfortunately for some of you readers, soaplands aren’t often offered to foreigners because foreigners apparently bring AIDS.
Besides the clubs in Roppongi, apparently the act of “clubbing” isn’t as common for youngsters in Japan as it is for youngsters in Australia (they often go bowling, sing karaoke and lose themselves in nomihoudais), so people find other methods of gaining a partner. Once you actually have a partner, however, you can take him or her to a “love hotel,” where, unlike the typical hotel, you don’t have to stay the whole night; you can just stay for a “rest.” These love hotels charge different prices depending on how long you want to have a rest for. You can stay for a few hour “short break,” or even for the whole night to receive a “full heal.” Reminds me of a video game.
Although there are some rather sloppily run love hotels, you can also be lucky enough to find ones that somehow hide the cheap sleaziness of it all: they come with mirrored walls, clean sheets, a romantic ambience, fluffy pillows, rotating and well decorated beds, (unused) toys, lube, the works. Some love hotels contain inbuilt train seats (for all those with train fantasies) and also vending machines that sell vibrators and other facilities needed to enjoy your quick rest. Who wouldn’t need a quick rest?
To further support the fact that sex can be paid for, I’ve been told by Takkun that certain businessmen in Japan are known to access a certain mobile phone website to contact school girls who are willing to provide varying degrees of escort services in exchange for money, accessories or anything else that they require. A lot of school girls aren’t as fortunate as their friends, you see, who, thanks to their wealthy parents, get to wear designer clothing and designer accessories and designer makeup and celebrity hairstyles to school and out all the time. So what they do is they sell a bit of themselves to keep up with the seasonal trends. That’s one of the many beauties of capitalism.
And then, of course, is the porn. You can watch all sorts of porn in stores with giant signs that say something like “CD and DVD,” and in those places you’ll find the men in the hats and the jackets and the bad odour sticking to them and following them around like a pissed off ghost. You can watch porn on TV, which is accessible at most times of the day for anyone in the family to watch. What disgusted me the most was a multi-level comic book, or manga, building I walked into that sold comic book porn that depicted children.
But I wasn’t interested in any of that. What gripped my attention the most was the host and hostess club scene. Officially, there is no sex involved in this scene. Hostesses clubs are bars full of pretty, well dressed girls who sit with you while you drink. You have to pay for their drinks, but in return, they laugh at your jokes and spend time with you and make you feel important. Host clubs, on the other hand, are full of well groomed men who often have long brown hair and fake tans. Women go to them and pay for their drinks and every night they get drunk, vomit, and wake up the next day to drink with more women and vomit and wake up the next day and drink with more women. They apparently make incredible amounts of money. They are just as popular (from observation and what I’ve heard) as hostesses. In fact, I was told by Takkun that hostesses, who are fed up with being fake all evening, retreat to host bars at the end of their shifts to pay for hosts to flatter them and laugh at their jokes. To recognise a host or hostess bar from a normal bar, host and hostess bars often have large signs that display photos of their hosts or hostesses like they’re celebrities, which I don’t doubt they are.
Watch this video:
There are also hostess clubs full of foreign hostesses to suit both foreigners and those who are interested in foreigners. Some towns, which are famous for foreigner run hostess bars give “normal” foreigners a bad reputation; a friend, a blonde Canadian friend, was merely sitting in a train one day when an elderly Japanese woman walked up to her and spat at her feet and blamed her for stealing away their men.
All this I took in and ignored and took in as Takkun continued on, as we were leaning against a rail somewhere in Ikebukuro, Kanye West’s Amazing playing in the background somewhere, and the sky was a reddish sort of light and Trevor had managed to get himself a girl, and when we woke earlier that afternoon he told me that there were no women more desirable than Japanese women, with their bodies and their personalities and the way they look after themselves, and I went to Trevor, Now listen, I’m going to start ignoring Japanese women and Brazilian women and Spanish women and all that hell and get down to the nitty gritty; I’m going to start fantasising about Aboriginal women, I’m going to collect posters of them, I’m going to fantasise about Mongolians and women who swear and cuss and rip dicks out of simple minded, drug induced skinny and snobby “educated” pussy men like us who don’t know what we’re really paying for. And Trevor called me crazy, but I didn’t tell him that maybe the world was crazy, but I didn’t tell him the world was meant to be this way.
| 73 |
| Vote |
Add To: 
subscribe to this blog
Comment by Lilla
From The Home Front
Enviro Warrior
Dream Herald
Esoteric Bookshop
Infotainment at its best!
I love it when I can read my favourite orble writers and learn new things too.
A fascinating expose into the cultural diversity of one of lives simplest pleasures... I am so glad you decided to do this travelog.
Thank you... and enjoy!
Lilla ...
Comment by Always Eighteen
Always Eighteen
Glad you enjoyed it! More to come...
Always
Comment by Anonymous