Paul dreamed he was back on leave in Tokyo. It
was in one of the Oyasumi, (the bathhouses) now
westernized and common as massage parlors in
America. But this was a special place-of a
bygone era now to be found only in fiction-
where a gentleman, or at least a man of some
means could purchase unique and pleasurable
experiences without reservation or inhibition.

In a room walled only by beautifully printed
sheets of rice paper and lit softly from behind
by paper lamps and from within by many candles,
Paul reclined in a sunken bath. Hot perfumed
water roiled luxuriously around his waist and a
sake bottle and cup rested on the edge of the
bath near his head. He had been well tended to,
it was clear, but at present, he was not the
center of attention.

Roughly two-thirds of the room was occupied by
a mat, which fully touched three walls and was
upholstered in black vinyl or perhaps rubber.
On the mat, two beautiful young Japanese women
squared off in a squat position, as if to
grapple. Lean, muscled bodies gleamed dully
with some subtle oil. Their black hair was
pulled back tightly in buns and they wore only
the traditional chotto matte of the Sumo
wrestler, one girl red and the other blue. The
wide belt and thin crosspiece between the legs,
while seeming somewhat bizarre to Paul’s
western sensibilities, looked extremely
provocative on the startlingly lithe bodies of
these two girls.

They stared at each other with intent
concentration. This was obviously no Sumo
match, however, as suddenly the red clad girl
lunged forward and seized the other girl around
the waist, twisting her off balance and to the
mat. The blue clad girl raised her pale, sleek
legs and with amazing deftness hooked them in
front of the other girl’s shoulders, then
proceeded to push her off with the leverage.
The move was effective, and the red girl was
catapulted onto her back, her small breasts
quivering tautly, the shock of the blow
registering momentarily on her dryad’s face.
The blue girl pounced quickly forward onto her,
clasping her outstretched hands. They grappled
with each other in this manner with fierce
concentration on their lovely faces for fully
thirty seconds. Dark strands of the blue girl’s
hair hung down over her soft face, and she blew
at one of them distractedly.

Then, with a forceful reserve of strength, the
red girl almost succeeded in throwing her
opponent completely off of her. They ended up
in at tight bear hug and began to wriggle,
neither able to gain much ground. Their soft
grunts and gasps echoed and Paul could see
their youngish, rounded breasts heaving and
sliding against one another as they began to
roll clumsily across the room. They became an
indivisible writhing of slick skin, damp hair,
and flashes of tight, brown nipple, each one’s
head thrown back with the strain of effort
showing on her sweet face. Paul realized with
some small bit of shame that he had an immense
erection.

Now the red girl had the blue one in a sort of
half-nelson, kneeling astride her back with one
of the girl’s arms hooked behind her and a hand
on the back of her head. The blue girl could do
nothing to retaliate as the side of her face
was pressed firmly into the mat. Her red lips
pouted, a groan of frustration escaping them,
and she thumped her leg slowly and rhythmically
on the mat, making a slapping sexual sound.

Paul looked absently down, where the swollen,
crimson head of his cock inexplicably jutted
from his clenched fist. He felt faint, as if
the sake and the steam conspired to work a
fever in him. The room darkened, but strangely,
the thumping of the pinned girl’s leg on the
floor grew louder.

He woke on the floor, breathless and discon-
certed. The kerosene lamp had gone out, and
as he reached blindly for the doorknob to
admit the lamplight from the hallway, he felt
the still-warm dampness of his seed among the
hair of his inner thighs. Paul had indeed been
too long from a woman’s arms.