A PROUD FUROSHA By Andrej Koymasky © 2010 Written on July 1, 2002 Translated by the Author English text kindly revised by
USUAL DISCLAIMER
"A PROUD FUROSHA" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.
Chapter 3 - Stealing a fruit from a tree
I didn't have not even just one yen in my pockets, despite that I had tried to spend as little as I could. And not having any more money, I couldn't even keep myself clean, wash my clothes and my body except briefly and incompletely in the sinks of the public toilets. Therefore, being increasingly dirty, I wasn't even able to find a customer on the street that wanted to spend his money to have sex with me.
I was becoming increasingly weak and feeling more and more the bites of hunger. I dragged in the streets that I once walked with merry carelessness, like a ghost of myself, and looked at the shining shop windows, that once attracted just a distracted glance, with a mix of rage, envy, desperation - I wandered in that world, that in the past was mine, like an alien, like in a dream, like when you look at a movie - you can see everything, in a clear, neat way, but you can't stretch out your hand to take somethingÉ You can't even stretch out a hand to brush another living beingÉ nothing.
Moreover, the characters in a movie don't look at the audience in the theatre, don't judge them, don't avoid themÉ as instead was happening to me in that situation. I saw them looking at me from far and slightly modify the direction of their walk, carefully calculating it so to be absolutely sure they didn't pass too close to me. And when we crossed, their glances were busy looking at something, the pavement in front of them, the traffic, the shop windows, or a dog near a lamppostÉ but absolutely not me.
Did you ever experience the loneliness of the glances? The feeling you became an invisible manÉ or too visible to be looked at? The loneliness of being amidst thousands of people but knowing that you don't exist for them, you don't countÉ or at most you are just a little annoyance like a fly might beÉ The loneliness for which, even if you try to stop somebody in the street with a shy "sorryÉ" that person goes straight on, doesn't even turn to look at you, as if he were blind and deaf and dumbÉ or else, exactly, as if you didn't even exist?
To me this was a totally newÉ and terrifying experience.
I discovered that the underpasses of the biggest stations remained open at night-time and that in front of the closed rolling shutters of the shops, all types of outcast people like me were camping with their cardboard and old blankets to pass the night. So I too found empty big cardboard boxes to make up in one way or another a fragile but useful shelter, and looked for a corner where I could lie down. The cardboard, besides protecting me a little from the cold of the stone floor, was also good to create a screen to block the glances of the few hurried passers-by.
Blocking their sight, not their glances, as none of those privileged people deigned give us a glance. Yes, privileged, as they could go to a home, as little as it might be, could open a fridge, as old as it might be, and eat a meal, as poor as it might beÉ and they could possibly also rest in the arms of a loverÉ as occasional as he might be.
I was also somewhat astounded how, although being without energy, hungry, in despair as I was, inside me still burned the flame of desire, the need to feel two arms and two legs around my bodyÉ
All day long I was wandering without a goal, I don't know in search of what. I saw a girl throw a barely half-eaten hamburger in the waste bin. I hurried to pick it out and gobbled it down almost without tasting it, I was so hungry. I was asking myself if I wouldn't be better to move to more quiet parts of the town, made of small houses and tiny gardens, almost like small villages set in the metropolis, or if it was rather better to stay in the central areas, full of people and of shopsÉ If I should cross the commercial streets filled with people, or wander in the parksÉ
I was a greenhorn tramp, I didn't have the knowledge and the experience needed to understand how one can survive in a city without owning anything. I was therefore unceasingly exploring, hoping to find, if not a solution, at least an inspiration.
I saw two men unloading a truck, toiling and sweating. I asked them if in exchange for something to eat, they wanted me to give them a hand. One of them looked at me as if I were an alien landed from god knows where, as if I were not speaking Japanese like him. The other one told me they didn't need anything, he seemed to hesitate then, when his colleague wasn't looking at him, slipped a five hundred yen coin into my hand.
I went away keeping that coin tight in my hand as if it were a treasure, or a talisman, a safety anchorÉ a miser anchorÉ But I could buy a bowl of udon or of ramen in one of the small shops that always are near the stations, where you eat standing up and in hasteÉ I could lessen for some time the hunger pangs that were squeezing my guts like a pitiless handÉ
I finally found one of them. I went there and ordered a bowl of udon for 360 yenÉ asked to add a boiled egg for 100 yenÉ then shyly asked if with the 40 yens remaining they could add something more to the bowl. The woman, neither young nor old, looked at me, judged my condition, then nodded and added one more eggÉ so discounting 60 yen. She handed me the steamy bowl, then told me to eat quickly and leaveÉ or else other customers would not stop there to eatÉ Feeling grateful for her small kindness, I tried to waste no timeÉ
The Ueno Park is wide and beautifulÉ Among its different parts you can find people of all kinds in it. Circles of merry and noisy university students, groups of mothers with their babies, old people idling in the sun like old watch dogs, groups of Iranian immigrants that talk amongst themselves aloud in their incomprehensible language, and that pass each other wads of counterfeited telephone cards to sell, that the yakuza sells them becoming rich at their expense, small groups of high school girls wearing their short blue pleated skirts and their sailor's collars, hoping to find some old swine who wanted to buy their dirty panties for five thousand yenÉ
Right, I didn't even have that resource, I thought with miserable irony.
We were in the monsoon season, the season of the heavy rains. In fact in that late afternoon all of a sudden big drops started to fall, then squalls of rain. It was a general stampede. Some people far-sightedly had umbrellas and opened them trying to shelter at least their heads and shoulders - mawkish little umbrellas, folding umbrellas in two or three parts, big black umbrellas worthy of a serious personÉ
I didn't have a shelter to go to, and when I would reach the underpass or the nearest station I would be soaked to my bones, therefore I went on walking slowly like before, thinking that after all I was getting a good shower for free, and also a rinsing of my clothes at the same time.
I could feel the water stream over me, not only on my face and from my hair, but also under my clothes, on my skin, like sly caresses of an eager lover. It was not at all unpleasant, as a feeling, on the contraryÉ and I got a hard-on, and felt the water caress my cock that was pushing against the soaked clothes, and that dripped in rivulets from my balls, giving me a faint feeling of ticklingÉ I felt like I could count the number of rivulets streaming under thereÉ My shoes, now filled with water, were puddling with each of my steps, and the pebbles of the lane creaked under my shoes.
I stretched out my tongue and tasted the water - it didn't have a good taste, Tokyo air is too polluted, and when the water reaches the height of the people, is already saturated with dust and hydrocarbonsÉ I spit it out, lightly nauseated. I left the lane and crossed a lawn going towards a thicket of bushes. I saw a concrete bench with wooden slats to sit on, and went to sit there, enjoying the wild rain that was making the park look almost unreal, hiding its details behind thick veils of water moved by gusts of wind that at times seemed warm and at times cold.
As it had started, suddenly the downpour stopped. I knew it was just a truce, a temporary pause, as the sky was still dark. I was now feeling cold. I started to tremble and the tremor was increasingly violent and I was not able to control it. And I was neither able to define it - was it just out of cold, or out of desperation?
The sound of a voice at my back distracted me from that dilemma.
"Hey, boy, why did you stay out in the rain?"
I turned to look at the owner of that voice - it was a young man, about thirty years old, tall, slender but apparently strong, dressed in an indefinable style that I was not able to classify at once. He gave me the impression it was something half way between that of a worker dressing in a traditional way, possibly a carpenter, and the assistant of a fruits and vegetables shopÉ I don't know why I thought exactly of these two possibilities.
"Because I don't have a place to goÉ" I answered in a tired tone.
He turned round the bench and stopped in front of me, carefully looking at me from head to toe. His eyes were moving up and down, up and down in a cheeky way that annoyed me a little; one doesn't look at a person in that way, it is not politeÉ But, at least, he was looking at me, at least he was aware of me, so he recognised my existence.
"You are soaked as if you fell in the river." he said with a flat tone, almost as he was informing me about it.
How, if I didn't already knowÉ What was the sense of telling me so? I looked for a moment in his eyes - his expression was serious, but his eyes were smiling. I noticed he was not wet, his clothes were perfectly dry.
"If you stay there so, you will get an illness." he stated after a long silence.
"I know." I answered as if I was admitting a fault.
"Thrown out of home." he said nodding to himself. He then asked, "Am I wrong?"
I shook my head. On one side I was annoyed by his insistence with his sentences, his questions, his going on looking at me too openlyÉ but on the other side I was also grateful to him. How long was it that nobody addressed his words to me? Three? Four days? Besides the woman of the udon bowlÉ The udon bowlÉ was already totally digested and I was feeling hungry again.
"No, I'm not wrong." the young man said correctly interpreting my denial made just slightly shaking my head, and he said it in the tone of who says to himself, "I saw it right!"
He was going on to look at me so, feeling embarrassed, I moved my eyes away. A man on his bicycle was passing not far and I followed him with my eyes. A sparrow came flying and landed between him and me, and seemed to look at us curiously. I looked at the sparrow, I curious too.
"You will come with me." the man then said.
I raised my eyes and looked at him, amazed. I think that my mouth was agape, so much I was astounded.
"Why? Where?" I then asked in a feeble tone, asking myself why he told me those wordsÉ he gave me that order.
"At my place. You have to take off those clothes. We have to rinse them, to dry them. You have to dry yourself. Standing there you will catch a disease."
"Where?" I asked again feeling terribly tired, totally emptied, unable to answer him with a no in an explicit way, and so hiding behind my questions.
"At my place." he repeated then said, "Stand up. Come." and without waiting for an answer, without waiting for a yes or a no from me, he went off at a decided pace. Decided but neither fast nor slow.
I stood up and followed him. He walked around the bushes. Behind them there was a kind of low tent made with waterproof sheets of various colours, hanging from ropes tied between four trees, making an almost perfect parallelepiped. It was not a camping tent, and neither a military tent. It made me think of the picture of the Kaaba in Mecca, just this one was not black but was made with yellow, green and blue sheets.
He raised one of them. He turned back to look at me, again from head to toe, several times. He seemed thoughtful. He again nodded to himself.
"Undress here in front and leave your clothes on the grass, don't wet the inside. I will take care of your clothes." he said keeping still raised the sheet that served as the door of his shelter.
I remained there, still. I didn't know what to do. I could feel my clothes sticking to my skin and the sensation was disagreeable. The interior, of which I could only see a small part, seemed welcoming. So I decided and started to slowly undress. My shirt fell on the grass, then my undershirt. I opened my trousers and took them off, heavy from the water they had absorbed, first one leg, then the other, and remained with only my underpants, socks and shoes on me.
"Take off your shoes and socks also, then go in. Even if you wet a little inside, it's not a problem, I will dry the floor later." he said.
Balancing first on one foot then on the other, I did as he told me and put my bare foot inside, then the other one, leaving everything outside. The floor was another of those waterproof sheets, but this one was of an orange colour. When I was inside, he took off his shoes, just pushing the feet one against the other then went in. He let the entrance sheet fall down.
"Also take off your underpants." he said while bending at a corner and straightening again up, with an old but clean towel in his hand.
"NoÉ" I said feeling oddly ashamed to undress totally, there in front of an unknown person.
"Yes." he just said. Then, when he saw I didn't move, he added, "You do undress totally at the public baths, don't you? In front of strangers, don't you?"
"It's not importantÉ" I answered, thinking he was right, but there was not a public bath and we were just two, alone.
"Take them off. You have to dry yourself and to dry them. On you they will just annoy you. Take them off."
It was not an order, it was not a request. He was just saying something obvious. Like someone who tells you - if you want to read, open the book.
So, feeling a little ashamed, I let my underpants slip down, took them off, then straightened up, keeping them in my hand.
"Throw them in that corner, I will take care of them later." he said.
He came close to me and started to rub all over my body with the towel, drying me.
"I'll do itÉ" I weakly protested.
"It's almost done. What's the difference?" he said turning around me and going on to rub my body.
It was embarrassingÉ but also quite agreeable. So my pleasure pointer started to mark some degrees towards the highÉ He rubbed my hair with the towel, using both hands, from behind.
He then pointed at his futon rolled in a corner, "Unroll it and lie on it. And cover yourself with that blanket. I will now take care of your clothes."
I did as he told me. The idea of lying down on something soft, of covering my nudity, was appealing to me. As soon as I was settled, waves of tiredness seemed to submerge me, but also a light feeling of well-being.
"My name is Oishi Saburo. And yours?" he asked a moment before going out of the tent, with my underpants in his hand.
I decided to give him a fake nameÉ so I invented, "KinoshitaÉ Ken Kinoshita."
"Good, Ken. Relax, now." he said and went out.
I heard him bustle about outside, then water noise - he was washing my clothes. They really needed it. The light was filtering inside through the waterproof sheets. I looked around, still lying down. The tent was wide like about a three tatami room (6 square meters). In a corner there was a wood crate with a gas cooker on it. Then there were big boxes full of who knows what, lined along the walls.
In the opposite corner another wood crate had on top a battery lamp, some papers, and a copybook. At the centre there was a pole with a small cushion on its top, that kept the horizontal sheet raised, giving it a roof shape, so that the rain would flow away and not fill it dangerously.
Tiredness had the winning hand on me, and insensibly I slipped into sleep, hearing the noise of Saburo who outside, on the lawn, was going on washing my clothes.
I was awakened by the noise of the rain that was drumming on the sheet that was the roof of Saburo's tent. It was night, from the sheets was coming no light at all, and the electric lamp was lit and diffused a faint light in the tent. I turned my head to see where Saburo was and what he was doing.
He was sitting near me, bare-chested, and he was looking at me. When he saw I opened my eyes, he put a hand on my chest and slowly glided the blanket from my body. Serious as always. But now his eyes were more smiling than before, they were shining and burning with lust.
"NoÉ" I said in a low voice.
"Yes!" he said, peremptory.
He stood up on his knees and I saw he was totally naked, and that his cock was totally hard, straight, and for the first time in my life a cock seemed to me menacing.
"NoÉ" I repeated trying to push him away from me.
He came on me in silence, seized my wrists with hands strong like steel vices, slipped his legs between mine and forced me to stretch them, while his chest weighed on mine, preventing me from escaping from him.
"NoÉ" I insisted, feeling almost desperate.
I didn't want it. Not because I didn't like Saburo, he had a quite agreeable face and a nice body. But up to then, even when I sold my body, I had been master of it. My bodyÉ the last thing I still owned. But Saburo was going to steal that also. If he asked me, I would have told him yesÉ at least to thank himÉ but not so! I didn't want this.
But I was totally devoid of strength, not only physically but also inside meÉ Saburo on the contrary was strong and determined. He forced me, with a few appropriate moves, to assume the position he wantedÉ heedless of my no. He folded me under him, and while with one hand he was keeping both my wrists imprisoned, high above my head, with the other he spread something between my buttocks, then pushed his hard pole between them.
"NoÉ" I again prayed him.
"Yes!" he affirmed with eyes of fire.
I felt the strong and smooth cock head forcing my back entrance, overcome my weak but desperate resistance, open meÉ and with a moan of victory, Saburo started to sink inside me. I then all of a sudden stopped trying to fight him, to resist him, and surrendered in his hands. He sank completely inside me; his sword filled my sheath.
"Yes!" he exclaimed in a winning, triumphant tone.
His face was burning with lust, his eyes were shining for the joy of the victory. He knew he won me, he knew he could do with me as he pleased, all he wantedÉ He started to hammer inside me, going on keeping my wrists prisoners of his steel hand, while with his other hand he was teasing my genitals in the vain hope, possibly, to make them harden. Or possibly just for the pleasure of touching the genitals of another maleÉ
As much as I was feeling weak and defenceless, that much he seemed full of vigour. He was dominating me, and not only physically. I didn't like it. But, whether I liked it or not, I could feel, I knew that I could not oppose his rapacious desire. He was hammering inside me, not violently but with virile determination.
And he was looking in my eyes, looking, looking. It seemed he wanted to penetrate me also with his eyes. I closed my eyes, to shut out his glance. It was not a victory look, it was not a domineering look, and it was neither a luxury lookÉ It was a look that wanted to lay bare my soulÉ
But even though I had lost control of my body, I wanted to at least keep the mastery of my soul. This is why I closed my eyes.
The continuous, prolonged assault of Saburo was not annoying me, was not pleasing me, it gave me nothing. Like the rain - you can't help it, you can just wait until it ceases, it stops. I could feel his body impend on me, dominate me inside. I cold feel his warm breath lapping on my face.
I finally felt all his muscles tense, also the grip of his hand on my wrists became tighter, he then started to unload inside me in a set of strong jets, each accompanied by a thrust. Differently from many other men, he didn't utter the least sound while he was abandoning himself to the shaking force of his orgasm. Only his breath became more difficult.
He then parted from me, abandoned the prey that had been my body and laid at my side, finally leaving me free. I could hear his breath gradually calming down, I could feel the light contact of his skin against mine, but only our shoulders and hips were touching.
I opened my eyes and looked at the sheet above us, on which the rain was still drumming. Soon after the breath of the young man lying at my side, sated and relaxed, became regular and deep. I understood he fell asleep. Out of safety I waited for several minutes, still, almost holding back my breath. My anus was gradually closing, still slightly irritated from the massive and unwanted invasion.
Slowly, being careful not to wake him up, I sat up. I looked at him. His face had a tranquil expression, not serene, not sated, but simply tranquil. Like that of any workman who is resting at the end of his workday. A veil of sweat was beading his smooth forehead and his upper lip. His chest was wide and hairless, besides a ring of light black hairs around his dark nipples. Another thin line of dark hairs lined towards the lower part of his body, started just under his navel to then open in a pentagon of dark and thick hair around his cock.
His pole, now soft, was resting on the firm sack of his balls, leaning against a thigh - I was surprised thinking that it seemed to me much bigger than it really was, when he pushed it inside me and while he was beating it up and down into my depth. Possibly, when it was hard, it was much bigger than at rest.
I looked around and saw on a crate some sandwiches. I was hungry. I stood up and took them, all three of them. I then went to the sheet that was the door of the tent, and pushed it aside. The faint light that came from inside the tent illuminated the heavy sheets of rain. I saw at the side of the entrance, hanging on one of the ropes that kept up the tent, all my clothes.
I put the sandwiches on the tent's floor and went out. Under the pelting rain I put on my socks, the underpants, the vest, the shirt, the trousers and finally the shoes. I raised the door sheet a little and took the sandwiches that were wrapped in plastic. I went away, at a fast pace, under the rain, feeling again the water run under my clothes, on my skin.
I turned back just once, and saw the tent, at my back, faintly lit by the battery lamp inside it. I turned again and went away, out of the park; I walked along the deserted pavement, until I saw the entrance of the station. It was still open. Therefore it should not yet be one in the night. I didn't have money to pay for a ticket, therefore I went far from the box of the clerk on watch, jumped over the turnstile and went to the platform.
A man who was coming up the escalator saw me jump over the turnstile and looked at me with a hard, disapproving expression, but said nothing and went to the way out. I went down. While I was waiting for the next train, I opened one of the three plastic envelopes and gobbled down the first of the three sandwiches.
The train came, half deserted. I went in and sat on the plastic seat. I opened the second envelope and ate another sandwich, this time more slowly, savouring it. I let the empty plastic envelope fall on the floor - I would never have done such a thing in the past, but now I was not caring at all. If societies rules had provoked my expulsion, why should I respect them? I asked myself, persuaded I was on the side of reason.
While I was attacking the third and last sandwich, I thought again about what Saburo didÉ what he did to ME. He took advantage of my weakness, of my desperation to steal from me what remained to meÉ Not even amongst tramps is there solidarity, I thought almost astounded at becoming aware of it.
I chewed my last sandwich slowly to moisten each bite well, as I didn't have anything to drink and I feared they could stick in my throatÉ A man dressed like a clerk passed in front of me and threw me an almost astounded glance, but passed on. Who knows what he could have thought? Possibly that I was going back home drunk after an evening of revelry with my mates in some pubÉ
The train got to the terminal. To exit I should have had a ticket, but as I came in, I would go out, jumping over the turnstile. I went on the escalator, doing so as not to be too near another traveller. I went with a decided pace to the turnstile and without bothering to check if somebody was looking at me, I jumped over it. I went out of the station. Here it was not raining. But the street was wet; therefore it had rained before.
Outside the few passengers that arrived with my same train were going hurriedly to their homes, grey solitary figures that were longing to reach the safety of their houses and finally lie on their futons. And possibly to have nice dreams.
I had never been in that part of Tokyo, I had no idea about where I was, I didn't even check what line I took, in which direction the train was going. I could go back to the station to look at its name, but I didn't feel like it, and anyway I didn't care, it was absolutely not important.
When you have a house, you have to tell the others where it is - such district of Tokyo, such borough, such block, such numberÉ but when you don't have a house, what importance is it? Nobody ever asks you - where don't you have a house? Everywhere! All the boroughs were therefore mine, as I didn't have a house any more, right? Therefore what importance could there be in what part of Tokyo I was?
I don't know why, but while I was wandering at random, I recalled Saburo - he didn't court me, he didn't rape me, he didn't contract for a serviceÉ he just took me. And used me. Like somebody who passes near a tree and sees a ripe fruit on it, picks it and eats it. He should not do so, when the tree doesn't belong to him. No, he should not do so.
I was on a narrow street sided by small one-family houses, each with a garden wide like the forehead of a cat, how we say here in JapanÉ "A small plot of land" I think the English speaking people saysÉ It's funny how in those conditions I could think to my knowledge of EnglishÉ
Everything was silent; all the lights were off. No, from a window on the ground floor of one of those houses came a light. A crumpled curtain prevented me from looking inside. I asked myself if behind it was somebody ill, or studying, or who simply couldn't fall asleepÉ Or possibly a couple making loveÉ or just having sex.
I stopped to look. I could see no movement inside. After some time I resumed walking. I had to find a corner, a shelter, someplace to spend the nightÉ but where? I could possibly have been wrong to walk far from the stationÉ What about going back?
I walked in front of a Buddhist temple and read the wooden plate hanging at the side of the closed gate - "Temple of the Small Circle"É I asked myself what kind of circle was it, and how small was itÉ I asked myself if the monk, or the monks inhabiting it were married or singleÉ and if they fucked their novicesÉ
Once I had read a tale where a monk fucked his noviceÉ to teach him the right way, the tale explained. I don't remember who wrote that tale, but I remember that the monk loved his handsome novice so much, that each time he looked at him, he felt as if his soul could explode in a thousand pieces.
Continuing to walk, I asked myself if I could ever, one day, feel my soul about to burst in a thousand pieces for the love of somebodyÉ and not from desperation.
CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 4
In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to read them, the URL is
http://andrejkoymasky.com
If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help revising my English translations, so that I can put on-line more of my stories in English please e-mail at
andrej@andrejkoymasky.com