|The story below is originally published on Mainichi Daily News by Mainichi Shinbun (http://mdn.mainichi.jp).|
|They admitted inventing its kinky features, or rather deliberately mistranslating them from the original gossip magazine.|
|In fact, this is far from the general Japanese' behavior or sense of worth.|
You're a homeless man in Nagoya camped out in the park adjacent to Nagoya Castle or one of the several public areas where dozens of vagrants have erected makeshift abodes made of blue plastic tarpaulins.
Having been down on your luck for so long, sex, if on your mind at all, is probably little more than a distant memory. And since it's been days, sometimes even months since your last bath, the prospect of finding female companionship is likely to be all the more remote.
Certainly the last thing you'd ever expect would be to be awakened from a sound sleep by an attractive young female who has slipped into your shelter, opened the fly of your pants, and begun to provide relief in the form of hand jobs, or oral sex.
Yet, increasing numbers of homeless men in Nagoya's parks swear this has happened to them. Did these pleasurable experiences actually occur? Or was it merely something emanating out of the fog of alcoholinduced stupor?
Underground magazine Uramono Japan (October) swears the story is true. Apparently some women are so turned on by male pheromones, they won't accept anything less than a full concentration, unadulterated by soap and water. Or perhaps they're fetishists for dirt, grime and ordure.
Be as it may, those on the receiving end of her ministrations aren't complaining.
"Her hand technique is fantastic, but her fellatio is exceptional," one of Nagoya's lumpenproletariat insists."She sneaked in and did it to me one night, I swear!"
Intrigued by this somewhat incredible story, one day last summer Ikkyu Muromachi --- nom de plume of a Kyoto-based freelance writer --- hit the Meishin Expressway and drove from Kyoto to Nagoya. In order to pass for a real homeless man and not just some cheapskate looking for a free blow job, Muromachi had prepared for his investigative report by refraining from bathing for the previous seven days, working up a rank body odor hopefully convincing enough for him to pass for the real thing.
Making the rounds in the parks, Muromachi asked fellow bums about the woman.
"She doesn't seem to be from Nagoya," says one wizened older chap, between sips of sake. "She began slipping into the parks at night about a year ago. Supposed to be about 32 or 33. Not bad looking either..."
"Did she do it to you?" an incredulous Muromachi asks.
"Hell no! Those kind of promiscuous broads ain't my type," the old codger mutters.
After a full week of uneventful nights in various parks throughout the city, the "miracle" that Muromachi had waited for finally occurred.
"Turning over in my sleep, I thought I heard approaching footsteps," he writes. "Then I saw the human figure of indeterminate gender the faint light. The footsteps sounded like a woman's. I got the feeling she was coming for me."
Muromachi felt a brief panic, wondering if the person might be armed with a cutting instrument intending to do him harm. But then he felt a gentle hand on his inner thigh.
"At first I couldn't believe it," he writes. "Could this be real?" But he smelled her floral perfume, and immediately stiffened.
Slim fingers crept up to his waistband, groped over the button, released it and tugged down his trousers. Muromachi lifted his waist to help slip them off, at which time his own rank body odor wafted toward his nose. Ugh.
Kneeling over him, the woman proceeded to run her tongue along the underside of his phallus for its entire length, and then took his full erection into her mouth, head nodding while making slurping noises onomatopoeically described as "chiro-chiro jupu-jupu."
"I can't hold back and longer, I'm coming!" he groaned, and but she kept it in her mouth and, while he spurted in ecstasy, sucked him dry.
Then with no further ado, she vanished into the darkness. From what little he saw of the woman, Muromachi says the she had sloping eyes with long lashes, somewhat resembling actress Yoshiko Sakaguchi. She wore black jeans.
"There were so many things I wanted to ask her," writes Muromachi. "But she never spoke."
Back home in Kyoto, Muromachi tells Uramono Japan every time he reminisces over his experience he feels a stirring in his loins. Apparently sleeping under vinyl sheeting in a public park was worth it. In the hope of duplicating the experience he's planning a return Nagoya this autumn.