A young man's strange erotic journey around the globe

Life of a Manchild Chapter 8 – Masturbatory Bucket List

Chapter 8 – Masturbatory Bucket List

After I blew it with that Miho chick in Tokyo and ended up suffering from a massive head injury, over the course of the following couple weeks I had two more legitimate chances at getting with a Japanese girl on her home turf and managed to fuck up both of ‘em. Here’s my story…

Once we’d checked out all the temples and saw all the geishas we could handle in the Gion District of Kyoto, O’Shaughnessy and I grabbed a bagful of 16-ounce Asahi’s and started walking around town. With a crowd of locals, we ended up hanging out near a bridge along what I believe had been the Kamo River where we watched some guy juggle fire for about half-an-hour. After our cans had been demolished, we wandered around a bit and ended up going into some bar where people had been watching an Iraq v. Japan soccer match on the tube.

After the game had ended, the majority of the people cleared out of the bar. This is when we were joined by some dude named Drew from Utica, New York. Drew was one of those anti-government type dudes who didn’t go to college because of the “massive student loan scam” that’s meant to keep us all enslaved. After telling us about his political stances, he went on to explain his plan to steal a Little Debbie packaging machine, packing up Little-Debbie-sized squares of drugs and smuggling them into foreign countries. We wished him the best of luck and told him to make sure to let us know how it went whenever he got around to doing so. He also offered a piece of advice unto us which would later come in handy.

“If you ever get in trouble in Japan,” he told us, “just tell them you’re a student. They value education so highly here, they might be willing to overlook minor infractions if you’re supposedly here to study and not just some tourist asshole causing problems.”

The three of us then decided to head upstairs to a nightclub to see if we could get some strange. When we stood up to make our move, however, two Japanese girls from an adjacent table that’d been checking us out said “Hello!” and started waving us over. We put the nightclub plans on hold and went over to see what these chicks were all about.

The girl that I ended up sitting next to had been twenty-one and the other who Tim and Drew had sat by was twenty-eight. Both of them spoke a pretty limited English. They told us they’d never met each other before that evening but had encountered one another at school that afternoon and decided to go out and have some fun. Their names had been quite similar but I couldn’t for the life of me remember them – not that their names mattered in regards to the animalistic encounter I’d had in mind. We ordered another round of drinks and let the liquor carry our conversation.

As we continued to party at that table, Drew soon after became incoherent and eventually passed out sitting up. On video, the twenty-eight-year-old full-on slapped “Jwoo” – as she pronounced his name – across the face and he didn’t even budge. He was done for the night.

As O’Shaughnessy engaged in basic chatter with the older chick who had a full mouth of braces that I would’ve had no qualms about sticking my dong into, I sat by the younger one who was very cute but had a disturbing Mickey Mouse fetish that I’d been having a hard time comprehending.

“I love Mickey,” she said. “I love him.”

“Oh yeah?” I replied, not knowing what else to say to such a juvenile assertion. “That’s pretty cool.”

“No, no, you no understand. I love Mickey.”

She then pulled out her cell phone, started showing me pictures and told me that she visits Disneyland Tokyo every couple weeks just to hang out around Mickey. And she had hundreds of photos of herself in different outfits during different times of the year holding up the “V-sign” next to the guy in the Mickey costume to prove it.

“Oh, that’s great,” I said, sort of feeling weird and little bit guilty I was trying to fuck someone who seemed to have the mental capacity of an eight-year-old. “Very cool.”

In spite of her weird Mickey crush, after a few more drinks, I started getting touchy-feely with this girl under the table. In return, every time I took a sip from my glass, she’d immediately pick up the bottle and refill it for me and each time I pulled a cigarette out of my pack, she was quick to grab my lighter and hold the flame to my face for me to spark the carcinogens.

During this time when things had been going well, some random bleeding heart – some fuckin’ European dude – came up and informed me that he was concerned how our buddy who’d been completely zonked was going to get home. In return, I told him that he’s not my buddy and I don’t give a shit how he gets home because I’m tryin’ to fuck this chick next to me. The European then returned to his table of friends on the other side of the room and occasionally shot glances of disapproval in my direction. I didn’t care. I hadn’t had sex in over a year at that point and I wasn’t in Japan to babysit some guy I just met. I was there to try and get some fuckin’ pussy from Mickey’s main bitch.

Braces girl then leaned over the table and started explaining to me that her eyes aren’t really green and that she’s wearing contacts and popped one of them out to prove it to me. While we were on the subject of eyes, the president of the Mickey Mouse fan club asked O’Shaughnessy if he wore “false eyelashes.” I laughed and Tim got defensive, but the girls told him it was nothing to be worried about – that they admire the dark thickness of his lashes and wish theirs had been as prominent as his.

After a couple more rounds, we took the party up to the club on the second floor where I did my best to teach the Mickey chick how to back her ass up and grind it on my crotch the way all the vixens do in my favorite rap videos. Even though she was a cute little Asian girl with a petite frame and considerably less ass than the chicks who make it jiggle on BET, she did her best and I enjoyed myself immensely.

At some point, the girls decided to leave without inviting us and Tim blamed me for their departure. Specifically citing the moment when Mickey girl’d had her back against a pole that I’d been holding onto with one arm on each side of her as I’d been draggin’ my D up and down her leg, Tim said, “This isn’t America. You can’t dance like a rapist on Japanese chicks. They don’t do that here.”

I informed him they call it “gettin’ your freak on” for a reason, that I can “dance like a rapist” wherever I want, that she was grinding back on me pretty hard and that I never felt a line had been crossed. We agreed to disagree, left the bar and ending up getting into a physical altercation over our differing opinions on the matter in the middle of a Kyoto intersection around two in the morning. Following the scuffle, Tim stormed off, got lost and spent most of the night wandering around whereas I was fortunate enough to have remembered where the hostel was. And much to my surprise, the bar next to it was still open where I ended up sitting down, getting hammered and arm wrestling against some short order cook who didn’t speak English until I finally blacked out and went off to bed a few hours later.

At 0 for 2 in The Land of the Rising Sun, a few days later we took a train over to Osaka where I was hoping for a change of luck which ultimately never happened for me. This is how my pathetic third attempt at getting some Japanese pussy transpired…

O’Shaughnessy and I showed up to town early and had still been rather drunk from the night before. Since our check-in time wasn’t until five hours after we’d stepped off the train, we wandered into a small diner, ordered some lunch and a round of beers. One round turned into four hours’ worth of rounds before we finally decided to make our way over to the hostel at which we’d reserved two beds over the internet.

The directions to this hostel – which turned out to be a pretty big piece of shit, by the way – seemed cryptic. Well, either that or we were really drunk, or both. This is how they went: “Find and walk past a hospital then turn down the first alley that looks as if it has a slightly sloping downward direction, follow it for a block then turn right and walk for two blocks. The hostel will be on the left.” We couldn’t decide which alley had been sloping slightly downward and ended up walking down three or four different ones before eventually finding our way over to the place.

After greeting the French guy who ran the joint, I sat down and played the electric piano while we got checked in. Pretty much everyone in the hostel had been Japanese and it seemed as if they all lived there. No one really seemed to be a traveler and everyone seemed sort of cliquey and not interested in making our acquaintance – perhaps it was because we stunk like booze and came across as total alcoholics. I’m not quite sure. Either way, we decided to go out and hit up some bars to continue our buzz which had already been quite advanced for only about five in the afternoon.

Just as we stepped out of the hostel into the dingy alley in which it had been located, a poorly-dressed potbellied slob of a Japanese man had been approaching us. His elbows had been bent at ninety degree angles and he pumped them exaggeratedly with each step as if he were powerwalking. He had this look on his face that gave me the impression he’d just taken one of the biggest, most satisfying dumps he’d ever taken in his entire life. As he stuffed the last of whatever he’d been devouring into his mouth, getting all sort of crumbs tangled in his unshaven face in the process, he crumpled up the wrapper, tossed it up over his head, swallowed the food and started whistling while strutting onward.

A lot of people I’ve met in my life say that “I don’t give a fuck” about this or that or everything in general but they don’t actually live it. Everything about this disgusting man who was so out of shape, walking down the street in his grease-stained sweatpants – a guy who probably hadn’t gotten laid in years and was not bothered by the fact in the slightest – told me that he truly did not give a fuck. And although this encounter has nothing to do with the story whatsoever, I felt the need to mention him here. That man’s a hero and I will never forget him.

So anyway, Tim and I went out and decided to skip dinner. We found our way into some tiny bar ran by a couple dudes from California who “left the rat race behind” to do something they’d always wanted to do with their lives. They were pretty cool and we pounded several rounds while sitting there and chatting it up. After about three more hours of drinking on empty stomachs, much like Drew had in the story previous, Tim passed out in the upright position.

While my college buddy snoozed off the booze, the bartender gave me directions on how to get to a nightclub called Heaven he said had been at where I’d find all the Japanese college chicks. I tried shaking Tim to let him know that I was going to start walking over there but he was totally incoherent. I was so determined to get pussy that I just left him there to fend for himself whenever the fuck he came to. Next time I’d end up seeing him, he told me he’d gotten lost and spent about three hours wandering around before he was able to make it back to the hostel and pass out on the bottom bunk, thinking I was in the bed above him the entire time.

In my quest to find Heaven – which I never was able to find – I met a group of four Ugandan bros from Kampala who’d all been studying in Osaka and were just hanging out in some park I happened to pass through. I started chatting with them and we all ended up going to some bar together which totally sucked major ass. We left after about fifteen minutes whereupon I popped into a liquor store, bought a bunch of beers and started guzzling them as we made our way around. Three of the Kampala kids were not alcoholics who didn’t feel like doing a walk-and-drink but the fourth guy was. So he and I – the blackest dude ever and the whitest dude ever – went back over to the park where I’d met those guys and approached any and every group of unattended Japanese girls until we found two that seemed to like our dougie.

“We’re brothers from America,” we joked with them.

“Oh, really?” they seemed confused by the assertion. “You two brothers?”

“Yep,” we broke the ice with our assurance, “we’re brothers alright.”

After about an hour of bootlicking while beer-chugging, the African dude started making out with the one girl and although I may have done the same with the other chick, I don’t remember because I completely blacked the fuck out. Next thing ya know it’s light out, I’m sprawled out on the ground and three police officers are leaning in and smelling my face. None of the cops spoke English but by gesturing, they told me to stand up. I did but had no idea where I was or what was going on and it was starting to look like I was going to jail. Some woman in business attire who’d probably been on her way to work walked up and said something to the officers. They nodded their heads in approval and she stepped up to me and started speaking English.

“The officers want to know if you are drunk.”

“Yes I am,” I said before remembering what that Drew kid had told me to say, “but I study here. I’m a student.”

“Ah, student!” one of the cops said without the woman even having to convert it. The same guy then said something to her and nodded in my direction, asking her to translate.

“He want to know, ‘Do you know where you are staying?’”

“Yeah, I do,” I said. “I just need to get on the nearest train and I can find my way from there.”

This, she told the cops and they decided to let me go. The lady had been kind enough to guide me back to the train. I thanked her earnestly, hopped on and retraced the “sloping alley” directions back to the shitty-ass hostel where I passed out for twenty-four hours straight.

About a week after that, Tim and I arrived in Kobe without booking accommodation in advance because we’d been too drunk and lazy to do so. It just so happens that the weekend on which we showed up had been some sort of holiday and all the hostels and reasonably priced hotels had been completely booked up. After about three hours of wandering around from place to place with our heavy-ass backpacks on, our options had been between a several-hundred dollar per night luxury hotel room or two beds at some random-ass capsule hotel. We opted with the latter.

For those of you who are unaware, capsule hotels are hotels without any real “rooms.” The places that you rent for the evening are – as the name suggests – fiberglass capsules built into the wall, usually stacked side-by-side, two units high. The individual capsules are about seven feet long, four feet wide, three feet tall and come with a small television embedded in the “ceiling” as well as a shade to pull down for privacy over the hole where you climb in. Luggage is kept in lockers and the bathrooms are communal. Tim and I both ended up taking top-tier capsules that’d been right next to each other. I don’t know who stayed below me, but below Tim had been an enormous sumo-wrestler-lookin’ fat-ass who I’m surprised had been able to wedge his fatso self into the tiny little capsule.

Since it was already nighttime, Tim and I went to go shower before going out drinking. As I’d mentioned, the bathrooms were communal at this place and came in the form of a huge-ass open shower room with hot tubs and all different kinds of fancy high-tech Japanese spraying mechanisms. And of course, the place had been absolutely mobbed with naked men – the first of whom I’d noticed upon entering the room had been some dude furiously soaping up his ass crack. Except for the time in third grade when a buddy of mine named Barrett and I had gotten naked and slid across the disgusting shower floor of the local YMCA on our stomachs, probably getting all sorts of grimy and slimy bacteria into our little dick holes in the process, this was the first time I’d ever gone into a communal shower and, by far, it had immediately felt like the gayest moment in my entire life.

In spite of my wanting to piss on a random guy’s leg, take a shit on the shower floor and start kicking it around or spray someone with the fire extinguisher to mentally gain the upper hand which would essentially have been my way of convincing myself that I’m not weirded out by what’s going on around me because I’m doing something even weirder than what’s normal for them, I instead found an unoccupied shower in the corner of the room, timidly stared at my feet the entire time, scrubbed myself as fast as I could and got the fuck outta there.

Tim and I then went out to some bar that happened to have an hour-and-a-half long all-you-can-drink deal for a reasonable amount of yen which we stuck around for and raped the shit out of. Although we’d gotten quite wasted, there’d been no pussy prospects at the place which, I must admit, because of how heavy my sack had felt at the time, peeved me so. One way or another, I needed to get milked and since finding release between a woman’s legs seemed like an unattainable goal, it was starting to look as if my load was gonna hafta be blown by virtue of my own fist.

After we’d both gotten sufficiently intoxicated at the bar, we headed back to the hotel, clambered into our respective capsules and pulled down the privacy shades. I was so drunk that the claustrophobic box I was in felt like it was closing in on me. That, of course, didn’t help me in my quest to get some rest and neither did the snoring nor the sleep-farts of the fat guy below Tim that seemed to have been projected and echoed out from the fiberglass walls of the box in which they’d been borne.

In order to take my mind off the distractions, I turned on the TV and started flipping through channels when I came across some fashion program that had Japanese models walking up and down a runway in their underwear. By this, I was immediately turned on. After a couple minutes, I put my hand down my pants. Then after a couple minutes more, I had a raging stiffy. Before kicking the session up to full-on beat-off mode, however, the thought crossed my mind that jerking off in a capsule hotel at where I’d seen so many dicks earlier in the day would probably make me gay and I shouldn’t do it. As such, I removed my hand from my drawers. But as I kept watching all those tall chicks with the ample bosoms and milky white skin swing their hips as they paced along the runway in stilettos, there was little I could do to resist my tugging temptation.

When the time came for me to cum, I set myself up with two options from which to choose as to where the load should be blasted. I figured I could either catch it in my boxers or roll to my side and spray it all over the inside wall of the coffin I’d been lying in. Neither were ideal.

In Chicago, I got this buddy who we’ll call “The Stroke” that used to take his life as a bachelor to the extreme back when he used to stay alone in a studio apartment near the Old Irving sector of the city. In addition to a bed, placed in front of a television The Stroke had a reclining chair adjacent a snack tray which did little more than hold crumpled-up fast food wrappers and an assortment of empty bottles. On the floor had been more wrappers and bottles as well as a hundred dollars’ worth of loose change that he’d casually take out of his pockets and throw on the ground every time he walked in the door.

When climaxing, whereas The Stroke would sometimes – if feeling particularly lazy – just pick an old McDonalds wrapper or some nondescript Styrofoam container off the floor and shoot his skeet in it before tossing it back down, he told us that he made the habit of cumming on his bathroom wall in the same spot almost every time his chicken was choked, resulting in a thick layer of ejaculate being built up after having lived in the place for over a year. Although I was tempted to start a mural of my own in that Kobe capsule hotel, since I’m not a barbarian, I ended up juicing my banana into the pair of boxers I’d been wearing and passed the fuck out.

Admittedly, a capsule bed at a place with a really gay shower room was definitely the weirdest place I’d ever packed fist and the fact that I’d done so got me thinking that I couldn’t have been the only guy to have ever masturbated in one of those things. In fact, there were so many dudes there on that particular holiday, I most likely hadn’t even been the only guy jerking off in that place at that particular moment. The peculiarity of the thought made me then start to wonder how many other weird-ass places there are out there where dudes have dared to masturbate.

Back in college, I remember seeing some video online where some creep had set up a camera at the end of an aisle in a shoe store, whipped it out and just started jackin’ it there next to the fuckin’ Nikes. I also remember this tale my buddy The Stroke – the same guy who cums on his wall and in fast food wrappers – had told me about when we were teenagers and he was a camp counselor at Shabbona Park in Chicago and they had to call the cops on a dude who lived across the street from the park who they could clearly see had been standing butt-ass naked in the front picture window of his home, masturbating at all the camp kids.

Although extremely fucked up, I admittedly find it pretty funny how perverted some people actually are. And in suit with that sentiment, the best public stroking I’d ever heard of had been this story my mom told me back when I was a kid about another mother of a family from our parish who’d seen some mystery masturbator carrying out one of the most legendary grease-jobs of all time during a neighborhood block party.

The way she’d described it, night had fallen and the mom had gone in the house to do some cleaning up or whatever after all their guests had left. As she’d been at her kitchen sink doing dishes, she peered out the window in front of her which’d looked out into the backyard when she noticed a man had been climbing atop her garage. He appeared as nothing more than a silhouette because the light pole had been on the other side of the alley and the dude stood between her and the source of electric splendor.

Then, once the man had gotten fully atop the garage roof, he walked up to the edge nearest the house and just stood there staring back into the kitchen window. At this point his arm started moving back and forth but the mom couldn’t tell what was going on because, as I’d said, he appeared just as a silhouette. But then, all of a sudden, using his non-moving hand, the dude flipped on a flashlight and shined it directly onto his erect penis while his other hand continued to jag it at this woman as she stood in what she thought had been the safety of her own home. From her point of view, it’s said she could see nothing but the blackened outline of a man on her roof with a glowing penis being masturbated at her until he hopped down and booked it.

Since I’ve always found the legend of the flashlight masturbator so god damn inspiring, in honor of it, I’ve decided to put together a bucket list of places that I’d box my clown if I were more of a pervert in action as opposed to a pervert of hypothesis. Of course, since there are so many types of vulnerable people in the world who’d be terribly fun to sexually harass, my list is WAYYYYY longer, but for the sake of saving time, I’ll share my absolute must-do top 5 places to beat it and skeet it:

5. Find a really hot female doctor to get a testicular exam from and enter the room with an already-raging Viagra boner but pretend like I don’t and proceed as I normally would until I start blatantly masturbating in her face when she begins to fondle my balls.

4. Either jerking off while kneeling in front of the casket at somebody’s wake and/or beating it with one hand as a pall bearer while carrying the casket with the other and eventually having a screaming orgasm while jizzing on the body-box as it’s being lowered into the ground.

3. Dress up like a woman and bring a fake baby with me into a breastfeeding room at an airport and make the fake baby look like it’s sucking my fake tit then reach down and start masturbating to all the fat milky tits being sucked around me.

2. Get an internship at a hospital solely for the purpose of gaining access to the delivery room so I can videotape a random child birth with one hand to save for future “use” while masturbating to it live with the other.

1. Volunteer at a school for people who are deaf and blind and stand on my desk at the front of the classroom cranking down then, with pants at my ankles and woody still in hand, go up and blow some bare-ass stink-farts in my pupils’ faces to see if they notice what’s going on when trying to read the braille that I went out of my way to smear feces all over before class had started.

Maybe instead of trying to have sex with females or masturbating in Japan, I should’ve just stuck with getting blow jobs from Japanese businessmen…