Tokyo Daze

I’m a photographer. I wish I could say that I specialize in nature photography or war reporting or even celebrity shots… but the sad truth is: my bread-and-butter business is weddings, graduations, birthday parties and the occasional ‘model’ shoot—meaning I shoot someone who is very much not a model and lacks both the looks and talent to be one, but thinks cameras are somehow magic and will transform Mildred from next door into Cara Delevingne.

I’m located in the Netherlands. Born in the Dutch part of Belgium, but my parents moved to a small town near Amsterdam when I was seven. Small photo studio, but most of my work is on location. Business is… oh well, I scrape by. Barely. But I still like it. It’s what I always wanted to do. That’s what I’m doing. For a living. Barely.

I’m in Japan for 4 weeks. My best friend from school moved to Tokyo almost 10 years ago, moved up to an important title on his business card and does something for ASML. If you don’t know what this is, google it. I had to google it, too. And still didn’t really understand it. They make stuff for making computers. This had to suffice.

I know he’s loaded, but he never made a fuss about it. Big apartment in one of the more upper-class districts, beautiful and super-friendly Japanese wife (who speaks perfect English and very passable Dutch), two cute kids (5 and 7) who look just like what you would expect when you mix Dutch freckles with dark hair and almond eyes.

I stayed in what they called their ‘guest room’ — but it really was a small apartment inside their big apartment: living room with every tech gadget known to man (or men), bedroom, tiny bathroom and a kitchen the size of a big fridge which still managed to contain everything you would expect from a kitchen. Well, except for vertical space. I’m 1.89m, and Japanese apartments (and beds!) really weren’t built for people like me. Hans is 1.70-something and fit right in. But for me, bumped heads and a hunched-over posture were the reader’s digest version of my first few days in Tokyo.

The weather had been horrible when I arrived, and I spent the first few days in the apartment, storm raging outside and news on TV which were scary even if you didn’t speak Japanese.

Both Hans and Ikio were out all day and the kids were at school from 8 to 5 and then had extra classes from 5 to 7. Dinner at 8, which took some getting used to — but the food. I mean: take everything you have ever heard about Japanese food and just double it. And Ikio did it all by herself, effortless, while chatting to me and chatting on the phone, in the time between 7 and 8. Amazing.

Why did I come here? The short version: midlife crisis. I turned 40. I took a look at my shitty apartment in the basement of an office building, took a look at my failing photography business… and, well, I couldn’t take a look at my sex life because my last relationship had ended over a year ago and every date since then had been… let’s just say: not great.

Balding, a bit of a dad bod and most of my wardrobe was either old or second hand.

I had to get out. Take a deep breath and re-evaluate things. I sold my car, cashed out my paltry retirement fund, listed the apartment on Airbnb (against the law, but fuck it) and cancelled all sub***********ions: gym, Netflix, Spotify, Brazzers. Everything. This gave me a little over 15k euros – and one phone call got me an invitation to Tokyo. Stay as long as you like (I cut this off at 4 weeks and felt this already might stretch anybody’s hospitality).

I paid for my flight, bought some presents (mostly Dutch kitsch because Hans had told me that Ikio was a sucker for clogs, windmills and Dutch milkmaids, like in the ads on TV).

Still over 14k and change left. And yes, part of my plan was to spend some of it on hookers. Go sue me. I hadn’t had sex in over a year. I went to a brothel in Amsterdam right before Christmas, but the girls… all of them, really all of them, Eastern European, all of them looked either bored or scared, painted smiles and empty eyes. I left and got cursed at by the madam for wasting her time. Yours and mine, lady.

So… Tokyo. Japanese hookers. Hold that thought, 4 days in a fancy apartment, watching Japanese TV I couldn’t understand, surfing (and all European or US sites were super slow) and I didn’t dare to access anything spicy. Hans is a computer whizz, and god knows what of my internet activity on their Wi-Fi he could see or track or whatever.

I had brought my camera gear and yes, the photographer inside me dreamed of Japanese cherry blossom gardens, historic buildings at sunset and neon nightlife. I took a lot of pictures of the apartment and their bonsai trees. A lot of pictures of the storm outside. One where a parasol flew by the window — the 12th story window — with lightning in the background actually turned out pretty great. I sent it to a photo agency in Brussels and got 250 euros for it. Not a lot, but good enough for just happening to click the shutter at just the right time.

I was bored out of my mind — but today… today is the first day without storm. Not exactly sunny, but no rain, no hail, no flying parasols. I go out. The city is pure chaos, but the good kind of chaos. I don’t so much walk, I just get dragged along with the crowds and I go wherever they go and everything is cool, exciting, new. Japanese girls and women are — something else. Of course, not every single one, but lots and lots where all you can think is: damn. And none of them looks at me, smiles back or even notices me.

One elderly woman does notice me when I stare at my phone and try to figure out how Tokyo’s 3D world of subways, tunnels, underground mall, streets, bridges, overpasses, high-rises and hanging gardens relates to Google’s idea of a street map. She points me to a nearby building — and it’s a McDonald’s. I’m sure she meant well.

I have lunch at some ramen shop. I’m sure that’s not the right word, but the pictures in their window show something that looks like the instant ramen I know from home, I see that they have more pictures hanging behind the counter. Means I can order by pointing at food. Great. Inside, pointing at pictures, I get three bowls and an extra bowl. The woman behind the counter points at the extra bowl, points at one of the pictures which shows tentacles hanging out of a bowl, rubs her tummy and says something I don’t understand. But I do understand that she doesn’t charge for it, and I smile and she smiles back. First contact with the local population. And it’s nice. No, she’s not my type. OK, call me a horrible person, but she’s my age. Certainly not ugly and she has this seemingly age-less Asian face… but… but… dammit. Just call me a horrible, shallow person. True.

The food is great, all four bowls of it. Especially the extra bowl. Yes, there are tiny tentacles, but they are not that different from calamari or something. But the broth has this wonderful combination of sea, something lemon-y and a hint of chili.

I look around. Other patrons are better at eating ramen with chopsticks than I am. But it also means they wolf down a bowl in under two minutes, while I’m taking my time. Relaxed. Taking in the atmosphere. Tokyo. Finally.

There’s a small rack with flyers on the table. Other restaurants (I guess?), designer bags and — something else. Pictures of young girls. Very young girls. With lots of little camera icons plastered all over the flyer. I can’t read it, of course, but I get the gist. And I have heard of it (and might have clicked on some profiles on X with pictures of… you know…). It’s this strange thing where you can pay to take pictures of girls. Young girls. Nothing explicit, as far as I understand. If you talked to the creeps doing it, they would probably blabber something about the ‘celebration of youth’ and ‘odes to innocence’. Yeah, right.

I put the flyer back. Different culture. And I try not to judge. The age of consent in the Netherlands is 16 and just 50 years ago, this included performing in adult entertainment. And the rest of Europe looked at us as a bunch of perverts — and black market exports of Dutch adult tapes were soaring. You can still get copies. I know this for a fact. Don’t ask. Different cultures. But still. I’m judging.

I get up and get ready to leave. Check my wallet, check the bag with my camera gear (so far, unused). And without even thinking about it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world and like it had been my plan all along (I swear, it wasn’t) I take the flyer with the camera icons. And the girls. The young girls. The very young girls. And I leave. No judgment.

The afternoon is more walking, I finally take a few pictures, none of them good or special, just like what every tourist shoots in Tokyo. I wander through a giant mall and somehow find myself in a section which is wholly dedicated to kid’s fashion. Kid girl’s fashion. The pictures hanging from the ceiling show happy girls, ages from elementary school to middle school, all smiling and some of them… not many, but some, showing what every sane man on earth knows as a fuck-me smile. Which, given their ages, is… weird. Fuck. Fuck Me. Smile. I have to leave, and I push through a crowd of 20 or 30 giggling Japanese girls, around 12. I have to leave.

I get back to the apartment just after 7. It had taken me a good 2 hours to figure out the subway system, including finding myself at the outskirts of Tokyo without a clue what had gone wrong.

Another delicious dinner, chat with Hans and Ikio about my day (I did leave out the flyer and the kid’s mall). Their kids try their English with me — but it’s more like them saying some of the words they know, and I reply with supportive phrases I hope they might understand.

Hans and Ikio ask if I would like to join them for a cup of tea (this is Japan, no drinks here) but I decline, claiming that I’m tired from all the walking. Half true.

Back in my room, I throw myself on the bed. Take out the flyer. Take a picture and ask Gemini to translate it. It struggles, dozens of different fonts, skewed angles, colors, bubbles, little emoticons of cameras and cats and cherries.

Here’s what I got after lots of fumbling: Junior Idol Photo Session, Saturday at 15::00. 40k yen attendance fee. 40k yen. That’s over €250. Online registration.

I scan the QR code next to the web address, get a page in Japanese, and Google translates it for me. The registration takes less than 5 minutes. Almost no personal data. Name, credit card number — and choosing the session you want to register for. Each session has two or three preview pics. Some of the girls look like they’re in elementary school, and I skip those. Next, a little older, but something about those girls looks off. It takes me a minute to see that they are plastered with makeup. Professional makeup, but still. Why photograph 12-year-old girls when they are made up to look like 25-year-old blow-up dolls?

The last session has two really pretty girls, and they look like they’re 15 or 16. Hard to say with Asian girls, but there is definitely something more mature about them — and they don’t look like they have been spray-painted.

I register and get an error: “Session fully booked. Please try again later”.

Maybe the universe is sending me a message. Like: don’t go to a foreign country to take creep shots of underage girls.

Yes, maybe. But the universe has one more message, and this one kinda ruins the ethics lesson:

“Special Junior Idol shoot. Twin Sisters. Seats available. 20% discount.” Together with a countdown, starts at 10 minutes and the seconds are ticking away.

The pictures look… cute. Not identical twins, but obviously sisters. Really cute and I like their smiles. Open and a bit mischievous. Not the empty model smiles I hate. Age? Doesn’t say, and I can’t say either. Young. Junior.

It’s 48k — after the 20% discount. Fuck it. I’m a photographer. This is my job. Yeah, right.

I register. Take a deep breath. Saturday. Tomorrow. 15:00. Junior Idol.

First Session

I’m at the warehouse before 2 o’clock. Yes, a warehouse. Nothing fancy and nothing that even remotely looks like a studio. There’s already a crowd, several hundred men, only men. Most of them middle-aged, some older. Very few younger guys. Almost all of them have cameras hanging around their necks, some have two or three. I carry my gear in a sling bag, and this immediately makes me the odd-man-out. Well, that and me being European and taller than anybody else.

I feel… very much out of place. No, not just because of the obvious reasons. It’s a strange vibe. Men show each other pictures on their phones, openly, sometimes holding them up, so everybody can see. Pictures of young girls and quite often in bikinis or lingerie. Yes, there are pictures of kids in grade school, wearing lace and garter belts and silk stockings and high heels. Laughing, pointing, cheering — and an atmosphere that feels very, very much predatory. One could always try to find excuses, cultural differences and codes and traditions, But no. These guys are here to leech on underage girls. Very, very underage girls.

And I’m not yet ready to admit that I’m one of them and get comfortable in my superiority. I’m a photographer. This is my job. Good practice. Portrait shots. So important. I even brought the right 85 mm lens. The creeps around me: zoom lenses. I take a breath. I’m better than that.

The doors open at 14:45 and the crowd pours in. Well, slouches in because teenage girls in strange cosplay outfits scan the QR codes on our phones.

Inside. One big, open space, various small stages. A flag with a number flying over each stage. My number? 9. It’s the stage at the far right, back of the warehouse. I push through the crowd, more yelling and cheering, videos of girls dancing and singing — and the singing sounds terrible. Like absolutely terrible. Like these girls shouldn’t sing or try to sing. It’s also abundantly clear that nobody is here to listen to them sing. A girl in the video twirls around, and her skirt flies up and shows white cotton panties. The guy next to me films it off the screen. The girl’s front and eye teeth are missing. Milk teeth. I’m starting to sweat. Stage 9.

We wait. For an hour. Still cheering when something spicy is on the big video monitor, and there’s lots of spicy stuff. Two girls in a kid’s pool, in black swimsuits, playing with foam. A girl on a swing, filmed from a worm’s eye view, she’s laughing, and the camera is filming right up her skirt when she swings forward and throws her legs up. She’s wearing high heels. On a swing. Bloody hell.

At 15:45, they dim the lights in the whole warehouse and single spotlights on each stage light up. The stages are big round platforms, maybe a diameter of 5 meters, less than a meter above the ground.

A woman steps onto our stage. She’s probably in her thirties, wearing pale blue jeans and a white blouse with gray leaves. She looks… elegant. Even in casual attire, she radiates confidence and professionalism. One of the organizers, probably.

She speaks, and her words are drowned out by the constant cheering and whistling of what looks like a hundred people circling the round stage.

Now there are shots of the twins on the big monitors. She points to the left monitor, a headshot of one twin, smiling with her mouth half open and something you normally call bedroom eyes. She yells “Hana!” and I vaguely remember that I had seen this name in the preview. Other monitor, the other twin, looking slightly less teasing, a big kid smile, making a heart with her hands and the camera is shooting her face through the heart. “Reina!”. I don’t remember this name, but maybe because it’s not as familiar to a Dutch person as the name “Hannah”.

The spotlight flickers, changes colors, pop music that sounds like eurotrash techno mixed with nursery rhymes blasts through the whole warehouse. The woman bows down — and then the twins run on stage, jumping and waving. I have to do a double take. I kinda knew, but seeing it is something different. They’re tiny. 1.20m, maybe. Maybe less. They are both wearing jeans shorts with frayed hems and pink tops. No shoes, no socks. And the stage starts to turn, slowly, like a merry-go-round. It takes more than a minute to complete a full turn. Doesn’t matter, the twins run around like bouncing balls, waving, making hearts with their fingers, throwing their arms up like popstars who lead the concert crowd into a chorus.

From the first second, the clicking of shutters almost drowns out the music. The loudest ‘shutters’ are the fake ones from cell phones. One guy holds his cameras at chest level, with one hand and just click-click-clicks while holding up his phone with the other hand and filming the twins.

I don’t know what to do. I’m taller than anybody else, so I have a good view, but there is simply nothing to shoot. The lighting is terrible, much too dark. They move so fast that you can’t frame a shot, let alone go for a pose or an angle. And I haven’t really seen their faces a single time, there’s such a whirlwind of jumping and running and twirling. OK, 40k well spent. What a letdown.

This goes on for almost 10 minutes, and then the music changes. Some slow song, again more like a nursery rhyme than a pop song, but without the ridiculous beat. I look around. The light gets a bit brighter on all stages, and now the twins go to the edge of the stage, still turning slowly, and strike model poses. I look through the viewfinder and yes, there you have it. They are both beautiful. Like really, really beautiful. And their smiles and winks and pouts don’t look fake, they look like two very cute kids playing dress-up — and being really good at it.

I take several pictures of Hana. I like that she holds an expression for several seconds before she changes from a kid’s smile to a very bratty pout and then to those bedroom eyes — which make me tremble a bit when I try to take a shot. I walk with her, in a big circle — and find out that this is obviously very much not wanted. All other photographers (leeches) keep their position and shoot whatever comes into their field of vision. And I notice that the twins are not standing at opposite ends of the round platform. They are standing like at 12 o’clock and 4 o’clock. Why? Again, takes a newbie like me two turns of the platform to figure it out. So you have a clear shot of their butts. As much as their faces are in ‘look at me, pretty’ mode… they are doing things with their butts which… well, let’s just say: things I usually didn’t see at my gigs for elementary school graduations.

I take a few shots of Reina’s butt. The jeans shorts are… much too short. And her butt has this adorable fold of flesh where round butt cheeks flow into straight legs. You really couldn’t see or even guess it from the front, but just the way she changes her weight from one leg to the other does things to her butt cheeks which are nothing short of magical.

Magical and too far away for a portrait lens. I change to a zoom lens and… welcome to the club, I guess.

Young guys with stacks of flyers are walking around, handing them out. I get one, it looks a lot like the one I got at the ramen shop. But this one only has pics of the twins. Probably for the next show — and no, not another 40k for something like this. Yes, I admit, I’m turned on. Both twins are really pretty, they both know how to move, know how to make a face and they both know how to work the crowd. This isn’t so much a photo session, it is mass flirting. And boy, they’re good at it. And they really shouldn’t be good at it, not at that age. Not in front of so many men.

But I still keep taking pictures, over 200 by now. Hana. Her lips and her eyes are something else. I catch a shot where she is licking her lips. I have to look at it on the small display on my camera. Holy fucking shit. This is… not a kid. I feel my dick getting hard. Damn. Like… how?

I take dozens of pics when both kneel and go down on all fours. They purr like kittens, Reina even licks the back of her hand like a cat, and my dick gets so hard I have to adjust it in my pants. The shots from behind are insane. Arched backs. Butts up, heads down. Wiggling. The cheers are now so loud it drowns out the music and the shutters.

And then it’s over. The music just stops, two kittens who had shaken their non-existent tails a second ago just got up, raised their hands, ran in a circle around the stage, waved. The spotlights went off, the big lights in the warehouse turned on and Hana and Reina ran off the stage, still waving with their arms raised high over their heads. I can’t help but notice that this pulls their tops up. It’s quite obvious that there isn’t much that the tops could possibly hide… but still… my cock thinks it’s a good image and I take more pics. I will look at Hana’s armpits later and… say what you want, but armpits can look really sexy when they are smooth and hairless and… young.

OK, 40k and I’m seriously contemplating coming back next week or whenever the next show is. This had been… something else. No, you don’t have to tell me the reasons why this is a bad idea and wrong… no, THE reason why this is bad and wrong. Almost 500 pictures. Just skipping through them while the crowd starts to leave. Some of the shots are good. Like really good. And I will never be able to show them to anybody. Well, I could show them here, to the sweaty crowd of middle-aged Japanese creeps in shorts and polo shirts. But: no.

“Ame’ican”?

I look up. The woman from the opening talk. She’s standing in front of me, a stack of flyers in her hand.

“No. Dutch.”

She looks at me and shakes her head. “States?”

“No. Europe. Netherlands.”

“Ah… Eu’ope. Eiffel Towe’. ‘Eal Mad’id”

Well, close enough. I smile. “Yes.”

“You like photo?”

“Yes. Great show.”

“Hana, Reina? Good photo?” Why can she pronounce the ‘R’ in Reina but not any other ‘r’?

“Yes. Good photo. Very good photo.”

She smiles, and it’s a sincere and happy smile.

“Hana, Reina, mothe’.”

“You’re their mother?”

“Yes, mothe’. You good Hana, Reina?”

“Yes, very much. Very talented. Very pretty.”

“Yes, p’etty. Want two photo?”

“Two photo? Sorry, I don’t…”

“Today…” She holds up six fingers. “Two photo. No big.”

She gives me a flyer, and I show her the same one from my back pocket.

“Gimme me a minute”

“Minute?”

I point to the flyer and my phone. I don’t know if she gets what I mean, but she smiles, nods (the Japanese way we will never learn) and goes to the next potential customer.

I take a pic of the flyer, cell phone reception sucks so it takes a few minutes for Gemini to upload and come back with a translation:

“2nd session at 6 o’clock today. 10 people per session. 75k.” No discount.

I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. But as you might’ve guessed already, I scan the QR code, the registration page still has my data from last time – and this time I can’t choose a set or session. There’s just one. 75k. Confirmation mail. Deep breath.

There are food stands outside the warehouse. It’s packed and long queues right after the performance has ended. But half an hour later, I can get a beer, an udon bowl and something that looks like small cutlets in soy sauce or something. And – of course – it’s good. Even the beer.

There aren’t many people left. Less than 50 all in all. I sit down on a park bench next to the warehouse, smoke a cigarette. I send a message to Hans telling him that I might not be home in time for dinner. 2 minutes later: “Having fun?”. I send a smiley with a halo back. “Be careful and…” A smiley with three drops. He knows. How? And how much? I hope not much. This would be difficult to explain.

I get an old-fashioned text message at 17:45. I can’t read it, screenshot, Gemini – “Show starts in 15 minutes. Have QR code ready. Limited size”.

I walk back into the warehouse, a bored guy in a tacky uniform scans my QR code. All dark now, only one stage in the back, stage 5, is illuminated. I walk, slowly. I see a few other guys. Showtime.

Second Session

This time, there are chairs around the stage. Ten chairs. Close to the stage. So close I have to move mine back a bit so I can sit without my knees getting squeezed between chair and rotating platform.

The woman, Hana’s and Reina’s mom, walks by, stops at my chair.

“Good photo Hana, Reina. Nea’ photo.”

I smile, this is awkward. Yes, I will take close-up pics of your underage daughters, thank you. Happy to be here.

But it’s true: I’m happy to be here. I’m not so happy about the other 9 customers. Or fans? Or creeps? They look like somebody has ***********ed the 9 most shady and unpleasant looking leeches from round #1. Most are overweight, all of them are sweating profusely, and I see two sticking their tongues out and wiggling them in the general direction of the stage. At least there is no cheering this time. Soft music, it takes me a bit to realize that it’s Michael Jackson. We are the World. Bloody fucking hell. What’s next? Gary Glitter?

The twins walk on stage. There’s no running and jumping this time. They are holding hands, and they’re bowing down, turning a couple of times so they can bow to each member of the audience. The stage isn’t moving yet. They’re wearing almost the same outfits as before. No shoes, no socks. Jeans shorts. Tops, not pink but white now. Much tighter and much, much thinner tops than before. When they bow to me – and only to me – I can see both twins’ nipples poking through the tops. No breasts, no breasts at all – but those nipples. My cock gets stiff, and I raise the camera and fire off a dozen quick shots. They smile. At me. I pray that I have caught those smiles. A wrinkle of Hana’s top gets caught on her nipple when she straightens up. My cock twitches so hard I can’t hold the camera still. A wink… a fucking wink, and they turn to the next member of their audience. I’m sweating. 75k. So worth it.

This is on a whole different level – and I’m getting nervous. Is this legal? I have no idea about the law here. But if it’s legal… more power to you, my Japanese friends.

Hana and Reina go for it from the start. No dancing, no portrait shots, no innocent teases. Both sit down at opposite ends of the round stage, it starts turning. They sit, lean back, legs open. Reina comes into view, her smile… it’s… knowing. She knows what she’s doing. Her legs open, then crossed, up in the air, then down, the heels of her feet hanging over the edge of the stage. The nipples. She knows how to move. Pulls at the hem of the top, stretches it over her nipples, and I’m almost loosing it. She pulls and releases, pulls and releases, and I can watch the thin fabric rubbing over her nipples. She licks her lips… bites her lower lip. And she’s moving away, to the right. And I can only watch in awe as she’s going into a crab position for the next breathless customer, her hands and feet on the stage, facing the ceiling and I can see her nipples even from the side. And the image in my head of her legs open like that, the skimpy jeans shorts, the round butt… I can barely keep still when Hana moves in from the left.

This is too much. Hana is too much. On her back, her hands hooked under her back of her knees, her legs pulled up almost to her chest. I don’t know how, but she keeps her head up, looks at me. I can’t look away. Her eyes… she’s holding my gaze, rolls her eyes in delight, and then her butt starts to move in small circles. Only a bit at first and then she’s gyrating, on her back, also biting her lower lip… and… no. Absolutely not. No way. But it’s there… clearly. Or better: it’s not there. Her legs are open and the jeans shorts dig into her pubis and… my breath stops. My cock isn’t twitching, it’s pumping. No panties. Or maybe a thin string… but her… her… pussy lips are clearly visible. Two perfect pink lips, framing the thin blue strip of denim. I can’t… I can’t… her mouth opens, she licks her lips and spreads her legs so far that there is no doubt: no string. Just pussy. I feel a wet drop in my underpants. More than a drop. If Hana hadn’t moved out of sight just in time, I would’ve shot a load into my pants.

I have to take a break, but no chance… Reina moves in from the left… on all fours, her knees on the edge of the stage and her feet sticking out. Her little, cute feet. The top of her head pressed against the stage, and she’s looking back through her legs. And just when she is facing me… she moves her hands back, grabs both butt cheeks and pulls them open. And her little feet brush against my knees. Reina’s smile. Reina’s ass. This is it. I can’t hold back… I look into her eyes… and she knows. This kid fucking knows… how is that possible? Her head upside down, she nods. Opens her mouth. And without touching myself, without moving, I cum into my pants.

I can’t hold back a moan, feel one, two, three spurts soiling my underwear… and Reina’s smile, now over her shoulder as she’s moving away, she winks at me. Throws a kiss with her lips. I falter in my seat. This is insane.

I feel a hand on my back. I can barely turn around. The woman. The mother. Mother of the girls I just blew my load on. I’m sure she has already called security, and they will walk me out, in shame. Creep. Fapper. Pedo.

She smiles. Holds a box of tissues and offers them to me.

“Good photo?”

I can’t answer and just nod.

“Much paper. Much milk.”

What is there to say? I take the box of tissues. Fumble around to push a handful of tissues into my pants. Hana slides by, in a relaxed side pose. Her smile is so big, and then she’s holding her hand in front of her mouth. She points at me and then makes a heart with both hands. My cock is still leaking, and the last drop feels very much like a leak with some force behind it. I pull the soiled tissues out of my pants, the empty half of the stage is facing me, and I feel relieved that I can just drop them under my seat before Reina comes into view.

She looks at me… proud and happy. She also makes a heart with her hands. I can’t even get the camera up. I haven’t taken a single picture for five minutes.

Two more turns of the stage. I hear moans from left and right, and I see the mom walking around the audience, casually – and handing out boxes of tissues. She seems to know who needs one and when they need it. She skips two customers and then puts her hand on the back of the third, gives him a box and moves on. There’s a small cart with more boxes, and she pulls it behind her.

I wish I could say what other sights came into view and went out of view. But it’s all a daze. Hana and Reina. Reina and Hana. Moving. Bending. I remember Reina drifting by, standing up, bent over, with her butt to me and holding her ankles. Insane. Hana, on her back and one leg behind her head, spread so open that you could see both pussy lips through one leg hole of her jeans shorts. Sheer insanity. Her other leg brushes against me as she moves by and the sparkle in her eyes would’ve blown another load if… if… well, if I wasn’t 40.

And then… over again. This had been both much shorter than round #1 and also felt like an eternity. They both stand on the edge of the stage, holding hands. They bow. When they pass me, they both make hearts with their hands and when I return the gesture, both of them blush, not a little, but boiled-lobster blushing and giggling. They still look at me when they move away, and the customer on my right yells, probably angry that they don’t look at him.

I lean back. I have to get home. My boxers are wet and sticky. I probably smell like semen, and the thought of the subway ride home makes my skin crawl.

I put the camera back in my bag. Less than 50 pictures. But there are memories that are better than pictures. I don’t know if I should pick up the soiled tissues under my chair. But this question is answered before I can even get up. The mom, with a pink litter picker and a big, black garbage bag. She picks up the tissues, drops them into the bag. Three grabs, three drops.

“Much milk. Hana, Reina good, yes?”

“Yes, very good. Hana, Reina very good.”

“More show. Later. Break now.”

I swallow. More show. No. I can’t. It’s almost 125k already.

I shake my head. She looks at me.

“No show?”

“No.”

“Hana, Reina, big show. Later.” She holds up 9 fingers. “Later.”

“How much?”

“Much, yes”

“No, money. How much? Yen?”

“Ahh…”. She takes out a small notebook, writes something, tears the page out, gives it to me.

150.

Fucking hell.

“Much show. Hana, Reina. No…” She looks around, then holds up ten fingers. “No.” She lowers her hands. Then raises one hand. Five fingers.

I close my eyes. When I open them, she’s holding up a laminated card with a QR code. No flyer.

I scan it. 150k. This time, I have to confirm the transaction with my bank. Get a warning. Beware of fraud. No fraud here. Hana, Reina. Much show.

The mom turns around. I tap her arm.

“Hana, Reina. How old?”

She looks at me, shakes her head.

I point to the pen in her hand. She gives it to me. I write ‘40’ on the piece of paper, show it to her. I put my hand on my chest, point at the paper.

“Hana, Reina? How old?”

She looks at me… for a long time. Then makes O’s with the thumb and index finger of each hand and holds her right hand over her left hand. She smiles. I understand. I’m going to hell.

I walk outside. Get another beer. A cigarette. And then I go to the public restroom and try to clean myself up the best I can.

It’s not even 8 o’clock when I’m finished. I get another bite to eat, only one of the food stalls is still open, and it looks like they’re packing up, too. No wonder, there are really only 4 other people left, roaming the area. They all keep away from me, and I’m relived they do. Each and every one of them looks like a living mugshot. I’m not part of this crowd. I’m not a… and yet, here I am. Cigarette. Waiting. Hana, Reina.

Third Session

Another text message, 8:45 sharp. We walk into the warehouse, stage 5 is illuminated, the rest is completely dark. I keep away from the other fans, make sure I’m the last one to approach the stage. I’m confused. No chairs. Are we standing again? (I won’t be able to stand for any more of this… much show).

I come closer. The stage. Five sitting mats and a big black blanket, about the size of a ping-pong table, in the middle of the stage. The mats are close to the blanket, so close they overlap. I take a deep breath and step up on the stage. I realize with a smile that I’m the only one who can make it in one step. The others heave themselves up the stage, one really fat guy basically rolls himself onto the stage.

I sit down. Watch how the others sit and try to imitate it. Kneeling. It’s more comfortable than I would’ve guessed.

Silence. The woman gets up on the stage, with the help of a small stepladder. She smiles at each customer, gives me an extra long smile. She reads something off a piece of paper, and, of course, I don’t understand a single word.

She walks over to me, crouches down.

“No photo. No hand. No show…” She points at my groin. “No show Hana, Reina. Yes?”. I nod.

She takes a big shopping bag from the edge of the stage and hands each of us a box of tissues. Well, I get two. A big smile and three of the other fans laugh, one of them grumbles.

She leaves. We wait. I’m sweating and I’m already hard.

The twins come on stage. Holding hands again. Both of them are wearing white bikinis. Not particularly sexy or revealing bikinis, just plain white swimwear. There’s not much the bikini tops can hide or hold up – and I have to admit I’m a tiny bit disappointed when I see that their nipples aren’t as visible as they were in round #2. It’s basically pieces of white cloth hanging down in front of their chests, nothing tight or… pokey. Made for A-cups. And they have 0-cups. The bikini bottoms are also a bit of a letdown. They cover much more than the jeans shorts did, they look like granny panties. 150k. All fingers crossed.

The twins bow to each one of us. It feels different. Yes, these tiny girls were taller than us when we sat around the stage… but now, sitting on the floor and them standing so close their feet almost touch us. I try to look into both Hana’s and Reina’s eyes when they bow to me. They look… kind. Amused. And… excited.

They are so close I can actually smell them. A clean smell, soap and something honey or almond. This means they can smell me, too. And I know I reek of sweat and semen. Damn.

They are standing back to back. Hana is facing me. Facing me exactly. Her smile… her lower lip trembles. She puts her hand on her heart and looks into my eyes. My cock is raging in my pants. She throws a kiss and for a little moment, things go out of and back into focus.

Back-to-back and Hana hooks her arms around Reina’s. They’re standing still. Hana licks her lips and I can’t stop looking at her. Then, in slow motion, she bends forward. Pulls Reina with her, Reina leans against Hana’s back, rests her head against Hana’s neck… and then her feet are off the ground, and she raises her legs. I can hear the fans on the opposite side suck in their breath. Hana’s eyes never leave mine as she bends over, she has to stretch and twist her neck to keep eye contact. And her bikini top is hanging down, and I can see right down her… what is a cleavage called when there is no cleavage? Two nipples. Dark brown. And… erect. Very erect. I hold my breath. Hana has to look down, her upper body is now almost at a right angle to her legs. But Reina’s head is coming into view, upside down. Her eyes are on me, too… and then she purses her lips and makes a big bubble of spit, like other girls (normal girls) blow a bubblegum. It pops, and her lips and nose and cheeks are wet. She winks at me. I feel my balls jump… jump and cramp, jump and cramp.

I have to grab my cock through my pants. No, not to jerk it… to hold it down. It’s twitching so hard it hurts. Hana lowers Reina, slowly. Her wonderful dark nipples are covered by the bikini top again. I drink in the last glimpse and when my eyes meet hers, she is drooling. Literally drooling. A thin thread of spit is hanging from her lower lip. As she moves up, it swings and then sticks to her chin. Her eyes are on fire when she lets another big drop of spit run out of her mouth. I squeeze my cock, but I can’t even hold it down anymore. It’s jerking so hard I can feel it in my upper legs.

They’re both standing upright again and they, too, have to catch their breath and stretch. They have made it look effortless, but this has been quite a feat. No wobbling or rocking, just one slow, very slow and very elegant move and Reina had been up. Hana had held her, so the fans on the other end got a view that left all of them speechless – and I could see that one of them was already reaching for the box of tissues. And my view… Hana’s nipples… well, lucky me, my balls still weren’t ready to release another load. But… it had been close. Hana’s nipples. Hana’s eyes. The spit. Close. Very close.

They unhook their arms, shake them a couple of times, and Hana looks at me. Looks down. Is she looking at my crotch? No, she’s showing me where to look. Her crotch. The white granny panties. And before I can even fix my eyes on her pubis, she’s lifted up. She winks at me and then leans back and raises her legs. Time stands still. No way. No fucking way.

The bottom of the panties is sheer. Like completely see-through sheer. And I’m watching Hana raise and spread her legs, and her pussy is in full view. I whimper. A helpless, desperate sound. It opens when she pulls her legs up to her chest. I can see the pussy lips, open like a flower. They are moist. Not wet, moist. I can see the tight canal, open and closed at the same time. Her clitoris, pressed against the fine net fabric. I can even see her little peehole. This is too much. Much too much. Much show. It’s building in my balls. I lose it when a little drop appears at the tip of her clit, it spreads like ink on blotting paper. And just as I feel the first wave erupting from my balls and rushing through my shaft… her asshole comes into view. And there’s a tiny pink heart on it. She has a butt plug up her asshole. With a tiny pink heart on top. And with this, I let out something that sounds like a howl, and I shoot another load into my pants.

The wet spot gets bigger, and I feel… hope… that it has been me crying out which triggered it. I try to grab the box of tissues when Hana comes down. I freeze, with one tissue in my right hand. She smiles. How can it be that her smile looks different every time? This one is… proud. Like she just got an A. And boy, does she get an A from me.

She leans back and whispers something to Reina. Covers her hand with her mouth when she turns back to me. She steps to the side. Turns around. From the back, standing up, her panties look like the boring granny thing again. She walks away from me and makes sure to swing her hips with every step.

Reina turns around, too, and walks towards me. Her smile is different. Teasing. Provocative. She walks and comes closer and closer. She stops when her feet touch my knees. I look up and she, too, signals with her eyes that I should look down. At her. From the front, I can’t see her pussy. But… I can… smell it. Another step towards madness. I can smell Reina’s pussy. Fresh… sweet… wet… I feel a tiny hand on my shoulder. I recoil. “No hand.” She points behind me. Bends her upper body backwards. Points again. I lean back. Hold myself up with my hands. Don’t try this at home, it’s really uncomfortable when you’re kneeling. Reina takes a step forward, her feet left and right of my hips. I look up. Heaven. Reina’s pussy is perfect. Smaller than Hana’s, not spread open, but a perfect slit framed by soft skin. But her clitoris is sticking out… pressed flat by the fabric, like a pressed flower behind glass.

My last load is still soaking my boxers, but my cock is back up. Reina lifts her right leg and steps over to the left. Oh no, this wonderful sight… gone. But then her left foot steps over to the right. She has turned around, now she’s looking in the other direction. And bends over. Slowly. My balls cramp so hard, I let out another whelp. No pink heart. I can watch her little asshole open as she bends over. The cutest starfish, silken skin with little wrinkles radiating outwards. I can’t believe it, but I feel another orgasm building. Reina wiggles her ass and I can see that she’s pushing to open her asshole more. I hold my breath. The first spasms echo through my cock… there isn’t much left I could possibly shoot… but…

Her asshole opens. Bulges. What the… she isn’t… wouldn’t… yes, for a moment I feel I might get sick… but then something shiny and silver appears in her opening asshole. Reina spreads her butt cheeks with both hands, bends more… and then a silver sphere pops out of Reina’s butthole, about the size of a cherry. And at the same time, when my heart is beating so fast I can feel it in my neck, I see one, two, three thick drops of yellow liquid dripping from her pussy… dripping down, dripping directly on my groin and I can hear the drops hit my zipper, a light metallic cling! — —- —- and I cum like I have never cummed before in my life. It hurts, and it feels like my balls are pulled up into my body. It doesn’t stop, cramp after cramp. And I see that the silver sphere it attached to a fine chain, like a silver necklace… and the other end of the chain is dangling from Reina’s butthole. The last cramp is so hard that my right leg is twitching, and I have to let myself fall to the side and stretch it. Reina’s hand appears between her legs, more drops falling when he pinches the silver sphere between two fingers and gives it a few playful tugs which make her asshole bulge with the next sphere inside her.

She turns around. Looks at me. Her eyes look a bit worried. She raises one eyebrow. I smile at her, on my side, still flapping like a fish on land. I manage to get one hand up and make an ‘eruption’ gesture with my hand: Fist, then all fingers stretched out. Her face lights up, again the A-grade student smile and she bows down.

It’s at this moment I notice the commotion at the other end of the stage. I look away from Reina, and she turns around, too. Hana is crouching on the stage, her arms wrapped around her legs, rocking back and forth. Her mom is standing next to one of the fans and whispers to him. Whispers so loud you can hear her angry and commanding tone. The guy has a red head, angry red. He gets up, and she has to help him so he doesn’t fall over. There’s a big wet spot on his beige shorts. He bows down to Reina, Hana and their mom, turns around, tries to jump off the stage, and it looks more like dropping cargo. And walks away.

The mom helps Hana up and her sister wraps her arm around her. They whisper something and Hana nods. Her mom announces something – as always, no idea what. She walks over to me.

“Holiday.” She holds up 5 fingers. “Holiday.” Hana and Reina stay on the stage, but sit down away from the circle of admirers. They whisper to each other and the mom comes back to me.

“No hand”. She points to the guy who is still lurching away. “Call. No hand.” I nod. No hand.

I use the time to clean up. I use almost half the tissues, it’s everywhere inside my boxers, and it’s really awkward to do this with three other guys and a helpful mom on the same stage. At least Hana and Reina can’t see me, they are sitting on the edge of the stage, facing away from me. I can see them bumping shoulders and giggling. Two normal kids, having fun. Normal kids. The pink heart. The silver sphere… spheres. I have to close my eyes.

The show is back on and Hana and Reina are in the middle of the stage again. Reina is smiling and Hana is trying a smile. Whatever this creep had done, it has rattled her. Unsettled her. But she’s a pro. I can sense that seeing this through is a matter of pride for her. And it might also have something to do with her mom, who has pocketed 750k for this and can’t send fans home with just a single orgasm – or two.

At least I can enjoy the rest of the show without worrying abut blowing another load. No way. Three in a day has been my lifelong high-score – and this has been the high-score since I’ve been in my 20s. This is a strangely calming feeling. Just lean back and enjoy.

Hana and Reina are hugging each other, first face to face, and then each one puts their chin on the other one’s shoulder. They start to turn, slowly, like a dance, arms wrapped around each other. This looks really sexy and – to my great relieve – almost chaste. Almost. But better than pink hearts and silver spheres. I probably couldn’t survive another one of those.

They are turning, and every time one of them faces me, my heart skips a beat. Hana’s soft and now heartbreakingly sad smile. Reina’s mischievous smile. Another spit bubble, just for me, the other fans can’t see it. She licks her lips, moves her hands down Hana’s back and pulls at the horseshoe bend at the back of Hana’s bikini top. One pull, and it’s loose and just falls down. I swallow.

They turn and Reina’s eyes stay on mine until Hana can take over. Her smile is more relaxed now – and with the same slow, elegant move, she unties Reina’s bikini top. Hana crosses her eyes and has to laugh out when she sees my confused expression. A wink.

They wait until they have turned enough so I can see both of them from the side. And with one swift motion – well, two swift motions, they pull the bikini tops off and drop them to the floor. They are pressed so close together that I can’t see anything, no nipples and – for obvious reasons – no breasts. But just knowing that their nipples are rubbing against each other… yes, the erection is back. And it’s getting painful. There’s a hollow throbbing in my balls and no, it doesn’t feel good. But I still can’t stop looking.

The bikini bottoms are next. One pull and the back of Hana’s bottoms falls down. Of course – the twins make sure of that – at the exact moment Hana’s ass is turned towards me. Reina’s eyes are on fire when she spreads her sister’s butt cheeks with both hands, and the pink heart appears for a second before the lets the cheeks go. The way they wobble for a second or two when they close, when the little heart disappears, would be wanking material for a year – under normal circumstances. But these aren’t normal circumstances, and the twins keep turning until Reina’s ass is almost in my face. They are no longer in the middle of the blanket, they have changed their center of gravity, and this center is about 50 centimeters from my eyes.

And Reina’s bikini bottoms falls down, and the silver sphere is dangling from the delicate chain that’s hanging out of her butthole. My balls scream in protest when Hana flips the sphere with the tip of her finger, makes it swing… and then gives it a few playful tugs and Reina’s asshole bulges and this time I really have to close my eyes. When I open them, Hana is looking at me, an almost taunting expression on her face. We’re all waiting for you here, Mr. But her eyes are smiling, even when the rest of her face looks a bit like a stern teacher. She looks down, and I look down, and one more sphere is pushing through her sphincter, and I’m breathing so hard that I can see that the silver sphere is steaming up from my breath. And Reina is feeling it on her ass, turns her head and her smile is the next orgasm, one I didn’t even feel coming. The second sphere pops out, audible, the fog on the first sphere, Reina’s smile and her wet lips, a cramp and I have soiled my boxers again. Fourth time. New high-score.

Hana has looked at me the whole time and her eyes are wet, is she crying? No… not crying. Happy tears. I have no real idea why, she has probably made hundreds of guys cum, repeatedly… but her eyes… there’s a moment. Yes, I’m sure I’m imagining things, and I’m mistaking a professional show (the term “child labor” zings through my head) for something personal… intimate. But there is this look, this moment – while cum is still dripping from my cock.

They’re turning again, slowly. I keep my eyes on Hana, but I can still see that she’s wrapping the chain between the first two spheres around her finger. And when Reina’s ass turns away, and I can look into Reina’s eyes, I know what Hana is doing… with the chain. With the spheres. The spheres still inside Reina’s ass. I can see it in Reina’s eyes. Every single sphere that pops out… gets pulled out. Her eyes get big, and I can see that there is pain… not bad, but still… and then the sound, like a wet plop, and Reina’s eyes relax. She is drooling on Hana’s shoulder. Bites her shoulder when Hana pulls out two spheres at once, and I can hear the wet munching sound two times in a row, not even a second apart.

The twins are standing still, still closer to me than to any of the other fans. I can feel that this is causing a certain amount of unrest. I wouldn’t be happy either if I had coughed up 150k but get none of the action.

Hana is waving to her mom, and she steps closer, standing next to me. Hana is whispering to her. Reina is smiling at me, she has to turn her head almost to the back so she can look into my eyes. Her mom nods, crouches down to me.

“You good show. Only f’iend”.

I look at her, confused.

“Hana, Reina f’iend. Only.”

She puts her hands behind her back and nods. I do the same. She waves to the other fans, and they hop on their sitting mats until I have two on my left side and mom and one more fan to my right. She shows me how to lean back a little.

With a very stern voice and a slightly worried expression: “Only f’iend. Hana, Reina f’iend”.

And with this, she takes the chain of spheres that’s still dangling from Reina’s ass, six of them and holds up the last sphere in front of my face. Opens her mouth. Ahhhh.

I open my mouth, and she puts the sphere which had been in Reina’s ass just a few minutes ago into my mouth. It’s warm. From Reina’s ass and probably Hana’s hand. But Hana didn’t hold it, she had the chain around her finger. Warm. From Reina’s ass. My cock is pulsing like crazy, and I’m leaking cum even though my balls must be completely empty.

The twins take a step away from me, the garland of shiny sphere’s tightens, a straight line from my mouth to Reina’s asshole. My heart is beating so fast that I’m afraid I might get a heart attack. But I try to ignore it. And pull. Slowly. I have to hold the sphere behind my teeth, and the thin chain is moving up and down the gap between my front teeth.

Reina’s asshole bulges again. It’s so pretty and pink, and the bulge irons out the cute little wrinkles of her starfish. Another gob of cream into my pants, not an orgasm, it’s like the world’s biggest pre-cum. I pull harder, the bulge gets bigger. So big that it’s spreading her ass crack. The last sphere must be bigger than the others. I can hear Reina cry out when I pull more. I look up. Hana’s eyes meet mine, and she makes a yanking motion with her head. I nod and this pulls on the chain and Reina squeaks. I take a deep breath and pull my head back… the plop is so loud it sounds like opening a bottle of champagne. Reina’s scream is so desperate, it echoes off the walls of the warehouse. The last sphere flies out with such force that it hits my chest. It’s more than twice as big as the other spheres, like a plum.

Reina’s gaping asshole is a thing of absolute beauty. Opening and closing like a mouth, I can see her sphincter muscles work, contract and relax. Hana holds it open for me and runs her fingers up and down the edge of Reina’s ass crack.

I didn’t cum more when this happened… empty – but more than that, just overwhelmed. I didn’t even notice Reina’s shivering pussy lips until now, I had been so focused on her pretty little butthole and the gape and the opening and closing and the little drops of lube running out. But there they are, trembling and oozing drop after drop. My balls cramp up, but nothing comes out. Thank god.

Their mom takes the sphere from my mouth, pats me on the shoulder.

“Good show.”

I nod, and two of the other fans applaud. I don’t know if I should bow or something, so I just smile and nod at them. All of them look really, really jealous.

The twins turn around, and now I can finally see Reina’s face. It is wet with tears. She air-kisses me and rolls her eyes like she has just tasted honey for the first time. She slaps Hana’s ass playfully and her wobbling ass cheeks give the whole audience little glimpses of the pink heart and… silence.

Hana whispers to her mom. A short pause. Then mom shakes her head. More whispering. Another head shake. Hana looks… angry. And sad. The twins start moving, together, moving aways to the stepladder. Pressed against each other, so nobody can see more than they are supposed to see – and have paid to see. The mom grabs both their arms and the whispering gets more tense. This isn’t a mom discussing with her daughters. This is a business negotiation. We are here for the twins. And they have demands. Hana has demands. And mom has to weigh giving in against reimbursing paying customers. And it seems the twins win. A resigned statement from mom and nods from both twins.

Their mom turns to me.

“More good show. Hana, Reina f’iend. Only f’iend.”

I should be excited. I guess. But at this point, I can barely move. Yes, what a pussy move, but hey, I’m 40, and I’m exhausted. Not just exhausted. Empty. Spent. Done.

She looks at me. I nod because anything else would be rude. She shows me to keep my hands behind my back and sit up. Straight up. I look at Hana and the way she licks her lips tells me everything, before she even turns around.

The pink heart. In front of my face. Just a few centimeters from my face. From my mouth. I admire the firm butt cheeks, and Hana flexes them a few times and makes them wobble. If I could still cum, I would. Now and again when Reina spreads Hana’s butt cheeks and the little pink heart is on full display. Hana’s butt crack is deeper than Reina’s and when I lean forward and feel a hand, mom’s hand, on the back of my head I know what I will feel. Two wonderful butt cheeks, closing around my lips, my cheeks against Hana’s cheeks, and then I open my mouth, my lips close around the heart and I try to pull with my lips. Not a chance. I press my face into her butt crack, and now I feel two very small hands replacing one small hand. Reina. Pushing my face against her sister’s butthole. I move my lips, open my mouth wider, and hear a girlie scream when my teeth scratch the sensitive skin around Hana’s asshole. But with some twisting and turning, I get my teeth between the back of the heart and Hana’s butthole. My node pressed flat against the small of Hana’s back… yes, her cute butt is so small that I can hold the pink heart with my teeth and have my nose just above her butt crack. This though alone sends another shiver down my balls and I feel a big drop of liquid shoot into my pants. I can feel that this is no longer cum. It’s just… I don’t know… balls water.

I pull. I hear Hana cry out. Reina’s hands go from my head back to Hana’s cheeks, so she can hold her sister’s butt back while I pull. I can’t see the bulge, but I can feel it with my lips. And I can taste it. Hana’s ass tasted fresh and a little bit of coconut when I closed my teeth around the heart. Now… something muskier. But intoxicating. I pull. I feel my lips slipping out of Hana’s butt crack, and her asshole is still bulging out, pressing against my lips. Another shot into my pants, more clear liquid. Hana’s screams become more desperate, this is something you might hear from a woman in labor… and in a way… How big is this thing? I pull left and right, up and down, and I feel Hana reaching back and grabbing my jaw with both hands, pushing me back… and then I feel how the soft but stretched flesh of her anus against my lips turns into something smooth and metallic… and with one last yank, it popped out. And my head is far enough back that I can see… enjoy… admire… worship… a gape so big I could put my who mouth in it, lick Hana from the inside and… a hand takes the plug from my lips. The thick end is as big as a tangerine. How did they get this thing into a tiny girl? How? I watch the gape closing. Slowly, with little shivers and trembles and a little… well, let’s call it ‘pressure equalization’.

Hana is hanging on her sister’s shoulder, breathing in little spasms, her asshole is still opening and closing with each breath.

Their mom taps my shoulder, again.

“Good show. Hana, Reina happy”

I try a smile. But I feel like I could faint any second.

“Eu’ope happy?”

“Very happy.”

“Yes, only f’iend. Happy.”

I just nod.

I look up at Reina. She makes a spit bubble and lets it pop over her whole face. The smile. The wink. And then she turns around, so Hana can look at me. Her face is so soft, so relaxed and… yes, happy. She does the cross-eyed look again and I understand. Yes, kiddo, me too.

Midway Camp

Hana and Reina leave the stage, and this isn’t easy. Naked, pressed against each other, walking – or stepping – sideways. Getting down the stepladder is quite a challenge and I offer to help, with gestures and bows – or my embarrassing attempts at something like a Japanese bow.

Their mom shakes her head, but after three failed attempts, she nods and just getting up takes more strength than I’m ready to admit.

I stumble over to them. Step down from the stage and hold my hands out. I make sure to touch neither Hana nor Reina in any naughty places. I just help them to lean against my hands, with their arms and shoulders, as they find their way down the stepladder. Their mom yells something to the three fans still sitting on the stage, all busy with handfuls of tissue paper. Hana uses this little moment to place a quick kiss on my hand against her shoulder. And Reina almost gets caught when she follows Hana’s kiss with a playful but quite hard bite on my thumb.

Both girls are back to hanging onto each other and me just guiding them when mom looks back at us.

“Thank. F’iend”.

I bow down, another failed attempt, but I can see that she respects the intent, even when the execution is probably something out of Japanese comedy shows.

“Thank you. Good show. Happy show”

I feel like an idiot when I babble this, but what else to say? Thank your daughters for making me cum half a dozen times. And for letting me pull things out of their butts. Now get them into bed. It’s late.

Yes, it is. 10 o’clock. The third show lasted almost an hour. Talk about getting your money’s worth.

Hana and Reina disappear into a back room. They both give me a look before they close the door, and this look turns my legs into jelly.

Their mom cleans up the stage. Blanket, sitting mats, bikini tops and bottoms – and 7 spheres on a chain and a butt plug with a heart. Plus dozens of used tissues and empty tissue boxes. She hands me my tissue box, still half full. Looks at my crotch. Looks at the box.

I let her finish up while I use the remaining tissues to clean up as good as I can. One of the fans has left, two are standing near the entrance. The mom walks over and talks to them. One shakes his head and leaves. The other one talks to her for some time, then they both bow and mom writes something in her little notebook.

She walks over to me.

“Hana, Reina” She puts both hands together, like she’s praying, puts them against her cheek and tilts her head.

“Yes, Hana, Reina sleep. Late.”

“You…” The same gesture.

I nod. “Yes, sleep. Tired.”

She puts her hand on my arm.

“You, Hana, Reina. Sleep?”

I don’t understand. She can’t mean sleep with Hana and Reina, as in sex. But what else should “You, Hana, Reina, sleep” mean?

I shake my head, but she gets that I don’t mean ‘No’, I mean “I don’t understand.”

We look at each other. Dead end. Whatever she wants or asks or offers, it will be impossible to discuss or negotiate.

I take my phone out, take the flyer from before. Show her how I take a picture of the flyer and the Japanese characters on the flyer are translated into English, in place.

I point to the little notebook she’s holding. Mom’s face lights up. She writes three columns of characters. Hands the piece of paper to me.

I take a picture, and wait for Gemini to do its magic.

“Hana and Reina sleep in hotel. You want to sleep in hotel? 500”

I look at her. One more step towards madness. Probably towards jail. Definitely towards hell.

I point at the number, shake my head and shrug.

I have no idea what she is actually offering. But 500k? That’s so far out of my budget… I mean, who am I kidding? I’ve already spent… More than 10% of my… what? Life savings. Yes, that’s all the money I have. A little over €14.000. And I’ve spent… I do a bit of mental calculation… close to €1700 tonight. Now another… €3000? No, impossible. Well, ok, technically possible, but no. This is insane. I can’t spend a third of everything I have for… let’s call it what it is: pussy. Underage pussy. Very underage pussy. No.

She looks at me, takes the piece of paper, underlines the number twice and gives it back. I look at her. Try to look earnest and honest and sad. I shake me head. And give the piece of paper back to her. She smiles, shrugs and touches my arm. Turns around and walks to the backroom where Hana and Reina are probably changing. I wish I could say goodbye to them. Look at them one last time. See if their eyes looked the same, looked at me in the same way as they did during… during the show. That’s what it was. A show. Now, don’t get all romantic and silly. It was a show and these two girls are… exceptionally good at it. Artists. Performers. Professionals.

I turn around and walk to the exit. The guy mom had been talking to waits there. He smiles at me. Says something, but I just shrug. I guess he took the offer. Hana, Reina, hotel, sleep. For 500 fucking k. I hope he gets his money’s worth.

I’m standing outside, trying to remember how to get back to the subway. Or maybe hail a cab. How do you hail cabs in Tokyo? No idea. I google. Map, 15-minute walk back to the subway. Closes at midnight, last train to where I need to go leaves at 23:20. More than enough time, it’s not even 22:30.

I light a cigarette. 15-minute walk. When your balls aren’t twice their normal size and you can walk upright. Better plan for 30 minutes of very slow and painful walk. Get going.

I have walked a few steps and yes, this is unpleasant. Like walking with an ice pack between your legs. Hana, Reina and mom come out of a side door. Even in the dark, they look so different. Baggy jeans and gray hoodies, base caps. Both girls shriek when they see me. Mom tries to hold them back, but they run to me. To me. They stop about a meter away from me and both start talking at once, over each other, and they make lots of gestures I don’t understand. But they do sound excited. Happy. They’re all but jumping up and down. I expect them to dance and wave, like at the first session, about a million years ago.

Mom walks up to me. She looks… annoyed. Defeated. Sick of arguing with two bubbly twins. She hands me a fresh piece of paper.

“250”

I look at it. I look at her. I look at Hana and Reina, holding hands and still talking over each other.

“Hana, Reina, f’iend. Only f’iend.”

I nod.

The twins take my hands, and we follow their mom down the street.

Hana. Reina. Hotel. Sleep.

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