Misc. Erotica Taboo Foreign Exchange

It was the mid-nineties, I was eighteen, and my parents were dead set on me experiencing another culture. Mostly they cared about me having something on my transcripts that would help me stand out in college admissions. They had been pushing me to get into the exchange-student program for years. I'd had my heart set on going to Brazil, hanging out on the beaches, and ogling all the super sexy women. The program my school offered had an opening for Japan, though.

You have to remember that in the nineties, Japan was a very closed off country to America. I didn't know anything about it other than Samurai and Geishas. There was always some trade dispute or other giving the country a bad rap, and there weren't many Japanese in the small town I grew up in.

At my parent's insistence, I signed up to spend my senior year abroad. They gave me some history and cultural appreciation books to study and a set of tapes to help me learn the language. I wasn't heading over for a whole year and would land just a week after my eighteenth birthday. There was one other kid in my exchange student group who would be heading over a kid by the name of Avram.

He was a small and awkward boy who had coke bottle thick glasses and a face thick with acne. He was a good kid even if he did get a little annoying sometimes. The funny thing about him was he looked like he should have been the smarter of the two of us, but that was far from the truth.

I was always a good student, though lazy. I was in accelerated programs and honors classes and would get A’s if I cared about the subject, B’s if not. The hardest thing about learning Japanese was not having anyone to speak it with. Avram proved to be a very poor student of languages and got easily frustrated. Our study sessions together usually devolved into me trying to encourage him or calm him down from a panic attack.

The biggest boon to me was the international movie section at my local Blockbuster Video. They had a small section of old Japanese movies with strange titles like Rashomon and Seven Samurai. I rented them because I thought they would help me learn Japanese, but what I really got from the movies was a vast appreciation for Japanese history and culture. I knew next to nothing about the modern-day Japan, but what I learned from watching the brilliant movies of Kurosawa, at least gave me some hope that I might enjoy my year abroad.

Finally, the day arrived when I would be heading over. I would get there and have three weeks before the school year started to get to know the host family and do a little sight-seeing. I had already exchanged a few written letters over the past year with them. Their son Shinjiro Tanaka would be staying with my family for the year, and my parents were so excited, I almost felt jealous. Ok, I was more than a little jealous.

My mom had made up the guest bedroom, with its own massive bathroom and spa tub for him. My dad was planning to teach Shinjiro to drive on our 12-acre property over the three weeks, and they were going to let him use my car to go back and forth to school. In truth I hoped he had a good time staying with my folks, I knew they would be cool. They often went on weekend trips and would leave me with the whole house to myself and a pile of cash. They knew I always threw parties, and as long as no one got hurt and the mess was at least mostly cleaned up by the time they got home, they were happy. I knew that if Shinjiro wanted to have a real American experience, then my parents would make sure he had one.

The thing I was most bummed about, besides leaving my friends, was not being here for my senior year water polo and baseball seasons. We had been all-county my junior year in baseball and had a shot the next to go for state. I had been a co-captain of the water-polo team, too, and loved playing and practicing with my friends. I spent as much time as I could that last summer with them. It made it harder to go, but I knew I would love the memories.

My parents drove me to the airport, and my dad helped me with my luggage. They walked me right up to the terminal, something you could do before 9/11, and we said a tearful goodbye. I boarded and stuffed my large frame into the small coach seat and soon was soaring across the Pacific.

I pulled out the letters and read through them once again. I’d practically memorized them. They were written in both English and the Japanese kanji script, to help me learn. The penmanship was superb, and I often found myself marveling at the elegant cursive script the English parts were written in. The kanji half looked like a piece of artwork, and in something that was a little out of character for me, I kept them in a MEAD folder. Making sure they stayed pressed flat and neat.

The Tanaka family lived in Osaka, in a small two-story house. The husband was a manager or supervisor in an office downtown, and the wife was a homemaker. They had one son, Shinjiro, and two daughters. One was my age and the other a year or two younger. The stepmom Himiko, who had written the letters and done nearly all of the communicating with my parents, would meet me at the Osaka train station. I just had to make sure I didn’t screw up the complicated directions of getting from the Tokyo airport to Osaka.

I spent most of the flight reading and listening to music, and when we landed in the early morning, I was exhausted. I found Avram outside the gate, and the two of us made out way to the train station. Getting to Osaka proved to be much easier than I thought it would be. Japan proved to be a very easy place to get around in by transit, not like I was used to in the states. Avram was nearly useless with his poor Japanese, but I could get by, making small conversation, and I was able to read most of the directions and signs.

An hour after landing, we had our luggage and were on the train. I napped on the trip as it was evening, and there wasn't much to see as we zipped through Tokyo and down south. It took a transfer or two, but eventually, we arrived, the train pulling into the station on the outskirts of town in the late afternoon.

The two of us clambered off the train, dragging our luggage as Avram complained about something or other. I showed my ticket to the counter person, stepped through the turnstile, and lifted my luggage over easily.

In the lobby, there was a short petite Japanese woman, very pretty and elegantly dressed. She opened her mouth to speak, and I saw her jaw drop open, her tongue frozen as she looked at me. I thought there was something on my face, but then I saw her eyes trace the lines of my face and then look down at my shoulders, arms, and lower. Her eyes widening each second.

“You are Avram,” she whispered in English.

“No, I’m Blake,” I said in Japanese, giving her a smile.

I saw her face fall into a frown, and then there was movement behind me as Avram dragged his luggage through the turnstile, with a grunt of effort. The small pretty woman's frown turned to disappointment. But I was looking over her shoulder to the woman who had begun to stand when I spoke.

“Blake-san!” She said in a rich and beautiful voice.

The voice paled in comparison to the woman. She was tall and slim, just a few inches shorter than me, but much taller than those around her. She had long, jet-black hair with a glossy shine. Her skin was pale, and her face had long elegant features. I was struck by her beauty, and it took me long seconds to recognize that she must be Himiko.

She walked around the booth, her eyes shining and a large smile on her face. As she drew close, her smile grew crooked, with genuine pleasure when she saw she had to look up at me.

"So tall, Blake-san!" She said.

“Thank you Himiko,” I said in Japanese, I held out my hand to shake hers, then remembering myself bowed awkwardly. She pressed her lips together in a tight smile and bowed elegantly and deeply to me.

"You're Japanese is very good, Blake," she said in slow Japanese. I was grateful for the slow speed, as it was all I could do to translate it in my head. I wasn't good yet at thinking in Japanese when I spoke it.

"Thank you, Himiko," I bowed again, better this time, "I want to say thank you for your… good… instructions," I was struggling a little for words, "They got us here perfect."

I turned to motion to Avram, who was stuttering as he tried to say hello, reading from a notecard as he did. Himiko covered her mouth with one hand in a pretty gesture, and I saw her eyes smiling. Looking over, I could see why. The pretty small woman had a long-suffering look on her face as she nodded to Avram and began ushering him through the train station. She glanced at the two of us, and her eyes brightened as they met mine. She gave a small smile as she passed us.

“The placement test is next week,” the small woman said to Himiko in rapid Japanese that I just barely understood. She wore a smug smile as she walked past, “Let’s see how your pretty-boy does versus my nerd-boy, Hmph!”

The small woman’s shiny black heels clicked as she led Avram out of the train station. The strut spoiled by the small sniffling teenager stumbling next to her, asking what she had said, and if she could please repeat it, slowly, one word at a time?

“What was that?” I asked in Japanese.

“Momo Saijuro is the other exchange parent,” Himiko said with a gentle smile, “she was just talking about the placement exams the school will administer to all of the exchange-students. But come, there will be plenty of time to speak of these things later. Let’s walk home and get some warm food in you."

We exited the station, and I found myself walking along the narrow streets, gawking at everything in sight. It was all so interesting, so much different than what I was used to. The first thing I noticed was how much animation was everywhere in advertisements and on-screen playing in corner stores. For a guy who only got cartoons on Saturday mornings, or the flintstones once a week at night, this was really cool.​