7bc3- Medieval Japan. A japanese erotic tale.

The metamorphosis of the geisha.
Act II of an erotic tale taking place in medieval Japan.

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My companion geisha challenges the young and timid hangyoku, with small saccado commands, and they both undertake a skilful ceremonial, to invite me to get into the strange basin that throne in the corner of the room.

Then starts, under the amused and co-operative glance of my companion geisha, a hard exercise that consists in purifying my flesh, soiled here and there, during my many peregrinations, in the wide world of perversions.

After a meticulous washing, I am quickly immersed in a bubbling water that releases subtle odorous vapors; the young and pretty geiko slips discreetly into the too narrow bassin. My senses are agitated by the contact with this fluid and elastic body, gently flowing along my own body. My scruples of Westerner, well fed to the sources of a faith impregnated by a feudal decency, do not manage to accept that I will have to achieve the okasu saishi with this young girl who could be my daughter, under the complicity glance of this other woman with whom, I would accomplish the aisuru with such happiness.

The young apprentice-geisha gently slips on my naked flesh, the palms of her agile hands; she stops, with application, to the ambushes of my body, to the meeting of my articulations. Sometimes my companion geisha accompanies her with her hands, while she endeavour not to sprinkle her elegant clothing. She emits, sometimes, what seems to be mischievous remarks, that make the young maiko, startle in timid laughters, she thus accompanies the hands of the beautiful atashi towards the intimate parts of my body. I then feel, the fingers of the young apprentice, immobilized on my penis, then, released from the support of my companion's hands, she delicately uncover my mast from its flesh. My mind is confused, I do not know anymore where lies the border between the hygienic handling, and the sexual act; my penis inflates inordinately under the impulse of the fingers of the young maiko. It is like so, under the effect of an ejaculation, an uncontrolable bibinkuru , that my seed go spreading on her small agile yubi , then, to mix with the aromatic perfumes that almost survive in the vaporous liquid of the narrow basin.

My partner, like an experimented kan-geiko,understand everything, and she helps me to come out of the water; she dries me out, with a skilful tenderness, then invites me to stretch out on the tatami while she kneels close to me, attentive and motionless. Then the young maiko starts to massage me. The gestures are the same. Delicately, she run over my flesh delaying herself to the more significant parts of my body, she seems to locate by magic. She rests there and press more. Then she crawl up on me and undertakes to walk over my body. I feel her little delicate feet scour to the deepness of my flesh, delaying to my osseous crevaces, pressing more strongly on specific spots. She kneels on my sides, letting her elastic body slip there, in a gymnastics that seems to get out of her, as much pleasure than from myself. Then her agile ashi comes mischeviously handling my genitals, with a dexterity similar to that of her fingers.

She gives up this undertaking but comforting exercise, under the raging glance of my kan-geiko which invites me to turn over. The same game starts again, and I feel her, trampling my back with grace until the exhaustion of my forces.

Then the young kamuro leaves us, she moves back respectfully in direction of the translucent wall, with a succession of curvets and by emitting small cries with a subtle resignation.

With the assistance of my kan-geiko full of attentive gestures, I slip on a sumptuous kimono, then, uncomfortable wooden soles gata, making me lose balance, generating then, jerked laughter from my companion. We penetrate into the immense oohiroma and we join the group of guests,always sittin at the large table. I am welcomed by these men, with a certain indifference as if I was now, part of the group.

I sit with the other men, around the low table, always encumbered with those heteroclite objects: enamelled plates with carefully arranged dishes, the fans thrown there confusedly, result of an intriguing game of hazard, the muds filled with smoking sake. The rythmic movements of the flexible geishas around the table, the strange melody of the kuruuodori come out from a sortie d'un samisen delicately played by the nimble fingers of a kikado, the constant attention of the young and pretty maiko which does not stop staring at my eyes, watching, to satisfy them, the least of my gestures of indecision, the slow kagura danced by a voluptuous tachikata, I thus taste during unforgettable hours, to the satori, this indefinable state of ecstasy, under the constant and approving glance of my geisha.

Strange sounds, coming from the street, draw my attention, strange and out of time. The murmur of the modern city does not exist any more, replaced by squealings of wood wheels on the roadway, inintelligible human cawings, pyrotechnics backfires, drumings from strange taikos, sounds having no known resoundings to my brain, and that attract me towards the , this openwork window, where, earlier, the pretty and turbulent geishas had succeeded in attracting me to the comfort of their soft minchuku.

My camping-car not there anymore, mysteriously replaced by a palanquin, a decorated with fine drawings, it is surrounded by an heteroclite areopagus of strange beings agitating in all directions.

Nagoya have also disappear, over there, at the horizon, replace by a deep forest, from where emerge the red mass red of the torii of the temple of Atsura, the long, narrow and encumber path of stones, the impressive shadow of the palissade of the castle and its dark turrets, the animated shops, the coloured oriflammes pointing towards the sky, the translucent lantern, the tent with geometrical drawings, the totorojirus displays surounded by jijo, dissipate and noisy children, the impassive pilgrim with sharp straw hat, the woman with flowered kimono perched on high wooden- shoes, the carrier of palanquins, booby and perspiring with sweat, the horses bending under too heavy loads, skilful coolies carrying bundle of sticks, a long procession of daimyôs, elegant women with their paper sunshades, haughty choguns, armed samuraïs, and there, sown, under the windows of the honjin where I am feel so well, over-excited geishas trying to attract the pilgrims, in too much hurry to reach Ise or Edo, is it really Miya, ton'ya the ancient encumbered relay of the Tôkaidô and I would have been, without my knowledge, transplanted in time?

Transplanted in time, transported at the Edo era of medieval Japan, this scene of an anterior time that proceeds, under the windows of the honjin, the characters that are agitated inside the vast hiroma where I am at the present time, the pretty geishas, the devoted maikos, the rude guests, all these characters of another time and who would have taken part, to this moment of illumination, of satori, I would have been transported in time at the moment I cross the door of this resting and inviting sumiya.

Attentive to my distress, my kan-geiko approaches and comforts me, with words I do not understand but who appease me, tender and delicate gestures, touches of a soft sensuality that provoque on me, uncontrolable carnal desires. Without express myself with words,she will have understood the message of my heart. She again, entails me along the translucent walls.

Marco Polo or the imaginary journey (Contes et légendes asiatiques, translated, august 2000) © 1998 Jean-Pierre Lapointe
(Hommage to Hiroshige, Hokusai, Utamaro, to the geishas and Japon)

ACT III