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Choto Temple Ch. 01

By: songwriter503



Your feedback is most welcome. 

***** 

My name's Dan Zander. I've been working as a journalist since I graduated from college. For a long time I covered local news for local newspapers, basically hopping from one sinking ship to the next. 

Fifteen years ago I got a break, and for a while now I've been in the jet set, working for Rolling Stone. Traveling around the world, reviewing concerts and festivals, interviewing rock stars. Tough job, but somebody's gotta do it. 

It was probably my eighth trip to Japan. I'm guessing. But I think that's right. Mostly I'm going back and forth between countries in the English-speaking world. The US, the UK, Germany, Sweden, places like that - where everybody speaks English, where the folks who write the hits live. 

Lots of folks writing hits in Japan, of course, but they're in Japanese, and they're not hits outside of Japan. So they send me to Japan now and then to do this occasional fucking Orientalist kind of thing - "aren't these Japanese musicians exotic and insular" is the angle they're looking for. "My, they play their instruments well, but they don't seem to have many original ideas." People eat that shit up. 

The fact is that everybody's ripping everybody off in the music business, but if Japanese rock stars rip off English rock stars, it must be because they're Oriental and thus unable to come up with an original thought, unlike everybody else who is so fucking brilliant. It's all bullshit, and I try not to play into it too much, but if you've ever worked in this business you know that that doesn't matter - the editors do what the editors do. They'll make your shit shine how they want to, once you've provided for them the raw materials. 

Anyway, point is I don't come to Japan that much, so every time I do, it feels a bit new. Which is a nice feeling. It's too easy to get completely cynical. Anything fresh is good. My assignment was also something different. 

Actually fairly unique. I don't have any plans to start my own magazine or anything. I guess I'm not wildly ambitious, not looking for the next rung up the ladder anymore. But if I were a younger reporter with such ambitions, I'd probably have been freaking out right about now. 

I was on an assignment to go to the mountains of Yamaguchi prefecture to interview Robert Zerzinski, aka Donor X. The closest I had ever been to Yamaguchi was probably Osaka. Which is nowhere near Yamaguchi. Rock stars don't live in Yamaguchi. Japanese rock stars, as a rule, seem to grow up near a US military base in Okinawa, and then they move to Tokyo to be famous. 

But Donor X, as he is still better-known than by his real name, lives in Yamaguchi, so that's where I was going. He's not a rock star, either. But his life is about as rock star as would be possible to imagine, if you remove the electric guitar and the touring from the equation. 

The trip from Tokyo to Fukuoka to Yamaguchi felt like a trip through time as well as space. First of all, anyone who thinks Paris or London or Beijing are the most fashionable, cosmopolitan cities on Earth, has clearly never been to Tokyo. 

Just stand on any train platform in the city, and it's like being on the fucking catwalk - one shockingly beautiful young woman after another walking past, each centimeter of her body immaculately put together, each movement of her body as graceful as you could imagine, regardless of the height of the heels. 

Even there at Narita airport, quite a ways from the actual city, in what was recently hotly-contested farmland, it was easy to see who was from Tokyo and who was just transiting on to some other Asian destination - which a lot of people at Narita are doing. 

I mean forget about the obese Americans, you can spot them a mile away. But just between the Asians you can see it: If there's a piece of clothing that doesn't quite fit perfectly, or something that looks a little too shiny, or someone's walking who doesn't seem 100% at ease in very high heels, invariably, they're Chinese or Korean or Filipino or something else. They're not from Tokyo. 

The Tokyo women are easy to recognize. If they seem to have achieved an inhuman degree of physical perfection, if they move within the space around them as you imagine an angel might, if an angel were on Earth trying to blend in with the regular people, then they're almost definitely from Tokyo. 

Then flying from there most of the way to the other end of Japan's main island, it's like turning back the clock about fifty years. Not that I was even alive fifty years ago. (At least not quite.) For the most part, heels, tight jeans, leather shorts paired with long stockings, women dressed up as Lolita, none of that kind of thing was in evidence. 

In fact, you just didn't see many young people at all. They say Japan is an aging country, and now, for the first time, I could see what they meant. 

Among the middle-aged and elderly majority of the local population there was a refreshing lack of obesity. In fact, I realized with some discomfort as I looked around at my middle-aged peers as I boarded the Shinkansen at Fukuoka airport, my lack of a flat stomach, along with the fact that I don't have black hair, made me really stick out. But compared with Tokyo, folks around here looked like they had just thrown on whatever frumpy sweater their mother gave them for Christmas last December. 

I didn't have much time to get used to my new surroundings before I reached the mountain outside of the ancient port town of Hagi, home to Donor X and his Temple of Purification. I had taken a cab from the train station to the parking lot at the base of the mountain. 

The parking lot was an incongruous mix of local people with little knapsacks on, clearly dressed for a day hike in the woods, and beautiful young Japanese women, mostly very young, dressed in a variety of outfits, with a clear emphasis on light-colored dresses. Sort of adult versions of the kinds of simple dresses that very young girls can often be seen wearing in the warmer weather back home in the US. 

It was a crisp day in early spring. But in Japan, young women almost never let the weather get in the way of whatever they want to wear. And clearly, these women were going for the Innocent Look. Though, in typical Japanese fashion, beneath the Innocent Dresses could be seen the sorts of stockings that somehow smacked of something less than innocent. 

I had heard that the Temple was on the top of the mountain, and that the only way to get there was on foot. So rather than traveling with my usual four-wheeled suitcase, I had taken a backpack for this trip. 

I did a lot of backpacking as a teenager. Exactly none since becoming a journalist. Though I kept my old backpack, fantasizing occasionally about doing that thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail that I aborted one summer in between my first and second years of college, when I sprained my ankle after slipping on a wet rock somewhere in western Massachusetts. 

People in the parking lot were coming and going in different directions. Several of them were heading up the hill. All the signs were in Japanese, and I knew better than to try to ask anyone a question in English. That just tends to make Japanese people nervous, but with no useful results. (They all study English in school for ten years or so, but almost none of them actually learn how to speak the language for some reason, it turns out.) I just followed the crowd. 

Partway up the mountain the trail came to a Y-shaped intersection. All the locals in their practical clothing went to the left, and all the young women went to the right. I followed the women. One of them noticed me following the group, turned full around, smiled a beautiful, shy smile, and, with a twinkle in her eye that looked as if it had been added by a touch-up artist, said, "hello." 

She was practicing her English. I knew this drill. Respond as expected and it'll be OK. 

"Hello," I responded. 

She lagged from the rest of the group to walk closer to me. She seemed unusually bold for a girl barely out of high school. I liked her immediately for that alone. 

"How are you?" she asked me. 

I knew that was going to be the next question, and I knew the response she expected. It's pretty much the same in any country where you know people don't generally speak much English, but they want to give it a shot. 

"Well, and you?" 

She looked momentarily puzzled. "Well?" she repeated. "Ah, so, well! Well. Sorry. I'm fine." 

Fine, that's what she was expecting me to say. That's how the conversations go in her textbooks. She continued, as if reading from her high school English textbook. 

"Where are you from?" she asked me. 

"New York," I responded. Actually the suburbs of Connecticut, but nobody knows where that is, and New York is nearby. "And you?" 

Again she looked slightly flustered. And you apparently wasn't in the textbook. 

"Where are you from?" I carefully clarified. 

"Ah, so," she smiled, "I am from Fukushima prefecture," she answered. "All of us," she said, motioning to the group of young women just ahead of us. 

Of course, I realized. They all came to this place from Fukushima. I had read up about the whole thing, but my short-term memory isn't what it once was, and details get foggy quick. There were a lot of questions I wanted to ask her, but I didn't want to be too direct, and I also didn't want to use words that she wouldn't understand. Which seemed to be most of them. 

All I could think of to say then was to ask her again how she was doing, but in a way that hopefully might invite a bit more of a response. 

"You are fine?" 

She understood what I meant with this question. It was clear from her face, which took on an ever-so-slightly troubled hue. A lot of people from Fukushima aren't so fine, and that had a lot to do with their presence here, we both knew. 

She started answering in Japanese. "Watashi, ah, sorry, English, English." She giggled slightly. "I am a little nervous," she eventually answered. "I am sorry, my English is very bad." 

Before I had a chance to figure out what my next extremely simple sentence would be, we had arrived at a very hefty stone wall, one that had either been built recently, or was very well-maintained if not. There was an entrance with an iron gate. 

A man in an official-looking green uniform was there to greet us. He was holding a tablet computer. He said something in Japanese. Then, noticing the foreigner, he added, in English, "identification, please." 

Everyone aside from me took out their Japanese ID cards. I fished out my passport, showing it to the man. He carefully checked each ID off of a list of names he evidently had there on his tablet, and approved each of us, gesturing toward a pair of young women, also wearing official-looking green uniforms. 

They said something in Japanese, too, and began to pat down each woman very thoroughly. When it was my turn, one of the women asked, "OK?" But I could tell the pat-down wasn't optional. And I didn't mind anyway. 

As the pat-down was happening, I was thinking that while this kind of treatment might be normal in many parts of the world, in Japan it was virtually unheard of. Even at the airports they hardly ever pat anyone down. Billionaires don't generally have this level of security. 

Certainly rock stars don't, I knew that for sure, from first-hand experience. They might live in a fancy apartment where visitors had to check in with someone on the ground floor before using the elevator, but there was never even a pretense of a security pat-down or anything like that. 

Thinking these thoughts, it was then that I happened to look up, and noticed the guard tower. A guard tower! I don't even recall seeing guard towers outside of prisons in Japan, for fuck's sake. 

After passing through the security and climbing the tree-lined path further up the hill, I looked down at the stone wall we had walked through. I could now see the top of the wall, and it was covered with barbed metal spikes. 

I saw orange trees, and remembered that this place where the Temple of Purification had been built had once been an orange grove. 

Walking another few hundred feet up the trail, the foliage opened, revealing what appeared to be a small, alpine village that wouldn't be out of place in Switzerland, except for the traditional Japanese architecture. The buildings must all have been built at the same time around eleven, twelve years ago, and the wood they were built of still smelled like it was freshly-milled. The deep red ceramic tiles that made up the roofs of each of the buildings in the village glittered a bit in the sun. 

Each house featured a spacious courtyard in front of it. They also featured the kind of thick wooden beams you see at the entrances to shrines throughout Japan, with Japanese characters at the top of each one. I had no idea what the Japanese writing said, but each building had differing characters, and it appeared that each building served a different purpose of one kind or another. 

Standing in the middle of the village were several women, who clearly worked for the place, or were members of the Temple, or however these things worked. They weren't wearing uniforms, but they had a professional air about them. 

They were gesturing towards two different buildings. As they did this, the young women in the group I was following bowed, and split up neatly into two different, smaller groups. 

Each group headed to a different large, ornate house. One of the women who had greeted them walked up to me, bowing again. I bowed, too. 

"You're here to see Robu-san?" 

Initially I wasn't sure what she was talking about. I was sure my first thought didn't make sense, and she wasn't making some kind of reference to the black American communist songwriter, popular in the 1930's, Paul Robeson. 

Then it occurred to me that "san" was just the suffix denoting respect that comes at the end of everybody's name, unless they're a child or a close friend. And "Robu" was their pronunciation of "Rob." The Japanese add vowels to things - they don't like words that end with a consonant. 

"Yes," I replied, after thinking that all through for a possibly inappropriate length of time. 

"Please follow me." 

I did. I'd have followed her anywhere. Her eyes glistened, and her body was an impossible combination of what can happen when nature's generosity is combined with athletic inclinations. 

She was dressed in a toned-down way, with soft colors. Clothing that seemed appropriate for the crisp weather, that completely covered her body. But it was all slightly elastic stuff, framing her gentle curves, lean muscles, and unusually large breasts, especially by petite Japanese standards. 

The year now is 2021. Donor X hasn't given an interview in ten years, since a year before he left the US to move to this remote mountain in Japan. Few journalists were given access to this place, and rumors abounded about what went on here. 

The place, and Donor X, in general, wasn't a regular feature of the serious news media anymore. But he and this Temple of Purification continued to be a regular topic in the tabloid press in the US and Europe. 

Sex sells, even if they don't have much new to talk about. There's always the occasional sighting, the occasional visitor or client or whatever willing to talk. Mostly they apparently don't, and for the most part the Japanese media isn't much interested in the place either anymore. 

In the tabloid press in the US in particular, the coverage generally alternated between two themes. 

On the one hand, scintillating stories of Donor X's unbelievable fantasy lifestyle - having sex every night with a different young Japanese woman, when he's not getting his daily massage while soaking in the nearby hot springs and eating sushi while reclining in his yokata, smoking opium. 

The other theme is about some aspect of the cult-like quality of the Temple of Purification. 

I guess you can't judge someone's cult membership status based on some facial expressions, body language and a few words, but the woman I was following didn't feel like a typical cult member to me. She seemed demure, in a culturally appropriate kind of way, but not lacking in confidence. She didn't have a thousand-mile stare or give off a beaten-down or protein-starved kind of vibe. 

She was leading me down a yellow brick road. Up til now the place had had a traditional Japanese look to it, red and brown being the dominant colors, so the yellow bricks stood out. 

"A yellow brick road?" I asked the woman. 

She looked back at me and smiled. 

Replying to my question with one of her own, in what I now gathered was very fluent, mildly-accented English, she asked, "do you like the Wizard of Oz?" 

"We're not in Kansas anymore?" 

"I think we're pretty far from Kansas," I said. 

She seemed lost in thought a moment, then she came to. 

"I'm so embarrassed, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Keiko. I work for the Temple." 

"I'm Dan," I said, lamely. 

"You're a journalist? We don't get many such visitors." 

"Robu-san is not a fan of journalists, I hear." 

The man's last interview was about a year before he left for Japan. My editor told me he had agreed to give this interview, now, because he was being paid a lot of money for it, basically. Which he was apparently planning on giving away to some foundation. 

He apparently also agreed to it because he was told that it was going to be a thorough, multi-part interview that would give him a chance to go into great depth - not the norm these days with any kind of media. Robu-san was reportedly hoping to be able to set the record straight about some things, and he felt that long-format would tend to paint him in a kinder light. 

My editor, on the other hand, had agreed to pay the big bucks partly because it had been a decade since the guy had talked to a journalist. But also on the condition that I have access to him for several hours a day over the course of several days. 

And on the further condition that he would share lots of sexually explicit details about his very unusual, very sex-intensive life. Since becoming Donor X, anyway. 

Keiko took me to a small house. She opened the sliding door. Inside was what looked like a guest house for visitors. 

"You'll stay here during your visit. Robu-san's house is just a little further. Would you like some time to freshen up before I take you to him?" 

"No, that's OK," I said as I put down my backpack, removing from it my MP3 recorder, notebook and pen. 

Keiko led me to a two-story house, and up a small staircase to another sliding door. She walked into a small living room, equipped with a couch and two overstuffed easy chairs, surrounding a coffee table. 

"Please have a seat. Robu-san will be with you shortly." 

Keiko went somewhere and came back with a large glass bottle. She opened it, and it made a fizzy noise. 

She poured two glasses of sparkling water, and gingerly placed the bottle on the table beside the glasses. She bowed as she walked through the sliding door to the outside staircase, closing the door behind her. 

I relaxed in one of the chairs for a couple minutes before another sliding door opened. I immediately recognized the face of Robert Zerzinski. A face that pretty much anybody who wasn't living in the woods without electricity would recognize. Especially if they were old enough to have been reading tabloids or watching celebrity gossip shows on TV ten or eleven years earlier. 

Behind him was a beautiful Japanese woman who looked to be around 30 years old, and was dressed in a bath robe that was hanging loosely, as if it might be about to fall off of her. The inner shapes of her breasts were clearly visible, as was her stomach, down to her little belly button. Around her shoulders, long black hair fell, scattered in such a way that you could tell she had recently been lying down. 


Choto Temple Ch. 01



She said something in Japanese to Zerzinski. He briefly turned around and said something in Japanese to her, and kissed her affectionately on the forehead, before closing the door after him, leaving her on the other side of it. 

I stood up, and shook his hand. His handshake was firm and warm. For some reason I had been expecting cold and clammy. 

"Please sit down," he said, gesturing toward the chair I had just been sitting in, as he sat across from me on the couch. "Welcome to the mountain."



Choto Temple Ch. 02



Here's Chapter 2 (of 14, altogether). I really appreciate the feedback, whether by voting or by dropping me a line. Hope you like Chapter 2! 

***** 

"I love Japan, and so many things about Japanese culture, but the lack of furniture drives me nuts," Zerzinski said, as he sat down on the couch. 

"Why don't they all get back problems from sitting on the floor all the time?" he continued. "I don't know how that works." 

He had a warmth about him that I hadn't expected. I had never met him til now. But the way he was generally depicted back when he was in the news cycle was as a difficult, taciturn kind of guy with all sorts of questionable motives. 

The vibe he gave off to me, though, was that of an upbeat, relaxed guy. And it would seem that he has plenty to be upbeat about. 

He proceeded to act the way one would expect a convivial host to act, asking me how my trip to the mountain was. Of course he knew there's no direct way to get there without a private jet or something. So the journey is always a bit of an adventure. 

"Shall we get started?" I asked, after what seemed like an appropriate amount of small-talk. 

He breathed deeply. More like a sigh. 

"Sure." 

"Giving interviews isn't your favorite thing to do?" 

I hoped he knew I was referring to the sigh with that question. 

"You haven't given an interview in ten years?" 

He paused before answering. 

"Before I started teaching high school, I was playing a lot of music. I did a lot of seat-of-the-pants touring. With bands that were always falling apart after a few months and such. 

"But anyway," he went on, "what can happen after an interview is a lot like what happens after you play a bad note. But with amplification and an audience. Well, good or bad note. It's amplified. The effect is much bigger than it would be if it stayed in your bedroom." 

"As a musician and a journalist myself, I completely understand your point." 

But I was still waiting for his answer, and he knew that. He sighed again. 

"They say when you start meditating, don't mention it to anyone for the first five or ten years." 

He paused before continuing. "I was a pretty level-headed, self-confident guy before the diagnosis, I like to think. But I think most people would have a challenging time with what happened to me, and, well, I did, too. I didn't see the point in talking about these things with journalists anymore, so I stopped." 

I looked at the MP3 recorder to make sure it was working properly, and opened my notebook to where I had been outlining interview topics to cover. 

"Can you say in your own words, where are we? What is this place here on this mountain in rural Japan?" 

Zerzinski paused again. He was clearly a bit hesitant, if not tense, since the interview part began. I imagined eventually he'd loosen up. At least I hoped so. 

The expression on his face reminded me of the expressions on the faces of many politicians I'd interviewed over the years, who are always so careful about how they phrase things. Lest someone out there read into something a meaning or attitude they didn't want to communicate. 

"Well, one thing this place is," he said, "is a pretty impressive example of the adaptability of Japanese culture." 

"Did you teach social studies when you taught high school?" 

There was something distinctly teacher-ish in his delivery, and I had to ask. 

"Yes, for many years." 

He smiled, and looked a bit sheepish. 

"Sorry, please continue. How does this place exhibit this adaptability?" 

"Well, they've taken a modern problem and a modern solution, but found a way to interface between these two things in what is in many ways a very traditionally-oriented process. 

"They formed a temple, involving different kinds of training, service, and rituals. They've taken what could potentially be a very uncomfortable or inappropriate, taboo kind of thing, and made it honorable and even exciting." 

"Exciting for you?" I asked. 

"Undeniably, it is exciting for me. And I've never said otherwise." 

He was sounding somewhat defensive, but I went on with my line of questioning. 

"All the women of the world wanting to have sex with you is basically a positive?" 

"Not all," he corrected. "But a hell of a lot. Yes, there's quite a silver lining. But it comes with challenges." 

"What sorts of challenges?" 

He breathed deeply before answering, and paused to take a sip of the sparkling water that was making a faint bubbly noise. I imagined the sound of the bubbles I'd hear later when listening to the recording, as I also took a sip from my glass. 

"I guess mostly the same kinds of challenges involved with winning a really big lottery jackpot. Or having a massive, runaway hit in the Billboard charts." 

He paused thoughtfully. 

"Well, more like winning the lottery," he continued. "Because the fact that this happened to me is completely coincidental, it has nothing to do with talent. Which is another one of the challenges involved." 

He paused again, clearly thinking about how to explain his thought better. I waited silently, patiently. Often the best interviewing technique is to say nothing, while looking attentive and interested. Let the silences happen. 

"All kinds of moral quandaries," he finally went on. "I'm just glad this didn't happen to me when I was any younger." 

"I don't know how many of the Billboard hits have to do with talent," I interjected. Then I asked my next question. 

"Some people say this place is a cult. What do you say to that?" 

He chuckled a little. "I love that phrase, 'some people say,' that's a good one. 

"I don't know what qualifies for cult status. I'd say the Catholic Church is much more of a cult than this place. If this is a cult, then I don't know who the leader of it is. Cults usually have charismatic gurus, don't they?" 

"You're not the leader?" I asked. 

"No," he answered decisively. "They formed this Purification Temple, and later also the Choto Temple, basically as a direct consequence of my diagnosis. 

"But if someone else had the same kind of unusual chromosomes as me, they would have put them at the center of the thing. I just ultimately decided it was too good an opportunity to pass up, for a lot of reasons." 

I was somewhat expecting to meet an emotionally distant, self-important narcissist. But Zerzinski still kept striking me as an intelligent guy who had given a lot of thought to a lot of stuff that most people never have to think about. 

"OK, let's backtrack. Let's start at the beginning," I announced. It's often a good place to start, I find. 

"To when I was diagnosed?" he asked. 

"That's the beginning for you, isn't it?" 

"Well, I certainly have tended to see my life in terms of Before the Diagnosis and After the Diagnosis, that's for sure." 

"Understandably enough," I said. "But I was thinking of BD." 

Zerzinski nodded. 

"I'd like to get a picture of what your life was like in the decades before the CDC anointed you the sexiest man in the world." 

He smiled, or grimaced, I couldn't tell which. 

"What were you into as a kid? What were your early relationships like? Let's dwell on that for a while." 

"I was a geeky kid. Spent a lot of time alone in the woods. Or home reading comic books. Or spending all day and night on a given weekend obsessively playing Dungeons & Dragons with my few, geeky friends." He paused. "They were all guys," he added. 

"There were no girlfriends in the picture?" I asked. 

"The whole concept was just alien to me, though something I desperately wanted. In retrospect, desperately wanting something you don't understand while at the same time totally ignoring it and obsessing over role-playing games is overall not a good sexual strategy." 

"You found better sexual strategies eventually?" 

"Yes. Learning to talk to girls like they're fellow human beings helped. And playing the guitar. Well, actually the combination of singing while playing the guitar, really. The singer in the band always gets laid the most." 

"I'd have to concur with that observation," I said. 

Next question. "Can you tell me something about your earliest sexual experiences?" 

This clearly wasn't the first time he'd encountered that one. His answer sounded rehearsed. 

"They could generally be characterized by their brevity, and by premature ejaculation." 

"Any lasting relationships?" 

"Not until I was 19. I guess I kind of got the hang of it after that. The lasting relationship thing. They didn't last long for the most part until I was a bit older. 

"I was a pretty arrogant, know-it-all kind of hippie kid. But I guess there were attractive enough aspects to me, since there was only a few months during my twenties when I wasn't hooked up with someone." 

He paused. "Though at the time it seemed like an exceedingly long few months, I remember well. I was despondent." 

"I wonder if you could talk about the contrast between your general relationship with sex BD versus AD? I think this is among the things that really interest readers. And editors." 

"Sex." 

He paused again and let the short, potent word hover in the air before continuing. 

"What can I say, it's a little like night and day. Though thankfully maybe not quite that much. 

"I mean, I often wonder what it would have been like if I had been one of those really awkward guys who never got laid, never had relationships, and then this happened to me? 

"It might be too much to handle. It already has been, for me, too, at various points. 

"Though I know," he added, "that may be hard for some guys to digest." 

He looked at me before continuing. I tilted my head in a certain way that almost always successfully communicates I understand, please go on. 

"When I was younger, I got into a number of wonderful relationships with a variety of women, some few of whom I even stayed friends with after we broke up. We experimented with polyamory with varying degrees of success. 

"I had a lot of good sex, but that's all relative. I mean by some standards I was maybe a bit of a Casanova. In a typical year, especially when I was trying to make a go of it as a musician, I was often in some kind of sexual relationship with five different women in different parts of the world." 

"A girl in every port, as the saying goes?" 

"Well, that's the idea, perhaps," Zerzinski said. "But really, no. Five - that's maybe five ports. Or more if they're mobile. 

"But it's a totally different situation to now. I mean five, that's a lot more than zero. But a lot less than 365." 

"Point taken." 

"But those five - they wanted me for who I was. I mean maybe they liked me because I played music, but at least that's a skill that I learned over many years, you know? Not just some exotic chromosome I happened to be born with." 

"Hm, that sort of takes away your sense of agency, doesn't it?" I asked. 

"Indeed it does," he replied immediately. "But I'm more or less at peace with that, now, and able to just enjoy life, for the most part. It's a good life." 

"It seems like there might be some positive aspects to it," I joked weakly. 

Next question. Editor's choice. 

"Robert, when I say the phrase, 'especially memorable sexual experience from your youth,' what's the first thing that comes to mind?" 

He looked a bit distant, as if trying to pull an old memory out of a part of his brain he hadn't accessed in a while. Then he smiled. 

"I'll call her Eva. Wellesley College. Our first night together is etched in my mind like it happened last week. 

"It was all so real, so unusual back then. I didn't feel like I had to remind myself that I'm not living in a dream. It was a dream, and it was real, and just electric. Well everything seemed more real back then. 

"The band I was trying to keep together at the time was all in Philadelphia. They had driven there from Connecticut the day before, like sensible people, to have a little time in Philly before the gig the next day. 

"Me, I went north instead, where I was featuring at a little open mike at Wellesley College. Which is in the suburbs of Boston." 

"Yeah, I grew up in New England, too, actually, near you, in Connecticut," I interjected. "Sorry, please go on, Robert." 

"Right on. What town?" 

"Westport." 

"Ah, the Gold Coast. I grew up in New Canaan, among the bankers." 

"Ah, yes, I know it well. There's a train station there. OK, so you're at Wellesley..." 

"Wellesley, yes." 

He continued where he had left off. "So I'm doing this little open mike feature. Which was totally not worth bothering with from a financial or professional perspective. 

"Except that I had been exchanging flirtatious messages with a student there who I met the last time I had a gig at the college. I invited her to come to Philly with me for the weekend, and said she could just come with me after the open mike. She agreed, which was thrilling. 

"I barely knew her, so I figured we could have some time to talk while driving. Since I needed to be in Philly the next day, I figured it'd be better to drive at night at least part of the way. 

"So we were having a good time talking and sharing stories about childhood. Though for her that was essentially the year before, and it was a bit disconcerting for me back then each time she began a sentence with, 'last year, in high school.' But she was clearly not a kid anymore, anyway." 

He was sounding perhaps a bit apologetic. He continued. 

"We were enjoying the drive and the conversation, both, I thought. Then we were through most of Connecticut, and I was thinking, it would be good to start looking for a motel or something. But by the the time I had that thought, we were on the fucking Gold Coast." 

"And everything's twice as expensive," I added helpfully. 

"Right, and I was living pretty hand-to-mouth at the time. So I thought, we need to get to the other side of New York City, well into New Jersey, before the prices get reasonable again. But by this time, there's something unexpected happening in the passenger seat. 

"Eva would interject in between other topics of conversation, 'are we going to stop soon?' And every time she'd say this, she would unbutton, unsnap, or unzip some article of her clothing. 

"In between unbuttoning things, she'd be caressing her body, putting her hands in various places under her clothing. And otherwise behaving in an extremely distracting manner. 

"By the time we got to the George Washington Bridge, Eva was completely naked aside from her panties and socks. As I was driving down the New Jersey Turnpike I was really trying hard to pay attention to the road. 

"Though I was also thinking, I'm sure I could just stop anywhere and Eva would be into fucking in the car or something. But I didn't want to fuck in the car. I wanted to get to a motel. 

"But there are no fucking signs for lodging on the New Jersey Turnpike! This was before GPS's. I couldn't believe it. I was going nuts. 

"Eventually I just pulled off at a random exit, and there were a bunch of motels there. Somehow or other I got us a room, and we were fucking within about five minutes of going through the door." 

Zerzinski paused, as if lost in thought. 

I waited a moment before saying, in what I hoped was a playful tone, "don't stop just when we're getting to the juicy part." 

I was trying to say something encouraging. It seemed to work. 

"Ah, how to describe these things..." He collected more thoughts before continuing. 

"Just transcendent. Amazing. She was the very image of African beauty. She had grown up riding a bicycle and acting in Georgia. She was my height, but much thinner. Lean, though endowed with incredible breasts, the size of small watermelons. And just as firm, and impossibly pert. The kind of pertness only possible when you're 19. The only other part of her body that had any fat in it was her gorgeous ass. 

"And her whole body, mind, her entire person that night was obsessively focused on nothing but her desire to fuck me. It was so complete. 

"Her skin was so warm and velvety, and she smelled so good. There was no question about what variety of sexual intercourse she was ready for that night - just everything I did was met with total approval. Interspersed with shuddering, full-body orgasms she'd have every ten minutes or so. 

"Yeah, wonderful night, but probably particularly memorable because of the build-up. Those hours of anticipation stuck in a car on the turnpike while Eva got undressed in the passenger seat. 

"And it's memorable because an impossibly beautiful young woman wanted to fuck me so much, just because she liked something about me. All very memorable, because it didn't happen every day, partly. Not like things since the diagnosis." 

As if on cue, there was a gentle knock on a door, and one of the walls was sliding open, revealing a beautiful young woman. After a moment I realized it was the same woman I had seen before, standing behind Zerzinski. Now her hair was in a neat little bun, and she was more fully dressed. 

She said something in Japanese and Zerzinski translated. "Would you like something to drink? There's an espresso machine. The only one for miles around." 

"A cappuccino would be great," I said, and the woman repeated, "cappuccino" and then some other things I didn't understand, and she closed the door behind her. 

"Can you tell me about her?" I asked Zerzinski. 

"Her name is Mariko. She's a member of the Choto Temple." 

"What's the Choto Temple?" 

"Geez, it's all on Wikipedia. Don't you guys do research before you interview someone?" 

"Sorry, my memory is like a sieve," I admitted. "But it's great to get this in your own words, anyway. All I ever hear about is the Purification Temple." 

"Yeah, that's the main thing. The Choto Temple is more an offshoot, an improvised addition to the original plan." 

He breathed deeply. "Sometimes it just randomly hits me how completely crazy and surreal all this is." 

He took a thoughtful sip of bubbly water before continuing. 

"The people on the council in Fukushima originally came up with the Purification Temple idea. Providing young women from the area with a ritualized structure for them to receive this inoculation." 

"By 'inoculation'," I interrupted, "you're referring to sexual intercourse, correct?" 

"Exactly," he replied, with a slightly perplexed expression that communicated his keen awareness that he's in a strange situation. "So that's the basis of the Purification Temple. The Choto Temple, well, you have to understand the numbers first." 

Zerzinki looked at me with his fairly piercing brown eyes, making sure I was following him. 

"There are tens of thousands of women who qualify for the Purification Temple. Of those tens of thousands who qualify, there are many thousands who sign up and get on a very long waiting list, since there's only room for 200 of them in a given year. So to add some more surreality to the already surreal, some fairly spectacular women started up the Choto Temple." 

"And how does it differ from the Purification Temple?" 

"They're volunteers, they're not part of that arrangement. They sort of do their own thing within this context," Zerzinski explained. 

"So," he went on, "the Purification Temple visitors come in the evening. During the day, members of the Choto Temple are around. And, well, I hang out with them. And we engage in various activities that are all set out by the Temple." 

"What does that involve, generally?" 

"It's no secret. 'Choto' is a play on words. Lots of ironic humor here in Japan - you find that out when you actually learn the language. 'Choto' means 'a little,' but it also serves as a mild admonishment, like what someone might say to someone else who's acting a little inappropriate." 




Choto Temple Ch. 02



He paused again, like a teacher waiting to make sure his student was paying attention. 

"What do we do? We talk about life, take walks around the mountain trails, eat and drink together, and have quite a bit of sex." 

"The Choto Temple women sound a lot like my impression of what a geisha would be," I observed. "Except that they're volunteers." 

"Yeah, that seems about right," Zerzinski said. 

"Presumably they're also looking to be, um, inoculated?" I asked. "Do you get tired of having sex with at least two or three women every day, if I'm getting the right idea? Do you feel drained from having so many orgasms?" 

I felt odd asking such direct questions about such things. Sex is a hot topic in the pages of my publication, to be sure. But usually not quite so front and center in an interview. 

In any case, I was trying to cover some stuff right away that I knew my editors would be asking about later if I didn't. I was relieved to see that Zerzinski seemed fairly at ease with such questions at this point. 

"I learned a long time ago that for me, more than two orgasms a day is pretty unsustainable on a lot of levels. So no, they're not necessarily expecting that, unless they're at the end of their first cycle. Which is usually their only one. 

"If I can't keep up, I can do make-up work during weekends, and on holidays, when I don't have visitors from the Purification Temple." 

"Holidays?" I asked, stupidly. 

"You travel around the world interviewing rock stars most of the time, as far as I can tell, Dan. Do you need a holiday from that?" 

"Point taken." 

"This," Zerzinski continued, "is why there is a profoundly socially alienating aspect to being in my position. Perhaps I wouldn't want to trade it for the world - but not many people can relate. Even a presumably oversexed, globe-hopping journalist for Rolling Stone." 

At that point Mariko slid the door open and brought a tray of goodies in. Several rice balls wrapped in seaweed on a plate, and two cappuccinos. I wasn't sure about the combination, but independently of each other, both the rice balls and the cappuccinos looked great. 

"You made a tree!" I observed, looking at my drink, impressed by Mariko's expertise as a barista. "I've been trying to do designs like that with the milk for years, but I never get the hang of it." 

Mariko looked at Zerzinski, who seemed to be translating what I had said. She said something to him in return. 

"She says she'll teach you if you want," Zerzinski said. 

"Arigato," I said, thinking it was a good time to use one of my five words of Japanese. 

"Doi doshimashte," she said as she slid the door open to leave the room. I looked at Zerzinski. He could tell that that wasn't one of my five words of Japanese. 

"She said 'you're welcome.'" He looked a bit smug. "You're blushing," he said to me. 

I then realized that I was. My face was hot. I wanted a lesson in making little designs out of milk. Though I was also concerned about doing something inappropriate under these unusual circumstances, not really having any idea how the term "appropriate" might even be defined in this place and time and cultural environment. But I was enough of a traveler to know I didn't know. And I gave a shit enough to care. 

Mostly I was blushing because Mariko was so beautiful, and she had almost spoken to me. And the thought that that had basically been the source of my being flustered made me even more flustered. 

It was all getting very complicated in my head when Zerzinski made everything better with a sentence. 

"You should really feel free to take Mariko-chan up on that lesson. Evenings are probably best for her." 

I was liking this guy more by the minute, despite my cynical veneer, which at the moment seemed uncomfortably thin. I tried to regain my composure and ask Zerzinski another question, as I sipped my cappuccino, which tasted as good as it looked. It was dark roast. Most yuppies seem to prefer medium roast these days, but not me, and apparently not Zerzinski either. 

"Robert," I asked, "how about you tell me about your life just before the diagnosis? What high school were you teaching at? What was going on in your life?"



Choto Temple Ch. 03



Here's Chapter 3 (of 14, altogether). I really appreciate the feedback, whether by voting, commenting or by dropping me a line. Hope you like Chapter 3! 

***** 

"I taught at the public high school in New Canaan," Zerzinski told me. "One of the few teachers at the school who could afford to live in the town. Thanks to inheritance - the only way any school teacher could possibly live in New Canaan. Unless they're married to a banker." 

"Your parents left you their house?" I asked. 

"Yeah, the house I grew up in from the age of three or so." 

"They died young?" 

"More like they were unusually old when they had me, particularly by the standards of their generation. They both died in the same year, months before the diagnosis. Thank fuck they didn't have to deal with any of the shitstorm." 

"Which shitstorm? The Mother Jones article?" 

That article, I recalled concretely this time, was the first serious hack job on Zerzinski in the press. 

Zerzinski's face lightened a bit, and a slight smile appeared on his lips. 

"Ah, so you've done a little research, anyway. Yeah, that and just the whole thing." 

"So, you were living in New Canaan, teaching at New Canaan High School," I said, in an attempt at steering. 

"Yes, living in New Canaan, teaching, maintaining a blog. Or whatever they were calling them before the term 'blog' became popular. Taking frequent hikes in the woods..." 

"You were in a relationship during that time?" 

"Yes. It was certainly the most stable I've ever been. Living in one place, teaching at one place, in a relationship with the same woman for eight years straight." 

"Were you guys monogamous? How would you describe that relationship?" 

Zerzinski exhaled deeply before responding. He took a thoughtful sip of his cappuccino. 

"It was monogamy in practice, most of the time. But an ostensibly open relationship." 

He stopped talking for a good 30 seconds or so. He looked lost in thought. 

"Can you tell me more about your life at that time?" I prodded. 

Finally he responded. 

"Honestly, it's hard to remember very clearly. It all seems so long ago. I've read - and my own life experience has confirmed this - that memory is state-specific. You remember best what happened when you were in a similar state of mind or a similar emotional state. 

"So when you fall in love, you tend to remember other times you fell in love. If someone dumps you, you remember other times that happened. If you're tripping on LSD, you remember other times you did that. 

"Life for me," he continued, "was so different back then, compared to afterward. It was almost like being a different person. But I should probably try to remember all that more often. Seems like a good idea." 

"Are there particular differences you're thinking of?" I asked. 

"Yeah, I was just remembering how Marta and I both felt when one or the other of us got involved with someone else. We both wanted to encourage the other, but we both experienced some degree of fear, and jealousy." 

"Is that allowed in an open relationship?" I asked, rhetorically. 

That question seemed to snap Zerzinski back into teacher mode. 

"It's a common fallacy that poly-oriented people aren't supposed to experience jealousy. Of course anyone can experience jealousy. The question is more one of what you do with those emotions, whether you let them take over or not. Which depends on to what degree you experience those emotions, and how capable you are of being mindful of them without letting them run your life. 

"But yeah," he went on, sounding more tentative, and less like an instructor all of a sudden. "We got jealous sometimes. 

"For both of us, I'm sure that the basis of the jealousy was not so much about being worried about being upstaged sexually - we both knew that new relationships had a special sexual excitement about them that was its own thing, and comparisons were silly. The jealousy was more about fear of scarcity - fear of losing the relationship, and being lonely. Because generally we weren't both in a second relationship at the same time, it just didn't go that way. So one of us always could potentially worry about being alone." 

"And it's hard to remember that part of your life, and those feelings?" I asked, for clarification, trying to keep loose strings tied. 

"Yeah, right. Because I barely remember what jealousy felt like. Or fear of scarcity. Or even, now, the desire to be in that kind of day-in, day-out relationship with one other person. Now it feels like it's not just jealousy that's rooted in fear of scarcity, but the basic desire to be in a relationship like that at all. I mean it may not be realistic for most people, but, the various pros and cons notwithstanding, I've certainly never been so happy as I am now." 

He looked at me to make sure I was following him before expanding on that point. 

"I have friends who I don't have sex with. I have a lot of great sex with women I'll never see again. And I have friends I have sex with regularly. But I don't have anything resembling a traditional relationship, and I have no interest in that. Which really freaks some people out, but not everybody. Sometimes it makes me wonder, too, but usually I'm OK." 

"In fact," I noted, "some people have said very mean things about you based on you expressing perspective like that." 

"Yes. One of the many attractions of this place. And Japan in general." 

"How's that?" 

"Well, the Temple orients around me as someone with a special gift. And they've basically created a whole tradition oriented very practically around making use of that gift while keeping me happy. Which is all very symbiotic that way. That's one thing. But Japan, generally, is a very 'live and let live' kind of culture. 

"For example," Zerzinski explained, "I very much consider myself a feminist. I strongly believe in gender equality. I hope that doesn't come as a surprise to you. But a lot of feminists in the US just couldn't cope with the fact of my existence. 

"Same with the Christian fundamentalists, though I really don't give a shit what they think about anything. But it got to where I wasn't just concerned for my security in terms of potential kidnapping, etc., but I also never knew if some random young woman or old man on the streets of Portland was going to start yelling at me for no particular reason. 

"In Japan that just doesn't happen, anywhere. People respect your space, your privacy, even when you're in public. When I got here, I could truly relax for the first time in years." 

"Were you in a relationship," I asked, "when you got the diagnosis?" 

Another effort at steering the conversation so we don't jump ahead. 

"Thankfully, no," said Zerzinski. "Not in a daily live-in kind of relationship at that time. I was somehow permitted not to have to go through whatever would have been involved with that, which would seem unlikely to have ended well." 

"What happened with you and, was her name Marta?" I asked. 

"Yes, Marta. I think with every other relationship I've ever been in, even though most of them were ostensibly polyamorous, the relationships ended soon after one or the other of us met someone we basically wanted to be in some kind of primary relationship with. Or we met someone who couldn't deal with being secondary, and someone had to choose, more like. More a pretense of polyamory than anything else. I think most supposedly monogamous relationships end the same way, except the in-between part is called 'cheating.' 

"With Marta," he continued, "it was different. After eight years it was really more of a fizzling out kind of thing. In retrospect I think although we always got along great, and it was the least dramatic relationship I've ever been in, we were too similar, and we both started getting bored with each other. Both white Americans from the suburbs, very close in age. 

"The two cliches I subscribe to most are probably 'familiarity breeds contempt' and 'variety is the spice of life.' We didn't have enough variety, and we had too much familiarity. Though we never achieved anything close to contempt, thankfully. Just a bit of boredom." 

Zerzinski looked out the window at the lush vegetation outside. 

"At the end we were experimenting a lot with introducing more fantasies into our sex life, role play and such, which helped a lot, but it wasn't enough. 

"Then from one day to the next, basically, life became one big, strange fantasy. Except the fantasy was bigger and stranger than anything I might have come up with in my most ridiculous daydreams." 

As if the term "ridiculous daydreams" required emphasis, the sliding door from which Zerzinski had first appeared opened, revealing Mariko once again. 

Her hair was no longer up in a bun. It was flowing around her shoulders, reminding me of Medusa, or some other such mythology, and I had to swallow a little liquid that suddenly was pooling just inside my lips. Which thankfully did not manage to start coming out in the form of drool. Though I'm sure I was staring. 

Mariko's enchanting gorgeousness was only part of the daydream I was witnessing. When she opened the door, you could see just behind her that she had prepared a massage table. With one hand on the table, she said something in Japanese. 

"I have to prepare for tonight now," Zerzinski said. He said something to Mariko and slid the door closed again, looking at me. 

"Dan," he said to me in a meaningful sort of tone. "I don't know you, so I hope you'll forgive my bluntness. Despite whatever your impressions may or may not be, respect for everybody's boundaries and autonomy around here is really, really important. 

"You just make yourself at home while you're staying there in your guest house. But anything that happens here is all by consent, no exceptions. I assume you're a good guy, but just FYI, there is zero tolerance for pickup artist shit around here." 

I knew exactly the sorts he was talking about. I did a story for the magazine about those abhorrent men, though I could tell Zerzinski was unaware of that fact. I liked the guy even more now. He was full of surprises. Either that or I had a pretty thoroughly wrong impression about him. 

"Got it," I said. "Thank you." 

"Your meals will be delivered to you at the guest house, Dan," Zerzinski said as he stood up. "Looking forward to talking more with you tomorrow afternoon." 

He opened one sliding door to join Mariko, and I opened another, leading to the front steps, which I descended unaccompanied. 

I was glad especially this first day to have the evening to myself. The jet lag was just starting to catch up with me. I took my shoes off at the entrance, walked inside as far as the bed, and lay down. 

Later, I was awoken by a knock, and the sound of my name, sort of, being spoken by a very high-pitched female voice. 

"Danu-san! May I come in? Supper time!" 

The voice sounded young. She had said enough to indicate that this woman may actually speak more than a few words of English, whoever she was. As I stumbled toward the door in my woozy state I somehow had time to think all of that, and to notice that I had been fast asleep for two hours. 

I felt groggy and vulnerable at that moment. I had just only recently landed in the country. Then made it to the other side of the country. Unfamiliar surroundings were not unusual for me, but sometimes it's all a bit unbalancing. Upon opening the door it was only with great difficulty that I remained upright and managed to act sort of normal. 

She looked to be somewhere in her twenties. Petite, with blonde hair in pig tails. Which would have been completely convincing if she weren't Japanese. Unlike the other women I had so far encountered on the mountain, she was wearing a lot of makeup, but so elegantly done. 

The base made her look like a Scandinavian with Japanese features - light skin but with impossibly dark, painted freckles, on top of an unmistakably, beautifully Asian face with such delicate features. She was wearing a bright yellow dress, and webbed leggings underneath. 

I never saw the movie, but on my first visit to Tokyo, years ago, I was taken to Yayogi Park, where dozens of young women dressed very much like this woman can be seen hanging out every Saturday, posing for photographs from passersby. I was face to face with an impeccable Japanese Lolita. 

"Please, come in," I stuttered. 

She smiled a smile that almost made me fall over, and I tried harder to get ahold of myself. I'm not like this normally. I don't consider myself a swinger, but very few people in my line of work have anything resembling a normal family life. I have had my fair share of lovers, and, well, I probably still do. But all that worldliness did not leave me with the capacity to cope with this, and for fuck's sake, all she was apparently trying to do was to bring me dinner. 

Which initially is what she did. She was holding a tray, which she put down on the table in the dining room area of my little guest house. On top of the tray was a plate of food, with a cover on it. She lifted the cover, to reveal a plate of rice with Japanese-style curry on it, which looked and smelled delicious. 

"Thank you," I managed to say. 

If Lolita noted my intense feelings of awkwardness, or the growing bulge in my jeans, she didn't let on. I was suddenly glad I put on some of my tighter pairs of underwear that morning, rather than the boxers I've been wearing occasionally, which would have done nothing helpful in terms of hiding my erection. 

"Would you like some company while you eat?" Lolita asked, tilting her head slightly. 

"That would be lovely," I found myself saying, dreamily. 

I was barely awake, still, but my mind was racing, as I was trying to grab ahold of anything Lolita and I might have in common to talk about. I noticed some of her consonants were more or less missing, like the "p" in "company" and the "t" in "eat." I suck at learning other languages, but I love guessing accents. And it sounded very much like she had learned English from an Englishman. 

"It sounds like you learned English from someone from England. Am I right?" 

Finally I managed to say something, more than a couple words. She smiled, which was very gratifying. 

"I lived in London for a year." 

"What were you doing there?" I asked. 

"Studying fashion design." 

Somehow not a shocking response, but one which left me fairly unable to continue a line of questioning, since I know very little about fashion design. But I know London well, so I thought I'd steer the conversation that way if I could. 

"Did you like London?" I inquired, lamely. 

"Great city. But too many Japanese people. It was hard to learn English. Because everywhere I went, more Japanese." 

Cities like London or New York can be like that, no matter what your national origin. 

Before I could continue my line of questioning, she said, "My name is Rie. It's a pleasure to meet you." 

Why was it a pleasure to meet me? I thought. It's just an expression, I reminded myself, feeling about thirteen. 

"My name's Dan. Good to meet you, too." 

A pleasure, actually, but I didn't want to use too many adjectives, for fear of sounding the way I felt. 

I was sitting at the table in front of my curry, but I hadn't started eating it. Hard to eat and talk at the same time, especially with Lolita, or Rie, sitting across from me. Perhaps sensing my awkwardness, Rie took a rice ball from a bag she was carrying, and started unwrapping it. 

"Please, eat while it's hot," she said. "It's better that way." 

She smiled, gingerly taking a bite of her seaweed-wrapped ball of rice, which did in fact make me feel better about taking a bite of the curry myself. I was so glad she had brought me something relatively easy to eat, and I didn't have to make a fool of myself by trying to eat something like some kind of noodle soup. Which invariably results in drops of broth spattered on the table and on my clothing. 

As we sat together and talked, the conversation gradually became easier. I imagined us to be very different from each other, and I didn't feel like I was developing a deep understanding of who Rie was or what motivated her in life, but we had common references to explore - different parts of London, a few bands that we both liked. 

Finally I felt familiar enough with her to venture to ask her something about the place where we both found ourselves that evening. 

"Do you mind telling me a little about how you ended up here, Rie?" I asked. 

She suddenly looked shy, but seemed to be forcing herself to hold her chin up and maintain eye contact. 

"I wanted to join the Choto Temple," she explained. 

"And now you're a member of it?" I asked. 

"Yes." 

"Do you mind telling me what made you want to join the temple?" I continued my questioning. 

"Well," she said, pausing again, looking like perhaps she was deciding how much of such personal information she wanted to divulge. "I'm not from Fukushima, so I'm not eligible to join the Purification Temple. 

"But actually I wouldn't want to, anyway. I like Choto Temple better. To serve others is good. What Robu-san is doing for people is important. There is something bigger. I want to be part." 

"Is that the general orientation of the members of the temple, would you say?" I asked. "Serving the greater good?" 

"Hm. So. Maybe that depends on which temple. Choto Temple, perhaps. Purification is a little different. I am probably more selfish than most." 

With those words, her expression suddenly became an exaggerated shade of mischievous. She stood up from the table, and I instinctively did the same, almost knocking my chair backward, suddenly feeling like a clumsy westerner. 

"Danu-san, I know you have things to do. I will go now. Unless" - she paused, and everything suddenly seemed to be happening in slow motion - "there is" - she paused again, and I thought it was good that I had a rib cage, because otherwise my heart would be jumping out of there, in Rie's direction - "anything" - the word hung in the air like fairy dust. And as she said the word, she tilted her head a bit and pursed her lips just a little, causing her cheeks to wrinkle slightly, adorably - "else I can do for you?" 

Although my mind had been very actively imagining the things I wanted to do with this real-life Lolita fantasy who had been sitting before me for the past hour or so, the invitation almost knocked me off my feet again. 

The confidence with which she asked that question was so complete. There was no look of shame or embarrassment, no sense that she was nervously anticipating my response, no fear of rejection. Just a quietly confident beauty. I wondered what she'd say or do if someone said something like, oh sorry, I'm married. Did people even do that? I had no idea. 

But I also had no idea why she had asked this question. 

There was no doubt about the sexual content of it, as far as I could tell. Though I wondered repeatedly within the space of several seconds if I might be misreading that somehow. 

And then I wondered again why. Was she really so into me after talking to me for an hour? Or was she under instructions to take care of me this way? If so, was that prostitution? 

I had never been to a prostitute and didn't want to start now. Nor did I want to ask her any of these questions. Nor did I care what the answers might have been, really. 

After what seemed like a very long time, but was probably less than ten seconds, I managed to utter the words, "please, yes," as I walked away from Rie, towards the one comfortable, plush sort of chair in the room, a slightly stiffer version of the chairs in Zerzinski's living room. 

I had no idea what she would do with these two words, but this was apparently all she needed to hear. She walked towards me, and then sat down on my lap. 




Choto Temple Ch. 03



I hadn't touched a woman, not like this, in weeks. I get lucky pretty often in my line of work, but usually not every night, or anything close to it. It's not that I don't expect to get laid fairly often, but this was unexpected. I mean, I wondered what might happen at this place, but Lolita sitting on my lap and asking what she could do for me wasn't on the list of potential expectations for some reason. 

"Kiss me?" I managed to exhale two more words. I was suddenly feeling distinctly nonverbal. As a person of words, that can be somewhat disconcerting when it happens, and it doesn't happen very often. 

Lolita barely had to bend over to kiss me, sitting on my lap as she was. Her kiss was light, electric, but welcoming and warm. 

I could feel her bright red lipstick coming off onto my mouth. My free hand began wandering. I found where her little dress ended, and felt her lean legs, her little, tight stomach, her pert breasts, covered in what felt like a sports bra of some kind. I slid my hand in beneath it. 

She began kissing my neck, and one of her hands found its way under my t-shirt. She slid down onto her knees. With her knees on the rug beneath us, she faced me, looking up for a moment at my face, before burying her face in my stomach. She was inhaling deeply, rubbing her face on me, and I could see my dark body hair becoming lighter in some spots, as her makeup rubbed off on it a bit. 

One of her hands landed on my very erect penis. With a mock look of surprise, Rie said, "what's this?" Without waiting for the answer, she asked another question. "May I see it?" 

Without waiting for an answer to that question either, she began unbuttoning and then unzipping my jeans. 

As soon as she had extricated my cock from them, she pushed it deep into her mouth. She somehow managed to get almost all of it in her mouth without gagging, and then she kept it there. She kept pushing, trying to get it all the way in, unsuccessfully, before she pulled her mouth off, expertly licking and massaging with her tongue as she went, before engorging her mouth with my dick again, again as deeply as she could. 

After an amazing 30 seconds or so of this treatment, she withdrew my cock from her mouth, kissed the head gingerly, and looked up at my face from there, while holding me close to her lips. 

"Is this OK?" she asked. 

"Oh, yes." My latest two-word sentence. 

She then continued, with no more such questions. 

Although I was euphoric about my current predicament, I found myself worrying a bit about whether my behavior in this situation was appropriate, and also wondering about this lovely woman's motives. Though I supposed this was, at least, activity being conducted between consenting adults. At least that. Hopefully. 

As Rie so diligently made movements with her tongue and lips that slightly improved my euphoric state with each rise and fall of her head, I was also realizing that I was really tired. At one point I may have nodded off, in fact. 

I had been thinking of looking into the removal of Rie's clothing. But she made no indication whatsoever that she was tiring of this activity at all, and I resigned myself to follow the path of least resistance resistance, and stay where I was. 

My mind has a tendency to start fantasizing about even more sexy things that could be going on, even when what's happening is pretty incredible as it is. I tried to let those thoughts go, and be in the moment. Which was spectacular place to be, no doubt. I gazed at Rie's perfect little face, or the parts of it I could see, as it was largely buried. 

"If you don't stop, I'm going to come in your mouth," I found myself whispering. 

Rie disgorged her mouth only long enough to kiss the head of my penis and whisper, "please," before returning to her work, now at a slightly faster pace, with more pressure, which easily pushed me over the edge. 

The euphoric feelings at that point were of course a bit all-encompassing. But I still vividly recall the way she drank me. 

With each spurt, she swallowed, as if hungry for the next one. And then, without taking a break, she gently ate me for another several minutes, until I began to lose my erection. 

The way she then looked me in the eye so confidently, as she rose up onto her knees to face me, was so surprising for me that I think I blushed. When I realized I may have been blushing, then I'm sure I was. Once again, Rie didn't give any sign that she noticed. 

"Thank you, Danu-san," she said simply, as if I had just made her tea or something. "Sleep well." 

I smiled, awkwardly I'm sure, not certain what to say or do, but I stood up when she did. 

"I hope to see you soon," was all I could think of. 

Rie walked to the door, opened it, and waved to me as she stood in the doorway. 

"Oyasumi, Danu-san. Good night." 

I waved, too, as she gently closed the door.



Choto Temple Ch. 04



I had been told that generally on our daily weekday interviews, Zerzinski would be free to talk to me from 9 til 11 each morning, and 2 to 4 each afternoon. A nice amount of time, and a nice way to break it up, I thought. As I also wondered about the particular activities he was engaged with during all those other hours. 

The generalities were things many people were familiar with. The particulars, far less so. Not only had Zerzinski not given any interviews in a decade, but no member of the Choto Temple or other people like that had so far given any interviews, either. Adding to the mystery and intrigue of the whole thing. 

The air was delightfully crisp when I walked the few minutes from my lodging to Zerzinski's house. The sun was only reaching parts of the canopies of the trees, and dew was still hanging on the leaves. 

I knocked on the door, and after a few moments Zerzinski answered it himself. 

"Come on in. I was just steaming milk." 

I followed him back inside, after removing my shoes. I could hear the sputtering of an espresso machine primed for some milk-steaming. And then the familiar sound of a beaker of milk being steamed. I walked toward the sound, and saw Zerzinski in his kitchen. 

"Mariko's not around?" I inquired, feeling stupid after doing so. 

Zerzinski smiled slightly. "People come and go. She'll be back." 

Sensing perhaps the question behind the question, he continued. "I like to do things myself." 

He poured milk into the waiting saucers, both already containing perfect little shots of espresso. The crema on top of each shot glistened with the familiar light brown bubbles that indicate it was done right. 

"No flowers or pine trees or hearts or anything, eh?" I teased him. 

"I've never figured out how they do that, either. I keep meaning to ask Mariko to show me." 

We walked together back into the living room, and I plopped down my recorder between us, and got out my notepad. 

"You slept well?" 

Zerzinski sipped his cappuccino as he asked the question, looking at me intently. 

"Very well," I said. I wondered whether he knew just how well I had slept. The next thing he said indicated that whether or not he knew, he suspected. 

"You look happy." 

"I usually am," came my somewhat coy reply. "But last night did involve some unexpectedly happy developments." 

"That sort of thing can happen around here." He paused for a moment. "You smell a bit floral, Dan. You use perfume?" 

He seemed to anticipate my reply. "She was rubbing her face on my stomach quite a bit, and she had something tenaciously flowery on. It's still there, after a pretty darn soapy shower this morning." 

"She's marked you with her scent," he informed me nonchalantly. 

I was curious to know more about this, but I was feeling that journalistic urgency to get going with the interview, and start the story at the beginning as I had been planning. 

"Before we get back to our story, Robert, do you have any thoughts about what we talked about yesterday? Sometimes a night of sleep results in reflection happening..." 

"Well, one thing that occurred to me, maybe particularly because of the magazine you work for, and thinking about the difference between my relationship to the world, and specifically to sex, BD vs AD - I was thinking, for one thing, what is the distinction between, say, a rock star and me, you know?" 

"I like your train of thought here, that's juicy. What's the difference? Our readers want to know!" 

I was trying to sound appropriately cynical. And succeeding, judging from Zerzinski's wry expression. 

"OK, well basically the thing is this. There are certain personality types that go for other personality types, right? So if you're an expressly polyamorous guy like I usually declared myself to be, you end up hooking up with women who also identify that way. Which is a wonderful bunch of women, but it's a limited pool. 

"Same with rock stars hooking up with groupies, for another example. Not everyone who likes a band wants to sleep with their members. It's a certain select group who does. And that goes for most things. Like if you have a lot of money. There are women who want to hook up with you because of that, but there are a lot of women who wouldn't want to." 

"I'm following you." 

"So after the diagnosis, suddenly the type of woman who wanted to have sex with me, well, there was no longer a type, as far as I could tell. It's not like everybody wants to, by any means. But if there's a type, I have no idea what it is." 

"Do you think," I asked, "there's a type of woman who joins the Choto Temple?" 

"Yes, that's true. But for regular clients, like back at the clinic in Portland, or with the Purification Temple, it's not like that. Which definitely ends up having pros and cons." 

I wanted to ask him more about that, but I thought it would probably become clearer if I got him to start telling stories rather than continuing with the philosophical stuff. 

"Tell me how the diagnosis happened initially, Robert. Walk me through that if you would." 

"OK, well, I was at home. I had just gotten there, from school. I remember I was really tired. I hadn't slept so well the night before. Which was common for me at that time. 

"I had broken up with Marta not long before then. And I was so used to sharing a bed with someone I could cuddle up with. Sleeping alone, I wake up more, it's not so good for me." 

I nodded with a certain amount of enthusiasm, trying to communicate that these little details were exactly the sort of thing we wanted. 

"So I got home, and sat down on the couch, and then my phone was ringing. The guy on the line said he was the chief scientist at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. 

"You picture a chief scientist as being a reserved kind of person, but this guy sounded really excited, like he might just start giggling uncontrollably at any moment. Though he didn't. 

"I wondered if it was a crank call from one of my students, but the voice sounded very clearly adult. And he had a mild South Asian accent that I didn't think any of my kids could make up. But I still wondered. 

"So then he asks if I'm the same Robert Zerzinski from New Canaan, Connecticut who donated sperm for research purposes on such-and-such a date, during a sperm collection drive. Once he determined that this was in fact me, he sounded even giddier. 

"He said they found some very unusual things about my sperm. But that he couldn't say anything over the phone. And would I be willing to fly to Atlanta on Monday. He quickly added that the CDC would pay me for my time, put me up at the Hyatt, and send me plane tickets. 

"I never take sick time because I just don't tend to get sick. So I had a week to take off no problem. 

"I called the school and told them I'd be away for at least a couple days the next week. And on Monday morning I was on a shuttle to Westchester airport. 

"Life got really, really interesting that day, and also full of complicated moral dilemmas for this sensitive, soon-to-be-oversexed, feminist musician from New England. And the shit has never let up since." 

"The phone call was the moment it all changed, eh?" 

"Well, I suppose it was a slightly gradual process, over the course of that day. 

"When I landed in Atlanta, there was a guy in a suit with my name on a sign meeting me where I exited. He was a limousine driver. That was the first time I had ever been picked up at an airport by a real limo. Not that I had previously felt incomplete due to my lack of time in limos, but there you go. 

"And there in the very spacious back seat of the limo with me was the guy who had called me, the chief scientist at the CDC, and the geneticist that had done most of the research that they were both so excited about. 

"The chief scientist was an older guy from India named Karthik, and the geneticist was a woman in her thirties from South Carolina named Charity, of all things. They were both gushing from the moment I sat down." 

"What were they gushing about specifically?" 

I knew, basically, but wanted to hear his account of the day as fully as possible. 

Zerzinski smiled with a look of remembering. Just the kind of moment a journalist is hoping there won't be any interruptions. And there weren't. 

"It was wonderfully geeky. We barely got past introductions, before they were excitedly batting around terms like 'Spectacular Anomaly.' 

"They were saying really dramatic things like 'science does not yet have a way to explain what we have witnessed in the laboratory. Your DNA is completely exceptional. When your sperm comes into contact with ovarian tissue, the chromosomes in the tissue it encounters change. That's not supposed to happen, but it does. We have it on film.' 

"So I'm like, OK, but what does that mean exactly, this change? 

"And then Karthik starts to get even more dramatic. 'Robert,' he says, 'you are the closest thing to a miracle cure that I have ever seen or heard of before.' 

"I remember he paused, for dramatic impact, after saying that. It was memorable because the rest of the time they were both geeking out a mile a minute, exactly like you'd expect for a scene in a sci fi movie. 

"'Cancer,' Karthik said, 'is caused by many factors. There is a huge environmental factor. There is also a huge genetic factor. 

"'We don't know about the long-term, or the impact on environmental factors. What we do know is that under the right circumstances, when your sperm comes into contact with ovarian tissue, it changes the DNA of the ovarian tissue in such a way that it consistently transforms the chromosomes that increase the likelihood of a woman getting ovarian cancer. 

"'Your sperm dramatically lowers the risk of cancer for women, basically.' 

"I remember I must have looked shocked or something, because suddenly they both leaned toward me, looking concerned. 

"Very empathetic for scientists, I thought. I remember the first question I asked after that. Which was the beginning of months of my brain being on permanent overdrive. I didn't realize the brain was really a muscle until that day. 

"But after that day it really felt like one. Hurting from thinking too much about ethics, as well as logistical nightmares, politics, security... You name it, it somehow reared its head in this completely absurd drama. 

"I said, 'so you're going to use your discovery to work on a vaccine or something then? And you'll name your discovery the Charity Vaccine, and then Glaxo Smith Kline will make billions?'" 

Zerzinski paused again, recollecting more details. 

"'Oh, don't get me started on Big Pharma,' Charity said. 

"I knew I liked her then. I like people with a conscience, whoever they may be. 

"Then Karthik jumped in. 'Robert,' he said, 'our intent is eventually to synthesize a vaccine that mimics what your sperm does. But at this point, we don't know what it's doing.' 

"I remember he really emphasized that point. He was trying to communicate just how weird this thing was. 

"He kept saying my name for emphasis, too. 'Robert,' with that lovely accent, that thing they do with the r's. 

"'Robert, at this point, you are the only source of this, this' - it was funny to hear a scientist searching for a word to describe something anatomical, but he was - 'this stuff. You are the only source.' 

"How long, I asked, did he think it would take before they could synthesize something and market it to the masses and all that? I vividly remember his response to that one. 

"'I haven't a clue. Years.' That's when it really started to sink in." 

"What started to sink in, exactly?" 

"That this was big. That I had no idea what it was going to mean. And nobody else did, either, really. Other than just a lot." 

Without any prompting, Zerzinski continued the story. 

"There was a lot of traffic on the highways. Took a long time to get to the CDC. It was nice to get out of the car. You still can't stand up in a limo, no matter how comfy the seats are." 

"What went on in there?" I asked. 

He paused, clearly lost in thought. 

"It was my first brush with fame, basically. I mean a sort of fame unlike anything I experienced as a touring musician, you know? 

"This was not like a rapt audience - one or two members of which might perhaps be thinking about having sex with you at some point if that sort of thing worked out somehow. This was a whole other level of things. And it's been like that most of the time ever since." 

"Can you describe the difference? What was it like in there? How were people looking at you? What were they saying?" 

He didn't really need prompting, but I felt like I should act engaged. 

"Well, I mean first of all, these were scientists and folks who spend a lot of time with scientists. They all understood the chemistry involved. Which I didn't, I might add. I mean they didn't understand the mysterious part, but..."  

"And they still don't!" I had to exclaim. 

"Right. But they understood that they didn't understand it, you know? 

"They understood what repeatedly happened when the sperm made contact with ovarian tissue under the right conditions. They understood that this guy coming in was a one-of-a-kind total freak of nature who had what they well understood to be a very powerful ability to influence the lives and perhaps even lifespan of a lot of people. At least potentially. 

"And they had all been briefed, I later learned, by none other than the FBI, that people should be completely mum about my identity. So that probably added to the mystique." 

"So they were looking at you funny?" 

"Awe might be an appropriate word. I'm sure I can easily sound like a complete narcissist. In so many ways, for so many reasons. But this is not about me. I just happen to be the vehicle, for better or for worse." 

"Was the FBI there at the CDC to greet you, too?" 

"Yes. They waited until I had been 'debriefed' by the scientists, and then they sat me down." 

"What was the gist of their message to you?" 

"That I should be careful. And not reveal my identity. And that if I were thinking of revealing my identity, he said the FBI was not in the business of providing 24-hour security for private citizens. And that I would need that kind of protection if people knew who I was. And that if I were identified I should be prepared to hire bodyguards." 

"That must have been intense to hear." 

"Exactly. Very. That was a big one. Bodyguards. I've never even given a moment's thought to the idea of bodyguards my entire life. 

"I asked him to explain why he was so sure I would need that kind of security. And he said, if what the scientists were saying was true, then basically I should think of it like there are these various precious metals that are worth different things, depending on various factors, such as their availability on the market. 

"'You," he said, meaning me, 'you've got a precious metal in your pants. Except your pants is the only place it exists. That makes it a very scarce resource, right?' 

"How am I possibly going to afford bodyguards? I teach high school." 

"'Don't expose yourself,' he said. 'Be careful. Don't tell anyone. And, honestly, even if you're talking to people here who already know, don't do it on the phone or by email.' 

"That was funny. Yes, we're spying on everyone, and we don't trust ourselves, basically was what he was saying. Or maybe he didn't trust the NSA, I don't know. I certainly don't trust any of them." 

Both of our cappuccinos were cold now, barely imbibed at all. I noticed this after Zerzinski did, as he was reaching to take a sip, and we both noticed the crusty brown ring around the inside of our cups. Still tasty, though, we both agreed. 

"Would you say there was a sexual element to the way the people at the CDC were looking at you?" I asked. 

"Well," he said as he grimaced slightly, "there seemed to be a bit of a distant, shyness with the men. Which I couldn't quite put my finger on. Maybe scientists are generally shy. Or maybe they were jealous, or confused, I don't know. 

"The women, however, were universally very friendly, and occasionally a bit giggly on the sidelines. They weren't acting so much like respectable scientists, I thought. Not that they were acting especially foolish or anything. 

"But basically you could say the excitement began in earnest that very evening." 

He looked at me as if expecting something. 

"I'm listening," I said, lamely. 

"Charity came to visit me in my hotel room."



Choto Temple Ch. 05



"She just appeared there, like a scary groupie or something?" I interjected, for clarification. 

"No no, it wasn't like that. She called first and asked if I minded if I would like a visitor. She was very thoughtful and all that. 

"I was theoretically prepared for a visitor by the time she actually was at the door. In reality I was a complete mess. My mind and my heart were both racing, so fast that I really couldn't make much sense of what was happening. Actually it felt a lot like how you feel after you just took the LSD a half hour earlier or so." 

"It's pretty hard to imagine how you must have felt." 

I was trying to sound more sympathetic than jealous. I'm not sure if Zerzinski was completely impressed with my efforts, but he continued his storytelling anyway. 

"This was basically your first date, post-diagnosis?" 

He looked slightly miffed, and then more just perplexed, at my question. 

"It wasn't really a date, you know. Well, I don't know. It was what it was. For me it was lovely. I hope it was for her. I'd like to think on a few different levels it might have been. But all I can be sure of is one of them.  

"That's the problem, you know? That's always the thing. From that moment on, I have something people want. So who knows if all the rest is real or not? But I'm not the only person who has to try to figure that kind of stuff out." 

He looked like he was once again shifting gears from philosophizing to storytelling. Which are different things, though related. 

"So Charity came to my door. Bearing a small basket of perfectly ripe Georgia peaches. They really do grow peaches in Georgia, it's not just on the license plates. Charity was a few years younger than me. We're still in touch, you know." 

I sensed a little bristle, and didn't comment on it. I could understand how he might feel defensive about these things. Needing to point out that they're still in contact. The moral quandaries Zerzinski had to deal with did indeed seem like tough ones. At least for someone who gave a shit. Which it was becoming increasingly clear to me this guy is. 

"I did notice that she was a lovely, fit woman with engaging expressions on a charming face. But I really wasn't thinking about sex, either - I mean it was such an ever-present thought that I was actually not thinking about it. 

"I knew it would come up as a regular thing on a regular basis, but I wasn't thinking about the details. I was just glad to have an intelligent person to talk to, who felt like visiting, or felt obligated to visit, or whatever it was. I was glad. 

"She could see right away that I was troubled. And after we sat down in the living room area of the suite they were putting me up in, she was trying to be helpful. She asked me if there was anything else from my little crash course in genetics at the CDC that day that I wanted to know. 

"It wasn't the science that I felt like I needed a better handle on, though, I told her. It's the implications of this thing. It's where does my life go from here? 

"I'm still so thankful that she came over that evening. She's a scientist, and has a wonderfully scientific approach to life's questions. 

"She just broke it down into a multiple choice kind of scenario for me. And it was like, yes, those are useful thoughts. Glad someone's brain is functioning right now." 

"Nice when the brains function, eh?" 

He chuckled. He looked a bit tense, remembering that evening. I realized I was hoping with the blithe comment to make him laugh a little, so he'd breathe. Which he did. Along with taking a sip of his cold cappuccino. 

Then he looked somehow lost. I was wondering what that was about, when he explained it for me with a question. 

"Where was I...?" 

"Charity's multiple choice." 

"Oh yeah. So she was like, 'let's look at the inputs and the outputs.' 

"And then she even made a numbered list in two columns on the little notepad they always have next to the beds in hotels. 

"The first column was 'value,' about how I have something very valuable. To the right, her multiple choice options were 'secrecy' and then 'security.' 

"OK, the categories might seem kind of obvious. But I was finding the mere fact of the numbered list with columns really therapeutic at the time." 

"Giving order to things can be very calming, eh?" I echoed. 

Having also done LSD in the past as Zerzinski evidently had, I also added, "that first hour after dosing, we're often trying desperately to keep everything ordered, too, before the order melts away, eh?" 

He smiled a knowing smile. 

"Indeed," he said. 

"What was her next category?" 

"Her next category was 'treatment.' Which at first I found alarming. Do I need treatment for something? Is something wrong? 

"That's when she smiled really broadly for the first time, and looked like she was suppressing laughter. 'No, Robert - you are the treatment.' She looked me in the eye up close and spoke slowly and clearly to make sure I got that sentence." 

"And what were her suggestions for treatment?" 

"She kept on referring to ethics. And how this was a field of science on its own. And how one aspect of ethics is my right to my own body, and my right to basically disregard this whole thing and continue with my life as if nothing big had happened. Letting the CDC do its research, and me just going about my business. That was her first option, which I think she titled 'avoid.' 

"Another aspect of the ethics talk was about the value of helping people. Even when this involved various risks or pitfalls of one kind or another. 

"So then she had #2 and #3. Two was what she suggested might be the most ethical and least practical, which she titled 'donate.' 

"Three was what she said she thought was ethically the most challenging. But more practical and therefore more beneficent than other options, in her view." 

"And what was #3?" 

"'Sex.' 

"She said if I wanted to be most useful to people, until the point came when what I have could be effectively synthesized and mass-produced, I could either masturbate into a petri dish every day - with each wanking session potentially saving a life, she emphasized. Though she didn't use the term 'wanking.' 

"Or I could have as much sexual intercourse as possible with different women, obviously unprotected. 

"That, she added, itself came with a multitude of challenges. Which she then listed in another column. She had obviously been thinking about this. She had - and has - a wonderful mind for tangents and possibilities. She had things like 'preventing STDs,' 'choosing clients,' 'rejecting clients.'" 

"It's a lot to assimilate," I noted. 

"It was," he said. "When I saw her write down the word 'clients,' my heart jumped. Yikes. That was the first time I had considered this concept." 

"Which concept?" 

"The concept of having lots of sex with women. Clients. And I was their treatment. That was the first time I thought about how if I was open for that kind of thing, I'd need to have some systematic way of choosing and rejecting potential clients. And preventing STDs." 

"A lot to think about all at once," I chimed in. 

"Yes. And just as I was trying to digest the idea of 'clients,' she moved past that one to the next thing. 

"She said, in that lovely South Carolina lilt, 'Now, my name may be Charity, but I have no experience running either a charity or a business. However, if you went with option three, this is essentially what you'd be doing, or what someone would have to do on your behalf. And you'd have to think about things like paying rent, paying staff, hiring security, and all that. Just like at a clinic.' 

"I was really glad she had laid that stuff out there, followed logic to its conclusions a bit. It really helped, and I realized I really needed to think through the possibilities very thoroughly before doing anything. 

"I was thinking that as attractive as aspects of the 'sex' option were, maybe the other two options would be better in the long-term. Maybe I could have a more normal life. And maybe that would be better. Maybe the cons outweighed the pros." 

"You thought that, seriously?" I was a bit shocked, despite myself. I didn't even mean to say that. It just came out. 

"Seriously!" he replied emphatically. "Yes. You can ask Charity about that. 

"But it didn't last long, for reasons outside of my control." 

"Outside of your control?" 

Zerzinski looked at me somewhat sternly. 

"I was outed, you know. I'm not saying I wouldn't necessarily have gone public or started a clinic or whatever otherwise, but that's what happened." 

"You had no other options? I mean I'm not saying you made the wrong move. I'm just wondering." 

He took a deep breath. "It's complicated. I'd say options felt very limited, and I'm not sure how many other options there were. The more complex part, I'd say, is what you do with your options once you decide on one." 

"Explain that?" 

"Like, once you decide you're starting a clinic, then you have to figure out how do you attract clients? Or in my case, how do you repel them, and which ones do you reject?" 

"That was one of the main things the woman focused on in that Mother Jones article." 

"The great exposé, yes. She didn't approve of how we did things, that's for sure. I don't know if I did, either. It's very complicated." 

"So you talked about these questions with Charity that night," I said, thinking maybe we should get back on to the narrative. 

"Yeah, we followed different ideas into the realms of possibility. Exploring what might or might not happen with each one. 

"It was very relaxing, mostly. I felt very much like she was organizing my very messy book shelf. So I could find things and see the titles. 

"It was after a couple hours that she pulled a piece of paper out of her bag, unfolded it, and handed it to me. 

"It was certainly the most wonderfully awkward proposal I had ever gotten from anyone about anything. On the top of the paper it said 'test results,' and in a column lower down on the page was that familiar list of Sexually Transmitted Diseases, and x's in the 'no' boxes for each one. 

"As I was trying to make sense of this piece of paper, she said, 'Robert, I don't want to impose on you or make you uncomfortable, and honestly I'm feeling a little nervous about asking, but -' 

"I knew she was about to ask me if I would have sex with her. I momentarily thought about saving her the embarrassment of asking the question, but then I stopped myself, because I was enjoying hearing her form this sentence so much. 

"'But would you be willing to have unprotected sexual intercourse with me? I've just been tested, as you can see.'" 

"That's quite a pickup line," I said, feeling adolescent as soon as I said it. 

Zerzinski smiled again. 

"Yes, it was unusual. Though at this point not so much. I was just going to say 'yes,' because, shit, I'm just a run-of-the-mill horny guy. Who am I to turn down a nice, good-looking woman with a STD form? But something was making me a little uncomfortable, and I wanted to try to put my finger on it. 

"This was so obviously not a date. It was a transaction. Though it would be a pleasant one, I had no doubt. 

"I remember I said, 'this feels a bit clinical.' At which point Charity really lost it, I mean big cackly belly laughs not befitting a southern lady. 

"'It is,' she said, when she caught her breath. 'Robert, I'm not sure if I'm very good at communication, but I think I should say to be clear that I'm married. It's a fairly conventional marriage. I'm not looking for a date, per se.' 

"Then I felt bad that she felt she needed to explain that. But I was glad she did. I told her it was all good, clinical's fine. 

"'But does your husband know?' I asked. 

"Her answer to that one is another one of those seared-in-your-memory things. She said, 'for the purposes of any possible future Zerzinski clinic: a) it's none of your business, and b) it doesn't matter. But no, he doesn't know, and I'm not planning on telling him.' 

"That was another thing I liked about her. Not only is she really good at thinking things through in helpful ways, but she's emotionally very mature. 

"She had already decided there was no need to drag him through anything unnecessarily. Getting inoculated was obviously a good idea, to her anyway. And it would just put her husband through unnecessary bad thoughts and jealous feelings, presumably, if she told him. So indeed, why bother? 

"But more importantly, as she said, it wasn't my business. That is, it wasn't relevant to this transaction. It's her body to do with as she wanted." 

"Just for the sake of argument," I interjected, "what if you gave her an STD that she then gave to her husband? In that case, what he didn't know could really hurt him." 

"Oh sure," he responded quickly. "In which case, though, the hypothetical STD from having unprotected sex was a choice she made, as a sober adult. Whether she keeps secrets from her husband that then have unwanted consequences is not for me to deal with. That's her thing." 

"One of your moral quandaries." 

"One of the easier ones." 

"And how was the rest of your evening?" 

"Really wonderful. With her it was very clear. She came to me because she wanted something from me. At least as far as the sex part goes." 

"Isn't that generally the case, like with your clients?" 

"Well, here, yes. But back in the US, running our own clinic in a more trial-by-fire, haphazard way, it wasn't always like that. When there's this established thing, that in most cases people are paying for, it can be very different. 

"Charity was a model of loveliness, though. She told me later, she looked at it as her responsibility first to relax me, then to arouse me, then to make me come inside her with as much volume of sperm as possible, to increase her chances of success in terms of the chemistry. Which she later tested and confirmed at the CDC. It worked. 

"She asked me if I wanted her to massage me. She said she brought oil. She had actually studied physical therapy in college, and gave me a fantastic massage, for a long time. 

"I hadn't had sex with anyone at that time in weeks. There was no need for her to do anything in particular with regards to foreplay. I was ready to go from the outset. Especially after she took her clothes off. Charity liked to go to Appalachia for white water rafting and stuff, she had abs of steel. Which you would never have known from what she was wearing. 

"She didn't seem to need any help, either. She just mounted me, and slowly started moving back and forth. It felt great, and looking up at this gorgeous geek, with those pert breasts, it was lovely. There was also an extra turn-on for me, the fact that this was a transaction, rather than normal sex, whatever that might be." 

"For both of you?" 

"Well more for her, really. See, because the honest truth is I would have wanted to fuck her anyway. She was only doing it for the sperm. I mean I hope she enjoyed the experience, and I'm not saying she did or didn't, but she almost certainly would not have met me or had sex with me in the first place if not for my special gift. 

"Anyway, being as turned on as I was, I could have come right away, big-time, within about a minute of her getting on top of me. Instead, I calmed myself down a bit, circulated the energy like a good Taoist sex geek, and didn't come. Which is what I would generally have done in a situation where I was about to come right away while having sex with a lover, you know. Much more fun that way for everybody, usually. 

"But I mention this in part because this was my next moral quandary to think about." 

"Which one is that?" I asked. 

"OK, backing up a step: she could have asked me to jack off into a jar. She could have gotten that stuff inside her potentially so it would work. She knew already that actually fucking me would be the optimal delivery system for the sperm, however, and she also assumed - in this case very correctly - that I'd tend to enjoy fucking her more than jacking off into a jar. So she made the brilliant decision to hit me up for sex. 

"But then once you've navigated that particular logistical and moral set of considerations, that is, the decision to fuck in the first place, then there's the next question: if I'm ready to come in the first minute, should I not then do that, and save this woman the trouble of having to fuck me more than necessary, given that she's just in it for the sperm collection?" 

"Damn, that's a hard one," I said, spontaneously. 

"Isn't it?" 

"So what did you decide?" 

"At the time? Nothing, really. I couldn't. But I didn't come for a long time. So I guess I decided to enjoy myself." 

"Can you give me an idea of what that looks like, you enjoying yourself? Paint a picture for me?" 

"Sure. I remember that night very well, still. Another one of those memories." 

"One of many such sticky memories for you?" 

"Yes, for sure. Many." 

He paused and closed his eyes for a moment, retreating into his head, before continuing. 

"She was on top of me, and she asked me if there was anything in particular that I liked. Which usually would be a very nice kind of question. But in this case it made me a bit limp for a little while at first." 

"That's curious." 

"Yeah, well, I was just thinking, for sure there are things I like. Like, I can get into being pretty dominant in different ways. But that's generally when I'm quite certain the person I'm with gets excited by that sort of thing. So saying what I like is complicated. I didn't know what to do." 

"Why not just say what you like?" I asked. 

"Well, see, if this were a more normal situation, a woman asking me a question like that would also know what she likes and doesn't like, and would hopefully not go along with something she didn't like. At least that would be my hope. 

"But in this case, it was different, or at least I thought it might be. What if I said what I liked, and she just went along with it in order to make me come harder. Even though she really didn't like that sort of thing, whatever it might be?" 

"Another moral quandary," I noted. 

"See?" he said. "They're under every rock!" 

"So how did you decide to deal with this latest ethical crisis?" 

"After giving it a tough, flaccid moment's thought, I decided that as long as she didn't say she wasn't into it, as long as she wanted to know and was going along with it, then it was OK. And I should use her for my pleasure. Or I should let her allow me to use her for my pleasure." 

Zerzinski noticed me jotting that phrase down with my pen, something I was only doing sporadically, as the recorder was picking up the whole interview. I'm sure he was thinking about what kind of piece was this going to be when it was done. I'm sure he wondered this often. But I didn't ask what he might have been thinking, and he didn't say. 

Then he said, with a certain amount of clear conviction, "I decided to enjoy the experience thoroughly. Later I struggled with that concept, generally. But I eventually came to terms with it. Though it's tricky in so many ways. 

"What I said to her, after having the latest little crisis, was that she should keep on doing what she was doing, which was namely moving back and forth while on top of me. 

"After a while I asked her if she could move a bit faster, and deeper. Which she did. As she did this, she was sweating more, but she kept going. She was occasionally grimacing, now and then saying 'ow,' but she didn't let up with the speed or depth of her eloquent movements. 

"I asked her if it hurt. Which it obviously did, but I like words. 

"She said it did hurt. And she asked if I liked it when it hurt her. I said yes. With that out in the open, it felt even better. 




Choto Temple Ch. 05



"I pulled her close to me, and rolled us over, so I was above her now. She was very pliant, letting me move her however I wanted to. It was clear that I didn't need to ask, so I didn't." 

"Mother Jones had issues with that, too, eh?" 

I wished I hadn't said that, and disrupted his flow, but it was too late. I remembered one of my old editors telling me, Daniel, the best thing a reporter can do is shut up and listen. 

"They did," he said, taking a deep breath and the last sip of his cold cappuccino. 

"I'm sorry, please continue." 

"Well, I think different positions are really nice, so I fucked her in different positions. 

"It's so nice to look at someone from different angles, and to feel what it's like to fuck them from different angles. To see the outlines of their bodies in different poses. To see what might cause the most pleasure, and the most pain. Both of which are exhilarating, to me anyway." 

"Your own pain, or others?" 

"Mainly others," he said, with no hesitation. 

"When I had her on her stomach," he went on, "I told her to touch herself. She asked, after a couple minutes, if she should come. 

"I love it when they ask. Later she told me she would normally not ask, that she normally would assume that of course she should come, but in that particular instance, she thought she should ask. 

"I was going to tell her anyway. No. No coming. 

"'Is the goal to turn me on the most?' I asked her. 

"'Yes,' she said. 'Exactly the goal.' 

"'Then no coming. Just before you're about to come, take your hand away.' 

"She seemed to like that. Because it was only another twenty seconds or so before she pulled her hand away, with a quick intake of breath. 

"I told her to do it again. She did, and this time stopped touching herself after only a couple of minutes. With the same quick intake of breath. 

"It's one of my favorite things to do to a woman, for better or for worse." 

"Interesting. How do they tend to react to that tendency of yours?" I asked. 

"You mean before or after?" 

"Hm. Both, I suppose." 

I felt dumb not to have anticipated that question, which of course made sense. Before or after? When life was normal? Or when you became more of a resource than a man? 

"Well, before, it varied. Most women I dated weren't into it, but some were, in a big way. 

"Luckily for me, I can enjoy lots of different things. It doesn't all need to go according to my fantasies. Or at least that's how it used to be. 

"But after? Well, that's a different story. On that night, in any case, I made her get to the edge probably ten or eleven times, before I came inside her in a big way. 

"She was really shaky after that. We'd been at it for a good while. It was getting close to midnight. We took showers. And she went home to her husband. Probably with a story about working late. 

"I slept really well. Surprisingly well. The previous day came flooding back to me in a somewhat painful rush after I woke up the next morning. But I didn't wake up during the night at all." 

I was caught up with a few sentences ago. 

"You got a thing for denial?" I asked. 

I barely even knew what it was, but I had heard of it at some point, this phenomenon known as erotic sexual denial or just "denial" for short. 

"For better or for worse. I sure do. And now there's a whole sect dedicated to the concept!" 

I wanted to ask him about that, but it was time for a break. Both according to the clock, and according to Zerzinski's worn look. 

He had done enough re-living of decade-old memories for one morning. And he had other responsibilities to attend to now anyway. 

I thanked him and headed out the door, determined to leave my recorder in my little dwelling, and take a walk around the mountainside for a couple hours, on this lovely spring day. 

As I walked down the stairs to go, another beautiful young Japanese woman in a floral dress with a big hat on her head and a twinkling eye gave me a fleeting smile as she headed toward Zerzinski's house and up the stairs. I heard her knock firmly on his door as I turned the corner into the greenery.



Choto Temple Ch. 06



6 

For the first time since I arrived in Yamaguchi, I took a long walk on the mountain. Without leaving the property of the Purification Temple, there's a walking trail that does a figure 8, passing by various houses and plenty of trees. And some large gardens, with women busily working among the beds of dark soil and healthy-looking plants. 

At the crossing of the figure 8, there's a small stone foot bridge that passes over a bubbling creek. Beneath the bridge I noticed there's a bench facing the creek. Nice place to sit quietly and think, or read or write, I noted for future reference. 

For the moment, though, I knew that I wanted to get back to my little house, and try to contact a friend in Australia. 

I knew I might want to talk with her, and she had said that mid-day was a good time to Skype. She's a freelance journalist based out of Melbourne named Cy. And she's the most knowledgeable person I know on the subject of alternative lifestyles and sexual practices. 

"I was wondering when you were going to contact me, Dan-o," were her first words after we connected. 

She looked like she had recently gotten out of bed. She was holding a mug on the table in both hands. Her long, shaggy hair was wild, pointing in every direction but up, and it had some multicolored highlights to add to the chaotic look. 

Her nose ring was glittering in some light being reflected from somewhere. It looked bright on the other end, as it often does in Australia. 

"You've been there how long?" she asked. 

"I got in yesterday." 

"Well. OK then. How is it?" 

She asked this question with a certain amount of urgency. 

"It's beautiful here. There are beautiful young women all over the place, amidst the trees and gardens and quaint Japanese houses. The food is really good. People are very nice." 

"And the man himself? How is he? You do realize you're the first journalist he's granted an interview in a decade?" 

"A bit odd, but basically a nice, warm kind of guy. Surprisingly so." 

"Has he said anything especially interesting so far? What have you been asking him about?" 

"I've got weeks here, so I've been working from the beginning, for the most part. The thing that came up today that I know nothing about is denial." 

"You're so vanilla." 

I was wondering how long it would take before she started giving me shit. I knew I wouldn't have to wait more than a few minutes. 

"It's all about fucking for you, isn't it?" she continued. "There are other things you can do, you know?" 

"You like fucking, though, don't you?" I countered, lamely. 

"Psht. I'm talking about in general. You're very conventional. I didn't say I didn't like it," she added. "So what about denial?" 

"Well he was talking about the first time someone came to him for sperm collection. And how he had to try to figure out whether it was moral to just enjoy himself in the process." 

"Yes, there are whole forums dedicated to discussing the moral implications of Zerzinski's practice on FetLife, ten years after he closed it and moved to Japan!" 

"What's FetLife?" I asked. 

Cy almost fell off her chair, and choked on the contents of her mug, at the same time. 

"That was very dramatic," I commented. 

"What's FetLife?!" she shouted. "I can't fucking believe you're in the middle of the Purification Temple, interviewing Robert Zerzinski for Rolling Stone magazine, and you don't fucking know what FetLife is. Do they prep their reporters for assignments at all at Rolling Stone? How did you get this fucking job in the first place?" 

She continued ranting, but in a slightly more controlled way. 

"FetLife is where people who are into sex talk about sex, basically. It's like social media for talking about sex. At least that's how a lot of people use it. Other people watch amateur porn on it, or try to hook up. But there are active discussion forums. And Zerzinski has been a trending topic in many of them since he went to the fucking CDC." 

I was starting to feel really dumb. 

"Tell me something about denial...?" I inquired meekly. 

"It's a DS thing. There are lots of forums about it. And you don't even fucking know this, but if Zerzinski has admitted to you that he's into denial, this itself is breaking news. The only anecdote related to this is Charity Keeley's interview with Salon." 

"Why is that the only one?" 

Every question I asked her seemed to piss her off a bit more, but I was used to that. 

"Fuck, you're amazing. Why? Because everyone since her has signed a nondisclosure agreement, and if they talked about it they'd get massively fined and who knows what else. This is public knowledge. Fucking Christ." 

She took a deep breath and seemed to be trying to calm herself down before she continued. 

"Daniel, do you realize that anything you find out about the specific practices that go on in there with this Purification Temple will be news? 

"I don't know what kind of nondisclosure agreements those people have signed, but nothing gets out of there. 

"For example, this Choto Temple. People know it exists. There's a discussion forum about it. Most of the discussion is pure fantasy. People have no idea what they do. All anyone knows is the women are a bit older than most of the women who come there for treatment." 

Cy ranted usefully at me for a bit longer, before I ate the rice balls and miso soup someone had left on my table while I had been out, and I tried to prepare mentally for my next round with Zerzinski. 

I also opened an account with FetLife, set up a basic page. I used a stock photo of the Purification Temple for my picture, and posted a single entry: If you could ask Robert Zerzinski a question, what would it be? 

As I entered Zerzinski's house, the same woman who I had passed on my way out was leaving. I tried to notice if she looked happier or less happy than she had appeared a few hours earlier, but I couldn't tell. She had her "outdoor face" on, as they say in Japan, I supposed. 

Zerzinski was just grinding some more coffee and making drinks for us. I wondered if Mariko was going to be back at some point, for my espresso-making lesson, but I didn't ask. 

I placed my recorder on the table, in between our cappuccinos, and turned it on. 

"You were at the Hyatt in Atlanta, and you slept well after Charity's visit," I reminded him. 

"Yeah, OK." 

He clearly remembered where he was, and was ready to tell me about what happened next. Which made my job easy. 

"The next several days was more of the surreal vacation in Atlanta. Every day through Friday, I went to the CDC to do tests. And inadvertently to learn slightly more about diseases and vaccines and stuff like that. 

"And every evening went something like the first one had. Except with less of a focus on conversation and more of a focus on sex." 

"Every evening a different woman from the CDC came over to your hotel room?" 

I knew that's what he had just said. But I was wondering how that might have worked in terms of scheduling. Like why they wouldn't have all shown up on the same night. 

"Yeah, I also thought it was interesting how that worked. I was enjoying everything way too much to think about that at the time. 

"But I learned later that they had actually had a meeting at CDC for anyone interested in volunteering to spend time privately with Donor X. That's how they were referring to me before my visit. And they continued to do that. Though at this point they all knew who I was." 

"Were there more women who wanted to visit you than there were days in the week of your stay in Atlanta, I wonder?" 

"By my observation," he replied, "most of the people who work at CDC are male. I was wondering how that might have worked. Turns out they all thought Charity should visit first. And then they randomly chose four women after that. For Tuesday through Friday nights. But the pool of random wasn't very random, really. Which from a sociological standpoint is interesting." 

We were back in the classroom I believe. 

"It turns out," he continued, "or at least that experience indicated, that if a group of intelligent, well-educated women are trying to decide whether to even think about asking a stranger to have sex with them, even if it's for a very good reason, the ones who decide to do it are the ones who are confident it will all work out OK." 

"And who were they?" 

"Generally speaking, they were a mix of professional women who work at the CDC. They were all under forty. They all were confident, athletic sorts, who knew they were attractive. 

"You know what I mean? Women who knew that if they went on a blind date with a guy who was supposed to be really good-looking, that he would most likely feel the same way about them. None of them were elderly or obese, for example." 

"Interesting. And is this normally how it works?" 

"Much less so. When there are other factors involved. Like money, medical considerations. Fame, infamy. All kinds of things." 

"So it was a good week at the hotel in Atlanta?" 

"Yes." 

"Can you tell me a bit more about it?" I asked. 

"Generally, yes. But details would have to be changed. My private life is yours to do with what you will, for better or for worse, at this point. But Charity is the only one of them who's already bared all for the media." 

"Of course. The innocent shall be protected." 

At that, he looked at me with the sort of skepticism that journalists become very accustomed to, when face-to-face with celebrities of one kind or another. 

"What was basically so new for me that week," he began, "among many other things, was where these women were coming from sociologically." 

The spark of the sociology teacher once again in his eyes. 

"In the past you could say my lovers fell into certain categories. Hippies and punks of one kind or another. People who had recently or long ago embraced some form of alternative lifestyle. People who were comfortable with open relationships, not interested in money or dating people with lots of it. Women who stopped using makeup years before, in the vast majority of cases. Women who thought high heels were a cruel and strange invention that needed to be vocally and publicly rejected on a regular basis. 

"None of the women who came to the Hyatt - and very few of the women I've been with since then - would fit that kind of description. These were professionals, who were comfortable with being professionals. Who were not looking to find something different, and break out of a constrained professional existence. They were not ex-yuppies. They were yuppies. 

"They shaved their arms and legs. They wore makeup. They had new leggings and heels and all that. 

"They were also as wonderfully international as you might imagine CDC staff to be. They were the cream of the scientific female crop. Not hippies from western Europe going to California to work on an organic farm. They were from Poland, Russia, India, China. 

"Not only had I never had sex with a bona fide yuppie - I had never become carnally familiar with women from any of those countries." 

"How was the experience different from your previous experiences?" 

"Well that would be hard to put a finger on. Because the basis for the sex - the transaction - was different. They hadn't sought me out because they liked me or my music or because they wanted to date someone from a more alternative lifestyle background, or because they thought I was intelligent or whatever. They were in it for one thing. 

"But in any case, they universally had a confidence about themselves which was refreshing. They knew what they wanted. They knew what they had to do to get it. And they all came and got what they wanted. And gave me a really good time in doing so." 

"Would you say that kind of self-confidence was a new thing for you to run into?" 

"No. I've known many self-confident people, including women. But the self-confidence of the yuppie scientist type is a bit different. 

"I mean, I know so many people you might describe as ex-yuppies. But how yuppie were they ever in the first place? 

"I'm not convinced, generally, that they ever really fully embraced the narcissism. The desire to make something of themselves in the eyes of society. The money, the big houses, new cars, fashion, etc. And they dropped out because of their lack of confidence in these things. And perhaps because of their lack of confidence in themselves, to some extent. 

"They didn't ever completely fit in. These women did. I mean, I think once in my life I had a one-night stand with a woman who had had cosmetic surgery earlier in her life. That week alone I think it was five out of five women I slept with who had had nose jobs, breast enlargement, or both." 

"Can you tell me a bit about the nature of these sexual experiences?" 

"Sure," he said, and then paused to think. 

"First of all, each one of them showed up with their proof of a clean slate regarding STDs. And each of them showed up with the clear understanding that it was their job to turn me on and make me come inside them. 

"Each of them was totally open to pleasing me in the way that turned me on. So they could get what they came for. They all seemed to think this was the cost of doing business. Though this was by no means business - there was no money involved. Not that week." 

"I'm curious if you also engaged in rough sex with the others? And made them touch themselves until they almost came?" 

"Made them edge?" 

"Is that what it's called? Yes." 

He smiled. At my ignorance about kink, undoubtedly. 

"How did that go over?" I asked. 

"In all cases it went fine. I think it's largely about expectations and communication. 

"In their cases, their expectation was that they were going to make me come inside them. I don't know what they thought the sex would be like. But I don't think most women, especially women who have made it into their thirties, are going to be shocked by encountering a guy who wants to fuck them hard, for a long time. They've done this before. They may or may not like it as much as something else, but it's not an alien concept." 

"How about the edging?" 

"This, on the other hand," he smiled slightly, "is often a less familiar thing. Maybe no one has ever done it to them. Maybe they've never purposefully done it to themselves, either. 

"But if they know how to make themselves have a clitoral orgasm - which the vast majority of women do - then they know how to stop from having one, just before it arrives. Of course they might go over the edge - it can be hard to judge when it's coming - and that's life. Sometimes they do that because they want to be uncooperative. Other times it's an accident. Other times it's hard to say. 

"What I can say for sure is that these women all knew each other. And no one seemed to be warning anyone else not to go have sex with that guy. He's crazy, he'll fuck you too hard and won't let you come. No, they just kept showing up." 

"I'm curious, with this edging fetish, what do you do about women who have vaginal orgasms?" 

"If I'm in a relationship with a woman like that, well, it depends on whether she's agreeable to my fetishes. 

"Most women I've been in normal relationships with have not been into it. And I've been OK with that. But if they're into it, I like to stop fucking them just before they're about to come. And then start up again after a bit, to keep them close to the edge. Without letting them go over. Except now and then. 

"It's different with the Choto girls. But with clients back at the clinic in Portland, or with Purification Temple girls, there's not enough time to get to know them. 

"So if they have vaginal orgasms, they have them. Though oftentimes I can tune into that energy even if I just met them, and play with it." 

"And keep them from coming?" 

"Yes. While also fucking them for a long time." 

"It seems cruel," I said, hoping he wouldn't be too offended. 

"Yes, it is." 

"How do you feel about that?" 

"Have you ever heard of dom guilt? It's a thing. I've learned to become comfortable with it. 

"The thing is, that week was different. But later, with the practice and everything, if the idea is me coming two or three times in a given day, well, that's not natural. Not for me. 

"If that's going to be my life, then my life is going to revolve around sex. And if my life is going to revolve around sex, then the sex is going to revolve around those things which turn me on the most. The Things That We Do, as they say in the kink scene. Fetishes." 

"You're making sense," I blurted. 

"Is that surprising?" He smiled. 

"So, you were in Atlanta for the remainder of that week, and then you went home?" 

"Yeah, I was flying home that Friday. The next several days were certainly some of the craziest several days of my life." 

"Walk me through them?" 

"Sure. First, I got to the airport, went through security, sat down at my gate, early. CNN was on, though the volume was too low to hear. 

"But then on the screen, there's Karthik and Charity, standing in front of a lectern that says 'CDC' on it. And behind them, a big screen with a graphic on it. At the bottom of the TV screen, the question, 'cancer cure?' 

"I mean the whole week I was at CDC, nobody said the word 'cure.' 

"But I guess lowering the risk for certain kinds of cancer for people with certain genetic predispositions is too complicated. Just the word 'cure' sounds better...? Anyway, that gave me a further inkling of what kind of madness was about to ensue. 

"I have a bunch of news apps on my phone. And when there's breaking news, things pop up, you know? 

"So while I'm sitting there watching CNN, messages were popping up about the CDC's press conference. Other news sources were being slightly less sensational than CNN, avoiding the word 'cure.' Instead talking about 'cancer breakthrough.' 

"Then I landed at Westchester, turned my phone on, and there were more articles popping up. 

"By now the news agencies have had over an hour to digest the CDC press conference. And the results of their digestion process wsa clear. 

"There are two categories for the headlines. One of them is 'will this lead to a cure for cancer?' 

"The other one, the one that made my heart skip at least two beats when I saw it for the first time: 'WHO IS DONOR X?'"



Choto Temple Ch. 07



Zerzinski took on his academic airs again. 

"Part of my interest in sociology is the media. How it behaves, what it covers. How that affects people as individuals, and society as a whole. Who owns the media, the phenomenon of the media cycle, etc. 

"But analyzing the media from a safe distance, and being at the center of the storm, are two different things entirely. I never truly understood the term 'media circus' until that Monday." 

"When your identity was revealed." 

"Yes." 

"It basically took three days?" 

"Yes. Someone at the CDC made it easy for them." 

"Do you know who?" 

"It doesn't matter. Shit happens. It's all water under the bridge now. 

"Basically, by Saturday the breaking news was that 'a source has revealed' that Donor X is a school teacher from Connecticut. 

"This would be news item #1, you know. Whereas the next five headlines would be like, 'the Science Behind the Sperm of Donor X.' 'Donor X's Conundrum: What To Do?' 'Sex and Morality: the Case of Donor X.' And shit like that." 

"You hadn't even been identified yet. Nor had you decided what to do with your life at that point. But there was all this speculation already?" 

"It was nuts, technically," Zerzinski confirmed. "You think journalism is dead - no offense - but with newspapers folding every day, hardly anyone actually making a living at the trade any more, etc. 

"You know all these things, and then - bam - a Big Story comes along. And then you see where all the journalists are. They still exist, as you know. And they were all competing to come up with a new angle for another article about me. On and off for years. 

"So I was barely sleeping. Constantly reading articles and watching news clips on the internet. And then when I woke up on Sunday, I had apparently just missed the latest big story. 

"Breaking news! Read all about it! Donor X is not only a school teacher from Connecticut, but he spent the previous week getting tested at the CDC. And allegedly having sex with female CDC employees." 

"It's getting more salacious," I noted. 

"Constantly, ever more salacious. So I'm no statistician. But I just took a wild guess that if thousands of journalists and news organizations are trying to figure out who I am, armed with the information they already had, it would not be long before they figured out who I was." 

"And it wasn't." 

"No. Who traveled on what flight to Atlanta may not be public information like the list of school teachers is. 

"But different journalists have different connections within government agencies that do have access to this information, it seems. Or hackers or whatever, I don't know. The sources are always speaking 'on condition of anonymity,' you know." 

"So what happened then?" 

It was a familiar story in terms of the generalities, but I was becoming well drawn into the telling of the tale. 

"Well, at that point I decided I was going to be discovered. I was panicking. And I just thought what I needed was allies." 

"Good thought," I concurred. 

"Yeah. So naturally the first thing I did was think with my dick. No, I'm joking. Sort of. I had a friend. Maybe more of an acquaintance. But we talked a lot during lunch. And we liked each other. She was much younger than me. And at the time had a very sombre, gothic vibe about her. She did accounting and other things for the school administration. Named Katya. 

"Years before, she had been a student at the school. But she was never in any of my classes. For years she lived in LA. Dated a minor rock star. Pursued a career in acting that got her on some TV commercials. 

"She came back home to Connecticut because, as she said, reality is for people who can't handle their drugs. And she couldn't. 

"I didn't know the details. But she was stunningly beautiful in that completely dismissive kind of way. You know, the youth with no capacity to admire their own beauty. All they tend to see are their minor flaws. That most people would never notice. 

"On the rare occasion there might be a guy in the picture with her, they always looked like tough guys. I was far too much of a nice, emotionally accessible type for her to ever seriously consider. Plus I had been a teacher when she was a student. So there was that taboo thing, you know. 

"But in addition to really wanting to fuck her for years, I also thought that she might somehow be a useful person to talk to. In any case one of the few that I knew who had had some kind of experience on the outskirts of the world of celebrity, and the pitfalls around it. 

"And she knew lots of tough guys. She was the only person at the entire school aside from one of the janitors who had visible tattoos." 

"Connecticut is not Portland, eh?" I chimed in usefully. 

"Not that part of Connecticut, anyway. Or the rest of the state, come to think of it." 

"So you contacted Katya?" 

"Well, sort of." 

Zerzinski held his hand out as if he were looking at a cell phone. 

"I got out the staff directory to look up Katya's number. Since I didn't have it in my phone. Since I don't think I had ever actually called her on a phone before. I brought the directory over to my phone. Turned on the phone to dial her phone number. And there was a text. 

"So I opened the text, and it was from Katya. It was very discreet, too." 

"What did it say?" 

"It just said 'Hi Robert, this is Katya. Can I come over?' 

"I'm sure it was coincidental timing and all, but it was pretty trippy. It took her about ten minutes from the time I wrote back for her to appear at my doorstep. 

"She was dressed head to toe in black. But skin-tight, sexy clothing. Definitely not her usual school clothes. I saw her through the window, walking fast toward the house, looking intently at the front door and skipping up the stairs before she quickly rang the bell. 

"I let her in, and we faced each other, standing, with this awkward silence for about a second. I wanted to hug her, but I didn't know if I should. I think I just stood there stupidly. 

"She just said, 'it's you, isn't it?' 

"She could see I was just a mess at that point. And I'll never forget the way she just took charge. So therapeutically. 

"'OK listen' was how she was starting a lot of her sentences that evening. And I was. 

"'OK listen, when the shit hits the fan, it's going to be a madhouse around here. Like nothing you've ever imagined. Are you stocked up on food? Do the locks work on all your doors and windows?' 

"I hadn't thought of any of this kind of thing. She went out, came back with groceries an hour later. And then suggested that we hunker down and wait. While talking about my options." 

"What did this hunkering involve?" 

"Well I told her everything I knew about this thing. Which she already knew, since she had read as many of these articles in the past couple days as I had. 

"And she asked me about how I wanted to try to deal with my impending celebrity status. Basically she had the same sorts of thoughts that Charity and that FBI agent had." 

"Which ones...?" 

"That my choices were basically to either try to live a secret life, change my identity if I were identified, basically go underground. Or to deal with being a celebrity. And everything that comes with that. 

"And if I were to do that, that meant acting like a celebrity. In the sense of using the reason for my celebrity status to provide myself with the sort of lifestyle and security that my status essentially required. 

"They agreed that just being me, in the open, after this diagnosis, was not one of my options." 

"What did it feel like, being in there with Katya, waiting for something to happen?" 

"Oh, it was electric. Pretty much the same feeling as when you know there's going to be a massive hurricane that will hit any minute. Everything gets especially quiet, it seems like, even the birds stop chirping for a while. And then it all comes crashing down. 

"With Katya being there, too, it was just so therapeutic. Not only someone with her head screwed on better than mine, who was able to talk me down a little. But she also was being very physical with me, which was really helpful. 

"We hadn't had a very physical connection before that day, but without any efforts at verbal communication on the subject, she started touching me, massaging my shoulders, sitting close to me." 

"I'm curious if you found yourself thinking of ulterior motives with her? I mean you're about to be very famous, potentially rich. You have magical sperm..." 

"Yes, of course. There's always that elephant in the living room, eh? But it's that way with any kind of power dynamic. There's just more of it in some cases. Like just being a westerner traveling around most countries, you can experience that kind of dynamic every day of the week." 

I sensed a bit of agitation in Zerzinski's voice. 

"I wasn't suggesting," I said, "that there was anything wrong with Katya or her motivations. Just to be clear." 

"No no, I understand," he replied. 

"Can you tell me more about how the rest of the night went?" 

"You're very nosy, you know." 

He said it with a look of annoyance that may or may not have been faked. But then he continued his recounting of that eventful day. 

"I think we were both curious to turn on CNN. But we both knew it wouldn't be good for me to keep hearing them say the same shit about 'the search for Donor X' over and over. We were both obsessively checking our phones for any breaking news updates, though. 

"I just wanted to escape from the impending reality. Especially as the evening progressed, and I got a little tired. Everything seems harder then. And the escape I wanted most was sitting right next to me. 

"By this time I wasn't even nervous. At least not about Katya. Too nervous about everything else, probably. 

"I just said to Katya, with the kind of weird, nonchalant confidence that I was quickly developing about my own sex appeal, which seemed so alien, but there it was, and I just said to her, 'shall we go to bed?' 

"The rest of the communication for the night was all eye contact. Other than me saying 'yum' and things like that. There was no need for any more talking, or thinking. We just went upstairs, brushed our teeth together as if we had done that before, stood on either side of the bed, and each took off our clothing. Then got under the covers. It all felt strangely familiar. 

"We cuddled for a long time. Eventually I started kissing her. She just responded so receptively to whatever I was doing, physically accommodating every move, you know. Like physically saying, 'yes, this is welcome, too, let's do that.' 

"I think when I was on top of her, and her legs were spread wide, up in the air, clearly ready for me to fuck her, at that point I may have waited for her to pull me inside her. But maybe I didn't, I don't remember. 

"It was one of the most therapeutic fucking sessions ever. We created a beautiful, insulated bubble on that bed. Katya was very much penetrated - but our collective bubble was impenetrable. 

"Oh, there was one word. Now I remember. Sometime after we eventually fell asleep, I woke up feeling panicked at some wee hour of the morning. Later I thought, who knows, maybe that was the moment some hacker found my name and address and flight number all at the same time. 

"But I suddenly woke up with all this anxiety, and then finding Katya's naked body right next to me, god it was so comforting. I just held onto her. And then I was lost again, and wanted to fuck her, but I didn't know if this might be annoying, you know. Women don't always want to be woken up by someone poking at their insides. 

"But I guess she was awake. At least a little bit. Because her hand wandered around behind her back and felt my erect penis. And she moved herself around a little to make it easier for me to fuck her from behind, while we lay spooning on the bed. And she just said, 'more.' 

"We woke up for the day in earnest because of the sounds of people and traffic, in the normally quiet residential streets just outside. 

"At 7 am the streets and sidewalks were packed with journalists, news trucks with big satellite dishes on top of them. And lots of random people from the neighborhood and beyond who were wondering what the hell was going on. Probably for two or three blocks in every direction" 

"You must have recognized a lot of them," I suggested. 

"Oh yeah, that was also really weird. I recognized at least several dozen. Out of the hundreds that were within view of my bedroom window on the second floor. 

"From there, we could see the people out there without them being able to see us, we figured. Small window, though - from the big picture window in the living room we could see much more, but then we'd be clearly visible, too. And we both thought that hiding seemed like a better idea." 

"Were the police there?" 

"Yeah, they showed up to direct traffic and such early on, which was great. I definitely wondered what might have happened if they hadn't been there. It's not like it's very hard to break into that house or something. And those first few days especially, it was crazy." 

"As we were eating muffins and drinking coffee, we were watching the scene outside, with CNN playing in the background. 

"Which was really weird, because we were looking out from the window, and CNN kept going back to the view of my front door. No need for a security camera when you got CNN I guess! 

"In the morning especially, when there were about as many journalists as other people out there, you could clearly see which networks the journalists were from. It was all really mainstream networks. CNN, FOX, the local affiliates of CBS, NBC. 

"I definitely got a thing for journalists. They dress in such sexy outfits. But then they have to act all knowledgeable and in control on screen. As they read the news and interview politicians and mass murderers and such. 

"I was gazing at an incredibly sexy young Asian reporter as she talked into her microphone, looking at the cameraman, when Katya asked me, 'do you think she wants to fuck you? How many of them want to fuck you?' 

"It was actually a pretty overwhelming question. I had no idea, really. Though I suspected a few did. But at that point, still in the morning, I was completely drained from the previous night's activities. 

"I guess by the time I finished the second cup of coffee, I might have been up for doing something with that Asian reporter though... But we kept all the blinds down and lights off, and tried to look like we might not be home, all morning. 

"Katya suggested she call a couple of guys she knew who worked as bouncers at an Irish bar in Norwalk. That turned out to be one of many great moves by Katya, who increasingly was feeling like my angelic savior in black. 

"She called these guys. They probably both had only just gone to bed a couple hours earlier. But they had heard the news and seemed really happy just to be part of the action. 

"They were both from Ireland. From Belfast. And they had charming Irish accents, and apparently endless patience. But backed up with the suggestion of brutality just in the background. They never smiled much. They were covered in muscles. And they both wore tight t-shirts that emphasized this fact, and allowed everyone to see their many tattoos. Some of which included IRA slogans. 

"Once Liam and Sean arrived, everything felt a bit more orderly. Less chaotic at least. There was now a clear border between the inside and the outside of the house, somehow. Which seemed like the first thing to establish. 

"Then Katya created a new email account for us to use. To start to try to deal with communications with the mob out there and presumably beyond. 

"Liam and Sean told the journalists who approached them that if they wanted to contact me, they could use this email address. 

"It was hilarious - suddenly half the people out there are pecking away at devices. And suddenly the inbox of this new email address was completely flooded with hundreds, and soon thousands of messages. Coming in at a rate of several per second at least. 

"By early afternoon, things were starting to get even more interesting outside. 

"Morning was mostly mainstream journalists and locals. By afternoon it was every alternative press outlet you've never heard of. Plus all kinds of international press that presumably came in from New York. And lots of other people. 

"It literally resembled a circus. Especially when the cheerleading squad showed up." 

"What were they up to?" 

"They had worked out a racy Donor X routine. To the tune of the Beatles' song, 'Help.' With 'help' changed to 'fuck.'" 

"Fuck! I need somebody - fuck! Not just anybody - fuck! Won't you please, please fuck me?" I sang. 

"Exactly." 

"Sounds fantastic." 

"It was. It was breathtaking. I mean, as a nerdy American kid, I grew up having unattainable cheerleader fantasies. 

"The idea of dating one cheerleader was a completely outrageous goal for a kid like me. Now here was an entire squad of cheerleaders, who at least appeared to be begging me to fuck every one of them." 

"That's a powerful image," I agreed. 

"Indeed. Sometime soon after they got the attention of every camera within 200 yards with their 'fuck' routine, the truck from Al-Jazeera showed up." 

"Oh I remember hearing about that." 

"Yeah, it was all over the tabloid press." 

"'Harem: Al-Jazeera' was the headline I remember seeing." 

"That was the one," Zerzinski concurred. "See, I invite journalists from an Arab network to come in and interview me, and immediately everybody jumps to the most Orientalist conclusions possible." 

I probably looked bemused, though I tried to keep a straight face. But under the circumstances, who wouldn't jump to such conclusions? Certainly not good journalism to jump to unsubstantiated conclusions. But the suspicions are fairly clear. 

"You gave them an exclusive, didn't you?" 

"Yeah. Katya suggested that maybe I'd want to do an interview. She coached me a bit, helpfully, telling me that less is more, and I just needed to be careful about what I said. And that I should feel free to tell them I didn't want to talk about something. And to end the interview at any point." 

"Good advice. Though it makes for a boring interview." 

"From the perspective of a journalist," he pointed out. 

"Yes," I agreed. "So you invited in the folks from Al-Jazeera then?" 

"Yup." 

"I'm curious why Al-Jazeera in particular?" 

"Well they've gotten more mainstream since. But at the time they seemed to be really the only major network that was doing good reporting on the human consequences of the American death machine." 

"The war?" I asked. 

"The wars," he corrected. "But they also have the sexiest reporters." 

"Who you then had sex with?" 

"No comment." 

"They spent the night, though, according to everybody." 

"Yes. I had a two-bedroom, two-bathroom house. The downstairs bedroom became a very active guest room for a while there." 

"And you told Al-Jazeera that your struggle now was how to use your gift in a way that helps people. While at the same time staying safe and enjoying yourself in the process?" 

I had read the interview a long time ago. And not with huge interest at the time. But it was his first, and it made an impression. 

"The part about enjoying yourself," I recounted, "created a bit of a media firestorm, eh?" 

"It did." 

"Did you anticipate that it would?" 

"I guess when I said it, I didn't think it would be especially controversial. The fact that it was, I think, speaks to the puritan values that are still very much part of this society. 

"There was nothing controversial about what I said in the French media, for example. They pretty much universally seemed to think it was either obvious, or a subject for cartoonists to work with." 




Choto Temple Ch. 07



"It pissed off a lot of feminists, too?" 

"Yes," he admitted. "The ones who confuse sex with sexism, I think. Certainly not all of them." 

"No. But it created a lively debate." 

"You could call it that," he agreed. 

"But really," he continued, "I think it was an important point to make. It's OK to enjoy yourself. You don't have to suffer in order to be a good person, necessarily. I mean sometimes you do. But not every time. 

"Anyway, it was amazing having the Al-Jazeera folks over. A couple of their tech people were very helpful with Katya, in particular. In terms of helping her figure out how to weed through the emails we were getting. To extract some of the useful bits. They also put us in touch with a great lawyer who was extremely helpful." 

"How so?" 

"Well among other things, she was responsible for the fact that we eventually opened up shop in Oregon. 

"Oregon was one of the states where what we ended up doing was legal. In Connecticut, any transaction where something of value is being exchanged for sexual purposes is considered prostitution and strictly forbidden. 

"The lawyer thought that this would probably apply to me, though she said she'd be happy to find out in court if I wanted to challenge this. She thought there was a high likelihood it would go in my favor. But that it would be a long and expensive legal battle. 

"But then she said that porn, on the other hand, was perfectly legal. So as long as we filmed everything and put it up on the web, we were fine." 

"That's why you started filming?" 

Zerzinski sighed deeply before continuing. 

"The thing is, Dan, a little knowledge is the most dangerous thing sometimes. See, if you had known this, it might affect how you view me a bit, no? But if all you know is we just started filming, rather than knowing why, or any of the background, that can be a bit different, eh?" 

I nodded in agreement. 

"So yeah," he went on, "it was actually the lawyer's idea to start filming, as a sort of theatrical and practical act of a sort of civil disobedience." 

"And who went on camera first?" 

"Well Katya thought it would cause a good stir if the first women invited over in the midst of the throngs of media outside the house were that cheerleading squad." 

"The whole squad?" 

"Of course. In uniform. 

"They were from SUNY New Paltz. Not far away, it turned out. Katya got in touch with them. She explained the filming thing, getting tested for STDs first and all that. 

"Within twenty minutes she heard back from the squad captain. That 14 of the 18 members of the squad wanted to do it." 

"To do you," I said helpfully. "On camera." 

"Indeed." He paused. "Reality is way stranger than fiction. Though in this case, it was a variation on a scenario that fiction had covered fairly thoroughly."



Choto Temple Ch. 08



Interesting things started happening from the moment I left Zerzinski's house, to walk down the trail to my place. 

The first thing was only notable in retrospect. Another beautiful Japanese woman was walking toward Zerzinski's place as I was leaving, as usual. 

She appeared to be a member of the Choto Temple. At least, most of the women who were older than teenagers seemed to be Choto members. And this one looked to be in her late twenties perhaps. 

Her face was lacking the usual controlled, demure expression that everyone here seemed to wear at almost all times. Her forehead was slightly furrowed as she passed me. And her greeting seemed a bit rushed, a bit breathless. 

Most notable, to me anyway, was the fact that beneath her thin, white dress, her nipples protruded almost alarmingly. They looked to be hard as rocks, and sticking straight out. 

The even more notable thing that happened was just before I got to my cabin. 

There were two small groups of women down the trail in plain view. One group were clearly Choto Temple members. The other was a more youthful group of Purification Temple adherents. As I was walking closer to them, suddenly the Choto women all stiffened a bit. 

The younger women saw something was happening, and they suddenly got quieter, too. They seemed clearly to be watching the Choto women, without wanting to be too obvious about it. The Choto women stayed in their frozen states for several seconds. And all of them then seemed to relax a bit, at the same time. 

They all then seemed to be pretending nothing had happened after that. But one of the Choto women released a sound that seemed to be somewhere in between a sigh and a moan, pretty loudly. At that, she covered her mouth with her hands, and the young women in the other group started giggling quietly. Apparently in response to the moaning sigh. 

Curious, I made a note of this and then set out to back up the day's audio recording onto a hard drive. Then, while I was looking at discussion boards on FetLife Cy had recommended I should read so I could stop embarrassing her so much, there was a knock on the door. 

There, once again standing in front of me was Rie, her Lolita outfit just as perfect as the day before, from her skin tone to her mole to her pigtails, each hair in place just so. She was carrying a tray with several small dishes of very tasty-looking piles of food, which she set down on the table. 

Rie described the contents of each of the dishes. Rice, salmon, eel, and potatoes. And asked me how my day had been. She remained standing. 

"Very interesting day," I said. "And yours?" 

"Fine," she said, looking not entirely convincing. 

"Can you join me, or do you have to run off?" I asked. 

She looked briefly at the door, and then at me. Then together, we sat down at the table. 

We both ate very little, very slowly. I had been hungry, but seeing Rie seemed to change that. Although the food looked lovely. 

"You spent a lot of time interviewing Robu-san today?" 

"I did. Very nice guy. With some fun stories. Though obviously of the very intimate variety!" 

"Which stories?" 

"Mostly about his week at the CDC. And when he got outed and everybody went nuts. 

"I must say, his description of his sexual encounters with the women in Atlanta make me that much more curious about what goes on here with your Choto Temple." 

"It does, does it?" 

She tilted her head a bit as she said that, with a sort of inscrutable, demure expression. 

"The Temple," she said, "has been very private til now. But the board agreed that Robu-san could tell his story. Which we are very much a part of. They trust him and have nothing to be ashamed of." 

"But the idea of being so public with this stuff is scary?" 

This seemed clear from her tone of voice, the way she was approaching the subject. 

"Yes, a little," she confirmed. 

"I don't want to pry..." I began. 

"Yes you do!" She laughed for a moment. 

"OK, maybe a little," I admitted. "Can you tell me why it's scary?" 

"Generally, Danu-san, yes I can. Sex is taboo. Less taboo here in Japan than in many places, but still, it's a private sort of thing, sex. 

"Also sex that involves multiple partners in some form. That's more taboo. And so-called 'alternative sexual practice.' Things that fall into the category of dominance and submission. This is also taboo. 

"Sometimes it's better not to talk about these things. Maybe sometimes it's better to talk. I don't know. There are many considerations either way." 

She was friendly and conversational. Though vague about things having to do with the reason I was there in Yamaguchi. 

She was also a bit fidgety compared with the previous night. She must have crossed her legs - first the left on top, and then the right, and then the left - at least a dozen times during dinner. 

We had been sitting and talking for a while, and I stood up, with no particular intentions, just tired of sitting. Rie stood up, too. 

"Is there anything I can do for you before I go?" she asked. 

"I can't possibly say no to that question. I'm only a man." 

Rie took this as an invitation to unzip my jeans. 

Twenty minutes or so into another luxurious session of the most masterful fellatio, Rie froze for several long seconds. Her whole body stiffened, my dick remaining halfway in her mouth. 

As suddenly as she had stiffened, she relaxed again. And immediately drove her mouth deep toward my pelvic bone, touching my pubic hairs with her lips. She kept her mouth there for a long time, before gradually pulling back, and engorging herself again and again. Whatever that was, I liked it. 

I slept very well that night. 

The next morning I was once again sitting across from Robert Zerzinski. Another beautiful woman was leaving as I was arriving. She greeted me with that familiar public face. That polite but distant greeting so common here in Japan. 

"Where were we?" he asked. 

"The cheerleading squad," I reminded him. 

"Ah yes. Right. 

"So the atmosphere at that time was so surreal, that it wasn't for hours after Katya mentioned the cheerleading squad idea, that it occurred to her - not immediately to me, I'd add, but to her - that there might potentially be some conflict of interest between me being a school teacher and being a porn star. And not the sort of porn star who could just use a different name and remain anonymous, if there are actually porn stars like that somewhere." 

"What did you do?" 

"I agonized. For about ten minutes. And then I realized that whatever turn my life was taking now, things were going to get really weird, in a very sexy way. And probably trying to teach school on top of all that wasn't going to work. 

"I didn't know how I was going to make a living or anything. But I was starting to realize that somehow that wasn't going to be an issue. 

"So I called the principal, who already knew what was going on. And I told him that until further notice I couldn't possibly come to work. He was totally relieved. Not the least bit upset about it. 

"I think he already knew at that time that by doing this, I was saving him a headache of unknown proportions, to say the least. So that was nice." 

"That must have been terrifying, just quitting your job like that. Had you worked out a plan for making a living at that point?" 

"No, not yet. But it was already becoming obvious how you can turn fame into money. I knew nothing about porn, for example. I had never even been to a strip club at that point. 

"Katya explained to me how it worked with view counts, advertising, and all that. It only took a couple hours for her to get us a domain name, set up an advertising widget or whatever you call those things. And voila, we're set up to make $1,000 with every million views that come in. And Katya was completely certain they'd come in." 

"And they did?" 

"Within a week I made more money than I had made in the previous year as a school teacher." 

He paused for impact, before continuing. 

"Though it turned out we needed to make more money than that, to actually cover all the many expenses involved with this operation. 

"Which seems crazy, to someone who's never had to support anything other than himself and rent and stuff. But it was nonetheless an impressive and educational beginning." 

"How did you start with the filming, and that aspect of the process?" 

"Katya suggested that she'd do the filming, and I'd be the director. She suggested that in her view, the most important aspects of whatever we were going to film was that it be visually appealing. 

"But that most of all it should be scenarios that I find sexually arousing. She's so wonderfully practical, I really have no idea what I would have done without her. 

"She asked me how many times a day I thought I could do a scenario that involved me coming each time? I mean the Choto Temple and this whole place has demonstrated to me unequivocally that under the optimal circumstances I can potentially come three times a day. Back then I figured twice was the most, and even that seemed like a stretch." 

"And the Choto Temple is all about creating the optimal circumstances, yes?" 

"Yes. For me, specifically. Crazy, but true." 

He paused, perhaps to reflect on his unusual circumstances, before further recounting other unusual circumstances from years past. 

"Katya said I should come up with a script, that includes dialog and activities that turn me on. So I wrote one up, and our 'actors' learned their parts - which were not very complicated - and we made these movies. Which was a lot of fun. 

"The fact is, people were going to watch it whatever we did. I didn't need to think like a normal porn director. About whatever weird shit the people want. Which, to me, for the most part, is repulsive." 

"Takes all kinds, I guess," I interjected helpfully. 

"Yes. Or something like that. 

"If you look at what's out there, what the male porn-viewing audience is most interested in is incest, rape, humiliation and bondage. 

"I may have a strange fetish. And there may be an entire organization dedicated to exploring it more thoroughly than I ever imagined. But, well, at least nobody gets hurt, or emotionally scarred, too much. I think." 

His guilt was surfacing again, it seemed to me. It had and it would, again and again. 

I neither supported it, nor tried to assuage it. Though I found myself feeling some strange kind of male solidarity with him, and I felt I should suppress the urge to try to assuage. Best just to listen, I thought. 

"Run me through a scenario for one of these cheerleader videos?" I asked. 

"Actually I can just show you one if you want. Right here on this thumb drive. There were a few edits made of each one. There's a shorter version that gives you the idea." 

I was suddenly not sure I really felt like watching this thing with him there beside me. But thankfully, after he loaded the video, he excused himself, and said he'd come back with coffee when it was over. 

Naturally, the cheerleader was in uniform. I don't know what the other thirteen looked like, but the one Robert had selected was right out of a high school TV drama. 

She was one of the popular girls. She looked about 18 or 19 with short blonde hair reminiscent of Mylie Cyrus, and a curvacious body to match. 

There were four distinct segments to the action. It started with the greeting and stripping part. 

"Hi, I'm Shelley," says the cheerleader, showing off her perfect white teeth with a big smile. 

"I'm Robert," says Robert, as they both sit down on a couch. He's dressed in a bath robe. "You're here for an appointment, yes?" 

"Yes. I would like your medicine. And I know I have to be very good in order to have it. And I want to try my best." 

In between each short sentence, the cheerleader seemed to be trying to look even more eager, quickly becoming a caricature of herself. 

"You know what you're supposed to do then?" 

"Yes." 

As she said this she stood up, and pressed a button on a device of some kind, causing a pop song to start up. 

As it began, she started caressing her body provocatively. Soon the beat had kicked in, and as it pounded along, the cheerleader started moving her hips suggestively, rhythmically, and removing bits of clothing as she went, until, by the end of the song, she was completely naked. 

"Very good," said Robert, off camera at that point. "Now touch yourself." 

Shelley sat down on the couch, propped up by one of the couch's arms. Legs spread apart, facing Robert. 

One of her hands was caressing her breasts. The other was between her legs, with her middle finger exploring her clit, and the area around it and beneath it. 

There was a fadeout. And then we're back, and she's still touching herself. After a few seconds she stops suddenly, and pulls her hand away. 

"I almost came," she says, panting a bit. 

"But you didn't want to?" the disembodied voice inquired. 

"No. Good girls don't come. They just get closer to the edge." 

These words she said with an exaggerated tone of angst. As if she wanted so very much to come right then. As if not having that option was a terrible reality for her to have to cope with. 

Again she started touching herself. And again a fadeout. And then we're back, and her finger is moving more vigorously, before she pulls it away. This time with an even more agonized expression on her face. 

"Don't you want to come?" Robert asked her. 

"No. Good girls don't come," she repeated. 

This scene repeated in quicker succession three more times. At the end of which, the cheerleader was pulling her finger away from her clit as soon as she touched it. As if she were touching something very hot. Each time she did this, there was a sharp intake of breath. And then Robert's voice. 

"You can't touch it without coming?" 

"No. It's so close." 

"Does your clit hurt?" 

"Yes. It's so hard." 

"Do you want to come now?" 

"No. Good girls don't come." 

"Why not?" 

"Because it's better that way. Because if I don't come, my pussy will be tighter." 

"Which is better?" 

"If it feels good to you, then it's better." 

"Good girl." 

"Thank you." 

With "thank you," the cheerleader closed her legs together, got onto her knees, and leaned forward. She then began to lick and kiss Robert's by-now erect penis. The camera closed in on her head and his dick, as she pushed her face further towards his crotch. 

Another fadeout, and then Robert's voice. 

"That's enough. You can fuck me now." 

"Thank you," Shelley said. 

She climbed on top of Robert as he sat on the couch. Bracing herself with her hands on Robert's shoulders, she lowered herself onto him. 

"Am I tight enough?" she asked him. 

"Very nice," he responded. 

"How should I fuck you?" she asked. 

"Slow and deep." 

At various points, as Shelley carefully lifted her body several inches and then lowered it again onto Robert, Robert would grab Shelley's waist and fuck her hard and fast. 

This caused her breathing to quicken. And she occasionally looked over at the camera with a somewhat panicked expression, but showed no sign of resistance. 

"Does it hurt?" Robert asked her. 

"Yes," she answered quickly. 

"How much should it hurt?" 

"More," she replied obediently, as he fucked her harder when she said that. 

Fadeout. And then the cheerleader is putting on her clothes, smiling. 

"Thank you, Donor X," she said. "I feel better already." 

The end. 

The star of the show came back into the room bearing espresso drinks. 

"You got the idea?" he asked. 

"Got it. Sexy stuff," I said, lamely. 

"It floats my boat, anyway," he said plainly. 

"You made fourteen videos like that at that time?" 

"Fourteen. Two a day, mid-day and late at night. Most of the rest of the time, the house was full of cheerleaders, enjoying the circus. And going outside every couple of hours to perform for the media, which was still assembled out there for most of that time." 

"They came and went?" 

"Well, the cameras thinned out after a few days. But then as we were putting the videos online each day and getting millions of views almost immediately, we started attracting the attention of the Christian fundamentalists. Along with the porn aficionados. 

"What was absolutely priceless was when the cheerleaders - who were quickly becoming famous porn star cheerleaders - would go outside and do their 'won't you please, please fuck me' routine in front of the Christians. As they're frothing at the mouth and shouting about people burning in hell. The Christians vs the Cheerleaders. It was just classic." 

"How were your neighbors holding up amid all this?" 

"I was feeling bad for them. This whole situation was not my fault, Katya kept telling me. But clearly suburban Fairfield County was not the right location for a porn studio. Or for pursuing our next plan of action. And we basically skipped town pretty quick, all told." 

"How did that work out?" 

"It was crazy. But the move, and setting up the clinic, all went OK. What didn't go as well was media and public relations. 

"I mean with that, it depended on what sector of the public and which types of media outlets. But basically, as soon as we set up a concrete kind of thing where lots of money was exchanging hands for a service that very much involved sex, it got weird. 

"The volunteer cheerleader porn stars caused a stir, but more among the morality types. Once the clinic was set up, well, it was an interesting process of discovery for me." 

"What did you discover?" 

"Well, the US is a capitalist country," said the sociology teacher. "That's not new, right?" 

I nodded like an attentive student should. 

"And it's a country founded by Puritans. Now, oddly enough, when something is taboo, it's often something that is sacred to someone else. 

"Either way, when you mix the sacred or the taboo with money, capitalist country or not, what you get in return is horror and resentment. 

"There were a lot of things that were just impossible to explain in a way that seemed to be convincing. Why did there have to be sexual intercourse involved? They were unconvinced by those who explained that it was the optimal delivery method for the sperm. 

"What was up with this guy's strange sexual fetishes, and were they always part of this thing? 

"That was none of their business, for the sake of protecting the privacy of my clients. But of course they just thought that was a line. 

"And either way, the idea that pleasing me was actually a necessary part of this whole procedure seemed like another line. 

"Why was it all so expensive? How could it possibly cost $5,000 to have sex with this guy? Who the fuck did he think he was? That was probably the biggest thing." 

"$5,000?" I asked. I was trying not to look surprised, but I was. 

"Oh yeah," he said, looking slightly put off. 

I wondered if he was offended by my look of surprise, or because he was remembering unpleasant things. 

"Just do the math," he explained. "It's nuts. 

"$20,000 per month to rent a big enough space in downtown Portland. 

"Between protecting me, my house, and the office, eighteen security staff. Eighteen. And that's just for security. 

"Then the rest of the staff - receptionist, secretary, nurse, office manager, cook, janitor. 

The mortgage on my house. Which had to be on enough property and with the right fencing to meet the standards of my security staff, you know. 

"We had to get medical malpractice insurance, which costs almost as much as rent. 

"It adds up. We thought about giving a discount for people that wanted to put our sessions up online for the advertising revenue. We could have 'only' charged people an average of $4,000 if we did that. 




Choto Temple Ch. 08



"But we decided we wanted to try to look more legit. So we didn't make any more movies after the cheerleaders." 

"When you say 'on average,' can you clarify that? Some people paid more than others?" 

"Yeah, I mean, we tried to be decent. We worked it out so that we could afford to give scholarships to one out of five clients. But that's the best we were ever able to do. 

"It's not like this shit was covered by Medicare, you know. That's one of the many reasons I was so happy to give that up and come here. I don't have to deal with the business end of things at all, and that's the way I like it. I was never trying to get rich." 

There was that mildly defensive tone again. 

"Can you tell me who got the scholarships?" 

"Oh yeah, I can. With a basically unlimited base of potential clients, even at $5,000 a pop, there was the question of who to serve and who to deny. And then who to give scholarships to. 

"I figured the scholarships should go to the folks who live near Chernobyl. Who used to be the ones most at risk of getting ovarian cancer." 

"So, risk of getting cancer was one consideration. And for most of your clients, coming up with $5,000 was another." 

"Yes," he agreed. 

"But it was other factors that proved to be more controversial, yes?" 

He nodded, and exhaled deeply before continuing. 

"Yes. Basically, the demand was insane. With 365 days in a year, and a limit, I thought, of not more than fifty clients in a given month, we had to limit the pool in all kinds of ways. There were all kinds of factors to consider." 

"Name some of them?" 

"Yeah, well, a client needed to be relatively young and healthy. And physically and emotionally able to do everything they needed to do. 

"That's a lot of people. So it was absolutely necessary to have other limiting factors. So then what should they be? 

"Medical factors? Sure, they could be at higher risk. Genetically more predisposed toward ovarian cancer. Check. That's still a massive pool. 

"Then what? How to narrow it down more? It could be anything. The pool is way too big. So Katya suggested that if the idea is for me to be able to do this job well, and if doing it well meant enjoying it - which it does - then other limiting factors could be based on what pleases me more. 

"So we didn't have really hard and fast requirements. But we created a curve which definitely gave preference to women who I thought were sexier, basically. 

"Which meant they tended to be physically fit, on the younger side. And, after watching the longer version of the video you saw, they had to at least say they were willing and able to approximately follow that script in private with me." 

"And they had to sign a nondisclosure agreement, too, yes?" 

"Sure, yes. The problem was, it wasn't a client who violated the agreement. It was an unknown member of my staff, who had access to private files, and sent them to Mother Jones. The files which detailed my preferences for clients. And then I was basically the horrible, sexist pig from then on." 

"But there was no shortage of clients." 

"No shortage at all," he agreed. 

"Was there a general type of client who was your favorite, if you can generalize?" 

"Oh yeah. Hands down, it was the Russians and Ukrainians and the women from around there. Who were coming on the scholarships." 

"And a least favorite type?" 

"Oh yeah. The rich." 

The clock struck 11 and it was time for a break. 

I left. A stunning young woman with glasses and especially generous breasts walked toward the house as I walked away from it. And I headed down the trail to spent mid-day in my little house. 

When I turned on the laptop, there was a fresh email in my inbox from Cy, with the subject line: Diary of a Choto Girl.



Choto Temple Ch. 09



The content of the message: call me. 

There was Cy on the other end of the Skype line. Her hair was in even more disarray than last time, and a towel was hanging around her neck. 

"You're lucky I picked up," she said. "I've just been at the beach." 

"Of course. What else is an Australian to do?" 

"Dan-o," she said, "you owe me big time, and I don't mean sexual favors." 

"What did you find? I'm very intrigued!" 

"You sure as fuck should be! Exactly nothing like this has ever come out of the Choto Temple. And it's fairly bizarre that this just did." 

"How did you come across it?" 

"A friend with Fukuleaks." 

"The folks who are trying to expose corruption within the Japanese nuclear industry?" 

"Yes, those are the ones," she confirmed impatiently. "One way or another, they swept up a lot of data from various computers, including on your mountain there. My friend tells me this file looks like it's never left the hard drive of the laptop it was typed on. 

"He said they were actually just going to get rid of it, since it's not related to exposing corrupt politicians. He said they 'had no interest in exposing anyone for participating in unusual sexual practices.' 

"But he knew I'd be interested. They had bothered to translate it already, and he figured it couldn't hurt to share it with me. 

"It's written anonymously. And there's no hard proof that it's real. But he's sure it came off of a laptop from your mountain. For whatever that's worth. Definitely makes for interesting reading anyway." 

"I was already going to give you research credit for this piece. But now your name will be in caps." 

"Yeah, right. You're welcome." 

It was a very revealing document indeed. Well worth quoting at length. 

Diary of a Choto Girl 

Day 1 

I'm riding on the Shinkansen from Tokyo to Yamaguchi. I thought I'd keep a diary about the experience that I'm about to have. Though I suppose it started when I sent in my application, almost a year ago. 

I was intrigued when I first heard about the Purification Temple. It seemed so very Japanese. 

You want something. But rather than fighting over it, you just make yourself so attractive that what you want comes to you. 

It also fit so well with our notions of exchanging gifts. Receiving longevity and giving joy seemed like a fine exchange. 

And then the rumors spread of the smaller, Choto Temple, and I was really intrigued. 

I have known for a long time that I was different. I have recently learned there are words for this difference, too. English words, as they so often are. 

I find great emotional contentment from service. Especially service which involves abdicating - giving control to someone else. 

The specifics are unclear to me now, sitting on this train. But the general idea is clear. The founders of the Choto Temple wished to go beyond the framework of the Purification Temple. 

For Choto, offering the purity of youthful beauty for the Donor to inoculate was not going far enough. They sought to create the ideal. That is, to understand this one man and the peculiarities of his earthly desires. And crystallize those desires in human form. 

The idea of being an ascetic has always attracted me. But I don't believe in any gods. So becoming a nun of some kind always seemed a bit disingenuous. 

But to serve this Temple of a different sort, the idea fills me with fascination. So here I am. Unknowing but ready. 

Well, not entirely unknowing. I know there will be an unusual combination of service to a cause, and sex with one man. I can't imagine there will be very much sex, though - given the ratio, with one man and scores of women. Unless we women are to have sex with each other. Who knows. 

Day 2 

It's beautiful here in the mountains of Yamaguchi. 

I had only read about this prefecture. It's the home of the samurai who led the revolution against the old regime at the end of the Edo era. The home of modern Japan, but a very traditional-feeling place today, compared to Tokyo. 

It was also so interesting to meet the other members of the Choto Temple. 

The founders are a bit different, and older. But all of those of us in the Temple, the members, are similar in many ways. 

There was an immediate feeling for me of doing something important, and strange, among other people who seemed to really appreciate both the importance and the strangeness. 

Day 3 

There were interesting orientation events today, involving members of both Temples, where we discussed a wide variety of subjects. 

Cancer rates, nuclear power. Concepts of service, and concepts of sexuality. And different kinds of sexual orientations. 

It was interesting to note that for the Choto members, even the very new ones, everything was so familiar, and agreeable. 

For the Purification members, particularly the sexual stuff was new to them. They are very young, and often very traditional. Although they have voluntarily signed up for this unusual procedure. And generally at least, they don't seem to feel ashamed of themselves. As far as I can tell. 

Day 4 

Today was the last day of orientation before the ascetic practice begins, only for Choto members. Which I have learned involves getting piercings and a sort of implant. The instructor explained that no one has to go through with this or stay in the Temple a minute longer than they wish to. But no one left. 

The topic today was about specific sexual practices within the BDSM spectrum. 

I was once again impressed at how familiar all the Choto girls seemed to be with this subject. It turns out that all of the ones I've talked to, like me, were already consciously involved with kink. 

I had assumed all of us had met some number of qualifications in order to be here. But it was today that I got a better idea of how many. 

I asked several girls who I've been getting to know how they responded to the questions in the application to join the Choto Temple. We were asked for photographs of ourselves, our ages, and more general things like that. But also many more interesting questions. 

Have you heard of BDSM? Do you identify as a submissive? Do you enjoy giving control to others? 

Do you masturbate regularly? Do you have clitoral orgasms regularly? Do you ever have vaginal orgasms? 

Have you ever been attracted to the idea of joining a convent? Do you like living in community? 

Do you believe in the mission of the Choto Temple? How do you feel about the concepts of self-sacrifice and self-denial? 

There was essentially no variation in how any of the girls answered these questions. The Temple only seemed to take those who answered them all the same way. Our age range seemed to be from late teens to early thirties. And universally very attractive girls. 

Day 5 

Other ascetic practices involve fasting or giving up sex. 

Choto girls abdicate their orgasms. And for all practical purposes, we give up the ability to have them. 

Among other things, I have gathered, none of us are among the one-third of women who are capable of having vaginal orgasms. And none of us have access to our own clitorises. 

The Donor is the only one with access (until one leaves the Temple). 

The founders emphasized, though, that this was an access given to him by the Temple, not requested directly by him. The Temple may have created itself in his image, but it was not created by him. 

Other girls had already explained what was going to happen today. They explained with what looked like a combination of excitement and horror. A familiar combination for me, too, I thought. A welcome one. 

I was taken to a building that had the antiseptic quality of a small medical clinic. 

There were two women with smocks, masks and gloves, who warmly greeted me and had me sit down on a table. Once I had removed the necessary clothing, they shaved my pubic hair, put some ointment in that area - to the left and to the right of my clitoris - to dull the pain. 

And they made two piercings. Through the piercings they put two metal rings. 

Once they cleaned up the area, they introduced me to the Device. A small sort of metal lid with a rubbery coating, containing a tiny battery. 

They placed it over my clit. There was the whir of a small electronic mechanism, as the Device attached itself to the two rings. 

Water can get in, just barely, and air. But for all practical purposes at this point I have no access to my own clitoris. 

Now I think I understand that combination of excitement and horror, in this context. 

Day 6 

There are two ways the Device can be removed, they say. The Donor can remove it with the push of a button, or a code, or something. The other way is for the rings to be cut with wire cutters. 

This is the first day in my 29 years that I have ever not had access to a part of my body, and it's very strange. 

I keep thinking of what it might be like for a very small baby, who is unable to get its hands inside its diaper, because the diaper's elastic is too strong. I've seen that happen, and wondered how those babies felt, who wanted to put their hands down there but couldn't. 

Normally, I often go several days without touching my own clit, and think nothing of it. But now that I can't, touching it is almost all I think about. 

Day 7 

Mostly the Device just prevents access to this spot. But it also can vibrate. We can't make them vibrate ourselves. 

There are scheduled activities each day that girls participate in. We have shifts in the garden, cooking in the kitchen for the community, cleaning, and so on. One of the times the Device vibrates is when it's time for one of those activities. There is a different pulse, depending on the activity. 

There are also the activities that aren't on a set schedule. Which generally involve visiting the Donor. 

If there are three longer vibrations in a row, it means it's time for a visit. Depending on the time of day, the mission probably involves talking or other social activities, or a massage session. Or one of a variety of sexual activities. 

The Donor made a brief appearance on the fourth day of the orientation. But I haven't really met him yet. 

I feel fear, but mostly excitement. 

Day 8 

I had been told of the possibility of a long, sustained buzz from the Device. Which, I was told, doesn't signify the need to do anything, other than to have this random experience. 

Today it kept happening to me and, I noticed, at the same time to everyone else. A total of 14 times. 

I don't know how different other girls are from me in terms of this experience. But for me, each time it did that, it didn't go long enough to get me to the edge of coming. But it did get me excited each time. And each time, a little more excited than the last time. 

The last buzz happened at 9:30 pm - a half hour before many girls are going to bed. 

I don't know how well they slept, but I slept fitfully. I kept squeezing my legs together, which causes a very slight sensation in my clit, even with the Device on. Which just made things worse in terms of the arousal, and fitful sleep. 

It was only through focusing very hard on breathing exercises and other forms of meditation that I was able to eventually sleep for a few hours. 

Day 9 

Today some of the girls seemed a bit subdued. Most didn't. But it wasn't that they were normal. They were acting a bit extra demure. As if to show how much they enjoyed the previous day of being so tantalized. There was a subtle kind of competition going on among this group of submissives. Who could submit more. 

Day 10 

There was something about the intensity of the three buzzes in a row, and the length of time between the buzzes, that was especially arousing. 

It happened this morning at 9 am. And by the end of the third buzz, my clit was completely awoken, and felt very hard and bloated. If it had kept going for six such buzzes, I probably would have had an orgasm. 

Given the time of the buzzes, I knew I was meant to meet the Donor, for a nonsexual purpose. 

It was strange to go meet this man, about whom I had heard so much. After being at the Temple for over a week, and wearing this ever-present Device, I was ready to do whatever he wanted. Well, I was ready before then, too. 

But we only talked. He was warm. He seemed warm in front of the group before. But somehow, on an individual basis, I didn't know if he would be. 

His Japanese was excellent. He was very interested in Japanese politics, too, and more knowledgeable about them than me. Though I think I faked it OK. 

He told me I could ask him anything, if I had any questions about him, or anything else I wanted to talk about. Which was very nice, but I was too surprised to think of anything to ask. 

When it was time for me to go, he said he looked forward to our next encounter. And he kissed me on the cheek. 

Day 11 

Today was another day of no buzzing. Other than the very short pulses reminding me about meals and work duties. 

The almost complete lack of stimulation was perhaps as distracting as the day of the fourteen long buzzes. My clit ached. I breathed, and tried not to think of it too much. But in truth, it really dominated my mind. 

Day 12 

Today was the hardest day yet. The buzzing began just before breakfast. At first it was a long, sustained buzz every twenty minutes. I looked at other girls once when it was going on, and it didn't seem to be happening to them. Just me, I guess...? 

The interval between buzzes kept decreasing throughout the day. And into the evening. After 12 hours, when it stopped, it was buzzing once every five minutes. 

It was completely distracting. 

A combination of arousal and frustration unlike anything I've ever experienced. By evening I had to focus hard not to tear at the Device and rip it off of me, just to have a chance to touch my throbbing clitoris. Which felt like a more important part of my body than it had ever felt like before. 

Day 13 

It was another fitful night of sleep. 

I dreamed of a large, mean, hard insect that had attached itself to my clit, and I couldn't get it off of me. When I awoke, my hand was between my legs. 

At 10 am, there were three long, sustained buzzes. Which was three times as long as anything the previous day. 

And getting past that first buzz brought me into a different realm of arousal, that I realized I had been longing for the day before. Not very close to the edge or to any kind of orgasmic release. But further. Closer. 

Given the time (between the hours of 10 and 11 am) I knew exactly what was expected of me. 

I walked in as another girl was leaving. Robu-san (as he asked me to call him) gestured for me to come into the living room with him. 

I knew he wasn't going to say anything, or to tell me to do anything. 

We had been told. He was not interested in commanding anyone. Maybe he used to be, but no longer. He was the honored guest of the Temple, and I am a Choto girl. 

But it was strange. It felt so bold of me to just start doing things without being asked. It helped that he sat down in such a way that he knew what to expect. And he certainly showed no look of surprise as I did what he knew I would do. 

I took off my dress, my bra, my panties, and sat down on the couch. 

That part wasn't so hard, although Robu-san sat in his seat, fully clothed. The hard part was spreading my legs while sitting naked on the couch. But I knew that was what I was supposed to do. So I did. 

I sat there, naked. Legs spread apart, looking at Robu-san. I wanted to look away, but knew that I couldn't. 

I believe he was enjoying my inner conflict. In any case, he sat there and looked at me for perhaps a full minute. Which seemed like a very long time. I knew that my job now was to wait. 

Robu-san touched a smart phone or some such thing several times. And the Device that had been attached like a barnacle to my clit for more than a week now suddenly became unhinged from the metal rings, and fell gently to the couch between my legs. 

Robu-san reached over between my legs and took the Device. I felt flustered throughout my body as he reached his hands so close to that spot, but I didn't move. 

When he sat back down again, I looked at the clock. With the Device removed, I knew that what I was to do now was to touch myself as much as I could in the space of ten minutes. Without coming, of course. 

Normally, I could easily do such a thing. Usually I don't come all that quickly, even if I'm trying to. This time, the feeling of touching my clit for the first time after so much sensory deprivation, alternating with stimulation, it was almost too much. Each time I pushed into my very swollen clit with my finger, it sent shock waves down my legs and up my spine. 

I thought of the time I broke my arm as a kid, and had it in a cast for weeks, unable to move it at the elbow, unable to touch it. This was only very distantly related to that experience. Clits, it turns out, are not arms. 

It was only two-and-a-half minutes before the waves of an impending orgasm were pushing against my clit, from somewhere just behind it. I gasped, and stopped touching. 

I felt like I was doing something wrong to stop, even though I knew that's what I was supposed to do. Robu-san looked pleased, though, and smiled reassuringly. He had a sort of sympathetic look on his face. 

"So close?" 

These were his first words since I had entered his house today. 

"Yes," I replied. 

We had been told that if he asked any questions, the best reply was an honest one. 

"Does your clit hurt?" he asked. 

"Yes. But it's supposed to." 

"Do you want to come?" he asked. 

"I think I do. But Choto girls don't do that." 

After that brief conversation, that brief respite from the shock waves the direct contact of my finger was causing, I thought I could touch myself a bit more without going over the edge, and I did. It was only a minute later that I had to stop again. 

"I'm sorry," I said. 

"Nothing to be sorry about," he said. "You're very good." 

Being told by him that I was good sent more shock waves through my body. Even without any physical stimulation. 

I returned to touching myself again. Each time, I had to stop sooner than the last. At the end I was panting like a dog. Then I started laughing because I was panting. And Robu-san thought it was funny, too. 

When ten minutes was up, I was sitting on the couch, legs wide apart, hands on my inner thighs, unable to touch my clit for more than a few seconds without coming. My clit was throbbing rhythmically. Presumably along with my heart, which was racing. 

Robu-san was watching it intently as it bobbed up and down with my pulse, hard, swollen. The very image, I thought, of desperation. 




Choto Temple Ch. 09



He saw that ten minutes were over, and he picked up the Device. 

"Ready?" he asked, as he held it in front of me, leaning forward. 

My whole body, and my clit especially, was screaming for me to say no, I'm not ready. I was ready for some things. I was ready to beg him to let me come. 

Or at least ready to beg him to fuck me hard. Give me some other form of stimulation, if I couldn't have that one. But I knew that for this question, there was only one correct Choto answer. 

"Yes, I'm ready." 

And with ease, as if he had done this very movement before many times, he reached between my legs with one hand, and firmly clipped the Device back into place, onto the metal rings. 

I put my clothing back on. Robu-san walked me to the door, kissed me on the cheek, and I walked down the trail. 

It was an effort to walk straight. Because with each step, my knees felt a little they would buckle. 

Day 14 

It was hard to have another day of this sensory deprivation. 

For the first time, I have been feeling some resentment, of an unspecified nature. I think it's related to feeling like, although it's an idyllic environment here in the mountains, with very nice people, food, lodging, etc., it involves a daily form of challenge, for lack of a better word. 

And who's even paying attention? Who is enjoying my suffering? Well, Robu-san did yesterday, for sure. That was clear. But that was yesterday. And today was long. 

Day 15 

It was another day of sensory deprivation. And as usual I have sought to distract myself by talking with other girls, walking through the woods in my free time, and writing. 

I also find myself frequently touching parts of my body that I can still touch. Which of course is almost all of it. All but one little spot. 

Day 16 

On a walk today that took me to the perimeter fence I ran into one of the few men at the Temple, who does security. He's a very nice, humble guy from Fukushima, who approaches his job with appropriate seriousness. 

I get along well with other girls. But it was nice to meet this man. A man who was just doing a job, and isn't engaging in any strange ascetic practices, as far as I know. 

Day 17 

Today I found Aki just when his shift was ending, and we walked together. 

I wasn't thinking about what I was doing very clearly, and I found myself holding his hand as we were walking. When he stopped to point out a very colorful bird in one of the trees, I kissed him on the cheek. I felt very bold. 

And then, without any words being said about it, we started kissing each other on the lips. 

Then I found myself asking him a question. 

"Is there anything I can do for you, Aki?" 

"You're funny," he said. 

I wasn't feeling so funny. I was feeling lots of other things, but not funny. But somehow I liked his response. 

"If I asked you for anything of a sexual nature," he said, apparently trying to sound clinical, "it would be very much against the rules of engagement here." 

Now it was my turn to think something was funny. 

"Rules of engagement? Is this a military campaign?" 

"Sorry," he smiled, "I'm just a security guard, you know. And I used to be an officer in the Defense Forces, as you might have guessed." 

"I'll put it a different way then," I said. "Is there anything you'd rather I not do for you?" 

"Well, I don't know exactly what all goes on around here, so I might regret saying this." He paused, and smiled again. "But no, there is nothing." 

I felt more eager than I had ever felt to touch a man's body. And Aki was a nice man, with a warm heart and a warm body. 

I like him because he has a warm body? I don't know what I'm writing. But probably it's true. 

He leaned his back against a big tree as I knelt down and unbuttoned his trousers. His penis was already hard. I felt a rush from that. He was attracted to me. Not that that's very unusual. But here, sometimes it's hard to know which way is up. 

I never enjoyed having a man's penis in my mouth more than today. It felt like forbidden fruit. My own fruit was forbidden. But his wasn't, now. 

I could please him, if not myself. 

Somehow, all of my own desire to be rid of the onerous Device, to at least be able to stimulate my clitoris, or perhaps to actually have an orgasm, I could forget about for a while. 

All of my energy, all of my focus was on his penis. Nothing else existed for a while. 

And when he eventually came in my mouth, I felt a kind of release, too. Though it was a brief feeling of release, followed quickly by a yearning. Perhaps a throbbing as well, but it's hard to tell. When I can't touch it. 

Day 18 

The buzzing began again today. 

At first every twenty minutes, and by the end of the day, every five minutes. Each buzz lasted several seconds longer than they had before. 

I took a long walk to try to calm down once it was finally over. I found Aki, but he was now working an evening shift. He said he'd like to spend time with me, but that he was busy. 

I wonder how I'll manage to sleep tonight. 

Day 19 

The buzzing today was the same as yesterday. 

The only real respite from what is increasingly feeling like a slow form of anonymous, mechanical torture was meeting Aki after lunch, when we both had free time. 

I made him come in my mouth again. 

For that wonderful forty minutes or so, I was able to forget about the world. My surroundings. My own body. My aching clitoris. But now it's time to attempt to sleep again. 

Day 20 

The cycle for Choto girls is 20 to 25 days. 

Each time the cycle is up, we have the option of leaving in good standing, or being a Choto girl for another cycle. 

We are not supposed to have any expectations, only to serve. But it is generally understood that like the Purification girls, the Choto girls too will have the opportunity to receive the Donor's gift of medicinal sperm. His unique inoculation. 

I was wondering if or when it might be my turn. And then I was feeling selfish for wondering. 

The girls from Fukushima needed this more. And there are so many of them, and only one Robu-san. I was here to support them. To serve a cause, I tried to remind myself. 

To be a fantasy. I hoped I was a good fantasy. It was certainly a challenging fantasy to be. 

But then the three buzzes came today. The ones we're all probably waiting for. At noon. So I knew this was the time of day when the Donor, well, donates, to Choto. Today, to me. 

What happened was very unexpected. It reminded me of losing my virginity when I was thirteen in many ways. Looking back, though, that was a much less difficult experience. Though not as rewarding. 

He led me to the bedroom, where pillows were piled up against one wall. He gestured for me to lay down, which of course I did. I spread my legs, and he removed the Device, after pressing some things on his phone. 

There was a breeze that came through an open window and brushed directly over my clitoris, as if it were saying hello. I shivered as I began to touch my clit, as I knew I was supposed to. As Robu-san watched. 

It had been so long since it had felt anything besides the terribly unsatisfying buzzing. Always too short, too weak. 

My own fingers touching my clit felt like the fingers of some kind of magical creature. Once again the shock waves down my legs and spine, each time I pressed a certain amount. 

Once again, it was barely more than two minutes before my swollen, hardened clitoris felt like it was about to burst. The waves of an orgasm impending, pressing out from within my body. 

And I took away my hand, and let the pressure ebb. 

It ebbed only very slowly. It was at least another minute before I felt like I could touch my clit without exploding immediately. 

It was about six minutes before it was once again at a sort of maximum pressure. Where I knew if I touched it hard enough to feel the pressure, the forbidden orgasm would arrive, uninvited. I again found myself apologizing. 

"It's been so long since you had an orgasm, eh?" Robu-san said. "Over two weeks?" 

"Yes." 

"It hurts?" 

"Yes." 

He touched my clit with one finger. This was the first time he had touched me, aside from kissing my cheek, and putting on the Device before. 

If I had touched my clit the way he just did, I might have come. But there was something surprising about him touching it, and the orgasm stayed behind, shy. Just peeking out a little. 

Then he put the Device back on, and gently pulled my face in the direction of his penis. Which was completely limp. 

I kissed and licked his penis, and felt it stirring. The fact that I was doing something that was making him even a little harder caused waves of pleasure to cascade through my body. Almost like a different sort of orgasm. Did I even remember what an orgasm felt like? I wondered as I ate him. 

He slowly got harder in my mouth. 

Maybe he could feel how welcome this was, because he got harder still. And then moaned with pleasure. Which again caused the cascading waves to run through me. After a while he was rock hard, and I could run my mouth smoothly up and down his shaft, more quickly. Which he seemed to like, as he got harder still. 

At that point he withdrew from my mouth, reached around my back, and attached two straps to my legs. I hadn't noticed them hanging behind me. The straps lifted my legs up in the air. 

The fact that he was moving me around a bit, and doing things to my body, was electrifying. I wanted more, but knew it was not my place to be so demanding as to say anything to that effect. So I lay there, legs in the air, contentedly. 

The straps were presumably to keep me in a position optimal for his fucking preferences. But there may have been another reason for their use. If I had had to use my own leg muscles to keep my legs in the air, he might not have been able to enter me. 

It's not that I'm normally all that tight, or that his penis was so huge. 

It was bigger than average. And I'm smaller than average, even by Japanese standards. But after the weeks of not coming, the weeks of being aroused repeatedly, of having my clitoris denied contact, these things had an effect that was sort of the opposite of a yoga retreat. 

It was more like a tension-building retreat. I began to realize that part of the tension I had been feeling building up in the region of my clit was inside my vaginal tunnel. The muscle at the entrance felt perhaps like a wet ball of gristle. 

I lay as relaxed as I could be under the circumstances, legs spread apart and tied up, as Robu-san attempted to enter me. 

It was as if my entrance had closed up. 

Like a pierced ear that hasn't had an earring in it for a long time. Except not at all like an ear lobe, really. The only really helpful thing was that I was very wet. And Robu-san seemed to know that the entrance was there, if he kept pushing at the right place. 

Sure enough, the head of his penis did manage to get inside me, which caused a burning, sharp pain in the entrance of my vagina. Like something between a muscle that's about to tear, and a cramped leg. 

He must have felt the muscle close in on him with tension, because he stopped, momentarily, before pushing hard into me. Which then added a new, intense, burning pain onto the one that was already there. 

For now, in addition to the entrance feeling torn asunder, the head of his penis was hitting my cervix. Which, I then realized, was lower down than usual, because my period was coming soon. 

He pulled back and pushed in again, and hit my cervix in such a way that it opened and let in the head of his penis. Which hurt so much that I cried out in pain. 

"Does it hurt?" he asked, clearly knowing the answer. 

"Yes," I told him anyway. 

"How much should it hurt?" he asked. 

"More," I replied, as I knew I should. 

And as I wanted to. So much. In fact, I wanted him to hurt me more. But I thought that might be too forward. Too assertive. So I said nothing more. 

But I didn't have to, because that's exactly what he did. 

Over and over again he pounded me. I was so tight, I could feel each millimeter of his penis as it went in and out. I could feel every bump, follicle, perhaps a mole, I wasn't sure. But it was like reading braille. The more he pumped, the wetter I became. 

After a while, the entrance to my vagina hurt less, and I didn't think there would be any torn muscles there. Though I had no idea what would happen to my cervix. Which felt like it was a nail being hammered. Except it's not a nail. And then again his penis wasn't a hammer, I tried to remind myself, and I'd probably be OK. 

It was impossible to stop gasping every time he entered my cervix, though. I thought perhaps I was being too loud. I tried not to gasp too dramatically. 

Then he pushed in so hard and so deep that I did think something was torn. And I yelled involuntarily. And just as I was trying to control myself and not yell again, I realized there were tears running down my cheeks. And then I could feel Robu-san coming inside me. 

As he came, he pushed in again just as hard as the last time. Again and again. But I didn't yell any more, because I held my breath. I didn't trust myself to exhale. Once he finally withdrew from me, I did. Slowly, carefully. 

"Thank you," I said.



Choto Temple Ch. 10



The diary continued for quite some pages. I was looking forward to reading more later. But there was a schedule to keep. I grabbed my notepad and recorder and headed toward Zerzinski's place. 

"The thing is," Zerzinski said matter-of-factly, "if I heard some of the things I have said to you when I was younger, I would have thought I was an asshole." 

"Even if you understood the context?" I asked. 

He smiled. "I was a pretty ideological guy, before... I don't know. I'd like to think with enough context, I'd have understood. I'd like to think other people could, too, for that matter." 

"Earlier you were talking about the clients that worked out and the ones that didn't. When you ran your clinic in Portland." 

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking of." 

"Tell me more about that...?" 

"Well, what if you were, say, a guy in his forties. But you were only attracted to 18-year-old girls with big breasts and blonde hair. 

"Most people seeing that - including me, for the most part - would think that guy's a sexist jerk. Or at the very least, very much playing into patriarchal ideas of sexuality. And someone who should try to widen their horizons a bit. Analyze themselves, stuff like that. 

"So me, when I was younger, I had my preferences. My fetishes, perhaps. But I was broad-minded. And I had girlfriends who didn't meet most of my ideals, in terms of sexual attraction. But I could always kind of fudge it. 

"I could fantasize about sexier women I had been with before. Or dream up new ones. Or if I'm in a typical kind of life situation where I'm having sex once a day or less - usually less - then I could work up an appetite regardless, most of the time. 

"And I looked down at guys who, under similar circumstances, were unable to do that. Like a friend of mine who was only attracted to women with long hair. And he'd meet some really cool woman who really liked him, who he really liked, too. But then she'd go and cut her hair and he wouldn't be at all interested in her anymore. Lame, right? 

"Well, most of the time things went fine at the clinic. But I guess about 10% of the time things didn't go fine. Oftentimes things not going fine meant me not being able to get it up. And every time that happened, it was a situation where the client was not going along with the program for one reason or another." 

"Did that happen every time someone went off-script?" I asked. 

"No. In fact there were a lot of times when things went way off-script, but I still managed to give them what they came for anyway. Other times not. I'm sure I could have done better if I weren't already having sex with someone - and more to the point, coming - at least twice a day. But as that was the situation, despite my best intentions, I just got pickier and pickier as the thing went on." 

"What kinds of things would happen?" 

"Well, what really gets me off, generally, are beautiful women who want to please me in specific ways. I'm open to different things, but definitely if they can play into my fetishes for denial and rougher sex, that will turn me on a lot more than just about anything else. 

"The only thing that might surpass that kind of bedroom scenario is a virginal teenage bombshell lying nervously in front of you. Naked, waiting for you to penetrate her. Visibly wondering how that was going to feel. And whether she could handle it without crying. That one always works, too." 

"So the Purification and Choto Temple models both make a lot of sense." 

"Yes." He paused. "That would be an understatement, in fact." 

"Can you give me some examples of what would go on?" 

"Sure. When things went wrong, they generally fell into two categories. There were those who would try and fail. And there were those who wouldn't try in the first place. 

"See, I didn't want to be the guy who only fucked virgins. I could have only done virgins and still had plenty of clients. But I wanted to be more open than that. 

"So I thought if the women could just pretend they were porn actors for one day, and could come in and follow a script that would turn me on enough to keep this - it - up on a very, very regular basis, that would be better. More moral or something. I don't know. 

"Oftentimes they thought the script was just a guideline. Or they didn't really have to follow it so closely, because they were somehow exceptional. The wealthier Americans tend to think they're exceptional. About everything, including sex appeal. 

"So sometimes they'd think they could do the edging thing for me. And they'd be feeling all awkward about it. Which would be obvious. And then rather than really eating me, they'd sort of kiss my dick, put the head in their mouth. And then stop, and look up at me, like, 'what do I do next?' 

"And I don't know at that point what to say. I mean, sometimes they just don't understand that they are actually responsible for turning me on. Like, I'm going to try to work with them, but they can't just say 'I tried but it didn't work, now can you just get on with it' or something. It doesn't work that way. I'm not proud of that, necessarily. It's just the way it is. Contrary to many opinions." 

"So how would things go in those situations?" 

"Sometimes I'd manage to find inspiration somewhere, and give them what they came for. Sometimes I had to say I'm sorry, this isn't working. And then they'd generally get really pissed off. 'I paid $5,000 in order to be humiliated?!' That kind of thing. 

"They'd get their money back in those cases, actually. But it still sucked for everyone. 

"Other times - and this happened quite a lot, probably the most common thing that would go wrong - they'd come in prepared for following the script. They'd understand the deal. But then when they'd be edging for me, they'd come. Sometimes repeatedly. They'd be like, 'oops, I couldn't stop, it was feeling too good.' 

"And I'm thinking, gosh, I understand that you like to come. Most people do, in fact. I used to make women come all the time. Because they like it. Sometimes I'd make them come because I was so turned on by the fact that they hadn't yet come, that I'd want to make them come in order for me not to come myself. 

"But this wasn't one of those times. This time, they're supposed to be trying to make me come. By following a script that will hopefully turn me on. And then they go and do this thing which they have already been informed is exactly the thing to do if they want the opposite of the intended result." 

"Do you think it's just a lack of self-control?" I asked. 

"Sometimes. Mostly, I think these are basically fairly innocent women who just don't believe that anybody could be different from them. It turns her on, it turns on her boyfriend. So of course it'll work for this guy, too. Unfortunately that's not how it is. 

"Other times we'd get through the 'foreplay' segments, and then they'd say something like 'please be gentle with me.' 

"'Please be gentle' is a perfectly reasonable thing to say to someone you don't know, who you've decided to have sex with. When you're trying to guide the situation so that the sex will be to your liking. I.e. gentle, if that's what you want. 

"But when you're explicitly supposed to be following a script that involves edging, fellatio, and rough sex, you don't get to the rough sex part and say 'please be gentle.' I could be really gentle and just not fuck you at all, but that's not what you've come here for, is it? 

"OK but then, thoughts like that last one, if I think of the earlier me hearing me now say stuff like that, fuck, I'd be shocked. It's shocking, probably. But now I can't even tell. I'm just so thoroughly depraved at this point that I have no moral compass left, I guess." 

I don't know if he was hoping I'd reassure him that he did, in fact, have a moral compass. Fairly obviously, actually - one prone to frequent agonizing. Instead, I just asked another question. 

"And what about the ones who just didn't try at all?" 

"Well," he said, with an air of authority, "there's a level of cluelessness among the rich that is really special. I think what happens a lot of the time is a rich woman says to her secretary, 'get me an appointment with that guy in Portland.' 

"The secretary dutifully sets everything up, explains to her boss what's involved with the whole thing, or maybe sends her a memo or something. Which in any case gets ignored. And then it's time for the appointment, and the woman shows up in my room. 

"I come in. She's fully clothed. And looking impatient that she was kept waiting a few minutes. And she wants to know what's going on. 

"'Presumably,' I say, 'you're here to have sex with me.'" 

"They don't know? Seriously?" 

"Seriously," he said, without hesitation. "One time, the woman stormed off. Ranting to anyone in earshot as she left the building, and people were laughing at her. I mean the level of cluelessness can be really impressive sometimes." 

"You were quite a well-known person by then," I noted. 

"Yeah, well, I didn't know who most of the celebrities were until I became one, either," he said. "I still don't, actually," he added. 

"When did you start getting so many clients from Japan?" 

"Pretty early on there were some. They weren't coming on scholarships like the ones from the Chernobyl area. But they were always just as impressive. When Japanese people decide to do something, they tend to do it really well. 

"But it was after the Fukushima disaster that the Japanese started coming more often. At first I didn't know what was going on, in terms of anything systematic. I just knew that every few days I'd have another Japanese client. 

"And I started to notice a pattern. They were always teenagers, barely legal adults. They always came accompanied by an older woman. They were always so good at following the script that it seemed like each of them had taken a course in porn acting. Which it turned out they had. 

"They were consistently the ideal clients. The kind that just made me think this I was living the dream. Rather than once again in the room with another self-important rich lady who's making half-hearted attempts to go through the motions in order to get what she came for. All the while obviously detesting me for making her work for something for once in her life." 

"Is that how it was most of the time?" I asked for clarification. 

"No. Like I said, most of the time it was great. But when it goes wrong on one out of ten occasions, well, it can go pretty wrong. And that can really suck. 

"You got the media saying you're a sexist piece of shit. And then you got one in ten of your clients walking out, saying something similar." 

"That sounds hard." 

"Yes. It could be. So then," he said, picking up his story without prompting from me, "a whole delegation of Japanese people came, unannounced, and asked my staff if they could talk with me. 

"At first the secretary was trying to put them in line with the rest of the media wanting interviews, until she was informed that one of the members of the delegation was the governor of Fukushima prefecture. Then she realized this was something she should actually talk with me about. 

"When we met the next day, that was the first I had heard about the temple they were starting up." 

"You were still in the US when they were starting it?" 

Robert gave me a look that said, don't you do your research? I responded with my best lost puppy imitation. He said nothing, and just answered my stupid question. 

"Yes, I was in Portland, and they were sending these women across the Pacific once or twice a week. They would have sent more. But there was no room in my schedule, as it was set up. 

"But they came in order to have a meeting with me. And they made this proposal." 

"Their proposal being this place, essentially?" 

"Yes. Minus the Choto Temple. That came later. But they had already started the Purification Temple. Training these girls from Fukushima and sending them over. But only so few, compared to now. 

"And they just basically proposed that I come live in Japan. They made the case that the young women of Fukushima were both the neediest in terms of their risk for ovarian cancer, as well as the sexiest. And I'd have my own mountainside to live on, and would never have to worry about money again." 

"And you said yes right away?" 

"I wanted to. But I waited a day, trying to be reasonable and think it over. And then I told everybody at the clinic that we'd be closing soon. They were bummed out. But I made sure they were well taken care of, anyway. 

"I knew I'd miss the Russians though. I still do, sometimes." 

"They were really special, eh?" 

"They were. And also just the circumstances made them even more special. 

"See, I'd go outside in disguise a lot, but it basically was risky to be me. I lived between home and the clinic much of the time. And for most of the time I was in Portland, being home meant having a stunning, generally very friendly Russian or Ukrainian around pretty constantly." 

"How did that work?" 

"It was sort of an organic process. When we were offering the scholarships to women from the Chernobyl region, they also needed a place to stay while in town. And I had a big place. So they stayed with me. We'd get them tickets so they'd arrive on a Monday, have their appointment with me on the following weekend, and then leave the following Monday." 

"Were they expected to do anything in particular in Portland during that week?" 

"No, nothing. But what most of them did when they weren't seeing the local sights, was to hang out with me when I was home. Lots of good memories. At the clinic, a standard Tuesday question when I came in was 'who's the Russian of the week?'" 

"Any especially fond recollections?" 

"Many. But Tanja, the woman with the flash cards, was particularly fun and educational." 

"Was she working on her English or something?" 

"Well, in the cover letter that came with the cards, she explained that she spoke almost no English. So it was actually that which inspired her to make the flash cards. In order for us to be able to communicate more easily about some things. 

"But for me it turned out to be a bit of a revelation. It was like a little peek into my future. Here with the Choto girls." 

"How so?" 

"Well, in the past, my desires to explore my sexual fantasies were pretty well tempered by empathy. I'm endlessly inspired by causing and witnessing a beautiful woman to go to the very ends of desperation, and unfulfilled desire. That's definitely a thing for me. 

"But if I'm the one directing, it's only going to go so far before I figure this girl needs an orgasm already. Regardless of how much her desperation is turning me on. 

"Or maybe like now that she's just said 'ow' for the twentieth time, I really should stop fucking her so hard." 

"You're very considerate," I joked. 

"It's all relative," he said, not joking. "With the Choto girls, responsibility is taken away from me. It's their trip. 

"It may be based on my fantasies originally. But now it's more than that. And I'm not responsible for the suffering they and their rules impose on themselves. It may be a logically slippery slope, but I'm sticking with it." 

"Fair enough," I said, perhaps uncertainly. "And Tanja's flash cards?" I reminded him. 

"Yes. See, these were her flash cards. Her game, she made it. The rules were clear and simple, and she explained them in her cover letter." 

"What were the rules?" 

"During the week of her visit, I should feel free to show her any of the flash cards I wanted to. And she would then go about accomplishing the task involved with that particular card, until the task was accomplished. Or until I showed her a new card." 

"It sounds like you're still directing to me," I commented. 

"Well, yes and no. I am, but it's in the context of her game. It's not a logical thing, necessarily. Though I guess that depends on how you're looking at it. But for me, it was liberating and exhilarating, anyway." 

"What was on the cards?" 

"There were sort of general things. And then there were things that indicated either that we shared the same sorts of interests. Or, at least as likely, she had come up with them based on the information she had about me when she applied for getting the treatment. 

"So there were things like 'make food,' 'make coffee,' and 'clean the house.' 

"Then there were things like 'cuddle,' 'full body massage with oil,' 'full body massage without oil,' 'shoulder massage,' and other massage-related variations. 

"Then there were cards that all began with 'sexual services' and included 'intercourse' and 'fellatio.' 

"Then there were the cards that all began with 'solo erotic performance' and included things like 'dildo play,' 'the full orgasm,' 'the ruined orgasm' and 'finding the edge.' 

"She showed me those cards soon after she got to my place. And I was horny all week. Despite the fact that I was having sex with two clients every day before I'd get home to her at night." 

"Did certain cards get used more than others?" 

"Um, yeah. Some of them got kind of ignored, and others got used very repeatedly. 

"I'd say I'm a reasonably active kind of guy, but having this pandora's box of cards to draw on, it was just addictive. Not having to choose specifically from my own fantasies, so much as just draw a pre-conceived one, that someone else gave me. I don't know. It's different. Much easier. 

"Anyway, I'd start the day with the 'make food' card." 

"Not coffee?" 

"No, never that one. I'm a coffee snob. I didn't want to take that chance. But the food one, and the full body massage. And then I was off to work. 

"And when I came back, she'd be there. 

"Not being one to pass up the opportunity to watch somebody edge on command, the first night that she was there when I came home from work, the day after she got to town, I thought I'd see what 'finding the edge' would look like. 

"The whole performance was just amazing. If you've got my particular thing. It was just a model." 

"What does the model look like?" 

I probably asked the question mostly to indicate that I was still paying attention. But it was also asked with genuine interest. Maybe I'm just impressionable. But the more he talked about this sort of thing, the more I was finding the attraction of it. 

"Well, to begin with, she was stunningly beautiful. That combination of muscles and voluptuousness that only eastern Europeans seem to be able to achieve. She undressed slowly. Deliberately. Maintaining eye contact the whole time. 

"The eye contact was so much of the turn-on. Especially once she started touching herself. She started slowly and built up the intensity, like bringing water to a boil. Smoothly but with real purpose. 

"When she started getting really excited, she just turned up the volume. Rather than backing off and making it last longer. 

"When she hit the edge, it was with a real crash. She was right there. She had obviously done this before. She looked slightly panicked. Perhaps in pain, as she took away her finger, spread her legs apart. 

"And maintained eye contact the whole time. Usually at that point, almost anyone would look away. 

"And then she recovered her composure so quickly. And stayed there in that position, looking at me. Waiting for me to draw the next card. 

"Kind of like the hottest wind-up toy you could imagine. She had completed her assignment, now she was waiting for the next one. 

"So I drew the dildo one. 

"She calmly walked into her bedroom and brought back two dildos. She held them both out to me. I picked the larger one. It was big, but not completely outrageous. 

"Then she held up the dildo card in one hand. And with her other hand, next to the dildo card, first she held up 'finding the edge.' And then she held up the cards for 'ruined' and 'full' orgasms. 




Choto Temple Ch. 10



"Which is when I realized she had vaginal orgasms, too. I picked 'finding the edge' again. Which I'm sure is shocking to you." 

I thought he was mostly joking with this last statement. It wouldn't be shocking of course, in that it was very evident that he had a serious orgasm denial fetish. But did he think I was shocked otherwise? It was hard to tell. 

"She lubricated the dildo a bit. And then very promptly squatted, spread her legs. Positioned the dildo at the opening of her vagina, and then looked right at me. She held the eye contact constantly as she pushed the dildo into herself. 

"It clearly hurt. It was big. She had been edging, which tends to tighten things up a lot. And she was squatting, which can also tend to do that. 

"Watching her wince hard several times and bite her lip as she looked straight at me was memorable. It was one of those memories that gets immediately seared in there for posterity. 

"When she finally got it halfway into her, watching several tears run down her cheeks as she maintained eye contact was so good. 

"I was feeling a bit guilty about those tears, though. But somehow as she pushed the dildo hard inside her more deeply, apparently quite purposefully causing several more tears to fall, it somehow reduced the guilt. 

"Once she really got going, there were no tears anymore. Just pushing it in and pulling it out. And gasping a lot in between. Magnificently. 

"Until the gasping intensified, and she quickly pulled her hands off of the dildo. Which stayed between her legs anyway, hanging. The way she was drawing in her breath, it was clear she had stopped just before it was too late. Like an expert masochist. 

"After a bit, she slowly pulled the dildo out of herself. Biting her lip as she did. She put it down, and continued to look at me. Squatting there in front of me, awaiting the next card. 

"It occurred to me that if I could combine the dildo and edging cards, perhaps I could combine other cards. I wondered what she'd do with 'full body massage' and 'finding the edge.' That turned out to be tremendous. A magnum opus, really." 

"How did that work?" I wondered aloud. 

"Well, first of all I was lying on her bed. And then every position she picked for massaging somewhere on me, it would also be a position that allowed her to stimulate her clit. 

"So when she was massaging my left shoulder, she was rubbing her clit on my left forearm. When she was working on my lower back, she was rubbing herself on my leg. 

"She massaged me from I think five different positions, and in each position, she hit the edge - somewhat dramatically - before moving to the next one. 

"When she had finished, and I was exceptionally relaxed, I enjoyed touching her gorgeous body, which by then was glistening with sweat. She was breathing heavily. She was smiling gently. And looking me in the eyes, as soon as I had turned towards her face. 

"She gasped as I put my hand between her legs, and felt her wet, pulsating pussy. Which was a very dark shade of red at this point. In stark contrast to her pale, Russian skin. 

"I left her in that state. Cherishing the vision, and that somewhat suffering look on her face as I walked out and went to my bedroom." 

"Is it hard to leave someone after you've got them so worked up?" 

It was certainly nothing I had ever done to anyone on purpose. Nor did I intend to. At least not until now. But in any case, I was genuinely curious. 

"There's a lot of guilt involved with being me, yes, generally. At that time, maybe not too much. She brought the cards. Plus, she was free to come ten times after I left, by herself, if she wanted to." 

I thought briefly about mentioning the Device about which I had recently read, but decided not to. I wondered if he even knew that anyone other than his Choto Temple girls knew about it. 

"It's just a game that way for Tanja, then, yes?" I asked. "Not a way of life?" 

He responded without hesitation. 

"Yes. It's certainly even that much more intense when it's 24-7. Which is something I would have fantasized about, but not put into practice. Until here in Yamaguchi. But this is not a place under my direction. Nor would I want it to be." 

"Just a place that operates according to your fantasies." 

"According to an interpretation of them, yes," he clarified. 

"And the woman with the cards, did you ever make her come?" 

"Well, yes, in fact, that was pretty inevitable. Normally her day would have been Saturday. But I had intercourse with her on Friday night, at the end of the work day. 

"It was another night of watching her deny herself orgasm after orgasm in different forms. When she was waiting for me to produce another card, I put the cards down and lowered myself down on top of her. She was squatting at the time, but as I knelt down, she lay back. 

"She looked at my eyes and spread her legs. But the expression on her face was tentative. Like she didn't know what I was about to do, and wanted to be ready for it, whatever it was. 

"I think she expected me to just leave her there. She thought I was teasing her. Though I don't think I had done this before, quite. In any case, I pushed myself inside her, and she was very happy. 

"There was no way she could have edged at that point, if I were to come inside her. She would have had to stop me way too much. As it was, I think she came six times before I eventually did." 

Which is why the Choto girls have to be women who are only able to have clitoral orgasms, I thought. 

"Was it hard," I asked, "to come under those circumstances? With her having all those orgasms?" 

I guess I was smiling because he said, "you think it's funny, eh?" 

He sounded playful, but perhaps a bit hurt. It was hard to say. 

"Funny, perhaps," I said, trying to answer this question honestly for some reason, for better or for worse. "It's just that I think it's really hot if I'm fucking a woman and she keeps having orgasms. I have a sense of accomplishment." 

"Yeah, I guess I'm weird," he said. 

"Maybe I'm weird," I said lamely, trying to be helpful. 

"No. Your kind is definitely the normative thing. Which is probably as it should be. But in any case, in principle there are enough of one to go along with the other." 

"What do you mean...?" 

"There are enough submissives to go with all the dominants out there. If you like something, you can bet someone else does, too." 

"Good point. But you did manage to, um, inoculate the woman with the cards?" 

"Yes. Mostly by ignoring her constant orgasms. And by trying to remember how it was to leave her at the end of all the other nights. 

"Another thing," he said, looking off into the sky above the foliage outside his window, "another thing that was so memorable about her was how completely she maintained the connection after she basically got what she came for." 

"How so?" 

"Well she was still just as clearly receptive to me giving her cards after as before. And when I saw that, I just had to push it. Hopefully not too far. Well, in retrospect, there are a lot of women who can certainly put up with a lot more. But at the time, it was pretty extreme for me." 

"What did you do...?" 

"Well, we were together the whole time, from Friday night until Monday morning, except for very brief periods like going to the bathroom or something. On Saturday I took her for a long walk in Forest Park. But otherwise we spent the whole day and night playing cards. 

"I had her going back and forth between cooking, cleaning, and edging. Mostly edging. But when things got too intense, I made her mop the floor for a while or something. To cool down. 

"When she really edged herself into a seriously hard ball of tension, I pulled out the fellatio card. And the edging card too, for good measure. So she could eat me and edge at the same time. Which she did. Brilliantly. 

"Late at night on Saturday, when she was again very worked up, and I was again ready to come in her mouth, I had a cruel vision. Which I quickly made real." 

"What was that?" 

"I took the 'full orgasm' card out, and, holding it off to the side next to us, as she looked up from eating me, with her hand between her legs, I lit the card on fire over a glass table. It burned up, til it was just a charred little black thing with just the 'f' in 'full' visible, surrounded by a thick black border." 

"How did she react?" 

"It was hard to say, since my dick was in her mouth and she was very occupied with two different activities. But she seemed just to get on with it. With no perceptible change of pace. 

"After I came in her mouth that time, I made her edge again for good measure. And then I turned out the lights. 

"The next day was the one I was really curious about. Since I basically repeated the whole procedure." 

"Was that very different from the day before?" 

"It was. I realized she had probably come after I left her alone on the other nights. But during the weekend we were sleeping together in the same bed, and we were never apart. The tension definitely grew. She was in quite a state by the end of the night on Sunday. 

"The night before she had been tense. That night she was tense, but also shaking. She woke me up several times because she was moving her hips back and forth in her sleep. It would wake her up, too." 

"You didn't feel compelled to do anything about that?" 

"I did." He smiled, like a child who knows he's misbehaving. "I made her edge again, each time. 

"I didn't sleep very well, either," he added. 

Imagining how tense she must have been feeling after all that stirred in me a mix of emotional reactions, running the gamut from arousal to revulsion. But I'm not here to judge. Takes all kinds. 

It was time to head out again. We parted amicably as usual. And as I descended the staircase, there was Rie walking down the path. In her full Lolita outfit as usual. 

I was embarrassed at the waves of jealousy that suddenly swept over me. Which I did my best to ignore, as I greeted Rie briefly in passing, before I continued on my way to the cabin, and she walked up the stairs to Zerzinski's front door. 

When I got back and opened my laptop, there was another email from Cy with the subject line, "Purification Temple has a diarist, too."



Choto Temple Ch. 11



When I was interviewing Zerzinski this afternoon, I was once again thinking about the vastly different reactions people can have to the whole Donor X phenomenon. As well as to Zerzinski's specific kind of sexual orientation, and how people respond to that. 

The evening's readings were a fascinating exercise in contrast. 

Rie never came over that night. Presumably, Zerzinski was keeping her occupied. Though I didn't know, and kept trying not to care. It was a different, though equally beautiful young woman who knocked on my door. 

She wasn't wearing the loose dresses so many of the others there wore. She had tight jeans on, and an equally tight top. All of which served to emphasize each perfect curve of her lean little body. 

I glanced between her legs. Trying to be subtle about it, in a brief moment when she was looking somewhere else. 

If you didn't know, I'd imagine you wouldn't notice anything amiss. But with those jeans on, it was easy to see the slight bump around where her clit would be. 

Either a very unusually large clit, or the most convincing trans woman on the planet. Or a Device. My guess was the latter. 

"Dinner, Danu-san," she said, as she entered the cabin, putting a tray of delicious-smelling food on the table. 

"Arigato." 

She made no pretense of sticking around to keep me company. I don't think she spoke much English, anyway. As soon as she put the tray down, she said two things. Which I believe were something along the lines of "itedakimas" and "oyasumi." Have a good dinner and good night. 

Alone, I swung my laptop around next to the tray of food, and began eating and reading. 

Before reading the document attached to Cy's most recent email, I wanted to finish reading the Choto girl's diary entries that I had begun earlier. 

Day 21 

Sleeping last night was difficult. And then my pussy hurt all day today. 

For the most part, it was a good kind of pain. Like the way your muscles hurt after going for a run. Or maybe more like the way they hurt after a boxing match. Not that I would know about that from direct experience. 

Trying to distinguish that pain from the pain in my clitoris is difficult. My clit seems to have achieved a new level of hardness. Like the blood that keeps flowing into it is just going to stay there. Maybe it will harden further. Then shrivel up and fall off. 

I'm glad to have had the opportunity to do what I have done over the past three weeks, though. Now I have to decide what to do next. 

Most Choto girls leave at this point. Of course they have lives to go back to. Jobs, rent, boyfriends. I still stay at my parents' place, and don't have any of those encumbrances to consider. 

Of course, as well, and probably more to the point, most Choto girls might be happy to serve the Temple for a few weeks. Knowing they will be inoculated at the end of it. It's only some that want more. Or perhaps less. 

To which group do I belong? 

Day 22 

The tradition here is the Choto girls leave at this point for three days. And then either come back, or stay gone, depending. We may remove our Device. But if we remove it for more than 24 hours before putting it back on, we're done with the Temple. 

I don't want to go home now. So I made plans to visit a friend who lives not far away, in Fukuoka. Sitting on the train again this morning, feeling it vibrating gently beneath my seat, my hand wandered between my legs. And to the familiar object that was still keeping my clitoris in a state of sensory deprivation. 

Having the ability to remove it is new, and strange. Knowing that at any moment, I could take it off. And then it will send a signal into the ether. And if I don't put it back on soon enough, I'd be out of the Temple. 

I'm really not so concerned about being in or out of the Temple, though, really. More just paralyzed with indecision about what to do with this thing between my legs. Now that I have more of a choice. 

Of course I always had a choice. To walk away. To get some wire cutters. But now it is more of a choice. 

It is a choice given to me. With the express purpose of me making a decision. 

Day 23 

It's been good to visit Keiko. She knows where I've been, and she also knows I can't talk about the details. She seems curious but not resentful that I have to withhold things. 

Even if I didn't have to stay quiet, would I want to talk about this with her? She's a close friend, and we know each other well. But I don't know if she would relate to me on this one. Not sure how many people would. They'd think I'm crazy. A masochist, for sure. Which is automatically assumed to be a bad thing, of course, in the world of normative behavior. 

Day 24 

My clit woke me up several times last night. It felt like blood was rushing in and then rushing out, and it was tingling. I almost removed the Device. I wanted to touch it so much. But the wanting made me feel so alive, too. 

Each time I almost removed it, I thought about the consequences. What would it feel like? It would be good to have an orgasm. I'd probably have several in a row at least, once I got going. And afterwards, would I feel fulfilled? Or empty and drained? 

Is a moment of pleasure, or even many moments of pleasure, better than the continual rush of desire, combined with the knowledge that I am serving a purpose? It feels good to serve a purpose. The feeling isn't like the rush of an orgasm. It's much more subtle. 

I do want to go back to the Temple, I've decided. But I think I should test myself further, and see if I really want this. It's been very hard to keep the Device on when I've constantly known I could now remove it at any time. 

But then, it occurred to me, what would be harder still would be to remove it, while maintaining the same discipline. 

I'm now going to take it off for the night. 

Day 25 

Last night I questioned everything. My sexuality. My sanity. My idea of what gives life purpose. Probably other things, too. 

I took off the Device before I went to bed last night. As soon as I did, it was as if all I could feel was the air rushing to meet my clitoris. 

I lay down. And still, the only part of my body that seemed to be feeling anything was my clit. I cupped my fingers around it. 

Pushing against it sent shocks throughout my body. Raising my fingers so they formed a cover, with my clit in the middle, bereft of physical contact, felt familiar, sort of peaceful. 

But then pushing my fingers down upon it again was impossible to resist. I just kept on going back and forth with that. Until, just from being held, without rubbing it at all with my fingers, my clit was ready to explode. An orgasm pushing out from within me once again. It had been so long. 

When that happened the first time, I squeezed my legs together to hold it at bay. Which itself almost made me come. I quickly pulled my legs apart. But the sheet on top of me fell down between my legs, and brushed against my clit. More waves throughout my body. Pushing me again towards the brink. 

I pulled the sheets away. Laying still on the bed, legs spread apart, nothing touching my clit. I focused on breathing. Eventually, slowly, painfully, the throbbing in my clit lessened. My breathing became less forced. And my body relaxed just slightly. 

The idea of sleeping seemed completely off the table. I was exhausted from the pressure. The kind of exhaustion that feels good and terrible at the same time. 

There is the inherent sense of purpose within it, as well as the sense of desperation. What is this desperation? It's that sense that any second now, everything could go wrong, in some undetermined way. 

Once the danger of the orgasm I was keeping at bay subsided, my clit, still throbbing, still so tense, so lonely, needed the company of my fingers. Which it had not had for a long time - and then only under Robu-san's watchful eye. 

When I held it again, once again the shock waves. And the building tension that had, I realized, just barely gone anywhere. Within a minute or so of holding it, I had to remove my hand again. And make sure to keep the sheet from falling between my legs. 

I gave up on relaxing. On sleeping. And focused only on making it through the night without coming. Which ultimately meant without touching. Barely moving, lying still. Becoming more tired by the hour, with no chance of sleeping. 

By the time the sun came up I was full of self-doubt. Voices of self-criticism ringing between my ears. Making no sense, but causing pain nonetheless. 

The emotional pain and exhaustion of my body was eclipsed by the pain between my legs, however. This was the pain that gave me focus. And focusing on it somehow brought me calm - though a very tense, tired calm. 

I had made it through the night. I touched my throbbing, hard, purple clit one more time. Felt the shock waves one more time, before putting the Device back on. The sensory deprivation it brought with it was a welcome relief. 

As I write this, I am on the train back to Yamaguchi. I want to go back. I want to give back of the Device again. I don't want the control. 

Day 26 

Being back on the mountain, everything seems so familiar. The landscape, the trees, the houses. The girls everywhere. Some familiar faces, many new ones, always. 

By now all the Purification Temple members have turned over several times. Most of the Choto girls, too. The ones left are mostly now others who have stayed past their inoculation. 

I slept well last night. I had been so tired from the night before. My clit hurt, but in a reassuring kind of way. The urgency was mostly gone. My powerlessness to do anything about it helps a lot with that, I think. 

Day 27 

Robu-san took me for a walk today. He was very open in terms of the things he said during our walk. 

"I'm in awe of you," was how he put it. 

"The Choto girls who stay past their inoculation," he said. "You guys are nuts." 

"Probably we are," I said. "Are you?" 

"Oh, for sure." 

He was quick to respond to that question. 

"We'll be seeing a lot more of each other now," he said. "I hope that's OK." 

"I think," I said, "the English expression is, 'I am at your service.'" 

I searched his face as I said this. And was pleased to see nothing but the purest smile. 

Day 28 

I'm learning now what Robu-san meant by seeing me more often. 

I had noticed before that he spent time with Choto girls during the day, and Purification girls at night. I had also noticed that his weekends were often spent with different visitors from other places. Who were as often men as women. 

What I hadn't noticed is the fact that his first meetings of each weekday were not just with Choto girls. They were always with Choto girls who had stayed, like me. And there were only a handful of us. 

Day 29 

This morning, again the familiar three long buzzes that tell me I'm wanted. 

When he removed the Device it was thrilling now. To know that whatever I did now was purely for him. Purely for the Temple. Free of any potential ulterior motives. 

I enjoyed performing for him even more than the last time. 

Though again, it couldn't last long. The tension built up so quickly. And in the end, I could only have my hand nearby, but not touching. Or else I would do what Choto girls don't. 

When he put the Device back on he just started fucking me right away. 

Whatever I'm doing, it seems to be working. My entrance was as tight now as it had been before. But I was more prepared for the pain this time. And my cervix seemed more ready for the repeated jabs from his very erect penis. 

When he stopped fucking me, he stopped quickly, and breathed in deeply when he did. He slowly withdrew from me, without coming inside me. I felt disappointed, but I don't think I showed it. 

"I need to save my energy," he said. 

Day 30 

It's funny, now, seeing the Purification girls. They seem so distant from me now. They're here to get something. They may also be here to serve, or they just know they have to, in order to get. They seem lost, compared to how I feel now. Which, I realized today, is a bit the opposite of lost. 

I feel found. 

The diary continued, but began to seem more repetitive after that. And my interest drifted more in the direction of Cy's most recent email. 

It was blank, aside for the subject line. And an attachment. Which appeared to be a number of screen shots of a LiveJournal page which was listed as "private." Only so private, apparently. 

Unlike the Choto girl, this one wasn't posting every day. More like when she had something she wanted to make a note of. Her posts each had a subject line. 

A letter in the mail 

This whole thing has been awkward from the beginning. 

I skipped a grade, so I was only 16 when I entered the Purification Temple lottery. Which is basically just open to girls like me - still in high school, from Fukushima Prefecture. 

The age of consent in Japan is 13, however. So I don't see why they require everyone to get parental consent. Even just to apply. But they did. 

Luckily, although my parents are basically very traditional, they are both government workers. Civil servants. They already knew about the Purification Temple. Which was, after all, a local government initiative. Though definitely one of their stranger ones. 

So they said yes. Of course there's less than a 0.1% chance of getting picked. So they probably didn't think much about it, after that particular dinner conversation when I asked for their permission. 

But now that the letter has came in the mail today, it all seems much more real. 

I know I should be excited. And I'm sure preventing cancer is a good thing. Especially for us here in Fukushima. But I really just did it because everybody else was doing it. 

It's not that I don't appreciate this Temple. But the guy sounds weird. 

And the whole thing is just so ridiculously Orientalist. Really - have submissive sex with the white man and get cured? Come on. But I guess I'll do it. 

Training 

I had to sign another thing. Which is basically a gag order, agreeing not to talk about anything that's related to the Temple. 

Everything after that was basically a daily lesson via email on Donor X's sexual practices. In great detail. 

If the very existence of the Purification Temple is Orientalist in nature, the fact that Donor X is obsessed with denying women orgasms is that much more Orientalist. 

I realize for those of us doing this it's just an act, like playing a part in a porn video, and then it's over, thankfully. But what a reality it must be for him. It's creepy. 

Mostly the lessons have just been basically about how to play your part in a porn video. They're very direct about that. Which is kind of refreshing. 

We actually are supposed to watch porn. And they send us links. We're supposed to make our own porn, but not for putting online or anything. Just for practicing. 

They say it's good practice, since we'll be doing things like this in front of an audience. Even if it's just an audience of one guy. 

I may be a school girl, and I may have a cute school girl dress on six days a week, but I'm not exactly innocent. I first watched porn when I was like ten or so. 

I have in fact heard of all of this stuff, more or less by accident. It's not actually very popular, as these things go. Not many views on those videos. 

The stuff that is really popular is mostly pretty revolting. So it could definitely be way worse. 

Why aren't there more guys who are just into normal sex? 

Arrival in Yamaguchi 

It's a beautiful place in the mountains. My first time in this part of Japan. The people seem nice. It's clean. The food is good. 

The Choto girls are a mysterious bunch. I guess I can imagine why a woman who's not from Fukushima might want to join this Temple for the necessary duration in order to get what they need. But some of these girls stay beyond that. That's scary. 

Our training has actually involved lifting up our dresses and demonstrating our edging abilities for a couple of the women who run this place. Doing this was very difficult. It seemed much more humiliating than doing it for a man. I don't know if that was supposed to be part of the point. 

But eventually I got over that feeling enough to do what I was supposed to do. The feeling of wanting to come in front of this woman was weird, too. Then I was really glad I wasn't supposed to come. Because not coming in front of her seemed somewhat less humiliating, in comparison. 

We also had to demonstrate our fellatio skills with a dildo. Which is gross. It's not the same. They're rubbery. It's like putting a tire in your mouth. 

They haven't made us have sex with the dildos. I guess they figured we knew what was involved there? I guess nobody ever went in for an inoculation here without realizing that sexual intercourse was on the agenda. The word was sufficiently out on that one. 

Inoculated 

Until this evening, I had never seen the white guy, the gaijing, in person. I had been so prepared to sort of be his performer, that I was very nervous. A sort of performance anxiety perhaps. It was a relief that he was warm, and seemed nice. 

Also a relief that he spoke Japanese. I can read English OK, but I can't understand a thing the gaijing say when they talk. Even after studying English the past eight years in school, and getting good grades... 

He was a fairly fit, older man. The hairiest man I've ever seen up close, for sure. But until tonight I had never seen a guy up close who wasn't Japanese. And we're not a very hairy people. 

Plus, the guys I've been with are barely past puberty. So if they're going to end up with any body hair, they haven't started on that yet. 

He showed me to a bed, and he sat on the bed next to me, as I lay down. He was dressed in a robe, with a loose cloth belt holding it together. 

On the wall there was a clock, and Robu-san pointed to it. It read 10:00. Then it started counting down, and I realized it was a timer. 

I knew what to do. And actually it was by now like the knowledge was in my fingers. Which just automatically went towards my dress, lifting it up. And then under my panties. 

As I started touching myself under my panties, Robu-san gently pulled my panties off. I guess I still feel pretty cynical about the dude, but the way he pulled my panties off so smoothly was pretty hot. 

After about two minutes I was about to come. Which was definitely faster than usual. When I pulled away for the first time, Robu-san put his hand on top of my pussy. It was funny. 

On the one hand, whatever, he could do what he wanted to during these ten minutes when I'm supposed to be denying myself an orgasm. 

On the other hand, my body started moving up and down a bit. And I realized I wanted him to remove his hand, so I could get to the edge again. That was the first time I ever saw a point to this thing, and it didn't last long. 




Choto Temple Ch. 11



I got to the edge seven more times before the timer went off. And I was definitely very wet by then. Which I guess is part of the point? 

If part of the point was to inspire this guy to give me his sperm, it apparently failed, because he was still totally flaccid. 

I wonder if he thought I was acting? It was real, I promise. Or maybe he just sees this stuff all the time, and gets bored. Trying to imagine what it's like to be him, well, I don't really want to. 

But I did manage to get him to stiffen up after I ate him for quite a while. Which then was somewhat worrying. Because his penis was way bigger than anything I had personally encountered before in my short teenage existence. By the time he finally got in between my legs I was really glad, because my jaw was so tired. 

The sex was definitely more like porn than any sex I've ever had, too. The guys I had been with before didn't last more than a minute before they came and that was that. 

He started out seeming like them a bit. Moving slowly and gently inside me. But then instead of stopping at that point, he kept going, and going. 

The more he went in and out, the faster and harder were his movements, and the more he kept raising my legs up. 

I think my legs kept on sliding back down. Well, they definitely did. Because it hurt, what he was doing, pushing them up. I didn't want to say anything, but I couldn't keep my legs up there. 

And then he pulled two ropes down that had been hanging somewhere, and put each of my legs in them. And then he pulled on something, which tightened the ropes and spread my legs up and wide, so I couldn't move them. 

Then he started moving much harder. Now it was a level of pain way beyond my comfort zone, and I was worried I'd start crying. I bit both of my lips and tried to think that this would be over soon. 

Soon wasn't soon though. And by the time soon became later, I felt something wet on my cheeks. And I realized I was crying. 

I covered my face with my arms, trying to make it look like something I was doing because it felt so good, not because I was trying to hide. I just wanted to ask him how much longer did he have to do this. But I knew that was an inappropriate question. So I just bit my lips instead. 

Finally he came inside me. Which is the first time anybody ever did that. That was the subtle part of the whole thing. It felt a bit like a butterfly was inside me for a few seconds, and then just wetness. 

He was sweating at the end, and so was I. He pointed me to a bathroom with a shower in it. He went into a different bathroom nearby. I saw where it was. But when I was out of the shower, he wasn't there to see me off. It was one of the Choto girls. 

I stopped reading there, and took a moonlit walk before retiring. I sat on the bench by the creek for a long while. Just listening to the creek, and the crickets and frogs. While my mind raced. 

I slept fitfully. I dreamed I was Zerzinski, and I was going mad from watching too many women edging for me every day. 

It was also nearing the end of my foray here in Yamaguchi, and I needed to cover more ground with the interviews.



Choto Temple Ch. 12



A woman in a kimono with a painted white face stepped out of Zerzinski's place just as I arrived. She smiled briefly in greeting, and opened a parasol above her head, before descending the stairs. 

Zerzinski seemed happy. I don't know why that even seemed notable, but he smiled without any provocation as I entered the house. 

Soon enough we were sitting across from each other once again, cappuccinos in hand. 

"I'd like to ask you about your move to Yamaguchi. And life since then." 

"Well, we wound things down at the clinic," Zerzinski said. "Sold my house in Portland..." 

"You sold it?" 

"Well, it was mostly owned by the bank," he said. "But yeah, I was ready for something else. For this." 

"What was it like when you first got here?" 

"Well, more unusual experiences are more memorable. The really memorable stuff started when I was on my way here." 

"Tell me about that?" 

"So, before that, like the week before, there was a week in between closing the clinic and flying to Japan. 

"I hadn't made any social plans or anything for the week. I found myself, for the first time in a long time, without anything in particular to do. No responsibilities. Just waiting. And no sex either." 

"What was that like?" 

"Well actually, I was feeling a bit guilty about the no sex thing." 

"Guilty?" 

"Yes. It is actually helpful for them, you know." 

"Of course." 

I felt stupid for needing clarification. 

"But it was nice otherwise," he continued. "To actually have time to feel sort of naturally aroused." 

"Without needing anyone to do extraordinary things to inspire that arousal?" 

"You could put it like that," he said, with a tone of slight suspicion. 

"Did you ever think about just going out and walking into a random cafe without a disguise on?" 

He paused. "You remember the circus I described in Connecticut?" 

I nodded. 

"Well," he said, "it never really stopped being like that. 

"If I was recognized in public, you never knew entirely what might happen. If it wasn't a lecture in morality from some religious wingnut, or jealous guys quietly stewing and thinking vengeful thoughts, or feminists telling me about my shortcomings, it was - far more often - random women wanting to have unprotected sex with me. And sometimes acting pretty aggressive about it. 

"And I'm not a fan of any aspect of any of that. 

"And if the sex sounds good, think about the chances you'd be taking by having that much unprotected sex. With women who have not gone gotten tests and medical exams like they would at the clinic, or here at the Temple. 

"It would be just way too predictable for me to get HIV. And I'd really rather not. Though the theory of the random encounter is very attractive. Because of the random element." 

"Hard to have things be both random and safe, eh?" 

"Yes. But something like that happened on the plane to Narita." 

"Oh my. Flight attendants?" 

"You guessed it. Unionized and organized, with STD test results in hand, and a whole plan of action for the eleven-hour flight." 

"How did they present that to you?" 

"Very much like one might sit down to talk to a passenger about their choices for an alternative meal. Very matter-of-fact, very polite, very Japanese." 

"It was a JAL flight?" 

"I suppose it might have been," he answered coyly. 

I didn't press the issue, and he continued his story. 

"A very attractive Japanese flight attendant sat down next to me. One of the ones who just looks perfect in those little outfits. With nothing out of place, shaped like an anime character. 

"Her face was so beautiful. But also fully possessed of the kind of stoic sense of authority that flight attendants can often convey so well. 

"Or as they might say in Japan, she was possessed of a perfect 'outdoor face.' 

"'Mr Zerzinski,' she said, 'we are very honored that you are on this flight. I just wanted to welcome you on board. Please let us know if there's anything we can do for you.' 

"OK, when you're me, and a woman sits down next to you in a plane and says something like that, you think certain things. 

"I'm basically a shy person, though, and I wanted to be sure. So I just put the ball in her court, and asked if there was anything I could do for her. 

"Her stoic cracked. She looked down. She might have been blushing. And she pressed her lips together hard, and forced herself to lift her head back up and look at me. 

"'Yes,' she said. 

"And then she actually handed me three pieces of paper from a Planned Parenthood clinic in Portland. They were the very familiar STD results papers. Each with a driver's license paperclipped to it, with a woman's face on each license. 

"'The three flight attendants pictured here, Mr Zerzinski, are all on the flight, and available to meet with you at any time. 

"'There is a private sleeping area in the back of the plane for flight attendants to use. And we would like to offer it to you for the entire flight. You may use it by yourself, or you may use it with any of the three of us.' 

"When she said 'us,' I realized that one of the licenses was hers. 

"The picture looked like it was many years old. But she was still in her twenties, for sure. And even more beautiful than she appeared in the picture. Certainly more self-assured." 

"Do you like self-assured women?" I asked. 

I guess he could tell that I thought he probably didn't, and he looked momentarily confused. 

"Oh yes," he said. "See, it's no fun if they're, say, so submissive that they lack confidence, or don't know what they want. 

"The fun is when there's a choice. When they do want something, and they know what they want - and you can choose whether they get to have it. 

"So self-assured is very good. Or can be." 

He continued the tale. "So basically, being the responsible benefactor that I like to think I am, I started coming up with a plan." 

"What to do with an embarrassment of riches?" 

"Pretty much, yes. 

"But some riches richer than others. I walked down the aisles, slowly, once they dimmed the lights and I felt like I might be slightly more anonymous. 

"Generally, the white people were staring at me, and the Japanese weren't. Maybe they wanted to, but they weren't. I felt so good right then about my plan to make this move. 

"But at least no one accosted me. I went and looked for these flight attendants, to see them up close." 

"Part of your plan?" 

"Yes. Basically, I figured the way I could be most useful here was to fuck all three of them at some point during the flight. 

"Which is a lot of sex, if you're supposed to be coming every time. Which is definitely the expectation here. 

"So I wanted to see the others, so I could save the best for last." 

"Kind of like the way things are done here?" 

I was careful to phrase the question that way, knowing that he might be sensitive if I phrased it wrong. Like by saying 'the way you do things here.' He is not the one making the decisions about how things are done here, he might feel the need to emphasize once again. 

"Maybe," he replied. "Except here the best is generally first, second and third. Just different kinds of best." 

I made a note to ask him more about that later. 

"But if there are differences," he continued, "it's better to save the best for last. When you need the most inspiration to get it up one more time." 

"Was it an easy decision?" 

"Not really. All three were really stunning. 

"The crew on that flight was like a random selection of flight attendants from throughout the Star Alliance or something. Aside from the Japanese woman, the other two on my plate were from Norway and Saudi Arabia. 

"Back then, the tall blonde from Norway was much more of a familiar sight than the Japanese was. The Saudi was the least innately attractive of the three, though still very lovely. But I don't think I had ever had sex with a Saudi before, so that felt very exotic. 

"Anyway, I hadn't had sex in days, and I was ready to get started with this plan of action. I actually had been thinking of trying to sleep on the plane, and had even brought some Xanax with me. But I never took it. 

"So I just went up to the Norwegian, who was sitting in the back of the plane, reading a magazine at the time, and quietly introduced myself. She smiled covertly and introduced herself. She had a lovely, wispy sort of Norwegian accent. With that lovely, almost Irish-sounding lilt that they sometimes have." 

"Where they say things sometimes while they're breathing in?" 

"Yes, exactly, that. 

"So she was very nice and asked if she could get me anything, and then asked if she could take me to my guest room, which she did." 

"What was the guest room like?" 

"Very small. Kind of like fitting two people in a coffin. Laying in a coffin, flying through the air at 600 miles per hour." 

"If you had a necrophilia fetish, that could be really good," I suggested. 

"Yes," Zerzinski agreed with enthusiasm. "Or if you had a thing for vampires." 

"Did you manage OK in the coffin?" 

"It went OK. I was glad I picked the Norwegian first, though." 

"Why was that?" 

"Well, first of all, there was no room in there for doing anything that involved getting into different positions. Or seeing much. 

"Basically you could lie together straight, and potentially fuck in one of two positions. Otherwise you're going through a wall or a ceiling that's always nearby. 

"For being first, the Norwegian was fine. I was horny enough, it was all good." 

"Only fine? Sounds rough," I joked, weakly. 

"Yeah, I know. It's a weird reality." He paused as if to contemplate that further before continuing. "The thing was, she was beautiful. Fit, voluptuous, wonderful, curvacious body. But very unresponsive in the sack." 

"I suppose you two were pretty much surrounded by unwitting travelers?" 

"Yeah. You certainly couldn't make any noise or move very, um, vigorously, without drawing attention to yourself. So it was a bit like being a teenager doing something you're not supposed to be doing. That part was nice. 

"But it was impossible to tell if she was enjoying herself, or what. If I were causing her pleasure or pain or neither." 

"And what would have been preferable?" 

"Some form of either pleasure or pain is better than just blasé." 

"Especially pleasure that becomes painful?" I asked. 

"If by that you mean the pain of orgasm denial, then yes. Other kinds of pain are nice, too. Some kind of feedback is much better than none." 

"Is there something particularly special about the feedback of pain or denial?" 

"I've often wondered about that," Zerzinski said, with a familiar, thoughtful tone. "Maybe it comes down to the feeling that they're doing something that's clearly for me. Because I know it hurts them, and they do it anyway. Then I know they must be doing it for me. And that feels good." 

"Or they're doing it to get what they want from you, in your case?" I asked. 

"Well yes. I try not to think about that at the time, though. As that is not a turn-on, but a turn-off." 

"When you know they may be going along with it in order to get something from you, then it helps if the pain or denial is even more pronounced than under other circumstances?" 

"Yes, for sure" he answered. "Which is probably why the way they do things here is so intense. So beyond what I would be able to impose on anyone. I'm a softy compared to these people at the Choto Temple." 

"But you got through the encounter with the tall Norwegian OK anyway, despite her shortcomings?" 

Zerzinski smiled. A smile that said he was keenly aware of how ridiculous he would appear to most anyone else. 

"Yes. In retrospect, however, it was the Saudi who was by far the most memorable event of the day. Just memorable, period, wow." 

"I'm on the edge of my seat." I realized that I was, in fact, as I said that. 

"I guess," he began, "it was the unexpected aspect of the thing. 

"I had never been with anyone from the more socially conservative gulf countries. Lebanese, Palestinians, Syrians, Egyptians yes. 

"Not that I'm saying everybody is so different depending on where they're from. But the newness of someone is exciting. 

"And the fact that she was wearing a head scarf, a hijab, was surprising. I was expecting a more 'westernized' type. If it would be a Saudi who would go for such a thing. 

"But, as I've found out, there are other drives that are stronger than your conservative cultural upbringing. Especially for someone with a history of cancer in the family." 

Zerzinski paused, and his eyes had that far-off look to them again. Then he resumed the storytelling. 

"She shook my hand, at first. Which actually I was happy about, because I've seen how some women in hijabs don't shake hands with men." 

"I guess it's a good sign if someone is willing to shake your hand before they fuck you," I interjected. 

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too," he affirmed. "After we shook hands, she maintained a very professional, reserved, but friendly demeanor. We talked about innocuous stuff. 

"She told me she could take a break anytime, and I suggested that we visit the coffin. This was like three hours after the Norwegian. 

"We both climbed into the little space and slid the door closed. 

"Once the door was closed her whole body stiffened. It was like the outdoor world with all the people in it was her element, and as soon as we were alone together, she was like a fish out of water. 

"I was wondering how this was going to go already at that point. And I guess she sensed that, and she apologized and said she was really nervous. Which was obvious. But at least it helped me relax a bit to hear that she knew it, and could acknowledge it. 

"We were lying there fully clothed, and I intuited that I should take everything really slow, and verbally acknowledge things each step of the way." 

"Often a good idea, probably?" I asked. 

"Oh yes, of course. Unless they've gone through the type of training that they go through here or something. 

"Even so, verbal communication is generally a good thing. No matter who they are or what kind of training they've had, it's very nice for them to feel some kind of connection with you as a fellow human being. Words can be good for that. 

"But especially in this case. 

"We were lying down together, and she was so stiff, though she was smiling at me. It was just barely light enough in there to see that. 

"If there was room in there for her to move over and not be making contact with my body, it felt for sure like she'd have done that. 

"'I'm going to touch your body, OK?' I whispered in her ear. It was hard to get the volume right for whispering. So she could hear me, but I could be reasonably sure nobody else could." 

"How close were other passengers to you guys in there?" I asked. 

"Right next to us! Only a little barrier separating us from people sitting like a foot away. But the roar of the engine probably helped a lot with sound insulation." 

"So she said you could touch her, then?" 

"Yes. Slowly I touched her body. Outside of her clothing. Which made her stiffen way more than she already was. Like a rock. 

"'Are you OK?' I asked her. 

"She said she was. Though she obviously wasn't. 

"'In order to do this, we're going to have to take our clothes off. Are you OK with that?' 

"'All of them?' she asked. 

"She seemed to be suppressing a panic reaction I thought. 

"'I don't want to be unappreciative, or rude,' she said, 'but can't you just do what you need to do and get it over with?'" 

"Wow," I contributed. 

"Yeah. I'm sure lots of women have thought stuff like that. And actually as I've mentioned before, it's happened that they somehow came for their appointment not knowing that sexual intercourse was an integral part of the whole procedure. But this was different. She knew, but she was basically just frozen. 

"I said, 'look, you understand that this procedure involves sexual intercourse, yes?' 

"'Yes, I understand.' 

"She seemed slightly relieved within all the tension, perhaps that I was taking a bit more of a proactive role here. Most women would just take their clothes off without nearly so much prompting. 

"'And in order for us to have sexual intercourse, you understand that I need to be sufficiently aroused in order to do that?' 

"She seemed like she had to think about that one for a minute. She seemed hesitant, but she said, 'yes, I understand.' 

"'The first step in that process of becoming aroused,' I explained, hoping I sounded as patient as I felt at the time, 'is you taking all your clothes off. And being physically close with me. Naked. Can you do that?' 

"She said yes, and she began to unbutton and unzip her clothing. 

"She took off her jacket, and her skirt, until she was down to her hijab, her bra, and her panties. She stopped there. 

"I was going to instruct her to keep undressing. But then I thought, there's no rush here at all. And I really don't care whether we fuck anyway, you know, it's all good. If there's any chance of us fucking, I thought, she'll have to take her panties off eventually. 

"So I just took a break from instructing, and started kissing her bare shoulders. I touched her lovely stomach with my hand, feeling its curves, and feeling it shaking with fear. Or else some other kind of jitters. 

"She was breathing very deliberately, like she was trying not to panic. I asked her again if she was OK. 

"'Yes,' she said. Then she said 'no.' 

"I tried to stop touching her. But it was actually not possible to give her any space in there. 

"'I get anxiety attacks sometimes,' she said. 'Can I take a couple of pills now? I'm sorry.' 

"I said of course, and she fished around in her jacket beneath her for a couple of Xanax, which she sucked down with no water. She kept breathing very deliberately. 

"'It's OK, you know, we can take this very slow,' I said. 'And if you don't want to go further with this at any point, we can just stop, OK?' 

"It was really nice to see that words can work so well sometimes. I wished I had said that earlier. 

"Her whole body relaxed very perceptibly now, though still tense. And her breathing became more normal. She even sighed. A fairly deep sigh. 

"'You're OK?' I asked again. 

"This time her 'yes' sounded more convincing. 

"I started touching her body a little again. And now she remained more or less at the same level of tension. Rather than going as stiff as a board again. 

"'Are you ready to take off your bra and your panties?' I asked. 

"'Can I leave my bra on?' she asked. 

"Somehow this question really annoyed me, but I tried not to show it. 

"'No,' I said, 'that won't work. But you can leave your hijab on.' 

"That last part I thought was kind of a joke, but she actually seemed pretty relieved." 

"Good thing you don't have a hair fetish," I said. 

"For sure. That was the one part of her body I couldn't see or touch. 

"Which itself was very different for me. I hadn't even thought about how much of a difference feeling a woman's hair brushing against your arms makes, when you're holding her. But I was OK with that. 

"By this time I was really excited that her bra was off. 

"The degree of her hesitation was definitely turning me on, and I was enjoying that. Despite the fact that I was also concerned at the same time. 

"Her breasts were pert, medium-sized breasts. Definitely the breasts of a woman who had never borne a child. 

"When I cupped her breast in my hand, there was briefly a shocked look on her face. I ignored it, and started sucking and licking on her nipple. She gasped as soon as my tongue touched it. 

"'Very sensitive breasts?' I asked her. 

"She was barely able to squeak a response. 




Choto Temple Ch. 12



"'I guess so,' she said. 

"I had noticed a wedding ring on her finger earlier. And I guess I made certain assumptions based on that. And based on her wanting to do this with me. 

"Like that she had some kind of a clue about sex, perhaps. Even if she wasn't used to doing it with random guys. 

"Her pussy was wet. Which surprised me. I was definitely getting really turned on by her hesitation. Her fear, perhaps. Combined with the wetness of her pussy. 

"I rolled around so I would be above her, on top of her. 

"Most of the time that's sort of a natural motion. As you roll around on top of a woman, you kind of put one knee between her legs. The opens her legs wider, so you can roll over on top of her, and be between her legs. 

"That's not what happened, though. My knee ended up on the other side of her legs. So I was on top of her, but her legs were tightly held together, like a closed pair of scissors. 

"I kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear again. That she was going to have to spread her legs wide for me. 

"I don't get shocked easily, especially these days. But her response did take me aback." 

"What did she do?" 

"She stayed stiff like that and just said, 'really?' 

"'Well, in this position, that's how it works best,' I said. 

"It was really surreal. 

"Then I asked, 'how do you do it with your husband?' 

"'He has no interest in sex with me,' she said. 

"'What a shame. You're very beautiful,' I said to her. 

"Very truthfully. 

"Going out on a cultural limb, I asked, 'how many wives does he have?' 

"'Three,' she replied, matter-of-factly. 'But with them it's the same.' 

"'Is he gay?' I asked. 

She paused before answering my question. I couldn't tell whether she was offended or something. 

"'I don't know," she eventually answered. "I don't think so. But his penis...' 

"'Erectile dysfunction...?' I asked her. 

"'Yes. It never' - she was searching for the right word - 'becomes erect.'" 

"I guess she had never watched porn before, either?" I inquired. 

"No, I guess not," he said. "I didn't ask, though. 

"She was starting to feel more relaxed, and it occurred to me that the Xanax was probably kicking in. As soon as I realized that, she actually started giggling a little. Confirming my suspicions. 

"A minute or so went by where I was perched awkwardly above her. And I just stayed still, not wanting to push things. 

"Which was good, because then she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be spreading her legs. And she said as much, giggling as she did. 

"'Oh, I'm supposed to spread my legs!' 

"I'm pretty sure she said that loudly enough that nearby passengers could have heard. 

"I whispered that we should probably keep quiet, and then she started giggling more. But quietly. 

"Not that I really was too concerned. But I don't have much of an exhibitionist streak, and knowing random people are listening in is definitely not a turn-on. 

"But she didn't go off on an uncontrolled laughing spree or anything. She was just very relaxed, in a way that was clearly drug-induced. 

"I entered her very gradually. She was wet, but very, very tight. 

"'Have you ever done this before?' I asked. 

"I felt like I was an actor in a porn skit about 'her first time.' But no one was acting. 

"'No,' she said." 

"She's going to have sex for the first time," I noted. "And you're a crowded plane. People all over the place. And she has to stay quiet the whole time, or presumably there may be an awful lot of customer complaints to her employer." 

I was summarizing the situation accurately, according to Zerzinski's affirming nods. 

"Yes. And she realized this. You could tell on her face. She was already trying not to scream. 

"She may not have known how sex worked, exactly. But she knew enough to know that this might hurt. 

"She was also holding her breath. Which I thought might not be the best strategy. But I also thought, I'm not her, what do I know. 

"I kept on pushing slowly, and things just weren't giving. Her legs were spread pretty much, but it was still so tight. 

"I told her to lift her legs up higher. Which she did, getting her knees up to her chest. 

"I whispered in her ear, 'stay in this position, and don't move out of it until I tell you to. And don't make any noise. OK?' 

"She said, 'yes, sir,' with an excited tone in her voice. I realized I was on to something. And I was enjoying it, too. 

"'Do you like being told what to do?' I asked. 

"'Yes, sir.' She responded with no hesitation now. 

"'Are you going to be a good girl, and do as you're told?' 

"'Yes, sir.' It was her mantra, apparently. 

"I pushed harder, and finally made it through the tight sinews in the entrance to her pussy. 

"She was holding her breath again, but at the same time looking like she was silently gasping for air. Weird combination. 

"I pushed in harder. And her mouth opened like she was screaming, but there was no sound coming out. No air, either. 

"Looking at her face wasn't working for me. 

"It just made me think about how she might scream. And how that would be embarrassing. And I was getting flaccid. 

"So I closed my eyes. And just tried to trust that she would be OK, and would stay quiet, too. And I just fucked her in a way that felt good to me. Deep and slow. 

"As I got harder, I obviously got deeper. And I could feel her body tensing more. 

"Which made me want to fuck her more. And I thought this is a good loop to be in. And I kept on fucking her for a long time. Until I was getting aroused enough that I could think about coming. 

"When I finally came, I opened my eyes, and saw that her face was completely soaked. And the source of all the liquid was her sparkling eyes. 

"In the lighting that we were in, the whites of her eyes almost glowed. When I pulled out, she started breathing again. 

"I was glad I hadn't been looking at her face." 

"It didn't turn you on that you were hurting her?" I asked Zerzinski. 

He sighed. "I get so tired of these contradictions... Yes, I liked it that it hurt her. That's true. I don't, however, generally enjoy when they get to the point that they're crying like that. 

"I wouldn't even normally be able to do that to someone. In other circumstances, especially if I had looked, I would have pulled out, or something. 

"But I knew this would have been a bigger disappointment for her than anything else. So, well, for her sake, I kept going." 

"The essence of altruism?" I asked him. Only half joking. 

"The essence, I'm sure," he said, in monotone. Joking or serious or in between, I couldn't tell. 

"I was really worried about her," he said, continuing his narrative. "She really looked like she was in shock for a while there. She just lay there, not moving. Tears drying on her cheeks, looking up." 

"Looking up at you?" I asked him. 

"No," he replied. "I was to her side by then. She was just looking up at the ceiling of our coffin. 

"I started drying her cheeks with some wet wipes that were in there. Then she started coming around. Back to the land of the living. I was relieved. 

"Soon she started putting her clothes back on. With amazing speed, especially in such a cramped space. 

"She seemed to feel safer once they were on, and she was all put together again. When she smiled again, finally, I was much more relieved. 

"'Thank you, sir,' she said. 

"And the way she said that was marvelous. 

"That air of professionalism was back, and I was glad to hear it. She kissed me on the cheek. Which was unexpected somehow, after what I put her through. 

"When we got out of there, it was dark in the cabin. Those who had fallen asleep nearby seemed to be still sleeping, which I think we both found reassuring. She went into the back with other flight attendants, and I returned to my seat to rest for a while." 

"Your job wasn't done, though?" I asked. 

He looked at me seriously. "You can see how it might not all be quite as exciting after a while?" 

"If I try hard enough," I admitted. "And how was the rest of your flight?" 

"The last bit was really therapeutic. I had enjoyed the whole encounter with the Saudi woman. But it was also a bit unnerving. 

"The Japanese flight attendant was like a return to a wonderful kind of normality." 

"Normality?" I asked. 

"Well - a kind of normality." 

"Normative for you, perhaps?" 

"Maybe that's a better way to put it," he agreed. 

"I really didn't know if I was up for it, but when there was only two hours left of the flight, I went to find the Japanese flight attendant. 

"She was in the back, with the Saudi woman. They were sitting together, talking quietly. 

"They both smiled at me. And I realized I had still been worrying about the Saudi, and I was glad she could still smile. 

"The Japanese flight attendant stood up and walked towards me, hopefully. Then suddenly seemed to regain her composure, as she asked me if I wanted something to drink. 

"She poured me some sparkling water, upon my request. Then she asked me if I wanted anything else. I whispered in her ear, 'you, naked.'" 

I suddenly noticed I had a shit-eating grin on my face, and Zerzinski noticed it, too. 

"Did you always want to say that to a flight attendant?" he asked me. 

"Yes," I admitted. 

"Never did it, though?" he asked. 

"No. I never thought it would go over very well if I did," I said. 

"Me neither. 

"But it went over great. Maybe she was thinking I was an idiot, I don't know. But she smiled at me as we walked to the coffin and lay down together. 

"Then she pulled a tablet out of her bag, with headphones, and handed them to me, fully assembled. 

"'I made a video for you, Mr Zerzinski,' she whispered into my ear. 'I thought it might be better, in this tight space. But it's completely up to you. Only if you want to look.' 

"She had the expression of someone trying very hard not to be embarrassed. It was an expression I was very familiar with. In any case, I was happy to watch the video." 

"What was it about?" I asked. 

"I still have it," he said. "It was way too good not to keep." 

Before I asked if I could see it, he went and found his tablet. 

"You can't record it, though," he said, looking at my MP3 recorder. Which I dutifully turned off for the duration. 

Looking right at me from the screen of Zerzinski's tablet was Chie, who was as Zerzinski had described. Beautiful, with an air of confidence and aplomb. 

Long, dark hair pulled together in a bun. Bright, perfect teeth shining each time she smiled, which was often. A perfect little body, that looked like it had been poured into the flight attendant's uniform that she was wearing. 

Behind her was just a white wall with a sliding closet door. Reminiscent of any number of rooms in houses across Japan. 

"Mr Zerzinski," the woman began, "if you're looking at this, you are probably in the sleeping compartment in a plane en route to Tokyo. 

"Hopefully, if you're viewing this, you were not upset by the fact that I obviously heard about the fact that you would be on this flight, and made plans for it. I hope you have not felt pressured, or violated. 

"If you are in the compartment as you view this, then I would like to thank you so much for being willing to use your time in the plane this way. Especially since I found out you'd be on this flight, I have done all the research I could on you and your clinic. 

"Technically, I'm not sure if it's even possible to perform fellatio in the sleeping compartment. But I've been doing a lot of yoga, to try to be able to get into a position in there where that might be possible. Although I'm afraid it will turn out to be more a sort of comedy than anything like what you might hope for. 

"I also have learned about your interest in girls you sleep with edging for you. I didn't know what edging was, I must admit. But I have learned about it in the past three weeks, since you booked your ticket with JAL. 

"I knew a lot about denial. 

"I had a boyfriend who didn't like sex, only fellatio. I just performed fellatio for him whenever he wanted it. I didn't even think of not having sex as any kind of denial. 

"All I was thinking about was pleasing him. Maybe it's a particularly Japanese characteristic, I'm not sure. But I think that's often how women think about sex. 

"The idea of stimulating myself while also denying myself orgasms, however, was a new concept for me. 

"I like to do things well. I strive for perfection. Maybe this is also a bit of a Japanese characteristic. So I've been preparing myself for the possibility that you would be willing to join me in the sleeping compartment of the plane on the night of your flight to Narita. 

"You didn't have specific instructions for how a girl should properly prepare" - and with the word properly she smiled in a way I would tentatively describe as wicked - "so I devised a program. 

"I have been edging when I wake up every morning, and wearing a chastity belt the rest of the day." 

"Kind of a nascent version of the Choto Temple?" I asked Zerzinski, looking away from the screen. 

"Yes," he replied. "Though she had no connection with them, as far as I know. And it didn't exist yet." 

The woman on the tablet interrupted our conversation. 

"I have not had an orgasm in three weeks," she said plainly. 

"Not nearly as much tantalizing as they do to themselves here." Zerzinski interrupted the video this time. "But certainly the same general idea." 

"Now," Chie continued, "it's the day before your flight, and I thought I'd make a video for you. Where you can see me. In lieu of trying to perform for you in that little closet." 

She proceeded to remove each of her articles of clothing, until she was completely naked. Aside from a leather collar that was snug around her neck. 

"Are you into collars?" I asked Zerzinski. 

"I wasn't," he replied quickly. "But I think it's very hot." 

She set an over-sized timer on the floor beside her for 10 minutes, and pressed the large green "start" button. Then she caressed various parts of her upper body, spending the most time on her generous breasts, before her fingers made their way to her clit. 

She started touching it slowly. Exploring around the whole area at first, and then focusing more of her finger's attention on her clit specifically. 

After she hit the edge and stopped, her hands wandered back to her breasts. And then half a minute later, back to her clit. 

She alternated between these activities for ten minutes. Without looking especially fazed by the time she stopped - having brought herself to the edge a dozen times. 

She looked intently at the camera - at me, at the moment - when she signed off, with a fairly forced-looking smile. 

And then the words, "I look forward to meeting you tomorrow, Mr Zerzinski." 

"How did you like that?" I asked him when it was over. 

"Oh, that definitely did the trick," he replied. "She did then manage to position herself in there where she was able to eat me. Which was also very lovely. She was very good at it. And fucking her was just lovely, too." 

"No flood of tears this time?" 

"No, it was great." 

He again looked like a person lost in pleasant memories. Which seemed sensible enough, really. 

"As soon as I entered her, she whispered in my ear, 'tell me if you'd like me to do anything.' 

"She was already lying beneath me, with her legs spread far apart. Really that's the main thing. 

"'You can just stay like that,' I told her. 'Just like that.' 

"'What happens,' she asked me, 'if I'm going to come?' 

"My favorite kind of question. 'That depends,' I said. 'What do you want to do?' 

"Right away she said, 'I want to do whatever you like best.' 

"'Then no coming.' 

"'How do I stop myself?' 

"I love that question, too. 

"But I ignored it and just focused on fucking her. I could feel her arousal building. Not like either the Saudi or the Norwegian. She was one of the one-third of womankind who has vaginal orgasms." 

"Not allowed in the Choto Temple," I noted. 

He looked at me. Perhaps curious how I knew that. But he didn't comment. 

"It's not like I don't like women who have vaginal orgasms. But it's definitely more of a turn-on if they're capable of having them, but don't." 

"Rather than actually having them?" 

"Yes." 

"How does that work?" I asked. 

"Well, it really generally doesn't even require much planning in advance," he explained. "If she knows she's not supposed to come, at the very least, she's going to announce to me when she's close to coming. It almost always goes like that. No need to tell them to let you know. She was no exception. 

"She said, 'oh no, I'm so close,' or something along those lines. 

"And I stopped moving. While she breathed and recovered from the edge beautifully, electrically. You could feel the static charge in the air of an impending orgasm. That stayed impending for quite a while, before it dissipated. 

"Then I started again, until we got to the same place. That's the idea. Again and again. 

"When I got her to the point where I could barely move before she'd come, then I let loose and fucked her hard and made both of us come. 

"It's really easy to engineer simultaneous orgasms with some women that way. Not that that does anything for me in particular. But it usually goes over pretty well." 

"When did you last have a sexual encounter similar to that one, in that way?" I asked. 

"Well, it's not like that kind of sex would be so unusual on the weekends. 

"I often have visitors who aren't from the Temple, you know. They're not screened for the ability to have vaginal orgasms or anything like that, either," he said, somewhat emphatically. 

"So then you arrived in Yamaguchi for the first time." 

"First time," he echoed. 

"What was that like?" 

"It started out unbelievably good. And then got impossibly better." 

"Walk me through that, if you would, Robert." 

"Would you like another cappuccino?" he asked me.



Choto Temple Ch. 13



"OK, I'll try to start at the beginning. I guess that makes sense," Zerzinski said. 

Once again, he looked toward the corner of the room. Where he kept his memories, apparently. 

He was finally seeming to be more or less at ease with telling me stories that include intimate details. I would certainly understand if he never got used to it. But it sure flows better when he can relax, as with anybody else. 

"I probably said this before. But it was like coming up for air. 

"Going from being largely responsible for running a clinic, and deciding how everything worked there. As well as being the person they were coming to see. 

"From that, to just hanging out in this wonderful place. With absolutely everything taken care of by someone else. And so much better, as well as more outrageous, than I ever could have done or even imagined." 

"What were your initial impressions?" I asked. 

"Well, I knew I was fascinated with Japanese culture and history, But I realized once I got here that I knew nothing about the Japanese climate." 

"It's hot in the summers," I chimed in helpfully. 

"Yes. Way too hot. But that's the only real downside, so I can live with it. And the rest of the year it's gorgeous. Although the locals think the winters are cold. They associate snow with cold." 

"When it's snowing, that means it's not all that cold, actually," I noted. "That means it's not all that far below freezing." 

"Yes, exactly," said the fellow northeasterner. "But you can't tell that to someone who's not from a colder climate. 

"Anyway, the summers are hot. And it was still close to summer when I first got here. Otherwise, initial impressions were a veritable flood. 

"It's so green, so beautiful, in Yamaguchi. The women running this place were so cordial, so respectful, and so fun from the beginning. 

"And everybody else in society above the age of two also really gives you space to breathe. 

"It feels like in the US people are going around hitting each other with emotional baggage all the time, in comparison. 

"And then I come here, to paradise. To the mountains where I can breathe. Where I'm being treated like a king, where people are always cooking for me and looking after all of those things. If it were 'just' that, it would be amazing." 

"But then of course it's not just that," I pointed out. "They have a purpose for you." 

"Yes. Not just that. From the time I got here, I had to begin to fulfill my obligations. 

"Which involved a 'date' with a beautiful Japanese school girl every weekday evening, that usually culminated in some of the most memorable sex ever. Once I got over my guilt complex." 

"Was there a new guilt complex going on once you got here?" I asked. 

"Well, partly the same one. That feeling like I should be able to deliver this thing that people want in a less invasive, less intimate way. 

"It shouldn't be so much about me getting my rocks off, you know? That kind of guilt. 

"But the new guilt here was about the age thing. In Oregon, all my clients were at least 18. Often quite a bit older, like well into their thirties. 

"Here, with the Purification Temple girls, eighteen or nineteen is old. They're usually more like seventeen. Sometimes younger." 

"How young?" 

"Well, the age of consent here is thirteen. As long as she has permission from her parents. But the girls here are all high school seniors. So whatever age they are when they enter their senior year. Which varies, but is usually seventeen." 

He wasn't directly answering my question, I noted, but I didn't ask it again. 

"You know," he continued, "here in Japan there's a major, widespread, longstanding, almost totally accepted fetish throughout society aimed at high school students. Who mostly wear easily identifiable uniforms, like they do in England. Little skirts. 

"The Purification Temple's aim, as I understand it, was to basically incorporate this school girl fetish into a sort of coming-of-age ritual. 

"The appropriate time for this ritual, they thought, was the last year of high school. 

"They rightly projected that demand for this would be so big that they would have to limit it to the prefecture of Fukushima. As it is, it's only a small percentage of eligible girls who are able to join the Purification Temple. Even with that limitation." 

"And that's where the Choto Temple comes in," I noted. 

"Yeah, it was a process," he said. "They knew I could potentially serve more clients. But they didn't want to just double up with Fukushima school girls." 

I must have been smiling at that phrase, because Zerzinski momentarily put his hands over his face and chuckled. 

"I know this is nuts," he commented before continuing. 

"So then I was here, happily going along, living the life. Seeing to the school girls during the week. And having time on my own or with visiting friends on the weekends. Occasionally going to visit other places in Japan just to see the sights, and so on. 

"Then the board of directors, which is basically three somewhat stern but wonderful older women who live over that way" - he pointed toward the other end of the property - "one day announced to me that they were considering starting a second, but different, temple. And they wanted to know if I was OK with that." 

"What did they tell you about it initially?" I asked. 

"Just that it would be open to women from other parts of Japan as well as Fukushima. And that they might be older than school girls. And even more dedicated to being my particular version of the feminine ideal." 

"Nothing more specific than that?" I wondered. 

"That was it," he said. "So then I had two appointments every weekday from the time they started that temple, only a few weeks later. The school girls every evening, and in the afternoons, the Choto girls. 

"It was immediately obvious," he said emphatically, "how different they were." 

"How so?" 

"Well," he said, breathing deeply and taking a sip of his cappuccino, "they were clearly, consciously submissives. In the BDSM sense." 

"How do you know they're for real, and not just playing a more involved role in order to get their inoculations?" I asked. 

"First of all," he said, once again with great emphasis on every word, "some of them stay." 

I pretended to look like I wasn't sure I understood his point. And he continued, as I'd hoped he would. 

"They stay beyond getting their inoculation. And for those who don't, well, it's hard to know for sure. But they wouldn't have been picked in the first place if they didn't fit the bill." 

He was holding out his fingers like a child trying to count something. 

"First of all," he explained, "they have to answer questions in such a way that the board is convinced they are truly submissives. 

"In the sense that submission is something that turns them on. Not just something they do out of a Japanese sense of obligation. Of course in some cases they may have just answered the questions right. That's OK, too." 

"Can you explain that?" I asked. 

"Oh sure - if they're not submissives, but they're trying to act like they are, just to accomplish something here, well, that's even sexier, as far as I'm concerned. 

"I don't expect to be loved unconditionally by thousands of beautiful women. I know it's conditional. And it's not love, either, generally. I accept that. 

"It's still really good. And sometimes completely, outrageously transcendentally good." 

"What other qualifications do the Choto girls have to possess?" I asked. 

"They have to be fit and look really good. 

"By which the board does not mean they have to have certain measurements or something. Just be fit. And I guess they have to be under forty. Because they're never over forty." 

"You don't know the rules yourself?" I asked, perhaps sounding as surprised as I was. 

"No. As I've explained, this is not my thing. They don't explain all the details. They ask for my opinions on different things. But otherwise, I learn and surmise things as I go along." 

"You're OK with that?" 

"Oh yes. 

"I guess I'm like the opposite of a control freak. I'd just rather go along with whatever they're doing. I trust the board more than I trust myself." 

"What other rules have you noticed?" 

"Well, clearly they're not allowed to be women who are capable of having vaginal orgasms. Because none of them do. 

"Unlike the school girls, who often do. Just like approximately one third of women in the world do. 

"And," he went on, "they're not allowed to come in any other way. The whole time they're here." 

"How does that work?" I asked. 

I pretended not to know, curious how much information he was going to divulge here. He sighed. 

"I was indifferent to the idea of sharing all this information. But the board says it's time that we be more transparent." 

I made a note of that. He paused to allow the significance of this statement to sink in. I'm giving you a scoop, he might have said if we wanted to be a bit less subtle. 

"When they join the Choto Temple, they are fitted with devices that cover their clits. Devices that are operated remotely. 

"By the time they come to me for inoculations, they have generally gone two or three weeks without an orgasm." 

"What's that like?" I asked. 

"For them? I wouldn't know. Seems awful." 

"For you?" I asked. 

"For me? Unbelievable. 

"I would never have been cruel enough to figure this out on my own. But it turns out if you prevent a woman from coming for weeks on end, she tends to become really tense. 

"So there's this incredibly scintillating thing - these elegant, refined, fashionable young Japanese women who have trained their whole lives to have stoic 'outdoor faces,' who are roiling with this tension from not coming for so long. 

"And the tension very much goes to their pussies, inevitably. After weeks of not coming, their pussies are almost always so tight I can barely get inside them. 

"OK," he went on, "and if you've got that picture in your head, now imagine this: every afternoon, Monday through Friday, my duty is to have sex with a Choto girl who has been conditioning herself this way, at the direction of the board, for weeks." 

"You have no control over whether they come?" I asked. 

I knew he did have control over their Devices. Was he trying to evade the fact that he has some responsibility in this whole thing? 

"Well, that depends on what you mean," he explained. "I do have control over opening their Devices. That's what they call the things that cover their clits. Which are fastened by piercings on either side of their clits. 

"But if I told them to come, they wouldn't. I can open the Devices now and then so they can edge for me. Which a Choto girl also does at a certain time, every day. Now more than once. But earlier it was just once." 

"You can open the Devices for a very specific purpose, yes?" I asked. "For them to essentially torture themselves for your pleasure?" 

I was trying to sound light-hearted about it, but I knew my question might seem provocative. I thought he'd be OK with it. 

"Well," he said quickly, "that depends on how you define 'torture.' 

"But yeah, they're not allowed to come, even if I told them to. And I'm sure it's very, very difficult for them. 

"And I'm sure that some of them relish the challenge, and others are more beaten down by it. Luckily they can leave the Temple any time they want to. And if they stick around for a few weeks, if they were mainly just coming to receive an inoculation, they'll get that." 

"Why," I asked, pursuing a different thread, "was there just one Choto girl coming per day before, and now, if I got it right, there are two?" 

"Yeah, it used to be one Choto girl and one Purification girl per day. 

"Then, soon after they started the Choto Temple, they started having the situation of girls who wanted to stay in the temple past the initial two or three weeks." 

"After getting inoculated, you're saying?" I asked. 

"Exactly. So the board asked me if I wanted to see those particular girls who stayed at another time during the days. With the understanding that I was not expected to come inside them. Since I would have already inoculated them." 

"And what's that addition to your schedule been like?" 

"The most amazing of all," he said. "I mean, they're for real. I'm in awe. 

"Their own denial is my pleasure. And my pleasure is their pleasure. A stronger pleasure than the pain their own denial causes. 

"I know I may be weird, but for me, there is probably no turn-on bigger than that." 

"Not even nubile school girls?" I inquired. 

"Not to belittle that pleasure at all," he replied, "but no. Not even them. Not even close, in fact. 

"These longer-term Choto girls, I mean who knows, maybe they have lots of other motivations. How much can they take is one of them. How much of a challenge like this can they bear? It's definitely a thing for many of them. 

"And maybe they feel competitive about proving how much they can take. Some of them probably are in it for a sort of notoriety." 

Zerzinski looked slightly pensive for a moment, before he continued. 

"People always have lots of different motivations, you know. But whatever other motivations they have, the one thing I know is part of the picture is they are not just in it for the inoculation. 

"It's something else, something more. And whatever it is, it's amazing." 

"Do their motivations make sense to you?" I asked. 

He didn't often seemed stumped by a question, but this time I thought he might be. After a pregnant half minute or so, though, he responded. 

"That's hard to answer. I only know what it's like to be me. Do my motivations make sense? I don't know. 

"I might, at least to some extent, understand my own motivations. Theirs? I'm not sure. There are things they all say. They talk about service. What's at the root of that, though? 

"I'm not sure I need to understand. What I do understand is people are complicated. And there are all kinds of different, conflicting motivations people have with regards to all sorts of things. 

"But as long as it's all consensual and no one's getting seriously hurt or traumatized, I think it's OK." 

Often the word "consensual" might be phrased something more like, "consenting adults," but I noticed he didn't include the word "adult" in that sentence. I didn't revive that line of questioning, though. I'll let someone else worry about the distinction between sixteen or seventeen and eighteen. If there's an important one to be made. 

"Any particular stories come to mind when you think of those early days here in Yamaguchi?" I asked him. 

"Well, yes, probably." He looked thoughtful again. 

"It was all so new. For me and everyone else. And rumors hadn't really spread so much yet. I mean in the sense that the women only had a vague idea of what they were signing up for. Aside from the inoculation part. 

"I guess it'd be pretty easy to say that the most intense early experience was with a girl named Sachi. 

"Ayumi was the first of a very few Purification Temple girls who went on later to join the Choto Temple." 

"Does someone like that count as a first-time Choto girl or a long-term one?" I wondered aloud. 

"Long-term. Morning," he answered. 

"Most women in society in general may have various submissive qualities, but very few of them are actual submissives, in the kink sense, you know. Sachi was, and is." 

"Is she still here?" I asked, perhaps with a little too much excitement. 

"No, but she keeps in touch," he answered flatly. 

"What was especially memorable about Sachi's time here?" 

"Many things. She was unusual. Back then my Japanese sucked, so for one thing, she was fluent in English. And very conversational, with a lovely dramatic flair about her. 

"She was one of the few Purification Temple girls who was also clearly a young kinkster. Though I was still surprised that she came back. I always am. But back then especially. 

"But rumors hadn't had time to really get around back then. And certainly public information was scant. So especially then, women joining the Choto Temple often had only a very vague idea of what they were getting into." 

"Although they were a very particular group, no?" I asked. 

"Yes, they were, and are, women who share a whole variety of things in common. And that's definitely part of the thing. 

"But if you're a submissive, you still may have a background in, and perhaps an attraction to, certain forms of submission." 

"And that was the case with Sachi?" I asked. 

"Very much so," he said emphatically. "People do all kinds of things for all kinds of reasons. And you can't generalize very easily. 

"But for most people, if they're into a certain kind of sex or a certain kind of sexual practice or form of kink or whatever, they're into it because it turns them on." 

"That makes sense," I concurred. 

"Yes. So what does someone often do when they're turned on?" he asked. A rhetorical question...? 

"Have orgasms, among other things?" I suggested. I sensed where this might be going. Apparently correctly. 

"Yes," he said. "So say you're a submissive female and you get turned on by, say, a guy telling you what to do. 

"Maybe the guy tells you to get into a certain position and stay there. Maybe he fucks you. Maybe that makes you come. Maybe he tells you how to eat him, and that turns you on. And then you ask him if you can touch yourself. And he says yes. And then you come several times." 

"That sounds like a sort of rebellious form of submission," I commented, at the same time painfully aware that I had no idea what I was talking about. 

"Does it? Perhaps because you've been spending time here. With other people," he continued, "submission can mean all kinds of things. 

"Orgasm denial is only one little form of DS behavior, among many others. 

"Sachi was a submissive, for sure. But despite being a very adventurous sort, and growing up with the internet and all that, she had never even heard of this particular phenomenon." 

"Hm, that sounds potentially intense," I said. "Going from knowing nothing about it, to a three-week-long course of study in it." 

"Indeed," Zerzinski agreed, solemnly. 

"The thing is," he went on, "weeks of edging without coming for anyone can be very intense and very difficult, no doubt. But if you're already familiar with forms of denial - not just things like pain and obedience, which are closely related, but different - then you get into the situation with a certain kind of ascetic orientation. 

"However, if you've never associated submission with ascetic behavior, but only with getting your rocks off, well, that's different," he concluded. 

"She had a really hard time?" I asked. "Did she consider bailing early on the Temple?" 

"Yes, she had a hard time, and no, to my knowledge she never considered leaving early. 

"She was tremendously turned on by the idea of submission. She immediately understood the attraction of the Device. Of that degree of 24-7 submission. It turned her on a lot." 

"Which, under other circumstances, might have meant her having lots of orgasms in response to being so turned on." I was starting to understand his point. 

"Yes, that's generally what people do," he agreed. "Even submissives." 

"But not Choto girls," I said. 

"No. Not them. Not her." 

Zerzinski once again looked like he had retreated deep into a very happy memory, as he leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his now-cold cappuccino. 

"At the time she joined," he said, "she was the only Choto girl who wasn't a first-timer. So she had the morning slot all to herself. 

"She'd come in every morning, and kiss me on the cheek when she greeted me. Which is not a Japanese custom. And I liked that right away." 




Choto Temple Ch. 13



"Variety is good?" I asked. 

"It sure is. And she otherwise had a sort of respectfully irreverent attitude. She knew that her obedience to the basic rule of the Choto Temple was the main thing. This was the act of submission." 

"Not coming?" 

"Yes. And other obligations. As long as she followed protocol, she felt that this meant she could be irreverent about most everything else." 

"This was unusual among Choto girls?" I asked. 

"Yes. Most of them carry their submissive attitude into other areas, too," he explained. "Sachi wasn't like that. 

"She'd come in, we'd talk about random things, and we'd go into my bedroom. I'd remove her Device, which automatically sets a ten-minute timer that's over there." 

Zerzinski slid the door to his bedroom partway open. From where I was sitting, I had a straight view to the windowsill that had on top of it a clock. He slid the door closed again. 

"Normally, according to the Choto drill, this is when we both know it's time for them to edge for me. Most girls do this a bit solemnly. With very little in the way of verbal communication." 

"They're shy?" I asked. "Do they feel it's humiliating?" 

"Both of those things and more, probably," he said. "Not that they necessarily dislike humiliation. 

"But for Sachi, in any case," he continued, "this and other activities always went with a running commentary." 

"What kind of commentary?" 

"A bit like listening to a horse race on the radio or something. 

"The Device would open, and she'd gasp dramatically. 

"'And it's off,' she'd say. 'Whew, and she feels the breeze hit her clit, and it feels good.' 

"She'd refer to herself in the third person, generally," Zerzinski explained. 

He continued his semi-impersonation of Sachi. 

"She'd look down. 'She hasn't seen or touched her clit since yesterday, folks. Let's see what it feels like.' 

"She'd touch it gingerly with one finger. 

"'It's hard, folks. Very hard. Wet, too. Now it needs to get harder and wetter, because that's the way it is.' 

"She'd touch her clit for a half a minute or so, occasionally commenting. 

'Yup, that's working. It is indeed getting harder and wetter. Yup, yup, harder, wetter, harder, um, yes, folks, she's getting very close...' 

"She'd pull her hand away. And every time she'd do that she'd put it in her mouth and suck on it dramatically. Then she'd rise up a bit off the bed, and her hips would start fucking the air. 

"'That was close, folks,' she'd say, 'but she's still in the Choto Temple! Round One. She'll just collect herself a bit before beginning Round Two. Of course every second counts, and she doesn't want to stop for longer than she must.' 

"She'd exhale dramatically several times, like a boxer getting ready to jump back in the ring. 

"'Time for Round Two. Folks, her clit is just as hard and wet as it was a minute ago. It seems to be chronic. But she's gonna go for it. Folks, this isn't going to last long...' 

"And then she'd tear her hand away again. And things would escalate. 

"'Folks, her clit is pulsating alarmingly. You can see it. See? 

"'Who knew you could watch somebody's heart beat in her clit? Who knew that a clit could get that hard, or a pussy that tight? 

"'We learn many important new things here at the Choto Temple. OK, folks, time for Round Three.' 

"She managed to maintain her sense of humor, and the commentary, the whole time. But you could always tell by the end of the ten minutes, that she was really pushing herself to hold on to that attitude." 

"And to hold on to that orgasm," I said, stating the obvious. 

Zerzinski nodded. "No doubt. She'd always be relieved when her ten minutes was up. 

"'Folks, she has managed to stay in the Choto Temple for one more exciting day, and her clit is safely back in its stable. Stay tuned to find out how swollen it may be by the time of our next episode.'" 

"Did she keep the commentary going at other times as well?" I asked. 

"Yes," he replied quickly, before looking thoughtful. 

"But, well, that's hard with some things. Generally fellatio would be next on her agenda." 

"Some obvious technical problems there," I noted. 

"Yeah, so that would be the meditative, quiet time. 

"If I felt like fucking her a bit after that, we'd often do that, too. Though I'd save the sperm for the girls who actually needed it." 

Zerzinski looked like he was recalling a particularly exquisite memory, before he went on. 

"The first minute or so of fucking was also a time when there wasn't much commentary." 

"Why was that?" I asked. 

"Well, I guess it's hard to talk through all that pain. 

"Prolonged orgasm denial tends to make them very tight. And she was very young, too. I'd enter her gently. But it was all she could do to stay still, and let me in. 

"Once I was really in all the way, she'd start talking while I fucked her, too. 

"'And her pussy is even tighter today than it was yesterday. The Choto Temple doctrine is working like a charm. Is her pussy tight enough for you, doctor?' 

"She called me doctor. Something to do with the CDC and all that. Or maybe that I used to be a teacher. I was never quite clear on that one. 

"'Yes, Choto girl,' I'd say when she'd occasionally ask me something like that. 'Wonderfully tight. Is that how it's supposed to be?' 

"'Oh yes. Choto girls should have tight pussies.' 

"'What do Choto girls never do?' 

"'They never come. Coming is bad for Choto girls.' 

"Sometimes I wouldn't ask her that particular question," he explained. "Because even after all this time, getting an answer to that question from her would sometimes be too much for me." 

"I'm curious," I said. "By 'too much' I assume you mean it would make you come?" 

"Yes." 

"Or it would make you have to stop before you come?" 

"Yes. Much more likely that, in this case." 

"Which is edging, right?" I asked. 

"Sure." 

"And you don't want to do that?" 

"Not particularly," he said. "I'd rather just keep fucking until I want to stop. And either not bother getting to the edge, or else go over the edge, and come." 

"But you like watching the girls edge?" 

He smiled slightly at my tendency to state the obvious. Which I suddenly realized I was demonstrating once again. 

"I'm pretty sure you've figured that one out at this point," he said. "Yes, Daniel, there are many contradictions. 

"What you might call the DS dynamic is definitely one of them. Inherently contradictory. Love it or leave it, there it is." 

I was beginning to realize that I could easily keep interviewing Zerzinski for many more days. But the assignment was coming to an end. For now at least. 

After what seemed like an authentically warm exchange of thanks and see you agains and all that, I headed toward my shack for one more night in that cozy little place. 

As soon as I left Zerzinski's house, I starting thinking about Rie. The Lolita girl who had blessed me with her presence on my first couple of nights here. 

Would I see her again? Or who might deliver this evening's meal? I imagined that I'd never get tired of asking myself that question, if I were to spend more time in this surreal place. 

I didn't have too long to mull over such questions, before there was a knock on my door. It was Rie, in full, impeccable Lolita costume. Standing beside her was Mariko. 

"May we come in?" Rie asked.



Choto Temple Ch. 14



Mariko and Rie both walked in, carrying trays of dinner. 

"I hope we're not intruding?" Rie asked. 

"Not at all," I said, momentarily having trouble summoning the words. 

Mariko said something quietly to Rie in Japanese. Rie listened and then translated. 

"Mariko says she's sorry she never had a chance to give you that lesson with the espresso machine." 

Then, speaking for both of them, she continued. "We understand that you leave here in the morning." 

"It's true, unfortunately," I said, in a sort of verbal stumbling process. 

"The time at the Choto Temple for both of us is up today," Rie interjected, gesturing toward herself and Mariko. "Maybe we'll all be on the same train tomorrow." 

It was barely possible to think about food with both of these very beautiful women freely giving me their undivided attention. Especially when I considered what they had both been through til now - if this was the last day of their service. 

I did manage to sit down and take a bite of a rice ball, however. And these two models of Japanese femininity very elegantly did the same. 

"What are you two doing when you leave here?" I asked them both. 

Rie said something to Mariko in Japanese, who said something in reply. 

"Mariko is heading back to her flat in Tokyo." 

Then Rie spoke for herself. "I'm going to stay here." 

I knew that some women opted to do just that. But hearing someone say it in person was shocking. 

It's just hard to imagine giving up control of a vital part of your body for two or three days. Let alone a total of six weeks or so. Definitely takes all kinds. 

"May I ask you a somewhat invasive personal question?" I ventured, as boldly as I could. 

Rie translated. They looked at each other briefly before both nodding in the affirmative. 

"Has either one of you had an orgasm since you got here weeks ago?" 

"No," they both replied. 

I noticed that Rie seemed completely unfazed by the question, whereas Mariko looked a bit sheepish after answering Rie's translated question. I nonetheless pursued my line of inquiry. 

"Mariko, are you looking forward to having an orgasm?" 

Rie translated Mariko's quiet reply. 

"She says she is." 

"And Rie," I said, looking toward her spotless, painted face, "you're just going back into the Temple, and continuing to abstain from orgasms?" 

"Well, Danu-san," Rie said thoughtfully, clasping her hands together in a way that reminded me somehow of a librarian explaining something to a kid, "it's not necessarily quite so simple." 

Mariko smiled sheepishly as Rie continued. 

"I don't know how much you know about the Choto Temple. Are you familiar with the Device?" 

"Yes," I replied. "I haven't actually seen one, though." 

Rie stood up and walked a step closer to where I was seated at the table. She stood beside me, legs about a foot apart. With one hand she lifted up her dress. With the other hand, she then pulled down her panties. Thus revealing a compact little cup-shaped thing that was very snugly up against her body, entirely covering her clitoris. 

With her shaved hair it was easy to see the two piercings on either side of her clit that the thing attached to. 

As I was closely inspecting her genital area, I noticed that Mariko had her hand covering her mouth. Rie suddenly revealing her Device to me like that may have taken Mariko by surprise. Particularly if she hadn't followed the brief English conversation that preceded this move. 

Standing there, holding her dress and panties open, Rie spoke calmly, looking straight into my eyes. 

"This is what they look like," she said. "You may touch it if you like, Danu-san." 

I did. The material was hard, but had a little bit of give to it. Kind of like the material around the climbing structures in some of the more modern children's playgrounds. I brushed up against her flesh around it. It seemed very warm and inviting. But I pulled my hand back. 

Rie let her panties close. She let go of her dress, which fell back down around her thighs. Then she sat back down in her seat across from me. 

"So," Rie went on, "at the end of a cycle, we're supposed to be on our own for three days. 

"Even if we're planning on returning to the Temple, we have control over our Devices during those three days. So whether we come or not is up to us. 

"Which makes the whole thing far more challenging. Even for a very dedicated Choto girl." She paused. "Like me," she added. 

The way she looked at me when she said those last two words sent chills up and down my spine, and all the way into my fingers. 

"Well are you planning on coming during those three days?" I asked. 

She looked down momentarily, then looked up, before once again meeting my eyes. 

"No," she said. 

Then, as if she doubted her own words a little, and perhaps felt a need to emphasize her commitment, she added, "I'm not. 

"However," she said, "that question aside, we thought we'd let you have control over such decisions for this evening. Perhaps it would be useful for your research." 

She was playing with me, on some level, it felt like. Are there men in the world who would not feel impossibly compelled to accept such an offer? I couldn't imagine. 

But I played along with the theme. It was a fun one. 

"For research purposes, yes," I said, trying to adopt a stereotypically professional tone. 

I realized this was a situation where I had absolutely no idea what to do, but where I had to think of something. Which made thinking of anything even harder. 

"OK, I'll be the director, then," I said with all the confidence I could muster. 

At that, Rie handed me a small, circular black object, about the size of a nickel. 

Seeing Rie do that, Mariko reached into her bag and withdrew an identical little black thing, and handed it to me as well. 

"What are these?" I asked. 

As I did, I looked closely at them, and noticed each had a name engraved in it - Rie and Mariko. 

"They're buttons," Mariko explained quietly. "Right now each one is set to release our Devices if you press it three times." 

What did I want to do, now that I was confronted with this unexpectedly delightful situation? 

I had no fucking idea. I tried to remember fantasies I had, back when I had a more active mind for that sort of thing, and I was drawing a blank. 

Contrast, I thought. The one word came to mind. Treat them differently. Different tasks. 

They looked very different anyway. Mariko with her flowing elegance and generous breasts. Rie with her petite, highly managed Lolita getup. And apparently extreme Choto girl discipline. 

"Well, if I'm directing," I said, "then I think you should both remove some clothing and lay down side by side on the futon." 

They both promptly began to do as they were told, as soon as Rie had told Mariko what it is that they were doing. 

Mariko looked visibly relieved about something. Perhaps that their plan was acceptable to me? Or maybe just that Rie could understand me? 

"You can both just stay like that," I directed. 

They both had kept on certain elements of their clothing, but their chests and stomachs were bare, and their panties were off. 

I kept trying to remind myself there was no rush to do anything in particular. They were here for me. Which was both an uncomfortable and a very exciting notion. 

More exciting than uncomfortable though. 

I took time exploring each of their gorgeous little bodies. I gave special attention to their breasts. Each pair so different - Mariko's soft and bouncy, Rie's small enough to be very pert. 

Rie's nipples got hard quickly. Mariko's took much longer, but eventually got fairly hard as well. 

I backed up to look at them. Both seemed fairly relaxed. But both were breathing a bit faster than normal now. Which pleased me greatly. 

I picked up the two little black buttons from where I had left them, on the table. Looking closely at the engravings, I identified each one, and put Rie's button back down. 

I was curious if that action would elicit any reactions in either of them, but there was nothing discernible. I figured even at this short distance, they probably didn't know which one I had in my hand, and which one I had just put back down. The engravings were faint, unless you were right up close to them. 

I pressed Mariko's button three times. There was a clicking sound between her legs, but the Device stayed in place. 

"Doesn't it come off when you press the button three times?" I asked, perplexed. 

Mariko looked at Rie, who answered for her. 

"Yes. It will come off now. If someone takes it off." 

"I see." 

She was lying there, not moving. Waiting for me to do something. I reached down and picked the Device off of her, revealing her red, clearly swollen clitoris that had been beneath it. 

It somehow looked like a clit that hadn't seen the sun in a while, I thought, before then thinking that clits wouldn't normally actually get much sun. Even if they weren't covered by a contraption most of the time. 

"Does your clit want to be touched?" I asked Mariko. 

Mariko looked at Rie, who translated for me again. Rie then translated Mariko's response. 

"She says maybe. She wants to know what you want her to do." 

Ah yes, shit. I reminded myself to try harder at the whole directorial thing. I'm the director, not the interviewer here. 

"Touch yourself," I said, trying to sound commanding. 

Mariko obediently put one hand between her legs, and began moving her finger in circles on her clit. At first, her eyes looked hazy, as if she were awash in a new pleasure. 

Mariko whispered something in Japanese as her finger made circular motions around and upon her clitoris. 

"She says it's so good to touch her clit with her own fingers," Rie said. 

Then Mariko whispered something else, that seemed to have the tone of a mild admonishment. 

"She says I didn't need to translate that." Rie was smiling demurely. 

Rie propped herself up to watch the action. As she lifted her arm and turned somewhat to her side in order to face Mariko, she also moved her legs. And my eyes drifted to her Device as it turned with her. 

As Rie and I silently watched Mariko touching herself, Mariko's breathing became increasingly audible. After a minute or so she spoke, her voice pitched slightly higher than it had been before. Rie translated. 

"What should she do if she's going to come?" 

I already knew what my answer to that question would be. If Mariko asked. I answered right away. 

"Then come." 

As I said the word, come, Rie flinched. Her head moved forward, toward Mariko, about an inch. Though the flinch seemed to originate from her stomach or thereabouts. Her legs also moved forward slightly. Her facial expression didn't change, and it was only a brief, momentary thing. 

There were a few tears coming from the corners of Mariko's eyes, I noticed. At the same time, she was smiling. Then her mouth opened, and the tears flowed more freely, as she began gasping rhythmically. With each gasp, her legs convulsed. She seemed to be trying to keep them from flipping around too dramatically. 

There seemed to be no question that Mariko was having a pretty tremendous orgasm, or series thereof. She was visibly relaxed afterward. The tears were starting to ebb. 

"Does it feel good to come, after so long?" I asked. 

Mariko sniffled. Her nose was stuffed up from crying. I handed her a napkin. There was a brief exchange of words in Japanese. 

"She says it does," Rie replied for Mariko. 

Rie smiled her impervious smile. 

I wondered what she might be feeling as I picked up her button, and toyed with it between my fingers. Not pressing it. 

I put it down again, took off my clothes, and put on a robe, leaving it open as I sat back down in the chair. 

"I think you should eat me now, Mariko," I instructed. 

Mariko heard her name and knew I was addressing her, but apparently didn't follow all of the content. No words were exchanged, as Rie just made a somewhat exaggerated gesture with her mouth that said, "fellatio." 

Mariko promptly sat up and moved toward me. She knelt in front of me, and began to do as she was told. Gingerly at first. Then with bigger movements, and with great expertise. 

As she ate me, I looked at Rie, lying on the futon. 

I picked up her button, and held it between my fingers. Not pressing it. 

"Touch yourself," I instructed her. 

She did as she was told, caressing her body with her hands gently. 

She seemed to be touching herself in such a way that she was accentuating each of the lovely little curves in her body. Her little waist, the small bump of her tight little belly. Her breasts. 

Occasionally her fingers would brush over her Device. She would touch that as well. Exploring its curves with her fingers. 

"You lie back down now, Mariko," I told her. She did. 

"Has your clit had enough of a rest," I asked Mariko, "that it's ready to be touched some more?" 

Rie looked over toward Mariko as she continued to caress her own body. She translated my question. 

Mariko tested the waters, gently reaching between her legs. "Hai." 

I pressed Rie's button three times. There was the familiar click. I reached between her legs and picked up the Device, putting it on the table. 

Rie continued to caress her own lovely little body. But now when her hands drifted to her now-accessible clit, her fingers stayed there for a few seconds at a time. Before moving on to other places. 

Having not been told to touch herself again yet, Mariko watched Rie, much as Rie had watched her before. 

"I think your clit needs more attention, Lolita," I said. 

There was a kind of stubbornness about how Rie responded to that. With her hands still roaming around her gorgeous body, but now spending a little more time on her clit when they got there. 

"More," I said. 

She got the message then, and kept one hand between her legs now, without letting it roam away. As she did, she looked at me intently. As if to silently ask if she was doing it right. 

"Good," I said. 

She smiled slightly as she continued methodically moving her finger up and down on her clit. A different motion, I noted, from Mariko's circles. 

"Should I make you come?" I asked. 

I wanted to ask the question. Was it my place to ask questions? I thought probably not. But if I'm the boss, I thought, then I can also ask questions, if I want to. 

"If you want to," she replied, steadily, "I will." 

"If I don't make you come, are you going to come by yourself later?" 

"No," she said, almost pouting. 

"Especially if I keep your button for the rest of the night?" 

This idea had only just occurred to me as I said it. I had no particular interest in doing such a thing. But it seemed like an appropriately mean thing to say, in the situation. 

I wasn't prepared for Rie's sudden reaction. It clearly excited her. Her face brightened, like a child expecting candy. 

Then I thought his really might be useful research, actually. 

Far more than the desire to come was Rie's desire to be controlled. What a strange contradiction. The control turns her on. But despite the fact that being turned on tends to cause one to want to come, it is, for her, apparently, not the goal. 

Rie was still touching herself, and seeming notably more excited than she had seemed a few seconds earlier. Mariko and I both watched her. Mariko with almost as much interest as me, it seemed. 

There was a slight backdrop of urgency in her voice when Rie spoke again. 

"What should I do, Danu-san?" she asked. 

"Oh, about coming, you mean?" I was trying to sound casual. 

When she spoke next, she seemed to have pushed the urgent tone away. 

"Yes, Danu-san, that's what I mean," she said steadily. 

Her breathing was more pronounced, and I was enjoying it. She started whimpering slightly. 

"None of that," I said. 

She bit her lip. "No whimpering? I'm sorry." 

She was quiet again. Her breathing and whimpering both again under control. Though her fingers moving between her legs seemed to constantly be threatening that delicate balance. 

"You can whimper all you want," I said, slowly, trying hard to practice a form of cruelty I had very scant experience with. 

"By 'none of that,'" I said, "I meant no coming." 

As soon as I said "no coming," she tore her hand away from her clit. She lay tense, with her legs partway spread. Not moving, eyes closed. 

It was somehow especially arousing to see the stoic Lolita girl lose her cool like that. Subtle though it was. Her legs were shaking slightly, uncontrollably. 

"You were so close?" I asked. 

I thought my question was more or less a statement of the obvious, but perhaps not. Rie exhaled very deliberately, opened her eyes, and looked at me directly. Her cool back in place. 

"No, I wasn't. But your words - 'no coming.' I felt that." 

"You like to be told what to do?" I asked. 

"If you like to tell me what to do," she responded. 

I suddenly felt guilty. 

What was the guilt about? Was it because I was being mean? Because I stopped Rie from coming, even though she had explicitly stated her lack of interest in doing so? 

Maybe not any of those things. Maybe it was because I was playing a game. But for Rie it was real. 

She really wanted to be controlled. Did I really want to be controlling, though? 

I tried to put the thoughts out of my head. They were here of their own volition, I reminded myself. 

I directed my attention at Mariko. 

"Now you," I said. 

That was all Mariko needed to start to touch herself again. 

This time more feverishly than the last. She was seeming more and more like a woman who was ready to recover from weeks of orgasm denial. It didn't take her long to get very excited again. 

She looked at me intently as she moved her fingers faster. I knelt down next to her and caressed her body, kissing her breasts, sucking her nipples, feeling her muscles beneath my hands. 

I could feel her body becoming harder, getting ready for something intense. I knew that whatever it was she was getting ready for, it was up to me. 

What kind of intensity would it be? Waves of orgasmic pleasure, or the anticlimactic pain of denial, and the tension that seems to follow it? 

"This time what should you do?" I asked, rhetorically, as I lifted my mouth from her breast. 

She seemed too distracted to speak, but she managed to say something, which Rie calmly translated. 

"Whatever you say, Danu-san." 

"Come," I directed. And within seconds, she did just that. 

It was very much like the other orgasm. It seemed to come in waves. Each of which made her legs and belly shake hard. 

She was gasping for air as she took her hand away. I noticed that unlike Rie, she was sweating a little. 

Also unlike Rie, Mariko's body looked like it was ready to melt into the futon. 

Mariko's body now reminded me of a rubber band in a toy propeller airplane that had been wound up tight, and was now haphazardly untwisting, after the child let it go. 

Rie's body did not look relaxed, necessarily. But when someone is lying naked on a bed, there is nonetheless a sort of relaxed look to a body in that position. 

I took one of Rie's hands in mine, and put it between her legs. She responded promptly to my nonverbal command and started touching herself. 

I gave no further instructions to Rie as she continued to move her finger on her swollen clit. 

I wondered how far she'd get before asking me for further guidance. I didn't wonder long. After a minute or so she inhaled quickly and gently removed her finger from her clit, holding it above herself like a hovercraft. 

"You stopped yourself," I commented. 

"Yes," she replied, still holding her hand still above her body. 




Choto Temple Ch. 14



At the moment she pulled her hand up, her brow had furrowed, and she had bitten her lip. But only for a moment. 

The usual, more stoic expression returned within about a second. Her eyes, which had momentarily been looking vaguely toward the ceiling, once again turned towards me, and focused sharply on my eyes. 

"You said 'none of that,' Danu-san. Did I understand that incorrectly?" 

Her impeccable veneer of British English cracked for a moment as she stumbled adorably over the r's and l's in "incorrectly." 

"Should I fuck one of you now?" I wondered. 

This time I really was wondering. 

I wasn't sure if fucking was one of my options. Was this something that needed to be cleared in advance? What fantasy were we in again here? I momentarily couldn't remember where I was. 

There was a brief exchange of words in Japanese between the two young models of Asian perfection, which ended with Mariko saying, "ah, so," as she reached inside her bag sitting nearby and took out a small box of condoms, still in its plastic wrapping. 

I realized I had made no plans for this eventuality, and I was glad that Mariko took this initiative. She unwrapped a condom nimbly, and slid it on to my penis, which was entirely ready for the occasion. 

I looked down at both of these stunning, glistening young women, as I positioned myself between Mariko's legs. 

When it was clear that I was going to fuck Mariko, I saw a tension in Rie's face dissipate a little. Rie rolled to her side again, gently caressing Mariko's face as I slowly entered Mariko. 

Fucking Mariko while burying my face in both of their glowing bodies was tremendous. It had been a while since I had had sex with anyone. I had almost forgotten how good it could be. 

And the last time I had been in a situation quite like this? Never. 

Mariko seemed relaxed, like she might be enjoying herself, and certainly made cooing noises that could have been an indication of such. Her body was firm, her breasts bouncing rhythmically beneath my face as I pushed in and out repeatedly, as one does. 

Rie stayed right by Mariko's side, looking like she was enjoying the little show sometimes, while other times looking mildly concerned, when I fucked Mariko more deeply. Which always elicited a gasp, and a little jolt in Mariko's legs. 

"If I'm going to be making the most out of this investigation, I'll have to have sex with both of you, right?" 

I asked both women, as I continued to fuck Mariko. (Though more gently, during conversation.) 

Because of Rie-Lolita's almost constantly placid expression, it's especially notable when the expression changes for a microsecond. And it did, again, on "both of you." I thought it was a look of fear. 

"Unless you'd rather I didn't?" I asked Rie. 

She just looked at me quizzically. As if my question just didn't even make any sense. 

I pulled out of Mariko and pulled off the condom. Rie sat up, looking at my face for approval as she began to eat me. She already had another condom in her hand, ready to put on me. But she took her time as she ate me. 

I wanted her to lay down and spread her legs, but I didn't say anything. I just tried to take time, be calm, and sit there until she was ready to move on. It wasn't too hard. Her skills at fellatio were easily as impressive as Mariko's. 

Eventually, though, I started pressing her shoulders toward the bed a little. She got the physical message, drew her mouth up from my cock, kissed it, and smoothly put the condom on it. She then lay down, legs wide. 

Mariko lay to Rie's side, touching Rie's face much as Rie had touched hers. Mariko spoke quietly to Rie. Almost so quietly that I couldn't hear, from above Rie's legs, where I was kneeling, getting into a good position to push inside of Rie. 

It was funny, though, that although almost inaudible, she spoke the brief phrase in English, rather than Japanese. The first words of English I think I had heard her utter. 

"He's bigger than Robu-san," was what she whispered to Rie. 

I watched Rie's face closely. There was a brief expression that might only be described as a shudder before she replied. Again in English, with a playful, pouty tone to her quiet response. 

"I barely have a hole there anymore," Rie said. 

"Good Choto girls start out tight and get tighter?" I asked. 

"They start out as young, petite submissive types to begin with," Rie responded matter-of-factly, "but then we are conditioned. And the conditioning definitely causes the vaginal tunnel to get increasingly tighter over the days and weeks." 

"This is going to hurt you, then?" I asked, with my dick right at the edge of her entrance, but not pushing yet. 

Rie again looked at me quizzically. As if my question was a strange one, not relevant to the situation. 

I tried hard to push aside the doubt and guilt that I was feeling, and play my part, as I began pushing into her. 

It was, as the accounts of others have also indicated, as if her entrance had just closed up. I pushed and then retreated, pushed and then retreated, as if I were very gently fucking her. Though I hadn't yet gotten in. 

Remembering the accounts of the leg straps in Zerzinski's bedroom, I held her legs up myself, so she wouldn't have to use her muscles that way, thus lessening the tension between her legs. 

She immediately understood what I was doing. I could immediately feel her leg muscles releasing some tension, giving me the weight. 

Once I had her legs in my arms, it wasn't long before a push kept going, and I was in. Which elicited a sharp gasp from Lolita, and a look of panic. 

"Are you OK?" I asked. 

"Yes," she said, obviously trying to get a grip on her demeanor. 

"It hurts," she said quietly. 

I knew she had been expecting it to hurt. But I suppose the real thing is always a bit different from the expectation, in one way or another. 

She was so tight that I felt like I was forging new ground. Perhaps opening a tunnel that had never before been opened, though I knew this couldn't be true. At least she must have fucked Zerzinski once by now. After weeks of clitoral sensory deprivation, punctuated by occasional bouts of edging. 

Before then? Who knows. 

I don't know if I was just trying to play my role well, or if I was actually feeling sadistic. But for whatever reason, I felt the need to just plunge all the way into Rie at that point, rather than gradually finding my way deeper. In retrospect, it was a pretty awful thing to do. 

Rie screamed. Which made Mariko jump. 

I must have expected it would hurt her. But I wasn't prepared for this. 

For such a demure, controlled woman to made such a piercing noise. It reminded me of the feeling I get when I hear the sound of a police siren behind me, and I realize the cop is pulling me over. 

I'm not sure what I would have done at that point, left to my own, um, devices. I was worried I had overstepped a boundary, perhaps. 

But Rie took a sort of submissive initiative to get everything back on track right away, with one repeated word. 

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she said quietly. 

She reached her arms toward me, beckoning me back toward her petite frame. It was then that I realized I had also jumped up when she shrieked. 

When I resumed fucking her, I realized my dick had gone soft partway. And it was hard to do much about that. Because now, with Rie's entrance so tight, it just held my dick more or less in one place. 

Looking around me, and down, at these glorious surroundings for a bit, it didn't take long for the erection to return anyway. And then I could move. As I got harder, Rie began to whimper, but quietly now. 

I guess I figured if she wasn't screaming, I could just do what I wanted to, and I fucked her harder, holding her little body in my arms as I did. Holding her legs up with my legs partly beneath them. It felt so good to fuck her that I was soon at risk of coming. 

I didn't want to do that - I wanted to take all the time in the world. 

I slowed down, pulled one of Rie's legs up and put her other leg under mine. So she was still on her back, but I was partly on my side, facing Mariko while inside Rie. 

I touched Mariko's body while I kept fucking Rie. 

At some point I noticed it was after midnight. And I knew everyone had to get up in the morning. As I get older, I start having more mundane, ridiculously pragmatic thoughts like that. 

I didn't want to come. 

I wanted to be able to fuck more in the morning, easily. And I'm old and that's how it is these days. 

No idea how Zerzinski does it. Though the need to have such a heavily sexually-charged atmosphere in order to do it two or three times a day like he does, makes some sense for sure. 

"It's getting late," I noted, as I withdrew from Rie's tense little body. 

"Is it bedtime?" Rie asked. 

"Maybe so," I said. 

Mariko began to get her clothes back on. Rie also started making motions like she was going to do something like that. But she looked slightly confused. 

I picked up her Device from the table. 

"What about this?" I asked. 

She looked at me, and at the Device, and said nothing. She also stopped moving. Just sat naked on the futon, in full splendor. 

Her hair was all messed up now. The thick coat of makeup on her delicate face was smudged in a couple of places. 

Finally the perfect finish was cracked, and it looked even lovelier that way. 

She was waiting for something, I thought. I ventured a guess, and put the Device back over her clit. She looked slightly relieved at this. But still evidently uncertain of what to do next. 

I picked up the button for her Device and reached toward Rie, to hand it to her. She recoiled somewhat. 

"Shall I keep it until morning, then?" I asked. 

She smiled, obviously approving of that idea. 

"You'll have to spend the night, then," I said firmly. 

Rie lay back down, smiling. 

Mariko finished getting dressed, kissed me on the cheek, and did the same to Rie. In the doorway she smiled, bowed twice, and said oyasumi, good night. 

With Mariko gone, I had to fuck Rie some more. 

It was different, being alone with her now. More intimate. She was too sexy to sleep next to without coming first, I ultimately decided. 

And I came before cuddling up beside her tense little body to sleep. I never removed her Device again after that. 

In the morning I gave her her button back. And now that it was light, she seemed able to handle possessing it. I figured she'd be able to hand it over to the Temple, and Zerzinski, soon enough. And wouldn't have to face such impossibly complicated decisions alone, like whether she wanted to come or not. 

As I walked back down the hill, along the yellow brick road, past the wall and the guards, toward the little town below, and the taxi, train and eventually plane that would take me back to Los Angeles, I thought about how glad I was that I had taken this assignment. 

Not only did it involve time in some lovely countryside, but also exotic sexual escapades even. And no doubt, a better understanding of what it means to be Donor X.