As part of my venture into the adult world, I commute to work everyday, by train. The trains are an immutable part of Japanese culture. America, we’re a car culture. We drive to work, we drive to school. We drive to the gym. We drive to go walk somewhere. We drive to one place in order to drive to another place. It’s all about you and your car. While there is driving to be had in Japan, the train system is expansive and connected enough that you can go just about anyplace you want to go solely by train.
I’ve written about the trains before, but its a little different as a commuter. Before, I took the trains primarily on the weekend to head into Kyoto city for a little fun. I usually had my friends or girlfriend with me to help pass the time. Weekend trains also feature families, children, and on the way out of the city on the weekends, drunken puking unruly Japanese people. The entertainment kind of sort of provided itself.
However, as a commuter, the only people on the trains on weekday mornings are salarymen and office ladies, going to sacrifice another chunk of their souls to the company. They’re a drab lot, no sort of unruliness, and puking is somewhat rare. Some sort of time-killing activity is needed. Now, since my commute is one hour one way, I figured the best way to spend the time would be to study for the 1-kyuu of the Japanese Language Proficiency Test. 2 hours a day every weekday would be 10 hours a week of good kanji study time. Ideally. And, if this were an ideal world, I would be married to Halle Berry, she’d have cooking skills that rivaled the Iron Chef, and a sex drive that rivaled George Michael’s.
So most of the time, I pretty much end up asleep. Which is how most other commuters who are fortunate enough to grab a seat end up. Most of us Sleepers have sort of mastered the art of sleeping on the train bench, so you don’t see a lot of the sprawled-out, gaping mouth sleeping passengers one might find on the last/first train out of the city. However, the “Don’t Drool on Yourself” jutsu is one that’s eluded most of us Sleepy Ninjas, myself included.
For those don’t sleep, there’s always the newspaper. Another cultural difference – newspapers in America will feature all sorts of stories. Current events, politics, sports, opinion, the funnies, whatever. For Japanese newspapers, I really only notice 3 things – scandals, sports, and porn. The porn is just ever present, while depending on the event, either the scandal or the sports will take center stage.
The porn isn’t exactly a new thing, anyone who’s rode on a train in Japan at pretty much any time of day is bound to catch some old dude looking at porn. What I don’t understand though, is why? Why porn on the train? Why porn on the morning train? Maybe it’s just me, but I hate looking at porn unless I can, y’know, do something about it. I’ll only watch porn if it leads to a good wank/sex afterwards, or its just funny in some way. But getting all hopped up on porn and not being able to crank out a orgasm…it’s just so pointless! It’s like watching the Food Network when all you’ve got are crackers in the house. Or, trying to swim upstream. Or, Victoria’s Secret for plus sizes. What’s the point?
So these old guys peruse porn on the train, get all worked up, and then go to their jobs where they get to be sexually frustrated behind their desks for 12 hours. Then they go home and the frustration probably continues. Wake up, get back on the train, look at more porn. Where’s the release? I guess maybe this is why chikan – the act of groping women on the trains, is so prevalent in Japan.
Osaka trains don’t get nearly as crowded as Tokyo trains (Yamanote…the horror….*shudder*) but they can get pretty darned packed. It always makes me so paranoid too, because move your hand the wrong way and you’re bound to brush into someone. Plus, with me being tall with long arms, and Japanese girls being short in general anyway, it puts my hands at a natural height for titty/ass grabbing. Once, I merely went to get something from my bag, and in the process, I sort of grazed up against the ass of a woman who was standing next to me. In an instant we exchanged looks. Looking at me, she might have thought either – “What a perv! Oh, but my goodness, I should not provoke nor anger this large beast, for it might be the end of my life” or “Hey handsome, do that again!” All I could think was “Please don’t think I chikan’d you – I wouldn’t even WANT to chikan you, don’t let me go up river for having accidentally grazed an armadillo.”
Riding the same train at the same time at the same spot everyday, you start to notice the exact same people who are doing the exact same thing. I call my train buddies my Collective. We are one. Resistance is futile.
There are a few people in particular I can’t help but to notice. One woman who gets on the train at the same stop I do, she stands out to me because of her remarkable resemblance to a gorilla. She’s not fat or big by any stretch of the imagination, her face is just very gorilla like. You could cast her in a Planet of the Apes movie with no makeup whatsoever and the technical team would win an Emmy for “Best Make-Up/Special Effects”. I’m not saying she’s ugly – I dunno, there’s actually something quite alluring about this woman, and given the opportunity I’d make sweet Magilla Gorilla monkey love to her. But still, she just looks like a gorilla, and everyday I find myself fascinated by her. I have nicknamed her Misty. If you can figure out how I arrived at that one, well, you get 1,000 cool points.
There’s another girl I’ve noticed who gets on at the stop after mine. This girl is kinda thick, especially for a Japanese girl. She wears a ton of makeup and does her hair up, but also dresses fashionably and smart for her size. Despite the big, I couldn’t help also noticing her as well. At first, I couldn’t figure out why. I thought maybe it was the dormant Negro in my genes, finally awakening after a long slumber to appreciate a little extra junk in the trunk. But, that didn’t seem right, as I still don’t like fried chicken, and I’m pretty sure I’m not that great at basketball either. One day recently though, I spotted her wearing a tight-fitting, low-cut T-shirt, and the reason became very clear – massive melon tits.
I have always been, and will always be, a breast man. Legs, ass, face, thighs, eyes, colon, lower intestine, whatever, fuck it – gimme some titties. As you can imagine, I suffer in Japan. While the big breasteses do exist, they’re sort of few and far between. Even fat girls in Japan somehow manage to have small chests – and how does that work anyway? Your body gets fat, except for the one part of your body that is composed entirely of fat? That right there is nothing short of legendary divine intervention – God hating on you specifically. Living in Japan has made me appreciate almost anything with a nice rack. I’d rush down Rodney Dangerfield’s corpse if someone gave him a nice set of D-cup implants. Now, this girl hadn’t worn any clothes up until now that revealed her Massive Melon Tits™, so I can only assume that my natural Melon Tits Sense began to tingle whenever she was near. I haven’t nicknamed this girl yet. Every time I try to, I end up getting sucked into the Valley of Hooters and all my thoughts go completely happy.
Y’know, I just realized, if I were a superhero, my kryptonite would be breasts.
Speaking of breasts, another Collective member. This girl does not have the Massive Melon Tits™, in fact they’re quite small. What she does have, is what appears to be a rather large tattoo across her chest. And this absolutely fascinates me.
Tattoos, to some extent, are kind of rare in Japan. Sure, if you hang around in the right circles you’ll see plenty of people with tattoos, but if we’re talking about your everyday Japanese person, then probably not so much. As tattoos are still a big part of the yakuza culture, many gyms and onsens will include a “no tattoo” clause in their member requirements – it lets them keep the yakuza out without actually having to say “no yakuza”. It can also be looked upon very negatively by a place of employment (my girlfriend’s brother had one which was sighted at an after-hours drinking party – the company made him get rid of the tattoo, or be fired). I’ve known many Japanese girls who’ve said they would like a tattoo, but would probably never do it because of all the inconvenience it brings.
Yet, here’s a girl who not only got a tattoo, but got one spread across her chest, and doesn’t wear clothes to hide said tattoo. She’s a glitch in The Matrix if I’ve ever seen one. I don’t know what the tattoo is of, I’m never able to get a good enough look. She usually stands in front of me on the train – while this would optimally be a great vantage point, she also stares at me a lot (as many Japanese are prone to do) and I don’t want to be caught staring into her non-existent cleavage. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’d have my Breast Lovers Club card revoked if I was caught oggling an A-cup. So the best I can do is quick peeks, and so far I haven’t quite figured out what it is yet.
This woman enthralls me. Why a tattoo? What is it of? Why across the chest? Was she in the yakuza? A former prostitute? Or just a very rebellious teen? If this were America, I suppose I could just ask her, but the morning train in Japan isn’t exactly a hub of conversation. Maybe one day, I’ll take the morning off work, follow her to wherever she’s going every morning, and see what I can determine from that. Mmm yes, my descent into stalker madness is coming along quite nicely…
Being a regular train rider, I’ve confirmed two super-powers. First is the whole waking up before you stop thing. Now I do it too. It’s incredible, on the way home I’ll just kind of black out, and always automatically wake up at the same point right before my stop. I guess maybe it isn’t a Japanese-exclusive super-power after all. Either than, or I pulled a Peter Petrelli and absorbed it from all the Japanese people around me. Unfortunately, that’s really the only useful power I’m going to get, as I have no need for Super Porn Byakugan Eye or the 1000 Hands Shinobi Chikan technique.
The other power I’ve confirmed is my Gaijin Perimeter. Yes, even on the commuter train, there will be times when people just don’t sit next to me. Now, I’ve talked about the regular trains, and how Japanese people are willing to fight a bitter battle to the death over a seat. But the commuter trains! Japanese people would without hesitation sell every one of their children into bitter, harsh slavery for a seat. They would endure a lifetime of Saved By The Bell: The New Class re-runs on infinite repeat and dubbed into French.* They would gladly tear out and eat one of their own internal organs, right there on the spot, if it meant sitting down. But, sitting down next to me? Heavens no! That’s just awesome.
I can only assume that the power level of my Gaijin Perimeter is at least OVER NINE THOUSAAA-…., well, really frickin’ huge. I feel like I should do something with my unique ability. I dunno what though. Become the most feared sumo wrestler in Japanese history? (“Oh my God, he’s forcing his opponent out of the ring…and he’s not even touching him!”) Let me get back to you on that.
*Actually though, this isn’t that bad, because it’s STILL not worse than Japanese TV. I can’t think of anything that’s worse than Japanese TV. You could make a TV channel out of goatse.cx, and that would still be more satisfying than Japanese TV. I just want to round up every Japanese TV “producer” in the country and punch them in the face. And ask them how they can sleep comfortably at night, having created something so horrible.