ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED NOVEMBER 25th, 2022
After finding out that Denmark has legal prostitution; Stitch and Rick suddenly find themselves discussing the idea of legal brothels in the United States. During the discussion, Stitch talked about his experience at a "certain bar" while in Japan. The following is an excerpt of his Book Stitch in Time: A Sailor's Story in regard to that story.
Sasebo Japan was the next stop on our Wes-Pac adventure; and I have to admit that I was a little sad as we were headed there. I had heard nothing but bad things about Japan. The entire trip from Hong Kong to Japan was nothing more than the older sailors talking about how little there was to do in Japan. I watched the Captain’s CCTV Port O-Call video of Sasebo and it seemed like someplace pretty boring but Ski and J.P. convinced me to go out on the town anyhow. I reluctantly agreed.
It wasn’t even 2200, so we still had plenty of night left to cause trouble and have fun. We caught a cab from the front gate of the base and told the driver to take us to where the bars were. Once we got into the city of Sasebo, I was amazed at how many bars there were. Those older sailors, who talked shit on Sasebo, obviously didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about.
“FUCK, MAN!” I said as we departed the taxi. “I can’t believe I was gonna stay in and miss out on all this?”
“See!” J.P. said as he pushed me towards the side walk. “Soap operas are on tape, dude! You can watch it anytime you want. But you may NEVER get the chance to come back to Japan!”
“Where to?” Ski asked as he looked at all the bars on the street.
“Use the Dowsing Rod!” I said as I placed my hands out to the side, pretending to be the dowsing rod of choice. J.P. and Ski each grabbed an arm and I made silly electronic noises, like that of a Geiger counter and led the three of us into a quaint little joint. It was the same thing we used to do in San Diego, when we couldn’t decide to go to the enlisted club or out to the sports bar just outside the main gate.
When we first walked into the selected bar, we noticed it was very narrow. I mean I could reach out to my left and palm the wall and then reach to my right and palm the edge of the bar that’s how narrow this place was. However, the bar was long and ran down the length of the establishment for nearly forty or fifty bar stools. I noticed right away there were only two stools open. J.P. and I immediately jumped on them, leaving Ski standing. He smacked my shoulder and reminded me that I usually stand at the bar, but I just wanted him to realize how slow he was, despite the fact that eats right and works out. I kept my seat. A tiny, Japanese lady approached us and asked us what we wanted to drink. I had seen other guys in the bar drinking from what looked like a small, porcelain tea pot.
“What is that?” I asked. But before she could answer, there was a loud roar of the crowd down at the other end of the bar. Once the roar calmed down she was able to respond and she told me it was Hot Sake. She explained that it was a Rice Wine and that even though most people drink it chilled or at room temp, it’s best served when it’s hot. I ordered the Sake, but J.P. and Ski stuck to their beer. Sapporo is the beer they got, but to me, it was still just beer. I mean, I can drink beer anywhere. How often can I actually have hot sake in Japan? I had to try the Sake and was pleased that I did. The taste was amazing and the atmosphere was incredible. As we sat and talked, there was another roar at the end of the bar. Ski was still leaning against the wall, but he had the perfect view down to the other end.
“What the fuck are they doing down there?” I asked.
“I’m not sure.” Ski said as he squinted through the cigarette and cigar smoke. “There’s some type of little booth down there.”
Just as I was about to stand up to take a look, the seat to my left became vacant as the guy that was sitting there moved down one seat. I didn’t think he was moving back so I asked, “Do you mind?” as I pointed to the seat. He waved me over with a smile so I moved and J.P. moved down into my old seat and Ski was able to sit down in J.P.’s seat.
We ordered more drinks and talked some more. We were having fun and really enjoying the bar when all of the sudden there was another roar of the crowd at the other end of the bar.
“Holy fuck, man!” I heard from behind me. I turned around and noticed two sailors from another ship that was in our squadron. They were bigger guys. Probably hole-snipes, judging from the devil tattoo and MMR symbol on their arms. “You guys took up the last of the seats?” he asked.
“Yeah, dude.” I replied. “Sorry ‘bout that.”
“No worries, little man.” He was laughing. “I’m sure a couple of seats will open up pretty soon!” And just as he said that, the guy to my left moved down again, but this time he moved two seats. I looked at the laughing guy and asked him, “Am I supposed to move down into those seats?”
“Dude!” he was genuinely surprised by my question. “You mean to say that you’ve never been here?” J.P., Ski and I all shook our heads ‘No’.
“After each cheer, there is going to be an open seat and you have to move down.” He explained. “Once you get down towards that end of the bar, you’ll know what to do!” He and his buddy then laughed and moved to the end of the start of the bar near the door and the three of us moved down two spots. He was right! Each time someone cheered, the seat to my left would open up and I would move into it. Then some guy would come up from the end of the bar and fill in the empty seat at the start of the bar.
I drank a few more pots of Hot Sake as this happened and finally I was one of the last five near the end of the bar. I noticed the guy on the very end get up and go into some type of ‘booth’ that was made from dark, gray canvas and ply board and was situated at the end of the bar. The guy who was in the booth literally ran down to the beginning of the bar to fill in the upcoming empty seat that would be there. While that was happening, one of the little bar maids entered the both from the other side of the bar and was in there for about six or seven minutes and when she would emerge, she would hack loudly, as if clearing her throat and trying to cough up a loogie. Then she would spit her loogie in the sink behind her, at which point the last five guys to ten guys would cheer for her. The bigger the loogie she coughed up and spit, (obviously, the larger the load she took from the guy in the booth), the louder the cheer. Some of the guys even had napkins with 1.0 or 5.5 written on it as if they were judging an Olympic event. Once the little barmaid spit, the guy in the booth would come out and race down to the other end of the bar and the last guy at the bar would go into the booth and it would start all over again and a new barmaid would enter the booth.
“Dude!” J.P. said as he realized what was going on. “Do you know what they’re doing in there?”
“I most certainly do.” I was so happy that I picked this bar.
“HO-LEE SHIT!” Ski said as he caught on. “They’re giving blow jobs down there, aren’t they?”
By the time I was next in line, I had consumed a large amount of sake. I remember I was at the very end of the bar and I was very excited, but I had already drunk three pots of hot sake. Even though I was very much looking forward to being next, I had a tightness in my gut that was making me feel sick to my stomach. J.P. was to my right and Ski was to his right. The tiny, Japanese barmaid disappeared behind the curtain and Ski started slapping his hand on the bar while chanting, “Do it. Do it. Do it.” A few minutes later, the little barmaid stepped out hocking and hacking and spit a huge load into the sink before rinsing her mouth out with a bottle of Pepsi. J.P., Ski, a few other guys at the bar and I all yelled out hysterically and clapped our hands and shouted obscenities such as, “SHE CAN SUCK THE CHROME OFF A TRAILER HITCH!” or “SWALLOW, WHORE, SWALLOW!” the noise was deafening, but it was fun.
Just as the last guy came out from the booth, I got up and stepped in and suddenly learned another very valuable lesson about drinking. With MoJo, I learned you drink standing up, not sitting down. With Hot Sake I learned you should have something to eat with hot alcohol. Heated Alcohol can really do a number on one’s digestive tract. I stood in the booth and one of the barmaids entered from the other side. I smiled to her and got a little giddy as she sat down on a small three legged stool. I felt kind of odd, like I was a cow and she was there to milk me or something; especially when she reached out for my belt buckle and took my dick out. However, I obeyed like a good Moo-Cow and stepped closer to her, but just as I did I felt my lower abdomen grumble and suddenly my asshole puckered up. I didn’t even do anything; it just puckered up all on its own as if it were a reflex movement to stop the gallons of hot, sticky fluid that was suddenly rushing around in my colon. As this woman stroked my ‘Man Tool’, I found myself being very conscious of what was happening in the back, rather than what was in front of me. Even as she used her mouth on me, I barely even notice it because I was fixated on what was happening with my ass. Fortunately for me, my penis has its own reflexive action and knows to come to attention when in the presence of a warm, moist pair of female lips and tongue. But I just couldn’t get into it. I could feel hot pressure building up against my anal sphincter. Like molten magma pushing against the weakened crust of the earth, ready to blow through a volcano. My first thought was to just let out a little, quiet fart to relieve some pressure. I figured I could relieve just enough to get me through the blowjob and then I could get myself to the bathroom and let go of the rest but I was afraid to pass wind for two reasons. 1). I didn’t want this barmaid to know I was busting ass while she was blowing me because there was no way I could make this be quiet. 2). I was afraid I’d let out more than just gas if I released anything at all. But the pressure was too great, I had to do something. I was praying I could release some pressure and allow a tiny bit of gas to escape, which might have bought me enough time to enjoy the blowjob and then get to the men’s room.
That whore was a real trooper; she deserved real credit! She worked it with both hands and had full head motion from side to side as she tried furiously to get me to cum. J.P. was pounding on the panel yelling, “What’s taking so long!” But I just couldn’t get there, not until I was able to enjoy it a little bit. The pressure was getting to be too much, so I concentrated and thought about letting just a tiny bit of air escape and it all sounded good, but my ass wasn’t listening to my brain. You see, the brain asked for a little bit and the ass, (just because he’s an asshole), decided to give more than was asked for. By the time I realized what was happening, it was far too late. I felt it coming and just before it happened, I thought I could sneeze or cough the noise away. But it didn’t work. I busted the loudest, nastiest, sickest fart of my life right there in that tiny little booth as that little barmaid was sucking on my dick. I kept trying to squeeze my ass cheeks together to make it stop, but it only made it worse. It sounded like someone blew up a balloon and then let go of it without tying it off. And right near the end of this embarrassing moment, I felt a rush of warm, viscous fluid run out of my ass and into my drawers. The smell was so disgusting that even I had to block my own nose. Now, you just know a fart is bad if you are sickened by the smell of your own! Suddenly, just as I started to gag, little whore-barmaid pushed back with her feet and rolled her chair out from the booth screaming at me in Japanese as she covered her face with both her hands. Everyone at the bar was looking for her to Hock and Hack and take a spit in the sink, but instead jumped up from her chair, pointing at me while screaming over and over at me. I just stood there, too embarrassed to move and hoping that lightening would just come through the roof and strike me dead where I stood. But instead I felt a cold breeze on my back, indicating that someone had opened the curtain behind me.
“HOLY FUCK!” Proclaimed J.P. as he let the curtain fall back. “What the fuck did you do, Stitch?” But I didn’t answer. I just stood there, embarrassed to all hell.
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