Date: Thu, 24 Jun 2010 08:06:22 +0200
From: A.K. <andrej@andrejkoymasky.com>
Subject: A Proud Furosha 3/8 (beginnings)

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A PROUD FUROSHA
By Andrej Koymasky © 2010
Written on July 1, 2002
Translated by the Author
English text kindly revised by

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USUAL DISCLAIMER

"A PROUD FUROSHA" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic
scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family,
opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to
read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or
because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed
guest.

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Chapter 3 - Stealing a fruit from a tree

I didn't have not even just one yen in my pockets, despite that I had
tried to spend as little as I could. And not having any more money, I
couldn't even keep myself clean, wash my clothes and my body except
briefly and incompletely in the sinks of the public toilets. Therefore,
being increasingly dirty, I wasn't even able to find a customer on the
street that wanted to spend his money to have sex with me.

I was becoming increasingly weak and feeling more and more the bites of
hunger. I dragged in the streets that I once walked with merry
carelessness, like a ghost of myself, and looked at the shining shop
windows, that once attracted just a distracted glance, with a mix of
rage, envy, desperation - I wandered in that world, that in the past was
mine, like an alien, like in a dream, like when you look at a movie -
you can see everything, in a clear, neat way, but you can't stretch out
your hand to take somethingÉ You can't even stretch out a hand to brush
another living beingÉ nothing.

Moreover, the characters in a movie don't look at the audience in the
theatre, don't judge them, don't avoid themÉ as instead was happening to
me in that situation. I saw them looking at me from far and slightly
modify the direction of their walk, carefully calculating it so to be
absolutely sure they didn't pass too close to me. And when we crossed,
their glances were busy looking at something, the pavement in front of
them, the traffic, the shop windows, or a dog near a lamppostÉ but
absolutely not me.

Did you ever experience the loneliness of the glances? The feeling you
became an invisible manÉ or too visible to be looked at? The loneliness
of being amidst thousands of people but knowing that you don't exist for
them, you don't countÉ or at most you are just a little annoyance like a
fly might beÉ The loneliness for which, even if you try to stop somebody
in the street with a shy "sorryÉ" that person goes straight on, doesn't
even turn to look at you, as if he were blind and deaf and dumbÉ or
else, exactly, as if you didn't even exist?

To me this was a totally newÉ and terrifying experience.

I discovered that the underpasses of the biggest stations remained open
at night-time and that in front of the closed rolling shutters of the
shops, all types of outcast people like me were camping with their
cardboard and old blankets to pass the night. So I too found empty big
cardboard boxes to make up in one way or another a fragile but useful
shelter, and looked for a corner where I could lie down. The cardboard,
besides protecting me a little from the cold of the stone floor, was
also good to create a screen to block the glances of the few hurried
passers-by.

Blocking their sight, not their glances, as none of those privileged
people deigned give us a glance. Yes, privileged, as they could go to a
home, as little as it might be, could open a fridge, as old as it might
be, and eat a meal, as poor as it might beÉ and they could possibly also
rest in the arms of a loverÉ as occasional as he might be.

I was also somewhat astounded how, although being without energy,
hungry, in despair as I was, inside me still burned the flame of desire,
the need to feel two arms and two legs around my bodyÉ

All day long I was wandering without a goal, I don't know in search of
what. I saw a girl throw a barely half-eaten hamburger in the waste bin.
I hurried to pick it out and gobbled it down almost without tasting it,
I was so hungry. I was asking myself if I wouldn't be better to move to
more quiet parts of the town, made of small houses and tiny gardens,
almost like small villages set in the metropolis, or if it was rather
better to stay in the central areas, full of people and of shopsÉ If I
should cross the commercial streets filled with people, or wander in the
parksÉ

I was a greenhorn tramp, I didn't have the knowledge and the experience
needed to understand how one can survive in a city without owning
anything. I was therefore unceasingly exploring, hoping to find, if not
a solution, at least an inspiration.

I saw two men unloading a truck, toiling and sweating. I asked them if
in exchange for something to eat, they wanted me to give them a hand.
One of them looked at me as if I were an alien landed from god knows
where, as if I were not speaking Japanese like him. The other one told
me they didn't need anything, he seemed to hesitate then, when his
colleague wasn't looking at him, slipped a five hundred yen coin into my
hand.

I went away keeping that coin tight in my hand as if it were a treasure,
or a talisman, a safety anchorÉ a miser anchorÉ But I could buy a bowl
of udon or of ramen in one of the small shops that always are near the
stations, where you eat standing up and in hasteÉ I could lessen for
some time the hunger pangs that were squeezing my guts like a pitiless
handÉ

I finally found one of them. I went there and ordered a bowl of udon for
360 yenÉ asked to add a boiled egg for 100 yenÉ then shyly asked if with
the 40 yens remaining they could add something more to the bowl. The
woman, neither young nor old, looked at me, judged my condition, then
nodded and added one more eggÉ so discounting 60 yen. She handed me the
steamy bowl, then told me to eat quickly and leaveÉ or else other
customers would not stop there to eatÉ Feeling grateful for her small
kindness, I tried to waste no timeÉ

The Ueno Park is wide and beautifulÉ Among its different parts you can
find people of all kinds in it. Circles of merry and noisy university
students, groups of mothers with their babies, old people idling in the
sun like old watch dogs, groups of Iranian immigrants that talk amongst
themselves aloud in their incomprehensible language, and that pass each
other wads of counterfeited telephone cards to sell, that the yakuza
sells them becoming rich at their expense, small groups of high school
girls wearing their short blue pleated skirts and their sailor's
collars, hoping to find some old swine who wanted to buy their dirty
panties for five thousand yenÉ

Right, I didn't even have that resource, I thought with miserable irony.

We were in the monsoon season, the season of the heavy rains. In fact in
that late afternoon all of a sudden big drops started to fall, then
squalls of rain. It was a general stampede. Some people far-sightedly
had umbrellas and opened them trying to shelter at least their heads and
shoulders - mawkish little umbrellas, folding umbrellas in two or three
parts, big black umbrellas worthy of a serious personÉ

I didn't have a shelter to go to, and when I would reach the underpass
or the nearest station I would be soaked to my bones, therefore I went
on walking slowly like before, thinking that after all I was getting a
good shower for free, and also a rinsing of my clothes at the same time.

I could feel the water stream over me, not only on my face and from my
hair, but also under my clothes, on my skin, like sly caresses of an
eager lover. It was not at all unpleasant, as a feeling, on the
contraryÉ and I got a hard-on, and felt the water caress my cock that
was pushing against the soaked clothes, and that dripped in rivulets
from my balls, giving me a faint feeling of ticklingÉ I felt like I
could count the number of rivulets streaming under thereÉ My shoes, now
filled with water, were puddling with each of my steps, and the pebbles
of the lane creaked under my shoes.

I stretched out my tongue and tasted the water - it didn't have a good
taste, Tokyo air is too polluted, and when the water reaches the height
of the people, is already saturated with dust and hydrocarbonsÉ I spit
it out, lightly nauseated. I left the lane and crossed a lawn going
towards a thicket of bushes. I saw a concrete bench with wooden slats to
sit on, and went to sit there, enjoying the wild rain that was making
the park look almost unreal, hiding its details behind thick veils of
water moved by gusts of wind that at times seemed warm and at times
cold.

As it had started, suddenly the downpour stopped. I knew it was just a
truce, a temporary pause, as the sky was still dark. I was now feeling
cold. I started to tremble and the tremor was increasingly violent and I
was not able to control it. And I was neither able to define it - was it
just out of cold, or out of desperation?

The sound of a voice at my back distracted me from that dilemma.

"Hey, boy, why did you stay out in the rain?"

I turned to look at the owner of that voice - it was a young man, about
thirty years old, tall, slender but apparently strong, dressed in an
indefinable style that I was not able to classify at once. He gave me
the impression it was something half way between that of a worker
dressing in a traditional way, possibly a carpenter, and the assistant
of a fruits and vegetables shopÉ I don't know why I thought exactly of
these two possibilities.

"Because I don't have a place to goÉ" I answered in a tired tone.

He turned round the bench and stopped in front of me, carefully looking
at me from head to toe. His eyes were moving up and down, up and down in
a cheeky way that annoyed me a little; one doesn't look at a person in
that way, it is not politeÉ But, at least, he was looking at me, at
least he was aware of me, so he recognised my existence.

"You are soaked as if you fell in the river." he said with a flat tone,
almost as he was informing me about it.

How, if I didn't already knowÉ What was the sense of telling me so? I
looked for a moment in his eyes - his expression was serious, but his
eyes were smiling. I noticed he was not wet, his clothes were perfectly
dry.

"If you stay there so, you will get an illness." he stated after a long
silence.

"I know." I answered as if I was admitting a fault.

"Thrown out of home." he said nodding to himself. He then asked, "Am I
wrong?"

I shook my head. On one side I was annoyed by his insistence with his
sentences, his questions, his going on looking at me too openlyÉ but on
the other side I was also grateful to him. How long was it that nobody
addressed his words to me? Three? Four days? Besides the woman of the
udon bowlÉ The udon bowlÉ was already totally digested and I was feeling
hungry again.

"No, I'm not wrong." the young man said correctly interpreting my denial
made just slightly shaking my head, and he said it in the tone of who
says to himself, "I saw it right!"

He was going on to look at me so, feeling embarrassed, I moved my eyes
away. A man on his bicycle was passing not far and I followed him with
my eyes. A sparrow came flying and landed between him and me, and seemed
to look at us curiously. I looked at the sparrow, I curious too.

"You will come with me." the man then said.

I raised my eyes and looked at him, amazed. I think that my mouth was
agape, so much I was astounded.

"Why? Where?" I then asked in a feeble tone, asking myself why he told
me those wordsÉ he gave me that order.

"At my place. You have to take off those clothes. We have to rinse them,
to dry them. You have to dry yourself. Standing there you will catch a
disease."

"Where?" I asked again feeling terribly tired, totally emptied, unable
to answer him with a no in an explicit way, and so hiding behind my
questions.

"At my place." he repeated then said, "Stand up. Come." and without
waiting for an answer, without waiting for a yes or a no from me, he
went off at a decided pace. Decided but neither fast nor slow.

I stood up and followed him. He walked around the bushes. Behind them
there was a kind of low tent made with waterproof sheets of various
colours, hanging from ropes tied between four trees, making an almost
perfect parallelepiped. It was not a camping tent, and neither a
military tent. It made me think of the picture of the Kaaba in Mecca,
just this one was not black but was made with yellow, green and blue
sheets.

He raised one of them. He turned back to look at me, again from head to
toe, several times. He seemed thoughtful. He again nodded to himself.

"Undress here in front and leave your clothes on the grass, don't wet
the inside. I will take care of your clothes." he said keeping still
raised the sheet that served as the door of his shelter.

I remained there, still. I didn't know what to do. I could feel my
clothes sticking to my skin and the sensation was disagreeable. The
interior, of which I could only see a small part, seemed welcoming. So I
decided and started to slowly undress. My shirt fell on the grass, then
my undershirt. I opened my trousers and took them off, heavy from the
water they had absorbed, first one leg, then the other, and remained
with only my underpants, socks and shoes on me.

"Take off your shoes and socks also, then go in. Even if you wet a
little inside, it's not a problem, I will dry the floor later." he said.

Balancing first on one foot then on the other, I did as he told me and
put my bare foot inside, then the other one, leaving everything outside.
The floor was another of those waterproof sheets, but this one was of an
orange colour. When I was inside, he took off his shoes, just pushing
the feet one against the other then went in. He let the entrance sheet
fall down.

"Also take off your underpants." he said while bending at a corner and
straightening again up, with an old but clean towel in his hand.

"NoÉ" I said feeling oddly ashamed to undress totally, there in front of
an unknown person.

"Yes." he just said. Then, when he saw I didn't move, he added, "You do
undress totally at the public baths, don't you? In front of strangers,
don't you?"

"It's not importantÉ" I answered, thinking he was right, but there was
not a public bath and we were just two, alone.

"Take them off. You have to dry yourself and to dry them. On you they
will just annoy you. Take them off."

It was not an order, it was not a request. He was just saying something
obvious. Like someone who tells you - if you want to read, open the
book.

So, feeling a little ashamed, I let my underpants slip down, took them
off, then straightened up, keeping them in my hand.

"Throw them in that corner, I will take care of them later." he said.

He came close to me and started to rub all over my body with the towel,
drying me.

"I'll do itÉ" I weakly protested.

"It's almost done. What's the difference?" he said turning around me and
going on to rub my body.

It was embarrassingÉ but also quite agreeable. So my pleasure pointer
started to mark some degrees towards the highÉ He rubbed my hair with
the towel, using both hands, from behind.

He then pointed at his futon rolled in a corner, "Unroll it and lie on
it. And cover yourself with that blanket. I will now take care of your
clothes."

I did as he told me. The idea of lying down on something soft, of
covering my nudity, was appealing to me. As soon as I was settled, waves
of tiredness seemed to submerge me, but also a light feeling of
well-being.

"My name is Oishi Saburo. And yours?" he asked a moment before going out
of the tent, with my underpants in his hand.

I decided to give him a fake nameÉ so I invented, "KinoshitaÉ Ken
Kinoshita."

"Good, Ken. Relax, now." he said and went out.

I heard him bustle about outside, then water noise - he was washing my
clothes. They really needed it. The light was filtering inside through
the waterproof sheets. I looked around, still lying down. The tent was
wide like about a three tatami room (6 square meters). In a corner there
was a wood crate with a gas cooker on it. Then there were big boxes full
of who knows what, lined along the walls.

In the opposite corner another wood crate had on top a battery lamp,
some papers, and a copybook. At the centre there was a pole with a small
cushion on its top, that kept the horizontal sheet raised, giving it a
roof shape, so that the rain would flow away and not fill it
dangerously.

Tiredness had the winning hand on me, and insensibly I slipped into
sleep, hearing the noise of Saburo who outside, on the lawn, was going
on washing my clothes.

I was awakened by the noise of the rain that was drumming on the sheet
that was the roof of Saburo's tent. It was night, from the sheets was
coming no light at all, and the electric lamp was lit and diffused a
faint light in the tent. I turned my head to see where Saburo was and
what he was doing.

He was sitting near me, bare-chested, and he was looking at me. When he
saw I opened my eyes, he put a hand on my chest and slowly glided the
blanket from my body. Serious as always. But now his eyes were more
smiling than before, they were shining and burning with lust.

"NoÉ" I said in a low voice.

"Yes!" he said, peremptory.

He stood up on his knees and I saw he was totally naked, and that his
cock was totally hard, straight, and for the first time in my life a
cock seemed to me menacing.

"NoÉ" I repeated trying to push him away from me.

He came on me in silence, seized my wrists with hands strong like steel
vices, slipped his legs between mine and forced me to stretch them,
while his chest weighed on mine, preventing me from escaping from him.

"NoÉ" I insisted, feeling almost desperate.

I didn't want it. Not because I didn't like Saburo, he had a quite
agreeable face and a nice body. But up to then, even when I sold my
body, I had been master of it. My bodyÉ the last thing I still owned.
But Saburo was going to steal that also. If he asked me, I would have
told him yesÉ at least to thank himÉ but not so! I didn't want this.

But I was totally devoid of strength, not only physically but also
inside meÉ Saburo on the contrary was strong and determined. He forced
me, with a few appropriate moves, to assume the position he wantedÉ
heedless of my no. He folded me under him, and while with one hand he
was keeping both my wrists imprisoned, high above my head, with the
other he spread something between my buttocks, then pushed his hard pole
between them.

"NoÉ" I again prayed him.

"Yes!" he affirmed with eyes of fire.

I felt the strong and smooth cock head forcing my back entrance,
overcome my weak but desperate resistance, open meÉ and with a moan of
victory, Saburo started to sink inside me. I then all of a sudden
stopped trying to fight him, to resist him, and surrendered in his
hands. He sank completely inside me; his sword filled my sheath.

"Yes!" he exclaimed in a winning, triumphant tone.

His face was burning with lust, his eyes were shining for the joy of the
victory. He knew he won me, he knew he could do with me as he pleased,
all he wantedÉ He started to hammer inside me, going on keeping my
wrists prisoners of his steel hand, while with his other hand he was
teasing my genitals in the vain hope, possibly, to make them harden. Or
possibly just for the pleasure of touching the genitals of another maleÉ

As much as I was feeling weak and defenceless, that much he seemed full
of vigour. He was dominating me, and not only physically. I didn't like
it. But, whether I liked it or not, I could feel, I knew that I could
not oppose his rapacious desire. He was hammering inside me, not
violently but with virile determination.

And he was looking in my eyes, looking, looking. It seemed he wanted to
penetrate me also with his eyes. I closed my eyes, to shut out his
glance. It was not a victory look, it was not a domineering look, and it
was neither a luxury lookÉ It was a look that wanted to lay bare my
soulÉ

But even though I had lost control of my body, I wanted to at least keep
the mastery of my soul. This is why I closed my eyes.

The continuous, prolonged assault of Saburo was not annoying me, was not
pleasing me, it gave me nothing. Like the rain - you can't help it, you
can just wait until it ceases, it stops. I could feel his body impend on
me, dominate me inside. I cold feel his warm breath lapping on my face.

I finally felt all his muscles tense, also the grip of his hand on my
wrists became tighter, he then started to unload inside me in a set of
strong jets, each accompanied by a thrust. Differently from many other
men, he didn't utter the least sound while he was abandoning himself to
the shaking force of his orgasm. Only his breath became more difficult.

He then parted from me, abandoned the prey that had been my body and
laid at my side, finally leaving me free. I could hear his breath
gradually calming down, I could feel the light contact of his skin
against mine, but only our shoulders and hips were touching.

I opened my eyes and looked at the sheet above us, on which the rain was
still drumming. Soon after the breath of the young man lying at my side,
sated and relaxed, became regular and deep. I understood he fell asleep.
Out of safety I waited for several minutes, still, almost holding back
my breath. My anus was gradually closing, still slightly irritated from
the massive and unwanted invasion.

Slowly, being careful not to wake him up, I sat up. I looked at him. His
face had a tranquil expression, not serene, not sated, but simply
tranquil. Like that of any workman who is resting at the end of his
workday. A veil of sweat was beading his smooth forehead and his upper
lip. His chest was wide and hairless, besides a ring of light black
hairs around his dark nipples. Another thin line of dark hairs lined
towards the lower part of his body, started just under his navel to then
open in a pentagon of dark and thick hair around his cock.

His pole, now soft, was resting on the firm sack of his balls, leaning
against a thigh - I was surprised thinking that it seemed to me much
bigger than it really was, when he pushed it inside me and while he was
beating it up and down into my depth. Possibly, when it was hard, it was
much bigger than at rest.

I looked around and saw on a crate some sandwiches. I was hungry. I
stood up and took them, all three of them. I then went to the sheet that
was the door of the tent, and pushed it aside. The faint light that came
from inside the tent illuminated the heavy sheets of rain. I saw at the
side of the entrance, hanging on one of the ropes that kept up the tent,
all my clothes.

I put the sandwiches on the tent's floor and went out. Under the pelting
rain I put on my socks, the underpants, the vest, the shirt, the
trousers and finally the shoes. I raised the door sheet a little and
took the sandwiches that were wrapped in plastic. I went away, at a fast
pace, under the rain, feeling again the water run under my clothes, on
my skin.

I turned back just once, and saw the tent, at my back, faintly lit by
the battery lamp inside it. I turned again and went away, out of the
park; I walked along the deserted pavement, until I saw the entrance of
the station. It was still open. Therefore it should not yet be one in
the night. I didn't have money to pay for a ticket, therefore I went far
from the box of the clerk on watch, jumped over the turnstile and went
to the platform.

A man who was coming up the escalator saw me jump over the turnstile and
looked at me with a hard, disapproving expression, but said nothing and
went to the way out. I went down. While I was waiting for the next
train, I opened one of the three plastic envelopes and gobbled down the
first of the three sandwiches.

The train came, half deserted. I went in and sat on the plastic seat. I
opened the second envelope and ate another sandwich, this time more
slowly, savouring it. I let the empty plastic envelope fall on the floor
- I would never have done such a thing in the past, but now I was not
caring at all. If societies rules had provoked my expulsion, why should
I respect them? I asked myself, persuaded I was on the side of reason.

While I was attacking the third and last sandwich, I thought again about
what Saburo didÉ what he did to ME. He took advantage of my weakness, of
my desperation to steal from me what remained to meÉ Not even amongst
tramps is there solidarity, I thought almost astounded at becoming aware
of it.

I chewed my last sandwich slowly to moisten each bite well, as I didn't
have anything to drink and I feared they could stick in my throatÉ A man
dressed like a clerk passed in front of me and threw me an almost
astounded glance, but passed on. Who knows what he could have thought?
Possibly that I was going back home drunk after an evening of revelry
with my mates in some pubÉ

The train got to the terminal. To exit I should have had a ticket, but
as I came in, I would go out, jumping over the turnstile. I went on the
escalator, doing so as not to be too near another traveller. I went with
a decided pace to the turnstile and without bothering to check if
somebody was looking at me, I jumped over it. I went out of the station.
Here it was not raining. But the street was wet; therefore it had rained
before.

Outside the few passengers that arrived with my same train were going
hurriedly to their homes, grey solitary figures that were longing to
reach the safety of their houses and finally lie on their futons. And
possibly to have nice dreams.

I had never been in that part of Tokyo, I had no idea about where I was,
I didn't even check what line I took, in which direction the train was
going. I could go back to the station to look at its name, but I didn't
feel like it, and anyway I didn't care, it was absolutely not important.

When you have a house, you have to tell the others where it is - such
district of Tokyo, such borough, such block, such numberÉ but when you
don't have a house, what importance is it? Nobody ever asks you - where
don't you have a house? Everywhere! All the boroughs were therefore
mine, as I didn't have a house any more, right? Therefore what
importance could there be in what part of Tokyo I was?

I don't know why, but while I was wandering at random, I recalled Saburo
- he didn't court me, he didn't rape me, he didn't contract for a
serviceÉ he just took me. And used me. Like somebody who passes near a
tree and sees a ripe fruit on it, picks it and eats it. He should not do
so, when the tree doesn't belong to him. No, he should not do so.

I was on a narrow street sided by small one-family houses, each with a
garden wide like the forehead of a cat, how we say here in JapanÉ "A
small plot of land" I think the English speaking people saysÉ It's funny
how in those conditions I could think to my knowledge of EnglishÉ

Everything was silent; all the lights were off. No, from a window on the
ground floor of one of those houses came a light. A crumpled curtain
prevented me from looking inside. I asked myself if behind it was
somebody ill, or studying, or who simply couldn't fall asleepÉ Or
possibly a couple making loveÉ or just having sex.

I stopped to look. I could see no movement inside. After some time I
resumed walking. I had to find a corner, a shelter, someplace to spend
the nightÉ but where? I could possibly have been wrong to walk far from
the stationÉ What about going back?

I walked in front of a Buddhist temple and read the wooden plate hanging
at the side of the closed gate - "Temple of the Small Circle"É I asked
myself what kind of circle was it, and how small was itÉ I asked myself
if the monk, or the monks inhabiting it were married or singleÉ and if
they fucked their novicesÉ

Once I had read a tale where a monk fucked his noviceÉ to teach him the
right way, the tale explained. I don't remember who wrote that tale, but
I remember that the monk loved his handsome novice so much, that each
time he looked at him, he felt as if his soul could explode in a
thousand pieces.

Continuing to walk, I asked myself if I could ever, one day, feel my
soul about to burst in a thousand pieces for the love of somebodyÉ and
not from desperation.

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CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 4

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In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to
read them, the URL is

http://andrejkoymasky.com

If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help revising my English
translations, so that I can put on-line more of my  stories in English
please e-mail at

andrej@andrejkoymasky.com

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