Nureki Chimuo Archive

When I wrap both arms around Rakka-san’s hips from behind as she sits on the small chair in front of me, the firm, supple sensation becomes mine alone.

When I caress that butt, tightly encased in the thin fabric, with all my heart, it feels so good that I find myself lost in ecstasy.

The seat she’s sitting on is circular, about twenty-odd centimeters in diameter, with a round hole in the center.

It is the cheapest, lightest, and most flimsy chair of all. Even I can hold it with one hand.

Of course, it has no backrest. It is a plain, unadorned chair.

However, in this theater, it serves as an extra seat whenever the house is full.

That is why it is always stacked in a corner of the audience area.

Right behind the round chair she sat down on is another round chair of the same design, where I am sitting.

They are practically touching.

In other words, with my legs spread apart, I am pressed tightly against Rakka-san’s lower body from behind.

Behind us is a tin door, which serves as the emergency exit for this theater.

Since we’re on the second floor, pushing that tin door reveals a rough concrete staircase leading straight down to the first floor.

To be fair, the staircase does have a roof, but that area is already outside the theater.

Opening the door on the opposite side of the emergency exit leads to the ticket booth connected to the main entrance.

It is a small theater that holds barely more than two hundred people even when packed to the brim, and by the time she and I arrived, the auditorium was nearly full.

There were no seats left in the regular seating area, so both she and I spent three and a half hours sitting on round, hard folding chairs, something that has happened several times, or perhaps a dozen times, over the past four or five years.

The folding chairs are placed in various locations, on the downstage right side next to the stage, on the upstage side with one’s back to the emergency exit, and in the aisles between the rows of seats, and when the audience floods in, every available space is completely filled.

“Where would you like to sit?”

When asked by the usher, who seems unfriendly at first glance but is actually kind at heart, I often ask for a seat facing the tin emergency exit door.

The reason is that this spot acts as a sort of blind spot, hard to see from the other seats, so even if my hand is pressed tightly against Rakka-san’s lower body, no one notices.

No, the patrons who come here are all, without exception, absolutely crazy about theater and love actors in full makeup, so the moment the curtain rises, no one even glances my way.

Even if they did sense my presence, the stage is far more interesting than the movements of my hands, so their eyes and hearts are immediately drawn to the beautiful faces and figures of the actors.

No matter how persistently I stroke Rakka-san’s butt, she remains completely unfazed. She doesn’t object or try to avoid it, rather, she stands her ground and lets me do as I please.

You could even call it a lack of reaction.

I wrote “no matter how persistently,” but in reality, I’m not that persistent.

It’s actually a light, refreshing touch.

Since she remains completely unfazed with her back straight, I always feel at ease and run both hands up from her butt to her waist and chest.

I’m becoming a little bolder.

Sometimes I wonder why she doesn’t try to move my hands away.

Perhaps she knows that if she avoids me or shows any sign of displeasure, it would upset me.

There are women who, knowing that a man will become upset and lose interest, instinctively and reflexively avoid such situations.

There are women who believe they must twist their bodies to avoid contact in such moments, and so they do.

Such women are certainly unpleasant for a man.

That said, I have no desire to touch women of that sort from the very beginning.

I don’t even feel like going to see a movie or a play with her.

No matter how sensual the shape of Rakka-san’s butt may be, I don’t stroke or rub her vigorously like a starving young man.

I won’t do anything so crude or unsophisticated.

I touch her gently, slowly.

I feel better when I touch her gently.

Imagining the sight of her round butt, stripped down to just her panties, I gently savor them with my palm and fingers.

(The beauty of her round butt, tightly wrapped in panties, it’s so erotic it’s beyond words.)

This exquisite pleasure, savored secretly amidst the heated buzz of a packed auditorium, is nothing short of sublime.

It might even be more pleasurable than actually gazing at or touching her bare butt in a private room, just the two of us.

(Ah, I really am a pervert!)

Perhaps, at this moment, she, too, is experiencing the same kind of pleasure as I am.

Basically, we are accomplices.

It is difficult to describe the shape of her butt in words.

To be specific, it resembles the shape of the plump, rounded butt in a semi-nude photo of Norika Fujiwara (photographed by Koichiro Matsui) published in the January 21, 2012 issue of “Shukan Gendai,” where she stands in front of a large window, stretching upward in a diagonal back view.

It’s a beautiful, erotic butt that strikes a perfect balance with the black of her lingerie.

Note that while I wrote “butt” in the case of Rakka-san, I’ve used the informal “butt” without an honorific9 for Norika Fujiwara. That’s a subtle nuance of my “art” (laughs).

Norika Fujiwara must be exercising extreme self-restraint and putting a lot of effort into maintaining her figure. The flesh of her thighs, which should contribute to the roundness of her butt, is too thin.

If you saw these thighs in person, they would undoubtedly look a bit scrawny.

They might be fine for viewing, but if you were alone with her in a private room, a man might find them a bit lacking. Her arms, for instance, are quite muscular.

(Though they might be fine for men who prefer skinny women.)

Rakka-san’s thighs are more voluptuous, and the balance with her butt is exquisite and beautiful.

When I’m alone with her, overwhelmed by her beauty and the sheer eroticism of her butt and thighs, I always find myself letting out a moan and bowing in supplication as I say, “Please, I beg you, keep this beauty forever.”

I hold each of her thighs in both hands, rubbing my cheek against them and running my lips along them, begging her over and over again.

It’s not just once. If I count them up, it’s already thirty or forty times, every time I enter that private room and tie her up, I repeat the same words.

It’s not just the superficial beauty of her form.

I love the firm, taut firmness of Rakka-san’s butt, which holds a youthful elasticity.

That’s why, in a packed theater, sitting on a small round chair, my hand just can’t help but reach out to the butt of the girl sitting right in front of me.

9

Butt in Japanese is 尻 “shiri.” Adding an O indicates honorific, i.e. お尻.

For some reason, I don’t really like soft butts that are flabby or squishy. They make me feel like the woman is ignorant, uncultured, and lacking in all sense of discipline.

(What a luxurious thing for a man who will turn eighty-two in five days to say!)

On stage, seven young male actors, beautifully made up and dressed in dazzling costumes, are dancing in a row to recorded music. The lighting shines brilliantly upon them.

Every single one of them is wearing their kimono perfectly, without a single flaw, looking incredibly stylish.

Each one is stylish in his own way. In this setting, being uncouth is a sin.

None of the actors are showing any bare skin.

They are fastidious.

They know the effect of being fastidious.

They wear pure white tabi socks on their feet. They are wearing a hip sash.

Occasionally, the hem of their kimono flips up, revealing just a glimpse of their shins.

The audience is overwhelmingly made up of middle-aged women.

As they follow the movements of their favorite actors with their eyes, their imaginations are stirred, their body temperatures rise in supreme pleasure, and they fill the hall with passionate cheers.

To my eyes, the young actors appear to be nothing but male genitalia, from the tops of their heads to the tips of their toes.

I lean close to Rakka-san’s ear and whisper.

“This is practically a phallus show, isn’t it?”

The play was of high quality, and the actors displayed extremely skillful acting, making it quite entertaining.

Both Rakka-san and I enjoyed it from the bottom of our hearts and laughed many times.

I was thoroughly impressed by the young actors’ formidable artistry. Both the male and female actors were all highly skilled.

The other day, an old acquaintance of mine called and said, “I haven’t seen Rakka-san in the ‘Talking Theater’ lately. What’s going on? Have you two broken up?”

Written above is my reply. I can’t mention any specific names, like the theater, because I don’t want to cause any trouble, but this happened yesterday.