Nureki Chimuo Archive

The more than forty paintings on display at “Masagoten” left a surprisingly deep impression on me.

Huh? What did you say?

You’re asking if I really feel that way even about paintings that don’t depict ropes?

Come on, come on, come on, you can’t be serious.

SM.

Rope is nothing more than a medium that leads my imagination into the sensual world of

The physical object known as rope is merely one of the tools that lures me into a dreamlike paradise filled with the intense scent of fetishism.

Besides, could someone who’s only interested in rope really edit an SM magazine?

While I’m at it, let me just say this. Looking at photos that lack any imagery or soul, photos that just clutter the female body with ropes and ostentatiously spread her legs wide, doesn’t stimulate my SM sensibilities in the slightest.

To me, those kinds of photos are nothing more than live coverage of a crude, straightforward torture and endurance contest. All I feel when I look at them is revulsion.

Huh? What did you say?

Are you saying that the fact I feel nothing when faced with those obvious erotic photos of some thick object shoved into a woman’s crotch means I’ve already aged to the point of no return?

Well, considering my age, I suppose I can’t really argue with that, but when the Director of the Sex Industry Museum showed me the “Masagoten” on display there, I was unmistakably moved.

And it was, even by my own standards, a youthful, vibrant emotion. For a moment, hot blood rushed through my entire body.

For example, the image of a schoolgirl from behind, standing in the hallway, holding buckets of water in both hands.

The delicate, poignant vulnerability of the girl’s submissive pose, with her head bowed slightly forward, is unbearably endearing, masochistic, and erotic.

(The feeling of endearment is one of the essential elements of SM sensuality.)

The white socks on this schoolgirl’s feet. And her white sneakers.

Oh, what a modest, dainty pair of sneakers they are. Simple, unadorned sneakers with nothing but three red stripes.

Even just looking at her feet, I feel a dizzying sense of eroticism. The depiction of the sneakers, with their left and right heels positioned slightly offset from one another, is precise and remarkable. Drawn at an exquisite angle, it showcases the artist’s meticulous draftsmanship, imbued with her deep emotion.

The scent of the girl’s feet, wrapped in pure white, clean cotton socks with cuffs, and the eroticism that wafts tantalizingly from the sneakers, where the scent of her five toes is trapped, possess a presence that envelops the viewer’s entire body in sweet fantasy.

More than the scent emanating from her genitals themselves, the girl’s sensuality oozes out intensely. This section, featuring the socks and sneakers, closes in on the viewer, stimulating lust. The artist’s obsession is conveyed directly to the viewer’s heart. This is fetishism at its core.

Her panties are pulled down to just below the curve of her butt, the raw, vivid texture of the wrinkles in that small white piece of fabric.

The two exposed mounds of flesh are already red and swollen from being scolded, punished, and spanked by the teacher.

Of course, the shape of the girl’s butt is not that of an old woman. In other words, it is modest, endearing, and cute.

The color of the swollen areas from the spanking is a dreamlike, fleeting redness, yet it never loses its realism. This cruel sensation is exquisite. It’s a vivid color that makes you feel a tingling sensation as you stare at it, making you want to rub your cheek against it without thinking.

It forms a delicate red pattern that invites fantasies and evokes so many stories that you could lose yourself in the pleasure of those fantasies forever.

Not only this depiction of a schoolgirl carrying buckets in both hands, but all of the more than forty works displayed at “Masagoten” are free of the kind of sludge that often clings to art created solely for financial gain.

There is the artist’s most pure, passionate, and single-minded dedication, the simple act of painting what he wanted to paint. There is a soul.

That soul has come to magnificent fruition through the artist’s highly skilled craftsmanship, making this “Masagoten” exhibition truly refreshing.

It is this refreshing eroticism that has revived the youthfulness of my aging mind and body.

I understand this all too well. There was a time when I edited SM magazines and I also have a past of writing countless SM novels.

The works I wrote, pouring my heart and soul into what I wanted to write without a second thought, were well received.

The pieces I wrote simply to earn a fee, tailoring them to the magazine’s style and tone, received only a meager response.

It was the heyday of SM magazines, so long as you had a certain level of technique, anything could be published and you could earn a fee. I wrote and wrote and wrote for over a dozen SM magazines.

An editor-in-chief of one SM magazine once told me, “Nureki-san, your writing is more interesting and full of power and momentum when the handwriting is a bit messy.”

I still remember those words to this day.

I’m something of a handwriting fetishist. I always write my manuscripts by hand on manuscript paper, making each character as clear and neat as possible, even more so than necessary (as is the case with this very manuscript).

However, when a deadline was looming and I was getting carried away by what I was writing, my handwriting would become sloppy and rough, and there were times when I handed in manuscripts to the editor with missing characters.

Oh, I’ve gone off on a tangent.

(My manuscripts for “Talking Theater” are always like this.)

Unlike novel manuscripts, the moment an illustration leaves the artist’s hands, the illustration itself becomes a finished work.

In visual art that requires delicate technique, no matter how excited you are, your hand must not falter while you’re creating.

So, while it’s not comparable to a novel manuscript, there’s a common thread in the mindset.

Every painting on display at “Masagoten” is imbued with the artist’s passionate and unwavering dedication.

That stirs and shakes my soul. It revives the erotic sensibility of a true connoisseur.

Back when I was editing an SM magazine, the contributors, though they had subtle differences in their specific areas of interest, were all people driven by pure passion.

When I, as the editor, tried to hand them their honoraria,“Wait, I get to write about what I love, the way I want, have it published in print, have everyone read it, and get paid for it? I’m so grateful,” one contributor said. It was the same with the painters.

There was a time when only such passionate contributors would gather and talk through the night.

I’m sure they still exist today. Just like this artist, Masago Koshino.