Nureki Chimuo Archive

While explaining the content of Yusuke Aoyagi’s graphic novel “Camouflage,” the conversation somehow turned to my photography work. So, this time, I’ll return to the original topic and continue writing about “Camouflage.” As before, I’ll skip the finer details in my explanation. While the author’s unique “flavor” shines through in the intricate dialogue and artwork, explaining it would make this overly long, so please understand. (This manga magazine from forty years ago will be deposited at the Sex Museum once I finish writing this article, so those interested are welcome to see the actual item.) A few years past thirty, the “Section Chief” who had come to know his own talents and the limits of his future life invited new employee Keiko Hagino on an overnight road trip. This “Section Chief” had a wife. Conversation inside the car driven by the Section Chief: “What did you tell your family?” “Since it’s a long weekend, she’s going on a trip with friends… Surprisingly, they’re pretty hands-off with me. They say they trust me… what did you say… to your wife?” (Nureki’s note: The previous scene shows the section chief and his wife engaged in a domestic conversation and imagery filled with a certain weariness. The section chief’s wife has breasts and buttocks that are slightly sagging, and her lower abdomen protrudes.) “You’re such a bad husband, Section Chief… leaving your family service behind during the holidays.” “Yeah, that’s right, I’m a bad guy, you know… if Hagino-kun trusts me too, things are gonna get messy, huh? Haha..”

“I trust you, Section Chief… If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be going on an overnight trip alone with a man.” “Haha… this is a real mess… but maybe a goodnight kiss is okay?” (Nureki’s note: After arriving at the hot spring and entering the inn, there are detailed movements and brief lines of dialogue between the man and woman as they eat…) “But that maid earlier, even though there are two bedrooms, she mistook us for a married couple… it’s so quiet, all I can hear is the croaking of frogs.” A description appears beside the night view of cascading waterfalls: “She has feelings for me… On a night alone together at this secluded hot spring, embracing her would be easy…” “But you, a thirty-year-old man, must understand what I’m thinking right now, my brain working at full capacity like a computer…” (Nureki’s note: This line, “For you, a thirty-year-old man…” is an appeal to the reader. The author is appealing to the reader’s empathy. The reason I chose to introduce this work in the “Talking Theater” lies in the resolution from this point to the very end.) The Section Chief gazed out the window at the night view. “Well, there are houses even up that mountain… Look,” he said, and while Keiko was looking at it, he pulled her face close and kissed her. “Section Chief…,” she murmured. Keiko’s face was drawn with a girlish purity as cute as possible. “No, Section Chief!” A picture of a spider stretching its limbs out long in the darkness. “No more… ah… ah, stop, please stop.” Keiko, pinned down on the tatami mat, her breasts being grabbed. “What’s so bad about it? You expected this from the start… And if anyone asked, you’d probably say, ‘I was forced by the Section Chief!’” “There’s no need to resist so much… I never intended to… take off the last piece.” the Section Chief says internally.

“...Just as I imagined, adorable, perky breasts!” “Just seeing these breasts is enough for me…” … “Let’s stop now…” “We should stop here, right here…” “You don’t need to say anything else! When a woman says, ‘Manager, no…’” “Just stare into her eyes and let go. She’ll delude herself into thinking you stopped because you cared about her!” And then, the final monologue. “I know it myself A 30-year-old man like me… How pathetic and disgusting And how dry and brittle I am I know all that… I don’t have the courage to destroy Everything I’ve worked so hard to build up until now… Yet, I desperately want to do something! I know it I’m at the point where I can no longer Kick a ball toward the blue sky anymore This is what a thirty-year-old man is, you know.” A picture of a black gecko crawling on what appears to be the shade of a lamp. And the story ends with a line drawing of an airplane flying just above the low roofs of the houses. Well, that’s about it. What do you think? Eh? You don’t get it? I see. Explaining a graphic novel with just words alone is probably impossible after all. Without the illustrations, it might be hard to convey this manga’s dark, twisted lyricism.

No, you see, I just thought that nowadays, there aren’t any erotic manga depicting the naive desires and inner workings of men like this, so I ended up enthusiastically introducing this “Camouflage” after all. The male boss takes a new female employee on an overnight trip, strips her naked, ties her up, and spends the entire night lewdly licking, tormenting, and caressing her. And before long, the woman starts getting wildly turned on by the caress, moaning and screaming with delight. Seeing this, the man ends up disgusted and appalled. That’s the kind of punchline you often find in manga these days. In such scenes, dazzlingly intense male and female bodies are depicted with relentless, excessive exposure, as if to say, “Here’s more, and more!” So persistently and meticulously detailed that we scarcely have the leisure to indulge in our own fantasies. When every single wrinkle in the private parts is depicted with such precision, it actually gets in the way of fantasizing and kills the mood, doesn’t it? But in Yusuke Aoyagi’s manga, even though he finally invites her on an overnight trip and she might be into it (she’s definitely into it!), he stops after just seeing her breasts. “Just seeing these breasts is enough for me… I should stop now…” He muttered these words trying to save face. I see so many timid sadists, no, bondage enthusiasts, who harbor the desire to tie up the woman they love with rope, just once, get close to doing it, but ultimately lack the guts and end up accomplishing nothing. I think bondage enthusiasts are still pretty much like that even now. All the enthusiasts I’m close with have kind hearts. Too kind, in fact. Most of them are like Yusuke Aoyagi’s “Section Chief.” I’m extremely timid (in fact, if you’re not timid, I won’t consider you a true bondage enthusiast). Well, I suppose I’m one of those timid enthusiasts myself. My timidity stems from my own inferiority complex. A heavy, dark inferiority complex I can’t tell anyone about, being a bondage enthusiast. I’m nothing but an embodiment of that inferiority complex. Liar!

Please don’t say things like that. It’s not a lie. It’s true. Until just the other day, I was actually the Section Chief depicted by Yusuke Aoyagi. (I tie up many women for work. Please don’t misunderstand.) Because I get paid for it, I can casually tie up young, beautiful women I’ve never met before. (No, I’m not fine. I still feel inferior. I always cover it up with that excuse, that it’s just work, which is hardly a valid excuse at this point.) Work and personal life are completely different. Liar! Oh, you yelled again. It’s not a lie. No matter how much I insist it’s not a lie, people just can’t seem to believe me. The peculiar title “rope master” stems from my deep-seated inferiority complex and my will to overcome it, however slightly. (The person who coined the new term “rope master,” namely Minomura Kou, said that. That is, he called himself that.) By adding that character for “master [師],” might someone mistakenly believe they’re truly worth of being called a “master?” And thus, distract themselves, even slightly, from their own feelings of inferiority? Just the other day, I was hospitalized for two days for a comprehensive health checkup. Naturally, I have a bit of a lecherous streak, so I observed the nurses at work quite closely. They are truly remarkable. They truly possess the expertise worthy of being called a “master.” They also have the skills. Above all, they work hard. I thought to myself, they were truly “masters.” What’s more, white coats are sexy (oh, wait, that has nothing to do with being a “master”). “Bakushi”... Bakushi. A word with a dirty, unpleasant ring to it.

If someone calls me bakushi, it only makes me feel even more inferior and I can’t stand being there. I genuinely start to think I’m being made fun of. People who call themselves “trainers” are the same. I absolutely cannot believe they can train a woman’s heart to do whatever they want. People who call themselves “trainers” must have quite a complex of inferiority. Those who have no objection to being called “master” surely cannot possess an enthusiast's heart. Those who call themselves “rope masters” or “trainers” are merely trying to hide their obsession, yet the result is the opposite. I still avoid being called a “master” because I don’t want to be seen as an enthusiast. I’m perfectly fine with being a day laborer “rope technician.” It’s clearer and more straightforward this way. My reasoning seems to be getting rather disjointed. I’m feeling rather conflicted myself. The story took a wild turn from Yusuke Aoyagi’s manga. Well then, I’ll head over to the Iidabashi Sex Museum to donate this manga magazine from forty years ago, which proclaims “Yusuke Aoyagi Masterpieces” on its cover. I would be delighted if this were recognized as one of the valuable documents. In that case, it would serve as a small part of my tribute to the late Yusuke Aoyagi.