Nureki Chimuo Archive

Over a decade ago, during a shoot for a certain production company, I once borrowed the home of Uzuki Sayo, which was located in Suginami at the time. The director wanted to shoot an SM drama using a real kitchen as the backdrop instead of a set, so he rented Uzuki’s house for an entire day. It was a typical spec-built single family home, complete with a yard large enough to park a car. During the shoot, in the break after lunch, as I lay down in the second-floor room assigned to me as a waiting room, Uzuki came in. “Sensei, I’ll show you something nice.” She spread out what she held in both hands, revealing a printed sheet the size of a newspaper page. It is considered a rarity within SM, and precisely for that reason, it is treasured among enthusiasts as an old document. I could clearly describe what is here, but I’ll keep it vague to avoid causing her trouble. In any case, it’s a rare and valuable document that cannot be obtained through normal means. “How did you manage to get your hands on such a rare thing?” I was impressed. “One of my fans sent it to me. If you want it, Sensei, I can make a copy and send it to you,” Uzuki said. “I’d really appreciate it if you could do that. Please do,” I said, but I never imagined she’d actually send it.

She kept her promise, made a proper copy, and mailed it to me. She is a kind, trustworthy woman. (That’s right, I should also deposit the materials she gave me at the Iidabashi Sex Museum next time. Then, I’ll let fellow enthusiasts see them. The materials themselves will be better served there than in my possession.) In a town near the Edogawa River in Katsushika, in a small, old wooden building with a tilted roof and a red lantern outside, a place very close to the bar where Uzuki now works, while I was drinking with Uzuki, that thought suddenly crossed my mind. I don’t ask about the details of why they moved from that elegant house in Suginami to this town by the Edogawa River. I don’t pry into such personal matters. Not asking is our etiquette and rule. Uzuki kept drinking, three large mugs of draft beer and a large bottle of wine placed before her. The conversation inevitably turned to criticism of the video footage featuring Uzuki today, with me participating as usual in the role of the person in charge of restraints. “I’m getting paid by the piece, and I hate to say this, but that stuff just won’t sell, you know Sensei?” Uzuki’s tongue is slightly slurred. I intend to restrain Uzuki’s momentum, so I deny it for now. “We whipped her all over with a real leather whip, dripped hot wax down to her crotch, shoved a vibrator into her asshole and turned it on, and did everything from enema torture to scat play. The scenes with the male actor took so much time to shoot too. SM enthusiasts come in all shapes and sizes, but if you keep throwing one thing after another at them at that dizzying pace, any enthusiast is bound to find something that hooks them and satisfies them, right?” When I spoke, Uzuki looked at me for a moment with an expression that seemed both contemptuous and pitying. “Sensei, are you serious?” I hummed.

“You know, videos made thinking, ‘any enthusiast will be thrilled’ end up with half-baked content that doesn’t please anyone at all. Hey, Sensei, you get it? Videos made trying to please every single enthusiast, with their shallow content, just get ignored by every single enthusiast. They’re not that easy to please.” Drunk and stubborn, she talks so much that I can’t argue with her. Ah, I just think this woman truly loves SM. “Even if we went to the trouble of inviting you, Sensei, that setup doesn’t showcase the appeal of your rope work at all. All we get to see is naked women (Nureki’s note: Apparently that’s the term for completely naked these days52 ), spread-eagled and bound to the examination table, with vibrators shoved deep inside them until they’re whimpering and moaning. That’s just not the least bit interesting for bondage enthusiasts.” “So, today’s video wasn’t made for bondage enthusiasts." “Then why did they call you? All those scenes they filmed, just the ass floating high, legs spread wide, shoving vibrators in and out of her asshole and pussy. But with the angle the director kept aiming for, no matter how skillfully you tied them up, you couldn’t see the ropes at all. Ah, sorry. Telling you this is like preaching to the choir.” Since she knows an expression like “preaching to the choir,” I think Uzuki must be over fifty now. How many years ago was it that I bound this woman three or four times a month for photo shoots in the dozen or so SM magazines published back then? “Hey, you’ve been drinking a lot. Aren’t you reaching your limit?” “It’s okay. My place is right over there. If it closes, I’ll just have Osamu-chan come over. Right, Master?” Ugestu called out to the owner of the shop, who was in the corner behind the counter. The small-statured master, who must have been well past seventy, opened his half-closed eyes, let out a cat-like “meow,” and nodded. Since Uzuki talks so freely, I figure I can say whatever I want in front of this master, so I’m talking without worrying about it either. At places like Shibuya or Shinjuku, industry insiders are often drinking right behind you, so you can’t let your guard down and blurt things out carelessly. The term in question here is マッパ: mappa. Usually 裸:hadaka is used

“Hey, Sensei, will you listen? Please listen. It’s not often I get a chance to talk like this, pressed up against you, all alone with you. Nureki-san, please listen.” “Ah, I hear you, I hear you.” “There’s an island right in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and we’re the indigenous people who live there.” “Huh?” “In other words, we’re the indigenous people of the SM tribe.” “The Indigenous People of the SM Tribe?” “Well, they look just like ordinary humans, but their sexual preferences are a bit… no, quite unusual. So this tour company thought, ‘This guy looks interesting,’ and they gathered up customers, put them on boats and planes, and brought them to our island. For profit of course.” “Huh?” “There’s this interesting island where only perverts live, want to come see it?” “Hmmm…” If only perverts lived in a place, then they wouldn’t be perverts anymore. And if “normal” people became the minority, wouldn’t “normal” be the one called “perverted?” That’s what I thought, but arguing such nonsense with a drunk woman was pointless. So I just kept quiet and nodded along. “But since tour company staff are ordinary people, they can’t truly understand the SM tribe living on the island, their real selves or inner thoughts. Without that understanding, they can’t provide commentary or guidance. That’s why they recruited people from the SM tribe, hired them as guides, and put them at the front of the tour. People like you and me.” “Woah, wait a minute. So that means we’re guides hired by a tour company?” I finally understood a little of what Uzuki was saying. “As time went on, the real guides disappeared. Or rather, they grew tired of dealing with tour companies that only catered to the whims of ordinary tourists, and stopped working with them altogether. So now, tour company employees pretend to be real guides and show people around. That’s the state of things today.” “I see.”

“No matter how much you pretend to be the real things, you’re not originally from the island, so you can’t possibly be a real guide. No matter how much you study, it’s a world where the blood running through your veins speaks for itself. There’s no helping it. Getting aroused by just seeing a rope is a trick you could never learn, no matter how much you study.” “Hey, hey, don’t drag me into this.” “Those people only copy the outward appearance. They’ve completely missed the point. No matter how smooth their talk is, the locals just turn away. When the tourism resources turn their backs, it’s only natural that tourists will dwindle away too, isn’t it?” With that, Uzuki rested both arms on the counter, turned her face to the side, and fell asleep. The large wine bottle is almost empty. Seeing that, the shopkeeper, who made cat-like noises, picked up the phone with practiced ease and, still in the cat-like voice, contacted Osamu-chan. “Your girlfriend fell asleep.” Within a minute, Osamu-chan appeared. Then, slinging Uzuki over his shoulder, he bowed his head and said to me, “Sensei, I’m sorry. From now on, we’ll take care of things at our place.” It’s past 1:30 in the morning. In the end, I ended up spending the night at Uzuki’s place until morning. The wind chime hanging beneath the eaves of the second-floor roof tinkled all night long. The relationship between the tour company and the indigenous people, it was like some fairy tale you think you understand but you really don’t. But as a drunken woman’s drunken tale, it had a certain flavor to it. The accusation that I was an indigenous person employed and exploited by a tourism company struck a chord with me. Come to think of it, the magazine I used to edit, Uramado, wasn’t aimed at the general public. It deliberately avoided any “normal” depictions of sex. And the “Kinbiken Videos” I was making were not aimed at “ordinary people” at all.

Our target was only the islanders living on SM Island.