Nureki Chimuo Archive

To H-san.

I had started writing the seventy-ninth installment of “Talking Theater,” but since I received your earnest letter, I’ll set that aside for now and write my reply to you first.

The seventy-ninth installment of “Talking Theater” continues the story of “The Beginning of the Fukujiro Era,” so there’s no particular rush.

Reading your breathless, earnest letter, I felt I must reply as soon as possible.

Therefore, I’ve decided to write my reply to you in this 79th chapter.

Truthfully, I feel it would be best to directly include the full text of your letter here before my own writing. However, even though you used pseudonyms, a private letter remains private, and I cannot publish it without permission.

You tell me that even before you were fully grown, you knew of my existence, that of Nureki Chimuo, and have encountered everything I’ve written, the magazines I’ve created, the films I’ve made. You say you’ve quietly followed my work all this time, without telling anyone. For that, first and foremost, I must express my gratitude. I bow my head and say thank you.

For a writer, there is no one more precious than readers.

Moreover, for over a decade, you have consistently maintained your interest in what I write, create, and perform.

You say you have been captivated by each of my ideas, each of my feelings toward rope. For me, there are no words more reassuring or encouraging than these. Thank you.

You mentioned feeling confused by your own inclinations, agonizing over being an irredeemable pervert, suffering, and accumulating conflict and frustration (perhaps frustration with yourself). But you are not alone. I feel exactly the same way.

And I know many, many others who have wrestled with these same struggles as you and I.

(Having done this work for so long, fifty years now, I truly know many.)

Your sexual inclination is not something unique to you alone. It is certainly in the minority, but it is by no means a solitary, singular fetish.

In fact, I believe that those who agonize over it as seriously as you do are our true comrades.

It is precisely because you feel ashamed that you agonize.

Shameless people don’t agonize.

Those who agonize possess charm.

That charm is something the other “normal,” majority people lack. It’s a deeply human charm and flavor.

I feel like there are more women now who, rather than agonizing, just want to satisfy their desires. They end up engaging with “rope” in convenient, easy, shallow ways.

The other day, I went to a place where such women gather, just to see. But I couldn’t see them as “comrades” at all.

Watching people who know nothing of agonizing over their own sexual inclinations, who feel no shame, who simply flit about casually seeking pleasure. I cannot believe the same blood flows through their veins as mine.

I might share some common ground with those people, but they seem like a different race, unrelated to me or you.

When I see people who possess neither anguish nor shame touching the ropes, I feel as though the ropes themselves are being insulted.

In your letter, you also wrote, “I have nothing but contempt for those arrogant people who call themselves ‘masters.’” I completely agree.

Because I possess “shame” and “fear,” I could never presume to call myself a “master.”

This “fear” carries both the meaning of “reverence” and the emotion of “dread.”

What captured my heart most in your letter was where you spoke of the temperature of the “rope” I use.

No one has ever written about my actions with the “rope” using such expressions before. It made me very happy.

You sense a warmth in my rope… I believe in your talent for feeling that way, even though you’ve never actually touched my rope.

I think these are words only a woman who is truly, deeply attached to “rope” could write.

And within the passionate words written before and after (it’s a shame I can’t share them here), I sensed your resolve to overcome shame, yet also the lingering hesitation and anguish that remained.

To be thought of so deeply by an unknown woman… it is the ultimate reward for a rope master, no, for a man.

I will gladly take your hand and wrap it in mine.

I will wrap your body in my blood-soaked ropes.

That said, I have no idea where you live or what you do. You probably know my background fairly well, but I know nothing about you.

I don’t know how to use a computer and I don’t own a cell phone.

Unless you tell me how we can meet safely, there’s nothing I can do.

Come to think of it, with someone unknown like you, we would start by exchanging letters handled by the post office (handwritten letters carry the blood and warmth of the people involved). We would get to know each other’s feelings, decide on a convenient day, set a place, and then meet.

Now, in this era of computers, pseudonyms and anonymity run rampant, and words from unidentified sources fly through the air.

It feels like meeting each other based on mutual trust has become harder, ironically.

I believe in the heart that sent me this email, overcoming hesitation and shame with desperate effort, expressing a desire to meet me.

But beyond that, I know nothing else.

I truly struggle with computer-based communication. Therefore, contacting me through the director of the Sex Industry Museum is the fastest and most reliable way.

H-san, thank you. Please write again. I’ll be waiting.