Bathing

Dinner and bath was slated for 5:30 to 7:00pm precisely, and because I am still a bit leery of the whole Japanese bathing custom, and didn’t want to intrude naked and alone into a huge bath with 60 students in it, I decided to go with Gosuke and Takuma (my lab juniors). This had several interesting consequences, the most immediate being that they worried hugely and vocally about how small their dicks would look next to mine. This happened quite a few times, and although I am not at liberty to divulge the details of my dimensions (since that encounter with the Queen I have had to sign the Official Secrets Act, or I would assuredly tell you). However, these boys had not read any secret details, and were merely passing on the fear that all Japanese men seem to have that their willies are smaller than everyone else’s.

So Gosuke and Takuma and I trotted on down to the bath room, with the obligatory comments as we passed the women’s bath on the way, and soon enough found ourselves in the men’s changing room. I have not mentioned the Japanese public bath (onsen) to my readers before, but shall give a brief introduction here. The front of the bathing area is a changing room, generally consisting of an area for shoes, a large open space with a sliding door on one side (entering the baths) and a wall lined with baskets for possessions on the other. There are no lockers of course – we are in Japan. One dumps one’s belongings in the basket, including one’s towel, and waltzes through the door (covered with a modesty towel if overly well-endowed) into the bath area properly, which is the most intimidating area. Here there is a huge bath filled with enough hot water to soak in up to the shoulders when seated, which takes up most of the room. There is a tiled area outside the bath, and on this area are many small stools in front of a shower apparatus. The purpose here is to clean oneself before hopping into the bath, so one has to scrub, fully naked, squatting on a bucket, in front of everyone in the bathtub. I don’t mind walking naked in front of strangers (after all, they aren’t going to see anything interesting without binoculars), and I don’t mind bathing naked in front of strangers; but I must say I don’t like scrubbing my bits in front of strangers. So I always approach this part with trepidation, especially since it is considered very bad form to enter the bath with any soap on one’s body.

So today was very busy, there being 100 students in the building. Gosuke and Takuma and I had to wait in the changing room while about 10 men changed, some drying themselves and some getting into or out of clothes, all packed in a rather small space and studiously avoiding one another. Takuma commented with words to the effect that it was all a bit gross, and then the space freed up and we changed. Both Gosuke and Takuma were suitably stunned, horrified and impressed by the sight of my tattoo (it is “formidable” and “scary”), and everyone else studiously looked away; and then we were into the bath room itself, which I entered with my towel and so then had to leave promptly to put my towel in my basket. Upon returning I had again that feeling of always being the last to enter the room, with the attendant extra attention. All the shower spaces closest to the door were taken, so I had to slink across the entire width of the room, starkers, to the furthest booth to shower (fortunately these washing spaces had barriers; frequently they don’t). I have heard many stories about how Japanese stare at foreigners in baths, but if they do the are quite good about it; so I don’t usually notice any undue attention, but I still feel it.

So having washed, I splashed in, and Gosuke and Takuma and I sat together in the water, discussing the size of Japanese men’s willies (topic du jour, as it were) and my tattoo. I suggested we all get a shared laboratory tattoo (maybe “math before dishonour”?) and they were horrified; I also told them I like Japanese style tattoos and wouldn’t mind getting one before I leave, a comment which has occasionally aroused very disturbed responses from my interlocutors; but in this case it merely inspired suggestions that I should get cherry blossoms, the guaranteed tough-sticker in this country which proves one is in the yakuza. I ain’t, so I probably won’t. Nor will they, since my suggestion produced shudders of horror. Interestingly they didn’t ask me if it hurt. Probably because Japanese people assume that if you want or need to do something, the pain is irrelevant.

The bath was also, I should add, horrifically hot, but soon after we entered there was a huge influx of cold water and it became really rather comfy. Ryugenji joined us, and a few boys left, and everything quietened down, and I was able to see the full form of all the boys leaving, and I must say that young Japanese men are intimidatingly skinny. They almost all, for example, have a six pack and a triangular upper body, simply on account of being so damn stupidly skinny. They are also all generally very small (I barely ever look up at people in this country). It’s quite an intimidating effect to be surrounded by slender, muscly, hairless men with perfect tans and clear skin. And always leaves me wondering why western women aren’t flocking here for the sex. But there you go. Maybe it’s the willy myth. Or maybe it’s the hairy bums; I noticed an awful lot of that. Weird.