Opening the door, I am greeted by almost absolute blackness that envelops me.
I make my way through the maze, and am face to face with a few Japanese kids in their early to mid 20′s. I say “Hello, I’m Tyler….where is Yoshi please?”.
Blank stares.
In my shitty rudimentary Japanese “Watasha-wa Tyler…genki des-ka”. That brings about smiles, and happy faces, and I am escorted to an office area and meet the photographer/translator.
I fill out the paperwork, and hours drift by as I wait to do my scene. I kill time talking to the translator about Sakuraba, who is the second coming of Jesus in Japan.
Another few hours drift by…and I’m still waiting. I notice that I can see my breath, even though I am indoors. The thermometer on the side of the warehouse wall reads 47 degrees at 1 am.
This is gonna suck.
I start some Silat djurus (think katas or forms), wander around a bit, reach into my bag, and pop some almonds in my mouth.
4am.
A young guy hand gestures to me that it’s time to go. I steal a glance at the thermometer. It’s a balmy 42 degrees. And I am fucking tired.
I follow this kid into the bowels of the building.
As we leave the office to the warehouse proper, I see an island of light floating in the sea of black…that light being the set designed to look like an examining room.
Christ on a stick….this looks like Area 51.
I more than half expect to see engineers in clean suits reverse engineering a crashed spaceship, with a dissected alien on a gurney.
Am I going to be dressed in an alien costume? Japanese are big on tentacle porn.
I should be so lucky. I am handed a hospital gown clearly not intended for a big American. Commando style…my bare ass open in the back, exposed to the frigid desert air.
My co-star is a stunning angel. Ridiculously innocent looking, petite, and demure.
Everyone is polite as the translator tells me the gist of the script (written entirely in Kanji). I decide that it is best to just keep my mouth shut. So I lay on the gurney (I am a patient with an undisclosed affliction) and my Innocent Angel asks me in poorly pronounced, but insanely cute English if I am ready for my sponge bath.
WTF!!!! It’s 42 fucking degrees!!!!!! Are you people insane! Go fuck yourselves, I’m outta here!
“Hai…domo-arigato” I politely reply.
So now I am soaking wet, in the desert morning. I can see my breath.
-I start to shiver.
Fuck this, I’ve had enough. I put her hand on my tentacle, as she gasps as if to say “Oh MY!” playing the innocent act, but I ain’t having any of it. It’s on bitch!
The scene in full pace…her brown eyes punctuated by dime sized pupils at the height of her arousal. We kiss deeply.
Innocent Angel’s panting sprays a mist of breath in the crisp air.
-I am really getting cold.
Polite Japanese men of various job descriptions orbit the gurney, filming, lighting, and snapping stills. I am flat on my back as naughty little AZN girl wrestles the hentai cock.
-My legs start to shiver. I place my hands on them to stay them.
The director makes the universal sign for blow job,…pop shot time, and she obeys.
She is working my wood like a beaver on speed. The crew seems transfixed my this little angel in mortal combat, hell-bent on sending the Kraken to the watery abyss from which it came.
I do my best to control my breathing, and think warm thoughts.
Breathe in 4 seconds….hold 4 seconds….breathe out 4 seconds.
-It’s out of my hands. I shake convulsively.
There is no way the camera doesn’t see this. I draw my limbs as close to my core as possible, and place my hands on my legs to stop the shaking. Futile. I am soaking wet.
At this point I realise that basic biology is going against me, and if I lose my wood, it’s gone for good.
I zone out the biting cold. I zone out the crew. I put all my focus on eight inches of my body…willing the blood to flow where I need it.
Time to make a withdrawal from the wank bank. I don’t have time to fuck around…I immediately go straight to thoughts of my girlfriend purring to me in Spanish that “… well I’ll keep that little gem to myself.
Pop shot.
The director says excitedly (as translated by his minion) “Wow, you are an AMAZING actor…your an ANIMAL!”
I return his deep bow replying “Yes, I know.”
Shower is cold water. Fuck that.
Another minion counts out a crisp stack of new Benjamins into my palm…
Domo arigato motherfucker.
Deep bows exchanged with the director-San, and I say “Oats Caress Ha-ma’!” (Nice working with you).
5:12 am.
I go to fire up the Mustang, and I am greeted with the sound of a lawnmower wheezing with asthma.
YOU FUCKING WHORE! START!
I pop the hood with my cell phone clinched in my teeth to illuminate…corroded ports on my battery. I scrape the smegma with my keys, and fire the V8 up. She roars to live.
Clicking through gears with my short throw shifter, I assault the freeway.
Outside the left window the desert mountains surrender the fight as they no longer hold back the grey of dawn .
Clouds are under lit pink.
“Stairway to Heaven” reaches its crescendo…Robert Plant wailing:
“And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our sooooul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to sho-o-o-w
How everything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to rooooll.”
-I am falling asleep.
You can make it!
I pull into the driveway, kill the engine, wash the scent of Anime cunt away.
I tell myself I will awake in time to get my ass beat by the boys at Legends MMA…
Yeah, right.
Tagged: Creative Memoir, Short Story
