Cold Fusion

Has winter complicated your sex life? Mark Guthrie has some helpful advice

Okay, so maybe not all of you are chikan with your future years mapped out by intensive therapy and getting shanked in the nonce wing of a Japanese penal colony. No, you are what we would call ‘normal’, with a distaste for those who force themselves upon others and a healthy sexual attraction to mutual consent. You may, as a well adjusted, rounded individual, even have a girlfriend or boyfriend. There is even a good chance that you, having adopted this glorious nation as your own, have snagged one of the locals. And they’re gorgeous, aren’t they? Every picture you post online has your friends back home apoplectic with envy, incredulous that you are punching so ridiculously far above your weight: the beautiful skin, the full lips, the sultry eyes, the luxurious hair and, without wishing to crash over the ring-fence marked ‘crude’, it’s the firmness that really gets you isn’t it?

No, your partner is perfect in every way. Well, every way but one: their father. There is always the father, and no doubt he is a fourth dan aikido master, has a collection of antique shuriken and an alarmingly visceral distaste for you, the gaikokujin who plans on stealing away their pride and joy before diluting their impeccable samurai bloodline with your substandard DNA.

Ordinarily the father doesn’t bother you though. Fortunately you don’t have to see him all that much, do you? Except that another flaw on the part of your otherwise blemishless beau is that, despite being well into adulthood, they still live with otousan and okaasan, meaning there is no chance of heading back to theirs for a brief bout of bumping bits. Align this situation with the probability that your apartment is so small that there is barely room enough to make the beast with one back, let alone two, you have to be creative when it comes to the act of love.

Most seasons this poses few problems, as alfresco fornication is very much en vogue in your relationship. In spring you can screw under sakura, in summer you fear only a mosquito-bitten bum, and the beautiful golden foliage of autumn is the perfect bed upon which to lay your heated passions. But alas, winter is upon us meaning, unless you get off on frostbitten bits, you have to get a little more creative when it comes to getting your rocks off.

The obvious choice is the love hotel and, for a nation supposedly so reserved when it comes to the matters of bodily fluid exchange, these monuments to casual flings are surprisingly abundant. And whether you want fairytale romance, hardcore BDSM, or cheap, functional, bog-standard bonking, whatever your tastes, whatever your budget, the love hotel is the number one practical choice for a bit of the old in-and-out in privacy. Quite simply, it does exactly what it says in the tin.

Of course some of you may be shy when it comes to walking up to a love hotel and declaring, quite frankly, “WE’RE HERE FOR SEX!” In fact, there is a good chance that you are so shy that even the thought of broaching the subject with your partner has you breaking out in hives of embarrassment. Well, you could instead suggest a harmless evening of karaoke. Then, once the pair of you have had a few of the all-inclusive drinks, and belted out A Whole New World, just let nature run its course. It’s not called Joy Joy for nothing, you know. However, while the pair of you are making your own brand of beautiful music together, be aware that that little black orb in the ceiling is a camera, so expect to both have your performance studiously overviewed by the middle-aged manager who is still yet to know the exquisite touch of the opposite sex, as well as one day having the fright of your life as you scroll through www.youporn.com to see an all too recognizable arse bouncing across your computer screen.

If the thought of being watched by countless dirty bastards on the internet has got the blood pumping to places that like to get pumping, then there’s probably something of the exhibitionist about you, in which case, why not *ahem* go for a ride where everyone can see? The Meijo subway line encircles Nagoya and is a near continuous loop that goes round, and round, again, and again, and, oh yes again, and over and over and over and over and OHMYGODYEEEEEEEESSSSSS! Just make sure you both arrive at Nagoya-ko at the same time. If you know what I mean 😉

Some of you may yearn for the creature comforts of home. The soft furnishings, the hum of the kerosene heater, the murmur of the Korean Drama on TV in the background. For some of you there may be nothing more erotic than trying to time your mutual climax on the couch to coincide with the completion of the placenta-based health pill infomercial between episodes of NCIS, but those opportunities, for you, are non-existent. Or so you would think. Why not pop down to your local department store (LABI in Meieki would be best, what with it being an ‘A’ away from being a lady part, and all) and have a quick ‘test drive’ of the futons and sofas. If you are still a bit chilly, or perhaps a bit nervous of prying eyes, you can always slide yourselves under the display kotatsu. Just be careful not to burn your bum.

But then again, having spent most of your courtship communicating with your outdoor surroundings, all of these places may seem somewhat restrictive, what with their shelter from the elemental impositions of Mother Nature. If this is the case, then why not allow the great lady to warm you up from the depths of her own bosom? Yes, living in a region of tectonic instability is not without its downsides, yet at this time of year, why not take advantage of the thermal gasses and slip into each other while slipping into an onsen. Oh yes, as the steam pours around you there is more than one way to get hot and sweaty. But please don’t forget that onsen are communal areas and generally not unisex, so if you are a mixed-sex couple it’s probably best that you shell out for a private onsen. And also, please don’t ‘finish’ in the water, because you can be pretty sure that the next occupants won’t be overly ecstatic by the idea of having their healthy bathing experience curtailed by the discovery of a jizz-jellyfish, no matter how good for the skin it may be.

Yes, all of these suggestions are good ones, but do you know what the best idea is? It’s to grow the hell up, grow some balls, and march straight up to your partner’s father, look him square in the eye, and say “you don’t frighten me. Tonight I will be coming to your place, I will stay the night, and I will be riding your pride and joy like Tony McCoy would a Grand National winner, and if you don’t like it, then tough shit!” And then run like fuck.

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