Zeref
I chose nothing but here I'm
★★★
- Joined
- Oct 29, 2024
- Posts
- 1,229
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View: https://x.com/i/status/2003878058416394626
The reason I’m in Japan is that this girl from San Francisco found my blog, developed a “hyperfixation” on me, sent me money, and asked if I wanted to meet up with her in Tokyo later this month. Of course I said yes.
She hadn’t told me much about herself, besides the fact that she draws lewd art, and that she works in tech/finance, and that she’s 30 years old. Her English was not great, as far as I could read over text, but she seemed sweet, and she seemed to be on my side, and most importantly, she seemed to be comfortable buying me shit.
She first sent me $999, which is my founding subscription price on Substack, completely arbitrary, and then she sent me $400, to buy a flight to Japan, and then once I chickened out of buying it she just went ahead and bought me one herself. For December 15th-24. Great. Gave me something to look forward to. I was starting to get sick of the Philippines, figuratively and literally.
I had just endured a hellish last week in that shithole country. I was in Siargao, a quieter island where I meant to go to unwind, decompress, heal, so that I could show up in Japan feeling healthy, looking attractive, being totally off-Adderall so that i could woo this Asian girl from SF with a lot of money while she would chaperone me around Japan, paying for everything. She even mentioned taking me to brothels. Which, I know, sounds unbelievable, but there are some really unique strange autistic people in this world, and they all love my blog, and so to me anything’s possible.
*
Landed at the airport in Tokyo. Immediately in immigrations line I’m in love with this place: it’s so fucking quiet. No jabbering, everyone is clean straight-faced and respectful. Japanese girls looking at me, even in my sickly disheveled state, with a little bit of interest and it gives me hope.
I know I’m going to need to see Ana, my Japanese Sugar Mama, immediately or I’m going to be super lost with two heavy bags. Japan is not as English-friendly as the Philippines. And they’re not bending over backwards to help foreigners. I’ve heard several times they actually tire of foreigners and don’t allow them into many establishments. So many rules here, I just know I’m going to be fucking up everything I do, so I’m hopeful/confident Ana will show up to pick me up and chauffeur me around as soon as I’m past immigration.
Wait in the long line. Fill out entry card. They scan my face. I’ve got Schedule 1 Narcotics in my bag. No dogs to sniff them out. No more bag checks. Everything is Daijoubou, I get past security easily and upstairs to the meat of this terminal. Luckily for me it’s open 24 hours a day.
Message Ana on Substack. Okay WYA? Okay you coming? Hello? Ana? It’s like 4 PM now. I sit down and have some ramen. It’s too spicy. See a good mix of foreigners and Japanese at this airport. Don’t talk to a single soul, I am completely alone with my laptop and clothes and not much else.
Also I have no money. I am down to like $70 USD.
Which I thought would be fine, because Ana was going to be my sugar mama, remember.
This is not fine because she is MIA. She arrived before me. What the fuck is going on. 5 hours later it’s 9 PM. Still no response. I think she must have just arrived, got tired, and fallen asleep. Blood boiling. Seeing hot Japanese girls at the airport wearing very short skirts. Dick tortured. Where is Ana. Will she be hot. We never exchanged pictures. God what if she’s ghosting me… I’m so fucked.
11 PM. I’ve made several trips to these little food marts and everything I buy is delicious. But the last of my funds are slowly trickling away… I’m going into panic mode. I really don’t want to ask my readers for money but I don’t know what else to do. I put too many eggs in this Ana basket. We’ve been texting for weeks… I can’t believe she’s not responding.
Midnight now. Finally she responds. Holy shit. She says “I will get you when I’m ready” WTF? I’ve been sitting here for 9 hours… her English gets worse and worse.
She says ask someone how to take train to Nippori Station. I say I would really prefer if you came to get me… she just sucks so much at texting now, I can’t believe it. I don’t know what has changed from before Japan to now but I am feeling so alone. And I’m still sick, extremely tired, holding two heavy bags.. I curse God knowing I deserve to be this situation for the kind of life i’ve lived.
So the train’s closed for the night and she’s responding poorly every 70 minutes or so and at 1 AM I just say fuck it and find a place to sleep. I sleep on the ground surrounded by my bags using random shirts and pants as pillows. There are a few others doing this but it is embarrassing for me because I am White.
I sleep for maybe 5 hours like this, on the ground, at the airport. In my dream I’m having sex. She was Asian and making Asian sounds. I am shocked awake when I remember that this is not real, I am not having sex, in reality, I am humping the cold hard floor at Narita International Airport.
Pretend to be asleep for several more minutes until every person around me who may have seen that has passed on.
Right back to where I was last night. Begging Ana now, over text, in Substack DMs, please come get me, I have no money and I don’t know how to use the subway, it’s all in japanese, 私の人生なんてクソだ, please please I am so fucked if you don’t come get me. I start reaching out to random people on Substack explaining my situation. I eat breakfast. Gyoza and rice. It’s delicious of course but it doesn’t help at all.
This goes on for a few more desperate hours, Ana doesn’t say she’s coming but she says she “Will come” after I explain to her where I am for the 48th time and then finally, out of nowhere, she appears in front of me.
*
There she is. Ugly. I hate to say it right now because I ended up scamming her out of $2k and then ditching her but Ugly, she was fucking Ugly.
Yup, that’s where this story goes. I end up scamming this ugly autistic retarded BPD former mental patient who brought me here to Japan out of $2,000 and then ditching her. If you’re reading this Ana I’m sorry, I got myself into a shit situation and I just needed your money to bail myself out.
The very next thing that happens after I see how ugly she is is that I stand up to hug her, and I say: “Haha where have you been!? XD”
and she just laughs at me. Laughs at me in a way that feels mean, but I would later learn is just extremely, terribly, psych-ward-tier nervous. Voices-in-my-head-tier nervous. Everyone surrounding us uncomfortable turning to stare-tier nervous. That type of laughter, that I-must-laugh-or-I’m-going-to-cry, that jarring almost-scream which sounds like nails on a chalkboard to a sensitive young man like me… but I NEED this bitch to like me or I’m going to keep having $0 in Japan and so I pretend it’s all Daijoubou.
It is difficult to explain how we spent the next several hours at the airport.
One of the very first things I told her was that I need money. It was my understanding that you had a lot of money and you were basically buying my time here in Japan. She completely denies this. Her English is spotty along with having visible/audible schizophrenia/autism (REAL AUTISM, not my fake shit)/BPD so every verbal interaction takes about 5 tries and 5 minutes.
She says I have trauma, I have a lot of trauma, bad thing happen to me, when I was very young, do you want to know what it is? Should I tell you? I didn’t want to know. We walked in circles around the airport as she communicated with the voices in her head asking them whether she should take me along back to her hotel.
I lightly mentioned a couple more times I need money… can you pay me to help me get out of this mess? I couldn’t tell if she wanted me with her or not… I don’t think she could tell either. The more she opened up to me, though, in broken fragments, the more comfortable she became. The less loud screaming nervous laughter I heard. We almost got on the train to Nippori, which is where she was staying, but then she said “I don’t know.” and we did another lap around the airport as I carried my heavy heavy bags running out of patience.
Finally we sat down in front of a Starbucks and I got the money. I unlocked it using some words that, for some reason, resonated with her. I said “Sugar Baby. I will be your Sugar Baby.” She said OH! Sugar Baby! OK! Oh fuck, it’s happening, She says How Much? I say: “I’m here 1 week. $2 thousand for 1 week.” I say it like I mean it: that’s my fee, for whatever you think is happening here, I don’t ask, I tell.
I am now manipulating a severely autistic person. I don’t feel bad… I don’t know exactly how much money she has but if she’s sending random bands to niggas like me online she must make enough at that “Bloomberg” job in San Francisco.
She hesitates, maybe I should ask my Mom… I say No. Why ask your Mom? No response. She forgets her Mom exists and opens the Venmo app. Holy shit. It’s happening. She does it slowly, as if contemplating. I just stare straight ahead at the Japanese Starbucks.
She presses send. Holy fuck yes. I’m free. Yes yes yes. Okay Ana thank you, good job. I try to kiss her on the cheek but she recoils, because she’s autistic. We kiss elbows instead. Now I’m in charge. I tell her to get up, let’s go find the Sky Train and get to your room in Nippori. She says OK and now she’s following me.
I figure out the subway system easily by asking people in English. My confidence is up, I’m eyeing all these Barbie doll Japanese bitches like I own them and Ana is, in addition to all the mental illnesses, kind of a freak, so she’s okay with this development. She tells me she likes my blog because “you like women” - okay, not going to unpack that now just going to keep pushing through, out the airport onto the train sit together for 40 minutes in almost-silence, it’s not completely silent though because Ana mutters therapy words to herself on-repeat, as if stimming: “OH I shouldn’t have done that” “OH I shouldn’t have done that” “OH it’s not very good” “OH it’s not very good” “I have a lot of trauma” “I have a lot of trauma” - just weird shit like this, like an Elmo doll repeating its catch phrases, I rest my head on hers to soothe her and it makes her stop, because in spite of it all she is human too.
*
We arrive at Nippori Station.
As soon as I step out the train I’m on another planet. In that very first moment I was outside in Japan, I knew I could never tolerate the Philippines again.
It’s quiet. Holy fuck it’s finally quiet. There are people everywhere but it’s quiet.
It’s sunset. The air is crisp and clean. All the people are straight-faced. Wearing high-quality well-fitting clothing, heads down, standing straight, strolling by in the cold December night.
It’s perfect…
We get into the room she booked down the street. “Jing House” which only has two stars on Google but it was still pretty decent. Most of the room’s square footage is taken up by the two beds.
I lay down on the bed, so so tired. Sick in Siargao, so many flights, 20 hours of restless broke pain at the airport, retard-wrangling Ana and getting back here, plop down and go aaaaaah.
She invites me over to cuddle, or I invite myself. I don’t remember which. Even if she’s ugly, female body feels good. She has tits, at least.
I don’t know why but I try to fuck her. I know in the back of my head I’m going to ditch this bitch as soon as possible but I feel I should give her something in return for the $2,000 so I tried to fuck her.
Tried. Gave it a real valiant effort. Her breath was rank and she smelled like depression and she had these lesions all over her body and from our strained communications I learned that she had never gotten good dick in her life, besides one episode which was probably rape, which is probably where her “trauma” comes from, and so I try to set things right by slipping back into male prostitute mode and arousing her manually.
Kissing her neck. Holding her hand. Rubbing under the sheets. She was so warm and I was so cold. Cracking her like an egg. Doing this kind of stuff for like 5 to 10 minutes until I found the confidence to look right at her face, into her slanted eyes, which had been saying “sorry” to me every three minutes for the past several hours, stripping off her pants and my pants and feeling for viscosity, but it’s not really there. She’s a little wet but her anxiety levels are sky-high, her legs are locked like the first girl I had to rape, back in Oregon, she’s saying things like I don’t know… uhh… umm… she’s moaning lightly as my fingering improves, I’m actually arousing myself through sheer friction alone, I teach her how to stroke my dick using lube, she has never done it before in all 30 years of life, man I really am a pioneer, finally I go for the insertion but it’s not meant to be. She’s too nervous, locked, tight. I try from behind, I try missionary, can’t even approach the pussy from the side because her thighs are too fat in addition to the stiffness, my erection is long-gone and so I just give up. She says Sorry.. HUHUHUHUH… more of the loud autistic laugh. I understand, it’s OK, it’s all good, Daijoubou, we head for the shower.
She asks if we can shower together and I say yes. She’s a loud nervous retard so she takes both of our two towels into the tub and throws them on the floor before I can stop her and now we have no dry towels. Great. In the shower she tells me more fun facts about herself, like the fact that she tried to break into a psych ward at MIT. And she spent time at a different psych ward, where they gave her anti-schizophrenia medication, which she took, and was supposed to keep taking after she left the ward but she didn’t, she just stopped, and I said maybe you should get back on it, and she said no, and she just kept laughing, and I said OK.
After 10 minutes in the shower I stepped out. Then she stepped out. Then I stepped back in. Then she stepped back in.
She said you shower alone? I said yes, please, and she said OK. She lasted about 28 seconds out in the apartment alone before opening the sliding door and saying: can I come back in? I said OK. She took the shower head and sprayed it all around the bathroom until I grabbed it out of her hand and told her to stop.
It was clear to me this person could not function alone. I understand how it took her 20 hours to reach me at the airport, even if that was her intention from the start.
I exited the shower and she told me “I have a coat for you” Oh yes! My coat! I told her to buy me a coat back when we only knew each other in words on the internet, because I own no coat, coming from the Philippines where I lived out of these two bags. She gave me the coat and it was fine. A warm ski coat, lots of pockets, I’ll be wearing it every day for the next week until I leave. The price tag said $68.75 from a store called “PICTURE” — good enough.
I said OK, with some authority, I said OK, I’m going to go find a cafe to use my laptop, do some writing, get some work done, OK?
She said OK! I hold down the fort.
I started to pack my bags. She said will you leave me? Are you going to leave me? It looks like you’re about to leave. I said no… just taking backpack. Leaving my big red duffle there with her. Hopped out the door heading to a place where I can use my laptop in peace.
Find a suitable cafe down the street. Young people, food, laptops, a spot upstairs just for me. I’m alone out in public for the first time and it’s scary. They all know enough Engrish for me to ask: sandwich? tea? yes, yes, card? debit card? yes, Arigatou, good, thank you cutest girl I’ve ever seen, finally get back on my laptop.
Thankfully there are people who read my blog in Tokyo. One of them messaged me a few days ago, asking if he could get a signed copy of my book while I’m here. He’s got a milady PFP and says he lives in this city full time. His name is Paco.
“my group will adopt you” YES PLEASE!!!
Message Paco on Twitter. Tell him I need to get out of here. Thankfully Paco is balling and loves to host interesting guests like me. He says he’s going out tonight to a very-nice sushi restaurant with the boys, I should come. Yes yes yes, take me away, yes, I’ve got 3% battery on my laptop and there are no outlets at this cafe, FML, coordinate I’ll call an Uber from here across Tokyo to his place in Shibuya, I don’t care how much it costs, get me the fuck out of here now. Yes. Okay. Good.
Walk back to Jing House where autistic schizophrenic retard girl is asleep guarding my bag. Put in the key code, let myself in, go for the bag, she says you leaving? Oh wait, I say yes yes my Uber is here it’s ok, I got a different Airbnb yes, she says oh.. was this humiliation? Was this bad? I say no no you’re fine I will see you again don’t worry, she says San Francisco? You come to live with me in San Francisco? Lmfao, yes! Yes yes of course she goes OHH thank god, I’m like yes okay bye, she says thank you, right as I’m slipping out the door I hear her say wait I have question! But NOPE cannot do that I’ll get stuck in another day-long vortex being polite, I got my fucking money, head out the door run down the steep steps hop in that Uber and say KONICHIWA! SHIBUYA-DES? HAI! LETS A GO!
And then the driver took me to Shibuya. Where I met with “the boys,” who are apparently crypto-rich, English-based, and whore-mongerers like me, so I knew we would get along. And I’ve got a couple thousand in my pocket now, so I can be independent if I need.
I don’t feel bad about ditching that girl. She will be okay. She works full-time remote in SF, so she’s able to get along in life well enough, maybe it was just being so close to a man that made her so nervous, I don’t know. But I do know that I cannot see her again. I am lost and retarded enough here, I cannot have her weighing me down.
Also, she wasn’t Japanese, she was Chinese.
