CHAPTER 1 - Sexless Japan Has Ruined My Youth

Chapter 1

It was 11:00 pm on a Friday night when I came back home. Working in corporate Japan didn’t leave much space for personal time and enjoyment. I cooked a light meal, a bowl of natto and rice, and ate it as fast as I had cooked it.

My body melted into the cushy pink sofa I bought to match the pink walls of my apartment, finally enjoying my brief moment of free time. Three hundred forty square feet, less than a standard hotel room, I cherished all this space just for me. According to local standards, my apartment was “too big” and “too expensive” for one person, but I didn’t care.

I needed it to fill up the emotional void of my life with this space.

I scrolled down at my phone screen and realized it had been five months since I had spoken with someone, although my manager and office neighbors would say “hello” or “goodbye” or “do this and that” from time to time. Those were breadcrumbs of a conversation that I fed myself with for six months — I was a foreign woman in Japan, and people were scared to talk to me.

I had given up trying to schedule times with friends a long ago, a real uphill battle in Japan. You have to plan at least two months earlier, and then, there is always a chance that your friends cancel due to an overload of work.

Two months add up to another two and another one; it equals five months of solitude and human disconnection.

That night, I thought of Takeshi.

It’s been a long time since I have talked to him. I met Takeshi at an international party three years ago when I arrived in Japan. He was friendly and more available than other people. He wanted to practice English, so he made extra efforts to be polite and make time. We became ‘good’ friends. Let’s say a ‘more available’ friend.

I decided to text him. I wanted company. And maybe some cuddles. Or more. Let’s see.

“Hey Takeshi, what are you up to?”

“Good evening Hakima. I’m still working; it’s been a busy day. How are you doing?”

“At midnight on a Friday night? You’re kidding me! Go back home. Or would you come by my home instead (blink emoji)?”

“(Blushing emoji) I can’t. I have work.”

“Come on. We will have a good time! What do you prefer, working or a ‘sexy’ time (peach emoji)?”

“It’s obvious, Hakima.”

“Tell me!” I was excited to hear his answer, my ego waiting to be flattered.

God knows when your life is about to change forever because it purposely slows down time. It's the Divine grace before choking. Seconds became minutes and playfulness converted to unease.

“Of course, I prefer working! It’s easier and less tiring! And I can always use my hands if I need to.”

I dropped my phone. My gaze turned blank; Takeshi’s straightforwardness was unusual for Japan.

I don’t remember how long I stayed with my mouth open, but it must have been a long time — tears had utterly wet my skirt without realizing it. Finally, I came out of this coma, and an outside force made me grab my phone and throw it further in front of me. It broke.

I will never forget this Friday night in busy Tokyo.

“There must be a problem with me….” I thought, choking on my tears and screaming, breaking a golden rule in Japan — be quiet, don’t stand out. The neighbors must have hated me that night.

And so I made a pact that would change my life for the worse and the better. It was a drastic decision, but one that my body immediately accepted without arguing — a survival mechanism to overcome the frustration of sexless Japan.

‘From today, I give up on sex,’ I promised myself.

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