Chapter 2

All the following month, Yuki walked past the Man Face Restaurant every day during her lunch break. Then she noticed the “Help Wanted” sign was down one day.

She returned to the restaurant for dinner after school that night. The hostess at the top of the stairs recognized her. “Welcome back! How many in your party?”

“Just me,” answered Yuki.

“Would you like the table where your friend is?”

“Yes, please, if he’s available, but may I speak to the manager for a moment first before being seated?”

“One minute please.” The hostess picked up the phone and spoke quietly for a minute.

The manager appeared a few minutes later. “You again? I told you he’s not for sale.”

“I know. You told me that first day we met that you’d consider hiring a woman because you can’t get enough permanent men. Is that still true?”

“Yes, I’d consider a woman.”

“Then I offer myself in exchange for Tom. Let Tom go and I’ll take his place.”

“Perhaps you’d prefer to find a different job, then. If we had a vacancy, we’d accept a woman if we couldn’t find a man. But we wouldn’t want to give up a man to replace him with a woman. And we’re currently at maximum employment.”

“Okay,” said Yuki. “But the next time you have a vacant position, you’ll consider hiring a woman?”

“Yes,” said the manager who then turned without bowing(1), and returned to the restaurant.

“I can show you to your table now,” said the hostess.

“Can I have a different table? A different man tonight?”

“Oh,” the hostess seemed surprised at the request. “Of course. Variety is nice.”

A few minutes later, the hostess asked Yuki to follow her to the changing room where she stripped naked below the waist and put on one of those paper skirts. She was then taken to a table for two. She caught the man’s eye for a moment before she sat on him. His terrified look made her shudder.

Yuki adjusted herself to get comfortable while sitting on what felt like a bowling ball, letting the man’s nose slip into her vagina. She already felt herself getting wet.

In typical Japanese efficiency, a waitress handed Yuki a menu within a minute of being seated. She checked the time on her phone then looked through the menu.

The waitress stopped at her table a few minutes later. “Are you ready to order?”

“I can’t decide,” said Yuki. “It all looks so good. May I have a few more minutes to decide.”

“Of course,” said the waitress. “I recommend the Ramen. And please remember to let your man take a breath once every few minutes.”

“I will,” thank you.

The waitress bowed and walked away.

Yuki decided on the Ramen after all and ordered it when the waitress returned. Glancing at her phone, she saw that five minutes had passed since she sat. She leaned back and put her ear to the wall where she just heard silence. “I’m very sorry, whoever you are,” whispered Yuki and sat waiting for her meal to arrive.

Her Ramen arrived about five minutes later, ten minutes since she sat. She ate slowly, not truly being aware of the taste of the food at all. Despite the chill air conditioning, she was perspiring heavily. Japanese prisons are not as civil as in most other Westernized nations.

Yuki finished her Ramen and the waitress arrived promptly to remove the bowl. “How was it?” asked the waitress.

“Very good,” said Yuki though she never even noticed the taste of the food as she swallowed it.

“Dessert?” asked the waitress.

“Yes, please,” said Yuki.

A different waitress rolled a dessert cart to Yuki’s table. She chose a slice of creamy chocolate mousse. Trying to enjoy the mousse, or at least taste it, she ate slowly. After she finished that, Yuki waited patiently for the waitress to deliver the bill, rather than call her over as is the custom in Japan.

The waitress finally left the bill in a tray on the table about ten minutes later. “You may pay on your way out.”

“Thank you,” said Yuki and waited about ten more minutes. Looking at her phone, about a half an hour had passes since she sat. She stood to leave. Then, lifting her hand to her face, she kissed her fingers and touched them to the dead man’s lips. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “But thank you.”

Yuki stopped to use the toilet at school before leaving for her lunch break. Walking past the restaurant, the “Help Wanted” sign was back up. She climbed the stairs to the hostess.

“How many in your party?” asked the hostess.

“Actually, I’d like to take the job from the sign below?”

“I think we only hire men, but I’ll check with the manager. One minute please.” The hostess spoke on the phone for a minute then said, “She’s busy at the moment. Would you prefer to wait or come back later?”

“Let me have a table while I wait, please.”

Changing into one of those paper skirts, Yuki was escorted into the dining room. Noticing Tom’s table free, she asked the hostess, “May I sit at that table?”

“Of course,” said the hostess who led Yuki to Tom’s table. She smiled down at Tom who smiled back up at her.

As she sat, Tom whispered to her, “Are you getting me out of here soon, Yuki San?”

“Soon, we’ll be working together again, Tom San.” She couldn’t help noticing Tom stare directly at her naked lady parts as she then sat on him, pressing her most intimate flesh against his face -- the face of a good friend, but certainly not a lover.

Once again, she set her phone on the table and turned on a metronome app that she downloaded. She set it to blink and beep almost inaudibly every 30 seconds. She knew that 30 seconds was a painfully long time to hold one’s breath, but she also knew that the men here were typically forced to hold their breath for much longer than 30 seconds at a time, sometimes minutes at a time. She didn’t want to stand out as different. Being different is something that just isn’t done in Japan.

Yuki ordered, waited, and ate, all while letting Tom take a breath every 30 seconds. As she ate, she noticed the manager walking around. She stood and approached her. “May I speak with you at a convenient time?” asked Yuki.

“Why?”

“I want to take the job?”

“You?” asked the manager with a bit of surprise. “You want the job?”

“Yes,” said Yuki. “Permanently.”

The manager rubbed her chin and then said, “Very well. Finish your meal and then come to the kitchen.”

Later in the kitchen office as she was about to stamp the permanent contract with her hanko, she said, “I do have one request, though.”

“You for him?” asked the manager.

“No. I want to be next to him,” said Yuki.

“He’s at a table for two with no empty slots next to him.”

“You can move people around, can’t you?”

“I suppose we can. But we’ve never had reason to move someone to a different table after he’s installed.”

“You have reason now. You’re always busy. You need a new face. I’m offering myself with one condition that you can easily meet. Put us on an end of a row of tables so that there’s nobody between us, and let us hold hands.”

“Hold hands?” the manager said a little surprised.

“Yes,” said Yuki.

“You ask a lot,” said the manager.

“And you need permanent people.”

“Very well. But we have a rule. No conversation when the restaurant is open and guests are seated.”

Yuki and the manager both stamped the contract after the manager wrote the additional conditions on the margins and she read them over carefully.

She then waited in the office until the restaurant closed.

“You can leave and return when the restaurant closes,” said the manager.

“I don’t mind waiting,” said Yuki. Mainly, she didn’t want to be seen in public after abandoning her teaching position at school during lunch -- a very un-Japanese thing to do.

She waited there some time even after the restaurant closed, then the manager asked her to undress, right there in the office.

“Naked?” asked Yuki.

“Yes,” said the manager. “Naked.”

Yuki undressed and set her clothes and purse and other personal items on the chair.

“Now follow me,” said the manager who led Yuki through the restaurant. The waitresses cleaning and vacuuming paid no attention to the manager leading a naked woman through the restaurant.

Yuki was led to one of the tables for four along the front wall of the restaurant. Large windows at each table overlooked the street below. She was led to the very last table in the row where Tom was the very last seat and embedded in a true wall with no tables beyond. He was the seat closest to the window. The seat along the aisle was unoccupied.

Tom looked up at her with shock in his eyes, but said nothing.

“Now step through the hole in the center of the rubber membrane, lie down, and slide yourself into it up to your waist,” said the manager.

“That tiny hole?” said Yuki. “It’s only a few centimeters in diameter.”

“It’ll stretch,” said the manager.

Yuki sat in the surface where here head would ultimately rest and pushed her feet into the hole, then her legs, and slid herself in. The rubber membrane did stretch, but was was painfully tight around her waist. She then pushed her hands through the other two holes by her side.

The manager then stood and let a pair of waitresses finish the installation of her. One waitress slid a thick leather strap up under her armpit across her chest above her boobs, and down under the other armpit. The waitress buckled something and then made a ratcheting sound. The strap became painfully tight at that. The other waitress had opened a panel in the wall and was strapping her waist down, her elbows, one wrist, thighs, and ankles. Her free hand was placed in Tom’s hand and they linked fingers. She turned her head to face him and they smiled at each other. Then something hard was slid between her legs against her crotch.

“Do these straps need to be so tight?” she asked.

The manager said, “Tighter.” The waitresses ratcheted the straps a few more clicks as they became sadistically painful.

Yuki was totally immobile. She could only wiggle her hands and feet, and could make no contact with any surface.

The waitresses wrapped their hands in some sort of cloth that became cold and wet. Then she felt their hands being taped up.

After they closed the panel in the wall, they all went to other duties.

“What did you do?” asked Tom.

“I offered to trade myself for you,” she said. “Put me in your place and let you go free. But they refused.”

“You wanted to do that? For me?”

“Yes.”

“Why, Yuki San.”

Yuki started sobbing. “Do you want to know the truth?”

“Yes.”

Yuki looked away from him. “You’re going to hate me.”

“No I won’t,” he said.

“This is my fault,” said Yuki. “I led you here that day. I knew you’d see that ad and be curious. I talked you into asking about the job even though you were hesitant and suspicious. I don’t blame you if you can’t forgive me.”

“I forgive you, Yuki San.” He looked away then looked back. “But why did you do that?”

“I wanted to come here for dinner,” she said.

“So? What does that have to do with me?”

She just looked down and stared at him through upturned eyes.

“Oh...” he said.

“Why didn’t you call me to come with you to sign that contract?”

“I, uh, don’t remember,” said Tom. “There’s lots of things I find I can’t remember.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“I think I used to live in a different country, but I’m not sure.”

“America,” she said.

“Oh! Yes. Right. America. I think that was the name of it.”

“Oh God!” she gasped. “That’s going to happen to me, too, isn’t it?”

“What’s going to happen to you, too?”

“Nothing,” she said with a sob. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Okay,” he said and squeezed her hand. That wrap around their hands had become uncomfortably warm. They had put a cast around their hands. From working with children doing crafts, she knew that plaster gets warm when it cures.

“How long do we have?” she asked.

“Until the restaurant opens for dinner?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Not sure,” he said. “About an hour maybe.”

“So now we wait,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Now we wait.”

Yuki stared at the ceiling. She looked around. She had an excellent view of the underside of their table. Two Japanese men were the seats on the other side of their table, but she could barely make out the tops of their heads. Some of the men/chairs were talking off in the distance in hushed voices, but she couldn’t hear them clear enough to know what they were saying. She could also see the sky through the window. At least that was a pleasant view.

She then said with alarm, “When the restaurant opens, women are going to come in and sit their bare asses on our faces.”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s what’s going to happen.”

“I’m not lesbian,” she said.

“I never thought you were,” he said.

“The idea of another woman touching her vagina to my face is just so perverted and disgusting,” she said. “Thinking about it is making me feel like I have to vomit. I’m fighting to keep it down.”

“A man is holding your hand,” he said. “That makes you not lesbian.”

She smiled at him and blew him a kiss.

“It’s not much better for me, either.”

“What’s it like for you?” she asked.

“Painful,” he said.

“Painful? Not sexy?”

“Not at all sexy. Mostly just flat out painful. The weight. The holding my breath for so long at a time. The humiliation of being used as a thing by countless total strangers. The filth. Some of these women don’t clean their bottoms very well, or at all. But mostly just unbelievably painful.”

“Painful,” she said again. “That’s the last thing I’d have expected you to say, except for the breath part.”

“Even a light girl like you,” he said. “It felt like my face was in a vise being slowly cranked.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you’d enjoy it as long as I let you breathe every few seconds.”

“You have a pretty vagina,” he said.

“What? I do?”

“Yes,” he said. “You trim yours nice. Most Japanese woman have a thick jungle down there. And Western girls are completely shaved. Both extremes are gross.”

“That’s not a mental image I wanted,” she said.

“I’ve seen, felt, and tasted a lot of vaginas and anuses over the past month.”

“What?” she shrieked. “Anuses? Seriously?”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “When women sit on me, my nose is usually up inside their vagina and their anus is pressed against my lips.”

“No!” she cried. “Oh, God! No!”

“Yeah,” he said.

“It’s bad enough that another woman’s vagina will be pressed to my face, but I’ll be kissing another woman’s anus?”

“Well, yeah, actually, you will. It’s nasty.”

“Nasty? Nasty? Picture yourself kissing another man’s anus! ‘Nasty’ doesn’t begin to describe it.”

“Right,” he said.

“Was it nasty?” she asked. “I mean, with me?”

“Well,” he said. “You had a tiny bit of feces stuck to your anus.”

“Oh, God!” she said. “I’m sorry. I used the toilet before I left school for lunch earlier.”

“You left it stuck to my lip when you got off me earlier,” he said.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I hope the waitress washed it off right away.”

“No. I licked it into my mouth and swallowed it.”

“You what? Why?”

“Because it came from you,” he said.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” she said.

“Don’t say anything, then,” he said.

“How long, now?” she asked.

“I guess about a half hour,” he said.

“I feel like I’m on death row about to be taken to my execution in a few minutes,” she said.

The manager walked past and said, “Hush, you two! No conversation! No talk!”