Let's talk about sex baby, or rather protection from sex. Like the Who sang, "I'm t-t-t-talkin' 'bout my c-c-c-contraceptive". Sorry, my keyboard is sticky.
Not sure what the kiddies do nowadays, but I can only hope that when ready to get down and jungle boogie with a significant or non-significant other, that proper precautions are still taken. For you, oh gentile reader, here's something I pulled out for you - HERE. While I'm sure that was amusing for those of you who are still reading, today's topic is about condoms. What the heck did you think that was in the photo to the left? Blown glass? ... No... some jokes are too easy. See below.
As mentioned, prior to arriving in Japan, I had never been with a woman in that, you know, way. And I'd never had sex with a woman before, either, though I did have a lot of practice. Those of you who are able to, may ask me to flex my right forearm - it is incredibly muscular, probably from all those years of playing the accordian. Geez, I seem to have a lack of blood flowing to my brain while I write this with one hand. I hurt the other one playing pool. Chalk up another bizarre accident for Andrew.
Anyhow, in the hopes of finally scoring in Japan, I brought with me three boxes of condoms figuring it would last me the one year I was then planning on staying. However, after finding a girlfriend - Ashley - sleeping with another Japanese girl in Osaka while Ashley and I had broken up for a week (ahhh, you didn't hear that story yet), and a lack of proper coordination in applying said condom to the anatomy resulting in a few unusable prophylactics, the box was becoming empty, so to speak.
Thank goodness dear old mom sent me five more boxes, probably silently praying it would keep her from becoming a grandmother anytime soon. I know... my mom sent me condoms. Although since passed on, my mom, Lynda Hyacinth Joseph was very cool. I'm unsure I could ever do wrong in her eyes, though she'd probably be rolling them at some of the lame-o jokes in this here blog.
So, why would I have to have condoms sent over from Toronto to help sate my urges? Actually, the condoms did nothing to sate my urges... but was merely a means to an end. Huh? Come again? Probably. Y'see, there's a size difference between Japanese men and North American men, even though this Canadian was born in England and is of India-n heritage. That's the dot, not the feather. I'm Canadian now and reaping all the glory that comes with it.
I once read in a Penthouse magazine that the average U.S. man is endowed with between five to seven inches, while the average Canadian had between six and eight inches. Let's just say I'm proud to be an average Canadian. My wife isn't readying this, is she? Didn't think so. Anyhow, the proof, as they say, is in the pudding. Check out the photo above of the two condoms I blew up in three breaths apiece and tied up and placed onto my green velour winter jacket. I didn't realize that there was some spermacide on the damn things, and added an oily stain to the coat, which I hid in this photo. As for the size difference in the balloons, well the difference in condom size may not seem like that great a difference to you, but it was to me. Let me explain by going back in time two weeks before that special delivery from my mom.
Realizing that I was running out of rubbers, I thought maybe I could buy some from a local pharmacy, though someone told me--might have been Matthew, might not have been Matthew--that Japanese contraceptives were smaller than our Western ones. I didn't care about that... I just figured a pharmacy would have condoms - Western ones, too.
Mr. Maniwa, who owned a popular pharmacy in downtown Ohtawara was whom I visited to purchase said contraceptives. Maniwa-san was a member of the Ohtawara International Friendship Association. He was also a bit of a tippler, a leech who once squeezed Ashley's bum and tried to grab her breast, but was still very kind and generous to a fault to Matthew and myself. He was also a very funny man with a wacky Three Stooges sense of humour - minus the monkey wrench of course.
So... I went up to him and asked him in English if he had any Western-sized condoms. Maniwa-san understood English quite well, and spoke it like he was drunk (which was a possibility). He told me that he didn't have any "Western" condoms, but suggested I try a Japanese condom "ribbed for her pleasure". I figured I could invert it so that it would be ribbed for my pleasure. Why should Ashley or whomever have all the fun? Just kidding, they were plain condoms - i just wanted to do the joke. So I bought a box of 10 Japanese condoms, took them home and waited until Ashley came over. That was three days later, but it did afford me time to practice.
So... raging with lust and armed with a Japanese condom and standing in the kitchen of my apartment, I attempted to place the condom onto myself. No bragging here (at this time), but it was a very tight fit... so much so that I could only unroll it past the head before a twitch sent it flying directly at Ashley's face hitting her smack in the nose. I'm talking about the condom hitting her, okay? Well worth the 3,500 yen (US$35) for the five minute laugh it afforded Ashley and myself, but we were now left unprotected. Thus ended the ball game. Sort of. This isn't porn people. I'm trying to turn a phrase.
So... this is the third paragraph in a row I've begun like this... it's why I called my mom and asked for some help. I also went back to Maniwa-san and told him that the condoms he had sold me were too small, and related the story back to him. Sorry Ashley, I told the lecherous old man about you getting a shot in the nose. Ooops... I did it again. Anyhow, he didn't believe the size of my tale, but still offered me a full refund. I told him to forget it - we're friends - just don't tell anyone about the condom shot heard round the world.
Friendship aside, he didn't believe me. It's why after the package from my mother arrived, I took the photos. See below for the close-up. I'm unsure what that orange junk is on the junk protector - but my Japanese photos did go thru a fire a couple of years ago (real time). Could it be hair dye?
Two more stories... when I went to Iseya to pick up my film, the cute early 20's slender girl with red dye in her hair to indicate she was rebellious and who works there did one of those whistles where you put a couple of fingers in your mouth. Anyhow, that whistle brought five other pretty young 20-something slender girls with red dye in their hair to indicate they are rebellious running over to the photo counter as I arrived simultaneously. The six of them smiled at me in unison (which was a very sexy trick), while the one actual photo counter girl found my envelope of photos. Now, as per Japanese custom, they open up the photos and pull out a photo for you so that you can ensure that it is indeed your set of photographs.
Not missing a beat, she rifled through the deck of 36 photos and pulled out the photo of the two condoms and then looked up at me. I smiled, said 'hai' (yes), she handed the photos to me and said "big-gu, big-gu" and then they all giggled behind hand-covered mouths. I should have taken names and numbers, but I had a feeling they knew where I lived.
In a similar vein, I've had Japanese junior high school boys point to their crotch (wearing pants, okay) and say in English: "smal-lu, smal-lu" then point to me and mine and ask: "An-do-ryu big-gu?" I nod in the affirmative and friendly backslapping ensues, as I now have become cool enough to answer such a stupid question. Hell, I'm a guy... of course I answered their question. We're all egomaniacs who believe that six inches looks a helluva lot like nine inches.
Somewhere, a Sheik(h) and a Trojan walk into a bar...
Andrew Joseph
I wonder what happened to that coat? Oh yeah... the stain.
Today's title brought to you by Blood, Sweat and Tears... which sounds alot like how I lost my virginity. Just kidding.
