Matsuoka sent two e-mails a day―one in the morning and one in the evening. Hirosue only sent one response, which seemed to be out of obligation towards Matsuoka.
Matsuoka sent e-mails every day. Sometimes he called, but they could never have a decent conversation because the other man would soon lapse into silence.
Hirosue only sends one reply because I e-mail him about things that don’t really need an answer. Our phone conversations don’t last very long because he’s just not very good at talking. That’s all, Matsuoka told himself over and over like a mantra.
He always eagerly anticipated Hirosue’s replies. When they were more aloof than usual, it cast a gloom over his mood. But Matsuoka did not think to stop e-mailing him; he knew that if he did, they would probably lose touch altogether.
One day in mid-March, two weeks into their relationship of exchanging e-mails and the very occasional phone call, Matsuoka failed to receive even the single e-mail per day that Hirosue sent. This worried him―Hirosue had sent one every day until now―but he felt like he would be exaggerating if he called the man and interrogated him just for not sending an e-mail. So he restrained himself.
The next day, he received an e-mail in the evening. Matsuoka was relieved, but on the following day, there was no e-mail again. Instead, he got a reply the day after that. Gradually, it became normal for him to get a reply every other day. That became two days. The gap steadily grew wider between each reply.
Matsuoka felt like Hirosue was intentionally leading their relationship towards an end, and began to purposely send e-mails that required a reply. Hirosue sent punctilious answers to those, but if he didn’t need to, the gaps widened between each e-mail again.
Matsuoka knew he had to do something soon, so he invited Hirosue out to eat. ‘How about dinner together, since it’s been a while?’ he wrote. He had not seen Hirosue at all since that day in the end of February when he had made his intrusive visit to the man’s workplace.
Every invite Matsuoka sent was turned down with an excuse―“My work won’t end until late,” or “I’m busy.” On his fifth invite, the man finally replied, “I’ll go.”
Matsuoka was simply happy to see Hirosue again. For the restaurant, he went out of his way to choose the izakaya near headquarters, which Hirosue had frequented before. They were to meet at seven in the evening in front of the station. Tiny cherry blossoms bloomed adorably in the trees planted in the street. Amongst the people coming and going in the station, he could spot many young people being dwarfed by their new suits. Matsuoka arrived fifteen minutes early; on the contrary, Hirosue arrived fifteen minutes late.
“I’m sorry. My bus was late,” Hirosue apologized when he saw Matsuoka. He wasn’t out of breath, nor was his hair dishevelled. There was a bit of distance between the bus stop and this spot; Matsuoka could tell that Hirosue hadn’t bothered to run even though he was late, but he couldn’t bring himself to criticize the man for it.
The little things bothered him, but Matsuoka was still happy to see Hirosue’s face again. However, Hirosue looked anything but excited for their meal. His attitude screamed of one who had come out for the sake of politeness because he had been invited so many times. Matsuoka refused to let the man’s apathetic attitude diminish his spirits.
“Let’s go, then.”
Matsuoka wasn’t bothered that the man walked behind him, either. It’s not normal for men to walk side-by-side, anyway, he thought to himself. Once they got to the restaurant, they would be sitting across from each other whether Hirosue liked it or not. He only had to feel lonely on the walk there. That was what he told himself.
When they arrived at the restaurant, they were shown to a table instead of the counter because they had a reservation. Matsuoka inwardly swore when he realized it was the same table they had sat at when he came here with Hirosue for the first time in female form. But all the seats in the restaurant were occupied, so he wasn’t going to be selfish and ask to have their seats changed.
The awkward air lingered as they sat in the same spots as before. Hirosue looked even glummer than when Matsuoka had first seen him today. Matsuoka renewed his attitude and acted cheerful, trying his best not to get dragged down along with him.
“What do you feel like eating? The fish was really good here, wasn’t it? Feel free to pick anything you like, Mr. Hirosue.”
Hirosue threw a glance at the menu.
“I don’t feel like eating fish today,” he muttered.
“Oh, then by all means, pick something else. How about motsunikomi or grilled egg? I feel like eating salad, so I’ll order a jako salad. What do you want to drink?”
“I’ll have a beer,” Hirosue mumbled. Once they finished giving their orders, their drinks and appetizers were brought out first. They did not clink glasses, but instead made brief eye contact before bringing their drinks to their lips.
After taking one draught, Hirosue put his beer glass down on the table. His face was turned slightly to the side, and he did not even try to look at Matsuoka. He didn’t seem keen to start a conversation, either.
“Was the financial closing this year hard on you guys at the lab, too?” Matsuoka started with a harmless topic.
“I guess so. I just transferred to the lab last year, so I can’t tell yet whether it’s hard or not.”
“Alright, sure,” Matsuoka conceded. “The end of the fiscal year is always tough, you know, because that’s when you’re faced with everything you’ve put off for the whole year. I’m somewhat alright because I manage to meet my quota every month, but other people seem to have it pretty hard. Employers are stricter nowadays, too.”
Hirosue bobbed his head slightly in response.
“Especially when it comes to Sales, you know, it’s a nice feeling to secure a contract, but I never feel any enormous sense of accomplishment. We’re kind of like sales counter people. The products are already finished―our job is just to sell them. I know it’s a necessary position, but still, you know?”
Matsuoka glanced up at Hirosue. “But if you work in a lab, I’m sure you get the sense that you’re actually producing something. I think that’s a pretty motivating job.”
“I’m just a clerk.”
Matsuoka’s attempt at flattery was easily deflected.
“Yeah, sure, but I’m sure that feeling rubs off when you watch the people in Research and Development work, right?”
“Not really,” Hirosue muttered, taking a swig of his beer.
“Okay. Well, I got put into Sales because selling things is the only thing I’m good at, but nowadays I think it would have been nice to be in R&D.”
Hirosue spoke at a ratio of about one-to-nine to Matsuoka. Every topic Matsuoka brought up was met with a one-word answer. He could clearly tell that Hirosue was not in the mood to have an active conversation. But as long as they were sitting together like this, Matsuoka felt like he needed to keep talking about something.
“You guys had new researchers coming in in April over at Koishikawa, right?”
“I think so…”
“Are a lot of them from graduate school, or someplace like that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You haven’t asked?”
Hirosue sighed heavily. Matsuoka could almost hear him say, I’m sick and tired of this.
“I don’t really talk about education levels with people at the lab. ―Can I eat a little?”
“Oh―sure.”
Matsuoka felt a strange nagging sense at the way Hirosue spoke. He hadn’t been talking about education at all; he was only curious.
The motsunikomi had been left on the table while they were talking. Matsuoka brought the slightly-cooled food to his lips. It was supposed to taste the same as before, but somehow he didn’t find it as good.
“I’m really sorry. All our seats are full right now,” Matsuoka heard the owner say. He looked up to see Fukuda, Hirosue’s former boss and a member of Matsuoka’s cohort.
He cursed inwardly and averted his eyes.
“Hey, Matsuoka, is that you?”
The sharp-eyed man had spotted him. Matsuoka couldn’t ignore him now that he had been spoken to. Fukuda was even approaching their table.
“I didn’t know you knew about this place, too,” Fukuda murmured as he tossed a glance at the man sitting across from him. Hirosue inclined his head slightly.
“It’s been a while,” he said.
“It has,” said Fukuda, barely acknowledging the man’s presence before turning to Matsuoka. “I was wondering,” he drawled. “My girlfriend is dying to eat here. Apparently this place was featured in a magazine as a hideaway that serves good food. Would you mind if we sat with you guys?”
Matsuoka hesitated to answer because he wanted to enjoy the meal alone with Hirosue. But the man across from him answered instead.
“We don’t mind.”
“Oh, really? I’ll bring her over, then.” Fukuda promptly went back to the entrance and brought a woman back. It wasn’t Okabayashi, so he had apparently gotten a new girlfriend. True to Fukuda’s preference for good looks, she was above-average in terms of her face, if that gave her any credit.
“I’m sorry. I hope we’re not intruding,” she gave a friendly smile to Hirosue and Matsuoka. She seemed to be amiable, at least.
Now with people beside him, Hirosue talked even less. Fukuda and his girlfriend, conversely, laughed often at nothing in particular. Perhaps they were still in the beginning stages of dating.
“Hey,” Fukuda began, “I’ve wanted to ask you this before, but how do you guys know each other? You’re over at Koishikawa now, Mr. Hirosue, so you guys don’t have much of a chance to run into each other, do you?” Fukuda started to talk to them once his conversation lapsed with his girlfriend, who had begun to eat. Matsuoka wasn’t about to tell him that he used to go out with the man in drag, so he threw together a convenient story.
“I go to Koishikawa sometimes for sales visits. That’s where I met Mr. Hirosue.”
“Isn’t Koishikawa, like, twenty minutes away from here?” Fukuda murmured, then turned to Hirosue. “If you can finish work and still make it down here at this time, that must mean you end pretty early, don’t you?”
Hirosue didn’t ignore the remark that was directed at him.
“It might be earlier compared to when I was in General Affairs.”
“Oh, man, you’re so lucky,” Fukuda said, hunching his shoulders as if he had been waiting for that answer. “I’m so jealous of General Administration people who work at labs. You guys end early and you don’t seem too busy, either. I wish I could work over there.”
He didn’t mean a word of what he said, but that was the kind of man Fukuda was. He was one to talk, considering he had pulled the strings to ship Hirosue off to Koishikawa.
“Come to think of it, Sales is pretty good, too. You get to slack off all you want outside.”
Fukuda’s girlfriend took his utterance at face value.
“Is it really like that in Sales?” she asked Matsuoka in amazement.
“Yeah,” Fukuda answered for him. “You’re pretty much free to do whatever you want with your time for the whole day.”
That’s just your assumption of Sales, Matsuoka wanted to retort, but he grinned and endured it.
“Why don’t you come over to Sales, too, huh?” he said to Fukuda. “It’s tough at the end of the fiscal year, but otherwise it’s smooth sailing.”
“Yeah, but you know,” Fukuda murmured. “I am the chief of General Affairs, after all.”
“You’d do fine in Sales,” Matsuoka said in a half-hearted attempt to flatter him. If Fukuda happened to be encouraged enough to transfer to Sales, he would no doubt be ensnared and dragged down by the monthly quotas from hell. It would serve him right, indeed.
Matsuoka glanced at the table during his conversation with Fukuda and realized Hirosue’s glass was empty.
“Oh, Mr. Hirosue. How about something to drink?”
“Beer,” Hirosue answered, so Matsuoka ordered another of the same. After he gave the order, he realized how red the man’s lowered face was. He had a feeling the man should start slackening his pace, but since he was only on his third glass, Matsuoka didn’t mention anything.
“Say, Mr. Hirosue, didn’t you have a girlfriend?” Fukuda said. “That tall, thin girl with fair skin,” he said jabbing his conversational feelers into a topic Matsuoka had not wanted to touch.
“No,” Hirosue said flatly, denying Yoko Eto’s existence with vehemence.
“Huh? But you did. That was all our department was talking about after the farewell party. Like about where you met and stuff.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
Fukuda cocked his head. “Okay,” he said. “So she wasn’t your girlfriend. Now that you mention it, I guess it make sense. She was too pretty, almost doll-like. You two looked kind of mismatched standing together.”
Fukuda was being rude, but Hirosue showed no signs of getting angry.
“Well, you might not be dating, but you’re still acquaintances, right?”
“Right. But she broke up with me, so I don’t really want to talk about it.”
Matsuoka didn’t miss Fukuda smirk.
“Mr. Hirosue, maybe you aimed too high.”
“Maybe I did.”
Fukuda grinned smugly again at Hirosue’s reply. Conversation appeared to be humming at their table, but Fukuda was the only one actually talking. Hirosue didn’t talk unless he was spoken to, and Matsuoka only interjected in response.
“Can I have another drink, please? Kikusui this time.”
Matsuoka glanced at Hirosue’s hand and noticed that his beer glass, which had been full seconds ago, was already empty. The man’s ears were beet-red. Matsuoka continued to watch as the man’s right hand, holding his chopsticks, tried and failed twice to clamp a piece of pickled vegetable that came with the grilled rice balls.
“Are you sure you should be drinking that much?” Matsuoka whispered to him, but the man was deaf to him and did not answer. When his glass of cold sake was brought, he downed it in one continuous draught.
“Excuse me, I’d like another one of the same, please,” he called over to a sever passing by.
“Shouldn’t you lay off a bit?” Matsuoka said concernedly. “You still have work tomorrow. It’s going to be hell if you get a hangover.”
Hirosue lifted his face. “It’s none of your concern whether I have a hard time tomorrow because I’m hung over, is it?” he said coldly. Matsuoka was speechless. Fukuda, who had been listening to them, intervened.
“Hey,” he said. “That’s no way to talk. Matsuoka’s just worried about you, Mr. Hirosue,” he reprimanded.
“You’re right,” Hirosue muttered in a voice that lacked any sincerity, and drained the new glass of cold sake like water. He fumbled with his empty glass, which slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. There was no doubt about his inebriation now.
“Whoa!” As Hirosue drew back to pick up the glass, which was luckily not broken, he swayed and leaned heavily against Fukuda.
“Geez, Mr. Hirosue, how drunk are you?” Fukuda wrinkled his brow, not even trying to hide his displeasure.
“I’m sorry―” Hirosue apologized, but his body still teetered as if he were on a ship. Unable to watch any longer, Matsuoka stood from his seat and went around the table to Hirosue’s side.
“Mr. Hirosue, can you make it over here?”
Hirosue glanced at Matsuoka, but did not listen to him. His body, however, continued to rock back and forth, weighing down on Fukuda beside him.
“God, you’re heavy,” the man complained.
Matsuoka went over to the man who refused to lean on him, forced him to stand, and brought him out to the aisle.
“Mr. Hirosue’s pretty drunk, so I think we’re going to head home.”
Please do, Fukuda’s face seemed to say. “Alright, then. See you,” he said with a wave. Hirosue by now could not even stand on his feet. Matsuoka sat him on a chair near the cash register and paid for both of them. Hirosue resisted being touched, but Matsuoka forcefully took his shoulder and exited the restaurant.
“I can… walk by myself…” Contrary to his words, Hirosue staggered back and forth like he was dancing. Matsuoka disregarded the words of the drunk, took his shoulder, and walked along slowly.
The intoxicated man was heavy to carry. Matsuoka wished they could reach the main road quickly so they could hail a taxi. Just then, he heard a foreboding muffled belch from the man beside him.
Hirosue’s face was pale as he pressed a hand to his mouth. Matsuoka hastily took him into the hedges in the middle of the path, where Hirosue doubled over and threw up. Matsuoka rubbed the man’s back the whole time as he vomited over and over. The man finally finished emptying the contents of his stomach. He retched, but nothing came up. Matsuoka sat Hirosue down on the stairs at the entrance of a five-storey building and looked for a vending machine. He bought a bottle of water and returned to the man’s side.
“Rinse your mouth out with this.”
Hirosue took the water from him and stumbled back to the hedges, where he rinsed his mouth out. He squatted down on the spot. Matsuoka half-carried Hirosue away from the middle of the road back to the stairs, where he wouldn’t get in the way of other people.
“Do you still feel sick?” he asked, sitting down beside the man.
“A little…” came the answer. If he put Hirosue on a taxi now, the motion would probably make him sick again. Matsuoka decided it was better to stay here for a while to let the alcohol leave his system.
Hirosue stretched out on the stairs, not even minding the dirt on his clothes. Hope he has an extra suit he can wear tomorrow to work, Matsuoka found himself worrying, though he knew it wasn’t any of his business.
“You have no problem telling lies, do you,” Hirosue mumbled. Matsuoka turned around. “You lied to Mr. Fukuda. You said you came to Koishikawa for a sale visit and that’s how you got to know me.”
Matsuoka wondered why the man was bringing this up now.
“What else could I have done? I wasn’t going to tell him I was dressing in drag.”
“It doesn’t matter how big or how small―a lie is still a lie.”
It annoyed him that the man was hung up on something so insignificant.
“What, are you saying I should have told him we met each other when I was crossdressing? Make him scorn me and laugh at me?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“That’s exactly what it means when you tell me not to lie!” Matsuoka yelled at him. Hirosue held his head in his hands and closed his mouth. An awkward silence fell between them. Matsuoka chewed his lip and looked out at the main road before them, following the continuous line of cars with his eyes.
“I didn’t feel like going to work today,” the man said abruptly. He had been so silent until now, Matsuoka had thought he had fallen asleep. “I felt depressed when I thought about having to meet you this evening.”
Matsuoka felt his chest wring painfully.
“I wondered why I had to meet with you when I didn’t even want to see your face, when we didn’t even have anything to talk about. I wanted to stop e-mailing you, but you’d always reply back, so…”
He knew the man had been unwilling from the beginning. But it was still painful to hear it directly from him.
“So do you hate me, then, Mr. Hirosue?”
There was no answer.
“If you hate me, say so.”
By refusing to answer, Matsuoka felt like the man was avoiding confrontation. It was underhanded of the man to do so, he thought.
“Say it, god damn it!” he snarled.
Hirosue shook his head in annoyance and lurched to his feet. He was still teetering slightly, but the vomiting had apparently helped some of the alcohol leave his system, for he could manage to walk by himself.
“I’m going home.” With those words, Hirosue approached the edge of the sidewalk. He raised his right hand, trying to flag an empty taxi.
“Wait a minute. You think you’re just going to have the last word and leave?”
“Please leave me alone.”
A taxi flashed its signals and slowed down. It arrived at a stop in front of Hirosue. As the man fled into the back seat, Matsuoka followed right behind him and forced himself into the seat beside him.
“Your house is in the opposite direction, Mr. Matsuoka.”
“Our conversation isn’t over yet.”
As they bickered back and forth, the taxi driver turned around with an unimpressed look.
“Can I get going now?” he said in a raised voice.
“Please,” Matsuoka answered. The taxi lurched into motion.
“Can you take us to Sambashi Station on the Hikaridai line for now, please?” Matsuoka told the cab driver the nearest station to Hirosue’s apartment. Hirosue threw him a glance before sighing heavily and looking out the window.
Hirosue fell asleep again not even five minutes into the ride, and as the car made a turn, Hirosue lurched and fell limply on Matsuoka’s shoulder. He kept sliding further down until he was snoring with Matsuoka’s lap as a pillow. Hirosue’s defenceless face and warm weight on Matsuoka’s lap made his feelings waver in a mixture of love and annoyance.
Hirosue was still asleep when they arrived in front of his apartment. When Matsuoka gave his shoulders a rough shake after paying the cab fare, he finally opened his eyes a crack. The bleary-eyed man took his wallet out of his bag, apparently intending to pay the fare.
“I’ve already got your payment, sir. Now, if you could please get out of the car,” said the driver gruffly. Hirosue stumbled out. He tried to hand the money to Matsuoka, but Matsuoka staunchly refused to accept it.
“I don’t care about the money. I want to talk to you, Mr. Hirosue.” He glared at the man as they stood on the street, refusing to step down. Hirosue averted his gaze and lowered his face. Without another word, he began to walk towards his apartment. Matsuoka followed after him. Hirosue’s drunkenness still lingered in his gait, which was slower than usual as he climbed the stairs.
Once they entered the apartment, Hirosue put his lips directly to the faucet in the kitchen and drank from it. He caught his breath, then proceeded further into the room. He took off his suit jacket, then seated himself on the floor, half leaning against the wall.
Matsuoka stood directly in front of the man and looked down at him. Hirosue had made it clear that he did not want Matsuoka around. That much was obvious. There was nothing he could do about that, but if the man did hate him, Matsuoka wanted to know why. He felt he could not be convinced otherwise.
“Tell me why.”
Hirosue’s head jerked and hung even lower.
“Tell me why it can’t be me!”
Impatient with the man’s stubborn silence, Matsuoka squatted down until his eyes were level with him and gave the man’s shoulder a shake. The man’s eyes remained lowered as he muttered in a bothersome way.
“You’re a man.”
Decisive words, spat from his lips. Matsuoka felt the blood rise to his head. He slammed his fist against the tatami mat. All of the feelings he had kept suppressed in the pit of his stomach burst out of his mouth at once.
“Damn right, I am! That’s why I made sure with you so many times before I told you the truth! You said you would be fine with me whether I was an old person or a child. That’s why I told you. I trusted your words.”
Hirosue lifted his face and looked at Matsuoka with a murky gaze.
“But you lied to me.” He said it as if that concluded everything―Matsuoka clenched his fists in helpless frustration.
“I apologized about lying!” he snapped. “Several times! Besides, you lied to me, too. You said you could still love me, but as soon as you found out I was a man, you changed.”
The man cradled his head and clawed at his hair before shaking his head slowly.
“I didn’t mean to lie. That time, I thought I could love you no matter who you were, no matter what kind of mistakes you’d made in the past. But… I never even imagined that you’d be a man.”
Matsuoka placed a hand on his chest and inched towards Hirosue.
“Yoko Eto and Yosuke Matsuoka are both me. I’m serious about how I feel towards you, Mr. Hirosue, and that hasn’t changed.”
The man’s gaze, which had been steadily fixed on Matsuoka, dropped away.
“No, you’re wrong.”
“I’m not. Yoko Eto is the fake one.”
The man shook his head vigorously.
“You say she’s fake, but to me Ms. Yoko is much more real. A beautiful, doll-like woman who has a gentle smile and can’t talk―for me, she’s reality.”
The man lowered his gaze.
“I said I would love her no matter what kind of truth came to light. But ultimately, I can’t love you the way I love her.”
Matsuoka clenched his jaw. You say you can’t love me, but have you even tried to? He was almost tempted to ask the scathing question.
“Even if you tell me you’re the same inside, I still can’t love you. But it wasn’t just her appearance that I was attracted to, either. My honest feelings are that I can’t fall in love with you as a man. I didn’t mean to lie. I didn’t think my feelings would change.”
Matsuoka wished he could heap abuse upon the man, call him a liar. I told you the truth because you said you would love me. I made sure over and over again because I didn’t want this to happen.
He knew that the heart was prone to change, that sparks were prone to die. He knew―but he had believed that things would be different with this man.
“So you’re saying I’m no good because I’m a man.”
“I’m sorry.”
As he sat in front of the apologizing man, Matsuoka thought. This man had rejected him on the most fundamental level, his sex; no number of e-mails, phone calls, or dinners Matsuoka had with him yielded any promising results. What could he do to make this man come around?
From his past relationship experience, he knew that this pattern of events meant he was better off giving up. Their relationship had not started from zero; it had tumbled from plus to the minus end before it had even begun. It was going to be difficult to bring it into plus territory again.
In his mind, he knew this might be the end. But he did not want to give up. One of the reasons why he found it hard was because he and Yoko Eto were no different apart from appearance. He couldn’t completely abandon the hope that the man might love him again if he could only get to know Matsuoka’s personality. He wanted to secure a spot close to the man using any method he could, even if he had to cross some lines―at least until he could get the man to realize that he and Yoko Eto were the same.
Matsuoka steeled himself and grabbed the slumped man by the front of his shirt. Hirosue raised his head.
“Sleep with me.”
The pair of eyes on him snapped wide open.
“Have sex with me once. You might think you can’t do it with a man, but just give it a try. It might work out.”
“―It probably won’t.”
“Don’t say so without even trying. Try it with me, even as a joke. I won’t be convinced until you do.”
Matsuoka drew the resistant man closer and kissed him. As Yoko Eto, he had kissed these lips over and over again and was completely under the impression that he knew them. But now, they felt like the lips of someone he didn’t know.
Even if Hirosue’s whole body stiffened, rejecting Matsuoka’s very presence, he continued to kiss the man forcefully. Frustrated at Hirosue’s lack of enthusiasm, Matsuoka ran his hands through the man’s unruly hair like he used to do as Yoko Eto.
The man twitched in response. His passive kisses finally began to harbour some will. Hirosue circled his arms around Matsuoka with his eyes closed. His hands crept along Matsuoka’s back. Filled with joy at his decent response, Matsuoka clung to the man, swept up in the moment.
Between entwining their tongues in deep kisses, he felt Hirosue pull his shirt out of his slacks. This was where Matsuoka would usually shut out the man’s intrusive right hand, but today, there was no need for that.
The man’s fingers ran across his bare skin, hiking his shirt up as they touched the small buds on Matsuoka’s chest. His fingers pinched them lightly, sending a spasm through Matsuoka’s spine.
Hirosue’s eyes were still closed as he lay Matsuoka down on the tatami mat. He blindly pulled up his shirt and buried his face in Matsuoka’s bare chest.
“They’re small…” the man murmured, but he still put his lips to them. Matsuoka felt a shiver down his back at the wet sensation lingering and sucking at his nipples. He rubbed his inner thighs together at the stirring in his crotch. The man sucked one nipple with intense concentration while he pinched the other nipple, pointed and hard with the stimulation, with his right hand.
“They’re small, but… they’re so cute, Ms. Yoko.”
Matsuoka, who had been basking in the comfort of being caressed, was abruptly brought back to reality.
“N…o…” He pushed Hirosue’s head away. “I’m not Yoko―”
In an unbelievable move, Hirosue pressed his left hand against Matsuoka’s mouth. It was as if to say he did not want to hear Matsuoka’s voice.
When Matsuoka fell silent, Hirosue’s fingers moved away from his mouth and settled again on caressing him. Hirosue continued to lick both buds on his chest with such tenacity Matsuoka felt like they would melt away. The man then undid the button of Matsuoka’s slacks and drew the zipper down. Matsuoka helped the man by lifting his hips a little when his pants were pulled down. Hirosue drew the pants down to knee-level, but did not try to take off Matsuoka’s underwear.
It was Matsuoka’s first time having sex with a man, but he was aroused at doing it with the man he loved. His arousal was clearly visible under his underwear. Impatient to have it touched directly, Matsuoka yanked the man closer on top of him, but was forcefully thrust away. As Matsuoka hesitated in confusion, Hirosue flipped him over on top of the tatami mat.
The man’s body overlapped his from behind. Two hands roughly fondled his chest, and he felt biting kisses on his neck. He could feel Hirosue’s hardened crotch pressed up against him.
He heard the clinking of his belt being taken off. As he lay on his stomach, he felt his underwear being pulled off, revealing his buttocks. He barely had time to feel embarrassment before he felt the man’s hot member press against his entrance.
“W-Wait―”
The tip of the man’s member forced its way in without even any fondling to loosen the unused spot. Matsuoka cried out in pain.
“Stop, it hurts―Mr. Hirosue, it hurts!” The hand was pressed against his mouth again. The violent sex organ drilled deeper into him, and he felt the lower half of his body seize up. Even though he had told the man to stop, to his disbelief, Hirosue continued to manhandle him. The feeling, coupled with a type of pain Matsuoka had never experienced before, made him tremble.
He had been prepared for the penetration that came with these acts. He wouldn’t have minded. But since men could not produce their own lubrication, Matsuoka knew they would need to prepare themselves accordingly. There were various kinds of foreplay through which he would gradually stretch and loosen himself. If it still hurt after that, Matsuoka was prepared to endure it. But he had never even imagined that he would be penetrated in such a one-sided and forceful way.
“It―It really―hurts…” he pleaded desperately in a muffled voice through the hand that gagged him. But none of it reached the man’s ears. Tears welled up in his eyes at the violence that forced its way inside of him.
“Ms. Yoko, you’re so tight…”
After being painfully penetrated to the base and thinking it could get no worse, now he was being called by Yoko’s name. Matsuoka nearly went insane.
“No! I’m not Yoko―” His mouth was covered again by the man’s palm.
“Why are you rejecting me? I thought you were going to give yourself to me. Come on, loosen up…”
There was no way he could after the man had ignored his pleas of pain and thrust into him this way. Knowing he would be silenced if he voiced his complaints, Matsuoka shook his head instead. He felt the thing inch out of him. He thought he would finally be freed from the pain―yet, it only partially exited him before fiercely slamming into him again.
“Aagh!” His spine trembled as his lower half chafed. It didn’t matter if Matsuoka was crying from the pain; Hirosue ruthlessly continued his back-and-forth motion, and eventually ejaculated inside him. As for Matsuoka, the pain had made his penis flaccid partway through, and it did not resume its shape again. Hirosue did not even touch Matsuoka’s genitals. He seemed to be too occupied in his own climax to care about the person he was inflicting pain upon.
A wet squelch sounded from the unlubricated spot. Matsuoka felt something dripping from his testicles. A sticky, red liquid formed a thread as it came off on his hand.
“Jus… stop… I’m bleeding. Please, I’m begging you…” His pleas went unheard, and his hips continued to be jerked back and forth. It wasn’t until a while later that the man finally stopped moving.
Hirosue was still embracing Matsuoka from behind when he suddenly went still.
“…Get out…” Matsuoka implored to the violence inside him, but the man did not move. When he realized the man was sleeping, Matsuoka tried to extricate himself from underneath him, but even a slight movement sent a fierce pain through his lower regions, making him whimper each time. Once he finally crawled his way out from under the man, he felt the strength leave him, and he flopped on the floor on his stomach.
His lower half was numb, and he could barely feel anything. But when he shifted his body even a little, he was overcome with shooting pains. Granted, Matsuoka had been the one to invite Hirosue to have sex, but did not imagine Hirosue would be so insensitive about it.
Although they had had sex in form, there was no love in the act. Hirosue still searched for Yoko Eto while knowing he was sleeping with Yosuke Matsuoka. He was conscious that he was doing it with a man. That was probably why he hadn’t touched Matsuoka’s genitals and had insisted on penetrating him from behind.
While he searched for his underwear on all fours, Matsuoka felt something drip down his crotch. He hastily grabbed a nearby tissue to stop the flow. A mixture of blood and semen spilled from his numb anus. Every time he thought it stopped, it trickled anew down his thighs, and it was humiliating to have to wipe it up each time.
The flow finally stopped eventually, and Matsuoka readjusted his clothes. He wanted to get home soon and take a shower. He looked at the clock. It was already past three in the morning.
Matsuoka approached the man who was asleep, stark naked, on his stomach. The sight of his peaceful sleeping face filled Matsuoka with the urge to punch him. He swung his right hand up high, but it fell back into his lap, powerless. Before he knew it, tears were streaming from his eyes, falling as droplets on the man’s cheek. Matsuoka gently cradled the man’s head of tousled hair and curled up over him.
Matsuoka stayed like that for a while, then got up to pull a blanket out of the closet to drape over the man. He set the man’s alarm clock to seven in the morning. ‘I left your key in the mailbox,’ he wrote in a note, which he left on top of the kotatsu before leaving the apartment and locking the door.
Although it was already April, it was still cold at night. He shivered under his inadequate thin coat, and the mere movement from walking jarred his lower half painfully. He felt horrible whether he was sitting or standing; he felt helpless. Not many taxis were running on the main road at this unusual hour, and it took Matsuoka twenty minutes to catch one. When a taxi finally came, he climbed into it and collapsed across the back seat. He passed out into a deep sleep until he arrived at his apartment.
Once Matsuoka got home, he immediately lay down in bed. His body felt unbearably heavy. He was tired, but his mind was filled with too many thoughts to sleep. However, he still got up at seven and took a shower. Although he was able to wash away the dirt on his body, he wasn’t able to get rid of the heavy feeling in his lower half.
Matsuoka showed up for work at fifteen minutes past eight, as usual. Fortunately for him, since his position took him out of the office, he lay down to rest on park benches between his sales visits. He began to feel strangely hot in the afternoon, and he felt like he was getting a fever. He only continued to work because he felt like sitting still would bring unwanted thoughts into his head, which he wanted to avoid.
By the time his work ended at six in the evening, Matsuoka was so completely worn out he could not even muster a conversational smile. As soon as he got home, he collapsed into bed and slept until he heard the doorbell ring. He ignored it at first, figuring it was a newspaper salesperson.
He heard his ringtone go off as a new e-mail arrived. It was from Hirosue. Matsuoka bolted upright.
‘Where are you right now? I’m in front of your apartment, Mr. Matsuoka. I would like to apologize to you. Will you see me?’
His lower half ached from the sudden movement, but he didn’t mind. He got as far as the door, then thought hard. He was filled with anticipation. Despite the cruel ordeal he had been put through, he still wanted to see the man’s face. Matsuoka thought about all of it objectively―about everything leading up to now, and about what was to come.
After ten minutes of thinking, he opened the door. Hirosue flinched in surprise from where he was leaning against the concrete barrier across.
“I’m sorry for yesterday.” The man bowed his head deeply.
“Can you come in? I don’t want to talk about this outside.”
Hirosue did as he was told and stepped through the entrance. He did not take off his shoes. Matsuoka also had no intentions of letting him in any further.
“To tell you the truth,” Hirosue began, “I don’t remember clearly about everything that happened yesterday. But I do know that what I did to you can’t be excused by the fact that I was drunk. I’m really sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Matsuoka took a short breath and folded his arms. “I started it. We’re both adults, and it was consensual. There’s nothing for you to feel bad about, is there?”
“But…”
“Are you worried about what’ll happen from now on?”
The man’s head bobbed stiffly.
“I don’t plan on e-mailing you or calling you ever again, Mr. Hirosue. I think yesterday gave me a very good idea of how you feel about me.”
The man silently stared at the ground.
“I hope you won’t mind if I just end it right here.”
Hirosue slowly raised his head. Matsuoka did not miss the look of relief cross the man’s face at his words. As if to prove his point, the man’s answer was free of hesitation.
“Alright,” he said promptly.
“I’m over it completely, now, to tell you the truth. Not to say it like a shot in bed was all I was looking for, but…”
There was no answer from Hirosue, but his eyes seemed somewhat cold as they looked at Matsuoka.
“You can go home now,” Matsuoka said.
At his encouragement, Hirosue opened the front door. He stepped halfway outside, then abruptly turned around like he had remembered something.
“By the way, were you alright?”
Matsuoka was caught off-guard.
“The tatami was… um… stained, so…”
He had wiped the conspicuous spots before he went home, but some stains had not come off.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay,” the man murmured, then inclined his head in a distant manner before closing the door. After the lingering sound of the closing door and the footsteps faded away, Matsuoka sank to the floor.
He had wiped the stained floor so Hirosue wouldn’t feel guilty. Even if there had been a blood stain, he was sure it wasn’t very big. He was already aware that the man’s concern for his body was nothing more than an afterthought, but he still felt hopeless all the same.
He asked himself what was so attractive about such an insensitive and indecisive man. But he had already fallen in love with him, and there was nothing he could do about that.
Hirosue shared none of his feelings. Matsuoka had nothing to capture the man with; in fact, to Hirosue, he was simply a nuisance. There was no way he could say he wanted to continue their relationship.
Matsuoka knew well that he would only cause trouble for Hirosue by telling him he loved him. That was why he ended it, pretending his feelings had fizzled. By openly acting like he was over his attachment, he had hoped it would make it emotionally easier for Hirosue.
He had done so many things out of consideration for the man, but the man he loved had given him no consideration in return. He had left Matsuoka with nothing but hurtful words and a hurtful attitude.
Matsuoka dragged himself back to his room. Despite all the unsympathetic treatment he had been subjected to, Matsuoka still found himself loving the man. How wretched he was, he thought. How pathetic.
Matsuoka sent two e-mails a day―one in the morning and one in the evening. Hirosue only sent one response, which seemed to be out of obligation towards Matsuoka.
Matsuoka sent e-mails every day. Sometimes he called, but they could never have a decent conversation because the other man would soon lapse into silence.
Hirosue only sends one reply because I e-mail him about things that don’t really need an answer. Our phone conversations don’t last very long because he’s just not very good at talking. That’s all, Matsuoka told himself over and over like a mantra.
He always eagerly anticipated Hirosue’s replies. When they were more aloof than usual, it cast a gloom over his mood. But Matsuoka did not think to stop e-mailing him; he knew that if he did, they would probably lose touch altogether.
One day in mid-March, two weeks into their relationship of exchanging e-mails and the very occasional phone call, Matsuoka failed to receive even the single e-mail per day that Hirosue sent. This worried him―Hirosue had sent one every day until now―but he felt like he would be exaggerating if he called the man and interrogated him just for not sending an e-mail. So he restrained himself.
The next day, he received an e-mail in the evening. Matsuoka was relieved, but on the following day, there was no e-mail again. Instead, he got a reply the day after that. Gradually, it became normal for him to get a reply every other day. That became two days. The gap steadily grew wider between each reply.
Matsuoka felt like Hirosue was intentionally leading their relationship towards an end, and began to purposely send e-mails that required a reply. Hirosue sent punctilious answers to those, but if he didn’t need to, the gaps widened between each e-mail again.
Matsuoka knew he had to do something soon, so he invited Hirosue out to eat. ‘How about dinner together, since it’s been a while?’ he wrote. He had not seen Hirosue at all since that day in the end of February when he had made his intrusive visit to the man’s workplace.
Every invite Matsuoka sent was turned down with an excuse―“My work won’t end until late,” or “I’m busy.” On his fifth invite, the man finally replied, “I’ll go.”
Matsuoka was simply happy to see Hirosue again. For the restaurant, he went out of his way to choose the izakaya near headquarters, which Hirosue had frequented before. They were to meet at seven in the evening in front of the station. Tiny cherry blossoms bloomed adorably in the trees planted in the street. Amongst the people coming and going in the station, he could spot many young people being dwarfed by their new suits. Matsuoka arrived fifteen minutes early; on the contrary, Hirosue arrived fifteen minutes late.
“I’m sorry. My bus was late,” Hirosue apologized when he saw Matsuoka. He wasn’t out of breath, nor was his hair dishevelled. There was a bit of distance between the bus stop and this spot; Matsuoka could tell that Hirosue hadn’t bothered to run even though he was late, but he couldn’t bring himself to criticize the man for it.
The little things bothered him, but Matsuoka was still happy to see Hirosue’s face again. However, Hirosue looked anything but excited for their meal. His attitude screamed of one who had come out for the sake of politeness because he had been invited so many times. Matsuoka refused to let the man’s apathetic attitude diminish his spirits.
“Let’s go, then.”
Matsuoka wasn’t bothered that the man walked behind him, either. It’s not normal for men to walk side-by-side, anyway, he thought to himself. Once they got to the restaurant, they would be sitting across from each other whether Hirosue liked it or not. He only had to feel lonely on the walk there. That was what he told himself.
When they arrived at the restaurant, they were shown to a table instead of the counter because they had a reservation. Matsuoka inwardly swore when he realized it was the same table they had sat at when he came here with Hirosue for the first time in female form. But all the seats in the restaurant were occupied, so he wasn’t going to be selfish and ask to have their seats changed.
The awkward air lingered as they sat in the same spots as before. Hirosue looked even glummer than when Matsuoka had first seen him today. Matsuoka renewed his attitude and acted cheerful, trying his best not to get dragged down along with him.
“What do you feel like eating? The fish was really good here, wasn’t it? Feel free to pick anything you like, Mr. Hirosue.”
Hirosue threw a glance at the menu.
“I don’t feel like eating fish today,” he muttered.
“Oh, then by all means, pick something else. How about motsunikomi or grilled egg? I feel like eating salad, so I’ll order a jako salad. What do you want to drink?”
“I’ll have a beer,” Hirosue mumbled. Once they finished giving their orders, their drinks and appetizers were brought out first. They did not clink glasses, but instead made brief eye contact before bringing their drinks to their lips.
After taking one draught, Hirosue put his beer glass down on the table. His face was turned slightly to the side, and he did not even try to look at Matsuoka. He didn’t seem keen to start a conversation, either.
“Was the financial closing this year hard on you guys at the lab, too?” Matsuoka started with a harmless topic.
“I guess so. I just transferred to the lab last year, so I can’t tell yet whether it’s hard or not.”
“Alright, sure,” Matsuoka conceded. “The end of the fiscal year is always tough, you know, because that’s when you’re faced with everything you’ve put off for the whole year. I’m somewhat alright because I manage to meet my quota every month, but other people seem to have it pretty hard. Employers are stricter nowadays, too.”
Hirosue bobbed his head slightly in response.
“Especially when it comes to Sales, you know, it’s a nice feeling to secure a contract, but I never feel any enormous sense of accomplishment. We’re kind of like sales counter people. The products are already finished―our job is just to sell them. I know it’s a necessary position, but still, you know?”
Matsuoka glanced up at Hirosue. “But if you work in a lab, I’m sure you get the sense that you’re actually producing something. I think that’s a pretty motivating job.”
“I’m just a clerk.”
Matsuoka’s attempt at flattery was easily deflected.
“Yeah, sure, but I’m sure that feeling rubs off when you watch the people in Research and Development work, right?”
“Not really,” Hirosue muttered, taking a swig of his beer.
“Okay. Well, I got put into Sales because selling things is the only thing I’m good at, but nowadays I think it would have been nice to be in R&D.”
Hirosue spoke at a ratio of about one-to-nine to Matsuoka. Every topic Matsuoka brought up was met with a one-word answer. He could clearly tell that Hirosue was not in the mood to have an active conversation. But as long as they were sitting together like this, Matsuoka felt like he needed to keep talking about something.
“You guys had new researchers coming in in April over at Koishikawa, right?”
“I think so…”
“Are a lot of them from graduate school, or someplace like that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You haven’t asked?”
Hirosue sighed heavily. Matsuoka could almost hear him say, I’m sick and tired of this.
“I don’t really talk about education levels with people at the lab. ―Can I eat a little?”
“Oh―sure.”
Matsuoka felt a strange nagging sense at the way Hirosue spoke. He hadn’t been talking about education at all; he was only curious.
The motsunikomi had been left on the table while they were talking. Matsuoka brought the slightly-cooled food to his lips. It was supposed to taste the same as before, but somehow he didn’t find it as good.
“I’m really sorry. All our seats are full right now,” Matsuoka heard the owner say. He looked up to see Fukuda, Hirosue’s former boss and a member of Matsuoka’s cohort.
He cursed inwardly and averted his eyes.
“Hey, Matsuoka, is that you?”
The sharp-eyed man had spotted him. Matsuoka couldn’t ignore him now that he had been spoken to. Fukuda was even approaching their table.
“I didn’t know you knew about this place, too,” Fukuda murmured as he tossed a glance at the man sitting across from him. Hirosue inclined his head slightly.
“It’s been a while,” he said.
“It has,” said Fukuda, barely acknowledging the man’s presence before turning to Matsuoka. “I was wondering,” he drawled. “My girlfriend is dying to eat here. Apparently this place was featured in a magazine as a hideaway that serves good food. Would you mind if we sat with you guys?”
Matsuoka hesitated to answer because he wanted to enjoy the meal alone with Hirosue. But the man across from him answered instead.
“We don’t mind.”
“Oh, really? I’ll bring her over, then.” Fukuda promptly went back to the entrance and brought a woman back. It wasn’t Okabayashi, so he had apparently gotten a new girlfriend. True to Fukuda’s preference for good looks, she was above-average in terms of her face, if that gave her any credit.
“I’m sorry. I hope we’re not intruding,” she gave a friendly smile to Hirosue and Matsuoka. She seemed to be amiable, at least.
Now with people beside him, Hirosue talked even less. Fukuda and his girlfriend, conversely, laughed often at nothing in particular. Perhaps they were still in the beginning stages of dating.
“Hey,” Fukuda began, “I’ve wanted to ask you this before, but how do you guys know each other? You’re over at Koishikawa now, Mr. Hirosue, so you guys don’t have much of a chance to run into each other, do you?” Fukuda started to talk to them once his conversation lapsed with his girlfriend, who had begun to eat. Matsuoka wasn’t about to tell him that he used to go out with the man in drag, so he threw together a convenient story.
“I go to Koishikawa sometimes for sales visits. That’s where I met Mr. Hirosue.”
“Isn’t Koishikawa, like, twenty minutes away from here?” Fukuda murmured, then turned to Hirosue. “If you can finish work and still make it down here at this time, that must mean you end pretty early, don’t you?”
Hirosue didn’t ignore the remark that was directed at him.
“It might be earlier compared to when I was in General Affairs.”
“Oh, man, you’re so lucky,” Fukuda said, hunching his shoulders as if he had been waiting for that answer. “I’m so jealous of General Administration people who work at labs. You guys end early and you don’t seem too busy, either. I wish I could work over there.”
He didn’t mean a word of what he said, but that was the kind of man Fukuda was. He was one to talk, considering he had pulled the strings to ship Hirosue off to Koishikawa.
“Come to think of it, Sales is pretty good, too. You get to slack off all you want outside.”
Fukuda’s girlfriend took his utterance at face value.
“Is it really like that in Sales?” she asked Matsuoka in amazement.
“Yeah,” Fukuda answered for him. “You’re pretty much free to do whatever you want with your time for the whole day.”
That’s just your assumption of Sales, Matsuoka wanted to retort, but he grinned and endured it.
“Why don’t you come over to Sales, too, huh?” he said to Fukuda. “It’s tough at the end of the fiscal year, but otherwise it’s smooth sailing.”
“Yeah, but you know,” Fukuda murmured. “I am the chief of General Affairs, after all.”
“You’d do fine in Sales,” Matsuoka said in a half-hearted attempt to flatter him. If Fukuda happened to be encouraged enough to transfer to Sales, he would no doubt be ensnared and dragged down by the monthly quotas from hell. It would serve him right, indeed.
Matsuoka glanced at the table during his conversation with Fukuda and realized Hirosue’s glass was empty.
“Oh, Mr. Hirosue. How about something to drink?”
“Beer,” Hirosue answered, so Matsuoka ordered another of the same. After he gave the order, he realized how red the man’s lowered face was. He had a feeling the man should start slackening his pace, but since he was only on his third glass, Matsuoka didn’t mention anything.
“Say, Mr. Hirosue, didn’t you have a girlfriend?” Fukuda said. “That tall, thin girl with fair skin,” he said jabbing his conversational feelers into a topic Matsuoka had not wanted to touch.
“No,” Hirosue said flatly, denying Yoko Eto’s existence with vehemence.
“Huh? But you did. That was all our department was talking about after the farewell party. Like about where you met and stuff.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
Fukuda cocked his head. “Okay,” he said. “So she wasn’t your girlfriend. Now that you mention it, I guess it make sense. She was too pretty, almost doll-like. You two looked kind of mismatched standing together.”
Fukuda was being rude, but Hirosue showed no signs of getting angry.
“Well, you might not be dating, but you’re still acquaintances, right?”
“Right. But she broke up with me, so I don’t really want to talk about it.”
Matsuoka didn’t miss Fukuda smirk.
“Mr. Hirosue, maybe you aimed too high.”
“Maybe I did.”
Fukuda grinned smugly again at Hirosue’s reply. Conversation appeared to be humming at their table, but Fukuda was the only one actually talking. Hirosue didn’t talk unless he was spoken to, and Matsuoka only interjected in response.
“Can I have another drink, please? Kikusui this time.”
Matsuoka glanced at Hirosue’s hand and noticed that his beer glass, which had been full seconds ago, was already empty. The man’s ears were beet-red. Matsuoka continued to watch as the man’s right hand, holding his chopsticks, tried and failed twice to clamp a piece of pickled vegetable that came with the grilled rice balls.
“Are you sure you should be drinking that much?” Matsuoka whispered to him, but the man was deaf to him and did not answer. When his glass of cold sake was brought, he downed it in one continuous draught.
“Excuse me, I’d like another one of the same, please,” he called over to a sever passing by.
“Shouldn’t you lay off a bit?” Matsuoka said concernedly. “You still have work tomorrow. It’s going to be hell if you get a hangover.”
Hirosue lifted his face. “It’s none of your concern whether I have a hard time tomorrow because I’m hung over, is it?” he said coldly. Matsuoka was speechless. Fukuda, who had been listening to them, intervened.
“Hey,” he said. “That’s no way to talk. Matsuoka’s just worried about you, Mr. Hirosue,” he reprimanded.
“You’re right,” Hirosue muttered in a voice that lacked any sincerity, and drained the new glass of cold sake like water. He fumbled with his empty glass, which slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. There was no doubt about his inebriation now.
“Whoa!” As Hirosue drew back to pick up the glass, which was luckily not broken, he swayed and leaned heavily against Fukuda.
“Geez, Mr. Hirosue, how drunk are you?” Fukuda wrinkled his brow, not even trying to hide his displeasure.
“I’m sorry―” Hirosue apologized, but his body still teetered as if he were on a ship. Unable to watch any longer, Matsuoka stood from his seat and went around the table to Hirosue’s side.
“Mr. Hirosue, can you make it over here?”
Hirosue glanced at Matsuoka, but did not listen to him. His body, however, continued to rock back and forth, weighing down on Fukuda beside him.
“God, you’re heavy,” the man complained.
Matsuoka went over to the man who refused to lean on him, forced him to stand, and brought him out to the aisle.
“Mr. Hirosue’s pretty drunk, so I think we’re going to head home.”
Please do, Fukuda’s face seemed to say. “Alright, then. See you,” he said with a wave. Hirosue by now could not even stand on his feet. Matsuoka sat him on a chair near the cash register and paid for both of them. Hirosue resisted being touched, but Matsuoka forcefully took his shoulder and exited the restaurant.
“I can… walk by myself…” Contrary to his words, Hirosue staggered back and forth like he was dancing. Matsuoka disregarded the words of the drunk, took his shoulder, and walked along slowly.
The intoxicated man was heavy to carry. Matsuoka wished they could reach the main road quickly so they could hail a taxi. Just then, he heard a foreboding muffled belch from the man beside him.
Hirosue’s face was pale as he pressed a hand to his mouth. Matsuoka hastily took him into the hedges in the middle of the path, where Hirosue doubled over and threw up. Matsuoka rubbed the man’s back the whole time as he vomited over and over. The man finally finished emptying the contents of his stomach. He retched, but nothing came up. Matsuoka sat Hirosue down on the stairs at the entrance of a five-storey building and looked for a vending machine. He bought a bottle of water and returned to the man’s side.
“Rinse your mouth out with this.”
Hirosue took the water from him and stumbled back to the hedges, where he rinsed his mouth out. He squatted down on the spot. Matsuoka half-carried Hirosue away from the middle of the road back to the stairs, where he wouldn’t get in the way of other people.
“Do you still feel sick?” he asked, sitting down beside the man.
“A little…” came the answer. If he put Hirosue on a taxi now, the motion would probably make him sick again. Matsuoka decided it was better to stay here for a while to let the alcohol leave his system.
Hirosue stretched out on the stairs, not even minding the dirt on his clothes. Hope he has an extra suit he can wear tomorrow to work, Matsuoka found himself worrying, though he knew it wasn’t any of his business.
“You have no problem telling lies, do you,” Hirosue mumbled. Matsuoka turned around. “You lied to Mr. Fukuda. You said you came to Koishikawa for a sale visit and that’s how you got to know me.”
Matsuoka wondered why the man was bringing this up now.
“What else could I have done? I wasn’t going to tell him I was dressing in drag.”
“It doesn’t matter how big or how small―a lie is still a lie.”
It annoyed him that the man was hung up on something so insignificant.
“What, are you saying I should have told him we met each other when I was crossdressing? Make him scorn me and laugh at me?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“That’s exactly what it means when you tell me not to lie!” Matsuoka yelled at him. Hirosue held his head in his hands and closed his mouth. An awkward silence fell between them. Matsuoka chewed his lip and looked out at the main road before them, following the continuous line of cars with his eyes.
“I didn’t feel like going to work today,” the man said abruptly. He had been so silent until now, Matsuoka had thought he had fallen asleep. “I felt depressed when I thought about having to meet you this evening.”
Matsuoka felt his chest wring painfully.
“I wondered why I had to meet with you when I didn’t even want to see your face, when we didn’t even have anything to talk about. I wanted to stop e-mailing you, but you’d always reply back, so…”
He knew the man had been unwilling from the beginning. But it was still painful to hear it directly from him.
“So do you hate me, then, Mr. Hirosue?”
There was no answer.
“If you hate me, say so.”
By refusing to answer, Matsuoka felt like the man was avoiding confrontation. It was underhanded of the man to do so, he thought.
“Say it, god damn it!” he snarled.
Hirosue shook his head in annoyance and lurched to his feet. He was still teetering slightly, but the vomiting had apparently helped some of the alcohol leave his system, for he could manage to walk by himself.
“I’m going home.” With those words, Hirosue approached the edge of the sidewalk. He raised his right hand, trying to flag an empty taxi.
“Wait a minute. You think you’re just going to have the last word and leave?”
“Please leave me alone.”
A taxi flashed its signals and slowed down. It arrived at a stop in front of Hirosue. As the man fled into the back seat, Matsuoka followed right behind him and forced himself into the seat beside him.
“Your house is in the opposite direction, Mr. Matsuoka.”
“Our conversation isn’t over yet.”
As they bickered back and forth, the taxi driver turned around with an unimpressed look.
“Can I get going now?” he said in a raised voice.
“Please,” Matsuoka answered. The taxi lurched into motion.
“Can you take us to Sambashi Station on the Hikaridai line for now, please?” Matsuoka told the cab driver the nearest station to Hirosue’s apartment. Hirosue threw him a glance before sighing heavily and looking out the window.
Hirosue fell asleep again not even five minutes into the ride, and as the car made a turn, Hirosue lurched and fell limply on Matsuoka’s shoulder. He kept sliding further down until he was snoring with Matsuoka’s lap as a pillow. Hirosue’s defenceless face and warm weight on Matsuoka’s lap made his feelings waver in a mixture of love and annoyance.
Hirosue was still asleep when they arrived in front of his apartment. When Matsuoka gave his shoulders a rough shake after paying the cab fare, he finally opened his eyes a crack. The bleary-eyed man took his wallet out of his bag, apparently intending to pay the fare.
“I’ve already got your payment, sir. Now, if you could please get out of the car,” said the driver gruffly. Hirosue stumbled out. He tried to hand the money to Matsuoka, but Matsuoka staunchly refused to accept it.
“I don’t care about the money. I want to talk to you, Mr. Hirosue.” He glared at the man as they stood on the street, refusing to step down. Hirosue averted his gaze and lowered his face. Without another word, he began to walk towards his apartment. Matsuoka followed after him. Hirosue’s drunkenness still lingered in his gait, which was slower than usual as he climbed the stairs.
Once they entered the apartment, Hirosue put his lips directly to the faucet in the kitchen and drank from it. He caught his breath, then proceeded further into the room. He took off his suit jacket, then seated himself on the floor, half leaning against the wall.
Matsuoka stood directly in front of the man and looked down at him. Hirosue had made it clear that he did not want Matsuoka around. That much was obvious. There was nothing he could do about that, but if the man did hate him, Matsuoka wanted to know why. He felt he could not be convinced otherwise.
“Tell me why.”
Hirosue’s head jerked and hung even lower.
“Tell me why it can’t be me!”
Impatient with the man’s stubborn silence, Matsuoka squatted down until his eyes were level with him and gave the man’s shoulder a shake. The man’s eyes remained lowered as he muttered in a bothersome way.
“You’re a man.”
Decisive words, spat from his lips. Matsuoka felt the blood rise to his head. He slammed his fist against the tatami mat. All of the feelings he had kept suppressed in the pit of his stomach burst out of his mouth at once.
“Damn right, I am! That’s why I made sure with you so many times before I told you the truth! You said you would be fine with me whether I was an old person or a child. That’s why I told you. I trusted your words.”
Hirosue lifted his face and looked at Matsuoka with a murky gaze.
“But you lied to me.” He said it as if that concluded everything―Matsuoka clenched his fists in helpless frustration.
“I apologized about lying!” he snapped. “Several times! Besides, you lied to me, too. You said you could still love me, but as soon as you found out I was a man, you changed.”
The man cradled his head and clawed at his hair before shaking his head slowly.
“I didn’t mean to lie. That time, I thought I could love you no matter who you were, no matter what kind of mistakes you’d made in the past. But… I never even imagined that you’d be a man.”
Matsuoka placed a hand on his chest and inched towards Hirosue.
“Yoko Eto and Yosuke Matsuoka are both me. I’m serious about how I feel towards you, Mr. Hirosue, and that hasn’t changed.”
The man’s gaze, which had been steadily fixed on Matsuoka, dropped away.
“No, you’re wrong.”
“I’m not. Yoko Eto is the fake one.”
The man shook his head vigorously.
“You say she’s fake, but to me Ms. Yoko is much more real. A beautiful, doll-like woman who has a gentle smile and can’t talk―for me, she’s reality.”
The man lowered his gaze.
“I said I would love her no matter what kind of truth came to light. But ultimately, I can’t love you the way I love her.”
Matsuoka clenched his jaw. You say you can’t love me, but have you even tried to? He was almost tempted to ask the scathing question.
“Even if you tell me you’re the same inside, I still can’t love you. But it wasn’t just her appearance that I was attracted to, either. My honest feelings are that I can’t fall in love with you as a man. I didn’t mean to lie. I didn’t think my feelings would change.”
Matsuoka wished he could heap abuse upon the man, call him a liar. I told you the truth because you said you would love me. I made sure over and over again because I didn’t want this to happen.
He knew that the heart was prone to change, that sparks were prone to die. He knew―but he had believed that things would be different with this man.
“So you’re saying I’m no good because I’m a man.”
“I’m sorry.”
As he sat in front of the apologizing man, Matsuoka thought. This man had rejected him on the most fundamental level, his sex; no number of e-mails, phone calls, or dinners Matsuoka had with him yielded any promising results. What could he do to make this man come around?
From his past relationship experience, he knew that this pattern of events meant he was better off giving up. Their relationship had not started from zero; it had tumbled from plus to the minus end before it had even begun. It was going to be difficult to bring it into plus territory again.
In his mind, he knew this might be the end. But he did not want to give up. One of the reasons why he found it hard was because he and Yoko Eto were no different apart from appearance. He couldn’t completely abandon the hope that the man might love him again if he could only get to know Matsuoka’s personality. He wanted to secure a spot close to the man using any method he could, even if he had to cross some lines―at least until he could get the man to realize that he and Yoko Eto were the same.
Matsuoka steeled himself and grabbed the slumped man by the front of his shirt. Hirosue raised his head.
“Sleep with me.”
The pair of eyes on him snapped wide open.
“Have sex with me once. You might think you can’t do it with a man, but just give it a try. It might work out.”
“―It probably won’t.”
“Don’t say so without even trying. Try it with me, even as a joke. I won’t be convinced until you do.”
Matsuoka drew the resistant man closer and kissed him. As Yoko Eto, he had kissed these lips over and over again and was completely under the impression that he knew them. But now, they felt like the lips of someone he didn’t know.
Even if Hirosue’s whole body stiffened, rejecting Matsuoka’s very presence, he continued to kiss the man forcefully. Frustrated at Hirosue’s lack of enthusiasm, Matsuoka ran his hands through the man’s unruly hair like he used to do as Yoko Eto.
The man twitched in response. His passive kisses finally began to harbour some will. Hirosue circled his arms around Matsuoka with his eyes closed. His hands crept along Matsuoka’s back. Filled with joy at his decent response, Matsuoka clung to the man, swept up in the moment.
Between entwining their tongues in deep kisses, he felt Hirosue pull his shirt out of his slacks. This was where Matsuoka would usually shut out the man’s intrusive right hand, but today, there was no need for that.
The man’s fingers ran across his bare skin, hiking his shirt up as they touched the small buds on Matsuoka’s chest. His fingers pinched them lightly, sending a spasm through Matsuoka’s spine.
Hirosue’s eyes were still closed as he lay Matsuoka down on the tatami mat. He blindly pulled up his shirt and buried his face in Matsuoka’s bare chest.
“They’re small…” the man murmured, but he still put his lips to them. Matsuoka felt a shiver down his back at the wet sensation lingering and sucking at his nipples. He rubbed his inner thighs together at the stirring in his crotch. The man sucked one nipple with intense concentration while he pinched the other nipple, pointed and hard with the stimulation, with his right hand.
“They’re small, but… they’re so cute, Ms. Yoko.”
Matsuoka, who had been basking in the comfort of being caressed, was abruptly brought back to reality.
“N…o…” He pushed Hirosue’s head away. “I’m not Yoko―”
In an unbelievable move, Hirosue pressed his left hand against Matsuoka’s mouth. It was as if to say he did not want to hear Matsuoka’s voice.
When Matsuoka fell silent, Hirosue’s fingers moved away from his mouth and settled again on caressing him. Hirosue continued to lick both buds on his chest with such tenacity Matsuoka felt like they would melt away. The man then undid the button of Matsuoka’s slacks and drew the zipper down. Matsuoka helped the man by lifting his hips a little when his pants were pulled down. Hirosue drew the pants down to knee-level, but did not try to take off Matsuoka’s underwear.
It was Matsuoka’s first time having sex with a man, but he was aroused at doing it with the man he loved. His arousal was clearly visible under his underwear. Impatient to have it touched directly, Matsuoka yanked the man closer on top of him, but was forcefully thrust away. As Matsuoka hesitated in confusion, Hirosue flipped him over on top of the tatami mat.
The man’s body overlapped his from behind. Two hands roughly fondled his chest, and he felt biting kisses on his neck. He could feel Hirosue’s hardened crotch pressed up against him.
He heard the clinking of his belt being taken off. As he lay on his stomach, he felt his underwear being pulled off, revealing his buttocks. He barely had time to feel embarrassment before he felt the man’s hot member press against his entrance.
“W-Wait―”
The tip of the man’s member forced its way in without even any fondling to loosen the unused spot. Matsuoka cried out in pain.
“Stop, it hurts―Mr. Hirosue, it hurts!” The hand was pressed against his mouth again. The violent sex organ drilled deeper into him, and he felt the lower half of his body seize up. Even though he had told the man to stop, to his disbelief, Hirosue continued to manhandle him. The feeling, coupled with a type of pain Matsuoka had never experienced before, made him tremble.
He had been prepared for the penetration that came with these acts. He wouldn’t have minded. But since men could not produce their own lubrication, Matsuoka knew they would need to prepare themselves accordingly. There were various kinds of foreplay through which he would gradually stretch and loosen himself. If it still hurt after that, Matsuoka was prepared to endure it. But he had never even imagined that he would be penetrated in such a one-sided and forceful way.
“It―It really―hurts…” he pleaded desperately in a muffled voice through the hand that gagged him. But none of it reached the man’s ears. Tears welled up in his eyes at the violence that forced its way inside of him.
“Ms. Yoko, you’re so tight…”
After being painfully penetrated to the base and thinking it could get no worse, now he was being called by Yoko’s name. Matsuoka nearly went insane.
“No! I’m not Yoko―” His mouth was covered again by the man’s palm.
“Why are you rejecting me? I thought you were going to give yourself to me. Come on, loosen up…”
There was no way he could after the man had ignored his pleas of pain and thrust into him this way. Knowing he would be silenced if he voiced his complaints, Matsuoka shook his head instead. He felt the thing inch out of him. He thought he would finally be freed from the pain―yet, it only partially exited him before fiercely slamming into him again.
“Aagh!” His spine trembled as his lower half chafed. It didn’t matter if Matsuoka was crying from the pain; Hirosue ruthlessly continued his back-and-forth motion, and eventually ejaculated inside him. As for Matsuoka, the pain had made his penis flaccid partway through, and it did not resume its shape again. Hirosue did not even touch Matsuoka’s genitals. He seemed to be too occupied in his own climax to care about the person he was inflicting pain upon.
A wet squelch sounded from the unlubricated spot. Matsuoka felt something dripping from his testicles. A sticky, red liquid formed a thread as it came off on his hand.
“Jus… stop… I’m bleeding. Please, I’m begging you…” His pleas went unheard, and his hips continued to be jerked back and forth. It wasn’t until a while later that the man finally stopped moving.
Hirosue was still embracing Matsuoka from behind when he suddenly went still.
“…Get out…” Matsuoka implored to the violence inside him, but the man did not move. When he realized the man was sleeping, Matsuoka tried to extricate himself from underneath him, but even a slight movement sent a fierce pain through his lower regions, making him whimper each time. Once he finally crawled his way out from under the man, he felt the strength leave him, and he flopped on the floor on his stomach.
His lower half was numb, and he could barely feel anything. But when he shifted his body even a little, he was overcome with shooting pains. Granted, Matsuoka had been the one to invite Hirosue to have sex, but did not imagine Hirosue would be so insensitive about it.
Although they had had sex in form, there was no love in the act. Hirosue still searched for Yoko Eto while knowing he was sleeping with Yosuke Matsuoka. He was conscious that he was doing it with a man. That was probably why he hadn’t touched Matsuoka’s genitals and had insisted on penetrating him from behind.
While he searched for his underwear on all fours, Matsuoka felt something drip down his crotch. He hastily grabbed a nearby tissue to stop the flow. A mixture of blood and semen spilled from his numb anus. Every time he thought it stopped, it trickled anew down his thighs, and it was humiliating to have to wipe it up each time.
The flow finally stopped eventually, and Matsuoka readjusted his clothes. He wanted to get home soon and take a shower. He looked at the clock. It was already past three in the morning.
Matsuoka approached the man who was asleep, stark naked, on his stomach. The sight of his peaceful sleeping face filled Matsuoka with the urge to punch him. He swung his right hand up high, but it fell back into his lap, powerless. Before he knew it, tears were streaming from his eyes, falling as droplets on the man’s cheek. Matsuoka gently cradled the man’s head of tousled hair and curled up over him.
Matsuoka stayed like that for a while, then got up to pull a blanket out of the closet to drape over the man. He set the man’s alarm clock to seven in the morning. ‘I left your key in the mailbox,’ he wrote in a note, which he left on top of the kotatsu before leaving the apartment and locking the door.
Although it was already April, it was still cold at night. He shivered under his inadequate thin coat, and the mere movement from walking jarred his lower half painfully. He felt horrible whether he was sitting or standing; he felt helpless. Not many taxis were running on the main road at this unusual hour, and it took Matsuoka twenty minutes to catch one. When a taxi finally came, he climbed into it and collapsed across the back seat. He passed out into a deep sleep until he arrived at his apartment.
Once Matsuoka got home, he immediately lay down in bed. His body felt unbearably heavy. He was tired, but his mind was filled with too many thoughts to sleep. However, he still got up at seven and took a shower. Although he was able to wash away the dirt on his body, he wasn’t able to get rid of the heavy feeling in his lower half.
Matsuoka showed up for work at fifteen minutes past eight, as usual. Fortunately for him, since his position took him out of the office, he lay down to rest on park benches between his sales visits. He began to feel strangely hot in the afternoon, and he felt like he was getting a fever. He only continued to work because he felt like sitting still would bring unwanted thoughts into his head, which he wanted to avoid.
By the time his work ended at six in the evening, Matsuoka was so completely worn out he could not even muster a conversational smile. As soon as he got home, he collapsed into bed and slept until he heard the doorbell ring. He ignored it at first, figuring it was a newspaper salesperson.
He heard his ringtone go off as a new e-mail arrived. It was from Hirosue. Matsuoka bolted upright.
‘Where are you right now? I’m in front of your apartment, Mr. Matsuoka. I would like to apologize to you. Will you see me?’
His lower half ached from the sudden movement, but he didn’t mind. He got as far as the door, then thought hard. He was filled with anticipation. Despite the cruel ordeal he had been put through, he still wanted to see the man’s face. Matsuoka thought about all of it objectively―about everything leading up to now, and about what was to come.
After ten minutes of thinking, he opened the door. Hirosue flinched in surprise from where he was leaning against the concrete barrier across.
“I’m sorry for yesterday.” The man bowed his head deeply.
“Can you come in? I don’t want to talk about this outside.”
Hirosue did as he was told and stepped through the entrance. He did not take off his shoes. Matsuoka also had no intentions of letting him in any further.
“To tell you the truth,” Hirosue began, “I don’t remember clearly about everything that happened yesterday. But I do know that what I did to you can’t be excused by the fact that I was drunk. I’m really sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Matsuoka took a short breath and folded his arms. “I started it. We’re both adults, and it was consensual. There’s nothing for you to feel bad about, is there?”
“But…”
“Are you worried about what’ll happen from now on?”
The man’s head bobbed stiffly.
“I don’t plan on e-mailing you or calling you ever again, Mr. Hirosue. I think yesterday gave me a very good idea of how you feel about me.”
The man silently stared at the ground.
“I hope you won’t mind if I just end it right here.”
Hirosue slowly raised his head. Matsuoka did not miss the look of relief cross the man’s face at his words. As if to prove his point, the man’s answer was free of hesitation.
“Alright,” he said promptly.
“I’m over it completely, now, to tell you the truth. Not to say it like a shot in bed was all I was looking for, but…”
There was no answer from Hirosue, but his eyes seemed somewhat cold as they looked at Matsuoka.
“You can go home now,” Matsuoka said.
At his encouragement, Hirosue opened the front door. He stepped halfway outside, then abruptly turned around like he had remembered something.
“By the way, were you alright?”
Matsuoka was caught off-guard.
“The tatami was… um… stained, so…”
He had wiped the conspicuous spots before he went home, but some stains had not come off.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay,” the man murmured, then inclined his head in a distant manner before closing the door. After the lingering sound of the closing door and the footsteps faded away, Matsuoka sank to the floor.
He had wiped the stained floor so Hirosue wouldn’t feel guilty. Even if there had been a blood stain, he was sure it wasn’t very big. He was already aware that the man’s concern for his body was nothing more than an afterthought, but he still felt hopeless all the same.
He asked himself what was so attractive about such an insensitive and indecisive man. But he had already fallen in love with him, and there was nothing he could do about that.
Hirosue shared none of his feelings. Matsuoka had nothing to capture the man with; in fact, to Hirosue, he was simply a nuisance. There was no way he could say he wanted to continue their relationship.
Matsuoka knew well that he would only cause trouble for Hirosue by telling him he loved him. That was why he ended it, pretending his feelings had fizzled. By openly acting like he was over his attachment, he had hoped it would make it emotionally easier for Hirosue.
He had done so many things out of consideration for the man, but the man he loved had given him no consideration in return. He had left Matsuoka with nothing but hurtful words and a hurtful attitude.
Matsuoka dragged himself back to his room. Despite all the unsympathetic treatment he had been subjected to, Matsuoka still found himself loving the man. How wretched he was, he thought. How pathetic.
