Okay, so Fumiyo Actually Likes Me. (And in 'That Way', no less.)

I went-out for a bit with Fumiyo the other night. And a most curious bomb dropped.

Okay, as a married woman, Fumiyo is allowed to spend time with male friends. Isn't she? I dunno... is there something wrong with me that I don't see a problem with going-out with her once a week? Am I doing something wrong? Maybe I crossed a line somewhere...

I'm sure some hair-trigger critic out there will think of my relationship with Fumiyo as another example of my own hypocrisy. Namely: that I criticize women for not paying on dates, yet here I am letting Fumiyo pay for everything whenever we go out. Since American women do this sort of thing every weekend as de rigueur, I am not allowed to do something similar in even much more limited circumstances? I'd love to practice what I preach: I've mentioned to Fumiyo that I didn't think this arrangement was fair to her and that I felt like I should make a contribution. In fact, I mentioned this to her on at least two occasions, but she still insists on paying and tells me not to worry. She gives me assurances that I shouldn't let it concern me and I should just relax and have fun.

The main difference between me being taken-out by Fumiyo and the dating practices of American chicks is that American chicks seem to think "a date" is code for "an opportunity to dine and go to the theater at the expense of someone insignificant". As for me going to dinner with Fumiyo, I don't regard this to be a "date". I think of it as a cultural opportunity for me to actually get to know a Japanese who is enjoyable to be with. My attitude is a far less exploitative one, no matter how you slice it.

Let's get this show on the road...

Fumiyo invited me out for a drive a nearby town. There were some rather cleverly-landscaped flower-gardens on display there, and she said this week was the optimal time to view them because the rainy season will probably start in a short matter of time.

So, hopping in her car, we drove to Umesan- a small city about an hours' drive away from Michinoshi. The highway passed-out of the concrete jungle of Michinoshi and gave-way to clusters of tightly-packed houses. These clusters eventually gave-way to a set of picturesque steep hills interspersed with terraced farm fields.

The Japanese countryside around Michinoshi looks somewhat odd as it bears the marks of a country with limited space and a high population density. I suppose it's only logical that the natural resources of the countryside show signs of being worked to the hilt. The result of widespread tree-farming for lumber has resulted in sterile-looking patches of uniform-rows of replanted cedar and cypress interspersed here and there with bare patches of clear-cut hillside in a green-brown checkerboard shot-through with a latticework of power-lines and hilltop microwave relay-towers. On some clear-cut hills immediately overlooking the roads, concrete retaining walls or steel chain-link nets have been stretched-over the rock-face to prevent erosion. Every stream has been lined with concrete, even the dry stream-beds. In some cases, this stream-paving has been done in a clearly unnecessarily gratuitous fashion to get bigger kickbacks into the pockets of Construction Ministry officials. In Japan, the natural contours are clearly in the process of being reformatted to suit human needs.

On the way to Umesan, we stopped at a roadside rest-stop... ostensibly so we could take a bathroom break. Fumiyo also offered me a snack and bottle of water she'd just bought for us.

After a few minutes chatting, we hopped-back in the car and continued driving. Within fifteen minutes, we'd arrived at Umesan. It was a smallish city, crammed-into a sliver of relatively flat shoreline between steep hills overlooking a cloistered bay. A handful of rocky, uninhabited-looking islands were sprinkled offshore.

At Umesan Park

We arrived at the park (and I insisted on paying for parking, which I did). Indeed, it was a cleverly-landscaped garden situated on a rather steep hill overlooking the bay. The combination of the steep hill overlooking the water was very eye-catching. We walked and talked. Mainly, I asked her questions about her college days and we talked about her favorite movies, too.

The sun began to set behind the hills, and we looked-out over the bay. The park became lit-up with strings of light-bulbs hanging-over the walkways. We began to talk about silly things as I marveled at the view. Small boats were lit-up on the water.

"See that one island?" I asked. I pointed in the distance. "Is that a house on that island?"

"Which one?" She asked.

"Well... the craggy one with the lighthouse. Heh, they all have lighthouses, don't they? Here, follow my index finger."

"Oh, that one. Yes, I think it might be a boathouse. So, this is an index finger?" She asked, pointing to mine.

"Yes."

"In Japanese, we call this the 'mother finger'."

"Really?"

"Thumb is the father finger. These are the brother and sister fingers." She indicated her middle and ring fingers, respectively. "And this is the baby finger." She held-up her pinky.

"The pinky?"

"Why is it called a pinky?" She asked.

"I... I do not know. It's not especially pink, I think it's just a name."

"Toes are the same." She indicated-down at her sandal. "Father toe, mother toe... What do you name the five toes in English?"

"Um... the big toe is called the big toe. The little one is called the little toe or the pinky toe... and the rest are just toes."

"So, the three middle toes don't have names?"

"Um... well, the middle toe is probably called the 'middle toe'... but I don't think there are names for the other two. I don't know, I never really thought about it."

She laughed. "Very strange!" I smiled back. I guess those toes aren't important to me unless they're going to be amputated or something.

After the sky got dark, we headed back to the car and drove to a nearby Italianesque restaurant. I enjoyed a rather nice veal scaloppini with red wine. She, a seafood penné with alfredo sauce.

She tells me about her daughter, Mari. Mari is a shy girl, about seven years old. Mari is, apparently, out of town visiting her grandmother. Her husband is out with co-workers. Probably group drinking, which is the habit of many-a sarariman after-hours.

As we enjoyed dinner, this experience continued to give me insight into how women definitely enjoy the better half of dating. All they do is sit back, relax and inwardly judge their date's performance and compare him to her mental list of arbitrary conditions. While the male has to do all the work of asking for the date, planning the date, driving and paying for it- all the while, he is aware he is being inwardly judged and being compared to the forementioned mental list of arbitrary conditions. Any sex will be done on her terms, not his. (And sex will probably happen once in a blue moon, if ever.) Naturally, it'll never dawn on any woman that this arrangement is, stripped of all pretenses, a sex-for-entertainment deal... the woman having the option of withholding sex if she feels his level of bribery is inadequate.

Yes, for men, dating is entirely a raw deal in word and in spirit.

Furthermore, I'm quite comfortable with the idea of my potential girlfriend or wife making more money than me. Unfortunately, the women I dated in college were confident that they'd make as much money as me- yet often acted as if they expected to marry someone who made even more. I think it's a fair bet that reality will eventually smack-up against some of them in due time, if it hasn't done so already. Their blind faith in the ability of their future husbands to make ever-more income belongs to the 1950s. When it comes to this kind of thinking, it is clearly women who are 50 years behind men, and not the other way around.

At any Rate... In The Car

After dinner, we started to head back. Because Fumiyo was unfamiliar with the layout of the streets, we got a little bit lost. We went-around in circles until suddenly, we passed a sign pointing-off down the road. I tried to make-it out, and I think it said 'Ridge-line'.

Fumiyo suddenly turned to me. "Would you like to see if there's a view?" She asked. "I need a rest from driving."

"Sure, good idea." I agreed. We can't get more lost at this point, can we?

We began to drive-up a steep, narrow, switch-backed road. It was heavily wooded and therefore extremely dark. Fumiyo is a very good driver, and she handles the hair-pin curves skillfully. After a few minutes, the woods open-up and there is a rather breathtaking view of the city lights... on the opposite side of the road, there is a clearing wide enough to park. In fact, there are a few vehicles parked there; they all seem to have steamy windows.

I don't believe it: I'm at Umesan's equivalent of Make-Out Point!

Fumiyo parked, and turned-off the engine. The only noise was the radio. We sat there on the ridge-line, seeing the twinkling lights of Umesan down below.

"This is very... romantic." She said, breathy.

"Very nice."

"It's a bit cloudy, though. You can't see very far."

"Oh, I certainly like it. I don't have many views like this at home."

"My favorite night skyline is Hong Kong." She said.

"Actually, you're totally right. The nighttime view from the top of that one hill on Hong Kong Island is the best on the planet." I smiled. "Nothing comes close."

We sat quietly for a few minutes. Then, she put her arms behind her head and stretched.

"Mmmm... my back."

"Are you okay?"

"Oh, I sit in my chair at work and it is not comfortable sometimes."

"Do you use a mouse everyday?"

"Yes."

"A mouse can put strain on your shoulders... " I suddenly smile mysteriously on a whim. "Would you like a massage?"

"Oh, thank you." She answered, without a hint of hesitation. "Is it okay?" She turned in her seat so her back faced me. I rested my hands on her shoulders and began to knead-away. Indeed, her back-muscles did seem tense.

"When you use a mouse, sometimes it makes your shoulder hurt right about..." I felt-around, gingerly. "Lessee, a chiropractor showed me this once..." I began to feel around her right shoulder until I felt a rather stiff cord under the skin running up to her neck. "Are you sore... here?" I pressed it.

"OhhhhhhhhHHHHHHhhhhhhh!!!" She moaned. "Ummmnnnnnggggg! Oh, that is... OHHHH!!!!!"

"Does that hurt?" I asked, she nodded. "I guess you are sore there... It'll go away if I massage it." I continued rubbing her in that spot. You know, this isn't the ideal arrangement for me to give her a massage. It would probably be best if she was lying-down on her stomach. I searched elsewhere on her back, pressing-in on the knots running under her skin. She gasped.

"Ooohhh.... Oh, you keep finding- Ohhhhh! Everything on my back... Ahhh..." In a reflection off the opposite window, I could see a big, content smile spread across her face. Her eyes were closed.

One by one, the tough knots began to melt-away under my fingers. I don't know how long I massaged her, but it felt like it was for a long time. When my thumbs started to hurt, I finished-off by lightly scratching her back.

"Better?"

"Oh..." She tested her shoulders, swiveled her spine and shifted around in her seat. "Much better! Mmmmm!!!" She moaned in relief. "Oh, that is sooo good! Sugoi! Thank you so much."

She settled-back in the bucket-seat. A few more minutes of silence passed.

"Where were your parents from?" I asked.

"My parents... they are from the Kanto area, Gunma prefecture. And my grandfather, he was a shipbuilder during the Second World War. He worked to build the ship Yamato. You know it?"

Indeed, I did. The first of the largest class of battleship ever built. The Yamato was sunk on its maiden combat voyage en route to the Battle of the Philippine Sea in the last year of World War II. The Yamato absorbed something like fifteen armor-piercing bombs and ten torpedoes before capsizing and sinking beneath the waves. It never even got to the battle zone.

"Wow. He worked on the Yamato?" My eyes widened.

"Oh, you know it?"

"Of course I do! A piece of naval history right there. Wow, that is impressive."

"He died... the shipyard was hit by some bombs from a plane and he was killed. But that was a long time ago."

"I see." I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "Yes, that was a long time ago."

Suddenly, her bomb hits...

"Does it concern you that I'm married?" She asked. This question came out of nowhere.

Um... hoo boy. Does it concern me that she's married? This is one of those nebulous questions by which my interpretation means everything, isn't it? I thought quickly for an appropriately nebulous response.

"Well, it doesn't bother me that you're married. No." Hmm. Actually, I meant 'bother' in the literal sense. Maybe that wasn't a good answer?

"Bother you?" She turned and looked at me. "It doesn't bother me that I'm married. I don't want you to be bothered, either." She brushed her hand through her hair. "I thought that maybe you'd be feeling concerned because you are a gentleman."

"Well, I try to be a gentleman." I shrugged. "But thank you."

"No, you are a gentleman. You have a big heart."

I blushed. "Thank you."

"I feel... at ease with you." She smiled sweetly. "I like to relax in my spare time, be without stress. I like being with you."

"I'm very glad to hear that." I smiled back. "I always have a good time whenever I see you. I mean, you're fun to be with and you're also a very attractive woman..."

"Oh! Thank you so much... " She cupped her hand over her mouth. "And you're an attractive man."

"Bah, no I'm not." I shook my head. "Nope. No way..."

"Yes! You are very attractive!" She looked utterly shocked that I didn't realize this. "Very handsome! You look like half Tom Cruise and half Russell Crowe!"

I almost gagged on the air I was breathing.

"Wh... oh God..." I stammered and looked-down at my lap. "Thank you." I said in a very sincere voice. "Thank you. Very much. I... I never hear that."

"It's true." She said. "You are a very handsome man."

"Do you... do you think I'm... sexy?" I asked, hopefully.

"Yes!" She replied quickly. "I think you're very sexy!" She nodded. "Oh, yes."

"Thank you." I probably turned red. "And... you're a very sexy woman."

She laughed and shook her head. "Thank you."

"One thing about me..." I said. "Most times, my tatemae and my honne are about the same." (Tatemae meaning 'façade' and honne meaning 'inner nature'... Well, I like to think my statement is true, at least. Some readers may find reason to disbelieve it, though.)

"Yes, I can tell. With you, my tatemae and honne are the same too. That is always much better."

We sat until midnight, and we decided to go home. We drove the long way back and she dropped me off outside my apartment and asked to take me for another drive in 2 weeks. Naturally, how could I say no?

Back Home

I thanked her profusely for taking me on the trip as I exited her Volvo. I closed the door, waved good-bye and watched her car drive-off. I turned on my heel and walked towards the elevator. I mashed the button with my thumb and started thinking.

Tom Cruise and Russell Crowe? What the bloody...? Is she not wearing her glasses today or something? So... all I have to do is walk down the street and women will throw themselves at me? I've been walking down American streets all my life, and exactly ZERO have thrown themselves at me. Have I been actually been a good-looking guy for years but women have been intimidated by my good looks? Nahh... the whole idea of that is so absurd!

Most likely, all white guys look alike to her. Yeah, that must be what it is. The elevator door slid-open and I stepped-in.

But holy crow. This is a fine how-do-you-do! She takes me out for nice evenings, and all I have to do is just show-up and look pretty. Snicker. Oh, sweet irony! Well, still- she's married. This kind of does bother me a little. Hmm, yes, I guess marriages in Japan are not necessarily happier than in other countries, but they seem to be more resilient and stable. I'd hate to be a problem in her marriage... I'll be certain to tread lightly from now on.

Well, no matter what, I certainly wouldn't allow myself to have sex with her. No way.

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"Frailty, thy name is woman!" -- Shakespeare. Hamlet I, iii.

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