Being A Virgin Whore In Japan

It was almost winter when I came to Japan last year. I was born Asian, but not Japanese. My mom lived in the country and every year since I was 17, I visit her. I was in my 20-somethings at my fifth visit and I told her that I wanted to have a part-time job. My mom said her friend can give me a job in a “snack bar”. “What kind?” I asked her, she look reluctant and answered, “Mixing alcoholic drinks and being a waitress.”

I accepted the offer and the owner of a rather club than a “snack bar” promised high compensation I can bring home at the end of the month. My mom seems happy so I complied. The next thing I knew, I there for the first time, wearing a thin cloth of fabric — a small dress that makes my cleavage peak and my legs seen. My heart throbs as I see myself at the mirror, whereas everyone in the dressing area was going through and fro, some naked, just not to be late for the hour.

It was very new to me because back in my country, I am a young-professional. I an executive secretary of a business owner, I am a church leader and a youth minister. I never been drunk all my life never smoked and never do drugs. I am that good girl everyone loves. And seeing myself at the huge wall mirror of the dressing room, I felt I’m a different person. I felt like someone else.

As nine in the evening approaches, people in the dressing room get busier and busier. I sat at one of the couches, near someone who wears a red backless gown. I asked her what our job exactly is and she laughed at me.

At my first night, our handler we all call “mama” (as in mother) changed my name and called me “Mikki” — she said I looked like a young innocent girl. She was the head of the girls and as the night came, she introduced me to customers, one at a time. Since I know very little of nihonggo (Japan language), some use some signs at me, the finger, and other tried to talk to me in English. As the time passes, I realized, it wasn’t that bad — I just have to talk to them, entertain them so that they had to stay longer hours in the bar, massage their back and mix their drinks. Most would just hold my hand or touch my legs but none has gotten far. But as the night deepens, a guy kissed me. Not once but a couple of times.

I cried the morning I went home, worked from 9pm to 4am that day; I told my mom I wanted to quit but my Japanese father said I’m such a fool and scolded me. So with my remaining guts, I went to work and try to psych myself that this isn’t me, that when I get back to my country, I can forget everything.

So, I stayed. I wore some backless dresses in the middle of winter. The heater was on but not enough to fill our naked skin. There are days that I hated the work when I end up sitting next to couple of Japanese that always wanted to touch me, my body and always asked me to drink. Some days are comforting with young, handsome and “safe costumers” who looks passionate than lustful. I would meet different guys, different nights, some I kiss, some I cuddled with and some that I wish I was just asleep on my bed.

One customer became my friend and we went out on my day off, only to realize he wanted to rape me. He locked the door of his house and grabbed me inside. My heart was throbbing; I didn’t know what to do. I kept telling myself to be in control to pretend that I like him, to distract him. Thank God, nothing happened beyond kisses that I wanted to vomit.

That day I realized, these people don’t respect me. They may speak of good words about me — how beautiful I look and how my dress fits me — but at the end of the day, I are nothing to these people but a whore, a hostess from a bar.

I spent Christmas dancing sexy dances, New Year drinking too much wine and champagne. And after my contract ended, I felt disgusted with myself. My self-worth dropped and I feel like a wreck.

I went back to my country with this secret, no one ever knew and I am not ready to tell. What happened in Japan that winter, stayed there and I have no plans of going back. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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