One-shot: Strip Trip
I actually think Aiba likes having his birthday amidst all the chaos. He can’t even sit still for five minutes, so being constantly busy suits him just fine. Throw in a party, and it’s like Christmas. Well, that’s because it is. That kid gets pumped about anything remotely festive. The nice thing about Aiba though, is that he doesn’t make it the “All About Aiba Show” on December 24th. He’d rather celebrate Christmas - someone else’s birthday - than turn the focus on himself; his birthday is just a bonus.
This year seemed to be busier than any other. Aiba didn’t even have time to plan a Christmas/Birthday Extravaganza. We all know much it means to him to celebrate with everyone - he enforces an open invitation policy on all festivities - so the five of us decided to throw him a little, private party. Twenty-five is kind of a big deal. Shit, we know people our age who are already married with kids.
After taping Arashi no Shukudai-kun, Jun stalled Aiba while Ohno, Nino and I could bedeck the dressing room with some festive décor. Said décor included a stolen Christmas tree (from the set), some tinsel (from the set) and a string of lights that we plugged into the wall and left lying on the floor because we didn’t have time to deface property trying to hang them (also, from the set). Stalling Aiba isn’t very hard when you mention food; it’s almost too easy when the food mentioned is cake. It’s a sure win if it’s birthday cake. We unearthed Aiba’s Sugoroku board from last year’s Christmas show and sent one of the staffers down to the Sunkus across the street for beer and snacks. By the time our beer had arrived, we’d finish editing the Sugoroku board. We replaced our most reviled punishments (Nipple Revealing T-shirt, Spicy Beard) with ones that weren't quite on the same level of embarrassing (Air Guitar, Tokyo Daigaku Monogatari). We also made sure there were enough punishments and rewards aimed at getting us drunk faster. We told the staffer not to go far: we’d certainly need another couple beer runs later and a designated driver.
Having stocked the fridge and finished with the decorations, we three sat back to lie in wait for our victim to appear. We had told Jun to do whatever it takes to keep Aiba away from the dressing room until we emailed him with the go-ahead. We had turned off all the lights and stuck a lit candle into a sugared bread confection that substituted for cake from the convenience store when Aiba and Jun’s footsteps announced their presence a short ten minutes later.
"I know you're up to something, Matsujun. The last time I got lead on a tour of the studio - that I live in more than my own house - I got ambushed and woke up naked on the sound stage before shooting G no Arashi that one time... And where is this cake you promised me?" As the door swung open, we burst into a roaring rendition of Happy Birthday. Aiba wept in a manly fashion, as manly a fashion as possible when you’re Aiba.
"You guys didn't have to go to all this trouble!" Aiba choked out, smearing tears with the back of his hand.
"Of course we did," countered Nino. "Otherwise you'd be a bitch for the next week because we forgot to celebrate your birthday." Aiba's cheeks flushed the colour of one of Sho's costumes. He would have too.
After blowing out the candle and satiating Aiba's perpetual hunger pangs, Ohno announced, "Now, for your present." Aiba vibrated with barely-contained excitement. "Since we've been together twenty-four-seven for the last week and a half, we couldn't possibly have had time to go buy you something, so we made this. Don! Arashi Suguroku!"
Aiba’s expression was a mixture of giddiness and something else. He was always had the highest tension whenever we played for a show. “What? Did you expect real presents? You don’t even use what we give you anyway, unless it’s edible.” Matsujun said; another oh-so-masculine blush from Aiba.
I went to the fridge and brought five beers to the coffee table on which we had set up the board. “Sa, everyone! Let’s begin with Player Introductions.” Nino held 5 eraser game pieces in his hand. “First, Birthday Boy Aiba-chan!”
“Yay!” Aiba accepted his piece with glee.
“Next, Cho~ Metro Matsujun!”
“Oi! What do you mean metro?” Jun grumbled, pouted, and resumed his default state of nonchalance.
“Next, Captain Oji-san!”
“You jerks. Respect your elders!” Ohno snatched the piece and shook a reprimanding finger at all of us jokingly.
“Chesto~ Sakurai Sho!” I looked at the piece Nino tossed to me.
“Can’t you spell my fucking name right, either? It’s I, not DON.” I really have to invest in a kanji dictionary for the dressing room.
“And lastly Triple Threat Nino, yea! Let’s start!”
After a ruckus about player names (“If you want your name spelled right, Mr Sakura-don, do it yourself next time!”), a short wrestling match, and a fiery round of Janken to decide who would go first, the game began.
When we play Suguroku, it’s to make assholes of ourselves on TV. Tonight, we played to get roaring drunk. It’s been said that Aiba is the most H of us all. Matsujun is sex personified; he attracts all genders. I just roll with whatever the stylist gives me. When Ohmiya SK start being sexually ambiguous with each other, which is pretty much all the time, they give Aiba a run for his money. They’re more obvious about it when they are half in their cups, but we’ve all gotten used to it by now. And for some reason, the girls dig it. But, are you really surprised? Honestly? Johnny’s Jimusho is like a Catholic All Boys School. Or prison. There comes a point when a guy has to do… something… or he’ll explode. Literally. For the sake of image and safety, Big J decreed “thou shalt not have girlfriends”. He didn’t say anything about strippers.
Nippon TV’s studio is conveniently situated in the heart of Shimbashi, Salaryman Central. Those poor souls usually go to drinking parties with coworkers and clients, sometimes on the clock, and things can turn quite raunchy by night’s end. Shimbashi’s not as seedy as Shinjuku’s Kabukicho, but you’ll find something to sate your palette if you know where to look. Luckily for us, our beer-runner was friends with a few blue-collar types in the area and exactly knew where to go.
I’m not going to pretend like I know a lot about strippers. I know that they take their clothes off… and dance. If you can call gyrating at you so you give them your money “dancing”. I’m not so innocent; I have been to strip clubs before, for bachelor parties. But this was the first time I’ve actively organized a strip trip.
It took far less time for us to get loaded than it did to finish the game. Aiba was supposed to win according to the “plan”, so that we could give him his real present. I hadn’t really thought about what we would do if someone else won but I wasn’t sober enough to think of Plan B. But things usually have a certain miraculous way of working themselves out where Aiba’s concerned. The birthday boy did in fact win, by some turn-around miracle. Or maybe he cheated because he made it through half the board in three turns, landing on the Goal.
“Aiba-chan wins!” Aiba threw his game piece in the air like confetti, only to have it land in his eye. We keeled over in laughter. I may be bad at sports, but that’s a special kind of talent. “What’s my prize?”
“Now, that’s the real surprise.” Nino pulled a black bandana out of his back pocket, folding it into a blindfold as best as he could now that he was seeing double, and covered Aiba’s eyes.
“What’s this for? You scare me when you do this, you know. I might end up stranded somewhere naked again.”
“Why is that always a bad thing?”
“Well, for one it’s December. It’s cold: not the most ideal weather to have everything out on display, you know.” Though flawed, Aiba did have a point.
Jun clapped Aiba on the shoulder, nearly sending him flying face first into the pyramid of beer cans Ohno had made. “Don’t worry. This time, you won’t be the one getting naked.”
“Eh?”
Our staffer friend Tanaka helped get our unbalanced selves into the company van and drove us to our destination. We didn’t have far to go, but we would draw less attention in a car than trying to navigate the streets of Tokyo when none of use could see straight. I stopped trying to look out the window to see where we were going - it just made everything spin more. Nino and Ohno were in the back row with Aiba sandwiched in between them, taking pictures with Ohno’s camera phone probably to be used as blackmail some later date. Jun sat beside me in the middle row, eyes closed, head resting on the back of the seat.
“Are you dead, Jun-kun?” I leaned over the middle seat to make Matsujun’s three faces become one and ended up lying in Jun’s lap as Tanaka took a sharp left.
“No, but I am starting to wish I was. Why did we have to finish all the beer? Who made that rule? I’m going to kill them.”
“I think you did.” Nino called out from the back seat, 10 decibels louder than required.
“I’m going to kill me. Sho-chan, you’re too hot. Get off.”
“That’s what all the girls say.”
“Shut up, Ohno! I don’t see you getting any more action than I do.”
“I don’t need girls. I’ve got my hetero-life-mate, Nino.”
“That’s right!”
“You guys are totally gay for each other.” Ohno gave Nino an exaggerated wink across Aiba, who blew an equally exaggerated kiss in return. I turned back around to face the front, rolling my eyes.
As we pulled up to the not-so-secret side entrance of the club, I could already feel the bass throbbing in my veins. One of the perks of going to a strip club is that even if people do recognize you, they don’t show it. People go there to have a good time and be invisible doing it. We piled out of the van on to the sidewalk and uncovered Aiba’s eyes. We stood in a narrow street lit by the essential abrasive flashing neon signboards outside various clubs. There was an orange awning over a heavy wooded door with a brass plate reading No.5 Orange on it, the only thing containing the immense techno music within the club.
“Where are we?” is all Aiba could say; he was disoriented and dizzier than the rest of us. Ohno pulled open the monolithic door and we entered single file into the velvet interior of the club. Tanaka saluted a farewell and headed home. Was it already after midnight? The night was only beginning.
It took a few seconds for our eyes to adjust to the lack of light in the club, despite it being night outside. We each paid our cover to a slight girl standing at the end of the hall, wearing a simple black cocktail dress. She stamped the inside of our wrists with a special UV ink; no one would know we’d been here unless they did a full body check with black lights. We went through a second door into the main part of the club. The room was deceivingly large: a solitary stage stood in the centre of the room, with a fire escape ladder descending from the ceiling. There was a standard pole, but also a small tiled section rimmed with Plexiglas off to the side. There was a narrow counter around the perimeter of the stage with a dozen or so chairs. Along three walls were plush semi-private booths, all with excellent views of the stage. The back wall was occupied by the bar, DJ booth and a curtained-off VIP section.
The stage was empty, but the music was deafening. I guess there isn’t any reason to be talking at a club like this. Aiba froze in his tracks once his beer-fogged brain processed what a pole in the middle of an empty stage entailed. Jun slung his arm around Aiba’s shoulders and steered him towards one of the larger booths as Nino placed our drink order at the bar. Once everyone was divested of their winter wear and comfortably seat, our drinks came laden on a tray carried by one of the girls who worked in the bar. The lacy pink number she wore left little to the imagination.
“Your drinks, gentlemen.” Her voice had the same grating pitch as all women who work in customer service and sales, but had a deeper, rustier edge to it. I guess she did work in a different area of service after all. She slid a mug of beer in front of each of us, keeping her eyes on what her hands were doing before rotating on the balls of both feet and teetering back to the bar on five inch platform heels. I looked around the table at the guys and reached for my glass, saying simply,
“Happy birthday, Masaki.” Aiba’s cheeks were decorated with a rosy tint for the third time that night and everyone echoed the sentiment.
“Just try not to get eaten or lose a limb before you turn twenty-six.” Trust Nino to ruin a perfectly good Kodak moment with dry wit.
“Kanpai!” Our mugs clinked together over the center of the table, and as our noses dipped into the heads of our beer, the dim lights got dimmer.
“What’s happening?” Aiba asked.
“Shh. Don’t ask stupid questions. Drink your beer and enjoy.” Jun helped - no, make that forced - Aiba’s hand to bring his mug to his lips. “If you behave, I’ll buy you a lap dance.”
The sound of an alarm clock filled the room, followed by a synthesized voice and pulsating bass line. A dainty foot descended from the fire escape. By the time the music’s sedative beat settled in our veins, the dancer was standing in the middle of the stage. The two men and their whiskies moved from the bar to the stools in front of the stage. She was petite, maybe five two or three, wore a black leather halter bra, black pleated miniskirt and clear platform heels. Her skirt was so short that movement in any direction gave you a peak at her rhinestone studded thong. Her long hair was every shade of blonde and ironed straight, falling just short of her belly button.
As she started dancing, she took stock of her audience: not to sound cocky, but we were the youngest, best looking guys in the bar. We probably had the best manners too. Guys who sat at the counter around the stage, “Gyno Row” Nino informed me, were the biggest tippers so she had to work them the hardest. Unfortunately, they also had a tendency to be handsy and demanding. Every so often she would throw a teasing - or pleading? - look in our direction.
Aiba held his beer with both hands taking small sips at regular intervals, eyes following the dancer on the stage. Beside him, Jun had his long legs stretched out under the table, hands with fingers laced resting on his stomach; he looked like this was his regular Sunday night activity. Ohno watched the dancer with an aesthetic glint in his eye, following the liquid lines of her body as she rocked her hips just so to make her skirt slip down her slender thighs to the stage floor. Nino sat between Ohno and Aiba with his arm resting on the top of the booth, fingers threading through the hair at the back of Ohno’s neck. He half watched the dancer, half watched Ohno watch the dancer with a half bored look on his face. He was probably thinking about his latest game, but even his attention piqued when she reached behind her back and pulled the strings that held her top in place. It was hard not to watch her, especially now that a white, rhinestone g-string was the only thing hiding her modesty, as she spun around the pole. It was hypnotizing.
She was lying on her back in the middle of the stage, on a fluffy, white blanket. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her thong, inching the garment down her slim legs before tossing it casually to the side of the stage. She dragged her hands from the soles of her bare feet, up her calves, along the inside of her thighs. She brought her knees together and caught her hands at the apex of her legs. At the same time her back arched up off the stage. Her skin glowed under the spotlights. Her hands trailed up her firm stomach, dipping into her bellybutton, up and over the gentle rise of her breasts. She tweaked her own nipples, arching her back off the stage again, hands finally stalling at the back of her neck, raking through her hair.
“Why is it called Gyno Row?” This time it was Ohno’s stupid question.
“Think about it.” Nino swatted Ohno on the head and jutted his chin out in the direction of the stage.
She rolled over onto her stomach and got onto all fours, crawling around the stage in time with the music, pausing in front of each of the three men sat there. She stopped in front of the man with the sake, sitting back on her haunches, hands on her breasts. Her back was to us, but we could see the muscles flutter under the skin of her backside as she spread her legs wide for him. Staying there for only a few seconds, she resumed her prowl. She crossed the stage and stopped before the men and their whiskies, giving them, and us, the same treatment. Each of them tented a thousand yen note and put it on the stage in front of her.
“That’s why it’s called Gyno Row.” Jun enlightened.
The song ended and Nino motioned to the bartender for another round of drinks. The girl in pink brought fresh beers, accompanied by five shots of tequila.
“Here, Birthday Boy. Drink up.” Nino placed a shot in front of Aiba before distributing to the rest of us. Aiba rolled up the sleeves of his green collared shirt and adjusted his watch to expose the inside of his left wrist. He tongued the skin there, sprinkling a generous amount of salt and picked up the slice of lime balanced on the rim of the shot glass. I watched, with my own shot sitting in front of me, as Aiba licked his wrist, brought the shot glass to his lips with his right hand and tipped his head back before taking the lime from the fingers of his left. His nose wrinkled and his eyes screwed shut at the sourness of the lime, but he continued to suck on it until all of the fleshy pulp was gone before dropping the rind gently into the empty glass. As my empty shot glass joined the others in the centre of the table, the dancer began the second song of her set.
She walked around the pole at a leisurely pace before inverting herself upon it, hair cascading to the stage floor. She let herself down, kneeing in front of the man with the sake, nipples coyly peaking out between strands of hair.
“Alright, enough of this. We can’t see anything good from back here. Let’s move.” Jun unwound himself and nudged me with his knee so he could get out of the booth, dragging Aiba with him by the sleeve. “Are you coming?”
“I’m good. I think my leg fell asleep being crammed in next to you. I’ll join you in a bit.” I laughed as Jun had to steer a rather drunk Aiba away from the sharp edges of neighbouring tables and put him on a stool in front of centre stage. Nino and Ohno stayed in the booth as well, watching the action from a distance.
Aiba was enthralled. His brain must have been sluggish due to the amounts of alcohol we had fed him because he wasn’t usually so dazed by a pretty face. He was certain and straightforward in a shy, awkward kind of way, unlike the man staring with a glazed look like he had never seen a pair of breasts before. It was kind of cute. The dancer looked relieved to have people to dance for that weren’t old enough to be her father and glided her attention to Aiba and Jun. She knelt on the stage in front of them, swirling her hips in time to the music as the fingers of one hand descended between her legs, touching herself as she rolled the nipple of one breast between the fingers of the other. Jun stood up and said something to the girl on stage, inaudible over the music. She smiled and gave a nod before standing up and returning to the pole. Aiba leaned towards Jun, probably asking about what he said, but Jun just gave a secretive smile and shook his head.
As the dancer started her last song the two men with the whiskies gathered themselves and left, followed shortly by the man with the sake. The dancer got a little freer with herself, now that we were the only ones left in the club. The lips of her vagina glistened in the stage lights as she bent over and wiggled her hips in the open air in our direction. She inserted a finger, just to the first knuckle, before brushing her clit with legs wide open in the faces of Aiba and Jun. I saw Aiba wriggle in his seat, surely getting as uncomfortable in the pants as I was. I downed the rest of my beer and motioned for another round. The dancer finished her set, gathered her clothing and bank notes from the stage, tossing a look over her bare shoulder at Aiba and Jun before ascending the fire escape.
Aiba and Jun returned to the booth, another shot and beer waiting for each. I slid in, making room for them. Slurred conversation turned to various Aiba antics that had taken place during the previous twelve months, and what we might expect from the next twelve: new projects, personal goals and perhaps uncertain death. After a two more rounds of beer, the dancer from the stage emerged from the curtained staff area. She chatted with the barman briefly and made her way towards our table.
“I hear it’s someone’s birthday over here.” She purred in Aiba’s ear as she silently sidled up to him. He shivered as her warm breath tickled. She brought over a chair from an adjacent table, positioning it at the end of the booth. “I have something special for you.” She took Aiba’s hand, pulling him out of his seat in booth, depositing him in the lush armless chair.
Aiba blinked several times in rapid succession, clearly confused as to what was going to happen to him. The dancer waved at the barman, who apparently doubled as a deejay on slow nights, who disappeared into the sound booth to start her music. Drums mimicking the sound of a heartbeat with a soothing melody on a piano emerged from the speakers.
“I told you I’d buy you a lap dance if you behaved.” Jun smirked. For all Aiba’s experience, he looked like a scared fifteen year old boy being sent off to the principal’s office.
“Geez, relax! She’s not going to bite you.” Nino sniggered at Aiba’s discomfort.
“Not unless you want me to.” She added slyly. Everyone laughed, except Aiba who only managed a meagre chuckle. He really didn’t know what to expect. She stood directly in front of Aiba, leaning forward to bring them face to face, revealing her white studded thong. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride. You’re in good hands.” Aiba let out a deep breath.
She turned around, facing the rest of us and began to swing her hips in lazy arcs in time with the music. Lap dances were usually done in private, I thought but since the club was empty, save for the five of us, she was performing the main lounge. The foxy look on her face said she certainly didn’t mind dancing for an audience of five, as opposed to a solo. The muscles in her thighs tensed as she lowered herself at an achingly slow pace, keeping up the lazy circles of her hips, into Aiba’s lap.
She leaned back to rest her head on his shoulder, supporting herself by gripping the edge of the chair, hair gently falling off her shoulders in rivulets. She shifted her weight from her arms to more fully rest in his lap. She continued to swirl her hips and the contact caused Aiba’s eyes to drift closed and the scared look on his face was replaced with a brow furrowed in concentration. His hands clenched and released, trying to gain a grip on the lush fabric of the chair. The index finger of his right hand accidentally brushed the side of her right thigh. The slight contact caused his mouth to form a slight “oh”, amazed at the silken feeling. It was against the rules, but he continued to gently stroke the patch of skin within his reach. No one in the bar was going to raise a protest since we were the only customers.
Aiba opened his eyes. They were glazed and unfocused with a combination of alcohol and the intoxicating feeling of the girl grinding her firm ass against his pelvis. His tongue swept across his bottom lip before catching said lip between his teeth to contain the sounds that were beginning to stir. A small gasp escaped as she put the right amount of pressure on the right spot.
She was dancing as much for Aiba as she was for us. And as pretty as she was, she wasn’t the one I was watching. There was something enchanting about watching my best friend be dragged unwillingly towards the edge of orgasm. Not that he put up that much of a fight. It barely registered in the back of my head that I found Aiba more of a turn on than the topless girl writhing in his lap. The angles of his face had taken a primal edge; he was being guided by instinct, totally inhibited, hiding nothing. I started to wonder how he would look if he were allowed to act on his impulses.
The girl lifted herself off Aiba’s lap, turned around and mounted him from the front, knees resting on either side of his narrow hips. His fingers grazed the soft skin on the back of her knees and calves, not daring to be any bolder. She grabbed the back of the chair over Aiba’s head and drew herself completely forward into the seat of his lap. She resumed the achingly slow and steady gyration of her hips against his. She tossed her hair over her shoulders, exposing her delicate cleavage for him. She brushed her erect nipples against the cottony fabric of his shirt; he must have felt them, begging to be touched but prohibited. He could only inhale deeply.
His breathing hitched as one of her hands snaked between her legs to brush against her clit, caressing him through his jeans at the same time. His eyes fought to stay open, but lost. He was starting to fall, starting to lose control. The muscles in her legs relaxed as she shifted all her weight from her knees to settle directly onto Aiba’s crotch. She thrust her hips forward, hand still caught between them, and exhaled a warm breath on his neck, just under the shell of his ear.
He twitched, hands clutching at the edge of the chair for something to anchor himself to as the first wave of orgasm crested and finally broke. He bit his bottom lip to stifle the deep carnal groans that came from deep inside him. His entire frame went rigid with the force of his orgasm, pushing himself as far back into the chair as was allowed by the boundaries of physics, while she continued the lazy circular rotation of her hips, watching his face with a smirk on hers.
She slowly dismounted, leaving Aiba breathing heavily. As his body wound down, the tension left his frame and face, leaving him completely slack in the chair. She turned to face us.
“I think my work here is finished.”
“A job well done.” Jun stood and walked with the dancer towards the bar, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.
“Fuck.” I glanced at Nino, who was still tracing patterns through Ohno’s hair. Aiba opened his eyes to see what the problem was. Ohno had a glassy look that nearly matched Aiba’s. “Fuck, that was hot. She’s not my type, but that was hot. That’s the best porn I’ve ever seen. Maybe you should add that to your list of projects for twenty-five, Aiba.”
Aiba cracked a smile, and tried to peel himself out of the chair. I got up and offered him a hand because his own legs couldn’t bear the weight of his body yet. I pointed him in the direction of the men’s room to get himself cleaned up. I tried to shake the fuzzy feeling from my head. It was the alcohol; it was a tequila-induced stupor that made Aiba look so damn attractive. Yes, Sho, you keep telling yourself that.
We settled our tab, gathered our drunken selves and ordered taxis to ferry us to our respective homes. I looked at my watch: it was nearly five in the morning. The trains were starting to run. I had a feeling it might be another infamous Arashi Hangover Day, if the way I felt was anything to go by. Nino and Ohno put Aiba in the first taxi to arrive, but not before he gave us all a hug as he got a little teary again.
“Thanks guys. This has been the best birthday ever.”
“We know.” Jun said, ever so humbly.
“But what are we going to do for you next year? This’ll be hard to top.” Nino asked. Ohno came up with the most obvious suggestion.
“Gay strippers?”
This year seemed to be busier than any other. Aiba didn’t even have time to plan a Christmas/Birthday Extravaganza. We all know much it means to him to celebrate with everyone - he enforces an open invitation policy on all festivities - so the five of us decided to throw him a little, private party. Twenty-five is kind of a big deal. Shit, we know people our age who are already married with kids.
After taping Arashi no Shukudai-kun, Jun stalled Aiba while Ohno, Nino and I could bedeck the dressing room with some festive décor. Said décor included a stolen Christmas tree (from the set), some tinsel (from the set) and a string of lights that we plugged into the wall and left lying on the floor because we didn’t have time to deface property trying to hang them (also, from the set). Stalling Aiba isn’t very hard when you mention food; it’s almost too easy when the food mentioned is cake. It’s a sure win if it’s birthday cake. We unearthed Aiba’s Sugoroku board from last year’s Christmas show and sent one of the staffers down to the Sunkus across the street for beer and snacks. By the time our beer had arrived, we’d finish editing the Sugoroku board. We replaced our most reviled punishments (Nipple Revealing T-shirt, Spicy Beard) with ones that weren't quite on the same level of embarrassing (Air Guitar, Tokyo Daigaku Monogatari). We also made sure there were enough punishments and rewards aimed at getting us drunk faster. We told the staffer not to go far: we’d certainly need another couple beer runs later and a designated driver.
Having stocked the fridge and finished with the decorations, we three sat back to lie in wait for our victim to appear. We had told Jun to do whatever it takes to keep Aiba away from the dressing room until we emailed him with the go-ahead. We had turned off all the lights and stuck a lit candle into a sugared bread confection that substituted for cake from the convenience store when Aiba and Jun’s footsteps announced their presence a short ten minutes later.
"I know you're up to something, Matsujun. The last time I got lead on a tour of the studio - that I live in more than my own house - I got ambushed and woke up naked on the sound stage before shooting G no Arashi that one time... And where is this cake you promised me?" As the door swung open, we burst into a roaring rendition of Happy Birthday. Aiba wept in a manly fashion, as manly a fashion as possible when you’re Aiba.
"You guys didn't have to go to all this trouble!" Aiba choked out, smearing tears with the back of his hand.
"Of course we did," countered Nino. "Otherwise you'd be a bitch for the next week because we forgot to celebrate your birthday." Aiba's cheeks flushed the colour of one of Sho's costumes. He would have too.
After blowing out the candle and satiating Aiba's perpetual hunger pangs, Ohno announced, "Now, for your present." Aiba vibrated with barely-contained excitement. "Since we've been together twenty-four-seven for the last week and a half, we couldn't possibly have had time to go buy you something, so we made this. Don! Arashi Suguroku!"
Aiba’s expression was a mixture of giddiness and something else. He was always had the highest tension whenever we played for a show. “What? Did you expect real presents? You don’t even use what we give you anyway, unless it’s edible.” Matsujun said; another oh-so-masculine blush from Aiba.
I went to the fridge and brought five beers to the coffee table on which we had set up the board. “Sa, everyone! Let’s begin with Player Introductions.” Nino held 5 eraser game pieces in his hand. “First, Birthday Boy Aiba-chan!”
“Yay!” Aiba accepted his piece with glee.
“Next, Cho~ Metro Matsujun!”
“Oi! What do you mean metro?” Jun grumbled, pouted, and resumed his default state of nonchalance.
“Next, Captain Oji-san!”
“You jerks. Respect your elders!” Ohno snatched the piece and shook a reprimanding finger at all of us jokingly.
“Chesto~ Sakurai Sho!” I looked at the piece Nino tossed to me.
“Can’t you spell my fucking name right, either? It’s I, not DON.” I really have to invest in a kanji dictionary for the dressing room.
“And lastly Triple Threat Nino, yea! Let’s start!”
After a ruckus about player names (“If you want your name spelled right, Mr Sakura-don, do it yourself next time!”), a short wrestling match, and a fiery round of Janken to decide who would go first, the game began.
When we play Suguroku, it’s to make assholes of ourselves on TV. Tonight, we played to get roaring drunk. It’s been said that Aiba is the most H of us all. Matsujun is sex personified; he attracts all genders. I just roll with whatever the stylist gives me. When Ohmiya SK start being sexually ambiguous with each other, which is pretty much all the time, they give Aiba a run for his money. They’re more obvious about it when they are half in their cups, but we’ve all gotten used to it by now. And for some reason, the girls dig it. But, are you really surprised? Honestly? Johnny’s Jimusho is like a Catholic All Boys School. Or prison. There comes a point when a guy has to do… something… or he’ll explode. Literally. For the sake of image and safety, Big J decreed “thou shalt not have girlfriends”. He didn’t say anything about strippers.
Nippon TV’s studio is conveniently situated in the heart of Shimbashi, Salaryman Central. Those poor souls usually go to drinking parties with coworkers and clients, sometimes on the clock, and things can turn quite raunchy by night’s end. Shimbashi’s not as seedy as Shinjuku’s Kabukicho, but you’ll find something to sate your palette if you know where to look. Luckily for us, our beer-runner was friends with a few blue-collar types in the area and exactly knew where to go.
I’m not going to pretend like I know a lot about strippers. I know that they take their clothes off… and dance. If you can call gyrating at you so you give them your money “dancing”. I’m not so innocent; I have been to strip clubs before, for bachelor parties. But this was the first time I’ve actively organized a strip trip.
It took far less time for us to get loaded than it did to finish the game. Aiba was supposed to win according to the “plan”, so that we could give him his real present. I hadn’t really thought about what we would do if someone else won but I wasn’t sober enough to think of Plan B. But things usually have a certain miraculous way of working themselves out where Aiba’s concerned. The birthday boy did in fact win, by some turn-around miracle. Or maybe he cheated because he made it through half the board in three turns, landing on the Goal.
“Aiba-chan wins!” Aiba threw his game piece in the air like confetti, only to have it land in his eye. We keeled over in laughter. I may be bad at sports, but that’s a special kind of talent. “What’s my prize?”
“Now, that’s the real surprise.” Nino pulled a black bandana out of his back pocket, folding it into a blindfold as best as he could now that he was seeing double, and covered Aiba’s eyes.
“What’s this for? You scare me when you do this, you know. I might end up stranded somewhere naked again.”
“Why is that always a bad thing?”
“Well, for one it’s December. It’s cold: not the most ideal weather to have everything out on display, you know.” Though flawed, Aiba did have a point.
Jun clapped Aiba on the shoulder, nearly sending him flying face first into the pyramid of beer cans Ohno had made. “Don’t worry. This time, you won’t be the one getting naked.”
“Eh?”
Our staffer friend Tanaka helped get our unbalanced selves into the company van and drove us to our destination. We didn’t have far to go, but we would draw less attention in a car than trying to navigate the streets of Tokyo when none of use could see straight. I stopped trying to look out the window to see where we were going - it just made everything spin more. Nino and Ohno were in the back row with Aiba sandwiched in between them, taking pictures with Ohno’s camera phone probably to be used as blackmail some later date. Jun sat beside me in the middle row, eyes closed, head resting on the back of the seat.
“Are you dead, Jun-kun?” I leaned over the middle seat to make Matsujun’s three faces become one and ended up lying in Jun’s lap as Tanaka took a sharp left.
“No, but I am starting to wish I was. Why did we have to finish all the beer? Who made that rule? I’m going to kill them.”
“I think you did.” Nino called out from the back seat, 10 decibels louder than required.
“I’m going to kill me. Sho-chan, you’re too hot. Get off.”
“That’s what all the girls say.”
“Shut up, Ohno! I don’t see you getting any more action than I do.”
“I don’t need girls. I’ve got my hetero-life-mate, Nino.”
“That’s right!”
“You guys are totally gay for each other.” Ohno gave Nino an exaggerated wink across Aiba, who blew an equally exaggerated kiss in return. I turned back around to face the front, rolling my eyes.
As we pulled up to the not-so-secret side entrance of the club, I could already feel the bass throbbing in my veins. One of the perks of going to a strip club is that even if people do recognize you, they don’t show it. People go there to have a good time and be invisible doing it. We piled out of the van on to the sidewalk and uncovered Aiba’s eyes. We stood in a narrow street lit by the essential abrasive flashing neon signboards outside various clubs. There was an orange awning over a heavy wooded door with a brass plate reading No.5 Orange on it, the only thing containing the immense techno music within the club.
“Where are we?” is all Aiba could say; he was disoriented and dizzier than the rest of us. Ohno pulled open the monolithic door and we entered single file into the velvet interior of the club. Tanaka saluted a farewell and headed home. Was it already after midnight? The night was only beginning.
It took a few seconds for our eyes to adjust to the lack of light in the club, despite it being night outside. We each paid our cover to a slight girl standing at the end of the hall, wearing a simple black cocktail dress. She stamped the inside of our wrists with a special UV ink; no one would know we’d been here unless they did a full body check with black lights. We went through a second door into the main part of the club. The room was deceivingly large: a solitary stage stood in the centre of the room, with a fire escape ladder descending from the ceiling. There was a standard pole, but also a small tiled section rimmed with Plexiglas off to the side. There was a narrow counter around the perimeter of the stage with a dozen or so chairs. Along three walls were plush semi-private booths, all with excellent views of the stage. The back wall was occupied by the bar, DJ booth and a curtained-off VIP section.
The stage was empty, but the music was deafening. I guess there isn’t any reason to be talking at a club like this. Aiba froze in his tracks once his beer-fogged brain processed what a pole in the middle of an empty stage entailed. Jun slung his arm around Aiba’s shoulders and steered him towards one of the larger booths as Nino placed our drink order at the bar. Once everyone was divested of their winter wear and comfortably seat, our drinks came laden on a tray carried by one of the girls who worked in the bar. The lacy pink number she wore left little to the imagination.
“Your drinks, gentlemen.” Her voice had the same grating pitch as all women who work in customer service and sales, but had a deeper, rustier edge to it. I guess she did work in a different area of service after all. She slid a mug of beer in front of each of us, keeping her eyes on what her hands were doing before rotating on the balls of both feet and teetering back to the bar on five inch platform heels. I looked around the table at the guys and reached for my glass, saying simply,
“Happy birthday, Masaki.” Aiba’s cheeks were decorated with a rosy tint for the third time that night and everyone echoed the sentiment.
“Just try not to get eaten or lose a limb before you turn twenty-six.” Trust Nino to ruin a perfectly good Kodak moment with dry wit.
“Kanpai!” Our mugs clinked together over the center of the table, and as our noses dipped into the heads of our beer, the dim lights got dimmer.
“What’s happening?” Aiba asked.
“Shh. Don’t ask stupid questions. Drink your beer and enjoy.” Jun helped - no, make that forced - Aiba’s hand to bring his mug to his lips. “If you behave, I’ll buy you a lap dance.”
The sound of an alarm clock filled the room, followed by a synthesized voice and pulsating bass line. A dainty foot descended from the fire escape. By the time the music’s sedative beat settled in our veins, the dancer was standing in the middle of the stage. The two men and their whiskies moved from the bar to the stools in front of the stage. She was petite, maybe five two or three, wore a black leather halter bra, black pleated miniskirt and clear platform heels. Her skirt was so short that movement in any direction gave you a peak at her rhinestone studded thong. Her long hair was every shade of blonde and ironed straight, falling just short of her belly button.
As she started dancing, she took stock of her audience: not to sound cocky, but we were the youngest, best looking guys in the bar. We probably had the best manners too. Guys who sat at the counter around the stage, “Gyno Row” Nino informed me, were the biggest tippers so she had to work them the hardest. Unfortunately, they also had a tendency to be handsy and demanding. Every so often she would throw a teasing - or pleading? - look in our direction.
Aiba held his beer with both hands taking small sips at regular intervals, eyes following the dancer on the stage. Beside him, Jun had his long legs stretched out under the table, hands with fingers laced resting on his stomach; he looked like this was his regular Sunday night activity. Ohno watched the dancer with an aesthetic glint in his eye, following the liquid lines of her body as she rocked her hips just so to make her skirt slip down her slender thighs to the stage floor. Nino sat between Ohno and Aiba with his arm resting on the top of the booth, fingers threading through the hair at the back of Ohno’s neck. He half watched the dancer, half watched Ohno watch the dancer with a half bored look on his face. He was probably thinking about his latest game, but even his attention piqued when she reached behind her back and pulled the strings that held her top in place. It was hard not to watch her, especially now that a white, rhinestone g-string was the only thing hiding her modesty, as she spun around the pole. It was hypnotizing.
She was lying on her back in the middle of the stage, on a fluffy, white blanket. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her thong, inching the garment down her slim legs before tossing it casually to the side of the stage. She dragged her hands from the soles of her bare feet, up her calves, along the inside of her thighs. She brought her knees together and caught her hands at the apex of her legs. At the same time her back arched up off the stage. Her skin glowed under the spotlights. Her hands trailed up her firm stomach, dipping into her bellybutton, up and over the gentle rise of her breasts. She tweaked her own nipples, arching her back off the stage again, hands finally stalling at the back of her neck, raking through her hair.
“Why is it called Gyno Row?” This time it was Ohno’s stupid question.
“Think about it.” Nino swatted Ohno on the head and jutted his chin out in the direction of the stage.
She rolled over onto her stomach and got onto all fours, crawling around the stage in time with the music, pausing in front of each of the three men sat there. She stopped in front of the man with the sake, sitting back on her haunches, hands on her breasts. Her back was to us, but we could see the muscles flutter under the skin of her backside as she spread her legs wide for him. Staying there for only a few seconds, she resumed her prowl. She crossed the stage and stopped before the men and their whiskies, giving them, and us, the same treatment. Each of them tented a thousand yen note and put it on the stage in front of her.
“That’s why it’s called Gyno Row.” Jun enlightened.
The song ended and Nino motioned to the bartender for another round of drinks. The girl in pink brought fresh beers, accompanied by five shots of tequila.
“Here, Birthday Boy. Drink up.” Nino placed a shot in front of Aiba before distributing to the rest of us. Aiba rolled up the sleeves of his green collared shirt and adjusted his watch to expose the inside of his left wrist. He tongued the skin there, sprinkling a generous amount of salt and picked up the slice of lime balanced on the rim of the shot glass. I watched, with my own shot sitting in front of me, as Aiba licked his wrist, brought the shot glass to his lips with his right hand and tipped his head back before taking the lime from the fingers of his left. His nose wrinkled and his eyes screwed shut at the sourness of the lime, but he continued to suck on it until all of the fleshy pulp was gone before dropping the rind gently into the empty glass. As my empty shot glass joined the others in the centre of the table, the dancer began the second song of her set.
She walked around the pole at a leisurely pace before inverting herself upon it, hair cascading to the stage floor. She let herself down, kneeing in front of the man with the sake, nipples coyly peaking out between strands of hair.
“Alright, enough of this. We can’t see anything good from back here. Let’s move.” Jun unwound himself and nudged me with his knee so he could get out of the booth, dragging Aiba with him by the sleeve. “Are you coming?”
“I’m good. I think my leg fell asleep being crammed in next to you. I’ll join you in a bit.” I laughed as Jun had to steer a rather drunk Aiba away from the sharp edges of neighbouring tables and put him on a stool in front of centre stage. Nino and Ohno stayed in the booth as well, watching the action from a distance.
Aiba was enthralled. His brain must have been sluggish due to the amounts of alcohol we had fed him because he wasn’t usually so dazed by a pretty face. He was certain and straightforward in a shy, awkward kind of way, unlike the man staring with a glazed look like he had never seen a pair of breasts before. It was kind of cute. The dancer looked relieved to have people to dance for that weren’t old enough to be her father and glided her attention to Aiba and Jun. She knelt on the stage in front of them, swirling her hips in time to the music as the fingers of one hand descended between her legs, touching herself as she rolled the nipple of one breast between the fingers of the other. Jun stood up and said something to the girl on stage, inaudible over the music. She smiled and gave a nod before standing up and returning to the pole. Aiba leaned towards Jun, probably asking about what he said, but Jun just gave a secretive smile and shook his head.
As the dancer started her last song the two men with the whiskies gathered themselves and left, followed shortly by the man with the sake. The dancer got a little freer with herself, now that we were the only ones left in the club. The lips of her vagina glistened in the stage lights as she bent over and wiggled her hips in the open air in our direction. She inserted a finger, just to the first knuckle, before brushing her clit with legs wide open in the faces of Aiba and Jun. I saw Aiba wriggle in his seat, surely getting as uncomfortable in the pants as I was. I downed the rest of my beer and motioned for another round. The dancer finished her set, gathered her clothing and bank notes from the stage, tossing a look over her bare shoulder at Aiba and Jun before ascending the fire escape.
Aiba and Jun returned to the booth, another shot and beer waiting for each. I slid in, making room for them. Slurred conversation turned to various Aiba antics that had taken place during the previous twelve months, and what we might expect from the next twelve: new projects, personal goals and perhaps uncertain death. After a two more rounds of beer, the dancer from the stage emerged from the curtained staff area. She chatted with the barman briefly and made her way towards our table.
“I hear it’s someone’s birthday over here.” She purred in Aiba’s ear as she silently sidled up to him. He shivered as her warm breath tickled. She brought over a chair from an adjacent table, positioning it at the end of the booth. “I have something special for you.” She took Aiba’s hand, pulling him out of his seat in booth, depositing him in the lush armless chair.
Aiba blinked several times in rapid succession, clearly confused as to what was going to happen to him. The dancer waved at the barman, who apparently doubled as a deejay on slow nights, who disappeared into the sound booth to start her music. Drums mimicking the sound of a heartbeat with a soothing melody on a piano emerged from the speakers.
“I told you I’d buy you a lap dance if you behaved.” Jun smirked. For all Aiba’s experience, he looked like a scared fifteen year old boy being sent off to the principal’s office.
“Geez, relax! She’s not going to bite you.” Nino sniggered at Aiba’s discomfort.
“Not unless you want me to.” She added slyly. Everyone laughed, except Aiba who only managed a meagre chuckle. He really didn’t know what to expect. She stood directly in front of Aiba, leaning forward to bring them face to face, revealing her white studded thong. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride. You’re in good hands.” Aiba let out a deep breath.
She turned around, facing the rest of us and began to swing her hips in lazy arcs in time with the music. Lap dances were usually done in private, I thought but since the club was empty, save for the five of us, she was performing the main lounge. The foxy look on her face said she certainly didn’t mind dancing for an audience of five, as opposed to a solo. The muscles in her thighs tensed as she lowered herself at an achingly slow pace, keeping up the lazy circles of her hips, into Aiba’s lap.
She leaned back to rest her head on his shoulder, supporting herself by gripping the edge of the chair, hair gently falling off her shoulders in rivulets. She shifted her weight from her arms to more fully rest in his lap. She continued to swirl her hips and the contact caused Aiba’s eyes to drift closed and the scared look on his face was replaced with a brow furrowed in concentration. His hands clenched and released, trying to gain a grip on the lush fabric of the chair. The index finger of his right hand accidentally brushed the side of her right thigh. The slight contact caused his mouth to form a slight “oh”, amazed at the silken feeling. It was against the rules, but he continued to gently stroke the patch of skin within his reach. No one in the bar was going to raise a protest since we were the only customers.
Aiba opened his eyes. They were glazed and unfocused with a combination of alcohol and the intoxicating feeling of the girl grinding her firm ass against his pelvis. His tongue swept across his bottom lip before catching said lip between his teeth to contain the sounds that were beginning to stir. A small gasp escaped as she put the right amount of pressure on the right spot.
She was dancing as much for Aiba as she was for us. And as pretty as she was, she wasn’t the one I was watching. There was something enchanting about watching my best friend be dragged unwillingly towards the edge of orgasm. Not that he put up that much of a fight. It barely registered in the back of my head that I found Aiba more of a turn on than the topless girl writhing in his lap. The angles of his face had taken a primal edge; he was being guided by instinct, totally inhibited, hiding nothing. I started to wonder how he would look if he were allowed to act on his impulses.
The girl lifted herself off Aiba’s lap, turned around and mounted him from the front, knees resting on either side of his narrow hips. His fingers grazed the soft skin on the back of her knees and calves, not daring to be any bolder. She grabbed the back of the chair over Aiba’s head and drew herself completely forward into the seat of his lap. She resumed the achingly slow and steady gyration of her hips against his. She tossed her hair over her shoulders, exposing her delicate cleavage for him. She brushed her erect nipples against the cottony fabric of his shirt; he must have felt them, begging to be touched but prohibited. He could only inhale deeply.
His breathing hitched as one of her hands snaked between her legs to brush against her clit, caressing him through his jeans at the same time. His eyes fought to stay open, but lost. He was starting to fall, starting to lose control. The muscles in her legs relaxed as she shifted all her weight from her knees to settle directly onto Aiba’s crotch. She thrust her hips forward, hand still caught between them, and exhaled a warm breath on his neck, just under the shell of his ear.
He twitched, hands clutching at the edge of the chair for something to anchor himself to as the first wave of orgasm crested and finally broke. He bit his bottom lip to stifle the deep carnal groans that came from deep inside him. His entire frame went rigid with the force of his orgasm, pushing himself as far back into the chair as was allowed by the boundaries of physics, while she continued the lazy circular rotation of her hips, watching his face with a smirk on hers.
She slowly dismounted, leaving Aiba breathing heavily. As his body wound down, the tension left his frame and face, leaving him completely slack in the chair. She turned to face us.
“I think my work here is finished.”
“A job well done.” Jun stood and walked with the dancer towards the bar, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.
“Fuck.” I glanced at Nino, who was still tracing patterns through Ohno’s hair. Aiba opened his eyes to see what the problem was. Ohno had a glassy look that nearly matched Aiba’s. “Fuck, that was hot. She’s not my type, but that was hot. That’s the best porn I’ve ever seen. Maybe you should add that to your list of projects for twenty-five, Aiba.”
Aiba cracked a smile, and tried to peel himself out of the chair. I got up and offered him a hand because his own legs couldn’t bear the weight of his body yet. I pointed him in the direction of the men’s room to get himself cleaned up. I tried to shake the fuzzy feeling from my head. It was the alcohol; it was a tequila-induced stupor that made Aiba look so damn attractive. Yes, Sho, you keep telling yourself that.
We settled our tab, gathered our drunken selves and ordered taxis to ferry us to our respective homes. I looked at my watch: it was nearly five in the morning. The trains were starting to run. I had a feeling it might be another infamous Arashi Hangover Day, if the way I felt was anything to go by. Nino and Ohno put Aiba in the first taxi to arrive, but not before he gave us all a hug as he got a little teary again.
“Thanks guys. This has been the best birthday ever.”
“We know.” Jun said, ever so humbly.
“But what are we going to do for you next year? This’ll be hard to top.” Nino asked. Ohno came up with the most obvious suggestion.
“Gay strippers?”