Japan's Sex Trade. Peter ConstantineЧитать онлайн книгу.
throughout the country, changing the appearance of former red-light districts with its lurid, imaginative architecture. By 1963, 390 Toruko had sprouted up, and by 1966 the number had surged to 675, with 973 Miss Toruko. To keep customers interested, the bathhouses became bigger and better. Architects modeled the facades after Shogun fortresses, the Tower of London, Las Vegas casinos, and even gothic castles—sometimes bulldozing many styles into one. To ward off competition from other red-light enterprises, the Turkish girls were encouraged to expand their repertory by inventing ever more titillating "washes." By the mid-sixties, "hard service" had become the norm. First came daburu purē (double play), fellatio with optional cunnilingus, and by 1970 all Turkish establishments had graduated to homban (performance), the professional euphemism for straight-out sex.
The seventies proved to be the decade of daring inventions. The newer Turkish baths of Kawasaki City and Horinouchi introduced the rectangular inflatable airmat, on which the customers could lie while the Turkish girls swashed about with bubbles, soaps, and suds. Matto sābisu (mat service) revolutionized the scope of the Toruko; since the women were no longer constrained by the dangerously slippery tubs, a mountain of new washes became available. Square mats became the rage, then triangular mats, the newest invention being the enkei matto, a special "circle" mat that originated in a Gifu City bath called Kiyōshi (Prince). Another major invention that began in the baths in Horinouchi in the seventies and has remained.an important part of today's nationwide soapland service was the seribōkyō (periscope). After the initial rub-down and wash, the woman springs into the tub with the customer, wedges her arms under his thighs, and lifting him a few inches so that his organ "periscopes" out of the water, bends forward to reach it with her lips. In later variations, the woman remains outside the tub and services her customer by taking deep breaths and plunging her head into the sudsy bath water. Some Toruko developed the periscope theme even further offering sakasa seribōkyō (upside-down periscope) and gyaku seribōkyō (reverse periscope). The woman takes off her panties and climbs into a precarious upside-down position on the tub with her feet securely wedged on its plastic-lame rim. Balancing herself by pressing her buttocks and thighs over the customer's head, she leans forward and performs the periscope special.
Another hit that began in Kawasaki City was the sukebe isu (pervert chair), followed by the pink chair, the dream chair, and the miracle chair. These chairs were made of plastic and were usually covered with intricate gold-lame patterns. They had two adjacent seats with holes in the front and in the bottom so that the Turkish girl could sit comfortably in front of her customer, with easy access to his genitals and anus from various angles. These chairs were wildly popular and brought about a nationwide explosion of "pervert" specials, "pink" washes, "dream" services, and "miracle" games. Every Turkish bath equipped itself with the wonder chairs, and women were encouraged to be as acrobatic and as innovative as possible on them. But the customers wanted more, and the next sensation on the bath scene was the mokuba (wooden horse), which allowed the women even more flexibility, as they could now offer a jolty, see-saw type wash. The clients came in droves.
Times for the bath industry, however, were not always easy. Angry housewives picketed, and the government passed a law in 1964 that targeted both "locked-door massage" and nude Turkish girls. The Japan Bath Association panicked, but ever ready to adapt, its members unanimously decided that henceforth massage-doors would remain unlocked but firmly closed, and that all Turkish girls should be urged to keep on at least their waterproof massage-aprons—that is, if the customer did not mind too much. Then, in 1971, the Bath Association had an even closer shave. Eleven militant women members of Japan's House of Councilors submitted, entirely without warning, a proposal to illegalize private-room massage in all bathhouses. Before the Toruko magnates could retaliate, the powerful Nihon Bengoshi Rengōkai (Japan Lawyer Association) joined in, and officially pronounced Turkish massage to be blatant prostitution, and thus technically illegal. Josei no sābisu (women's service), they argued, had to be banned. The magnates frantically pulled strings in high places, and a major red-light crisis was averted in the nick of time. Professional sex-massage flourished, and by 1984 Japan could boast 3,094 Turkish baths and related massage parlors.
The soaplands we know today burst onto the scene in 1985, under the most bizarre circumstances. The Japan Bath Association was preparing to celebrate its thirtieth prosperous year of unimpeded body-washing, when fate struck an underhanded blow. Japan and Turkey had decided to embrace each other in friendship, and things Turkish suddenly became fashionable. Japan initiated major investments in Turkey, while cultural and industrial exchanges took place between the two nations. Things were going splendidly until a Turkish scholar, Nusert Sanjakli, set off on a newspaper campaign to denounce Japan's Turkish girls and the so-called Turkish baths they worked in. Toruko (Turkey), he vehemently complained, had become the Japanese word for "brothel," and Torukojo (Turkish girl) an outrageous and unacceptable synonym for "whore." This was a direct insult to Turkey and Turkey's maidens.
The Japanese government was most embarrassed. To avert a possible chill between the two nations, Japan immediately outlawed the Turkish baths and their girls. The stunned Japan Bath Association was faced with the choice of closing down or doing what it had done back in 1956—renaming itself. Its survival instincts intact, it launched a national "Find a New Name" contest. The winner, unanimously chosen from among 2,200 finalists, was the crisp, clean, wholesome-but-gamy "soapland." The banned Turkish girls were immediately reintroduced as sōpu-jo (soap girls), or more fashionably sōpu-rēdi (soap ladies). Within days, the irate Turkish bath owners had changed their neon signs, their advertising, and their calling cards, complaining loudly into the ubiquitous television cameras about the government, the price of neon, and impending doom.
But worse was yet to come. The sharp blow that Turkey had dealt the Japanese bathhouse industry was accompanied by an unexpected local attack: the revision of the Law on Businesses Affecting Public Morals, which took effect in February 1985, on Valentine's Day, no less. The new, freshly decorated soaplands now had to register with the Public Safety Commission, exposing themselves to possible police measures. To the Japan Bath Association's horror, the new law also disallowed the hiring of minors, which made a major dent in the service menus of soaplands that specialized in rorikon sābisu (Lolita-complex service). Under the new law, anyone caught hiring an adolescent girl or providing sex-massage to an adolescent boy ran the risk of being closed down for eight months. The doormen were also dealt with harshly. Even on the slowest days, a desperate doorman relying on a per head commission for his livelihood could not resort to dragging clients onto the premises against their will. The harshest blow, however, was the curtailing of all-night partying. Soaplands would now have to be locked up by midnight.
The Japanese police meant business. That same year, more than 6,500 people (6,575, to be exact) were arrested for trying to break this law, and many of the most seasoned soapland and massage parlor owners broke down under the strain and closed up shop. In Tokyo alone, by Valentine's Day, 1986—exactly one year after the law took effect—38 of 281 massage parlors had gone out of business.
The result of the turbulent eighties was to make the soapland world of the nineties tougher, more flexible, and better equipped to fight for its clientele with competing sex-bars, -clubs, and -cabarets. Many soaplands have placed greater emphasis on catchy theme decor. Tokyo's Ichiriki Chaya (Topnotch Tea House), for instance, specializes in medieval Japan. The soap ladies wear formal kimonos, are well drilled in the complexities of tea ceremony, and perform their washes to the elegant sounds of the koto. Another Tokyo soapland, Yangu Redii (Young Lady), is known for its wild kanja purē (patient play) with nurses in starched uniforms. On New Year's Day the Yangu Redii customer receives a pretty embroidered pouch with a single pubic hair from his favorite nurse in it. Other places offer soap ladies disguised as airline hostesses, executive secretaries, and elementary or high school girls (who are actually safely in their twenties). Some soaplands take "themes" even further, punishing naughty customers with enemas, or changing the more eccentric client's diapers.
The nineties have also brought with them a flourish of larger and kinkier soaplands in the provinces. These sprang up after the harsh St. Valentine laws of 1985, which included a very strict zoning clause. New bathhouses, it stated, would not be permitted within 100 yards of schools, sports facilities, libraries, or child-welfare establishments. Some Japanese cities, in deference to the sick, even went so far as to add hospitals to the list. Soapland speculation ground to a halt.