I was in my early forties, divorced for two years, and I had given myself Japan as a gift—one that only I could give. Two weeks, alone, a ryokan in the mountains, a few days in Kyoto, a few days in Tokyo. Half the trip was Hakone, a valley of three hundred inhabitants in the mountains west of Tokyo, with hot springs and a mountain facing Mount Fuji. My ryokan was small, with six rooms, each with its own onsen. That was the luxury I had allowed myself for this one trip. Private onsen means: you share the spring with no one, you can go in whenever you want, you can lie there an hour three times a day without being seen by anyone.
On the third evening, when I went to the onsen at half past ten because I couldn’t sleep and moonlight was falling on the bamboo outside, there was light in the next room. I hadn’t seen that on the first two evenings. It meant: someone had moved into the room next door.
My onsen was separated from the others by a bamboo fence. You couldn’t see the others, but you could hear when someone stepped into the water. I heard it just as I was getting in myself. The hot water enveloped my naked body, made my muscles relax, my skin reddened slightly. I was completely naked, my breasts below the water’s surface, my nipples hard from the cold air above, my legs slightly spread, the warm water between my thighs.
“Konban wa,” said a voice from the other side of the fence.
It wasn’t the usual Japanese greeting in this situation. It was more polite, almost playful.
“Good evening.”
“You’re German?”
“Austrian.”
“I’m Swiss.”
We both laughed. In a valley in the Japanese mountains, in private onsen pools, separated by a bamboo fence, two Alpine voices listened to each other.
“How long are you here?” he asked.
“Since Sunday. Until the day after tomorrow.”
“I’ve been here since today. Until Saturday.”
“Why are you here?”
“I gave a lecture in Tokyo and added four days on.”
“About what?”
“Atmospheric optics. Clouds. Sunset physics.”
He was a physicist. His name was Niklaus, and he had a calm, slow voice—a voice that had room in the silence between the bamboo leaves. While we talked, I ran my hand over my breast, circled my fingers around the hard tip, imagined what he might look like. Whether his hands were big. Whether his body under the water was as naked as mine.
We talked like that for half an hour, through the bamboo fence. He couldn’t see me, I couldn’t see him. We talked the way two people talk who can’t see each other—openly, more easily than we would have been with eye contact.
“Theresa.”
“Yes.”
“In the lounge there’s tea at half past eleven. The landlady makes it every evening. Almost no one ever comes.”
“Are you going?”
“I’m going. If you come too, we’ll finally see each other.”
We both went. Niklaus was a tall man in his mid-fifties, dark hair with gray temples, calm hands. He wore a yukata that draped over his broad shoulders, and I immediately saw the hint of chest hair when he moved. We sat at the low table, each on a flat cushion, with a cup of gyokuro, and the landlady immediately understood the situation, smiled politely at us, and retreated to the kitchen.
We kept talking, now face to face. We talked for two hours. He was divorced, for seven years, had two adult daughters—one in Lausanne, one in Berlin—and for the first time in his life he had traveled Japan alone for three weeks, something that would have been unthinkable ten years ago. His eyes rested on me, wandered over my body, lingered on the curves under the yukata. I felt my belly grow hot, felt my cunt grow wet, just from the sight of his hands and the way he drank his tea.
At half past one he said:
“Would you like to go back to the onsen?”
“Which one?”
“There’s a lower one, in the hollow of the garden. You can rent it. No one is awake anymore. We can’t disturb the landlady. But I know the key.”
“Niklaus.”
“Yes.”
“Should we do this?”
“If not, then not. It was an idea.”
I thought it over. I thought about how I had come here—alone, with the plan to be alone—and that this idea didn’t conflict with my trip’s plan that something could meet me that I hadn’t planned for. The thought of seeing him naked, of feeling him in the water, made me squeeze my knees together slightly.
“I’m coming.”
The lower onsen was a basin in the stone, a bit deeper than the others, with a view of a small waterfall that only flowed at this time of year. It was early April. The cherries in the hollow weren’t blooming yet, but the water steamed, and the night was cold enough that the steam rose high into the air.
We stood at the edge of the basin, the moon casting silver light on the steaming water. Niklaus looked at me, his eyes dark in the shadows.
“Are you undressing here?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” I said, and my hands opened the belt of the yukata. The fabric fell apart, and I stood naked before him, my breasts free, my hard nipples in the cold night air, the dark triangle between my legs already feeling wet. I saw his breath catch, saw his gaze travel over my body, saw him slowly strip off his own yukata.
His body was good for his age. Broad shoulders, flat stomach, gray hair on his chest that trailed down to his navel. And his cock—half-hard, thick, the glans already visible under the foreskin. My heart beat faster.
“Get in,” he said, and his voice was rough.
I stepped into the water, the hot water closing around my legs, my hips, my breasts. I let myself slide into the basin until the water reached my chin. He got in behind me, and I felt the water shift as he sat down.
For a moment we sat facing each other, the water reflecting the moon. Then he came closer. His hand settled on my thigh underwater, warm and firm.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
I leaned forward, my lips finding his. The kiss was soft, then deeper, his tongue pushing into my mouth while his hand moved from my thigh upward, over my hip, until his fingers found my breast. He cupped it, the hard nipple between thumb and forefinger, and I moaned softly into his mouth.
“Yes,” I whispered.
His hand let go of my breast and slid lower, underwater, between my legs. His fingers found my cunt, and I felt how wet I was—fucking wet, my labia swollen and ready.
“You’re so wet,” he murmured against my ear.
“You do this to me.”
His finger stroked along my slit, once, twice, th—
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