Sex is the Best Way to Learn About Other Cultures. - Chapter 1

Forty-six days.

Just under a month and a half.

That’s how long it took me to land in my hometown again.

Initially, I planned to continue my journey for longer.

To be precise, I intended to leave France by train instead of plane, following the classic European travel route through Italy and Switzerland.

But from the moment Costa Rica came after the United States instead of England, my itinerary had already fallen apart.

My initial purpose was to heal my heart from being rejected by girls by seeing beautiful landscapes and cities around the world. Yet somehow, my trip had become about having s3x with women from different countries, straying far from my original intent.

Instead of cultural exchange, I had engaged in condom-less s3x with girls from various nations.

Well, you could argue that even that counts as cross-cultural exchange. But coming from Japan, where I’d been desperately craving intimacy for years yet remained a virgin for over two decades, to suddenly find myself free to have s3x at will in Europe—this stark contrast between their casual attitudes and Japan’s reserved culture hit me hard.

These women would sleep with me, a stranger, without hesitation.

It’s hard to believe, but it’s the truth.

If there were a modern-day version of The Travels of the West, rather than The Travels of Marco Polo, I would unashamedly write that Western women were all beautiful, with big br3asts, and kind-hearted goddesses who would have s3x with an Asian man without hesitation.

Enough reminiscing.

I’d come on this journey prepared to remain a virgin forever, so to lose my virginity so extravagantly was an unexpected blessing for someone like me—the very embodiment of unpopularity.

But what a twist of fate—disaster strikes.

My obsession with the culture of free s3x and my indiscriminate use of cumshots have landed me in the biggest crisis of my life.

Women I’ve slept with everywhere I’ve gone are reportedly showing up at my best friend Takuma’s house.

First there was Liz, the waitress from the restaurant in the Los Angeles suburbs.

I remember her clearly—we spent three days and nights having passionate s3x like a couple in love.

At first, she treated me with hostility, as if I were an enemy, but by the end, she was whispering “I love you, Daisuke” in my ear.

Next came Amanda, the female truck driver I hitched a ride with outside Los Angeles.

On a highway, her tire burst. While waiting for rescue, she jokingly invited me to have s3x.

Her tanned skin and jet-black hair evoked memories of South American heritage.

Her br3asts and buttocks were so massive they seemed ready to burst.

Seeing her like that, I couldn’t resist – having just graduated from virginity, I found myself wildly making love to her under the desert sky.

This was the essence of American s3x.

I vaguely remember her pointing a gun at me during it, but her body was so incredible I can’t recall much else.

Even after rescue came, we kept having s3x in the truck. I remember hearing Amanda’s breathless moans – both seductive and innocent.

Next was the prostitute I met in Los Angeles’ dumpster.

The first woman I ever slept with – and the one that let me cum inside her as much as I wanted.

That s3x was unbelievably good. I remember how I reveled in pleasure, my hips moving rhythmically against the white woman’s massive br3asts as I kneaded them from behind.

I later learned she was supposedly a former Hollywood actress named Katherine Mcbright, though the truth of that claim remains unclear.

In the end, even Diana—the woman who’d imprisoned me in a Costa Rican basement—came to Japan. Apparently, Takuma’s house is in quite a state now.

Every one of them had slept with me in their respective countries.

The only plausible reason for their visit is to make me take responsibility for the children growing in their bellies. Nothing less would suffice. There’s no other reason they’d come seeking me out again.

“Haaah…”

Thinking about it makes me returning home feel gloomy.

Though I brought this upon myself, the absurdity of suddenly being responsible for four women at once isn’t lost on me.

I don’t have the money.

Well, there’s a million yen in an account I can’t access because I lost the passbook, but I can’t use that since it’s needed to pay off my debt to Alicia at Stanley Farm.

I do have some spare cash, but I doubt it’s enough to fulfill my responsibilities to four women.

Four.

And that’s the minimum number involved.

I’ve slept with nearly ten times that many women during my travels. Given how slowly I’m moving eastward on the Siberian Railway, it’s entirely possible new women have arrived in Japan since then.

If that happens, I’ll be completely bankrupt.

Bankruptcy alone might be manageable, but I can’t rule out the possibility of being killed by women demanding compensation.

Most importantly, as a scum who irresponsibly gave dozens of women cumshots during my travels, I’ll probably lose all credibility with my family and Takuma.

If that happens, I won’t be able to return to either my parents’ home or Takuma’s place.

“What should I do…”

I sat on a bench in the park exactly halfway between my parents’ house and Takuma’s apartment, my head buried in my hands.

In truth, it had been dozens of days since I’d last been in Japan. It wouldn’t be strange to get lost in nostalgia for the familiar sights and air, but unfortunately, I didn’t have even a shred of that luxury.

If I could, I’d circle the world again just to buy myself some time. Maybe I should do that. If I said I was still on my journey, I could postpone all my problems for now—

“Привет, Дайсуке(Daisuke).” (Hello, Daisuke)

When I looked up at the familiar voice, I knew it was already too late.

The girl had long, soft blond hair and looked like a refined high school student.

When I saw her ample chest, the symbol of Russian women, I knew I was in a world where escape was impossible.

Emilia Lipnitskaya.

That must have been her name.

The Russian high school girl I’d been having train window s3x with on the final day of the Siberian Railway.

In terms of time, it probably hadn’t even been twelve hours. Twelve hours ago, I was having s3x with her.

And now Emilia was standing right in front of me, in a Japanese park.

I hadn’t given her my Japanese address, so she must have been tailing me since the Vladivostok airport.

Why else would Emilia go to such lengths to follow me?

Was it for compensation?

I couldn’t possibly know yet whether she was pregnant. Even if I had a hunch, there was no medical evidence to confirm it.

So was this a protest against being raped on the Siberian Railway?

But if my memory served correctly, she hadn’t resisted our s3x at all.

Then why?

The same question circled endlessly through my mind, refusing to leave.

She approached me with a smile as gentle as the Virgin Mary’s and said.

“Ты бы женился на мне, Дайсуке?”

(Would you marry me, Daisuke?)

I couldn’t possibly understand Russian.

I barely recognized the last word as “Daisuke,” but nothing else made sense.

As if anticipating this, she produced a handwritten note and spoke while referring to it.

“Wa-ta-shi, to, kek-kon, shi-te, kuda-sai, Daisuke.”

Hearing her halting Japanese, my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

What’s she saying? Does she think “marry” means something else in Japanese?

Her reaction must have convinced her that I hadn’t understood her properly.

Emilia tried again in English, which she spoke slightly better than Japanese, though still uncertain.

“Would you marry me, Daisuke?”

Faced with the blue-eyed girl’s earnest gaze and her straightforward English, even I couldn’t claim not to understand the language.

A marriage proposal from a foreign girl.

It didn’t seem like a joke at all.

I couldn’t think of any other reason for her to come to Japan.

Twelve hours earlier. A Russian girl I’d had passionate s3x with on the Siberian Railway was now proposing to me.

I wasn’t sure about the circumstances or why her feelings had changed, but the undeniable truth was that this stunning East Slavic beauty – someone you’d hardly ever see in Japan – was proposing to me.

The only regret was that I didn’t have a device to record her voice.

What made it even more tragic and ironic was that her third proposal was likely in universal English that would be understood anywhere.

“What?”

The English voice that came from behind me belonged to someone else.

Moreover, this wasn’t Emilia’s broken English—it was fluent, native speech.

Despite my perpetual C grades in English, I somehow sensed the anger and suspicion contained within those brief words.

More strikingly, this voice matched one I’d heard at a restaurant on the outskirts of Los Angeles.

I knew she was in Japan. Given the low likelihood she’d return home before my arrival, I could finally muster the courage to speak her name.

Elizabeth Carter.

It was her.

“Daisuke!! Who is this b1tch?!”

Elizabeth—Liz—shouted in slang so universal it might as well have been Russian, then yanked me toward her with forceful strength.

Instantly, I felt the firm, springy weight of her br3asts against my arm. After a month and a half apart, this single touch of Liz’s B00bs was enough to vividly recall our three days together.

The warm sensation of her chest.

Twin tails framed by vibrant blonde hair.

The scent of an unadorned girl—no perfume, no artifice.

“He’s my husband!”

Liz pressed her br3asts against me with blatant possessiveness, claiming her rights.

Though they couldn’t understand each other’s words, the meaning behind her actions was clear to Emilia. An uneasy tension immediately thickened the air between them.

Strangely, both girls were nearly the same age.

While Emilia’s Russian heritage gave her larger br3asts, both were equally beautiful in their own way.

“Daisuke isn’t your husband.”

“A-Amanda?!”

Behind her stood Amanda Tracy, the truck driver, exuding an adult’s composure.

She wore a white tube top that accentuated her exceptionally large br3asts—rare in Japan—and a midriff-baring outfit reminiscent of tropical climates.

Not only was she tall, but Amanda’s striking figure drew obvious attention from passersby.

Did I really have s3x with this stunning Hispanic beauty?

The thought crossed my mind as Amanda radiated such a glossy, mature allure.

Apart from Emilia, it was expected that these two would be in Japan.

Yet facing them directly, I felt more embarrassed than guilty—a peculiar sensation.

You know what I mean, right?

I actually had s3x with these people!

s3x means sticking your erect c0ck into a pvssy dripping with love juices and fucking like beasts.

Me, with beauties and young girls like these.

It’s beyond ridiculous.

“Daisuke. Your friend is waiting impatiently for you.”

Mrs. Amanda, showing adult composure, didn’t participate in the bizarre interplay between Liz and Emilia. The friend she mentioned was Takuma. I needed to properly explain the situation to him too; otherwise, I couldn’t make amends to everyone I’d dragged into this mess.

“Let’s go home.”

At Mrs. Amanda’s suggestion, we decided to head to Takuma’s apartment first. Though “home” clearly referred to Takuma’s residence rather than hers, her casual use of the word alone made it clear how much trouble she’d been causing him.

“Ah, Ms. Amanda?”

“What?”

My left arm was being held firmly by Liz, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

But my right arm was being held just as firmly by Ms. Amanda for some reason.

I could feel br3asts far larger than Liz’s pressing against my right elbow with irresistible force.

Yet Ms. Amanda herself wore a cool expression, asking, “Is there a problem?” and thoroughly confusing me.

With both my arms taken by the two Americans, Emilia had to walk leaning back against her remaining space, blatantly pressing her Russian bust against my back.

(They’re watching us like hawks…)

People on the street were staring at us.

Well, of course they were. A seemingly unremarkable Japanese man was being walked alongside by a white beauty and a beautiful young girl.

They were so close that I could feel their br3asts against both my elbows and my back.

What they were casting wasn’t looks of envy, but strange glances.

Why would such a dull bear-like guy like me…

I thought the same thing. Why would three white beauties be walking so close to me, a dull Japanese guy?

Despite how close we were standing, passersby probably wouldn’t think we’d had s3x.

But reality is stranger than fiction, and although at different times, I had s3x with all of them, and even came inside them.

Only now did I realize how shameful that was, how far beyond my station those acts were. It terrified me.

What exactly had to happen for a guy like me to sleep with white women?

Not just any ordinary white women, but three of the most stunning beauties of their race.

Frankly, I couldn’t find any answer other than money or coercion. How could I, someone who couldn’t even have s3x with Japanese women, manage full-on intercourse with women like them? The more I thought about it, the less I understood what was happening.

Why did they have s3x with me?

Why are they still with me now? I don’t know what’s going on.

(Br3asts are bad…)

Feeling their ample br3asts against my elbows and back, I desperately fought back the urge to get hard.

It wasn’t just their br3asts. Their breaths, warmth, and scent all appealed to my brain and instincts.

Most of all, memories of our raw, unprotected s3x resurfaced vividly, making me feel like I might explode at any moment.

But if I did get hard, s3x would clearly start right here.

I had no basis for this belief, but I was certain it would happen.

So I tried not to think about “that” as much as possible, walking to Takuma’s apartment in a state of near trance.

“Oye japonés.” (Hey, Jap.)

Waiting outside Takuma’s room was Diana—the woman who had imprisoned me in Costa Rica and pointed a shotgun at me.

She looked very similar to Amanda: a black-haired woman with a deep-set face typical of Central and South America.

But her chest was a size larger, and above all, she radiated an aura that screamed “not normal.”

If Amanda was like a slightly shady truck driver, then Diana was like a drug-dealing criminal mastermind.

I didn’t know what she did for a living, but she had the kind of aura that made it seem plausible. She had once stripped me of everything, taking all my money.

Trapped and facing certain doom, I survived the crisis by having s3x with her. Writing it like that makes the whole situation seem utterly incomprehensible. Why would a captor and captive have s3x? How did that outcome let me escape unscathed? It remains an eternal mystery.

Yet it’s true that my encounter with Diana was among the most passionate experiences of this journey. I remember thinking during our coupling that this embodied everything I’d imagined about Latin-style passion, though the thought itself now seems absurdly vague.

“Gané la apuesta. Acepta casarte conmigo.”

(I won the bet. Now marry me.)

Diana shouts from the second-floor apartment’s outdoor staircase.

The words are in Spanish, so I can’t understand them, but…

“Could it be…?”

When she meaningfully rubbed her belly, I understood everything.

In there, between Diana and me, our child exists.

A new life conceived during that act of s3x, one that has successfully implanted itself, is undoubtedly growing within her.

To be honest, even I thought I might collapse.

The reality of the situation I’d feared had come true, and I wondered if I could bear its weight.

Yet I remained standing in that moment.

Part of it was because the three women were pressed so closely together, their bodies supporting each other.

But more than that, when Diana told me she carried our child, her expression contained such clear maternal love and feminine joy that despair seemed entirely out of place.

I’m going to be a father.

Facing this truth, I didn’t know how to describe these feelings.

But at least I could say this: Seeing Diana’s face, so delicate and maiden-like, was undoubtedly a first for me.

It was a tender affection like something a noble lady might feel, completely unrelated to guns or drugs.

Something must have flashed across Diana’s chest that could save everything about her.

I’m not so insensitive that I can’t tell what caused it.

“Ella se me adelantó.” (She got ahead of me.)

What I heard in my ear was undoubtedly Spanish.

It came from Amanda. As expected, she’s Hispanic and fluent in Spanish. That means she understood every word of our conversation.

Amanda must have realized for certain that Diana is pregnant with my child.

“I’m next.”

Amanda chuckled mischievously right beside me. Her words were quite chilling, but at least I could infer that she isn’t pregnant right now.

Liz and Emilia are probably clean too.

Among them, only Diana is carrying my child.

That much is undoubtedly true.

“Hi, Daisuke.”

Next, a face emerged from the apartment building – it was the prostitute I’d met in Los Angeles’ trash heap.

She had long blonde hair, a tall stature, and ample curves. Among the group of beautiful women, her striking appearance stood out like a head above the rest.

At the time, having little experience with white women, I simply thought all Caucasian women were pretty. But now, standing alongside these exceptional beauties, her unique allure became even more apparent.

She looked like a woman straight out of a movie screen or television.

While Amanda, Liz, and Emilia would have fit perfectly in a silver-screen drama, this woman seemed most at home in such a setting.

A woman born to be admired.

Gazing at her face and figure, one couldn’t help but think she’d been created for the public eye.

Now, thinking back, it feels utterly incongruous that such a vision could have been found in Los Angeles’ trash heap as a prostitute.

She carried an aura that ordinary people couldn’t possibly possess.

The physical relationship between the second-floor apartment’s exterior staircase and the ground below meant nothing. The overwhelming disparity in our positions made me question whether I’d truly had s3x with this person.

Moreover, she was the first person I’d ever slept with.

Though I’d had oral earlier with Sara, she was still my first sexual partner.

It might be strange to care about who someone’s first partner is when they’re not a girl, but at least for me, she was special. She’d taken my p3nis – which had no place to be – and held it tenderly in her mouth.

“L-Long time no see…”

I never thought I’d reunite with her.

After all, I hadn’t even told her my name, let alone my address.

But if she’s here, that means she somehow found me. The method was probably…

“Is this yours?”

“That my wallet!”

She pulled out a familiar black leather wallet from her pocket.

After I lost that wallet, my journey became much more difficult. I was already penniless at the beginning of my journey.

My address was written in the wallet. It wasn’t surprising that she’d tracked me down to this place.

But the real question was why she’d gone to the trouble of coming to Japan. If she wanted payment for s3x, she could have just taken money from the wallet. If she wanted to return it, she could have sent it through international mail instead of coming herself.

So… did she get pregnant like Diana?

Like the woman beside me, would I have to take responsibility for this?

(Karma… retribution?)

The weight of my own actions threatened to crush me.

While I was thinking about this, she descended the outdoor stairs.

In a sense, it was a death sentence for me. If it had been just Diana, I might have been able to take responsibility in some form, but with two people involved, various problems arose.

This was precisely the kind of situation where I might end up being shot dead by Diana on the spot, yet I had no right to refuse.

“It’s been a long time, Daisuke.”

Having reached the ground, she simply echoed my greeting. Being addressed by name was, of course, a first. Looking at her now, she was truly beautiful, so much so that I felt overwhelmed by the smallness of her face and her excellent figure.

“My name is Katherine McBride. I suppose you don’t know anything about me… except my body.”

Katherine McBride.

I was certain this was the name of the person Takuma had mentioned as some Hollywood actress or whatever, but that couldn’t possibly be true. After all, this woman worked as a prostitute at a dump in Los Angeles.

“Get out of my sight, b1tch!”

Liz lunged at Katherine. “B1tch” might not be the most polite term, but considering Katherine’s profession, it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Trapped between the two women, I had no idea what to do. The only thing that felt real was the sensation of Liz’s br3asts pressing against my back.

“Stay away from Daisuke. You’re still a child.”

Katherine smiled as she spoke, but her words carried an unsettling edge. Both Katherine and Liz were clearly strong-willed women; even I could tell it would be impossible to get them to get along.

“Daisuke…”

“Huh?”

Caught off guard, I found Katherine’s face suddenly inches from mine. Though Liz and Amanda held me firmly by the arms, Katherine’s forward lean made it easy for her to close the distance.

But then…

“Mmm—”

In the next instant, I never dreamed my lips would be stolen away.

Her soft lips pressed against mine. Unsatisfied with that alone, her tongue suddenly invaded my mouth, entangling with mine in a passionate dance.

“Mmm, mmm—”

The unexpected kiss and saliva exchange left both Amanda and Liz wide-eyed.

Naturally, I was the most stunned. The sensation of her moist, velvety lips left me nearly in a trance.

“I missed you, Daisuke… I want to make love to you tonight.”

To receive such a night-time invitation from an adult woman. If this were about buying me, I might have been uncertain, but her expression and the movement of her tongue were far removed from any business-like transaction.

“Get away, b1tch!”

“Oh!”

Liz pushed Katherine away. The two women were in such a heated confrontation that they might have started killing each other at any moment.

I had no idea what was happening.

I was surrounded by four white women. Behind me stood Emilia, and above, Diana watched me. None of them wore calm expressions.

The only common thread was that all these women had slept with me. But how that led to this situation was completely beyond me.

“Daisuke! What the hell have you been doing all this time?!”

Then Takuma crawled through the apartment entrance. He was both the landlord of this room and my childhood friend.

Normally, Takuma kept himself well-groomed, but now he looked disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes.

That’s exactly the state that would make Takuma’s female fans scream if they saw him.

What on earth happened to Takuma? Before I could even think that, the situation spiraled into further chaos.

“It’s great to see you! Daisuke!!”

Suddenly, a white girl burst out from the apartment’s first-floor room.

A well-developed Alice from Wonderland.

That’s the perfect description for the middle school-aged white girl.

Her sky-blue eyes sparkled as she ran over, her long blonde hair swaying. Without stopping, she threw herself at me.

“I’ve missed you so much, Daddy!!”

“S-Silvia?!”

There’s only one girl who calls me Daddy. Silvia Stanton, the girl I met in London, England.

But why is Silvia in Japan too? And what’s with her coming out of the apartment’s first-floor room? I can understand the girls visiting me staying at Takuma’s place, but Takuma’s room should only be the one upstairs.

“Hello, Daisuke.”

A moment later, Stacy—the mother of Silvia—emerged from the same room.

She was a cool-looking, beautiful flight attendant with semi-long blonde hair.

During my three-day stay at their London home, I had s3x with both Stacy, the single mother, and her daughter Silvia for three nights straight.

The so-called “oyakodon.” I’d experienced this before at Stanley Farm with Alicia and Carol, but the thrill of defiling both a gorgeous mother and her daughter simultaneously was an excitement I could never forget.

But why are the two of them here?

Why did they come out of the apartment’s lower unit?

The situation is so bizarre that I can’t keep up with it at all.

“For now… You two should talk it out yourselves… I’m at my physical limit…”

“T-Takuma—”

Takuma, who had crawled down to the first floor, collapsed at my feet. He’d barely slept for three days straight. That’s the level of his exhaustion.

I want to prioritize taking care of my best friend, but there are mountains of questions I need answers to. For now, I’ll just move Takuma to the bedroom bed, then hear “their” story afterward.

Emilia.

Liz.

Amanda.

Diana.

Katherine.

Silvia.

Stacy.

Surrounded by seven white beauties, I can’t imagine this conversation going smoothly at all.