Sex is the Best Way to Learn About Other Cultures. - Chapter 2

When it comes to travelling from the UK to France, it seems that the only way is by plane or ferry, since there is an ocean between the two. I thought so at first, too, but in fact there is an undersea tunnel called the Eurotunnel, and it is possible to travel by train.

After being looked after by the Stanton family in many ways, I left a station in London called St. Pancras and boarded a train to Paris Nord Station in France. The train operated by the railway company called Eurostar is a proper international train with a restaurant and a simple bar on board. Crossing borders by train instead of plane is probably a very common thing for Europeans, but for me, who comes from an island country, it is quite a fresh feeling. The world is more open than we Japanese think.

“Europe, huh…”

After completing the French immigration inspection and enduring several hours of travel, I stepped off at Nord Paris station. Only then did it truly sink in that I’d arrived in Europe. As expected of a station serving international trains, the station building of Paris Nord Station was huge. reminiscent of Japan’s international airports.

The atmosphere here is not particularly different from London. After all, London is also in Europe, so my feelings are out of place to begin with, but I do feel like I’ve set foot on the European continent, which is connected to the Eurasian continent.

Traveling west across this continent would lead to the edge of Eurasia, with Japan just beyond. It was a global perspective, but I stood closer to home than in America or Central America.

“Something about this place feels… fashionable,”

Whether it’s a Japanese preconception or not, Paris is indeed a sophisticated city. Like London and New York, it’s a place where white people roam, but the unique style of their clothing and makeup makes the “City of Flowers” moniker naturally come to mind.

The architecture that unmistakably evokes Europe, the mysterious sculptures in the squares, and the overall atmosphere that seeps nobility—all of it makes me feel terribly out of place. I’ve been wearing the same jeans since leaving Japan, after all. I can sense the Parisians on the streets eyeing me with suspicion.

Is it simply because I’m Asian?

Or is it my unkempt appearance?

Or perhaps it’s my awkwardness—the same kind that made me the epitome of uncool even in Japan?

Well, I’m sure they all think I’m just some unsophisticated country bumpkin. Before any discrimination or distinctions come into play, I’m simply overwhelming this city with my presence. If it were Liz or Amanda from America, they’d stroll through these streets without a care. But for someone like me, with a heart steeped in rural simplicity, this opulent atmosphere feels like poison to my soul.

“What should I do…?”

When you think of Paris, you imagine the Louvre Museum, Bastille Square, and other tourist landmarks. But in my current state, I hesitate to enter any of them, feeling out of place everywhere. Even if I wanted to buy decent clothes from a street shop, the mere act of entering such a place would be a huge hurdle for me.

Besides, the sun is already beginning to set. More important than sightseeing, I need to find tonight’s lodging as soon as possible.

“C’est complet.”

“Huh?”

But no matter which hotel I approached, the answer was always “Complet” – meaning “full” in French.

I was dressed shabbily, but I had money. At the station exchange booth, I’d converted pounds and dollars into 700 euros, enough to afford a night’s stay in any three-star hotel.

Yet every hotel turned me away with “Complet.” I didn’t want to dwell on it, but was this discrimination against Asians? Or was it my clothes? For the sake of French honor, I should mention that festivals were happening all over the city, which probably contributed to the lack of rooms. We’d even coincidentally clashed with some historical figure’s birthday celebration, and the streets were bustling everywhere.

Still…

“Twenty places later, and I’m still out of luck…”

In a square on the outskirts of a city, I stood utterly defeated. Money wasn’t an issue, but I had nowhere to stay. I’d roughed it in America before, but this was the Flower Capital. Undoubtedly a metropolis, and with crime rates likely no better than back home, camping out here seemed too risky.

A lone Japanese man in unfamiliar territory.

Until now, I’d never really thought about my feelings toward Japan. But moments like this made me suddenly miss home. It’d been ages since I’d eaten miso soup, and the constant beds felt so restless.

It was still September. It wasn’t chilly yet, but loneliness pressed against me. Why had I ever considered this stupid idea of traveling around the world alone?

“I’m hungry…”

Come to think of it, my last meal was that cheese sandwich from the Eurostar’s snack bar. That was nearly six hours ago. My time in Britain feels like ancient history.

I want to go back to Mrs. Stacy and Silvia’s house—such a shameless thought crossed my mind as I sat on the bench, gazing up at the Paris twilight sky.

“Bonsoir.” (Good evening)

When I looked up, I saw the face of an unfamiliar girl.

She was a blonde Caucasian girl with short bobbed hair.

“B-Bonsoir,”

I replied, uncertain if it was a greeting.

The Caucasian girl observed me with keen interest.

Her sky-blue eyes framed a doll-like face. To me, she embodied the epitome of Western European beauty, a Parisienne par excellence.

She looked to be about high school age, around the same age as Carol and Liz.

Though slightly more slender than the other two, this difference was likely due to the striking contrast of Carol and Liz’s prominent chests rather than any significant variation in body type. With her small face, impossibly high waist, and just 10 centimeters shy of the height needed for Paris Fashion Week’s runway, she had the appearance of a model ready to step onto the stage at any moment.

“Are you hungry?”

The girl addressed me in deliberate English, her angelic smile radiating warmth. Did I look that hungry? While it was true I hadn’t eaten in ages, perhaps she’d mistaken me for a homeless person. Given my disheveled appearance, the misunderstanding wasn’t entirely unfounded.

“Ah, little…”

With no reason to deny it, I honestly admitted my hunger. She pulled out something wrapped in aluminum foil from her pocket. Taking what she offered, I asked.

“Can I eat this?”

Seeing the lettuce and ham sandwich inside, I inadvertently asked in Japanese.

“Bon appétit!”

The girl made a gesture of invitation, perhaps sensing my meaning. Feeling that the French phrase likely meant the same, I murmured a silent thanks to this messenger from God who had appeared just in time. Then I bit into the homemade sandwich and began chewing.

“C’est délicieux?”

“It’s delicious!!”

I gave a thumbs-up American-style to express how delicious the sandwich was. It might have been just an ordinary sandwich you’d find anywhere, but received from a beautiful girl at a time when both my heart and stomach were empty, it tasted a hundred times better than the cheese sandwich I’d eaten earlier on the Eurostar.

“Mé, Merci.”

When I tried to thank her in unfamiliar French, the girl looked slightly puzzled. My pronunciation might have been so bad that I didn’t get through. Still, after a half-second pause, she re-formed her angelic smile, warming my heart again.

“Do you have no place to stay tonight?”

The girl asked in slow English, “Don’t you have anywhere to stay tonight?” I had no intention of imposing on her for lodging, even if I’d accepted the sandwich. But her kindness somehow blew away all my reservations and hesitations.

“Y-yes.”

Swallowing my shame, I answered honestly. If I stayed like this, I’d end up sleeping rough in Paris. While I might have managed in some American farming village, this was Paris—arguably the very heart of the world. With a substantial sum of money in my bag, I desperately wanted to avoid roughing it in the square.

“Follow me.”

The girl made a gentle expression. Follow me… I couldn’t imagine this child living alone, so I assumed she’d take me to her family’s home. In that case, I’d have to refuse politely, but the destination she showed me was completely unexpected.

“Here it is.”

The place the girl indicated was a manhole in the square.

“A manhole…?”

I thought it must be some kind of joke, but the girl’s serene smile remained unwavering. Apparently, this really was tonight’s lodging.

“Just a minute.”

The girl retrieved a manhole opener from beneath a nearby bench and deftly pried open the cover. A ladder stretched downward into the darkness beyond.

I hesitated to ask, “Is this your home?” She didn’t look homeless at all, but accidents happen. I wasn’t bold enough to stick my neck into someone’s complicated family affairs.

“Follow me again.”

With her lithe body, the girl nimbly descended the ladder. I couldn’t stay alone aboveground, so I squeezed my body – twice as large as hers – into the underground world.

“Be careful, it’s dark.”

The girl illuminated the path ahead with a flashlight she’d produced from somewhere. The underground passage proved surprisingly spacious, its character distinct from the Japanese image of sewers. When one thinks of European subterranean spaces, visions of catacombs or secret society lairs come to mind. Yet in this bustling city’s depths, such eerie facilities couldn’t exist—only endless corridors reminiscent of video game dungeons stretched before us.

“Want to take a shower?”

Don’t you want to take a shower? I wondered what she would suddenly say in such an underground passage, but where she pointed, there was a pipe with a red valve. Sure enough, she turned the valve and turned on the water. There were countless holes at the top of the pipe, and the water came out in a shower-like shape.

Of course, it wasn’t hot water. What came out was undoubtedly cold water. But after showering at the Stanton family’s place and then enduring a long journey that left my body feeling sticky, I decided to simply accept this act. To be precise, I might have been stealing water, but I figured I could make up for it by finding a donation box somewhere in Paris and making a contribution.

“Wow!!”

The girl suddenly screamed when she saw me stripping off my shirt. During this trip, I’d had so much s3x with white women that I’d completely forgotten one crucial fact: showing your naked body to a woman could easily be considered a crime.

“S-sorry…”

After asking the girl to turn off the flashlight, I slowly stripped down to my underwear. The endless water poured over my whole body, and although it was a little cold, I felt fresh.

I felt utterly bewildered. Never did I imagine I’d end up acting like a homeless person in France, but I had to thank this kind Parisian girl.

“What’s your name? I’m Daisuke.”

It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t yet asked for her name, so I introduced myself in English.

“E, Emily…”

In the depths of the darkness, the girl answered with the name “Emily.” For some reason, her earlier cheerful responses had vanished, leaving only an endless, heavy silence.

“Are you Chinese…?”

“No, Japanese. Are you a Parisian?”

After saying it, I regretted using the word “Parisian,” fearing it might be just another Japanese-English neologism. But Emily seemed to grasp the meaning, murmuring in a weak voice,

“Yes… I’m from Paris…”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

At that question, I accidentally spat out the shower water I’d been holding in my mouth.

The reason was that this English phrase was a pick-up line I’d learned before leaving Japan: “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Why would she suddenly ask something like that?

The idea of some beautiful white girl trying to pick me up was so absurd it might as well have been the end of the world.

“N-no! No!”

I still denied it with all my might, thinking of the faces of the white women I had had s3x with on my travels. Because they only had s3x with me because of work or the culture of free s3x, and they were never in a romantic relationship.

“C’est compris.” (Got it)

In the darkness, the girl muttered something. I didn’t miss the sound of fabric rustling that followed. But my mind couldn’t quite process it, so I pretended not to hear. I knew perfectly well what Emily must be wearing in the shadows right now.

“Daisuke.”

I could hear the sound of a girl walking across the damp ground. But it wasn’t the sound of sneakers she should have been wearing. It was the soft padding of bare feet.

My night vision had improved during this journey, but even in the darkness, I couldn’t clearly see the girl’s figure. However, I could sense that there was significantly more “white” in her appearance than before. At this distance, I could clearly see Emily placing her hand on the wall opposite me, then reaching out with her other hand to grab my exposed crotch.

“Baise moi.”(Fvck me)

Even without understanding the words, I knew it was an invitation.

What else could her actions of handling my p3nis possibly be if not a sexual invitation?

I didn’t know why Emily, who had been an angel until moments ago, had suddenly transformed.

Then it hit me – she was a hooker.

This is how they lure foreign tourists visiting the city into the underground to sell their bodies.

I don’t want to admit it, but with the global recession driving up the number of street dwellers, the reality that underage girls are forced to sell themselves just to survive can’t be denied.

“E-Emily…”

Still, I can’t let such a beautiful girl handle my c0ck and sell her body. I’m not calm enough to say something hypocritical like “I’ll give you money instead.” The healthy male thought is: “I’d pay to fvck this girl.”

“Fvck me, Daisuke.”

Slowly, in a glossy English accent. My erect c0ck is guided to the girl’s entrance, and without hesitation, I sink my c0ck into her most precious place.

“Ah… Ahh!!”

Her moans are so bewitching, you’d never think she’s underage.

The girl’s private parts are much tighter than I expected, clearly denying the fact that she’s a hooker. But whether that’s true or not, the male in me can’t help but be moved by the fact that I’m connected to Emily raw.

“I’m coming, Emily.”

“AHHH!! Daisuke!!”

Emily’s sexy moans echoed through the underground space. Showers still streamed from the pipes, creating a scene straight out of a Japanese adult video.

“AHH! What a fucking JAPANESE!”

Though I couldn’t see her, her soft folds felt unmistakably real. Reaching into the darkness, my palm met br3asts far fuller than she’d led me to believe.

I pistoned my hips against Emily’s slender frame, br3asts quivering with each thrust as I grabbed them from behind.

“AHH! Fucking JAP! Fucking JAAAP!”

Uncharacteristic slang echoes through the underground space. I’ve heard white girls sometimes use dirty words to heighten excitement. Perhaps Emily’s shouting obscenities to intensify her sexual pleasure.

“Aaah ! Cette bite japonaise est trop bonne !”    (Aaah! This Japanese c0ck is too good!)

As I shift to a higher gear with my thrusts, her moans become incomprehensible. Likely in French, Emily must be screaming something intense.

“Foutu japonais ! T’es rien qu’un singe qui devrait dégager d’Europe et pourtant… pourquoi c’est aussi bon ?!”

(Damn Japanese! You’re just a monkey who should get out of Europe, yet… why is it so good?!)

As I thrust into her from behind, Emily was screaming. Every time she yelled a curse-like word, her pvssy squeezed my d1ck tighter.

“Aah! Emily!”

“Aah ! Cette bite est juste incroyable ! J’arrive pas à croire qu’une bite japonaise puisse être aussi bonne !”

(Aah! This c0ck is just incredible! I can’t believe a Japanese c0ck could be so good!)

Feeling our mutual arousal, I started pounding my hips harder while rubbing Emily’s n1pples and br3asts. It was clear that we were nearing the climax of s3x. My testicles were also preparing to inject their genes into this white angel.

“Aaaah !! Je vais jouir ! Je vais jouir de tout mon corps en me faisant défoncer par une bite de japonais !!”

(Aaaah! I’m going to come! I’m going to come all over as this Japanese c0ck fucks me through my entire body!)

As I thrust, the walls of her v4g1na clench tighter. Her reaction told me she’d “come.” To bring this s3x to an end, I doubled my thrusts for a final sprint.

“Emily, I’m gonna cum too!!”

“Aah ! Encore ! Je viens de jouir y’a 3 secondes mais je vais encore jouir d’une bite nippone !”

(Aah! Again! I just came three seconds ago, but I’m going to come again from this Japanese c0ck!)

“Ah! I’m cumming!”

In sync with Emily’s second orgasm, I released semen from my testicles. It was clear she wasn’t using any birth control, and while I couldn’t tell if she was on pills, the amount I’d released would have guaranteed pregnancy if she wasn’t.

I split my semen into several shots and poured it into Emily’s pvssy. Every time I ejaculated, her delicate body convulsed, and my need for approval as a male was more than satisfied.

“Aah…c’était une baise incroyable… J’aurai jamais imaginé que les japonais avaient tant de potentiel…”

(Aah… that was an incredible fvck… I never imagined Japanese men had such potential…)

Emily, out of breath, collapsed onto the underground passage’s floor. Even an observer could tell she’d been brought to intense climax. Her delicate frame suggested she might be reaching her limits, but…

“C’est une blague ou quoi… ?”

(Is this some kind of joke…?)

When I gently pressed my still unsatisfied c0ck against her face, Emily let out a startled gasp from the darkness. She might have been bewildered by my unwavering enthusiasm. But then…

“Bon on ne peut rien y faire, disons que jusqu’à ce que tu sois totalement satisfait, ma chatte t’appartient.”

(Ah, there’s nothing we can do about it. Let’s just say… until you’re completely satisfied, this pvssy belongs to you.)

The girl must have regained some strength, muttering something in French before taking my p3nis into her delicate mouth.

It wasn’t a refined blowjob by any means.

But the reality of that angelic French beauty working my grotesque c0ck with her lips made my member begin to stiffen again.

“Mais est-ce que tous les japonais sont aussi incroyables que toi ?”

(But are all Japanese people as incredible as you?)

“Ah.”

I didn’t answer her French question, having just finished my second ejaculation from Emily’s blowjob.

In the darkness, I couldn’t tell if Emily had drunk all the semen.

But the experience of a girl who’d been bathed in my cum thrusting her buttocks at me again was undoubtedly the pinnacle of male satisfaction.

My journey across Europe began with s3x in a basement.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Day 35-36: London – St. Pancras – Nord Paris

Distance traveled: 467 km (Total in Europe: 485 km)

Means of travel: Walking, Eurostar (International train)

Cash on hand: £458 (+$5,690)

Expenses

[Unappetizing breakfast and chips in London] -£10

[Eurostar ticket (London → Paris)] -£198

[Cheese sandwich and hot coffee from Eurostar’s onboard bar] -£6

Currency exchange: £244 → €292

$500 → €462

[Donation to street fundraising box] -€10

[International call cost in Paris] -€8

Remaining Balance

€736 (+€5,190)

White women Daisuke encountered in Europe

United Kingdom

Jessica Heathrow (24)

Silvia Stanton (12)

Stacy Stanton (30)

France

Emily Claudel (18)

Total: 4

French Translation Supervised by Pard