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Aug. 30th, 2023 11:11 amTokyo is a big city (understatement). There's a lot to be found in it, if you know where to look. There's the fancy stuff -- high-end fashion stores, overpriced souvenirs for tourists, landmarks, famous restaurants. There's the normal stuff -- izakayas, ramen places, grocery stores, clothes shops. There's the otaku stuff, just in case anyone was interested in that sort of thing.
And then there's the underbelly of Tokyo. Love hotels with garish neon signs. Flyers stuck underneath hotel room doors advertising airbrushed women in lingerie. The other kind of gentleman's clubs.
But even that's still got a legitimacy of its own. They're consenting women (sometimes men) doing their own thing, right? Whose business is it of yours to tell them they can't?
Our story is not one of those stories. It is a story that begins in a cramped alleyway far from the Sky Tree, far from Shibuya Station, far from Akihabara, a row of edifices that advertise nightclubs, bars, a love hotel at the end of the road.
It's a story that has a young girl -- far too young to be out this late on a school night, and far too young to be wearing a skirt that short and a top that small, showing off nearly all of her midriff -- lingering in the shadows at a stairwell, watching as a bar empties out after last call and trying to pick her target.
"Hey, uncle," she calls out to one of the men, who seems to be by himself, trying to get his attention.
And when she has it, she grabs the bottom of her pink-and-black top (barely more than a bra) and lifts, showing off barely-there tits for just a second before she tugs the garment back down again.
And then there's the underbelly of Tokyo. Love hotels with garish neon signs. Flyers stuck underneath hotel room doors advertising airbrushed women in lingerie. The other kind of gentleman's clubs.
But even that's still got a legitimacy of its own. They're consenting women (sometimes men) doing their own thing, right? Whose business is it of yours to tell them they can't?
Our story is not one of those stories. It is a story that begins in a cramped alleyway far from the Sky Tree, far from Shibuya Station, far from Akihabara, a row of edifices that advertise nightclubs, bars, a love hotel at the end of the road.
It's a story that has a young girl -- far too young to be out this late on a school night, and far too young to be wearing a skirt that short and a top that small, showing off nearly all of her midriff -- lingering in the shadows at a stairwell, watching as a bar empties out after last call and trying to pick her target.
"Hey, uncle," she calls out to one of the men, who seems to be by himself, trying to get his attention.
And when she has it, she grabs the bottom of her pink-and-black top (barely more than a bra) and lifts, showing off barely-there tits for just a second before she tugs the garment back down again.
