It was almost winter when I came to Japan last year. I was born Asian, but not Japanese. My mom lived in the country and every year since I was 17, I visit her. I was in my somethings at my fifth visit and I told her that I wanted to have a part-time job. My mom seems happy so I complied. The next thing I knew, I there for the first time, wearing a thin cloth of fabric β a small dress that makes my cleavage peak and my legs seen.
My heart throbs as I see myself at the mirror, whereas everyone in the dressing area was going through and fro, some naked, just not to be late for the hour. It was very new to me because back in my country, I am a young-professional.
I an executive secretary of a business owner, I am a church leader and a youth minister. I never been drunk all my life never smoked and never do drugs.
I am that good girl everyone loves. I felt like someone else. As nine in the evening approaches, people in the dressing room get busier and busier. I sat at one of the couches, near someone who wears a red backless gown. I asked her what our job exactly is and she laughed at me. She was the head of the girls and as the night came, she introduced me to customers, one at a time.
Since I know very little of nihonggo Japan language , some use some signs at me, the finger, and other tried to talk to me in English. Most would just hold my hand or touch my legs but none has gotten far. But as the night deepens, a guy kissed me. Not once but a couple of times. So, I stayed. I wore some backless dresses in the middle of winter. The heater was on but not enough to fill our naked skin.
