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The Bishop Has a Headache

Gay romance is tempered by a realistic understanding of male psychology.

Like any good stay-at home-spouse, Master Right fares me well every morning with a kiss at the front door.  "Do your best." he says, in a literal translation of the Japanese gambatte.
Wurst, Semmel and Senf
"What have you got  planned for today?" I once asked him.

"Nothing much. As usual."

A smile crossed my lips. "OK, dear. Be sure to think about me when you masturbate."

"I will." he said. "Mostly."

My heart filled with sentimental goo. How sweet! Mostly!  He always knows the right thing to say.

Let us segue, deftly, into a related subject.  That Queer Expatriate reminds us that May is International Masturbation Month.  At the annual Masturbateathon in San Francisco, a Japanese national, Mr. Masanobu Sato, beat his own record with almost ten hours of tuggery. 

One would need to check his kanji to be sure, but Masanobu literally means "a proper hermit".  Because Japanese has so many homonyms, it can also mean "polished knob".  No, really.  Check out the Denshi Jisho for masa and nobu.

Mr. Sato wanks for a crust, as it were.  He's the leading stunt-dick for Tenga K.K., a manufacturer of masturbation aids—big business in Japan

(Sato-san to boss: "I have some good news, and some bad news, Bucho-san.  The bad news is that I didn't win.  The good news is that I came first.")

With a tendency toward shyness, an ample supply of erotica, and many helpful devices to hand, one could conclude that Japanese men prefer a quiet buff to the genuine article. 

So from time to time, on taking leave in the the morning, I will ask my husband to say hello to Mrs. Palmer for me.  He smiles politely. But he hasn't yet figured out exactly what I mean.

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