Slip Inside a Love Hotel with Scarlet Magazine

I just got my copy of the September issue of Scarlet Magazine, “the UK’s hottest women’s magazine,” and damn if it isn’t very spicy indeed. It certainly keeps me turning the pages, not to mention I love the photos of eye-candy guys and the advertisements: lots of lovely ladies in corsets and lingerie straight out of the Edwardian era and a bit for Ess & Emm, the UK’s premiere “bed, breakfast and dungeon.” There are the articles on ten steps to a spiritual orgasm, dating older men, a peek into Europe’s top adult resort and a report on belly-dancing leisure breaks. Oh, and the issue also has a story by yours truly entitled “Love Hotel Hill” about an American woman’s Sunday afternoon romps with a handsome salaryman in Tokyo. Problem is neither of them has their own apartment, so they have to try out all kinds of love hotel rooms from whimsical to kinky.

I absolutely love the accompanying photo by Kendo! There’s something wonderful about seeing another artist’s work that was inspired by a story of mine. And just to wet your appetite, here’s the PG-rated part of the text that goes with the illustration:

“International Love House.” Taka lets me choose the hotels and this one seems especially appropriate. Beyond the entryway curtain, the eerily empty “lobby” is a wall of computer screens advertising each of the forty rooms. I notice the deluxe units—the Louis XIV Room, the Rio Carnivale Room--are already taken. It’s a busy Sunday for sex in Tokyo.

“How about this one?” I point to a photo of a mocked-up underground carriage, the room number still illuminated to indicate a vacancy.

Taka laughs. He finds my taste in campy themes amusing. “There’s no bed, I think.”

“Who needs a bed?”

Taka touches the “rest” button on the corner of the screen. The image shifts to a welcome message directing us to follow the blinking red lights to our room. We hurry down the corridor together.

I push open the door, automatically unlocked for us by computer. Suddenly we actually are in a brightly lit underground carriage. Or a tiny slice of one, with mirrored windows and a static shot of an elevated railway track in the window behind the padded plastic bench. Clever touches add authenticity: an overhead rack for briefcases, posters warning us to ride safely, an emergency alarm. Taka fiddles with the console by the door. The click-clack of a moving train fills the room. A conductor calls out the next station. Ginza. We’re now approaching Ginza.

I giggle.

A strange smile plays over Taka’s lips. So, you want it so much, we have to do it on the train? In Japanese his voice is deeper, assured.

It makes me sopping wet in an instant.

He guides me over to the seat on the “train” and positions my hands in the two rings hanging from the bar overhead. The secret muscles in my belly clench like a fist.

With no further preliminaries, he sits down before me and lifts my skirt. His warm hands peel down my tights and knickers.

The spicy, fresh-bread scent of female arousal fills the room...."

And yes, things get even steamier as the afternoon wears on. So, join me in a glass of sake to celebrate love hotels and lazy Sunday afternoons the world over!