Dr. Katsumi Muramoto’s Orders (Part I)


Okay, I just spent the last hour doing research of Japanese men’s underwear websites. Why?

I can’t even remember now, but it was something to do with nylon versus cotton…

I’m lying. I just like staring at hot Asian men in sheer underwear. And I’m convinced… All men should wear see-though undies. Take note: Sheer is GOOD.

And I have a story.

This one starts with a bit more history about me.

At one point I lived with 5 expat guys in Seattle; from Japan, China, Norway, Brazil and Russia, for a few years.

Shortly after I left Knoxville, Tennessee I moved into a huge Queen Anne-style house with a very Seattleite group of angsty white kids. And I decided that was about to change so I took over the lease and over several months replaced them with expats, then painted and refurnished the place.

I had placed an ad on craigslist for “Foreign-Only Roommates.” The Craigslist administrators sent me a few warnings regarding my “discrimination violation,” which I ignored, so they deleted my posts and I thought it would funny to reply, “You honkies are all the same” so they blocked me from using their services. Therefore, I went to the International department at UW and posted fliers. No more American native roommates for me. Suck it, Craigslist.

I interviewed many to find just the right roomies. They were intelligent, highly educated, professional men with fun, light-hearted personalities. A Geographer, a Doctor of Psychology, an Oceanographer, an Astro Physicist and an Environmental Forest Engineer. And all were handsome, but I didn’t choose handsome men on purpose. No, seriously, I didn’t. I tried to move in several women but they were hesitant to live with men.

Friends would jokingly call us the “rainbow family” and a few of my girlfriends would refer to them as my harem and I’d respond, “Hey… Don’t talk shit about my buddies. You’re jealous because I scored the jackpot of all roomies.” Which was true and everyone agreed. Anyone would.

My Japanese roommate, Toshi, was the Psychologist, and we became close friends. After a few months he began calling me imouto (little sister) or Cia-chan and I called him onii-san (big brother) or Toshi-san. We hung out a lot.

In fact, we became such great friends that just before he returned to Japan I teared up and begged him to stay, “Toshi-san, please stay! I’ll marry you so you can get a green card!” And he laughed and gave me a big hug. “I’m sorry, imouto… I have to go back. You come visit me!” And we’re still great friends and email one another regularly. I visited him last September. (Thanks for the two gorgeous kimonos and other gifts from all over Japan, Toshi! I miss you.)

Anyhow, just before leaving he did me a great favor and asked a friend, and fellow Psychologist, to give me a consult.

Toshi had witnessed a few of my anxiety attacks and often questioned me about them but couldn’t treat me due to our relationship causing a conflict of interest.

So, a week before he left he says, “Cia-chan, please go see my friend, Katsumi Muramoto. I worry about you. I told him about your anxiety. He wants to help you.”

A few weeks later I went to find the office of Dr. Katsumi Muramoto near the Seattle Uni campus. He was studying some complex, if not secretive, approaches of Western psychology practices.

We sent a few emails back and forth and settled on a date and time for an afternoon. And I realized that Toshi hadn’t really described him much in regard to his appearance or anything personal about him at all. This, I’m sure, was probably to keep a professional, clean slate. Although, it shouldn’t be too difficult to spot the one Asian guy in the building.

The secretary took me back to his office, which was painted the most brilliant hue of cobalt blue.

And I noticed the books on his shelves;  Foundations of Tʻien-Tʻai Philosophy by Paul L. Swanson, The Buddhist Priest Myōe: A Life of Dreams by Hayao Kawai, Neurosis in the Light of Rational Psychology by Anna Alberdina Antoinetta Terruwe, and other brilliant reads.

I began to relax and trust that he held some kind of wisdom that could benefit and inspire me, in some way.

He knocked first and softly called my name, which made me smile and consider the value he placed on my privacy. Already a good sign that he was unassuming as well as respectful.

And as soon as he opened the door… Well, I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until he sat down and I suddenly took a deep, full breath.

He said, with such a velvety smooth, calming voice, “Are you nervous? You really have no reason to be.”

And I thought, Yes, I do. I was not expecting for you to look like this or sound like you do. Soooo handsome in that fitted, slate grey suit, with those sultry, dark eyes. Jesus… How will I tell my dark, dirty and embarrassing secrets to someone I’m instantly attracted to.

For the initial visit I nervously went through the preliminaries, the introductions, describing myself and my lifestyle as well as I could within an hour. And yet I held back, staring at the floor as I spoke.

I forgot to mention that I had been going through a long, drawn out breakup with a boyfriend of several years and had been celibate for nearly a year.

The second visit was far more helpful. I truly needed his help so I decided to risk telling him everything I knew and thought of myself and of my experiences.

He didnt just listen, he actively helped me problem solve issues by utilizing *Naikan and guided meditation.

By the third session he invited me to his home office to access where we were in therapy and possibly introduce two other types of treatment.

I was more than happy to accept that idea as his home was much closer to mine than to his office across town.

I was looking forward to it, and although I tried hard not to give in to the urge… I applied my eyeliner and smudged khol grey eyeshadow, the soft red lipstain and slid into a slinky, white little summer dress, before heading to his house.

I kept hesitating… What was I trying to do… seduce my therapist? Toshi’s friend? 

Well, my soon-to-be ex boyfriend hadn’t touched me in nearly a year. This was tormenting as I had a very powerful, if not overactive, sex drive. By this point I felt like a cat in heat, almost to a state of constant, furiously painful arousal.
So, it wasn’t that hard to fathom.

But, I couldn’t turn it off. Everything reminded me of sex, especially Katsumi. I wanted to smell him, taste him, suck him, be fucked by him…

I made it to his house and went around to the side, as directed, to his home office.

The room was much nicer than his other office; painted emerald green and covered in several prints of brilliant-colored, carnal paintings by Kitagawa Utamaro and eclectic wooden artifacts. It was indeed far more sensual.

This time he seemed far more cordial and somewhat inviting. The amber lighting was slightly dimmed, the air was fragrant with spiced teas, and he was wearing loose-fitted, filmy black slacks with a fitted, white teeshirt.

I instantly thought, Oh god… it just keeps becoming more and more arduous. Should I say something? And what would that be? ‘Ummm… sorry but could you change clothes? Because I keep wanting to fuck you. My eyes cannot stay away from your cock.’ 

And I guess my thoughts were stuck there because I ended up mentioning just how celibate I had become. And from there it went to how much of a masochist and possibly a sex addict I was and whether or not these behaviors were healthy.

He squeezed his chin while staring off into a distant corner, scrunching his brow for quite a while, “Can you expound on that? Especially when you mention masochism. Go a bit further, please… What does does that entail? Role Play? Actual, physical harm?”

I was massaging my forehead anxiously, thinking, Oh Jesus… what’s this gonna sound like? but I continued, “Well, no. I’m talking about real-play, that often leads to bruises or more. Sorry… this is kind of embarrassing.”

He seemed incredibly attentive, leaning further towards me. “No, please feel comfortable to share anything. This is a safe place for you. This remains here, between us. Please continue.”

“Ahhh… Ok. So, I masturbate every day, often several times a day. But when I don’t get my release from actual male penetration I become more and more masochistic, wanting pain with the sex. My current relationship is dissolving. He moved out and I can’t think of anything but sex. It’s driving me mad. And this soon-to be-ex was… very aggressive. Sometimes even mean and abusive. But I believe I was preconditioned to allow this cruelty.”

He gives me a deeply empathetic look and leans over onto his forearms. “There are definitely reasons for it, both physical and psychological. It’s true, much of it is behavioral conditioning. And, what else?”

I became frozen so I decided to be perfectly honest. “Well, I don’t know what you’ll make of this and I can’t believe I’m saying it… but I’m very attracted to you. So much so that I wonder if it’s wise to continue.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause and my face grew red as my eyes diverted away and up, up to the many wooden phalluses on the highest shelf. Hmmm… Well, if that isn’t irony. I thought.

And it was as though he was waiting for me to speak, so I looked back towards him  as he continued to lean towards me, his eyes suddenly very direct, if not piercing.

“I think we can possibly work with that.” He’s nodding in agreement with himself. “Yes, I think so. We can use that to work through some of these issues.” and it was so very subtle but his eyes did flicker to my breasts, then my hips and down and back to my eyes, in an instant.

Did I just get my wish or did things take a bizarre turn.

—Continues to Part II

* Naikan (Japanese: 内観, lit. “inside looking” or “introspection”) – a methodical approach of self-reflection developed by Yoshimoto Ishin (1916–1988) a businessman and devout Jodo Shinshu Buddhist.

Naikan practice is based on three questions:

  • What have I received from (person x/people/beings/life)?
  • What have I given to (person x/people/beings/life)?
  • What troubles and difficulties have I caused to (person x/people/beings/life)?

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