Translation
Body-Odor Diary
I cut the cord around the securely wrapped parcel and opened it. A sharp, sweet-and-sour smell immediately spilled out. Inside was a pair of panties that still looked fairly new. There was also a letter in a large envelope, written on pale-blue stationery:
“I am sending the thing I promised. Until we can meet again, please think of this as me. I am embarrassed, but I am sending it without washing it. Takako.”
Takako
It has already been three months since we last met. Ever since I withdrew to the countryside, that Takako has become rather cold toward me. There is no doubt about it. She offers some excuse and expects me to be satisfied. She was always a slightly impertinent girl, but lately, since joining some ballet company called OS, she has become especially aloof. I do not know whether she is a prima ballerina or what, but while she prances around onstage, she has apparently developed an excessively high opinion of herself.
When I spread out the panties, the powerful, unmistakably feminine odor struck my nose.
“Please think of this as me.”
Don’t make a fool of me. She expects to let me smell her castoffs as though tossing scraps to a dog. That is not how business is done. A simple masochist might say, “Thank you very much,” and shed tears of grateful ecstasy, but I am not that sort of man. She used to be my woman, and perhaps she is still supposed to be my woman. Takako could be called a modern beauty, but now she may have found another man besides me.
Yet when I breathed in that strong, sour odor, I was overcome by nostalgia. This would not do. Without thinking, I pressed the panties to my nose and imagined Takako.
She was probably completely unconcerned, sitting somewhere eating soft-serve ice cream. Perhaps she was out enjoying herself with another man. Meanwhile, I was here fondly remembering the past through a pair of soiled panties. What a ridiculous spectacle. Was I merely wrestling with myself?
That woman had to be given a severe lesson. I had to make that Takako my slave. Such was my sickness.
I had to meet her. I had to torment her. Unless I treated her properly and with greater force, my illness would never be cured.
Did she imagine that I would wear them myself? She had not written a single word asking about my own smell. I would tear the panties into narrow strips and burn them. It would be humiliating if the housekeeper discovered that panties had arrived for me. Besides, one thorough smell was enough. I could not keep sniffing them over and over.
I was not delighted in the least. What pleased me was the thought that this woman was still mine to discipline in my own way.
“Forgive me!”
Takako now lay before me, unmistakably my woman. I twisted her wrists sharply upward, wound a handkerchief twice around her plump flesh, and bound them together. Then I wrapped her headfirst and upside down inside a soft cocoon of blankets.
“Now then, let me hear you cry out.”
Her tightly joined legs looked touchingly vulnerable, but that was merely the outward appearance. I would determine whether she had taken another man. I removed a slab of konnyaku from a boiling pot, cooled it briefly with chopsticks, and placed it on Takako’s buttocks.
“Mmmph!”
Takako arched and struggled. My mother had taught me that nothing exposed a woman’s infidelity like hot konnyaku.
Steam rose into the pleasant air of the May morning. Perhaps it would not be effective unless I made it a little hotter.
A fresh piece of konnyaku steamed in my hand before I placed it on Takako’s buttocks.
“Hot! Hot! Hot!”
Moaning, Takako rocked her hips from side to side. The konnyaku fell onto the tatami.
“You insolent woman. You have been unfaithful.”
Takako desperately pushed her face out of the blanket and groaned:
“No, no, that isn’t true. I have been faithful. I think about you so much…”
“Be quiet. I did not come to listen to your whining. You sent me your underwear, so why did you not send yourself?”
I applied a coating of oil to her reddened skin. Then I brought her ankles together and tied them. Now I would give her the real punishment.
The End.