Ghosts Of The Matsuri (or, The Three Friends)

It was not so many moons ago, on the night before Matsuri, that three young men were gathered to practice tying their fundoshi. Although there would be helpers tomorrow who very ably (and tightly) bound festival participants in crisp white cloth, these three men had already taken to the wearing of fundoshi. They wanted to arrive already attired, having each assisted one of the others in dressing:

The fairer-skinned friend learned the exact tightenings and twists prefered by the darkest friend. This friend in turn learned to wrap their tawny friend, who assisted the first, fairer friend in knotting his fundoshi.

These three friends had observed older men wearing fundoshi at an onsen, and had inquired with the gentlemen on how to tighten the cloth. Each friend learned from a different teacher. One friend learned from a stocky teacher. One learned from a slim gentleman. The third friend learned from a muscular sculpture of a man.

Each of the three friends had adopted idiosyncracies and customization of their teacher. One friend liked his fundoshi elegantly finished and braided. Another friend prefered his fundoshi efficiently cinched with little regard to loose ends. The last friend enjoyed his fundoshi tight, as though ready for battle.

It was as they joined one another that night before the festival, in the first friend's apartment, that the news broke. A terrible tsunami had struck the village where their fundoshi instructors lived. Many people fleeing the shoreline were swept away when a bridge came unmoored from its ancient wooden pilings. Among the lost were their three tutors, witnesses said. The men mourned, saying prayers for those lost in the tsunami. It was a somber meeting as they loosened their robes and stepped into the center of the apartment.

Beach Fire

There’s nothing quite like a lakeside party on a sun-drenched day to make you feel alive.  After splashing around, waterskiing, drinking cold cans of beer, and generally frolicking in the sun with friends and coworkers I felt nicely browned by the rays and refreshed by the waves.  We had a great time.  There were striped bikinis and girls with lake water softened hair.  There were beach studs with cargo shorts and tanned pecs, and classic rock, oldies, hip hop and indie rock pouring out of cheap portable radios.  We started early and played hard.  People began to trickle away by twos and threes as the shadows got longer, so that by sundown only myself and Adrian were left.  Our dirty feet faced the small fire I had made on the beach, and our arms were draped casually on the cooler – which still harbored an unacceptable quantity of beer cans floating about in icy melt water.  We were doing our best to address that situation.  Adrian was one of the newer guys on my project at work, maybe a couple years younger than me.  We had hung out once or twice, worked out at the gym a couple times and caught a beer after work now and then.  Nice guy, easy smile.  Good ideas.  Sharp sense of humor.

So it was that we were talking and laughing in the orange crackle of the flames as the big red ball of the sun inched toward the inky horizon, sipping beers and shooting the shit about nothing much in particular.  In our trunks and wind-dried t-shirts.  Adrian fished around in the pocket of his blue jeans, which were discarded over a dry driftwood branch near the fire.  “You get high?” he asked, producing a joint.  Every once in a while, I assured him, and soon enough we were wreathed in aromatic smoke and feeling gently euphoric in the last drowning beams of light, as dusk settled in.

It felt good to be hanging out with Adrian.  I always liked the guy, he seemed down to earth and sensible but he also had a lot of compassion for the people around him.  He treated everybody in our building great, from the janitors to the managers.  It was the mark of a future leader, I thought.  I admired that strength in him.  He was also just a naturally good looking guy, in great shape.  I’m generally what one calls a lady’s man, but I do occasionally feel a pull towards specimens of my own gender, and if I’m being honest with myself I found Adrian to be attractive, both physically and in his personality.  That night by the lake I couldn’t help but note that his trunks were kind of tight-fitting, too, outlining his smoothly muscled thighs and roundly cupping what was no doubt a nice package.