Big Boy Undies: The Fundoshi

 

 Kenji knew a family trip to Japan was not a bad thing. His mom would constantly say,” Don’t be afraid of the culture,” and “Won’t it be nice to see your grandparents?” His older brother Toma would just give him shit. Just because he had more experiences going to Japan.

Kyoto was lovely this time of year. Kenji had suffered through his grandparents fawning and critiquing his Japanese the previous three years, a troubling mix of love and annoyance, another wasn't a big deal. What was a big deal was the fact his grandparents owned a large Ryokan in the countryside of the prefecture. That meant tatami rooms, futon beds, Japanese-style baths, and of course the hot spring. Or as his mother would always correct the onsen. Which was fair, they were talking about the traditional Japanese experience.

Kenji had no idea how the business worked but his biggest fear was always the lobby of that inn. The fact it was basically a museum exhibit didn’t bother him, armor, old tea ceremony utensils, woodblock prints, calligraphy tools. All that was fine. His problem was the male mannequins, in their own display case, rocking a kimono and fundoshi as a matching set. Kenji knew it was for the tourists, encouraging them to take part in Japanese culture, but it was bad for him. Worse than the underwear aisle back home. Kenji couldn’t look away; the mannequins’ bodies were more defined than they needed to be. And with the female mannequins being across the room Kenji had no good excuse. He HAD to look.

And look, he did. The moment they got past the genkan, shoes off, his eyes were on the men frozen in time. Kenji hoped he looked disinterested enough. The rule of cool: never let them see you sweat. His grandparents greeted him and all was going well. Kenji’s mom could yap for hours, and so could her parents. Instead of going to their rooms her sons had to sit and wait, or they'd be the rude ones. A good excuse for Kenji to just lean against a pillar and stare at the display window and pretend like he had to because there was nothing else to do.

“You want a fucking diaper?” Toma said, cutting in front of Kenji, breaking his gaze. His older brother was lifting up his phone. He held up a finger before Kenji could respond, “Don’t answer. I don’t care. Just need a signal." Then Toma fucked off. Kenji considered himself lucky his older brother hadn't deduced the ‘why’ behind Kenji’s staring. Sure, there was full nudity in the onsen but for some reason that never worried Kenji. His issue was entirely what laid behind the mannequin in the fundoshi’s crotch. Plastic obviously. But sticking to the fantasy it was more about the mystery. To him sometimes that was better than actually knowing all the intimate details. Countless men had worn them before World War II and with the ass out it was just the right amount of speculation.

“これ以上じっと見つめていたら、買ってもらうことになりますよ”

Kenji turned to see that his grandfather was now on his case. And he had been so lost in looking he hadn’t translated a word. “Oh yep.” He nodded, trying to play it off.

When Toma and Kenji got to their room, Toma immediately went outside, “Can’t believe mom yapped an hour away now it’s almost dinner and I still can’t reach the guys back home.”

Translation: Don’t talk to me dweeb. Ryokans were typically about togetherness, but Kenji's mom had her limits and staying with two teenage boys was hers, as the owner’s daughter she was probably the only guest able to get a single room.

Kenji didn't have much time to relax, by the time he sorted his luggage, got on his yukata and tied his obi it was time for dinner. They met up with their mom and though the conversation and food were nice, Kenji’s mind was preoccupied with the lobby. Toma disappeared to take a call while their mom went to the spring. Kenji decided to take one last peek in the lobby. He strolled casually, nothing for anyone to think twice about. He glanced at the display casing.

The mannequins were gone. He looked around as if someone would come running to fix it. He returned to his room like a dog with its tail between its legs. Upon sliding the door open he found the futon laid out.

The fundoshi was placed on top sacredly with a note. He bent over unfolding it. No words, just instructions for putting the fundoshi on. Kenji waited for some to stop him, when that didn’t, he snatched the cloth up. It took a while, but he was determined. Who gave a shit if his brother came back? Kenji got it on like all the men before him. A tiring wave washed over him as he crawled into the futon and passed out.

In his dream, Kenji saw men working, playing, and marching in festivals all under a hot sun. They all wanted him to join. They were waiting. He jumped at the chance, as naked as the rest of him. He beat drums, muscles inflating. Danced among them, limbs lengthening. And played with them, all giggles, with the irony of maturity leaving its stamp on him.

The next morning Kenji woke up, his crotch felt tight. The warm sun was on his face. He raised his head, realizing he was outside his room on the part that led to the nihon-teien. Sitting up, a soft garment fell down around him. The kimono from the lobby had haphazardly been placed upon him. He stood up, the kimono draping, muscles too exhausted for him to be freaking out about why he kept rising. His body staggered back and the weight almost sent him to the floor, luckily, he was able to catch himself. His thunderous footsteps, however, must have woken up many of the guests. He flexed his neck, as the door to his room flew open. Toma looked haggard from sleep, shifting into shock.

“Kenji, how’d you—”

Kenji smirked, “Now who wants a ‘diaper’?”