Tag Archive | Sexuality

Quicksand – Jun’ichirō Tanizaki



What is to be a fool? What is to play the fool, bewitched into becoming a mere cat’s paw used to draw amorous carnality from the flames of passion? What is to feel powerless, ridiculed in love when appreciation veils subtle humiliation, to be a clay pigeon in the game of love? What is the sine qua non of love? Wherein, the human universals of shame and humiliation circumvent the existent perplexity of self-justification. Dubious emotions casting shadows creating a vivid portrait of a hypersensitive inner-world sheathed in the depths by humility of love and arrogance of lust. The immoralities of an imagination seducing the moralities of human nature. What is it to sense an illicit love that has yet to take a definite form, looming in the heart of sheer lust?

….And even of if it was wrong to be secretly in love with another man, what was so bad about being in love with a woman, someone of my own sex?”….


Tanizaki brings forth an enticing work of fiction steeped in delirious pathology of eroticism and psychological obscurities in the quest for an obsessive longing. The lesbian affair mutually affecting Mitsuko and more so Sonoko, prevails with the conquest of sexual pleasures; supple bodies become a constructive and destructive force of subliminal mind, insatiable for sensuous stimuli.

The torrid liaison sexually and emotionally manipulates Sonoko and Mitsuko invading along the lives of Watanuki and Kotaro, distressing and disrupting the very inadequacies of individualistic disposition. Tanizaki explores the ambiguities of love and marriage delineating the fervid mystification of the sinister bend ingrained in the core of human nature. The sensual arc centring eroticism tainted by hysteria bypasses the aspects of perversion sketching out human frailty encompassing the aesthetics of Mitsuko’s virtuous beauty. The need to ‘cling onto love’ culminates in mortification with the ‘pretence to love’, bona fide revelations still lingering in a rigid state of denial. Watanuki’s sexual impotency masked within his embolden physical dishonesty stands in contrast to Kotaro’s sexually potent yet impassioned libido curdling tangible neurotic regression of complex relationships changing the entire course of basic psychosomatic make-up of human physicality. Profoundly intertwined in the web of envy, violence, adultery, malice, animosity and other ensuing emotional incitements, the four keyed up protagonists ravenously cling onto the vanity of love; Mitsuko becoming the core link in the catastrophic game of love and eroticism , the two men and Sonoko mere pawns of manipulation. Love, an intoxicating blend of lust and devotion, serene yet unstable when disturbed by surplus stress equates to the quicksand phenomenon, a static human fallibility sinking in the deep well of chaotic pith.

So I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into the quicksand, and although I said to myself I had to escape, by this time, I was helpless. I knew I was being used by Mitsuko and that all the while she was calling me her dear sister she was actually making a fool of me.


Tanizaki’s exploration of women thriving in naturalistic societal milieu, women whose lives are confined to the workings of their inner-self, is subtle yet provocative. Tanizaki perceives the external human equation as an artistic portrait wherein the bare truth lies buried in its shadowy depths, abstracted from the customary kaleidoscopic visible exterior. The female characters be it Sonoko or Mitsuko are sexual aggressors; the unrestrained sexual needs clashing with the emotional displacement are emphasized by jaded manipulative passions stimulated by forlorn hearts. The brattish demeanour fading in the virginal splendour of supple chaste body; sex being the prime tangible deriving force of commotion. Being a frequent Tanizaki reader, the literary configuration is structured with a definite beginning and an end; the journey in between either fascinating or mundane transforms imagination into impending authenticity; the enabled truth which is not ethical but psychological. The masked flaws of a virtuous beauty self-contained in a manipulative world fixated on force rein. The Japanese titular connotation “Manji” symbolizing the four pronged Buddhist Swastika, epitomize four harmonious lovers immersed in the whirling force of passion, fantasizing the certitude of love.

…..I kept pretending to be confident of her love…..



3/5 ♥♥♥


Enslaved – Claire Thompson


“Please”, she whispered throatily. “I don’t have the cash to repay you. Let me make this right some other way”……..

…..” Anything, huh”, he drawled slowly. “Anything to avoid the certain jail time for embezzlement? Anything I want?”

“Anything”, she affirmed……..

Omfgintffsoigd! The said sentiment ceases to entice my senses, the plethora of inward bound sentiments no longer adhere to the facial theatrics induced by the omnipresent Urban Dictionary. Wonder whether it is the resonance of the currently playing mellow K-drama OST in the background or the very fact that I’ve finally come to a standpoint in my Erotica readings where the risqué heaving of “throbbing nipples”, “swollen cock” or “clover clamps twisting” is diminishing the resulting possibilities of any toe curling or legs crossing occurrences; deteriorating in the abyss of sensory deprivation. The ‘Yowza!!’ factor nowhere in sight. Neither am I asexual being nor have I been exhibiting any demisexual tendencies lately , yet the anticipation of Sam Ryker dictating his sadomasochistic flair peppered by the pondering whether Rae will earn the privilege of his cock , refuse to electrify the titillating factor ; the ricocheting sexual bullet collapsing midway without any impact. Seduction crumbling in its own irony, thwarting the expectation of an orgasm-centric sexuality. Erotic reads do not make me horny anymore! There I said it !! Could I get couple bonus points for being erudite about my despair??

Nonetheless, despite my titillation factor needing some of its own meditations, it is always a pleasure to read one of Ms. Thompson’s dark BDSM works. Rae Johansen caught in a monetary embezzlement scandal at Ryker Solutions takes a plea bargain, choosing the obedience and submission pattern of Sam Ryker’s dungeon over some jail time. The cat-o-nine tails echoing sans those Xena Warrior bras. My sensory deprivation desiring some visual upgradation. Ms. Thompson ups her BDSM quotient, the sexual kink veering into the sinister territories of S&M strategically highlighted by the vindictiveness of sexual authority. Sam comes across either as an overly ambitious Dom or rather as a reckless one, perplexed by the aptitude of his own sexual dominance, the underlying motivation of vengeance overwhelming the S&M role-playing parameters. Rae , on the other hand, trades the fine line between submission , coercion and sexual liberation.

Power corrupts.

He knew that as well as anyone. The relationship was flawed from the start, doomed to failure by its very setup. Relationship? Sam snorted aloud. There was not relationship. You couldn’t take submission; it had to be given. It was a gift, but, he’d stolen it, wrestled it from her, forced her to hand it over or suffer the consequences/ He’d used the guise of punishment for her stealing from him, but his motives had been far more complex.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely.


Brimming with prejudicial inferences, the sexual stratagem gets a bit tricky when it plunges into the darkest area of the Dom and Sub equation, weighing the dire possibilities of sexual fantasy clashing with sexual realism on the wafer-thin fragility of personal retribution and hardcore sadomasochism. The bondage game play thrives on the very essence of its adherence to fair power play and not resorting to abuse of the power. Thompson’s smartly nurturing of this aspect in the book brings an adept conclusion to this dark feral erotica. Yeperzers!!


In the Middle – Sindra van Yssel

In the Middle

If you are thinking that this is going to be another of my guttermouth fest for I’m as cheerful as the frog that just humped his mate … Booya!! It is not often that I re-read an erotica, back to back, binging on the pages with sheer ecstasy. And, on such blissful occasions I restore my sanity by shoving my badass mouth right next to Martika’s Toy Soldiers.

….he wasn’t cut out to be a dom, no matter what she wanted…

Oh sweet Daniel! You knew right from the start that you would excel as an obedient SUB regardless what Louise made you think. Cute as hell and oh so loveable, Daniel nurtured the vacant sexual span exploring the nascent dominant streak within Louise. A self-assured man who fought for Louise sexually and emotionally while dealing with the prevailing apprehensions over Louise’s equation with Rob Randall. Oh, did I mention- HOTTIE!! I adored Daniel’s protective streak for Louise to the extent of him willingly abandoning his preference for vanilla sex for brazen S&M plays. Daniel breathed the quintessence of a Submissive evolving with every sexual role-playing sessions.

Maybe he doesn’t need to be told. My pleasure was pretty damned obvious

Rob Randall blew me away!! A methodical Domme, impeccable in every sense. He pushed the right buttons depicting the absolute discipline of a Domme , making Louise scream and letting me have my own toe curling moments with flamboyance. Lulu’s online lover- Rob a.ka. Randall X, hotness overflows as Rob enhances the spark of dominance in his training sessions with Lulu. Randall’s tough act emulating his rock solid abs steals a look into his veiled compassion for Lulu, making him even more irresistible. Rob Randall is the ultimate Domme! You rock my socks! Mind, Body and Soul. Ahem…leaning more towards the “Body” aspects.

I want them both. Master and slave.

Louise! Lulu! Mistress! Slave girl! Call her whatever the mood beckons, but she’s one hell of a Switch! Not the one to be bogged down by her sexual preferences, Lulu becomes an instant favourite with her audacious demeanour to act on her long cultivated desires. Why would a girl fancy choosing between two gorgeous and sexually endowed men when she could have them both, each fulfilling her sexual strengths and weaknesses? The prowess of a Switch comfortably sits between the command of a Domme and the compliance of a Submissive.

The three of them coming into their own in the dimly lit interiors of Velvet Mansion, excelling every bit in their sexual roles, the BDSM pleasure culmination into shuddering orgy and the alternating tenderness with twitching soreness, a Switch indulging in simultaneous sexual gratification from a Domme and Submissive; a simulating ménage coruscating multiple orgasm through the inhibitions of purely sexual beings. It had me cheering loudly for this ravishing trio. **wolf whistles everywhere** I wouldn’t change a thing! Neither with the BDSM scenarios nor with the trio revelling in heart stopping sexual magnetism. That’s what love is, submissive, Dominant, I don’t care. Not wanting half or just one side. The whole Louise. Submissive and Domme. Yeah lick, shove, push, whip baby!! Whip it bare!

An alluring erotica should act as a foreplay to your reading receptivity, seducing with each word, each scripted sexual act , each scene created, slowly creeping into shrinking theatrical pettiness , the clichéd nuances giving way to an enthralling ambience culminating into the climactic euphoria revealing the potency of the fashioned protagonists. Sindra van Yssel knows her art with dexterous precision. Not a single dreary or rhetoric moment. The entire progression of the BDSM settings outshines with its clear-cut detailing and knowledgeable productivity. I loved every bit! Sindra take bow! Your prose not only did shut my intoxicating guttermouth but you have earned my utmost respect,the ardent BDSM/Erotica reader.

5/5 *****

Diary of a Mad Old Man – Junichiro Tanizaki

Diary of a Mad Old Man

I haven’t the slightest desire to cling to life, yet as long as I live, I cannot help feeling attracted to the opposite sex…..

Arousal, when the does the trickery of eroticism salvage the ironies of life? The seduction of youth stemmed from the perversion of old. The seduction of beauty leached on to the perversion of ugliness. The dichotomy of potent sexuality surpassing physical impotency cultivating a sovereign desire in pursuit of an alluring beauty. The aesthetics of romanticism nurtured by the unconventional social gestures cautiously recreated a psychological world of ambiguity. Pleasure, the prerogative of a vital stimulation, when does it stop terrifying the existing physiological banalities foreshadowing the vociferous artistic interpretations? The pleasure of eating, the pleasure of sexual stimulus, the pleasure of death and the gratification in the pervasiveness of dual worlds; Utsugi Tokusuke was man who created a spellbinding multifaceted world of stimulating beauty in the dusk of his life.

…..lately I never spend a day without thinking of my own death…….. Two or three times a day I think to myself – Maybe I’ll die today. Not that I am necessarily frightened by those thoughts. When I was young they did terrify me, but now they even give me certain pleasure……

I’m fascinated with the idea of death. Especially, the gradual disintegration of time feebly clutching the strings of a looming death. An incapable body satiated in the desirability of constructing a tombstone whereas the potency of the mind still lured by the stimulation of life. Encumbered by the agonising symptoms of neuralgia, Utsugi finds tranquillity in the thought of his death, synchronising an imaginative illustrations of his funeral service with his yearnings of an ideal Bodhisattva Stone for his cremated remains. The allure of his death brings a certain pleasure contrasting the monotony of the neck stretching Glisson’s Swing exercises applied for the betterment of Utsugi’s medical treatment, which he has no desire to pursue. The ambiguity of Utsugi’s existence exhibiting the premonitions of death and the desperation to enjoy the animated vigour of sexual stimulations signify the quintessential dichotomies of volte-face social and psychological ironies. When scrutinized through several Tanizaki’s literary sojourns, the recurring thematic design of cultural dualities prevalent in the 20th century Japanese society and the norm of pursuing beauty through the diabolical lens of eroticism become highly evident. Nonetheless, given the genius of Junichiro Tanizaki, the elemental premise is masterfully knitted into a diverse literary quilt with each thread vibrantly patterned within hemispheric socio-philosophical perceptions.

In this chronicled diary of a 77yr old man, Tanizaki maintains a sense of balance between the distortion of the old and new. The “pervert” Utsugi seems to be confused in his implementation of traditional values and his desperate sexual pursuit of the young ex-chorus girl Satsuko. Tanizaki comes in his narrative element depicting Utsugi’s pandemonium of the past and present as the universal quandary of desiring the avant-garde overshadowing the persisting traditionalism. Utsugi’s perceptive elaborations differentiating between his wife and Satsuko’s life-style choices highlight the flourishing concepts of Westernizations in the prevailing conservative core of the Japanese society. The duality of beauty v/s ugliness, cultural shock-values and illness v/s healthiness and the innate need to adhere to archaic superstitions and home grown cultural theology embodies the capricious nature of the altering society as a whole and the thriving civilians.

I intend to have a Buddha’s Footprint Stone carved on the model of your feet, Satsu. When I’m dead my ashes will lie under that stone. That will be my nirvana.

Tanizaki expertly puts the expression of ‘eroticism’ in an imperative twofold creativity exploring the dominion of sex. The focus in the meaning of sex / erotic pleasures widens the boundaries of perversion and the subsequent freedom. Utsugi’s incessant erotic fantasies about his daughter-in-law, his bizarre attraction to the cruel streak reflecting in the gorgeous feminine faces and the daintiness of the Kabuki ‘onnagata’ (men who play female roles their authentic personalities distilling in the feminine essence) , the gradual progression to his alternate versions of sexual reality, the indulgent crude act of kissing the delicate white foot of a bathing Satsuko and the haughtiness coming from his abnormal sexual urges, defines the character of Utsugi and his relationships with the surrounding manipulative collective milieu. Comparing the notion of Satusko’s sexual innuendos, it veers toward the scheming nature of creative eroticism employed by Satsuko as a path for materialistic gains and autonomy from a smothering exasperating marriage. Utsugi’s sexual enthralment in the grotesque obsession with Satsuko’s feet reveals the charade of an old man with confused societal values who uses Satsuko’s feet as a fulfilment of his erotic explorations while at the same time poetically revere them as a human model for Buddha’s footprint for his tombstone revealing the traditional cultural fidelity. Tanizaki, employs the reality of sex with the illusion of a seductive beauty that brings along greed, materialistic manipulation and concurrently profound freedom; a vague representation of the misinterpreted Western mores. The ailing artist perplexed in the erotic trance seeking the illusion of beauty from the alluring femininity of youth and the ambiguity of final deterioration is humorous and sympathetic as he is artfully perverted in his audacious pursuits and his daydreams of constructing a swimming pool for Satsuko.


#[The photographic illustrations are taken from the namesake movie}.

4/5 ****

Accidental Slave – Claire Thompson

Accidental Slave

The calming reverberations of ENIGMA and the scrumptious prose of Ms. Thompson, I can’t think of a better way to unwind. The aura of the dungeons deliriously lurking at the bed corner, the intrigue of the House of Usher clamouring within the printed sentences and the girlish giggles enticing me from scene to scene. The euphoria of a Claire Thompson book!

Saucy slut girl likes it rough. Sometimes disobedient, this slave will pretend to protest, but it’s just a game. Use her hard and soundly. While she’s crying, “No, no,no!” she really means, “Yes, yes, yes!”

Instruments of pleasure/pain: Flogger, whip, cane, paddle, tight bondage, ball gag, needle play, pony play.

Limits: None.

Ah….. these words appeased my senses. Witlessly, was I craving for an erotica and this one merely stumbled into the right hands or should I say tantalized the right spots. So, hearty welcome sweet Elizabeth, drugged and craftily positioned at an auction. The DOMs waiting to select their perfect SUB. Equals appreciating the exchange of erotic power. Sexually heightening power exchange sketching fine lines between fetishes and perversions. The allure of romantic submission intermingling with the feral erotic suffering titillating the cyclical manipulation of pain and pleasure; the “romance of erotic suffering”. Ha! Can this get any better! Luscious wordplay corresponding with well-crafted sex session stamps my eternal love for Ms. Thompson’s penned erotic wonders.

Cole grinned. “It can be whatever you want. It’s the intensity of experience that makes it so phenomenal. Lick the surface of the vanilla, and find layers of chocolate, of coffee, of caramel, of mango and mandarin orange. With enough trust and desire, there’s no limit to what you can discover.”

With all the myriad flavours drawing me into a fancy bliss, the vanilla insipidness seeped through the dreary power struggle between Gary Dobbins and Elizabeth. Although the entire idea behind the envious plot was the scheming initiation of Elizabeth into the ‘House of Usher’, nonetheless I gave a slimy rat’s ass to the volatile equation between the two professional rivals. All I sought after was the sensationalism brought by the smouldering chemistry linking Cole and Elizabeth.

Ms. Thompson is known for her dexterity to interlace teasing titillations of BDSM sessions within the sensitive yet untamed circumstances. Elizabeth’s metamorphism from a dominant professional to a sexually charged obedient submissive , impresses throughout the slow twisting of prose akin to the sensual rules of the BDSM playroom. At times, Cole Pearson’s compassion did overrule his charisma as a disciplinarian DOM , but then he did make it up in the endorphin charged orgasmic submission lessons. If shortened by a chapter or two, it would have created a perfect blend of feral eroticism amid the uniformly tuned S&M exploration. Yet, it left a persistent smile, a charming respite. Fuck yeah!


Thirst of Love – Yukio Mishima

Thirst for Love
A pair of woollen socks! The solitary blue- brown image lingered in my pathetic thoughts, weeks after I had closed down the book. Verses had angrily left me, words refused to find a refuge within my wits and leisurely Mishima’s manuscript had melted into an obscure viscosity leaving behind only the recurring images of a mystified Etsuko and the pair of socks. For weeks I lived with that graphic, gaudily enhancing as the night darkened with every passing hour. How could a harmless pair of socks from Hankyu departmental store bring reckless audacity, such tenderness and then knit a violent despair? Could the diabolical nature of the socks stir up with the slightest tap of human emotions? Were those socks diabolical as the humans tend to become?

“What had given this courage? The thunder? The two pair of socks she had just purchased?”

Symbolism seizes the pivotal core plunging and deciphering a limitless world beyond human mediocrity. Given Mishima’s palpable affinity towards the art of Noh , the evident usage of significant cryptograms of socks, typhoid, the lion mask , the hospital ward and the mattock among the others , spells every intricate nuances of a capricious face veiled behind a stoic Noh mask. Mishima’s astute narration on the premise of a reluctant heart and cataclysmic love flows into a theatrical Noh prism where the ghosts of the past erect skeletons in the present imprisoning the desires of a heart in a ruthless world.

“In the moment a captive lion steps out of his cage, he possesses a wider worlds than the lion who has known only the worlds. While he was in captivity, there were only two worlds to him- the world of the cage and the world outside the cage. Now he is free. He roars. He attacks people, eats them. He is not satisfied for there is no third world that is neither the world of the cage nor the world outside the cage.”

A captured heart alien to the world of benevolent love; its reception caged behind the daunting fetters of loneliness and alienation. The burdened heart roars for emancipation from seclusion. The longing to love, the autonomy to love consumed in powerlessness to love. The heart perplexed in a world of duplicity and social repression succumbs to lunacy of obsession and vengeance for it does not know the sincerity of love , as there is no ‘third world’ beyond the emptiness of love, apart from death. Etsuko in her passivity, through her fatal love becomes a destructive yet pitiable figure hampered by her own quest against rising trepidations over her covetousness and its subsequent demise. Mishima elucidates on Etsuko’s temperament by articulating, “she found in the emptiness of her hopes the purest of meanings”

A widow of a philanderer husband resides with her lascivious father-in-law in the grimy countryside. Yakichi Sugimoto’s conflicted household was a laborious abode of repulsive absurdities. The prejudices of Chieko and Kensuske floated among the wooden interiors of the household, conjectures of biased moralities hovering over the Sugimoto’s budding illicit associations with Etsuko mirrored through Etsuko’s orphaned existence, her gratification for such dire circumstances vocalized through anaesthetizing her thoughts. Etsuko’s infatuation for Saburo resurrected the primitive naivety previously misplaced in a frigid matrimony. The abundance of love and the intensity of a genuine sexual pleasure derived from the uttered enthusiasm for Saburo fetched a reprieving life-force. Even so, the reception for deliverance was cremated by feverish ravings of covetousness and shadows of Etsuko’s disaffections and guilt.

“A feeling of liberation should contain a bracing feeling of negation, in which liberation itself is not agitated.”

The protracted abandonment wallowing in the niggling emptiness dominated Estuko’s overwhelming arrogance enslaving her to the creativity of unquenchable passion and the eventual annihilation. The freedom to experience the power of her sexuality cowed to the socially repressive environment tightening Etsuko inescapability from the ongoing tussle of implausible passion v/s the banality of social mores and life as a whole. The tantalizing sight of a half-naked Saburo during the dance at the Autumn Festival of the Hachiman Shrine fiercely clashed her morality into vehemence of her sexuality. Mishima highlights the quintessence of a woman’s sexuality in a communally despotic culture and the acerbic reconstruction of its perversion of a toxic love. ‘Thirst’ develops into a symbolic gesticulation, hunger for implacable desires. Love becomes the timeless nectar guzzled ravenously by a vacant parched heart, incurable, suffocating the vagueness of pain and pleasure.

“ The word ‘love’ had no proper place.”

Etsuko was the fated romantic hero in a world where love was misplaced behind the countless agonies, fatigued by the dilemmas of egotistical hunger trapped between the insatiable nature of vengeance and obsession. ; the authentic self polluted by grotesque incongruity. Is love diabolical then? Anger, sorrow, fear, joy; each flourishing sentiment has its eminence on the arousing empathetic dais. Love, however clandestinely incarnates itself baffling the psychosomatic rationalities. The solitary heartfelt emotion coquettishly fleets teasing the human psyche with aspiring gentleness to reincarnate into diversified oblique sentimentalities. Love had metamorphosed into a dreadful entity for Etsuko , love had no proper place then , only proper death.

The pair of socks is surely not diabolical after all. For not only did they bring back free flowing verses, but the hued woollen marvels also kept my feet warm while I typed the above words.

** [ the photographic illustrations are taken from the 1967 movie adaptation of the novel. ‘Ai no Kawaki’starring the lovely Ruriko Asako ]**


Gaijin – Remittance Girl


“Is there a fate worse than death, Gaijin?” he asked, looking out over the snowy city.“Would you prefer to end your life this way, over the side of my balcony?” Gently, he drew the edges of her ruined dress apart, pulling it off her shoulders and letting it drop to the decking. “If you don’t have enough courage, I can help you.” His whisper was like soft sand on paper.

Shindo-san! Shindo-san , can make anyone visit the four-finger deep wilderness. Gaijin is like a dainty firework waiting to be lit and rocketing in the sky with the most amazing colours, some sparkles shining brighter than the others. And, when the spectacle is over, you left desiring for more, much more.

Across one shoulder and down the right arm, almost to the elbow, flaming peony petals rippled against the wings of Luna moths. On his chest storm of cherry blossoms engulfed a geisha, despite her parasol.

Cherry blossoms, Luna moths, golden carps, kabuki samurai fighting blue dragons stretched on the taut and shiny skin and the sinister rowdiness of a Yakuza boss; I knew exactly what I was getting into and I could not contain my grin. Firstly, it is not a romantic erotica (thank god for it!) and for those who expect this to be an PG review, the strawberry twizzlers are at the kiddie table and while you are at it , please hand me the leather cuffs. The prose write-up is remarkably compact and captivates with every stiffened fist and hypnotic with the rhythms of lustful pain. There were times when my anticipations for the script made me insatiable for stricter sexual nuances and yearned for some synchronised kinbaku knotted entanglements. Why couldn’t the Yakuza boss be a kinbakushi? Am I being a tad greedy? Fucking hell! Why not! Non-consensual /consensual sex, Yakuza boss, willful Gaijin-san Jennifer’s lustful groan from pleasurable pearls encompassing all elements of an alluring dark erotica and no shibari techniques! May be in the next one, isn’t it so Remittance Girl? Yet, it was luscious and attractive read and not a single regretted moment in this miniature erotic treasure engrossed with the sexual magnetism and the incredibility of those hidden pearls.

“I’m just a foreigner. Just a stupid gaijin.”