Congratulations on "Turning Japanese!"

The seminar will seem to have been dragging on for days, but it will have only been a few hours. A few tedious, nigh unbearable hours spent listening to people whose greatest aspiration in life is a six figure check blather on about productivity. The only thing you want to produce is a bullet between your eyes, from a gun.

You’ll try to distract yourself by looking around at the other attendees, but it’ll look like a slowly melting candle festival, filled with a variety of shapes and colors all gradually shifting towards the same sort of shapeless, functionless lumps of wax. Everyone except one.

Her name tag will ready Cheri, but you know it isn’t her real name. She’ll look just as bored as you are.

You won’t want to stare so you’ll just glance at her occasionally so that you can feel like there’s some light in this horrible situation, some potential for good to come of being in this unbearable place. On one of these furtive glances your eyes will meet. You’ll both smile, briefly, knowing what the other is thinking.

You’ll pantomime hanging yourself and she’ll pantomime beating off. To the best of your knowledge no one will notice.

During the intermission, after hearing a man with a moustache speak for an hour and a half about maximizing profit margins, you’ll approach her and offer your hand. She’ll pass an empty coffee cup into it and smile mischievously.

“Jack,” you’ll say, pointing to your name tag, which reads Sam.

“Michelle,” she’ll respond, pointing to her own. You’ll smile.

“Would you like to get out of here, Michelle?” She’ll breath a sigh of relief and nod emphatically, and the two of you will be off to the hotel bar.

You’ll talk, but mostly about how boring that seminar is and how many other things there are that you’d both rather be doing. Forty five minutes will pass and you still won’t know her name, but you’ll be floored by her wit and confidence.

When you ask her to come up to your room where you can be more private your heart will skip a beat as you wait for her reply. When she smirks and says “Why not?” you’ll already be aroused, and she’ll know, amused.

The two of you will be making out hard from the start of the five story elevator ride all the way to your room. When you get inside she won’t take any of her clothes off, but she’ll tear your pants off and toss them to the floor.

She’ll remove a Disposable Funcam™ from her purse and, with the same mischievous grin, tell you to beat off.

“What?” you’ll say, a little bit stunned.

She’ll edge up next to you and whisper in your ear. “I want to see you jerk off. I want to see your face when you come.”

You’ll be nervous, of course, and trying to look cool while you do it, which will almost ruin the experience at first. But her interest in your masturbation will be so genuine that you’ll start to lose yourself in it.

Before long you’ll imagine that it’s her hand and she’ll be transfixed on your face, your hands, and your penis. You won’t even remember she’s there when you come and the whisper of her name passes through your lips.

The only thing that will break the spell will be the snap of the camera and the grind of the wheel as she rapidly takes shots of your afterglow. Then she’ll tell you to get into bed and... Well, it gets a little fuzzy from there on out to be honest. All bets are off.

Regardless, congratulations on “Turning Japanese,” stud. We’ll be checking Michelle’s Flickr for the results.