gaijin_oursiteGaijin is a novella set in modern Japan and explores themes of cultural tourism, projections of desire, and definitions of identity.

When Jennifer leaves the cold and damp of London for the sparkle and bustle of Tokyo, she imagines she’ll find a world full of cherry blossom festivals, ancient tea ceremonies and Geishas. What she gets instead is a cramped, shared apartment, harassment on the subway and a mind-numbing job as a hostess at the Blonde Chick Bar in Roppongi.

With a single, unintentional insult everything changes. She wakes up to find that she has been kidnapped by Shindo: a sadistic Yakuza demi-god who doesn’t take his loss of face easily. Caught between his hatred of all things foreign and a growing obsession with this blonde gaijin, he is determined to make her pay for her rejection in sadistic and degrading ways.

`A woman’s lot is to endure,’ says the fox spirit in her dreams, but Jennifer wonders whether there are indeed fates worse than death. Little by little, she finds out.

The story is undoubtedly controversial. It contains graphic scenes of non-consensual sex, some violence and issues of race and nationality.

Available for download here:


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From Chris Garcia-Sanchez’s review on Oh, Get A Grip!

Jennifer’s journey is ultimately one of person-hood. In the beginning she is expected to be an exotic bar girl, a manga book male fantasy of a woman. When she crosses that line and is kidnapped to sexual servitude to a monster she is still regarded as sub human, as a thing, a buffet of erogenous orifices and most of all disposable. As each emotional outrage is committed on her she begins to change and push back, asserting herself against Shindo whose humiliations underlie an expectation that a true woman should defend her honor by suicide. As she journeys from struggling for survival to struggling for person-hood she blossoms from a beaten down immigrant to something of a modern samurai.

I do love this novel. I love it for its audacity. I love it for the genuinely transgressive nature of its eroticism. It has that rare quality of boldly honest humanity on the dark fringes that only a literary black sheep, a remittance girl, can conceive.

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“Don’t tell me you would have accepted because it’s not true. You look at guys like me and all you see is lowlife. Look at me!” he demanded, pushing her onto her back. “Look at me and tell me the truth… before I slice off your tongue.”

“No,” she whispered.

“No what?”

“No, I wouldn’t have accepted.” Her voice broke as she started to cry. “Why?”

“Because… I’m scared of you.”

Lying there, pinning her down with his weight, she could feel the rage coursing through his body, and see it beneath the impossibly placid mask of his face…a faint ruddiness of skin beneath the eyes. He might choose to open or close the door to the furnace, but it was always burning white.

“So you should be.” His voice was quiet, suddenly almost calm. “You should be scared of me.”

He sat up, straddled her hips, and began to unbutton his shirt. Jennifer turned her head, fixing her gaze on the snow beyond the window. Now it was dark, all she could see was the flurry of white particles, illuminated by the light inside, brushing chaotically against the black pane.

Life was like that, she thought as she heard the fabric of his shirt rustle, sometimes you got elected president, sometimes you got raped. Life was mindless chaos.

“Look at me.”

It was hard to drag her gaze away from the window. There was something
stupidly Zen and comforting in the fact that she hadn’t done anything to get here. She was a snowflake that had brushed up against a plane of black obsidian.

“Look at me!” he barked.

She did, not really knowing what to make of what she saw. In the middle of

a room so empty and colourless it could masquerade for death, was an insurrection

of colour. From just beneath his collarbone, over the entire surface of his chest, to the black band of fabric at his waist, was a garden, a zoo, a kaleidoscopic riot. Across one shoulder and down the right arm, almost to the elbow, flaming peony petals rippled against the wings of Luna moths. On the other side, fat gold carp swam over his bicep in a sea of waving blue-green pond weed. On his chest, a storm of cherry blossoms engulfed a geisha, despite her parasol.

All the images that had drawn her to Japan, the mysteries and aesthetics, were etched on his skin. Her eyes pooled with new tears at the stupidity of it all. The bizarre idealization of a culture encapsulated on the flesh of a thug. She wasn’t an innocent,

a blameless snowflake, at all. She’d come looking for the quaint and the cute and the simplistic version of Japan herself. And now she would get what she deserved.

He misinterpreted her tears. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” she answered simply, because it was. It wasn’t real, but it was beautiful.

He got to his knees and turned to show her his back. One Kabuki samurai fought another in the foreground, while dragons in blue and tangerine did battle in the heavens. An epic struggle on both the spiritual and mortal plane, this was air and earth. Below, she assumed, the battle continued in fire and water.

“It’s beautiful,” she repeated, as he turned around again. She hoped it was what he wanted to hear.

“It should be. There was a lot of pain involved.”

He bent over her and began to unbutton the top of her dress. She didn’t attempt to stop him; it would be a waste of energy.

He pulled the edges of the dress aside and surveyed her bared chest. “Everything that is beautiful hurts.”

  11 comments for “Gaijin

  1. Janette
    September 9, 2013 at 1:26 am

    The visuals you create with words are breathtaking – I could see the ice drops and the woman’s red kimono…the story left me bereft, I ache for them both. Still. I think they could have loved each other.

  2. Blush
    July 3, 2014 at 2:49 pm

    I enjoyed reading your writing, and the story of Gaijin was beyond my expectations. I look forward to your new stories.

  3. kat w
    September 12, 2014 at 3:49 am

    I’ve been lurking on your website and finally purchased this book and intend to read more books. I liked it, but the ending bothered me. He shouldn’t have left her to fend for herself. I felt that they were building a more complicated relationship that shouldnt end like that. Anyway, I am enjoying your writing! And your non-consent stories…. Sort of. They are far more realistic and therefore more disturbing than the usual type I read on Literotica.

    • September 12, 2014 at 4:49 am

      Um… well, maybe you were looking for a romance? Men who rape women usually have other flaws too.

      • kat w
        September 13, 2014 at 5:46 am

        No, based on your other non-consent stories, I didn’t expect a romance. The ending wasn’t out of character, but I thought other endings wouldn’t be out of character. I like to believe that even flawed bad people are inherently good…. Whether that’s realistic or not.

        I’m not complaining; I’m just reading, not writing. I thought about gaijin far longer after I read it than most romance novels/smut. That’s a good thing! Thank you^^;;

  4. Q
    March 4, 2015 at 6:17 pm

    I love the audio version of this book I found on itunes.

  5. Lorena
    June 15, 2015 at 5:21 pm

    Hi! I’ve read a few of your short stories and love your writing! After finding this excerpt of Gaijin, I’d absolutely love to read the book. Where can I purchase Gaijin? (I searched for it on Amazon, but couldn’t find it)..

  6. adam
    June 9, 2016 at 9:37 pm

    Is Gaijin available for download and purchase?


  7. Jack
    August 20, 2016 at 8:08 pm

    I stumbled upon your website by pure accident. I stumbled upon a hidden treasure. I read your synopsis and agree emphatically that writings like yours are absolutely essential. I so emphatically agree to the point I can honestly say I have never used the word “emphatically” before. I believe writings like yours ARE essential and have told my wife as much. Although my writing is not nearly the caliber of yours I text or rather sext my wife daily during our work day and it has opened her mind. I only wish I had started it years ago or better yet found YOU years ago. You hold a Master of Arts in writing? You should. You are a Master. I wish you much success and prosperity.

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