The Ultimate Guide to Fellatio: How to Go Down on a Man and Give Him Mind-Blowing Pleasure

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On the second evening of a short Tokyo book tour, people from my publishing house took me to dinner at a popular new Chinese restaurant. Of the seven or eight dishes ordered that night, I remember one. The bottom of the serving dish was dark, oily red heat, some sort of Szechuan sauce, but the item itself was almost cool on the tongue. The silky, white, glistening almost-pieces were a chopstick challenge, but worth the trouble. The food slid down the back of the throat in the most sensuous way. You almost didn’t need to swallow. I heard my editor, across the table, telling her boss Ayaka it was ma po tofu. It was richer and tastier than the ma po tofu dishes I’d had in Chinese restaurants in the States, but otherwise similar.

“How do you like it?” asked the woman seated beside me, who had translated my book into Japanese. “We ordered it in honor of your book.”

I tried to recall a ma po tofu scene in Bonk. It seemed like the sort of thing a writer would remember. I smiled at her blankly.

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