Nice to meet you—or rather, welcome to my secret world.
I’m Kiriya Harimoto.
As I write this, I’m sitting by the window of my small apartment in Shinjuku, Tokyo. Outside, the neon lights never fade; in the distance, the dark expanse of Shinjuku Gyoen park lies cloaked in shadows. On my desk sits a red pack of Marlboros and a half-empty glass of whisky. When you live in Japan for a long time, you start carrying this sense of "etiquette" into everything you do, even in a personal blog. But today, I want to peel off those layers and talk to you in my rawest voice about who I really am.
This website you’ve stumbled upon is my private library. You won't find high-brow literature here—only the gay erotic fiction I love and the scattered fragments of my life. Thank you for clicking in, but I have one selfish request: please keep this a secret. Don’t share this URL with anyone else in this city.
My birth name is actually quite quiet: "Zhang Ai." In Chinese, Ai means a light mist or clouds. It was the hope my parents had for me when I was born in China—that I would be as free as a cloud.
My life took a sharp turn in the year 2000. That was the year my parents decided to bet everything on a new life in Japan. Back then, it was a massive gamble. They went first, leaving me behind. I spent some time in Xiamen, where the air was always heavy and tasted of sea salt, before being sent to Changsha to be raised by my grandparents.
Those years in Changsha defined my core. My grandfather was a man of letters; he taught me calligraphy and painting. I grew up immersed in the scent of ink. While he smoked his pipe, I’d watch watercolors bleed across the paper. Maybe talent really exists—from kindergarten through elementary school, my art won awards across the province. Everyone thought I was destined to be an artist.
But there was another drive hidden in my body: a primal urge to run. On the track, I was a different person. Sprints, long jumps—I was obsessed with the sound of the wind rushing past my ears. I became a city champion in elementary school. Half of me was still, half of me was motion. That contradiction follows me to this day.
After elementary school, I said goodbye to my grandparents and flew alone to Yokohama. It was the first time I had seen my parents in years, and my first time stepping onto Japanese soil. The sea breeze in Yokohama was colder than in Xiamen, and slowly, my name shifted from "Zhang Ai" to "Kiriya Harimoto."
My days at Yokohama Minato Middle School were a blur of confusion and passion. The language barrier and cultural gap made it hard for a foreign kid to fit in. But I soon realized that the sports field needs no translation.
I fell in love with softball. The moment I cracked a ball with the bat, all my worries seemed to vanish. I practiced like a demon. During those three years, I helped lead my team to the Kanagawa state finals twice. It was my first taste of the power of a "team," and my first lesson in the bitter sting of defeat.
In high school, I switched to hardball baseball. In Japan, baseball isn't just a sport; it's a religion. My youth was spent in dirt, sweat, and the roar of coaches. The goal, of course, was Koshien—the holy grail for every high school player in Japan. We practiced until dark every day; my palms were thick with calluses, and my knees were permanently bruised. Sadly, we never got that ticket to the stadium in Hyogo.
My Koshien dream broke, but I have no regrets. Those three years of scorching summers and freezing winters built my body and tempered my will. I learned that some things don’t result in success no matter how hard you work, but the mark the process leaves on you stays forever. It’s why I still love sports today—I love strong, powerful lives.
After high school, I didn't take the university entrance exams like everyone else. I was restless, desperate for independence. I wanted to see the world—specifically, the Tokyo that hides in the dark.
Through a friend’s introduction, I entered Tokyo’s "Night World." If you’ve never worked in Shinjuku’s Kabukicho or Roppongi, it’s hard to imagine what that life is like. I became a "Host."
The job was far harder than baseball. On the field, you can see your opponent. In the clubs, people’s hearts are like a thick fog. Every afternoon, I’d get ready—putting on a sharp suit, spraying on intoxicating cologne—and stay in the club until dawn. My job was to make guests happy so they’d order bottle after bottle of expensive champagne.
It requires incredible communication skills and an insight into human nature. I’ve seen countless people drop their masks under the influence of alcohol; I’ve seen the most fragile tears and heard the darkest secrets. Sometimes, the job went beyond drinks and conversation to include sexual services. I never felt ashamed of it. My body is a part of me; if it can trade for the resources I need to survive, I don’t mind.
During my toughest period, I was "sponsored" by a middle-aged corporate executive. He gave me a steady allowance that solved my immediate financial crisis. In return, I accompanied him and comforted him when he needed it. I know traditional morals would judge this, but at the time, I needed that lifeline. I will always be grateful to him because he helped me through my lowest point.
With the grit I learned on the baseball diamond and a natural instinct for the craft, I soon became the "No. 1" host at my club. I learned how to gracefully encourage drinking and how to give just the right amount of tenderness.
Fate loves to throw a curveball when you least expect it. At the peak of my hosting career, I was scouted by an adult film production company.
They asked if I wanted to be an AV performer. I thought about it for a few days and decided to sign. To me, it was just another form of "art" meets "athletics." I was born with a higher sex drive than most; I’ve never hidden the fact that I’m hypersexual. To me, sex is as natural as breathing and as intoxicating as wine.
I’ve filmed seven scenes so far. Four are already out there; the other three are still in the editing room. Showing your most private self in front of a camera is daunting at first, but once you get into the zone, it feels like a performance, a match. The rush is incomparable. I don’t think this job is "lowly." On the contrary, I think being able to face your desires and turn them into a career is pretty cool.
Now, I still switch between being a host and an AV performer. By day, I’m quiet; by night, I’m wild. This dual life keeps me grounded because every cent I earn comes from my own sweat and effort.
Let’s talk about my love life—the part most people find the most interesting and the hardest to understand.
I have a boyfriend of four years. We live together in a little place in Tokyo. He was my high school classmate and saw me through my youth. He’s now a professional soccer player, out on the pitch every day.
Our relationship is "open." Sounds crazy, right? But he has his girlfriend, and I have my work and my hookups. We don’t tie each other down. In fact, because of this honesty, our bond has become incredibly deep. When we come home and strip off all the labels, we are just two souls keeping each other warm. We understand each other’s struggles and support each other’s choices.
In a cold city like Tokyo, having someone who knows your past and accepts your present is a rare luxury.
If you think I’ll spend my whole life in the night scene, you might be wrong.
I’m currently studying to become a dental hygienist. Why that? Maybe because I’ve seen so much "rot" that I want to maintain something clean and healthy. Once I get my license, I’ll have a more "respectable" side-hustle—a bridge back to the mainstream of society.
My ultimate dream is to make enough money to travel the world. I want to go back to Changsha and see if the ink still smells the same. I want to see a soccer match in Europe. I want to go somewhere where nobody knows me and just... exhale.
I am Kiriya Harimoto, and I am Zhang Ai.
I am an artsy kid who paints, and an athlete who swings a bat.
I am an elegant host, and an unapologetic performer.
I love a soft touch, I love alcohol, and I love this messy, beautiful world.
As I finish this, my glass of whisky is empty. The sun is about to rise, and Tokyo is starting a new day. Thank you for listening to my rambling. If you found a spark of connection here, or if I just helped you kill some time, I’m honored.
Remember, this is my library and my sanctuary. Come softly, and leave softly.
Sweet dreams—or have a powerful day.