"Irasshaimase”, a discrete velvety voice greets us from somewhere above the crystal chandelier as the glass doors zip open, allowing us to skulk into the gleaming lobby. There is, however, no one in sight. The lighting is muted, the music is ubiquitous and the decor matches the recorded welcome.

Furtively my husband and I look around and are relieved to see a radiant row of panels across the room, blinking invitingly. We tiptoe over the marbled, sanitized tiles, seeing ourselves reflected in polished mirrors everywhere we look. We have never done this sort of thing before, honest.

The panel shows rooms, lots of different rooms in different themes at different prices. The Black Leather Room is the most expensive at $210 for three hours, too dark for my romantic tastes and it would take us far too long to work out what all that apparatus on the wall was for anyway.

Panel number two, though, now we’re talking: a huge oval soaker tub for four and acres of marbled bathroom the size of my home, a round bed, and oh goody - a karaoke bar with mirrors and lights. That will give us something to do with the other two and three quarter hours of our allotted time for love. The price is better too: $90 for 3 hours. We could stay the whole night for $300, but how much love can a couple married for 25 years stand? We decide on the three hours, push the button under the picture, and watch the panel light go off under our coveted room while a room card slips out. Simultaneously the nearby elevator doors slide open, the disembodied voice says, "Arigato Gozimashita”, - thank you -, and we slip into the elevator. The musak plays on in the elevator, covering the sound of the doors silkily closing on our beating hearts.

Second floor. A red light is blinking off and on at a doorway indicating that the door to our romantic fantasy is about to swing ajar. We slip in the key and - tadaima - we have entered The Mirror and Marble Love Dreams With Your Sweetheart Room.

Crowded Japan, where frequently couples live with their parents in tiny apartment rooms, and children stay at home until they marry, has lack-of-privacy solutions. Love hotels, rented short term and conveniently located in every city, make romance possible. The one we chose, Hotel Vista, was circumspect from the outside and classier than most. Parking was behind high walls so license plates couldn’t be recognized from outside. There was, however, no place for our rusted and tattered bikes. I guess lovers don’t usually cycle to their clandestine trysts!

Some of the more “tacky” hotels have wild names like “Hollywood Love,” “The Big Wave”, or “Passion Palace”. These hotels feature corny statues and pictures of couples, (for some odd reason frequently Western) in the many poses of love.

But back to the Vista, where we have found everything we could want: room service, a well stocked bar, bubble bath, lotions, sleep shirts, slippers, shampoo, toothpaste, douches, and a sex toy dispenser.

A wall-sized TV with multiple screens previews all of the sexy videos we have the choice of watching, but there seems no way to turn it off. The bed is inviting, the champagne wine glasses beckon and the Jacuzzi tub is waving.

Cutaway to the moon rising...then later back at the Love Dreams Hotel and the tired but happy lovers...

Here I am completing my karaoke debut while my lover paces outside the door, checking his watch and reminding me that we are about to be automatically charged another $90. A machine inside the entrance to the room begins loudly ticking away like a time bomb. It wants to be fed.

So, while he curses and fumbles as he tries to decipher how to insert the notes, I try out some of the creams and powders and prepare for my exit. When the yens are accepted and digested, we slip out without seeing a soul, the music blanketing our footsteps and the mirrors reflecting our dazed and dissipated faces.

“Sayonara”, that plush voice whispers as we leave the Vista, feeling like teenagers caught in the back seat.