Chinese prostitute plunges to her death to evade police arrest on New Year’s Eve
The New Year Eve of 2017 marked the coldest day of New York in the last 34 years. Yet Ci Ci, a smartly dressed young woman in her late twenties, had been standing on the street corner of Main St. Flushing for the last several hours. She wore a large, bright red overcoat, which covered her otherwise naked body, but one could still see her skin-tight black stockings which were the only fabric covering her long, slender legs. She stood tirelessly on her black open toe stiletto heels. Her round white face was touched up with slight makeup: bright red lip stick and deep dark eye liner. Her naturally black hair was covered under a white fur cap. Tresses of her silky hair fell on each side of her pink cheeks. She seemed distinctly lonely on a bustling street full of people, people with their family, parents, and children, and yet Ci Ci was all alone by herself. She held a fist full of pink business cards and tried to stuff into strangers’ hands, and yet no one took them. Her lips quivered and she pushed her chest out as she leaned back against the brick wall. She was especially coy, and she tried to flirt with any man who looked at her. Yet there was no customer. Her eyes betrayed hunger, even desperation. She hasn’t made any money for several days, and she has just gotten out of prison a month ago. The police took all the money she had made last year, and, she told her working sisters, if she’s ever caught again, she would kill herself. The streets were frozen with coldness. Patches of snow mixed with ice accumulated on the sides of buildings. The people walking back and forth seemed happy yet cold and oblivious to Ci Ci’s presence. There was so much joy in the air, but for Ci Ci everything seemed so bleak. Her elderly parents were still toiling away in the north eastern China, a place renowned for its coldness and which partially explained Ci Ci’s ability to endure cold; her little brother did not have the money to go to school and had to become a migrant worker in Beijing. Her younger sister went to work in Japan in a massage parlor as well and Ci Ci was determined to make money, to let her parents live a wealthy life, to let her brother go to college, and to let her sister find a good husband, preferably a wealthy white man. She was willing to do anything. Anything at all.
A group of Mexican laborers passed by and were ogling at her, whistling and commenting on her looks to each other. Their clothes were dirty and their faces were brown with physical labor. She smiled at them; her white face and red lips contrasted with their dark, dirty faces, and she waved at them by raising her wrist to the side of her cheek. “30 dollars massage. Full body. One hour.” Her legs were shivering from the cold, and her hands felt frozen. As they approached her she handed over the little pink cards to the Mexican men which had written in English: “girlfriend experience $200. No condom vaginal cum shot $250. Free semen swallowing.” The Mexican men read the simple English on the cards, and their eyes were round like dead fish, their faces wide with grin, revealing their crooked yellow teeth. A few started to grope Ci Ci all over, touching her legs, and feeling her breasts through her overcoat. “50 dollars. Blowjobs for all of us.” “No, 100 dollars. You too many people. One, two, three, four, five. Five. Five people.” “60 dollars, 60 dollars, how about 60 dollars. It’s New Year.” “80 dollars I give you discount.” “No condom. You swallow?” “Yes, I swallow everything.”
By this time the two Mexican men standing in front of Ci Ci had already had their hands inside her bright red overcoat partially exposing her naked breasts in the open. Her nipples chafed against the zippers on her red coat and she moaned in pleasure.
“Pay first. Then we go up.” Ci Ci said as she pointed to the metal door behind her. The Mexican men collected their money together and handed them in a roll to her and quickly she led them through the door, then through a dark hallway and went up a serpentine series of stairs. Her bright red overcoat was almost completely open, revealing her naked body underneath and they took turns fondling her large breasts. By the time they reached the third floor Ci Ci was naked, except for her black stockings and black stilettos. They were very happy to discover that Ci Ci had worn absolutely nothing underneath the red overcoat, not even a bra or panties. Her pubic hair was completely shaved so she could cater to western men, and her body was curvy with large hips. The red overcoat was torn off from her and threw to the side. Those Mexican laborers hadn’t had sex for months. They were hungry just as much as Ci Ci was. They quickly dropped their pants, revealing their smelly Mexican dicks to Ci Ci and Ci Ci took them like the pro she was. She put their hardened dicks in her soft little hands and took turns kissing and sucking on each one while working fast with her hands on the ones she was not sucking on. And within just minutes one of them had shot into Ci Ci’s mouth. As promised, she swallowed every drop. “I have earned my worth today,” Ci Ci smiled and thought to herself. “Okay, you finished. 80 dollars more.” “No 80 dollars for all of us. “No 80 dollars for each blow job. You want more? You pay more money.” The men were all horny and somewhat annoyed at her dishonesty. “Okay, 80 more dollars we fuck your pussy.” “150 dollars fuck my pussy.” “100 dollars.” “No 120 dollars.” “Okay okay 120 dollars fuck your Chinese pussy. Your pussy is very tight?” “Of course, I’m Chinese. Our men have small dicks. You have very big dicks”
The Mexican men handed over more money to Ci Ci which she kept in her Louis Vuitton hand bag and with one hand holding her bag, she pried open her pussy with another hand, showing the pink inside and she offered her pussy to those Mexican men by bending over. They took turns fucking her in the pussy, bareback, cumming inside her. It was pure joy for those Mexican men. And it was joy for Ci Ci too. She had been so hungry for cocks, and not only was she satisfied with her carnal desire, she was also making money. “I will finally have a happy new year,” Ci Ci thought to herself. The warmth of those Mexican men’s cum had not just warmed Ci Ci’s body but also her heart. She hadn’t had a good new year in so long. Last New Year’s Eve hers was spent in prison. The previous year she was beaten by a gang of black teenagers. She was happy to finally get some relief, and those men’s sperm were like antidepressants healing her emotional wounds. For those who didn’t cum inside her pussy, she directed them to cum inside her mouth.
But just as she was mesmerized by the bliss of sex, by the success of her little business, the metal door on the first floor was banged open, and there was a loud masculine voice overheard. “Police! Everybody freeze!” She looked over the handrail and her face went pale with fear. The worst that she could possibly imagine had finally happened. All the Mexican men froze on the spot with their hands up, except for Ci Ci. She remembered her previous experience in prison. She remembered being beaten by the police, being tasered while she was handcuffed and hung upside down, being forced to have her pictures taken, humiliated, ridiculed, and forced to have enema liquid shot up into her rectum. She felt terror. A fire burned up all her innards as she thought back to all those horrible things that they did to her in prison. The fear, the terror, the unfathomable sadness, the despair burned her brain like a fire, and had eaten away the last hope. She couldn’t remain still. She grabbed with both her hands over the handrail. Her hand bag slipped off her wrist and the green bills scattered on the ground. “STOP! Do not move! Or we will shoot you!” Ci Ci didn’t care for a word of their warnings. It was as if the police thought death would still scare her, when she had seen far worse than death in prison. She had given up on life already. She ran over to the window directly opposite the handrail and leaped out with a fiery determination to die. Her naked body dropped through the open window, and her head hit the restaurant billboard directly beneath the window, which caused her to somersault in midair and then her body landed onto the street curb. Her bright red overcoat was still on the floor. Her naked body was now three stories down below. Red blood splattered across the wintry ground. The sound of her fall did not impact the bustling streets of Flushing. In fact most people couldn’t even hear her through all the noise. Police lines quickly drew up and medics arrived in nearly minutes to cover up her cold, dead body and then, it was as if nothing ever happened. The streets were bustling with people.
Author: jennifer suzuki
I have been a very confused—some might say very conflicted—girl ever since I can remember and I have always lived in a fantasy world of my own making.
I was born in Japan, my mother is Chinese and my father is Japanese, and my father's mother or my grandmother was German Dutch, and I came to the United States as a teenager and lived and went to school in Maryland, and worked in New York.
I lived in fantasy worlds since I was a teenager and I have always done so, sometimes so deep in my own fantasy I forgot my own identity. I no longer knew who I am. Physically I look more European than asian. My father is of mixed heritage—he has white blond hair, but he also has some distinctly Japanese features. On the other hand my features mostly resembled my grandmother, who was a full blooded European woman. Which was not something that really bothered me. Actually most modern Japanese look very European compared to the rest of asians.
My father was a sadist, and my mother, on the other hand, was, in my opinion, a masochist with no self respect. Growing up, seeing my father beating my mother was almost as frequent as having dinner, and when not beating her, she was constantly being humiliated and degraded, like having to serve dinner to him naked on her knees or being tied to an utility pole only in her panties during the winter. At first I believed my mother was a victim, a unfortunate human being in the hands of a cruel evil man, but as I grew older I realized that it was my mother who enjoyed being treated this way. The initial realization made me feel she was a disgusting, perverted, sick person, but as I grew older I began to have the almost identical sexual fantasies that my mother lived and experienced through. I began to think that my mother was the luckiest woman on earth since apparently she had found a man who understood her desires and could give them to her.
My dad studied and worked in America before, and during that period he desperately wanted to marry a white woman, and vehemently pursued several white women, but was unsuccessful. At the same time Japanese women were unwilling to marry him. Maybe because just like him they were looking to marry into the white race, or maybe because he had sadistic tendencies. Out of options he settled to look for a Chinese woman. Statistically, marriages between Chinese women and Japanese men have been quite common, and I personally knew quite a few couples just like my mother and father. Even here in America I knew several Chinese women who had Japanese boyfriends and those women were actually quite proud of having superior Japanese men as boyfriends. Japanese in general look much more European compared to other asians and I suspect it was the putative European appearance that attracts other asian women. Of course Japanese are not Europeans, no matter how much we try to become European, just as Jews will never be fully accepted as White Christians. I think Jews and Japanese have a lot in common. We were both persecuted by Europeans, the Jews by Germans, and Japanese by Americans, yet we both come to love our white Masters. Jews weren't officially considered white until very recently, and I think as time progresses eventually Japanese will be categorized as white in the future, though Jews and Japanese will always know that they are still inferior to their Nordic Masters. But as always the Jews will be Masters over the Arabs and the Japanese will be Masters over the rest of Asia. There is no other meaning to life, other than the degree of domination.
I had an older sister who looked fully asian, as opposed to me who looked much more European. And ever since childhood I have always known for a fact that I was treated better by everyone else because of my distinctly European appearance. In school classmates would be hesitant to tease me because they always thought my father might be an American or an European man even though they knew my mother was Chinese but somehow they still were afraid of me solely because of my European appearance. The thing was that in Japanese naming system, my mother's last name automatically gets attached to mine, so for example, my name in Japanese would actually be "Suzuki Liu Jennifer", because my mother's maiden name is Liu; this way everyone would instantly know my mother is Chinese. On the other hand my sister was bullied almost everyday by upper classmates because she looked very Chinese. They made fun of her hair and clothes and told her that she looked like a Chinese pig and I had seen boys pulling down her pants and laughing at her for having a "Chinese vagina". I was a very young girl back then and I felt ashamed of having her as a sister so in school I didn't talk to her at all. When I was 12 years old, she committed suicide by hanging herself in her closet. I know this because I was the one who discovered her body. My parents would have never told me about her death if I did not saw her dead body by myself. And ever since her death a dark cloud formed over my head and throughout my teenager years I was constantly harrowed by thoughts of suicide. It was not until I was much older that I learned suicide is infectious and that had been why I was constantly thinking about suicide. The realization made me try not to think too much about death, but no matter how much I try I can never get her image out of my head. Sometimes I feel she still haunts me because I didn't talk to her in school.
My parents divorced when I was 14 and I went to live with my mom in China for two years. Contrary to popular beliefs, I had never experienced any form of racism or discrimination against me when I was living in China. Most people assumed that I was an European girl and the aura of being European seemed to make me inapproachable, like the shield of Athena covering me from head to toe. Even when I was in school, when classmates would know my father was Japanese because of my last name, I had never really felt any discrimination, though I did feel they were kind of afraid of me. I had never realized how much being White meant until I was in America: the symbol of power, domination, and superiority that being White implies. Being White is being the entelechy of all that is beautiful, good and righteous. Which is strange because my nationality still is, in actuality, Japanese and as I grew older I started to look more asian. My hair has gotten completely dark and my looks started to resemble my mother's. I used to have very light-colored hair, but I just felt fortunate that I do not look fully asian like my sister was.
When I saw this image [of a naked asian woman kneeling next to a black furred dog] in a Japanese SM magazine a few days ago, all of a sudden I remembered seeing my mother in a similar position when I was maybe just 5 or 6 years old. It was not a pleasant experience; it was an extremely scary and traumatic experience, and growing up I heard constant moaning and muffled screams coming from my parents' bedroom. Every evening was a nightmare to fall asleep. But knowing that many asian women were treated the same way as my mother had been treated somehow made me feel better about my own family. At least my parents were not as weird as they seemed, and while growing up I had gradually come to realize that many asian girls have the same masochistic tendencies as I do, but many were just very shy and wouldn't admit their secrets. So it seems there are many masochistic asian women out there who thrives on been humiliated and degraded just like the girl in this image; I don't know why but this image made me feel kind of normal. I have lived in the States for nearly ten years now and I have not talked to my parents, who had divorced, for several years, especially to my mother whom I had some very severe arguments with over the years, especially when she remarried after she went back to China. I was more fond of my father though I haven't really talked to him that much either because he too had remarried. Despite all the mean things I had said about my dad, he was always very gentle with me and never beat me. He beat my sister and my mother but never me and I suspect he was much more gentle with me because of my more European looks. I felt their divorce was a punishment for me, as if they had abandoned me and I never felt comfortable with either of them or their new spouses, whether it be in China or in Japan. My mother's new husband was a very cruel and domineering white man living in China and he never treated me with the same special treatment I received from my dad. And I remember one time when I went out with him people on the street mistook me for his wife and I felt so disgusted I never wanted to go out with him again and then he would yell at me and yell at my mom. I am glad to have gotten out of there. And my dad ... well let's just say I couldn't bear to coexist with his new wife either. The last time we talked was already 3 years ago. This image had brought back so many long forgotten yearnings.
I miss my sister and my parents.
The memory of my sister and my parents started to fade away, like wavering forms they passed before my clouded sight; their images have become a blur rise about me out of mist and cloud; their faces, and their figures have become shades of phantoms; I wanted to hold you close to me in that blessed fleeting moment when you reappeared to me in my dreams. If only I possessed the strength to draw you near. I wanted to forever remember you—you bear the images of happy days; your airy smiles still stir youthful tremors in my breast—but my memory faltered. It would have been simpler if I were already dead. I would never be seized again by those long forgotten yearnings. I shuddered at those thoughts; and a tear draws other tears.
Crying is my only form of release; through crying I am channeled to the solemn and silent world of spirits; crying is my whispered prayer that lingers in a vagrant tone. I have no one to talk to. I live in solitary confinement. I have been driven to madness even though physically I stay put.
My life—full of dolor, pain and suffering. Sometimes I wish I could end it. The only reason I continue to live is for otherwise I lack the courage to carry out that final act, to take me beyond and step into the unknown. It is so much better to have been never born at all, or at least to die an immediate death. How sweet and wonderful death would be. My dear Aya, I am so very sorry! A vast space of nothingness in the empty universe fills my heart. Everyday of my life I live in terror because of you.
A family dog
Growing up, I always felt lonely. My family dog was my only companion. He was a slightly larger than a medium sized dog, with grey and dark fur, and a nozzle that resembled a wolf. He was so cute, so adorable, and he was my only friend. I often played with him in my desperate attempts to communicate with another living being, like Madame Bovary sitting by her fire place in a melancholic longing for escape. I want out!, out of this nonchalant prison of thoughts, out of this cruel alienated society, out of these mind forged manacles whose clanking I hear like looming madness; the marks of domestication on their faces, marks of psychological slavery, marks of intellectual death; they are mere automatons, inanimate objects, so lifeless like straw men, hollow men, stuffed men. I can't bare to look at those miserable beings' faces. In a domesticated dog I see more humanity than the entire humanity. If only my family dog can take me away! And I will elope with him to a happy place, where there is no more sorrow, no more dread, no more cold metallic prison walls of the mind.
My family dog was my only friend, and he was my only confidante. To him I entrusted all my deepest secrets. Sometimes I wished I was a dog: no more worries, no more sadness, no more consciousness, no more thoughts, just the need to satisfy my most basic instincts, lying by my owner's feet, worshiping him and completely dependent on him.
Sometimes I wish I could have another dog just like the family dog I used to have in Japan. And he will be my husband. I will belong to him. I will be his bitch. I will obey him, crawl under his belly, gently caress his furs with my soft hands, and please him like I would please my husband. And he will be my beast and I will be his beauty. Albeit he will be a gentle beast, always so obedient to me, and yet always so much more aggressive, and animalistic; he will protect me from harm, with his sharp fangs and naturally endowed muscles for chasing down his prey; and yet he will honor me and obey me like a lover would. He will never be jealous, never be angry, as long as he is fed and watered. He will be my best friend.
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