An Asian Sex Education

Asian countries do not teach sex education to their students. That’s a mistake, but not gravely so. Most Asians in Asian countries do not have sex. Asian countries have the lowest birth rate in the world, even without including China, which until just a few years ago still implemented a strict one-child policy. All North East Asian countries, Japan, Korea, Taiwan etc. are sepulchrally below replacement level. Because most Asian women do not wish to have sex with Asian men.

On the other hand, Asian sex education must be offered to Asian living in America. Condoms should be distributed to both Asian boys and girls. Nearly 80 percent of Asian girls cohabit sexually with white men, 7 percent with black men, and 12 percent with Hispanic men.

It’s a misconception that only Asian women have sex. Approximately 51 percent of Asian men engage in oral sex and anal sex with non-Asian men, whether or not they self-claim to be gay or straight. And approximately 49 percent of Asian boys identify as either cross-dressers, or transgenders.

To Asian boys:

It’s your first year in college, and you have lots of expectations. You will be nervous to learn about sex. Well, yes, but sorry to break it to you, yes, you can learn as much about sex as you want, from watching WMAF (white-male-Asian-female) porn in your dorm, or from watching your other more privileged white classmates or white roommates having sex, and more likely than not, they will be having sex with Asian girls.

Sometimes, and I don’t blame you—it’s your natural biological instinct, that you will want to have sex too—but let me guess, your penis is less than 5 inches even when fully erect. It’s also hairy and unkempt. And it’s uncut and full of disgusting smegma. Again, yes, once again, sorry to break it to you, no Asian girl would ever want to touch that. Never have. And never will.

You will, for the next four years of your undergrad education, brood in resentment, bitter loneliness and sexual frustration. Knowing that no Asian girl will ever love you or have sex with you, you will want to, and perhaps even try to, approach white girls, but, sadly, nearly 100% of white girls will ignore you. To them, you don’t even exist. They will never even look at you. The rare, singular white girl—the less than 0 percent—who so pities you as to look at you, will still see you as a sort of eunuch, a neutered little freak who ought to be kept in an animal shelter instead of being treated as a human on campus. She will perhaps show curiosity toward such an unsightly creature as an Asian “man”, but she will never consider you for romantic love, for obvious reasons.

Perhaps you will convert all your sexual frustration into studying, getting good grades and getting a good-paying job in the tech world, eventually ending up to work as a software engineer, or a research scientist; and with all the savings your parents give you, you will find a wife from your home country such as China or Vietnam, sponsor her to come to America and marry you. Perhaps she will even love you.

And this is the best scenario for you, if you are smart in science and stuffs.

For Asian girls:

It is in college that you will learn, you are the most desirable female-type on earth, well, at least for a certain type of men. You will, for the first time, be out of the sight of your strict Asian parents, be out of the control of patriarchal Asian men, and be able to be the real you. You will start to explore. You will start to learn about applying makeup, putting on sexy clothes, black stockings and high heels, and you will learn to seduce men, superior men, white men, who will take you out of your league, who will rescue you from your inferior Asian class in which the men are worthless, tiny and effeminate.

You will be—and you will want to be—surrounded by high-quality men, white men, from wealthy, upper-middle class and you will be in shock and awe; you will gasp collectively at the immense difference between your lowly Asian background and the truly superior white world, the upper echelon of the ruling class, to which you will be a novice, to which your white lover will be your guide like Beatrice to Paradiso.

You will experience your first white cock, and you will become addicted. For the rest of your life after that, you will swear to only love white men. Like a bird freed from its cage, you will soar and forever leave the Asian boys in the dust bin. You will never have to deal with them ever again. You will enter the white world.

In mandatory general education classes you will be taught about western imperialism, colonialism, post-colonialism, and other cool white-liberal stuffs, and, perhaps for a brief period of time you will become resentful too, full of righteous indignation at the domination of western thinkers, scientists, philosophers, creators, builders of civilizations, breakers of traditional values, harbingers of brave new worlds, conquerors, and en-slavers of other races. And as you and your white boyfriend—laying in bed, naked and cuddling each other—discuss those cool things you are taught in class, about those evil white men, your pussy will spasm and tighten and you will turn over, face buried into the pillow, and love the feeling of your boyfriend’s big white cock, the sword of your conqueror, cumming inside you, giving you the seed of masculine, world-conquering white gods.

You will never even want to look at an Asian male in the eyes afterward. You know you are superior to the rest of Asians, but you will also know that you are still inferior to white men, and you know, after college, that you will rather be working for a white man than for a smelly Asian man.

To Asian boys:

You will for the first time learn what’s like to be lonely, more lonely than you have ever felt in your entire life, up to now, and you will learn that this is just the beginning of the rest of your pathetic, transitory existence on this earth, from which you came with nothing and will leave nothing behind. Most likely you will never breed. The lucky few, the one percent among you, might become super-wealthy and be able to find a wife, but the 99 percent of you will either die as lonely virgins or become gay and/or transgender, if you do not already like Cassius choose to deliver yourself from this bondage prematurely, or like an antique Roman rather than a Dane. Your guiding philosopher will be Schopenhauer and your new hobby will be counting the number WMAF couples you see on the street and furiously masturbate to their images in front of your computer at home.

For Asian girls:

You start to comprehend the power you have over men. A single sexy photo will get you hundreds of likes on Instagram and every single day your inbox is flooded by desperate men who say they will sacrifice their lives for you, who swear to love you until the earth shatters, and who are willing to give all their livelihood to you just to be with you for a brief second of their otherwise meaningless lives. And out of those hundreds, thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands, you will choose one and that one—you will make sure that he is the cream of the crop, the best of the best, and wealthiest of the wealthiest, the most humorous, the most high-quality of men, and of course, he will most likely be white, or the cream of the crop from some other race. Perhaps a legendary football player like Pele (married to an Asian woman), a legendary comedian like Dave Chappelle (married to an Asian woman), or some other multi-billionaire, most of whom are married to Asian women, except for Elon Musk—though, rumor has it, he’s actually half Chinese himself.

To Asian boys:

When you are in the locker room with other boys, especially white and black boys, you will notice that your penis is much smaller, and that your testicles are much tinier. You learn that you are genetically disadvantaged as a biological male. Nature cheated you. Even if you do not go into a locker room, you can already see on campus that every non-Asian boy is much taller than you, and those real men, mostly white men, are not just much taller, but also much more muscular. They have big biceps and wide shoulders and can lift you up and drag you around like a sack of potatoes in a fight. You will learn that you are not really a man in comparison, at least in the west; the jocks will once in a while joke about you bending over and taking it up the ass. “All Asians look like faggots,” you will hear it whispered around you. You are much better off being born a girl, you will lament. And that’s normal.

You might just as well start putting on makeup and shaving your legs and asking those big, scary white men if they would have sex with you like you are a girl.

In addition to giving blowjobs to white men, as you secretly do, you also learn to enjoy being anally penetrated. It’s the only kind of sex you will get as an Asian.

For Asian girls:

Your body is growing and you start to like admiring your own naked body in front of the mirror. You admire your own breasts and curvy hips and you couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of a strong, muscular white man coming to take advantage of you. You turn blue with jealousy when you see your white girlfriend bringing her tall, handsome white boyfriend to your dorm and have sex with him. You want a white boyfriend of your own. You have an advantage over the Asian boys. You have three holes to please white men.

You are sick and tired of going to clubs full of Asians and you beg your white girlfriend to take you and your three other Asian girlfriends to the real club, where the music is loud, the booze is real and the guys are white. And when she eventually takes all four of you, you notice all the white guys are hooking up with white girls and once again you feel a jealous rage. You go back to your dorm and start reading more into Foucault, Marx, and other Communist-Feminist required readings for your class and you think about becoming a social justice warrior. And thankfully there is a white man who’s there for you just in this kind of situation. He’s weak, short, and effeminate, a white-version of an Asian man, and no white girl likes him, but he’s taken a shine on you and, out of loneliness and desperation, you start going out with him. He may be shy and timid outside, but he’s a closeted homosexual and a connoisseur of Asian SM pornography and wouldn’t ever take no for an answer, not from an inferior Asian.

In order to please your white boyfriend, you will need more than giving him blowjobs. Any Asian knows how to do that already. He has had multiple Asians giving him blowjobs, from both sexes. He asks you if it’s okay to bring a friend, and teach you about double penetration.

You browse the internet and you learn that even though Asian boys treat you like a goddess, you still pall in comparison to white girls. You do not have big supple breasts like white girls, and you do not have the outrageously curvy hips as white girls do, and so in order to attract top-quality white men, you compensate by being more obedient, more docile, and more kinky in bed. You will start to learn how to enjoy being spanked and, hogtied. When that cute white boy from your class asks you on the second date: “Do you enjoy Japanese bondage?”, you don’t even pretend to be offended. You lower your head and bite your lips as you put your hands around your lap and gasp and moan. This is your third boyfriend in three years. You are going to become a senior in next year.

To Asian boys:

In the four years of college you made no friend, and has never had a girl even looking at you or smiling at you. You sense that maybe this is the beginning of the end, you are doomed from now on to live your life as an involuntary celibate.

Your GPA is dismal and you either have to drop out of college, graduate without any job prospect, or take a few more years of drubbing in solitary. You go back to live in your parents’ basement and spend all your time online watching WMAF porn.

You find a low-paying intern job and you realize your life cannot get any worse. Every colleague at your intern already knows that, as an Asian, you never get laid, and that you are probably a closet-tranny or cross-dresser. You try to hide, but the big, tall, domineering black guy at your job slaps you on the ass and makes you bend over. “Chink boy, I’m gonna whoop yo ass.” You realize white boys are so much more gentle. Your life has no meaning and your life is worthless, you repeat those mantra back to yourself.

For Asian girls:

You get a high-paying intern job at a prestigious company and when you arrived everyone treats you like a royalty. You are the only female in that department and you are praised to the roof. You had no idea how popular you can be. All the men are hungry for you, desperate for your approval, and your boss offers to give you a full-paying position and promised bonus, and promotions, and more salary in a year just so you can stay. And you already get even better offers from other companies. You are on top of the world, and you are only 23.

You move in to your own apartment and you found a fourth boyfriend. He’s older, successful, and handsome, and a mutt of all races: a mix of Irish, Scottish, Italian, and German. He comes over to have sex with you whenever you text him. He’s obedient like a dog, and aggressive like a beast in bed. And you know, and he knows, that you can ditch him and find any other man at any point. He satisfies all your vainglory dreams, all your romantic fantasies; you feel so proud, so strong and so independent—I’m an exemplar of modern Asian woman, you say—when you introduce your successful, handsome white boyfriend to other girls, especially white girls, who turn purple with jealousy. You satisfy all his sexual fantasies in return, becoming a docile, submissive Asian slave in bed.

You learn the many advantages you have as an Asian woman. You will never grow old, in the eyes of white men. You will probably never gain as much weight as white women. You are also much smarter than your average white woman which means you excel in subjects like math which completely befuddles the brain of a dumb blonde girl and so you compete with other men in male-dominated fields like finance and engineering, and you become the icon for breaking glass ceilings and the poster child of diversity and inclusion.

What’s more, you are surrounded by successful men who pamper you like a goddess and you have an unlimited dating pool.

Your life cannot get anymore happier.

To Asian boys:

Your life cannot get any worse. You are fired from the last internship you had. You are still living in your parents’ basement. You have never had a girlfriend. All day and all night you are tormented. You think you are going crazy. One day on the street you see another WMAF couple, a really gorgeous Asian girl and an older, white gentleman and this is the one hundredth WMAF couple you see in a week. You have a mental breakdown in the middle of the street, the cops get called and you are sent to a mental hospital.

For Asian girls:

You have so many choices you feel overwhelmed. You love your fiancee, but you also value your career. You are a strong, independent, modern Asian woman. You make 100K every year. You have everything: love, career, happiness, sex, and all you lack now is a happy marriage and a litter of children. You decide to wait. You are only 26. You still have plenty of time. You can have a cat in the meanwhile. Or two. You decide to have two cats and call yourself their mommy. You are seeing your fifth boyfriend—”Perhaps he is the one?”, you question—after you switched to an even better-paying job from the last company you worked. This is the third company you worked for since you graduated from college.

But you are ambitious. You want to go back to college to get a master degree. You weigh your options. My company sponsors me to get a master degree, but I will have to take a temporary deduction in pay. Or, I can work full time and not go back to college and continue to build up my resume on experience. Should I go back to college? Let’s make an analysis. That’s what I’m good at. … Oh, let me tell you, you should, your fifth boyfriend chimes in. You are young and you have the energy and the mental capacity. When you get older, it’s going to be harder for you to go back to school. But, ultimately, the choice is yours. The sky is the limit for you, sweet girl, the apple of my eye, the lighthouse of my sail, the bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh. You are too clingy, you tell him.

You decide life is so much easier when you live alone. You want to be independent. You do not want to settle down yet. Your fifth boyfriend constantly begs you for marriage. You decide to cut him loose and move to California and choose attending Berkeley. Both NYU and Columbia offered you acceptance letters but you want to get away from New York for a while.

For Asian boys:

You are given a daily cocktail of antidepressants and other stabilizing drugs and you finally come to your senses. You decide to transition and live the rest of your life as a woman. You wish you had come to the realization sooner. After taking female hormone therapy for a month you are cleared to leave the mental hospital. You go back to living in your parents’ basement and start to receive government cash assistance and food stamps, but you are no longer a boy. The life of an Asian boy ends.

To Asian girls:

You find a sixth boyfriend in California. He’s much older than you, old enough to be your grandfather, but the sex is amazing. Sex is 90 percent mental and 10 percent physical, he tells you and he’s able to get into your head. He is dominant and you love to follow his orders. He calls you his “Asian slut” and makes you “Serve your White Master” and, without fully understanding why, you are so excited and stimulated and at the same time so degraded and humiliated and yet you had the best sex you ever had. The role play scenarios he concocts drives you out of your mind. He invites all his friends from Senior Living Facility, tells them you are a “cheap Asian whore” and make you give them foot massages. They each pay you 20 dollars and thank you for your service. Then your white master tells them that you offer more: “She sucky sucky too!” Your face turns beet red and you glare at your master and you want to storm out of the house, yet physically you stay put. You cannot move. A spell has been cast over you. You crawl over and start sucking their smelly, dirty cocks one by one and tears formed at the corner of your eyes and yet you cannot stop. They pet you on the head and shoot their load inside your mouth and you swallow. The humiliation is so great you start to cry and the crying becomes sobbing and you cannot stop. Your master walks over to you, without saying a word, flips you over on your back and start pumping in and out of your vagina and you had a screaming orgasm. Then he puts a dog collar around your neck and makes you crawl into a dog cage in the backyard and, panting, moaning, and crying, you obey, and you rub your clit and nipples as you crouches inside the dog cage in a fetal position and your white master takes pictures of you. You don’t care and you rub yourself to another orgasm inside the cage. After you have rubbed yourself to the third orgasm he releases you from the cage and tells you to go home.

You were completely naked and your clothes were thrown outside on the ground.

You put on your clothes in front of the gate to his house and you can still taste the cum from the three old white men you had sucked off. You take the subway and go back to your apartment and you couldn’t get out of your mind what had just happened and you rub yourself to another orgasm.

All week you keep on thinking about what will happen next week and when the weekend finally arrives you take the subway to his house and the anticipation of what is to come drives you crazy your legs start to shake. He strips you naked and ties you up in a spread-eagle position and starts to whip you with a belt. You whimper and moan and scream in pain. Then the door opens and several white men show up and your stomach knots and you start to cry from both ends. Your eyes are filled with salty rivers and your pussy is moist with love juice. Your white master notices. He wipes the juice from your pussy with his fingers, and then wipes them against the side of your cheeks. Your master and several other strangers take turns whipping you with their belts, smacking your with their hands, and then they take you down and tag-team on you in all possible positions.

There was not a moment when your holes were not filled with cocks.

Your master says you are his three holed fuck toy: “You are built to have all your yellow holes fucked. Look at yourself in the mirror. Those thick fat pussy lips, your tiny body and wide hips. I should put you on display and whore you out nonstop.” And you cum again.

After the gang bang your master makes you lick his asshole. “The greatest taste for a worthless slant eyed chink is the flavor from a white man. A white man’s unwashed asshole is musky and tasteful to a chink like you. You are born to be not just a cum rag for white men, but also as our ass wipe.” He says. With tears in your eyes you obediently crawl over yet again and starts to lick his asshole. The taste is salty and you are disgusted with yourself but you cannot stop. The image of yourself being degraded like a cheap Asian slut makes your mind explode with pleasure.

You become a regular at the “gangbang my Asian cunt” parties on weekends, where white men with Asian partners bring their wives/girlfriends over to be gangbanged. None of those Asians were prostitutes. Almost all of them are just like you, professional Asian ladies who graduated from top tier Ivy-League-level colleges and hold prestigious jobs in finance, technology, Silicon Valley, etc. The Asian women dress up in sexy lingerie and sometimes also cosplay as characters from anime and video games. Some cosplay as Chun-Li, some as Mai Shiranui. Your white master decides to make you wear a Cheongsam mini-dress with the sides cropped all the way to your hips and without wearing any bra or underwear, so as you serve drinks to the guests, anyone can see your naked pussy and ass flashing as you walk. You become acquainted with other Asian women at the party and make great friends. When their husbands/masters walk over, they ask you to perform lesbian sex acts with their Asians and your master approves.

You have never had lesbian tendencies but you are curious to try. You and another Asian woman—a 27 year old Japanese woman from Osaka—were placed in the center of the living room floor and you start to kiss and fondle each other. “Speak some Japanese to each other,” The party goers hollered. You both start conversing in Japanese and the people laughed. “Lick each other’s pussy.” The other girl crawls on top of you and starts licking your pussy. Her pussy is right on top of your face and you venture your tongue out to give it a taste. It’s sweet smelling and delicate, unlike the musky, salty taste of your master’s asshole.

As a cock enters your pussy below, you see another cock entering the pussy you are licking. “Keep licking,” a voice tells you. You get a close-up look at the action of what’s happening to your pussy vicariously. “It’s so much fun!” You laugh to yourself, and before you know it, the cock inside your pussy pulls out and another one is replaced. You feel cum oozing out from underneath and wonder how many white men will be breeding you tonight.

“How did I end up becoming like this,” sometimes you wonder. By the age of 30, you are still not married, and, though your parents and other relatives don’t say it quite openly, they know you are no longer a virgin. You tell them that you don’t have a boyfriend, but behind your back they all know you are seeing someone, most likely a white guy, and they are just too embarrassed to surmise the things you do with those secret white lovers that you have. It’s not like that they don’t have inklings of what you do. There are clues here and there, and besides, you have another cousin who is just like you. She did not marry until she was 36, but she had several secret white lovers before that. You open your Facebook once in a while and you see lots of the Asian girlfriends you had before who are your age and they are either single or married to some non-Asian guys, mostly white guys. But you don’t really care. Your life is transitory, contemporaneous, without remembrance of the past or worries about the future; or perhaps, like the characters from “100 Years of Solitude”, you just don’t have a past. You have forgotten everything before. You do not even think about the people who used to know you. Perhaps once in a while you will confabulate and concoct stories about your personal life during fits of mythomania just to impress the white men you are sleeping with, or to satisfy the curiosity of prying colleagues, but, truly, in full actuality, you live a completely solitary lifestyle, without anyone knowing in totality what exactly you do, or who you really are. Because not even yourself knows exact who you are or what you do anymore, because you have no relation with anyone from the past, no childhood friends, no relatives, no former classmates, no connection to anyone else who knew your past. You are just a shadow, and you are living in your dreams, and since your dreams themselves are shadows, then you are perhaps, like Hamlet would say, just a shadow’s shadow.

But I do not feel any sadness. I do not feel any emptiness. I do not feel any of the existential qualms that you make my life seem to be, you argue. I’m happy living this way.

But I’m not. A voice says to you, but will you ever hear it? Probably not. Besides, you don’t really know or care whose voice that is anyway.

My life is happy and that is all I care. You say. And never hear that voice ever again.

A Yellow Taxi Cab

Any white man who had been to China can testify to this little truth, a little truth that one carries carefully within one’s bosom in polite conversations: that is, as long as you are a man with Caucasian features in China, Chinese women will approach you on the street, flirt with you, and have sex with you.

I’m not here to write to you an “erotica”; I have never had the intention of doing so in any of my writings. I had always considered myself an educator, a thinker, an enlighten-er, whose texts and documents purport to the meaning of things that are considered too controversial or too shameful to be brought up otherwise. Perhaps, in the category of–in the words of Nietzsche–a history of love, a philosophy of nutrition, and a moral analysis on food, things that academicians consider too trivial, too naive, and too extravagant to be worth considering.

Ms. Li, from Suzhou, China, was one such a woman who exclusively sought out sex with foreigners. Though she did not start this way. Through her experience she was made this way. And we learn, through her perspective, of how she was made and trained to become what she was.

She was 25 years old at the time, and was without a job. Originally from a provincial town in China, she had come to Suzhou, a moderately large city, looking for a better life. She had worked as a waitress in a restaurant, a teller in a bank, a front-desk receptionist at a hotel, and, just recently, out of frustration, at indignation suffered at work, at invidious manipulations and degrading treatments by her colleagues, she had quit once again and was aimlessly wandering the street.

A confused-looking “laowai” in business suits and holding a map stood by the sidewalk; being kind-heart-ed and semi-fluent in English—she had English training from her vocational school and from experience working at hotels, she curiously glanced toward him and, seeing his furrowed brows unfurl like a flower, she smiled back and said to him: “How can I help you?”

The laowai’s face wrinkled into mirth as his mouth opened wide and told her that he was so glad to hear someone who could speak English, explained that he was a businessman from America, and was looking for his hotel. He also took out his business card and handed it over to her, which, she, being courteously trained and daft in the polite etiquette of the orient, received with both of her hands, and smiled and bowed obsequiously.

It’s so rare to meet a laowai, Ms. Li thought sweetly to herself and lead him to the address written on his note, which was attached to the map he was following. “I must cherish this opportunity to improve my English,” She said out loud to herself as she walked in front and cocked her head high, and the middle-aged white man followed behind meekly. Never losing a chance to speak, she turned toward him as they walked and asked all sorts of questions in her broken and heavily accented English. “Where are you from?” “Why did you come to China?” “What kind of work do you do?” And the laowai, pleased to be accompanied by a young, beautiful Chinese woman, eagerly retorted with as many convoluted answers as possible. She learned his name was John; he oversaw several factories in Suzhou, and he came here to inspect his products.

Once they arrived at the hotel, a five star hotel solely reserved for foreigners, John invited Ms. Li for dinner, and for Ms. Li, it was the first time that she was inside such an luxurious hotel. “Every night here must cost at least 1000 yuan!” 1000 yuan (the average monthly salary of a Chinese worker) is equivalent to approximately 120 dollars. Ms. Li couldn’t help but start to fantasize. She fantasized of being his girlfriend, of being able to live the same lifestyle as the laowai, of being married to him and emigrate to a rich western country, away from the dirty, backward, authoritarian country that was and still is China.

It did not take much sweet talk on the part of the laowai to convince her to go back to his hotel room with him. And at the hotel room she lost her virginity. “No one can ever forget their first time, and from now on, my body, my soul, and my life belongs to him,” she cried and thought to herself.

From the perspective of John: Ms. Li was yet another easy lay. It was not the first time that a Chinese woman would come to sleep with him after just one dinner date. She was cute, not very well-dressed, probably not from a rich family, he correctly surmised, “And she was so easily impressed. She had never seen a western-style buffet that was at the hotel and was amazed at the amount of food being offered to foreigners.” Foreigners were treated as royalties in China, and to some degree, are still treated so today.

And the sex: well, she was a virgin, which did not impress John. It’s very common for Chinese women to remain virgins until marriage and it’s not unheard of that many Chinese women would remain virgins until their 30s. And she was, well, obviously, very inexperienced. “She needs a lot of training,” John in his words.

She came back to see him again the next day and he realized that she was not very kinky. The sex was good, but not exciting enough for John. And he told her that “you need to start learning how to provide good sex. How to please foreign men. And how to make me comfortable. Or else, you might lose me.”

He brought her lingerie, and gave her pornographic video and magazines to study, and told her that “you need to start practicing, and the next time we meet, I want to see progress.”

And there was indeed progress, according to John. “She came back and the first thing she did was giving me a full body massage. She went down on me too. That was a good start.” But another thing John noticed was she started to become afraid, afraid of being seen with him outside. Something had changed inside her and she was not telling him what. “It’s one of those difficulties of having to deal with virgins.” John realized that she might be afraid of being seen with him in front of her friends and colleagues, because she had worked in Suzhou for many years and had a lot of acquaintances from work. “Being with a foreigner sometimes can mean you are being a whore. And it’s somewhat looked down upon in the conservative Chinese culture.” So John told her that he wanted to bring her back to Shanghai. She was excited, and overjoyed, but …

“If you come, you must submit to me. And you accept to do everything I order you to. You cannot say—No—to anything I ask you.”

During the trip to Shanghai she was not allowed to wear bra or panties, so John could have access to her pussy and breasts whenever he felt like. And he chose what types of clothes she could wear on the street in Shanghai. High heeled shoes. Miniskirt. And low cut blouse. Many people mistook her for a prostitute. Though prostitution was and still is illegal in China, there are literally prostitutes everywhere; especially in big cities like Shanghai, it’s almost always expected that Chinese women will be eager to provide sexual service to wealthy foreign men like John.

The sex had gotten much better also. John required her to shave her pubic hair. He also liked that she started doing more “dirty stuffs”, like licking his feet, licking his ass, and swallowing his cum.

She asked if she were his girlfriend, and resolutely, without any compunction, he said “No.” He explained that it was his way of life. He had never married, had never had a girlfriend, and he told her also quite explicitly, that she was not the only girl he “sees” in China. He had a girl like her in every major city he had ever been to in China; though brutal, and brutally honest, he did not want to deceive her, and if she truly wanted him, loved him, and wanted to devote her life to worship him, then, he explained, she must also accept this way of life, this western way of life in which freedom is valued above all else, even if it meant that it would be lonely, what some might call “cold,” but what some others might call or consider “hyperborean”, and, yes, sometimes, and ultimately, solitary.

She did not talk to him for an entire week, and he thought, he might have hurt her deeply, and he might never see her again, but to his surprise, she came back to him, and not only did she came back, but she came back and said that this was the western lifestyle she had always wanted and she enjoyed her time with him too much and she could no longer leave, and she said, “I want this with a foreign man.”

At this point too John had realized something. John, the laowai, had realized that for a Chinese girl like Ms. Li, her life was full of ennui, daily routines, and drab idleness and that if she wanted to live her life to the fullest, stifled by this traditional, patriarchal Chinese authoritarian way of life as she was, she had no choice but to find a foreign man, for a foreign man, like himself, is her only way to freedom.

By the quirks of life, perhaps, or so the expression goes, John became her pimp. He would introduce other foreign friends to Ms. Li and let them have sex with her. It was Ms. Li’s demand that she would only have sex with foreigners. John’s headquarter was based in Hong Kong, and he only came to China once every few months, so he could not be with her all the time, but whenever he had other clients, friends or acquaintances who went to Suzhou, he would tell them about Ms. Li, and introduce her to them as their local guide. And whenever he visited Suzhou, he joined them as well. He had arranged several threesomes and foursomes, sharing Ms. Li with his foreign buddies. And he would observe that Ms. Li’s pussy would be wet from night until morning, filled to the brim with multiple men’s cum and yet still begging for more. As he penetrated her, and seeing her lusting for other men’s sexual organs, his heart was filled with both lust and anger and he took out his frustration upon her poor flesh, beating her violently and thrust inside her more forcefully, and yet, the more violent and passionate he did so, the more she seemed to have been turned on.

He came to realize that Ms. Li adored, worshiped foreign men like himself and found her own sexual ecstasy by submitting to foreign men like himself. The more they humiliated her, degraded her, and “made her do nasty things, the more she became turned on and the harder she came.” But, of course, there was a process to it, and the process had to be gradual for her to accept it both mentally and physically. “Eventually, the sexual ecstasy would be so great that she starts losing her mind during those sessions as she get hit with multiple orgasms.”

All good things must come to an end, eventually. John had to go back to the United States after being stationed in Hong Kong for several years, and had to leave his harem of Chinese girls. By his own estimate, by the year 2000 (he was in China from 1995 to then), he had had sex with hundreds of Chinese girls, spread all over China, in cities such as Suzhou, Chongqing, Shanghai, Fuzhou, Guangzhou, Hangzhou, Wuhan, etc.

And long after John had gone, Ms. Li still prowled the streets of Suzhou looking for foreign men. She exclusively dated foreign men, white men from Europe, Australia, America, and, sometimes also, South America and the Middle East.

In Japan, she would be known as the “gaijin hunter”. In China, Hong Kong, and the rest of the sinic countries, she would be known as “yellow taxicab”. In Korea, Thailand and Vietnam, she is called a “foreign sausage eater”. And yet, those words, meant to be degrading, humiliating and insulting to her, not only did not deter her but filled her heart with passion and lust. The more her country men scolded her, spit upon her, the more she flocked to the white haven and sought refuge in the sanctuary of white men’s warm embrace. Her life, her existence, and the meaning of her existence, all solely rested on the service and the pleasure of white men, and she had no remorse in her sacrifice to the white ideal.

I know my place in the world.

Pleasing White Man in all his physically prepotent glory is my passion. There is no feeling–no ecstasy greater, no joy more overwhelming to my heart–than the feeling of a white cock slammed into my throat, bulging my tiny esophagus, leaking its pre-cum into my tummy; and, I, in this painful, pleasurable, humiliating process, soaking my pussy.

I’m obsessed with being forced to pleasure White Man, worship White Man, and submit to White Man, even if it means that I will be gagged and that I will struggle with his white meat rammed down my throat, even if it means that I will be constantly starving for White Cock no matter how many cocks I’ve been fed.

Because otherwise I’m useless.

I heard somewhere on a podcast that more than 80 percent of women are having sex with less than 20 percent of men, and this is actually enabled by change in technology and globalization. The argument goes somewhat as follows: less than 20 percent of men are considered unattractive to women. Of those 20 percent, less than 20 percent of them are above 6 feet tall. Of those percentage, less than 20 percent has attractive personality. And of those, less than 20 percent is rich. Etc. Etc. If you do the math, you come to realize than a tiny, tiny percentage of men are attractive for all women, and all the women who are having sex with a man may be ending up, in a limited pool, be having sex with the same man. The vast majority of the rest of men are simply genetic dead ends who will never have sex with women.

And it just so happens that that tiny percentage of men are almost entirely white.

My white owner—my pussy tightens and moistens just at the mention of him—played a game with me and another white-cock-starved Asian girl while we all stayed in a seedy motel together. He told both of us that we were to not make a sound while we were being fucked. “If you make a peep, I stop and switch to the other.” Both of us hadn’t been fucked in a while and so we were desperate to keep him inside us, but we would inevitably cry out as he positioned to drive himself deeper and deeper. He butchered our insides. And yet for him, “It’s so much fun watching you both desperately trying to stay quite,” as he cranked up the intensity of ruining our innards.

Immured in the daily treadmill of material survival, in going to work and leaving work, immersed in, surrounded by, and flooded all round with handsome, solipsistic, imperious white men, the commonwealth of an Asian woman living in the west, whether any of us has any awareness of it whatsoever, consist mostly of deviant sexual escapades with the said kind of men; which can be more or less otiose games without reproduction or childbearing, and yet can be demonstrably luxurious for the soul, and yet, yet again, can be all too often irresponsible and devilish in their consequences.

My white owner had given me daily assignment to watch WMAF porn videos and play with my cunt and clit EXCEPT that my dildo must be inside my ass the whole time. My desperation to touch my swollen Asian clit and make myself cum became unbearable after a couple of days. Although the feeling of desperation made my cunt wet as well.

For reasons that I’ve yet to fully comprehend but depriving my Asian pussy of white cock made me incredibly horny. When I was at work I was too busy and had no opportunity to play with myself, but the other half of me knew that I could make time, by going into the bathroom, in the dressing room, or even inside my car, but my owner forbade me to use my dildo inside my pussy and it made me suffer. One day I even woke up to me rubbing my clit in my sleep. That was how horny I had been.

During the road trip to the seedy motel he made me “show the other Asian girl a video of you being a horny slut while at work.” In that video, I squealed like a typical Japanese slut because I never imagined that he would show it to others. I tried pulling my phone away. I tried turning it off because I was embarrassed, not just for me, but also for the other girl. But he asked me, or to be more exact, told me: who was in charge. He made me repeat it. “White Man is in charge. And White Man gets what he wants.” I was humiliated, appalled; I was made an object of virulent anathema, and yet I was also dripping wet.

Those are not occult notions, that White Men are desirable for Asian chicks. Those feelings are, for an Asian woman, of an immensity of the commonplace. They are, in fact, perfectly pragmatic, experiential and repetitive, each and every time those lines came to me they came to inhabit me, possess me, enter into the sinews of my remembrance and sense of the future, and like a painting transmutes the landscape of my previous perception–my previous perception, in which I considered myself equal to white men, in which I had deluded myself with puerile provenance of my Japanese heritage, in which I had foolishly taken pride.

I felt the impetuous desire that was in me, and a yielding mood like a cloud of thunderstorm had came upon me.

That night at the motel, I was fucked in the ass twice, and yet I still felt like I was having a mild orgasm an hour later. During the process my pussy was on fire, and I had to pee so badly, but instead of letting me go, or use the bathroom with dignity, my white owner held me upside down and made me piss all over myself and my face. My urine went up my nose, into my mouth, and my hair was soaked too because of how much piss came out of me. “She is a nasty slut and she is proud of it,” He bragged to the other Asian girl, who was kneeling by the door of the bathroom, staring in a state of trance, her eyes staring blankly into the abyss.

The other Asian girl went by the name “Jillian”. She is Chinese, originally from Shanghai, about 5 feet 8, with marmoreal skin from the kingdom of White Queen, and long silky black hair like Snow White, works as a regional sales manager for Huawei. During the day she is the patriotic Chinese nationalist poster girl. My white owner had been her secret lover for over three years now. He took her out do dinners, to expensive trips abroad. If you looked through her social media profiles, you would always see pictures of her at fancy restaurants, five-star hotels, and other expensive trips to history-rich European countries such as Greece, England, France, etc., and she is always seen with someone, either dining or swimming or diving, or fencing–because there are always two sets of everything, two sets of dishes, two sets of silver-plates, two sets of hands, and yet that someone is never actually seen. He is invisible. But he is there, and he shows up at night, and creeps out at dawn. Some at her company–all of them Chinese male engineers–gossiped that she is dating a matutinal-crepscular non-being.

Her interests are “food, travel and shopping”. Her interest in my white owner is never mentioned anywhere.

“Being creampied and walking around with your wet, sticky cum filled in my panties is a turn on. I love feeling the wetness rubbing against my cunt all day, reminding me of the incredible fuck I had that morning,” referring to my white owner as “Sir”. She is fully aware that my white owner has multiple girlfriends, all of them Asian, and she is okay with it. However, she would never tolerate a Chinese guy having more than one girlfriend. “Feeling your cum between my thighs as I’m going about my day makes me crave your cock and cum all over again.” Without even caring for my feelings, she said those words in front of me and my owner as if I were indifferent to jealousy. Those are the sentences that arrested my spirit. Her words mapped out the different spaces, the different journeys and histories we have traversed, re-traversed, seeking to quarry, and to inhabit and yet in the end all converging at the same point, as if in a recursive formula, “in-folding” inside the limits of our words, defining the immanence of being Asian.

That night at the motel, both of us got anal cream pies from my white owner. We also sucked his cock right after it came out of our butts for the first time too and it was incredibly hot. Sometimes I had thought that my sex life cannot possibly get any more exciting than it already is, but then, my owner surprises me. The mere knowledge that many other Asian girls are fighting to win his favors makes me even more attracted to him than I felt was possible.

The next morning my white owner decided that he had had enough of me and dragged me by my hair to the bathroom and sadly I knew what was coming. He told me to kneel in front of the toilet and forced his cock in my mouth and started to piss. I can’t explain it, but if you are a perverted dirty little Asian girl like I am then you know that drinking your white owner’s piss is one of the most amazing feelings in the world. Some of it fell into the toilet, and the last mouth-full he made me swallow. As if it wasn’t already humiliating enough, he then demanded that I cup my hands and take a sip of the toilet water and piss that fell out of my mouth, and then he made me repeat the line, “I’m a worthless yellow piss slut.” I didn’t think twice. After I had successfully accomplished my tasks, he petted me on the head and said, from now on, this will be my new morning routine.

Sometimes I need to be reminded of my place in the world, and it’s beneath White Man.