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.
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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3 thoughts on “A Yellow Taxi Cab”
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