I was romantically involved with an Asian boy when I was in high school, but we were just friends. I knew he liked me, and he knew I liked him, but we were both too scared to admit it. We never even held hands or hugged. We were platonic friends. After he graduated from high school, he tried to contact me, but my mother forbade him to ever talk to me again. I heard that he became extremely miserable and tried to commit suicide a few times. At the time I was also in college and I was miserable too. I was depressed and I took out all my energy on studying. I excelled in college and landed a job as an associate manager for a five star hotel corporation, and I was dispatched to Shanghai, China. At this point in my life, I had yet to have any sexual relationship with anyone. I always wished that I could save my first time for that Asian boy I used to know in high school. I had never heard from him again ever since. He had no facebook, no linkedin, no twitter, no social media presence at all. I heard from some classmates that he had dropped out of college. I was very depressed and I always had hoped that he would contact me again, but never ever again did I hear from him.
Then my boss, a white expat from England, came into my life. The five
star hotel in Shanghai that I worked for was almost exclusively serving
foreigners, white foreigners from Europe, North America and rich Middle
Eastern states such as Saudi Arabia, and all the staff were Asians.
They were Chinese waitresses, servants, housekeepers, greeters, etc.
They were all very servile and you can almost feel the racial dynamic if
you had stepped into the hotel. It was an exorbitant hotel, with
enormous dome-like hallways and golden rims and large crystal lights,
and all the guests were white, and all the servants were Chinese.
Long story short, I became sexually involved with my boss from England, and lost my virginity to him. Every night after work he brought me into his penthouse at the top of the hotel and ravished me hours and hours. I had often cried as he penetrated me, as the memory of that Asian boy I used to know in high school resurfaced in my mind. He took me out to the deck with his massive hairy arms around my thin waist and I can see all the Asian staff gawk and stare in shame and humiliation–yet another young, beautiful, smart Asian girl conquered and subjugated by the bulky, superior white western men. The young Chinese men–all handsome and good looking–looked down in shame. They knew that they were no match to a white man like the boss who took my virginity. They were poor, they did not go to colleges in America, and they were Chinese. I was educated in America, in a prestigious college, and I make more than 10 times what they make, and my boss makes 100 times what I make. Even if they liked me, they would not dare to approach me, because they would be intimidated by my education, my salary, and my status as an American citizen.
But in front of my boss, I was nothing but another worthless Asian whore. He would wave his big western cock in my face and smirk and tell me how small and pathetic I was. I felt so humiliated and ashamed of myself. I felt so inferior in front of him, which made me all the more sexually aroused, and I had the most intense orgasms as he fucked me.
Then one day, as I was checking my email, I saw a message from that
Asian boy I used to know in high school. He wrote that for the last 10
years of his life he has been thinking of me. He wrote of how miserable
he has been. I cried. I cried. I cried. Yet there was nothing that I
could do for him anymore.
I had lost my virginity to my boss, and I am now a white man’s little asian whore.
I blocked him and never heard from him ever since, but deep inside my heart, whenever my white boss fucked me hard, spanked me, whipped me, or used a dog collar to lead me crawling around the room, I remembered him and tears rolled down my cheeks.
I lied when I said that I never heard from him again. I wished it was the case. He used a different account and contacted me again, and this is what he wrote: “Are you really going to let me live in this misery for the rest of my life? Give me a release, please. It’s been 10 years. At least let me know if you are married so I can know that you are happy and that you have moved on. All those years, I have been living in misery. I wished I can forget about you, but it’s been impossible. I tried so hard to forget about you, I tried so hard. I was so depressed that I tried to commit suicide.”
I still remember the morning when I read this message. I had gotten
out of bed, tearing my naked body away from the hairy arms of my white
boss. It was my daily routine to check emails before getting to work.
All of a sudden, when I saw this message, my face turned pale and my
whole body started to shake. Without even realizing it, tears started to
flow out of my eyes like rivers. I immediately rushed to the bathroom
to clean myself. I was completely naked and my boss was laying in our
bed, his hairy Caucasian belly and his massive, hairy white legs and
feet were completely exposed. I felt so ashamed. I almost felt like as
if he could see us and I didn’t want to imagine the misery he must have
been living through. I sobbed uncontrollably and tried my best to cover
my mouth to not make a sound. I was scared that my current boyfriend
might see me in this state. I did not know what I would tell him. I did
not know how I would be able to explain, why all of a sudden his
precious little Asian jade is all crying for no reason.
Deep inside, yet at the same time, I felt a tinge of happiness. He
loved me for all those years. He really did. I smiled to myself. Then
the realization that I will never be able to see him again made me cry
again. I was crying and laughing to my self in the bathroom.
I don’t know if I am making any sense now because as I remember what
happened, it feels as if no amount of words can heal the emotional wound
that has been my heart. It feels as if no matter how much I write, how
matter how hard I try, I can’t forget about this feeling.
I did not block him this time. In stead I changed my name. I changed
my last name to just one letter. I changed my first name to my generic
English name. I deleted the name of the high school that I went to.
I can’t bare to hurt him again. But I just can’t ever be able to talk
to him again. I hope he can forget about me. I hope he can find another
girl whom he loves more than me.
Because his once chaste, virginial jade is now no longer what he remembered. This once prudish, innocent Asian girl who refused to even let him touch her, who once only knew love in the vaguest sense of the word, is now nothing but a dirty little chink whore for a white man. She is just another cheap asian whore who will do anything to climb the corporate ladder. Only the memory of me will be able to live in his mind from now on.
I suppose the story does have a happy ending. I tried so hard to hide
the message that he sent me from my boyfriend, but I looked at it
everyday and my boyfriend suspected that something was wrong. He saw me
staring over the laptop over and over and crying, and he grabbed my
laptop over and saw what I was reading. He said that, first of all, he
couldn’t believe that I would still be having feeling for a loser like
that asian boy, and that I would be very severely punished, more
severely than ever before. He had considered what he had done to me
before to be merely part of a game in the bedroom, but now he was angry,
and jealous of the fact that my heart was not 100% devoted to him, and
he wanted me to be taught a lesson that would make me remember for the
rest of my life. Second, this was considered stalking–what he was
doing, that is, sending me a message even after being blocked, and
trying to elicit pity from me by allegedly threatening me with suicide,
so my boyfriend decided to report the incident to the police, and have
him either arrested or put out a restraining order so that he would
never be allowed to contact me again.
To be honest, there was no way even after high school that we would
be together again. Originally I had gone to a state university just like
he was, and that was when he first tried to contact me, but he did not
go through. Once again he got scared, and he quit. If he had got hold of
me back then, we would still be able to be together. But after the
second semester I transferred to NYU a top-tier college that’s almost
the equivalent of an Ivy League school, and at that point, there was no
way that we would be together again.
The whole reason that I liked him in the first place was because he
was the smartest student in our high school. He didn’t just have the
highest GPA, he was also very handsome and good-looking, but this all
changed after the April of our senior year. He did not get into any Ivy
League School and he did not become the valedictorian. Meanwhile a lot
of our classmates who were more mediocre than he was had gotten in. From
what I heard, he was rejected by many of the Ivy League Schools that he
applied to and was wait-listed at a bunch of other elite schools and
they would all eventually reject him. He lashed out at his classmates,
and became very unstable emotionally. No one wanted to talk to him
In Asian culture a woman must be inferior to man. In Asian culture, a
woman almost always seeks out a man that is stronger than her, taller
than her, makes more money than her, and has a higher status than
herself. Sure there are perverted women who do not adhere to this rule;
what they are doing is perverting the natural order between men and
women. And in our circle, in the circle of the good Asian students,
college is one way to measure that relationship. Those colleges are
ranked, and it’s very important to us who got into the highest ranked
school. Because I had gotten into NYU and he was only languishing in an
elite state college, that meant I was at a superior standing in relation
to him, and there was no way he would be able to deal with it anymore.
When he added me on facebook, that was another semester after our
first year of college, I did not add him, and he thought he had found
the wrong person. Because he didn’t know I was at NYU and I did not have
a profile picture. That was when I changed my name. I knew we would
never be able to be together, ever again. Even if I wanted to be with
him, even if I still loved him, which I didn’t feel anymore at that
point, the fact that I had gone to NYU meant that he was now inferior to
me and he would not be able to balance his emotion. No, not him, that
poor little freak who was always so emotionally unstable and who would
never be able to succeed in life. Looking back, I suppose I had shown
love to the wrong person. He wasn’t the smartest person in our high
school after all. If I had known who got into Harvard, I would have
dated him, but at the time everybody thought he was the one who was
going to get into Harvard.
My boyfriend, my boss, the man from England who went to Cambridge and
worked as a trader for Wall St. and now is the Chief Executive Officer
of the corporation that I worked, wanted me to be hurt. He tried
whipping me with his belt, but he had realized, I would get scarred too
easily. My skin is too thin and I would bleed too quickly. So he stopped
whipping me. He wanted to humiliate me. He made me strip naked and
kneel inside his apartment for an entire day. He handcuffed my wrists
and my ankles behind my back so I couldn’t move. At evening he brought
back a cage into our apartment and told me to sleep inside the cage. I
hadn’t eaten anything for an entire day and my head was dizzy.
In my fainted mind I once again reminisced to the days of innocence,
when we were all just about to grow into adulthood. That was the last
period of my life that had so many intense meaning, before the onset of a
hopeless, meaningless humdrum had taken over my life. The images of him
flashed before my eyes, and tears rolled down my cheeks once again. I
did not think I loved him anymore. Yet the memory of him brought back so
much pain. And whenever I was suffering, whenever my boss punished me
and tortured me, I remembered him. It was the pain that brought back the
memory of him. That pain was purely emotional and it was a thousand
times worse than any physical pain. I guess deep in the deepest chamber
of my heart, I still ached for him.
After spending a night inside cage, the next morning, a group of
white expats showed up in our apartment. Some of them were old, some
young, some tall, some short, all in all there were 15 of them. Then my
boss stepped over and said that I would be gangbanged by all of them.
Submission oozes out of an Asian woman like no other women in the
world, my boss had always said, and he loved me precisely because of my
submissive nature, knowing that I would never dare to disobey.
They took turns going in and out of my vagina, my anus and my mouth
and I felt cum being scooped out of my vagina, and then another dick was
inside me. I had never felt so disgusting as at that point in my life. I
felt like a public urinal.
Afterward I stayed in the shower for all 6 hours, and no matter how
much I scrub, how many times I rinse myself, I could not get the feeling
out of me. I had been soiled from the inside out. I did not just need a
shower to cleanse my body, I also needed a shower to cleanse my soul,
but what soap do I use to cleanse my soul?
This was the punishment that he had given me, and afterward, he said,
since I had been sullied by so many men, I was no longer his
girlfriend. He would allow me to continue to serve the corporation in my
current role, but he would no longer allow me into his apartment. In
fact, he said, he would give me to one of his subordinates a very old
white man who was bald, and weighed over 300 pounds. Our relationship
ended. Just like that, I was taken out like trash, and, the next day,
another Asian girl took over my spot.
At least I kept my job.
Yesterday I dreamed of my first love again.
In my dreams I still dreamed of that asian boy. I dreamed that he became a mutli-billionaire. I dreamed that, twenty years later, he came back again. This time, he was no longer the derelict, hopeless young man that he once was, and probably still is now; this time, he came back. He came back with all the power in the world. He came back on top of the world and everyone else is beneath him. He became the most successful man in the world. And he came back. He came back. He came back to see me again. And I would never be able to forgive myself. I would kneel before him, supplicating before his feet, and I would wipe my own tears with my hair as my tears drip onto his boots. And of course he would no longer love me. At least he would still want to see me, to see how miserable, how broken I have become. And he would smile. I dream. I dream that he has overcome all odds to succeed.
It’s easier for a woman like me to get the kind of jobs that I do,
because I pose no threat to the men in power. I am nothing but a pawn to
them. But he is different. He is a menace to them, so that is why they
must do everything to destroy him. So that’s why he must suffer so much.
But in my dreams of dreams–oh god I wish he would succeed. I wish he
would clear all obstacles and become the most powerful man in the world.
Is it too much to ask for? Is it going to happen? How much I wish! How
much I wish.
But at least I can still dream. I dream. I dream.
He was the smartest boy in our class. He was. He really was. Even the
ones who got in Harvard and MIT knew he was a genius. Oh, please,
please overcome! Because I still believe in you. I believe you can do
it. I can never tell you now. No, I can’t. But I know you will succeed.
Please god let this happen. I will give my life to see the day when he
comes back as the most successful man in the world. I pray.