Tag: psychology

In event of the immense psychological discourse we are about to embark upon, this pleromatic excursus that I had written over ten years ago is then not out of place as an introduction.

I put the Big White Cock in my mouth and close my eyes …

I am not worthy to see what a real man looks like.

Memories of my childhood come rushing back to me. Of how I’ve always looked at White Men and wished I could be around them. Of seeing the white boys among my classmates going through puberty, seeing them grow tall and muscular, seeing their chest hair underneath the collar of their shirts … seeing them grow from boys into men, White Men, seeing how big a White Cock really was the first time I got fucked. … Of realizing as an asian girl living in America, I was destined to be their whore.

I hold on to His shaft. It’s thick and I grasp it in my tiny hand. It reminds me of the broom handle at home that I use to sweep the floor with as my father watched Asian soap opera on the television in the living room.

I smell the scent of His musky pubes. His pheromones linger in my nostrils and I think of the sweaty white athletes in my high school. How they all smelled of grown men while they were just teenagers.

I taste his pre-cum as I slid my lips further down his hard cock. It was thick and I can taste the bittersweet flavor. It reminds me of the bland congee my mother made for me growing up.

He calls me “chink”. And I’m reminded of all the white men I’ve met in my life. My teachers, my professors, my superiors at work, my supervisor, my thesis advisor, my boyfriends, my hook ups … all the White Men that have revealed to me my own inferiority as an asian woman.

Finally … I open my eyes. I look up to Him. My Master, my King, my God, my reason for existence. I see every inch of his thick cock extending from my lips all the way to his blonde bush. I raise my eyes, past his treasure trail and hairy chest, up to his thick neck and rough beard, and finally meet his blue eyes.

I lose myself in those deep blue eyes. Like an ocean threatening to drown me in my powerless position. Twin tidal waves making me gag and lose my breath. I am a chink lost at sea, and the White Man is my life-saver and my weight, lifting me up with his powerful hip and pulling me further down with his muscular hands, marking me with his urine over his property, handing my life over to Him as an asian bitch for White Men.

As I read through this little treatise, those words linger through my brain as they do trippingly on my tongue, I wonder to myself it’s amazing, it’s amazing that, despite of years of forgetting, running away, and relinquishing, I was never able to actually escape. In the end I come back full circle to surrender my fate, to prostrate and kneel before my white superiors and accept now, calmly, obediently, and silently, their reign.

Those thoughts, though they had briefly disappeared from the conscious level, continued to rankle beneath the surface, and in the course of time spun an elaborate web of resentments and vengeful syncretism of hidden motives which then burst upon my consciousness in the form of sexual exegesis.

Coincidentia oppositorum

If you had seen me in real life you would have no idea. In fact most people have no idea. They would have all assumed that I’m just another racist Asian woman who only dated Asian men. The white men who were interested once again would sigh and lament, “all the hottest Asian girls only date Asian guys.”

I look so normal. It’s what the wider society expects of me, and it’s what I conform to, in appearance.

The truth, however, is the exact opposite.

The superficial me is diametrically opposite to the real me that I have to restrain the impulse to give you my real name so I could google me and see what a chaste, pure, innocent and primp Asian lady that I really am. Or not.

Statu nascendi

By the time I was 18, I had already started sleeping around impulsively. I still remember the first time I sucked cock. He was a chubby white guy who later on went to Cornell for his Ph.D. I still remember the second time I sucked cock. It was on a Friday evening in a club full of young hot white guys. The rest is blurry now. The Asian guys who knew me from high school had by now all but disappeared. I was done with them. I had entered into the white club, the Ivy League of Ivy Leagues. I knew even back then, that for the next 10 to 20 years, the zenith of life lies within.

By the time I was 19 I decided that I should get paid for what I was doing. I believe I have written about my experience during this period already, but it’s never enough. I keep on reminiscing. I keep on remembering more details. Sometimes the details contradict what I had previously remembered. It’s like the four gospels in the New Testament. While every one of my account is all veritably true to my heart, somehow the details all keep on changing. I don’t know why.

All of a sudden now my thoughts were interrupted again. The image of a nerdy Asian guy from high school flitted into my memory. I remembered walking side by side with him as we went from the subway to school. And as we approached the flag pole in front of the school yard, we walked slower and slower, bumping into each other more, unmoored and dizzy in the crepuscular light. The Asian guy was ugly, short, and stupid. The mere image of him made me gag a little just now.

Counting from the age of 19 to now, I’ve had sex with over hundreds of men, all white men, obviously. I have fulfilled the sexual fantasies of so many white men that I’m actually proud. And I’ve done just about every depraved act in the dictionary: oral, anal, ass to mouth, foot jobs, rim job, blow job, piss play, choking, gangbang, etc.

By the age of 21 I decided that I would have sex almost exclusively with men over the age of 40. The oldest guy I had sex with and who was also my first husband was over 80 years old. I loved the difference between our age. It’s a bit like chiaroscuro. The contrast between us—young and old, white and yellow, smooth and wrinkled—felt exciting.

Were we humans to be robbed of this instinct of procreation and all that arises from it, nearly all poetry, all philosophy, and perhaps all science, would be erased from this world.

I’ve been told by a few men that I may be “sex addicted”. To them, they think it’s unnatural that a woman should be so hypersexual, especially given my high body counts and my numerous unsuccessful marriages. But I think I’m just addicted to life.

Summum bonum … losing my self in this rhapsodic dream of life

For all my life I’ve been addicted to white men and their beautiful BWCs. I love tasting BWCs in my mouth, inserting BWCs in my pussy, feeling BWCs in my ass, and playing with BWCs in all their multitudinous ways.

I love being gangbanged by BWCs, feeling their different sizes, different smells, different energies, and different personalities. Each white man is all so unique, so individualistic, and yet all so all so fascinating and so delicious.

But above all my own pleasure, I love the feeling that I’m giving pleasure to those white men.

My Asian body is a vessel, and my purpose is to be filled with BWCs and their cum.

But summum bonum, my yellow body is god’s gift to white men. It’d be very selfish of me to keep this gift to myself.

That is why I especially love gangbangs. I never turn down any white man who wants to fuck me unless he is rude, unclean or problematic in some way. When it comes to white men, my pussy has nearly perfect admission rate.

And when I’m not being gangbanged, I practice being airtight by using my dildos. I love stuffing all my holes with various things and pretend I’m being gangbanged.

Personally, I believe all Asian women are made for gangbangs by BWCs. Some are just living in denial.

I used to keep those views to myself, because I always felt this society is not yet open enough to accept them. But I feel more and more Asian women and white men are now embracing my idea. And I’m glad.

My ultimate goal is to encourage more Asian girls to go white only, spreading the joy and pleasure of being bleached. And this dream is actually bearing fruits, as more and more Asian girls are falling head over heels for white guys. It makes my heart feel warm, and I’m glad, because white men are pleased.