tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-278467962024-03-07T16:48:10.554+00:00Sex and Shanghai / 欲望上海Western scoundrel in Shanghai tells allChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-86985944860054530932021-05-04T21:37:00.000+00:002021-05-04T21:37:35.568+00:00I do honor the very flea of his dog<p> I find Daniel Dumbrill deeply convincing. Thoughtful, balanced, objective, insightful. Simply outstanding in his work on Xinjiang.</p><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC6Bl8MTbW9M9MQoPhxbarpw">https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC6Bl8MTbW9M9MQoPhxbarpw</a></p><p>Would that I had one hundredth his insight back when I was in China.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-2087165062950962212020-08-14T02:40:00.004+00:002021-05-04T21:39:06.116+00:00Slight Return<p>Not without flaws, yet frequently convincing:</p><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-jlUy2DR8TQ">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-jlUy2DR8TQ</a></p><p>It could well be that most everything I wrote and thought about China was wrong.</p>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-29496828425852751802008-01-08T03:22:00.000+00:002008-01-08T03:43:43.931+00:00So, China Dirt #3<div align="justify"><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span><span><span>I shall give some attempt at an answer anyhow.<br /><br />The problem is – and this can be clearly seen on Chinadirt – that expat women still hold to the Western mode of dating.<br /><br />“Running Man” ends:-</span></span></span><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><span><span>But if you ever stop running for just a moment and look around, you'll find that all you have are quirky travel stories, boxes filled with pictures of exotic lands, a map punctured with holes, but nobody real to hold while you stand still.</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span><span><br /></span></span><span><span>But this is no answer at all. He doesn’t want that. He’ll never want it, and nor will most of us guys here – certainly not in the terms of ‘real’ which you offer; that ‘real’ is a straightjacket, stifling, repellent. Did you think he was trusty and faithful? Did you see no further than his façade, his smooth and tolerant manner? Did you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real heroic man? It was all maya, illusion. ‘Somebody to hold us while we stand still’? – oh, please!<br /><br />Guys like him, guys like me, guys like us – we who let you down so deep and often – we know romance is illusion, and the more we fuck around, the more clear we are about that.<br /><br />This life corrupts us; we can’t go back to your limitations of ‘the one’ and ‘true love.’ When we stand still we hear time’s winged chariot – and we run once more. We see the deserts of vast eternity. And this is just why Running Man wants his box of pictures, his map punctured with holes, far more that he’ll ever want you. They are fragments he has shored against his ruin. They are to be his memories when he is old, the proof he existed, lived.<br /><br />He, like me, like us - we see this woman, that, you, her, she…. Interchangeable, a pack of cards, now you, now you; each an individual, sure, within a certain set of limitations, but in the end shuffleable, changeable. There is nobody ‘real’ to hold us; we each exist alone.<br /><br />You are not going to change us; it is too late for that. And while Chinadirt as a whole is admirably unconcerned with trying change us, but rather only expose us, some individual contributors surely wish to.<br /><br />But they are playing by rules we have abandoned -- hence their endless disappointment in us. And because we have left that system, those rules, behind, Western women are generally invisible to us.<br /><br />Believe it, when I and a thousand others like me walk down the road we do not even see the white women; you are nearly always just invisible to us. An absence, empty air. And on the rare occasions we do see you, all we see – forgive me – is how you are nothing as slender, lithe or trim as a Chinese woman. We look at your thighs, your belly, your butt and think ‘thank fuck’ and ‘I will never date Western again.’<br /><br />Now I most firmly believe anything a man can do a woman can do; and so perhaps the solution is that Western women should switch over, just like we have. An obvious solution, of course, which is why it has already occurred to expat women. Ah, but -<br /><br /></span></span><span><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span><br /></span><span><span>Not sure if you've tried it but finding a good Chinese man is pretty hard. It's not like the streets are exactly filled with good-looking, funny, socially adjusted Chinese men are they? We're not against dating Chinese guys but you're attracted to who you're attracted to. Lets be honest, Chinese women are often MUCH better looking than Chinese guys. We'd dare say its a 10 to 1 ratio of hot Chinese women to hot Chinese guys. Yeah, you can blabber on about how that's SO superficial but attraction is important. More often than not the hot, funny, cool Chinese guy, already has an even hotter, cooler and funnier Chinese girlfriend so how can we even compete?<br /><br />Personality is important too and oftentimes many single Chinese guys (and expats) are lacking in that arena as well. If there is a hot, available non-douchbaggy Chinese guy please let us know. We'll be more than happy to date him.<br /></span></span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span><span><span><br /></span></span><span><span>The Chinadirt author of the above is right that attraction is important, and there’s nothing superficial about it. Now I have at times been somewhat critical of Chinese men. But that is because I am a haphazard and slapdash writer. The truth is that China really does have plenty of cool guys, stylish, witty, assured – ride the tube, walk the streets, there they are; sure, they are generally younger, under 30, more often under 25, but that need not hold back any woman. If we guys can date younger, why not women?<br /><br />Perhaps what Western women do not always understand is that they are just as attractive to Chinese guys as Chinese girls are to us. Now most of the reason we guys chase Chinese women is lust, it is the younger, firmer, sexier body. And you Western women can’t compete there. But lust is not the whole of it; there is pride, too. To have the young, beautiful woman on our arm, that’s our peacock tail, but displayed for other men alone. Look at me; look what I have. When expat meets expat we see this in each other’s eye, in each other’s stride, the slight falter, the hesitation as we pass each other.<br /><br />There is a card game, ‘Top Trumps,’ each deck of which (and there are various decks to collect) focuses on one area alone – it might be cars, or ships, or tanks, or trucks. The car set, for example, will show various supermodel cars, anatomized; and the players play card against card, choosing one from the various parameters on each – engine size, top speed and so on - with the winner being decided by the better specification. And this is why – when expat meets expat – we hesitate, just a little; for we are still children, still playing ‘Top Trumps.’ Only now – of course – we measure the woman on the other’s arm. Looks? Height? Breasts? Hips? Butt? Dress sense? Deportment? Who’s better, who’s best? We who have been here long enough play the game incessantly – and we know which of our fellow men are new to the game by the grade of woman on their arm. And we are also showing off to those outside the game, the temporary tourists, the guys with the woman of a similar age on their arm. Oh, how we smirk inwardly at you and preen ourselves then!<br /><br />But this works the other way round too. To a Chinese guy, a Western woman has this same cachet. You’re his status symbol. You’re his prize.<br /><br />This does not make you a possession. It makes you powerful. So you rightly despondent Western women should play on it, should do just what we Western men do; we know our money and skin give us prestige, and we use it. Why not you?<br /><br />However – venturing into a generalization, unwise as all generalizations are – I think it is fair to say that most Chinese guys simply would not know how to go about pursuing a Western woman.<br /><br />Now back home a guy that is too timid to approach you probably would not be worth dating. But you have to dump that Western attitude, just like we have. Fuck, yes, work on superficial appearance, go chat up that good looking guy just because he’s good looking. Once he gets over his shock at being approached by you (and it will be a great shock to him indeed) perhaps you’ll find a guy who’ll treat you a fuck sight better than the average Western expat will.<br /><br />So try it. Do what we do. Approach the guy, make the first move. Forget the Western expat community, largely made up of bigots, fools and moral and emotional cripples as it is, and see that all the choices China offers to us, it offers to you, too.<br /><br />It’s not much of a solution, but it’s all I’ve got.</span></span></span><span><span><br /></span></span><span><span><br /><br /><br /></span></span><span><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span><br /></span></span><span><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span><br /></span></span><span><br /></span></div></div>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com71tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-65193286588460043802007-12-07T16:53:00.000+00:002007-12-15T17:04:02.902+00:00So, China Dirt #2<p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">And China makes it easy for us to lounge through existence, to sink like sediment through the day. It is the difference between Chinese and Western women that allows guys like me, guys in general, to live in the way that gives Chinadirt so much contempt to pour on us.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Chinese women have a very different tradition to follow than Western women. Personal freedom has always been denied to Chinese women by their country’s culture. Even today, for all its patina of modernization, the personal life of Chinese women is still controlled – cabined, cribbed and confined. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Mona, for example, a fantastic former lover, bold and imaginative – Mona represents the best of modern Chinese woman (not that I in any way wish to prescribe what a woman ‘should’ be). But even Mona, smart, confident, determined, funny, even Mona is controlled by the wider patterns of society. Her mother was staying with her for a few weeks, and while Mona was at work, the mother would go through every inch of her flat, her drawers, cupboards, wardrobe. And not at all covertly – to her, it was simply a mother’s right to do this. Mona, being quite up to the minute, has several mobile phones, and one of these she left at home. Her mother read all the messages on it and found one from a lover saying something along the lines of ‘You were great in bed the other night.’ This lover was a Chinese guy, and his message was thus in Chinese, meaning Mona’s mother understood it, as would not have been the case was it from her Western lover. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Mona’s mother was horrified by this, and when Mona came home asked, incredulous, “You are not a virgin any more?” Mona concocted some tale about this being a message she was relaying for a friend. Her mother, Mona told me, did not really believe it.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">I suggested Mona could have just told the truth, and said this was how her life was, and she was nothing different in it. But she told me her mother would not have been able to handle that. And indeed she said ‘Already she’s said she wants to die, she’s said “The only reason I’ll stay alive is because of your grandparents”’ – What awful parental blackmail! How little the parents understand their children, and how much they want to control them. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Now of course Chinese women today have far more freedom than even a few years ago, and Mona does indeed live a relatively free life. But even so, she still lives that life within strict confines. She cannot show the reality of it to her mother, and her freedom is thus only a limited, carefully defined level of freedom. Nor can she show the reality of it to most Chinese guys. She, like many of my women friends, has told me several times that too many Chinese guys simply cannot handle the reality of the life today’s Chinese women often live, or at least want to live. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">And this is why she is leaving. She wants out. She’s been driven away by the bullshit this culture imposes on her, by its petty restrictions, by its inability to take her for what she is rather than what it would have her be. She’s got her residence visa to another country, going to that freer country like so many of China’s smartest and brightest, going to be more than she can ever be here. Going against the wishes of her parents, who would have her settle down and produce them a grandchild, going against the advice of her boss that she should stay in her easy, undemanding job. Going, and will not come back. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">It is this background that is the walls and bars to the cage a Chinese woman dates in. When she dates a Chinese guy, she is usually in that cell, hemmed in by the strictures of a culture that she knows well. Must play the virgin. Must be bashful in bed. Must have no desires but what her man wants. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">But a Western guy is outside that culture; and so when she dates him she is free of the imposed attitude of Chinese culture. Dating a Western guy, she has no framework in which to orient herself. Dating becomes a chance for a different level of personal freedom for her, and (too often) an avenue of exploitation for him</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Now Western culture gives women far more freedom to dictate their dating lives than Chinese culture does, which is why Western women won’t put up with such bullshit from Western men. This is unarguably a good thing, and if Chinese culture allowed more of this freedom for its women – if China’s women would fight for it -- then their life would not be quite so overwhelmingly shit as it is now. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">But no matter how right or just, when guys like me can escape from those expectations of Western women, we don’t look back. Out here we embrace our nature. Yes; it is oafish, crude, and after many centuries of struggle in the West when women have at last gained some measure of respect (though not much) it is profoundly depressing. But this is who men are. Hence China’s concubine system, for example. Men want to fuck around.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">The kind of thing we’re escaping from is clear on Chinadirt:-</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">To the FHMs [Finding himself man] out there I say:</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />FIND some maturity by getting a real job. And no, filing one story a week to an unnamed newspaper back home, occasional modeling as the token white boy in some baijiu billboard, and “tutoring” Chinese college girls does not count!<br /><br />FIND some decency by appreciating your girlfriend-the one who cooked for you after 10 hour workdays, ironed and laid out clothes for you when you had interviews, who puts up with your equally immature friends and pretends not to be lonely when you leave her four times a week to go find yourself on Sanlitun.</span> </p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />FIND some courage to tell your girlfriend the TRUTH about the other woman you’ve been seeing so that your girlfriend doesn’t have to hear about it from other sources and suffer a near anxiety attack in the middle of a dinner party being thrown by her boss.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />If you were a real man, you’d FIND a doorway out of this little box of selfishness and oblivion in which you live. You’d FIND a way to recognize that living like a nomad does not make you deep, only pathetic. You’d FIND out that responsibility and commitments aren’t evil constraints but realities of life. You’d FIND that you can’t live like a teenager forever!</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--> <!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Well, what a list of demands, Dame Partlet the hen! And you expect us to stick around for all that? That we will listen to your shouty capitals, your martinet demands, when we could be in the arms of a pliant Chinese woman? Come, come. ‘If you are a real man’ – now there are words to send us right out the door.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">And so what is the answer? Perhaps there is none, and nor are the writers of Chinadirt looking for any. They certainly don’t want to hear any advice from us expat guys – though I’m sure most of the email they’ll be receiving from ‘my’ community will be the offensive misogynist bullshit we do so well. No, the point of the site is just to expose what swines we expats can be, and that’s a fine thing to be doing. Seems to me (spite of my comments above) the women writing it know pretty well what they’re about. Long may they shout and punch and scorn. Power upon power to you -- You are right, my dears, all your voices are right. We are the inconstant ones.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-21702381645661342432007-11-09T17:13:00.000+00:002007-11-10T16:00:09.115+00:00So, China Dirt #1<span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >For the last few weeks I’ve been reading </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a style="font-family: times new roman;" href="http://chinadirt.blogspot.com/">Chinadirt</a></span><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >, where expat women are invited to tell their ‘<span style="font-style: italic;">horror stories from the front lines</span>’ Headlining with a cliché isn’t the best way to make a reader stick around; no more is <span style="font-style: italic;">‘wierd’ </span>for ‘weird’ and <span style="font-style: italic;">‘diasterous’ </span>for ‘disastrous.’ Such solecisms may be overlooked in a hurried entry but in the permanent text of a site it might make one suspect sloppy writers are sloppy thinkers.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >But no matter to that -- let us look beyond mere pedantry (for I am sure in the many thousands of words below I have made one or two errors) to the meat of the thing.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Here’s ‘The Running Man’:-</span></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">You came along when I was slaving away at a job in which each day felt like a tour through every layer of Dante's Inferno. You were like a breath of fresh air rushing through lungs that were drying out from ten hours a day in hell. You taught me to relax. You taught me there was more to life than work, work, work. You assured me that it was OK and even noble to enjoy life.</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">You seemed to live life so well. "He seems so calm, so happy, so Zen," I thought to myself, "whereas I'm always frantic and stressed." Looking around at the stacks of reports and screen full of unanswered work emails that made up my life, I realized that my long hours in the eternally 23 degrees celsius office had robbed me of the knowledge of even what season it was outside. I decided you, with your carefree manner, jovial laugh and long nights spent bonding with friends, had a better way. Almost spiritual.</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I learned a lot from my time with you. I learned to live in the moment. I learned to put friends ahead of meetings. I learned that an extra hour of intimate late night conversation is well worth being tired the next day. I learned to leave work behind when I exit the office.</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">But the biggest lesson I learned is that you're not the deep, spiritual, life-embracing man I thought you were. You're just a scared little boy.</span><br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >And then ‘Requiem to a Relationship’:-<br /><br /></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Though only a month back, I feel slightly alien when thinking about my New Years resolution. “Ok, me,” I thought, “enough of this relationship hopping. It’s time to refocus on yourself. You can’t avoid the ache of being alone forever.” And then he came along with and in feeling him wrap around me I thought that it would be different this time around, it would be better, it would last. Why worry about the cycle when this was obviously going to be the one that would break it? And so, I dipped my toe back into the pool and was so swelled with hope that I didn’t even realize when I fell in. I didn’t even realize that I started drowning in the idealism of him and me until it was too late.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Then the relationship stopped, killed softly in its sleep with a whimper. Aborted before it was ever even alive, and all the hope that I had been bottling into it floated out dead and limp in a puddle of tears. Then before I knew it, the near decade of hazy transitions fell on me at full force, slamming me with eight years of repressed heartache.</span></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">And so on it goes, expat woman after expat woman complaining about what toads and bugs we expat men are, what goats and monkeys.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">We know this. This is not news to us.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Of course the most of us are sleazy. Yes, we chase, chase and chase some more and when we get a woman it never satisfies us; of course we treat China as a paradise. Of course; we are gods here and no matter how aged, halt or hopeless we look in the mirror and we see Dionysius, Apollo; we look with the eyes of what Chinese culture allows us to be. Why would we not?</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Running Man – So you’re looking for Virgil to lead you out of the Inferno – and god knows you need the advice on poetics too. But the guy you found doesn’t want to be your guide, he’s no Virgil, no. You placed the hatred you have for your job square on his shoulders. But need scares men. We don’t want it. Do you think he wanted to be your savior? It is no wonder he ran. And then when he didn’t measure up to your impossible expectations you cursed him. Oh, I understand why and you’ve got the right of it, no doubt; he is scared, sure, returning the ticket of commitment, thank-you, and leaving. He is a little boy. As are we all.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Requiem for a Relationship – Just like the ‘Running Man’ you have all this need in you, this hunger, and you dump it all on the shoulders of the guy. You see him as what you want him to be, not as what he is, and all your need, your hunger, your vacuum – all on him, all buckling and crushing him. And you seem to know it now, I’ll give you that – ‘<span style="font-style: italic;">I didn’t even realize that I started drowning in the idealism of him and me until it was too late</span>.’ Maybe I misunderstood your writing, but you apparently indicate you knew this guy for less than a month, decided he was the answer to all your needs and then – could you not see it coming? – the relationship was ‘<span style="font-style: italic;">aborted before it was ever even alive</span>.’ Of course it was; you killed it. I tell you, every guy who reads what you wrote – every single one of us – will think just as I thought (for there is little I think that is new) – ‘<span style="font-style: italic;">Thank fuck I never met her</span>’ and ‘<span style="font-style: italic;">Wow, imagine dating a woman like that!’</span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Get out of your bathtub of self-indulgent mush, stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself and act like a responsible member of the human race. Spine - Spine - Spine! Then we won’t be running away from you because fuck knows, just reading your tense, brittle text, I’m lacing up my Nikes to follow the runner above.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >I had a friend, very dear to me, and she gave me this advice: Think of the blue whale. This is not as glib nor absurd as it might sound. ‘<span style="font-style: italic;">I</span><span style="font-style: italic;">magine being almost the last of your kind,’ </span><span>she said,</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> ‘Hunted close to extinction, your environment poisoned. Imagine that</span>.’ And it works, it really does. Think of where you are and where you could be, and it’s pretty easy to say ‘fuck this’ to your maunderings (as this friend did to me, later, though that is another story…)</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >And ‘Fuck this’ is worth exploring some, for it is at the heart of our experience as expats in China. It is at the heart of what it is to be a male – or at least a male expat in China. We are here and we date Chinese women because we have said ‘fuck this’ to the expectations of dating in the West.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Ah, yes, turning our backs on the West. And here the ‘loser back home’ trope comes in, and what a lazy bit of writing that is. From the site:</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Sometimes I feel like one of the main reasons expat guys come to China is because life back in their home countries had gone drastically wrong. What? you're over 30 and have never held a real job? Oh? You failed out of university in your second year and don't have any direction in life? Hm? You're addicted to cocaine and are exiled from your home country? Ah? You have mysterious twitches and smell a bit funny?</span></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Now how breathtakingly arrogant – how passingly patronizing. What, China is such a lowball country that any monkey can hold down a job here? China has no standards? Do you think when Western Firm X wants to expand into China they rummage round the garbage cans out back to find some hapless stooge to send? Or do you rather think they reason ‘We gotta spend a shed of cash on this, let’s pick a live one’?</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Yes, sure, we treat Chinese women like shit in the large of it, but that is not because we are failed men. It is because we are men. Just men; and China allows the inner nature that every man holds to come to the surface. It allows us to say ‘fuck it’ to the checks and balances of Western dating; and that freedom, which many men do not get, allows our baser side to show – to an extreme. We don’t come here because we’re rotten; it is rather that the inner rot that lies in the core of most men can grow and flourish here. Like a full-acorned boar, we all want to cry O and mount – as ‘Western Girl’ (from Chinadirt) writes:-</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">If "western girl" means having enough self-respect not to hop into bed with a man I've known for less than six hours in gratitude for one lousy 60 kuai dry martini, then I'm proud to be a hardass Western girl.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >I did think to ask ‘<span style="font-style: italic;">So how much would you hop into bed for? A 600 kuai martini? A 6000 kuai bottle of wine?</span>’ – but the truth of it is you’re right to be proud, angered, on your mettle.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Joseph Conrad, an incomparably great writer, one word of his worth ten thousand mine, wrote of a certain kind of Westerner in Asia:-</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">‘The majority were men who ... had been thrown there by some accident, had remained as officers of country ships. They now had a horror of the home service, with its harder conditions, severer view of duty, and the hazard of stormy oceans. They were attuned to the eternal peace of Eastern sky and sea. They loved short passages, good deck chairs, large native crews, and the privilege of being white. They shuddered at the thought of hard work, and led precariously easy lives, always on the verge of engagement, serving Chinamen, Arabs, half-castes – would have served the devil himself had he made it easy enough. They talked everlastingly of turns of luck: how So-and-so got charge of a boat on the coast of China – a soft thing; and how this one had an easy billet in Japan somewhere, and that one was doing well in the Siamese navy; and in all they said – in their actions, in their looks, in their persons – could be detected the soft spot, the place of decay, the determination to lounge safely through existence.’<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></div>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-31712618072057440172007-03-22T09:21:00.000+00:002007-03-23T03:17:41.612+00:00How to get fucked in China<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Now some people have cast doubt on the veracity of this blog, so today I shall set out to prove the truth of it. For getting fucked in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is easy. The motherland offers endless ways to get the fucking of your life, a fucking more or less unimaginable in another country, and all you have to do is know where to look. So I’m going to share some of that information with you.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">The first thing to decide is who you are. Once you’ve done that, you will know where to find the best fuck possible. Below, a few categories to get going:-</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>Miner. Current death toll in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s mines: about 6000 a year. But if you’re poor and have muscles it’s an easy way to make some money. At the mercy of unscrupulous mine owners, and a conniving, corrupt government, down the mine you go. Feed your family. Send a kid to school. Get your parents the healthcare they need to stay alive. Get fucked. Crushed, gassed, drowned, burned or exploded. Plenty of choice. And not in mines alone – countrywide, an average of 320 people are killed at work every single day.</span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>Patient. Now you’re at the mercy of doctors who overprescribe expensive drugs to turn a fast buck. At the mercy of hospital administrators who’ll let you die in front of them if you can’t afford their fee. At the mercy of the crooks and thieves who (once more with rapacious CPC officials’ assistance) produce vast quantities of fake drugs. Money! If you threw Zheng Xiaoyu a few dollars, when he was head of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s State Food and Drugs Administration, you could get a license to produce your own medicine. Before he took over, fewer than a hundred producers got this license. Afterwards, more than two thousand. So take your choice; a fake sugar pill that doesn’t alleviate your symptoms or a poison confection that gives you a whole new set. But <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> can screw better than that – why fuck individuals when you could fuck the whole country? Take the fake anti-rabies drugs blithely produced by the unscrupulous and greedy, no matter that rabies is currently <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s most infectious disease. And why fuck the whole country when you could fuck the whole planet? Take Tamiflu, a drug that may help stop the next global avian flu pandemic. Tons of it, fake, streaming out of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. But so what? As long as someone makes money, what if 50 million die as the disease spreads unchecked by fake medicine? </span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>Farmer.<span style=""> </span>Think you have any right to your land? Think again. Expect to be forced off it when the local party guy sells it to a developer. If he’s a commie with a conscience you may get a few thousand yuan share of his millions before he sends in the police to beat you away – or maybe shoot you. Take the <st1:place><st1:placetype>village</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename>Dongzhou</st1:placename></st1:place>, for example, where police shot and killed villagers protesting about their land being stolen. How many? The police admit to three, the villagers say 20. But given <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s prowess in such fuckery, who do you believe?</span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>Student. Assuming you can come up with the bribe to get into university in the first place, there are plenty of ways to get a good fucking here, and the simplest of all is forced sex with your tutor if you’re a cute girl. But how about if you live in northwestern <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> where, year after year, education leaders shut the schools at harvest time and sent the pupils to work eight to twelve hours a day in the fields? A good hard fuck there for the 18 year old who fell off a tractor and was crushed to death. And what about dancing school that sent 22 of its 15 to 16 year old pupils halfway across the country to work as prostitutes? What of the middle school teacher who forced two sassy girls to drink a bottle of 50% proof alcohol (after which they had to go to hospital) and then beat the boy who stood up for them? Or what about the kids of poor migrant workers? Snobby cities like <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> don’t provide education for them, but when the parents set up their own school for the kids, what happens? <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> closes it down. So goodbye Jianying Hope School, shut down after 11 years of giving education to poor kids when no-one else would; just one more recipient of the colossal fuck power of China.</span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>Woman. You get some of the finest fucking <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> has to offer. Sure, I am doing my best to bed as many of the female population as I can. But I am as nothing to the mighty shafting power of the motherland. Let’s move past the big fact that China has the world’s highest rate of female suicides, and focus on a small fact – Yang Dongyan. He was a farmer who, looking to make a buck, bought a woman (for women are livestock too in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>) so that he could sell her on as a bride, making a nice profit. But then he met a pal who told him the woman would be worth more dead. Dead, she could be sold as a ‘ghost bride’ to the family of a recently-deceased bachelor to accompany him as a wife in the next world. And so he murdered her and sold her for a nice 400 dollar profit. </span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>‘Ethnic Minority’ – or, as we might also call you, a colonized captive, a slave in your own country, a victim. You’re from <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>? From Xinjiang? Best to dig a hole and bury your culture in it, for your Chinese overlords won’t let you embrace it – expect to parade you in your national costume at the big Party pow-wows, poor performing bear that you are. Want to learn your own language in school? Want to know the true history of your country? Then bend over for a good CPC shafting. Your country is occupied territory held by force, by might, by anger, a tracked and stretchmarked body, the big pain that leaves you raw, like opened ground. Don’t ever forget it. </span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>The environment. Ah, now you, dear darling environment, are getting the biggest shafting of all. No wine and roses for you, just straight up against the wall fucked. Oh, did you think the sweet words from <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> were true? That whispered seduction of ‘In 2006 we’re going to reduce energy consumption per unit of GDP by 4%?’<span style=""> </span>So naïve of you! It’s the oldest line of all – ‘I care’ - and you fell for it! How did you feel the morning after when you realized consumption increased? How did you feel about those 12 billion tonnes of industrial waste water just in the first half of last year? 70% of your rivers and lakes polluted? But I suppose you must be used to it, ranking 100<sup>th</sup> out of 118 developing countries in terms of environmental care.</span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>A hooker. Now you might think you were getting fucked enough already, what with having to screw any guy with a handful of loose change and bored with his wife. But not so; if you were a hooker in Shenzhen, for example, you recently got fucked good some more when the police rounded a bunch of you up and paraded you in public, reading out your names over loudspeakers. </span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>A religious believer. Now, sure, if you believe in god you’re deluded. But if your lunatic delusion is of the christian flavor, and prompts you to get together your own religious gathering outside a state-sanctioned church then you’ll better break out the KY and condoms, since you’re going to get it good. As, for example, the nine priests arrested recently for having the temerity to pray in a place that had not been designated as a church by the government. But better to embrace the absurdities of christianity rather than those of falun gong. If you adhere to that particular brand of lunacy, then you can look forward to arrest, a good beating, and then disappearing from site. And that’s just the beginning, that’s just the foreplay. What comes next? Having your organs removed in an army hospital to be sold to the highest bidder, that’s what. <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, say thank-you to <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>, say thank-you to Unit 731. They taught you a good lesson, huh? What an eager pupil you prove to be!</span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>Countryside resident. <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> has 900 million people in its countryside. Ninety percent of them lack adequate pensions and healthcare. Get this: a survey across <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s provinces found that nearly 70% of elderly people had just one set of clothes. Countrywide, also, only 25% of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s workers are covered by a pension plan. Best to die before you retire – or else you’ll be fucked by the double whammy of poverty and the neglect of your kids as they zip off to the city to worship the god cash. And yet there are billions of dollars for the vain frippery of putting men in space, billions for the useless expo, billions for the shiny high speed train in <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> that doesn’t even work properly and billions upon billions for the army. Yes, <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is so enamored of fucking its people that it would rather buy more guns and bombs than a change of clothes for its elderly.</span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>A journalist – But of course! The greatest enemy in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is the truth, so you guys are in for a particularly good fucking. Still, you’ll have plenty of company – <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s had the highest number of journalists in prison in the world for the last eight years in a row. You deserve it, of course, you journalists. Trying to tell the truth, what arrogance! How foolish of you to think your nation cared about such a trivial matter. And maybe prison is lucky, for you could get fucked as good as reporter Lan Chongzheng, who was beaten to death for asking too many questions about unsafe mines.</span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>A doctor with a conscience. Consider Doctor Gao Yijie. Under surveillance. Under house arrest. Monitored. Watched. Harassed. Why? Because she showed concern for <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s AIDS patients, many tens of thousands of whom contracted HIV (and thousands more Hepatitis) from blood-selling in the 1990s. What happened? Poor farmers were urged to take part in a scheme where they gave a pint of blood, useful ingredients were extracted, and a pint was put back in. But that returned pint came from the common stock, jumbled in the common box, which was not screened. The result today? <st1:place><st1:placename>Henan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:placetype></st1:place>’s ‘ghost villages’ where most people have died. Consider this:- 300,000 infected with AIDS between 1994 and 1995 alone. The few who are still alive will be dead soon. How many officials or doctors have been punished for this? None. Only those who try to do something about it get fucked. Think of someone else, think of Wan Yanhai. He tried to speak up. Idiot. Bend over, Wan! How about ‘Snow Lotus’ an AIDS awareness group, funded by the Global Fund to Fight AIDS, whose members were harassed by police after they tried to act over 19 kids who had were expelled from school<span style=""> </span>when it was found they had Hepatitis B?</span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>A blogger. Want to write something anonymously?<span style=""> </span>No way. You have to register with your real name and details. Chinabounder? Oh, they don’t care about foreigners like me. I can do what I want. <span style=""> </span>It’s China’s own people who get fucked by its government. The CPC doesn’t care about me; I am no captive, no prisoner, no helot. I get all the freedom I want in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. It is the Chinese who are kept in ignorance by their wrathful, watchful, suspicious masters. Take Zhang Ming, who was dean of political sciences at <st1:place><st1:placename>Renmin</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>University</st1:placetype></st1:place> – was dean, until he was fired for suggesting on his blog that there was too much bureaucracy at the university, suggesting that those in power were appointed for their party connections instead of academic ability. You’d have thought that someone who had got as far as he had knew better than to tell the truth. But that’s how the fucking goes, that is why it is the Chinese who lack freedom in their own nation, kept shut in the dark. Shut in the dark as they increasingly are, as one by one the CPC switches off the lights of the internet. Blogspot, for example, was becoming something too free and truthful. Chinese people – horrors – were beginning to express themselves and – worse! – read the opinions of others, opinions that did not ‘stand where the Party stands’ (those are the words of Luo Gan, one of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s most powerful men, on the nature of truth). The site is now blocked in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, many blogs far better than mine inaccessible to those lacking the tech skills to get round the great firewall. But so skilled is the government at the lies attendant on a skilful fucking that should you ask them about this they will tell you, ‘We do not censor the internet’ – and will tell it cool and calm, not a blink nor twitch. For they are the most practiced of liars. </span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>Migrant Worker. For you as for women, as for the environment, an Olympic style screwing beckons. Gold, Silver, Bronze, you’ll always get one. So many ways to get shafted here. What does it matter that you are the people more than any others who have built modern <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>? How about Wang Jianchang and Liu Yuanping who, when they asked to be paid their wages, were fired, taken to the police station, and put in hand and leg irons? And for women migrants there’s a double dose – 20% of you get fired as soon as you become pregnant. </span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.5in; text-align: justify;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Symbol;"><span style="">·<span style=""> </span></span></span>In need of financial help. Expect charity and kindness? Know what you’ll get instead? Only one percent of the ten million registered firms in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> have ever donated to charity. Eighty percent of the China Charity Foundation’s revenues come from overseas, and just 20% from <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, where the lucky few who own 80% of the country’s wealth contribute less than 15% of all monies donated to charity. <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, whose charities get 0.05% of GDP. Even mean old <st1:country-region><st1:place>Britain</st1:place></st1:country-region> is better at 0.88% and the <st1:country-region><st1:place>USA</st1:place></st1:country-region> a shining example at 2.17%. Let’s put that another way. Per capita income in the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> is 40 times higher than <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> – but donations to charity are 1000 times higher. Best not to be poor in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. </span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">….think that is the end of the fucking? It is scarcely the beginning.</span></p>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com136tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-35680390877397044672007-02-02T13:02:00.000+00:002007-04-12T07:40:57.605+00:00A new girl<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So there’s this new girl.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She’s quite the head turner. Young, vivacious, full of life, feminine fire to the masculine mud that is so common in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Even though she’s expected to conform – for everyone must conform in this society – she finds little ways to be an individual – sometimes just her smile, that twist of the body, that sparkle in the eye that is her individuality; or maybe it’s the way she walks into a room, surrounded by people yet still all herself – or the way she answers a question, or asks one. It’s the way she rides her bike, whipping full of life between the more staid cyclists, up on the pavement, dodging between the lampposts. It’s the way she dances to her music, the way she drinks a cup of tea, the way she twirls a pen between her fingers. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">From the first time you see her you know she’s special. She’s got that something, that spark of sass, of drive; it animates her, energizes her. She’s full of secrets and laughter, plans and hopes. Her presence fills a room and her absence empties it. She’s not someone you forget. I want to know her, know what her life is, who she is, how, what she thinks.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She’s young, and she’s got her life ahead of her. She’s not going to become a robot, not going to put up with the grind and the shit, with the third-rate university education <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> offers, with its meaningless lip service to ideas no one believes in. She’s not going to sit through Mao Zedong theory or learn about Hu Jintao’s trite, risible ‘Socialist Countryside’ (that a once great country comes to this!) She’s not going to wear the staid, dull regulation haircut her tutors will want, and she’s not going to get up at 6am in the morning to do their silly physical exercises and go to sleep at 11pm when they put the electricity off. She’s not going to be a good girl for them, quiet, polite, obedient.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Not her. Not for her the three or four years of rinkydink ‘higher’ education nor all the English tests; not for her the semi-slave labor as some prof’s lab flunkey, nor graduation in some cheap, gaudy robe, nor the kindergarten-style routine of the tassel on her mortarboard being moved from left to right. Nor, after that, the fuss and scrape of finding a job, and having to pick out the right clothes and style to make some dull potato of a Chinese guy offer her some shit job with shit wages in a shit firm, with a shit contract that says she must work as many hours overtime as she’s told and must not get pregnant. Not for her the causal abuses of her humanity that getting a job in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> requires (for getting a job here is putting yourself on the slave auction block). Not for her putting up with the inept, bashful wooing of office colleagues, their fawning when they chase her and contempt when she declines, nor the constant drip of sexual harassment coded into the country’s DNA; and certainly not marriage to some passionless clod followed by decades of servitude and conformity.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">None of this for her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">None of it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">None.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She’ll have no future, she’ll have no life, no chance, no joy, she’ll never grow and develop and explore her potential, what she could be. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Because she’s dead.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her name was Zhang Yaoyi. She was 11. She was a pupil in a school in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s central <st1:state><st1:place>Hunan</st1:place></st1:state> province. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I imagine her. I see her. She’s sitting at her desk and there’s that smile in her eye, that little wisp of steely will that marks her individuality. She says something to the teacher – Li Hengyi – just a little comment, just slightly too bright and certainly not servile enough, not docile, humble, as all good girls should be. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then the lunacy that lurks beneath the male skin slithers to the surface.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He smashes her head against the desktop several times, hard, brutal; she falls to the floor. He kicks her, thick, heavy blows from his feet into her stomach, her ribcage. He jumps on her, kicks her head. Already she’s covered in blood and barely conscious. He grabs an iron bar that’s used to pull open the high windows and beats her with it, beats her, smashes her, bloody, murderous, brutal. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And now she’s totally still, blood spreading out over the floor, the soft slick spread of the puddle of red, teeth smashed, fingers broken. He picks her up –picks her up – and carries her to the window. Opens it. And throws her out. Four stories she falls; it kills her. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dead. Gone. Erased. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And where were all you frothing lunatics then? Where were the witchhunts then? Where was the anger and the outrage? Where were the frenzied press reports? Where were the blog sites calling for this guy’s head? </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">One Western man has sex with a bunch of women. Women who are adults, who consent freely, and who enjoy it thoroughly. He writes about it, throws in a few run-of-the-mill opinions. Behavior nothing special. Thoughts little new. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Chaos. Millions of madmen fussing and strutting and firing off absurd emails.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Zhang Yaoyi beaten to death by her teacher – by her fucking <i style="">teacher</i> – and what? A story here, a story there. Page 4 of <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> Daily. Ignored by <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> Daily. A few reports in one day's papers, a smattering of interest from the lazy, idle, muzzled Chinese language press, none of it front page. And then silence.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Nothing much for a few days. More silence. Then a buried-away follow up report that Li Hengyi was mentally ill and thus would face no charges. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He’d been working at that school since 1998, and began to show signs of mental illness in 2001. Li Hengyi’s treatment, which came in late 2003, two years later, lasted two months and then he went<i style=""> right back into the classroom</i>. That’s why he was still there in 2006 – despite it being perfectly well known he beat the kids – and that’s why Zhang Yaoyi died.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So where were you, you angry fuckers? Where were you then? Where was your outrage? Where were the letters to the press?<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Silence from you all. I have in class many times raised the name Zhang Yaoyi, written it up on the board, in Chinese and so far not a single student has known the name. Not one!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Unbelievable? Not in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another girl: Zheng Shaojuan.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Zheng Shaojuan was a second-grader, nine years old, in the <st1:place><st1:placetype>village</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename>Putian</st1:placename></st1:place>, in <st1:place><st1:placename>Fujian</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:placetype></st1:place>. Her teacher , Liang Liyu, sees her peeping at the deskmate’s answers in a math test, and so he – of course it is a he, it is always a he – grabs a broom handle and begins to beat her on her back. She starts sobbing, which enrages our fine, honorable teacher all the more and so he starts hitting her head, blow after blow after blow – all the while her brother, sitting in the row behind, is forced to watch this display of pig brutality. The girl tries to move her body forward, away from the rain of violence and this just adds fury to anger. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What! She tries to get away from him? He jabs the broomhandle into her, viciously rabid thrusts, trying to force her body round so that she will meet his eyes. For how dare she not look at him as he beats her? What disrespect! </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And so frenzied are the blows, so great his brutal rage the broomstick snaps in two, splinters of it piercing even through the thick fabric of her school tracksuit and lacerating her skin. His wrath is purged and he’s taught her his lesson. Back to teaching he goes, full of pride at his display of good teaching methodology. Shaojuan spends the rest of the afternoon slumped on her desk. Later, another teacher walks by and sees this and she, having the decency the man did not, acts like a teacher (parent?) should, comes into the class to see what’s wrong with the girl. Shaojuan says she is not feeling well and the woman teacher suggests she goes home; she gets to her feet, shakily walks to the door, respectfully asks permission to leave from Liang, fighting down her shame and anger and contempt, leaves the classroom but collapses, right there, in the corridor, no strength in her body, her head fuzzy, unfocused. Liang carries on not giving a fuck and so the woman teacher helps Shaojuan home, carrying her part of the way. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">An ambulance is called but this being <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> takes an hour to arrive; by that time another child has died in the Chinese educational system. By that time Shaojuan is dead.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And what of Yaoyi, whose bright future, whose hope and potential has been beaten to death, whose parents have been bought off for a mere US$25,000 and are now expected to shut up, seeking no further redress? And what of Shaojuan’s parents, who had gone to other provinces as migrant workers, leaving her with relatives? Of them I have found no trace; for they, being migrant workers, belong to that class of people who have built this country and who are routinely despised, belittled, cheated, abused and subsequently forgotten.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Where were you brave citizens of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> then? Where was the anger? Where was the press, so like dogs baying for Chinabounder?<span style=""> </span>The outcry? The mass of internet idiots so concerned about <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s honor and dignity? They offered silence and remain silent. Not a word, not a sigh, not a shrug of the shoulder, not even a raised eyebrow. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Here is an example of the anger I received just because I slept with a few women, just one of the ten thousand emails I got, from <a href="mailto:luckybulletinyouhead@yahoo.com">luckybulletinyourhead@yahoo.com</a>:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" >Food, Wine, and Women<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span>Food, you will be eating your own shit covered in shards of blood-stained metal.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span>Wine, you will be drinking your own blood while drowning in your own piss.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span>Women, the only bitch you had and will ever fuck is your mother's raw and bloody corpse.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span>I am supremely confident that you will enjoy the inhumane pleasure of being skinned and buried alive in a metal coffin fill to the top with<span style=""> </span>sulfuric acid 6 feet under a stranger's grave. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span>Live everyday like your last, one day you will wake up in a bathtub full of<span style=""> </span>ice with parts of your family all around you, I know you will enjoy the<span style=""> </span>smell of dead corpses and you will definitely love to hear the black<span style=""> </span>flies circling you while maggots crawl and burrow themselves under your<span style=""> </span>skin. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span>It's springtime in </span><st1:place><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" >Nottingham</span></st1:place><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" > for me to watch your sadistic and pleasurable misfortune. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Shame on the citizens of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>! Your children are dying and your silence is complicit in their death.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com112tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-2130986145145765822006-08-28T22:15:00.000+00:002006-11-01T16:42:28.496+00:00Sweetie Redux<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Let us press on.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">As I was saying the other day, before I got overwhelmed with rantiness (for which I apologize since, let us agree, Zhang Jiehai is scarce worth the time) I’d spent an afternoon looking for a date. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Though those feelers I’d put out came up dry that day, they made for a busier weekend, as each of the women I’d called suggested meets over the next few evenings.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">So now it was my turn to put off Holly and Joy, and make time for <a href="http://chinabounder.blogspot.com/2006/06/sweetie-continued.html"><span style="color:red;">Sweetie</span></a> instead, Sweetie who I had not seen and not much thought of since our last encounter. She messaged me from work and suggested we meet for dinner, and since (for me as much as her) this was merely the prelude to sex I took her to the Quanjude restaurant just near where I live, so that it should not take us long to get to bed. It’s a trifle touristy, full of foreigners and fake Qing stuff, and the duck is a little greasy. But it answered to the purpose.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Naturally she arrived holding her gameboy in her hands, engrossed in whatever vapid game she was now playing. This was perhaps just as well, for, having been out with her a few times by this point, I had more or less exhausted all I had to say to her. Having almost nothing in common with her, there was little to talk about. So while her game buzzed and twittered away I leafed through that day’s Spiegel, exchanging the odd comment with her. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">But our conversation picked up a little as we ate. She told me about an affair she’d had in the months since I’d seen her. As I mentioned before, she works in a Japanese company and, like <a href="http://beta.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=27846796&postID=115209025225684936"><span style="color:red;">Ellen</span>, </a>she seems to have to put up with some weirdness. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Now her boss was a Japanese guy, married, older, and a real brain, too. He’d graduated from Stanford while still a teenager, and was fluent to native speaker level in a fistful of languages. She’s known him a few months and one night, things `just happened.’ But it got fucked up bad, and soon. For he does not trust women, having come through a tough divorce; and is highly traditional and things a woman should be just-so. As Sweetie is highly untraditional, the path off the rails was clear right there. But it went to smash far bigger than just that.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Sweetie knew the wife, too, and had spent time at their home. `That must be quite tough, to have to pretend in front of her?’ I said. But Sweetie was insouciant. `No, not really.. I can do that easily.’ </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">So after one dinner these three shared together, the wife suggests she stay the night, it being late and wet, a situation in which, in Shanghai, finding a cab is next to impossible. And so she stayed, and, a little while after she’d gone to bed, the guy came to her. “<i style="">I guess just to say goodnight</i>,” Sweetie explained, “<i style="">But passion took over.. I asked him if he’d locked the door, and he said he had.. and I checked it, too. But then somehow it was open and his wife saw us.. saw us fucking on the bed. And when she saw that she just turned away</i>.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Upshot was, Japanese guy decided he wanted Sweetie to move in full time, and treat his wife like her sister (which she said to me with a snort of scorn.) The wife, for her part, was unmoved. This was but her duty, as she saw it. The guy told Sweetie – “<i style="">When we got married I told her I would never divorce her, as long as she did not leave me, but that if I met a woman, and something happened, I might bring her home.</i>.” And this, it seemed, was quite acceptable for the wife. It’s a fucking shitty piece of behavior on his part, since clearly an offer like that would not work both ways, and if she took a lover a guy like that would just do one. Scumbag. This wife’s lot is tough, to hear Sweetie tell it. She is merely a slave, walks dutifully behind him, waits on him hand and foot; while he is drinking and laughing with cronies she sits stock still in the next room, tending the tea so she can bring it to each guy as soon as his cup is empty; cannot work, cannot socialize, can do nothing but housework, nothing but tend to him.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And then he tried the same attitude on Sweetie; so, the next evening she said she was going out for a walk and he, “<i style="">Wait until we are ready to come with you</i>.” She explained she wanted to go on her own, wanted time alone; and he did not like that. And so this putative relationship soon blew up into arguments and fights and she got out of there, back to her own flat. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""> </span>After our meal it was to this flat she wanted to go, rather than back to my place. And that was fine by me – better, in fact, since it meant I could leave in the morning when I wanted, rather than, if she stayed with me, chafing and fretting until she left. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Not, of course, that she quite said ‘<i style="">Let’s go back to my flat to fuck</i>.’ Instead, she used the line I generally use, that she could ‘show’ me her flat. So into a cab, and off to Kanping Lu kissing, caressing, touching as we went, to a rather pleasant, leafy part of town, where she had a place on the top floor of a five storey flat. As I walked up the steps behind her, my eyes played across her butt, her legs, the tight short black skirt, the black stockings, looking forward to what was to come, knowing she would soon be dying under me. I fast-forwarded in my head to how it would be when I undressed her, what color panties were waiting my gaze under the fabric of her clothing. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Unusually for a woman, her flat was an absolute mess; but a sexy mess, with bras and panties strewn everywhere, some clean, drying on racks, some dirty, slung to the floor. Reds and greens, silks and satins, frills and bows and laces, blues and blacks…</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She made some half-effort to tidy up, before I stopped her telling her it was sexier this way, stimulating; so too was the unmade bed, the duvet half on the floor from when she had got up this morning. I liked it like this; clearly she had not prepared for my arrival, had had little thought of seeing me when she began her day. It was a titillating idea, that she had got out of bed with no particular plan, that her mind had roamed to me and she had called me, sought me, and was bringing me back here to fuck. I liked the casual way of it, the simplicity, and the intimacy too – to see her bedroom as it really is, her life raw, not prepared. It was also sexy because mess like this is more generally the province of a teenager, and while she is 23 or 24, the strewn lingerie made it seem like the room of a younger woman. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And so while she freshened up I lay on the bed, reaching down to pick a pair of panties from the floor, feeling their slick silk texture under my fingers, pressing them to my nose to inhale her scent, and once again running through in my mind what was about to happen.</span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"> </span></span><br /><br />Technorati Tags:<br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BShanghai%20Girls%5D" rel="tag">[Shanghai Girls]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BJapanese%20Guys%5D" rel="tag">[Japanese Guys]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BLingerie%5D" rel="tag">[ Lingerie]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BPanties%5D" rel="tag">[Panties]</a>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com116tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-68820478143438045582006-08-27T22:50:00.000+00:002006-11-01T16:22:37.305+00:00A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.<p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Now <a style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);" href="http://www.zonaeuropa.com/20060828_1.htm">here’s </a>another lunatic. Here’s a mouth-frother, here’s a bigot, here’s a stiff-necked buffoon who, in one ranting article, shows all that is wrong, footling and absurd about modern <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span><span style="font-size:130%;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">This man is a professor at the Shanghai <st1:place><st1:placetype>Academy</st1:placetype></st1:place></span><span style="font-size:130%;"> of Social Sciences. A <i style="">professor</i>! In this is shown so much that is wrong about today’s <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span><span style="font-size:130%;">. A country’s educational system should be home the best and brightest, to those who can think, weigh, balance, judge. And instead what does poor <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span><span style="font-size:130%;"> get? Knee-jerk nationalists like this, myopic, thoughtless, a crass dolt who thinks like a sheep, rages like a hyena, and is impotent like a mule. Ah, Zhang, proud Zhang, dressed in a little brief authority, like an angry ape.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And – astonishment piles on astonishment – he is a professor of <i style="">psychology</i>! A man who should have some insight into the shades and ways of thought, the grades and colors of morality, comes out instead with such an article! Every word of it in a nail in the coffin of his credibility. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Yet this is what passes for the educated in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span><span style="font-size:130%;">. This is the caliber of person <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span><span style="font-size:130%;"> has in its most prestigious institutes. What hope can there be for <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span><span style="font-size:130%;"> when people like this educate its young? How can the country ever take its rightful place among the leaders of the world when this is the standard of its thinkers?<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I hold my head in my hands as I read his article. I had hoped <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span><span style="font-size:130%;"> was moving beyond such folly; but as I read and re-read what he writes I see how strong the path to failure is, how compelling. If <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span><span style="font-size:130%;"> cannot get past its Zhang Jiehais, what hope?<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Look at this man, <i style="">look</i>, listen, listen and see what modern <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span><span style="font-size:130%;"> can be. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">Today, with tremendous anger, I will tell you the story of an immoral foreigner and I call upon all Chinese compatriots to get together and kick this immoral foreigner out of </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i style="">China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style="">.</i></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Ah, the pomposity of his tone, the bluster, the arrogance. Yet this is a common thing in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span><span style="font-size:130%;">, the group mind, the `all Chinese compatriots’ stance, the suggestion that to be foreign is to be inferior. And then too the safety in numbers stance, the righteous indignation of the crowd. Zhang Jiehai (and he is not alone in this stance) can only see the world in one way; he expects everyone to see like him, think like him. He cannot understand that others might have differing views, cannot see anything but black and white. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And so on he goes:-<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">This is intolerable and this piece of garbage must be found and kicked out of </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i style="">China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style="">!!!<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">This also is another common knee-jerk phrase that most expats in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span><span style="font-size:130%;"> will know well. <st1:country-region><st1:place><i style="">China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style=""> for the Chinese. We are one. We are us. You are you. You are here only as long as it pleases us</i></span><span style="font-size:130%;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">This is mere variation on the chime most expats will know well, the by-rote patter they hear when they have any complaint about the country -- ‘<i style="">If you don’t like </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i style="">China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style="">, go home!</i></span><span style="font-size:130%;">’ <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">Once, he was even shameless enough to say, "I 'm tired of her already. A cunt is a cunt. I keep her just so that I can play with her again."<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Which is perfectly true. I did say that. I am not proud of it, but nor will I lie about it. And I hardly think it is a rare attitude. I am sure many guys – and women too – have slept with a person they care nothing much for merely for the pleasure. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">This piece of garbage's favorite show is to use obscene and pornographic language to describe the bodies of Chinese women and how they made love. For example, "My dearest Tingting, you have a very good and beautiful body. I cannot stop thinking about your beautiful skin, your lovely, smooth and soft breasts, you sexy, smooth and fine waist, your sweet and pretty legs and arms ... oh, of course, you are so pretty, so sexy and so perfect between your legs!"<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Obscene and pornographic? To tell a woman how wonderful she is? The crashing irony of this, that after lecturing me for being dismissive of the average Chinese guy’s romantic skills he shows how few he has, escapes him. To tell a woman she is pretty and sexy is <i style="">obscene</i>? <span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">While in general Zhang Jiehai reports what I said accurately, I must take issue with his claim that I wrote Chinese men are ‘incredibly ugly.’ It is possible that he merely misunderstood me – for sure he is no thinker, no reader – but I never said anything remotely similar to this. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">But what makes it intolerable for me is that this piece of garbage deliberately hurt the feelings of the Chinese national feelings in his class and he openly spoke to divide China.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And there it is again; the inability to conceive that other people might think in other ways. Ah, no such uncertainly for Zhang Jiehai, no; to him all Chinese people think the same, feel the same, are the same. Sure, when I say `Chinese guys are..’ I am `a piece of garbage’; but when he says `Chinese national feelings’ he is nothing but justified, insightful and correct. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">As everybody knows, on the 15th of this month, Japanese prime minister Koizumi will visit the Yasukuni Shrine once more and thereby draw strong protests from China and many Asian countries. But this piece of garbage openly wrote on his blog on August 17 to denigrate the nationalistic feelings of the Chinese people!<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And again. If I do not agree with `the nationalistic feeling of the Chinese people’ then I must be trying to denigrate China. If I do not think in the Zhang Jiehai approved manner, I must perforce be wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">On goes the parade of ignorance:<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">In the essay "The two fatal flaws of the Chinese people," I praised the Israelis for "hunting down the Nazis" at all costs and then finally sending them to hang on the Israelis' own gallows. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Now while this is true, and commendable, it has little relevance here. As I made explicitly clear in my blog, the justified target of anger is those who were guilty of crimes. Such people are the target of the Simon Wiesenthal center, and rightly so. But in China today, Japanese people in general are hated, merely for being Japanese. In any case, China’s own government suspended action against a large number of Japanese war criminals in the interests of fostering good relations between the two countries. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">the Japanese would have apologized to us a long time ago and they would not dream of going to any Yasukuni Shrine.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Man, I am getting to sound as absurd as Zhang Jiehai himself. There is so much lunacy in his article that merely by replying to it I am tainted with his sickness myself. For this particular gem of nonsense I will merely point out what I said before – that Japan has apologized. And I will also ask, can one apologize for a crime one has not committed? Today’s Japanese government, after all, murdered no one. But if one can apologize for the crimes of one’s predecessors, when will the CPC apologize for the 30 to 50 million deaths it caused?<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">But what does Zhang Jiehai want? For today’s Japanese people to apologize for something they did not do to someone they did not harm?<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">He even dared to openly engaged in activities to divide China. For example, he once asked a student from Xinjiang: "Is Xinjiang really a part of China?" At the same time, he told his students any number of times: "Taiwan is really an independent country."<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And once more I hold my head in my hands. I expect such knee-jerk tosh from students, but to hear it from a professor saddens me greatly. Again – how ever can China hope to become great when this is the caliber of its intellectual elite?<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am willing to listen to the person who tells me Xinjiang is part of China. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Zhang Jiehai is not willing even to countenance the opposite argument. What kind of academic will not even accept an argument that opposes his own? Well, a shit kind of academic, that’s what.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I have talked to several Muslim students from Xinjiang. They most certainly do not feel Xinjiang should be part of China. And as for Taiwan... It simply <i style="">is</i> a separate country, and there’s no possible way to deny it. Now whether it <i style="">should</i> be separate or should remain separate is a different argument. But now, today, it is separate. The Taiwanese choose their own leaders; they have their own laws, language, currency, passport. Beijing has zero direct power over Taiwan; and therefore while all sides may preserve the `one country two systems’ fiction, the fact of the matter is that Taiwan is separate. One needs look no further than the international attitude to a Taiwanese passport and a Chinese passport for the truth of that. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">It is the job of an academic to try to see things as they are, not as they are wished to be. Zhang Jiehai falls at this elementary hurdle. He is not even on the lowest rung of the path to true intelligence. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">For the Chinese women as well as the Chinese men, this is lively and hard-to-find education material!<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Indeed. Clearly the kind of education material Zhang Jiehai is capable of producing has no merit.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">He gloated: "It is very difficult for western women here. Someone like me will not even glance at a western woman. I treat them as if they are invisible. They don't exist."<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">This is again perhaps a misreading of my point, and I cannot really criticize Zhang Jiehai on it; after all, I am sure his English is a fuck sight better than my Chinese. Nonetheless, I was not gloating. I was merely pointing out the reality of life in China today. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">On one hand, as a scholar and a man, <o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">You are no scholar, Sir. You profane the very word. You have no claim to the title. A scholar is everything you are not. You are merely a bigot and a parasite. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">I have relentlessly and directly criticized Chinese men, because I am one of them. On the other hand, I have always been reticent with respect to Chinese women, which included our mothers, wives, sisters and daughters.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">In a nutshell, there it is. China man’s attitude to woman.<span style=""> </span>Most thinking women would find such an attitude offensive and patronizing. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Zhang Jiehai, women do not want to be treated with kid gloves, they do not want to be put on a pedestal, they do not want to be treated as works of art. The want to be seen as equals. They do not want your offensive, patriarchal bullshit. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">Especially this piece of garbage, who is in the business of an engineer of the soul, and the engineer of the soul of our elites!<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And after all this, you have the gall to talk about engineering souls, my lord fool? You who clearly can only engineer the most paltry, staid and desiccated of thinkers? <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">I am a researcher in psychology. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Barely.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">The Chinese women that he dallied with are his students. Outside of China, relationships between teachers and students are strictly prohibited. But this piece of garbage used his status as teacher to deceive his inexperienced female students. We ask how such a beast can be a teacher?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Learn to read, Zhang Jiehai, learn to read. I only get involved with women after they have ceased to be my students. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">Our relevant departments really ought to step in!<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Ah, yes; if you do not like what someone else says, shut them down. And you call yourself an academic!<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">The most valuable hint is that he went to the Tianping Hotel with a female student and the room has no window. Everybody knows that very few hotel rooms have no window (I have never encountered a windowless room). When I went to check at the Tianping Hotel, they really did not have any windowless rooms. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">This is perhaps the most astonishing comment of all. This man went to a location I claimed to have been to see if it existed. He sees some blog on the net and gets so righteous indignant about it that he turns himself into Sherlock Holmes. He did this; he went to the Tianping Hotel to ask them about their rooms. What a bumbling, impotent buffoon! And this is the caliber of China’s academics. This is what they worry themselves about? I am just one guy, of no especial importance, not much more or less than many expats and certainly no different to a goodly number of local men, who cheat and cog and play just as much as I do. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Listen to yourself, Zhang Jiehai, <i style="">listen</i> to yourself.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">If people think that there is a foreign language teacher who fits these descriptions, or otherwise find valuable clues, please leave a comment at my blog or contact me directly via email.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">Netizens and compatriots, if you are a Chinese man with guts and if you respect Chinese women, please join this "Internet hunt for the immoral foreigner"! Let us act together! I believe in the power of the Internet, because I believe in the power of the Chinese people!<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am just aghast at this. Truly, I fear for China. Not just because of the utter paucity of thinking, life, truth and honesty that typifies the Zhang Jiehais of today’s China, nor just that if he is any representative of the country's academic quality China is doomed, but also because in calling for a witch-hunt he calls for ugliness and hatred, he calls for fascism, he calls for ignorance. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Zhang Jiehai, you are a far greater danger to China than ever I could be. You spread ignorance, lies and poison; you stifle thought, freedom and intellect. You are stupidity, folly, contempt. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">It is because of people like you that so many of China’s best and brightest seek education abroad. You have nothing to offer the young of today’s China but bankrupt ideas and meaningless platitudes. You drive the finest minds of China to the West. You have nothing to say. You have nothing to teach. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Poor China, to still be so hurt by her own people!</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">(This entry was edited after posting to correct the fact that Zhang Jiehai is a member of the Shanghai Academy of Social Sciences, not the <st1:place><st1:placename>Chinese</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Academy</st1:placetype></st1:place> of Sciences. Part of my anger at Zhang was that I erroneously thought he was a member of the CAS, which has had my respect for a long time. They have some truly outstanding thinkers and researchers, and I was disappointed to see a clod like this among their ranks. I will let the entry stand; but I offer an unreserved apology for having briefly traduced the CAS)</span></p><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Technorati Tags:</span><br /><a style="font-family: times new roman;" href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BNationalism%5D" rel="tag">[Nationalism]</a><br /><a style="font-family: times new roman;" href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BIgnorance%5D" rel="tag">[ Ignorance]</a><br /><a style="font-family: times new roman;" href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BAcademia%5D" rel="tag">[Academia]</a><br /><a style="font-family: times new roman;" href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BPride%5D" rel="tag">[Pride]</a></span>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com211tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-59408512690342440192006-08-25T15:01:00.000+00:002006-11-01T16:14:14.236+00:00Little Black Book<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">In that very class where first I noted ex-Mildred, Clarissa sent me a teasing, pleasing text message:-</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>does it easy to find a suitable <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> girl to sleep with?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>I took the chance to flirt back:-</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>finding a girl as beautiful, sexy and unforgettable as the one I met on Friday night is extremely hard.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>And as I tapped this off to her, another arrived:</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Ok together with your sweet girl. i will find u later with a handsome guy. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p><u1:p></u1:p><u1:p></u1:p>The next morning I messaged her:-</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">Last night I dreamed of you... all night long, my Clarissa...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Normally that’s a lie when I say it. In this case it was true. I remember it clearly because it was a sexy dream, one in which I was just about to realize all my hopes; but just as I reached that moment I was woken by a text message from Tulip. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>To this, Clarissa replied `</span><st1:city><st1:place><i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:city><st1:place>ur</st1:place></st1:city></span></i></st1:place></st1:City><i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> killing me, u know?</span></i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">’ </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>That filled me with joy, for I took it to mean `killing me with conflict’ – that is, that she was thinking of me like I am of her, though a less pleasing interpretation would be that she meant I was a ladykiller and the she saw through my shallow moves. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>But still I tried to play it a little, replying ‘<i>Killing? O, if only I could change that double `l’ to double `s’</i>…’ And she, quick to take up this little linguistic game, said ‘<i>u mean kidding? I know!</i>’ </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>This flirty tone to our relationship carried on online. A month or so after we’d got to know each other, she’d told me how she did not like to sleep alone (her husband being elsewhere on business.) </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-size:100%;">Me: yeah, i am sleeping alone these days too, and i'm not too happy about it either!<br /><u1:p></u1:p>C: why not find a girl friend<br /><u1:p></u1:p><st1:state><st1:place><st1:state><st1:place>Me.</st1:place></st1:state></st1:place></st1:State> oh, i guess i could... but i am not good at being that serious .. so i don't really want a proper relationship<br /><u1:p></u1:p>C: besides.... i would be thinking of you even if i did have a gf<br /><u1:p></u1:p>C: it doesn't matter at all<br /><u1:p></u1:p>Me: oh?<br /><u1:p></u1:p>C: as I am not an MBA<br /><u1:p></u1:p>Me: i know, dear Clarissa, i know... i would not make the rude suggestion that you were!<br /><u1:p></u1:p>Me: but i hope u could be a good friend at least!<br /><u1:p></u1:p>C: Don;t we?<br /><u1:p></u1:p>Me: we are... but.. friends should spend time together, and, alas, u are too busy for that! what a shame...<br /><u1:p></u1:p>C: know I am afraid of u<br /><u1:p></u1:p>C: afraid of ... I think u know<br /><u1:p></u1:p>Me: well... i guess... so maybe it is better we are friends more by msn than in person (<i>of course I did not mean that at all, but one must know when not to push too hard</i>)<br /><u1:p></u1:p>Me: but... it would be nice<br /><u1:p></u1:p>C: i know u r a "killer" but I don't want to be killed<br /><u1:p></u1:p>C: I need a peaceful life<br /><u1:p></u1:p>B: yes, i do understand, Clarissa. but in fact i am not really a `killer' - it is only when it comes to you that i find it hard to control my thoughts.<br /><u1:p></u1:p>C: sweet man</span><o:p></o:p></span> </p> <span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:130%;" >This promising conversation ended there, since Tulip called me, following up her sms (more of her, later, too); but that was a good enough place to leave our online chat. This kind of conversation can be kept brief, hanging, for that makes it more piquant, more stimulating. </span></span><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Keyed up to the pitch of needing feminine company, the day after this conversation I idled through a few contacts in my address book.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>First of all, I called up Joy. Joy had studied at </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:place><st1:placename>Tsinghua</st1:placename></st1:place></span></st1:PlaceName><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></st1:place> <st1:placetype><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:placetype>University</st1:placetype></span></st1:PlaceType><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">, and (as are many from there) was fearsomely intelligent. Perfect in English, she was now following it up with German, and it was in such a class that I’d met her a few months before this.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Lecher though I am, the single sexiest quality in a woman, for me, is intelligence; true intelligence – not merely book-learned repetition - shines in the character, and it takes very few seconds for it to be obvious. Just a minute or two of conversation with Joy when I first met her was enough to captivate me – her breezy self-confidence, her brisk, pugnacious, teasing manner of talking to me. And so I’d set myself after her and, course concluded, we’d met for dinner. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Yet splendidly bright as she is, full of life and character, over dinner I saw that that life seemed to have little of emotion in it. Bracing she was, but also unyielding, wrapped in ice. I do not mean just with regard to my trifling desires, but rather that she was held back, reserved, as a way of life. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>This is not quite to say she knows nothing of emotion, for she is aware of it and its complexities. But only in a logical way; she knows it, even understands it, some – but does not <i>feel </i>it. She is too rigid, intellectual. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Well, flaunting my ease with these things – or crassness, perhaps – I asked “<i>Have you ever been kissed?” <u1:p></u1:p></i></span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“Of course I have!</span></i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">” she said –“<i>Here</i>,” pointing to her cheek, “<i>and here</i>,” to her forehead. I laughed out loud at this and in the ensuing conversation she told me that she would have to date a guy for at least two years before letting him her lips.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Partly it’s so absurd as to be laughable; partly it’s sad. This cocoon of bullshit, of lies; it’s what leads to sure marital sadness, as Chinese woman too often goes from chaste virgin to being badly, coolly and rapidly fucked by her cold fish husband – as she unwraps the gift she’s seen glittering in her mind all her life and finds a cold, cooked, congealed potato therein. Ah, yes, a ‘generalization’ again. But what shall I say? I can only write of what I see, what I am told. </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p> is a sexually repressed society.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>But (to get back to my search for a date) there was no reply for her. So then on a whimsy I text-messaged Holly, also a long-term background interest of mine who I will add to the growing list of women to write about in more detail. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>In brief, for now, Holly caught my eye in class primarily because she reminded me of a girlfriend back in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:country-region><st1:place>England</st1:place></st1:country-region></span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">. Echoes from the past are powerful, hard to ignore, and a certain amount of repetition in life has its charms. And this particular girlfriend back in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:country-region><st1:place>England</st1:place></st1:country-region></span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> was a long term part of my life, and the years I spent in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:country-region><st1:place>Germany</st1:place></st1:country-region></span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> and then </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:country-region><st1:place>Australia</st1:place></st1:country-region></span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">. I was not then the thing that I am now; </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> was the tutor and feeder of my riots. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Holly’s manner too reminded me of this past girlfriend, though of course that was likely more my need than her reality, me just seeing what I wanted to see. But the way she was slightly ill-at-ease (for the first time I invited her out it was with a general group of friends), the air she had, like that ex-, was of being in a milieu foreign to her… I don't mean to suggest any lack of social skills, not at all; more that she reminded me of how this ex- had once told me about going out with ‘<i style="">wild young things</i>.’ It was perhaps just that she found the party a little boring but something she felt she <i>ought</i> to enjoy – though would have preferred a quieter, calmer place. Her slight air of detachment, of observation… it was redolent, reminiscent of my life with that ex-. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>But I got no reply from Holly, either. Of course, I could have called, rather than messaged, but that is not quite such a good way to flirt; for Holly would have been at work and thus would have been forced to respond to my call professionally not personally, for offices in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> are not much different to offices in any country, and ears are open, tongues wag. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>So then I sent <a href="http://chinabounder.blogspot.com/2006/06/lucky-dip.html"><span style="color: red;">Sweetie</span></a> a message, and soon enough one arrived back from her. She was out of town. This was perhaps just as well, for I had neither seen nor messaged her for a few weeks, and to get together with her tonight purely because I wanted a woman would have been so obvious indiscreet as to have made her ha me.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>And that many attempts was enough for me, so I went to Paulaner bar to take advantage of their afternoon special on beer, where, at half price, it is only surprisingly expensive rather than outrageously expensive and where (it being the afternoon) silence reigns; for in the evening Thai and Philipine bands sing, the noise is overwhelming and the crowds of easily-fooled locals, out to be seen, cram the place. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Later that evening, however, Clarissa called me, high and happy, at a party somewhere; and then again later, on her way home, </span><st1:time minute="0" hour="1"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:time minute="0" hour="1">1 a.m.</st1:time></span></st1:time><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">, she called again, the party over and she on her way home; and this seemed to me a good sign, for it showed she again was thinking of me. Sure, maybe she just wants the flattery I surely provided, but even were that true it would still prove connection, frisson; she would not have been thinking of me, called me, had I not some impact on her. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Sure, I rolled out such seductive words as seemed fitting; she was after them, telling me she was sure I did not really care about her (for this was still relatively early in our relationship) – and what was that but a chance to tell her just how potently I did feel about her? How I thought of her every day? Pressed her for dinner, and she liked it but would not commit – because, to judge by the call and our online conversations she was enough interested in me for that putative dinner to undo her self-control; and, thus, while she was separated by a phone’s distance, she knew to hold to that gap as hard as she could. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>And indeed she told me she had to go home to her husband – her mention of him both a barrier and an offer. A barrier because it was to remind me he was there, she was his; but an offer because, in going home to him, she showed she was thinking of me. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>More, she put him there, obvious, to show he was part of the equation; that no matter what might happen between us, she would remain married to him. And that suited me just fine. I did not want to love her, exactly, but nor quite was it just a matter of sex. Yes, sex was my goal, true, but sex with at least some emotional anchor to it. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Technorati Tags:</span><br /><a style="font-family: times new roman;" href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BSeduction%5D" rel="tag">[Seduction]</a><br /><a style="font-family: times new roman;" href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BFlirting%5D" rel="tag">[Flirting]</a></span>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com205tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-23699318688664787742006-08-21T08:44:00.000+00:002006-11-01T16:01:06.781+00:00More of Clarissa<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So the evening with <a href="post-edit.g?blogID=27846796&postID=115468069706135752"><span style="color: red;">Clarissa</span></a> had come to a slightly moody end. But she was so sexy and unusual with it that I could not forget her. Blocking her instant messenger profile was just the spiteful, childish reaction of a man thwarted in his desires. And when I woke the next morning those desires were again strong and urgent in me; and so of course she did not stay blocked. She was just too fascinating, too diverting. Now, in a city of so many beauties as </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city></span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> is, that’s saying something. And in truth Clarissa seems hardly standout, for she does not have the tall, slender body of a would-be model. On an objective scale she could not be compared to <a href="post-edit.g?blogID=27846796&postID=114952811448656598"><span style="color: red;">Deedee</span></a>, but that hardly matters. It's just It. Some women'll stay in a man's memory if they once walked down a street. It isn’t beauty, or good talk necessarily. Clarissa has fascinated me from the first moment I saw her. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Morning also brought with it the clear realization hat I had been a little sulky to her in the cab. She was the one who had it all to lose, so she was the one who should call the shots. It seemed to me then that she was calling them that night too, sounding me out, sizing me up.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>When she’d told me of the lover she had, older, married, rich, she’d also said that one of the problems with a lover was they always wanted more…more demands, more love, eventually marriage. So it seemed to me what was on her mind when she said that was finding out if I could be discreet, subtle. In the cab I wasn’t. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>And thus when I did log on and saw she was on, too, I paused a while, not wanting to bombard her straight away. But she buzzed me first, albeit with no more than a ‘<i>You’re late today</i>’ (late getting up, she meant). I replied with how much fun I had had with her, and she said the same; and that was that, then she was gone.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>In looking through my diary to chart the course of my relationship with Clarissa, I see that this night I had a class in which one woman in particular caught my eye. Now of course that happens all the time, but this woman has since become an important part of my life and, indeed, on a recent trip to the city in which she now studies, she became my lover. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>She was cute, tallish, a sexy dresser in that discreet yet revealing way some women have… A polite style of dressing, a little reserved, because that is the way the bulk of Chinese guys (and thus Chinese society) demand it; but also with hints and whispers of sexuality, of the truer self just below that exterior, hints that most guys do not even see but that I seldom miss. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Or maybe that’s trying to dress up bullshit as a compliment, since what I really mean is the lines of her bra, white, a little bit of lace, which I could see as I stood over her talking to her, covering her breasts, where what did the trick. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>This being university, I kept myself formal, teacherly, and tried not to hit on her too bad. But I could not resist teasing her when she told me her English name. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Being outside Western culture, a name is just a name to a Chinese student – why should it be anything else? And so quite often I meet young women who have chosen names such as ‘Enid,’ ‘Ethel,’ ‘</span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:place>Ada</st1:place></span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">’ and so on, names that would be met with a burst of laughter back home. Generally I tell the student this, given that they plan to study overseas. ‘<i>If I met someone called Mildred </i></span><i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">in my country</span></i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">’ I will say, ‘<i>She would be about 70 years old. No one your age has a name like that!</i>’ At this point the student will usually laugh along with the rest of the class, and then ask me to choose a better name. There is, of course, power in that request, for to choose a name is to mark her.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>And so usually I accept, saying I will think of something and tell her at the end of the course when I have a better idea of her personality. Naturally, if she is cute, I will say at the end of the class ‘<i>I should get to know you better before choosing a name…. Let’s meet for coffee</i>.’</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Chinese names, of course, also have this component. Thus, someone born in the insanity of the Cultural Revolution might well have the character ‘red’ as part of their name, or some other boastful exhortation as to how fine and dandy China is. Someone born at an earlier period might be called `Build </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">’ or ‘Love </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">’ and so on. I have a reasonably good idea about this and, of course, turn it to my shallow advantage saying, when I encounter such a name, ‘<i>Ah, a good solid cultural revolution name</i>’; which remark serves to make the class think I am a </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> expert. It is nothing but flim-flam and veneer, but it is effective. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>As for the Cultural Revolution, for those not in the know, it was a decade of the vilest insanity when maniac Mao Zedong did his best to destroy the country even more than he had already fucked it up already, even more than the crackpot lunacies of all his other schemes, his Great Leap Forward, his Four Pests campaign, his Hundred Flowers, his disastrous Korean war, his murders, poisonings and purges, and all the other filth that spewed from his peasant mind. He did nothing good, kind or decent in his whole life. He was pure scum. He was filth. I shit on him. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">’s population remains, of course, largely ignorant of what he was. Apart from a tiny, thinking minority, many people still admire him, or at least half-admire him. ‘<i>He made some mistakes’</i> students will tell me, which is a remark about parallel to saying ‘<i style="">Well, Hitler may have killed a few people but at least he made the trains run on time</i>.’ Or they will tell me, demonstrating a risible inability to think, ‘<i>He helped the Chinese people to stand up,</i>’ echoing the words he said at the founding of the PRC. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>But enough of this; I have already vented spleen on the topic below. Taking a leaf from the fat psychopath’s own book, I will get back to women. Women, say the biographies (well… not the ones available in China, of course) were a central focus of his life, as he liked to stack up 3 or 4 in bed at the same time, and often adolescent ones. Now since as well as being a fat lunatic he was also a fat lunatic with absolute power, he could simply order any woman to bed, and made great use of the privilege. I have to work a bit harder to get my women, and thus I gave the tried and trusted ‘<i>I can give you more advice if you get in touch by email</i>,’ line to this student (who was at that time called Ethel, but is now called something more suitable, a name I chose); and she did get in touch and we became friends and then lovers. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>But we did not become lovers until a year or so after we’d first met. The reason for this was not because she was unavailable, but rather because I knew if we became lovers it would be a big deal for her. I knew my feckless ways would hurt her, for she would want my love and commitment. And so I forbore, all the time she was in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city></span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Whispers of it, hints, were always there. I recall in particular kissing her goodbye outside the </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;" lang="ZH-CN">太平洋</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> one time, after we’d met for coffee, how I read her eyes, saw the readiness, how she offered me her lips, not her cheek.</span> R<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">ight then, as I kissed her lips, I knew I could take her to bed with just a little more wooing. And, sure, she was attractive, intelligent, all the things I like. But knowing what a big deal it would be for her, that was a path I did not take. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p style="font-family: times new roman;"></u1:p><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Not until I met her in another city – and there, under its different skies, we became lovers. And, now, as I knew would happen all along, she is half in love with me, sending wistful emails, reaching out for a love that I do not return.</span> </span></span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-size:12;"></span><br /></span>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com122tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-26530001147297993472006-08-18T16:10:00.000+00:002006-11-01T15:47:17.390+00:00Seducing Simone #4<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So after eating we walked along </span><st1:street><st1:address><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:street><st1:address>Huashan Road</st1:address></st1:street></span></st1:address></st1:Street><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> back to my place. At first, she wanted to watch TV a little, putting off the coming moment. But maybe that was just out of the wish to seem modest, for within a few minutes she had lost interest in that and was instead in my arms, returning kiss for kiss. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Then she wanted to take a shower, and wanted privacy while she did so, meaning that I could not undress her, which I rather regretted. Undressing a woman is, of course, very stimulating, and especially a </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city></span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> woman like her, decked in lacy, fluttery clothes. Undressing a woman is also stimulating as one moves towards the moment of revealing the panties, for that is always exciting, even here in this society where many women wear the most frumpy, plain underwear. My interest in underwear being what it is, I asked what color panties she was wearing.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“<i>The same as last time!</i>’ she laughed. Those had been sporty type panties, with a certain appeal, though limited. But after she came out of the shower, in her night dress, and I took her to the bed, and lifted the night dress off her (after only minor qualms from her) I was rather please to find deep dark blue lacy panties, which, she told me, she had bought specially. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">‘<i>And what will your mother say when she sees these?’</i> I asked, teasing, for I already knew the answer. And indeed the idea of her mother finding these panties made her eyes open wide. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">‘<i>She’d kill me! But I won’t let her find them</i>’ she said.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The panties matched her bra in color, but not in style, for the bra, bought by her mother, was a Minnie Mouse bra. What parents! Simone also told me, soon after she arrived, that she was not wearing perfume since her mother had taken it away from her that morning – why, she was not sure. It seemed not to have occurred to her to ask, though that may have just been policy so she could preserve the innocent image she had in her mother’s eyes. To them she is still 12. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The real reason her mother took away her perfume was that her parents were out of town that weekend. She’d told them she’d stay with a girlfriend (which was the lie she used to stay with me), and presumably her mother thought she might go into town with this friend and, perfumed, would be in mortal danger.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">What parents like this do not understand is that in restricting their daughters so severely they just drive them into the arms of chancers like me. The daughter under such restrictions chafes at them, they circumscribe her whole world. But when she gets a chance to break free of that confinement, when she meets a guy like me – then she embraces the opportunity, and becomes everything her parents hoped her not to. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">But even though she’d brought these panties just for me, getting them off her took a little more while, for she thought she should still be reluctant. Yet she was excited, too, so her protests, her No, her Don’t, her hand holding them in place, did not last long. As I eased them off her hand flew over her mount in final protest but, easing it away, I saw what I had been waiting to see; and she is nicely made, shapely, hair so neat as to be coiffured, though she insisted it was natural (which I am inclined to believe). </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I wanted to go down on her, of course; and here too was more fuss, since she felt it was `abnormal.’ She soon forgot that complaint when I dived in, and trim, clean and tasty, it was great to do, sexy, intimate, erotic. So, a while of that and then she pulled me up towards her, signaling she was ready for the final push. But already I knew it would by hard going, for by tongue and finger I had found she was tight indeed; and even plenty of lubrication helped little.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It hurt her and was awkward for me, too much fumbling, coaxing. Indeed, I grew churlish at her reluctance to grin and bear it, churlish enough to say “<i style="">Maybe you’d better find a Chinese boyfriend</i>.” That was an ungrateful thing to say, and, lying on the bed in chagrin I compounded the insult by falling asleep, having had just a few hours’ kip the night before. I woke what must only have been 5 or 10 minutes later, and she began to cry, so naturally I comforted her, already feeling guilty; and we tried some more. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">A little more success, now, getting halfway in; but still it was pain for her. So we left it there awhile, cuddling and talking, and then she brought me off (though I had to hold my hand over hers to get the rhythm), over her belly and mons, she watching in fascination as I came, saying, in wonder, “<i style="">So much</i>…”</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">We showered again – this time, together – and that was pretty sweet. The daringness of it (as it seemed to her), like that time with <a href="post-edit.g?blogID=27846796&postID=115264693686883065"><span style="color: red;">Mona</span></a> in Zheng Da, wrote breathless pleasure across her face. And so anon to bed, and here she wanted to kiss, kiss, kiss, even lying on top of me to do so. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“<i>I want to kiss you all night long</i>” she said. I just lay there and let her do what she wanted; it was rather wonderful and she even began to kiss up a little emotion in me. Yes, her body on mine in the dark, her lips and tongue… that memory is a keeper. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Well, another attempt to make love in the morning, and with more success. Still I could not fully get in, but there was less pain and more willingness in her. And then lunch – for we woke late -- and then another try, again with a little ground gained. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I saw that with a few more tries she would be used to it, and so this time I was relatively brief with her, and then ate her again, all the way until she came. That gave me a real sense of cool, having her come under my tongue and seeing how it just wiped her out for ten minutes, how she lay on the bed wrapped up in it, lost, amazed. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“<i>Still think it’s abnormal?”</i> I asked. She did not. And then she did me, again; but this time all on her own. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Now there was some male pride in this; I’d asked her more about her boyfriend the night before. She told me he never went down on her, because he did not like it, but that she did use her hand on him – though to get all the way there he had to do himself, she explained, gesturing with a hand to show she meant that to reach orgasm he had to wank himself.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Well, that was a challenge to me – the woman ought be able to get the guy off, both to validate her own equality and to show the guy is relaxed, at ease with her, is truly her partner. And it worked, for though she did not say it, I could tell that when I came under her hand, she was pleased. I hope it made her feel womanly. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">And that was about it; she showered, dressed, and I accompanied her to the tube at half 5 so she could make her 6 curfew at home — a curfew which I was again rather glad for, since, having been with her the last 24 hours, I was ready for my own company again.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br />Technorati Tags:<br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BShanghai%20Girls%5D" rel="tag">[Shanghai Girls]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BSeduction%5D" rel="tag">[ Seduction]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BChinese%20parents%5D" rel="tag">[Chinese parents]</a><br /></span>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com58tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-1155792166650293062006-08-17T05:12:00.000+00:002007-03-09T10:30:19.610+00:00The Concept of Irony<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">So the Chinese press is shaking with vitriol about Koizumi’s visit to Yasukuni. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The China-Japan relationship is one particularly fascinating part of life here. It shows, in many ways, how unwilling – or unable – to think millions of people are in this society. For they misunderstand the past, present and the likely future. And they are blind to the crashing irony and hypocrisy which riddles their belief.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I should perhaps begin by saying that <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s conduct in the war was a crime against humanity of the gravest degree, lest this blog be overwhelmed by young hotheads who, at the hint of a supposed conciliatory gesture to <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>, will begin to froth at their anonymous mouths. The horrors they committed at <st1:city><st1:place>Nanjing</st1:place></st1:city> were overwhelmingly evil, and the bone pits on display at the <st1:place><st1:placename>Nanjing</st1:placename> <st1:placename>Massacre</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Museum</st1:placetype></st1:place> are a sight I will not forget. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">But here’s how the <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region> argument plays out with the average, say, Tongji student, who (being at that university) is generally a bright person.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Me: “<span style="font-style: italic;">It was 60 years ago. Why are you still angry?</span>”<br />Student: “<span style="font-style: italic;">They have not apologized for the war.</span>”<br />Me: “<span style="font-style: italic;">They have. Numerous times, for example Prime Minister Tomiichi Murayama in 1995, or PM Ryutaro Hashimoto in 1997, or Junichiro Koizumi in 2005</span>.”<br />Student: “<span style="font-style: italic;">Oh… are you sure? I never heard that. Well.. anyway… they do not teach the truth in their history books</span>.”<br />Me: “<span style="font-style: italic;">The history book to which you agree is indeed offensive</span>.” (Smile of righteous victory begins to play across student’s face; student’s shoulders begin to tense back in patriotic fervor)<br />Me: “<span style="font-style: italic;">But it is taught in less than one percent of schools</span>.”<br />Student: “<span style="font-style: italic;">Oh… are you sure? I never heard that.</span>”<br />Me: “<span style="font-style: italic;">I am. Let me ask you a question. Do you think educators or the government should choose the syllabus in your university?</span>”<br />Student: “<span style="font-style: italic;">Educators. The government does not know what it best, and I wish at my university the teachers could decide what to teach</span>.”<br />Me: “<span style="font-style: italic;">Well, in </span><st1:country-region style="font-style: italic;"><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-style: italic;">, educators decide what to teach, not the government. The content of the books is not a direct government choice</span>. ”<br />Student: : “<span style="font-style: italic;">Oh… are you sure? I never heard that</span>.”<br />Me: “<span style="font-style: italic;">When that book was published, there were large demonstrations against it. 30,000 people marched in the streets to protest it</span>.”<br />Student: “<span style="font-style: italic;">Oh… are you sure? I never heard that</span>.”<br />Me: “<span style="font-style: italic;">What do you think would happen if people tried a public demonstration like that here?</span>”<br />Student giggles.<br />Me: “<span style="font-style: italic;">Did you know the PRC signed a joint communiqué in 1972 waiving all war reparations, and in 1978 signed a treat of peace and friendship with </span><st1:country-region style="font-style: italic;"><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-style: italic;">?</span>”<br />Student: “<span style="font-style: italic;">Oh… are you sure? I never heard that</span>.”<br /><span style=""></span>Me: “<span style="font-style: italic;">Did you know that when the war ended </span><st1:country-region style="font-style: italic;"><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-style: italic;"> left about US$100 billion of assets in </span><st1:country-region style="font-style: italic;"><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-style: italic;">, which it agreed to leave as reparation?</span>”<br />Student: : “<span style="font-style: italic;">Oh… are you sure? I never heard that</span>.”<br />Me: “<span style="font-style: italic;">Did you know </span><st1:country-region style="font-style: italic;"><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-style: italic;"> is </span><st1:country-region style="font-style: italic;"><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-style: italic;">’s number one aid donor?</span>”<br />Student: : “<span style="font-style: italic;">Oh… are you sure? I never heard that</span>.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And so on.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">It’s a curious double world, China, where it is fine to hate Japan, de rigueur to puff up with nationalist arrogance and demand ‘Japan face up to history,’ while at the same time wallowing in the grossest ignorance of China’s own recent history. The truth of the matter is that the CPC in general and Mao Zedong in particular have killed far more Chinese people, have hurt </span><st1:country-region style="font-family: times new roman;"><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-family:times new roman;"> far more profoundly than ever the Japanese did. But that is a truth too far for China, and here people are more comfortable with their simple world view, China good, Japan bad, with their simple surety that Japan is, was and always shall be evil, with their shallow-minded reliance on mathematical tricks to prove this contention – such as, for example, their oft-repeated claim that the Japanese killed 300,000 in the Nanjing Massacre, a figure which a cooler-headed look at history suggests is simply<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> <a style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);" href="http://education.guardian.co.uk/higher/artsandhumanities/story/0,,804427,00.html">not true</a></span><a style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);" href="http://education.guardian.co.uk/higher/artsandhumanities/story/0,,804427,00.html">.</a></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />And it really is an alarming thing to hear students talk about <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>. The anger that comes into their voice, the real passion and hatred… I can understand their grandparents’ anger, for that anger comes from direct experience. But for them, who have never been hurt by <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>, it is astonishing, shocking in its brutal, visceral and unthinking conviction. I have met students in class who have actually wept when talking about <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>. It is absurd; how can they hold such hatred to something that never affected them? </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">It seems to me <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is in love with its suffering; its people clutch the <st1:city><st1:place>Nanjing</st1:place></st1:city> massacre and all that to their hearts, they dance and romance their pain. It defines them; it is them. And, mired in their unthinking ignorance, what they do not see is that in so hating <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region> they are learning precisely the lessons that the Japanese of that earlier generation learned – the absolute contempt for another race that allows such atrocities to be committed. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And the irony of it, the irony! So on the front page of yesterday’s China Daily there’s a photo of Japanese people, in <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>, protesting about Koizumi’s visit to the shrine. Japanese people protest, and the government will at least listen. Chinese people protest, and what happens? The government sends in the fucking <i style="">tanks</i>. People here are too busy hating <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region> to see that it is the freedoms Japanese people have that they should be clamoring for instead.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">But of course this is precisely why the CPC encourages hatred of <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>. In doing so, it can take the minds of the people off internal problems and focus them on external ones. The way that the CPC uses the appalling cruelty of wartime <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region> to bolster its grip on power shows the most breathtakingly arrogant cynicism, the most profound contempt for the suffering of the Chinese people of the time. But most people here are blind to this. Nor, having the haziest understanding of democracy, do they see that Koizumi has to go to the shrine to show he is not being bossed around by other Asian nations. Not that that means <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region> is militaristic – indeed, in the year that I worked there I found the people to be remarkably peaceful, though at that time I did not specifically look into their feelings about China. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And textbooks, let’s talk about teaching truth in schools, shall we? The Cultural Revolution, for example, that decade long period of lunacy in which thug scumbag Mao said, “<i style="">Destroy the old and the new will take care of itself</i>,” a period in which tens of thousands were murdered. In Chinese school textbooks (and I have checked) it gets two paragraphs, and, in the teacher’s guide, the instructions say “<i style="">The teacher need not linger on this topic</i>.” These same textbooks lie that the Great Famine was a natural disaster, and that Mao was ‘70% right 30% wrong,’ that the CPC did fighting against the Japanese in the war (whereas in fact the Guomindang did all the fighting after the CPC refused to join their ‘United Front’ against Japan). </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And irony upon irony… In the features section of yesterday’s Shanghai Daily there’s a piece about “My grandfather Mao Zedong” in which his granddaughter has the gall, the absurdity to claim:-</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">“He was a son, husband and father firstly, a statesman secondly.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">There is <i style="">nothing</i> about this statement that is true.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Mao let both his father and mother die alone, though he had the chance to be with both as they died. He regularly abandoned wives and children, and for his whole life his sole center of concern was himself. And this woman, this granddaughter, even admits she never met Mao (who clearly did not give a fuck about her) yet has the unparalleled gall to claim he was a family man!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Or let’s talk about how Mao ran the Jiangxi Red Army base between 1931 and 1935. During his rule, the population dropped by 20%. <i style="">Seven hundred thousand</i> people died from non-natural causes. Half of these deaths were from people executed as ‘class enemies’ or from slave labor. In the case of the ‘class enemies’ Mao and his cronies thought up tortures every bit as brutal as the Japanese. For example, a wire would be run through the penis and the ear, and then plucked like a violin-string by the torturer; or a red-hot gun-barrel would be inserted in the anus. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And are people here clamoring for this truth to be faced up to? Or do they rather put Mao on the banknotes, his portrait in <st1:place>Tiananmen Square</st1:place>, his murderer’s face on a million busts and million statues? One of the greatest murderers of the 20<sup>th</sup> century but he’s a hero here.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Now the lies told in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> do not make the lies told in <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region> any less serious. They are no excuse not to be critical of <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>. But aside from a few wishy-washy generalities such as the bogus percentage above, local people (save for a tiny minority who see that to know their history is the true way to love their country), mostly live in total ignorance of the last half century’s terrors.<span style=""> </span>Yes, some anger at <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region> is justified, but nothing like the passionate hatred that soaks this society. And what is worse? To be hurt by an enemy (as in the case of <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region><st1:country-region><st1:place> and China</st1:place></st1:country-region>) or be hurt by a friend (as in the case of the CPC wallowing in the blood of its own people). attacking </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">“<i style="">That’s all in the past</i>” students will tell me, and so it is. “<i style="">We know all this</i>” they will say (only they do not; they but know it in the most general, vague terms) “<i style="">But what is the point of talking about it?</i>” Why, then, are <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s atrocities not in the past? Ah, the double standards of this society.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am a man who knows something about double standards. So back to that next time.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" face="times new roman" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p><span style=""><br /></span><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </p><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" > </span>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com121tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-1155649314292344092006-08-15T13:36:00.000+00:002006-11-01T13:01:29.534+00:00Seducing Simone #3<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I did not think to message her again until the evening of the next day – which, of course, shows my fundamentally callow attitude. Now I was sure of her, there was no need to woo. Sending messages to a woman you’re unsure you’ll charm to bed is stimulating, spicy; the need to bat messages back and forth, to tease and maneuver, keeps the thumb active, keeps the mind ticking over on what the next reply will be, and the response to it. But once you’re sure of the woman, all that dies down.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And so (as I might have expected if I had really bothered to think about her at all) she replied to my message that she was unhappy. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">‘<i style="">Why?</i>,’ I asked. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">‘<i style="">Because you didn’t send sms to me, Ha ha, do you believe it?</i>’ </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She followed this by texting, ‘<i style="">I’m really waiting for your sms all day. I know u r busy but I still feel unhappy. Ha ha.</i>’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And so I replied to say I was sorry about that, but that I had been very busy. I had not, of course. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">‘<i style="">I know ~ I’m happy now~ I want to be your girlfriend now~ ha ha ha ha only making a joke but I really like you</i>.’ </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Then she asked, ‘<i style="">you have been kissing many girls, right?</i>,’ to which I made some glib reply.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">‘<i style="">Oh my heart is broken.. :-) </i><i style="">你真的是华心大萝卜啊</i>。。’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Now I did not bother save my messages, so all I have is a record of hers. But my replies can be pretty much guessed from the pattern of what she says. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘what do you mean? You will kiss me for a long time?’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘why? You change your heart quickly or love other girls fast?’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘which kind of woman do you like best?’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘you’re like a playboy.. But I still like you. You have special charm. I wanna say goodbye to my bf’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘together with him I can’t learn anything and I found I lost a lot of time’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘my mood is complex now. I don’t know whether meeting you is a good thing or a bad thing.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘Let me think about it.. Well this Sunday I will get away from my parents and stay with you all day, OK?’ (</i>I’d asked if she’d spend a night with me<i style="">)<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘Or you unwilling to stay with me?’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘It’s very exciting~ Just like you say, I’ll let my youth be colourful~ Don’t cheat me any more’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘If any girl told you she wanna be your gf would you agree with her?’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘I love you, I wanna be your gf.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘Ha ha Don’t mind only sound out you~’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style=""><span style=""> </span>‘</i><i style="">昏..<span style=""> </span>I know you like see me become a bad girl’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘You wanna see me have many many boyfriends?’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘Very well!! I miss you all night until now~ :-) How about you?’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘Sorry’ </i><span style=""> </span>(I had not said anything to make her say sorry; the reason she said it is clear from the following message.)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘Maybe you don’t like to hear I say I miss you.. So I say sorry.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘:-) You say you dreamed of me, tell me something about that’</i> (I’d told her I dreamed of her. I had not. But telling a woman this is an effective gauge of where she sees the relationship going. It is a shallow and obvious thing to say, and would not work on a Western woman, but of such flimflam is my box of tricks made.)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘Maybe it will be interesting! Don’t worry, tell me’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘Are you sure you tell me the truth?’ </i>(I’d told her it was a sexy dream – that’s part two of the routine.)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘I understand what’s in <span style=""> </span>your thoughts’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘Tell you later!’</i> (I’d wanted to know what she though of my dreaming about her so.)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘Take care of yourself. I like it that you regard me as an adult~~~ You can tell me everything you thought, about sex…’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The next day we met again, but just for an afternoon. And while we spent it in bed, we did not make love. As we idled together, talking, she worried out loud that, if we made love, I’d then lose interest; and so I likely would, I thought to myself. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">But yet… as I lay there, just cuddling, it was rather sweet, and I felt whispers of emotion. She fitted in my arms snug and light; cool against my body, even under the duvet, light, sweet. Slender as she is, her body lies against mine nice. When I’d carried her into the bedroom it was as a scrap of silk – she is featherweight, 45 kilos or so. With a bulkier woman it takes each body a few hours to adjust to each other, and so cuddling soon becomes too warm, sticky, under the duvet, after lights out, until the cooler small hours and the body’s adjustment. But she was just right, and it was good. She’d be fun in bed, I was sure, and promises of it percolated through the afternoon, how she straddled me, pressed into me. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I could see that she’d take a little more persuasion before she gave herself to me wholly, but I knew I’d be able to persuade her to yield, and that she had the potential to be a fine lover. She would not be a great lover to start with, of course. Women here, I have often found, are cautious lovers at first, having been raised to suppress their sexual side. I was well aware, for example, that when I went down on her it would cause her to squirm at first. She’d find it dirty, wrong, product of this society as she cannot help but be. Mona, for example, in telling me about a new local boyfriend, said ‘<i style="">But I will have to hide how experienced I am with him. He wouldn’t like that at all. He has to feel like he’s in charge and I don’t know anything.</i>’ </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">But I was pleased Simone felt I saw her as a woman – that too would help bring her to me, for her parents and sap of a boyfriend only make her feel like a child. Perhaps if I was a bit more honorable she would be child in my eyes too, for, when I first got to know her, she had not quite turned 20. But that youth fired me rather than cooled me, and so I carried on with my pursuit. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">This time, after she’d left (to hurry home for her <st1:time minute="0" hour="18">6pm</st1:time> curfew) I made sure to send messages after her:-</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘I miss you too. Tell you some good news. Maybe I can stay with you a whole night this Saturday.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘You can compare with superman! </i><i style="">快去吃饭!谁叫你中午不吃完上又不吃的!’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘We must make love on Sunday?’</i> (I replied to say that it was totally up to her. And of course it was; I would respect whatever choice she made – but would do my best to persuade her to choose yes).<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘Oh I see! Thank you! You are very kind! I love you! Kiss~</i>’<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘Do you have free time after 6 tomorrow?’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘</i><i style="">算了当我没说’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">‘</i><i style="">噢!Maybe I can stay with you all night. I’ll try my best.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">And so we met to spend the night together. She was a little early at the rendezvous, which seemed to me a measure of the keenness she had for the encounter. I suggested eating – was she hungry? She was, and she wanted to eat at McDonalds. This made my lip curl, rather – such trashy bland pap. It made me think less of her, though she did not quite see my distaste. But I pushed the feeling down – after all, she was only 19, and so it was no surprise she has the tastes of a teenager. And the more mercenary angle of it occurred to me too – junk food a cheap and quick precursor to sex. What need for candles and romance?</span></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"> </span></span>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com58tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-1155457693915927952006-08-13T08:22:00.000+00:002006-11-01T10:46:24.934+00:00Seducing Simone #2<p class="MsoNormal" face="times new roman" style="text-align: justify;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">During that coffee with Simone I’d almost made a slip. She’d said something – I forget what – that made it unclear how she’d got my email, and gave the impression she’d got it from a friend. I half followed up this comment, but in doing so almost gave away that I did not recall where I’d met her. But by switching back to what I had thought to be the case (that she had got it from the university people) I was able to cover my error (something which was eased by her only moderate command of English) and thus hide from her the fact she was, to me, at that point, essentially wholly random.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">The messages that we exchanged after that coffee soon came towards the point, and I asked if next time I could see her all night. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">‘<i>Ha ha, I think it’s impossible</i>’ she replied. ‘<i>But if you can come to </i><st1:city><st1:place><i><st1:city><st1:place>Wuxi</st1:place></st1:city></i></st1:place></st1:City><i> </i>(the city where she studies)<i> maybe we can stay all night</i>’<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>That was a promising reply, yet she remained a little unsure (and that of course made her the easier to seduce) and followed it with another message to say, ‘<i>You can laughing now. I’m silly, right?</i>’ <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>A week or so after that coffee, I found myself with a free day, due to a cancelled class, all the students having been packed off to learn the sparkling profundities of the Three Representatives. Or was it the ‘Seven Goods and Seven Bads’? Or the ‘Four Maybes, One Yes and Three Don’ts’? Some such specious dreck. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>And so, suddenly free, I messaged her suggesting a meet. She accepted with alacrity, as I knew she would since her messages the intervening days had been green lights all the way. We met at a big mall near People’s Square, her clad in a white dress covered with dark polka dots which fluttered in the warm breeze, wrapping itself more closely around the contours of her body. But we did not linger, soon heading home so I could ‘show her my flat.’ This of course was a euphemism, and she showed she knew it by the tense, expectant way she sat in the cab. She knew it was sex, I knew it was sex. But I also knew that this was no easy green light. She would still need persuading, cajoling. And indeed she then seemed to set up a get-out, telling me ‘<i>My stomach aches</i>.’ This, of course, meant she had her period, at which I felt a brief surge of chagrin. So maybe I was wrong, I thought, and we would not be lovers today. But then I thought again; she was, after all, coming back with me. Whatever happened, this was most surely not merely a matter of ‘showing her my flat.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Her nervousness increased once we got back to my flat, but I did not let that stop me too long, clipping her in my arms and angling for a kiss. She tensed, but did not pull away; let me kiss, but did not respond. And in this she was just like when I was seducing <a href="http://chinabounder.blogspot.com/2006/05/seducing-tingting.html"><span style="color: red;">Tingting</span></a>; bursts of passion mixed with stretches of reluctance. She’d kiss back for a moment or two, then withdraw again. Yet clearly she was interested, not murmuring for me to stop as I caressed her body. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>I was sitting on the dining room table as this took place, her in my arms, her body held between my knees. I wanted to take her to the bedroom – which of course met with much protest from her, ‘<i>No, no, I can’t, I am not a bad girl</i>..’ Yet even so she let me lead her there. At the threshold she stopped; so I just picked her up – she is light, lithe -- and carried her to the bed. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>It took a while, her passive and active by turns; a battle between what she wanted to do, and what she was conditioned to do. Again like Tingting, she wanted to be persuaded, wanted to be talked round. And some sweet words, some whispered ‘<i>darlings</i>’ and my assurance that she was not at all a bad girl allowed me to begin to undress her. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>And now her reluctance showed for what it was, a mere veneer, for she began to return kiss for kiss, and now with interest, with passion, none of the perfunctory, cool response of before. Now she willingly let me unzip her zip, slip her cute white skirt up over her head, to reveal her smooth body, her bra, which, unusually, was not a padded one, for her breasts did not need it. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Indeed, she even worried out loud to me that her breasts were too big – a rare worry for a woman here to have. More than this, she was actively apologetic about the size of her breasts, telling me, ‘<i>I hope you don’t mind… I don’t like it</i>..’ And while I tried to convince her that they were wonderful, exciting, sexy, well-shaped, she was reluctant to believe me. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>But she was still not fully ready, for she would not let me take her panties off, though I very much wanted to see her naked. But she was pretty sure about keeping her panties (tight fitting white cotton sporty type) on, and I accepted it was as a result of having her period rather than fear of fucking, for by this time I knew she was not a virgin. And so I did not push the matter. Why should I? I now knew that getting was I wanted was just a matter of time. There was no hurry – indeed, the anticipation made it all the more interesting. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>I, naturally, was already naked, and at first she refused to look at my cock. And for our whole time abed she was not quite comfortable with it. She half wanted to look, half was afraid to. So I had to ease her hand down there, and then she did caress me a little, but nervously, unsure. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>She did gratify me with murmurs as to its size – which murmurs, given her general innocence, could not have been calculated enough to be flattery. ‘<i>It’s so much bigger than my boyfriend’s...His is just</i>…’ and here she tailed off.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Ah, her boyfriend, who she mentioned to me before as something of a playboy, a handsome guy, runner after women. This is palpably rubbish, for what she went on to tell me shows he was no sort of lover. Kissing, caressing, I asked her if she enjoyed sex. ‘<i>Sometimes</i>..’ she said, with not<span style="font-family: times new roman;"> much enthusiasm. In our resulting conversation I learned that she has been with him two years. And in this two years they have made love …<i>six</i><o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:130%;" > times. So few that it is easy for her to remember each time – each time, I tell myself (with little risk of being wrong) brief and unimaginative. I could easily imagine his technique – brief, hasty, furtive, bumbling; taking, not giving. Six times in two years! I knew that next time we met I would show her more than she’d dreamt of.</span> </p> <span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BChinese" guys="" rel="tag">[Chinese guys]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BSeduction%5D" rel="tag">[ Seduction]</a></span>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com98tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-1155285590066705062006-08-11T08:30:00.000+00:002006-11-01T10:33:45.109+00:00Seducing Simone<p class="MsoNormal" face="times new roman" style="text-align: justify;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Some months ago – never mind how long precisely – a new contact popped up online, greeting me with what have become very standard words - ‘<i>Hi, do you remember me?</i>’</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Quite how a student expects me to remember them when they first contact me I do not know, given that all I see of them is their sign-in name which, even if it is a variation of their real name and not a more creative handle, gives no clue to their identity since I seldom teach any one group of students for long enough to get to know their names. And yet, after every class wraps up, four or five students will begin a conversation with those very words. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>But given that in this case the sign-in name of this new interlocutor, Simone, was clearly female, I judged it best to make it seem as if I did recall her, and so I gave my catch-all answer, ‘<i>I taught you English, right?</i>’ </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>She told me that this was right, and she was glad I remembered her. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>By dint of asking open-ended questions I established she was a student who’d come to one of the universities I work at for an oral exam, and that she got my email from the website information form used. But still I was unable to remember anything specific about her. However, given my penchant for the <a href="http://chinabounder.blogspot.com/2006/06/lucky-dip.html"><span style="color: red;">Lucky Dip</span></a>, I let the conversation grow and unfold, and, by its end, had agreed to meet her for coffee during the following few days. For even though I was not quite sure who she was, I liked the pot luck of going to meet her. The anticipation of who will be waiting for me in the coffee shop (or wherever the rendezvous is) is always stimulating. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Now it so happens – with a dash of the chance, the pattern, the echo that I so relish in life – that this very same day that I met the (at that point) random woman was the day Clarissa flew overseas to her new life. I thought of Clarissa all that morning and particularly at </span><st1:time minute="0" hour="14"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:time hour="14" minute="0">2pm</st1:time></span></st1:time><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> when, me amid a class of guppies, she flew out. I knew I would miss her a lot, and so I did, for I was falling in love with her. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>But this did not make me any bit more reflective, for I still kept the appointment I had made to have coffee with this woman who I remembered nothing about. And thus even as one woman left, a woman I cared greatly about, I was off questing after another.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>Yet even as I was going to meet Simone, I ran into </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Alice</span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">. </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Alice</span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> was a staffer who worked in the accounts firm that’s in the same building I live in. I’d got to know her a little, and had come to the conclusion she was pretty certain, and passably cute with it. She’d emailed me once or twice to tell me the sense of frustration she felt in her life, asking if I thought she should take the risk to change to a new job. Naturally I urged her to do so; but more to the point, in the email in which she asked that she also referred to her ‘husband.’ </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>She had mentioned this guy to me before, when we’d shared a coffee. But that time she’d told me he was her boyfriend. Either in the present email that use of ‘husband’ was a mere slip, or, last time, she’d lied to me; and if she had, it was a fine sign indeed. There’s but one reason a woman downgrades a husband to a boyfriend, and it is the same reason that she airbrushes her other lovers out of her life altogether when meeting a new guy.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>But at that time I was busy with other women and other classes, and so I decided merely to put her on pause and maybe apply myself to her a little later on. Fundamentally she was dull; but dull and cute, and a fuck’s a fuck.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>And so keeping matters brief with </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Alice</span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">, I headed off to the rendezvous with Simone. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">If there was a moral plan to the world it would have been just deserts for my scoundrelly ways if she had turned out to be a fright – but not so; the woman who arrived to greet me was young, sexy, snappily dressed and, I was sure within a very few moments, almost certainly a cinch to seduce. And I did now remember her from the interview, and remembered being rather struck with her.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>She was young, just 20 – which, in this culture often means more like 15 in emotional outlook -- and she was indeed 15 in some ways, a little timid, and most certainly corralled and controlled by her parents. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>She told me she could only stay for two hours, since her parents had told her to be back home by </span><st1:time minute="30" hour="18"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:time hour="18" minute="30">half past six</st1:time></span></st1:time><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">. She also told me her mother had, at first, wanted to come with her but had settled for getting my phone number from her. Such parents! They give her the curfew of a ten year old. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>I told her she had partly herself to blame for accepting this. She said she had tried to change her parents’ minds… but obviously had not tried hard enough. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>As we talked, I assessed her. Attractive, and rather a trim body. I felt it would not be too hard to charm her to bed; indeed, as, later, I walked back with her to the tube, my arm guiding her from time to time, I was sure I was home; and had the train not been quite so crowded, I’d have kissed her as we parted. I sent a follow up message saying I had enjoyed meeting her, and that she was cute. She replied in kind, and we exchanged a couple more messages in the same vein during the rest of the evening.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>But I was sure Simone was not quite the wholesale innocent she appeared, for she had a boyfriend (at the time; he is long since gone). ‘<i>Do your parents know?</i>’ I asked of this boyfriend – expecting and getting the too-common look of amused horror on her face – ‘<i>Of course not! They would kill me!</i>’ </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><u1:p></u1:p>It is an old story; parents here seldom know the truth of their daughters’ lives. Sara, my full-time girlfriend, for example, has to lie to her mother every time she stays with me. No matter that she is 25, and, in a few days, flying off to begin her postgraduate studies in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><st1:country-region><st1:place>Canada</st1:place></st1:country-region></span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">, she must still tell her mother that she is going to stay with a girlfriend. As with Sara, so too with Ellen, Jingjing, Mona; again and again women here pull the wool over their parents’ eyes wholesale, a lie necessitated by the older generation’s failure to see what life is today.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: times new roman;"><u1:p></u1:p>Sure, Simone looked and acted the virgin, but while I was not so gross as to ask, I suspected she was not; she told me her guy was a bit of a rogue so I concluded he had put her to it – opening a path for me, I hope.</span></span><o:p></o:p></p>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-1155130725111856612006-08-09T13:24:00.000+00:002006-08-09T13:38:45.130+00:00Chasing Clarissa<o:p></o:p>Clarissa was bright, vibrant, electric when we met. She’d been at an office party and had clearly had a couple of drinks, a tinge of flush to her face, animation in her manner, eyes sparkling. She was, in short, even more stimulating than I remembered her from class. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>As we drank and listened to the jazz naturally my words (and hands) became wider, more expansive. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>‘<i style="">You’re leading me along, like a fox</i>’ she said -- but didn’t stop me. And indeed her talk was sexual and her body language mirrored mine. So we had a good evening of it. She enjoyed my flattery and attentions, and it seemed to be going well to me, though several times she told me she was faithful to her husband. Now the mere fact she said this was a clear enough sign she knew what was in the offing. And when she went on to tell me that she let her husband think she was a virgin on their wedding night, my hopes rose. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>Letting him think this was not a lie, she said, since he did not ask and she did not, thus, deny. But still it was a crack into which I felt I might drive a wedge. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Smart as she is, of course she knew this when she told me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Later, the more I thought it over, the more I was inclined to wonder if I had not been played, and played with some expertise at that. If I was, it is no matter, for after all I was playing a role too, and if she was indeed playing me, I was content to be played. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yes, she was good. ‘<i style="">I’m going to go home, have a bath, and wait for my husband to come home in the morning.. and maybe fuck me</i>.’ Now there’s a rare thing to hear – such verbal directness is rather rare in Chinese women. Yes, they will be emotionally direct, but even then their words are often couched in more delicate terms.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I played along with Clarissa’s provocativeness in, I guess, a pretty obvious way – ‘<i style="">How</i> <i style="">about some pix?</i>’ </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘<i style="">No way!</i>’ she said, before telling me that they had taken pix, and a film, of their lovemaking. A sexy woman altogether! But even with this fire she tried to bank and ebb my ardor, telling me she was happy with this husband, and that they were good together in bed. I asked why she had married so young – she is around 24 – she said, sexy smiling, ‘<i style="">To save the cost of going to hotels all the time!</i>’ </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>As the jazz wound down and the crowd thinned I noticed a hooker trying to close a fat Westerner on the table next to me. She was past her prime and I doubt he had ever been in it; and her play-acting, now loving, now cold, now happy, now hurt, was pretty risible. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But she saw me looking and flashed me a smile of complicity –‘<i style="">Yeah, this fat slob ain’t much, is he?</i>,’ her glance said. And I was briefly taken in, briefly felt a sympathy for her in her unhappy lot, before the clarity of the corollary meaning of her glance stuck me in all its obvious truth – she was trying to establish a tie with me in case it did not work out with fat guy, for then I might be her night’s fee. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When it was time to go, Clarissa at first wanted to go alone, but I said I would drop her home and then go on my way. ‘<i style="">I know what you want</i>’ she said, and of course she was right. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">By chance her home is near <a href="http://chinabounder.blogspot.com/2006/05/stealing-someones-girlfriend.html"><span style="color: red;">Gloria’s</span></a>, and, as we headed there in the cab, past the familiar buildings and territories of my relationship with Gloria’s, this restaurant, that coffee bar, I did feel a slight sense of melancholy at the upset I caused in her life and the messy, astonishing way our relationship ended (I shall write it up in due course.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>But of course I did not stay melancholy for long. Saying ‘<i style="">Come here,</i>’ to Clarissa, I drew her to me for a cuddle, which she allowed, gladly. Naturally I caressed her, and this too was okay. As also were one or two kisses, but not too much of that, for she pulled away. I eased her back and she lay in my lap. Then I erred, blowing in her ear. Earlier, in the bar I had caressed her earlobe and the effect was strong.. she arched, and said ‘<i style="">Don’t.. that makes me…</i>’ These words of course had the opposite effect, making me all the more keen to caress her there.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>But now in the cab that soft puff of air in her ear was too much, and she pulled away, a scalded and no longer sexy cat; and indeed was quite irate, for when I put my arm to her again, it was ‘<i style="">NO!</i>’ and ‘<i style="">DON’T</i>’ in tones increasing peremptory and strident. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>I let her cool awhile and tried again. She had not cooled. The opposite. So this riled me a bit – <i style="">no one shouts at me</i>, I thought, in my semi-drunk choler (for I can be a dyspeptic, arrogant fuck when the beer takes me a certain way and my pride is dented) – and so I became insouciant, detached (a mistake I was later to make with Tingting, though that mistake is now healed, forgotten, and she is back in my life). </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>My cool goodnight to Clarissa was met with, ‘<i style="">Now I’ll see what you’re really like</i>.’ In saying that, she was referring to conversation earlier in the evening. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>In that conversation, she had told me she had avoided meeting me in person thus far, preferring to keep our acquaintance net based. Why? I asked. ‘<i style="">Because if we met, I knew what you would want</i>.’<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Quite right. And I admitted it; ‘<i style="">Yes, to be truthful, I do want that..</i>’ </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘<i style="">You admit it?!</i>’ </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘<i style="">Yes, but that’s not all I want.. I like you a lot and enjoy your company even if we don’t…</i>’ </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She was doubtful. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘<i style="">Well, you will be able to tell … if <span style=""> </span>nothing happens tonight and I never call you again,’ </i>I said. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>Hence her parting shot, hence that ‘<i style="">We’ll see what you’re really like</i>.’ She meant that if fuck was all I wanted, she would not expect to hear from me again, but that if my claim of liking her company was true, I would keep in touch. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>I remember as I rode home in the cab thinking, What <i style="">am</i> I really like? I could not decide for sure. That night, I blocked her chat profile and was inclined to leave it so, for I felt she was playing me and wanted an admirer, preferably rich and definitely hands off; which was no role for me.</p> <br /><br />Technorati Tags:<br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/[Asian women]" rel="tag">[Asian women]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/[Chinese guys]" rel="tag">[Chinese guys]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/[Adultery]" rel="tag">[Adultery]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/[Seduction]" rel="tag">[ Seduction]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/[Prostitution]" rel="tag">[Prostitution]</a>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-1154680697061357522006-08-04T08:19:00.000+00:002006-11-01T10:18:07.211+00:00Fascination<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">So Clarissa, a woman who has the most powerful effect on me – intoxicating, captivating, maddening. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><u1:p></u1:p>As are they all, she was a student in class; but she was, is, nothing like the average student. I’d written up a bunch of adjectives on the board (or ‘abjectives’ as I now think of them, after <a href="http://chinabounder.blogspot.com/2006/05/married-women-and-boring-husbands.html"><span style="color: red;">Tingting’s</span></a> neologism – Tingting who, to my surprise and delight, is now back in my life again) one of which I’d misspelled. Now this happens fairly frequently (not because I am illiterate but rather because I tend to talk and write at the same time, and thus my concentration lapses) and students almost never point it out, even when the error is egregious, at which point I’ll turn it into a little homily, telling them this passive approach will not do in the West. But Clarissa, bold and confident, raised her hand and pointed it out. <o:p></o:p></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><u1:p></u1:p>And thus began my admiration for her.<o:p></o:p></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><u1:p></u1:p>Among the hundreds – thousands – of students who have come and gone, she stands out with total clarity. Even the word I spelled wrong – ‘choas’ for ‘chaos’ -- glitters bright in my mind, burnished by memories of her, and each time I write it in a class she is uppermost on my mind. Equally vivid in my mind is how, at the end of the second class, she stayed behind after to ask me some vocabulary, wondering how to say ‘小便’ (‘to piss’)<o:p></o:p></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><u1:p></u1:p>Perhaps these foundations to our relationship have shaped the edifice we have created together; bold, straightforward, honest – but also sexy, secret, intimate. <o:p></o:p></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><u1:p></u1:p>Both these elements were right there at the beginning -- the sex so much so that even that first time she talked with me after class I had to pull down my jumper. Hoping to get to know her outside the class, she was one of the rare few (like <a href="http://chinabounder.blogspot.com/2006/06/sexiest-woman-i-ever-saw.html"><span style="color: red;">Deedee</span></a>) to whom I gave my card. <o:p></o:p></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><u1:p></u1:p>Sometime later, when she messaged me online from <st1:city><st1:place><st1:city><st1:place>Guilin</st1:place></st1:city></st1:place></st1:City>, I failed to recognize it was her. But the next time she did so, I worked it out… and our conversation rose from the polite to the excitable – stoked in part by her, asking me if I had heard of the term ‘MBA.’<o:p></o:p></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><i>‘Master of Business Administration…?’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i><br />‘Married but Available.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />And from there our conversation grew more open. She is an adventurous sort, having had an older, richer, married lover before she got married. This is unusual, even with all <st1:country-region><st1:place><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></st1:place></st1:country-region>’s much-touted modernity. Many people here still marry their first boyfriend or girlfriend, and a sizeable proportion are virgins when they marry.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Clarissa told me how she had felt deeply for this guy, but how their relationship had come to nothing, he unable to be anything more than a lover, his social position ruling out any possibility of something more permanent between them.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><u1:p></u1:p>This is something I have found time and again in Chinese women; their great openness – even <i>need</i> – to talk about their emotional lives; to talk of love, sex, of romance and passion, of affairs and cheating, of desires hidden and hopes quelled.<o:p></o:p></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><u1:p></u1:p>It’s not because I am especially sensitive, or profound (and certainly not trustworthy) – it is rather that there is just <i>no</i> outlet for this in their Chinese life; they cannot talk about it with Chinese men. (On which note: I do tend to make these sweeping statements about Chinese men, and such generalizations are often unwise. But while I do not mean to say that all Chinese guys are alike (far from it) I do still feel there are traits that many have in common. And this rather limp approach to love and passion is one of them, as is a rather antediluvian attitude to women. Frequently in class I ask my male students, ‘<i style="">If in the future, when you were married, your wife earned more than you, how would you feel?</i>’ About 70% of them tell me they would feel uneasy, or humiliated, and that it is the man’s duty to earn more than the woman. I will then ask the women what they think of that, and their most general answer is something along the lines of ‘<i style="">It’s an absurd attitude but that is what guys are like</i>.’ I will also often ask, ‘<i style="">If your wife had a better job than you, and asked you to stay home to look after your child, would you?</i>’ Utter shock unrolls across the student’s face at the thought of this, at its (to him) sheer absurdity. (It is as ludicrous a proposition to him as if I said ‘<st1:country-region><st1:place><i style=""><st1:country-region><st1:place>Taiwan</st1:place></st1:country-region></i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style=""> is not part of </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i style=""><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></i></st1:place></st1:country-region>.’ <st1:country-region><st1:place><st1:country-region><st1:place>Taiwan</st1:place></st1:country-region></st1:place></st1:country-region> is of course part of <st1:country-region><st1:place><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></st1:place></st1:country-region>, just as it is a woman who should raise the kids. That there could be any other truth to the matter is simply inconceivable.) The women students generally roar with laughter too, at the idea that a Chinese guy could ever be relaxed enough about himself to do this. As with money, so with education. A Chinese guy, in general, will not be comfortable with a woman who has a higher education than him. Thus the saying current here, ‘<i style="">In </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i style=""><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style=""> there are three genders – men, women, and women with PhDs</i>.’)<o:p></o:p></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><u1:p></u1:p>And thus, later, when Clarissa and I met face to face (a meeting she suggested, to my deep joy) our conversation soon dived beyond the trivial, down into these emotional depths, the truths she needed to tell. She’d suggested meeting near <st1:city><st1:place><st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city></st1:place></st1:City>’s Donghu Hotel, a venue in which, just a few weeks before, I had been running down another unhappily married woman, Carole. She too is one I never got (for in truth my hits are more than my misses) and has since dropped out of sight wholly. This Carole was, at the time, on the verge of initiating divorce and, later, sent me semi-cryptic text messages suggesting she had initiated it. But despite my replies I never saw her again.<o:p></o:p></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><br /><u1:p></u1:p>No great matter for that (though I still think of her, for, having not got her, she is more stuck in my mind than she would be if I had). To my wolvish pleasure, the Donghu Hotel was, at that time, just near the very bar for my plans, JZ, a jazz club which has since relocated (and which is mentioned <a href="http://www.shanghaijazzscene.com/blog/"><span style="color: red;">here</span>. </a>This rather good site clued me into the fact they had a new singer for Monday nights and thus, last week, when Kay (a woman worth an entry who I will get round to soon) wanted me to take her out for an evening, to cheer her in her misery (caused by her married lover’s casual treatment of her) that was where I chose. JZ is a sexy sort of place, good for a seduction, and as there is a sexual thing between Kay and me, it was a fine choice.)</span> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span></p> <br /><br />Technorati Tags:<br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BAsian" women="" rel="tag">[Asian women]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BJazz%5D" rel="tag">[Jazz]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BChinese" guys="" rel="tag">[Chinese guys]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BAdultery%5D" rel="tag">[Adultery]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BChina%5D" rel="tag">[ China]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BGender" attitudes="" rel="tag">[Gender attitudes]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BEquality%5D" rel="tag">[Equality]</a>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-1154193296135283382006-07-29T17:04:00.000+00:002006-11-01T09:57:17.083+00:00Fucking Mona<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Dinner with Mona was as I was sure it would be. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>We’d met, and first she’d shown me her dorm, which she had to keep on so that she could pretend to be living there – for if the university found she had rented her own apartment she would be expelled. The dorm was not quite so spartan as others I have seen, such as those at Shang Wai, though was still mostly a big poured concrete box, with correctional facility overtones. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>And then to the wet market, where we made the film I had planned, a large crowd of onlookers staring as we did so. That done, it was still early, so we returned to her flat and watched a couple of episodes of some sexy American sitcom which she’d heard about but never seen. A good choice of viewing, given my plans for the evening. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>I said she would soon have to pay what we’d agreed for me bringing her these DVDs – the pay being a kiss, which we had teased about on MSN. She was still a little nervous, not yet warmed, so she blushed and murmured, and I did not press for the kiss. There would be time for it later, and I knew that the sexy language of the show we were watching would help change the mood. Finding it for her was easy; the DVD pirates are one of the city’s many wonders. Just today, for example, I found a copy of ‘Le Comte Ory,’ one of my favorite operas. Rossini suits my essentially ephemeral character.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>And so when we were cooking I took the kiss, holding her under the chin and tilting her lips towards me. Still a little shy, she did not meet me with her eyes, but the response of her lips was quite enough to show how the evening would end. This kiss was spiced by the loose, shapeless housecoat thing she’d put on while cooking, having modestly closed her door as she changed out of the showy dress she’d worn to meet me. Even though this garment would well become a 50 year old Shanghai housewife with big hair, on her slender body it fell forward enough to reveal that she was naked under but for panties. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>And after eating and washing up (more romantic than you might think, with its chances for caresses, warm water, suds) we made love. Kissing first, gently nibbling and caressing her; and like Tulip, like Lucy, soft breath in her ear made her wilder.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">Blowing in a woman’s ear, kissing and caressing her there, feels cheesy to me; feels like the kind of thing the guy who has read his ‘Guide to a Woman’s Erogenous Zones’ would do. It does not feel authentic – it is too clichéd, too obvious. But it works. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>I eased my shirt over my head and then slipped the hem of her dress upward, first to see pink latticed and bowed panties, clearly chosen for their look; and then over her belly up to her breasts. Petite, and, thus, for me, most erotic. Big, broad aureoles, wide enough indeed to be out of proportion to the size of the breast. But cute, cute. So I played there a while before kissing back down; then she took off the dress and I the rest of my clothes – then her panties for the first glimpse of her pussy. Compact, tight, needed a trim on top. And so the oral, which I dearly love, as did she – but far more controlled, restrained than Lucy. Her passion was deeper, more locked, sighs and sips. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>This country, this society being what it is, I had wondered if she too was a virgin, and while her control here, lack of nervousness, made me think not, that opinion was balanced by some seeming inexperience elsewhere as we cavorted. And while I was sure she enjoyed it, I was not sure I made her come.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>It was a fine night with her, sexy and wholly satisfying, though not quite so wild as Lucy was the first time. Mona was not so unreservedly passionate and, a little to my irritation, told me, ‘<i>It’s my special time of the month</i>.’ I was prepared for this at least, clued into it in part by the lengthy amount of time she spent in the bathroom before we made love but more by the bloodied towel I saw hidden half around the u-bend. Later, when we were talking, I leveraged this into an accolade. When she’d said it was her ‘special time’ I’d said I knew; after we’d made love, passion spent, she now wanted to know how. So I told her she had seemed tired and a little pale yesterday, and even that she had walked a little wearily – which was true, indeed, though at the time I did not draw the conclusion that she had her period. But anyhow, the tale I now told her made me think me ‘很厉害.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>The next morning, she had to get up at 6 for the mandatory exercise her martinet university insists on, and then a lecture at 8.20. Her university day was over at <st1:time minute="30" hour="9"><st1:time minute="30" hour="9">9.30 a.m</st1:time></st1:time>, an hour when it should not even have begun. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p>I</u1:p>t’s little wonder <st1:country-region><st1:place><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></st1:place></st1:country-region> is still a third-rate country. It will never be anything more than the world’s service shop until it stops treating its people as commodities.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>I dozed until about 9 and then sat on her pink-covered bed in her pink-walled Pudong apartment typing what was the original of this entry until she came home. Having just been going over the night before in my mind, I was feeling ready and horny, and keen to see her lovely body again, those cute breasts. I put her in my lap, kissed and caressed, undressed and ate her… as before, I was not sure if she quite orgasmed; for tho’ she sure enjoyed it, there was no clear peak, no obvious climax, no pushing away of my head as with Gloria or other lovers; and so either my skill lacking or she is still an ingénue that way.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>However, after that, she did not really want me to penetrate her, telling me she was tired. But I guessed that more likely she meant sore, for, physically, she was the slightest women I had been with. Maybe half the bulk of me, at most. And while this made her a great lover, easy to position, lithe and responsive, it also meant that now, the next morning, she somewhat ached.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>And so I made no fuss over it, was polite and understanding. ‘<i>You’re a very gentleman’</i> she said – and I did not correct her either on the sentiment or the grammar, though both were wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>We dozed an hour, 90 minutes, and then I got dressed and she walked me to the bus stop.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Now going to the bus stop might seem the action of a cheapskate. But that is a too-hasty interpretation. Taking the bus here is, in fact, a rather positive thing to do. In general, Chinese people are often surprised when a foreigner can talk Chinese, and even more surprised if he or she can read it. Locals thus expect foreigners to travel almost exclusively by cab, in part because of the language problems (overcome by the Chinese person telling the cabbie where to go) and in part because they believe money is no object to expats. Taking a bus, therefore, shows a certain familiarity and ease with Chinese society, and that goes down very well. For while the moneyed life of many expats is a matter of aspiration and envy to local society, it is also a slight sticking point, an angle of envy, contention. Showing respect for the culture, being willing to live like a local, and able to speak and read Chinese some – all this helps.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>And so taking the bus <i>by oneself </i>is a good thing; it shows that one is willing to make oneself a part of society. Naturally, when with the woman in question, one takes a cab.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Once on the bus I turned on my mobile. I’d left it off the night after it rang when I was between her thighs. That time, we both ignored it, and I then turned it off when we were lying prone on the bed after making love.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>And now, on the bus, as I turned it back on, an sms from Tulip arrived, saying she had called me but I was turned off or engaged, and asking was I busy this afternoon, how about lunch? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>This was most convenient, as right then I was heading to Lujiazui, right near her office. And so I arranged to wait for her by the <st1:place><st1:placename><st1:place><st1:placename>Orient</st1:placename></st1:place> <st1:placename><st1:placename>Pearl</st1:placename></st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype><st1:placetype>Tower</st1:placetype></st1:PlaceType></st1:PlaceName></st1:place>, a hideous monstrosity of a building, all communist boasting and ugliness, with the touts and tourists peering at me as at a strange fish. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>I remember thinking as I sat waiting for her of what to tell her. Should I explain my switched-off phone by saying, ‘<i style="">I was in a class?</i>’ Or should I say, ‘<i style="">I was seeing a friend</i>’? Or should I say ‘<i style="">I was seeing a ‘<b style=""><span style="">friend</span></b><span style="">.’</span></i>”? Now, sure, to let her know I was seeing her right after another woman could be taken as an insult. But also she is a little intrigued by this free and open sexuality of mine, and I think hearing about it gives her a charge, a thrill, and that’s something worth aiming for. And so some measure of honesty might have been fruitful. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>But one must not plan these things too carefully. And so I simply decided to wait and see, play it by ear. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><u1:p></u1:p>Right on time she rolled up, at our usual meeting spot, in her cute car; a sigh and catch in my heart as she did so, as I stood to walk toward her, open the door, take in the scent of the car’s perfumed interior, sight of her lovely profile…</span><o:p></o:p></p> <span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" ></span>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com86tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-1153650943670001982006-07-23T10:27:00.000+00:002006-11-01T09:42:10.578+00:00Cheat meets Cheat<b style=""><span style="font-size:14;"><o:p></o:p></span></b> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And such chances there were. Mona showed herself quite a good player, giving me several opportunities to suggest seeing her, rather than asking directly (for that would make her seem too forward.) <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><u1:p></u1:p><u1:p></u1:p>Mona</b>. hi, how r u?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><st1:state><st1:place><b>Me.</b></st1:place></st1:State><b> </b>fine.and u? do anything exciting since i chatted to u? busy today, or i would have called u and come over to help u move<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Mona</b>. it is ok .some of my classmates came and helped me.ty all the same:).and i am wondering if u could visit my new apartment when u have time.(mp) ,in ur last class,u asked us to describe a film.what tense should i use to describe it.past simple or present tense?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><st1:state><st1:place><b>Me.</b></st1:place></st1:State><b> </b>i would like to see <st1:city><st1:place><st1:city><st1:place>ur</st1:place></st1:city></st1:place></st1:City> apartment! maybe next week, when i have more free time. for the film, either tense is ok, and long as u use the same tense for the whole answer. but simple past is a little bit better<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Mona</b> ok and if u have more free time,i would like to meet u at the coffee. chatting to u ~<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Mona</b>. i see<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><st1:state><st1:place><b>Me.</b></st1:place></st1:State><b> </b>i'd like that... i think u'd be a lot of fun to spend time with<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><st1:state><st1:place><b>Me.</b></st1:place></st1:State><b> </b>u seem to be quite unusual in some ways<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Mona. </b>maybe i am.but why do u think so ?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>B. </b>firstly, u like to live alone. that shows maturity and independence, which most ppl <st1:city><st1:place><st1:city><st1:place>ur</st1:place></st1:city></st1:place></st1:City> age lack.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><st1:state><st1:place><b>Me.</b></st1:place></st1:State><b> </b>then, u are very self confident... look how quickly we have become friends. that's also quite unusual<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><st1:state><st1:place><b>Me.</b></st1:place></st1:State><b> </b>say u are bold, strong willed, confident<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Mona.</b> thank you and u r a good man too.homurous and sexy.ur class is very interesting.and maybe u don't know how much we enjoy it. and by the way ,u have just given me some more words to describe a people(F)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><st1:state><st1:place><b>Me.</b></st1:place></st1:State><b> </b>oh,<st1:city><st1:place><st1:city><st1:place>ur</st1:place></st1:city></st1:place></st1:City> too kind!</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;" face="arial"><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;" face="times new roman"><u1:p></u1:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">She's a modern woman, and she quite well knew what inviting me over to her apartment meant. Sure, it could have meant just friendship, or even that she wanted to test out her power; but by her demeanor in class and other actions I was confident it was more than that. And so this conversation was seduction mixed with schooling. I flattered her some, because everyone likes to hear they are unusual, unique, special (though even so there was much measure of truth in my words.) She is bolder than her peers. And her words to me, humorous and sexy? Of course she flattered me as much as I her – and, I guess with, the same goal in mind. </span><o:p style="font-family: times new roman;"></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>And so we set a date, a date I chose with some care, for though I had plenty of daytimes free, afternoons and mornings were not appropriate for my plans, which called for an overnight stay. Sure, we’d agreed I was going to see her flat; but really, I was going to see her bed, and her body. And also we agreed we would cook together, since at one point I mentioned how much I liked shopping at the city’s wet markets (one of the many pleasures of life here, being able to buy live fish, crabs and shrimp, chicken and duck, and being able to select from a vast array of vegetables.) <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Sure, I could have taken her to a restaurant, but cooking together would, I knew, have its seductive qualities just as a restaurant has its. But also I had a wider goal here, which was to film our buying trip to the wet market, as part of the ‘this is my life’ film I was making for the folks back home.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Now at this point in my life I was still involved with Gloria, the woman I stole from her boyfriend, and she had been very keen to help me with this little project. But naturally I was not so keen on that, and did not want her too much on the tape, for just the same reason she wanted to be on it – that is, that it would show her a big part of my life. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>I was getting rather bored of her, keen to end our relationship but not quite firm enough to do it, for doing so, I knew, would hurt her. So for example around this time she needed to go to hospital for some minor elective surgery, and I accompanied her there, arriving at around <st1:time minute="0" hour="9"><st1:time minute="0" hour="9">9 a.m.</st1:time></st1:time> Even though we’d arrived pretty early, the doctor had already gone to surgery, having begun his day (the one day a week he did operations) at half six. Chinese hospitals are not run efficiently enough to have an appointment system; the patient must just turn up and take pot luck.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Now Gloria had booked the day off from work, and her thought was that now we could spend it together, given that she was not going to get the operation. But I really did not want to spend a whole day with her, and so I got out of it by saying that while of course I did want to spend the day with her, she probably ought to go back to work. After all, I said, she would now need to book another day off to try to see the doctor the following week and her boss would wonder why, if she had not seen the doctor this day, she had not come back to work. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>I remember this clearly because, later that day when I messaged her to say I felt bad about suggesting she go back to work, she replied that in fact she had been moved by the level of care this showed I had for her. And so what had been a ruse on my part to get out of spending the day with her appeared to her as a gesture of love. We see what we want to see.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">This, at least, helped smooth the slightly ruffled mood I had caused in her when we’d met a few days before this. We had agreed to go swimming, and, as we walked to the tube, we met a German guy I knew. In general I prefer to move in the more local community, but this guy I met at the birthday party of another woman with whom I have developed a close relationship, Phoebe (Phoebe is a very Americanized woman, having spent many years in the country and having picked up many of its best qualities -- the confident, strong self-belief that can make Americans so admirable. She is one of my friends who gives me some minor confidence I do not purely see women as sex objects, for our relationship, though close (and though she is sexy) is platonic).</span></p> <span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p style="font-family: times new roman;"> </u1:p></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Anyhow, that night this German chap and I hit it off well, shared a good few beers and had a most enjoyable, relaxed evening with it. He was there with his longterm gf, also German (and, rarely for a white woman, I found her attractive). <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>But when I met him now, he was not with this gf, he was with a Chinese woman who was, of course, cuter, younger and sure more pliant than his German girlfriend. We talked a little while before going on our ways, and as I walked on I told Gloria a little about him, and that fact that his companion seemed to be an extra-curricular girlfriend. Gloria harrumphed, ‘<i style="">I think that’s bad, I don’t like guys like that</i>’ she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Of course I ought have ignored the hypocrisy, and was she a bit dearer to me I would have. But instead I said ‘<i style="">Yeah, seeing two people at once, there’s no excuse for it</i>.’ She got the point, it made her sulky, and she withdrew her hand. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <br /><br />Technorati Tags:<br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BSex%5D" rel="tag">[Sex]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BAsian" women="" rel="tag">[Asian women]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BCheating%5D" rel="tag">[Cheating]</a>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-1153390718518335192006-07-20T09:47:00.000+00:002006-11-01T09:19:53.986+00:00Sex as Rebellion<p class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keen though I am to see Ellen again, my relationship with her is sexual only, and she remains a minor part of my life. The same is true of Sweetie. But this is not a permanent pattern among my lovers. Mona, for example, has become a friend after being a lover. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">I hardly need say that she was a student. I met her about a year back and right from the first class I could tell she was a little taken with me. Staying behind after class to talk to me the first session, wearing nicer clothes in the second and later sessions. But really, most of all, it is in the eyes; the way she looked at me is something I have seen many times in class. Just that moment of looking eyes, the bold, clear gaze, the suggestion. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>And so I was sure Mona would hit me up for an online chat, and so she did, a few hours after that first class. It was a semi-suggestive conversation and though mostly couched in the terms of just a friendly chat, it was clearly an exploration, charting the territory, the lie of the land. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>She told me she was rearranging stuff in her dorm to make way for a new room-mate, and told me she was thinking of moving to an external flat, since, she said, she liked her own company better – though a lot of universities will not let their undergraduates move into private accommodation, threatening them with expulsion if they try to do so. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>This is just one of the many ways in which <st1:country-region><st1:place><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></st1:place></st1:country-region>’s universities show their contempt for students. Mona also told me all the students at her university had to get up at <st1:time minute="0" hour="6"><st1:time hour="6" minute="0">6 a.m.</st1:time></st1:time> for compulsory exercise. But what help was there for it? She knew perfectly well that if she refused, she’d be failed. The more obvious way would be en-masse refusal, for even the ignorant and arrogant swine who run the universities know they could not fail a whole year of students without becoming a global laughing-stock.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>But of course en-mass protest will never happen. The authorities would simply come for the brave souls who tried to organize it, at which point the other students would jump ship. This society is too selfish for solidarity. And too apathetic; the students just accept their lot without ever asking if it is right, without ever seeking to change it. I guess so many years of being beaten down, of being crushed under the contempt and despite of the government, have long since erased even the hint of an echo of a thought of self-determination, independence, rebellion.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>But maybe I oversimplify. There are ways of rebellion; primarily, religion and sex.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Sex is how those like <a href="http://chinabounder.blogspot.com/2006/05/seducing-lucy.html">Lucy</a> rebel. Indeed, as I was chatting with Mona that night, Lucy popped up also, to tell me how that day she had been forced to sit through some wretched hagiography on Deng Xiaoping. This was around the time of his centenary, and the wretched media here was in a dutiful froth about the matter. China Daily, for example, expressed its wonder at his depth of insight and intelligence, his shrewd and decisive proclamations, such as ‘<i style="">Peace and development are good for the world</i>.’ Wow. Top-grade thinking there, Little Bottle. Lucy was then obliged to write an essay on this worthless bilge. In a society where such dead, sterile rubbish fills public discourse (as, for example, Jiang Zemin’s astonishing revelation that ‘<i style="">Government must represent the interests of the people</i>’), some outlet must be sought. That’s what brought Lucy to my bed, for fucking me, a foreigner, was one way she could safely defy these numbing conventions. For Mona, too, sex was a way of personal rebellion. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Religion is the other way, and I meet a growing number of this kind of rebel. In general, such people are, like 95% of Christians, utterly unprepossessing, utterly vapid, limp, bland. In the same class I met Mona I had one of these clowns, Helen, who believed in every word of the bible, believed that, yes, god really did make the world in seven days and so on. I tried to point out some of the more obvious asininities of Genesis to her, the usual tropes such as ‘<i style="">If there was no death in </i><st1:city><st1:place><i style=""><st1:city><st1:place>Eden</st1:place></st1:city></i></st1:place></st1:City><i style="">, all animals must have been vegetarians, so why is the lion designed to eat meat?</i>’ and so on. But as with most of these idiots, she just replied with trite platitudes from other bits of the bible, as if she was such a rabid believer that she could not even process my questions. It was as though the fact that I was questioning her fairy tale attitude to the world was so impossible for her to conceive that my questions simply became invisible to her. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Yet while I scorn such attitudes, and have a deal of contempt for them (for, it seems to me, such beliefs are in such clear contradictions to the experience of every day life that to hold them is a willful abuse of intelligence) I also understand them and to some extent even respect them. For they are an antidote to the folly and sterility of all these decades of the most dispiriting and poisonous pap that the party machine turns out. Christianity’s claims are every bit as ludicrous as communism’s, but at least they are poetic, at least they come from life, from culture, not from death as all the party’s proclamations do. And thus folly as it is, being christian is at least the first step on the road to individuality, to selfhood. Baby steps, yes, and if this literal attitude to the bible is not left behind, no growth beyond babyhood is possible. But they are steps at least, a start -- though Lucy’s ways of rebellion, as Mona’s, are much purer, more wholesome, more truthful.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Of course in this our first conversation she kept that side of her nature a little camouflaged, as did I. Nonetheless, I was quite sure that, had I felt more in the mood to push it a little, she would have been glad for me to go over and help her ‘rearrange’ the heavier objects in her dorm – that being the excuse I would have offered and the excuse she would have accepted to get me over there. And then, no doubt, we would have become lovers.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>But I did not push that option. I did not want to seem too keen and, besides, was just in the mood to sit at home and loaf. And in any case, I was sure there would be plenty more chances to see her – to add nothing of the fact that anticipation just makes realization more sweet. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <br /><br />Technorati Tags:<br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BSex%5D" rel="tag">[Sex]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BAsian" women="" rel="tag">[Asian women]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BRebellion%5D" rel="tag">[Rebellion]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BReligion%5D" rel="tag">[Religion]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BUniversity%5D" rel="tag">[ University]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BChina%5D" rel="tag">[ China]</a>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-1153165223420280302006-07-17T19:36:00.000+00:002006-11-01T09:10:39.712+00:00Fucking Ellen #3<p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">And now that I know this woman, this keystone of my life, is reading I find myself suddenly constrained; I begin more to see this blog perhaps as others see it, crude, blundering. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>But no matter. Here’s one I prepared earlier…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Anyhow, back to Ellen, who I had just come all over; she rubbed my come into her as we lay there recovering awhile before showering. Then we watched a film some, but could not keep our hands off each other, and so soon we were fucking again, an equally long bout, her on top, from the side, behind, standing, missionary; she was just as wet and hot as before -- intoxicating. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>As again we lay cuddling and talking after this, I returned to what she’d said over dinner, about a lesbian thing at school. I wanted details. She gave them; they were tame. ‘<i>It was just a kiss on the lips like this’ </i>and she kissed me; a chaste peck. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>But, she said, two friends of hers had a more active relationship. This was back at high school, in the somethingth grade. Ellen had gone to the house of one of these friends, and while she was playing a video game they went to the bedroom to make love. She told me she did not realize what the cries of passion coming from their room were – ‘<i>I thought they were playing a video game, like me</i>,’ she said. But she told me, ‘<i>I went to their room and a saw one lying on the bed and the other</i>..’ and here she got between my legs to show me what she meant. ‘<i>She was under a blanket, but I knew then what was happening</i>.’ Ellen told me that the one girl really loved the other, but that in due course the other found a guy, and that this broke the first’s heart. ‘<i>She was walking along the street crying… it was so sad</i>.’<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Ellen also told me that later, at university, she had had some more light experience this way. ‘<i>It was cold and we had no heating so we shared a bed… and she had a really beautiful body… I touched her, we touched each other. Just touched, that’s all, but I do think a woman’s body is beautiful</i>.’ I asked the obvious question; would she like to do it again, how would she feel with me and another woman? She told me she thought she would like it, that it would be fun. She said she was not a lesbian, did not want to have sex with the other girl... but that it would be fun. Wild that she is, if I can arrange it I imagine that restraint would be forgotten. And so I have been thinking of getting Mona involved, for she also has expressed some interest that way. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>We carried on kissing, cuddling, for which she said ‘<i>Thank you…most guys just go to sleep afterwards</i>’ which again makes me think she is no beginner. I did ask her how she got to be so good at fuck. She told me that she had learned a lot from her long-term boyfriend. ‘<i>At first he was shy and I had to teach him.. but later he taught me. I guess maybe he had experience with other women…</i>’ She also said she had read up on the topic.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>And I guess that may be true, for she said to me she’d read that Western guys like large breasts, and was reluctant to believe I liked her rather more petite ones. She then asked, as we lay there cuddling, ‘<i>Do you want me to go?</i>’ for she had also read that the Western causal lover likes it that way. And indeed a few weeks ago I overheard some expat talking about a one-night stand he’d had recently, and how she had stayed overnight. ‘<i>Man, I hate it when they stay,’ </i>he’d said,<i> ‘sure, it means you get another lay in the morning… but I really hate it</i>.’<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>But I like it, and wanted Ellen to stay, and was glad she did, and touched by her pleasure in it too. So we put the lights out… but our goodnight kisses lingered, and then she went for my ear, and me for her pussy, and I said, ‘<i>You’re going to get me going again</i>’ and she said ‘<i>Me too</i>’; and so we fucked again. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>As we went at it I said, `<i>What would your parents say if they could see us now?</i>’ and she laughed the same horrified and amused laughter that other lovers have laughed when I’ve asked them the same question. Chinese parents frequently cannot conceive the fact their daughters are sexually active. This is why so many younger women do live a double life; and that’s one of the reasons guys like me find it easy. Used, already, to hiding their lives from their parents, the additional taboo of casual sex, of fucking a foreigner becomes all the easier to break. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Naturally I was gratified when Ellen said ‘<i>I’ve never done it three times in a row before!</i>’ Indeed, when I offered to come on command the first time she had said ‘<i>Will you be able to do it a second time?</i>’ So obviously she’s had some low quality lovers. Among them, a brief boyfriend after the long term guy. ‘<i>But every time his cock touched my pussy, he came</i>’ she told me. ‘<i>So it only lasted a couple of months</i>.’ I could not keep from laughing to hear of this useless guy, at which she gave me a playful punch.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>As we talked after this bout, she told me, ‘<i>I knew when I said I’d come home with you that we’d have sex</i>.’ I knew when she sent me her picture a few days before this that we’d have sex – but of course was not so crude as to tell her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><u1:p></u1:p>Waking with her in my arms the next morning was a delight, and her body next to mine, imbued as it now was with the memories of the previous night’s passion, I began to stroke and caress her, kiss her awake, stoke her body towards last night’s pitch, her wild passion, her sheer joy to fuck. She responded with equal ardor, going down on me, taking me in her mouth with an eagerness that is rather rare here. And after we had made love this time she showered and went home, leaving me a dreamy morning of reveries.</span><o:p></o:p></p> <br /><br /><br />Technorati Tags:<br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BSex%5D" rel="tag">[Sex]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BAsian" women="" rel="tag">[Asian women]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BLesbian%5D" rel="tag">[Lesbian]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BFucking%5D" rel="tag">[Fucking]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BSexuality%5D" rel="tag">[ Sexuality]</a>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-1152855939191854072006-07-14T05:40:00.000+00:002006-07-14T05:48:20.340+00:00Guilt<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">So a week or ten days back while I’m in bed with Jingjing, I get a barrage of messages and then calls on my mobile, all of which I perforce must ignore, as one cannot answer a call mid making-love.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">But also I knew who was on the other end of those messages, those calls. A woman I’ve been seeing for many months, a woman I’ve spent more time with than any other; a woman who loves me more than I love her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Angered by these interruptions, after I had finished with Jingjing I replied to tell her I had been with a woman. A testy exchange followed. In the following days our online conversations, which had been close, became cool, strained. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I met her for lunch yesterday.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She told me how hurt she was.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She told me she’d read this blog. Unwisely, some months back I’d mentioned I’d begun writing it but had not given her the address, due to its frank content. Honorable woman that she is, she’d not sought it out, leaving me my anonymity. But, after that night, angry, she tracked it down (which she had a perfect right to do all along) and read it, start to end.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Before this she had no idea of this part of my life. Yes, she had some suspicions, and indeed once told me ‘<i style="">I am sure there have been many other women at the same time as me</i>.’ But I deflected the question and she, fearing the answer, did not look any more closely.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">But now she has read this. How much it must have lacerated her!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I want to write about her more. But that is not really possible. Firstly, she asked me not to write about her, and so beyond this, I will not write.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Secondly, knowing she will read this, I cannot be objective. Whatever I write would be an appeal to her, an attempt to exculpate myself, even though such exculpation is not really possible. I would like to try to explain my feelings for her, to write about how truly unique she is among all the thousands of people I have met here. To say how with her I was more my real self than with anyone else. To talk of my admiration and respect for her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">But how can I do that without coming off, to her, as insincere, trite? How could she believe it, knowing I wrote it knowing she would read it? How could she believe it after reading all the crude, basic pages below?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">So I feel pretty rotten. Guilty, to have hurt her so badly. Ashamed, even.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And is even that true, after all? If I really felt guilty surely I would begin to behave in a more socially acceptable way? </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Unlikely. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Partly, the chase is just too much fun. Partly, I do not, deep down, really view it as betrayal at all. Most of the women I’m involved with are willing partners and, really, compared to the depth of my relationship with this woman, all the philandering is just surface trivia. And partly (and perhaps the biggest part) I am just a selfish scumbag.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Hah, these matters with myself which I too much discuss. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><br /><br />Technorati Tags:<br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BGuilt%5D" rel="tag">[Guilt]</a>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-1152646936868830652006-07-11T18:32:00.000+00:002006-11-01T08:57:21.529+00:00Fucking Ellen #2<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Still marveling at how easy it had been to get inside her, how smoothly she took me, after a few minutes’ missionary I wanted variety. ‘<i>Come on top</i>’ I told her, and she did, no murmur, no mock-shock; she climbed right on and, wow, just let go, moving up and down on me fast and hard, riding me.<br /><br />But she wanted more that just to work me herself; she put my hands to her hips and said, ‘<i>Move me on you, move me</i>.’ And so I did, moving her back and forth, thrusting into her hard, fast, deep; and she loved it, it made her moan, made her moans grow to gasps, her gasps to cries, her cries to yells.... much to my vanity’s pleasure. After a bout of that, I sat up, still in her, and she, getting the idea straight away, moved her legs so she could sit in my lap at a better angle. We fucked like that awhile, then, still in her, I moved to the edge of the bed and stood, my arms crooked under her knees. That really lit her up, taking her gasps a notch higher still.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Ego, of course, prompted me to ask, ‘<i>Have you ever done it this way before</i>?’ <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">‘<i>Yes</i>..’ she said, adding ‘<i>but not so good, not for so long… am I heavy?</i>’ – a sop, I guess, to the male pride she saw so clearly on show. But her pleasure was genuine, unmediated, from the core, and she was good, <i>good</i>… fucking me with abandon, truly getting into it - indeed she nearly brought me off in that position. Normally I like woman on top, or standing, because those positions are not so intense for me, and allow me to plow away hard as I like with little danger of coming. But she was just so good, so lithe, so lively, so wholly into it that she was taking me to the edge.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">As I have mentioned below, the average Chinese guy does not, from what lovers and friends tell me, have much staying power. And thus it is a matter of pride for me to make my lovemaking last. And so I called a pause to Ellen’s wild responsiveness, laying her back on the bed and kissing, caressing, eating her for a few moments. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Then, control restored, I suggested from behind – and she rolled over easy and fluid, her butt up in the air, waiting for me. That position is the most intense for me, so I could not keep at it long. So I got her on top again, and this time I worked a finger into her ass. She only half-liked that -- ‘<i>It feels strange.</i>’ <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">But, like with Simone, like with Eve, like with Tingting, I think this feeling of ‘strange’ was more in the mind than the body. For each of these women rather liked it at first – until the good feeling of it was overwhelmed by the traditional voice, the voice of Chinese sexual prudery, which insists that such things are bad. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And so when I came at Ellen from behind again, she did not want the finger in the ass; but just looking at her there, that most intimate place, was sexy enough; coming at a woman from behind is as much visually appealing as it is physical. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">So we went at it for maybe half an hour, which was enough for her – ‘<i>I am tired</i>’ she said. I’d got into that state of mind where I could have fucked on for an hour yet. But, ‘<i>Then shall I come?</i>’ I said.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">‘<i>You can control it?</i>’ she asked. (I always like it when they ask that.) <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">‘<i>I can</i>.’<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And so I let it go, working myself up to the brink in her pussy then pulling out to come all over her. And as I came, she motioned me up towards her.. wanting me in her mouth, I think, which was erotic indeed. But by the time I was certain she wanted me to come in her mouth I only had dribbles left. This happened each time we fucked, so if we have a rematch maybe I’ll have the pleasure of letting it all go in there. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Oral sex is an interesting subject when it comes to Chinese women. Many of my lovers have had very little experience of it. And so when I go down on a woman for the first time, often she is reluctant, having been culturally conditioned to think this is ‘dirty.’ But of course the feelings generated are so pleasurable that she soon forgets this attitude. When it comes to giving oral sex, however, it is harder to make her forget that prejudice, since there is less direct pleasure in it for her, and since she cannot escape the reality of what is happening. If I go down on her she can close her eyes, press her head into the pillow and drift away in pleasure, forgetting all that absurdity society lays on her. But with a cock in her mouth she has no such chance.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And thus to find a woman as wild and liberated as Ellen is special indeed. Once I was sure she wanted me in her mouth (for it would have been awkward to bang my cock in there had she not wanted it) I moved there, and she keenly swallowed what I had left. And so, I think, when we have a rematch – later next week, I hope – I can let the whole load go like that. Though I have had a fair number of women in my time in <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:City>, few of them have shown much interest in giving oral sex. Ellen was one; and Mona was another, and Sweetie too. (Indeed I had a particularly memorable rematch with Sweetie which I will recount in due course.) <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And in fact I really must get round to writing about Mona, too, since she was such a hot fuck. We were lovers for a while, then casual fuck buddies, and are now just close friends. But while we were in that middle stage I remember with delectation one time we met for lunch in the Super Brand Mall, a huge Thai-owned mall in the city’s Pudong area, and we got into a kind of horny mood; and so she and I snuck into the men’s toilet (the one just near Zoe’s Bistro, a place that does a rather good bacon and blue cheese sandwich) wherein I ate her to orgasm and she sucked me off. She didn’t swallow, which would have made it even sexier for me, but it was still rather fun.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I suggested this since I knew, to Mona, it would be a little outré, and that would excite her. Behavior like this makes one appear like a sexual Bohemian, and that is highly appealing to many Chinese women. This is such a wretchedly conformist society that the hint of something nonconformist can be a powerful aphrodisiac. Women here are browbeaten, compelled, coerced and forced into ‘modest’ and ‘traditional’ behavior by the dull, unimaginative and censorious male majority. The chance to break out of this is powerfully attractive; a man who enjoys and respects a woman’s sexual desires, and who is open, frank and free towards sex can have a lot of fun here. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Especially if he is white. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">While the bulk of Chinese men are stolid and phlegmatic, there are of course plenty of young, hip guys who are every bit the sexual dog I am. But it’s not as easy for them as it is for me, for they are still a part of their society, even if they are unusual within it. And because they are part of their society, it is too risky for the Chinese woman to dally with them. If she wants to play, she needs to play outside her own culture; and this is one more of the many reasons that guys like me have such a ball here. Sex in a public place is not much of a big deal back home; here it is outrageous and effective. Mona’s eyes widened as I suggested it, and the daringness of it (to her) palpably excited her. She got a real kick out of scurrying into the men’s toilet after I’d checked the coast was clear and, hot already, it only took a minute or two to bring her to orgasm. And I confess I was excited too, more out of the knowledge that I was giving her an experience she would never forget rather than the venue itself, and thus also only took a minute or two to come in her mouth. After she'd spat out and cleaned up I again checked the coast was clear, and out we scurried. She was walking on air after this dirty erotic adventure, and I was feeling pretty satisfied with myself too.</span></span> <o:p></o:p></p> <span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br />Technorati Tags:<br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BPublic" sex="" rel="tag">[Public Sex]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BFellatio%5D" rel="tag">[Fellatio]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BOral" sex="" rel="tag">[Oral sex]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BFucking%5D" rel="tag">[Fucking]</a><br /></span>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27846796.post-1152355414339115782006-07-08T10:38:00.000+00:002006-11-01T08:49:02.512+00:00Fucking Ellen #1<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Getting home with her was in itself a struggle, squeezing our way through the massive crowds and trying to get onto the subway. The subway is perhaps the most visible sign of the yokel soul that lurks beneath <st1:city><st1:place><st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city></st1:place></st1:City>’s glib, slick exterior. No matter than the floors and walls are plastered with ‘先下后上’ (First off, then on) signs; no matter that the subway guards, brought in for just this kind of cattle control, blare the same message through loud hailers; subway time is pell-mell time, as the mob pushes and shoves its way on board, irrespective of those trying to get off first, irrespective of the occasional hapless commuter who, having got some learning, has tried to behave like a member of the human race and queue up. The feeding-time-at-the-zoo air of it all is magnified by the impatient drivers who generally try to close the door as people are still getting on and off the carriages. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>But anyhow, we fought our way on and thence home, where I stepped out onto the balcony with her. This is something of a money-shot view since, 40 floors high, my balcony has a view over <st1:city><st1:place><st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city></st1:place></st1:City>’s spectacular panorama. If the air is not too full of poison and pollution, it’s possible to see all the landmark buildings, the elegant Jin Mao tower (China’s tallest skyscraper – or, as the locals call it, ‘<i>Mainland China’s tallest tower</i>’ – an absurd locution to acknowledge the fact that Tapei has a bigger tower and at the same time maintain the preposterous conceit Taiwan is part of China), the remarkably ugly Oriental Pearl Tower, a concrete and purple monstrosity that looks like some kind of elaborate Japanese sex toy, the multi-colored buildings along Nanjing and Huaihai Road and all the other superficially impressive glam. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>It is looking over this view that I make the next move in my routine. Having brought the woman home and out to the balcony, I then stand behind her as I point out the various buildings before us, first holding my hand out in front of her to indicate this building or that… and then I wrap that hand round her midriff and lay my head on her shoulder, turn her face to mine and come closer for the first kiss.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>And so as Ellen and I stood on the balcony, she murmured something about sending her father a message to tell him when she’d be home. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>‘<i>You can tell him you’ll be home soon… or you can tell him you’re going to stay in your dorm… or you can stay with me</i>,’ I said.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">She did not reply to this, either because she misunderstood, or because she was thinking it over. ‘<i>So… Stay with me?</i>’ I repeated. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">‘<i>Will you hurt me?</i>’ she asked. ‘<i>Of course not.</i>.’ I replied. ‘<i>But I do want to kiss you… want to kiss you</i>.’ She said nothing, so I moved closer; and she turned to me, and we kissed. And not a chaste, exploratory, bashful kiss on her part, no….but open-mouthed, intense, vocal.. and not just one, but dozens. I pulled her to me tighter, dropped a hand down between her legs, pressing against her, then slipping my hand up under her top, over her belly, up to the fabric of her bra. But after a few minutes of this, she said ‘<i>I don’t like it out here…</i>’ <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">‘<i>Then let’s go to the bedroom..</i>’ I suggested; and so we did.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>None of that false modesty, no fake shyness; I sat down by her on the bed, kissing and caressing, and then grasping the hem of her top. She smiled, signaling, yes, with her eyes, and so I began to undress her. She moved to undo her trousers, but I stopped her hand – ‘<i>I want to do that</i>.’ So she tackled my shirt instead, when that was off I unhooked her bra. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>The first time is always the most exciting… the first time to see a new pair of breasts, a pussy. Each new time is truly new, fresh, salacious… and a mystery, for with the shaped padded bras that so many women here wear, what lies beneath is seldom certain. Thus Simone’s breasts were bigger than expected; Ellen’s a little smaller. But I like smaller, and while Ellen’s were not so well defined as Mona’s, they were cute and girlish. Tiny nipples, aureoles, firm under my tongue, nipped between my teeth. And so then to her trousers, the button of which she’d undone already.. I eased down the zip, folded them apart, to see the next delight, her panties. Not quite as sexy as I had hoped – cotton, mostly plain, the kind her parents no doubt approve of. Sexy panties remain a rarity in <st1:country-region><st1:place><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region></st1:place></st1:country-region>; most women choose designs more suited to their grandparents.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>So off with her trousers, and mine too, and I kiss her all over, from mouth to toes. And then through her panties, which makes her press against me… and then I allow myself the final treat, the first look at her pussy… my first thought? It needed trimming -- too much hair, untidy. But I did not tell her this just yet; instead, I went down on her, teasing at first, just blowing, then kissing her thighs, kissing above, below, to the side… and then moving in for my first taste. She was wet, excited, open. I found her clit with my tongue, licked, tasted.. she pressed against me, hard, enjoying it. But not for long; ‘<i>I want.. want you, want you inside me.</i>.’ she breathed. And so I moved up to penetrate her. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p></u1:p>Moving my cock to the position I was about to say ‘<i>It might hurt</i>..’ but feeling the slickness of her pussy against my cock I thought again.. Pushed forward.. And eased in, smooth, gliding.. and though she gasped as I filled her, it was from pleasure not pain; and this is the first time it has happened so easily. Each other woman has found it to a greater or lesser extent painful; but not Ellen. Which, I confess, did make me doubt her later claim that I was only her third guy.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><u1:p style="font-family: times new roman;"></u1:p><span style="font-family: times new roman;">And so, indeed, did her unbridled passion as we fucked. Was she really that inexperienced? She was </span><i style="font-family: times new roman;">good</i><span style="font-family: times new roman;">… so good that we fucked three times that night and again the morning after, and just thinking of how good she was now makes me stir.</span></span> <o:p></o:p></p> <span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span>Technorati Tags:<br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BChina%5D" rel="tag">[China]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BSex%5D" rel="tag">[Sex]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BAsian" women="" rel="tag">[Asian women]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BSeduction%5D" rel="tag">[Seduction]</a><br /><a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%5BFucking%5D" rel="tag">[Fucking]</a>ChinaBounder's email:http://www.blogger.com/profile/00814830892013188434noreply@blogger.com9