If you want to know what led to my sincere appreciation for Asian women, perhaps this story will give you a clue. It's about an old friend and her new (at the time) roommate. It involves an Asian stripper. And a white stripper. Of course, they prefer to be called "entertainers."
Several years ago, I met this girl who we'll call "Cindy." I had known her for a few years but fell out of touch with her. I met her at a car show event and I knew a guy she had dated. At the time, she was in school and working nights trying to rebound from a bad home life. I reconnected with her about 5 years later. Cindy was a white girl, living in Bakersfield and at 24 years old, she was very pretty. She wasn't all that smart, but I attributed that to a lack of education. She was sweet and down to Earth and I got the sense she was trying to stay disconnected from the seedy world of dancing, but it was the only night job she could get to make ends meet. (In retrospect, this was my Captain Save A Ho period, where I was determined to be someone's Knight in Shining Armor. )
Cindy had revealed to me that she had been molested by her step dad who was serving time for the crime (shocker...a stripper who had been molested), that she had a sister in rehab (who was around 40 years old) and that all of her exes had cheated on her. That's quite a history for a 24 year old, but then I remember we're talking about Bakersfield residents. Of course, the world of strippers was foreign to me. I had never been in a strip club and I had never met a stripper, so I had no real idea of what was involved in their world.
When I did get reconnected with her, she was about 28, had a 3 year old son by some British "regular" and was driving a BMW that was allegedly paid for by some middle eastern owner of a local BMW dealership. Word on the street was that she had been passed around the dealership like a copy of Swimsuit Illustrated, but I'm not one to go in for rumors.
When I ran into her (I was in town for a car club event at a local track), we agreed to catch up over dinner. This led us back to her place where I was introduced to this stunning 20 year old Asian girl who we'll call "Marilyn." For the record, even I have an age limit. For me, 10-12 years' differentiation is the absolute maximum (now, back then, it was maybe 6-7). At the time, I was in my early to mid thirties. In retrospect, if she was about 24-25, I'd have thought differently about the situation.
My first impression of Marilyn was drawn from overhearing a phone conversation between her and some poor sap who was begging for a second chance with her. Over the phone, she screamed things like "well, if you can't f#$k me right, you should be at least paying my bills." Apparently, she seemed dissatisfied with his "performance" but as a consolation, was willing to take his money. How kind of her.
As the night progressed, the liquor flowed. Cindy and Marilyn retired to their room on more than one occasion where they shed more clothes each time and partook of a white powdery substance. I'm guessing it was a dietary aid, as neither girl had an ounce of fat on them. I'm not a drinker, so I was thinking pretty clearly, despite the loss of blood flow to my brain.
As the clock approached the bewitching hour, it was getting time for me to head home. It's worth noting that I always viewed Cindy as a friend...I never intended to hook up with her, as I felt that she had trusted me with her thoughts, hopes and fears and who was I to take advantage of a girl in a moment of vulnerability? I had had several opportunities to make a pass on her, but never felt compelled to.
Cindy seemed to enjoy my company more than usual that night and she sensed that I was curious about Asian women. After a little prodding, it became clear that she was open to hooking me up with her roommate. Not a hook up as in 'take her on a date,' more like 'take her on the floor in front of me.' To kick things off, the two girls exercised their skills on one another in front of me. Like stripper Ninjas, they produced some toys to aid in the process.
I was both fascinated and flabbergasted. The "guy" in me said "jump in...this is a once in a lifetime opportunity." The logical side of me said "you have no protection and I'm willing to bet there is a bit more risk with these two partners than the girl from my church." When I expressed this to Cindy, she kindly informed me that it wasn't necessary, because they are both tested regularly. I should've asked to see the "Whore Fax," but without documentation, I was unwilling to proceed. It was tempting, though, because in all honesty, something happens to a man when the blood leaves his head and flows to other areas. All sense of logic is removed. Time is warped. Judging distances is impossible...six inches becomes twelve, a 150 mile drive becomes a 50 mile drive. A million thoughts were running through my head. Could I satisfy both? Can I make it home in time for work in the morning? Who else would find out about this dark chapter in my life? Would I be taking home a souvenir that would only show up on blood tests?
Somehow, in all of this, I thought to myself 'I'm hungry.' Naturally, I went to her kitchen and made myself a snack, then sat down to watch the show. In true stripper fashion, her refrigerator consisted of bottled milk (for her baby) and baloney sandwich fixings. I slathered on some highly-suspect Mayo and sat down to enjoy the show.
Despite being offered an opportunity to join on several occasions, I simply replied that I was enjoying watching. Worth noting is that I had a girlfriend at the time, with whom I was very content, but I ain't gonna lie...this was extremely tempting because I was pretty sure I'd never get caught. In fact, I was 99% sure.
I went home around 2 am, replaying the incident in my head and I realized I felt like a dog who had just pooped on the carpet. I was not sure if I was more ashamed at putting myself in that situation or more disappointed with Cindy's sad life. I resolved it by saying that this is the life she chose for herself and she seems happy, so who am I to judge?
When I got home, I was feeling ill. I had just started seeing a gal (three dates in or so) and I was sure she'd see my guilt on my face, even though I hadn't really done anything. By lunch, I was puking up my baloney sandwich. Perhaps God was punishing me, a profound sense of guilt, or maybe it was just the nausea over realizing that apparently, I'm not "threesome guy." But I could have been.
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