hello stranger: new york
Can the difference among races, or our typecast of cultures and colors add spice to sexual friction? Manhattan’s allure includes the inherent multi-racial mix for a world sampling of cuisine of the carnal kind. As a Filipino first-timer in the Big Apple, the temptation and excitement of this international diversity is too irresistible to pass up.
Mid-Manhattan, on a midwinter night’s chill offers a white-collar joint called Therapy Bar. The few nights I was there, I was a hit. All I did was to be an unusually tall Asian, whose eyes wander for the most gorgeous catch among the testosterone crowd in suits and ties. And in this side of the city, wit is the biggest sexual organ. I talked as though Woody Allen fed me with the cleverest lines.
After the whites have been sampled, it’s time to try something different. And across where I stand looms a fragment of my Latino fantasy in the flesh. With muscles at the right places, his height may be wanting, but the X-factor he possesses spells passionate sex.
So I approached and leaned on the wall, beside him. That’s a strong signal enough to send the message, “I want you, I want you so bad.”
Without even speaking a word yet, or stealing glances, he just spewed out the most racist remark I’ve ever heard in my life. “Asians, I don’t like them, they are submissive and they have small dicks.”
Suddenly, the passion that has built up inside of me turned into an adrenaline rush born out of anger. It wasn’t my being not just a Filipino that was under attack. It was the whole of Asia, whose population and land area is much bigger than either of the two Americas. My sexual desires turned into a crusade.
Straight to his face, with a rough whisper to his Latino ear, I said, “You want me to prove you wrong on both counts?”
The dare turned him on, in spite of this bigotry. We groped each other’s sensitive parts, wildly, in front of everybody without removing our clothes off. To be acquitted of being submissive, I led the action, biting off his ear lobe, and grasping his butt with force. And for the size that seems to matter to him, it wasn’t a problem for me, since arousal with that kind of a hottie instantly equaled the Towering Inferno, burning inside my pants with all fury.
I knew I had him at that moment. I felt the inches within his Levi’s 501 from below average proportions rise to “average” instantly. But mine was definitely bigger. Hah! Then with the most passionate kiss I could give and a bite on his tongue to prove Asian domination exists, I stopped in the middle of the heat, and left him, wanting.
It was the first time I passed up one of the most edible men I’ve ever met. He was the type of man who existed in my fantasies, or in my favorite Latino porn. Sometimes, sex takes a backseat for racial dignity. Perhaps, after disproving the typecast, the Chicano has become a rice queen since then. His next Asian conquests should thank me. And I think I deserve a Noble Peace Prize for raising the Asian flag with pride, don’t I?
The Film Writer