White guys in China

Anyone with even limited China experience has seen it – old white guy, young, trim Chinese girl. What’s that like? How do they do it? Why? Everywhere you see it – white guys and Chinese girls, always younger, often by decades.

Western guy comes out here, aware he is old, tired, used, nothing to turn heads. And thus his self-confidence is not too high. He ain’t gonna aim at the stuff that really turns him on. He’s gonna aim for something a bit plainer, a bit easier. And the plainer, less sought after chick – well, perhaps she knows her worth and makes herself more approachable. Whitey, he’s just thrilled that a woman half his age – even a third – seems to pay attention to him, thrill to him.

And, sure, we had three years together and it was mostly good. She was kind, loving, dedicated, intelligent. An excellent choice of wife – if I wanted to get married.

We broke up, off she goes to study then work abroad. And sure, we still chat online from time to time, whereat she waxes between ice, thaw and chill – but I am forever in her mind now a bastard. I expect her judgment is right on that.

The break up was acrimonious. Yeah, one point she was throwing crockery at me across the courtyard where we lived, no doubt to the gossipy delectation of our neighbours who, remaining out of sight in their house as they were, were no doubt listening keenly. And pinning the blame on me. Fair shout.

But that was enough for me. I took the decision then – no more serious relationships; let us not talk of love, or marriage, or even a house together. I have not kept to this, for I have talked of love to many women. But only as a means to an end, that end being bed. Felt love? Scarcely!

So, let’s see, this Saturday I was with Star, this Sunday with Sara. Amid this, I kept Cherry in play via MSN, put in a call to Rina, and teased Tulip by SMS. Susan I sent a flirty email, and Wanda I wooed via her blog. I’ll get back to these later, maybe.

But I will begin with Tingting, a figure from my recent past who I still think of, a lover I am sad to see no longer. In general they come, they go and when they are gone I scarcely think of them; those lovers who I have to pause and think for a second to get the name. Lovers like Gloria, like Lucy, like the others I am sure there are but who have sunk beneath the surface of my memory.