hot fashion editors

Arina thus being unavailable, I decided to put some time in chasing Deedee instead. But she is tied up with stuff at her university this week, and so I batted off an SMS inviting Echo out to lunch.

She’s the woman I met in a class six months back or so, and her bright, confident and artistic nature impressed me. So I made sure to chase her a little afterwards, and we have become friends, going to listen to music together, see art shows and the like. She is the best type of Shanghai girl.

Shanghai girls like this are usually easy to spot. I can walk into a new class, cast my eye over the desks and fairly accurately pick out the local women. There is a certain style of woman, such as Deedee, such as Echo, who is obviously, immediately, a ‘Shanghai Girl.’ They are so easy to spot that I when I begin to talk with them I usually begin with, ‘So you’re from Shanghai, right?’

This, in passing, is a good way of warm-up wooing, because what the statement ‘You’re from Shanghai, right?’ really means is, ‘You are a fashionable, modern woman, stylish and confident, and I recognize this. I recognize your sense of individuality and self-confidence. I see you.’ And Shanghai Woman is quite subtle enough to hear and remember this compliment.

China Man, generally, is not; for when I say to Shanghai Woman, ‘So, you’re a local?’ guys in the class will generally be taken aback, and ask me how I know this. This goes to show what a stolid and unimaginative fish China Man can be. But I am glad of it, for his sexual naiveté is why lechers like me do so well.

But this is not to say all Shanghai women are the same, far from it; the city does have plenty of quiet, timid, ‘traditional’ women. Yet even they generally have the Shanghai attitude. If I say to women such as these, ‘Are you from Shanghai?’ most usually they will reply, ‘Of course!’ with some pep, as though to say, ‘How could I possibly be from anywhere else? Do you think I look like someone from out of town?’

The Shanghainese, in large, look down on people from outside Shanghai but look up to people from outside China – if those people are white. Expatriates from Africa and India in particular, I have found, do not quite have the respect of many Chinese people, and some of my more honest students (a small, small number) will admit this racism exists.

But most deny it totally, and get as touchy as fuck if one suggests something so negative about China (or indeed anything negative about China, no matter how small). This is why I have to be a little careful in class. When I talk about the issue of Shanghai snobbery, I generally say I feel it exists, but then make sure to add that people in other cities can be the same. It’s true about New York, I’ll say, or Paris, or London (but not Tokyo; one cannot mention Tokyo). I don’t really know if that’s how it is in all of those cities, but the point is that one can just about offer a tiny criticism of China, as long as one says that other countries are the same, and preferably worse. Truthful, open criticism of China is impossible; this is not a people willing to hear truth.

Chinese racism is perhaps more clearly shown in a saying that is sometimes used here, which imagines a celestial baker creating humanity. ‘He left the black people in the oven too long, the white people not long enough but us, the Chinese, he cooked just right.’

But anyhow.

So Echo and I met a little after midday at a sandwich bar at Nanjing and Shaanxi Road; she was dressed vivid, bright, appealing, yellows and oranges, and with a funky new hairstyle, shots of red and curls. That, and her trim, slender body, perky breasts, effervescent smile make her an appealing package indeed.

And as we ate we chatted of this and that. She told me she had decided she’d had enough of her boyfriend, an accountant, that he was too dull, that she had set her sights overseas study and he, lumpen, averse to risk, was not interested in joining her. Thus, she has decided, they must part. This pleased me, for in it I see my angle; free of the guilt of a betrayal she will be easier to charm to bed – and with overseas calling her, there is no hassle of sought permanence.

Potentialities of sex aside, I do like her just for her friendship, her bright, artistic nature. And for her self-confidence. I asked her when she had developed this style of hers, for I knew it would have been wholly banned at high school. In her second year of university, she told me. She explained that she had been the first on her campus to break out of the standard schoolgirl haircut, and that when she did, the Dean of her university criticized her for it, telling her she should not wear her hair so fashionable, that she should turn it back to a more uniform, standard style, that she should be just like everyone else. She refused.

And then, she told me, the Dean said, ‘Then I will ask your parents to come in and we will see what they say.’

I had to stop her at that point and just make sure I had not misunderstood –was she really talking about university, not high school? She was. Even with the many tales of university absurdity I have heard, this one still took me aback. ‘What did you say to that?’ I asked. She told me her parents always supported – even encouraged – her to be herself, and she told the Dean as much.

Good for her parents, I say, for a lot of Chinese parents give their children very little freedom, deciding what they should study, eat, do, say, think, dress; where they should work, who they should date. Hers seem that rare exception, adults who understand what loving a child really means.

She told me another anecdote about this objectionable Dean. One student in her course stole the wallet of another, and was caught doing so. The course tutor took the student aside to ask why she had done it, saying, ‘If you need money, just ask me.’ But the student had not stolen it for money, but rather out of an obscure sense of anger over some perceived slight. The way the malefactor explained this made the grade teacher worry a little over her mental health, and so he wanted to adopt a light touch, to treat the student with care, to send her to talk to a doctor rather than publicly shame her (a doctor only; China has more or less zero mental health specialists). The victim of the pilfering agreed with this approach.

But the Dean got to hear of the matter, and weighed in. The student must be shamed, he decided, and expelled; and so she was. ‘And so that was the end of her life’ said Echo, ‘After that there is no way she could ever get a good job.’ And then she told me that the Dean had followed up this shitty act by firing the grade tutor. Astonishing.

China is in so many ways a fucked up society. Yet even with these numerous ills and absurdities, it remains an overly proud, fervently nationalistic country.

Mixed with its stiff-necked pride is a pervasive victim mentality. All China’s woes are blamed on others, from the Western countries’ invasion of China in the 19thC and the Japanese in the second world war to perceived discrimination today from ‘the West.’

But this is the logical choice. China must have someone to blame, since facing the truth of the matter would be too psychologically devastating. The truth is that China savages itself, rips and wounds itself; all China’s ills are inflicted by its government, its organizations and institutions. By its citizens, in a word, from the president on down. And how many people could face such a truth as that? How can they admit that since 1949 their own government has brought them nothing but misery, murder and death? That they and no-one else are to blame for their woes?

And so Chinese society is stuck in deep denial, and the people who know least about modern China are the Chinese themselves. Chinese people, in general, know nothing about their society and are simply not interested in finding out. For example, I have asked 50 people in the last week what is happening at Shengda University. Not one knew. They simply do not care, are not interested in finding out. Eyes shut, blindness all the way. Each country gets the government it deserves.

Echo, at least, has a wider view, a more mature perspective. The petty folly of life here is not for her, and this is why she wants to go overseas. ‘If I stayed here the only way I could get ahead is by guanxi, and I just can’t do that – can’t pretend to like people purely to get a better job, can’t flatter.’ She told me her soon-to-be-ejected boyfriend had urged her to stay in her job, since working in a state-owned concern like hers is usually a safe berth. ‘But I could just not bear it’ she told me, ‘Having to use guanxi to get anything done.’

I agreed that it was not the right job for her, adding, ‘But I guess it shows your boyfriend does care for you, because he wants you to be safe.’ I said that to show what a straight-up guy I was, and to try to make her think I was disinterested in the matter. Trashing her boyfriend for his lack of imagination would not be the right way to proceed; it would, in effect, be saying, ‘You are an idiot to stay with such a guy so long.’ So instead I showed this measure of respect for her choice, though observed, ‘But I guess it shows he does not really understand you.’ The implication here, of course, being that I did.

She continued, ‘And also I’d have to rely on my relationships with government people to get them to give us money… and of course that would mean.. you know that I would have to… when they…when the leaders...’

I don’t now recall quite how she phrased it, but her meaning was utterly clear; that her guanxi would be her body, that government guys would come on to her and if she did not fuck them or blow them they would make sure her art center got no money.

I cannot blame her for wanting to get out; the best and brightest leave. They have to.

It was a pleasing, promising lunch, and there was more going on than mere chat. Beneath our conversation we were sounding each other out, and her mention of dumping her boyfriend was no casual observation. Our meal concluded with her inviting me to an event next weekend; and that, I hope, can be followed by dinner and bed.

Technorati Tags:
[China]
[Politics]
[Asian women]
[Nationalism]

And indeed it turns out Arina would have been a hard chase anyway, since she’d gone back to her hometown for the vacation.

But I have yet to finish up that dinner I had with her, the one I’d invited her to along with Cara, even though I was half included to chase Cara too.

Arina and I met first, before going to dinner, and she was just stunning... Tall, elegant, dressed with great individuality, she was waiting for me near Henan Zhong Lu subway. I made to kiss her cheek and she avoided it. This seemed a bad omen to me; but maybe I just took her by surprise, or maybe she thought I was going for her lips, since later in the evening she became more relaxed, more physical with me. I sms’d Linda to tell her we’d arrived; she replied to say she was at the restaurant already, even though we’d agreed to meet at the station. That was mildly irritating, but no great matter – a brief stroll round the corner, to Shanghai Uncle, and the evening kicked off. Cara was looking good and, sans Arina, I’d have made more effort to flirt with her.


But it likely would not have got anywhere, and indeed I think I reinforced the image she might have of me from class as a swaggering foreigner since I insisted on paying at the end. But it was a good evening for all of that, and I ordered a fine meal.

Ordering a good meal, it seems to me, is a kind of wooing. It looks good to know your way round a menu. This is a lesson I picked up from Michael Bloomberg; on a trip round NY, he said that in a business meeting showing power matters, and that one could do this anywhere. In a business dinner, for example, one way to do this was either to show you know the menu back to front, or just order what you want without even looking at it. Now business strategies leave me cold, but the lesson can be applied to the chase. It is one I have used to great success at Laris.

And in fact this restaurant anecdote reminds me of another. A few days ago I stepped over the road to get some fried rice to go with a meal. When the chef had cooked it, he called over the guy behind the counter to bring the carton out from the kitchen. The guy did this, fetching the carton from the kitchen and placing it on the work top opposite me, its lid still open. I looked at him; he returned my gaze blankly. Since I did not know this was even my rice I just waited. The rice sat there, open, cooling, the idiot guy vacant, his mind idle. After a few moments one of the servers on my side of the counter came out of the washroom, closed the lid, put an elastic band round it, bagged it and handed it to me.

This minor incident struck me quite deeply as a testament to the utter vacuous mindlessness of huge swathes of modern Chinese society. No imagination, no thought, nothing at all; just the myopic focus on one’s own task. No possible thought of stepping outside it. It is a society so cramped and conditioned, so bereft of individuality that I can imagine such people looking on as, say, a piano from above falls from a crane towards a hapless passer-by. Somebody else’s problem. Sure, sure, boxing up fried rice is a job for a robot and working in such a joint at that would snuff out what little selfhood this dolt might have had. But to not even make the tiny step of closing the lid because it was someone else’s job….

Anyhow, back at Shanghai Uncle, it was a fine meal, all the usual wow dishes, the ones that look good, taste good, make the orderer look good: the cheese-baked mandarin fish, the lamb, the veal. (The fish in particular impressed Cara. very much, which gratified me… though writing that I also wonder if maybe she was doing a little showing off too, for the other women at the table, demonstrating her familiarity with the Western style of this dish. Cheese does not go down big in China, and Cara also made a point of mentioning the Italian influence in it. A certain familiarity with international culture is held to have cachet here.)

Though this evening was some time ago, I still very clearly how greatly Adina impressed me and how much that evening redoubled my wish to get her. At the evening’s end she said she’d catch the bus back to her campus, which was nearby and, since I had Linda and Sara, I somewhat reluctantly agreed. Adina gone, Linda, Cara and I taxied to the tube, Linda heading off into Pudong. Cara was heading in my direction, to Huaihai Lu, and we talked as we went. I said, ‘I get the impression I irritated you in class.. I’m really very sorry about that.’

I had hoped to hear ‘Not at all’ but instead she said, `What’s in the past is in the past,’ meaning ‘Yes, you did irritate me’; which took me aback rather. I have not seen her since then and not though of her until now. So it goes.

Back home I sent an SMS after Arina, `Great to see you.. You were stunning,’ and during the next few days she and I talked on MSN. Our chats were a little brief and I was not sure I was making any headway. But then she emailed me to invite me to stay with her family in Nanjing over the Spring Festival holidays, telling me that:-

Today my mom talked about Lunar New Year with me, and I told her I wanted to invite you to visit Nanjing, especially for real local food. She thought foreigners might not have chance to spend time with their families while other Chinese families were celebrating together on this special day. So, she really hopes you can come to spend the New Year’s Eve with us, just like I do.

This was an email that pleased me greatly. But my first impulse was to make an excuse, for traveling though all the crowds and noise to a family I do not know at all would be a hassle. But I suspected it might have been her offer, and that if I did not go I would have no chance of her. But if I went it would still have to be in the terms laid out in her email – as just a friend. It was a test.

So I decided to go, my decision partly influence by the selection of photos she’d sent me. They were all chosen to show her at her best, which seems to me a fine sign; and I was frank about how stunning I found her, so she knew I was thinking of her beyond just mere friendship.

Yet even at the time I felt that my attitude was something I ought curb a little. If I showed too much keenness for her, I would seem a supplicant, not a master. And no one ever gets a woman by asking too hard.

But getting a ticket to go see her was a real cunt, with the fucked up system they got here. The clerk told me (after I’d got to the head of a long queue) I could not buy a ticket until within six days of the desired travel date. I went back on the sixth day before departure, and again met a long queue. At its head, the unsmiling clerk told me I could only get a ticket two days before departure. I went back two days before departure, queued again. The still unsmiling clerk told me I should have bought it six days before I planned to leave.

I lost my temper, somewhat. Generally I try not to do this, for I have seen too many foreigners, perplexed by the hard language and odd rules, shouting and screaming at the locals. This happens especially frequently at the PSB – the Public Security Bureau - where they issue passports and visas and the like. Most every time I go some foreigner will be frothing and screaming at the person behind the perspex; and while the rules here are frequently arcane, arbitrary and frustrating, shouting about it is only going to have a counterproductive effect. So in general I keep my temper, for I have no wish to come off as another intemperate white guy.

But in the face of my mild irritation and broken Chinese, grudgingly they told me I might be able to buy a ticket on the day of travel. On the day, I queued up once more and this time got a ticket.

Every single one of these queues, naturally, was made longer by the incessant number of people pushing straight to the front of the queue.

Fuck me, I’m writing about the inability of Chinese people to queue. Next it will be spitting, and then, fuck, it will be bicycles, and then my blog will be the same as every other blog on China.

Technorati Tags:
[China]
[Seduction]
[Asian women]
[Food]

Technorati Tags:
[Sex]
[Adultery]
[Lesbian]
[Bisexual]
[Food]

The first fuck is usually the best; it is diminishing returns after that. So, with Sweetie, that first time lasted an hour or so; and, being the first fuck, it was the most exciting – and so I nearly came a couple of times before I was ready. But, champion masturbator that I am, a brief pause was enough to restore control.

This is an important point of honor, especially the first time. After all, I wish to do all I can to highlight the difference between my lovemaking and that of the average local guy; he (from what numerous women have told me) can’t last more than a few minutes. Indeed, among my various lovers, Ellen (whom I have yet to describe), as we rested together after making love, made me laugh with her tales of the over-excitable guys she’d been with.

But the first time needs some balance; it cannot last too long since, in general, the woman will become sore, not being used to the larger size of Western men. I do not mean to boast about the size of my cock (though it is vastly flattering (and pleasingly frequent) when a new woman says ‘Wow, it’s so big’) – it’s rather that Western guys routinely are bigger than Chinese guys.

Now once I had found my rhythm, found the ideal stroke and ideal state of mind, I could have ploughed away all night. But Sweetie was getting a little pained with it, so I said that perhaps we should conclude. ‘You can control it?’ she asked, in some surprise.

She wanted me to wear a condom to come. Yeah, yeah, sure I should have been wearing one already. And I was perfectly happy to do so, though I made a joke about it – ‘.. you will have to put it on for me.’ And so she did, with her mouth, which was rather good.

The key reason I do not often wear a condom – apart from pure, naked selfishness and profligacy, I mean – is that Chinese condoms are just too small.

Again this is not a by-proxy boast about my dick size. For example, Mona’s other Western lover, the guy who I heard being gossiped about in a restaurant but have never met, also had this problem; indeed, I spent a jolly afternoon with Mona trying to find decent sized condoms for her to use with him. She liked him to use a condom when they fucked, but he did not like to. With fine hypocrisy I told her this meant he was a turd. (Though then I laughed and added, ‘But I am being hypocritical, I did not use one with you either, did I?’). He told her the local condoms were too small; that was why she wanted my help to find larger ones.

So first of all we went to the medical center in the Portman; no luck there. Then a conversation with a Durex rep by the condom rack in a Watson’s, also to no luck. Mona was a little shy about this so I did all the talking (and indeed as I did so the customers in the area skulked away, embarrassed). The rep told me this was a frequent problem with Western guys, and that as far as she knew nowhere in the city sold a bigger size. But, she said, foreign guys said such and such a line of Durex was the least bad fit; and so we bought a few packets of those.

Anyhow, back to Sweetie and her mouth. The condom being too small, it first of all threatened to come off, sitting as it was on my helmet like – well – a helmet -- so I had to pull it further down me, making it yet more tight, and thus constricting me, reducing feeling and making it rather tougher to come, meaning I had to pump her pretty hard and fast, which began to exacerbate her discomfort. But come I did, covered in sweat and roaring.

Yeah, it was a pretty good fuck, and she’s a good lover – though her oral technique could do with some improvement. Post-fuck rest, she asked me, ‘How many times do you think I came?’ I had little idea, it being hard to tell among all the various cries, some of pain, some of pleasure. But ever the vain male, I said ‘Three, four?’ It was two, she said - -‘but then some women never come at all’ she added. So two was ok.

As it was still relatively early in the evening, she wanted to go get a drink, so we did; and as we drank she chain-smoked and played with her PS2, or Gameboy, or whatever it was.

She’s a slightly unusual woman, nervous, jumpy, twitchy; smokes too much, is, I would guess, at heart rather insecure; and given we went back to my place after the bar and fucked some more, this could have spelled a future problem. Having fucked her a couple of times I was more or less done. And while she did at that time have a boyfriend, I was a little wary lest she wanted to make that night any more than the fling it was. Certainly, given that the boyfriend was, from what she said, the dull, dependable, decent type, barely an ounce of passion but reliable, sensible, and thoroughly Chinese, this was rather a risk.

But even so, the next day I idly flirted via sms message, sexy messages at that, in part to test how far I could go. It was unwise, and might have made her think the fling could be more permanent. But I did it anyway; I did it because I could.

She wanted to know more sex talk, so I told her some. At first she misunderstood ‘giving head.’ Does it mean ‘Sper on the head?’ she wondered. ‘I do not like that,’ she said.

I replied that no, it did not mean coming on her face, and that to do so was disrespectful to a woman; instead it meant the mouth on each other. Now coming on the face is of course a form of humiliation for the woman, a form a control, of belittling. Naturally it is also a turn on I would like to try. The fact she had an active enough mind to mistake my meaning that way was promising. There are some women I have been with who could barely even imagine such a thing. But she knew all about it, and even if she was not keen on it, it still showed she had a sexy mind.

All in all it was a fine, sexy fuck, with a sexy, willing woman. She had to work the day after, leaving my place around 8am, wearing, to her slight embarrassment, the same clothes she’d worn yesterday (‘My Japanese bosses will notice’ she said. I have a few horror stories to tell about the way some Japanese guys treat women).

I lent her a clean pair of my briefs and, later that day, found – to my pleasure – she’d left her panties behind. The scent on them was strong, since she was pretty highly aroused when I undressed her. I told her by SMS I wore them to bed the night after, to gauge her. She seemed to quite like it. Yeah, she had a sexy, dirty mind for sure.

Technorati Tags:
[Sex]
[Fucking]
[Condoms]
[Panties]

And so together Deedee and I looked for a cab. The last year or so it’s been hard to find a cab in the city and in general this causes curses in me. But tonight I was grateful for it, since it meant I could linger longer. The Bund was lined with ones and twos of people scanning back and forth for cabs, perking up at seeing a vacant light, only to see someone else get the cab, or a fresh passenger in it already and the flag not yet dropped. ‘We won’t get a cab here’ I said, and steered us off down a sidestreet, my arm round her waist. We walked for ten minutes before finding a cab, chatting easily enough but getting interrupted by messages from her supine maggot guy. When we did find a cab he switched from messages to calls, none of which she answered.

She was slightly tense now, for she had a good idea of what was coming. ‘Why are you tense?’ I said.

‘I’m not’ was her first reply.

‘You are, you’re nervous’ I said. ‘Don’t be’ and put my arm round her, pulled her to me. She lay against my side, but still uneasy. ‘What is it?’ I said. ‘Is it because you think I want to kiss you? But I do…you are so very beautiful.’ And so I leaned over to kiss her. She squirmed a little, said she did not want to kiss – but half-returned my kiss even as she spoke; her No was not a real No.

Now of course this is a dangerous way for a guy to begin to think, that No means Yes. And indeed it’s not usually that simple; No can mean Maybe, ‘Maybe, but I don’t want to appear easy,’ ‘Maybe, but my culture teaches me to be shy of sex.’

‘No means No’ is just too much of a simplification. It is more about tone, body language, implication. No in a certain style, certain tone most surely does mean No; but there are a dozen ways to say No, and a dozen shades of meaning.

Deedee’s No was the same as Tingting’s No, Tingting whose No took an hour to turn into Yes. And when it did, what a yes! She was (as I said below) a fine lover, and she may be back in my life (or my bed at least) for she sent me a warm email the other day to tell me she has now finished her PhD studies and is about to embark on the next stage of her life, a posting to a hospital in a nearby city. I hope to see her at least once before she goes, for I have fine memories of her body, her passion. Her smooth belly, lithe legs, those deep liquid eyes…

Deedee’s No was ‘No, not tonight… but maybe next time.’ And her half-response to that first kiss suggested to me that her No might have become a Yes had not this clod been persistently calling; there is no way to woo when you’re sharing the cab with a whacko. The simple expedient of switching her phone off was no option, for her parents, like so many in China, are wholly unable to see her as an adult. To them, she is still 12 years old and thus must be reachable at all times. A switched-off phone just causes panic in parents such as these.

For example, Arina’s mother; to me Arina is a strong, sexy, confident woman, bold and stylish. To her mother, she’s barely more than a schoolgirl. Arina’s family home is in the city of Nanjing, a couple of hours away from Shanghai.

Now Arina used to have this wimpy whingy boyfriend, who indeed I have met (shaken his hand, looked him in the eye and thought ‘I’m going to take her from you’). He studies in Australia, but, poor dear, cannot make a go of it there, and so from time to time comes back to China for some R&R. This he hides from his parents, and so when he comes he stays in a hotel in the city. On one trip back he and Arina spent 24 hours together and, since she did not want to be disturbed, she shut her phone off. When she turned it back on, she told me it notified her of 40 missed calls, all from her mother, and then beeped and buzzed nonstop as the 60 messages she’d sent arrived. Not only this; the mother had also called relatives in Shanghai and implored them to go to her campus and find out where she was. Nuts.

And so Deedee and I parted, her to her bed and me to mine. As I rode home I followed her with an sms message of my own. ‘Wow.. u r the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.. Hope to see you again soon.’ And then, a little later, ‘You are not toooo angry with me?..'

`一点生气' ('A little angry’)

Ohhh… 55555… Well.. maybe if u forgive me we can meet again..’ (The number 5 is pronounced `wu’ in Chinese, and thus is used in sms to express mock-misery)

`现在不生气‘ (‘Now I’m not angry’)

`So.. if I send you a goodnight kiss.. what will u say?’

不可以老师不可以这样 (‘Not good for a teacher, not this way’)

呵呵。。 你太厉害。。 我非常不高兴!’ (‘Oh, you’re too fierce, I’m so unhappy’)

你为什么不高兴的呀？ (‘Why are you unhappy?’)

`因为我很要吻你.. 你太漂亮!’ (‘Because I so wanted to kiss you… you’re so beautiful!’)

你一点也不像老师哪有老师说这话的呀？(‘You’re not like a teacher, would a teacher say this?’)

‘I cant’ help it.. you’re just tooo sexy..’

‘You’re kidding’

‘Kidding? Not at all..you are stunningly sexy..’

‘Only lovely not sexy’

‘You are lovely, it’s true.. but you really are one of the most sexy women I’ve met in Shanghai... You're breathtaking....

By this time this exchange was over, I’d been home awhile. It occurred to me she did not have my MSN address, so I gave her my private one, for lovers, would-be lovers and family, and a few moments later she added me.

Me: hi

Me: well... i had a really great evening with u.. u're cool and a lot of fun...

Deedee: really?

Me: really, yes, i do mean that... you are funny, confident, clever, and artistic!

Deedee: I never found that!

Me: well.. take it from me. it is true!

Deedee: haha

Me: really, i was fascinated to hear u liked jazz and blues

Deedee: why?

Deedee: you too??

Me: because most people have rubbish taste..

Deedee: what are you doing now?

Me: editing documents for students..

Me: and also... i'm thinking of the sexiest woman i've met in aaaages...

Deedee: you working so hard

Me: yes, lots to do!

Deedee: you have a lot of friends,studends........why me?

Me: why....

Me: i don't know

Me: all i know is that..

Me: the first moment u walked i my class...

Me: i could hardly take my eyes off u

Deedee: I cant find that

Me: i know

Me: i tried really hard to hide it

Me: but it is true

Me: and if i showed u what i wrote in my diary after that class, u would beleive me...

Deedee: I saw a lot of sexy lovely clever girl in your class.

Me: no. no one as fascinating as u

Deedee: In you other classes?

Me: no.. not for a looooong time. really!

Deedee: there are many lovely girls........

Me: u just blew me away, u really did...

Deedee: you kiding me555555555555

Me: the 2nd time u came u had that cute little black and white skirt, and black tights...

Deedee: that's funny

Me: oh, why?

Deedee: you write diary?

Me: i do

Me: and you are in it

Me: several times!

Deedee: can I see my parts?

Me: ha ha ha

Me: no!

Me: it's a secret

Me: but..

Deedee: 5555555555555555555

Me: well, let me look and see what i wrote, hang on...

Deedee: en

Me: you REALLY wanna see?

Deedee: yes

Me: ok

Me: I got to class to find her not there. I had expected this. But half an hour into the class she turned up.. the door opening slowly and her peeking her head round, knowing I would tease her on it. But I just smiled at her lighthearted entrance and let her go to her seat with little further comment. And then spent the rest of the class, up until the break, trying not to check her out too much.

Me: As I called the break I saw her pulling on a scarf. I knew she was going to make a run for it, and I knew she would wait until I left the room so she could escape without my comment.. if I had stayed in the room she might not have had the bottle to go.

Me: there's more but that's all i'm going to show u tongiht

Deedee: you are a fox

Me: ha ha, so now u think i am even more of a bad guy, huh?

Deedee: en

Me: :$

Deedee: :@

Deedee: angry

Me: ohhhh... why?

Deedee: you hve got the polt

Me: polt ? i do not understand...

Deedee: Iintrigue

Me: ah, i see...

Me: r u *really* angry with me?

Deedee: I dont known up to now

Deedee: yes

Me: why r u angry?

Deedee: you let me scared (I’d not expected this; but maybe I should have known better)

Me: oh.. gosh..i did not mean to do that!

Me: in fact i was jsut teasing u (so I tried to lie my way out of it)

Me: i only wrote that before i said i'd send it to u tonight!

Deedee: I'm sorry

Me: 不里我！

Me: u r sorry?

Me: why?

Deedee: I am sad to heat that??

Me: i really did not want to scare u

Me: but u know u i really did notice u strongly in class

Deedee: 555555555555555555555555555555

Me: so i hope u will forgive me

Deedee: It's really

Deedee: a kidding?

Me: well...

Me: ok, i do really remember all that happening

Me: but i just wrote if for u tongiht to tease u a little

Me: u recall i told u the same thing over dinner!

Deedee: Thank you for everything you did for me

Deedee: everything you said i'll believe (and I hope she bought it )

Me: oh..

Me: that sounds like u'r saying `i'll never see you again'

Deedee: many thanks....I like the time with you

Deedee: It's the truth

Me: but...

Me: will u agree to see me again?

Deedee: you want to see me again?

Me: oh i do, yes

Me: yes yes yes!

Me: but...

Me: will u agree?

Deedee: en

Me: that makes me happy! u r great company

Me: next time i wanna take u to the great art gallery i told u about. you'll like it a lot

Deedee: yeah

Deedee: It's too late

Deedee: I want to go to bed

Deedee: today I'm so tired

Me: sleep well

Deedee: 88

Me: i had fun tongiht!

Me: 88

And she was indeed not too angry with me, for we have met several times since. I took her to the art colony I spoke of, a wonderful collection of independent artists and galleries, meeting and chatting to various of the artists I know there; and I took her to the Armani fashion retrospective at the Art Museum; and, next week, will meet her again for dinner.

And herein lies a problem... Having seen her several times, I have begun to see beyond my own primarily sexual reaction to her, and have begun to value her for herself as well. I want to spend time with her just to enjoy her idiosyncratic, refreshing, intelligent company.

But will this deeper attraction last beyond taking her to bed?

As time shall try…

Technorati Tags:
[Sex]
[China]
[Shanghai women]
[Asian women]
[Rejection]