hot fashion editors

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 China 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.

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:-

· Miner. Current death toll in China’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.

· 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 China’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 China 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 China’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 China. But so what? As long as someone makes money, what if 50 million die as the disease spreads unchecked by fake medicine?

· Farmer. 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 village of Dongzhou, 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 China’s prowess in such fuckery, who do you believe?

· 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 China 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 Shanghai don’t provide education for them, but when the parents set up their own school for the kids, what happens? Shanghai 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.

· Woman. You get some of the finest fucking China 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 China) 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.

· ‘Ethnic Minority’ – or, as we might also call you, a colonized captive, a slave in your own country, a victim. You’re from Tibet? 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.

· 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 Beijing were true? That whispered seduction of ‘In 2006 we’re going to reduce energy consumption per unit of GDP by 4%?’ 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^th out of 118 developing countries in terms of environmental care.

· 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.

· 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. China, say thank-you to Japan, say thank-you to Unit 731. They taught you a good lesson, huh? What an eager pupil you prove to be!

· Countryside resident. China has 900 million people in its countryside. Ninety percent of them lack adequate pensions and healthcare. Get this: a survey across China’s provinces found that nearly 70% of elderly people had just one set of clothes. Countrywide, also, only 25% of China’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 Shanghai that doesn’t even work properly and billions upon billions for the army. Yes, China is so enamored of fucking its people that it would rather buy more guns and bombs than a change of clothes for its elderly.

· A journalist – But of course! The greatest enemy in China is the truth, so you guys are in for a particularly good fucking. Still, you’ll have plenty of company – China’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.

· A doctor with a conscience. Consider Doctor Gao Yijie. Under surveillance. Under house arrest. Monitored. Watched. Harassed. Why? Because she showed concern for China’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? Henan Province’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 when it was found they had Hepatitis B?

· A blogger. Want to write something anonymously? 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. 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 China. 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 Renmin University – 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 China’s most powerful men, on the nature of truth). The site is now blocked in China, 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.

· 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 China? 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.

· 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 China have ever donated to charity. Eighty percent of the China Charity Foundation’s revenues come from overseas, and just 20% from China. China, where the lucky few who own 80% of the country’s wealth contribute less than 15% of all monies donated to charity. China, whose charities get 0.05% of GDP. Even mean old Britain is better at 0.88% and the USA a shining example at 2.17%. Let’s put that another way. Per capita income in the US is 40 times higher than China – but donations to charity are 1000 times higher. Best not to be poor in China.

….think that is the end of the fucking? It is scarcely the beginning.

I’m not going to bore you with opinions about China this week. I’m going to shock you.

Question: Do Chinese women ever want to be treated like hookers? The old Western idea of being a mother to the children, a fabulous housekeeper and cook, and a hooker in the bedroom – is that true for Chinese women?

It not being wholly true that I am an English teacher, business has taken me out of China to another Asian nation. Naturally I will not mention which one, though those who know it will no doubt recognize the venue.

Now of course I cannot go into the touristy shtick, and besides there are a thousand other blogs giving that side of the country, its temples and markets, its past and present. And so I will move straight to the matter -- which is that, in the lobby of the hotel where I’m staying, a few days back, I see a woman walk through, dressed in a straight black business suit, walking with power in her stride.

Oh, yes, the business suit, formal wear; an obvious fantasy, but potent for all that. After all, what man in his right mind would not want to fuck every single one of the black booted, red mini-skirted, red-jacketed women’s brigades that goose-stepped their way through China’s celebrations last national day? Ah, uniforms, clothes as badges, yes, there’s sexy. But in addition to the default sexiness of her clothes, what I also see is how she herself also exudes sex, magnetism, potential – to me.

I knew there was a small Chinese trade delegation staying at the hotel, selling some Chinese tech product, and I assumed she was part of it, even as she turned – hell, whipped, snapped -- my head. I had to follow her. In a city full of sexy women of another culture it was the Chinese woman who brought me to stiff attention.

She turns, makes eye contact, and so I immediately speak Chinese to her. This is a shock – a Western person in a foreign country speaking Chinese! ‘Where are you from?’ I ask.

‘Shanghai’ she says, and so, using my meager stock of Shanghainese I fire question after question at her. With the courage of a man on the make – something that most Chinese men would not have – I ask all I want to know. Are you alone? Are you married? Are you here with a boyfriend?

She was astounded, shocked. But was she caught?

My questions came too fast for her to evade or avoid them, and so I got all the answers I wanted including, to my final question – ‘Do you speak English?’ -- a ‘Yes.’

‘I want to have dinner with you’ I tell her. Her eyes widen.

‘I can’t. I’m busy tonight.’

‘Ok, then lunch.’

‘No time...’

But then it’s my turn to be astonished. ‘I have an hour at about 3 o’clock. Coffee? Meet me in the lobby?’

‘Sure,’ I reply, marveling at the confidence she shows.

And then she turns and continues to her meeting.

Three p.m., I’m waiting, having found a secluded table. She comes in a little later, pissed at her colleagues – ‘These guys are so in love with the sound of their own voices’ – and a little nervous too, I can see by her slightly too-quick gestures, the heightened tone to her voice.

So we settle down to get to know each other. Having snared her so far, there’s now no need to rush, and so I begin with the usual chit chat questions, stalking her through her replies, her body language. She’s a middle manager in some thrusting tech firm in Shanghai, a computer science graduate of such and such a university. Her official duties wrap up today, she says, which is why she is so busy. The rest of the group is heading back to China, and she’s arranged to stay on a few more days to tour the city and shop. How unusually independent!

But she’s a woman of surprises, and it’s she who brings sex to the conversation first. Well, truly, the whole conversation is nothing but sex, this entire meeting is about sex. But she’s the one who makes the implicit explicit.

She tells me she’s about to quit the firm.

Why?

Because, she says, she cannot get ahead. She tells me most of the staff there are guys and this makes it impossible for her. If she gets promoted over the men in her team, then the whole office will be alive with gossip that she fucked her way there. Not that she uses the work ‘fucked’ of course, but rather, ‘My boss just cannot promote me since he knows if he does everyone will assume I slept with him.’

Of course that’s what I want her to do with me, but naturally I do not say it, instead making the requisite remarks about what scumbags Chinese businessmen can be.

Busy woman that she is, she only has half an hour or so, and so as our time ticks out I take the gamble. ‘So you’ll be here on your own tomorrow?’

‘Yes, I told you.’

‘Then I want you to spend the day with me.’

A moment of hesitation clouds across her expression, so I press on. ‘I think you want to. Say yes.’

And she says yes.

But I am not done yet. This woman intrigues me, I see hidden fires in her that I flatter myself I can bring to the surface. I want to explore her, and I want her to explore her. And so I double down, increasing my bet.

Leaning close, I whisper into her ear, ‘But I have a condition… when you come tomorrow, don’t wear a bra.’

She’s shocked by this. ‘Wha – what?’

‘You heard me. No bra. I want to be able to touch you.’

And right then her phone buzzes with a text message, her boss wanting her back; and so she must go, the question unanswered, still reverberating through her mind in raw shock.

But I know this is a make or break bet. If she obeys me, comes the next day braless, then we will be lovers. If she does not, we won’t. That night I lie in bed, thinking it over, playing out strategies, scenarios, seductions. Calculating the odds.

And the next day?

We meet where we have agreed, and I can tell by the mixed shame and excitement on her face that she has done what I asked. I slide my hand high around her back feeling for the lack of bra and, satisfied, kiss her on the cheek, whispering in her ear, ‘Beautiful. Thank

you.’

And so we do the regular thing, the temple, the market, the tiger park, all that.

I know this is not what you want to read. You want the end of the day, not its beginning, its middle, none of its touches and pauses, testings and probings.

But it turns out I have unleashed something I did not expect for, towards the end of this day, things take a turn I had not foreseen. As, over dinner, I tell her she is coming home with me, she says –

‘Yes – I know – I am – but – but-’

‘What?’

‘I want you to pretend I am a prostitute. I want to be a prostitute for you, like the other girls in the city.’

Now this is new. Really new. Shockingly new. My acquaintance with the good women of China is rather extensive, but I have not come across anything like this. It is my turn to be stunned now. For a moment, I am speechless – and indeed so taken aback am I that I lapse into a rare moment of honesty.

She explains more. ‘This city is full of hookers – it’s Asia’s sex capital’ (she’s right there) ‘yet with all these sexy women available, you chose me… but I want to know what it is like to be one of them, I want you to treat me like that…’

‘But I do not know quite how… I have never been with a hooker before…’

That’s all I say before I say to myself, What the fuck are you saying?, and so I finish up, ‘…but, sure, yes, if that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.’

And so we go up to my room, riding the elevator with both tension and expectation in the air as I decide how to play out her fantasy. How would it be if she was a hooker, I wonder – what would I do?

Yet after all, the equation is simple. A hooker is but a toy, a plaything, a servant; she does what the guy wants and pretends to like it. And he, I guess, cares only for his pleasure and none for hers. So this is the attitude I take, using her solely for my desires, first kissing her, exploring her body with my hands, her breasts naked beneath her top, kissing her with more passion and urgency and then undressing her, slipping her jacket from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, slipping her top up over her head… push her to the bed and kiss her here, there, lower to her skirt, unslip the clasp, toss it aside, to see – ah, rare woman! – sexy panties, a perfect choice, creamy-white lace and satin combined, stimulating, maddening, fragrant. Momentarily I wonder if I should rip them off her before deciding that is a scene too obviously from a porn flick (and reckoning besides that slight as they are they will not rip so easily) and so I just take them off the normal way.

‘Talk to me, talk dirty, tell me what I am, what you want to do to me’ she gasps as I go down on her, and so I do. Talk all out of a bad blue novel, a third-rate stroke-story, sure, sexy this and fucking that and oh yeah babe, but it works its purpose, each illicit word from my mouth notching her higher. Her reaction turns me on even more, and as my desire grows deeper I let myself get wrapped in the fantasy, treating her like so much bought goods, entering her with a sudden thrust that makes her yelp, pushing deep inside, grabbing her legs and lifting them higher, deepening my angle of attack; and then flip her over, come from the side, and behind, tell her to come on top, to get on all fours, to suck me, fuck me, harder, faster, quicker, deeper, louder, messier, telling her to talk dirty, telling her to say how it feels, to say how much she likes fucking, that she is my whore; and each forbidden word out of her mouth, each feeling and desire that would not be permitted back home drives her to heights upon heights, until riding me, my finger on her, myself inside her, she comes, comes, comes; and now lost in it myself, the closing scenes of a hundred porn flicks in my mind, I let my own orgasm rise. She’s still in the throes of hers, and I grab ahold of her, as she rides on top of me, roll her down towards the bed, still inside her (not such an easy technique, but one that with enough women to practice on is not so hard to learn), and, after few fast thrusts withdraw from her and, she all this while still gasping through her climax, I come on her breasts, her face.

‘Oh yes, yes, yes yes yes, do it on me, do it’ she cries, captive in the fantasy driving her, half disbelieving it is really happening, both outraged and excited. It is intense for me too, since I have never treated a woman in this way before (save in my mind) and I gasp and roar, until I am done, whereupon I collapse on the bed beside her, my mind a perfect, contented blank, sunk in what has just happened…

As she is too; and so we lie there dazed, dazzled a few minutes, slowly slipping back to normality. The first thing she says is, of course, ‘Tissue… tissue..’ and so I toss her a handful from the bedside table. Having wiped her face, body clean she says, ‘That was.. that was…’ but has no words for it; and, I feel, as the fantasy cools and shrinks, she starts to see it a little differently, to feel some regret for what she let herself become, for the inner self she showed.

And so she decides to go – showers, on her own, dresses, on her own, and makes to leave.

But the surprises are not over yet.

‘I have a question,’ she says. ‘How much would you pay me if I was a prostitute?’

‘Nothing’ I say.

Boom, just like that, anger, fury, the spoiled Shanghai princess protesting…

‘What? You would not pay me anything?

I say, ‘I told you, I don’t use prostitutes.’

‘But if… if..’ she cries, starting to vent the anger rising in her.

‘Still nothing’ I say.

‘Fuck you’ she says.

‘I did’ I reply.

A silence prickles around us.

I can see she’s deciding what to do – hit me? Yell at me some more? Turn away and stamp out?

Finally she says, ‘You foreigners always wish to take advantage of Chinese people, in China or abroad.’

She might as well have hit me. In an instant I am back in China apologizing for all the wrongs China has suffered, imperialists, invasions, massacres, burnings and lootings, hell, even the value of the yuan.

She glares at me one more time. Whirls away.

And she’s gone.

Shanghai women.

Love them or hate them.

Fantastic.