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Ahhhhh....spring!
Wind whistling through the grass, lush meadows, animals frolicking about, birds chirping...the best season of the year.
Or, that's what everyone tells me spring is like.
Born and raised in an urban landscape, the only whistling I hear are catcalling Latino men, the only meadow I've seen is the Meadowlands, the only animals I've interacted with have come with a box of fries and a medium Coke and the only bird I've seen are the greetings we flip to tourists.
But the essence of spring writers have sought to transcribe remains the same, whether I'm frolicking in some far flung meadow or swaggering through a city...I'm fucking horny as hell.
Except writers write about spring with adulating audiences in the millions...I'm writing about spring to 12 public subscribers, 9 private subscribers and not a single one of them is actually cheering for me. Not because of some personal ill will, but because if I actually become successful and manage to bag an ace, my writing will deteriorate into the monotony of relationship writing.
Today me and my girlfriend went to the movies! We watched (enter random chick-flick here)! It was funny! But it was 
In The Center of Times Sqaure...
is an army recruiting center. How poignantalso romantic, and reminded us of the love we had for each other. We later went to a restaurant. I paid for the bill! We kissed!
But fear not, other than my irrational fear of forests—which will keep me from ever mentioning birds chirping in another entry—I'm legitimately scared my writing will turn out like the previous paragraph and I’ve taken some precautions, like having my homophobic black friends proofread my entries (problem is, they can’t read). And if my writing actually does morph that much after starting a relationship, the root of the problem still remains...I'm not getting a girlfriend anytime soon...
Especially when I had just missed another golden opportunity and I was on a 10-hour Greyhound bus ride to New York City. I repeatedly slapped myself in the head for my inaction, while social constraints forbade me from the slapping the proverbial monkey I really needed to slap with the forthcoming of spring and my lack of a girlfriend.
There was nothing awaiting me in New York City and a long, boring week seemed like just punishment for my yellow-bellied self.
Boy was I wrong.
Like advertised, my stay in New York
NYC Skyline from the Ferry
Leaving Manhattan for the scary new world of Staten Island City started off special ed slow.
None of my friends were around because Canadian spring break was offset a week before American spring break. My brother, who makes trips to New York City bearable, wasn’t around for this same reason. My sister was at her high school everyday. My father was off cavorting in Colorado. My mother was working all day. To top it all off, I had to study for an exam I had the day I returned…
So when one of my random Asian friends from McGill told me she was visiting NYC and asked me to show her around, I jumped on the idea. I didn’t care that she was boring, or that she already had a boyfriend, or that showing my city to a tourist is fucking boring…I just needed to break up the drudgery of weekday American cable TV and Youtube.
I met Ms. Cow at a subway stop, took her around various touristy places and then we ended the night at some bar in the white neighborhood of 77th street. Despite it being in the Upper East Side, the prices were reasonable and the place was really redneck (there was a
beer pong tournament in full swing…on a Monday night).
I easily got bombed after a long day of trekking the concrete jungle. I guess she had similar effects as we started gamboling down paths not usually taken up by Asians. We started talking about her sex life.
This is weird for many reasons. First, female Asians never talk about their sex lives, and if they do, they are either Japanese or hookers (or most likely, both). Ms. Cow is Taiwanese. Second, Ms. Cow is in a relationship—girls in relationships never talk about their sex life unless it sucks…and Asians aren’t allowed to complain about anything except prices and grades. Third, I’m not really close to Ms. Cow and what made shit even more awkward was that I know her boyfriend pretty well.
But I guess alcohol is a pretty solid social lubricant so the conversation flowed without the awkwardness usually prevalent in dialogues of this topic. Apparently, her boyfriend “just fulfills” her in the sack…but he isn’t amazing (or even good).
She idly stirred her pink alcoholic concoction and sighed. Yes, they’ve been going out for awhile, and they’re both incredibly horny twenty year olds…but they
only have sex about once a week.
“Well,” I rushed in, “is he better than other guys you’ve had sex with?”
She paused and then glanced up. “I don’t know…he’s the only guy I’ve had sex with…”
She returned to stirring with her straw.
“Oh…” I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I bought some time by taking a gulp of my beer.
I turned my attention back to her. “Well…um…” She broke the filler by chugging the rest of her drink, then rushing out.
“Well, you’re good at sex, right?”
Alarm bells were ringing, but they were muted by the three Coors Lights in my tired system.
“Well…I guess…”
A long silence developed, her staring at me, and me staring back.
“…well my ex-girlfriends never complained about the sex, I guess…I mean, I have decent endurance, I make sure they get off before I do, I do foreplay…”
She rushed back in. “What kind of foreplay?”
“Well…I guess you start with kissing…”
“Yea…he does that…”
“How though?”
“Well, he starts off with tiny kisses, then they get deeper and deeper…”
“Well, that’s
KVP and Yu
Trying to assimilate with NYC culture good…but how does he transition from kissing?”
“Transition? He just stops and then I take off my shirt…”
“No, no…what he should do is move his kissing, and his tongue, from your mouth…maybe to your ear, if you’re into that…or down your jaw…and start down your neck…”
“Mmm…” Her fingers traced the path form her ear down her jawline to her neck….
“And if he takes off your shirt, make sure his mouth is always in contact with your skin…and remember, you should be doing the same to him…”
“Ok…”
“Is he good at taking care of your breasts?”
She glanced down. “Yea…he’s good there…he touches them, uses his mouth…”
“How about transitioning from your breasts to down there?”
She glanced further down. “What do you mean?”
“Well…does he eat you out?”
“What’s ‘eating out?’”
“Well, um…when the guy uses his mouth on the girl’s pussy…kind of like an opposite blowjob…”
“Oh…he’s never done that…wait, how is that possible?”
“Well…” I gently cradled her pudgy hand in mine and pointed her index and middle fingers out. “This is you and…” I swirled my index finger over
KVP and Yu
Trying harder. Failing harder her outstretched fingers “This is his tongue…”
“Usually you start here…and then you move to here…with this kind of a motion…you can then switch to this…or move it like this…”
Each description was accompanied with my index fingers caressing over hers.
I was so intent that I only looked up when the music stopped and broke up the ambience.
I glanced up…she had her eyes closed, slumped back in her chair, legs splayed beneath the table with a hand out of view…
Not that I was doing any better…my legs were also splayed underneath the table…and my other hand had unconsciously been…
She opened her eyes as I had stopped, our eyes met in surprise, amazement, wonder, but foremost, embarrassment, and we quickly averted eye contact, placed both hands on the table, sat up in our chairs and took sips of our empty drinks while panting slightly.
We talked about school and grades the rest of the night while avoiding each other’s eyes.
I briskly walked her back and shuddered as I staggered back home. Not from the cold, but at what could’ve been. Not only was I chasing DL (just two
days ago, I had almost kissed DL!), but fucking Ms. Cow would’ve been the most ridiculous thing I could’ve done. Ms. Cow would’ve exploded after giving up her first triple, Ms. Cow’s boyfriend would’ve exploded into a fight with me after finding out and the Asian rumor mill would’ve exploded quicker than an Arab’s coat in a crowded Israeli bus after the story started circulating.
Even though DL was off partying her face off and fucking around with hot Latino men down in Puerto Rico, I needed to stay on track. You almost had it…as soon as you get back to Montreal, you’re going to sweep her off her feet. You just need to not fuck around down here in NYC…stop looking at other girls.
Thankfully, there weren’t really any girls to look at because she left the next day and I was back to the drudgery of finding ways to amuse myself in the best city in the world…which isn’t so interesting when you’ve lived here for 18 years and you have no money to spend.
My dad came back from Colorado, but that only led to awkward questions about my sex life that I pretended
Random Toys R Us
Asians glance at the toys their cousins make in sweatshops to be too shy to answer in order to hide the fact I haven’t gotten laid this semester. It was then another a Montreal girl saved me from drudgery and interrogation, KVP.
I’ve detailed quite a bit the relationship I’ve had with KVP…a girl I had liked a lot the year before, until I realized it was impossible to date her because she loved Teddy, now pretty close friends with the knowledge I had to keep it platonic.
She was traveling around NYC with a crew of Yu (remember that girl from Calgary who fucked me up a few times with Chiaki?), another J-Girl and some Indian guy and naturally they asked me to show them around. I met them at their hotel, showed them the finer points of local NYC and distanced myself from them when they stood around taking pictures of meaningless things. Just in case you find yourself in a random neighborhood in New York City, NEVER stand and take pictures. If you must take a picture, pause for a second, take the picture and keep walking…if you don’t, you’ll fuck up the flow of pedestrian traffic and the nice New Yorkers will yell at
On The Ferry
Before the Statue of Liberty... you…the normal ones will push you off the curb. And flashing a digital camera in a major American city known for high crime rates during an economic recession is about as smart as playing quarters at Alpha Epsilon Pi and expecting your quarter back at the end.
We ended up near my current neighborhood, and when I told them this, they all got really excited and asked to see my apartment. I was a little iffy—my parents, my father especially—can make shit awkward for friends of mine. But I relented because J-Girls have an annoying tendency to whine in really high pitched voices that feels like your eardrums are tearing like the Virgin Mary’s hymen as she gave birth to Jesus.
I walked them to my apartment, unlocked the door and opened it to my father on second base with my mom. I quickly shut the door.
“Alright! Who wants to go see the Statue of Liberty?”
Despite growing up in Manhattan, I have never seen the Statue of Liberty. Not so strange when it requires leaving Manhattan (or the center of the universe) for Staten Island (which is quite far from attaining center of anything) on a long ass, cold and unenjoyable ferry ride. To make matters worse, ever since two 737’s permanently altered the skyline, you can’t even step foot on the island, and you have to view it from a distance. Plus, who actually goes sees the sights of their own city? I bet Parisians never take pictures from the Eiffel Tower, Sydneyites don’t pose in front of the opera house and Hanoians don’t chill near an Agent Orange barrel.
And even though I’ve never been to the Statue of Liberty, I wasn’t too excited. Most “sights” are pretty unimpressive (Mt. Fuji looks like any other mountain, the Hollywood sign is just block letters on a hill and Oklahoma City’s Federal Building looks like any other pile of rubble) and the Statue of Liberty holds no symbolic significance for me—I can think of better presents from the French (fries, wine and pretentious white people) and my parents flew first class into this city in the 80’s. So the “freedom” they saw when entering were the ghettos around JFK from an airplane porthole rather than the mystique of Lady Liberty from the railing of a creaky Irish tub in the 1880’s. I guess there were some commonalities though. Both the Micks and my parents had customs agents who couldn’t pronounce the family name, but instead of handing out a “Smith” or a “Taylor” they just tossed them a “Chink” (“We’re not Chinese, we’re Japanese!” “Shut up, chink.”).
But I guess everyone who goes to New York has to see the Statue of Liberty (and Times Square, and the Empire State Building, and Central Park, and one of the museums, and Fifth Ave, and the WTC Memorial while pointedly ignoring the 4 other boroughs) so I took them along. We took the subway down, then got on the ferry. In a related note, this was only about the 5th time I’ve rode a boat. I don’t get seasick, nor am I scared of boats…but I find them practically useless. Usually you can fly for cheaper and faster, and if not, just build a fucking bridge. But there is no bridge to Staten Island…because politicians actually got one thing right and realized quarantining the rabid, retarded, suburban Staten Islanders from the rest of New York City was a good idea.
I was bored out of my mind on the boat…it would take a good 20-30 minutes, during which we would pass the Statue for 3 of the minutes…and that would be the highlight of the whole fucking thing because we would be landing in Staten Island. And to get back to civilization (Manhattan) we would have to take another dull 20-30 minute ferry ride.
Fuck.
I schlepped over to a bench and slumped down as the others bounced around the railing chattering about how exciting it was to be on an aquatic machine that was going 10mph
towards fucking Staten Island. I guess the intense excitement wore off after a while as KVP joined me on the bench. We sat in perfect silence as we watched Yu tell an animated story about something nonsensical to the rest of the group (“…And then, I was like pretty!” ). We didn't even bother commenting on how stupid it was as we were both fucking tired from a long day of walking.
Yu’s story suddenly stopped and all other conversation ceased as the Statue of Liberty loomed before us. Wow. It was actually pretty impressive…and slightly romantic…
I gaped at the sight (“I guess this is worth going to Staten Island”) and…a little overpowered. Jesus.
I turned to KVP and in her eyes I could see she was in the same state of shock I was. Wow.
The initial excitement quickly abated but our eyes were still locked.
Without even a questioning look, or a sly grin, or a nervous smile, or even a minuscule hint of what was to come, we both closed our eyes and leaned into each other…
“GEN!”
My eyes flew open and my head screeched to a halt right in front of KVP’s also wide-eyed face. I slowly turned my head towards the source.
It was Yu. Unaware of the situation as usual. “Can you take a picture!?”
“Oh, yea…yea, sure.”
I got up, took the outstretched camera, took the picture and leaned over the railing.
KVP followed me to the railing and hugged me from behind, nestling her face next to mine. As we both followed the receding shape of the Statue of Liberty, I mentally jabbed myself, “You’re going after DL. You’re going after DL. You’re going after DL,” while struggling with the question foremost in my mind,
“What the fuck is going on?”
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