I Do Not Have Yellow Fever – Part II

Now to my main point: I do not have yellow fever. Many of you probably think that I am obsessed with Asian women and culture, but it’s just not true. Sure, I’m attracted to my dentist, and by attracted I mean I love her deeply and forever and would gladly kill or die according to her whim (although I prefer the former) and I have entertained thoughts of trying to impress her with a musical suicide run, but her Asian heritage is only a small part of the appeal. She speaks as though she was born and raised in the U.S. and I like the way she is polite yet direct, intelligent with a good vocabulary, caring, and does not treat me like a nuisance or inferior. The fact that she’s also the most stunningly gorgeous woman I’ve ever met doesn’t hurt either.

I’ll admit I do find Asian women more attractive than others; that is, while designing my perfect woman (and who hasn’t thought of their perfect mate) I would choose to make her Asian just because I think the gold-kissed skin, almond-shaped eyes shining like wet coal, shimmering straight black hair, and lean, elegant figures comprise the most attractive compilation, kind of like how most men default to blonde hair and big boobs. For some reason you can claim to like nymphomaniacal big tittied platinum blondes and it’s considered a healthy preference; say you find Asian women more attractive and it’s called a fetish. I could see that if I ascribed a certain mystique to them, but I don’t. Just because a woman is Asian, I don’t automatically assume she’s courteous to the point of being obsequious and deferential, or suicidally hard working, or desperate to get married and squeeze out babies, or that she has some instinctive Oriental secret orgasmic super powers she can whip out in the bedroom. I just like the look.

The funny thing is, in my horny high school days I thought Asians were the least attractive of all the girls. I liked dark hair and pale skin (and later redheads) the best, and I also thought black and brown girls looked just fine (depending on the individual), but yellow skin was a complete turnoff because it looked like dirty white skin. Whenever somebody would get hold of a picture of an Asian hottie modeling a bikini or lingerie, I would look at it and immediately think “She needs a bath.” Fortunately this didn’t keep me from swimming in pools of underaged nookie; my personality took care of that. Besides, in a high school of around 2,000 people, we only had one student of Asian descent – a girl a couple of years behind me who wasn’t anywhere near pretty, the poor thing. People complain about being a woman or minority in a white man’s world. I often wondered how she felt, being the only one of her race at our school (and unattractive to boot), but I guess I’ll never truly know. I did feel bad for her – lanky, gangly, wearing glasses that weighed more than her head, and subjected to comments not quite out of earshot from students I wouldn’t have guessed were normally racist or even mean-spirited.

But to hell with her. Back to me – I do not have yellow fever. Yes, I find my nihongo no sensei to be extremely kawaii, but last week I managed to work with her for an hour during my private lesson and not once did I mentally undress her and think about the two of us having sex on the classroom table. It was more like ten times, but that’s still way lower than my normal average with any attractive woman. Despite the mini hottie in the room with me, who was actually making eye contact and asking me personal questions (“Are you Japanese? Is that your car?”), I managed to focus on the lesson.

Class update – this week I’m bringing a tape recorder to get a sampling of the way she pronounces a few words so I’ll have it as a future reference for when I’m practicing at home. After I got her permission to do so via e-mail, a dirty (read: guy) trick occurred to me: I should slip in a few naughty things for her to say in addition to the bits of polite conversation. “Hajimemashite. Douzo yorishiku. Penetrate me, you big gaijin stud-muffin. Doumo arigato.” I wonder if she’ll notice and, if she does, object? If I slowly slip these little gems into the conversation, maybe she won’t notice as I steer our language lessons to something a little more kinky over the following weeks. With enough subtlety she won’t even notice when I begin taking nekkid pictures of her (I’m shooting for week nine – wish me luck). But do not tell me I have yellow fever.

I’ll admit to a certain fascination with Japanese horror movies, but it’s not just due to the Japanese cuties who tend to get naked and sexed-up before being carved into hunks of quivering sushi. J-horror not only blurs the lines between horror and porn, the violence is keenly over the top. Just watch Ichi the Killer, Battle Royale, and Suicide Club before viewing Kill Bill. They’ll make you want to find Tarantino and scream “Pussy! Is that all you’ve got?” in his face. Besides, Japanese schoolgirls (the preferred J-horror victim) have a cuteness factor that makes them more ironically ideal than any other. They walk onscreen in their identical outfits, chatter in their high, chirpy voices, the director inserts a vestige of a plot in order to connect the scenes of wanton carnage, and then most of them die leaving behind adorable little corpses. But don’t say I have yellow fever just because I appreciate serious art.

As for the serial killings, I prefer to hunt outside of my ethnic group because, according to the “rules” of the FBI profilers…okay, my lawyer has informed me it would be best not to complete that sentence. Let’s just say that I love to screw with their profiles by ignoring the established rules of victimology. So, okay, maybe the random killing sprees are suddenly looking a tad less random, but if it keeps the cops away from my front door (and, more importantly, basement) it’s aces in my book. Besides, when you’re planning spaces for cages and shallow graves, Asian schoolgirls don’t require nearly the amount…okay, my lawyer is once again informing me to move on. He’s such a stick in the mud. Fortunately, the world will never miss him. :)

That’s all for now. I have to study my Japanese lesson for class tonight. After class, I’ll go home and relax with one of the many J-horror and / or anime discs I have from NetFlix, then go to bed early (and hopefully not be awakened by non Asian women wanting my beer) so I can arise in time for tomorrow’s lesson. But I do not have yerrow – I meant, yellow – fever.

Sayonara, y’all.