2000 started the new millennium. My plans for the future were short-term, so I had a good feeling for the next decade. MTV threw a New Year’s Eve bash in Times Square. Most certainly drugs and drink were involved in the evening’s festivities, yet no sex since I had forsworn coupling with white women in the previous century and could count the number of Caucasian females with whom I had mated during that period on less than two hands.
My first trip to the Orient infected my libido with race-traitorism desire.
Blondes disgusted me. Redheads were revolting. Freckles were an abomination.
White women were equally offended upon hearing about my circumnavigations of the globe and their eyes spat accusations of ‘child molester’ and ‘whore-monger’ any time I mentioned the word ‘Pattaya’.
The first was to expected by such ethnocentric harridans and the latter was right on the mark.
I had paid for sex and more than once with different women.
Foreplay have been a discussion of price.
Our romances lasted an hour in a cheap room on Soi 6. Divorce was never an issue fro discussion. We parted friends and I was a sexy man forever unlike in America where ever-aging women sought richer and richer men to fulfill their dream of a Park Avenue apartment and a ‘cottage’ in the Hamptons. This greed corrupted their beauty as completely as leprosy and they ceased to appeal to my lust.
I thought I was broken, until I hit LA in 2002. My cousin Sheree and I went out with my old girlfriend, Nancy. She was working as a reader for a talent agency. Her tastes ran to bisexual masochism and I exploited her weakness with the delicacy of a East St. Louis pimp.
In the morning she sulked at the breakfast table.
“You fucked me like a Thai whore.”
“So you faked your orgasm?”
“No.”
“Then it must have been as good for me as it was for you.”
I complimented my bad behavior by dropping $50 on the table and walking out of her Hollywood bungalow, expecting a knife in my back, but Nancy wasn’t a Thai whore and I was glad that white women in America had had their sexuality ripped from this body and soul.
They are no longer a temptation.
And my wives couldn’t be happier about that.
Me?
I am a little sad, but only because my next flight to Thailand is a month off.
I could use a cheap fuck in a cheaper hotel, but like I said I’m a race traitor and my heart like my cock is true.