Beware the White Devil

"Hello, son," Cathy said. "Study hard, yes?"

"Yes, Mom, thank you." I turned to Mike and bowed my head, his BO thick and heavy. "Hello, sir," I said with a still expression.

"Hello, son." He paused from looking over a file and stared directly at me. Though I'd grown accustomed to his presence, staring into his eyes still made me intensely nervous. He nodded and I turned to Cathy. She told me what was for dinner and what time it would be ready. I thanked her again, turned to leave, and froze when Mike said, "Hold on, son."

I walked up to Mike. He dug into his boxer's pockets and took out four $50 dollar bills. He then put his mammoth hand around my slim forearm and, with the greatest of ease, pulled me forward. He pried my hand open with his sausage-sized forefinger and put the bills in my sweaty palm.

"School expenses," he said as he patted my back, the force of the blow nearly making me topple forward.

The 'traditional' thing to do would be to refuse and say, 'no, no, it's too much,' but to question a powerful white man? To say, 'no, you made a mistake' would be highly disrespectful. Instead, I bowed my head.

"Thank you very much, sir."

"No problem, son." He gave me a small almost imperceptible smile, then went back to his paper work. "Whatever you need, come to me."

Cathy turned around, and with that big flushed happy smile, said, "It's so good to have a man in the house."

Of course, the true expression would include the adjective:white.

*

It goes without saying Mike made Cathy happy in other ways too. 'You're glowing,' every one of Cathy's friends said, and it was more than just an expression; Cathy was positively radiant. Her smile was ever-present, her steps turned into skips, and her attire began to show off her figure, switching from baggy jeans and dress shirts to tight form-fitting slacks and sleeveless slim shirts, her clothing representing her comfortable, confident, happy outlook.

Together, Cathy and Mike, their collective aura, their ambience, made the apartment a very quaint dwelling... yet there was an undeniable rebellious undertone to the coupling. Here was this large white Nordic male, built for carrying lumber, swinging axes, and ready to defend his land at a moment's notice. On the other side, we got an Oriental woman, small of stature but wily, wise, skilled with numbers, letters and strategy. This man and woman separated by land and sea meet and instead of having a cordial, diplomatic relationship, displaying 'tolerance and respect', they cast aside a hundred thousand years of ancestry and bed down witheach other.

Yes, interracial relationships are now common –verycommon in regards to Asian women and white men, the paring so ubiquitous it's odd seeing an attractive Asian woman with anAsianmale. But this was 1993, and the sight of an Asian woman kissing a white man on television would have still drawn some complaints. I couldn't deny just how taboo the pairinglooked. Sometimes, I felt like 'interracial' wasn't even the right term. Whiteman Mike and Chinawoman Cathy, their cultures, customs and languages so dissimilar, I often saw them as something out of an episode of Star Trek. A dangerous, forbidden interspeciesrelationship.

Think that's going too far? Well, my opinion is shaped in not only hearing them have sex. I also saw them do it...

*

It was Sunday evening and I'd come home from the library. Cathy and Mike were out and my dinner was on the kitchen table. I reheated the lamb stew and ate it while going over the $200 textbooks Mike had so kindly paid for. I then finished up, got ready for bed, and read my textbooks until they lulled me to sleep.

And then came the sex sounds. Now, yes, after living with the couple for two months, the moans and groans had become as much a part of the night as the wind rustling the leaves and the occasional hooting of the owls. But this was different. This was the chorus turned all the way up to 11. The slates wobbled from the vibrations, Cathy's moans comingthroughthe walls. My curiosity raging, I tiptoed out of my room, which was an unnecessary move in hindsight; with all the noise they were making, I could have run full-pelt and they still wouldn't have noticed me.

When I got to the hallway, I saw a straight beam of light coming from the master bedroom. Thinking back on it now, I was a total fool to approach the bedroom. Anything could have happened. Mike could have torn out of the bedroom and struck me with his ham-sized fist, left me a vegetable for the rest of my life. Cathy could have stepped out, spotted me, flown into a rage, cast me out and made me homeless. Walking in unseen, so much could have gone wrong, total catastrophe just around that corner. Still, I pushed on. I pushed on because I had to. I had to see.

I got to the doorframe, pushed myself against the wall, and with my heart pounding through my chest, I peeked around the corner.

What I saw was so vivid, so visceral, so packed with subtext and just raw animal emotion, I actually got lightheaded, dizzy, had to lean on the wall to keep from falling. Despite all the horrible ramifications of being caught, I knew I had to look again. Rational thought, my conscience, all drowned out by the engulfing sound of Mike's cock sliding in and out of Cathy's vagina.

After a deep breath, I dug my shoulder into the wall, swivelled my neck and, thanks to the bright eco-friendly light bulb, saw in very clear detail...

Mike, naked, on top, putting his mammoth veiny fully erect penis inside Cathy's stretched vagina, the nude Chinawoman on her back, legs up, her feet dangling over Mike's shoulders. It was like an image out of a Chinese nationalist comic strip: Beware the White Devil, Mike, the grotesque caricature of the invading forces, devouring the grimacing yellow woman. See, see as IT puts it's hideously elongated instrument into the – YOUR – golden goddess, Cathy, the ideal Chinese woman, breasts small and perky, hair long, fine and dark as the night sky, and see, SEE as she is shamed, corrupted, defiled, forced to mate with the great hairy beast. Backing up those claims, Cathy did indeed look like she was in pain, her teeth bared as Mike – red-cheeked, sweating, stern – shoved his throbbing appendage in and out of her.

If you're getting the impression I saw Mike as more than human, you're right, I did. To me he was beyond just being a jumbo-sized man, beyond just a guy with good genetics. Technically, he and I were both men, but comparing us would be like comparing a bunny to a gorilla. The big difference between us was our races, and thephysicaldifference between our races couldnotbe clearer.

That's right: I compared penis sizes. Mike's size, girth, shape, it made me think of the cartoon depictions of a penis, and how I, and many of my friends, couldn't understand why it'd be drawn like that. The largeness of the shaft we put down to artistic licence, but this thing called a helmet? This odd crown-shaped mushy thing on the tip, none of us had that. Nothing close. So, in that sense, I couldn't put my instrument and Mike's in the same category. I had a penis, a functional device which served two main purposes. Mike had something else.

It would be a eye-rolling cliché to classify a penis as a weapon, but truth be told, Mike could leave a bruise with his baton – and yes, it was much, much bigger than what I had; two boulders and a mountain to my stick and pebbles. Put bluntly, there was nochanceany Asian male could do even a quarter of what Mike was doing, what Mike was allowing Cathy to experience. Yes, thiswassex between a man and a woman who loved each other very much, as evidenced by the passionate kisses exchanged during the intercourse, but this wasmore. The white man was on top, and the Asian woman could not move, even if she tried. The white leaned down, kissed the Asian, decided when to reward his subject. The Asian was completely at the mercy of the white – and the Asian loved it, enjoyed it. Encouraged it. More than just biracial intercourse, I was seeing a microcosm of true white/Asian relations. Remove the oceans, walls, languages, weapons and propaganda, and this,this, was the end result: a gargantuan white man releasing himself into an Asian woman.

I remember everything. Every little detail, burned into my memory: the sweat dripping down Mike's broad hairy back; glimpses of Cathy's long wispy pubic hair; glimpses of Mike's short bristly ass cheek hairs; Cathy's fingers digging into Mike's muscular forearms; Mike's thick shoulder muscles coiling and un-coiling; Cathy's slim legs moving off Mike's chest, wrapping around his thick midsection, her shins digging into the back of his tree-trunk thighs, urging him to go deeper, and finally, the power of their sex acts physically moving the bed, the frame slamming into the wall, the whole building creaking and shuddering.

My heart jumped when Mike paused during a thrust and suddenly, in a blink of an eye, as smooth as running water, he spun around and placed his feet on the floor, his back as wide as the kitchen table. He looked down at Cathy. Despite her dishevelled appearance, strands of long dark hair matted across her forehead, a thick shiny layer of sweat over her skin, I'd never seen her look happier, her lips and eyes perfect sideways Cs.

What happened next rocked me to the core.

With my view obscured by Mike's fleshy ass, I watched as Cathy shifted to her front, placed her elbows on the duvet, lifted her arms and wrapped her tiny hands around Mike's big throbbing member. Though I could only see her back and legs, I saw her tense up, her toes curl, her legs lift, and heard a heavy dishrag being rung. Mike shuddered and released a low deep hum.

Glomp. Glomp. Glomp.

When Mike's cheeks clenched, I knew things had got awholelot more X-rated.

Now, when your surrogate mother puts a penis in her mouth, the initial reaction is not: 'Yeah, you go, girl.' For me, it was more along the lines of:'That's not supposed to go in there!' The millennials, they're desensitized to the act, viewing it as part of a scripted routine. 'Yeah, she did that to me, little quicker than I would've liked but oh well.' It's almost becomede rigueur. It's gone from something special to a 5-minute video you can load up on your phone. In reality, when a good, upstandingrealwoman puts a man's penis in her mouth, that's anextremeshow of affection. What Cathy did for Mike was a bigger 'I love you' than any card could express. And make no mistake about it: Cathy may have enjoyed what she was doing, but she was clearly debasing herself. Seeing her put that thick throbbing slimy cock in her mouth...

I love Cathy, but if that was the first time I saw her, I'd think she was a prostitute. An Asian prostitute with her white client. Who else, what other type of woman, would be so proficient at such an act? Could a doctor or lawyer do something like that? Viewing her at that moment, would I think that Cathy, the Chinese woman with a mouthful of cock, her forehead grazing the white man's matted pubes, is fully qualified to apply for a master's degree in mathematics? Would I have known she's helped half the local white women with their tax returns? No, because all that information was irrelevant. Irrelevant because, when she sucks cock, she's not Cathy the math wiz. She's not Xue Chen. She's just a grateful Chinese slut, giving her white master his well-deserved reward for taking care of her – and me, us, the frail but useful Chinese servants.

"Shh..." With that deep, powerful command, Cathy stopped and pulled the wet cock out of her mouth. Mike stroked her soft dark hair, and in a heart-stopping moment, grabbed her left calf, and with thegreatestof ease, pulled her halfway across the bed.

"Sorry," he said as he reached down, and in one fluid movement, grabbed her by her armpits and put her on her feet.

The power difference was never more evident than in that series of moves. When Mike grabbed Cathy's leg, he could have swung her over his head like she was aragdoll. When Mike grabbed her by her armpits, he lifted her as if she was a smallchild. The power of the white man was so immense it made the pairing feel almost forbidden. Yes, men are naturally stronger than women, but European men are so muchmorepowerful than Asian women, it alters the paradigm. A 90lbs waif with a 280lbsbeast. Never did they seem so dissimilar, and never did their paring make moresense. Past the loving feelings, the 'lovemaking', sex has an unspoken agreement.

On Mike's side, it was, 'I do this to you and you get comfort and security,' but Cathy's reply was not the typical, 'Yes, this is a necessary part of being a woman' or, 'This is my currency, so remember that.' Her response was, 'Yes,please.'

Mike placed his weathered paw on Cathy's cute porcelain butt. Seeing that image, it reminded me why the word 'china' also referred to fine delicate tableware. It also made me think of the word 'ornaments' and it being the reason why the term 'Oriental' is offensive to some Asians. The two words together could have one draw to the conclusion that the white man views us strange slit-eyed people as decorative pieces. Asfurniture. At that moment, Mike's rough hand on Cathy's smooth ass, I could see the white's perspective. To these white men, the conquerors, the leaders, the Oriental woman are the spoils of war, the valuable artefacts that are to be kept, cherished, admired and adored. That was Mike at that moment, appraising, appreciating his piece, his property, his prize.

Mike waved – ordered – Cathy back onto the bed, his pipe erect, straight up, the width thicker than my forearm. Cathy dutifully and obediently mounted Mike and spread her legs apart. She gritted her teeth, eyes shut, deep frown lines across her forehead, her mouth a wide O. Mike's fully erect member slid into Cathy's tight vagina, and she yelped, shuddered, placed her soft delicate hands on Mike's hairy chest and sat on him. Mike placed a hand on the small of her back, his other on the back of her head, his fingers lost in her raven hair. Cathy looked like the world's littlest bull rider, set to fall off at any second from the white mass of humanity. Mike took care of his Oriental, kept firm control, holding her as she hopped on his cock, her small boobs jiggling, her nipples erect.

"Hmm, hmm, hmm," Cathy said, the power of Mike's cock making it hard for her to form words. Mike grunted in response, shifted his hips, held Cathy steady and pushed himself in and out. During these powerful thrusts, he pulled her down, put her face to his, and the two exchanged loud wet sloppy kisses, tongues flapping, the intimate sounds travelling from the bed, their biracial love and affection filling the hallway.

Twenty minutes in, I was sweating, out of breath, my mouth dry and clammy – and all I did was watch. I couldn't imagine the exhaustion Mike felt, how much will it took to go full-bore on a woman as beautiful as Cathy. Then again, Mike was a white man, and despite our 30-something age-difference, and the noticeable gut he sported, I still would've said he was in better cardiovascular shape than I was. Cathy, though, I felt for. She'd taken all of Mike's 280lbs, been tossed and thrown around, had to be at her limits.

It was here that I thought back to a comment Shirley Dewberry had made in regards to the Chinese gymnastic team: "My-my, you Orientals are mighty elastic, aren't you?' If that was a stereotype Shirley extended to all Asians, Cathy wasn't doing much to disprove that opinion; Mike had a firm grip on the top of Cathy's head, manoeuvring her around his cock like she was a joystick.

The two kept a sedated pace, Mike patting and groping Cathy's ass cheeks, holding her hips to keep her steady, and running his rough palms down her slender back. Cathy's fingertips were pressed into her white man's broad chest and thick midsection, lovingly caressing her man's lumpy bald head when he'd bring her down for a saliva-exchange. At no moment did their hands leave each other's bodies. Going from behind would've never been their style, the two avoiding all positions which limited the amount of eye-contact they could have. At several points, they interlocked their fingers.Heavy.

At the 40-minute mark, the stone-faced behemoth began to display suitable signs of discomfort: his top lip pulled into his mouth and sweat beaded his broad forehead. Knowing how regularly stoic Mike was, these subtle signs meant something big – very big – was coming. Mike pulled Cathy's head down, grabbed her buttocks, and, while horizontal, repeatedly thrustup. That movement caused a rumble so ferocious it made the floors tremble, the bed wobble, hell, the apartment, the whole damn building, felt like it was swaying. Swaying, as Cathy rested her chin on Mike's wide shoulder, the Chinese woman wallowing in pain and ecstasy.

"Aiiiii! Aiiii! Aiii!" she yelped, not at all masking her moans, letting her man know what he'd done, know what she'd been reduced to. Cathy, so in love with her white man, fully allowed – wanted – him to see her at her most raw. Her most feral.

"Uhhhhh!" from deep within her oesophagus, Cathy let out a series of low guttural groans. "Uhhhhh! Uhhhhhh...! Ugh!" These sounds were ugly, ungainly, very un-lady like – and sounds which made her only more attractive to legions of white men, in particular those white males who were stringently following their social/command protocols. 'You will marry Shannon. You will have children with your chosen mate. As time passes, you will have sex less and less frequently. Observe Clichéd Sitcom #54 for how to react to this situation. "I'm lucky if I get a hug," your white male avatar will say, and you will too.

Your reaction to the denial of intense intercourse: a frown and shrug. "What are you going to do?" Rhetorical question. True answer: accept it. See: the social contract.'

One of the advantages of melding in with the wallpaper was being able to overhear conversations, and on many occasions, the white wives of Pembroke would freely regale Cathy with their sex woes. Yes, you there in your futuristic 201X might think that the ladies complaints would be along the lines of 'the therapist says it is in his head' or 'we never have the time for it' or 'he's not open to new things.'

No, no. It was Cindy with the big hair and 4-inch heels, saying, "My husband tried to get frisky with me in bed this morning. The nerve, right?"

Chiming in, red-haired Gina in the frilly dress shirts, "Come on, we got kids, he can't expect something silly as an evening of intercourse, can he?"

Monica with the pouty lips and perm, waving a women's magazine around as she said, "Have you read some of these stories? What women do to make their men happy? How can they look themselves in the mirror after doing some of this stuff? Kissing their kids with the same lips that... aw, it's disgusting! These women should be ashamed, bringing us all down with this filth."

'Hoovering, gagging, mouth sex,' their on-the-spot names for fellatio. 'Uncouth. Obscene. It's something women in the inner-cities do, for the drugs, see.' These women, they were convinced that 'giving' themselves to their men would make them weak, would lower their status, and so they sealed themselves from their men and, on the surface, were happier for it.

"The horrible writing makes me chuckle," Peter said when he slipped a porn mag in with his stack of newspapers. More than a half-dozen times a day, I'd ring up pornographic magazines for the needy white men, seeing these same men with their wives and families in town. Later, when I was older and more mature, Mike told me that when I came on board, sales of porn magazines shot way up, these men more comfortable buying from me, the unassuming Asian male, than Cathy, a starring player in their productions.