“Touch my body, put me on the floor, wrestle me around, play with me some more”
– Mariah Carey –
Yes, I am acknowledging the fact that almost all of my previous entries revolve around white guys. It’s not that I’m exclusively into white boys, but the ones who attracted me so far (yes, I’m writing my stories in chronological order so I can track exactly where my life went wrong) just happened to be Caucasian. If anything, my ideal type (emphasis on the word ideal) is a hipster-ish looking tall guy with an athletic body. Unfortunately, being a relatively tall Asian guy myself, it’s hard to find other Asian guys who are at least around my height, although I’m not very anal (pun intended) about this as I would pretty much make out with everyone after four shots of tequila. I would like to think of myself as a potato princess, meaning I’m usually attracted to white guys, but I’m also open to other races, whether it’s rice, spice, or whatever. I guess you can call me a salad queen because I do love most starchy vegetables with some spices, and I do love getting my salad tossed.
When I received a message from this six-feet-tall Asian guy on Jack’d, I wasn’t super into the idea of meeting him because he lived in East LA. To those of you who haven’t been or lived in LA, let me tell you something. It is a real struggle to get to East LA. It’s never convenient to get to, the highway exits are always super confusing, and there’s nothing particularly exciting about it other than the abundance of amazing Asian foods (especially their Chinese foods: Hăo. motherfucking. chī). To give my Indonesian readers a reference, it’s like driving from Grand Indonesia to Kelapa Gading for a dick appointment. It is a hassle.
However, one thing that really convinced me to meet him was his body (did I tell you I’m shallow AF?) You could definitely tell that he had spent countless hours at the gym. With that being said, I had some doubts about meeting him, especially after the whole catfish incident. On a side note, this is purely based on my personal experiences, but I found it interesting how Asian guys (and girls) tend to post more heavily edited, non-smiling, modelesque pictures showcasing their DSL (google it, you’ll know what I mean). I feel like whenever I see an Asian guy’s profile on Grindr, I wanna tell them to calm the fuck down on the highlights and smile a little bit. So anyway, being a dumb horny teenager that I was, I asked him point-blank:
“Are those pictures real?”
You can’t really blame me for asking that question. I mean, there’s always the possibility of him either using fake pictures of an amazingly hot Asian guy or photoshopping his pictures to make his biceps look more like Chris Evan’s. More importantly, I was traumatized by the catfish incident, so I needed to add an extra layer of security before someone tried to penetrate my defense.
After his several attempts ensuring me that his pictures were real, my “other head” overruled my conscience and I decided to give him a try. I thought, “in the worst case, I can just leave his place and get some amazing fried fishballs and bubble tea on my way back home, right?” So I took a shower, cleaned my asshole, shaved my pubes (because I was a mess and didn’t know any other available options for manscaping the area down there), and drove my ass for approximately 45 minutes to his place in San Gabriel.
To those of you who haven’t been to San Gabriel area, imagine it looking like one of those stereotypical American suburbs you see in the movies, but change all the store signs from English to Chinese. After I nervously navigated my way to his house and parked my car, I texted him to let him know that his dessert (re: my peach) had arrived. When he opened his garage and showed himself, I was relieved. I thought, “finally, a hot Asian guy who’s into me and happened to be real!”
I immediately noticed how his house looked like a typical Chinese house. How does a typical Chinese house look like, you might ask? You know a house is owned by a Chinese if you can spot, at the very least, three or more of the following objects:
- A big ass Chinese ceramic, usually in the form of a vase
- A home karaoke machine that is usually connected to golden or black microphones with some long-ass wires
- Floral melamine dinnerware sets
- A huge ass family picture (usually involves at least twenty people) taken in a relative’s wedding
- An absurd amount of pirated DVDs, usually with some words on the cover spelled incorrectly
And guess what? This guy has all of the above in his house AND a Dance Dance Revolution machine. He is a Chinese man through and through.
Naturally, we didn’t waste a lot of time and went straight to his bedroom. He asked me if I wanted to watch anything and being a polite guest, I responded with “whatever works for me”. It was a bad idea; out of all the things that could ruin my mood, Chinese soap opera is for sure on my top 10 list. I don’t have anything bad to say about Chinese soap opera except that I don’t wanna be reminded by the image of my mom sobbing all day in the living room watching Meteor Garden while I’m having sex.
I tried my best to not get distracted by the soap opera while we were making out in his bed. Moments later, our clothes were on the bedroom floor and I was immediately pleased with what I was working with. His chest and arms were hard as rocks. Now, this is the part of the story where it goes on a downward spiral. As we were locking lips and feeling each other’s body, he, out of nowhere, grabbed my hand, placed it on his left bicep, and whispered to my ear:
“You like it? It’s real, huh?”
What. the. fuck. I had never been more weirded out in the bedroom than at that moment, cluelessly rubbing my arm on his biceps while pretending I was being sexually aroused. I mean… how are you supposed to respond to that?! “Yeah daddy, your biceps are so damn sexy! Oh yeah, I can’t wait to taste your protein-shake flavored cum! I hope it’s gluten and dairy free!” Nothing turns me off faster than a hot guy who is fully aware of his attractiveness and constantly looking for validation from others. Just. Eww. Gross.
To make things worse, his blowjob was subpar and there was virtually zero chemistry between us. Ok, this is probably gonna sound super racist and you’re gonna hate me for saying this, but in the spirit of keeping it real, I’m just gonna state the fact that his penis size was definitely below average (at least compared to other male genitalia I have seen so far). And even worse, I believe his pubic hair was actually longer than his dick. Here’s the thing guys: having pubic hair is fine but you need to maintain it in a way so it looks aesthetically pleasing. It doesn’t help anyone if you’ve got a small penis and long pubic hair; it only exaggerates the fact that you’ve got a micropenis.
I left his place as fast as humanly possible after he finished blowing and jerking me off. You might think that I sounded like a douchebag who doesn’t return any sexual favor given to him. Well, you’re wrong. I did ask him if I could blow him and he said, “Nah, it’s fine. I did jerk off twice this morning already”. So yeah, you can’t blame me for immediately leaving my Chinese bodybuilder and his soap opera after I was done with him. I mean, what else was I supposed to do? And yes, I did block him on Jack’d as soon as I got home because I was not planning to see him again anytime soon.
What’s the lesson here? Never ask someone if their pictures are real. They will make you feel their biceps.
2 thoughts on “XV. The Guy Who Made Me Feel His Biceps”
Glad you can laugh at the expense of my dignity 😁