Blood Lust

Over the years, I’ve developed this incredibly racist and sexist theory: You lust for people of your own race more than you lust for people of other races. I say this out of my own experience, and based on what my little friend tells me every now and then.

Of late, I’ve been trying to get into C’s pants. C is a horny chinita, and that’s all that my little half-Chinese friend (let’s call him Peter, a common Chinese name) needs to know before he wakes up. Her stories of sexual escapades with fuck buddies in Manila’s posh hotels never fails to bring joy to my little friend. Unfortunately, she refuses to have anything sexual to do with me because 1. I’m married; and 2. She’s not exactly into doing women.

That C doesn’t like doing women doesn’t matter to my little friend, because all he’s after is getting into her racially-compatible little friend. I can’t explain it. Sometimes I think that he does have a mind of his own.

Most of me wants to believe that my little friend just wants to see what it’s like to get nookie from his own kind. Some small part of me believes that he’s just being a bastard and that’s the way it’s going to be because that’s the way it is.


It’s not that I haven’t tried getting pootie tang from a racially equivalent female, but the last time it happened, it turned into disaster.

Let me explain.

This was just after my first girlfriend, A and I broke up. We broke up because we were becoming celibate, not having sex for six months with each other when we did. Oddly, we started having the best sex of our lives after the breakup, on my part since I no longer felt any pressure to commit to her. I think the fact that she took the cherries of two guys and a girl in that period (not all together, at least yet — that’s another story) made some difference in our sex lives, but hey, I’m not complaining about daily sweatymonkeysex.

Since I was now free, I took pains to get into the panties of my chinita friend B., who at that time was agonizing because she was beginning to fall in love with her fuck buddy. Being the good friend I am, I offered my body to ease her off her addiction to the dick of this ese dude, but she would have nothing sexual to do with me because it would be “like fucking her brother,” she said, “and she doesn’t get turned on by incest.”

Turns out I wasn’t alone in my pursuit of B’s knickers. Turns out that my girlfriend almost had hot sweatymonkeylesbiansex action going with her, but some asshole interrupted them in the middle. If you’ve seen the second half of the La Salle Scandal (aka Sikreto ng Makati) video, it’s quite close to that, except that when the phone rang, they decided to not push through with it because, of all things, I might have gotten hurt.

All three of us having met on IRC, it was no surprise that we were all reunited on this IRC channel late one night. That night, there were only four people in the main channel, and the fourth was B’s fuck buddy. A and B were complaining about how long it had been since they had last tasted man-meat, and someone (I think it was me) said that their thirst could be quenched together if they wanted. I could pick them all up and B’s fuck buddy and yours truly would do OUR best to wet their parched lands.

I was kidding, of course. A lived in Quezon City, B lived in Makati, and B’s fuck buddy lived in San Juan. I live near Cainta, so you can imagine what that statement entailed. But hey, you never know when lightning will strike.

When it became clear that no new spit would be swapped that night, but other bodily fluids were fair game, I left my room, got into the car, and drove like the world was ending tomorrow and this would be the one last fuck for eternity to remember us by.Within an hour of everyone agreeing, we were all in my room, nekkid and in some degree of nookie.

If everything was so good, how did it turn out to be a disaster, you may ask. Well, it turns out that B’s fuck buddy was more of an ass than anyone expected, and my ex didn’t take too kindly to it. Of course, B’s fuck buddy had to try raping my ex just when B and I were about to get it on. Naturally, no one wants to get fucked while watching another girl get raped, so nothing ever happened between me and B. I did get a nice beaver and tits shot, but if that’s what I wanted, I could have gone to Greenhills.

I still get grief from A and B to this day over that “incident.”

I still don’t know whether Chinese girls are better in bed, and I’m sure my little friend is dying to find out.


The thing with this blood call is that I know enough to stay away from Chinese girls. I have nothing against Chinese girls but I have major beef with their families. Being half-Chinese myself, I know what grief they can inflict on unsuspecting prowlers of their daughters, and to what extent they would go to inflict said grief.

Yet, when my law school classmate’s nippies were showing through her thin shirt today, my Peter stood at attention and stared long and hard at my friend’s nippies. Once again, the age-old adage, “walang kaibigan-kaibigan sa titing pawisan” held true today. Good thing I had a nice big bag to cover Peter’s embarrassing stance.

This has nothing to do with anything, except to say that the sight of “bakat” nippies on a Chinita will wake Peter up. The bastard.


Now Chinese are usually reserved and conservative, but since sexuality is a universal thing, you will meet that one rare person with a priapic obsession who will have sex with anything that has two legs (I know of some who go up to four, but that’s another story). This happens, of course, when they are assured that no one will find out about their indiscretions.

Take my friend, D. for example. She talks to me about her many, MANY indiscretions only because she knows that I know no one that she knows who doesn’t know about her indiscretions anyway (like the people who matter — read: potential boyfriends or bosses).

My Chinese relatives have at least one of these hormonally-gifted women. I had this aunt who, although based in Cebu as a successful executive, always took the time to visit Manila on “business seminars” which just happened to coincide with her escapades with this guy named Peter (also Chinese). She would come to Manila, drop her bags at our place, and wait to be picked up by Peter. Now that I’m older, I know there were no seminars that my Auntie went to, just Peter.

Why she picked our place to leave her bags wasn’t such a strange decision either: my mother is famous for keeping secrets.


The other day I found Highfiber’s Hsu Chi (Shu Qi) pics in the gallery. I’ve had a small crush on her since noticing her in this Jackie Chan movie. There she played an innocent Taiwanese country bumpkin who ends up having sweatymonkeystylesex with Jackie. Prior to viewing her pics, I made no connection to the old Hsu Chi pics and the Shu Qi movies that I’d seen until I realized and quite belatedly, that Chinese is a phonetic language.

Boy, was Peter sure happy to see her.


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