Damian and I were out with a mixed group. One of the girls got very drunk on martinis (fast action truth serum) and pulled Damian aside for what I thought was the beginning of making beautiful music together. Later that night, Damian announced he was going home alone, and the rest of us were left with the job of escorting the drunk girl back to her urban single woman’s hovel, distinguished as they all are by mass quantities of pillows, toiletries, and shoes. Along the way, she mumbled “I just want to get laid before leaving town. How hard is it for a girl to get laid in this town?! By the way, what’s wrong with Damian?”
I though maybe Damian’s same night lay attempt had gone awry, that perhaps his game had gotten rusty, but no that wasn’t it. This girl was primed for his pistola, all he needed to do was say “I’ll take you home” and victory was his, and yet he beat a hasty retreat. She wasn’t bad looking, she had a nice ass, and she was leaving town for good in a couple of weeks. Christ, it’s like handing the pussy over on a platter, and garnishing it with an industrial-sized bottle of KY.
The next morning, I called Damian for an explanation as to why he violated the foremost single man’s honor-bound duty —
Never look a gift pussy in the labia.
— and he gave me his reason.
ME: What were you thinking? That was yours for the taking.
DAMIAN: First of all, I wasn’t attracted to her.
ME: Dude, she wasn’t bad looking. Definitely within your historical sphere of acceptability. She had a nice ass.
DAMIAN: I’m dating two other women, I’ve got nothing to prove. Plus, she was drunk, yapping like a chihuahua, and saying weird annoying shit.
ME: Like what?
DAMIAN: She found out through your girl that I’m going on a date with that Chinese girl XXXX. Then she started freaking out. [Imitating whiny nasally Jewish woman voice] “Whyyy? Why are you going out with an Asian girl? Is it because Asian girls are submissive? Do you want a submissive woman?”
ME: Wow. Awkward.
DAMIAN: Yeah, it was a turn-off. She kept it up for a while. Demanding explanations why I was interested in an Asian girl. I just wanted to get away.
ME: Her inner demons came streaming out. Must’ve been the martinis. Still, you could’ve just put cotton in your ears and gotten the bang. There’s a larger principle at stake.
DAMIAN: There’s a larger principle all right — getting a good, quiet night’s sleep!
Yet another amusing, and cringingly awful, DC dating escapade. The great thing about multiple martinis is that it’s one of the few elixirs that is capable of aligning a girl’s actual thoughts with the words coming out of her mouth. Never listen to what a girl says… unless she’s sucking down her ninth dirty olive.
It’s now my belief that most white women harbor a deep distrust, even jealousy, for Asian women. They see the Asian girl, like they see foreign women fresh off the boat, as competitors for the white men they have come to expect will bow and scrape before their precious white American vaginas. This jealousy contrasts sharply with the indifference they feel towards black and latino women taking their white men. The Asian woman occupies a special place in the mind of white women — with her neotenous features, softer skin, natural slenderness, and purported submissiveness the Asian girl comes armed with a fully operational arsenal of femininity that can bust through the deepest white woman’s bunker. And while most Asian girls who cross the racial Rubicon wind up with big galoot white herbs (see: Hope) or squishy pudding pop betas who look like Conor Friedersdorf, the impact on the white woman’s psyche is nearly the same as if the Asian women were taking all the alpha white men; namely, they sense their bargaining power in the sexual market is being undercut by a worthy foe.
Speculative stroll: The martini girl in this story was Jewish. Does the fact that Asian women possess intellectual firepower and educational attainment almost the equal of Jewish women cause the latter to feel particularly antagonistic toward them? You be the judge.