41TJlVNsiWLIn my last post This is the part where I break free I wrote about gay-race prejudice and how guilty I was of riding off Asian guys…so you may ask how did I get from that all the way 180 degrees in the other direction to riding on/under/side-saddle/with Asian guys…cowboy style…

Well, ever just been swiping away on tinder and then hours, days, weeks later you get Congratulations, you have a new match! and you have the sudden heart flutter and ‘omg this could be my husband right here’ and you open your phone and for some reason it takes forever to open and load cause your phone is a fucking bitch and can always sense when you wanna know something quickly so it deliberately slows the fuck waaaaaaaaaaaaay down AND THEN it finally opens and you can look at the guy’s picture and you go woah…I was definitely really drunk or really horny when I right-swiped this guy….

That’s basically where it all started.

I was living in tiny, backwater Hsinchu and stretching the km radius on my tinder searches to their limits. Hsinchu seemed to be deserted by gay men, all had probably migrated north, a cackling, squawking, preening flock of (pea)cocks headed for the bright lights and fluttering rainbow flags of Taipei. Nobody interested me to the point where my hand just swiped left automatically whenever I saw a picture of a man on my phone. It was starting to make facebooking difficult.

So when I matched with this guy, saw he was my age and his bio was in English I thought fuck it, give it a go! Turned out he was living in Taipei which was about an hour away by reasonable public transport (longer if you went with the plebs on the local train) so meeting was definitely do-able and we chatted.

At this point I was still pretty new to this and unfortunately when Dan suggested he could come down to Hsinchu and stay with me in my apartment for a weekend my hand went straight to the big red button, state of emergency was brought online, the panic room locked, nuclear codes entered and warheads armed. That ain’t gonna happen boy! Of course, I consulted my hetero-homies and one homo-homie about it and the general consensus was UNMATCH! BLOCK! RUN!

For the rest of my time in Hsinchu we went chatting every few weeks by text but never actually met and I was fairly uninspired to date Taiwanese yet. It wasn’t until I had moved to Taipei and was looking for a way to fill in my free time that I decide359c0aa81572f1d185dfba7ad31c6759--the-teacher-gayd to get myself a Mando tutor (Mandarin) and recalled that Dan had a certificate in teaching Mando and also tutored others in English. He agreed to teach me Chinese, but ended up unwittingly schooling me in something else…

So finally, a year after matching, we would meet…taking it real slow aye?

I came out of the subway not knowing that at that moment I was also coming out of the fish bowl where I had swam in my warm, comfortable cocktail of juices: the mix of prejudice, racial stereotyping, and vanilla extract. Because there was Dan and there was a flutter of attraction.

He was so tall! A head tall than me, and I’m not short. And he was broad; his thighs were thick; his face was soft and kind and kinda boyish but still handsome; he carried himself and spoke in a way that wasn’t overtly gay or feminine but had no trace of masqueraded masculinity that was being put on to impress me; and he seemed genuine and confident in his skin, which is quite a feat for gay men in Asia. In short, his whole aura screamed BIG COCK!

If you’re gay you’ll hopefully know what I mean by that. Not that his appendage was a foot long or that he was cocky but that he had that unassuming and genuine personality and natural physique that made him very attractive.

Our lessons were very innocent though. I relished his hand on my leg and back, the brush of his thigh on mine, the closeness of his face when he leaned over. But we chatted as gay friends do, all about the guys he was seeing and swapping Grindr horror stories. But different encounters all started to add up to one large boner.

One night I joined him and a friend of his for a drink and Dan had gone to the extent of wearing a pale blue dress shirt while I had kept things pretty casual in attire. That night was raining heavily and we were not prepared, so much to my delight his pale blue shirt got very wet and clingy and we joked between the three of us how Dan’s shirt buttons seemed to be struggling to hold in his chest. My brain was splattered with images of soaking in the rain joined at the lips.


I started going to more comfortable settings like his apartment where he got down to his undies and flashed me those thick thighs. We got comfortable with half cuddles on his couch, my hand on his inner leg, a pat on the butt. And a night out gay clubbing when we stood so close to each other, him pressed to my back and me arching my arse into his crotch with the subtlety of a cat on heat. He asked me to dance with him, away from my friends in the pool of a dancefloor that you had to swim through to get in. But something held us back, insecurities and doubts on both sides perhaps, from that moment that could have changed everything.

And if we had stepped out onto that dancefloor where you can’t do anything but cling to your partner? It’s a paradigm designed by gay men for forcing two people to hook-up. Cheap alcohol, heavy beats, smooth rhythms, and slutty lyrics, too many men in too little space, wild thoughts, and a false sense of anonymity that makes leaning in for that first kiss wonderfully inevitable.


But we didn’t, so we didn’t, and we never did.

And I think that was the key to unlocking my yellow fever. The constant tantalisation of this one unattainable body opened my desires to fulfil my need in other ways. A dick too far. But so many others just like it so much closer. What was a boy to do?


This is the part when I break free

Clear, fresh nights without a cloud, street lights glowing yellow and an almost empty road ahead. Ariana Grande is blasting from the stereo “I only wanna die alive, never by the hands of a broken heart!” and you’re miming along in the driver’s seat with your jewel encrust mic and sassy head flicks. You pull up to the read light as the song reaches the drop and then…”OH BABY! …/THE PART WHEN I SAY I DUN WANNA…oooOOOoooooOOOOOOOO!” you and Ariana take it up to the next level and chase those high notes. You feel free, light, unburdened, fierce as fuck.


Except not a car, a bicycle.

Not a stereo, your headphones.

And not fresh or clear but smoggy and sooty as your stuck behind a truck and 15 scooters all belching exhaust down your nostrils.

But that was just how magical the moment was, living in Hsinchu for those first few months, that none of that mattered. I got on my mangy bike each night after work and Grande carried me home on the unruly roads of Taiwan and I relished that feeling of freedom, strange though it was. Strange because I was working a dead end job in a fairly uninteresting city with no gay culture to speak of. Strange because I was going back each day to a dirty studio apartment with an appalling bathroom. And when I say appalling, I mean like one day I came home to a toilet turned swimming pool and lots of soft little brown friends doing backstroke across the shower floor (shit everywhere, if I was too subtle for you).

But I was free of the past and open to the future and after peddling my home it was time. Time to download the most sacred of gay apps. The virtual church hall where we all come to pray to our phallic overlord and tickle the nuts of our inner most desires. What did our omniscient, omnipresent crystal balls have to offer this ball gazer in Taiwan.

Shockingly, Asians…

And now we can address the elephant in the room ’cause three years ago I was not attracted to Asian guys. Despite this grand freedom that had me floating on air I was kept tethered to the earth by my gay-race preconceptions and I justified it easily by telling myself it just wasn’t my flavour of ice cream, no big deal. Things changed for me eventually and I’ve developed a more mature, diverse sexual palette but it strikes me how far I had come and yet not moved at all out of my very white Australian comfort zone.

See that’s the thing, that’s the fallacy, the trick of the light: we expatriate ourselves to build a new, better version of us but how can we possibly do so when, as was my case in my previous post Such Arseholes. Much Mistakeswe are only running away. I ran away from myself blindly and naively in a massive circle back to myself, looking for a white needle in a stack of yellow ones, looking for what I knew and understood and felt comfortable with and mistaking it for sexual preference.

Asian guys are skinny (hypocritical)

Asian guys are effeminate (oh honey…)

Asian guys are short and have small penises (so many guys proved me so very so happily so satisfyingly wroooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong on that one)

Asian guys all look the same (really, so do white guys)

Asian guys have funny looking wangs and scary, sudden, weirdly straight and long pubic bushes…ok that one’s actually true but not for all Asian guys. Gay-pro tip my Taiwanese buds, trim it down, especially if you’re smooth everywhere else ’cause that black forest ain’t no piece of cake when it springs out of your undies all of a sudden.

Anyway, I digress. Tiny Ariana’s big voice had lulled me into the belief that I was sluffing off the old snake skin and bursting into Taiwan with a shiny new coat when in actuality I was clinging to all my former notions of others. How can you hope to present yourself as a brand new person when you continue to look through the exact same eyes from the exact same vantage point as you always have?

I still relish that feeling and at the time it was very real and very important to me. In some ways I was breaking free and as I said, eventually I did break free of my gay-race prejudice but it took time. So if you’re a newborn expat reading this then take note that your ‘self’ is being made brand new all the time and having made that move as you have it will be growing at a much faster rate than most others BUT it still takes time. Get caught up in that free-spirited moment but remember that you are on a long path of self discovery. Don’t burst through the paper banner in a shower of glitter and a puff of stage smoke calling yourself ‘Yonce. Felicia, just wait. You are still the same old gurl…for now.

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Such arseholes. Much mistakes.

Life is a constant navigation of fuck ups, fuck downs, fuck lefts, fuck rights, and those occasional fucks that go round and round in circles for ages. Every so often one is inspired by this process to fuck right off! Out of the country. Out of the family. Out of the social network you spent 22 years building. And that’s exactly what I did more than three years ago.

I left life behind in Sydney, Australia, to take up the noble profession of teaching as my ticket to a fresh start and landed my skinny butt on that tiny little, barely known island of Taiwan at 22 years of age. I had all the usual bullshit reasons for going:

“I really wanna get in and experience a culture, get to know the people, learn the language, the lay of land, meet new people from all walks of life, eat, pray, love, blah fucking blah.”

That’s what all expats say. And I wasn’t lying. But I wasn’t being totally, brutally honest either. You want to hear the story that made leaving everything behind so easy that I could turn from a teary mother and father and walk confidently, grinning like I’d just had the best sex of my life, onto the plane that would take me away from everything I’d always know? Read on.

New Years Eve. Magical right? Rock up at a mate’s place, go round the side of the house and enter into a backyard full of young twenty-somethings downing cheap vodka mixed with barely a splash of coke and even cheaper sparkling that tasted more like creaming soda than anything an actual adult would drink. The hills hoist is all set up for goon-of-fortune, the darkest corners of the yard are reserved for sloppy make out sessions and even sloppier tactical voms, and all your friends are pumped up, calling you cunt as you finally appear at the festivities.

First priority, drink in hand. Second order of business, check which bastards are here already. And there he was. My high school best friend, Lance, tall and broad and loud as fuck, was making some other breeders laugh with some stupid story about the latest fat chick he’d hooked up with. Apparently they had broken a table when Lance had lifted the girl’s ample rear onto it in his haste to get all steamy.

Lance was the kind of best friend you texted every day. We had gotten real close when he had broken up with his girlfriend in high school. Or rather, had been dumped by said gf. He spiralled off into a lonely depression and somehow I had found myself in the middle of it, one of two people who knew anything about the alcohol, drugs, counselling, and (mostly unused) anti-depressants that kept him putting one foot in front of the other each day.

But all that was now long in the past. Here we were, surrounded by friends and vodka to have a good fucken time!

I don’t remember how it happened because I was pretty much black out drunk but I do remember him, just in his boardies after a dip in the pool, biting down hard on my bottom lip and tasting blood in my mouth as he kissed me. It wasn’t until MUCH later when a group of my friends were discussing the night that I learned about how we had rolled around on the front lawn gay wrestling each other joined at the face.

The only other thing I remember is trembling with cold fear from head to foot in his long arms. Then things start to become clearer later in the night. Absolutely wacked off his face by whatever he had ingested that night he became totally impossible to deal with as he always did and he decided that 3 o’clock in the morning was the perfect time to slam a glass bottle through a glass table top. Idiot. Holy shit the house was arse fucked that night: mystery spills, mud and grass walked all the way through, broken shit, actual shit, dead bodies, girls crying, and Lance was responsible for at least half of it. As I said, magical.

But the magic has to end and Lance had pissed off enough people and out stayed his welcome. Others informed me that Lance had mentioned he be would staying at my place tonight…which I was welcome to fucking do at any time. Oh cool…first I had heard of it but luckily I lived walking distance away.

Thing is we didn’t quite make it that far. He was walking…nah, dragging himself down the street about 50 metres in front of me, not even a block from the house, when he half dived, half fell, head first into the concrete footpath…it looked almost deliberate, like he had tried to pull off some awesome front flippy dance move but fallen asleep just before the moment of execution. And there we set up camp, the perfect place for him to babble about how I was the greatest thing since sliced friendship, and for me to sob uncontrollably as the slow and depressing realisation dawned that, for Lance, tonight was already lost in an alcoholic mist.

Give him his credit, he was genuinely concerned for my wellbeing, though completely at a loss as to what had made me go all limp, weepy, and messy sitting on the grass out front of a strangers house. So much so that he was aggressively protective of me as a group of middle aged strangers walked around. They crossed onto the road to give Lance a wide birth as he snarled at them. I’ve wondered since whether it was them or a neighbour disgruntled by the shouting who called the police. But when they arrived I went from a sobbing jellyfish to Stiff Sober Sam in an instant.

After some persuasion, we were packed up into the back of the police car (my first and last time to date, I swear!) and taken to Lance’s family home.

So let’s fast forward and analyse then. I became the hero once again for getting Lance back home safely and his parents loved me even more than they had before. I stayed the night (during which Lance had started throwing up and called out for Larry, which is so not even close to my name, so I feigned sleep and hoped he choked on it) and the next morning…poof…gone. “Alcohol: the perfect memory charm!”. Lance didn’t remember a thing.

Immediately following this night I embarked on a fabulously failed chapter of my story entitled “Coping” but eventually heartbreak drove me from house and home and then flew me all the way to Taiwan. It’s no wonder I hurtled as far away from that life grinning to myself that I had gone. I had left the arseholes and the mistakes behind!

So as Sigala and Ella Eyre so tunefully put it, I came here for love. Shame…since what I found was mostly more arseholes and even bigger mistakes!

Understand this launching pad for my life in Taiwan left me with some fairytale ideals about staying away from sex and men until I was in a committed relationship, as if the horniest, dumbest epoch of society, the Grindr generation, could ever hope to stay celibate as they await Sir Lancelot. No, this Guinevere would be left to burn on the stake of his pure ideals as past me slow clapped from the sidelines and muttered with sarcasm under his breath, “Well done, fucktard, you really learned from my mistakes.”

So I stumbled into a new beginning where I was totally anonymous and could build the new me in a muddled, fumbled, unskilful sort of way. Turning over a new start, a fresh leaf! Right? As far away from Lance as I could be.

That moment, landing in Taiwan, was probably the happiest moment of my life.

Fake Magic


Let’s talk about the Grindr Mask. This is that sense of anonymity that apps like Grindr provide, letting you connect with your dreams in the real world so that you can meet the guy that you’ve been searching for your whole life and you can be that person you always wished you were.

All you need is some pictures taken from the right angles in the right light and you got yourself a whole new life to wear.

Small problem with all this though: you know how they say you should never go grocery shopping when your hungry? Be honest with me now, when do you usually open up that hook up app? Before or after you’ve eaten?

….    😬😬😬


So let me tell you about one example of how my grindr mask works with the story of Jenson. We matched on tinder in my first year in Taiwan around Christmas. So at this stage I’m living by myself in Hsinchu.

This boy was a thirsty Taiwanese guy who was living in Canada but was back to visit the fam in Zhubei, the next town over. Things started out innocently enough (as they always do) and then all of a sudden the conversation turned south by mention of Caucasian male anatomy. As I said his was one thirsty mother fucker so you can fill in the blanks.

And I played along! Who knew text on a phone screen could be so arousing? I stepped into my role as coy, inexperienced yet exotic white boy and things got steamy, pics were swapped and lusty proclamations were made.

Around this time a girl friend of mine was visiting from Sydney and we were gonna celebrate the New Year together in Taipei. One night we stayed in a fancy arse hotel (which she paid for with her Sydney salary) and while she was getting ready to go out I was messaging Jenson.

hey whats up?

nothing much man. you?

just checked into a pretty sweet hotel room in Taipei!

with a hot dude?

haha nah one of my girl friends is visiting from aus

ah cool

wish I was in that hotel room with you

we could have some fun

sounds hot

I could suck that big ___ of yours

haha nice

thinking about it makes me hard


i’m horny too 

I feel so naughty

my friend is in the shower

I’m standing naked at the window with the curtain open

looking down at the street


so hard

I hope someone is watching me

hot man

take a pic

At this point in reality I was sitting on the couch fully clothed with a big puffy jacket on ’cause it was hella cold, wiping pringles flavouring on my jeans every time I went to type something, the TV on and the curtains firmly shut while my friend was lying on the bed staring into her own phone.

The fancy hotel was real…but everything else was fake. Following this conversation it was an easy task to avoid actually meeting Jenson in person. So horny but so busy oh what a shame! Because let’s face it, the real me was never going to live up to the person I had portrayed to him in chat. I couldn’t be that nasty and confident for real. I am vanilla as fuuuuuuuuuuuuck and always talk it up! But it felt so good to be that person for a little while, to imagine how it could be, how hot it could be, how hot I could be, and to be desired in such a raw and lustful way.

Predictably, I do this time and time again, knowing that putting on that Grindr mask will inevitably put a cock block on myself and ruin my chance of meeting what is possibly a very sexy, nice man. When I resist this urge to become Captain Nasty it more often than not turns out pretty well as I guess you will see in future posts…but I always go into that supermarket hungry eventually.

That’s why these apps fall down, that’s why the gay community is swamped by sluttiness, dick pics, getting stood up, constant teasing and chasing and angry men sick of being led on by kids like me. It’s fun to play a character, it’s liberating and exhilarating and for a moment it makes you feel good about yourself and your body. But it’s fake magic and once you ejaculate your senses return and you just want to put your phone down and stop talking right then.

In the end, that masked character you’re playing is just lonely.

Stop this train

This page is devoted to nostalgia in a way. Looking back and thinking about where I was from who I am now. I found this photo from when I first moved to Hsinchu, Taiwan. The caption speaks to me so much right now as I’m in much the same situation starting a new chapter in my life with so many different possible tracks laid out in front me, I just have to take one. At this moment though I want to stop and be still and just stand in that crossroads and let some of those trains pass me by. Can I really do that? And for how long? Hopefully I am wiser than several years ago when I started my Taiwan journey (read Such Arseholes. Much mistakes.) but I also hope I can be just excited and joyous about it!

For now though I’m just chillin’ at the station 🙂


Hotel Rendezvous, Part I: The Talk Show Host

We recently celebrated the 40 year anniversary of the death of Elvis, a man who shook the world with his aggressive pelvis-thrusting sexuality in his youth and then ate himself to death. Truly, that is the real American dream right there. The anniversary brought to mind all his great songs, and one in particular that might have saved his poor, over-exerted heart if he’d listened to his own advice, and it goes a little something like this…

A little less conversation, a little more action please!

This song has a weary memory attached to it for me about an Asian American guy who I chatted with on Grindr while living in Taipei. If you’ve read past posts of mine you’re probably thinking “Asian American, DING DING DING, score!” and I was too, at first. He was older (check), he was handsome (check), he spoke English fluently (check), he had a Taiwanese background (check check check).

We chatted back and forth for a while and tried to meet up but he was quite busy. One night, I was out at Commander D, a dark-room gay club for those with some fairly tame leather and sadomasochistic fetishes. Nothing too cray, but if you wanted to get tied up wearing a mask and a vibrator pressed to your mister then this was the place. My friends and I went for the lolz and the drinks and the attention of potato queens.

This night, however, I wasn’t putting on my best show and being fairly introverted. The alcohol wasn’t quite sitting right so I wasn’t even getting drunk. My other white friend was being annoyingly coy with a bunch of Taiwanese guys when finally a message from my potential D appointment!

It’s three o’clock in the morning and I get an offer to meet me at the Orient Hotel and go up to this guys room.

Now, this hotel is faaaaaancy so of course I say yes! And I mean, we both know what we’re there for and things start off great! That room…wow…and the guy was nice, too. Just one problem though…

A little more bite and a little less bark, A little less fight and a little more spark…

We started out with the usual verbal preamble but it then became clear that this episode of the Late Show was going to be all about the hosts previous boyfriends. He proceeded to show me pics of the guys he’d been with and the guy he was currently seeing on his phone and saying “Isn’t he so hot? There’s a bit of an age difference but Nathaniel is just really mature for his age so he says he can’t stand guys his own age.”

The guys were hot and I was starting to wonder just how much money this guy made and whether I could cash in on this gig too when the fun started…

…and he talked non-stop. “Yeah, you like it when I do that? How do you like that? Does it feel good? What about when I do this? You like my cock, don’t you? Right? Yeah. Oh yeah, that’s awesome, do that again. Do you like it? Does it feel good? Wow, you’re so hot. Do you think I’m hot? Do you like my cock? Do you like it? Does it feel good?”

And me, “Mmhmmm, mmmm, mmmmmmmm, mmmmmmmmmm, yeah, of course, mmmm, mmmmm, mhmm, mmm, mhm, m…”

You’re eyes are supposed to roll to the back of your head because you’re dying of pleasure not because you can barely contain the boredom and disbelief.

Close your mouth and open up your heart and baby satisfy me!

I’m not one for total dead silence but come on! Body language is very important, use some of that and feel the moment. I’m not here to answer 20 questions for an interview on the The View.

Also it seemed he hadn’t come very prepared and there was no way I was letting American Russell Brand in here without protection. No condoms? No worries! To liven up the situation he resourcefully suggested the use of scented, hotel brand hand cream…and my erection was gone.

Satisfy me!

I spent the rest of our encounter propped up on my elbow with the squelchy sound of generic hand cream being put through its paces assaulting my ears until I could finally disengage myself and leave totally unsatisfied.

Was his never ending stream of verbalisation a symptom of insecurity, low self esteem, being American, being older? Maybe I should be more sympathetic to plight of mouthy Americans.

Or was it me being insecure and too shy to speak my mind and get in on the verbal foreplay? I must say though, no other sexual partner has been so talkative…body language people!

(more hotel rendezvous to come)

Proud of Taiwan/Hopeful for ‘Straya

I was so amazed, excited, and proud of Taiwan the day that inequality in marriage rights were deemed unconstitutional. Taiwan is a lead in equal rights and democracy in the Asian region. They are setting a fine example for their neighbours.

At the same time I was really sad, disappointed, and disenchanted with my own country, Australia. In light of the important (piss weak, insulting, spineless, backward, pandering, shit-for-sense, ARSE MUNCHING, SOUL BUGGARING) survey on gay marriage, I thought I’d repost this article on the amazing event in Taiwan so that we can all see the shining example we need to follow if we don’t want to fall behind the progress being made by the rest of the world.

C’mon Aussie c’mon.

Chi Chia-Wei spent more than five months in jail in 1986 for publicly being out as a gay man. That was when Taiwan was under martial law, and he secured a pardon before the year was out, but that was only the beginning of his fight for actual justice. In the 30 years since then, […]

via Gay Marriage Now Legal in Taiwan — One Equal World