In 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 decided 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?