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One night, I was out in this bar that I used to frequent, and sure enough, she was there. I couldn’t remember her name, but it was her alright. X-Ray Girl. She was there with a guy and I presumed that they were on a date, because they were sitting alone together in a booth. With what little identifiable information I had about her, I approached her. At closer sight, I realized her breasts were quite larger than I remembered them. Her waist was quite slim too. She looked good.
“Hey, uh, remember me?” I said. She looked over, caught off guard, surprised.
“Yeah, you never called me.” she said, giving me attitude. And then, I dunno what it was, I guess all the pain that I felt, the burning, the razorblades, the dripping, the embarassment and the humiliation, I just wanted to make her feel it too.
“Yeah, and uh, you gave me the clap!” I snapped back. The awkwardness of the situation (or perhaps a burning sensation) sent the guy she was with to get up and go to the bathroom.
“Yeah, you gave me the clap!”
She denied and I accused. We went back and forth until she started crying, and not wanting to make any more of a scene I left. I thought about this, and I still think about this: I accused her of giving me the clap eventhough I was not certain that she gave it to me. All I knew was that she slept with me, and I had symptoms afterwards.
I admit that I was an asshole for approaching her about this at a bar (especially when she was on a date with another guy), but after seeing her, I felt I had to say something to her.
After that night, I never saw her again. She weaved back into the anonymity that she once belonged to, and all that I am left with is the memory of her Halloween party, and the night I told her that she gave me the clap. I don’t know her name. I don’t know the details of her life. I have very few chunks of information to go by: blonde, x-ray tech, hospital, the clap….
I too wish to enjoy that anonymity. Leaving you, my dear reader with a few chunks of information about me here, and a few chunks of information about me there, I plan to be weightless and sheathed in my anonymity–disappearing into these words and never existing. I feel that it is the only way that I can share these stories with the world, if not telling them myself. As I have told many of these stories already, I have felt the tarnishing effects of them on my reputation. Most often, I don’t care. These stories are me, right? No. This is how I make me disappear. This is my detachment, my escape plan, my way out.
I’m originally from New York. I’m in Seoul doing exactly what I used to do in New York. I teach English, and I date women, I read books, I eat out, I sleep with women, I go to bars, I go to clubs, I dance, I drink, I screw, I kiss in public, I have fun, I live life.
I’ve only lived in Seoul for 3.5 months. In that time I have managed to have a great amount of incredibly memorable, dangerous, hilarious, and ridiculous sexual adventures with many many women. As I’ve re-told these stories in my office at work, or in the confines of text messages or instant message boxes, or in the smoke-filled din of Itaewon pubs, I have heard repeatedly that I should write these stories down.
“Sexual adventures?” you ask…. yeah, like that time that I woke up in Bucheon to an angry Korean ex-boyfriend yelling at me for sleeping with his woman, or that time I slept with a woman that I met for a language exchange, only to find out later that she was married, or that time that a sexy 31 year old doctor checked my penis in the back of a taxi cab, or that time I bedded a cute little 19 year who barely spoke a drop of English…and so many many more…
But of course, the first second that I attempt to write these sexual adventures in some sort of book or collection–I come across as a sexist pig, as a dirty manwhore who can be the target for anger and hatred. In doing so, my name may forever be tarnished and associated with my words, possibly barring me from certain future possiblities.
So my good friend suggested that I write an anonymous blog–this way these stories can be shared with the world. I can exercise my skills at writing, get some (other) form or release from all of these sexual adventures, and you, my dear reader, get to dissect my words and possibly even experience a different kind of life, or perhaps even a life that is not far from fiction, but is your reality as well.
As I write this introduction, I feel that it can never really be good enough–it will never really suffice what I have to say. For now this will have to make do, and through time and experimentation I will figure out exactly how I want this blog to go.
I will write of my adventures as they occur, but I have quite a bit of bactktracking to do…
Elderly prostitutes reveal dark side of South Korea’s rise.
By Associated Press.
September 25, 2015 | 9:43am.
South Korea covers $2.6M bill for North’s Olympic delegation.
Brutal dog meat farms expose Olympic underbelly.

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