I had dinner on Ninth Avenue in midtown last night, sitting in an open-air restaurant, and oh boy did I enjoy the parade of beautiful Asian girls walking by.
I am thoroughly enamored of the allure of Asian women and have been for the last few years. When I ask my friends, “Where were these girls when I was younger?”–like in my twenties or thirties, they say–“in Asia, Uncle Irv. Or they weren’t born yet.”
It’s true. In the 70s and 80s when I was always trying to meet women and did a good bit of dating, I never met any Asians. I guess they were just being born, the ones I so fervently admire today…
It’s times like this that I wish I were good at sketching with a pencil, to capture some of the beauties I see on the boulevards…instead, I sketch with words.
Like, the Japanese cutie at the coffee shop on a Saturday morning, dressed in a white blouse buttoned to her throat, with black shorts and flat shoes. A chic, 1960s-style pageboy ‘do. Sipping her coffee and looking at a map of NYC. Demure, but very sexy in a quiet way.
The Chinese clerk in a department store with glossy black hair pulled into two ponytails, wearing a black dress with little pink flower prints. Olive complexion. Bright, challenging eyes even when she just rang up a sale.
Or the Pacific Island lovely in a fluttery baby doll top just coming down to the hems of her blue denim short-shorts, her brown hair piled high on her head, her long shapely legs delectable as she strode with girlish vigor down Ninth Avenue in her high heels.
I see them so clearly in memory. Perhaps they will be the inspirations for future stories. Ah, if only I had the sex life my characters enjoy! But I don’t think I’d have the emotional constitution for it.
I’ve had my share of adventures, mind you, but my fictional creations have far more enviable records of carnal accomplishment.
I don’t know where I found this picture on the Web, can’t remember, but oh this girl is a beauty…lookit those pins…
I went out to a strip club yesterday for the first time in quite a long while. Had to cut back in these tough times, as I’m sure you understand. But sometimes you just get the urge for some entertainment, and yesterday was such a time.
I was hoping there would be some Asian talent to catch my eye and compel me with their curves and delicious demeanors to open my wallet to tip and get a lapdance or two. I like to feel compelled to express my awe over a girl’s loveliness by giving her what I can, even if only a few dollars of heartfelt appreciation. Alas, I saw no Asian performers yesterday at this club. (I sure would love to go to a strip club exclusively featuring Asian dancers, but I know of none in New York City.) The waitress complained when I only tipped her $1 on an $11 beer, and the girls onstage were lethargic. Not an auspicious return to a milieu I used to spend quite a bit of time in. And not an Asian dancer in sight.
But the streets were full of delightful Asian ladies just like the doctor ordered (the erotic doctor in my mind, that is), and I was lucky to have a front row seat at the parade on Ninth Avenue as I ate my linguini primavera.