From our fan AMWFlovefetish October 9, 2014 at 8:31 pm
We have a hot and sexy story from a fellow fan. Let him know what you think.
His email: firstname.lastname@example.org
“Thank God She Has an Asian Fetish” by AMWFlovefetish
“Others can suggest limitations for us. But only we can impose them …”
I have decided to finally share my story to not only encourage my fellow Asian brothers desiring relationships with non-Asian women, but also in response to noticing lately many young White women posting their own blogs about being made to feel ashamed or guilty by mean comments from people about their interests in Asian men. These young ladies were being harassed that just their being open-minded to Asian guys was proof of them having an “Asian fetish” and that they were evil.
I wish to share my story after being distressed reading so many young WF posting online of being harassed because they are in relationships with AM.
They are made to feel ashamed or guilty for having an “Asian fetish”. Well, my story is that Thank God for WF with Asian fetishes, because that’s how I got my first WF! And come to think of it, all the WF I slept with were willing to do so because they had Asian fetishes that overrided all the endless anti-Asian-Male programming of the Western society and Hollywood.
White chicks with Asian fetishes (for Asian men) rule!
Well, speaking as an Asian man who is appreciative of non-Asian women, I wish to share my story of how thankful Asian men are for the White women out there with fetishes for us, and who are proud of it.
We can only dream and hope that there would be more of you out there…
2006. Me to my then-girlfriend, Chinese: “I promise myself, before I die I will bury my face between a white girl’s legs.”
Present day. I have buried my face between a white girl’s legs and then some.
And long legs they are — she’s 5-9 in bare feet, a former model who used to get paid to tan.
We met a couple hours earlier at a party thrown by a mutual acquaintance. She made an immediate impression when she entered — tall, outgoing, with strong bone structure and a stylish haircut.
A face that Helen of Troy would be envious of. And those breasts… My god… Every one, man and woman, couldn’t help but take notice of such a walking model of perfection.
In the first few minutes after she arrived, she managed to reveal to the room that she spoke French and had modeled in Europe for a long time.
At some point later in the evening, I suddenly found her at my shoulder. She was beaming. And indirectly asking about my relationship status: “So you’ve got a girlfriend — she couldn’t make it?”, or something else transparent like that.
I recognized her hint of interest for what it was and kept my cool. Not only did I answer in a non-needy way, I was brutally honest — our relationship had gone through the wringer, my heart was broken and so on. But I made clear that the split was definite, that I wasn’t pining over her.
She gave me a similar story of her own. We proceeded to banter for 10 or 15 minutes about nothing consequential. Truth be told, I wasn’t keeping track of conversation threads. I was gauging her interest by disqualifying myself (“What do you do?” “I’m unemployed.”), putting on mini-vacuums, eye coding elsewhere in the room and varying the openness of my body language. She double- and triple-checked on the subject of whether I had a girlfriend, probably to test my congruence.
I concluded that I wasn’t being nearly as interesting as her behavior made me seem. All systems go.
We’d exchange numbers, at the very least. Or that’s what I figured until I suddenly saw her in the foyer, bundled up and ready to leave. She hadn’t said goodbye to me, hadn’t even looked in my direction.
Maybe her buying temperature had dropped. Maybe she got cold feet. Or maybe the social pressure was too high.
Only one way to know for sure.
I gave her a 10-second head start out the door, then said my own goodbyes, bundled up and left.
I was expecting to catch up with her outside. But I made it down only one flight of steps before I heard her voice, a floor below me. She had stopped on the landing.
“Are you following me?” she asked, coyly.
“No,” I said when I reached her. “Are you waiting for me?”
She laughed and turned to continue down the steps.
And she reached back for my hand.
As soon as we got outside, she put her arm in mine. She announced that she was drunk and that she didn’t know where we were going (translation: “Take advantage of me!”), and I said the same, along with, “Are you kidnapping me?” Role reversal.
I noticed through all this that she was walking with purpose. And so was I.
She questioned me again about following her, and I teased her for waiting. After a couple rounds of this, she made her intentions known:
“I think you’re really attractive.”
That was all I needed to hear. I stopped her in her tracks, pulled her close and kissed her, tongue and all. No pullback.
Just as quickly, I pushed her away and killed the momentum by introducing everyday topics — biographical info and the weather, for instance. I dropped in “Where do you live”? — that oldie-but-goodie. We continued walking, and I stopped her intermittently to kiss her again.
“Let’s have one more drink,” she said. She needed a little more coaxing, apparently.
We passed a couple blocks without seeing a bar. Then her request changed:
“Take me to the subway. I’m going home.”
Buzzkill. I decided that if we did find a station nearby, I would send her off by herself. I wasn’t up for pumping her BT under the glare of fluourescent lights, with a Greek chorus of bums watching. (It was past midnight.)
But another couple blocks went by, and no subway station. She admitted that she didn’t know where we were.
I took that as my cue to hail a cab. When we got inside, I kept my mouth shut. We hadn’t said where we were going, so whatever directions she gave to the cabbie would be the final sexual IOI I was looking for.
To her place, she said.
The making-out resumed. Mind you, I hadn’t even broached the topics of sex or going to her place at this point. But that’s not my style. Some guys are dominant and highly sexual; I happen to be safe and comforting.
I have no problem with building sexual tension. But I save the explicit talk until the threshold of no return.
“The rush of water, to the point of tossing rocks about. This is shih.
The strike of a hawk, at the killing snap. This is the node.
Therefore, one skilled at battle –
His shih is steep.
His node is short.”
She let loose with assorted ASD phrases as the cab drove: “This is crazy!” “I just met you!” “I don’t even know you!”
I said in return, “I didn’t know you existed before tonight.” My meaning: I’m no better off than you in this situation, and I’m not responsible for assuaging your anxiety.
The ride wore on. She went to telling me how sexy she thought I was, how much she liked my hair (amid grabbing handfuls of it).
Then she said what had to be one of the most beautiful phrases I’ve ever heard from a woman:
“I have an Asian fetish.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. There was a god after all.
“I fucking LOVE Asian men,” she told me looking full into my almond-shaped dark eyes with a smiling sensual gleam in her own. “…I love FUCKING Asian guys… I feel you should know.”
Oh my god. She should have just told me this sooner.
I put my arms around her and kissed her full on the lips for the longest, most heartfelt and sensual kiss I ever gave a woman in my life. She returned in full passion.
And a little later, she said those other magic words:
“I’m taking you home with me.”
At her place, she was quick to get me on the couch and start stripping the both of us, with the lights full on. This woman knew what she wanted and wasn’t shy about it.
I took the dominance at one point by picking her up, to peals of laughter, and cavemanning her into the bedroom.
I never had my dick sucked by a White woman before, but had heard many times how they’re the best at giving head in the world. My god, what an understatement. The way she used her whole mouth from her lips to her tongue, the insides of her cheeks, her drool and the way she licked the strands and blew bubbles with it mixed with my precum, and how she used her whole throat… it was almost an out of body experience she gave me and I couldn’t help but strain to hold back but the pleasures she was giving me were too great. I exploded rope after rope of hot gooey cum into her French mouth, which she took with deep moans like only a French girl can make sound so feminine and lusty at the same time. She opened wide for me to see her gargle my sperm before she drank my cum before my eyes and flashed me a bright smile.
I swear I could have died the happiest man right then and there. But I had a favor to return.
I laid her on her back on her bed and slipped off her panties revealing the smoothest skin and the prettiest, hairless pinkest pussy I have ever seen, even counting all the countless pictures and videos of White women’s pussies I’ve lusted at online. But here, in real life, I was face to face with the holiest of holies. Without going into too much detail, I ate and drank from her pussy like she was God Herself and her juices were the waters of life.
By the time I drank her dry, my own cock was rock hard and full of more seed for her pussy this time. I knew I would last a long time because she had just milked my cock of my sperm earlier.
I was grateful, too, because it let me fuck this French blonde goddess like a seasoned professional for about an hour before I had to cum again, this time inside of that precious pink pussy I had always dreamed of prior to meeting her.
The next morning, though, she suddenly got distraught and told me I had to leave right away. A bit anticlimactic an end, and she didn’t give me her number or even her email after, so I left empty-handed but also pleasurably empty-balled. I really shouldn’t complain. Most guys want no commitments. Then again, I’m not most guys, and neither was a goddess like her just any ordinary girl.
Looking back, I don’t know if I should have pressed her to keep in touch, but I am thankful for what we shared. That she has a self-admitted fetish for Asian guys when she can have any man of any color she wants was icing on the cake I got to have and eat too, and it comforts me to know there are women like her out there for the next Asian brother with dreams of burying his face between the long legs of a beautiful White girl…hopefully one with an Asian fetish, who happens to be French…