In my small, Japanese style apartment I sit on the floor at the foot of a low coffee table looking at my laptop. The apartment is basically a medium sized little room covered in tatami mats with a sliding, windowed door out onto a small balcony overlooking the parking lot of the apartment complex. My apartment is on the outskirts of the major metropolitan city in my dreams, and there is environment around the parking lot that can be seen from the balcony. There is a stormwater swale along the road leading into a swampy wetland at the border of the parking lot. There is a short bridge leading over the swale in order to access the parking lot from the road. Frogs and crickets can always be heard at night from the wetland and the environmental swale. It is rarely cold, and sufficiently humid. On this night, the winds are gusting with fresh air from the ocean and a distant thunderstorm is bringing sprinkles of rain, wetting the asphalt in the parking lot and the scent of an oncoming storm fills the gusts of evening air in so many ways.
The medium size room is bordered by a short wall and countertop on the left hand side, and extends to the entry door. The extension hosts a small kitchenette on the left hand side with a refrigerator. On the right hand side is an enclosed section of the extension, with a door, which is the bathroom. The entry door leads immediately onto a concrete balcony. The medium sized room hosts a shallow couch, a low coffee table, several flatscreen monitors on the walls and a futon thrown lazily onto the floor in the middle of the room.
On the coffee table is my laptop, a small glass vase full of rice, a box of sandalwood incense and a lighter. While I was not a networking genius, I had wired my laptop to the several flatscreen monitors mounted on the walls around the room and to four speakers suspended at the ceiling in each corner of the medium sized room. I had also run wires to two speakers mounted to the ceiling in my bathroom. The wires are gently pinned to the walls and ceiling. Otherwise, the walls were white except for a deep Burgandy shaded Sari from Nepal tacked in the middle of one of the walls that softly shifts in the air currents of the room, and a renaissance style green tapestry decorated with golden stairs, moons and astrology signs pinned to the ceiling. There is a single torch lampstand in one corner of the room, illuminating the environment in a soft yellow glow. The room has a gentle, dusty scent of incense.
I sit in seiza on the floor, tapping at the computer, when suddenly there is a gentle knock on the door.
"Come in!" I call out, pretending to be distracted by my laptop.
The door opens and in steps Michelle. She is dressed in a green t-shirt with two, crossed guitars on it and a short, white pair of shorts. She is wearing white flipflops. The cut of her green shirt is perfect for her small, lithe Chinese body; it hugs the curves of her form so perfectly. She must have had it tailored to fit her, or tailored it herself. Her short white shorts are soft and thin, but the green short drapes gently over them. I wouldn't be surprised if, in better lighting, they were translucent ever so gently revealing her curves. Her beautiful, perfect, awkwardly robust Chinese legs are otherwise unadorned and exploded into the room, begging to be worshipped.
Her beautiful Chinese thighs are awkwardly thick for her otherwise slight frame, and her calves are round and meaty. Her ankles are slight, but the shape of her calves and legs, and her near complete lack of a chest always makes me wonder about what kind of hormones caused her to develop that way. To me, she looks like an otherworldly Buddhist statue in absolute Zen; a manifestation of infinite lifetimes of hyperpowerful monks meditating on the form of a female that would cause men to falls to their knees, their penises immediately erect, worshipping at her feet. She is like an alien of sex stepping into the world from a distant galaxy where the only existence is continual sexual ecstatsy. She looks this way, but also so shy and geeky. And always a little bit awkward while wearing flipflops... Normally I hate flipflops, I am a boot guy, but I would willingly remove my left kidney and donate it to charity just to suck on her toes IN those flipflops.
"Hey," she says cutely, "do you still want to go get sushi?"
We made plans to go out to a sushi restaurant.
"Yes," I reply, "just a moment while I put on my sneakers..."
She skates along the floor through the kitchenette and into my room; her beautiful, perfect Chinese legs bursting like a cartoon character, like Patrick from Spongebob, into my vision. Two evil snakes of Chinese heaven that enthrall me, command me to worship them and punish me all at once. She glances at my computer and slightly sniffs, then becomes wide eyed.
"What are you doing? Are you looking at Asian porn?!" she cries and steps back.
"No, Michelle wait!" I cry.
She steps backwards into the kitchen like small cat, her eyes on mine.
"Michelle..." I say, "Michelle..."
A shadow grows over my face, and the room becomes blurry except for Michelle and I. Like the only two individuals in suspended time, we stand for a long quiet moment across from each other.
"Michelle..." I start again, "it's true that I sometimes get bored and look at Asian porn, and camgirl sites... but Michelle! I always come back to you. Every image, every camgirl, even passersby on the street... it's like they are all loading ammunition into me that I will only give to you. Every time, I turn back to you Michelle. I have since I met you. I give all of my lust to you. I want to... I worship your Chinese legs, Michelle."
The shadow grows darker over my face as I hesitate to say what's on my mind.
"THE ONLY THING I WANT IS YOU, MICHELLE, YOU AND YOUR FAT CHINESE LEGS!!!!!!" I yell.
