Michael = Dog?

Anna is one of my favorite students. She is in second grade and just adorable and beats up most of the boys in our class as a bonus. She has black hair like everyone else here, brown eyes like everyone else here but hers are deeper, darker and rounder than most. Her full cheeks with that soft, silky Korean skin is just unavoidable for a quick, gentle caress every time I see her when she is done walking with me with her little hand inside mine. Anna is very affectionate and loves to be loved. Fortunately, I love loving her, so we get along well.

Today while waiting for her classmates to get to class, she was holding my hand, well actually my wrist and looking up at me with those wondrous eyes and dimpled smile. I was lost in her world when I noticed there was someone petting me, yes petting my forearm and I came back to earth and my classroom. It was Anna stroking and petting the hair on my arms. She again looked back up at me this time with wonder in her eyes and said in her best English, “Michael, dog?” and she pointed to my arm hair and then to my chest. Translation for the non-EFL teachers of the world: “Michael you have hair on your arms, are you a dog?”

I laughed half-heartedly and smiled at my precious little angel who somehow made calling me a dog sound sweet. Second graders can get away with stuff like that but adults get the Jersey/NYC stare when they venture into making comments of that sort.

I still get startled at the fact that most Koreans, both children and adults have never touched a human being with body hair or facial hair. It startles me. I grew up in an Italian family and amongst Italians, chest hair and facial hair are signs of virility. In fact, you are not really considered a man until you have chest hair. I faired well in that department. The other symbol of Italian manhood is not as easy to see, but we will leave that one alone for now. The idea that men can be men and not have hair on their chests, face and arms is beyond my mental capacity to understand. When I am lazy and do not shave, the next day almost every young one will come and rub my stubble. It occurs to me that they may have never felt a man’s facial hair as stiff as mine, another fact that baffles me and my social programming.

While on a roll about my social programming, bodies and cultural differences, I might as well dive into the women. Wait, that did not come out right. What I meant to say was I would like to explore the different bodies of Korean and Western women. OK, that didn’t work either but I think you get the point! I was here almost a month before I realized that the majority of females in Korea are not teenagers! Korean women have very slight frames and bones. It is of the highest importance for a woman in Korea to be skinny. I mean skinny, not thin or athletic. Typically, their bodies remind me of the standard American eighth grade girl in girth, bone structure, weight and size of butt and breasts. Even when pregnant, Korean women are less voluptuous then the American college girl on a diet. And I am speaking of American White girls, not Blacks or Latinas. Their butts are smaller then most pre-pubescent American girls, often with even skinnier legs. If thin is in, then Korean women are it but if curves are what shake your nerves, head east in a hurry! Again, I grew up around Italian women and the physical features that define her as a woman are her curves coming and going.

It has taken me a while to adjust my personal definitions of what is considered attractive, sexy and mature here in Korea. I am not sure I would ever adapt completely from the social and familial programming that is seated deep in this curious mind. But I am curious about what the skin feels like, I cannot lie. Koreans have the smoothest, silkiest skin on this planet. It almost doesn’t feel real. I have a friend in the states who is half Korean and I call her Silky Pants (she calls me Jerk Face for the record) and she warned about how the whole country has skin like hers. I did not believe her, I am a believer now. At times, I reflect on wanting to have a one-night stand or something similar just to touch, caress and lay next to such soft smooth skin. My Inner-Slut has a field day with these kinds of thoughts. But generally, return to my prudish ways and go about my business while trying not to gawk at an occasional woman that I cannot tell if she is twelve or twenty-eight- their bodies, faces, skin and clothes are almost identical. I blush when I realize they are a child and lower my head in shame.

The lessons and education continue for me here in Korea. I am starting to pay attention again to my surroundings knowing that my time here is limited. So the young ones will have to find another man to pet and call dog, and I will have to hold the hands of somebody else’s children with skin more course and a lot less bowing. In the mean time, Michael Dog will try to not smirk at the idea of being a man without chest and facial hairs and being a woman without curves. The programming is deep, like the center of an old Oak Tree. And like an Oak Tree, they don’t die easily.

Lust is not a Sin

Dear Leandra;
The high-speed train that will take me back home is less than 10 minutes from departure, which is more than twenty minutes since we said goodbye. I am leaning forward in my green seat to stay awake and write you. To tell you what I wanted to say and was not a strong enough man as we parted at the station in separate directions.

You are amazing!

If not for lust that word I abhor and haunts me, the last twenty-four hours with you would not have happened. The magic, love and joy we shared and exchanged would still be bottled up in this vault I keep my heart in struggling for release. Lust for the Girl in The White Bikini is how the Divine Presence brought us together. Love and willingness are what squeezed it open.

While walking away trembling, I started to cry but fiercely held back the tears, not of sadness for believing I will not see you again, I will. Tears of letting a moment pass without grasping for it like it is my last breath.

You see; you are perfect in my eyes. If I were willing to allow myself to fall in love at this time, I would leap at you while desperately clinging to my last shreds of self-control and protection. I am not gong to fall in love with you even thought you are ‘her’ for me; my blueprint of a woman- strong, courageous, sensitive, vulnerable although hidden well, loving, incredibly smart and fun and disturbingly gorgeous and sexy. I want to be your friend and companion, to share more moments of French Toast and nights ending at 6:00a.m. that shake my illusion of control and imprisonment free to be wild. I want to be the one you hunt down at 3:00.am. when you can’t sleep and need to wake someone to know that you are worth being woken for. That you matter and matter to me. That you are loved, lovable and love me more than I deserve and expect or knew I needed.

Last night you told me, “Lust is not a sin”. Lust got me in a room with you and let me look in your eyes to see and feel who you are, in spite of that face, smile, cheeks and body that make me squirm in my pants. Lust forced me to reach out to you but you showed me why lust is not only exempt from the sin list but you transformed it into something beautiful and treasured in one quick flash of your smile.

Thanks for being you and choosing to let me inside both your door and your so-called walls.

Love,
Michael the Trophy Holder
PS- I will keep my word and not cross that Sacred line, your worth it.

Adam and Eve in the Garden of Weedin'

Adam and Eve in the Garden of Weedin

WOW! What are these things sticking out of Her chest?
What do they do?
Why are they there?
Are they for me to pull Her around with me?

Her body is so different, soft and strong!
Why does She to not have a pointing thing?
That shoots out yellow warm water?
Where does it come out?

Why does She have sideways lips
And lips like mine on her face?
What do you put inside those lips?
I wonder what kind of food She eats in there?

Humm. She is eating an apple!
God told me not to eat it!
Is She going to put it in Her other mouth?
No, She is eating it like everything else!

But God said not to!
Maybe since She is so amazing,
She does not have to follow God’s rules.
Maybe She is God in flesh.

Her eyes say so much.
I wonder if She can speak?
Maybe She just eats, walks and dances.
What is She and why did She come out of my rib?


She must be proof,
That what God says it true.
That God exists,
And God’s Voice is not just in my head.

She is evidence of God.
She is what I want to be.
She is here to show me,
How to be a man.




But, She is not a Man.
She is WOW!
That’s it,
She is WowMan!

I wonder if I am supposed
To ride Her like the elephant?
Or pet Her,
Like the tiger?

What do I do with Her?
Is She here for me?
Or am I here for Her?
Or maybe for each other.

That is why God
Had Her come out of my rib.
To let me know,
We are connected for Eternity.

Is She like the other animals?
For me to take care of?
Or She is special?
Yes, She is special.

I will protect Her,
From the other animals.
I will show Her,
All the good foods.

What if She is here,
To protect me?
What do I,
Need to be protected from?

God said to not eat,
From That tree.
She did,
And She is still perfect.

Should I eat from That tree?
Am I not Her equal?
No, I am to protect Her.
What if I cease?


If I am not,
To protect Her,
Is She here to protect me?
From What?

The tree,
Is She protecting me from the Tree?
No, I get it,
She is here to protect me from me!

I wonder if I can,
Touch Her.
Ooh, what is happening,
To my Thing?

It is turning red,
And growing,
And twitching.
What has She done to me?

Now I really, Want to touch Her.
What are those things?
And what do,
They feel like?

Do They bite?
Is That where
She shoots Her warm yellow water?
I hope not, it will hit me.

I wonder what,
Her Voice sounds like,
If She speaks.
Will it be like mine?

Does God talk to Her like me?
No, God probably does not need,
To Teach Her anything.
She already Knows.

Assignment: Through the Microscope- the first real kiss

Assignment: Looking through the Microscope- the first real kiss

I was sitting on the edge of Ellen’s bed with my heart beating, fast. Her bedspread was white, she had some pink things in her room but not as many as most girls I was friends with in seventh grade. It had more white, stronger looking stuff with heavier wood. I do not recall what was heavy or what it looked like, I just remember heavy wood and white. Nothing frilly or dainty for Ellen. She was a strong girl both physically, I am sure she could beat me up, and mentally; no one would mess with her, especially after she pinched Steven in the noise when he tried to grab her ass waiting for the bus one day. Her slanted brown eyes at times made her look at least part Asian but she was not; Ellen was a Jewish girl but not like the other Jewish girls in town. She did not wear make up, go shopping, whine or ever say with that New York accent in suburban Jersey, “Oh my God, you wouldn’t believe what…”. No, Ellen was a beautiful girl with a thin body and still part of the itty-bitty-titty-committee but tough as nails. I never could figure out why we were together about to make out. I was not her type. She usually picked the studs in training, not the weirdoes like me. But Ellen was a revolutionary before she even knew what that meant. She could have been a famous feminist if she had enough respect for most women, but without ever saying it, Ellen frowned upon girls who get all dressed and changed the way they looked just so boys would like them. You cold smell her disdain for their low opinion of themselves and their actions. Especially the little Jewish American Princess types. But here we were in her bedroom on Saturday late afternoon while her mother was not home. I do not know if she had a father, she said when we ere walking up to her huge white house with three humongous white pillars in front with her friend Lisa, “My mother is not home and the housekeeper doesn’t care what I do or who I bring home.” We entered her house, and her and Lisa started walking towards her bedroom as if I knew where it was. I tagged along not to seem immature or inexperienced in making out with girls like I did the first time we tried behind the middle staircase with Bryan and Monica after third period last Tuesday. I got scared and only gave he a peck on the cheek and then a kiss on the lips. I did not know she wanted to really make out, make out.

She opened the door to her room firmly with Lisa still in between us. When Ellen saw me standing in the door not knowing what to do with shoulders hunched up and licking my lips, she took charge. She looks at Lisa, “He licks his lips” they both laughed. I turned red and almost cried. “Lisa, go play with my brother”, in retrospect, I wish she had used a different phrase. She pointed for Lisa to leave the room and go to his room across the hall to the right. Lisa obeyed; every body obeys Ellen. “Squirrel, sit on the bed” she pointed to the bed near the middle but with room for her to sit closest to her pillows and teddy bear, brown and used. I wished she had called me by my name instead if my nickname but was glad she knew what to do. She closed her bedroom door; we were now alone. She put on her Sylvania stereo and “Billy Don’t Be a Hero” by Bo Donaldson and The Heywoods was playing. She leaned over enough to get close but to still make me do some of the work. She took her right hand into mine and lifted it and placed it slowly but assuredly on her shoulder and then let go to put hers on mine. I trembled and knew that she knew I was trembling. She laughed a little but held it back. She showed some compassion and I think she was actually touched by my innocence and adoration of her. I looked for as long as I could at her light brown eyes that seemed to have green and hazel and maybe even blue in them. Maybe I was just dreaming when I looked at her before our lips touched. Maybe I just was so present and excited I did not even know what color her eyes are but I know they were light brown. Her cheeks were soft, like, real soft. Her lips were thin, soft and wide. I kissed her! Or maybe she kissed me. We kissed.

We took a breath. She was smiling. I think I forgot to smile I was so elated. My heart was racing. My penis was tingling like it would when I woke in the night during a dream and it was slightly hard and ready to do that strange thing it does without me knowing when or why it does it. We kissed again and again. Finally, we held the kiss and I was making out with a girl, and not just any girl. I was making out with Ellen, the one girl that no boy could control or tame. The wild one who held the whole deck of cards. We giggled together. It was the first time we connected and did a together. Until then, it had been her and me doing something but that moment, we did a together. It was better than the movies or the stories my older brother used to tell. They never talked about the together moment. I wondered how I had lived till then without a moment like that. We were holding each other tightly now and I could feel her thin body next to mine. Her shoulders were pressed against mine and her small but wonderful breasts massaged my chest like nothing had before. This was my moment, our moment really.

The door opened right then and her little brother walked in with his pants unbuttoned, blue jeans. He looked about eight or nine years old. Head down, shoulders sticking straight up and hands holding up his jeans. His face had three long tears streaming down his soft little cheeks. He whispered in Ellen’s ears but I could hear it, “Ellen, she touched my pee-pee and it hurts”. Our moment was done, never to return.

I have assumed since, he may not have ever had such a moment of innocence that we shared that Saturday afternoon in autumn of 1973.

Like a Korean Virgin

Like a Korean Virgin

I am sitting at my MacBook listening to the Buddhist Television Network in the background with volume at #1 about to dive into an area that baffles. Being baffled is not a new or unexpected state for me, just one that well, baffles me.

As I have begun to form friendships and relationships here in Korea, an added benefit is direct sources of information that I would not be able to access otherwise. This reflection comes from one of those opportunities. My ‘informant’, who will remain nameless for obvious reasons, has no reason to lie or distort the truth. She is trying to help me understand her culture as best she can. I am grateful for her trust, respect and willingness to aid me in my continual process of learning. These days, the ‘textbook’ I am studying is about male-female relationships, sex, gender roles, norms and expectations. I say ‘these days’ to make myself feel like it will someday be something different.

Today I had the pleasure of penetrating the topic of virginity and sexual activity in Korea. I was flat out bowled over by what seemed obvious to my informant but oblivious to me. I appreciate her patience in this department since it took several restating of questions and answers to make certain I heard, understood and swallowed the information correctly. I also need to add that any conversation that includes sex, virginity and prostitution as its main focal points will both maintain and distract me continuously.

“So, I have been thinking about what you said yesterday about the whole women leaving the door open or not be allowed in a man’s room or apartment thing. It really has caught my attention since it is so far removed from American culture and norms. My question is; if men and women are not allowed to be in a room together alone before marriage then do they not have sex?”

“No, they don’t.”

“They’re virgins till marriage?”

“Yes. Most Koreans do not have sex before marriage.”

“Both men and women?”

“Yes. But more women are virgins than men.”

“How is that possible? Don’t the men have sex with women to not be virgins?”

“You know how in Korea all men have to serve in the military?” I nod my head. “Their senior and junior officers take them to get sex for pay. It is a regular part of what happens when boys go to the military. Many say they have not done it but we all know they have.”

“So prostitution is how most boys lose the virginity?”

“Yes. It is very normal in Korea. Most girls do not have sex before marriage. If they get married and the girl has already had sex with a man, they will get separated immediately.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Most men will not marry a women who is not a virgin.”

“Really?” For a guy who talks as much as I do, my vocabulary as an English teacher was becoming very limited to just one word; Really? “It is like Muslim culture?”

“Michael, it is Korean culture.” I am beginning to find out that the answer to anything that Koreans feel insecure or embarrassed about is; “It is Korean culture”.

I was about to say ‘Really?’ one more time but thought about it and tried some new words. “So you are telling me that women that are between 25-35 years old and not married are virgins?”

“Yes. It is very normal in Korea.”

“And boys that do not have sex with a prostitute in the military are also virgins till marriage?”

“Yes but many of them lie about it.”

“What percentage of high school students has sex before college?”

“High school students having sex?” She is now the one who is sounding like I was speaking a foreign language(OK, so I am, but you know what I mean!) . It was like she did not understand the question or it was a quantum physics equation.

“Yes. In America, it is very common for high school students to have sex before they graduate high school. In fact, most of them have more sexual partners in high school than I have had in my whole life.”

“Really?” See what a good English teacher I am? In a matter of minutes I have Koreans mimicking my phrases like natives.

“Yes. It is one of the reasons me and some of my friends that work with youth for a living do not want to work in high schools any more. The girls are too aggressive and we get accused of things that didn’t even happen.”

“Do you lose your jobs if that happens? If a teacher or counselor has sex with a high school girl, who gets fired?”

“The man! He loses his job, never can work with youth again and usually goes to jail for many years, sometimes even twenty-five years.”

“Really?”

“Yes. In 1997 I was accused of trying to have sex with a high school girl that was in a program I used to coordinate and I almost was arrested and prosecuted and I never even touched her beyond the way I would touch any boy or girl.”

“Really? So you can’t be a counselor any more in America?”

“I can. There was a lot of support for me and things were sort-of resolved without any legal or professional consequences but I resigned from my job because all the girls thought I was some kind of a sexual molester and I knew I could not do my job effectively any more. It was more about rumors and gossip than legal or professional. Girls were afraid to be alone with me after that.”

“Did you ever talk with her about it?”

“Yes. She said she did it because she didn’t want to be on the camping trip any more and thought by accusing me of trying to have sex with her, we would go home. Unfortunately for her, that did not happen and I almost lost my freedom and went to jail. I asked her about three years later when hired by the University of Cincinnati to conduct research on the effectiveness of the program. She said she didn’t even remember the situation. It meant that little to her.”

“You are lucky michael.”

“It didn’t feel that way at the time though. So this doesn't happen here in Korea?”

“No.”

“Out of 100 kids in high school, how many have had sex?”

“They don’t.”

“Less than ten percent”

“Yes, maybe.”

“And of adult women, how many do you think are still virgins before marriage? More then fifty percent?”

“Yes.”

“More than seventy percent?”

“I do not know exactly but more are virgins than not.”

“So a couple together for several years not married would never have been alone with a door closed or had sex?”

“Yes it is very normal in Korea.”

“Is this true for Japan and China too?” I asked this as a way to validate her statements and just in case what I had heard was completely untrue.

“No, just Korea.” She laughs for the first time. I am not sure if it was because she thought it was funny or she felt uncomfortable.

“I didn’t think so but figured I would ask.”

At this point, we both had to go. I was experiencing many different emotions including confusion, bewilderment, surprise, disappointment, erotic thoughts about having sex with a gorgeous thirty year old Korean virgin and a pinch of anger. I was bothered by all this- what it says about Korean culture, American culture, men, women, social norms and programming, and just plain old judgmental thoughts in my head.

It is now past midnight and this has taken up a large chunk of my mental process the rest of the day today. I was looking forward for the opportunity to write about this to get it out and have a chance to process it. I do not think it has achieved what I had hoped for. I still feel confused, disturbed and turned on by the fantasies in my head of these hot, adult Korean women in high heels, very short skirts that are virgins, real virgins. It is not necessarily a healthy set of emotions but the ones that I am experiencing at the moment. Tomorrow that may change, maybe not.

I can’t help but wonder who is the oppressed culture; Korean or American? At first glance through American lens, it appears that the Koreans, especially women are the oppressed people in these cultural, sexual norms. But I am flinching to say that I am sold on that to be true. The idea of not having any sexual pressure or expectations seems somehow very liberating and freeing for both men and women. If you already know you are not going to have sex with someone before marriage, it really clears so many things up right then and there. What freedom we would experience to be able to love and learn about each other with sex not even a concern now or the immediate future. Not even a discussion topic, nothing, nada, zilch. A complete non-factor in a relationship. Friendship and companion really are why you are together, not just what we say to cover up what we may be truly experiencing inside but playing the waiting game to appear evolved.

Who are the oppressed and who are the free? The virgins or the double-digit sex partners?

Either way, my Korean education continues. As a side note, I am starting to learn some basic Hangeul and it feels good!

Malaysian Street Women or How Michael Again Proves his Cluelessness

Malaysian Street Women or How Michael Again Proves his Cluelessness

I was out walking through downtown Georgetown on Penang Island in Malaysia. I had spent part of the afternoon in Batu Ferringhi on the beach. I was ready for some dinner after a semi-clean shower that at least was successful in cooling me off from the almost ninety degree day on December 29th. I left Night and Day Guesthouse an turned right towards Penang Avenue where I could find something interesting to eat. What with so many choices of Indian, Thai, Malay, Chinese and combination of all of the above, how could I go wrong right?

Well, I am Michael and there is always the distinct possibility of me taking a simple task and finding away to turn it into something, clears throat, ‘interesting’. This night was not except to that rule that I seem to live by.

I turned right at the street just before Penang Avenue and started towards the huge Malaysian version if a food court. In Malaysia, they have these large sometimes covered, sometimes not areas with table and chairs outdoors where you just roam around the squared off section and choose different foods from around the world prepared fresh and VERY CHEAPLY of anything from satay chicken on a stick to nasi (rice) with anything you want on it to Mee (yellow noodles in a bowl with chicken broth) covered with your favorite sauces, gravy, meats or vegetables. All the vendors are privately owned and operated by real people who eat what they cook for you too. Yo can eat three main courses from equal the amount of cultures all for about $5.00. I was just about to reach the entrance to this particular food court taking in the combination of curry, garlic and fish when an attractive and normally dressed young woman walks over and says “Hi” to me. She seemed friendly so I stopped and said, “hello” back to her. She had brown hair, about 5’ 5” tall average weight and a pretty but not extremely noticeable face. I believe she was Malay. She would look normal on line at the bank, grocery store or the food court. She had no heavy make-up or jewelry, no tight pants or deep cleavage. Just a regular girl in her twenties who while we were exchanging “hellos” she casually reached over and gently started rubbing my penis! Just like that! It took my about a minute to collect myself and reel in my now ecstatic hormones to excuse myself and start walking away while she was following me. I escaped by walking through the cemetery across the street without her following me. It is amazing how the potential threat of a ghost haunting a person can be a source of safety in certain situations.

I ate a nice dinner at an inside Indian restaurant and found myself very attracted to everything that did not come into this world with a penis. My senses were on high alert. The Tandoori Chicken and garlic Naan were delicious. I left feeling satiated at least food-wise. Time for a nice walk around downtown at night before I meet up with my friend Happy.

As I walked with increased sensitivity, I noticed there were certain women ‘stationed’ along the way. Growing up outside NYC I do have that kind of perception, if not slowed by distance and lack of interaction with that world. There was this very interesting and attractive in a late night B mo vie kind of way dark skinned Indian woman who had dyed part of her hair with crimson streaks. I’d by lying if I did not admit to more than passing acknowledgment. She was wearing simple clothes but her eyes were wild, very wild. Like cover of a romance novel type wild. Then there was the Malay woman in her late twenties, maybe early thirties wearing a nice red and yellow traditional Malay blouse with jeans. She was soft and gentle looking. She does not have any of that rough, beaten-down and beaten-up, used and abused look of NYC street women. I could see her passing the ‘mom test’ if I wanted to take her home for approval. She had these nice warm, caring eyes and her voice was equally as soft. The clue was her saying “Hi” to me three times and looking me up and down the third time. I flinched and scampered away.

I met up with my friend Happy later on and it turned out his car was parked directly in front of the dark-skinned Indian woman with the crimson striped hair. She approached us and then actually just opened the back door to the car and started to sit down, as if invited and welcome! Happy spoke to her in Malay and hew got out slowly. He turned the car on while telling me, “She is on drugs.” Little does he know how easily that part was for me to identify. She then opened the back door again and this time sat with confidence while he was forcefully telling her to get out. At this point she started shutting the door like she was here to stay. He became more forceful and louder; she hesitated but eventually stood half in and half out. I told him to pull away and he did and she got out without closing the door. Happy and I talked along the way about her, and street women.

I still have the impression that these women and their lack of outwardly distinctive presentation of self are so different than their American counterparts. I have to say; it made me cautious when interacting with women the rest of the trip. Not to the point where I felt inhibited, just mindful. This is such a stark contrast to living in Korea where I do not believe I have seen one prostitute in my about to be half year here.

In case I had somehow convinced myself that I have reached any level of higher knowledge or wisdom, my experiences observing and unintentionally interacting with these women has cleared up any false sense of spiritual development or enlightenment. The Teachings come in all shapes and forms. I am fortunate for the education in spite of myself.

Boobs, butts, bellies and thighs

The first time I walked through Ssang-yongdong on that Tuesday night while it was still light out, I was struck by the amount of thigh on display in conservative Korea. High-heeled silver sandals with straps around the ankles provide the platform for the exhibition. The exhibition includes the silky-soft skin that is natural to most Koreans. In fact, I have a friend in the states that the affectionate nickname that I use with her is Silky Pants, she calls me Jerk Face. As I try not to be obvious or rude, my gaze slowly follows her calves all the way up to the thighs and right to her butt, literally. Her shorts can’t be but an inch bigger than the skimpy bikini bottoms that American white girls wear to anywhere they can get away with. I get that funny tingle that only lust hormones can produce as I bashfully walk past her and her almost blue denim shorts, I say almost since they barely qualify as “shorts”. Images of hippie chicks in the sixties when I was growing up trying to piss off their parents come to mind. The next woman I am approaching down the hill on the sidewalk on this unbearable hot 92 degree humid evening, is wearing white sandals with the same four inch heals and straps around her ankles. Her silky smooth skin also is on display way up to her blue denim mini skirt that conjures up more images of sixties chicks pissing off their daddy’s. As I now have enough time to lift my head up after this startling visual treat, her t-shirt goes all the way up to her neck, down to the edges of the bottom of her blue denim mini-skirt and the shirt has semi-long sleeves on this hot day in Korea.

I reminisce about earlier this summer in several college towns on the east coast of the states and how much cleavage was bulging out of push-up bras and bikini tops. There are more breasts showing on the American female than the actual breasts of the Korean woman. They do not show boobs, shoulders or bellies here, like ever. The Korean female’s upper body is not on display in public but their legs and butts put the twenty dollar hookers outside Port Authority in NYC to shame, especially with the heals that bring me back to my younger years in bars with half and whole naked women with dollar bills tucked into their g-strings. The g-string is the predecessor to the thong for those of you too young to know there was once a world before thongs that underwear went over your butt instead of inside. With the exception of those who got paid to wear them or trying to spice up their personal life every now and then. Yes, Korean women like to show their legs and butts, but no upper body, and they will never leave their homes without a bra or undershirt on, nipples are outlawed here.

Besides the obvious reason of being a guy who really appreciates the female form, what has caught my attention about these social mores is that on late night TV, woman show their boos all the time and the TV stations blur out any butts or pubic hair. So in real life, boobs and bellies are a no-no, on TV, butts and pubic hair is a no-no. In both, Korean women rarely wear anything that fits snug, alters or lifts their boobs. It appears that Korean female celebrities are very comfortable with showing themselves topless in movies and TV, whereas American female celebrities have to be mindful of what they show and how it will effect future casting, while they walk around with their boobs on display to the legal limit whenever possible with underwear of any form a commodity.

Why is it that we have such curious contrasting and maybe even contradictory social programming about what and where it is OK and not OK to expose the naked body? There seems to be no rhyme or reason that I can see. I initially thought that it might be related to the fact that western women typically have larger breasts than Korean women. After seeing them topless on TV all the time but not bottomless, my theory gets thrown out the window. We certainly are an interesting species. The fact that we wear clothes at all is somewhat bizarre, but the peculiar patterns that determine how that justifies which and when we expose any or all parts of our bodies is absolutely a mystery to me. I doubt I will solve this mystery tonight, tomorrow, or the next night. In the meantime, I will keep my eyes on things that are not as stimulating to the those senses and focus on things that are stimulating some the other senses like trees, mountains, patterned sidewalks of green, red and yellow and all the incredible little places to eat that line every road I can find with sights, smells and tastes that thrill even an objectifying male like myself.

Curves

That Own me
That Throw me
That Sow me
That Hoe me
That Know me
That Flow me
That Blow me
That Grow me
That Show me
That Tow me
That Go me
That Mow me
That Bow me
That Row me
That Stow me
That Wuw me
That Slow me
That Owe me
That Bone me
That Hone me
That Hormone me
That Testosterone me
That Condone me
That Throne me
That Stone me
That Moan me
That Shun me
That Sun me
That Stun me
That Fun me
That Done me
That Hun me
That Nun me
That Run me
That Ton me
That Won me
That Spun me
That Swerve me
That Nerve me
That Perve me
That Serve me
That Curve me
That Bend me
That Send me
That Tend me
That Verve me
That Lend me
That Trend me
That Fend me
That Mend me
That Spend me
That Spoon me
That Noon me
That Moon me
That Goon me
That June me
That Loon me
That Soon me
That Tune me
That Buffoon me
That Balloon me
That Kaboom me
That Ruin me
That Root me
That Toot me
That Boot me
That Mute me
That Hoot me
That Lute me
That Nuet me
That Cute me
That Befuddle me
That Cuddle me
That Muddle me
That Subtle me
That Huddle me
That Puddle me
That Found me
That Bound me
That Confound me
That Surround me
That Hound me
That Mound me
That Drowned me
That Nouned me
That Clowned me
That Pound me
That Round me
That Wound me
That Astound me
That Ascend me
That Unend me
That Suspend me
That Upend me
That Transcend me

A Snapshot of A Moment

Raw. Juicy. Marooned and purple. Bruises up and down her upper arms.

She was still sleeping from the night before. Cuddling and clutching her favorite little lavender and magenta flowered pillow and semi-curled up like a little child. It is hard to imagine this beautiful, peaceful and sweet-looking woman could also be that other woman last night, and those other nights. Was it just a nightmare or did it really happen? Hummm. The bruises tell him it did really happen.

He is trying to hard to remember exactly how she got the bruises just above her elbows all the way up to her shoulders on both sides. He starts to recall some of the events of the night before and the other ones he has forcefully denied in his mind till now. She always says it is not important how she gets the bruises and who did what. Of course, she doesn’t want anyone to point the microscope anywhere near her, especially not for this. But he needs to know what happened and what he is responsible for. How else can he correct his mistakes if he doesn’t know what they are?



“But I love you!” he said to her right splat in the middle of their worst fight yet. “I really do!” His face squished up tightly and his arms flailing about as he cried and managed to get this words out almost coherently.

She shook her head in disgust, almost laughing and pitying his lack of spine. “Is he actually a man or a teenage girl?” she asks herself. Then she opens her mouth slowly and speaks slowly and carefully making certain he will hear every word and again firmly states to him the same words she knows will always make him break, “I knew the first time I met you that were the wrong man for me.” She hesitates and then continues even slower, “I don’t love you and never have, never will. This has been the biggest mistake I have ever made in my life. You are not the man I want to spend the rest of my life with! No, definitely not you.” Shaking her head again, she then pulls her right leg back and BAM! She kicks him right smack in the belly!

He swallows hard and gasps for air to breath, coughs a couple of times and just sits there with no affect or response. It has happened enough times now that he doesn’t even react when she kicks him like that anymore. She sees this and appears disturbed. She cocks her right arm back and punches him with a half-closed fist in the middle of his chest firmly, just like his older brother did when he was a little boy. He flinches. She almost smiles and does it again and then again and then a fourth time! He cannot control the tears any longer that are streaming down his red cheeks. She notices this opening in his fortress and scratches him with her barely painted red nails on his biceps and chest. That was the breaking point. She finally got a reaction from him. She always said that the only way you can find out if a man loves you or not is by how mad he gets during an fight. “Good he loves me.” She thinks silently.

He grabs her and quickly pushes her onto her back across the white couch covered with a soft white blanket that she claims as her bed. He is holding her down by her biceps with both hands with all his strength. Adrenalin makes holding her down easier but she somehow finds a way to buck and try to kick him in his testicles with her legs under his body. He shifts his weight and she can no longer move her legs or arms. She is trying but he is bigger and stronger than her while reliving the terrors of his childhood at this very second on this couch with the girl he adores, just like he did with his brother David when they were kids. He adored him just as much, if not more.

She starts yelling fiercely, “ I never loved you! I never loved you! I never loved you!”

He raises his right arm above his shoulder and makes a very tight fist. He can feel the veins popping out in his forearm, his heart pounding inside him and the sweat in his hand hovering above her.

She stops fighting back and goes limp. He is ready to show her who is boss around here once and for all. No more sensitive-New-Age-guy-routine for him. Nope, time to take care of business. He cocks his arm back a little bit farther and then BANG! It hits him like a ton of bricks across his head.

“I am not about to become one of those guys!” He releases his fist and lets go of her arm all at once and then gently climbs off her without saying a word or even looking back at her as he walks slowly into the bedroom. “No. I am not one of those guys.” He says in his mind and wonders if he said it out loud too, changes direction and walks out of their apartment.


He is still watching her sleep. His fiancé’, and the woman he let himself really fall in love with. The only one he asked to marry him. The only one he stayed with after the first signs of trouble. Her breathing is so soft, just like her voice and the skin on her hands when they are holding hands in prayer before every meal together.

There will be no more meals together, holding hands in prayer or her soft voice and radiant smile. He is finally going to leave her.

“Mark, what the hell are you doing still with her?” Terry asks as if Mark has just about lost his mind. He said this to him on the basketball court while shooting hoops together minutes before the Friday night men’s A.A. meeting that is both of their home group. “Are you nuts? You know better. You are a counselor and you know better. What are doing?”


“Yeah, I do know better.” He sighs before walking into the bedroom to begin packing his stuff. He looks back at her one more time wanting to hold this version of her in his mind as a snapshot of her and of them, for when he walks out that door for good in just a few moments.

She stirs and awakens. In her soft gentle voice she asks him, “What are you doing?” As if nothing happened last night, or any of the nights. She has the benefit of a finely tuned selective-memory system. It is has helped her survive through everything that she experienced in the last thirty-four years. He does not have the luxury of such blackouts. She continues to stare at him inquisitively.

“Yep, time to go.” He says to himself, “definitely time to go.”