I’m the kind of gal who, the more a woman insults me, the hornier I get. I’m crazy for Oriental women,
especially virgin pussy, so you can understand why I fell so hard for Tokay.
The first time I saw her she was eating pork bau on a rainy street corner in Chinatown, a
classic teenager in jackboots, cutoffs and a black sweatshirt embroidered with a large, snarling red and
gilt dragon’s head. The wan light of a neon sign struck blue highlights in the slick black hair that
hung to her waist. Her narrowed eyes were dark and wild. She was a thrilling sight on a dim day.
I didn’t have the courage then to go up to her. She was so different from the dykes on
bikes—hardcore types like me—that I’d been meeting at bars recently. I was on the job that day,
pedaling away on my bicycle, making deliveries to various office buildings downtown, one of the few
messenger girls working in the city—probably because I was a giant mass of muscled fat. My
reputation as a female boxing champ, heavyweight class, didn’t hurt, either. I had just kayoed a
famous woman boxer known as Big Bertha, so my boss at the delivery service knew I could pretty much
handle anything that threatened to interfere with delivering important stuff.
Big Bertha was a good friend of mine, my mentor who had taught me everything I knew about
the boxing game. Sure, she hated to lose a fight to her former pupil but she was a good-hearted woman,
warm and generous to her friends. For a long time she’d worried about my sitting alone night after
night in my furnished studio, sipping wine as I looked into the windows of the apartment house across
the way where people walked back and forth through their rooms, arguing, kissing, fucking. They had lives. I didn’t.
It had been Bertha’s idea in the first place that I become a boxer. “You’ve got the
build for it,” she’d said the day I finally showed up at the gym. Well, it was a good build for
boxing, but up to now, not much good for attracting lovers. Nevertheless, with Bertha’s help, the
quality of my life was improving. I soon learned that lesbian chicks greatly admired lady boxers.
Hovering at stop signs during my daily rounds gave me a chance to ogle babes, memorize their
dimensions and dream about getting it on with them. I looked this dragon girl over pretty good as I
paused at the stop sign where she was standing. I didn’t even know she was aware of me so I was stunned
to hear her jeer at me, “Shall I wiggle my ass for you, Fat Girl?”
The streets were crowded with Chinese people giggling and smirking at us. I felt my face going
red so I hauled ass out of there but I kept coming back day after day for a look at her, my dream girl,
muttering things in her direction like, “How’s it going?” and other super-clever remarks.
“Hey, do me a favor, Fats!” she hollered one day as I was pedaling by. “Give
me a ride over to the beach!”
