Through a series of happy coincidences, mostly driven by male post-menopausal horniness, I ended up on Yahoo Messenger, video chatting with a series of young, attractive women on a popular dating site, strictly specializing in Asian women. No, not Asian-American women, or tiny Caucasians pretending to be Asian women; rather Asian as in from Asia, the real thing, the full pot sticker deal, and most seemed to come from the only hotbed of hotties available to the average middle-aged American schlub – The Philippines.

Now video chatting with impossibly young and incredibly beautiful Asian women is nothing short of sensational and revelatory. Suddenly I found myself in my element; an environment in which my writing skills, the ability to speak English better than my third world chatmates, and my blazing typing speed, allowing me to chat with three girls at a time, could finally shine.

As advertised, Asian women are incredibly feminine and a bit deferential to men. Many of the women I had been video chatting with managed to call me “handsome” or “guapo” within the course of the first chat. It’s not a word I am used to hearing and hearing it a dozen times within the first week was pretty damn enthralling. I frankly am too old and delusional to care if “handsome” is spoken truthfully, in jest, or in reference to a horse-drawn cab. I haven’t been called handsome this often since accidentally cruising “The Castro” after college. OK, “cruising’s” probably not the best descriptive verb to use.

When I signed up for the website I had no idea what to expect. Within an hour of signing up I was slammed with emails and “smiles”. Many were sent by impossibly young and breathtakingly beautiful women. By the end of the first day, I had received about one hundred emails from women all over The Philippines.

Video chats ensued and of the nearly one thousand women who contacted me that first month (yes, you read that right), I video chatted addictively with well over fifty, often until 2:00 in the morning. I was a very busy boy.

Despite the stereotypical notion of passive Asian women, I found the women to be assertive in their wants and happy to talk about what they would do to me if I were to choose them. I didn’t discourage their ardor. Woman after woman complimented me, fawned all over me, proposed marriage, love and all the sex and rice I could handle?

And despite the girls’ demure  profiles that proclaimed their desire for a respectful man and general dislike of sex talk, with dire warnings toward men who might propose nude cam sessions, the women invariably wanted to bring up the subject. Their fears seemed to last a chat session or two and then melted like ice-cream on a hot Cebu day. Once they trusted me a bit, they seemed happy to tell me what they liked in bed and what they wanted to do to me, and were equally happy to know what I wished to do to them and how often.

Clearly many of the women were not only highly libidinous but their conservative culture meant many seemed a bit frustrated. A young woman who lived at home and said she’d only had one boyfriend in her life, was quite hot to talk about the sex she wished to have with her future husband (and she hoped that would be me). This comes as no surprise, I suppose; like the Catholic School girl who turns all “girls gone wild” after leaving that cloistered environment, these girls were raring to go. But what was most surprising was their apparent desire to come out of the proverbial closet – with me.

On the other hand, the Philippines is a religiously conservative culture and I chatted with several girls who said they were virgins and would not have sex before marriage. But even these girls were happy to talk about what they hoped to have once they were married. I had one other girl apologize to me because she was no longer a virgin, and I patiently had to explain that this was not a bad thing.

I asked many women the same question. “Don’t you think I’m a little old for someone like you?” They all answered with the same “age is just a number” cliché and often found the question itself to be curious. I will say, regarding the age thing that many of the girls wanted to see my face on webcam as much as I wanted to see theirs, and I assumed they wanted to make sure I didn’t look like the Crypt Keeper. One girl even giggled and bluntly asked if I was “still sexually active.” I responded, “Do you mean can I still do it?” and that was what she actually wanted to know. Such questions usually lead to conversations of what I wanted and how frequently I could want it. The girls playfully teased that since they were young, they probably had more energy than I did.

Not only did scores of women express interest in me, but many did so employing a white hot jealousy heretofore unknown in my life. Girls, subtly or not so subtly, asked me how many chatmates I had and there was one instance where a girl I had chatted with a lot (and liked) got furious with me and broke off contact, because she knew I was chatting with others. Another girl went completely postal for an innocent comment I made, cut off contact and later begged for forgiveness. After I said, “OK, I forgive you,” she went right back to “planning the wedding.”

______

Her name was Eunice (ok, not really) and unlike the other Filipina women I was chatting up, who were often of the shy, respectful and god-fearing variety, she smiled and laughed often and libidinously, though she covered her face in mock embarrassment when laughing. Over two evenings, we’d spent hours chatting and it was delightful. She came off as demure, yet lusty. By the second night it was clear that should I ever show up in The Philippines, we’d be lovers, and that in all likelihood no gratuity would be required.

By the third chat she asked if I’d like to see some extra pictures of her. “Sure, if you want,” I said, naive moron that I am. A moment later in the discrete environs of my email inbox I was reveling in a series of naked pictures, revealing a lovely, smiling, laughing and openly sexual woman. She looked beautiful and I told her so.

“Do you have any pictures you can send me?” she asked.

“Not like these,” I said. “I mean I have a few nude pics, but those were taken during a weight lifting program I did. You know just to record a before and after. Not that there was much difference.”

“I want,” she said.

I was embarrassed. “Really, why?”

“Send them.”

“Well, I’ve lost twenty pounds since then. So really they are not the greatest…”

“Send them,” she demanded.
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I did.

“Nice muscles,” she remarked.

“Thanks,” I giggled.

“I wanna see cock,” she proclaimed.

“What!”

Now, no one’s demanded to see my goodies since the Clinton administration, and then not through electronic means.

“Well, I might have a picture…” I mumbled, starting to madly rifle though my Mac’s picture files. “I have it here somewhere.”

“Do it on the cam,” she stated.

“What! I can’t…”

“I wanna see it! Now!” She laughed at my embarrassment.

“If I show you mine over the cam, you have to show me yours,” I justified.

“My cock?” she giggled. “Don’t have.”

“OK. I’ll show you mine if you show me – something.”

“I can’t. I’m in the Internet cafe.”

“Good excuse.”

I thought about her demands for a moment. When, I wondered, had a hot, young women, demanded to see my – well anything? Never – not even when I was young and the girls were drunk – or married to me.

So…what the hell. I stood up, shuffled nervously, positioned myself in front of the cam so that my entire body was visible – and in one swift motion pulled down my pants. On my computer monitor, I watched her laugh and scream. I took my organ in my hand and “wiggled the bean,” as they used to described it in the Old West. She screamed and laughed more.

A bit later in the chat, brimming with newfound sexual confidence, I demanded, “Show me your boobs.” She quickly flashed me in the un-private confines of the Internet Cafe and then, tit for tat so to speak, I drop my pants again, did a little dance, wiggled my bean and she laughed hysterically.

I’ve often said that there is no greater pleasure in my life than making a beautiful woman laugh. It was a highly pleasurable moment.

———-

While in college, I studied film making, editing and screenwriting, though I never got anywhere professionally with it. Apparently I had it all backwards. Behind the camera wasn’t my calling. In front of the camera – naked in front of the camera, was.