Some people call her Ms. Ho. Some just skip the first part.
Her last name, in Chinese, shares the same pronunciation as river. But in writing, it’s composed of two words: Man and Can. She knows. Man can have her. Man can treasure her. Man can judge her. Man can ditch her.
Man can, and she doesn’t really care.
She likes to see herself as a river. Flowing water naturally generates unpredictability and organically creates freedom.
Growing up in a first generation Chinese immigrant family, she learns a great deal about boundary, diligence, discipline, principle. Her simple and hardworking parents make sure she realizes a woman can only have something faster and more efficiently if she marries well. Her most important tactics in life, in their view, are to earn a good reputation for a man who can give her everything.
That’s not the plan she has for herself.
She has gone down on men many times. She can. She knows.
And she also needs to leave her family and Portland behind, move on and not look back—like Williamette River, joining Columbia, running all the way to the Pacific Ocean.
Her Asian look, petite figure, and olive smooth skin earn her frats one after another. Boys like to put their arms around her as if she were the baby white mouse strangled and ready to be eaten by voracious pythons. They also like to ride her from behind. Her tight gate requires their fully erect ground meat penises to squeeze a bit, but the friction and pressure feel just right. The excitement always arrives as if they try on some brand new sneakers for a virgin run. And she moans like a seventh grade who finds her unnamed orgasm, ecstatically, smoothly, confidentially.
She’d call out “push harder!” And those equestrians with high adrenaline and insurmountable testosterone will then lift her pelvis and arch their backs to increase speed, and add strength to the palpitation. The drumming between her butt muscle and their lap thighs also reflect in the equal vibrancy of her bobbing and bumping tits. They love to finger her teeny brown nipples to harden them into raisins, and incur specks of goosebumps like pebbles scattering around the soft swamps of areolas.
They come, mostly inside of her, collapse, shrivel and pant: “You are the sweetest piece of ass I’ve ever had”,
She comes, only when she is thinking “I am in New York right now”.
Everyone gives her some money, nominally for lunch, gas, grocery, drinks, lingerie, contraceptives. She saves most of it in a special account opened without telling her parents. She knows when the number hits 5 digits it’ll be the time she just walks out of everything and everyone.
For now, at the side corner from the club Styx she just needs to kneel down and lick hard that turtle head popping up from this boy’s underpants for her future travel expenses.
