Dating in Asia, part 2 of 3

*Mr. Schlongtastic.  This guy seemed really promising.  He appeared mature and ready for a serious relationship.  Our first date was at a South African restaurant.   We’d had good conversations.  After that he said he wanted to make lunch for me.  I’d never been to his part of Gyeonggi province, so I agreed to make the 40-minute bus trip.  He met me at the bus station from which we took a taxi to his place.  He was giving the driver directions in English and getting angry that the man didn’t understand.  Finally, I told him to tell me, and I gave the driver directions in Korean.  How can you be living there so long and not know simple phrases like “Turn right, please. Go straight. Turn left.” Also, shouting at someone in English doesn’t magically make them understand what you’re saying.  Strike One. When I arrived at his house, he hadn’t begun cooking and his pots were dirty.  He then took a chicken out of the freezer.  He’d forgotten that I’m a vegetarian.  And even if I hadn’t been, did he expect me to be there long enough for a frozen chicken to thaw and be cooked?  Strike Two. 

We sat on the sofa to watch azonto music videos.  I looked over, and his penis was out.  His erection was HUGE in girth and length.  I guess he was trying to impress me.  Quite the opposite; it frightened me.  It was the width of my wrist, and I’m not a small woman.  I was sure if that thing had entered my body there would have been serious internal damage.  Strike Three.  After that I began eyeing the door to figure out what knobs to turn to make a quick getaway. 

I suggested he give me a tour of his neighborhood, and he agreed.  Phew!  We walked toward the center of town and ended up back at the bus station.  When he saw me go toward the ticket window to purchase my return ticket, he begged me to spend the night.  “Nothing is going to happen,” he pleaded.  Nope.  Afterwards, he texted and called to apologize and ask for another chance.  “You’re so beautiful that I couldn’t help myself.”  When I stopped responding, he called me from his second phone.  I knew it was him.  He’d forgotten that he’d told me that he had two phones.  He said that he was feeling blue because his older sister’s breast cancer had returned.  “So sorry to hear that.  I’ll keep her in my prayers,” I responded flatly.  You ain’t clever. He sent messages on WhatsApp and KakaoTalk.  They alternated between inspirational Bible verses and short porn videos.  

One Sunday evening after choir rehearsal in Haebangchon, I accompanied my friend Arthur, who was taking the piano keyboard from the church basement where we practiced back to the choir studio.  There was Mr. Schlongtastic having a beer with a buddy on the deck of the CU convenience store next door to the choir studio.  He hopped off the deck and came over all smiles, “Hey! Long time! How have you been? So nice to see you!” Then Arthur, who’s a tall, dark, muscley Nigerian, emerged from the studio to get the keys from me.  The smile faded. Arthur said hello, took the keys and went back inside.  “It was nice seeing you again,” he said and went back to his perch dejectedly.      

Arthur had no idea what had happened until I filled him in afterwards on our way to kizomba class at Le Moulin.  “Thanks for your help,” I said.  “I didn’t do anything,” he chuckled.