Asian male looking for a multi-ethnic woman who gets dark in the summer and complains about tan lines as she unties the bikini strap to reveal her bare back, smooth like frosting, and I will long to run my fingers down the small of her back, but will control myself and spray her back with spray-on suntan lotion, and I will be a little angry at the inventor of spray-on tan lotion bottles, who took away my only chance of sensual synapses firing on all levels, but she will be surprisingly pale in the winter, skin like porcelain, and she will dye her hair in an array of colors to match the changing of the seasons, auburn in the autumn to contrast her paling face, and before that a dirty blonde to match her sun-kissed skin and to accentuate her light blue painted finger and toenails, and before that a light brown of which I will only see the bangs of when she wears her gray hoodie in the spring, and black hair in the winter, which is her natural hair color, and she will say that she wants it black to absorb what little sunlight there is for warmth.
She will have a different demeanor when her hair is black, she won’t be as contemplative as she is in autumn, or as bubbly as she is in the summer, or as serene during the spring rains, but she will have a look of insecurity when she sees me staring at her small face, she will brush a strand of hair behind her ear and will ask me what I’m looking at, I will answer like I always do and say, “Everything,” and she will laugh a slightly cynical laugh, and I will smile, but that will quickly fade away because I know she is insecure because of her un-dyed hair, free of chemicals, free of her identities, and free of the personalities she acts in when her hair is a different color. I will love winter because she will regress back to her natural hair color, which makes me think that this black-haired, doubtful beauty is who she really is, and I will think that she wants to let her walls down because with her black hair she holds my hand and puts her head on my shoulder, which will make me want to let down my walls, but I don’t have the heart to, because I can’t lose her or reveal a pornography addiction; how I look at different women, how I would search for redheads, blondes, brunettes, Asians, Latinas, pale, dark, petite, tall, and how I hated myself after each temporary release.
I will long to tell her all this. How I searched and searched for all these different women, but how none of them could satisfy me, and I will tell her how she is all I need because she is real and she will forgive me my past, but when she sits down to tell me that she is a virgin, I will chicken out and I will reveal that I am also a virgin and we will vow to lose it together a year from that day if we are still together, but thank God we are married three months later because I couldn’t wait a year for anything, let alone sex, and we will move in together to begin the rest of our lives, but she will hate the horrible habits that accompany me, how I use Wikipedia for authentication, how I still go running to pornography whenever we have a fight. She will spend many nights crying while I sleep on our couch that we buy at IKEA along with their Swedish meatballs, which we will throw up later that night and spend all night laying vertically next to one another on the new brown suede couch we will buy, with her feet next to my head and mine next to hers, my lips attracted to her feet and hers to mine like opposite ends of a magnet, and we will make good memories and good love until one day she finds a college girl video on my laptop when she opens it up to play Tetris on Facebook.
We will have a huge fight the previous night about why I don’t like her cooking, to which I will answer, “There’s no meat in it, it’s just vegetables,” and she will yell at me about how I would eat her if she were the only type of meat left on the planet and I will accuse PETA of brainwashing her, but we will make up later that night before I get a chance to watch the college girl video because I know she is afraid of me leaving her, of me not finding her good enough. She will always ask me “what if” questions, what if she gets fat, to which I will answer, “I will get fat with you,” what if she is paralyzed, to which I will answer, “I will cut off my legs to bump wheelchairs with you,” what if she dies, to which I will answer, “Then I will die too.” I will totally forget about that hedonistic college erotica on my laptop and make love with her to confirm our mutual forgiveness, and the following day she will find that video, which I didn’t watch, but she will catch me red-handed and red-faced and I will deny that I have an addiction because I am addicted to her, to her personalities that change with the seasons, like the girls I search for on the screen, she is the girl of my dreams because she never stays the same, but I do, and she will leave me when she catches me looking at porn again, and I will be sitting in that familiar seat in front of my computer as she walks out the door.
Ryan Kim is a creative writer, who is also an over-thinker and thinks that is enough to qualify him to be a writer. He resides in Centreville, Virginia and is a graduate of Virginia Tech with a Bachelor’s in English. He is also looking to attend graduate school, but who knows what will happen. All he knows is that he’ll keep writing, hoping to hit it big like Stephanie Meyers. But in a good way.