Photo essay of old Macau with nudes and choice literary quotations.
The rococoesque beauty of the American ghetto and the obese.
Tongue-in-cheek explanation (with more than a grain of truth) of why it’s so hard to land a Chinese beauty.
What decades of living in China have taught this American expat.
Chinese “face” and Chinese “apathy” reconsidered in dynamic relationship.
A civilized approach to men’s obsession with the breasts.
An openminded appreciation of the Great Firewall of China.
What if the antagonistic aspects of the massage practice—the therapeutic and the erotic—were seen as inseparable?
There is no such thing as strictly nonsexual massage: massage is always already erotic.
Crucially, she has the “touch.” Love in her hands.
Burma’s burgeoning massage and café industries considered in tandem.
On the triteness of the “yellow fever” and “Asian fetish” clichés.
“When poets speak of death, they call it the place without breasts.”
I am drawn to the seedy establishments, poorly lit portals to the underworld, busy inside with silent activity, chess games of intimate squalor.
As obsessed with massage as Malays are, they delegate the business to the Chinese.