My Orean Hottie

For anybody who's interested, the book referred to in this section of my tales is: CHAOS: Making A New Science, by James Gleick , published in 1987/1988, and the specific information on The Butterfly Effect is on pp. 11-31.

*****

Summer waned into Fall, which, in Southern California, was hardly noticeable. In early winter, with only 49 cums left before I could propose to my Asian Korean hottie, I found her sitting on the sofa, white of face and crying softly. Since Ms. Boh Park has lovely golden skin tone, and was showing quite a lot of it (not a thread on her), I figured something was wrong enough to drain her skin of color.

She held out a letter to me, which turned out to be from her Dad and Grandfather: they were gleefully telling her that she could expect to be deported back to Korea for overstaying her student visa, and that she'd be a homeless dog-fucking prostitute when she got there. The letter also said that, because of the big business deal that they'd lost when she was 'raped' of her virginity (which was supposed to be part of the deal), her Dad and Grandfather were spending a lot of money through their contacts in America to hurry the deportation case along.

What a couple of scumbags, IMHO.

So I gathered up my Asian lover, and cuddled her, with no sex intended, which didn't work, because she literally attacked me and dragged me into bed, got on top and then she fucked me, twice.

Then, looking up at my exhausted form, she said, "Dat was so nice. Now I can think. You and big cock be one best Little Korean anxiety fixer-upper. Only 47 cums left. But what we gonna do? They got money and lots of power. Dey know laws in America and I don't. I won't wanna ..."

I shushed her, and then got up, somewhat shakily (because of said 'attentions' to my male carcass). When you have a few millions, it's best to have a lawyer on tap, as well as a good team of investment specialists.

About three calls later, I had an appointment next day with one of San Diego's best attorneys practicing Immigration law. That next day, I had a delightful time getting my normally nude Asian nympho sex-slut into a new, not-yet-worn conservative business suit. She won a minor battle, in that the panties and bra stayed home.

The appointment went well. Stripped of all complications, and with several delaying actions (the attorney was to take care of those), my Boh Park was faced with three alternatives:

(1). Post a $30,000 cash bond with Immigration, with a presumption of Boh becoming a naturalized citizen;

(2). Re-establishing her full-time student status, in a 'nationally critical' study area;

(3). Get married to an American citizen, in a full, legal ceremony, with prominent people as witnesses.

The Immigration attorney said that, in the face of money- and foreign-contact pressures, she would be better off with two of the three and best-off with all three. I already knew about the bond deposit, and, with my hottie sitting beside me, sputtering, I handed the attorney a Cashier's Check, drawn on one of my accounts, for the full amount. He accepted it without comment, and said not to worry.

Still sputtering and mouthing unkind things in Korean (I think), I steered my lover downstairs, and into a cab, and, in the back seat, I proposed marriage to my girl. Again! She said that I was still one-half liter of jizm short of her condition, so I turned her over on my knee, pulled her top 'way up and pulled her pants-suit 'way down, and paddled her bare butt.

The cabbie, watching through the rear-view mirror, just grinned. Then I asked her, third-time lucky, and she grumped and growled, but said, "Yeah, OK, I get married. To you. Dirty, abusive, little Korean-girl butt-paddling, American pervert fucker."

She pulled down her top and pulled up her pants-suit, and grinned at me and the cab driver. This girl had priorities. She said, "Hee-hee!"

I knew that my Boh Park wasn't a Christian, as so many Koreans are, so our next stop was with a wedding consultant, who specialized in ethnic-to-American ceremonies (I'd checked). All it took was money, and, dammit, I had that.

So it was that about two frantic weeks later, Ms. Boh Park was outfitted in a traditional Korean bridal set of robes, hat and make-up. We had a ... best I can say, not being Korean, was an officiating Bonze ... plus being married by the Mayor of San Diego, with the entire City Council and office staff as witnesses. We had a marriage certificate, done in calligraphy, with the English and Korean side-by-side, very much like the Quakers do. Everyone present signed it, and we got the City Seal on it too.

Wedding complete with photographer, and Korean-to-American-English translator, with everything being recorded onto digital disk.

Fascinating what a few tens of thousands of dollars can do in a political environment.

Ms. Boh Park was still sputtering, growling and grumping, right up to the moment that she became Mrs. Boh McAlistair-Park. Then she literally squealed, and had her ethnic-dress handlers rapidly but carefully remove the Korean wedding costume. Under it was a Western-style lace and silk reception outfit, done in scarlet, with jade green accents.

Said garment was literally backless, down to the top of her butt-crack, and cut 'way down to her navel in the front, held closed (barely) by a chain just under her boobs plus double-sided sticky-tape. It had a pair of divided pants, kind of like the Hakama pants of the Japanese Aikido Masters. The division mentioned went up to about the level of her navel (one straining clasp there), and total nudity, front and back, was masked (barely) by several layers of sheer fabric.

Mrs. Boh McAlistair-Park had the last 'word', after all ... she thought!

The wedding reception was done aboard the Star-of-India sailing ship, complete with photos and newspaper coverage, which I'd 'chartered' for just this occasion. About ten-thirty at night, we left, got the limousine home and Boh went in the front door. We hadn't been inside 30-seconds and the concealing lace was off, the double-sided-sticky tape holding the front closed (barely) was pulled away, the straining closure RIP-P-P-ed and a minute later, I was balls-deep inside my new wife, still dressed in her post-wedding finery, in the swinging chair, the patio doors open to the night, and her orgasmic screams and no-doubt Korean obscenities drifting over suburban Ocean Beach.

We got to sleep at four-ish in the morning, I think, with no more need to count cums in liter amounts.

Sometime, about a week later (not sure about the timing), we had the DVD of the wedding, reception and digital copy of the certificate and marriage license sent off to Korea, addressed to her Dad and Grandfather.

In reply, she got back a letter from her Dad, with a single word, in Korean ideograph: MONGREL ... meaning Not-Pure-Korean-Woman-Any-More and suitable to associate only with dogs ... and Americans. Boh laughed and laughed, for real, but with a bitter edge.

I did get 'even,' so to speak, when I had her re-dressed in her conservative business suit (I couldn't even find any panties or bra) and we went back to my Attorney's office. There, I sat my wife down and she signed and had witnessed many documents, which all went to the establishment of a legal trust between us, as a family unit. Thus, I made tiny, 4' 9" Boh my equal in finances and resources, as well as my executor-in-fact in case of my death or disability. Since I was twice her age, that was a near-certainty.

It was then, at my secret signal to my attorney, that he revealed the extent of my (now OUR) total worth. And all I'll say was that the number of dollars was in the 8-figure range, and was a lot more than a '10'.

After a few moments-and I'll savor this scene the rest of my life, as well-I got to say to my newly-married, multimillionaire wife, "Close your mouth, dear girl, or the bugs will get in."

The downside of this announcement was that, when she sent her Dad a letter telling of her good fortune, she got back a tersely worded reply, that her Grandfather had had a stroke which killed him, which her Dad blamed totally on her, as a result of her marriage to a non-Korean man. Dad wrote that the Grandfather had already been cremated and his ashes buried. And that she, as a mongrel-dog-fucking-prostitute-slut-whore, no longer a Pure-and-Honorable-Korean-Woman, was barred from returning home or participating in any family ceremonies.

[As Boh said, bitterly, late one night, "You Americans think you invented racism, with your white-vs-black-slave or white-vs-brown-peon stuff. But my people have been doing the race-color bit for hundred's of years before America was even discovered. If I make love to, date, kiss or even associate with, anyone not of Pure-Korean-Blood, especially marrying any non-Korean person, the racial stuff comes out at once. No one, literally, is as good, as Pure, as a Korean person. Especially a Pure-Korean-Woman-from-a-Conservative-Korean-Family. No such thing as a bi-racial person in a conservative Korean family. Until I'm a citizen of the USA, I can't even get back into my country, and even after I am a citizen here, I'm always smeared with the stain of doing slimy, doggy things and Betraying-My-Pure-Korean-Woman-Heritage."]

["Piss on it," she added.]

So I told Boh of the time I was pappi to a Latina girl. As expected, Boh asked, "what's a pappi?"

I answered, smiling with certain memories of a little younger Asian girlfriend, saying, "A pappi is a Latina word, meaning a kind of relationship between a guy and a girl. Mostly, it means 'mistress,' but it also can mean 'sugar-daddy' or 'dirty-old-man-having-a-fling-with-a-young-girl'. It kind of implies a more permanent thing, and it gives the girl some status in the Latin community."

"It started when I took a year's lease on a small house in Roseville, over in Point Loma, just up from Rosecrans Blvd. My days were kinda chopped up, and pretty quick, the inside of the house got cruddy. It turns out that I wasn't much of a housekeeper, back then. Since I didn't have a washer or dryer, I had to go to the laundromat, and so I began checking for people that wanted to do housework for money, including do the laundry there."

Lupe showed up at my front door at 9:00 AM, complete with cleaning tools, apron, gloves and a big smile. Lupe was a typical Mexican girl, kind of chunky, with big thighs and a big top. No, damn it, I didn't try anything with her ... at the beginning. She wore a stained, pink, knee-length dress, a blouse top, flat shoes ... bra and panties (I saw the outlines) ... little else. But she was a hard worker, and she was done by 4:00 PM. So I hired her, at the rate of pay she suggested, no bargaining. I think that surprised her. She arrived by bus, walked up the four blocks from Rosecrans, worked all day, and then took the bus home in the afternoon."

"The only problem I had was that she had very little English, and, to be frank, my Spanish sucked little-green-toads. So, along with the cleaning and laundry, I started informal talk-American-English-now, as part of her job. With pay by me, we mostly worked out a Sears & Roebuck Catalog, with the terse instructions and the pictures or drawings."

"The first time we did this, when we finished talking, she just said, 'una beso, por favor' (a kiss, please)'."

"When I tried to bend over, she just said, 'behdajo' (asshole; dumb; idiot), and she climbed on a chair, putting her face on a level with mine. The first kiss was pretty chaste, just a bit more than a peck on the cheek. That was OK, because her arms were around my neck and her big boobs were pressing against my chest, but when I started to pull back, she snapped, 'no,' and gave me number-two kiss, which had some tongue. Number-three kiss had a lot of tongue, and number-four kiss felt like she was trying to lick my tonsils, plus boob-pressing and hip thrusting."

"She grabbed one of my hands and put it on her right teta (tit), and forced the other under her skirt, between her thighs. My vision started to go at the edges, from lack of oxygen, when she let loose of me, and I fell back, saying, 'Dios mio' (my God!!). Then she got off the chair and went back to cleaning, but with a big smile and a lot of hip swing. Half an hour later, she came out of the bathroom and, smiling, handed me her still-warm bra and panties She never wore any again, around me."

"That set the pattern for the next several weeks. I gave her a key so she could get in, if I wasn't there, and I left a hearty breakfast for her. I came back to make us both a lunch. I also insisted that she take a couple of rest breaks in the mid-morning and mid-afternoon, and that she be paid for the full amount of time she was there, meals, rests English teaching and all. But that also meant that, whenever I got in in, the first thing Lupe would do, dropping her work stuff on the floor, was climb on a chair and attempt to suffocate me with her lips and tongue. Plus giving me a Latina strip-show, with lots of hip swing and singing, as she worked."

"She started working topless. Another week and she was bare. The next day, she was bare and shaved clean. Not that I minded."

"Then she moved in and suddenly I was her pappi. I bought her new clothes, make-up, other things, and got her a car. Paid for the gas. That sort of thing was expected of a good pappi."

"As her English improved, Lupe told me a lot more of her background. Back when she was just barely 18, she was sexually molested. The guy got her, waiting at a bus stop, and dragged her into a vacant lot. Held a knife at her throat. Got his dick out. Shoved it in, and busted her cherry. That's when she hit him in the head, hard, with a stone she grabbed in her left hand. She hit him, good and hard, a couple more times. Then got his 9mm automatic, went through his pockets and took all his money. Last, she took his knife and cut off his cock and balls. She left him there in the vacant lot, and she didn't know or care what happened after that."

"But she wasn't a virgin any more. When she went back home to Mexico, she found that, in her very conservative town, there were only three kinds of adult female folks. There were submissive virgins, waiting to get married. There were wives and there were widows, wearing black, who actually ran the town and decided on 'the rules.' Every other girl, who couldn't show virginity, a husband or wear black, was a puta (whore). No gray areas, no in-between, no being a victim. Very black-and-white."

"Suddenly, she wasn't welcome at her family's home. The parish priest tried to fuck her. So did her own father, who suddenly started calling her a 'dos-pesos puta' (two-dollar whore). Just before she left, her own mother and family ordered her, because she was going to be around 'rich American gringos' (nearly a curse word), to be a good puta and send money back home to help take care of their real virgin daughters."

"When she took the local bus back to a major city, she had to sit in back, with the other prostitutes, going north to work the bars and the streets of the fronterias (border cities)."

"Lupe got across the border easily, with her work papers. Mad as a 'wronged woman,' she started cleaning houses for a living. She got her break doing my work, and gained a lot of experience, studying with me. Her English improved by leaps and bounds. I helped her save and invest money, and, at the end, she started hiring other Latina girls to work for her. I 'loaned' her the money for a start in business [I would have given it to her, but she had 'dignidad' (honor)]. When she moved out, she was an independent small-business owner."

"She re-paid her loan in installments, over a few years. Each installment was paid in cash money, and in person. After she paid out her cash, and got a receipt, she stripped for me, slow and sensuous. Nude, in my bed, we made unhurried love, her body shaking and twisting in orgasmic Latina power. All weekend."

"I last saw her a couple of years ago. She was doing very well, and was supporting a couple of male students, who were her lovers, as well. But she showed me a small pile of letters from her family, her face twisting with emotion. She translated a couple for me. They were all the same. After greetings, they were full of virgin, virgin, virgin sisters and a wed mother. Then, in the last paragraphs, were sharply worded demands that she do more and yet more whore-fucking of rich gringos, so that she could sent more and more money home. Always puta-whore-fucking, plus money-money-money, never any love or forgiveness."

"So, pretty little not-so-pure-any-more Korean wife, being rejected by family for not-following-the-conservative-rules is a lot more common than you believed."

My Boh looked up at me, then grinned, and said, "put me in swing chair and show me how an American gringo pervert fucks a little, helpless Korean nympho hottie. Right now. Wheeee!"

I tried. Damn it, I really tried. But the little girl was laughing and crying and groaning and grunting, my large cock buried inside her tiny body ... and she wore me out. Just the way I liked it.

It took a lot longer to arrange the completion of the last Immigration condition, but it was the most satisfying in terms of her scumbag father's threats and attitudes.

Mrs. Boh McAlistair-Park had a carefully-arranged interview with the chairperson of the Mathematics Department, at the University of California at San Diego, up the coast, near La Jolla. I was along, but lost within the first ten minutes, as the interview departed further and further from normal America English, and more toward 'eigenvalues,' 'complex function of ...', 'N-valued hyper-mapped spaces' and less obvious things. The chalk board came out, and the Greek and Latin symbols proliferated.

I pulled out my Kindle e-reader and settled into a Rogue Angel novel.

The interview was supposed to take 20 minutes, and was to be followed by long discussions and re-interviews. That didn't happen. I looked up from time to time, and found the room increasingly crowded with faculty and graduate students, chalking up incomprehensible things on dusty blackboard, and arguing about other incomprehensible things, all swirling around the central figure of one tiny (4' 9") Korean girl, up on a step-stool so as to reach the chalk-board, center-stage and loving it.

A couple hours later, I discovered that my Boh had been accepted as a student into the Mathematics Department, and had been offered two full scholarships. She was to be the first entry into an British-style mentor-type program, with twice-weekly meetings, and a long string of assignments, plus a virtually unlimited access to the University's off-campus library. Graduation was to combine a B. S. and an M. S. degree, in a five-year program.

Thus, she met the final requirement in her Immigration to the United States, as Mathematics was considered a 'nationally-critical' area of knowledge. Plus, of course, she registered at the super-genius level ... besides being a 'woman' in a traditionally 'Male-Collegiate-Area'.

Employment as an assistant-professor in any of a couple dozen University departments in the nation was virtually assured.

My lovely wife had started as a literally-starving young virgin of 19 years (Koreans count birth years differently): now by age 26, she was going to be a rising-star professor of mathematics. But, she assured me, totally nude, from on top of me in bed ... first and foremost, she was gonna be one Asian Korean nympho-sex-slut hottie wife. Gasping for breath, after being fucked another two times, I agreed.

A year later, we celebrated Boh becoming a naturalized citizen of the United States of America.

Two months after that, Boh came home as usual, in the late afternoon, stripped naked (as usual) and demanded that I impale her on my hard cock, in bed, because she'd made a mistake in her mathematics ... that I'd rescued her ... and so she was gonna be published.