Yellow Fever
I spent my first decade and a half of life in white-suburbia. By the time I finished middle school, the white kids still outnumbered the minority kids 3-to-1. And those numbers were after adding together all the black, brown and yellow kids. Since Asians comprise the smallest slice of the minority pie, you could effectively say that I didn’t have much exposure to Asian people, outside of my family and family friends.
Even though I was surrounded by mostly white folks and had mostly white friends, I always knew that I was primarily attracted to Asian girls. From their dark brunette or raven black hair, to their facial features and coltish legs; I simply knew that those were the girls who would someday make me smile with content or scream out with blind rage. I had nothing against the kaleidoscope of lovely girls that crossed my line of sight from day to day, but Asian girls happen to make me tingle in my no-no place. I love all my women equally, but I simply had a preference.
Early on, I realized that these creatures could potentially make me stammer, stutter and act like a simpleton. Given the right girl, my brain would turn to mush as my mouth would utter nonsensical phrases, while my heart would feel like it was about to jump out of my chest.
And one fateful day during my middle school years, a single girl succeeded.
