Polynesia. The South Pacific. Tahiti. The Marquesas. Gauguin went there to paint dark brown skin, celebrate the sexual freedom he found there. In his paintings, white men see the allure of naked women, primitively willing to lie down with a man, seemingly any man, particularly any white man. The binding fetters of marriage and cultural norms don’t apply to these white men. They are outsiders, far away from the eyes of their disproving priests and families. They can bring back tales of conquest to titillate their friends. White men see freedom and exotic seduction in the South Pacific.

Women see the wife and children Gauguin left behind. The family responsibilities neglected. The primer beneath each painted stock is the clear disregard for two sets of cultural mores. Who mourns for Gauguin’s wife?

Not the men looking for a nubile black pearl–the uncovered wildness of women wavering between the dark forbidden skin of black and the more acceptable cast of yellow. They want long black hair, perhaps slightly kinked, hinting at Negroid origins. They want “South Pacific” without the underlying theme of racism. In the musical, our young, innocent lieutenant doesn’t want a woman-child with skin and Negroid features like Bloody Mary. No, he wants something lighter and slighter and young–too young for a 20-something to bed legally in the States. And being Asian, East Asian, she will look even younger than she is. She never looks like she could be Bloody Mary’s daughter. Even on the stage today, a black woman plays Bloody Mary; an East Asian girl plays the daughter.

Maybe the man looking for Gauguin’s girls doesn’t want something quite as softly inexperienced as that girl. If he did, he’d go for something he thinks of as more yielding and demure–like a geisha girl. He’d be looking for an East Asian Oriental pearl. The man looking for what Gaugin got wants the suggestive looks, the long hair cascading down and perhaps something a little kinky. Like the guy looking for his Butterfly, he wants a girl who honors his whiteness. So what do you do?

Use what you are and what you have, because it’s what he wants or at least what he wants to hear. You can meet a lot of men that way and get a lot of free dinners. I’m like Gauguin. I prefer things with no-strings attached. One wild night where you are a man’s fantasy–you’ll eave him at the perfect moment and he’ll never, never forget you.

In phone conversations, you tel him you like white men because they are so big–sometimes so big it hurts going in. But still you like white men because they are so big, you like to suck them. I tell them I like to lick the tip until it gets juicy and then stroke it like a lollipop. But before he comes, I want to have it fully in my mouth, deep so you can taste him and his come.

The first time, because you don’t know him very well, you’d like a little restraint? Sometimes a guy will get too excited and have to go in the other way. Maybe in the future, but mostly, say you like to suck.

I don’t care if they are married. I prefer them that way. Married men don’t waste your time. The single guy won’t bring gifts or die you the big rush. He has time. A single guy may wait for four maybe five dates before asking or demanding sex.

A married man doesn’t have that kind of time. He might be trolling the Internet personals n company time. His answers will have a regular pattern–lunchtime and the lull of late afternoons. Most will come on the weekdays. Or perhaps, he’ll be typing at home, after his wife and children have gone to bed.

He’ll treat you right. Each moment is stolen and sweet. He’ll bring you flowers. He’ll bring you small gifts He’ll try to sweep you off your feet. A single guy will be a bit cooler. He won’t take you to an expensive restaurant–he’ll go some place cheap. But the married man…he won’t go anywhere that he thinks his wife or her friend may show up. So he’ll be more willing to spend big bucks–more than his wife or her friends can afford on a girls’ night out.

On the inspection date, always arrive first. Pick a place near the Metrolink–somewhere that’s crowded and open late. Pretend you don’t have a car and either take the Metrolink one station or just pretend you came that way. Never let him see your car or walk you back to your car. You can’t be too careful.

Play up his fantasy. Wear something floral, suggestive and bright. If you want to play it all the way, wear something low-cut made from fabric with a decidedly Hawaiian tourist floral print. Just in case, I always powder my breasts with something sparkling and a bit mysterious.

On the next date, keep him waiting a little. Again, never, never let him see your car.

He’ll talk. If he doesn’t talk too much about himself, he’s probably attached. Or he might try the honest approach. After all, we Oriental women are so sympathetic and willing to ignore small things like wedding bands. That kind will talk about himself with his wife hovering on the periphery like a vengeful ghost. She doesn’t have time for me, he’ll complain. We never have sex. She doesn’t understand me. Sex has become so mundane.

He won’t talk about the children. Perhaps if he gives them a fleeting thought, he’ll talk about contraception. He doesn’t want complications. He’ll never mention how the children wear down his wife, how each gift he gives you is money stolen from his family or every minute with you is time lost to his wife and children. You’re his vacation away from his wife and family–away from his day-to-day dullness and duty. You’re his adventure into an exotic fantasy.

So give him his fantasy and don’t give him your real name. I use Sophie. Say you’ve only been with a few men–maybe two or three. Tell him how much better white men are. Yes, one of your last lovers was a white man. His erection amazed you–so much bigger than any man of your race. Sometimes it can hurt so you like to start out slow.

Giggle while telling him this. You might have been bold on the phone, but in public, display an acceptable and alluring shyness. Blush and lower your head so that your long dark hair falls down, obscuring your face. But when you talk about the erection, flash him a look of wonder, of adoration. Smile seductively. Then lick your lips.

Then softly confide you’d like to touch his erection and maybe suck him until you feel more comfortable. Just you aren’t sure he can control himself and not insist on penetrating you.

Or you can play the tease. No sex talk, just a shy smile. Let him kiss you and even if his kisses are slurpy, with no more skill than a lumbering St. Bernard, be breathless. Quiver. Sigh, but shiver with the suggestion of both fear and longing. Tell him you like, no love, sucking a white man’s big cock.

If his hands wander to your breasts, break away. If his hands stray down your body and up your dress, cry out softly and try to shed a tear. Wait. Wait until he murmurs that he can’t wait any longer. Then wait. He’ll need something, something more.

Wait as if you need to give this some thought.  Maybe don’t answer his calls or emails for a few days. Then, yield. Say you want to go some place private–a nice hotel. Say you’ve been dreaming about taking his hot white cock inside your mouth and run your tongue up and down. Then make some suggestions–places you’ve checked out. Or if you think you can handle him, why wait? Do it on the first date.

But say you only want to relieve him, take the edge off of his passion. If he asks about more, say you’re not sure about vaginal penetration. You’d like to wait and get to know him better and he’d have to wear a condom–safe sex and all that. But give him a shy smile. Say something to stroke his white ego. He’s so big and it might hurt, but you want to please him. Touch his crouch and ask does he mind if you suck him? Oh, you just would love to suck his big, white cock.

But remember that you don’t know him well. Guys say one thing and do another. Handcuffs are quick and it helps you keep control of the situation. You’ll have to find the right opportunity. If he’s pleasantly sweet drunk, he’ll be easier. Say you’re nervous and fix him a drink. A sleeping pill or a roofie makes him more pliable and these work better than alcohol.

If he won’t drink, then let him suck your breasts. If you crush enough sleeping pills and powder this on top of some GHB, you should have no problem. Just remember GHB and alcohol could be a dangerous mix so don’t give too much, even if he’s a big guy. I mix a special potion. I call it a love potion for extra potency and make it seem exotic, saying it has some secret island fruits, but basically it’s passion fruit tea with a roofie and a little liquor.

Give him some pleasure–strictly touchy-feeling kind because you don’t know where his dick has been. Have him take his clothes off and then ask him to sit down. Cuff him up. Do a strip tease with long gloves, but leave the gloves on until the last.

Kiss him long and deep and then stuff a sock down his mouth. I always like to whisper in his ear: “Syphilis” or sometimes “Gauguin.” But it’s not necessary. Toss his car keys off somewhere in the room so he has to search. Take his clothes and dump them in the trash or a mailbox.

Sure he’ll be disappointed. Even Gauguin was disappointed in the Lost Paradise he found. The missionaries and other Westerners before him had infected the islands with the very things had had tried to escape. So, he painted what he as a white man felt was the authentic. And what did the islands give him? Blindness and poverty to remind him of what he had lost in France–a wife and give kids. He tried to commit suicide and failed. But he continues to inspire so many gullible men.

Ah, yes. Remember, this isn’t Tahiti. This is Los Angeles. The hotel staff will find him eventually. He won’t report you. He has his wife. You have his wallet. He probably meant to pay in cash so his wife couldn’t trace the expense. If you’ve suggested that you wanted to go somewhere afterward–some very expensive, trendy restaurant and maybe return later for some more sucking, he’ll have more cash on hand.

Don’t spend more than 10 minutes making your get-away. Get the wallet without leaving fingerprints. Take the stairs and not the elevator. Take off your wig or put one on and change into some loose-fitting pants and a t-shirt in the hotel’s restaurant bathroom or on the stairwell. Take a Listerine strip. Try glasses. Hey, it works for Clark Kent.

Photocopy the driver’s license if he’s not given you the right name. If you want to buy something on his credit card, do it quick and make it less than $50. Try a grocery store. What’s best is to take the cash and dump his wallet in a mailbox close to where you met or at least far from where you live. Sell the pager or cellphone. Keep no trophies.

All the time, think about his wife and remember, Gauguin had a wife, too.