Sex is the Best Way to Learn About Other Cultures. - Chapter 1

When I landed in a Western country for the first time in a while, I was astonished at the number of white people.

Not that it’s surprising – this is Europe and North America, after all. But in Japan, where white people are rare, seeing them as the overwhelming majority here is still a shock. I do see other ethnicities too – Asians like me, Arabs, Africans – but the Anglo-Saxon white people still dominate in numbers.

Looking at them, I still feel a bit nervous. Is it because there are so many beautiful women walking the streets? Or is it because I’m a foreigner here?

That said, with Chinese people spreading out all over the world these days, no one even notices Asian travelers standing around at British airports.

Occasionally, I get cold stares that seem to say, “What a rough-looking Asian guy,” but basically, they couldn’t care less about me – Daisuke Sakagami.

“It’s amazing, after all…”

Occasionally, among the crowds of travelers, you’d spot a stunning woman with massive br3asts.

A slender beauty, probably about 180cm tall, strides along with her ash blonde, semi-long hair swaying in the wind.

Her pink tank top and tight jeans strained against her chest and butt, leaving no doubt about the generous curves beneath. This was far beyond F or G cup territory—this was the kind of voluptuous white woman’s figure that could only exist in Europe or America, striding through the airport as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

If this were Japan, probably every single man out of a hundred would turn their heads.

Their eyes would be glued to those voluptuous br3asts, tracking the powerful curves of her butt until she disappeared from sight.

In Europe and America, there are surprisingly many women with bodies this spectacular.

Just because they’re white doesn’t mean that they all have amazing bodies and huge br3asts. Some women are skinny, and some are incredibly obese. But the standard size is different from that of Japanese women, and what we call “massive br3asts” in Japan is simply “big br3asts” here.

Different bone structures. Different genes. Different races.

Their bodies are bigger, so naturally their chests and butts are larger too. But I can’t help but get distracted by them everywhere I go. Come to think of it, Jessica earlier also had big br3asts. I never figured out why a beautiful flight attendant like her would have s3x with a dull Japanese guy like me, but the way her br3asts shook violently in all directions during our encounter is still burned into my mind.

“Excuse me.”

Then suddenly, someone called out from behind.

It was a young voice, or rather, a “childish” voice.

When strangers approach you overseas, it rarely ends well.

An easy example is Sarah, who also called out to me at the airport in Los Angeles. She called me out to a deserted alleyway, even though I had just arrived in the US and didn’t know anything, and gave me my first blowjob.

Because she was still a young girl, I let my guard down, and she pulled out my completely unprotected p3nis, and before I knew it, I was made to ejaculate.

In the end, Sarah turned out to be a honey trap, and I was surrounded by nasty foreign men, but I barely managed to escape. Since then, I’ve been wary of any foreigner who approaches me, regardless of their age.

“Y-yes.”

Trembling, I cautiously glance back.

I wouldn’t be surprised to find a girl leading a hundred gang members standing there. Overseas is a dangerous place. In Costa Rica, someone once pointed a loaded shotgun at me.

“What’s your name?”

However, my eyes were drawn to the girl standing in front of me.

Alice in Wonderland.

The reason I thought that wasn’t because I was in England or anything simple like that.

The girl in front of me was exactly what I thought Alice would be like.

She appeared to be around middle school age. Though the original Alice was probably elementary school-aged, this girl carried herself with maturity, with only a certain childishness remaining in her well-proportioned features.

The bright sky blue eyes that gazed at me, combined with her long blonde hair, made her look like a fairy.

The girl wasn’t wearing a light blue apron dress.

She was dressed rather simply in a white hoodie and jeans, but the reason I thought she was “Alice” was because she was carrying a stuffed white rabbit from “Alice in Wonderland” under her small arm.

I still can’t tell the exact age of people from Europe and America, but she’s at least thirteen or fourteen. In Japan, it would be strange to see a middle school girl walking around hugging a stuffed animal mascot.

If my guess is wrong and she’s actually in the upper elementary school age range, then it’s not entirely impossible.

If that was the case, the girl looked quite mature for her age, and her chest was quite full under her pure white hoodie.

“What’s your name?”

In a clear voice, the girl asked my name again. As expected, her voice was that of a junior high school student or older. The sight of a girl that age carrying a stuffed rabbit animal still feels somewhat off. Or maybe I just don’t know – perhaps British middle schoolers all have a culture of carrying some kind of stuffed animal.

“WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”

She leaned in close, her refined features framed by a slightly irritable tone.

She emphasized each word, and I wondered if she was trying to tell me that I should understand English at least a little, or if she was telling me not to just stand there staring blankly.

Either way, her reaction suggested a somewhat aloof personality.

She was probably the polar opposite of Carol from Stanley Farm in America.

“D-Daisuke Sakagami.”

It’s been a while since I’ve spoken English, and I’m nervous.

Not that I’d spoken it properly even in America, but at least here I could manage basic communication, unlike in the Spanish-speaking regions where I’d barely understood anything.

“Are you Chinese?”

I’ve probably heard this line nearly a hundred times. Among them, nine out of ten Asians are likely Chinese.

“J-Japanese,”

I repeat the same response I’ve used almost a hundred times. To white people, all Asians probably look the same. Though I can tell apart every white woman I’ve slept with so far.

“Are you unmarried?”

The girl continues to examine me, scrutinizing me as if to determine my identity, and then changes the question.

Anne Marie?

Since “marry” is “marier” in French, “unmarried” would mean “not married,” or single.

“Yes!”

I always answer confidently when the grammar makes sense. Otherwise, conversation would be impossible.

“Hmm.”

The girl squints at me, her expression perfectly conveying “I see.”

I’m not naive enough to mistake this for a marriage proposal, but even so, being stared at by such a beautiful girl—even if she’s underage—still makes me nervous.

“That big size is in…”

Then the girl began scrutinizing my crotch as if appraising merchandise.

True, my jeans were in pretty rough shape, but being stared at in this location was downright embarrassing.

“Do you like white?”

“W-White?”

She probably didn’t mean “white” in the literal sense, but “white people” like her.

Do you like white people?

When asked that, I’m at a loss for words.

I’ve liked all the white women I’ve met and had s3x with so far. Even Diana, who pointed a shotgun at me in Costa Rica, didn’t seem like such a bad person, because of her passionate s3x.

But that just means I like having s3x with white women, and it doesn’t necessarily mean that I like white women themselves. Because I didn’t communicate with them through words, I merely shared pleasure through s3x, or rather, enjoyed it one-sidedly.

Using the word “love” so casually toward them felt somehow cheap.

I don’t have the right to love them yet.

“Difficult?”

The girl asked. I was deep in thought, my expression serious. She looked like she’d caught some troublesome creature.

She muttered something under her breath, as if trying to come up with a clearer question.

But soon, giving up on finding the perfect answer, she bluntly rephrased her question.

“Do you like SEX with white?”

You like s3x with white people?

I could understand that much English immediately.

Whether I understood her purpose was an entirely different matter.