Prologue:
In 1989, my dad bought a silver, no frills, dealer-lossleader Toyota truck. Because my dad always stopped on yellows, there was a huge smash at the tail-end that went unfixed. When I could finally call this hapless vehicle my own, there was no a/c, no radio, and no dignity. The one thing it did have, at the specific request of my dad, was “The Club”, that infamous-as seen on tv theft deterrant device that locked the steering wheel. For all its grandeur, I dubbed it my “Touring Luxury Truck”, and even flaunted its vulgar cheapness infront of women I had hoped to bed, thinking it would filter out the brand-grubbing, fad-groupie, bourgeouis-trash asian gals that my penis would not. It was an unprecedented success in the annals of adolescence. This truck repelled females like my friend Phil.
It was during this sexual lowtide that I founded great male friendships (no the gay!). Duc, a paragon of Asian cliches and underdog resourcefulness, whom I’ve always suspected to be an effeminate leprechaun, was not put off by the Touring Luxury truck. We’d have our monumental battles locked in the truck cabin on a blistering summer day with the heat full blast to see who would scream uncle first. Looking back, it’s not uncommon for me to cause my close friends as much discomfort as possible. I’m sure everyone’s thought about driving naked before, and that thought had crossed my young mind as well. I can’t really even say it was done on a dare because I wanted to do it. I wanted to humiliate him, and possibly myself too if it could at all be helped.
It was the last gasping sigh of July and my vinyl seats were at their usual 110F. I lured Duc out to the truck with the promise of a trip to 7-Eleven. There, I removed my shirt, my shorts, and my underwear, and announced that I was going to drive naked. He looked at me with giddy horror, and appeared to hope that his lack of protest would wilt my strange resolve. We both got in and I began to back out of James’s driveway (no, it wasn’t even my place). My buttocks were sizzling and my heartbeat racing. I looked to him and smiled, saying, “we’re gonna go on the main road.” It was then that I caught a glimpse of my shiny, wispy, black pubic hair. It reminded me of the glistening hair in those Pantene Pro-V commercials. So we drove out to Bascom Rd. and waited around in the afternoon traffic. All the while, I could see Duc holding on to a look of restrained laughter. He blurted out, “hahahaha!!! the trucker!!!” and I shot my head left to see if he could see me from his predatory perch. He could. I was a naked Vietnamese boy, and there was an awful white trucker looking upon my very pubic soul. I needed to put an end to this and made my unceremonious exit back to James’ house, without drinks.
Epilogue:
Yesterday, I drove around looking for a Christmas tree in yet another Washington hicktown called Monroe. I was driving down Main St. when I saw a sight that made me shudder: three teenage girls wearing skimpy shorts in the cool winter air. I swung my head all the way over so I could sneak a look at them again. Goodness. There were creamy white, slender thighs that made me think of the girls swim team at my old highschool. I swung my head back the other way for another ravishing peek and my mind completed the image of perfect B-cup breasts held taut in thin, cocktease cotton. Just then out of the corner of my eye, I saw a white police car idling and my thoughts ran to Billie Holliday, Strange Fruit, how dare this Asian man visually grope and molest our innocent girls!@?@!? My heart throbbed with panic and I thought to make the next available turn off Main St. Lurching on the stop sign, I went for my turn when I noticed a blockage. My loose pants had allowed a lusty obelisk to rise. I couldn’t turn my steering wheel past the bulge in my pants. Those three bystander-temptresses had dramatically reduced my turning radius and I found myself having to 9 and 3 the entire way to steer from that awful scene of temptation.