Yet another post from my blog on the Jakarta Post.
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I think most of us are well aware of this, there are many Indonesian women who chase after bules. I have seen and experienced this myself many times., though I certainly do not claim to be very handsome, only average looking in my own country.
This is what this blog is ultimately all about, what I've been writing about since the start. It's also what I wrote about in my book An Indonesian Love Story.
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Indonesia is a land where even a slightly handsome, slightly older foreigner can have as many women as a rock star, where you find yourself with the wonderful worry of asking: when are you going to find all the time for as many women as are chasing you? Whole groups of women want to give you their number. Women on the street, on the bus, in the mall, at the market, on the beach, and at school all stare at you with curiosity, fascination, and barely hidden or unrestrained lust.
There was once a girl on the pete-pete who kept looking at me. She was lovely, full lips, wide eyes, perfectly pretty brown skin, and wearing a jilbab and sweater. The jilbab and sweater was supposed to make her look more modest. But nothing could hide how sensual she was. I stared right at her. She blushed and turned bright red. She called out, “Kiri, pak” and left the pete-pete. So I left the pete-pete too. I could see she was still blushing, even with her very dark skin. I walked up to her and said, “Andah cintah. Anda becara Bahasa Inggris?” She could not answer me and blushed even more. But she gave me her number and two nights later gave me amazing sex.
At the first Indonesian supermarket I went to, there were four women working in the aisles, helping customers find what they wanted. A male worker, the gay friend of the women workers, was talking to one of them. Then he walked up to me, smiled and asked if I thought Indonesian women were beautiful.
“Yes, very pretty, “I said.
“Being Muslim is not a problem?”
“No.”
“Please, meet my friend.” He pointed with his hand. One of the women workers walked over quickly to us, shy and laughing nervously. I took her phone number, and she wrote down mine. Her three friends all laughed at her nervousness. Then I said, “May I have all your numbers?”
All three squealed and ran towards me, each trying to write faster than their friends. I left there with four numbers. This only took five minutes.
Yet even that cannot compare to when I went to the temples of Borobudur. Indonesian teachers in or near Jogja often send their students to Borobudur, telling them to speak to any foreigners they meet, to practice their English by asking about who we are, where we are from, our jobs, our hobbies, and so on. You find yourself surrounded by dozens of lovely schoolgirls, all eager to talk to you, take their picture with you, give you their email addresses and hand phone numbers. Many of them are far too young to be with, of course. But it is great fun to flirt with all of them, tell one in each group of four or five girls she is the prettiest and see her blush and get embarrassed. And most of the girls of seventeen or eighteen will gladly meet with you. One day of my travels at Borobudur gave me all the numbers I needed to have a wonderful time with the women of Jogja.
There was another time, when I was at a restaurant with one of my Indonesian girlfriends. There were three women at the next table, dressed very sexy. My girlfriend told me they were speaking about who should talk to me first. Each of them wanted to be with me. Finally they decided all three of them could be my girlfriend at the same time. They all agreed no matter which girl I liked the best, the other two would not be jealous. They discussed what they would do if I asked all three of them to my home. My girlfriend joked that I should try to have sex with all three at once. “You will be a legend!” she laughed.
“And what will you do if I ask you to come to my house at the same time? If I try to be with all four of you?” I asked. She smiled at the thought, but did not say anything more. I could see she was picturing it in her head....
If you are a teacher...the university students will flirt and chase after you, and no one thinks it is wrong. The other unmarried (and sometimes the married) teachers are desired by their female students....Often I had to fend off students flirting in front of the whole class. Still, it is a wonderful feeling for your ego to know there are a dozen pretty Asian students in your class desiring you.
...Mothers and grandmothers also wanted to introduce me to unmarried friends, daughters, granddaughters, and nieces. And even many older women in the streets and malls, who I had never met before, kept introducing me to their daughters, nieces, or unmarried younger friends.
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Next time I will discuss partly why this is so.
An American Man is the pen name of the author of An Indonesian Love Story by an American Man, the true story of a westerner’s love and experiences with Indonesian women, a romance and love poem to the people and land of Indonesia.
Available at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0050QBEO0
This post is crossposted at my Author’s Blog at http://indonesianlovestory.blogspot.com/ and my Facebook page at
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/pages/Indonesian-Love-Story/186217388093423
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