New spin on a familiar tale. Readers of the earlier stories may find more nuance and pacing here, as well as a lot of real-world issues brought up for the sake of immersion. Again, this is written strictly for raceplay enthusiasts, so if offensive language irks you in the slightest, please read no further. You've been warned. All characters depicted are over the age of 18.









My "Economies of Western Europe in the Early 20th Century" class let out earlier than usual that day, something about the professor having a guest lecturing appointment or some shit. Whatever, rock and roll. All it meant was that I was done early for the day and it was a beautiful fucking Thursday afternoon - sunny and 85, which meant all the little honeys were walking around in gym shorts and tank tops, acting like they don't know that every single fucking guy on campus was checking them out, trying to sneak a peek down their top and looking up their short shorts as they were laying out on the quad. Little cock teases.



Me and my buds from Econ were checking out all the little sluts that were practically begging for it. Some had no shame, just laying out in bikinis in the middle of campus, probably enjoying all the comments and stares they got even from the dirty old professors who rambled by, not even bothering to hide their ogling. I turned to Jeff, who was busy staring at a particularly nubile little blonde in a pink bikini and tiny mesh shorts, probably one of the new freshmen crop.



"No wonder we get so many reports of rape on campus. They're fucking asking for it. Not our fault they get embarrassed afterwards when everyone's talking about them being sluts."



Jeff and Greg cracked up and I smiled, catching the eye of a tall, impossibly slim brunette rubbing sun tan lotion on her toned, tanned stomach. She had her white wife-beater tucked up just below her tits and it was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra. Her gym shorts were rolled up her tight thighs so high that if she wasn't waxed bare I'd bet you could see her pubes. She blatantly flashed a smile at me and let her fingers move down her stomach, just under the waistband of her shorts, teasing me. "Look at this one," I nodded at the brunette, who saw the guys look in her direction and barely reacted, beyond her nipples getting hard through her thin top. Greg brayed his annoying donkey laugh, "You know I banged her last fall, right? She didn't even ask Travis to leave the room while she sucked me off!" We all laughed. Travis was Greg's roommate at the frat house last year - dude loved watching us fuck the sluts we brought home. Kinda weird, but if the chicks didn't mind...



As we reached the western edge of the quad, there was a small group of students crowded on the steps of Fuller, mostly chicks, two or three guys. They were dressed mostly in jeans and t-shirts and the guys were obvious hipsters with their tight jeans and thin beards, generally looking like fucking faggots as they tried to be all sensitive, as if chicks were still going for that shit anymore. As we got closer, I saw that some were listening to this one chick talking. Not a bad body, slim but curvy. Jeans were a little too loose to tell for sure though, and she was wearing a fucking hoodie on an 80-degree day. I figured she was probably a dyke.



She was babbling about some bullshit, I hear something about "the patriarchy" and "dead white males" and I immediately know what the fuck she's on about. These fucking cunts with their bullshit "Something Studies" majors, always fucking wasting everybody's time talking about oppression and minorities and all that bullshit. There's this one black bitch in my Business Management seminar, I don't even know why she's there but I figure it's probably some pre-req that she missed. She's always stopping the discussion to toss in some bullshit about how we never read anything by non-Western economists or that there are no female or gay "voices". Fucking waste of time, and Dr. Paulson usually just rolls his eyes and says he'll look into it, but what the fuck is he supposed to do? Is it his fault there aren't any women economists who write anything worth studying? I mean seriously, why would we waste time reading about someone who doesn't know anything just because this bitch feels neglected? Fuck that, my dad's not paying $40,000 a year for me to get a five-year MBA in "What Whiny Oppressed Minorities Think." If I wanted that, I'd be taking these same fucking bullshit "Studies" majors and get a worthless degree with 80K worth of debt.



The stupid bitch in the hoodie turns slightly as we get closer, probably hears Greg's annoying-ass laugh. She's a chink, of course – the short black ponytail should've given it away. Not bad looking, but just from her expression I can tell she's a real uptight bitch in need of a good dicking. She just looks fucking miserable in her pretentious black framed glasses. If she's not a dyke, she's probably dating some shrimp-dicked Asian dude that her mom loves who can't even get it up half the time. Jeff makes some comment that's just loud enough for her to hear, though I'm pretty sure the only word she catches is "poontang." That's enough to make her spin around and glare at us, giving us what she probably thinks is this holy hell death look that's gonna scare us shitless.



"Oooooh, scary!" laughs Jeff, and Greg pushes his shoulder, laughing. "She's gonna hari kari us."



I smile, peering at her through my sunglasses. She's got a nice tan going, though that's probably just her natural skin color. I made a silent bet that she had a decent rack under that hoodie though. She gives Greg this sneer of contempt and looks like she's about to fucking blow. We're all cracking up at this point and she's getting flushed, despite her outward composure. "I'm Vietnamese-American, not Japanese. No wonder white males can only get their way by killing everyone else; you're just too stupid to do anything else." Her friends chuckle quietly, obviously a little uncomfortable with the confrontation, but the bitch doesn't back down. She just stares at us as if she expects some sort of reaction. Jeff and Greg just look a little confused and laugh, as if they're not sure why she's even talking to us. I shrug, "Yeah well, worked pretty well in Vietnam, didn't it?"



"What, bombing innocent villages, raping women and murdering children you fucking jerk?"



Now I'm the one giving her the condescending smile, as if we're just having a polite conversation in a lecture hall somewhere. "Well, it did work pretty well for us. America's not the country still stuck in the Stone Age. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't see too many people around here up to their knees in a rice paddy."



Her face is dark now, her eyes seething through her glasses and I can almost see the rage building in her small frame, but her voice is somehow under control. Her friends are watching closely, not saying anything, not really trying to lend her support or otherwise. "Typical white male, you think the ends always justify the means. Is that the same way you rationalize murdering millions of Native Americans? You probably think that was okay too because they were just savages, don't you?"



I've still got the same smug smile, trying not to break down laughing in her face. "Hey, South Africa, India, Hong Kong - you think it's just a coincidence that all the countries that were former European colonies all have substantially better standards of living than their neighbors?"



I happened to be a history buff myself and now was as good a time as any to show what I knew without sounding like a dork. "You think it's just luck that Israel is a First World power and its Arab neighbors are stuck in the 10th Century? Or that Hong Kong is one of the wealthiest countries on Earth, despite having zero natural resources or arable land, while Malaysia, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, and your precious homeland are all third world shitholes? You think that's just bad luck?" She looks like she's about to cry, her nicely-tanned cheeks are alternating between going absolutely pale and being dark red with rage. This might very well be the first time anyone has actually challenged her on her ideals and she's being caught completely off-guard. It's hilarious. It's all I can do to keep from breaking down right in front of her, but that would end the fun. "Anything that a white male touches is better for it." I continue. "We made the world what it is today. You're just lucky we let you live in this country and study at our top-tier universities. You don't see people desperately smuggling themselves into Mexico... or Vietnam for that matter."



"You pig," she snaps, angrily. "Men like you are the reason there's so much wrong with the world. You think you know everything, you think it's your right to be rich and powerful, to tell everyone else how to live. Your ancestors probably owned slaves, they probably drove the Native Americans off their land."



I can see she's desperately trying to control herself, to calm down, trying to speak slowly and clearly, as if she's talking to a child that she's somehow going to convince with her careful arguments. It's great to watch. I sneak a glance at Jeff and Greg behind me and see they're enjoying this as much as I am, so I decide to take it a step further.



"You know, what you're saying would be a lot easier to listen to if you were mumbling it around my cock." I say it just loud enough that only she can hear it.



That's when she loses it. I can see the blood rushing to her face, her little body starting to literally shake, yet somehow her voice stays neutral. "Typical response. You have nothing intelligent to say, so you just blurt something sexist. Such a typical white male response."



I smile. "You're right, it's very typical. It's only natural that I, as a powerful white male, would envision you, a weak oriental female, with her mouth around my cock."



"You think you're going to upset me, that you can offend me like this? I've had worse. Do you have any idea the amount of oppression and racism and sexism someone like me deals with on a daily basis?"



"Oh poor you. Poor wittle chinadoll. Thinks she's oppressed. You're lucky you're not back in a rice paddy somewhere up to your knees in mud and flies."



"Oh that's nice." She shakes her head, her black ponytail shining in the sun. "I don't know why I even bother."



I step towards her. "Because you like it. You like being told where you belong by a man like me." Her dark eyes flash angrily, but her lips stay sealed in a tight line. I can tell she's not wearing any make-up, yet her skin is remarkably clear and pure. "You know you're only one generation removed from a rice paddy - your mom and dad probably own a grocery store somewhere or a laundry mat, right? The only reason you're here is because a white man created this university and a white man created a bank that gave you a loan so that you could come here and shit all over us. Deep down you know all that, and so you need to be told by someone like me exactly where you really belong. All you little gooks need to be put in your place by someone like me, by a powerful white male, every once in a while. Just to feel good about yourselves."



I see her clenching her tiny fists, and I can tell she's only barely restraining from lashing out at me, but she knows that resorting to physical violence would only make her look bad. I can hear my friends snickering behind me. I see her body trembling. I reach in my pocket, pull out a receipt I've got from the Panda Express in the campus food court. My eyes locked onto hers, I pull out a pen and deliberately scrawl on the back, and then hand it to her, not speaking. She slowly reaches out to take it as if it's a snake poised to strike. She then turns it over and reads it. Before she can finish, I speak loud enough for her friends and mine to hear, "That's my number. I'm Jake. Call me sometime and I'll teach you exactly what a little third-world gook like you should be doing for a powerful white man like me."



Behind me, Jeff and Greg utterly lose it - I can hear them guffawing and almost falling down. I look over the girl's shoulder and see her friends on the steps are either looking away or downwards, embarrassed for her, scared of what's going to happen. The two "men" in her group look the most embarrassed, one's definitely gay and the other is just a pussy. She looks at me, and for a second her small dark eyes are bright and the utter anger and hatred that was there is gone, replaced by something else, something deep and primal. I see it and smile, and then it's replaced again by the hatred. She doesn't speak, simply spins on her toes and starts briskly walking away, her friends turning to leave before she can even reach them, happy to be out of the uncomfortable situation. As she darts away behind them, head down, I see her crumple the receipt into a ball and stuff it into the pocket of her jeans.



Later that night, I'm back in my room in the frat house, watching a movie, three beers deep. I specifically scheduled my classes this semester so that my Fridays are free. Gonna be a good night. Couple girls from Tri-Delt are supposed to come over for Beer Pong around 1 AM - they'll have been at the bars for four hours before that, they'll be good and trashed, I'm planning on fucking this one, Trish, who Kurt from down the hall used to be fucking, but he dumped her 'cause she didn't really like to swallow. But she's got a hell of a body. Sloppy seconds are cool as long as it's a brother. At 9 o'clock exactly, my phone rings. I don't recognize the number, but I'm thinking it could be the slut I fucked last week that I met at O'Flanagan's. Shit, what was her name - Becky? Britney? I'm still trying to remember as I answer. "Yo."



There's no response for a second, then a small, somehow familiar voice. "Is this Jake?"



"Yeah, who's this?"



"It's me... Amy. Amy Nguyen. We talked on campus today. In front of Fuller."



I smile, taking a big swig of my beer - it's almost empty, fuck.



"Oh yeah, hey, what up?"



I can hear the tension through the phone, it sounds as if she's struggling to control her voice. "Listen, Jake, I think we both said some things this afternoon that we didn't mean. I just wanted to call and try to set things straight, because I think there's no reason why we can't all just work through our differences." At this point I'm wondering if there are any more beers in my mini-fridge, or if I'm going to have to call one of the pledges to get me a six-pack from downstairs. Bitch is still talking.



"I mean, I think I just got a little worked up today. I didn't mean to offend you, and I think it's important that even if we disagree, that we try to talk through our differences and come to an understanding. I didn't mean the things I said, and I know you didn't mean what you said either."



I grunt. "Yeah, no. I meant what I said." There's silence over the line. After a few seconds, she stammers, "Oh, well, I don't think you meant it to sound the way you did. It was very offensive to me, some of the words you used and the things you implied about me and my ethnicity and gender."



"Um, yeah, they were supposed to be offensive, that's why I said them. I'm not sure why this is so confusing."



I can hear in her voice that she's getting upset again, but trying to control it. "I don't understand, why would you say things like that? Talking about me 'knowing my place,' and that thing you said about listening to me better if I was giving you...giving you oral." She almost mumbles the last word. I can practically see her cheeks turning bright red.



"Because they're true. Why would I say stuff that's not true? I would show you your place, and you'd probably thank me for it." I give a silent fist pump when I see the mini-fridge still has a few bottles left. I pop one open, settling back into my recliner.



"Jake, I don't think you know how offensive those kinds of things are today. You can't talk like that, especially on a college campus."



"Sure I can. You said it yourself, white men like me have all the power - and what was that quote from Spider-man? 'With great power comes great responsibility.' I've got great power, and so it's my responsibility to use it wisely. In this case, I'd use it to help you find your true role as an Asian chick with a decent body. You're wasted in those 'classes,' if that's what you wanna call them. You might as well drop out and just sell yourself around campus to some of the frats. There are chicks who do that, y'know. For parties. And they make good money."



There's no sound from the other end of the phone for a moment, and I think maybe she's gone, but I can hear her breathing after a few seconds. "I mean am I right or am I right?"



"Jake," I finally hear her say. "Listen, I think I should go over there, and we can talk about this face-to-face. I think maybe you're not understanding how hurtful these things you're saying really are to me, and would be to others as well. I think that maybe if I explained to you how your words make me feel, how offensive they are and how they hurt me as a person, I think that maybe you'll have a better understanding of the way you're behaving and how it relates to the past and Western oppression throughout history." I can hear the strain in her voice, trying desperately to control her anger.



"Nah, I don't think that's a good idea - some of the guys might see you come over here and get the wrong idea. Asian chick going into a white guy's room at this hour, that only means one thing, y'know? Also, I got some girls coming over later, and I don't think they'd understand if they heard any rumors. It's probably not a good idea."



"Jake, please, listen to me. The things you're saying are very hurtful, and they're all part of a pattern. I'd be failing myself and my principles if I didn't try my best to explain to you what you're helping to perpetuate. Let me come over and explain it to you. It would be good for both of us."



"I dunno, I'm kinda buzzed. I might just take a nap until the girls get here. Besides, like I said, I don't want anyone seeing you coming in here, some of the brothers aren't too happy about the whole prostitute thing that happens sometimes, they'd give me a whole lot of shit if they saw someone like you coming in."



"Jake..." She pauses, and I hear her take a few deep breaths through the phone. When you begin again, your voice is calm. "You really don't know what you're saying, do you? You don't know how deeply hurt I was by your words just now. Equating me with a prostitute just because I'm Asian-American? Do you have any idea how degrading and just wrong that is? How offensive that is? It's such a stereotype, you might as well walk by any Asian girl on campus and ask her to 'love you long time.' "



I almost laugh through the phone when I hear that. I'm guessing this fourth beer is kicking in because I'm starting to get a decent buzz going on.



"Jake, just let me come over. Please, we need to talk about this, it's important to me. Please."



"Alright, whatever. I'm in the Pike House, third floor."



"What's the Pike House?"



"You know, Pike, we're the second house down on the Row."



"I've never been to Fraternity Row."



"Well, we're the second house on the left as you get on the row. Ring the bell and ask for Jakers, or Tail-Dog. The pledge at the door will tell you where to go." I smile, "Actually, better yet, go around back, ring the door marked 'Kitchen Deliveries' - they'll tell you where to go, just tell them you're going to the third floor to visit a friend, I'm in Room 4A. And don't mention my name."



"Um okay. Thank you, Jake. This is for the best."



"Whatever." I hang up and call for a pledge to bring some more beers.



I'm on my sixth beer when I hear a knock at my door around 10 at night. I'd almost forgotten who was coming, and it's a little confusing when I yell "Enter!" and a little Asian chick slowly pushes the door open, looking cautiously around the room as if she expects monsters to pop out of the walls or something. The pledges clean the rooms everyday, so it's actually pretty damn spotless, save for the empty beer bottles on the floor next to the king-sized bed where I'm laid out. I changed into jeans and a light blue polo shirt for the girls I expected to show up after midnight, slapping the school's lacrosse cap onto my brown mop of hair. My feet are bare, my sandals at the foot of the bed. I look up, trying to remember who this bitch is supposed to be, and then it clicks. It helps that she's looks like she's got on the same outfit she was wearing this afternoon on the quad, that grey hoodie and those loose-fitting jeans, probably not even designer. Her hair is tucked under a generic baseball cap. She's wearing those same stupid hipster glasses and still doesn't look like she's wearing much makeup, but her face seems to pull it off more or less.

