I roll my eyes the second I see you approaching. I knew it was only a matter of time. You’ve lumbered through the entire orientation hitting on every girl in sight, no matter how many dirty looks they give you. And they’ve given you a lot. Obviously hungover, wandering eyes, the build of the typical bro-dude who thinks hours in the gym can be cashed in for pageant-winning girlfriend. I don’t know how you ever became a GSI, and I suspect you don’t either.

In the meantime, the rest of us have to suffer through your vulgar advances.

“Hey there,” you say as you approach. I watch as you clearly give me a once-over. More svelte than skinny, but my build can only be described as delicate. Designer jeans and a loose, silky blouse, accented with diamond earrings. Wedge heels that are more elegant than flirty. Silky black hair cascades down one shoulder as I narrow dark, almond eyes at you.

“Hi.” I put as much disinterest and loathing into my voice as I can.

“Are you pre-med?”

Because all Asians have to be doctors? “No. Pre-law.”

“Oh sweet - you’re probably in my class then! I teach Law and Society 100B, in the afternoons. You taking it?”

Unfortunately for me. “Yes. See you there then.”

“Hey, your English is pretty good for a Jap.”

I was born in LA and my parents are Chinese. I force a tight smile on my face. “Thanks.”

“You’ve probably noticed, but there’s a lot of cultural differences between here and where you’re from.”

“Are there really?”

“Yeah. It can be tough for exchange students sometimes. I can help you figure it out though.”

There’s no way I’m risking my grade for a mandatory prereq course, especially not in my first semester. Even if I’m sorely, sorely, tempted to. My smile grows tighter. ”Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“I mean, just for starters, girls are expected to smile here when guys talk to them. You know, cause it makes you look prettier. I bet you’ve got a great smile. Wanna show me?”

Slowly, the pained smile on my face stretches into something wider. It feels just as artificial and twice as embarrassing. But it seems good enough for you.

“There you go. See, I knew you were a fast learner.”

Two weeks later, a muddy mix of tears and mascara paint twin lines down my cheeks as I’m fucking my throat on your manhood. The polyester qi-pao is ill-fitting and slips a little with every bob of my head; it doesn’t help that I’m gyrating my hips so my cunt can grind against the toe of your shoe, soaking the leather with my juices. I can only imagine what I look like, with my hair done up in a tight bun and fixed in place with a pair of chopsticks, but I’m sure you’ll show me later. You’ve been taking plenty of pictures.

I’m nearly thankful when I feel you tense up in my throat, followed by the jets of cum I’ve become accustomed to. “That’s a good girl,” you say after patting me on the head. “Now I’ve got a hot date in 10, so I’ll need you to clean up the place while I’m out. Think we’re coming back here for some action. Just wait in the closet until I need you, yeah? Do your homework in there or some shit while you’re waiting.”

Numb and filled with cum and self-loathing, all I can do is nod.

Why is there still a smile on my face?