Romancing the Demilitarized Zone

Kim Jung-il may be my inner child.  Or vice versa.  As anyone would know, he or I would never admit being the “inner child.”  So for the sake of this post, Kim is my inner child.  He and I have a lot in common: We’re both frightened of flying in an airplane and prefer the standard armored train.  I have considered kidnapping Asian actresses and forcing them to star in my own films.  I may or may not have composed several operas.  I’m an expert when it comes to the internet although I’m still not sure how to fully function on this site.  Kim is an avid golfer.  Personally, I find the game rather dull and too difficult to really enjoy, but I’m sure I could sink several holes-in-one during a standard 18-hole game. 

I don’t have the pompadour like Kim and thankfully … I don’t have his dandruff that goes along with the unfortunate look.  I think I’m one foot taller than my inner child.  We both wear glasses, but I think he beats me in that category.  I love his eyeglasses!  I wouldn’t mind taking some of those polyester suits from Kim if I ever had the chance.  What a great wardrobe!

What I’m really getting at is my desire to have sex with a North Korean woman.  Oh sure, South Korean are everywhere and are sometimes regarded as some of the most beautiful women in the world.  Pfft!  I want a true communist.  She would have to be a military woman.  I crave the rough stuff from my People’s Republicunt.  Oh, that’s not nice.  She would have to give me a cross-kick in the ass for talking dirty.  And I would looooove it.  I can see it now ……..

I’m staying at some shabby hotel.  The Fearless Leader must have invited me to his country on official business.  Most likely the presentation of an autographed photo of Michael Jordan or for the Daffy Duck Film Festival.  The young Lieutenant knocks at my door.  She looks very solemn in her olive uniform.  Her hair would be shoulder length and not styled in any trendy fashion.  I’m almost certain she is most likely a spy in some sense or another.  The military brain trust must have realized that a young woman as my companion would lower my guard and make me vulnerable to showing my true colours.  I am, after all, an arrogant imperialist swine.  Why would I be in North Korea anyway?  It’s nonsense.  Though I must say I was rather close to that sad country in some of my travels.  Perhaps one day I will stumble into that country.  It would almost certainly mean my very own death or seeing enough tragedy to ruin such a foolish fantasy. 

I have probably seduced an unhappy woman once or twice in my life already.  God knows I’ve been with women in very uncomfortable situations.  I digress …

The officer and I would sit down on my bed around dusk.  I would express my anxiety over meeting the tyrannical strongman/cartoonish supervillain the next day and she would comfort me.  My body would be shaking and I would probably have some perspiration on my brow.  It’s not every day one gets to meet a head of state.  On a real note, I came across the Crown Prince of Thailand (Maha Vajiralongkorn) one February afternoon and was shoved aside by the masses.  Sensing my troubled spirit, the lieutenant would sit next to me and rub my shoulders.  Her grip is rather strong and her firm rubbing soon turns to tighter grips and a more forceful motion.  She clutches my shoulders and thrusts me to the head of the bed.  I am clearly stunned by the action and watch in a stupor and she removes her top revealing a plain white bra.  She comes right up to my face and whispers in a ridiculously phony French accent, “Do you like what you see?”  (hahaha.  I’m too lazy to try to write what a fake French accent sounds like).    I nod my head as I try to speak, but my throat is suddenly dry.  My heart races as she stands up and removes her skirt.  (Do military women in North Korea wear skirts?  Highly unlikely.  But this is my fantasy so she’s wearing a skirt).  The lieutenant lets her skirt drop and I get a full look at her white cotton panties.  That’s what makes a North Korean fantasy for me — the simplicity of the wardrobe.  I’ve always been a fan of the white cotton panties.  I’m a lot like Elvis in that sense.  I know he had the same tastes in women’s underwear. 

*I just got a bit of information from a friend.  Kim Jung-il does indeed like all females to wear skirts.  And it’s a valid source — a 21 year old UCLA student*

So anyway, she’s standing before me in her underwear.  The old dirt dog in me rushes towards her so I can take down her panties but she meets me with an open palmed strike to my right shoulder.  Someone is getting fucked tonight.  I’m certainly getting fucked up by my lover.  You have to work ten times as hard in North Korea as anyone else in the world for the simple things.  Sex with a North Korean woman is no exception.  She follows up with the open hand right with a left straight punch to the solar plexus.  I am rocked back on the bed and get a whiff of her cheap deodorant before passing out. 

Who am I kidding?  I’ve never been with a Korean woman and I can’t even write a proper fantasy about one.  Perhaps I should stick to what I know — Chinese tour guides and Thai flight attendants. 

On a side note, Korean women in white panties are really hot.  I can only imagine she had a nice, full bush and a tight pussy.  But I can only imagine.