My Fantasy Girlfriend - sexy biker chick (mannequin)

I'm not getting out enough lately. And, odd as this may seem, when I'm not encountering any (even remotely) potential real-life girlfriends, my libido - indolent at the best of times - pretty well shuts down completely: I don't even find myself reminiscing and fantasising about lost loves and unattainable beauties any more.

However, I had a neat idea for this month's 'Fantasy Girlfriend' post: the one female figure to catch my eye in the past month or two has been the rather svelte (and red-haired!) shop-window dummy in the sex shop just down the road.  For the past few weeks, she's been all studs and leather - tight-fitting jacket, very tight-fitting skirt, and a leather cap. Quite an appealing look, I find.

But... I wanted to get a picture for you; and that proved a gumption test too far (A little throwaway motorcycling allusion for you there!).  The sun reflecting on the shop window made it impossible to get a decent shot of her from outside (I began to suspect that they'd treated the glass in some way, to confound the cheapskates like me who wanted to try to derive some pleasure from their merchandise without actually making a purchase).  And I was, of course, much too shy to go inside the shop and ask if I could take a picture (or to snap and run!!).

In any case, she has recently been re-costumed: she's much more demurely - or, at any rate, more conventionally - attired now in a skimpy cocktail dress. The allure has waned.

But I shall always have fond memories of her biker chick period.

[I couldn't help but be reminded of the occasion of the most profound sexual embarrassment I have suffered in China (other than in bed, of course...).  I once found myself taking a cab in the far south-west of Beijing, an area where few laowai ever ventured, and where the drivers were even more aggressive/psychotic than we are used to in the city centre. My driver for this trip was unduly excited about having a foreigner in his passenger seat, and became extremely talkative. I played along at first, because he seemed quite a jolly fellow. But he soon became relentlessly inquisitorial about my love life: did I have a girlfriend? what kind of girls did I like? I wasn't gay, was I? so, what kind of girls did I like? did I like Chinese girls? which part of China did I think produced the best girls?... and on and on and on. I made the mistake of trying to terminate the conversation by mentioning that I had recently started going out with an American girl.

He shook his head sadly. He felt obliged to demonstrate to me why this was a misguided choice. He rummaged under his dash for something, pulled out a very well-thumbed pack of playing cards with nude pictures of Chinese girls on them. He proceeded to show me most of the deck, commenting in detail on each girl's assets, and challenging me to guess where she was from; and then laboriously explaining to me how I should have been able to tell.  ("Such a long neck! Probably a Manchu girl. Oh, she has tits!  Must be from the north." etc., etc., etc.)  And he was still driving through heavy traffic the while, although looking almost exclusively at me or his mucky playing cards.

It was on this day that I determined not merely to give up any further attempt to study Chinese, but to assiduously endeavour to unlearn the little that I then knew.]