Insatiable: Porn — A Love Story by Asa Akira

Author:Asa Akira [Akira, Asa]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
Published: 2014-05-06T00:00:00+00:00

12

Rule of Twos

My life has a habit of things happening in twos. Before the Thanksgiving molestation incident, I had already been through a similar experience. It was on the train in Japan. I was about eleven years old and was riding alone. The train was crowded, and we were literally packed up against each other, which isn’t anything out of the ordinary for rush hour in Tokyo. I stood face-to-face with a man who, at the time, seemed huge, and towered over me. He grabbed my vagina and looked me right in the eyes. I got off at the next stop and waited for the next train to come. It didn’t seem like a big deal.

In Japan, sex offenders on the train are so common, they have their own name. Students learn in school that if they get molested, the proper protocol is to point at the man and call him a Chikan to bring awareness to the situation. Signs that translate to “Beware of Chikans!” can be seen all over train stations in Japan, complete with a cartoon image of a girl slapping away a man’s hand. Japan is strange like that. The most common crimes are molesting in the train, panty-snatching (the Japanese line-dry their laundry in their backyards), and taking upskirt shots of unknowing girls on escalators. Yet, on the news, you hardly ever hear of other crimes. A drive-by shooting is a completely foreign concept. It’s considered rude to blow your nose into a tissue in public, but men regularly read pornographic comics on the train.

The first time it occurred to me that things always happen to me twice was during a routine visit with my favorite psychic of the time. Carrie wore all black, including the dye in her long hair. Pale skin, rings on every finger, if you saw her on the street, you’d peg her as a psychic; at the very least, a practicing Wiccan. Initially, this turned me off from her; she seemed too gimmicky, like an actor playing the part of what she actually was. Despite all this, she told me a bunch of things that ended up coming true. So I saw her for a year and change, about once a month. Every time I told her about a new guy I was dating, her first question was “What sign is he?”

Upon telling her, she’d either 1) show approval by smiling and picking up her tarot cards, or 2) roll her eyes and sigh, “Don’t even bother.”

Visiting these fortunetellers was a habit I had started up young. When I was growing up, my mom would often take me to see psychics, mediums, palm readers, reflexologists, Chinese medicine doctors with translators who could tell what was wrong with my body from one long, extensive look at my tongue. Not that we took it so seriously. It was just something we liked to do together, for fun, whenever we were bored. Our favorite was a woman in Queens, who gave readings in the back of an Indian restaurant in Jackson Heights.

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