I took Lanh in her arse as she proudly looked back at me. It was proof that my system for pulling Vietnamese women worked. A month before, I was in the spa at the Maribyrnong Aquatic Centre in Melbourne’s western suburbs, about a 15-minute drive from the CBD.

Most days, I spent ten or so minutes there relaxing before venturing into the pool for a bit of walking and stretching. Of course, I avoided the other pool, where swimmers wore swimming caps and goggles and Olympic-style outfits as they selected their designated lane (fast, medium, or slow) and clicked the timer on their waterproof watch.

No, I was there for a bit of stretching exercise and walking slow laps of the pool, and of course, for the Asian women, mainly Vietnamese, who also frequented the centre. The man sitting beside me in the spa would have a sore neck that night as every minute he twisted his head to survey the pool like a U-boat commander looking through his periscope at a passing convoy. And just like the commander, he was looking for targets.

I watched as Ivan, a stout, balding 60-year-old Croatian, with a sizable gut, grey-haired chest and a peasant’s demeanour, spotted a new arrival, an attractive Vietnamese, entering the pool. With surprising speed for a man his age, Ivan hustled to beat out the other watching Balkan men and reach his quarry first.

His target was in her early 20s, and had the face, lithe figure and confidence of a model. Her long, wet, moisturised dark hair glistened. Her thong bikini pushed the boundaries of the centre’s swimwear rules to their limit, displaying plenty of skin and the fact that she shaved down south and was tattooed. The fact that it was a pale pink which became almost transparent when wet wouldn’t help her case to beat the Centre’s rules. She was Ivan’s target.

My eyes had naturally feasted on the woman, but only as an admirer of her beauty. Just like a punter who appraises and appreciates horse flesh, knowing he will never be able to afford to buy one, I too looked, knowing this one was several grades too high for me. No, make that many grades out of my reach. There was plenty of water and she, like me was fishing. But she was there to hook a wealthy, older Asian who would keep her in the style she wanted.

You can call it reverse racism. We Westerners, end up with the ones that in the TV ad, John West rejects. We ended up with those with imperfections: small tits, plain face, or something else, as the prime A and B graders chose Asian men for cultural reasons. Don’t get me wrong. C-grade Asians were still attractive compared to loud, brash Western women who, after they were 30, forgot they were women.

What a fool was Ivan, I thought to myself. Many times in the spa, I had been forced to listen to Ivan or his clones as they told me they had their house, were on Australia’s overgenerous Age Pension, and were looking for a young, attractive Asian wife. They believed the myth that Asian women were submissive, and the one thing missing in an attractive, young, Asian woman’s life was being married to Ivan, or Gregor, or Goran or Mirko and keeping his house clean, doing the cooking, washing and gardening and being the subject of his untrue boasts to his male friends of how she craved his cock.

I watched Ivan, as I had done so often, sweet-talk the Vietnamese woman. I had occasionally been within earshot, and it consisted of him saying that his name was Ivan and he could take her to the pokies for a meal this Wednesday. Here in Oz, the larger suburban hotels have a large Poker machine area and a big sports betting room where huge TV screens display football, boxing, UFC, or horse racing, and bets can be placed. All of this subsidised the meals, plus Wednesday night had the steak special at half price.

The unknown Vietnamese beauty cut him short and dismissed his attempts, probably having been approached before and haughtily moved to a group of Vietnamese women. I particularly liked the way one tit almost fell out of its triangle-covering in her departure. Ivan returned to the spa and resumed his surveillance. Ironically, he sat beside a well-preserved Vietnamese woman in her early 50’s who probably would have gone out with him as no Vietnamese man would go out with an older single woman. But she was not good enough for Ivan in his opinion.

Now, I was different. I was in my mid 40’s, owned my own Accounting business and was hooked on Asian women. But I was a realist and had my own plan and technique, which at that moment involved a Vietnamese woman holding the pool edge and doing water aerobics to the music in her head.

Despite not being a standout beauty, she had made an effort with her appearance, wearing a t-shirt that wasn’t so loose it hid her figure and a pair of shorts that showed off her shapely legs. She wasn’t model material or even very good for her age, but she clearly took pride in her looks and wanted to feel attractive, as she still wore her makeup in the pool.

I started walking in the pool. I walked past and noted the large diamond engagement ring on the right hand, which made me 99% sure she was divorced, separated or widowed, as Vietnamese women will wear the rock on the right finger instead of the left, even when no longer married, as they like to wear jewellery. Unlike Ivan, I didn’t ask her out straight away. We attended the centre at the same time, and I had seen her enough times to smile and nod as I passed her doing her exercises, and she did the same back to me. After passing her a couple of times, I gave a general comment about it being a bit quiet tonight, and she agreed. I finished my walking after a few more laps and said goodbye and received a smile and goodbye back. I was playing the long game.

Each night we nodded and greeted. Lanh, as I now knew her name, and I discussed the weather and established that she was unemployed, living in government-subsidised housing and was divorced. I let her know I owned my Accounting business. One night, I saw Goran about to make a move on a 19-year-old, and I timed my walk so I was beside Lanh when Goran went to work on the 19-year-old.

I nodded towards the group of older men ogling the young women and said to Lanh, “You know, you’ve got to watch out for those blokes. They’re always on the prowl for Asian ladies.” She rolled her eyes and replied, “Yes, I’ve noticed. It’s disgusting how they blatantly stare and chase after girls young enough to be their daughters or granddaughters. What could they possibly have in common?”

I nodded my head in agreement. “Exactly. Those men just see young Asian women as pieces of meat. They don’t care about connecting with someone on a real level, like having an actual conversation. Not like you and me here chatting away.”

Lanh smiled slightly. “That’s true. It is nice to just talk to someone normal here.” With that, she stopped her exercising, and I ceased my pool walking so we could continue our conversation. First goal had been establishing a slight acknowledgement of each other, but now the second goal of talking normally had been achieved. The next night when I arrived, she moved to greet me, and we walked the pool laps and talked. I followed my normal successful routine, remembering her father’s and other family members names, asking how what yesterday she had told me she was going to do went. In other words, I listened, asked the right questions, and she thought I was interested.

I think it was 3 weeks later when, having established from her where she shopped in general conversation, on the second day of waiting, I saw her enter the Dai Phat supermarket. Lanh was trying to look trendy and attractive, even a little sexy, but the cheap quality of her outfit undermined the effect. Her overall look screamed “trying too hard” rather than “sexy”, but you had to give her points for trying on a limited budget.

I hovered around outside, and when she exited, overtook her, looked surprised, said I was just visiting one of my clients in the shopping strip and how happy I was to see her and how different she looked from the swimming pool. Lanh glanced over at a couple of twenty-something women who were showing plenty of skin in their skimpy outfits. “Those girls are dressed pretty outrageously, aren’t they?” she said with a sniff. “I guess that’s what it takes to be noticed.”

I gave Lanh an appraising look and smiled. “You’re right, those young girls may get attention for their outfits, but I prefer a woman with experience and confidence, who knows who she is. Now I was just about to have lunch. Why don’t you join me?” I had barely finished before she said yes.

I took her to Anh Yeu Em, the only upmarket restaurant in Sunshine, as the rest were just identical Vietnamese restaurants where the decor and menu were interchangeable. Lanh hesitated at the entrance, clearly intimidated by the prices. “Come on,” I said, “a woman like you deserves somewhere nice.” That bit of encouragement was enough to get her through the door.

After we were seated, she excused herself to the restroom. When she returned ten minutes later, her makeup had been completely redone with fresh lipstick, more eyeliner, and a hint of blush. She’d also hiked her mini skirt up another inch or two, the hem now barely covering her thighs as she walked back to our table with a newfound confidence. Although I knew, I asked her what the name of the restaurant translated to in English, and she replied. “A man is saying I love you to a woman.”

“Ahh, I said, “so in Vietnamese, if I were saying I love you to you, would I say, Lanh, Anh yeu em, or Anh yeu em, Lanh?”

She laughed and replied, “You silly man. You only say that to one special person, so no name is needed.” I smiled inside because a seed had been planted.

Leaving the restaurant, she was a different woman from the unsure one who had entered. She made sure the predominantly Vietnamese eaters saw her being escorted out with a well-dressed, and if I may say so, fairly good-looking Westerner who had her as his partner at the restaurant.

I have led a good life, in my eyes at least, so the gods rewarded me via Melbourne’s changeable weather. It was drizzling steadily, so obviously I had to drive Lanh and her shopping home, despite her insincere requests not to. We arrived at her housing commission flat, and when I unfurled the umbrella to cover her, my hard cock “accidentally” brushed her, and I heard her intake of breath and sigh. Inside the flat, she made me cafe sua. It is the Vietnamese iced coffee sweetened with condensed milk that I am addicted to.

When she brought it from the kitchen, she found me examining a huge photo on the wall of herself taken in some Saigon studio. It must be a huge industry, as every Vietnamese woman I know proudly displays hers on the lounge wall. They were always taken with a pull-down backdrop of Buckingham Palace, the Eiffel Tower, the Leaning Tower of Pisa or something similar. Nowadays, they use AI so that a person can be anywhere in their photo. Lanh’s had the background of one of the fairy castles along the Rhine.

I turned to her and said, “Was this taken a couple of years ago?” When she said ten, I, of course, disbelieved her, saying it looked like she does now.” I followed up by asking her if she had any photos of herself, and she did. Twelve full albums in fact. Just like day follows night, we ended up in the bedroom. And that is how Ivan should have done it.

Lanh slowly peeled off her top, revealing her toned figure and smooth skin. At about 5’3”, she had a petite yet shapely build. She unclasped her bra, freeing her tits, which were not large but well-formed with light brown nipples that hardened. She slid down her mini skirt, and the black lace of her panties contrasted against her skin before she slid them off too, revealing, unusually for a woman her age, a shaved slit.

I lay Lanh down on the bed and climbed on top of her and placed my rigid cock at her cunt entrance. With a slow, steady thrust, I eased into her sex cave, feeling her walls stretch around me. She let out a soft moan and her eyes fluttered shut as I began rocking my hips, sliding nearly all the way out before gliding back to the hilt. Her moans intermingled with Vietnamese endearments and praises about how good my cock felt inside her grew louder.

I was experienced fucking Vietnamese nookie, so I gradually increased the pace and force of my thrusts. Lanh’s legs wrapped around me, her hips rising to meet each stroke. “Yes, fuck me harder,” she moaned, urging me on. I obliged, working my hips faster to pound her until her moans turned to keening wails and her fingernails raked my back as her body writhed beneath me.

It was time to up the ante, and I folded her in half, pressing her thighs to her chest as I jackhammered her clutching hole. After 15 minutes of being taken this way, Lanh was moaning and groaning incoherently, but I managed to understand from her gabbled phrases, interrupted by wails, that Vietnamese men only lasted five minutes at the most because they’re selfish, unlike me.

I told her that she was insatiable and made me so horny as I flipped her over onto her hands and knees. Gripping her hips, I plunged my cock deep into her dripping pussy from behind. Lanh cried out in ecstasy, pushing back to meet my powerful thrusts. I quickly had skin slapping against skin as I took her from behind as she ground her arse back against me, begging for more.

Reaching around, I played with her swollen clit, sending her over the cliff. Her cunt walls squeezed and spasmed. As she came, she screamed that it was the first time she’d ever cum with a man and drenched my cock and both of our bodies in her slick honey. I grunted and emptied my balls inside her with a loud groan. A job well done, even if I say so myself.

Over the next two weeks, Lanh and I fucked in every room and position imaginable. One night, I bent her over the couch, lubed up her tight aarsehole, and rammed my hard cock deep into her arse. She moaned and bucked back against me, taking it to the hilt as I pounded her arsehole. Another time, she got on her knees and sucked my cock, trying to take me down her throat, although gagging. After some practice, her mouth would work me over until I exploded, filling her mouth with my hot cum. We went at it like rabbits, insatiable for each other.

Like the guardian of the holy grail cup in Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade said, “I had chosen well.” Lanh proved to be fantastic in the sack, always ready and willing to try what I suggested. We fucked hard, deep and often, enjoying the haze of lust and sexual experimentation. I thought, eat your heart out, Ivan.

One night, as I was balls-deep in Lanh’s cunt, I whispered in her ear that I wanted her to be my date for the upcoming Western Suburbs small business get-together. She moaned and managed to gasp out a question about what she should wear. I reminded her of the young skanks we’d seen outside Anh Yeu Em on our first “accidental” meeting. Lanh gasped in shock, then moaned even louder when I told her I wanted her to wear something even sluttier and more revealing than those two had been.