The perspective on choosing a partner in nightclubs, the "country folks" under the impact of "big cities."

Note: This is not a praise of nightclub culture, but a conversation. (The content in parentheses is narration.)

(The "I" here is not myself, but the perspective of the narrator. This article has nothing to do with cryptocurrency.)

Brother Sheng's story is unrelated to the trilogy, but after he read my first two tweets, he insisted that I let him share his story and asked me to use this title, saying that this is the heartfelt truth of a rude person.

"What kind of boyfriend do you want to find in the future?" I asked the little girl in my arms seriously, while also giving her chest a hard squeeze. After a not-so-professional gasp, the little girl answered me in broken Chinese, "I want to find a Chinese person; Chinese men are very hardworking."

This answer made me laugh uncontrollably. I didn't know if she really thought that way or if she was responding out of professional instinct because I was her customer, but I liked the answer, so I inevitably increased the pressure of my hand, causing the little girl to let out a soft gasp.

Unfortunately, although they are big enough, the feel is really not great; they are all filled with padding. This reminded me of a girl I had asked before, who told me that girls in nightclubs basically all get breast implants, as men nowadays prefer them, and the clocking rate for girls with big breasts can be over 20% higher than for those with small ones.

(Speaking of this, Brother Sheng suddenly said to me, "I remember your chipmunk's wish was to become a plastic surgeon, right? The path you chose for him is really good." This made me both amused and speechless; the chipmunk's aspiration is to be a dentist, which is also a form of plastic surgery, but I didn't want her to become too desensitized to women.)

"Why are the local men not good? Is it because they are not big enough?" I said in a vulgar manner. In fact, in everyday life, I am not this kind of person; those who know me are aware that I wouldn't speak to women like this. It is a form of disrespect. But I was not facing a woman, just a sex worker; what she needed was not my respect but my money.

(When Brother Sheng said this, his tone was somewhat heavy. I could hear his sense of superiority and a hint of hesitation. Brother Sheng is wealthy; many years ago, he had launched several big projects. Unlike many in the industry, he never uses his own money to start projects and would never invest his own money, so regardless of the outcome, his assets would only increase, not decrease.)

In front of them, I am actually just a rude beast, but they don't care, and I don't care either. It's tiring to pretend to be a good person all the time, which is why I like coming to places like this to relax. In fact, there is not much interesting here; I have almost visited all the girls here, and now they are just providing me with services on-site, which I have little interest in.

But saying some crude words and making some humiliating remarks is what excites me, and the more I make them shy or avoid me, the greater my interest becomes.

("Aren't you afraid they will get angry?" I could understand Brother Sheng's words, but I still felt that going out to have fun is about finding joy, and joy should be based on both parties being happy. You pay, she provides her body, both are happy, but humiliation might lead to her being in a bad mood or her service deteriorating.

"You don't understand; they don't dare." That was Brother Sheng's response to me.)

"Big? What big? It doesn't matter if they are older or younger; the main reason is that the men here are too lazy. The men don't work; it's all the women who support the family." The little girl's Chinese was not very good; I had known this for a long time. These little girls would gather every afternoon before work to study Chinese for two hours, with a dedicated Chinese teacher to instruct them, and the content they learned was customized. They needed to understand what men were saying and provide enough emotional value.

("Do you know? They basically hold three-month or six-month visas, and most of them have three-month visas. After three months, they can only come back after another three months, and if they come back once, it is basically the last time, so making money is their primary goal, and Mandarin speakers are the main consumers.")

Although I knew this, I still patiently listened to Brother Sheng without interrupting. Not interrupting others has been my biggest habit during interviews for so long because I know that interrupting might break the interviewee's train of thought. So even when they seem to be asking questions, as long as I don't say anything, most of them will continue talking on their own.

Every time I bring friends here, I always ask those who can speak Chinese to raise their hands. It's not just me; many people do this, so unless someone is exceptionally beautiful, those who don't speak Chinese have a low clocking rate. After all, we are human, not real beasts; communication is the most important thing. Of course, if you have a good figure, then it doesn't matter.

(I think I could write another article on this topic.)

This lack of proficiency in Chinese is also part of my humiliation of her. Of course, this is just me feeling that I am humiliating her; she probably doesn't think so at all because those with a sense of shame wouldn't travel across the ocean to do this kind of work. Those with a bit of shame would work part-time locally; those who come here are all prostitutes, one and all.

"Hahaha, what I mean by big is not about age; it's about size here!" I grabbed her hand and guided it downwards. She showed no hesitation and even smiled happily at me. You can't deny that the young girl's hand is soft, and they are professionally trained to know what kind of pressure will make men happier, which is why I like it here. Unlike 143, where the girls are too pretentious, they charge high prices, and I know she knows she is a prostitute; she knows she is a prostitute, and we still have to pretend that neither of us knows, as if we must play a game step by step.

Damn, I came here to have fun, not to worry, so if it weren't for business dinners, I wouldn't go. They really dare to give me a hard time; what a bunch of fools.

While I enjoyed the little girl's kneading, I also helped her knead. Oh, I almost forgot; the little girl told me, "It doesn't matter about size; whether he has money doesn't matter, as long as he has a job." When she said this, she didn't even look at me but gazed ahead. I looked into her eyes; although they reflected the images from the TV, I knew she was probably seeing herself ten years later. She must have her own dreams.

Her gaze was as pure as those leeks I see during meetings. They are striving for their dreams, while I am just here to earn their money.

"Do you have a boyfriend back home?" I explored further up her leg, through the lace. Of course, she would only actively cooperate; she actually enjoyed this feeling. This feeling is not like an affair; it's an indescribable sensation, very pleasurable, like in adult films where the teacher is seriously lecturing at the podium while a female student is giving him oral under the desk. Of course, it's not quite the same; I can't describe it, but it really feels great.

(In fact, I can understand; this is the humiliation of giving. I once read a book that talked about how the male master would have to sleep with the maid in front of her husband (who is usually a male servant or slave) before her wedding. This is a pleasure derived from spiritual humiliation.)

"I dated someone when I was in school, and then we broke up." The little girl lifted one leg to make it easier for me to explore her lower body. Although the light was dim, I could still see that her legs were very white. When I asked her how old she was, she said she was 21. "Did he have sex with you?" I asked her bluntly, and this vulgarity made me very happy.

"I didn't let him have sex; I only let you have sex." The little girl's mouth came close to me, whispering softly, mixed with a few gasps. I knew she didn't want to continue this topic. It was actually quite interesting; the owner of this place once told me that these girls' daily goal is to clock in, and the goal of clocking in is to have sex with customers because only by having sex can they earn more money. Every move they make is to entice you to sleep with them.

Do you know? The girls in KTV are the most proactive, open, and have the largest boundaries in the first half hour because they want to make you unable to resist sleeping with them. Once half an hour has passed, they know you are an old hand, and their interest in you decreases. But I still want them to sit with me; if I'm happy, they must be happy. If I'm not happy, no one gets to be happy.

"So what will you do when you go back home? Find a Chinese guy?" I still didn't plan to let her off easily; today's fun is this. I really enjoy the feeling of her not wanting to answer but having to answer me. Yes, she might pretend not to understand, but I will keep asking over and over, and if necessary, I will pull out a translator to ask.

"I like Chinese men; I hope a Chinese man will like me in the future. If not, I won't get married." After the little girl said this, she turned over. She was previously sitting on my lap, facing forward, but now, although she was still sitting on my lap, she was facing me. She was wildly twisting her body, her hands constantly roaming on my chest, and there were hypocritical gasps coming from her mouth. I knew I wouldn't be able to ask anything more.

But in my heart, I still didn't want to end this topic; instead, I thought about her wedding night years later when she would be making love to her husband.

("This kind of fool is only fit for me to take over." The last thing Brother Sheng said to me left me momentarily dazed. I didn't know if he was talking about the girl or the leeks. Perhaps there is no difference between the two.)

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