After 9/11: A Korean Girl’s Sexual Journey by Younghee Cha©
Chapter Thirteen…My Vagina Smashed My Insomnia

 We went to a BCD Tofu Restaurant, at Kingsley and Wilshire Boulevard. After we entered, I
realized how good- looking he was; I also got a strange feeling. A handsome cop in his early thirties,
and a young blonde Asian woman whose face and hair were a mess…sitting together!? It all looked
like a soap opera scene: a cop takes care of a poor, hungry lady.

 When the waitress asked me to order, I saw the cop’s name tag: Hanson. So I said, “I, Madonna
want my favorite: BCD original Soon Tofu. How about you, Mr. Hanson?” I wanted to show the
restaurant we were just friends. I went to the bathroom.

 We finished our late dinner promptly. The policeman paid for me, and I thanked him. On the way
back to my car, he started telling me how much he loved BCD Soon Tofu, and how much he loved
Shin ramyun Korean noodles.

 After we arrived at my car, the cop and I exchanged phone numbers. Then we went our separate
ways. After arriving at my apartment, I realized that I had left my handbag in his police car. I called
him.

 “Hey, Madonna! I just found your handbag and was about to call you, but you beat me to it! I’m
actually in West L.A. now. Do you want me to bring it over?” he asked.

 “Sounds excellent. Call me after you reach my apartment.

My driver’s license is in the wallet, so you can see where I live.”

 About ten minutes later, he arrived and gave it to me.

 “Go ahead and check it out; make sure everything’s there.”

 “I really appreciate all of this. Do you want to come in for some coffee or…?” I asked cautiously.
Even though it was near midnight, I wished he would come into my apartment and keep me
company…for my insomnia.

 “Oh, thanks…But I’ll just have a soda. You have soda?”

 I nodded, and we walked into my apartment. He told me the place smelled good, since it was a lady’
s apartment, and then sat on the sofa. But, there was no soda in my refrigerator.

 “I’m sorry, I thought I had soda but I don’t. Officer, would you settle for something else?”

 “What do you have?” He looked up at me.

 “Do you like watermelon, officer?” I saw his eyes wandering to my breasts.

 “Pardon me?” he asked, averting his eyes.

 “I bought a big watermelon today,” I smiled.

 “I’m okay; I think I gotta go.” He stood up, covering his crotch with his hand.

 “Is there something wrong, Officer?”

 “No, nothing. Thank you…?” Walking toward the gate, he looked uncomfortable—like a robot.

 “Thanks and my name is Young Hee.” I said my name, softly and slowly. He leaned his head
closer, as if he wasn’t sure of my pronunciation.

 I lifted myself on my toes, toward his face, to make sure he had the pronunciation of my name—
“Young…”—down. At the same time, he kissed me and hugged me. He started to suck my tongue
and rub my back, my waist, my butt, my hair, all over my body. This was followed by my breasts, my
belly, my navel, my crotch, my underwear, and my deep forest. The LAPD’s attack was too fast to
defend against.

 He conquered my secret garden faster than a patrol car responding to a 911 call. He made me
lose my mind, left me in chaos. He started unbuttoning my jeans and taking my underwear down.
After that, his lips also went down there…while he was still holding my breasts with his two hands.

 Now, my whole body began quivering with the horror of his tongue-hurricane, which started
blowing my forest, after he put one of my legs on his shoulder. His Hurricane broke into
pieces…shattering, smashing and demolishing my forest…whirling and grinding.

 While the hurricane ravaged and scratched my forest, I was falling into panic. His tongue was a
terrorist against my forest. There was no hope of discovery, no hope of survival. All I could do was
groan and pant, taking heavy breaths and leaning against my apartment gate.

 The terrorist didn’t stop there. After he re-armed with a condom for protection, he lifted my body
up. I wrapped my legs around his waist. He started to dig up into forest land, becoming an excavator.

 He tore up the land inside, here and there, without direction. Sometimes he ripped strongly and
deeply into the land, sometimes in a soft and shallow manner. My forest trembled with the excavator’
s vibration. My sexy legs lost their power to hold the excavator’s waist.

 My only savior was the apartment door. The faster the excavator went, the more the apartment
door rattled—harder and harder. Finally, my forest caught fire due to friction from the excavator,
and the fire began burning my insomnia-ridden body.

 The excavator was losing control, falling into a frenzy. He gritted his teeth and made beastly
sounds, including howling and hard breathing. All his muscles struggled to free themselves from his
body. I got higher and higher, screaming, feeling my eyes bulging from their sockets.

 The crazy excavator exploded in the deep forest. My body turned into a handful of ash, and blew
away in the wind. Now there was nothing left.

 “Wow, this watermelon is great!” the LAPD said, sitting on the sofa.

 The time was about 12:45 A.M. I sprawled on the sofa putting my head on his thigh. Eating
watermelon, I peered up at him. I realized something: this LAPD looked like Matt Damon, from the
movie Good Will Hunting. His intelligent eyes and strong chin projected a clean, intelligent image.
Only the LAPD’s hair was shorter than the actual “Will Hunting’s” hair.

 Thinking how much he looked like Matt Damon, I just closed my eyes and then immediately opened
them again. I discovered it was 11:35 A.M.

 I was no longer on the sofa, but in my bed. I couldn’t believe I slept almost 11 hours. I was really
satisfied, both mentally and physically.

 Looking to see if LAPD was there or not, I walked into the living room and found a memo on the
coffee table. He left his phone number, plus a “Thank-you-Madonna-you-are-amazing” note. I
remembered what happened in my apartment last night.

 Even though I prayed for God to get rid of my insomnia, it didn’t disappear. Nevertheless, the
LAPD flicked it away within an hour. I felt the LAPD was better than a god.

 I called and thanked him. He asked me to prepare his favorite, Shin ramyun, for dinner. I welcomed
his idea, and went to Ralphs to buy it. Imagine—this evening was going to be hot, like Shin ramyun.

 Early in the evening, as soon as he walked into my apartment, our “hot hurricane” blew crazily into
my living room…twice in a row!

 While we were eating watermelon, both naked, I told him he looked like Matt Damon from Good Will
Hunting. Smiling, he told me to call him “Matt.”

 “Okay, Matt; my real name is Younghee,” I introduced myself again.

 “I think ‘Madonna’ is a better name than—uhm—Youngie…er…whatever. Assuming, of course,
you plan to live here,” he said, spitting watermelon seeds.

“I love the name ‘Madonna,’ as well. Actually, by the time I first came to America, I had already
selected that as my American name. It probably dates back to when I was thirteen. Around two
years later, ever since living here, I somehow missed my Korean name and started using Younghee
as my American name.”

 “Is that a common name in Korea, or not?” Matt asked.

 “Younghee is the most common name in Korea; its shorter form is ‘Heeyah.’ You know what?
There was a famous song entitled Heeyah, and I always loved my namesake-song.”

 “Really? Can you sing it for me?”

 I hesitated. As a little girl, I had often asked my uncle to sing the song for me, and he had—really
well. So whenever I hear the song I get lost in his memories.

 “Please! I’ve never heard a Korean tune sung in Korean.” Matt tickled my naked nipple.

 I brought a soup spoon from the kitchen and held it like a microphone, standing up over the coffee
table, facing him. I started singing, wearing only a police shirt.

 …Heeyah…Please look at me…You’ve loved me…Even though you say

you don’t care for me…I know you do love me…

 While I was singing the song, my uncle appeared in the corner of my living room. He was playing
guitar and singing.

I saw myself as a little girl, with Dokdo as a little boy, just listening to the song.

Matt looked at me blankly, with a watermelon in his mouth. He was rubbing his manhood, which
stood like a tower. I kept singing, yearning for my uncle and my childhood.

 Uncle was singing to me…now.

 …If you say you love me before you leave…It could hurt my heart…

You left me without a word…Crying in the rain…Heeyah…look at me…Oh

Heeyah…Oh my Heeyah…

Chapter Fourteen…My First Period

 After LAPD Matt walked into my apartment, from the first day, the siren stopped wailing and SWAT
didn’t show up in my dream. I began to sleep soundly and sweetly.

 I didn’t know before that sleep was such a beautiful rest. So whenever he visited, I welcomed him.
Then he came to my apartment in-and-out, as if it were his own home…and also in and-out of my
womanhood.

 He loved having Shin ramyun noodles and me and Watermelon, in that order. Sometimes, he
and/or I messed up that order. Nevertheless, my sleep was beautiful. No more insecurity for me!

 Even when I slept with him, I willed myself. It was the critical evidence that I wasn’t a terrorist
working for North Korea. Had I been anything of the sort, I should sleep with FBI or CIA, not LAPD.

 I waited for him every day, and he guided me into the abnormal world, little by little. One day, he
even brought marijuana, and I replaced my regular cigarettes with the joint.

 Meanwhile, the OB Advertising Agency told me they were considering sponsoring me for a working
visa and a green card. I was getting high with the news, and with the joint.

 Around my birthday, Matt discovered a secret thing from my desk: a “bloody Korean flag.” He
seemed shocked. He asked me what it was, and who I was, and what I was doing with a bloody
Korean flag in America.

 I told him it was nothing serious. He kept asking me suspicious questions.

 “Are you doing something secret for your government, or for somebody else? You came from
South Korea, right? Not North Korea?”

 “No, no…South Korea! It’s not what you think at all!” I rushed to my own defense.

 “Then why don’t you tell me, Younghee, if it isn’t serious?”

 “It’s just an extremely long story.” I was concerned, because he sounded suspicious that
something might be wrong.

 “That’s all right. I’ve finished my patrol duties. I don’t need to go back to my office.” He sat on the
sofa, like an investigator.

 “Okay, I will explain. But be patient; this is a really long story. Technically, it is my blood. It’s
evidence of the second period of my life.”

 “What?” he said, making a face. “Ecch!” He withdrew his hand to take the Korean flag.

 “So, Matt, are you still interested?” I said, taking the flag and spreading it across my knees.

 “Always,” he said, putting his head down across my legs and lying on the sofa.

 “When I was a little girl, for some reason, I was known as the ‘Queen of Sex’ among my friends.”

 “Wow, the Queen of Sex,” Matt said.

 “One day I went to the library with my friend, who disappeared without even saying goodbye. She
called me late that night to explain herself: she had gotten her first period, and it had shocked her.
You know, ‘bloody vagina.’ She had looked for me but couldn’t find me, so she left. But then I
started to get

mad.”

 “Why? She didn’t apologize?”

 “No. I thought I was The One, the most mature among my friends, but I hadn’t gotten my period
yet. But my stupid friend got hers first. I was really mad at myself; I should have been the first of my
friends to get a period. But I had to tell her something, being the Queen of Sex. So I told her, ‘Hey,
you finally got it. Welcome to adulthood. Don’t worry, there’s nothing shameful about having your
period. It’s natural.’ Then I took it a step further. ‘Did you keep the evidence of your first period for
the future?’ She said she threw it away at the library. Then she asked me if I kept the evidence of
MY first period…and, if so, where.”

 “Wow, you must have been embarrassed. Don’t lie to people.”

 “Look who’s talking. Last time you came to my house to screw me, while you were supposed to be
out on patrol.”

 “Let’s not go astray, now. Back to your story, Younghee.”

 “I was embarrassed. So, without thinking, I told another lie: that I’d left my first period on the
Korean flag. My friend was so impressed, and there was hero-worship in her voice. She said, ‘Wow,
the Sex Queen is something else.’”

 “See what I mean? One lie leads to another.”

 “Then she begged, ‘Could you please show it to me, Majesty? Please?’ Then I admonished her,
‘No. It’s personal, and I never show it to anyone else. But maybe after we enter college, I will show it
to you.’ After that, I started to keep the Korean flag hidden beneath my shirt…so that, wherever I
went, I’d be ready to collect the evidence of my first period. Finally, I got a new alias: Ryu,
Kwansoon.”

 “Ryu what? What is Ryu?”

 “Ryu, Kwansoon. She was basically Korea’s answer to Joan of Arc. She was a fighter for national
independence against Japan, when the Japanese colonized Korea. At age seventeen, she was
caught by the Japanese police while leading a Korean independence demonstration on the streets.”

 “Did you join any demonstration?” asked the LAPD officer.

 “No.” I shook my head strongly.

 “Then why did they call you Ryu…whatever?”

 “I will tell you. Ryu, Kwansoon kept the Korean flags hidden beneath her shirt. She distributed
those flags secretly, while leading one of the famous Korean independence movements on the
streets. And then my sports-club coach discovered I did exactly the same thing. I hid the Korean flag
beneath my shirt, and he asked me why. I couldn’t tell anyone that I wanted to catch my first period,
especially in front of the friends who worshipped me for my reputation. Anyhow, ever since that
accident, they’ve nicknamed me Ryu, Kwansoon.”

 “Because you hide the Korean flag the same way she did?” Matt asked.

 “Actually, no. According to a rumor, I hid the Korean flag under my shirt, because I was secretly
doing something for the ‘Korean Reunion’ movement, regarding North and South Korea. They
guessed that I was doing something influenced by my uncle, who was involved with the student
movement at his university. You know what? After I was named Ryu, Kwansoon, I read a book about
her. I got extremely curious about something.”

 “What was it?” Matt raised his voice.

 “I imagine she was sexually tortured, even though it wasn’t in the book. Think about it: she was
captured by the Japanese police at age seventeen. The following year—according to the book—
she died in jail, due to being tortured by the Japanese cops. But they didn’t say what kind of torture
it was. You know why? Because it was sexual torture, that’s why.”

 “So did you get your first period in the Korean flag?”

 “Regardless, people treated me like a stranger. I kept the Korean flag with me, even in Catholic
Church. But just for a day, I forgot to pack the flag. My first period started coming, right on the
school bus going home. I tried to hold it in by folding my leg. The period was agonizing. My face was
getting pale, and my body was getting sweaty. Moreover, my womanhood was going

up and down like a trip-hammer. It was like a thunderstorm in my crotch. It felt like I was dying.”

 “Is that really painful?” Matt looked at me dumbly.

 “Hell, yes. But I tried to grin and bear it…like one of those freedom fighters who die with their
secrets, instead of spilling those secrets to their torturers. I tried squeezing my groin muscles with all
the energy my will could muster. But…” I was slowly caressing Matt’s soft hair.

 “…But what?”

 “When the bus arrived in front of my house, I was over-tense. I took a bad step and landed face-
down on the street. Then I blacked out.” I laughed at my memory.

 “What’s so funny about that?”

 “Just imagine a middle school-girl falling off the school bus, landing on the street with blood all
over her legs, blacking out. The poor bus driver and my friends all freaked out. The driver was later
investigated by the police.”

 “Wow!” Matt widened his eyes, smoking pot.

 “After I woke up in the hospital, everything was gone. I didn’t see my first period’s color, whether it
was red or yellow. So this was evidence of my second period. Somehow, I wanted to remember what
happened…and I kept it until now.”

 “You know what? You told me your birthday is coming up…And you want to do something special,
right? How about sex with the American flag on my manhood?” Matt sat on the sofa, smoking pot.

 “What?” I was confused.

 “Let’s make love with the American flag wrapped around my thing. Then you wear the Statue-of-
Liberty costume.” He suggested pot to me again.

 I inhaled it deeply. I was getting high with pot, and he continued:

 “Now you are looking for a working visa and a green card. Who knows? If you wave the American
flag in your pussy, it could bring your American dream faster.”

 “Yes, it totally makes sense. If I flip it in my forest on my 27th birthday, maybe my dream will come
true faster. Let’s do it, in the name of my American dream. Wait a minute…Then where could we
find the American flag and Statue-of-Liberty costume?” I asked.

 “I will bring all of them; all you need to do is take off your

clothes.”

My Uncle’s Diary: 10/28/1986

 Two University students committed suicide, on the street in downtown Seoul, by dousing their own
bodies with gasoline and lighting up. People don’t care about that anymore.

 There was sexual torture of young women by the police. People aren’t surprised anymore.

We are getting used to dictatorship.

 Being accustomed to, or nonchalant about, a dictator’s tyranny is even more dangerous than the
tyranny itself.

Chapter Fifteen…As a Masochist

 May 20th, 2002. For my 27th birthday…Hilary, Nara and I had lunch together…at Toebang
Restaurant in Chapman Plaza, as always. After that, we went to the Gaam Coffee Shop. There
Hilary and I asked Nara about her miscarriage—and her health—rather than about my birthday.

 Nara said she was okay; then she tried to change the subject, making a joke…which made us
freeze up even more. Actually, Nara wasn’t a “funny” girl; she was more “Princess Grace” than
“Audrey Hepburn.” Granted, Nara was more beautiful than either of them.

 Nevertheless, there we were at the coffee shop: three girls, laughing easily—as always—
regardless of what we talked about.

 In the late afternoon, Hilary suggested we go to noraebang: a private karaoke room. Unfortunately,
when we were about to get in the noraebang, Nara got a phone call from her husband; she had to
leave immediately. She was sorry she had to go. We postponed noraebang for later.

 That night, Matt brought twenty-seven sunflowers for me. While he cooked the Shin ramyun
himself, I cut the sunflowers and scotch-taped them over one entire wall of my bedroom. The whole
wall looked like a sunflower field. I posed myself like Sophia Loren, from the movie I Girasoli
(Sunflower).

 I started to imagine walking in the sunflower field, looking for my working visa and green card…with
the same desperation as Sophia Loren, searching for her husband on the battlefield, during the
movie. While I was in the sunflower field, Matt called me—dinner was served.

 After we finished the Shin ramyun, he brought: red wine, olive oil, and handkerchiefs drawn with
the American flag. Matt was impressed with my “sunflower wall.” Then he jumped on the bed and
just lay there…after taking off his clothes. I poured wine into my mouth and kissed him. He opened
his mouth a bit, and I delivered wine into his mouth from my own mouth, little by little. The first time,
he sipped it. After that, he started sucking my lips and mouth like a baby-bottle of wine.

 I drank another glass of wine and, while “feeding” him again, prayed to myself, This is my
blood…After you take my blood for my American Dream…You have to wave the American flag
through my forest…With it…And in it…Forever and ever.

 After I tried several more times to feed him wine from my mouth, he put the American flag on his
steel manhood and wrapped it carefully. He tried to put the stars right on the tip of his steel, but it
didn’t seem to be easy. So he just wrapped his steel in the American flag and tied it in place with
rubber bands. Then I coated his manhood with olive oil.

 “It looks like the Washington Monument; look at my blond pubic hair. Don’t you think it looks like
autumn-colored leaves surrounding the Monument?” he said, waving his steel in the air and moving
his butt. He continued coaxing: “Why don’t you wear your Statue-of-Liberty costume and sit on my
Washington Monument?”

 I now wore only a cape, with Lady Liberty’s crown, holding her torch. I climbed into bed and put his
steel around the gate of my vagina. Then, even more carefully and slowly, I sat on his American-
flagged steel like Lady Liberty on the Washington Monument.

 It wasn’t easy. No, it seemed impossible to deliver the American-flagged steel into my deep forest.
Lady Liberty and the Washington Monument didn’t fit at all. Even worse, the fabric of the flag cruelly
scratched my innocent vagina. It was torture, so I simply gave up and proceeded to rub my aching
vagina. Yet the LAPD was for real. He whipped out a marijuana joint

and took several hits, then offered me a hit. I was sufficiently encouraged, and did a big hit.

 Inhaling pot-smoke, I put my vagina right on the tip of his steel and then pushed down slowly. All of
a sudden, he pumped up fast and smashed my vagina. It was frightening. I lost my balance, falling
down on the steel like a toppled skyscraper. Under that circumstance, the tower which couldn’t slip
into my vagina bumped my hard thigh.

 “Aaaagghhhh…MY…MR. HAPPY!!!” The LAPD officer yelled at me.

 “Sorry about that.” I lay next to him. “I don’t think this is funny anymore. It seems like the
Washington Monument rejected my American dream. But I like your idea of praying for the American
dream, of waving the American flag inside me. Have you seen an American flag-drawn condom?” I
asked.

 “No, I didn’t. But maybe you could find it on the internet, or in the UN Souvenir Shop. The latter, I
think, has these official UN condom sets drawn in each country’s flag,” the cop said. He told me if it
exists, I would buy it immediately. Then I could have sex with an Italian guy wearing the Italian flag
on his “pole.” Or a Russian guy with a Russian flagpole. Or an Iranian with Iran’s flag…Or even a
hunky UN worker with the UN flag. But I told him I wasn’t that kind of girl, reminding him that he was
the fourth “score” in my 27 years.

 “But, you know what? We already started, so let’s try again. Let’s not give up your American dream
here.” LAPD tempted me, whispering into my ear with his morning-style voice.

 “Let’s get some sleep. That’s not a good idea for a foreigner’s vagina, I guess.” I fell asleep.

 “Let’s have some more fun. How about making…uh…making love in my Patrol Car? I always
dreamed of raping an already-busted suspect in my car.” He urged me to do that, and thought
somehow it could be the other Disneyland.

 We dressed up and drove out to what he called the perfect place for doing what we were out here
to do. He seemed to have done it before with other girls. The place was strangely dark, without
streetlights. As soon as we arrived there, he hit the lighter for a joint and we shared the pot deeply.
After we both got sufficiently high, we rushed into the backseat.

 He started to take off my clothes, treating me like a real criminal…or so I felt. After getting me
naked, he cuffed me up from behind. The coldness of the metal reached up to my head, and I got a
little scared. However, the fear got me excited as well.

 I was on the backseat—on my knees—with my hands cuffed from behind, and with my face buried
in the seat. He put one leg on the seat and began spanking my butt. At first, it was pleasurable.
Gradually, he would spank me harder. Whenever he did, I hit my head on the backseat.

 “Matt…!” I tried to say something, turning my face toward him…but he slapped my face and
pushed my head deep into the leather seat. With a short scream, I was smashed over the seat.

 “Hang on there.” He pressed the back of my head down, hard and repeatedly. I felt like I was
suffocating. I couldn’t even scream. He jerked my hair, bringing my head into his manhood,
smashing my face on his crotch. My eyes, nose and mouth; his pubic hair, manhood and testicles;
the smell from his patrol car…it all started to mingle, and hard. I felt vomit.

 “Stop it!” I screamed, again and again, rebelling against him—but the more I struggled not to
smash my face against his crotch, the more pain came from my handcuffed wrists. I felt my hands
being ripped away from my body.

 “Matt, please stop! Please!” I was crying.

 He lifted up my face and, smiling, slapped me again…like a baseball player hitting a “home run.”
My face was thrown into the backdoor window with my own heavy scream; I saw his beastly smile. I
suddenly woke up from the joint, realizing that was simply not the way human beings do things. It
was violence, it was terror.

 I decided to fight back against him, to kick his manhood or whatever. I tried to remember
everything I’d learned from the taekwondo studio, waiting for the right moment to knock him out with
my free foot. I could easily handle a six-foot, hunky thirty-something.

 At the same time, he threw my body onto the floor mat between the front seat and the back seat.
My face and boobs and knees—all of the above, simultaneously—struck the floor mat. It was too
painful. Handcuffed from behind, I put all my strength into trying to stand back up again. He quickly
trampled on my back and face. Once again, my whole body smashed against the floor mat.

 He was no longer a human being; he didn’t even breathe like one. All I did was howl my guts out,
hoping somebody who passed the car was listening. Nevertheless, he lifted up my butt; my body
now looked like a pair of wet jeans which had been hung on a line. I supported my body with my
face against the floor-mat, screaming and sobbing. “Please stop; please stop,

Matt!”

 Holding my waist, he grabbed my pussy from behind. I was suddenly in Siberia. My whole body
started trembling with fear. He pushed his finger into my vagina, smashing here and there.

 “Aaaagh!” Even my scream was strange.

 I got really frightened and gave up against his will, screaming “Please stop! Please don’t hurt me! I’
m begging you! Please Matt, Mattpleaseofficer…!” I was in tears of pain: pain from my vagina, pain
from my handcuffed wrists, pain from my shoulders.

 He chuckled while fingering my vagina. I tried twisting my whole body, against his will, but it was
useless.

 “So how do you like it this far, you bitch?” he giggled, poking his way deep into me. It sounded to
me like the devil’s laughter. He was a real devil, worse than any beast, worse than any terrorist.

 All of a sudden, the whole world became bright as day. I was frozen, but his hand was rubbing my
butt. Then a bullhorn roared, “Police! Freeze!”

 These police could be my messiah OR a new problem; as of yet, I had no idea which. Matt looked
at me consolingly. “Relax, these are my partners. And remember: if something bad happened, it will
make your visa status worse. Just tell them you are a masochist, and save your visa status,” the
devil whispered.

 What? A masochist? The word “masochist” was jack-hammering away at my brain. At the same
time, the door opened quickly. Some cop shouted, “Freeze!” Lights shone on our naked bodies.

 “Hey, guys! What’s up?” Matt tried to tell the other cops something.

 I overheard one of them: “Sorry, Ray…Everybody knows everything, up to and including the
Captain.”

 I remembered Matt’s real name to be Ray.

 “Put these on, NOW.” One of the other cops threw my clothes, and Ray’s, at us. As the other cop
un-cuffed me, I re-donned my clothes. Then I was cuffed back up again. Ray got cuffed as well. We
sat side-by-side in the spot where I was a masochist, and he was a sadist.

 After we arrived at the police station, Ray and I were guided into different rooms, which I had seen
the likes of in the movies: white walls, red lights, a table and chairs. It smelled cheesy. My cuffed
wrists were giving me pain. My heart was pounding. All kinds of possibilities ran through my mind, up
to and including me going to jail.

 What would happen if my mom got this news? Would she commit suicide from the shame of it all?
After my being there all alone for a while, an investigator walked in. He asked whether or not Officer
Ray Hanson was sexually molesting me. I didn’t want to help Ray, but I did try to protect myself. “We’
re dating.”

 “Did you know he has a wife and three kids?” The investigator’s eyes got bigger.

 “WHAT!?” My eyes almost popped out. I couldn’t believe this.

 “I’m sorry, miss; I’ll be right back.” And he left me alone in the room.

 My God, Ray is a husband and father!? What is wrong with MARRIED  PEOPLE these days!?

 I realized immediately that we did indeed make love. We didn’t say “I love you; do you love me?” or
any of that jazz. He always walked into my apartment wearing his police uniform. He ate Shin
ramyun, watermelon, and me. All I wanted to do with him was sleep, to not be an insomniac. This
was why I met with Ray, the LAPD. It turned out I was in the police station, on

my 27th birthday, with the other LAPD officers.

 Feeling betrayed, I stood at Wilshire Boulevard and Normandie in K-town. It was hot. A dozen
people were talking on the street, reading newspapers. I walked up to them and tried to see what
exactly they were reading. The headline said, Younghee Exiled from USA for Illegal Sex with LAPD.

 Holding the newspaper, I shouted out: “That’s not true! He was a terrorist!”

 Somebody was shaking me up. I was having a nightmare. The investigator asked me if everything
was okay, and this and that. And I told him “the truth,” pure and simple:

 “As a matter of fact, I am a masochist. I asked the officer to do something for me. It was all my bad
behavior. Please forgive me.” I lowered my head and started sobbing quietly. With tears evident in
my voice, I asked whether or not it was illegal for us to make love in a police car. Confused, the
investigator went in and out several more times…while I watched the white wall, pointlessly, with red
eyes.

 A couple of hours later, everything was done. They all understood…

the situation had started from my masochism, and Matt was a victim. I didn’t say any words; I just
wanted to go home. I didn’t care. Maybe the world didn’t need to know the truth.

 The investigator asked if I had any friends to give me a ride home. I said no, and asked whether
any policeman could give me a ride. He said he could.

 When I walked into my chilly apartment, it was about 4:46 A.M. Before I entered the shower, I stood
in front of the mirror. Here and there were bruises on my body.

 “Hey, Younghee…congratulations. You spent the night at the so-called iron hotel, on your
birthday…” I talked quietly with an empty smile.

 After my shower, I threw Good Will Hunting into my VCR.

In the movie, after Matt Damon started cleaning the hall, I fell asleep naked on my sofa. Matt Damon
was in my living room; I dreamed of him.

 On the last day of May, I learned that I had gonorrhea from Ray. I ran up a credit card bill at the
hospital, for my vagina’s peace…biting my lip hard.

 Nevertheless, there was a bright side in my life. The OB Advertising Agency decided to sponsor
me, so I could get my green card and working visa, starting July 1st. I was more than happy, and
started to visit my future company often.

***

 As June began, all of K-town was swept with Soccer Fever, 2002 FIFA World Cup Korea/Japan. My
future co-workers invited me over to watch the games.

 June 29th, Saturday, around 6:30 A.M…I met Ray again at the BCD Tofu Restaurant, where we’d
had our first dinner.

 Wearing a crimson t-shirt printed with Red Devil, I went there with my other future co-workers to
eat…after we saw the Semi-final Game, between South Korea and Turkey, at the Staples Center.
Even though the game was played in South Korea, in accordance with K-town’s Soccer Fever,
Staples Center invited any and all Korean Americans to watch it for free…via the big screen, at 4 A.
M. Over 21 thousand Korean Americans were all wearing red T-shirts, filling the whole arena with
that color.

 At first, I didn’t notice that Ray was in the restaurant. Even though South Korea lost the game 2/3,
it was still an exciting experience. We were all overwhelmed by it.

 “Hey, there’s a gorgeous cop sitting over at the corner table!” Miss M. (one of my future co-
workers) whispered excitedly. We all turned to see who was there. It was Ray, eating with his
partners. He seemed fine, but after he recognized me, he looked rather uncomfortable.

 “Do you think that policeman looks like Matt Damon?” I asked Miss M.

“Well…Let me see…They’re both gorgeous; same shade of Caucasian…I don’t know.”

 “Did you see the movie Good Will Hunting?” I asked.

 “No, I didn’t. By the way, you start working at your first-ever full-time job this Monday, right? What’s
up this Sunday, for the last free day of your life?”

 “Well, in the morning I go to church…and do my laundry…”

 Coincidentally, after I finished breakfast with my future co-workers, I met Ray and his partners in
the parking lot again. We just exchanged looks, walking toward our respective cars, as if we’d never
met before.

 While I was riding back home, I realized that I had to forget about writing screenplays…until I had
established my status with my new company. This was what I would have to go through for my green
card and American dream…All alone, no less.

 It reminded me of a sentence from one of Buddha’s books:…Like a lion which is never surprised
by din, like the wind which cannot be caught by a net, like a lotus flower which never gets dirty in
turbid water…go alone like the horn of the rhinoceros…

My Uncle’s Diary: 11/28/1986

 Today, in the morning, I came back home after being caught by the secret police. Actually, I
fainted…after they brutally beat me up, before hundreds of other students on campus. They moved
me to some secret place, where they asked me about some students whom I’ve never even met.
They totally ruined my spine.

 The dictator is twisting everything, even people’s breath. It is a period of darkness. Freedom is
dead everywhere: in broadcasting, in newspapers, in universities, in manufacturing, in the oceans
and mountains.

 My friend told me that, if American President Reagan keeps supporting the dictator, there is no
hope for democracy.

Chapte 1-3         Chapter 4-6         Chapter 7-9         Chapter 10-12

© 2006 Younghee Cha

Thank you for reading this fiction, published January 2006. If you want to know more about this
novel, please visit
http://www.youngheecha.com
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