Chinaman's Chance - Sex Stories

Chinaman's Chance

... please." That made her laugh and I smiled in return. "I like how you work, Curly," the woman responded. "You have earned your two bits already. I just wish you weren't...Chinese." I wasn't going to take offense. I had already seen the man who delivered a huge beer keg and the saloon bartender giving me disapproving looks. Was it good business to be rid of me? "I can't help that my parents were Chinese," I said, "just as I am sure you couldn't help that you were born female." Mrs. Crabtree blushed a bit and nodded. I'm sure she had suffered her share of gender discrimination in this male dominated society. "You're wise beyond your years, Curly." "I’ve had to grow up pretty fast, Mrs. Crabtree." The saloon opened up and the customers came drifting in. I ignored the stares and just busied myself washing mugs and shot glasses so the bartender could keep pouring. In return the customers, all men, started to ignore me. I realized from overhearing snatches of conversation that these men were Irish laborers. The Irish were politically powerful in San Francisco politics, composing about a third of the entire population at this time. Their politicians were instrumental in introducing anti-Chinese legislation in California and getting it passed in the legislature. The antipathy mainly stemmed from the post Civil War recession when not only the Chinese, but the Irish also suffered from high unemployment. There was no getting on their good side. No wonder Mrs. Crabtree wished I wasn't ...

... Chinese. "This place is going to the dogs fast," a huge man said, his voice booming. He was a new arrival and seemed to be the leader among this group. "Where's Joe?" I assumed Joe was the no-show swamper. "I'm Joe's temporary replacement," I said, "until he returns from his holiday in the south of France." That got a laugh from the room. "The south of France, eh? That means he'll be gone a bit. Perhaps we should take our custom elsewhere until his return or the saloon gets a real Irishman to employ and not some cheap China boy." There were murmurs of agreement. Oh shit! This guy was a real hard ass. I glanced over at Mrs. Crabtree, who was giving me her own sideways glance. She wasn't about to keep me around if that meant losing customers. Should I just ask her to pay me off and walk out? She already said I had earned my two bits. "I'm as Irish as anyone in this room," I shouted in bravado and bit of desperation. "I can't help it if my dear mother ran afoul of one of the little people while I was still in her womb and got cursed as a result." There were some gasps and more laughter, even from Mr. Hard Ass this time. The little people were of course the leprechauns of Irish myth. "What did she do to get you cursed by one of the little people?" someone else asked. He sounded like he was in awe and a bit frightened. Perhaps he was a true believer. "He came by my mother's door begging for something to drink, claiming to be dying of thirst. Unfortunately she thought he meant water ...