Hanging out in the Mall of Asia

It's raining. The streetlight, in a romantic mood, takes to shining particularly beautifully on the falling drops, holding on to some for , a moment before allowing them to fall slow motion into the black. There's a typhoon nearby named Juan, he seems out to inconvenience rather than anything else.
I think of women, and I think of myself, looking for the key somewhere in my conscious to connect me effortlessly, without risk, to any female I choose. Some magic combination of words, gestures, and clothes, to awaken the ultimate ladykiller I know lies somewhere slumbering inside me. By connection, of course, I mean physically, me prodding, her prodded. Connecting intellectually is too much to ask for, one must keep one's fantasies from growing delusional.
I draw a woman, naked, kneeling, face on the floor, arms stretched forward, black straight hair, back curved. So hot. Favourite position.
Rachelle is drinking her green tea across the table while filling out her travel journal for the past few days. There's something comfortable about having a female around, sets things at ease. I show her my picture pointing, to a girl walking by with her boyfriend, and telling her, "that's what she looks like naked".
"Gross".
I make an exaggerated pelvic thrust and grunt.
Attention shifts to a family, skinny husband, fat wife, two daughters, one in a Winnie the Pooh push car, the other in her mother's arms. Intolerably cute, like every filipino child seems to be. The husband walks into a store leaving the cart, mother, and kids. Mom, sits on the Pooh Bear cart, almost right on top of her daughter who squirms trying to find breathing space. Mom ignores her child's weaseling and gasping behind her. After a minute or so, the confined daughter finally makes it out of her cart, freed from her corpulent assailer/progenitor just in time for dad to return from the store. Tubby stands up.
"She wasn't always like that," I say, "she was probably pretty and thin before they got married and he got strapped to her with two living, painfully cute, anchors".
"Probably" says Rachelle.
All I can think of is, "marriage is risky".