and, after wrapping the towel around me, stepped into the bathroom. I was initially a bit reluctant in touching the towel-you never know what things it may have been used to wipe off. But then, it appeared clean and crisp and felt nice in my hands. Luckily, there was a fresh bar of soap in the bathroom; the tiny type you find in hotels.
I had a leisurely bath; the water was hot and refreshing. By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, there was a cup of hot Chinese tea waiting for me. I hung the wet towel in the bathroom towel rack, took a dry one from the cupboard, and wrapped it around my midriff. The hot tea helped in warming me up since I was finding the air conditioning inside the room too chilly for my skin.
By the time I finished my tea, there was a knock on the door, and before I could say “Come in!”, the door swung open and in came one of the prettiest Chinese things I have seen in Singapore. At that moment, all my feelings of having been fleeced out of my hard-earned money vanished in a trice. She could have been mistaken for a Shenton Way babe except for her skirt, which showed too much thigh for a bank teller.
She crushed her cigarette butt in the ashtray and gave me a sweet,
“Hello-how-are-you-I-am-Linda-oil-or-powder?”
“What?” I gaped at her.
“Oil or powder. For massage, you want oil or powder?” she replied with amused eyes.
“Oil,” I said.
From the cupboard, she took out a bottle of baby oil and gestured for me to lie on the bed. I lay on my stomach and became like a lump of chapathi dough in her hands. She started kneading me, and I started needing her. Ooh so badly! I moaned like I had never moaned before. “Aaaahhh… that’s it…
yesssss… ooohh… a little to the left… that’s the point… hmmm…” And she was going like, “Good muscles… not too much… not too little…”
“What’s your name?” she asked casually.
“James Bond,” I replied. She giggled.
She removed my towel with an expert flick and started on my buttocks and thighs.
“You married?”
“James Bond’s not married,” I replied.
She pinched my butt.
“Ow! Hope I don’t have to pay extra for that.”
She giggled again. “You’re a joker… You’re also a liar.”
“And you speak good English for a Passion Touch girl.”
“Was a remisier once upon a time… with the Midas touch… earning big bucks…” She applied light karate chops on my thighs with both her hands.
“Aaah… that feels good…” I said, letting off a sigh of pleasure.
“Now a masseur… with Passion Touch… earning big fucks,” she said with a chuckle and quickly added, “Have no regrets anyway. Now turn over.” I turned over and lay on my back. She deftly laid the towel over my middle. I looked at her straight. The dim ceiling light was behind her head and I couldn’t make out the look on her face. She leaned closely to massage my chest after sprinkling oil on it. Her hair fell on my face. I could smell her shampoo mingled with a faint scent of sweat. Garlic sweat.
“So what’ll it be? Hand job, blow, sandwich or the full course?” she asked; her tone was very professional.
“Sandwich,” I said confidently, although I wasn’t quite sure what she meant. I felt like a snack anyway.
“That’ll be forty dollars extra, okay,” she said softly.
“That’s one expensive sandwich!” I thought, and swallowed spit. But I didn’t want to give her the impression I was a cheapskate. So I nodded my head impatiently and asked her to get on with it.
She lifted my towel like a magician lifts the cloth over the caged bird.
She took one look at my manhood and said, “Now I know why you called yourself James Bond: that’s a nought-nought-seven-inch — nought-nought much!” she giggled.
“Nought-nought little either,” I said crossly.
“Just kidding. Don’t worry, you’re average,” she said, taking off her clothes. In no time, she was stark naked. She wore absolutely nothing under her natty outfit. She had a slim body with perky tits-very playful, like twin puppies, jiggling at the slightest movement, topped by tiny cherry nipples.
Her skin was like milk.
She unscrewed the spout on the bottle of oil, poured a generous amount on my chest and applied it thickly all over. Then she handed me the bottle and said, “Now it’s your turn.”
I raised myself to a sitting position and poured a handful of oil into my cupped hand. I then applied the oil on her chest and stomach. She gently pushed me back onto the bed, whispering, “Lie, you liar.” She then lay on me, skin on oily skin, like two slithering snakes. “No sex, okay. Only touch touch. For sex, my rate is a hundred.” Hundred bucks for a blasted fuck! I knew my wallet had only a fifty-dollar note. Not this time anyway, I thought. “Not that I don’t have the money, but I think I will pass this time,” I said.
She looked at me but said nothing. She hugged me tight and continued rubbing her body on mine. Her breath came hot on my lips. I could catch the whiff of Fisherman’s Friend mints, apple and cinnamon, I guess. Her hair fell around my face like a black curtain. My whole body tingled with sensations never felt before. Primal moans rose in my throat. Down below, I was hard as rock. Feeling my hardness, she asked breathlessly, “Do you want sex?”
“Do you… take Visa?” I asked between gasps.
“Cash… only cash,”
“But…”
“Yeah… many others do, but we don’t… Never mind,” she said, getting up, “There’s always a next time.”
“But where’s my sandwich?” I asked innocently as she was putting her clothes back on.
She looked at me blankly before saying, “Oh! I forgot to tell you-
usually a sandwich massage is an oily guy between two girls. But I didn’t think you wanted to lie on top of Jane. After all, you’re only James Bond, not Tarzan,” she chuckled.
“Oh yes-the
She gave me another blank look and said, “My time is up. Forty dollars please.” A month later, I rang up Passion Touch and asked for Linda.
“She go Austalia. Myglate myglate. With
BANGING BILL’S WIFE
Stephen Leather, Thailand
This is the truth, the absolute truth, cross my heart and hope to die, as true as I’m sitting here. I can barely believe it myself, but it happened and it happened to me. The name’s Adrian, better not tell you my surname because it’s a small world. A bloody small world as it happens. I’m a stockbroker; usually I deal in shares, but I dabbled in bonds for a few years. Just on my way to my new job, and the company’s paying, which is why I’m up here in Business Class and not in the back of the plane with the plebs.
I’ve done all right over the last few years, though I have had my share of setbacks, truth be told. I worked for Barings before they went bust, even worked in the same office as Nick Leeson for a while. Nice lad, was Nick, just got a bit out of his depth, that’s all.
I worked for Lehman Brothers for two years, not long before they went out of business, and I was with a subsidiary of RBS in Hong Kong when they had to be bailed out by the British taxpayer. That’s why my mates they call me Jonah. They reckon I’m cursed. They’re joking, because I always make money for my bosses. Lots of money. I’m a rainmaker, that’s why. I bring in the business. When I move, most of my clients move with me. That’s what’s going to happen this time, as sure as night follows day. Most of them, anyway.
I never really liked Singapore, the whole place changed after Barings went under, but I’ll work anywhere
