Delightful SE Asia – Mekong Love
Under a blood red sky, they slowly walk along the mighty river. A few tiny barges float downstream, trying to catch fish, using small neon lights powered by car batteries. Bats emerge from huge banyan trees and fly low across the pavement. He can sense the rush of air on his arm; all his pores are wide open.
Occasionally, one or two of their fingers touch slightly. More is not acceptable in public; and probably they don't want more contact right now: they still have to reshape their own selves, become separate units again. They don't speak; words would disturb the silvery cloud that enshrouds them. See, they don't look special, still other strollers give them a look. Maybe something is visible indeed.
The river bursts into an orgasm of shimmering metallic red orange black blue brown violet waves. She looks at the water, then she looks up to him. He senses her eyes and looks back. Her face is open, calm, confident, trusting. Shit.
He points to a marble bench, asking silently if she likes to sit down. She nods. He cleans the stone seat for her, they take place.
They had been friends, if man and woman can be friends at all. "There is no friendship between man and woman, only 'before' and 'after'." Who said that, Charlie Chaplin?
Mother Khong gurgles south. Strollers chat into blinking mobile phones. Hawkers tout bizarre fruits. Babies stumble around in shoes that squeak and flash LEDs with every step. Somewhere somebody starts a cassette player with, fittingly, the Eagles' "Desperado".
The situation had gotten out of hand, but completely. "Ning", he had said in the room, "I am sure you will be wonderful, but I have to fly out soon and maybe I will not come back." – "I like your honesty", she had replied while dragging him onto the sheets, "but I don't want to hear now." – "Ning…" – He couldn't reason on, because she knew exactly how to silence his blabla. He should really have stopped her in the room, but he had been to weak.
They haven't spoken much since then. They had showered, she had of course rearranged the bed sheets neatly, then in semi-trance they had walked to the riverside.
He worries her questions will come now, here by the water, her inquisitions, her plans, her expectations, her demands, who knows. Shit.
And yes, see, she will speak now. She will break the silence. They had been good friends, and now it is all turning sour, because a good Asian girl will not do for free what Ning did this afternoon.
He had said, "ok, I like to hold you, but we don't do 'everything', ok?". This had made her very angry, under tears she beat him fiercely, she wanted the WHOLEsome experience, he succumbed finally, actually lost control for a while, was taken away by her overwhelming enthusiasm, played her bending bronze body with the exceptional smooth and receptive skin like an exquisite instrument for more than one hour… When he wanted to withdraw before his climax, she cried and beat him again – she wanted all of him, and more, she swore it wasn't dangerous now. She had come three times by then. Worse still: She had even kissed him full-on onto the mouth – sheer sensual pleasure for him, but much more for a good Asian girl. So much more.
Now, on their riverside bank, she speaks with her volume on 1: "Can I ask you something?" – "Sure, please ask everything." – "You not angry me?" – "How can I be angry with you?"
Hell, she will ask him for a wedding ring, for a trip to her parents or to his country. He has no false answers prepared, and the truth would break her heart, he is not strong enough to see that happen.
Now, her question: "You take medicine when you sleep me so long?" – "Why you ask this, I did NOT take medicine!" – "But how can you sleep me so long?"
Turns out her Asian ex needed only three minutes to unload. "Ok, when drunk, he needed four minutes, sometimes five."
He smiles, and his eyes wander over the dark red sky. A few lit-up pagoda tops can be seen in the distance. No snack seller pesters them – even the hawkers feel they should not break the intimate chat.
As he doesn't answer, she poses another curious question: "And in the room… when you do something with me… how can you know I like something so much?" Obviously she had enjoyed his attention and his experience. Maybe she mistakes his efforts for something else.
Good, no marriage talk so far. But howt can he answer her? He could say:
Dear, I told you I had western girlfriends before. Any western girlfriend kicks you out when you come after three minutes. They have those psycho-groups where they learn that the lady is more important and can call for any service she needs. So my western girlfriends demanded hour-long rides and strange tricks in remote body regions; back then I actually was in love, so I learnt to perform up to demand. You know, one girl even Googled up a huge clitoris for me, 3000 pixels wide at least, a perfect drawing, huge, we scrolled all around this clit, and in all the amazing fleshscape she showed me where to do what, which finger how fast, and what part is sensitive to which pressure. You know, I can tell all the precious little things between your legs by name, and I know how to play them.
No, this is not a good answer. He sees another line:
Dear, I told you I had an Asian girlfriend before. I quickly saw that, bedwise, you and her are very similar. So I knew how to turn you on.
Will she like that reply? No. He ponders one more argument:
Dear, I am a man, victim to my testorones. It's the sheer drive to perform the reproduction dance. And I'd really prefer to do so with bar girls, massage bitches, boom boom bye bye. But I can't – they render me impotent. Too sexy for me. But give me a good Asian girl, her trusting smile, her decent clean dress, her tiny little hand in mine, her warm caring look, the welcoming smiles of her parents upcountry – and I go berserk, I need valium to remain decent. So in the room, when you wanted me, I couldn't stop, stupid, but – I – could – not – stop.
Would you answer that to a lady who now looks at you as if she… No, and he has more claims in his repertoire. He finally answers her question with the low voice that they currently use:
"Sure I know what you like in the room. You are my lady, and I am your man. So of course I know how to take care of you."
The riverside is black now, and no moon. But a little bit of streetlight reaches their place. Her eyes rest in his eyes. Those beautiful, warm almond eyes; they had flooded, they almost burst when he had her on his hook on the cottons hours ago. She still looks at him trusting, confident. And he sees there is something else, something more in her eyes…
…something that makes him worry this will be yet another riverside, another town, another exotic name that he has to scratch off his storage devices, as she gives him this look…
…this look that says Love.
Stickman's thoughts:
Delightful, as always!
