Readers' Submissions

The Deficiency To Performance Ratio

  • Written by Red
  • January 8th, 2007
  • 9 min read

Ok, so this story doesn’t actually take place in Thailand but it I think it is still relevant. You never know, it could happen here.

Our ship was in Indonesia, we had just finished a job for one client and were in the port of Surabaya, offloading the data from that job, re-supplying the vessel and preparing for the next job.

Surabaya is the second largest city in Indonesia and also has the second-largest port in Indonesia; it is not quite as huge as Jakarta but is a still a considerably large, sprawling mess. It is also (in)famous for being home to “Dollies” one of the, if not the largest, red-light areas in the world. Dollies caters mostly to Asian seamen with most of its establishments consisting of karaoke machines and seedy short-time rooms. It is a little un-safe for westerners but is definitely worth a visit if you have never been there before. However, Dollies is not the subject of this submission – maybe another time.

Just about the safest place for a westerner to go for a night out in Surabaya would have to be Desperadoes. This bar cum nightclub, very similar in many ways to CM2 in Siam Square, is to be found in the basement of the Shangri-La hotel: Its M.O. is also similar: During the early evening it is a fairly normal hotel bar; all overpriced drinks and a large screen projector showing cable TV.

At around 9pm, the resident band of the month kicks off. This is one of those traveling bands who tour the world's hotels entertaining guests with their take on the latest pop tunes, with varying levels of accomplishment. Also usually done at ear-splitting volume levels.

Between 9 and 10pm is when the freelancers start drifting in. Of course, as you’d expect, these girls usually all speak some English and tend to look a little classier than the girls to be found in some of the cheaper establishments.

Anyhow, three colleagues and I arrived there at about 8pm on this particular evening, the rest of the crew having plumped for the ‘Dollies’ option. We didn’t need all the hassle that goes with Dollies so here we were. We found a table away from most of the bars sound system and proceeded to don our ‘beer muffs’ before the band started. We’d all been there before and knew that the best way to cope with the volume was with the assistance of alcohol.

Around midnight, after much beer drinking and shit-talking, two of our number had gone back to the ship for an early night leaving Terry, a mid-fifties vessel manager, and myself to survey the now full-to-the rafters-of-beautiful-Indonesian-ladies-although-it-might-just-be-the-beer bar.

Having sufficiently dulled our senses (particularly hearing) with alcohol we decided to move to the bar, which was centrally placed, to get a better vantage point, once there, we continued our conversation, albeit shouted to be heard over the music coming from the stage, and I also started scanning what I could see of the room for that special lady (you know..).

Ok, at this point I should add that we were both expected to be at a meeting with our companies up-coming clients on board the ship quite early the following morning but I’m sure you’ll appreciate that, at that hour and with a gutful of beer, we were being somewhat blasé about the necessity for an early night.

So, looking around the room: There was a complete range of women present; old, young, very young, athletic types shaking their bits on the dance floor, ugly, stunningly beautiful, wallflowers sucking drinks of coke through straws, short skirts, long skirts, pant suits, T-shirts and jeans. A whole cross-section of Indonesian female P4P society. Of course it is always the real old, drooling ones who are furiously trying to catch my eye as I scan the room so you have to be careful where you look.

One rather pretty and very petite young lady, seated on a bar stool to my right was, at that time, engaged in conversation with another punter who left after a brief conversation, whereupon she turned and smiled engagingly at me. This was all the incentive that I needed and asked her if the departed gentleman was ‘with’ her tonight. She replied that “he was not” so I proceeded with more pleasantries, preliminaries and platitudes.

Her name was Betis, she was twenty-four years old and during the daytime worked at a cake shop specializing in Indonesian-style sweetmeats. Her English was pretty good and the more I looked (and drank) the more desirable she seemed to become.

Terry, noticing my new companion (and the way I was probably salivating over her), suggested that he could manage the meeting with the new clients on his own and, should I wish to book myself a room at the hotel upstairs, it would be quite ok for me to return at about, say, 10 o’clock the next morning.

Well, of course I thought this was a fantastic idea and so suggested to my new friend Betis that she might like to stay the night in a luxurious room in the hotel above. With me. And should she wish to do so I would go upstairs to the reception and check myself in at once. She agreed and after a swift discussion about her fee for the night I went upstairs to organise a room.

I soon returned with my newly acquired key card, had another beer, said goodnight to Terry and chatted some more with Betis before suggesting that it was time to go upstairs. She replied by saying that she was shy to be seen going up to my room with me and if I would go up first then she would follow along in about 5 minutes. This seemed a little strange, the bar was full of hookers you know, what did it matter? Plus, another feature of this hotel was that there was no ‘walk of shame’; the elevator to the rooms could be accessed directly outside the door of the bar. Anyhow, as I had handed over no cash I went along with it and left for my room.

Once in my room I got a beer from the fridge and waited for Betis to arrive. Sure enough she was true to her word and within five minutes there was a knock on my door.

Upon entering I noticed how short she was, she only came up to my chest and I’m no six-footer. Of course I only saw her seated in the bar, maybe this was why she was so shy to come upstairs with me. Perhaps she thought I wouldn’t want an almost-midget. Hey, I’m an equal opportunities employer and I have always found that girls with, err, ‘defects’ (sometimes only perceived by them) always give good service in the bedroom, I call it the “deficiency to sex ratio”, so a lack of height is no problem to me. Of course I did not mention this, after all, if this is what she was worried about then I didn’t want her to think it had even crossed my mind. That might just make her feel worse. So I just gave her a hug and welcomed her in. She also seemed to be walking with a limp but that hardly registered at the time.

Once inside, she then informed me that she wanted to take a shower first. Ok, pretty standard, so I had no problem with that. So off she went into the shower and I returned to the minibar to get another beer.

Whilst she showered, I entertained myself with the view of Surabaya afforded from my hotel room window; it was a floor-to-ceiling affair and provided quite a view. And so, whilst ruminating on the view and enjoying yet another minibar beer I heard a noise behind me and turned around to see Betis already out of the shower.

This was a bit different: You know the low little table thing that’s usually just inside the hotel room door, outside the bathroom? Sometimes it even has a piece of carpet on it too – I believe it is usually used for keeping your luggage on. Well she was sitting on that, wearing a white vest and one of the hotel towels wrapped around her waist.

She called me over to her and made suggestive noises that she wanted to get the party started right there on that luggage-table-thing. I backed off a little and said that I too would like to get a shower first.

“No no, let’s make love now. Here”

“No. I really must have a shower, I’ve been working all day and I must stink”

“No I want to do it now. Come here”

“No! I want to take a shower. I smell bad.”

“Oh come on. Please.”

“No. I’m taking a shower” This in a slightly angered tone.

“Oh ok then” came the timid reply.

So I opened the shower door, entered and closed it behind me without a look back at her.

I took off my clothes and grabbed a towel from the rail then pulled open the shower curtain. It was then that I saw it.

What the f…?

How did I miss that?

There was a prosthetic leg standing in the bath!

I had to have a closer look. It was pretty beaten up looking and seemed to start from around mid-thigh. My Christ! That’s nearly a whole leg! How in the hell did I miss that?

After regaining my composure somewhat I stuck my head outside the bathroom to where Betis was already in the bed, looked at her and said somewhat drunkenly “You’ve only got one leg haven’t you?” (Yeah, like someone else left it there by mistake!)

She nodded silently so I told her that it was completely ok and no problem to me and then ducked back into the bathroom to shower (I took the leg out of the bath first).

Well, the “deficiency to sex ratio” turned out to be correct again and an absolutely amazing night was had by all. Well by me at least, I think by her too. And you know what? When you wake up in the morning and your legs are all tangled together and one of yours has gone numb? Well, that doesn’t happen when your girl only has one leg!




Now I didn't see that coming.