Stickman Readers' Submissions October 17th, 2008

Looking through their Eyes Part II

She looked up at him, staring dough eyed at her as he sheepishly sipped on his Singha. She smiled at him, knowing this was exactly what he wanted. She was never about their needs; she just knew what worked and what didn't. She was not
getting any younger and the pressures from family and friends never seemed to go away. His company was not boring, nor was it exciting. His attempts at Thai were cute of course, but the silly wais to almost anyone that looked at or spoke
to him were tiresome. She thought back to the afternoon's activities. It was all hot, sweaty and quick. He was not a practiced lover she thought, more the “sex by appointment” type she'd encountered on many occasions. “Friday
Night, get it over with” one of them described sex with his wife… She smiled again, watching him stir, amusing herself at these little memories from the past.

He loved the way she smiled at him. It made him melt. Her responsiveness to his lovemaking had been surprising to him and it had invigorated him as well. For years sex had been by rote for him. Something not pleasing at all really, which
attributed ultimately to his marriage's demise.

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She wondered about the evening. She was quite hungry for some nice spicy food. There was a thought in the back of her mind to do some shopping too. There was nothing better to amuse her for a few hours than to weave backwards and forwards
through a market. It was warm, but she felt comfortable, sitting sipping her Heineken. (This always surprised them, her choice of drink.)

What had seemed so ridiculous not 90 minutes ago seemed to be as natural as a baby's first step. He had spoken to his friends and hinted to them at his new found “love” to many howls of laughter, congratulations and overall
mirth. He knew where they were coming from, but he'd not felt like this in many a year. His heart thumped in his chest as she smiled at him again. What was she thinking? He wondered what to do and where to go tonight. What would she like?

“Do you want to take me shopping?”


He paid up the tab and they flagged a taxi. She spoke machine gun Thai to the driver and they headed down the soi.

“Where are we going?”

“A Market. Not far”

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It was about 45 minutes later when they pulled up at the curb. He paid the driver and they hopped out.

The taxi ride had been a hand holding affair. He squeezed her hands and she squeezed back. She nattered on about Bangkok, the bad traffic and the weather. His questions were equally as shallow as her answers as he struggled to come to grips
with the whirlwind he found himself in. He was feeling a bit silly too as he had forgotten his hat at her bed sit apartment. He pondered this as they drove.

Bangkok passed by through the tinted window in a blur of moment dispersed with moments of stillness, punctuated by the air-conditioner on full and the occasional squawk from the taxi driver's radio. Some Buddha images adorned the dashboard,
flowers hung from the mirror and there was writing on the ceiling. Very strange. It was cold in the taxi he thought.

She grabbed his hand and led him off down a side soi lined with vendors selling all manner of clothes. Her mind ticked over at the level of expenditure she might undertake that he would pay for without baulking. Start small always worked,
so she headed to her favourite jeans stall.

It was unbelievably hot in the soi and he wiped the sweat from his eyes. The beers earlier had made him thirsty and he looked around for a drink. They had stopped at a group of stalls and she was in deep conversation with each of the vendors.

She turned to him, “What do you think?”, holding up a pair of latest fashion jeans.

“Very nice.”

She smiled at him and said, “No, I think too expensive.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of notes. “How much?”

He was nice. He paid without being prompted. Putting her hand in her purse seemed to offend him. Well she had a few shorts and some new jeans. She was happy and hungry. But she had other fish to fry before the night began.

The market was row after row of vendors. The young girls pushed through on both sides of the aisle. There seemed to be no rules in there. People stopped and started without warning. They tried on garments by putting on some sort of flexible
over garment. This was amusing to watch. They would get naked under this and swap clothes. This looked to be an art for sure!! Many vendors sat back putting nail polish on their fingers, listened to radios or slept while awaiting inquiries. She
seemed at prefect ease, hopping from vendor to vendor, chatting and gesticulating. Many people stared at him, sweating and hot, as he stood to one side, waiting for her to finish, or to pay for whatever she bought. Everything seemed so cheap.

“You still want to see me tonight?”

He almost choked on his answer. He had thought she had forgotten. She wanted to see him. He felt like he had run a marathon. It was so hot in this market. He was soaked. “Yes of course.”

“OK, I call you later”

“What time?”


He worried on this. He was a man that liked things to be exact.


“I will take you to where I used to work. I will call you later. Don't worry!”

He was worried. What if she didn't call? Could he remember where her apartment was? His blood surged through his skull. He didn't know what to say. She had his brain cooking in circles. He felt her hand in his, looked at her big
smile and his worries evaporated.


To be continued

Stickman's thoughts:

Very, very nice.

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