Readers' Submissions

Mirror, Mirror On the Wall

  • Written by Felix
  • December 22nd, 2012
  • 6 min read





No, I am not going to guess who the most beautiful woman in the world is. Prince Paris of Troy dared to give his judgement. What happened? A strong Empire was completely destroyed. The sister of Paris, Princess Cassandra became the sex slave of a Greek bully.

No, not again such a risk. What I am going to explore is where to find the most loveable, the most sensuous women in Asia, east of Cox’s Bazaar. I am not the only author able to write about this subject. We once had a contributor on these pages who called himself “Belgian Boy”. His success with the other gender was unbelievable. I was a widely travelling contemporary, but he was able to press water out of a stone where I saw only wasteland. So my statistical base is smaller than his and that of other readers and historical figures. If you ever bought a ticket for Mozart’s opera “Don Giovanni” you might remember that his servant Leporello was keeping book of his bosses conquests, ending his listing with the climactic number: “Ma en Espagna mille tre.”

If Leporello was my assistant, his aria would not be a similar success story. What could he sing? If he added up all my GFEs in Thailand, in Kampuchea, in Singapore, in Indonesia, in Korea, in China, in Taiwan, in Hong Kong and in the Philippines, their combined number would not overpass ten percent from “mille tre”. And that in 36 active years.

My Asia base is small, but the crazy thing is I received the answer to my question “Who is?” early on, without following it up.

During the Cultural Revolution in China I spent much time in Hong Kong in order to gain a glimpse through the Bamboo Curtain. I had a great room in the Hongkong Hotel on the Kowloon side with a view over the Ocean Terminal and Hong Kong Island. I plied the sea between the two parts of Hong Kong with the green star ferry boats. On the darkest place of the Kowloon terminal a newspaper seller had his stand. I bought from him the South China Morning Post and discovered that he had a big collection of magazines printed in Chinese. Those were very naughty publications. The magazines were A5 size and consisted of two parts. In front there were feature stories of erotic interest. I remember one who explained what the taste of your sperm on another person’s tongue said about your health. Warning number one: If you tasted sweet, it is bitter for your companion. The rest I forget.

The second part of the magazine consisted of ads of callgirl-rings, maybe 30 pages, praising their escorts and giving a telephone number to ring.

I always wondered how many women of different countries were bookable. Japanese, Swedish girls, Brazilian beauties and so on, half the United Nations. They all could join you in your room of a 4- or 5-star hotel. For fixed prices they would stay for two or five hours. I never made use of these offers, sex on demand not being my style. Until one day I discovered the following ad: “Mainland girl, fresh in Hong Kong”. For years (it was in the late '60s) no Chinese citizens had been allowed to cross the border from China to the crown colony. I knew of only one legal case. In a very poor People’s commune a farmer had developed a dangerous tumour. It was operable, but the People’s commune had not the money to pay for the surgery. So they gave his son a visa to Hong Kong, where he could earn by hard work in the harbour the money the commune needed to pay for his father’s surgery. The son laboured hard and soon brought the requested amount back to China, saving his father's life.

But how had this call girl made her way through the shark-infested South China Sea to Hong Kong? I sniffed a story of corruption and mafia (or triad) involvement. If I could get it out of the girl, I could place it in the leading newspapers of the world and make a name for myself. Excitedly I pressed the telephone number. A man answered, who must have been a pimp.

“What can I do for you?”

“I read your ad about the girl from mainland. I would like her to visit me.”

“Which country are you from?”

“Scandinavia.” This was only half a lie. A line of my ancestors had been Swedes.

“Scandinavian men are big and strong. Maybe the Chinese girl is too tender for you.” He was afraid I could damage his goods. As he might be a snakehead, I could not tell him my intention, only that I would not hurt her.

“OK, two hours, and be nice to her.”

Two hours were not enough for an investigative interview.

“Five hours.”

“Impossible. Let me make a suggestion. If you need a partner for five hours I’ll send you a Philippina. Those girls can endure that and even enjoy it.”

“Then I would prefer the Chinese for two hours.”

“No. I have made up my mind. You take a Philippina or no girl at all.”

“Then it is no girl at all,” I said stubbornly. If I had been more alert, I might have suggested he delivered the Chinese girl together with a nice chaperone, and that might have saved the interview.

Now you know why I did not become a world famous reporter. This I could get over with, but what was inexcusable was that I did not take the next flight to Manila to check the pimp’s recommendation, “They even enjoy it.”

Twenty eight years passed until I first set foot on Fields Avenue. While Angeles City was not the right environment for me, Barrio Barretto in Subic Bay was. The pimp in Hong Kong had been right in his judgement, and I had been stupid not to listen to his words of wisdom, losing 28 years of sensual joy. The promised pleasures were waiting for me, but there was a definite obstacle. I was no longer the man to enjoy them. My youth had fallen from me, and I was neither willing nor physically capable to play dirty old man.

I felt like the wanderer in Kafka’s “Before the Law” who asked the doorkeeper why he and every one else was refused entry through an important gateway. The guardian answered, “This gate was made only for you. I am now going to shut it forever.”

While this gate is now closed for me, energetic younger readers might still have a chance. “Hurry up, please, it’s time” to close with a citation from T.S.Eliot’s “The Waste Land”.




Stickman's thoughts:

Delightful…but despite Korski's strong recommendations, I have no plans to head to the Philippines!