Текст книги "Best of Asian Erotica, Volume 2"

Автор книги: Miss Izzy

Соавторы: Suzanna Kusuma,Amir Muhammed,John Burdett,Lee Yew Moon,Andrew Penney,O Thiam Chin,Dawn Farnham,Amirul Ruslan,Ricky Low,Richard Lord
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

This world of the club, he decided, was no worse and no better than the one he was casting off. He wasn’t so afraid any longer of things that couldn’t actually hurt him, or even of things that could.

PAININ
Brenton Rossow, Thailand

I forgot to write Painin’s phone number in my notebook. I could check it from one of her emails or go to the restaurant where she worked and ask one of her old workmates. I’d told Painin I would stay at the same bungalow but I didn’t tell her the time I was arriving. It was stupid to think she’d be waiting for me. The man at the guesthouse said he hadn’t seen her, so I pissed the colour of a hornbill’s beak and headed towards her old restaurant. Painin’s friend remembered me and giggled when she asked if I was Painin’s darling, and tried to call my baby. The first time she didn’t get through. The second time she got a hold of Painin as I was washing my hands in the bathroom.

I began to feel anxious. I adjusted my shirt, so I didn’t look fat and positioned my chair so I could see Painin when she came into the restaurant.

After a dry sandwich, I began leaning over the balustrade so I could see her as she drove up the street. I began to feel sleepy, stretched out on some cushions and fell asleep.

When I awoke an hour later, Painin still hadn’t arrived. I went downstairs to speak to her friend with the mobile. After trying a few times and getting an engaged signal her friend got through and handed me the phone.

‘Hello’

‘Who’s this?’

‘It’s Blinch from Thailand.’

‘You no like me. Why you want see me?’

My heart sank. What’s she talking about? What’s she playing at?

‘If I didn’t like you, why would I come all the way to Vientiane? It’s Blinch from Thailand. I was here six weeks ago. We sent each other emails.

I miss you… I want to see you.’

‘I busy working now. I told you we finish already. I not want see you.’

‘What? What are you talking about? You never said we were finished.

Come and see me at the bungalow.’

‘Okay. I come see you at 4 pm.’

What happened?My heart began fluttering all over the shop. Why would she send me those emails saying she wanted to see me, then blow me off like a pencil shaving?

I picked up my bag, smiled faintly at the girl in the restaurant who was blushing with embarrassment and began walking down the street. How sure I had been that our story would turn out the way I wanted. How confident I had been as I boarded the bus to Vientiane with photographs of Painin and Sai in the top pocket of my rucksack.

I decided to visit Uncle Mimi. Old Funky Lips wasted no time skinning up. We sat upstairs on his balcony, blowing smoke clouds into the street. He waited patiently, every so often nodding his head. Then, after I finished my story, he told me to forget Painin and find myself a new girl.

‘Many girl,’ he said, patting my shoulder. ‘Lucky you no kid.’

I thanked Uncle Mimi, stepped out the doorway—heart hurting like crazy as the weed weaseled its way into my stream—and walked into the sunshine. In a vacant block across the street, I noticed some artists had strung paintings between the branches of a few spindly trees and fastened them together on a length of string. Cigarette at lip, beer in hand, I began to lose myself in the colours of jungle villages and the swirl of water lilies. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. I turned and Painin was standing in front of me; toes hanging from high heels, miniskirt and a tight white midriff.

She looked up, smiled and took my hand.

‘I was with my friend and I saw you look painting, so I come see.’

‘I missed you, Painin. I don’t understand why you’re angry with me. I came all this way to be with you. What’s going on?’

‘You not help me when I ask you send money for motorbike. You not call. You not care.’

‘Of course I care, but what could I do? I have to work six weeks before I get a holiday. It was impossible to come and see you right away.’

She raised her eyebrows and squeezed my hand. Looking down, I noticed she was carrying a plastic bag.

‘What’s that?’

‘My new telephone, I just bought from market. I borrow money from friend.’

‘How much was it?’

‘Seven thousand. It have many song and photograph. It very expensive.’

Something in the back of my mind registered things weren’t okay, but I kept staring, hypnotized by her voluptuous lines.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked as she led me by the hand.

‘I want go temple.’

‘Here,’ I said reaching into my rucksack. ‘Here are some photos of you, Sai and my apartment in Thailand.’

She studied them, carefully lingering on the photo of my apartment, then stood on tippy toes and kissed me. It was a long slow kiss, full of absence and ecstasy. I held her by the hipbone and relished her warm tanned skin.

She reached down and grabbed my balls, looked me in the eyes… let go…

then continued walking. We walked past the temple and across the road to the grassy banks of The Kong.

Three of her friends appeared to be waiting outside a restaurant. It was obvious I’d be picking up the check. If I refused to go along with her plan, I’d embarrass Painin and she’d be furious.

One of Painin’s friends—Noi the Freeloader—was slouched in a plastic chair, smiling in the sunshine. The sight of her made me queasy and flyblown.

On this occasion—quite like the first time I’d met her—she failed to acknowledge me. She quickly grabbed Painin by the elbow, turned her back and began devolving her plan.

From the moment I met Noi, I was aware she was young and foolish, but I was forced to tolerate her. The previous time we’d met she rolled up at a restaurant Painin and I were eating at as if it was her right to be there and my sole purpose was to pick up the bill. It made me sad to think Noi was poisoning Painin with her schemes. Every time I looked at her, she sprayed a sickly green film across my skin.

‘You okay, Noi?’ I asked, best I could.

She raised her eyebrows as if to say Fuck off loser—I’m just here for the freebee,ducked her head to avoid a pot plant and catapulted herself inside. Painin’s other friends—two tall, tanned sisters whom I’d never met—appeared friendly. We sat down at a table—Painin and Noi ordering food—and before I knew it, a banquet appeared. As the older sister and I spoke, she gave me the feeling she felt sorry for me, politely refilling my glass while Noi and Painin exchanged glances.

‘I’m going home tomorrow. My father sick. I need you give money.’

I just played along, but what I was really thinking was Come on, Painin… you’re smarter than that.

‘Really… you’re going back to your village? How about I come with you so I can meet your family?’

Noi nearly choked on a piece of pork that was swirling about her mouth and rushed to the toilet. The two sisters looked into their drinks, slightly ashamed. I took Painin by the hand and led her into the sunshine.

What the fuck was I doing? Her shoes were too small and her toes hung out like monkey digits. Her skirt was too tight and when she sat, a few flab rolls appeared. But they weren’t ugly flab rolls and her toes appeared primal and sexual. She’d run a slight wave through her hair and sported a new pair of goofy aviators. No matter how much shite she spun, no matter how many financial demands, I couldn’t help being attracted to her. I kept telling myself she was a good girl at heart and she could change if I got her away from sneaky friends like Noi the Freeloader.

We walked back to the restaurant and said goodbye to Noi and the two tall tanned sisters. Her motorbike was parked next to a security guard and it looked shinier than the last time I’d seen it. We skidded along the gravel, slowly hiccupped through the streets and made our way back to my bungalow.

Painin threw herself on the bed with her knees up and her peach-coloured knickers showing, fanning her legs like the wings of a butterfly.

I kissed a kneecap and stepped into the shower to wash the journey’s sweat from my skin.

When I returned, she had her knickers off and was smiling. I leapt on the bed and began kissing her neck—soft sweet stamens of a spider orchid—then dragged my tongue to the outskirts of her belly and got lost in the trees.

She laid back, smiling—devil in the eyes, lips quivering—and fiddled with her new phone. A song played and it was modern and slick—not exactly romantic—but full of the latest guitar sounds with a heavy bass beat.

I lost consciousness. My spirit hovered. I disappeared inside the vines of a deserted temple and knelt at the dripping feet of an ancient mollusk. I collapsed beside her as orange swamp gas exuded from the pores of my skin.

I was born again: immortal-everything perfect-reality a ghost without a name.

Painin stood, smiled and walked into the bathroom, lathered herself in soap and let the water run hard. I picked up my guitar and a sense of weightlessness radiated throughout my body as I sat naked on the side of the bed with my testicles dangling free. A few minutes passed and Painin was out of the bathroom, putting her clothes on.

‘Okay, you give money now. Two thousand baht.’

‘What are you talking about? Where are you going?’

‘I go work. You want see me again, you give money!’

‘What?’

‘Yes. You give money—NOW!’

‘Look, Painin,’ I said, knowing she wasn’t playing around, ‘I came to Laos because I wanted to be with you as your boyfriend, not your customer!

I already told you I’ll try and help with money, but this is crazy! Why are you doing this? I love you.’

‘You think I like man? I not like any man. Many men want me, but I not care! You give two thousand baht or I break this,’ she said, picking up my guitar tuner and looking at me with sharpened eyes.

‘I can’t! It’s not right.’

Painin gave me one last look of disgust and threw my guitar tuner against the floor. It skidded towards the door and smashed against the wall.

‘You not give money, I tell police! I tell my friend come fight you.’

Tears began to well up as her face flushed. I held her eyes and pleaded with her to calm down.

‘Please, Painin,’ I whimpered. ‘I love you. I want to build a family with you. I want to help, but it can’t be like this…’

‘Don’t say anything.’

She got to her feet and walked out, leaving the door open. My head spun, my heart danced. I sat on the corner of the bed with my head between my hands and stared across the room.

Dumped… first time in seven years.

A strange constrictive pain tore away at my ribs. Tears splashed between my toes, soaking slow into the dirty wooden floor. I kept staring out the window. That’s it… the last time I’ll ever see her. FUCK! How could she dump me?

I decided to get arseholed, pulled out my bag of aunty and fired it up on a freshly punctured can bong. Gorgeous grey smoke raced down my gullet and sat inside my lungs. When I was good and ready, I pushed it out against the closed window and watched it cloud over my pathetic reflection.

The guy behind the reception desk was happy to let me change to another room. I threw my bag inside and walked into the street.

BIG LOVE
Chris Mooney-Singh, South Korea

And so I was left there sitting opposite June. ‘Well, this is strangest business trip I’ve been on,’ I said.

‘I told you Gerald, you are on holiday. Don’t worry. Mr Wang will sign your paperwork before you leave.’

‘What do you know about my paperwork?’ I queried.

‘He makes. You buy. Right? Look, I don’t know, Gerald. Mr Wang has many business interests all over Asia. But I have known Mr Wang for a long time and known how he works with people. This is his style when he likes someone. He likes you.’

I must admit I had felt flattered or relieved hearing that, but still I still had my distrusting Singaporean guard up.

Instead I said, ‘Hmmm… really.’

‘Look, Gerald, relax! Enjoy yourself. Is that so hard?’ she laughed this time with a feeling of tired wisdom. ‘Look, I will tell you straight, Gerald.

Mr Wang has been good to me over the years. Yes, there is love there, but he also lets me be myself. I am haenyo, after all , under all this lard.’ She laughed more freely, then reached across and squeezed my hand, asking, ‘Gerald, tell me the truth. So do you like me a little bit? Or am I just the boss’ fat girl you have to spend some time with?’

The more I had seen of June, the more I found her smart, refreshing and quite unpretentious. Perhaps not being a typical ‘sex-goddess’ in society’s eyes had made someone like June come from a more sincere place. She had the gift of putting people at ease and was least concerned about herself. There was humility and loveliness in that. After seeing those hefty women divers, she had also taken on a new aura of big woman status in my mind also, a kind I had not allowed myself to appreciate before.

‘You have a lovely face, a lovely nature, June. And I saw how much effort you put into making Mr Wang happy. Alright, you are full-size, but only a large body could house such a big heart,’ and I squeezed her hand back.

‘Oh, you’re sweet!’ And with that, she lunged forward, grabbing me by each cheek with the flats of her strong hands and pulled me directly into the soft vastness of her bosom, kissing me wet on the lips. Then, the slippery muscle of her tongue deftly searched inside for my mine, which she located with loving ease, eager to coax, tame and relax it. I felt myself slipping under waves and being dragged by the current into the weedy depths.

But then, I pulled back, remembering who and where I was. This was all a bit too sudden. My God! I was a married man, an unhappy one, yet still married. So, I withdrew, crabwise, my heart still beating forward toward her.

‘You’re shy.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t worry. This is my nature. I am very friendly. By the way, Mr Wang and I noticed you haven’t been eating. You don’t seem to like Korean food much, so he wants me to cook for you tonight.’

‘No, no, no, no. Please don’t trouble yourself. I’m fine. Really.’

‘I can’t let you go hungry.’

‘Really, I don’t eat a lot. I work out at the gym with my wi—’

‘Your wife? Is she skinny or big like me?’

I realized, I had opened up an area best not gone into.

‘Well, she’s slim, I guess. A bit obsessed, actually.’

She sensed my discomfort again. ‘Don’t worry, Gerald. I am not going to come chasing after you to Singapore. What happens in Jeju, stays in Jeju.

Just relax.’ Again she disarmed me with that fresh, chubby smile.

‘Look, if I don’t follow Mr Wang’s instructions and cook for you, I might lose my job. Would you want that?’

‘No. Of course not.’

‘Fine then. Glad we got that out of the way!’

‘But…’

‘Shssh… look, I have to rush now and arrange for Mr Wang and his guests. He doesn’t like it when instructions are not followed closely. I’ll be back. Just sit tight. Enjoy. Put on the limo TV, have another beer. Oh, and by the way, I’m thinking pasta. I make good pasta.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘No buts!’ she admonished me firmly, shaking her finger in a friendly way. ‘I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.’

She spoke something in Korean to the driver over the phone intercom, got out, then strode forcefully into the hotel.

I hadn’t expected this. I now remembered again how dumbfounded and totally stupid I had felt. At such times, fear and doubt prey on the mind. You question everyone’s intentions. I had wondered what Wang was up to. He had nothing to gain from me. I needed hisbusiness, not the other way around.

Truly, it was very odd. I had never met such a strange entrepreneur before in all the fifteen years of my working life. Why such generosity? No one does things for no reason. My suspicious Singapore brain was working overtime.

Who in their right mind would be doing all this for me?

But the more I asked, the more I found that I had no real logical answers.

Putting the pieces together, I saw that June had clearly been Wang’s employee in the hotel and casino. Was he the silent owner? Why hadn’t he let on and how had June come to be here as his aide de camp?

Yes, I had gotten myself into a real state, feeling impatient and upset, thinking that perhaps he was avoiding talking business because he was not going to give me the contract after all. Perhaps he was letting me down gently. I was booked to leave the very next day. Should I trust what June said—that he liked me and would definitely sign the deal? I sighed and really prayed that she was right.

Remembering all those fears and uncertain emotions while waiting in the limousine had made me resolve: Hang it, Gerald. Stop being such a wimp. Just let things happen or you end up with an ulcer. That’s how I had slapped myself around for awhile sitting in this millionaire’s long black piece of luxury on four wheels, parked outside a huge hotel with its own flashing casino in the basement. Thus, I had reached for another Hite beer from the car-bar, switched to the other seat, pressed the console button that opened a compartment to a mini limo TV and channel-surfed: a children’s game show with the host dressed like a bear, a Korean cooking segment of the news with a local personality. I then sunk down in the seat with some dated Hollywood action flick dubbed in Korean with the ads scrolled along the bottom of the screen in block-character Korean, gulping my beer. It only took a moment and I began to feel drowsy. Yes, it was true I had hardly eaten a thing that day, starting with a disturbed breakfast and now the beer was going straight to my head. My eyelids and head began to droop.

I don’t know how long I nodded off for, but as the limo door opened I sat up, startled to see her back. This time, she plonked herself down with a heavy bounce next to me, closed the door, gave instructions to the driver through the intercom and then looked directly into my eyes, as if knowing that I was feeling awkward and uncomfortable. She took my head very gently like a baby and rested me on her ample bosom.

‘There, relax,’ she said in a very soothing voice as she stroked my hair.

As if going under hypnosis, I just followed instructions and let my last guard drop.

I must have gone straight to sleep again. When I woke up, I was brought to consciousness by June’s voice:

‘Here we go.’

She was easing me out of the cab, up stairs, into a lift, supporting me with her strong ample body that was like a soft vertical sofa. Was I leaning up or lying down? I couldn’t tell. The chime of the lift bell startled me.

‘Where am I?’

‘Home,’ she said, sliding a key into the lock and bouncing back the door with her sneaker as she navigated me inside. The light went on and I saw a comfortable apartment with a white, U-shaped sofa that looked vaguely familiar.

She deposited me there. I put my phone on the coffee table.

‘There, Baby. Give me a moment.’

Directly in front was a huge aquarium with all kinds of colourful fish, rocks and weed waving in the electro-generated current. Yes, I thought, this was just about right for the home of a haenyo.

June came back from the bedroom or wherever and bounced herself down beside me with a towel and bathrobe.

‘Here. Go take a shower. You’ll feel much better.’ And then kissed me again, hugging me close to the warm and abundant coastline of herself. This time, I responded with my tongue. She allowed me to explore her mouth and, then broke off.

‘Ah we are now waking up, are we?’ And with that, kissed me again with a quick smacking sound, rousing and pushing me off in the direction of the bathroom.’

‘Go on!’

I went in, closed the door, undressed, relieved myself and then lingered under the hot water and let my thoughts drift for quite a while. Yes, I was definitely in the hands of a big, loving woman. I heard her voice echoing in my mind: Just relax. One sucking kiss had brought on my first penile wetness in the cab and now here, thinking of it under the water, I had become hard. I tried to control myself with neutral thoughts and, fearing that I would come then and there, I got out of the shower, towelled myself dry and put on the red bathrobe, tying it around the middle. I slicked back my wet hair with the comb from my back pocket, looked in the mirror, took a deep breath, then returned to the living room.

She had dimmed the lighting and some jazz was playing on the DVD player. I took my position again on the couch. There were cooking smells coming from the kitchen area that formed one side of the living room separated by a bench and bar stools. I smelled boiling water, salt, herbs and tomatoes and there was the sound of chopping. I didn’t look over my shoulder. I had decided to let things unfold and accept whatever dish of experience was offered.

‘Feeling better?’

‘Tremendous,’ I said lounging back into the sofa.

‘Almost ready,’ she said. I heard the ping of a microwave and also the opening and closing of a fridge door. In a moment she was coming to join me, humming something in Korean to herself, holding a tray: on it were three small white bottles and two small ceramic cups. There were also various pickles, seaweeds and something hot-pancake squares with all kinds of vegetables cooked into them. She must have had a supply and quickly microwaved them. There was also a kimchi for good measure, which still smelled like detergent. Some things one never gets used to. She poured with the right hand, while holding the elbow with her left, then passed me the bottle. The liquor was milky-white.

‘Now you pour for me,’ she said. Being left-handed, I transferred the plastic bottle.

‘No, no. The Korean way,’ she said, re-positioning it in my right with my left just below the elbow as she had done. It seemed strange, but seeing that I had decided to surrender to whatever came, I accepted her direction and filled her cup.

‘We always pour for each other. It is polite.’

‘That’s nice,’ I said.

Now she picked up her wine cup with two hands, nodding for me to do the same.

‘Both poised and ready, she said ‘One shot!’ indicating for us to down our drinks at the same time.

The drink was both sweet and sour, almost rough and raw and she was quickly refilling for me, and I for her.

‘This is really nice,’ I said, ‘the best thing I’ve tried in Korea, by far.’

‘Makgeolli was a farmer’s drink. It’s beer. Made from mixed grains and fermented; it gives strength,’ She laughed, I guess wondering whether I got her joke. ‘Ah, you just need a good guide.’

‘Thankfully, I have found one,’ and looked straight at her.

‘Yes, you have,’ she giggled. ‘Okay, now we play!’

With that, she deftly undid the soft belt around my bathrobe and found my penis, already hardening in her chubby little palms. Then she kneeled between my legs and took me in her mouth, working my shaft into the mollusk of her mouth, bringing her tongue to bear, on occasion, from root to cock-head; and soon she changed her strategy of arousal by putting the whole of my scrotal sac into her mouth and rolling the testicles around like small, hard-boiled eggs.

‘Mmmm,’ she said and then worked me harder and faster. Already aroused from the shower, I couldn’t hold myself back any longer and came prematurely with a loud release, jetting my load between her lips.

‘Mmmm,’ I heard her say again, sitting up now before me and swilling my viscous whiteness around in her mouth, giggling and making eyes at me, letting some dribble out the side and then playfully pushing it back in with a finger. Then, without swallowing, she put her powerful arms around my neck and kissed me with the mouth full of my own cum. The residue of the white rice beer in my mouth merged with that taste of semen. I had never tried anything like this before. It was indescribable. My wife, Pearl Lin, would have died of shock.

June passed the load into my mouth and followed with her tongue sucking it back and forth, giving and taking, giving and taking—her pink tongue moving like a sea worm in our salty current. It grew in volume with our saliva, the full flavour of those two white essences perfectly matched and mixed now into one white cocktail of human sugars and acids. Then, with the same trademark deftness, she sucked my ejaculate back into her mouth, took ownership of it, so to speak, withdrew from my lips and swallowed it down with a satisfying release.

‘Ahhhhh,’ she said licking her lips and fingers. ‘Thanks for the vitamin pill. So nice. Now you know the secret of my young complexion,’ she laughed. ‘This is June’s own special technique for drinking Korean rice beer,’ she said with a slutty twinkle in her eye. ‘You like?’

‘I like. That was awesome. Come back here!’ With that I grabbed, but despite her dimensions, she had easily out-manoeuvred me to the side of the sofa and was now pouring me another cup of the milky beer. I took her cue and did the same for her.

‘One shot!’ We both said, and holding each cup with two hands, drained our drinks.

‘Now I must check on dinner and I will take my little shower. Okay?’

‘Sure. Please.’

Yes, I was in the hands of a big Korean sea-nymph who was kind, creative and sexier than I could ever imagine. After the entree, I wondered what was coming next.

The jazz played on in the background and it seemed that the fish in the aquarium were swimming in sequence to the beat, now turning this way, flashing another direction on cue. Despite the violation of etiquette, I poured myself another cup of rice beer and even picked at the side dishes, trying the pancake slices. Yes, kind of like a Korean pizza,I thought, and munched happily on one. I even tried a forkful of the black seaweed and a cube or two of pickled turnip. Downed with the rice beer, they weren’t too bad. In fact, they complemented each other. But I still steered clear of the kimchi.

The fish continued their technicolour routines in the aquarium and now I looked around and saw a painting on the wall. It was a portrait of the old haenyo.

Wang and June had brought me to see these famous women divers along the Jeju coastline earlier in the day. Her mother had been a diver, and June herself had imbibed from a young age that same trait of fierce independence of the haenyo, who didn’t rely on husbands to earn a living. I thought this was most unusual in an Asian culture; certainly different from my Singapore upbringing.

I got up to study more closely: Two women were sitting on the rocks.

The grandma in the blue one-piece was smoking a cigarette, the other had a white cloth around her loins and was stretching and scratching the back of her head with her magnificent breasts and orange-tipped nipples exposed to the afternoon sunlight. In the background, you could see the green-mesh trap with its orange float and a small trident used to loosen shellfish from underwater cracks and crevices.

They were coarse, Rubenesque, heavy jowled, with almost bulbous red clown noses. Perhaps this was the result of prolonged cold water diving and holding your breath at depth. I looked at the right bottom corner of the painting. There was a name or inscription written in Korean and a date: 1956.

I couldn’t help myself, so I found my phone and took a picture of the painting. It was so beautiful, and June Park could be found in every centimetre of it.

I felt as if I was swimming in the sea and moved and swayed in time with the jazz and the fish, until the next pleasant surprise of the evening: June had bathed and there she was dressed in traditional Korean red-and-white costume with her hair made up. I had seen photos of this courtly garb before, but had not realized that it really was a ‘fat’ dress. The red blouse at the top came up just under her breast-line and the skirt fanned out conically below into a wide circumference touching the floor.

‘Wow, June!’

She giggled and moved as if on invisible dolly-wheels in my direction.

‘Let me take your picture,’ I said, positioning and snapping her from various angles and in different poses—some serious, some girly, some comical, some down and dirty. She was so connected to her feelings that she was a natural model. I took some near the back-lit lampshade, another in the bedroom doorway, one looking out the high-rise window and others near the colourfully lit aquarium.

‘What can I say? This dress… It’s so… you, June!’

‘So now, Mr Singapore, this is my present—gift—wrapped in my traditional Korean hang-bok. Am I pretty?’

‘Pretty? You are gorgeous!’ and I meant it. She had really brought me to that point of appreciation for unpretentious pleasure and a belief in the importance of living lustfully in the moment. We joined lips and embraced for a long time with the oxygen filter gurgling in the background.

Primed and confident, I now felt it was my turn to give and not just receive. I was ready to fold back her inner sound of fabric and started by running my hands down her red-necked blouse over its breast-points, so elegantly and classically tailored with all the grace-lines of Korean history and ceremony intact. Then, I knelt to find her hidden ankles and kissed them.

She then helped by turning around and bending over, spread legs wide, while gripping the back of the sofa seat. She knew what she wanted. I put my hands underneath and lifted outer silk and inner petticoat, finding fleshy hand-holds and wet dew trickling down the inside of her thighs. I was soon rubbing my two palms up warm flesh and feasting my eyes on the curvature of her dimpled buttocks, scored with life-accumulated cellulite as if they were star-indents of real experience and accomplishment, not the bane of some prurient weight-watcher’s programme. Yes, she was most un-Hollywood, an unabashedly dimpled daughter of the sea, a traveller’s insulation against cold days and lonely nights. She was ever—prepared for picnic or camper fun, carrying like a small jumbo—her own howdah of excess baggage.

In the overwhelming presence of Big, I wondered why thin was so sought after today? I now realized how more comfortable it was to ride a fleshy she-mammal, rather than fearing you might crush some bony sea-horse with an exposed skeleton, like Pearl Lin.

But it wasn’t just about size or dimension. Desire was clearly a set of guided responses, manufactured and cultivated by aesthetics that differed from place to place around the globe and were also different during other periods of history. The ample body of June Park from Jeju-do now made me realize that life was meant to be big, broad-minded and ever-generous, not skinny, calculating and mean-hearted.