I was complaining to my old friend Bruce about the dearth of adult entertainment options in Singapore and about how dull it can get for a single guy sometimes. Bruce, who seems to have that gene whereby you can have HIV forever and never quite develop full-blown AIDS, nearly choked on his TCM soup of deer penis and seahorse in disbelief.
"You've been in Singapore HOW long and still haven't moved beyond the soul-destroying crowd-heavy anonymity of Orchard Towers? You want to get out to Duxton St or wander anywhere in Chinatown in general. I can give you some contacts, Yuki at the Cognac KTV will look after you. She's an old friend."
"KTV? A person can't go into a KTV by themselves Bruce, you've got to be with a crowd of drunken workmates, surely. Besides, I don't want to know what goes on in there." I sipped on a small Johnny Walker in a Johnny Walker shot-glass. I was way too timid and I knew it. No wonder I stayed up all Saturday night composing bland blog posts when I should be out there doing something... Something constructive, something leading towards finding a companion, a partner. My life was slipping away and I knew it. I felt like I was still a child and not a man.
"Don't panic E@L , there's nothing scary out there, except some of the boob-jobs on the mainland Chinese girls," laughs Bruce. "I've been into KTVs all around the place and it's all pretty much same same, no different. Singapore, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Shanghai. Once it was pretty scary though." Bruce suppressed a cough over his foul-smelling soup. Or was it a laugh?
"What was scary?" I asked.
"I am sure there is a video of me floating around the Internet from one of my visits."
"A video?" Bruce had me quite intrigued now. "You're in a Tammy-gate video? That's too funny!"
"With the two most gorgeous girls you could imagine. The dealers for the company I used to import, um, coffee from Vietnam for, they took me out one night after a particularly successful shipment made it through customs."
"Coffee?" I asked. "I didn't know you imported coffee."
"Well, that shipment was labelled as coffee anyway. Maybe something a tad more addictive. Loose lips, etc... The ex-Kuomintang boys still have a lot of Vietnamese suppliers. Shipment bound for Cabramatta in Sydney, most of the Vietnamese product still passes through Taiwan, out of respect for the anti-Communist rebels. The Chiang family [Bruce is referring to the Soong dynasty, Chiang Kai Chek married the Soong family whore, Ed] still get their cut these days, believe it or not. But anyway, we went to one of the chap's favorite KTVs. We were in KaoHsiung..."
Bruce was settling into his seat when Mamasan brought in four absolutely stunning girls... [click MORE for the XXX details]
Mr John, one of Bruce's local contacts was wide-eyed with anticipation. This was a hunger for him that needed satiating several times a week. When the bill came later, Bruce wondered how he could afford to do this so often - he was only a salary-man and though theirs was a profitable industry, it was not usually people at Mr John's level who got rich. The other Chinese man, Bruce had forgotten his name already, didn't have Mr John's air of desperation but was merely accepting this as part of the usual hospitality one offers an honoured guest, or any guest for that matter. Take them for dinner, take them for a massage, buy girls for sex. What's the big deal? There are more KTVs in KaoHsiung than Starbucks by a wide margin. That's how it still works in Asia: you don't seriously think that globalization and computers chips and heroin running and the steady flow of foreign money are going to act as a bromide on these traditions?
Mr John indicated to Mamasan that the two best looking girls were to sit on either side of Bruce.
The room had a huge projection TV smack in the middle. One of the girls selected a Chinese song and sang along with the color-coded lyrics in that scratchy falsetto Mandarin that is decidedly an acquired taste. Bruce hadn't acquired it yet and was glad to sip his watery Chivas Regal as the girls squirmed next to him, reaching into his shirt and tickling his nipples as they oohed and aahed into his ears. The TV showed country-side scenes in Taiwan and a girl wandering wistfully through flower gardens and along beach-fronts. After a few minutes one of his girls reached behind her neck and undid the halter top of her dress. The other girl reached across to her friends perfectly shaped small-melon-sized breasts and massaged them sensuously. Both girls had a hand on his crotch. The topless girl brought her nipple just to level of his mouth and he involuntarily leaned forward...
Mr John said something to the girls, and they responded by laughing. The topless one got up and switched the music to a more recent genre, American hip-hop. The bass was pumping strenuously out of large black speakers, reverberating through Bruce's body. The girl slowly stripped off the rest of her dress as she danced in the small space in front of the TV, revealing a very sexy and expensive-looking black lace G-string, the ones that are thicker at the top of the buttock and about an inch wide around the waist. It partly hid the body of a dragon tattoo, but not its rearing face and fire-flickering tongue. She had an exceptionally fine body, no doubt. He could not detect a flaw in it, from the smooth transition of thigh to buttock, to the skin-thick crease of her waist as she twisted to look behind her and flick her tongue, like the dragon's, out of a perfect mouth at Bruce's awed face. Then she moved right up to the TV, facing it, putting her arms on top of the screen, letting her long black hair fall between her arms, and gyrating her smooth body; her silhouette was as arousing as anything Bruce had ever seen. She writhed and turned to the music so very well, so very practiced. Bruce couldn't help but smile and nod over at Mr John and the other Chinese man who were enjoying the show as well. They toasted with their Chivas Regals. "Kam pie," called Mr John. "Ho dollah," replied the other man, a KaoHsiung toast. "Cheers," said Bruce.
Bruce's second girl meanwhile had managed to relieve him of his shirt and had undone her top as well, revealing another perfectly formed pair of breasts. She began working her hands under Bruce's paunch to try and undo his belt as she licked his ear and neck. She managed to undo the belt quickly and then expertly popped the hook on his trousers and ripped open his fly as he leaned back. She whispered in his ear in a Chinese-accented English, "She dan vedy sexy?" She slid his belt all the way out.
"Oh, yeah," Bruce replied. "Can't you tell?"
She straddled across his lap and doubled the belt over in her hands. With her arms above her head she quickly snapped the belt with loud crack. Everyone laughed. Mamasan entered with a guy dressed as a waiter, another bottle of Chivas appeared next to some wedges of watermelon and a bowl of shiny peanuts on the dark Chinese style rose-stained coffee-table. Mamasan chatted with Mr John, looking over at Bruce every so often, and nodding.
The dancing girl returned and began to rub her angelic body over Bruce's hairy soft-toned chest. "Oh so sexy man," she hissed.
The girls began to reposition themselves obviously at some prearranged signal that Bruce missed. Perhaps it was that word from Mamasan to one of the girls, harsh and authoritative, allowing no dissent. The girls knelt before Bruce and tried to get him to edge toward one corner of the large u-shaped couch which ran around the entire part of the room facing the projector TV. Bruce looked across to Mr John and saw that his girl was totally naked, reflected TV images danced across her small white back and buttocks as she was also kneeling before him.
Push, push, they forced him right into the corner with sweet smiles and strong hands. Mamasan nodded and left the room.
Reaching into his underpants with another of their practiced motions, the girls brought out his stiffening cock. They took turns at licking and sucking it until it became obvious Bruce was approaching maximum excitement. At one brief point, fulfilling a long held fantasy, they put their heads on either side and fellated him simultaneously. But they could control him easily. This was just a tease. They desisted form the blow-job sand sat back on their petite haunches. From somewhere they girls produced a pair of vinyl gloves and each of them put one on. A tube of KY came out as well, and two of the most beautiful girls in the world squeezed some of the jelly into their gloves.
The KY had been warmed.
With expertise borne of experience they stroked his cock with their warm lubricated hands - pulling faces of ecstasy for his benefit, as if jerking off fat old guys was the sexiest thing they could imagine.
It was an incredible sensation; velvet, firm and moist with no danger of STDs. Bruce lasted not more than five or six strokes... The girls fell back to avoid getting struck by his spasming seed.
They looked at each and mumbled something (maybe: "That was short-time!") and smiled... They quickly slid off their gloves and the feigned looks of sexual arousement were removed just as promptly. Bruce didn't notice this as he was a mess of genuine post-ecstasy drooling slouching smiles... "Chi chi ladies, that was wonderful. Mm goi, kahp kun krup, salamat, telema kasi, thank you..."
They mopped him up with chilled face wipers - ooh-hoo, cold - and helped him do up his trousers.
Mamasan came in again, as if on cue, and spoke to the girls who quickly got dressed, tossed their tissues and gloves into the rubbish bin by the door and left the room. Presumably for the next room and next customer in their 14 hour shift. Bruce knew he was lucky to get such extended and continuous treatment by two of the best girls. Well not lucky, luck had nothing to do with it. But often the girls are required to "butterfly" on a busy night. They do a bit of cock-teasing in one room for ten minutes and then make an excuse like "Go to toilet," but actually head into another roomful of lusty drunken businessmen who have more cocks requiring their expensive type of teasing. Every twenty minutes or so they'd return. Even if nothing happened it was a minimum of $50 for every girl who sat on your lap and rubbed your crotch.
When Bruce and the two Chinese men were dressed, Mr John paid the Mamasan with a credit card. He knew that whatever the charge for the service he had received, it was doubled, not because of two girls, but as he was a foreigner. They then left the room and walked back into the gaudy foyer where several black-suited bouncers lounged around and where scantily dressed girls moved through quickly, looking for their next allocated room.
Behind the reception counter, there were several televisions. One was playing a sort-of amateur porno movie. A large guy with uncertain features in a grainy film shot in an under-lit room was getting a blow-job from two girls. He was in the corner of a large couch, square in the middle of the picture. The edge of a black lace G-string could be seen rising up between the pale buttocks of one of the girls, hiding part of a dragon tattoo in the small of her back, with light from a TV illuminating the fire flickering from the dragon's tongue...
The bouncer behind the desk switched it off when he saw Bruce glancing at the screen. "Happy sir?" he asked, with more than a trace of irony in his voice. "Evy-body happy?"
Bruce found a grisly piece of unidentified body-part from his herbal soup that was too unchewable and spat it onto the table top next to his bowl. He's been in Asia too long, I thought.
"I am sure that was me on the video." he said. "It must have been a QuickTime movie, because I certainly didn't last long. And you know, that hand-job was better than the best fifty fucks I've had since then. There's nothing like working with professionals."
I tipped my shot-glass to Bruce. He certainly knew how to find a good time.
"OK, so they do sort of stuff that in Taiwan, but that's not to say they do the same in Singapore, surely. Not in this straight-laced town."
"No, they do things differently here. No warmed KY, no gloves, just a flick of the wrist and pour of some water over their hands into the bin to wash off your spunk. Blow jobs no issue either, in the room, with everybody watching. Depends upon the girl, how far she'll go for her money. A lot of it is the same though. Any private acts or any actual fucking is usually done in the toilet stalls, with a $10 for the toilet attendant to direct people with more typical sanitary needs elsewhere for a few minutes. Usually, but not always. Oh, and often when buy your first bottle of whiskey, they'll give you a present, like shot glasses."
"Really?" I asked, taking another sip of whiskey.
"Really," replied Bruce.
OTHER MONKEYS SAID
There's a place in Phnom Penh called the Sophie's Club where you can (reportedly) receive similar service for free, and you only pay a dollar as a generous tip.
I recollect the mamsan at Sharkey's asking <del>me</del> Bruce for $30 USD!!!
The Orange Seller girls are more reasonable, yeah? Or out at 11k? Coupla bucks.
And all this is such a sad, sad story...
You must have looked like a very prosperous tourist. Not that I have any personal experience of this, but I've heard that the going rate at a place like Sharkeys would be around 10 bucks.
Yes, the price for those in the know (such as yourself!) was $10, but first-night-in-towners get the royal treatment.