Reflections

Are the emotions displayed by the prostitutes any less real than those displayed by the sales clerks I interacted with?

The first half of this trip was very much by the book, standard sight-seeing.  Then I took the unexpected side road.

Somewhere during my research I read someone's comment that they had a readjustment of their views of economics and morality upon reaching Southeast Asia (I wish I could remember the phrasing), and I see what they mean.

I'd never been with a prostitute before, never had any visual of their life other than Hollywood's various interpretations.

They are people, you know.

The most common story was of someone coming to a country to work on their backs for some period of time, then going home.  Earning money for their family or education that they couldn't get at home.

H comes to mind first I suppose.  One night in KL I was walking a few blocks away from the mega-malls, enduring the constant refrain of "massage?" and "lady?" that was the theme song of the street.  One girl in yellow stepped in front of me, giving me the full sales pitch while I patiently tried to maneuver myself in position to get past her, which I finally did.

Across the street, as I was going in the other direction, a cute girl in green also stepped in front of me, with another pitch.  I don't know if I had been worn down, or if it was her peppy enthusiasm, but I said yes, ok.

She took me inside, and gave me a massage.  Well, that understates it greatly, but not in the way I imagine you're thinking, considering the context.  Besides using her decent massage skills on my back, she tickled me, giggled, lay on top of me, and for my part I teased her back, grabbing at her legs, tickling her back, tugging at her short shorts, finding the hole in the crotch of her pantyhose with my finger (going no further than that, mind you). It was playful, it was fun.  I said that I would massage her for, oh let's say thirty five, which was amusingly the amount I had given her.  As time wore on, I naturally agreed to the inevitable extra massage component.

As with the majority of sexual interactions on this trip, I did not come from her frenetic hand job.  As it became apparent to her that I would not "finish", she told me that she had a friend that could lay me, which she could not as a masseuse (there are rules, you know).  She asked if I wanted a f*ck, and I declined.  The playful banter continued, with the suggestion of meeting her friend repeated.  She said that she would pay her friend one hundred thirty of the two hundred I had given her for the extra services, and I would just have to pay one hundred more.  As I continued to say no, she said that she would walk me over where I could meet her friend, and decide then.  If I liked what I saw, I could go ahead, and if I didn't, goodbye and no problem.  She was a persuasive girl, in the way that playful giggling girls can be, and I finally agreed to this as well.

I got dressed, and her friend met us.  I would say that I decided to go ahead with going with her friend, but for some reason, none of any of my choices felt like decisions.  It was going with the flow, going with whatever situation Malaysia offered me.

Her friend, H, took my hand and led me to her hotel across the street. We went up to her room, which was homey, appropriately since it was her home.  I gave her one hundred, and she asked for fifty more.  We settled on the thirty that remained in my wallet. I was disappointed in the sense that I wasn't what I agreed to, but not surprised, as one constant of this trip was that I was a terrible negotiator, and everyone always asked for more money.

We undressed, and got onto her bedsheets.  I couldn't even get an erection, and after a short time called it off, smiling.  She told me to come back the next day, and I agreed.  Communication continued to be a problem, so I wasn't sure if this was going to be a freebie based on the lack of much of anything having been done, or if I'd be paying again, but I was going to come back.

Somewhere in my research, I had read that one could buy Cialis in KL over the counter at a particular pharmacy, no prescription asked.  I decided, and I think this counts as a decision rather than just going with the flow, to try it, to have a chance of avoiding the constant failure that was my signature theme this trip.

I went back to H's, Cialis in my bloodstream, and blood streaming in my thickened member.  I rode up in the elevator with a woman.  She gave me disapproving looks as it became apparent what my destination was, which was her neighbour H's room, of course.  She hurried to her room ahead of me, loudly locking the door.  With that chastening going through my head, I knocked on H's door, and she let me in.  It was obvious to me that I had woken her up, at 4 in the afternoon.  Which made sense, since she effectively has a night job, after all.  She asked for another one hundred fifty, which I gave her, and we again undressed and got into her bed.

H was more rounded, physically speaking, than the other girls I'd been with.  She wasn't fat, of course - overweight people are exceedingly rare in this part of the world. Her breasts were larger, softer.  Unlike the other girls, she had buttocks.  As I caressed her I noted the well-healed caesarian scar on her abdomen.  When she told me that she was 28, I mentally rounded it up to a probably early-30-something.  Her hair when she let it down was lightened to a brown and a bit frizzy.

We kissed, and unlike with anyone else I'd hired, we french kissed.  I kissed all over her body, and she pushed my head down to her crotch.  Mindful of the risks, I kissed around, kissed her thighs, but didn't lick exactly where directed.

So in the end, we did what we were there to do, of course.  When all was said and done, and I was indeed able to be "done" this time, she invited me to go for coffee the next day.

Let me repeat that. She invited me to go for coffee.

The next day came.  I wasn't sure if I was going to go.  It was a bit odd, I thought, to be invited for coffee.  To ensure safety, I mentally picked a place on the edge of the "massage? lady?" area, and made my way there late in the afternoon.  When I didn't get a reply to a text telling her that I was at the coffee shop, I decided to go to her hotel, and as I was on the two block walk she texted me that she was indeed there.

I knocked on her door, and she let me in.  She gave me a hug and kissed me.  I noticed and commented upon the "hot pot" dish cooking on her dresser, that it reminded me of the dark-haired girl who had introduced me to the style of cooking.  She asked me if I would like to make love before we went.

Let me repeat that.  She asked to make love.  No money involved or requested.

I was a little unsure due to the limited level of communication we shared, but either way I was happy to go along with the idea, paid or not.

We made love, and talked a bit in bed.

She had come from Hong Kong, and had English classes two mornings a week.  Her son was four, and going to be five in a couple of months, and she would return to Hong Kong for a couple of months to see him and her family. 

Afterward, she made it clear that I didn't have to pay, but I insisted anyway, saying she was trying to provide for her boy after all.  We got dressed, with her putting on wearing jeans and a tank top/t-shirt combination, and this reversible hot pink / shiny silver half jacket and asking me if it looked alright.

She held me hand, and we went for coffee.  Surprisingly, the fact that I had a women on the end of my arm did not entirely stop the sales pitches, and three or four times on that walk to the coffee shop I was asked if I wanted a massage.

I bought the coffee, and we talked about our families.  She has a divorced sister (divorced since her husband strayed), and a brother.  She had a friend that had offered to take her to Canada where she could immigrate through marriage, but she declined and chose Malaysia instead since Canada would not let her parents come see her, or live with her.

After a couple of hours, I walked her back to her hotel, and we said goodbye in the lobby.  I texted her that "it was a pleasure" later, and she replied with smile and kiss emoticons.

In the end, I'm not sure if she would have asked me on a second date even if I weren't leaving the next day, but I would have liked to have seen her again.  Not in an intense sense, but in a mellow "she's ok, isn't she?  I like her..." kind of way.

Coda

Education comes in many forms.

On this trip, I met people, and at least half of the people I most enjoyed meeting had non-traditional ways of making their money.  Collecting cardboard, f*cking strangers.

I had to ask myself:  Who are we in the middle class to judge them with moral harshness or pity them because of what they do to survive?  Or to judge those (such as myself in this case) that are on the demand part of the equation?

The world is always a bit more complicated than we see it.

But most people are good, given the chance.  And I like meeting people.