Here's one from me, fifteen years ago, damn, gettin' old...
The Forlorn Condom: Mongkok 2003
http://forum.sex141.com/eforum/viewthread.php?tid=28353
NOTE: I wrote this in 2003 when i was living in Bangkok and in Hong Kong on a visa-run.
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Here's a tale of hobbying in Mongkok--a district of Hong Kong that I enjoy for its lurid neon, vibrant streetlife and urban Asian ambience. Ya want a chandelier or a squiggly neon energy-saving bulb, there are plenty of lighting shops. Ya want some boiled pig innards or a mahjong table? But when you pass the cooked-food center on Shanghai Street you are in the thick of it: lovely young mainland lasses frisking to and fro. I catch their eyes, they smirk. If I could manage a few sentences in Putonghua I might attempt to book an appointment. But I might fail in any case, as this area is run by [NAME REDACTED]--they arrange everything, they are polite, they smoke too much but they are good businesspeople and you are welcomed everywhere.
There are establishments every ten meters on some blocks of this district. They have signs--usually purple or yellow--with numbers, and though the SARS "menace" has been vanquished, biz across HK seems to be off, so the prices are a bit lower.
I stayed in Yau Ma Tei, which is close to Mongkok, and never have I seen so many streetwalkers in this district. It's pretty entertaining at night these days--anywhere around the far end of the Temple Street market, side streets, all over the place, mainland Chinese women lounge on the greasy humid sidewalks.
Still, as a non-fluent gwailo, I stick to the establishments. Decor varies, as does the talent. I've had to send 'em back, and I've had them stick one foot inside the door, see I'm a gwailo and literally run away. But now, it seems to be a buyer's market. In any case, the guys at the front are friendly and try to set you up.
In a row of "270" places, I select a "300" place that advertises 45 minutes. The place is nicely decorated: soft lighting, new marble, round shower stall in the inevitably tiny room. I ask the guy for a "slim Chinese girl," he says it'll be 350, I say sign says 300, he points out that's for "Malaysian" girls. So what. My flight doesn't leave until 22:30, I had to check out of the hotel at noon, and I've been running around all day doing errands. I've got a change of clothes in my bag, and I want some young mainland Guest Relations Officer to soap me silly, align my erotic chakras and send me on my way with a smile.
The guy says "I try to find a Chinese girl for you" and takes off. I take off my shoes and recline. The TV is showing, not the inevitable porn, but a local channel--a relief. The air-con feels good.
A knock on the door and the guy arrives with three black-haired honeys, they arrange themselves in room/doorway/hallway (the rooms are quite small and you're always in close proximity). I look them over, and enjoy the assortment. Sometimes they just bring one girl, now there's three and they all look good. I pick the one with the goofiest smile and the nicest cleavage. Everyone else leaves. we exchange pleasantries in whatever Chinese dialect I can manage (she speaks zero English, usually the case) and she strips off.
I'm often amazed at how large and lovely Chinese breasts can be. Omigawd, these were stellar. Did Mao know about this? If so, then what the hell was all that Great Leap Forward nonsense about? Breasts are starting to short-circuit my brain. Again.
I start playing with them. She's into it, but indicates we should shower up. OK OK.
Scrub-a-dub-dub and onto the too-short bed flanked on three sides and ceiling with mirrors. This girl is marvelously aggressive. Soon she's performing the "Poison Dragon" with skill and power--I wonder what Sifu taught her these sexual martial arts. She switches to virtuoso "flute-playing" and watches herself in the mirror. I am enjoying this.
OK, grab that condom. Good plan as I'm about to lose it with this laughing, ferocious creature with the dynamite jugs. She's got freckles, rare for an Asian girl. The sides of her nose crinkles when she laughs. She's short and slim and has a great ass. And did I mention those frontal lobes?
Now it's time for the ol' yougetontopofme/ohnononobuddy, YOU get on top debate, which I always lose. She plants herself on the smooth mattress and I stare down at freckles and all. OK, just a second here, I'm going to lick those nipples. Just a sec.
Chinese pubic hair is, in general, a lovely sight. I wish I had about 45 hours with this girl.
About 0.8 seconds remain until entry. The phone rings.
Wot..de...FOCK?!? Why is the phone ringing? What possible goddam reason could there be for a phone call at this point?
She picks up the phone, listens for three seconds, look of alarm, says to me "Gau-jon." I ask what?, she repeats the phrase. Hops off the bed and grabs, first, her bra, and sheaths those beauties. Then other articles of clothing are going on. This is all wrong.
I have not moved, I am still there on all fours, wearing nothing but a condom, as if she was still underneath me. I refuse to move. She gets her clothes on, waves sorry, and exits.
I'm alone in this room.
We'd established that I speak a bit of Cantonese, and I know the Cantophrase for "police" and I bet she did too. Plus, I have been in a HK guesthouse when the HK police arrive and it's not a serene event (this was in '93 in Mirador Mansions, when they were enforcing a building-code regulation: 5:00AM, sound asleep, an entire squad entered this tiny guesthouse banging their fists on every surface and screaming PASSPORT! PASSPORT! at the top of their lungs, not subtle). So, I'm confused, but not worried. I am, however, extremely horny.
I grab some tissue paper, peel off the condom and toss it in the waste bin next to its gold foil wrapper. The condom sits there.
The Lament of the Condom: "imported all the way from the USA, to perform my glorious brief task inside some heavenly Asian cooze, to be the butterfly for a fleeting moment but now because of "Gau-jon" I fail in my duties." The condom is forlorn.
I pull on my shorts and recline. I don't know what's going on. But I'm not leaving. Someone can come knock on the door and tell me what the fuck's up. I have time to make my flight. I watch the non-porn channel.
Knock. The guy is there with two straw-colored-hair honeys in black minidresses. I can't choose, they're both cute as hell. I pick one, then as the other one turns to leave, I note she has more interesting cleavage. I change my mind and pick her. This process took about 20 seconds. She's in the room, the door is shut, and we grin at each other.
Miss Tang, she speaks a tiny amount of English. I love the hair color. She peels off her clothes and damn, another just fabulous, brain-boiling pair of breasts. Half the size of the previous occupant, but large and firm and shapely. She has a wonderful body, taller than Miss Gau-jon.
I want to play with her breasts, but she indicates she's ticklish. Some women like their breasts played with, some don't. At this point, it's not a prime factor. Into the shower we go where I am scrubbed again.
We exit and towel off. She points to the waste bin where Forlorn Condom sits next to its gold foil exoskeleton, then points to me questioningly. I shake my head no, no ma'am, I have noooooo idea where that came from.
I recline and she launches into a marvelous and vigorous blowjob. She looks me in the eyes. Then her eyes slide sideways so she can check herself out in the mirror.
I wonder if I should be visiting HK more often. And, I congrat myself on always bringing a spare condom.
Yougetontopofme/ohnononobuddy, YOU get on top. She plants herself and looks up at me. I stare down. Only the hair atop her head has been colored. Chinese pubic hair is a lovely sight. OK, I'm going to lick those nipples. Just a sec. She's more relaxed now. Tissue self-erects under my tongue.
Finally, "Condom II: The Sequel" performs its allotted function. We switch positions (never a breeze in these MKK cubes) and there are no problems, just fun, frolic, shuddering culmination.
Tissues and waste bin. She takes a look, glances at me, laughs and points a finger. Then holds up two fingers in a V-sign. I grin and shrug. What can I say?
Scrubbed again.
She puts her sheaths back on, touches up her makeup and is out the door. I dress in my nice clean clothes, smiling at the evening's events.
In the lobby, I ask what happened. "Oh," says the guy, "no problem, she (indicating second girl I presume) has ID." So, who knows. He asks how the service was, I say great, and ask for a name card. They give me one, with a map to the place "PALACE CLUB" it's called, as if that matters).
I pay HK$350 and saunter toward my hotel.
Jack
August 8, 2003 | |
