Sitting alone in the apartment on a rainy day makes one nostalgic. Thank you OP for starting this thread. Not being able to go out, not even being able to leave town, one might as well search our memories for past rendezvous.
Eight or nine years ago I encountered a WG who went by the name of Prue Lee. I don't know whether if she is still in the scene (I highly doubt it). She is the most memorable, and the most special woman I have had the fortune to know. A petite Chinese girl, Ivy-league educated, having a professional job during the day and working as an escort, as a hobby, at night. Prue used to keep a blog which was graced by her photos (face blurred) and some seriously good writings. I mean, publishably good.
But these are not her best attributes. In the street she is your regular office worker, unsmiling, inconspicuously dressed, the type you usually meet in corporal meetings. The type you won't mind going out for a drink with after work. Nice petite body, soft skin and good kisser. She is non-GFE, non-PSE, non-everything. Going out with her was a bit like going out with Natalie Portman, the Chinese version, with her class, intelligence and well-hidden fragility.
But still these are not her best points.
The best thing about her is: She is the most good smelling and delicious woman I have ever met. She is blessed with some kind of genetic jackpot, that she has the perfect skin. She told me she had never used any hair and skin product, deodorant or perfume in her life. Her natural scent was intoxicating. Even now, after so many years, I am still getting mildly aroused when I am writing about her.
Once, after an intense session of smelling and tasting her, we were lying in bed. The amber rain signal was on. Listening to the rain and thunder in the dark, we chatted about our favourite Haruki Murakami novels (hers: Wind-up bird; mine: South of the border) and how I thought the writing style in her blog reminded of the Pillow Book by Sei Shōnagon.
So, there you have it. The best thing that happened during a punt: Smelling Prue Lee's hair on the day of subtropical monsoon, chatting about everything from favourite writers (hers: Paul Auster, mine: Philip Roth).
Two or three more things about this girl: One, we seldom ended up in bed. Our usual encounters were in a bar and chatting about work and books. I fully paid her for her time of course. Two, our favourite drinks: hers, Manhattan; mine: old-fashioned. Three, she had never read the pillow book. I actually ordered her a copy. I never got a chance to give it to her. She disappeared completely. Maybe it was just her social experiment. Maybe she had seen enough sadness in her clients (her words not mine). Or maybe she had been relocated elsewhere. She was fiercely private (understandably so). When she disappeared, she knows how to make sure you can't find her.
Once, in a bar, I leaned over to kiss her on her lips, for a brief minute. When our lips separated, they made a little smooch sound. It was a lifetime ago. My beautiful Prue Lee, your Pillow Book is still on my bookcase. Not sure you remember it, or me, though. It doesn't matter; wherever you are, I wish you all the happiness in the world. | |
