A piece of cake
I celebrated completing my degree in 1977 by taking a trip to South East Asia. I was on a train heading into Bangkok three days after my R&R finished on a Penang beach at the end of January 1978.
Lena and Leise were stored as delectable memories as the carriage rattled on the tracks. I reclined on a comfy leather seat that doubled as my bed during a meandering rail journey. The perks of first-class travel added to my mood of relaxation, a compartment to myself.
I munched fresh roasted peanuts purchased from a hawker as the train rolled north. Through my window, lush tropical greenery dotted with distinctive, stunning karsts continually sped past.
A jungle-covered pair rising like breasts made me reflect on Lena and Leise. Bikinis, a batik factory and the snake temple were recalled. As a scorched nutty smell pervaded the compartment, the stunning karsts became a flowing shape viewed from the train window as the rail track curved away.
As the lush breast-shaped karsts disappeared, an architectural comparison popped into my head. I fancied Lena and Leise as Absolute World, Ontario. The sinuous, sensuous twin residential towers represented the girls in seductive motion.
The train stopped late in the afternoon at the Bangkok Central City Station. I checked my travel bag, ready to exit the carriage and begin my journey.
A clean-shaven man in a short-sleeved white shirt propped himself confidently at my sleeper compartment door.
He scoped my character.
Young and single, cashed and headed to a city known for sex work.
"What girls do you like?" he smoothly asked, his eyebrows flashing cocky, his voice even cockier.
He reached into his well-pressed tan trouser pocket and released a cigarette case. He flipped the metallic gold case and offered me a smoke. I declined, but I stood fixed, not lifting my travel bag off the train seat, watching him take a filtered cigarette and light it, flicking a matching gold lighter.
I instantly knew my skeleton and skin were dispensable to him if I ignored his bait.
"Young guy, you need a girl. Follow me," he completed a full drawback, and the smoke escaped through his pursed lips.
He gave me a thinking time before he swung his cigarette hand down the train corridor and used the tip of the smoke to indicate follow now.
His slicked hair shone neatly with Brylcreem; it matched his perfectly nuggeted black leather loafers. He pigeonholed himself proudly as a pimp from head to toe, nothing more so than the excess of rings on his fingers.
I joined the handles of my bag, gripped them and released them in turn.
He smirked, reading my character as his income skill; he confronted no frisky Siamese fighting fish, only a jittery guppy.
"Ah, shy boy, the ladies love the silent guys. Whatever you fancy, I can make it happen today."
He lured me, hook, line and sinker.
He offered girls as a master of ego building— framing a line-up in a bordello.
"Secret DD fan, no problem," he grinned, shaping big boobs with his ringed cigarette-baton swaying hands.
My excessive blinking urged him on, seeking my dirty choice.
"Sexy toes," he started as he wet his lips, ready to expand on his inventory of smut.
"Long hair," I sputtered, wrecked by how he had read my quiet demeanour.
"Come with me," he reeled me in like Josh did a fish.
"I will get you a girl with long hair."
He was already moving through the train to the carriage exit as I swung my bag and followed like a puppy on a short leash.
"Dark hair," I added, speaking to his back.
Lacking a pre-booked hotel and a planned schedule, I drifted to opportunism.
He pointed and steered a route through the station as he bantered in general about the city hot spots and the after-dark live sex clubs to attend.
I chose Bangkok to see the sights and experience the culture. Yet ten minutes after exiting the terminal, I slumped in a private car on my way to hooking up. I recall thinking that Josh would have appreciated the classic style and space of the Mercury Monterey.
The pimp leisurely invited me as he drove, "Help yourself to a shot of Mekhong; it's in the glove box."
Confused, I queried, "Mek-what?"
He grinned and flashed a gold filling, dropping the glove box open.
"It's Thai alcohol. Drink it neat, Mekhong!"
I saw the amber gold liquid in its half-pint bottle.
"No, thanks," I gave an assertive decline and clicked the glove compartment closed.
Rest absorbed my attention, though I appreciated the style and texture of the vehicle's wooden dashboard. I was a tad nervy with the pimp's brazen driving skills as he cocksure weaved in and out of traffic mayhem spinning the large steering wheel.
Eventually, he stopped in a narrow street with an alleyway of doors. The doors were mismatched in peeling colours yet merged eerily similar. They were all wooden, and I assumed solid, though weather-beaten. None gave a welcoming impression like a home door.
The pimp drew my attention to his open hand. He extended it directly at me.
"A girl for you for sixty US dollars a day," he had stated this previously at the train station.
I paid, comfortable, as I opened my money belt, glad there was no additional price haggling.
His fingers rubbed, folded my bills in half and slipped the cash into his shirt pocket. He patted his pocket.
"Relax. Take the back seat. Get to know the girl."
He eased around the car and opened the passenger door. In a quick movement, I occupied the back seat. I realised the pimp didn't mean— the girl's life story — or her name. His fingers shaped the universal 'feel her up' sign as he shut the door for me.
The rear seat in the stylish car was spacious, with plenty of room for me to stretch out my legs. Glancing up and down the one-way lane, the doors fixed my attention. The pimp entered one towards the middle of the row. When opened, a chink of dense darkness was revealed — stripper club murky.
He closed himself behind a slab of blackness.
I gauged my stupid decision, paying sight unseen—long dark hair, nothing else.
I wasn't suspicious of the pimp, even if I should have been—particularly his smarmy flattery to part me easily from my cash.
My decision-making frustrated me; I often gave others the lead in my life.
I adjusted my money belt, which had slipped uncomfortably lower in my pants as I rezipped it after paying for the girl.
The pimp squinted as he re-emerged from the obscurity to intense light. His gold tooth glinted as the sun hit his open mouth. He talked to the girl. The pimp blocked my view of her, but I craned, peeking.
The dude offhanded mentioned his name at the station. It strayed, devoid of rapport.
As the girl's face remained concealed, I rolled and shuffled on the seat.
Glimpses of dark hair renewed my curiosity.
The pimp, again blinded my view as he opened the rear door.
The girl clambered in beside me. She looked at me without meeting my eyes; I thought to judge her space as she compacted herself beside me, her legs together in short pants.
Her sandalled toes pointed straight ahead like her eyes.
I offered no words to relax her or a gesture of interest in her.
Yet I collected an impression of jet black, fringed and tapered hair and a glowing olive complexion. She wore cut-off jeans, termed hot pants, street-girl style, exposing soft thighs. She scrunched a small bag on her lap, her hands folded over it, hiding a plain T-shirt.
My body and mind flagged passively next to the girl.
"Let's find you a hotel," the pimp coaxed, grinning at me in the rear-view mirror and raising his eyebrows.
My body loafed, my mind drained blank by an extended train journey. I did not think of providing a spicy show for him, like groping her or pashing her or even seeking her hand.
Ruby was right; I mulled; I was hopeless around girls!
I forced my eyes to the girl's sandals rather than confront what Coral would say about what I was currently doing.
In hindsight, my detachment from lewd instant enjoyment perplexed the pimp as he drove recklessly close and fast between cars with his hand fused to a honking horn.
The car screeched to an abrupt halt outside an off-city-centre hotel.
The pimp waved at the doorman as he jumped from the car.
While a bustling, tidy place, it dipped a couple of stars below my hotel in Penang. The doorman opened the Monterey, and the girl and I slid out.
Immediately, I spotted a score of foreign guys and Thai girls in their arms or hands groping, lounging in the foyer and the adjacent hotel bar.
I focused on reception and booking a room for six days.
My peripheral vision saw the pimp talking to the girl. His darting tongue reminded me of a lizard as he lit a cigarette, and his weasel face wormed closer to hers as he spoke, blowing smoke near her ear.
Their unheard conversation was pushed aside as I tapped my fingers, waiting for a room key.
On receiving it, I leisurely checked my company. The bling dude had withdrawn and disappeared. The girl stood where he spoke to her, clutching her bag. Completely inexpressive.
I indicated the lift.
Christ, did she know any English?
The elevator rose, and inside, two individuals planted adjacent, the girl and me.
I said nothing.
She followed my lead along an uninspiring hotel hallway.
The long-haired girl kept pace, a step behind me.
I entered a hotel room. I summed the room with a cursory skim. It contained the basics: a double bed, a bar fridge, and blank white walls. I dropped my travel bag inside the door.
The girl placed her bag on a shelf at the front of the room.
Taking her hand, I guided her to the bed.
Easy.
A piece of cake.
No words need to be spoken in paid sex.