Foreign Affairs

by Jacqueline George

  Debbie groaned and pushed herself upright. “Do I have to go? I'm jet-lagged.”

  “Yes.” Pat was merciless. “How can you possibly go to Bangkok and not see Patpong? And besides, I need you to hold my hand.”

  The night air felt cooler as their tuktuk zipped through back streets to avoid the traffic. It dropped them off on one of the main streets and they strolled into the bright lights of Patpong. Here was the Mecca that brought randy men from all corners of the world to Bangkok. At first sight it appeared very civilised. The glaring neon was loud and brash, but that was the intention. The bars and cabarets clamoured for attention on both sides of the small streets. Down the centre of the main strip a line of market stalls squeezed in, selling cheap souvenirs and tee-shirts. Being female, they made straight for the stalls and were soon comparing purses, belts and headscarves. Around them passed a good-natured crowd of Thais and tourists, all out for fun. Looking into the bars, she could see a few men drinking under the coloured lights, watching beautiful dancing girls. The girls all wore just enough to cover their vital parts, but no more. They danced at chrome poles reaching from floor to ceiling. The girls swung, gyrated and posed around their poles. Their enthusiasm varied from bar to bar.

  It all appeared to be, Debbie decided, very low key. Not tasteful— that would be going too far—but relaxed and laid back. She supposed that in the sex capital of the world, naughtiness could not exist. On the contrary, being naughty was normal and expected behaviour, and so lost some of its zest.

  There were degrees of acceptability, however. As they browsed, young men with palm-sized business cards pestered them. They invariably asked, “You like pussy smoking?” The cards listed a variety of unusual sights, but Pat refused them without hesitation. “My German told me about them. They're not here, and you'd better be in company if you go. We'll stay here with everyone else.” Pussy smoking, thought Debbie. What can they mean? Surely not, I mean, how could you possibly? They must be made differently. I'm sure I never could. Or are they talking about something else?

  “Here it is.” Pat had found the place she was looking for, the Powder-Puff Club. It did not look too enticing. A lurid neon sign at first floor level flashed out its name and a hopeful representation of a powder puff. At the ground floor level there was only a narrow door and beyond a flight of steps rising out of sight. A blackboard carried the chalk message ‘Singha/Kloster 50 baht’ to reassure drinkers that at least the local beers were not outrageously over-priced. “Let's go in. You don't have to pay.”

  Now that they had found it, Debbie felt reluctant to enter. “No, not yet. Let's walk around a bit more.” She felt embarrassed for her refusal.

  Pat looked at her thoughtfully for a moment and agreed. “OK. As long as you promise to take me eventually.”

  “Take you, little sister? I thought you were taking me.”

  “Oh, no. You're coming along to chaperone me, otherwise who knows what might happen? Come on, chaperone, we'll walk around a bit more, but then I want to see the fun.”

  Their wandering brought them back to the narrow doorway in no time at all, and this time Debbie allowed herself to be led up the stairs. The room they entered was a shock. They emerged from the stairwell into a large, dimly lit space, and in front of them posed a naked girl. She was one of three. They posed on a narrow stage that ran the length of the wall to their right. Three beautiful, naked girls, each having a bath. They knelt in individual tubs made from cut-down wooden barrels and languorously scooped foamy suds over themselves. Overhead shone single spotlights so that each girl knelt in a shaft of white light. Pat and Debbie stood in silence staring at the girls.

  So beautiful. So delicate. Heavy black hair caressed their shoulders as they went through the motions of soaping themselves. Their faces carried thoughtful expressions, no more, and they seemed unaware of their audience. Soft music filled the room, but they did not take up its rhythm. They were so near. Debbie could have reached out and touched the nearest one. She stared in fascination at her small breasts with their tight dark points, at her lithe body moving sinuously, the dark of her navel and the slight flare down to boyish hips. The girl turned to them and stared back. Then she gave a shy smile and raised herself up out of the foam. Debbie could not stop her eyes from dropping to the foam-covered shadow between her thighs.

  With a light touch on her elbow, an usher guided them in. The rest of the room held a very large, rectangular bar set as an island in the centre and circling another stage, currently empty. It was surrounded by men, foreigners and a few Thais, all with drinks in front of them. The tables by the walls were also busy. Here and there sat some women, all foreigners, laughing and joking with their partners, but clinging possessively to them all the same. No one showed the slightest interest in Pat and Debbie.

  Behind the bar and weaving in and out of the crowd were more Thai girls, as beautiful as the ones on stage. They all wore the uniform of the club, which, in keeping with the bath time scene on the stage, was no more than a nightie, a simple slip barely reaching their thighs. The smallness and transparency of the nighties made their wearers seem even more naked and whenever a girl walked past, Debbie found herself staring.

  They sat themselves at the end of the bar facing the stage and before they could settle, they were pounced on by two of the hostesses. Debbie felt a small hand on her arm and, looking down from her barstool, found a pretty girl looking back up at her. “Hello. I Pook. What you drink?”

  “Er – hello. I'll have a beer, please.”

  “Singha? Kloster? Or you like Australian beer? You no know? OK, I give you Singha, it more cheap. And you buy something for me, OK?”

  “As long as it's not too much...,” Debbie started uncertainly.

  “No problem. Only fifty baht, and I care for you. Not too much.” She turned to the bar to order. To her right Debbie saw her little sister had also found a friend. A willowy girl was draped over her shoulder and they were chattering.

  “Hey, Debbie. Meet Kim. She's from Chiangmai, and she says all the prettiest girls come from there.” Kim smiled shyly and offered a slim hand to her. She was certainly beautiful, wherever she came from.

  “You're very beautiful,” said Debbie. “And you, Pook. You're both so beautiful that I feel awful.”

  “But you more beautiful than me. Your hair, so beautiful.” Pook set the drinks on the bar and reached up to take the clips out of her red hair. It fell about her shoulders, and Debbie shook her head. Pook said something in Thai to Kim and then both of them were standing behind her, brushing out her hair with their hands, holding it up and feeling the fineness of it. “So beautiful,” repeated Pook. “I want my hair like this.”

  Debbie turned and slipped her hand around the back of Pook's neck. As she lifted it, the heavy black curtain of Pook's hair washed over her forearm. The sharp contrast of the silky blackness with her white English skin deserved a photograph. How could Pook possibly be discontented?

  As trusting as a child, Pook came to her and reached up to spread Debbie's hair on her shoulders. Her warm body rested lightly against Debbie's thigh, and she smiled happily. Debbie realised with a shock that she still had her arm around the girl's shoulders. She would have withdrawn it but for the fear of being rude. She looked over at Pat and Kim. They were both watching her. Kim was leaning up against Pat and she had one hand on her thigh. They looked like old friends, and Debbie could see her sister's hand peeping around Kim's slim waist. She had a wicked smile on her face.

  The volume and tempo of the music suddenly increased. “Look!” directed Pook. The girls on stage were reaching the end of their bath time. They stood up in their tubs and water showered down from the ceiling, twinkling in their spotlights. Against the dark background, they posed like goddesses in shafts of light. They stretched and preened themselves as the water washed the last of the foam from their bodies and left them completely nude. Now that the soap had gone, they looked even more perfect, and Debbie's gaze was drawn to the neat trim
of black fur at the base of each flat belly.

  Her stomach leaped as she realised that she, a well brought up English lady, was staring at three beautiful women showing their bodies off to make money. Just prostitutes, she supposed, although they did not look like “just” anything. Only three women who deserved to be admired, and who took admiration in their stride. They filed off the stage to enthusiastic applause. They had to walk the length of the room to reach the staff exit, and they seemed smaller as they passed the bar, smiling in answer to their applause. “You like?” asked Pook at her elbow.

  “They're very pretty. Fantastic. Do you do that?”

  “Sometimes. I like be at the bar more better. I like talk to people. Finish your beer, and you buy me something more.”

  Debbie laughed at her simplicity. “Here. I give you a hundred baht, and you take care of me, right? But no more beer.”

  Pook pouted. “You give me money to go away. I no like. I want stay with you.”

  “OK, OK. You stay with me. But take the hundred baht anyway.”

  She was happy again and all smiles. “I like you too much. What is your name?” She squeezed herself between the bar and Debbie's stool and wriggled in between her knees. She turned to look at Pat and Kim with satisfaction all over her face. “Good. You very nice lady.”

  It was impossible not to touch the lively figure in front of her. She was too close to avoid. And besides, she felt good to touch, and her perfume smelled enticing. Next to her, Pat got off her stool and moved it closer, trapping Kim between them. Their tight female knot was at once cosy and exciting. “Look!” commanded Pook again. “Now they make love.”

  A couple was climbing onto the stage in the centre of the bar. The girl was not the prettiest in the room by any means. Her hair was bobbed, and she had a thick waist with a bit of a tummy. Debbie wondered if she was pregnant. She was completely nude. Her companion was a wiry man with slightly European features. He wore white underpants.

  Without delay or artifice, the girl knelt in front of him and pulled down his underwear. His penis was limp and unexpectedly large. Debbie watched, repelled and at the same time fascinated, as the girl reached for it and started to suck it to attention. It grew rapidly in her mouth and when she felt she had done all she could, she moved back. It looked a respectable size, much bigger than Debbie would have guessed by looking at its owner. It was pointing threateningly at his partner. They started a ritual, a sequence of giving and receiving caresses. They performed a lifeless routine that they had obviously gone through frequently, and no longer found arousing. Facing all sides of the room in turn, they posed and showed off their bodies until it was time for the next step. The girl lay down, and the man slowly forced his way in. Debbie winced in sympathy. She hoped the girl had been generous with the baby oil, or it must surely have hurt in her unexcited state. Slowly the couple went through an acrobatic routine gathered from the Kama Sutra or from Indian temple carvings. Whatever else they might be, thought Debbie, they were certainly supple. She would not have believed it possible to make love in some of the positions they demonstrated. Taking their lead from the actors, the rest of the room remained unmoved, and the chattering continued.

  “You like?” asked Pook, watching her closely.

  “No. Not much. It's boring.”

  “Yes. Never mind. Now we all dance for you, you wait. This will be more better. And then we go to your hotel, and I give you number one massage.”

  “No—I....” But Pook was already leaving. Two of the barmen had set a narrow gangplank from the bar to the island stage, and all the girls in the room climbed onto the bar and filed across it. As they went, they pulled their nighties over their heads and threw them down. The music heated up, and the stage became a wild tangle of nude bodies gyrating to the heavy beat. The mass of dancing girls rotated around the stage. The audience stared up at the profusion of heavenly bodies swaying above them. The sisters stared too. It was impossible not to be drawn to the variety of beautiful figures—their infinitely different pairs of breasts and the shadowed places between their legs. Some had a dusting of black hair, and others had been completely cleaned. All of them demurely hid secrets in the dark between their thighs.

  Debbie reached for Pat. “Mine wants to come back to the hotel.”

  “I think we'd better leave,” said Pat thickly as she started to climb off her stool. As they left, Debbie turned. Pook watched her from the stage, reaching out her arms. Pat was acting strangely and wanted to hurry back to the Nana. Debbie fell in with her and took the lead in finding a proper taxi to take them home.

  When they finally lay in bed together, neither of them felt like sleeping. Debbie turned the dimmer switch up enough to see Pat's face. “I wonder what a number one massage is like.”

  “She means she would make love to you as well. Kim wanted to do it, too.”

  “Really? Surely not. I mean....”

  “Of course. How do you think they earn their living? I expect picking up a couple of girls like us would be a pleasant change from some of the drunken old men they get. If you hadn't been my chaperone, I might have agreed.”

  “What! You mean you would have let her make love to you? A woman? You're joking!” Embarrassment crept over Debbie as she realised she was not sure. Little sister might just be serious. “I'm sorry. I mean, it doesn't matter. If you wanted to, I mean. I wouldn't mind, honestly. It's just that, oh, it's just that I'm surprised, that's all.” Pat looked back at her, not giving her a hint to help her along. “I mean, I've never done it with a woman. But I don't mind if you.... Have you ever done it with a woman?”

  “Yes. And it's good. There, that's shocked you.”

  “Oh, no. No, it hasn't. Well, yes. It has, really. Who did you do it with?”

  “I've got a couple of friends back home, John and Sonya. I wrote to you about them. I make love with them, sometimes one, sometimes the other and sometimes both together.” Pat spoke as if her behaviour was perfectly normal, but her sister struggled to get her mind around the idea.

  “I can't believe it. I mean, what do you do? To each other? I mean, how do you do it?”

  Pat laughed at her confusion. “There's still a lot you can do without a man, you know. And it's longer and more gentle. Completely different. More giving and receiving.” Pat rolled onto her back and put her hands behind her head. “I was surprised, too, at first. I'd never done anything like that before. But if you really like someone, it's natural that you should want to play with them and give them pleasure, and let them play with you. But I don't think I'll give up men. I want them, too, but not just now. John and Sonya are just great. They're all I need.”

  Debbie lay in silence for a while, digesting the news. After a while, a thought struck her. “Christ, and I've been sleeping with you! I didn't realise the risk.”

  That made Pat sit up. “Oh, no. Not you.” She reached out and touched her sister's shoulder. “You're different. I couldn't make love to you. It wouldn't be right.”

  Debbie laughed. “I know that, stupid! I'm just pulling your leg. From a safe distance, of course.” They lay quite, immersed in their thoughts. As she drifted towards sleep, Debbie murmured, “I'm sorry, Sis. I made you miss your number one massage. I wouldn't have minded. Honest. Now that you've told me, I wouldn't mind trying one myself, if you are there to hold my hand.” She fell into dreams of interminable tuktuk rides holding the hand of a girl whose face changed at random from Pat to Pook and back again.

  Next day they set off to the sun and sand of Phuket. Pat had found a place in some idyllic chalets on an old plantation outside Patong. The tiny huts nestled at the foot of the hills only fifty metres from the beach. Coconut palms waved overhead and a rubber plantation reached right down the slope behind them. Days slipped by as they buzzed from place to place around the island on rented motorbikes. It was a microcosm of South-East Asia with every sort of plantation beside the road, and small prosperous villages full of friendly people.

  Entertainment w
as easy to find at night. Patong had many bars and restaurants, and everyone had the time and inclination to talk. Except the single men. There were many of them around, but they were all permanently attached to either a beer bottle or a little brown Thai girl. For once, the sisters found themselves completely upstaged. They spent pleasant evenings with the women who managed the chalets, with bar-girls in town, with visiting couples from the grand hotels, but no men tried their luck.

  It was a strange situation for both of them, being ignored by men. An old American engineer explained it to them one afternoon on the beach. He loved Patong life so much he had retired there.

  “I just wander around all day, then go to bed for a few hours. I get up around eight at night and then off to town. There's always something going on, and the folks are real nice to foreigners. Not just because we have a few dollars to spend, but because they're nice people. And the girls are really smart, along with looking good. They know how to take care of themselves and save their money. You can do business with them. They stand right up to you, and if they fancy you, they'll tell you. None of this pussy-footing around like at home. None of this you-buy-me-dinner-and-I'll-let-you-pat-my-fanny stuff that you have to go through to get close to an American girl.

  “I'll tell you what's the funniest thing in town, though maybe you girls figured it out already. It's the American girls—Brits and Germans too, I guess—who come over here acting like they do back home. You know, sitting around and expecting men to come chasing after them. Course, it just doesn't happen here. A man'd be crazy to go through all that suffering just to end up with a dumb, home-town girl who doesn't know what it's for. There's so many Thai girls about, and they do know how to have fun, believe me.