She also liked visiting cafes for ice cream or a cup of chocolate, but most of all so she could just sit and enjoy the feeling of being rich and comfortable. Debbie's heart went out to her.
They stopped at the hotel only long enough to drop their purchases, and then Pook took the lead to a small restaurant where she fed Debbie spicy prawn soup that cost only a tenth of what she expected. Then they went looking for souvenirs and presents that Debbie could take home, including an elegant silk cravat for Kevin, chosen by Pook.
“He will like this? Good. Then I will bring one more when I come to you.” She was quite sure she would be meeting him. “You think he like me?”
Oh, yes, thought Debbie, he will like you very much. With his enthusiasm for ladies, having Pook around the house would be a major strain for him.
As the day went on, Debbie found herself looking at Pook with searching eyes. It was the cravat that started it. She found herself wondering just what Kevin would think of her, how he would size her up. What did men find attractive about girls like that? She was pretty, that was sure, and her hair looked beautiful. But she did not have a figure to speak of, and men's magazines showed that most preferred size over elegance.
Perhaps men were more subtle and looked deeper, but Debbie doubted it. Perhaps they could catch the animation, the excitement and light that came from the way Pook moved. She was certainly exciting, and Debbie began to wonder when they would get back to their room. Debbie wanted to pull that little top off over her head and push the little jeans miniskirt aside. Take off the borrowed panties and...that was it, of course. Pook was pretty, beautiful even, animated, attractive, colourful, all of those things and, as a crowning glory, she was openly available for Debbie to reach out and take. Just for Debbie. She decided they should return to the hotel straight away.
Freed from her earlier shame, Debbie found their lovemaking calmer and sweeter than the night before. She lay back and watched Pook ministering to her as if in a dream. Pook loved to take her, to pillage the body that lay open for her and to steer Debbie from pleasure to pleasure. She was less inclined to accept Debbie's caresses. She allowed Debbie to explore her body, to probe her pink flower with her tongue and flick lightly over her sensitive bud, but as Debbie started to provoke an orgasm, she would roll back on top and destroy Debbie's concentration by returning the treatment.
She took great pleasure in watching Debbie's face as the spasms of her impending climax took control. She liked to lie with one of her slim thighs pressing into the groove of Debbie's sex. She would gyrate there, gently at first and then speeding up as her friction started to take effect. All the time she would look into Debbie's eyes, watching the slide into helplessness. Debbie was conscious of Pook's own wetness mouthing against her thigh as the dance went on, but by the time Pook came, her own orgasm had blotted out everything else. Pook would bury her face in Debbie's neck, still dancing, and cry out as she joined Debbie on the summit. As the evening darkened outside, their loving became slower and more languid until they both slept.
At some time during the dark of the night, Debbie woke from a deeply erotic dream. She was conscious of a great wave of excitement gathering inside her and realised that Pook must have been making love to her for some time. Her sex felt full and hungry for Pook's probing. Half delirious with pleasure, she raised herself on her elbows and looked down the bed. Her legs were flung wantonly open, and Pook knelt between them. In the half-light, the white of her stomach and thighs shone against the darker brown of Pook's body.
Aware that Debbie had woken, Pook looked up with a mischievous grin. Debbie's senses reeled as the groundswell of pleasure built up. She stared down the length of her body at the busy figure between her legs. There, below her tuft of ginger hair, Pook was doing something to her that stirred her deep inside. She raised herself up further so that she could see what was happening between her legs. Between her outstretched thighs she saw Pook's delicate arm, moving rapidly back and forth. For a moment Debbie could not comprehend what she was seeing. Pook's hand was out of sight, buried to the wrist and more inside her and stirring her depths. She stared stupefied at the moving arm for an instant, and then with a wail collapsed back on the bed. The earthquake struck, and she seized Pook between her legs and shook her back and forth as she doubled up and stretched out convulsively. Pook clung on tightly as she tried to ride the storm.
As she came to herself, Debbie was amazed at the violence that had shaken her. She lay limply with occasional shudders of delight running through her. Gingerly, Pook slid her hand out and looked at it as if surprised to see no damage. Debbie's sex gave little spasms and felt as if it still gaped wide. Pook stretched herself and lay on top of her. “Aiyee—Debbie. You are very sexy girl. We have good time in England, no?”
Pook took her all the way to the airport next morning, maintaining a kind of brittle cheerfulness. They walked into the airport with their arms around each other. Pook felt good to be with, and Debbie tried to impress the feeling on her memory. Between her legs, her over-worked sex tingled in sympathy.
Debbie knew as soon as she got on the plane, she would be free of any obligation to the girl. And she also knew she would never be free again. Pook's address was in her purse. A ticket would not cost too much, and what could be more natural than having a friend come to visit? She knew she could talk Kevin into the idea.
They kissed at the barrier. “Goodbye, Debbie. You no forget Pook, no?” There were tears in her eyes.
Debbie suddenly realised her eyes were also running. As Pook turned to go, she reached out to stop her. “I'll send the ticket. Soon. I promise.” Pook clung to her one last time. Then she touched hands and disappeared into the crowd.
* * * *
The chubby ice cream girl came to her as soon as the story finished. “Cheer up, Miss Priscilla,” she said, handing over the chocolate ice cream. “What did you think of that one? I didn't realise that Debbie was Pat's sister. I wonder if she'll write in, now we've had that letter from Pat.”
Her question forced Priscilla from her increasingly dark thoughts and looked a little more carefully at the girl. “Can I ask you something? I don't even know your name, but tell me, what do you really think of the things they were doing in the story?”
“I'm Mary, Miss Priscilla. What do I think? Well, it's exciting, isn't it? Mr. Trehearne writes about such interesting places. I'd love to go to Bangkok.”
“But what about the things they do?”
“Well, like I say, it's very exciting. I mean, me and my friends, the other ice cream girls, we all sit in the rest-room waiting and they've got the stories coming over the loud speakers. Sometimes it's so exciting, we're too embarrassed to look at each other! It's ever so funny sometimes. I get wet and juicy just listening, and I know the others do too, but we don't say anything to each other. This story especially with Debbie waking up and finding the girl's hand right up inside, I mean, well, I'm still wet!”
“Excuse me for asking, but do you do things like that?”
“Me? Of course not! I wish I could though, but can you imagine me in bed with a little brown Thai girl? She'd look as if she was riding a white whale!” Mary laughed happily at the thought, but Priscilla was hurting for her.
“Don't be so hard on yourself, Mary. You've got a very attractive character, and you're not really fat. I'm sure you've got lots of boyfriends.”
“Just one, really. But I'm going to diet. I want a figure just like yours. And I'll do it, too. I want my boyfriend to take me to Greece and we'll go swimming with no clothes on. So I've got to get thinner. Maybe we'll even make love on the beach—you never know. I'll send you a post card, Miss Priscilla, and tell you how it was.”
When she had gone, Priscilla was left with her thoughts. If Mary was a typical English girl, then what was she? Were her attitudes to sex really dark and Victorian, as Trehearne had said? Was it Priscilla and Valerie against the rest of the world?
Valerie called the hearing to order. “I'd li
ke to hear comments on the last story, and then we'll adjourn early today. We have only two stories to hear tomorrow. We should be able to get those done in the morning, so we can have closing arguments and a decision in the afternoon, all being well. So, Priscilla. You first.”
“Thank you, Chairperson. First, I'd like to congratulate Trehearne for at last giving us a story where we can be certain that he is not performing under another name. It's a pleasant change. However, that is the only pleasant feature of the story. So, what is it about?
“A strange woman—we've met her before, don't forget—is a sex tourist in Thailand. She picks up a young prostitute and lures her on with the promise of a new life in England. The girl does her best to please, and is then deserted at the airport. Not only is it degrading for the prostitute, who has been forced into her position by economic necessity. It is also debasing for the foreign woman who takes advantage of the poor girl's economic need to satisfy her own bizarre sexual cravings. Not even Trehearne can find a way to disguise this dirty and immoral business.
“So, the subject matter is deeply offensive and degrading to women. Now I must return to a theme you have heard me address before. Why is Trehearne forcing this on the public? Why are women being degraded? In the interests of John Trehearne's bank account, that's why.” She sat down in relative silence. For once in this hearing, her heart beat faster as she felt that at least some of the audience might have listened to her message.
If she had touched Trehearne, he did not show it. “Madam Chairperson, the Investigator is again insisting on creating a very strange picture from the story she has just heard. I suppose that is her job. However, she is distorting reality, either deliberately or perhaps because of the relatively sheltered life she has led. Let me expand a little on life in Bangkok.
“The first thing that a foreigner should realise is that in Thailand people have a completely different attitude to sex. There is none of the Christian guilt associated with lovemaking that we are familiar with in the West. The young women from country villages may think little of going to the city to work in bars and discotheques. There are other jobs available in the cities. There is a flourishing garment industry, and many electronic assembly lines. The pay in these jobs is not as good as in Patpong, and the work is soul-destroying. Unburdened with Western attitudes, of course many find working for tourists more attractive.
“Miss Investigator, I am sure that you would prefer to be the slave of a sewing machine or a factory production line. This is because you find the idea of sex repellent; but that would be your choice and no one would argue with it. The point is that you have made a choice. If one of your friends were to choose differently, who are you to criticise?
“In the same way, Pook's decision to work in the sex industry is hers alone. She could have stayed in her village and worked in the fields. Or she could have taken other unskilled work in a factory. Please do not condemn her choice of a career. Different cultures view things differently, and to force someone else's view onto another culture is to be racist. Something I am sure the Investigator would not like to be accused of. Pook is Pook. Take her or leave her, but don't try to change her into your little sister.
“Now, what of the tourists who go to Thailand and hire the sex workers? What are we to think of them? Tourists go with many different expectations. They range from a desire to have cheap and frequent sex, to a genuine wish to experience all sides of the Thai culture and people. Provided they respect the generally gentle and refined people that they meet, all are accommodated and enjoy their holidays. Again, who are we to criticise? No one is hurt, far from it. No force is used on either side, either physical or economic. The net result is a transfer of wealth from the West to Thailand, and contented people on both sides.
“Another point is frequently missed when discussing tourism and sex. The sex industry in Thailand does not exist primarily for the tourists. In fact, the tourists represent only a small though very profitable segment of the market. Most of the business activity is geared for the Thai people themselves. It's part of the way they live. It would be impertinent for us to tell them to live any differently.
“No—the Investigator is again running up against the limits of her own rather restricted ideas on sexuality. She is a very fine and sensitive person—I say that in all sincerity—but when it comes to sex, she has not been exposed to real life. Which is a shame because I suspect she has got deeply hidden fires.”
“Trehearne, you're treading on thin ice.” Valerie's voice cut across his musings.
“Thank you, Madam Chairperson. I'll try and keep speculation out of it. However, the Investigator's attitudes are playing an important part in her comments. Her comments are not objective. She is being negative because she does not like sophisticated sex. I suspect she may not be awake to sex at all. That's fine for her, but why should the rest of us be forced into the same mould?”
“Take her in hand, John!” came a shout from the audience. Valerie adjourned the hearing in the outburst of laughter and frivolity that followed.
Priscilla had not been at home for more that a few minutes when the doorbell rang. She put her eye to the peephole. A delivery boy with a large bouquet of flowers stood outside. “Flowers for Miss Priscilla. That you? Good. Sign here. Hey, where have I seen you before? You a film star or something?”
“Maybe something,” she said closing the door. White lilies and red roses. The card simply said, “Love, John.” Damn you, John Trehearne, she thought but put them in water anyway.
The last day. They had two more stories to hear, and that would be that. Priscilla no longer felt confident of victory. The audience was against her. The people walking the streets around were against her. Of the Board, even Valerie would probably let her down. As she walked towards the cinema, the street traders called out. “Morning, Priscilla. Going to give them hell this morning?” To them it was only a game.
Suddenly a small hand slipped through her arm, and Susan fell into step with her. “Cheer up, Priscilla. Things can't be that bad. You're looking really miserable this morning.”
She looked down at Susan. It was amazing how she had changed since the hearings started. Before, she had been strained and mousey. Now she positively glowed. Is that what a good love life does for a girl, she asked herself?
“Susan, am I going to win this case?”
“I don't think so, do you? But don't worry about it. It's only a book after all. Life goes on, and no one can say you didn't try hard.”
“I'm so worried, Susan. I started out thinking that Trehearne was a real pervert, completely abnormal. But every time I say something, the audience makes me feel as if I'm abnormal and they're more like Trehearne. Even the ice cream girl likes his stories, and God knows she's ordinary enough.”
Susan surprised her with a peal of laughter. “Maybe you ought to have a private talk with John as well. He'd know what to suggest!”
“It's all right for you. You're married.”
“Yes, married and in love. You ought to relax more. Really, a lot of what John says about sex is true. You shouldn't get so worked up about it. Nobody else does nowadays.”
“I wish I could believe he wasn't just doing it for the money.”
“But he isn't! Don't you know where the money's going? It's been assigned to orphanages in Vietnam all along. Didn't you know?”
“What? Where did you hear that?”
“It was on television last week. They had the Vietnamese ambassador on the television saying that he hoped Trehearne would win the case.”
Oh God, thought Priscilla unhappily. Everywhere I turn he's got me boxed in. “I shall be glad when this is all over,” she admitted.
“You are down in the dumps today! Never mind. When it's finished, I'll get my husband to take us both out to dinner. Maybe he can bring a friend for you.”
“Thanks, Susan. You're a darling. But I think I probably have a bit more work to do this evening, one way or the other.”
The audie
nce was in a boisterous end-of-term mood. Everyone was clapped onto the stage. Priscilla was treated to wolf-whistles and when she smiled in spite of herself, the cheers filled the auditorium. How fickle, she thought. They hate my message, but they cheer me.
Towards a More Western Education
Tulin had to call him by telephone. It was the only possibility open to a girl in such a country. Turkey was commonly called a bridge between Europe and Asia, pictured as a pleasing mixture of Western and Middle Eastern cultures. And so it was, in a manner of speaking. Mark had found the reality more complex. He had visited Istanbul, that sad relic of the ancient Mediterranean imperium, and found it very interesting. He had also heard of the continuous strip of holiday resorts on the south coast where topless German shop-girls bronzed themselves under the mournful eyes of young Muslim men. He had been told of the sensual delights of Turkey, home of opulent Near Eastern cooking and equally opulent belly-dancers. In all that, nothing had prepared him for the deadliness of Diyarbakir.
Deep in south-eastern Turkey, six hundred kilometres from the nearest corner of the Mediterranean, the black old city stood as a living contradiction of all the common ideas about Turkey. For a start, the local people were not even originally Turkish but came mostly from Kurdish or other stock. The true Anatolian Turks were just the ruling minority. Secondly, the borders of Iraq and Sy ria were only a short distance to the south and the Arabic influence was strong, especially in religious affairs.
Ever since the reforms of Ataturk, a powerful and Westernised general, Turkey had been a secular state, strongly Muslim in culture but secular. The mosque had little theoretical control over day-to-day existence. However, the further from the influence of Istanbul and the west, the more evident the power of Islam became. As always, women were the ones who suffered most.
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