The Rose of Singapore

by Peter Neville

On arriving at the outskirts of the city, Lai Ming gave instructions to the driver, who nodded, slowed and weaved in and out among the dense traffic. Ah Ling was the first to alight. The taxi stopped at the entrance to a brightly-lit amusement park blasting out Chinese music from giant amplifiers. Ah Ling giggled when she said, “Goodbye, Peter. Have a good time.” And he watched as she got out of the car and entered the place through a garishly lit turnstile. Minutes later the taxi entered a street where foreboding red, white and black ‘OUT OF BOUNDS TO HIS MAJESTIES FORCES’ signs were clearly visible. Peter had no idea as to which part of the city he was in, knowing that never before had he ventured into this street, and he became slightly nervous at being in an ‘out of bounds’ area.

  Two streets further on, Susy said it was time for her to also leave their company. She smiled sweetly at Peter and held out a dainty hand for him to shake. Instead, he kissed it. She giggled and said that he and Lai Ming would surely enjoy each other’s company. Saying, “Goodbye,” she alighted from the taxi and disappeared among the multitude of people thronging the sidewalk.

  Finally Peter was alone with Lai Ming. Smiling to her, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  At a junction in the road there was another ‘OUT OF BOUNDS’ sign, and above it, a street sign which read Lavender Street. The taxi turned into Lavender Street and sped along for some considerable distance before turning right into a narrower, less busy street where a sign read Bendemeer Road. Less than a hundred yards farther, Lai Ming requested the driver to stop.

  Peter looked out the taxi window to view a dilapidated, wood and stone, two-storey block of flats. Long bamboo poles alive with fluttering laundry reached out from windows on the two upper floors. The building looked very old.

  “Is this where you live, Rose?” Peter asked, apprehensively.

  “Yes,” Lai Ming replied flatly. “Please. You must come quickly. Many military police patrol here.”

  “At this time of the day?”

  “Yes. You must be careful not be seen by them. I will take you to my apartment where you’ll be safe and can remain while I ready myself for the cinema.”

  Paying the driver, Peter then looked in all directions, but seeing no sign of the feared military police, he alighted. Hastily he followed Lai Ming through a short, narrow alleyway until they reached a green painted door in a red brick wall. “This is the side door,” said Lai Ming to Peter. “It is safer for you to come this way.” She knocked on the door and called out a name in Chinese. The door creaked open, and confronting them was a grey-haired, gaunt, sickly faced woman who was no more than four-feet in height, clad in a pajama-type costume of black cotton trousers and jacket, a samfoo.

  “This is Wan Ze, my amah,” said Lai Ming to Peter. “She is a servant of the building, but I pay her extra to take care of my needs.”

  “Oh,” said Peter, mystified but less nervous of the situation. However, he said nothing more and followed her into the building.

  Once inside, Lai Ming led the way up a short flight of narrow linoleum-covered stairs to the next floor, where there was a bamboo door, which she unlocked and slid to one side. “Please, come in,” she said. And when he thanked her, she said, “Welcome to my home,” and ushered him into a small but surprisingly clean and tidy bed-sitting room. Obviously, the inside of the building is better maintained than the outside, thought Peter.

  “Please, sit down. I will make tea,” Lai Ming was saying, a wisp of a smile hovering on her face.

  “Thank you,” said Peter, sitting down upon a wicker chair, one of a matching pair at two sides of a small glass-topped wicker table. He was no longer nervous, just curious, so that when Lai Ming left him he looked at all that was around him. Dominating the room was a king-sized bed with two clean, very white sheets on it, the top one neatly turned back, and without a wrinkle to be seen on either. At the head of the bed, stretching its whole width, were two white pillows with the words ‘GOOD MORNING’ embroidered across each in pink and green silk; and in a corner of each pillow was embroidered a blue and yellow bird which resembled a swallow in flight. A glass-covered bedside table stood at the head of each side of the bed. And against the wall at the far side of the room was a large, crescent-shaped mirror overlooking a glass-topped dressing table on which lay an assortment of make-up paraphernalia. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a lacquered wardrobe with its door ajar, a Chinese calendar hanging on the inside of it. Peter could see many colourful articles of ladies clothing hanging from a rail inside the wardrobe, and many pairs of dainty shoes in two tidy rows covering its whole floor. All the furniture appeared to be fairly new and modern, and spotlessly clean floral-patterned linoleum covered the floor. I like it here, it’s cosy, Peter decided, already feeling at ease and completely at home.

  He heard water running and the clink of china coming from below as Lai Ming prepared tea in the downstairs kitchen. Also, he could hear Chinese voices, Chinese music, and the rattle of pots and pans, sounds filtering in through thin walls. It must be the neighbours, thought Peter. He could also hear the sounds of traffic passing along the street below, outside the bedroom’s one window. Peter picked up a Chinese magazine from the table and thumbed through it, looking at the pictures and studying the Chinese characters of which he recognized few. He looked up, relieved when Lai Ming returned to the room and came to where he sat. She was carrying a round wicker tray, which she placed near him, on the table. On it was a floral bone china teapot, matching teacups, a sugar bowl, a plate of assorted biscuits, dainty cloth napkins, and two silver teaspoons. Lai Ming smiled graciously at Peter. “You are my honoured guest,” she said, almost in a whisper. “I will pour you tea.”

  “Thank you. But aren’t you having any?” enquired Peter.

  “I shall take tea with you after I have washed and changed,” replied Lai Ming.

  “Then I shall wait for you,” said Peter.

  “No, please don’t. You must be thirsty,” she said, delicately pouring him tea from the pot. “Do you take sugar?” she asked. And when he replied,” Yes, one spoon,” she laughed and said, “Only little squares,” and she dropped a cube of sugar from a spoon into the tea. “Now I must wash. I will not take long,” she said. Peter did not notice the longing look in her eyes as she turned and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.

  Moments later he heard the splashing of falling water coming from the bathroom, and he wondered how Lai Ming must look naked beneath the shower she was now taking. He wished he could take a peek at her. Smiling at his own mischievous thoughts, he wondered just how angry she would become if he went to her and asked could he share the shower with her. But only a few minutes elapsed before the sound of splashing water ceased, and he was sipping hot tea and fantasizing on how she must look stepping from the shower, when suddenly the bathroom door opened and out stepped Lai Ming into the room where he sat. She was wearing a multi-coloured sarong wound around her body and held in place by a fold in the cloth tucked into the cleavage of her bosom, and nothing else. She had not dried herself so that where the sarong did not cover her bareness droplets of water glistened like a million tiny jewels.

  Putting down the teacup, Peter said, “That was quick.” His remark was quite innocent, even in an enquiring voice, but he suddenly felt a surge of sexual excitement within him. Entranced, he could only stare at her.

  Slowly, seductively, she walked to where he sat, and when near him she stopped and stood before him, a gentle smile hovering ever so faintly upon her beautiful face. Lifting a dainty hand, she loosened the fold in the sarong and pulled it free, so that the sarong, with nothing to hold it up, fell from her and dropped in a colourful pile at her feet. Thus she stood before Peter, naked, her hands hanging loosely at her sides as if in complete surrender. “Peter, do you like me?” she asked, quietly, her eyes looking into his.

  Peter, who had never before seen a naked girl in the flesh, could only stare at her in disbelief. He had some idea of what a woman’s body looked like, having seen
pictures of them in blurred outlines in the ‘men only’ magazines, but those photographs showed only the women’s breasts, nothing else. He had never seen a woman’s vagina, not even in a photograph. Magazines did not show that part of the female anatomy in 1952, nor had there been forms of pornography from which to learn, not with his upbringing. And promiscuity, especially among younger people, was rare. Peter knew nothing, or next to nothing, about sex.

  Astounded by her nakedness, his mouth sagged open and his eyes stared at her in amazed disbelief. He was shocked at the sight of the triangular mass of black, curly hair which reached upward from between the top of those lovely legs. He loved, though, the sight of her small firm breasts reaching out to him so invitingly, their surprisingly large nipples erect, all but asking to be fondled and kissed. Still in disbelief at what he was seeing, he shook his head and closed and opened his eyes a few times to make sure he was not dreaming. But he heard her voice saying, “Well, Peter?” And he saw that she really was there, naked, smiling lovingly at him and reaching out her arms to him. “Do you like me?” she repeated.

  “Oh, God! Yes, Rose!” he answered, almost inaudibly. “You are beautiful.” And as if in a trance he stood up and went to her, wrapped his arms around her, and held her gently to him. In a daze, he was unsure as to what to do next.

  “Take off your clothes,” she whispered, smiling up into his bewildered face. Then she freed herself from him, went to the bed, lay down upon it, on her back, and gazed up at him. “Hurry!” she insisted.

  Kicking off his shoes, Peter quickly unbuttoned and took off his shirt, then slid his slacks, underpants and socks off in one downward sweep so that all lay in a heap on the floor. Never before had he known himself to have such an erection as that which he now had.

  Holding out her arms to him, Lai Ming pulled him down upon her. She, too, was surprised at his erection, at its very largeness. She put out a hand to stroke his erect penis. And as her fingers daintily touched and encircled the throbbing shaft, she heard Peter gasp and saw and felt his hot sperm pulsating from him in quick, long spurts onto her hand and over her body where, in tiny rivulets, it ran down over her breasts and over her belly. She was not surprised at the quickness of his ejaculation, he being so extremely nervous and excited; it had taken only the touch of her fingertips for him to lose control and allow the floodgates to open.

  Thrilled and without thinking, she exclaimed, “Peter! You are a virgin! You are a boy-virgin! I am your very first woman!” and she clasped her hands in delight, her face fully showing her joy.

  Peter, never before feeling so embarrassed, said unhappily, almost sullenly, “I’ve had lots of women before you,” and he got up from her bed. He wanted to dress and be gone from her. He felt foolish, and so humiliated.

  Lai Ming smiled and nodded knowingly but said nothing, regretting deeply what she had already said to him and wishing she could retract her words but it was too late. Now, she must not embarrass him further. But she was sure he was a virgin and that he was completely naive about sex, and she was aroused by the thought. He was such a good boy, so well spoken and gentle. Her mind was already made up, he was going to be her boy. She would teach him the art of love, and how to make love the way she wanted to be loved. For the first time since her husband’s death she felt deliriously happy.

  Getting up from the bed and standing before him, she put her arms around him and looked lovingly up into his eyes. Softly, almost in a whisper, she said, “Peter, let’s take a shower together.” And she hugged him to her, then stepped back so that he could see her, and caught hold his hand and led him to the bathroom.

  There was no bathtub, only a showerstall with a pink curtain draped around it. Still holding his hand, she went ahead of him, and when they were both inside the showerstall she turned the two taps to where she knew the water would come out warm. And when the water was splashing down upon them she took a washcloth, and said, “I will wash you, Peter.”

  He felt her hand gently stroking his body, caressing him, fondling him, and he felt the warm washcloth she held in her other hand washing his belly, the tops of his legs, and then, carefully and gently, that which she held. He felt himself getting a second erection, and with her holding it and washing it with warm water, it felt good.

  “Now it’s my turn,” he said, taking the cloth from her. And with the water cascading down upon them, he washed her and explored her body; first her shoulders, her supple arms and her tiny hands. Then, taking his time and studying every part of her, he caressed as he washed her firm little breasts, her thighs, her tummy, her smooth little bottom, and finally that fascinating place between her legs. He felt her flinch, and heard her gasp and say, “Oh!” very quietly, as his fingers slid in between the pubic hair to penetrate and examine the little place that felt so soft, so warm and so inviting; and he again became fully erect and wanting to be inside her. But on looking down between their two naked bodies, he could not help but chuckle, for he found the sight amusing, almost comical. Lai Ming was so short, the head of his shaft reached higher than her belly button and lay almost between her breasts. She was looking up at him with a quizzical smile on her face, as if to say, ‘Well, Peter! What are you going to do with it?’ He shrugged, smiled down at her upturned face, and bent his head and kissed her lightly on the nose. She giggled and allowed his fingers to explore her more.

  Suddenly, Peter said what she so eagerly wanted to hear him say, “Let’s go to bed, Rose.” Turning off the water, he pulled the shower curtain aside and stepped from the stall, ready to have sex, the thoughts of his premature ejaculation erased from his mind.

  Lai Ming followed him into the bedroom. Standing in front of the mirror so that he could fully see her reflection in it, she quickly wiped him dry and then patted herself with the same bathtowel. And when most of the wetness was gone from her, she dropped the towel and held out her arms to him, and for moments they hugged and kissed each other. Then she fell backwards onto the bed, pulling Peter with her, still in her arms and on top of her.

  Placing her arms around his neck, she pulled him to her. “Oh, Peter, I want you so much,” she whispered. Their lips met and they kissed passionately. Intrigued, Peter began again to explore her, caressing and fondling her breasts and gently rolling erect nipples between his forefinger and thumb. She was sighing, it felt so good. With urgency in her voice, she whispered to him, “Peter! Kiss me here!” and she pushed her small body upward until her breasts reached his mouth. “Kiss me,” she repeated. Her breasts were so soft and beautiful, so close to him, the nipples so inviting. Lowering his lips, he took a nipple in his mouth and gently sucked upon it, her hand reaching up and holding the breast to him like a mother would her baby.

  “Oh, Peter,” she whispered, “you’re a good boy.” And now her fingers were sliding through his hair, her lips passionately kissing the side of his neck. And as she clung tightly to him, he could feel sharp little teeth nipping at his skin. “Be good to me, Peter,” she was saying in a hasty whisper. “Be good to me.”

  He gazed down upon her tense face and desiring body. “I’ll always be good to you, Rose, always.”

  “Don’t talk, Peter,” she was saying, “Not now,” and she cuddled up tightly beneath him, her arms encircling him, pulling him down and holding him to her, so tight both could feel the heat and the dampness of perspiration between their bodies. His hand slipped down between her legs and found what it sought. He allowed his fingers again to explore beyond those lips that were so soft and inviting; inside it was wet and warm and slippery and everything was so soft, like velvet. He withdrew his fingers, feeling warm sticky moisture on them. He felt her hand slide down over his body and catch hold his manliness, felt it being positioned so that as he eased himself against her and pressed his body forward, it slid with ease into her. She was gazing with misty eyes into his; now there was love and want in them, and the smile had gone from her face. He felt her muscles growing taunt within her, and her stretched out legs quivering beneath h
im. Her eyes closed. He could feel the movement of her body quickening under him, and those muscles growing even taunter. Now she was biting him, holding onto him with sharp teeth as she allowed him to have his way with her. His lips roved over her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her hair and on her lips. He wanted so badly to kiss her breasts, but she being so short they were out of his reach. Thus they held each other, she pulling him into her, closer, deeper. She felt in heaven, lost in a seething sea of ecstasy, a mist engulfing her whilst she lay gasping, moaning and softly crying out to him.

  Peter gazed at the contorted face beneath him. Was he too big for her, he wondered. Was he hurting her? Was she in pain? “Rose, am I hurting you?” he whispered.

  “No! No! Don’t stop now,” she pleaded.

  Pressing his lips to hers, he slid his hands beneath her buttocks and pulled her even more firmly to him, pushing harder and faster into her, and as deeply as he could penetrate. Now she was gasping and crying out to him. He wanted to let her rest for a moment, but she didn’t want to rest, and their movements continued in frenzied haste until he could hold himself no longer, almost blacking out as he ejaculated into her. And she, at the same time, gave a few quick, short gasps, and cried out to him, “Oh! Oh! Peter! Peter! Ohhhhhh,” and then her gasps died away and she suddenly went limp beneath him, her body relaxed, her face composed.

  Several seconds passed before she smiled up at him and gave him a quick kiss and a hug. She was satisfied, not only physically but also with the knowledge that it was she who had broken him in; he was a boy-virgin no longer. She kissed him again, the tips of her tiny fingers gently stroking his back. “You OK, Peter?” she asked.

  “Yes, Rose,” he answered. “Are you?”

  “I’m finished, Peter.”

  “So am I.”

  “You feel good?”

  “Yes. And you?”

  “It was wonderful. You are a good lover.”

  “I thought I was hurting you,” he said. “Did I hurt you?”