Restructure- on your own terms

The Trysts


So we finally shagged. It was the day Benazir Bhutto was assassinated. First time we did it, it was a quickie in the car. I noticed that a small group of idiots had congregated to take a smoke no more than 5 metres away from us, which interrupted our brief interlude. I actually do get titillated in dark places with an audience of unbeknownst lingering strangers. But the then uncomfortable Old Boy decided it was time to leave.

For the trysts that ensued, it was decided that the best arrangement for us was to check into somewhere private, like a cheap and cheerful Hotel 81. The Old Boy is a no frills type of guy and I wasn’t expecting him to check us into the Shangri-la or the Ritz for that matter. For many occasions when we walk to our usual destination, I think I must have been mistaken for a Mainland Chinese whore or mistress given my very fair complexion (yeah, a very fair gal on the MRT commented on the whiteness of my skin and its rosy undertone admiringly as she compared her skin tone with mine) as we entered and exited the hotel many a time. Not unless they hear us converse at all, me in my semi-accented English of course to suggest that I am “foreign” in that “Western” sense. Sometimes, the Old Boy (who grew up in that supposedly charmed anglicised upbringing in the heart of town and which, the aura he exudes from the gentleness of his voice and mannerisms would suggest his old wealth genteel background) would walked self-consciously ahead of me probably for fear of a mistaken interpretation of his tastes by the public eye as he has that stereotypical bias against Mainlander Chinese hostesses for being blood suckers. In addition, we appeared a mis-matched pair given the incompatibility of our physical statutes (he needs a much more petite and shorter girl) and age differences (although that bit isn’t as apparent as it should be). Sometimes I attempted to dress a little sexier to “look the part” of the mistress (really for my own amusement and excitement). However, there was an occasion where I didn’t have time to go home and change before the Old Boy came to pick me up in town and I was stuck in my pearls, good knitwear, tailored shorts and pretty lady-like shoes with bows. I thought I looked a little out of place and high maintenance for the part of Hotel 81 but ah well, we went along and did our thing anyway. Often, we entered the establishment (by now we have appointed our favourite Hotel 81 branch) discreetly from the backdoor where the Old Boy would instruct me to wait at the lift whilst he went to the lobby to check us in. When we get into the lifts with the doors shut to shield us away from the world, he would endeavour to hold me tight and kissed me passionately. Only then is the Old Boy solely mine. But for that moment.

Every so often when we entered the hotel room, we would stand by the high mini window and admire the asymmetrical architecture of the nearby condominium. Mostly, the Old Boy would head straight for the shower as his first port of call within the four walls. At times, I quietly wished that he wasn’t so methodical in our routine and he would let me do the slow undressing for him, allowing me to unbutton his shirt bit by bit and gradually work my way down south to unbuckle his belt and unzip his trousers while our tongues interacted. Normally, I would simply lie languidly in bed as I watched him stripped himself naked and awaited for his return from the bathroom. He would then climb onto our love bed to interlock his lips with mine, stealthily removing my clothes and smothered my full naked body with tender butterfly kisses. Working his way down, he then began to alternate the pashing with the tip of his tongue licking the surrounding areas of my pleasure spot and my inner thighs. Instinctively as his tongue wandered towards my private part, I would murmur coyly to be excused and headed for the showers to observe the Old Boy’s hygiene standards. Old Boy would proceed to collect my clothes that had been strewn across the floor or bed, flipping my undies the right way out and proceeded to hang them all up neatly on the hooks. Only then would we launch into doing what one might expect one to be doing fervently at an establishment like Hotel 81.

In our initial trysts, despite the growing physical comfort that I had with the Old Boy, I wasn’t exactly satisfied thoroughly with the engagement of our intimacy. I attributed that to the conventional scenario of guy cumming too quickly and women needing a bit more teasing and time to bring about the climax. There are occasions I grew restless and impatient when I felt my rising desire whilst the Old Boy was too exhausted to be roused to a second round of carnal pleasure. I hit him lightly, whined and buried my head in the pillow, bashing my fist at it. It was quite a comical sight.

“Are you for real?” he was slightly amused.

Guess the Old Boy and I were close enough (as a result of our prior friendship and the deep dark secrets we know about each other’s lives) for me to kick up a tantrum of such hilarious magnitude.

“Yes! I haven’t cum yet!” I whined childishly.

“I can’t, sweetheart. Not because I don’t want to but I can’t. It’s only been 5 mins.

What’s the opposite of ‘kan bu qi wo’ (‘look down on me’)?” he asked in his bad Mandarin and gave a little laugh.

Then he eyed me self-consciously.

“Remember what I said? Please take this experience with me as a ‘whole’ ok?”

That tenderness in his voice never failed to appease the child-like outburst quietly within me, but my pride would put me up for further resistance and disguised it with a pout on my face.


*****

With the passing of time, we began to become more in sync. The Old Boy gradually mastered the art of pleasuring P and discovered how best to push the right magic buttons.

One day, whilst the Old Boy went down on me doing the cunninglingus, my senses were entirely titillated. My pleasure spot was getting damper with every stroke of his tongue and I moaned lightly, lost in my deep rising desire. He continued to lie on his stomach and then proceeded to insert his finger to the wet opening and rubbed that external swelling g-spot of mine with his thumb. My heartbeat quickened, my moaning fast translating into a sob of lustful joy as my pleasure reached its height. His closed up aroused face watched the red swelling orifice between my legs keenly and suddenly, the Old Boy exclaimed, “Shit!” as he flinched.

I instantly snapped out of my lustful indulgence.

“What?” I was bemused.

I had squirted and my cum had hit his eye.

He reached for the towel and we both got up the bed.

“Did you see that? Sweetheart, I didn’t know you squirt!” he was amazed and pleased perhaps at his own prowess.

“Yeah, that was the pleasure I hoped to achieve with you previously. And if I don’t get it, I get really dissatisfied and pissed!” I said in a mock cocky tone and regained my composure from an unfounded paranoia of self-consciousness.

The Old Boy continued to look astounded and the expression slowly translated to a satisfied smile.

We proceeded to the bathroom for a shower.


******

On our last night together, the Old Boy and I tried various positions of intimate indulgence ranging from the missionary, doggie to the 69. We were exhausted and as usual, I lay down next to him, wrapping my arms and slinging my leg around him and took to our habitual post lovemaking nap.

I had cummed satisfactorily during the 69 exercise. The Old Boy was not convinced that I have been fully pleasured despite my insistence. At the back of his mind, I knew that he was hoping to witness yet another squirt from yours truly as our previous tryst has raised the bar of what formed the KPIs of his abilities to pleasure me.

I drifted in and out of sleep for a while. I half opened my eyes and look askance to my left to see if the Old Boy was asleep. I noticed that the Old Boy had his eyes closed but was happily digging his nose and trying his hardest to remove something that was irritating his nostrils.

“You gold digger!” I teased.

He continued indulging in his unsightly affair and smiled.

I got up and bent down towards his small round belly and kissed it tenderly.

“You are such a fat, little Piggy, baby!” I continued affectionately.

He nodded his head lightly and smiled, his eyes remained shut.

Restlessly, I felt a rising desire between my legs- I could do with releasing a big wave of carnal tension that appeared not to be completely spent from our previous session, which was gradually also building up again.

My hands wandered down the thighs of the Old Boy. I stroked and fondled his flaccid willie tenderly with my fingers. I knew my manual tease was not about to make that beast stand up for P. Given our level and frequency of our intimacy, I knew by now that the Old Boy had run out of steam and was not about to give me the time of the day if I didn’t work my usual magic on him. He was resting with his eyes so blissfully shut.

I proceeded to whisper coyly to him.

“Baby, I want to suck you…”

He half-opened his eyes and the corners of his mouth graduated into a smile of what I understood to be of approval and interest.

I worked my way down between his legs. I held the hardening rod in my hand and inserted it into my mouth where I gave it a good lick and suck. The knob continued to throb and expand in my mouth. Lustily, the tip of my tongue wandered along the favourite middle path between his balls, which never failed to send the Old Boy the shivers and set him off to moan in sweet delight. Ah, such melodious music to my ears! I do get extremely turned on by the weakening will of men! That essence of vulnerability encapsulated in the escape of love noises made with each breath of peaking pleasures.

To heighten the moment, my tongue continued to stray further down to the orifice where his bundle of sensual nerves was concentrated around. I licked, sucked and kissed his asshole alternating between being ravenous and tender. With every tongue movement I made, the Old Boy shivered, moaned hungrily and was lost in sin. Our lust was hitting the note of crescendo.

“Ooooh…Yeah sweetheart, you like to lick my ass don’t you?” the Old Boy mumbled repeatedly in his breathlessness.

He began to flip himself onto his stomach for the fulfilment of his pleasure as well as the yearning of my lascivious tongue. I licked at his asshole hungrily, wetting the rim with saliva. The volume of the unrelenting love melody of his pleasure increased to the dance of my oral undulations. My heart pounded with excitement.

Breathless, the Old Boy got up and turned me around to lie on my back. Moving downwards, he began returning me the pleasure with his oral gymnastics. With each hungry touch of his mouth, my body trembled and that mysterious womanly opening responded encouragingly with the secretion of sensual juices. The visual display never failed to arouse my Old Boy for my pleasure was his and he was determined to stimulate the flow of love liquid with the speed of his motion.

I was so lost in earthly bliss. That strong sensation, like the ever-increasing inflation of a rubber balloon was overcoming my entire being. My body was growing tensed with sweet torment. The Old Boy kept up with his circular thumbing of my clit and I believe (since I am so gone now with sin), the penetration of his middle finger in my slick and awfully wet feminine passage. The magic button flared in heated pressure and I was about to lose my concentration. I was all ready to burst.

I let out a cry. Out gushed the waterfall!

Aahhh…that was heaven.

The Old Boy began quickening his motion as he witnessed the dam burst extraordinaire in lust. I alternated between begging him affectionately and laughing weakly to stop the pleasurable torture as my unwound body needed time for recovery and could no longer sustained yet another eruption at that moment. My energy was fast expending from my body. I was completely exhausted.

“That is soooo good, Darling…” I exclaimed breathlessly in that girlish voice.

Finally, we got up to head for the bathroom. My buttocks were soaked wet and smeared with my overspilled woman ejaculation.

As usual, the Old Boy left me alone for my shower when he did a quick wash of himself. When I got back, I noticed that he had lain a towel on our bed where I had previously laid.

“The bed sheet is soaked wet.” He began with a grin on his face.

“Oh, look at the puddle I’ve made!” I squealed in delight.

“Uh-huh.” He looked up at me with that knowing smile.

“Baby, don’t you like it? I’ve given you a puddle!” I continued teasingly in my girlish kitty voice.

“Thank you for the puddle, Sweetheart.” He reciprocated playfully in his usual tenderness.

Ah, this very tone of melody of his voice (which is somewhat effeminate) never failed to tease the very damsel out of me and allured young P to this Old Boy.

“I hope all this makes you feel this makes giving Manila a miss worth it.”

It’s more than worth it, Darling- I wish how much I could confess to you so.

I pulled the Old Boy to my lips as my tongue kissed his with heartfelt fondness.

*****

So there you go. Within the confinement of Hotel 81 rooms, the Old Boy and I spent many an afternoon or evening copulating and making love. Those rendezvous summed up the intense moments of lust, elation, respite, laughter, secrets, angst, tears and mini lovers’ tiffs we shared in our temporary hideaway where we enjoyed each other’s company on borrowed time.

We had our joint moment behind closed doors. I recalled lying on his chest as he described to me his erotic gay/lesbian story that could be adapted into a play acting script, his happily surprised face when I presented him with a gift of a limited edition CK boxer trunks (his favourite brand and telepathically he mentioned that CK was his favourite outlet when he texted me whilst I was shopping at Paragon and had already got ahead of him and bought him this present), my suppressed confidence about DL, catching that tender look of gratitude post our first Hotel 81 experience, his indulgence in pampering and feeding me sashimi and the numerous times I observed somewhat sadly but affectionately the calmness of his sleeping face…

Finally, I got to share with someone my favourite dark tale of “The Respectful Murderer” stark naked, which thematically sums up my soul and mental state. The Old Boy is a first in a lover who got the whole of me, no holds barred. As a good friend of mine prior to our joint experience, he has been the only man who is privy to all my deepest secrets of my life. To complete my experience, I now have the first meaningful relationship I had in a lover. He got me there- mind, body and soul.

This is a breakthrough. On my terms- that complete experience albeit being transient…

“So now you got me- what intrigue is there left of P?” I smiled slightly.

The Old Boy got the real and not the reel P.

Precious memories. Precious moments. The Old Boy said. He would forever treasure them as those three weeks was bliss to him.

**

During one session, I was wrapped in the arms of the Old Boy. He confessed that one of his ex-fucks had come back to look him up.

“You know we’re not exclusive right?”

(That was a brave confession for a man who is used to hiding and deceiving; a man trapped in Dukka.)

“How could we, Old Boy?” I turned to look into his eyes.

I don’t wear rose tinted glasses. I am also not very good at playing self-deceit.

“Alright. I won’t look her up until you are gone.”

**

It must be the day where I laid restless in bed and had that mini break down about DL.

“It’s so nice that we could still be lying here and talking so openly like that even after we slept.” That slight smile he wore had a pensive hesitation to it, as if he was threading on those words very carefully.

I nodded lightly.

Yes, that’s the true 360 experience and the best gift a lover could have ever given me, Old Boy…
**

One Friday evening, the Old Boy and I left our room at 9pm.

We sighted another illicit pair- a Chinese “uncle” in his fifties with another mistress “auntie” in her forties. The four of us stood in uncomfortable silence whilst waiting impatiently for the elevator to arrive. It was the day where I was in my pearls and prissy weekend day gear.

When the door opened before us, we were confronted by a lift populated with guilty faces standing in quiet solidarity. No held hands or lovey dovey pairs were sighted. The four of us stealthily packed ourselves right in snugly to fill up the remaining space. No one dared to lift one’s eyes to register the person standing to the next shoulder.

In that deafening hush, the Old Boy leaned towards my ear and whispered cheekily, “ Didn’t know that there were so many fuckers at this time.” His volume might well be within hearing distance for the rest. We giggled.

So that was how it went- in packed sardine fashion, we all descended (from what might well be grace) to the lobby (or was it to reality?). The entire troop dispersed spontaneously, all ready to disappear and quick to be disassociated from the establishment that had earlier served each of our sordid agendas ever so purposefully.