Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The Compulsive Gambler Part II
(Sequel to “The Compulsive Gambler”)
At the spa in Holland Village, the Old Boy and I were awkward as I undressed. I turned my back against him.
It didn't help that the dynamics between our Mainlander Chinese masseuses and us were more than uneasy. I got the feeling that they were attempting to make sense of the relationship between the Old Boy and me. Our elicit dynamics and uneasy body language towards basic communication with each other must have made our intimate onlookers curious. The masseuses were less than professional and didn't take us through the steps of the treatments; there were communication problems and they needed prompting from me since I was the one who could speak Mandarin. Being completely naked with two strangers (who did little to ease me into comfort for a really body conscious P) and the Old Boy (now a half stranger) in the same room, my spirits were going downhill.
My masseuse and the Old Boy's masseuse were hardly in sync and I always ended my treatment before he finished his. After the ginger scrub, I was motioned to sit in the private spa in the room to soak up in the milk bath whilst I watched the Old Boy still stuck on the treatment bed finishing up his scrub. It was all very awkward and I didn't feel that the service was discreet enough and they did little to ease me into comfort. When his scrub was done, I had to double check with the masseuse as to whether she was going to leave both of us alone in the room for a while and when exactly should I be expecting them two to return and what should we do next to prepare for our massage.
Finally, the Old Boy joined me fully naked in the spa albeit with some reluctant awkwardness. We sat in the water making small conversation. He told me how he hated the taste of ginger given childhood memories of being punished by the Chinese amahs in the household who babysitted him where he was made to chew on small pieces of them when he was naughty. He then mentioned a hot and burning sensation on his neck from the ginger scrub. I reached over and gently touched his neck and examine the slight abrasion.Then I kissed him gently on his lips before sliding my tongue into his mouth to interact with his.
As expected, the Old Boy's kisses were lacklustre. I withdrew my tongue and looked at him sadly. I got the sense that he must have felt violated by me although once upon a time, he probably could not wait for me to touch him. We held hands lightly under the water and he squeezed my hand a little. I knew he was obliging me. The Compulsive Gambler in me by this stage felt that I was losing fast and big time at this hand of poker. Losing my cool, I did the unthinkable- I showed hand....
Defeated. That was what I felt. Instead of withdrawing away from him, I laid on his chest and wrapped my arms around him. It must be my last emphatic plea. I tilted my face upwards and planted a peck on the right cheek. Then I searched his face quietly.
“I miss you, Darling.” I rested one side of my head on his chest.
The Old Boy squeezed my hand.
“You know that, don't you?” I repeated feebly.
The Old Boy nodded vaguely without a smile.
I laid on his chest for a bit longer until I felt I outlived his emotional charity.
My heart was heavy and I felt that heart squeeze once more.
I was short of speaking my mind and hung on with what little was left of my last ounce of pride.
I love you very much Darling. Couldn't you give me another chance?
I rested one hand on his thigh. He didn't touch me.
The Old Boy decided to break the tension and attempted to change the topic to something light. Then he decided that the spa was getting too hot for his comfort and decided to get up and go for a shower.
I sat alone in the spa and the unbearable depression overcame me once more. I was becoming withdrawn and sat in the water hugging my knees, staring into space. I held my breath to prevent my tears from swelling up my eyes. At this stage, we supposedly still had ten minutes of private time before the masseuses came in for the next treatment.
I got in to shower when it was my turn and noticed the reflection of my pathetic face in the mirror. The make up on my left eye was smudged black from lying on the Old Boy's wet chest. Loser. I wiped hard at the stain. My mouth hardened and crooked to my right in despair.
When I got out into the room, I saw the Old Boy pacing up and down the room. I walked towards him and hugged him affectionately from behind. I found him furiously texting on his mobile phone away. I turned away knowing full well it would be that Mistress of his or my namesake (an ex-fuck buddy of long ago who coincidentally shares the same exact name, surname and profession as yours truly). I could do worse, putting myself vis-a-vis some of his low life female friends. I turned away resignedly.
“We should get the masseuse to come in now.” The Old Boy turned his body towards me and recomposed himself.
I complied weakly. At this stage, I had become withdrawn and conceded that harbouring any hopes of reconciliation could only seek to compound my pain.
I have acted beneath me and sunk down deep enough.
*****
Having a thousand depressing thoughts darting across my head during my not-too-satisfactory massage, I got out with feeling anything but relaxed.It didn't help that I also requested for firm treatment and was constantly feeling the finger pressures of pain on my sore and tender skin. I took it out on the feedback form and began giving my two cents' worth of how the establishment could better improve their services on discreet and professionalism. My spirits felt weak with defeat.
The Old Boy must have sensed my mood and threaded with caution. Attempting to mitigate the situation, he wondered out loud and rambled on about dinner possibilities at Michaelangelo's or Original Sin but flagged that he hadn't made a reservation yet for us. His voice flew past my ears since at this stage, I had lost my appetite and any nice or fanciful places he would desire to take me out of any good intentions (given that he was actually broke) would have been rightly or wrongly be interpreted by me as his way of repaying me for the afternoon treat at the day spa. There was no way I could find excuses to appease myself. You must know I hate to become a case of pity or charity.
I paid the manager in cash, together with the tips the Old Boy handed over for me to give our masseuse. At this stage, I was too disheartened to debate as a usually critical P over the justification to warrant rewarding extras to be given that the quality of professionalism to my standards was not mad. As I was crashed by my own emotions, I left the reception without asking back for my own change. As you can tell, a Compulsive Gambler who doesn't exercise focus and discipline can easily incur financial losses of the careless kind.
As we got out of the establishement, the Old Boy walked behind me and put his hands on my waist and squeezed it cheekily (or was it patronisingly?).
“Thanks dear for the afternoon,” he whispered affectionately.
At this stage, nothing could assuage my sadness. I smiled weakly back at him to loosen up the tension. God knows why when the hurt was committed on me.
*****
We were still early for dinner when we reached our destination.
“Darling, it's quite expensive to eat at XYZ Restaurant isn't it? I don't want you to spend so much money,” I said gently.
“Remember I used to tell you about the place and how good the food is? You know that I have meant to take you to XYZ Restaurant in the longest while.” As usual, the softness of his voice has a way of weakening my heart and yielding to him once more.
The Old Boy went into the restaurant to make reservations and then took me to the neighbouring row of shops to browse at upmarket utensils, cookbooks, baking items and gourmet deli food. As we walked around the shops, I noted that he continued being kept busy with his texting on the mobile phone. I had resigned to fate that I wasn't going to get his undivided attention like eons ago.
Instead, I texted V occasionally to fill in the gaps since I already knew what the advice my best friend would strongly serve me back to execute and sever my pain would be. It didn't help that I had absentmindedly dissed her and didn't realised that she was meaning to spend dinner time with me.
*****
Seated at the dining table, I noted that the Old Boy continued his anti-social behaviour where he could not get his hands off his mobile phone. Busily texting away, I noticed on several occasions that he had a hard time in hiding his angry emotions (which I first witnessed a week before when he returned to the bar to join Cathy and me after taking a phone call), shaking his head frustratedly post receiving and reading a text. It must have been a case of him engaging in his senseless lovers' tiff with the Mistress or my Namesake that I had always found mindless and beneath me when he tried to provoked me into one.
I sat there quietly and uneasily. My heart felt burdened like lead. I was treated like I did not exist and I found myself first compromising my already dwindling position with him.
After several replied sms-es from the other end, the Old Boy finally looked up and smiled.
“It's home again hurrying me to get back.”
“What time do you need to be home?”
“8.30pm.”
“Ok then.”
I wasn't 100% convinced it was his wife given the consecutive smses that was taking place the whole of the afternoon up till this point.
As a Compulsive Gambler, I have lost all my emotional chips, what could I do but to have some faith and take his words for it since I have already fallen? There was the option to keep believing (the power of blind faith) that you could make a comeback or cut your losses.
I wasn't emotionally ready to do the latter. I remained seated tightly on the not-so-hot seat.
*****
The Old Boy was rushing for time to get home.
First off, he had to drop me off near V's place where I had proposed to meet her.
On the highway, the Old Boy's phone rang. Anxiously, he picked it up.
“No. I already told you I had company function!” His tone was defensive and hostile.
I remembered this tone all too well during an incident where we were having our rendezvous also on a Friday night at our usual hangout. The wife had called to check if he was coming home for dinner and the same defensive excuse was used that he had already told her about his client entertainment plans at “a comedy club”. Indeed, he was going to a comedy club later post our tryst but his “clients” were non other than V, her boyfriend and me.
The Old Boy turned to me and tried lightening up his mood.
“My maid just called to ask if I was coming home for dinner. Heh. Don't think I could eat anymore after the amount of food we ate!”
Busted. Liar. That was his wife. The smses were his mistress or the ex-fuck buddy (and maybe current too). I noted his lies.
Still, the Compulsive Gambler remained silent and even managed a weak smile.
“Yeah, don't think you could eat anymore. You are stuffed with all the food we ordered.”
The Compulsive Gambler was too sucked into the game of poker. She lost her bargaining power by playing her cards ironically too close to her heart (and not with her head) and let the swindler got away.
*****
When I got off the car, the Old Boy gave me a friendly cheek to cheek goodbye. No french kisses or even a contact of his lips on my cheek.
My heart was gripped with pain once more as I said my goodbyes.
Then I remembered the “clandestine injury” he had bestowed upon me and of which I have chanced upon uncannily due to sheer coincidence. Or rather my sixth sense. I never confronted him about it. In self-denial, I let the matter slide.
Fool. The Swindler got the Compulsive Gambler. Lovefool and Ultimate Fool- I have allowed myself to be.
Now I understand what people meant when they say they sometimes even lose self-respect from love.
Now I finally get it.
*****
On the very first day when I finally met the Old Boy, he gave me a pair of Morgan et toi black see-through panties folded neatly in a red and pink gift box. The empty box is still on my desk. It says:
Dreams Comes True
Don't try so hard, the best things come
when you least expect them to.
I believe in the above. Beginner's Luck, yes that's what I buy.
Take it from the Compulsive Gambler though, there is only one way to go from thereon when one gets hooked to winning and starts losing control, finally reduced to becoming all too ready to show hand.
Look at me now. I am down on luck
(Sequel to “The Compulsive Gambler”)
At the spa in Holland Village, the Old Boy and I were awkward as I undressed. I turned my back against him.
It didn't help that the dynamics between our Mainlander Chinese masseuses and us were more than uneasy. I got the feeling that they were attempting to make sense of the relationship between the Old Boy and me. Our elicit dynamics and uneasy body language towards basic communication with each other must have made our intimate onlookers curious. The masseuses were less than professional and didn't take us through the steps of the treatments; there were communication problems and they needed prompting from me since I was the one who could speak Mandarin. Being completely naked with two strangers (who did little to ease me into comfort for a really body conscious P) and the Old Boy (now a half stranger) in the same room, my spirits were going downhill.
My masseuse and the Old Boy's masseuse were hardly in sync and I always ended my treatment before he finished his. After the ginger scrub, I was motioned to sit in the private spa in the room to soak up in the milk bath whilst I watched the Old Boy still stuck on the treatment bed finishing up his scrub. It was all very awkward and I didn't feel that the service was discreet enough and they did little to ease me into comfort. When his scrub was done, I had to double check with the masseuse as to whether she was going to leave both of us alone in the room for a while and when exactly should I be expecting them two to return and what should we do next to prepare for our massage.
Finally, the Old Boy joined me fully naked in the spa albeit with some reluctant awkwardness. We sat in the water making small conversation. He told me how he hated the taste of ginger given childhood memories of being punished by the Chinese amahs in the household who babysitted him where he was made to chew on small pieces of them when he was naughty. He then mentioned a hot and burning sensation on his neck from the ginger scrub. I reached over and gently touched his neck and examine the slight abrasion.Then I kissed him gently on his lips before sliding my tongue into his mouth to interact with his.
As expected, the Old Boy's kisses were lacklustre. I withdrew my tongue and looked at him sadly. I got the sense that he must have felt violated by me although once upon a time, he probably could not wait for me to touch him. We held hands lightly under the water and he squeezed my hand a little. I knew he was obliging me. The Compulsive Gambler in me by this stage felt that I was losing fast and big time at this hand of poker. Losing my cool, I did the unthinkable- I showed hand....
Defeated. That was what I felt. Instead of withdrawing away from him, I laid on his chest and wrapped my arms around him. It must be my last emphatic plea. I tilted my face upwards and planted a peck on the right cheek. Then I searched his face quietly.
“I miss you, Darling.” I rested one side of my head on his chest.
The Old Boy squeezed my hand.
“You know that, don't you?” I repeated feebly.
The Old Boy nodded vaguely without a smile.
I laid on his chest for a bit longer until I felt I outlived his emotional charity.
My heart was heavy and I felt that heart squeeze once more.
I was short of speaking my mind and hung on with what little was left of my last ounce of pride.
I love you very much Darling. Couldn't you give me another chance?
I rested one hand on his thigh. He didn't touch me.
The Old Boy decided to break the tension and attempted to change the topic to something light. Then he decided that the spa was getting too hot for his comfort and decided to get up and go for a shower.
I sat alone in the spa and the unbearable depression overcame me once more. I was becoming withdrawn and sat in the water hugging my knees, staring into space. I held my breath to prevent my tears from swelling up my eyes. At this stage, we supposedly still had ten minutes of private time before the masseuses came in for the next treatment.
I got in to shower when it was my turn and noticed the reflection of my pathetic face in the mirror. The make up on my left eye was smudged black from lying on the Old Boy's wet chest. Loser. I wiped hard at the stain. My mouth hardened and crooked to my right in despair.
When I got out into the room, I saw the Old Boy pacing up and down the room. I walked towards him and hugged him affectionately from behind. I found him furiously texting on his mobile phone away. I turned away knowing full well it would be that Mistress of his or my namesake (an ex-fuck buddy of long ago who coincidentally shares the same exact name, surname and profession as yours truly). I could do worse, putting myself vis-a-vis some of his low life female friends. I turned away resignedly.
“We should get the masseuse to come in now.” The Old Boy turned his body towards me and recomposed himself.
I complied weakly. At this stage, I had become withdrawn and conceded that harbouring any hopes of reconciliation could only seek to compound my pain.
I have acted beneath me and sunk down deep enough.
*****
Having a thousand depressing thoughts darting across my head during my not-too-satisfactory massage, I got out with feeling anything but relaxed.It didn't help that I also requested for firm treatment and was constantly feeling the finger pressures of pain on my sore and tender skin. I took it out on the feedback form and began giving my two cents' worth of how the establishment could better improve their services on discreet and professionalism. My spirits felt weak with defeat.
The Old Boy must have sensed my mood and threaded with caution. Attempting to mitigate the situation, he wondered out loud and rambled on about dinner possibilities at Michaelangelo's or Original Sin but flagged that he hadn't made a reservation yet for us. His voice flew past my ears since at this stage, I had lost my appetite and any nice or fanciful places he would desire to take me out of any good intentions (given that he was actually broke) would have been rightly or wrongly be interpreted by me as his way of repaying me for the afternoon treat at the day spa. There was no way I could find excuses to appease myself. You must know I hate to become a case of pity or charity.
I paid the manager in cash, together with the tips the Old Boy handed over for me to give our masseuse. At this stage, I was too disheartened to debate as a usually critical P over the justification to warrant rewarding extras to be given that the quality of professionalism to my standards was not mad. As I was crashed by my own emotions, I left the reception without asking back for my own change. As you can tell, a Compulsive Gambler who doesn't exercise focus and discipline can easily incur financial losses of the careless kind.
As we got out of the establishement, the Old Boy walked behind me and put his hands on my waist and squeezed it cheekily (or was it patronisingly?).
“Thanks dear for the afternoon,” he whispered affectionately.
At this stage, nothing could assuage my sadness. I smiled weakly back at him to loosen up the tension. God knows why when the hurt was committed on me.
*****
We were still early for dinner when we reached our destination.
“Darling, it's quite expensive to eat at XYZ Restaurant isn't it? I don't want you to spend so much money,” I said gently.
“Remember I used to tell you about the place and how good the food is? You know that I have meant to take you to XYZ Restaurant in the longest while.” As usual, the softness of his voice has a way of weakening my heart and yielding to him once more.
The Old Boy went into the restaurant to make reservations and then took me to the neighbouring row of shops to browse at upmarket utensils, cookbooks, baking items and gourmet deli food. As we walked around the shops, I noted that he continued being kept busy with his texting on the mobile phone. I had resigned to fate that I wasn't going to get his undivided attention like eons ago.
Instead, I texted V occasionally to fill in the gaps since I already knew what the advice my best friend would strongly serve me back to execute and sever my pain would be. It didn't help that I had absentmindedly dissed her and didn't realised that she was meaning to spend dinner time with me.
*****
Seated at the dining table, I noted that the Old Boy continued his anti-social behaviour where he could not get his hands off his mobile phone. Busily texting away, I noticed on several occasions that he had a hard time in hiding his angry emotions (which I first witnessed a week before when he returned to the bar to join Cathy and me after taking a phone call), shaking his head frustratedly post receiving and reading a text. It must have been a case of him engaging in his senseless lovers' tiff with the Mistress or my Namesake that I had always found mindless and beneath me when he tried to provoked me into one.
I sat there quietly and uneasily. My heart felt burdened like lead. I was treated like I did not exist and I found myself first compromising my already dwindling position with him.
After several replied sms-es from the other end, the Old Boy finally looked up and smiled.
“It's home again hurrying me to get back.”
“What time do you need to be home?”
“8.30pm.”
“Ok then.”
I wasn't 100% convinced it was his wife given the consecutive smses that was taking place the whole of the afternoon up till this point.
As a Compulsive Gambler, I have lost all my emotional chips, what could I do but to have some faith and take his words for it since I have already fallen? There was the option to keep believing (the power of blind faith) that you could make a comeback or cut your losses.
I wasn't emotionally ready to do the latter. I remained seated tightly on the not-so-hot seat.
*****
The Old Boy was rushing for time to get home.
First off, he had to drop me off near V's place where I had proposed to meet her.
On the highway, the Old Boy's phone rang. Anxiously, he picked it up.
“No. I already told you I had company function!” His tone was defensive and hostile.
I remembered this tone all too well during an incident where we were having our rendezvous also on a Friday night at our usual hangout. The wife had called to check if he was coming home for dinner and the same defensive excuse was used that he had already told her about his client entertainment plans at “a comedy club”. Indeed, he was going to a comedy club later post our tryst but his “clients” were non other than V, her boyfriend and me.
The Old Boy turned to me and tried lightening up his mood.
“My maid just called to ask if I was coming home for dinner. Heh. Don't think I could eat anymore after the amount of food we ate!”
Busted. Liar. That was his wife. The smses were his mistress or the ex-fuck buddy (and maybe current too). I noted his lies.
Still, the Compulsive Gambler remained silent and even managed a weak smile.
“Yeah, don't think you could eat anymore. You are stuffed with all the food we ordered.”
The Compulsive Gambler was too sucked into the game of poker. She lost her bargaining power by playing her cards ironically too close to her heart (and not with her head) and let the swindler got away.
*****
When I got off the car, the Old Boy gave me a friendly cheek to cheek goodbye. No french kisses or even a contact of his lips on my cheek.
My heart was gripped with pain once more as I said my goodbyes.
Then I remembered the “clandestine injury” he had bestowed upon me and of which I have chanced upon uncannily due to sheer coincidence. Or rather my sixth sense. I never confronted him about it. In self-denial, I let the matter slide.
Fool. The Swindler got the Compulsive Gambler. Lovefool and Ultimate Fool- I have allowed myself to be.
Now I understand what people meant when they say they sometimes even lose self-respect from love.
Now I finally get it.
*****
On the very first day when I finally met the Old Boy, he gave me a pair of Morgan et toi black see-through panties folded neatly in a red and pink gift box. The empty box is still on my desk. It says:
Dreams Comes True
Don't try so hard, the best things come
when you least expect them to.
I believe in the above. Beginner's Luck, yes that's what I buy.
Take it from the Compulsive Gambler though, there is only one way to go from thereon when one gets hooked to winning and starts losing control, finally reduced to becoming all too ready to show hand.
Look at me now. I am down on luck
