Viewing the local antiquities

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15:45 - Subject observed making a call at a pay phone.


"Yes. How do you know her?"


"How?"


"Yes!"


"Yes!"


16:38 - Subject proceeded on foot to Koreatown, entered a candy store, and left carrying a small plastic bag.

16:49 - Subject entered a convenience store, purchased a banana, and left, eating the banana.

17:02 - Target entered the room, embraced subject. Conversation ensued.

When she left with the house money, I put the bag of candy by the lamp on the bedside table. With the money for her. The young girl in the candy shop hadn't been able to understand that I wanted Thai candy, but the old man in the back finally did: I purchased three discs of dried octopus, a marshmallow Hello Kitty, and bright yellow- and green-cellophaned candies. "This one," he says:

The one Angel seizes upon; she spotted the bag right away. A quick crackle of plastic: She hands me a piece: Sulfur; chewy sweetness.

"You don't like it."


"It is Thai."


"Durian."

She dims the light.

17:25 - Target, on her knees over subject, observed lowering her pelvic area to contact subject's face.

I finally release her tit, and lay my head back on the pillow: She kneels, makes to kneewalk back, to position herself over my pelvis for the first penetration: I wrap my two hands round her thighs and hold her before me.


"Yes!"

A pause: The bed is too short: There's no room for me to sprawl out with my face in her crotch. She engineers a solution: I'm still flat on my back, looking up: She stands over me, feet either side of my shoulders, puts her hands against the wall at the foot of the bed, braces herself, then sliding her hands down, lets herself slowly down, squatting, and hovers: Bringing her crotch just over my face, so I don't bear her weight. I curl my hands round her thighs and pull her cunt down to my mouth: Give her a broad stroke, bottom to top, with the flat of my tongue.

Before me, live meat: membraneous, resilient, slick: no smell, and almost no taste; all douched away? She puts a light hand down on my shoulder, rubs in a circular motion: I 360 her twat, tonguing lip to clit to lip to hole to lip: stretch my mouth round all of her: greedily, crassly, noisily sucking.

Where is her hole? I can't slither myself past her brim: The angle is wrong and my neck hurts: I put my hands under her thighs and press up: She lifts herself off my face. My nose, lips, chin are coated with juice; spit, mostly, but lately faint salt; thin, not sticky.

17:36 - Target, on her knees over subject's pelvis, observed to squat, penetrating herself.


17:48 - Target, having left subject, observed douching herself in the adjoining dormitory.

We sit side by side, our backs to the mirrored wall, swinging our legs over the side of the bed, kicking our heels, as if we were back in a college dorm, sharing late-night secrets.

She reaches a Dunkin' Donuts bag from the nightstand and takes out two muffins.

"I remembered you brought a muffin to eat."


She feeds me a morsel of chocolate chip mufffin.

"Now I will tell you a story.

"I will never forget this day: 11/11. I get up, and I go to the gym—"


"I don't think so. I get there, and my wallet is gone! My ID. All my credit cards! I call and cancel everything. All day I think about this. I can't focus!

"I go in to work, sit down to eat, and my friend comes down and says a customer wants two girls and I'm still hungry, but it was my friend, so we go upstairs to take care of him."



"And then he got off the bed and opened his cell phone: I need to make a call to my business. Then he said: What do you want to do for me? So I told him, I told him I want to suck your dick. Some customers like you to talk dirty to them. So, I thought, OK. I wasn't focussed!

Then he said Stop! And the cell phone was open..."


"Yes. That is OK for them. They can't come. And they always just lie there. Not like us.

"They took me to a police station; it was pink like this room. I had to stay 36 hours because the building was new and they didn't have any fingerprint machines.

"Losing my wallet: It was a hint."


"No. I was not focussed!"


"My immigration lawyer says p-prostitution is not serious."


"He says it's a first offense. I want to stay here, I want to buy property."


"I don't think so.... LA is too expensive, but here houses are cheap. My accountant will help me with my money. But my probation officer says I have to apply to four jobs."


"Apply. There are 219 lines on the form for K-Mart! And I could fill out 217. I don't have a phone. I don't have an address."


18:27 - Subject, kneeling before target, observed putting both hands under target's buttocks and lifting target's pelvis to his mouth.

Angel lies flat on her back, head thrown back, arms hanging off the side of the bed, her thighs splayed showing her dark bush: But the bed is too short, I can't lower my head, I don't want to 69: Standing, I yank her pelvis down so when I kneel at the foot of the bed I can eat her: I lower my head.


I pull her crinkly brown lips gently apart to expose healthy pink: A nodular swirl of coral, shining with fluid: Digging my hands under her cheeks I pull her up to my mouth. It's been so long I fall back on book knowledge: Don't chew on her clit; do stroke her lips with the flat of your tongue; do curl your tongue and probe for her hole. Pressing forward, I take her all in my mouth, worry her.

"Easy!"

I look up from my work: Look up over her motte, up over her heaving belly, past the dark creases where her sideflopping tits swell, brown aureoles big, engorged nipples: her head is thrown back; her mouth gapes. I reach my hands up, palm her tits, twirl her nipples with the wet tips of my fingers, freshened from paddling her cunt, take her all in my mouth again: She bucks up her pelvis against my downpressuring mouth: proprioception.

"I want your cock in my pussy."

I return to my work.

18:35 - Target observed on her back with her legs spread reaching up to take subject's erect member.

"I want your cock in my pussy!"

She's flushed, sweaty.

Now I get up off my knees, clamber up on the bed, crawl over her, dangling down, bobbing, fumbly: She reaches a hand down, aligns me to her: I sink down, sink myself surely into her:

She's soft, open, sloppy from all of my tonguing.

0 to 100 s.p.m in seconds: No worries: Raising myself up on my elbows, I bearhug her shoulders the way that she likes: Racing so fast, I can't even remember the turns of the track: Not rabbitting but turning this way that way, as if hunted, in flight, as if at my back—

Comes a knock-knock at the door—

Under me, heaving up as I pound her, she emits some Korean, and I: "We're—busy!"

Then skydiving: She's so loose that even entirely swollen I don't feel I've penetrated her: I float jerking and twisting pronged weightlessly deep in her flesh somewhere under the bone I grind with my belly: spraying spuming spasming: the gift of water—

Oh Smile Oh Smile. Smile!

19:01 - Subject observed leaving the premises.

"I talked too long."


"Take me with you!"


"I scared you!"



I spit a huge loogy of bubbly saliva into the cup of green Listerine that she left on the nightstand.

What she'd said: "This is my real name."

5 Comments:

"As if at (your) back"...(you)hear "time's winged chariot hurrying near"...

It's amazing, how she talks about her job: doing a threesome as a favour for a friend, talking dirty because the customer wants it. It's such a---job.

Just curious: how long has she been in this country? How long has she been in this line of work?

But like her, I can only take so much oral and then I must have penetration.

I wish Angel had a blog.

DTG xxoo

By  Anonymous, at January 01, 2005 6:09 PM  

If she did, it would be more likely to be a marketing piece, eh?

By  John Psmyth, at January 02, 2005 6:22 PM  

Maybe, but I was hoping she'd be rather more reflective, like Kimmie or Eva, for example.

I'd love to hear her side of the story in her words. Reading so much Evelyn Lau these days heh.

DTG xxoo

By  Anonymous, at January 03, 2005 4:45 AM  

True -- She might well be reflective. OTOH, Lau (and Quan, for that matter) clearly set out to be writers; reflection is not an end in itself.

I'm also reacting, I think, to the idea of making the business aspect less than paramount. It isn't everything, not at all, but it is the main thing. It's not a matter of "taking so much oral," it's a matter of performing the services that were paid for. (I stress that this is ethical behavior.) Your desires are not (always) her desires. Granted, all this is "on the whole and on the average," as Marx would say. That said, it's certainly a strange business... To me, a key line in the story is "we go upstairs to take care of him." Eh?

By  John Psmyth, at January 03, 2005 7:20 PM  

That's exactly what I'd like to read, her reflections on her work as work, on performing some intimate act precisely because someone paid you to do it, when you don't particularly feel like doing it. That is not only ethical, it's also professional.

Her words "to take care of him" stood out to me for their marvellous, multi-coloured ambiguity, which she, as a non-native speaker, perhaps may not appreciate to the extent that a native speaker would. After all, "to take care of" can mean anything on a continuum from "to nurture" to "to kill," depending on the context. I interpreted her meaning in this context as something like, "to deal with it, to get the matter seen to and clued up."

DTG xxoo

By  Anonymous, at January 05, 2005 7:18 AM  

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