Around the World in Eighteen Lays Ch. 07

CHAPTER 7: ASIAN FUSION, COUNTRY BLISS

Sunday treat with Cindy in Manila. Melissa faces a dilemma.

A little touch of Scotland in the Hawaiin night left John satisfied with the women of the west. His clothes freshly laundered and Fiona fucked once more to fruition, he boarded his plane and looked forward to the eastern riches.

The moment he stepped off the airport bus onto the streets of Manila he realized he was in a different world. The noise of the traffic, the host of bicycles, scooters and hooting tuk-tuks, overwhelmed him, yet, unlike Europe or North America or Africa, there was no aggression. The Filipinos were used to being part of a multitude. That put John at his ease. He strolled among the colourful neon signs, faintly aware of cooking smells on all sides. Small children played outside the open shopfronts spilling onto the pavements, oblivious of the bustle around him.

His quest changed, subtly. What was he looking for? Asian girls were a favourite porn category, but not normally his choice when he went online for relief. They were renowned for sexual technique and lack of inhibition, which was both daunting and tantalizing. He had new expectations; his wandering eye was being re-calibrated.

Watching the women approach and edge past him, he felt a new kind of excitement. For the most part they were slender, flat-chested and flawlessly complexioned. They knew how to dress, unostentatiously but with style. It was impossible to make a choice: any one of them could be his type. The older women were fuller in the bust, their faces more lined, but still serene. Inscrutable? Perhaps, but if you looked more closely, as he did whenever the river of passengers halted to let through a cluster of schoolchildren or a posse of police, they were interesting, worth getting to know. Would they speak English, and would they want to make love to an Englishman, with his clumsy occidental ways?

He was preoccupied with these thoughts when he found himself caught up in a great concourse of people moving steadily, without pushing and shoving, towards the great cathedral of the Immaculate Conception.

Of a sudden he remembered it was Sunday afternoon. This was a devout Catholic country, and they were pouring into the basilica for mass. He hadn't attended mass himself for a long time. Could this be a way of getting his bearings among the locals? In any case, he didn't have much choice, unless he wanted to fight his way out of the crowd.

There was standing room only. The vault of the nave was dizzyingly high; the sanctuary surprisingly plain. An endless procession of choirboys, altar servers and clergy filed in, wearing their Advent purple. The organ introit was rousing; the notes pealed out over the assembled throng and whirled around high above their heads. He caught the occasional whiff of incense.

If it was sensual pleasure he wanted, here it was in abundance. The liturgy of high mass began, the familiar words rang out, some in English, some in Latin. The congregation was attentive. Was this the place for other kinds of sensual thoughts? The full-hearted singing, with its oriental tone and timbre, soothed and excited him in equal measure. And then he saw her.

She was standing up at the end of a pew not far in front of him, joining in the singing of the Gloria. There was hardly a crease in her pressed white linen jacket and short skirt; her thighs were slim and light brown. Steady now, he thought. You are in a house of prayer. His prayer was granted when she turned to pick up her missal and he saw that she was wearing a sheer yellow blouse. Every detail could be seen, her contours picked out in lace, underwire making the most of her figure, no more than 32A, as he guessed, accentuating her pointy breasts. She adjusted her jacket again, veiling his sight, but he had seen enough.

When mass was ended, and the congregation streamed out, he stayed close to her.

"Why are you following me?" she turned to ask him, quietly. Once more the delectable view.

"What makes you think I'm following you?"

"Men do."

It was said simply, in a matter-of-fact way. She didn't even bother to draw her jacket more closely about her. She seemed entirely relaxed about what was on display under her transparent blouse.

"Are you offended? Alarmed?"

"No. Let's walk together."

He was flummoxed. They talked of this and that. Was it his first time in the Philippines? She, Cindy, was an articled clerk in a law firm, hoping to begin practice in the coming year. She spoke fluent English, confidently and unaffectedly.

"I take supper early on a Sunday," she informed him. "My apartment is right here. Will you join me?"

What was this? Missionary dating? Had she no reservations about inviting a strange Englishman up to her apartment? Was there a family, perhaps? She didn't lose her self-command for a moment. She looked neither vulnerable nor provocative. The intricacy of her underwear might just have easily have been that of a silver filigree brooch, for all she seemed to mind.

So he walked up with her, took off his shoes at the door and sat at her formica kitchen table while she prepared the meal, just for the two of them. He offered to chop the greens. She draped her jacket over a chair, so her deft, assured movements would be unhindered. Her bra mesmerised him from every angle and prospect. She still seemed utterly un-selfconscious.

There was no awkwardness in their conversation over supper. They were seated at her wooden dining-room table covered in a light blue cloth. She poured iced water. The food, though unfamiliar, was crisp and refreshing.

"We can leave the plates," she said, when they were done. "You'll be wanting to see my bedroom."

Once more, it seemed like a matter of course. It set him thinking, as he sat on the edge of her bed in his stockinged feet. She didn't have to be a genius to know what he was after. But he had expected some resistance, some pretence of innocence, some vestige of a game to be played. Her tidy room, decorated with pictures of oriental landscapes, was as unassuming as her words of invitation. He felt at home.

This was hardly the moment to make a lunge for the lace on her breast or to start feeling up her thighs, elegantly tucked beneath her as she sat upright by the pillows. She patted the counterpane and invited him to lie back. Expertly, and without fuss, she unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly, opened his pants wide and placed a gentle hand on his surprised person. With her free hand she guided his palm onto her breast. It was firm and well-defined under the wispy fabric of her blouse.

His penis rapidly rose. She eased it through the opening in his shorts and stroked it attentively until he was proud.

"Now if you're comfortable," she said, holding him loosely and lovingly in her grip, "Tell me about your first time with Melissa."

It was a chilly December morning, and Melissa and Antonia lay entwined in their bed upstairs above the bar. It was still early. Misty darkness and silence enveloped the pub. A single car crunched on the gravel, its headlights sweeping their window for a moment, and then passed on. All was still again.

Melissa snuggled closer and smoothed Antonia's flank with her palm.

"Mmm -- that feels good." Antonia pressed the cheeks of her butt against her invitingly. Melissa's hand ventured further.

"Do you love me, Antonia?" she asked, with her finger lightly teasing her lover's clitoris.

For answer, a hand descended and urged hers deeper.

"What are we going to do when John comes home?" Antonia asked, after a pause.

Melissa said nothing. Her breasts heaved against Melissa's back.

"I don't know, Antonia. What should I do?"

"That, for starters," answered Antonia, guiding her hand. "Melissa, this is a mess."

"It is. I'm not cheating on him now" -- applying pressure -- "nor is he cheating on me, really. It's just a game."

"It's gone beyond a game, darling. I can't ask you to leave him. Nor do I want to stop doing this."

"Nor do I," rejoined Melissa. "You're the best lover I've ever had."

Antonia swivelled to take Melissa in her arms. Both were naked. They held each other and kept talking softly.

"We have twelve more nights."

"That's not enough. What are we going to do, Melissa?"

There was pain in her question. Melissa thought it best to approach the matter obliquely. "We had the idea that you would teach him to eat pussy better. But I think we've gone beyond that."

"Are you in love with him? Do you still love him?"

"I'm in love with you, Toni."

There could be no answer. The embrace became a kiss, the kiss a fondling, the fondling a slow, gentle fucking. As Melissa's mouth homed in on Antonia's pussy and her tongue began its magic, she could feel her lover tremble. Her orgasm pulsated through her. This was the real thing. Everything else was just preparation.

Never, never, never, thought Melissa, burying her face in that beautiful, that heavenly beaver. For how much long would it be all hers?

Next time: A story, an orgasm, a resolution and a promise.