[Faidenk]

CHAPTER 5

I’m a man of few words, especially so on the phone, which translated to, according to quite a few of my female acquaintances, ‘unromantic’. Coupled this with a tiny tuff of hair on my chest, it is irrefutable evidence that I am heartless. Nothing I say will change their opinion an iota. Just because I never fail to heap praise on her ‘O, you’re fucking beautiful!’ during the throes of ecstasy doesn’t mean I find them unattractive at other times. Just because I’ve never say ‘I love you’ to any of them doesn’t really mean I don’t. It’s just that the word LOVE means pink, laces, Prince, Cinderella, bridal to the girls while it’s sweat, hard, cum, lust, to us guys, and I’ll not be the one to mislead. Friend once told me an anecdote of bride and bridegroom, they look at each other lovingly as they exchange their vows, the bridegroom prays she’ll stay the same forever, but we all know she’ll transform to a old nag come the 2 kids; as for the bride, he smokes, he farts and scratches his balls when he thought no one is looking, she’ll try her godamnest to change him. With such conflicting fundamentals it is a surprise divorce rates are not escalating more.

‘Baobei, I’m a little tired and there’s a meeting first thing in the morning so I’ll talk to you again tomorrow, alright? I will dream of you’, trying to sound as downtrodden as a man can not getting his rocks off the first date. She should learn her hands-off policy can bring guilt. Besides, I want to get back to the fun. Bye, goodnight, kiss, kiss.

Mummy has assembled a lineup waiting for my approval. All bowed in unison and greeted me as I make my way back to my seat. Hmmm… not bad at all, as usual. A familiar face there, she flashed her teeth hoping for a repeat. If I remembered correctly, she had asked for a ‘small’ tip equivalent to a third of the going price for a quickie. That in itself was not unreasonable had she been more receptive to a CIM. Nah, I’ll pass.

As I scanned up and down the lineup, I spied on a girl with uncharacteristically dark features. Her complexion was fair enough, and you won’t mistake her for anything but Oriental, but there’s something I just can’t pin my fingers on. Was it her raven black hair, or the Madonna-inspired eyebrows that had all the Ah-Lians sporting thick pencil-drawn mustache above the eyes? Or was it that her eyes were slightly more deep-set than the average Chinese? I was intrigued. I turned to Mummy and nodded. Mummy called out, ‘Alisha”. The rest of the girls bowed and filed out of the room. Alisha sat down, without a word held my arm, and rested her cheek for a moment on my shoulder in a gesture of thanks.

It turn out she’s from Xinjiang, so that might explain her exotic DNA. Her family had migrated to Beijing when she was very young and as far as they are concerned, she’s working for a MNC in Shanghai. In fact she was, until she discovered a ethnic minority background puts one way down on the pecking order in Han dominated China, and all the more so here in Shanghai. The locals’ disdain for non-Shanghainese is well-known. For example, a friend’s PA, from Tianjin, was tasked with liaising with the necessary government departments to secure approvals, authorizations and licenses. After a year of given the piss, she left in frustration. My friend, on the advice of his accountant, then hired a Shanghainese, who got everything up and running in 3 months. The new PA even managed to get the officials to accept the company’s bribes, offered previously but subtly rejected.

In any case, Alisha decides Fucks! to this and started working part-time as a KJ, and discovered that hostesses earned more in a month than she did in the MNC in a year. It did not take much to convince her a change of career will do her a world of good both morale-wise as well as financially. And so she exchanged her blue blazer for a evening gown cut that screamed Skin, Tits, Legs. Tonight she had swept her hair to her left, so much like Zhang Zhong Wen. If you don’t who she is, ask your father, just make sure Mom’s not around. I like.