Jessie

Years later, remembering, he would chuckle fondly, in an echo of her laughter the time when -- excessively aroused by one of the postures he'd put her in -- he'd attempted to achieve what looked like an impossible conjunction of their genitalia, 'You can't do it like that,' she'd exclaimed breathlessly, only to add, still laughing as he entered her, 'Oh, you can!

During the few nights they spent together, they coupled vigorously, variously and often; and it was as if he'd come to the end of a long, dry spell. And when, between their couplings, they drifted into sleep, she would lie with her body pressed tightly against him. He understood then, that during those arid years, as much as the sex, it was this closeness he'd been missing.

He did not delude himself that Pearl clung to him out of affection. Likely she had learned, at her mother's knee, the behavior regarded as appropriate for a wife or concubine. Or, viewed more optimistically, perhaps it was a simple, human response to the fact that he treated her kindly and with respect, and showed a concern for her pleasure as well as his. Whichever the case, it touched him that when, sated, they fell asleep at last, he would, on waking, find her still pressed against him, often with her hand cupped around his balls.

********************

He'd noticed the Yanks at the hotel check-in the day of his arrival, and now he's standing next to them, waiting in line for breakfast. There's been a delay in getting service under way. The cook is doing a lot of shouting; his underlings a lot of scurrying, and the two young Americans are joshing them in a sort of Chinese accented pidgin, chivvying them along. It's good-natured enough, but embarrassing nonetheless, and Ira is trying, with a noncommittal smile, to reconcile his contradictory impulses of sympathy with the staff, and affinity with his fellow guests, the taller of whom, after a series of sidelong glances such as you might bestow on a co-conspirator or confidante, now addressed him directly:

'Say if you mind my asking sir, only me and my buddy here, we're intrigued by your accent. We were wondering where you hail from -- I'm Steve by the way and this here's Dwight.'

Ira is flattered by their interest. Except in the course of business, he has had very little in the way of human contact over the past few weeks. He tells them as much about his island home as their constrained circumstances will allow, and learns, in turn, what he has already surmised: that the two friends are GIs on R&R from Vietnam. As one for whom that war has been something of a preoccupation he is intrigued by this, and soon the three of them are chatting animatedly, stepping aside to let others in the line pass by. And when Ira, having at last been served, is about to move on, Steve, after exchanging a quick glance with Dwight, and with that courteous deference which Ira, from countless movies watched, associates with the American south, says, 'Sir, we'd be honored to have you sit with us.'

To which Ira replies, 'No, the honor's mine; only please, call me Ira.'

'Tell us more about this island of yours Ira,' Dwight says when they're seated.' He looks up expectantly, his fork poised half way between his plate and his mouth. 'Is it anything like Bali Hai in South Pacific?' (He's the dreamer of the two -- the romantic -- as Ira will quickly learn.)

And so, Ira goes on at greater length about the island. He shows them photographs which they pass back and forth between them, all the while enthusing over the lush green landscape; the crystal waters of the lagoon; the sparsely peopled beach and its creamy-white sand. And, in turn, they tell him about their lives and families back in small-town Texas and how, having trained as medical orderlies, they had met in Vietnam, re-enlisted together, and were now on their second tour of duty. Listening to them, Ira worries that his bucolic images of the island will render even grimmer, by contrast, the harsh reality they will soon be confronting in the service of their country; but it seems that nothing can dampen their cheerful good nature or undermine their American optimism. Hearing them talk, you would not think there was a single cloud on their horizon.

It was the start of what was to prove a pleasant, and for Ira, fortuitous relationship. Steve and Dwight knew Taipei well and when they offered to show him around. He accepted their offer gratefully.

First thing you got to do,' Steve tells him, 'is get yourself a girlfriend.' Dwight nods agreement and Steve goes on. 'Taiwanese chicks are great; you can trust them totally. They really look after you in bed; they'll never rip you off; and they'll make sure no-one else does either.'

Korean chicks are hotter though,' Dwight interposes.

The comment, which seems gratuitous to Ira, is readily understood by Steve, who turning to his friend says, 'Okay, we'll make it Seoul next time, seeing as how you're still pining;' and, with eyes cast skyward adds, for Ira's benefit, 'There's this girl there.'

At which Dwight smiles, and a brief discussion follows regarding the relative merits of Taiwanese and Korean girls, which is finally resolved by a Rizla-thin margin in favor of the latter, they being beneficiaries, both men assert, of the exceptional love-making skills of Korean men. Ira is intrigued by this conversation and by his new friends' apparent liberality and finds himself wondering bemusedly what rating they would assign to Texans, as lovers.

They went on to explain that the girls were state-licensed, clean, affectionate and, almost without exception, sweet-natured and trustworthy. You bought their time by paying an initial fee to the owner of the bar out of which they worked and subsequently, by giving money directly to the girl. Ira was not comfortable with the idea of buying a woman, but, starved of sex as he told himself he was, whatever scruples he had were quickly laid aside. They got a taxi and went to a bar Steve and Dwight knew of.

Inside the bar, it was cool and dark. There were maybe ten girls in there, gossiping amiably among themselves and with the bar's manager. They quieted a little when the three of them came in. Steve introduced Ira to Chang who, having shaken his hand wasted no time on further formalities but got right on with introducing his girls: 'This Pearl; this one May; this one she call Mitsy,' he began intoning -- and would have gone on had Ira not saved him the trouble by choosing Pearl.

Why Pearl? She was young -- around twenty he reckoned -- and attractive, but by no means the prettiest girl there -- there were two or three who were outstanding beauties. But Ira couldn't bear to see the girls auctioned this way. He chose Pearl simply because she was the first to be introduced, and it would have struck him as heartless to bypass her in favor of another. As it turned out, he never came to regret his decision.

There was a dance that night at the US army base and Steve and Dwight invited them along. As they danced, Pearl clung to Ira so closely that he could feel his erection poking hard into her belly and briefly indulged a fantasy of himself, buck-naked, and Pearl impaled on it, the two of them still dancing, she with her feet clear of the floor. The room was packed with other couples similarly entwined and the air was thick -- a miasma of smoke, testosterone and Right Guard. They took a taxi back to the hotel.

Back in his room, Pearl, matter-of-factly, shed her cheongsam and stepped out of her underwear. She had a sweet figure -- slender with small, pointed breasts and a shapely dark triangle between her legs. They showered together and washed each other. She soaped his back, then his chest, and finally, his cock and balls, which she washed carefully with both hands and with an air of concentration, as if carrying out a task of paramount importance. It has to be said that he was just as thorough as he soaped her breasts, her buttocks, and between her legs.

Lying on the bed with her he took his time -- kissing, sucking, stroking, gently probing and exploring -- devouring her with his eyes. And when at last he went down on her she seemed surprised that this should be happening so early on -- or perhaps that it was happening at all -- but soon relaxed into it, whimpering, and pushing her pudenda up to meet his mouth. It seemed to him that her pussy sweetened with each stroke of his tongue and by the time she came it was like honey dripping.

When he felt he had teased and toyed with her, long enough, he entered her gently, rightly anticipating that she would be quite small. And indeed, never before had he felt himself so firmly clasped. He heard her sharp intake of breath, then a moan and then the urgent instruction: 'Okay, you come now,' and her hands were clawing at his buttocks trying to pull him deeper into her, though really, there was no farther he could go. He saw that she was coming again: her throat was stretched and taut and she was making these tiny sounds: 'eh, eh, eh, eh'. He needed no further inducement. A few powerful thrusts followed by a delicious pulsing, and with a groan, he emptied himself into her, adding his seed to the juices which, Pearl's body had, for their mutual comfort and pleasure, provided so copiously.

When, after a time, he withdrew, Pearl took hold of his penis and said, with practiced flattery, 'You mighty big guy Ira,' and gasped as, imperiously, he pushed her knees up to her chest, parted them, and planted a kiss on her still swollen, vulva. 'No Pearl,' he said, grinning up at her from between her thighs, 'You, very small girl.'

Lying there afterwards, Ira found himself thinking about how many men Pearl must have serviced over the course of her young life, and wondering whether she'd had to endure much abuse. And, although he thought the diminutive sounds she'd made during intercourse would hardly have been worth the trouble of faking, he could not help wondering, as well, whether she really could have climaxed so easily during what must have been, for her, just another in a long line of commercial transactions. Hesitantly he asked her, 'Do you really come when you have sex -- I mean -- did you come just now?'

'Yeah, I come,' she answered brightly, 'why you ask?'

Why did he ask? Why did he care? Was it because it would have struck him as pitiable if Pearl were unable to derive any pleasure from what -- for the lack, he presumed, of other prospects -- she did for a living? Perhaps he felt that performing so intimate an act entitled her to something beyond mere monetary compensation -- a sort of payment in kind -- so that, at the very least, the act should, not be utterly distasteful to her. When it came down to it though, he knew that his concern was self-serving: his own pleasure would be diminished, to the point of being obviated, had he thought that his attentions had left Pearl ungratified.

The second night they lay together Pearl said to him, 'You no love your wife?' It seemed as much a statement as a question, and when, after a moment's hesitation, he answered, 'Yes, of course I do,' she added, 'You loving your wife how come I here with you?' Given what he supposed her cultural assumptions about appropriate wifely behavior were likely to be, and anticipating that it might well be beyond her comprehension that a man could be both married, and deprived of sex, he knew he could not answer her in terms she would understand. But it both saddened and disturbed him that he felt more physical intimacy when lying with this young prostitute, than in his own marriage bed.

The inherently exploitative nature of their relationship was disturbing to Ira. However much he told himself that if she were not with him Pearl might well be with someone who treated her unkindly, he could not overcome the guilty feeling that she was his victim as well. And so, outside the limits of the understanding between them -- that she would sleep with him for money -- he tried to ensure, as far as he could, that she felt herself to be free.

Thus, even though the guys had told him that she would, if he required it of her, spend her days with him as well as her nights, she so obviously wanted to be elsewhere that, although he would have liked her company, he didn't hinder her. He would give her her retainer then, by the simple expedient of passing her his wallet from which she would never extract more than a modest sum.

And so it was with the sex also. For, although it pleased him when they made love to go down on her, he guessed, rightly, that she would not wish to reciprocate. He never attempted to coerce her into this, or any other sexual act, but left it to her to decide the extent of the service she was willing to provide.

They would have breakfast together in the hotel dining room and she would order for them both, addressing the waiter in their Hokkien dialect and checking the bill when it came. She carried out these tasks with brisk efficiency and he saw that it pleased her to have this small element of control and took pleasure in her pleasure.

On their last night together she told him that an American serviceman had offered to take her back to the States and marry her. She asked his advice. Did he think she should go? He didn't believe her story, but found her hope for an imagined better life almost unbearably poignant. He wished a happy ending for her, but knew how high the odds were stacked against it.

When it came to parting, she was brusquely courteous, extending her hand for him to shake, (how else, he thought, should, or could she be, given the gulf of time and space opening between them) and he felt a pang at the thought that he would not see her again and found himself hoping there was someone in her life who really cared about her.

The Vietnam War rumbled on for another five years. He had given Steve and Dwight his address but had not gotten theirs. He never did hear from them. He hoped they were okay.