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.
