Florida Marlin

 

Inanity no especially big deal ordinarily. What did it matter? In politics it was a bit more serious, but there it mostly covered the usual push from the usual direction; different kinda mask in that case. Otherwise, routine everyday inanity you quietly step around, pass by. ‘Tis the way. Can’t be helped. Onward regardless. True, somedays, unprepared, it could strike a fellow like a sudden arrow, pierce the heart and slowly begin to gnaw. Irritation and unsettling hardly noticeable at first, mostly impalpable. Implacable as it proceeded. That beanpole footing along this morning had never been in the meritocratic race, never made the starting line. Back in the field, bunched behind. Among the also-rans making up the numbers. Florida Fishing College... Faded, but still legible. Not club—college. Lad like that would never get into any college. Never get off the island, much less Florida. Maybe the $3 commuter bus over the Causeway to JB. Fishing off the bridges here was more like; that was the hook prompting his mother’s purchase. Trifle google-eyed, spectacles, flip-flops slapping. Sweetest as could possibly be every chance, which doesn’t deny the point here. All the sloganeering, the government, advertisers, fashion industry, the influencers & churches. (The Muslims & Hindu eschewed.) Before the first cuppa of the day didna help.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Touching

 

 

If you’re in the biz of promoting reflection, elucidation, understanding whatnot, you’ve gotten yourself a sticky problem right there in the middle of your life right now. Strange set of circumstances. What is it exactly with these two gals and their particular ways? your own responses too? The pair all at once more or less, in these latter days of the career, when you weren’t exactly top of the form. Both Sumatran, coincidentally; the Northern half in fact of that largest island in the Indo archipelago both. (Sixth largest in the world; as Mr Trumpet has said, Greenland being No. 1.) In what has been a long, if not illustrious life of those pleasures of the flesh, you have never previously been requested to administer spanking. Nothing particularly remarkable for many, especially since the advent of the Net. (Sak in fact admitted getting her idea from the example.) Good, firm clapping of the peach, when properly landed. Resonant thwacking. One times! Two times! Three times in succession was not overdoing it. From the reaction it clearly stung the gal, making her start, making her wince and gape; but equally clearly, if not quite a bit more than equally, the relish was unmistakable. Four times! Five! Spaced a bit the latter needed to be. Eight, nine or ten altogether on the last Tuesday meeting. Counting a couple of misplaced, it may have totalled over a dozen. Without any implement or aid employed; only the flat of the hand, the right for a right-hander. Whack! In the centre of the cheek, usually the left, given the way Sak liked to straddle her lover crossways. Oh! Gasp. Ah! For a palpable hit on the spot. Misplaced was unsatisfactory; it did need to land on the fleshy centre of the mound, which in Sak’s case was nicely raised and shapely. On the spot there made it sweet. Very likely the auditory effect added to the girl’s pleasure. That the Korean lad behind the party wall must have heard gave no concern; indeed, on the contrary, added plus. (He would feel he’s missing out: Sak.) Surprisingly, and unexpectedly, there eventually came some pleasure too for the disciplinarian. Mainly for a new job well done; and the satisfaction providing the partner. How about that! You were in the lists of the sadomasochists now, kinda. Active participant. How to account for the preference was the question? In early youth Sak had once been beaten by her father with a belt. Not the buckle, and not especially fiercely. A signal event nonetheless, however. The young girl had been caught by Da alone with a lad as twilight descended. The compromising position was relatively minor. Sak had ducked flat when the Da was sighted; clothing intact; little dishevelled. It had only been some smooching & squeezing. Single, solitary episode. Not enough to go by for present purposes, one would think; for this decided preference in her middle thirties. In a WA exchange Sak had sensibly suggested it was another means of creating intimacy with a partner; effecting union. Who was the newcomer to quibble? Was it possible to delve more deeply for some more satisfactory and definitive explanation? Then Era. The second example; fellow Sumatran. Well, it should be added, both women came with limited sexual history. No doubt an important factor, especially in the elder Era’s case. Sak’s predilection for porn noted. Not become obsessive. It had helped enduring twelve long, prime years of unwanted celibacy; no kind of sexual partner for the duration. Both women too had shared the fate of exceedingly brief marriages, (little over a year in the one case & only 2 months the other.) Era had never resorted to porn, though in the last few years—into her early & mid-forties now— she was relishing some visual imagery on the screen, when it was granted. During absences, especially of the protracted kind, when Era was messaged for notice of some proper standing to attention, she quickly responded with, Ingin lihat. Ingin lihat; and more recently adding, dan pegang. Want to see; and hold. For a good long while E’s little hand had needed to be directed onto, or at least toward the member. Once ventured the lady soon settled and got herself going perfectly well under her own steam. Stroking, caressing, jerking a little; and increasingly more strenuously than her partner liked, in fact, before long needing to be slowed. (The Bahasa for “gentle” would not stick—lembut; close to lembu, cow. Lemah, halus or manis, which latter was common in the request for less sweetening in the teas—kurang manis. More recently, over the last 4–5 months, E’s stroking, her holding and clasping had become almost peak feature of the union. That hesitant, shy little hand. The quiet, deep relish. Evident, but carefully hidden pleasure. (In the subsequent jockey mount, especially the first round after the week or two’s absence, all that pleasure Era attempted to clench and stifle in her jaw.) Now, wherefore? The question. How was that? Why that simple cherishing come to be relished so dearly; by both parties? The number of weeks the clasping close continued for many minutes; continued for two or even three quart hours in a couple of notable cases. Certainly in the WA exchanges, this matter was the chief node. Ingin lihat; wanting to see on the screen. Dan pegang; and hold. Hold somehow by imaginative extension. In one of the early episodes during the long European separation, E’s little thumbnail portrait in the bottom corner of the screen showed fixed concentration and a glowing, radiant smile. Recently, during the inoperability of her teenage daughter’s phone and the pair’s sharing of E’s own, the mother had needed to take special care to delete the threads. Ingin lihat. And dan pegang. This case with E was perhaps a lesser mystery; but nonetheless, such a simple manoeuvre proving so powerful, so dominant, remained a wonder. Each week as we drew toward the Friday evening, that first lunge when it came, and the following persistence, played powerfully upstairs. Girls rarely clung on very much to the rudder. It seemed to offer little on their side. Yet here it was very much contra-wise. Era might not ever explore the porn online, but if she were to be sent an artful photograph, or video, as she had quietly pleaded for often enough, every chance she could survive on that prospect for a very long time. An all too brief, unsatisfactory marriage was key. (The husband had simply brought another woman home when their daughter was 5–6 months of age.) Followed by the extended withdrawal and celibacy again. One’s own reactions raised interesting questions too. Reversions of some sort was the working hypothesis.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thing of Feathers

 

A lucky twitcher struck gold here recently when a glorious specimen from far distant forests accidentally landed in this jungle of concrete, glass & steel—affluent Tanjong Katong, what’s more. Forty years was the last sighting locally. It made a reassuring feature for page 1 of the Straits Times this morning. They have not gone to the dogs entirely here. Still connected to real nature. Still part of the great creation, the shared ecosphere. Alive in the traditional, meatworld. (Not Dead Yet? as the new Chinese App going gangbusters in the Apple Store on the Mainland has it.) As if.

Visitations of monkeys, butterflies, otters, dears in recent days, often received the same treatment; provided the same consolation. The social media lighting up.

NB. A Eurasian hoopoe discovering a green patch of grass, raising its magnificent crown.

Sound Princess

No one's given any thought to the syrup leaking in the pissoires here eternally without pause. The supermarket was bad enough, through the festive season particularly. But one was more prone in the conveniences, more exposed and vulnerable. It was always taken in stride in this republic, not a flicker, slipping completely beneath the radar. How much something, something just this afternoon at OneKM, love or kisses sweet. Brief pee; limited damage. Couple uncles were at the mirrors with their combs; couple cubicles occupied. It would be impossible to quantify the derangement. Were those tunes in fact AI creations? The bland dribble certainly fitted. There was a beautiful, lightly coloured chanteuse highlighted on BBC, huge commercial phenomenon, with the question hanging whether she was in fact flesh & blood, a bona fide citizen of the meatworld? It was still unknown, it seemed, even after record breaking success. A kind of Elena Ferrante of the musical scene, twisted couple notches here. Years the tickle had been continuing at the better class malls, where the plush, roomy conveniences, the a/c curtains made powerful, powerful draws. There was nothing of the Japanese courtesy products that they deployed in their loos in Nippon involved; the tone was almost whisper thin in this case, breathily cooing into your ear. Impossible to mask unwanted eruptions with that kinda pitter patter. Did they flute tuxedo smoothies in the ladies here, tickling the gals where it hurt? It needed investigation.

 

NB. See Japanese bathrooms online. It was a wonderland; Disney level. You could bet the systems were installed all through Mar-a-Lago, and no doubt the remodelled White House, along with the chandeliers & gold leaf.

 

 

 

 

The Healing

 

By evening going out for supper and at the Wadi table, the matter had settled in the forefront of the mind. By then it was impossible to think of anything else. The whole thing was overwhelming, something from daytime TV drama, rather than the local neighbourhood. The hours that were needed for it to take firm hold from the night before was rather odd. Delayed shock, presumably.

            Dee’s marriage had taken place, that was clear. At Grandlink Square, the Queen’s Ballroom, for the reception at least. Tags that could now only torment the poor darling.

            As scheduled it had taken place, six days ago. Dee had begun the exchange with the non-attendance.

A routine ticking off it had seemed at first, one that needed a little time to answer. In the end the usual mixture of honesty and deft evasion sufficed.

            Can’t explain how it slipped me D. Had a fortnight in Johor in December, lotta stuff blasting. At City Plaza the other day it tweaked my conscience. Hope you’re very well honey! and your man!

            Very satisfactory. Reviewing it later it was confidently ticked off. Job well done.

            Two & one half hours afterward came the stunning, horrid reply.

            We’re not together any more P. // 22:42

            Unbelievable. Six days for the union to collapse?!

            On its own it was woefully devastating. But nothing like as bad had this not been a close replay of an earlier event a few years before. A dear young ardent heart now in her mid-thirties, with big ceremonials behind her falling flat, in record time at least in this latter case.           

            Mind boggling. Truly. In Hollywood, Vegas, Rio, whatever, it would be entirely different.

            The reply couldn’t be delayed too long. Destined to be badly inadequate, of course, but it couldn’t be delayed.

Prior to the needed response D. had followed the sledgehammer news with some detail.

            He’s worse than my previous nightmare.

            To which in turn was added in the same minute as the sledgehammer, all together in the package, a cleaved red heart emoji with three faces of streaming tears accompanying.

            Two hours later after much mulling, frantic you could call it, the best that could be managed was the following.

            Oh my dear D. (Without exclamation mark.)

On reflection there ought to have been a double, or perhaps triple paragraph after that opening.

…It happens. Have been talking this again recently with a friend who had a terrible experience with a 2 month marriage. It inspired a recently penned 6 word story from my own side.

Sharing one’ own, albeit less dramatic heartbreak, had to be worth something. The link was sent for the sixwordmemoirs site. (How to take back those kisses?) // 00:46

In the morning after ablutions, during which the further addition had been decided and the lead mentally composed, D. was WA-ed again.

Nothing must defeat us D. You gotta know that. Restore yourself slowly. But surely. Nothing. // 07:46

On re-reading in the afternoon it appeared at first that the else at the end must have been left off somehow.

None of this would have been quite so devastating without the repetition.

Dee had not been seen in the last four, or even five years, possibly. Overseas trips both sides was one reason, but likely there was also shame, depression, perhaps a breakdown following the first episode

The last time  D. was encountered had been at the regular kopi shop opposite the market. Unexpectedly, one early evening, here she was with the beau in company she had mentioned couple times. A tall young man of roughly her own age, a fitting match in appearance. D. was bright and vivacious, quite brilliant in many ways, but she was no oil panting. If this chap had half Dee’s brains, heart and energy, it would have been a great benefit.

The pair were joining two Wadi tables together for the imminent arrival of D’s in-laws to-be. Both sets might have been coming. The groom had already met D’s parents, but she not as yet his, she said. Understandably, the pair was flustered, only brief introductions managed.

The two tables happened to be behind the usual preferred table beside the fire hydrant on the outer path, where D. had joined dozens of times over the years. No way was it politik to hang around. At the first opportunity a getaway was managed, leaving the stage for that occasion of theirs.

Six months, a year or more later—the timing had been forgotten—word arrived it hadn’t worked out. As there had been no subsequent meeting, details were unknown. When the break had occurred, what had taken place, all unknown. Only the day before with this most recent disaster had the statement of nightmare merged. The marriage and that young chap briefly sighted that night at Wadi had been a nightmare. With this more recent a worse one again.

Ghastly beyond compare. What to think now? How to console, in the event D. sought something of the kind?

This was terribly dangerous too, of course. Exceedingly. One could recover from one such case, but from this kind of a cannoning? With all the ceremonials and expectations in this conservative culture on the Equator?

The whys and wherefores would not be pondered. All that needed to be put strictly aside. Out of mind. Certainly those questions would never be voiced. The timing of the second episode at least gave suggestions. Even in her mid-30s now, to be sure, Dee was a complete innocent.

In the event of a meet the example of the Fries woman at the kopi shop would be unfolded for Dee, the poor dear who three times had talak pronounced upon her, by three different husbands, one after the other. You are not my wife! You are not my wife! You are not my wife! Thrice times; ie. three times each man was enough for annulment on the spot in this Muslim culture.

In that case of the Fries lady there were three children from the unions too, one by each of the men; the husbands. Surely that was every bit as bad, and worse maybe. One could not compare, but the example right there on our patch might help D. in some little way. Shared suffering had to help. Bearing a dreadful burden alone could prove completely demoralising.

The Fries woman had recently left the kopi shop, for good it seemed, setting up a warung in a Johor town up on the Peninsular. In her case the children may have helped.

What exactly had transpired in that regard for D. was unknown. One way or another any child from the first union would have emerged. Certainly D. would never have aborted.

Did the most recent nightmare occur on the nuptial night and after it D. immediately fleeing? There were so few days and nights in the second case, at least.

Prior to that first marriage Dee had actively pursued a chap, without any success in the end. The gal had been greatly smitten, writing marvellous love letters & poems to the lad. The beloved had clearly been a looker, the photos showed, a recently graduated lawyer. The protracted episode had been painful to watch. No two-bit lawyer could have compared with Dee, but it was hopeless; doomed to fail. The lad in the pics told the story. Only a stupendous heiress won out in a case like that. The lad responded with his fondness for D. and after taking a pretty for wife hoped the friendship could continue.

Dee’s mother had been at her for many years to marry. A typically lovely old Malay.

The episode with the lawyer had not been a nightmare. D. had bounced back soon enough, throwing herself into good works again.

She did have a number of fine friends. There were some excellent counsellors in the country, one regular contributor to the newspaper who was clearly outstanding. D’s traditional family could be relied upon for refuge at least.

You feared for her, felt terribly inadequate. A much older male friend (who may have been in the sights at some point) was hardly a good fit for counselling. Being an impressive writer and thinker herself had to be something in Dee’s favour. Insight helped. Heal yourself, might be suggested to D. at some opportune point in the future, over a cup of teh, or else online. Dee had been about to embark on a PhD in Turkey. If anyone in that position could manage self-healing, it would be this impressive young woman. It inevitably came down to that. People did emerge from all manner of trials. 

A WA came suggesting friends had saved her. Her life, Dee said. She was keen to tell it all. It was unlikely. It was certainly unnecessary. There was some curiosity, of course. But listening and responding to it all in some appropriate way was daunting too. Very unlikely it would occur. From this side there would be no further contact; a polite monitoring message. It all needed to be left to Dee. She could possibly manage. Psychic collapse had never been witnessed ten years in that community. The old, traditional Malay weddings lasted 2 - 3 days. On the first day the young couple in all their finery were seated on elaborate thrones raised on a dais, the space before them strewn with dollar notes. Kings & Queens for a day, they said.

 

Crinkled

 

Crinkled large shoulder bag passing in front, carted by an older Malay, a maid possibly.

        BLAND

          LIFE

         Huh!?

         The initial reading made the observer perk up.

         Turned out with some pivoting & swivelling the I had been hidden in the folds and the B was a S.

         Groan. The other kind of minor wit was uncommon here; nonexistent in the manufactures. 

         It did remind of a Brit lager lad type’s tee down on the Montenegrin coast earlier in the year. Carried on the rear in that case. A cartoon human figure like the Duck in more youthful years was caught, stranded it appeared, on a desert-like landscape that was in fact waterfront of some ill-defined kind. Unfortunately, rather apt for what the ancestral strip had become over there with the seeking budget tourists. 

         NOTHING, the simple tag. 

         All the fun-loving water focus, with its games and behaviours, blotted out almost entirely the dark, looming hills ringing round.

Summerland

 

A Summerland Hotel on a Yemeni island called Socotra. No (large) rock in any sea left unexplored by the contemporary beach-loving tourist. White family with kids in the pic entering a Toyota SUV for the airport after UAE & Saudi exchanges spoilt a holiday and threatened stranding. The waters there in the Red Sea might catch a turquoise tinge certain times of year, offer refreshing breezes, a malooga & hummus to die for. 

NB. Melbourne currently 40 degrees, with the interior 3 - 4 - 5 degrees warmer.