Falling a wee short last night with Yan, unfortunately. An initial missed call was followed by messaging. Where was she? what was she doing?… 2 - 3 weeks she had been patiently awaiting the promised first call; departure had been almost 7 weeks now. Yes, home; doing nothing. Which was precisely what was required. The stricken ahma who was her charge, little over 60, was shown later in her bed unresponsive, dressed in a nice, clean blouse. Yan herself was in the living room, unmade-up and a little self-conscious. That first call had been routine catchup: how was she? what news? the kampung? Had she heard of the eruption on Sumatra?… All well. Nothing special. Yes, yes, the bam near Bukit Tinggi, she had heard. A trifle strained after the questions were answered. Even in Sing we had never had a video call. Some sneaky, accidental-like glimpses of nakedness while she was shown around the studio passed without comment from her. Once we had done with that a couple of following messages drew a remark about fond memories of the secluded kamar back in Geylang Serai. That was more like it. Good to hear. Unprompted, as it needed to be in order to have any value. Oh, well, yes. Fine times, true. Matter of fact, the burung / bird was currently standing tall. Instantly, the something further that was wanted was duly provided. An Aaaahhh! You could clearly hear the exhalation behind the text. Aaahh! indeed. Precious. Just what the doctor ordered. It was duly rewarded with another call providing immediate focus on the vision splendid. There you go, honey. Without any unnecessary commentary. The close attention quickly elicited on the other side likewise passed without words. At first it was not clear why the image on her side was confined to only a close-up of Yan’s face—her cheeks, peering eyes, lips. Soon the lips were unpursed. Here was the tongue and beginning to dart. Retracted, poked again, darting and beginning to lick. (On the equator fellatio was colloquially termed ice-cream.) Little of Yan’s forehead was visible on the screen. Nay, none at all. Nor the chin either, or anything of the ears. Drawn up mighty close to her phone, Yan. Even at almost forty, Yan had not progressed to glasses. Post-coition in the dimly lit kamar in Sin’pore there had been numerous instances of Yan squinting at her lover’s midriff, when the gal was trying to confirm an older man’s mediocre ejaculation. In 5 - 6 years of marriage Yan had never given her husband fellatio. The man had asked for it and gone to an early grave without being pleasured like that by his wife. Yan had not been fibbing either. Since the first venture her technique had come on in leaps & bounds. During the marriage too, in love making, Yan had never assumed the jockey mount; again, a common state of affairs in the kampungs. The 8-year widow came to make up some good ground. As ill-luck would have it, now the lady had been almost 2 months widowed anew, Yan complained in a little whine. Very sweet. That got us closer to blast-off, though in the end only an approach to the void. What to do? Couldn’t be helped. A fine initial attempt and hope for better on the next occasion.
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