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You will then be lead to your locker by an attendant where you can store your clothes and change into shorts and towels.To open your locker, you will need your electronic locker key and also the attendants. After you're all changed and ready the attendant will show you the way to the elevator where you have access to all of the facilities.
One thing I have to mention is that the G floor sauna and jacuzzi sections doesn't look particularly so clean. It might be the gray interior and the facility is kind of old. Except for the sauna room which I think was recently renovated from the time I went there a few years ago.
The jacuzzi waters looked clean though but the showers look a little bit scary. I recommend wearing your provided slippers even when you're showering. Who knows who just took a piss on the shower floor?
You can shower afterwards and from there change into some shorts and shirts provided. If you can't find your size, you can ask the attendants to get you set up. From here, there are disposable tooth brushes, shaving razors and even hair gel to get yourself all pretty.
Once you're all dried and primped you can head up to the 4th floor cafe area. In all of these types of health club establishments with hookers, customers usually pick out the hookers in the cafe area.
I say usually because you can also ask the captain to take you to the rooms where the girls are waiting. But usually, customers will be sitting down in the cafe area and if they want to see the ladies a captain will call the ladies to come down so they can take a look.
E2 Spa Club and Sauna in Kuala Lumpur Malaysia.
Address: Wisma Mpl, Jalan Raja Chulan, Kuala Lumpur, Wilayah Persekutuan Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.
You can choose to have the girls line up in front of you at the cafe. Or you can ask the captain to take you to the room where the ladies hang out on the same floor. It's all up to you.
You can see the prices in Malaysian Ringgits and the prices includes 45 minutes with 1 shot with the ladies. And also includes use of facilities and food. Now, lets say you chose a Chinese girl so on your bill you will be charged RM 248. Just like it is in Bond Spa, every subsequent girl you pick afterwards you deduct RM 40.
Once you've chosen your girl, the captain will take down your number code on your electronic locker key and the lady will take you to the room for some action.
One big difference between Bond Spa and E2 Spa is that the latter has what's called Dragon Package. It's basically a body to body massage done by a Chinese girl. It's a 45 minute 1 shot service. And they perform this hot and cold BJ procedure. It involves a cup of hot water followed by iced water. Use your imagination.
As Mazlan ends his tale, he picks up a stick of hot satay and bites off a piece of chicken.
‘Can this be a police case?’ I ask, peeling off the wrapping of a rice cake. ‘You have her real name and the bank receipt for the deposit.’
‘This is an illegal transaction. I’ll implicate myself.’ He spears a slice of cucumber and pops it into his mouth. ‘I just have to be more careful next time.’
‘How long have you been escorting?’ I ask and slurp my hot cappucino.
‘I started freelancing two years ago,’ says Esad (not his real name), a foreigner studying in a local college. ‘You see, my scholarship’s not sufficient to cover my expenses. My father doesn’t send me much. My budget’s damn tight. The escorting income helps me a lot as I like to go clubbing.’ He has a high nose bridge, thick eyebrows, and is wearing brown pants and a collared t-shirt.
I discovered Esad on maleescort.directory.com. I wrote to ten escorts in the website to request for interviews. Only Esad replied and we agreed to lunch at a cafe in Lot 10 shopping mall.
‘Compared to other escorts, your rate’s only thirty U.S. per hour. Others are charging two or three times more. Why?’
‘You see, that’s my basic fee, just for sex.’ He cuts the fish fillet on his plate, and spoons a piece into his mouth. ‘For other services like dominance, submission, bondage and stripping, I charge extra.’
‘Do you enjoy your work?’
‘Are you crazy?’ he answers in an incredulous schoolboy’s tone. ‘Most of my clients are old enough to be my mother. I’ve heard of other gigolos getting younger clients, but I’ve not been so lucky. Maybe they were exaggerating.’
Jeannie takes a sip of water from a tulip glass, leaving a lipstick stain on its edge. ‘Unbelievable, but it’s true.’ Charles and Candy, hands entangled, appear at the side of our table. ‘Hey, sit down and talk to my friend. He’s writing a book.’
Candy looks at her Cartier watch. ‘Actually, we only have fifteen minutes more before our time’s up. But the driver says he’ll be late. Traffic’s real bad.’ Charles pulls a chair out for her and they both sit down. ‘We can talk until he arrives,’ Candy says. She raises her hand to catch a waiter’s attention, and she and Charles order fruit juice.
I dunk the bag of Darjeeling tea in the cup a few times, and ask, ‘Candy, what kind of family do you come from? Strict? Lenient?’
‘My Papa was strict. He was a restaurant owner and also its cook. He only cared about me getting good grades, and disallowed all extra-curricular activities and late nights. I hated my childhood. I was not interested in studies, and had ambitions to be a singer, actress and model.’
‘Have you ever fallen in love with a regular client?’
‘Most clients fall in love with me instead of the other way round. Somehow, they don’t realize I’m just like an actress. One man told me personal things about his family and work. Then he showed me his I.C. and asked to be friends with me. It almost made me laugh.’
‘How long have you been in this line?’
She sips her watermelon juice. ‘Three years.’
‘What’s the ideal client like for you?’
‘Someone who’s well-groomed, polite and smells good. Strictly business, doesn’t ask for my personal phone number or about my private life.’
‘And what type of clients do you dislike?’
‘I hate a man who doesn’t respect my time and rates. The kind who’ll try to bargain for a discount or persuade me to stay a little longer in his room.’
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’
Address: 10 Floor, Menara Genesis, No.33, Jalan Sultan Ismail, Kuala Lumpur
I've got mixed feelings about this place. I don't hate Genesis Health Club. But I don't exactly like it that much either. I've only been there 2 times. The second time I went there was just to try and confirm my initial thoughts and get my own second opinion.
Genesis Health Club - one of the easiest "health spas" to find in Kuala Lumpur. Besides, Sky River, Genesis is also one of the easier whore houses to find in Kuala Lumpur. It's on the 10th floor of an HSBC building in the heart of Bukit Bintang area. Just to give you an idea, it's about a 10 minute walk to Sky River and about a 15 minute walk to E2 Spa.
On the video below you'll see I'm standing outside of the WOLO Hotel and pointing right at the HSBC building is. If you're planning on coming to try out KL's sex saunas WOLO Hotel is a good choice.
Once you get to the front entrance of the building be sure to use the newer elevators located on the right side. Genesis is on the 10th floor.
Genesis Health Club provides customers access to a small sauna and steam room. There is a large jacuzzi tub that looked like it came out of Hugh Hefner's Playboy mansion which is kinda weird especially when there are only dudes inside. It's not a big facility but not a big deal for most I suppose. This establishment also provides genuine massage.
The cafe area however is quite large but very dark for my liking. When the captain called out the ladies, and Genesis Spa does employ a lot of ladies, mostly Chinese girls.
She leans back in her black swivel chair, and raises three fingers, displaying manicured nails varnished in copper. ‘In my experience, there are three types of hostesses.’ Her knee bumps into the underside of her desk with a soft thud as she crosses her legs. ‘They are the "playmate", the "model" and the "girlfriend". The "playmate" hostess is young and attractive. She’s cheerful, lively and accommodating but can be temperamental sometimes, like a brat who’s used to having her way and often throws a tantrum. She’s more suited for younger customers who want to have fun. She’s good at karaoke singing, dancing and card games. This type of girl likes to chit-chat about parties, movies, music and fashion. She’s not so suitable for more mature clients whose aims are to unwind over drinks, or forget their sorrows.
‘The "model" hostess is more intelligent, more witty and more sophisticated than the "playmate". Often, she’s stunning, tall and elegant. She likes to wear expensive evening gowns with lots of costume jewellery. Sometimes, she may talk about the stock market and politics with her clients. She doesn’t like timid or scholarly customers, and prefers confident, successful businessmen and professionals with thick wallets. You know, the type where money is no object. To know her on a personal basis is difficult because she seldom mixes her professional and personal lives. You get the picture?’
Maggie pauses, and then goes on. ‘For the average man, the "girlfriend" hostess is the best. She cannot be compared to the "model" hostess in many ways. Her looks are average, her height is average, and her thinking is more simplistic and straightforward. Often, she behaves more like a caring girlfriend to the customer than an object of desire. If he gets tipsy, she may discourage him from drinking more. Once, one of my girls prepared a hot towel for her drunken client and, after she had wiped his face with it, she rubbed Kwan Loong Medicated Oil on his temples. You see? A "girlfriend" hostess will also listen to her client’s problems and discuss how to solve it with him. Many customers can become emotionally attached to her and the other way round.’
‘Which type of hostess is the most important?’ I flip to a new page in my notepad.
‘All three types of hostesses are important.’ She picks up a plastic letter-opener from a silver mesh pencil holder and toys with it absently. ‘The "girlfriend" hostesses lure in the average customer for repeat business; the "model" hostess is more compatible with upscale customers for business entertainment; and the "playmate" hostess is ideal for fun, jokes and laughter, she’s always a hit with younger clients.’
Also, understand there’re all kinds of women in this world – aggressive girls who’ll try to force you to drink as much as possible and gentle girls who’re not pushy. I can’t say whether nightclub women are good or bad. I’ve been to nightclubs countless times and I don’t feel bitter if a hostess does not live up to my expectations.’
I grab a handful of salted nuts and pop them one by one into my mouth. ‘Are there any techniques to win the affection of a hostess?’
He blows a few smoke rings and lays his cigarette on a Remy Martin Cognac ashtray. ‘It’s best to visit a nightclub on a weekday when the patrons are fewer and no big spenders are around. After several visits, if you like a particular girl, tell the mamasan you like one of her hostesses and thank her for the excellent hospitality training given to that hostess. The mamasan will be grateful for the respect shown to her. She’ll probably tell the hostess to be nicer to you on your next visit. Then you must prove your sincerity by frequently hiring the hostess and courting her by giving her presents and generous tips and inviting her to meals. If you’re afraid of rejection, request the mamasan to suggest to the hostess that she buys you lunch to show her appreciation of your business. Prefer lunch to dinner as you can talk with the hostess on a more personal basis. Hopefully, this’ll lead to a closer relationship. Later, when the time is right, you should be upfront. Tell her something like this: "Can you be my girlfriend or mistress? I’ll give you a monthly allowance. I just want to see you frequently. Any time you meet a better man, and want to be with him, we can split." An unattached hostess is likely to seriously consider such an attractive proposition.’
‘What about a one-night stand?’
The room becomes wild.
Robert starts slowly gyrating to music, thrusting his hips suggestively in the direction of the screaming ladies. He undoes his shirt, shrugs it off and flings it to the lap of a woman. He unties his shoelaces and kicks off his shoes.
With both hands reaching into the slit of his singlet, he tears the garment off. He thrusts his pelvis several times to titillate his audience and executes a front-facing double-bicep pose. Now, with on swift movement he rips off his pants, its sides having been held together only by Velcro. His leopard-print G-string displays a bulge resembling a bag of French fries.
‘Take that thing off, baby!’ someone shouts.
He slithers near the women, teasing them with backside wiggles. Janet and the fat woman are laughing while the rest are screaming.
At last the music comes to an end, and Robert breezes into the bathroom.
When he emerges, Janet says, ‘Have a drink, eat some food.’
Robert sits on a chair and chews on a mini pizza. She goes to the punch bowl and scoops out some passionfruit sangria for him. They chat about his experiences and how he became a social escort. Minutes later, the fangs of fire begin to lick at Robert’s loins, and his weener becomes a tent pole under his G-string.
After the judges tally the scores, the emcee announces the winner. She struts onto the stage and settles herself on an ornate high-backed chair. Maggie whispers into my ear she’s a former lingerie model and is the ‘red number’ of Zimpaco. The chief judge, whom I hear is the nightclub’s top spender, is clad in a Giorgio Armani jacket. He crowns the winner and slips a satin sash over her shoulder, the Rolex watch and big diamond ring flashing on his left hand as he does so. Stout and half-bald, he looks like a butcher from the Petaling Street wet market. He poses for photographs with the winner gleefully, unabashedly holding her waist for every shot. Representatives from the sponsors of the other prizes – an overseas holiday trip and beauty products – climb onstage to hand over their vouchers to the winner. One of them, a disgusting lecher with a trimmed moustache, takes the opportunity to plant a kiss on each of the cheeks of the winner.
At my request, Maggie discloses the names and phone numbers of several of her regular patrons. The next day I call them up to ask why they frequent nightclubs, but most of them are not forthcoming with their answers. ‘Sorry, no comment,’ and click! The line is cut. Nevertheless, I managed to talk with four nightclubbers.
Albert Ling, a thirty-five-year old engineer married with two kids, says, ‘My aim is to dance. The first time I went to a nightclub was three years ago. I couldn’t dance and the hostess was very patient with me. She showed me the steps and I learned from her. She also taught me how to drink. My goodness, she drank brandy and whisky like water. She’d say "bottoms up" and pour everything from her glass in at one go. I’d slowly sip my gin, which tasted terribly bitter to me. But after a few more visits, I grew fond of hard liquor and have been a frequent nightclub patron ever since. Of course, my dancing has improved tremendously.’ I try not to judge him but cannot fathom why he doesn’t take his wife dancing instead.
This is a Spa that took me some time gathering the infos from various threads like "KL massage", "now in KL", to get enough directions to journey to this place. I'll like to consolidate them so for future users it will be easier. The spa is located at the basement of a mall called Sungei Wang, it is almost impossible to get from inside this mall as there are no directions, for me the easiest is to find the mall Low Yat plaza, an electronics building like our Sim Lim. If you walk on the street bi-directional 1 lane road between Low Yat and Sungei Wang you will definitely see the sign for this spa.
The place as i entered has a nice counter and OKT ready to serve. He is friendly and asked what i wanted, serving tea etc etc. I went to a room immediately next to the counter to view the girls. Now this room consist of a booth like bench/ chair but there are holes on the leather due to wear and tear...
Their stocks consists of Local CKT including Malay and Indian, PRC, and Viets. There were 3 CKT , 3 Malay 3 Indian, 4viets and like 9PRCs. I was overwhelmed with 18 at 1 shot... I cannot pick and asked the OKT to mirror again after a few minutes send them in batches based on regions.
Thanks to bro r3m4rios, i pulled out the named Sherry, but okt said she no longer works here. Anyhow only girl i think worth mentioning is an indian girl that is tall and stick skinny, but OKT said her BJ skills is excellent.
The bed i used seems collapsed in the middle, and the mirrors are somewhat dirty/blurry. So for all my hygiene freak friends don't say I never forewarn you. There were no food and OKT said it's coming which i don't care to check out. The spa seems so so at best.
On to my FR i picked a PRC that seems willing to please.
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In Malaysia, the same conduct various Spa. Secrets and mysteries of these procedures are transmitted from generation to generation. For guys looking for a happy ending massage you have to go inside the hotel Mercury, to get into the elevator and head to the floor.
So this place does have a sauna, but no whirlpool. It's not a big shop in general. They will do the work of the hands and body to body massage with hand work to finish, and that's all. Also popular various wraps including mineral, using volcanic clay. This procedure moisturizes, nourishes the skin with minerals and rejuvenates it. Please note that in the spa area of Malaysia, as a rule, the procedure offered in the complex: for example, a body wrap combined with a rejuvenating facial treatment and massage with herbal bags with a relaxing foot treatment. Thus the emphasis is not only beauty, but also for recreation: Local experts believe that only a healthy body, without the stress and muscle clips, can be beautiful.
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Address: Radius International Hotel, 5th Floor, No. 51-A, Changkat Bukit Bintang
Golden City Spa may seem the furthest out but it's not. It's also very easy to find as it's located inside the Radius International Hotel. I actually found this place by accident. Because I already knew that most hotels within the Bukit Bintang area with a sign saying "Spa" is the same as saying "we've got hookers".
But I have already heard of the name Golden City Spa from researching a la google. But I remembered nothing of their services. And my curiosity was peaked so in I went.
The elevators are located just left of the reception desk and Golden City is up on the 5th floor. Once there turn left and you'll see the tinted doors.
First thing you'll see inside is a reception desk with some brochures listing their rates for massage. I asked the behind the counter and she quickly directed me to a captain inside. He quickly told me there were no spa services.
They simply have ladies available. So it's another quick fuck joint. There is a cafe with free food as well as a TV playing porn. After speaking with the captain a bit he told me they have Chinese, Thai and Vietnamese girls available. The girls were in a room attached to the cafe and you can take a look at them.
I asked to see the line up and he called the girls out. There were about 12 in total. The best looking girl turned out to be from Thailand. And the price is RM 188 for 45 minutes 1 shot.
Holding a cell phone in her hand, she sinks gracefully down beside him. ‘How shall I address you?’ She has a broad forehead and high cheek bones that narrow to a small chin. Her cherry-red lipstick imparts sensuality to her fair complexion.
‘I’m Ivan, and he’s–’
‘Frankie,’ I lie, turning to look at her.
‘First time here?’
‘Yes, first time.’
‘You like my dress?’ she asks Ivan, looking down at it. ‘I bought it this morning at Fahrenheit 88.’
‘You’re gorgeous,’ is all he can manage.
Our food and drinks are served pretty quickly, and the smell of cheese and roasted corn envelops us for a few seconds. ‘Come, let’s snack,’ I say. ‘They taste good only when they’re piping hot.’ I go for the tortilla chips with salsa.
‘An extra glass, please,’ Jessica tells the waiter. ‘And one more big bottle of Sapporo for me, if you don’t mind, guys. You like Sapporo, huh? It’s also my favourite.’
She leans forward, jams her cell phone in her cleavage – as her milky, massive orbs spill over her neckline, Ivan does a double take – picks up a chicken wing, dips it in chili sauce and starts to eat with both hands.
‘What do you do?’ She nibbles at the flesh of the chicken wing, and then tears the radius and ulna apart.
‘I’m a marketing manager, motor oil company,’ Ivan replies. He pops a tortilla chip into his mouth.
A waiter brings Jessica a willybecher and a bottle of beer. I fill up the glass, and Ivan puts it in front of her on the table.
Enter five GROs with the mamasan, a forty-something-year-old lady wearing a floral print maxi dress and humongous silver earrings. Her hair is tied in a swirly bun, with wide angular bangs covering her forehead. She hands her name card to all of us. On it are the words ‘Mummy Molly’ and her cell phone number. The GROs stand facing us in a row.
‘Thanks, dear,’ Jessica says. ‘A piece of tissue, please...’ She takes a piece from Ivan and cleanses her fingers, lifts her glass and tilts her head to one side and flips her hair. Then she gulps down her beer in several swallows like a straggler in a desert dying of thirst, and tops up the glass. ‘Have more beer,’ she tells Ivan and pours more of the frothy stuff into his glass. She leans backward and slips her right heel out of the shoe and let it dangle on her toes. ‘Cheers,’ she says to Ivan and guzzles again.
Ivan has just swallowed a mouthful when she announces ‘Bottoms up’ and downs another draft. She smacks her froth-flecked lips and holds the willybecher in her hand. ‘Which part of my body do you most like, Ivan?’
‘Your face. It’s oval, well-proportioned.’
Smiling, she raises her eyebrows. ‘Are you sure or not? What about my legs?’
‘I’m sure.’ Ivan nods like a cobra charmed by music from a pipe. ‘I’m not a legs man.’
‘You know which part of your body I like best?’ She looks at our willybechers and wrinkles her nose. ‘Hey, you guys’re not drinking! Come on, be a sport. Drink ... drink.’
‘Tell me, which part?’ Ivan, obedient as a street organ-grinder’s monkey, empties his glass and burps slightly, his hand covering his mouth.
While I am crooning an English oldie, Charles slides forward to the edge of the settee and Hong Hanh monoeuvres from her seat to wrap her knees around his waist. Slowly, she grinds her hip against him, pressing her cheek against his. His traces his fingers up and down her spine, occasionally fondling her bum. They remain in this position to belt out the duet ‘When I Fall in Love’. Hong Hanh knows the lyrics by heart, and doesn’t need to look at the screen. Another song later, Charles and Hong Hanh enter the washroom, while Ivan and I take an intermission to eat and drink. My eyebrows shoot up and my muscles tighten when the bathroom door starts rattling in its frame in the silence of the karaoke room! The staccato noise reminds me of a Taoist priest repeatedly hitting a small gavel on a hardwood sound-block while chanting liturgies. Charles and his partner emerge almost thirty minutes later, breathing heavily, and I go in to take a piss. The couch is no longer against the wall. It has been rattled six inches away!
The karaoke singing continues for half an hour and during a short interval between successive songs, Ivan announces, ‘Now it’s my turn to use the bathroom with Chen Chen.’ He leads her inside. Charles and I resume our singing, drowning all sounds, if any, from the washroom.
When Ivan appears after a mere twenty minutes, I tell him the first button of his shirt is buttoned in the wrong hole, and Chen Chen giggles and playfully slaps his shoulder. After more than two hours of singing and swigging beer, and, for Ivan and Charles, rough horseplay with their companions, we pay the bill and get up to leave. Inebriated, Ivan stands on the coffee table so he can reach Chen Chen’s lips to kiss her, and Charles and Hong Hanh embrace like lovers.
We dawdle to the car. ‘Where shall we go next?’ I ask Charles.
‘SS Karaoke. Near Imbi Road.’
As it is close to midnight, the traffic is light, so I speed towards the city.
‘Slow down, buddy,’ Charles says, exhaling the stale smell of hops. ‘No need to rush, they close at 3 am. There may be police speed-traps along this stretch.’
Charles, perched on the edge of the settee, chokes on his Sapporo beer and coughs. ‘Hack! Hack! Hack! Hack! Hack!’ He quickly puts the krug down on the coffee table and reflexively takes out the balled stocking from his shirt pocket to cover his mouth until the coughing stops.
The music ends. Suzie smiles and bows a few times. ‘A great show!’ Ivan exclaims, and Charles blows a wolf whistle and everyone claps. She picks up her scattered garments and puts them on again. Ivan and Charles play a teasing tug-of-war with Suzie using her stockings.
‘You can keep them for fifty ringgit,’ she jokes, and only then do my pals return them to her.
Suzie settles down on the sofa.
I move to sit beside her. ‘Can I ask you a few questions?’
‘Sure.’ She takes a sip of her soft drink.
‘Do you get tired of the sound of people singing?’
‘Not really. My customers sing all kinds of songs. One night, it might be all pop songs, another night, it may be ballads. Others like rock songs.’
‘Have you had any bad experiences in your job?’
‘Yes, there’ve been annoying experiences. Once, a customer vomited in the room. On another occasion, a customer was so drunk he couldn’t walk. At closing time, our bouncers had to carry him to his car. A few weeks ago, some youngsters danced on the tabletop with their shoes on. Then in another case, someone stole two of our mikes.’
I pop my tin of Coca-Cola, and take a gulp. ‘Can I see the karaoke section?’
‘Sure.’ She gathers her equipment and keeps them in the drawer of the styling station. ‘Please follow me.’
My companion-to-be carries my Coca-Cola, leads me to the back and strains to push open a heavy door. We enter a room, about half the size of a tennis court, occupied by five or six sofas. The sources of illumination are a thirty-inch TV monitor and a rolling-ball water fountain in a crystal bowl sitting on a frosted-glass base atop a decorative stand. A lot of fondling and petting are taking place in the room judging from the way two women are entwined with their clients.
The lady barber and I sit down near the door on a sofa with fabric cushion-covers. A moment later, she disappears and returns with an A4-size PVC folder containing plastic pockets. ‘Want to sing? Mostly Mandarin songs, but there’re several English songs’ she says, and hands me the PVC folder.
I flip the plastic pockets holding Xerox sheets with lists of songs, while she shines at them with her cell phone’s LED torchlight. All this while, the first customer is croaking a Mandarin song from the Sixties, Fu Xin De Ren. His rendition is terrible, and when he is midway through the song, the second customer laughs: ‘Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw!’ I look in the direction of the laughter. The second customer is now taking a long draught from a big Anchor beer bottle. The first customer finishes his song and the second customer laughs again: ‘Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah!’
The first customer yells profanities at the second customer, and his female companion asks him not to start a quarrel. The second customer rises from his sofa and scolds an obscene word at the first customer, prompting the lady barber beside him to pull him back down. I continue to scan the song menu. Another Mandarin song plays and when the second customer starts to sing, the first customer heckles: ‘Boo ...’ His companion gently clamps her dainty hand over his mouth.
Jesus Christ! A brawl may erupt any moment, and I imagine beer bottles being used as missiles and fists as weapons.
Closing the song menu, I toss it aside, and walk out the door with nary a word.
‘Aiyoh! Lou sai! You’re leaving?’ the lady barber follows me out. ‘Don’t worry, it’s just a small argument, small matter only.’
‘What do you think of her?’
‘Her English’s no good, but it doesn’t matter, it’s the body and attitude that counts. She has killer legs, lovely body and is tall for a Thai.’ Charles’s face glows with excitement. ‘Think I might take her.’
‘I better take a leak too before we make a move.’
As I step into the washroom, I recognize the beige skirt in gold-sequined tiers. I gasp and shuffle back a step or two. With her back facing me, Maleen is standing at a urinal, lifting up the front of her skirt and producing a stream like a fireman’s hose. I skedaddle back to Charles. ‘I’ve got news for you, my friend. Maleen’s a transsexual.’
His lips curl as though he has just swallowed bitter cough syrup. We abandon our table and sit at another table in the patio overlooking the traffic-choked drag. Massive pots of marginata cane, dracaena and traveller’s palm – all with wide-spreading foliage – are ranged on four sides, creating a tropical ambience. We order new drinks and tidbits.
Charles sees a petite, well-proportioned brown girl standing alone at the periphery of the patio. Her peep-toe high-heel clogs make her butt stick out and her backless dress reveals smooth, satiny skin, inviting caresses. She’s smoking a cigarette, and her eyes are scanning the customers in the patio. Charles gets up, approaches her and they speak. Her hair is styled in a bob with irregular layers, shapeless and free-flowing.
He returns to our table with the girl in tow. ‘I’ve a short date. Want to wait? Or we can call it a night.’
I scrutinize her from her head to feet. No hair on the upper lip, great. No Adam’s apple, so far so good. I glance at her feet. They are proportionate in size to her body, fantastic. A small, silver cross dangling from her neck indicates that she is likely a Filipina.
I lean over to Charles and say in Cantonese dialect, ‘She’s a girl.’ He smiles at me. I revert back to English: ‘Go ahead, enjoy yourself. I’m leaving after I finish my drink.’ I take a swig of my beer and wave goodbye to him.
Chloe prepares the drinks and hands one glass to him. Smiling, she toasts, ‘To happiness, to us’ and gulps down a mouthful.
David draws copiously from the glass. ‘Tonight is a night you’ll never forget!’
She puts the glass down, sidles up to him, pulls his belt from its loops and tosses it over her shoulder. She reaches down and pulls open the buttons of his pants. He takes off his shirt. ‘Please shower first,’ she says. In the raw, David enters the bathroom and emerges later to find her sitting on the side of the bed. She hands him his drink and she starts to sip hers, looking at the TV screen.
The National Geographic documentary playing is about a pitcher plant trapping a fly.
David quickly empties his glass and starts to undress her. He takes his time with each button, fingering them a bit, stroking the skin underneath as they released, one by one. He tosses her clothes on the carpet. Clad in undergarments, she presses her lips against his, their mouths opening and melding with a sensual heat. Seconds later, David feels the room spinning around, the dark curly lashes of the girl’s eyes starts to blur.
‘Jeezus Christ! What’s wrong with me? My gawd, I need to lie down.’ He clutches his temples with one hand, flops on the bed and passes out.
The next morning, the phone on the side table rings, making David’s heart double its palpitation. He can feel the pounding blood in his veins behind his eyes, which he opens with great effort. Groggy, he crawls across the bed to pick up the receiver.
Max pulls a chair, plops down and raises an arm to signal a waiter. We order Singha Beer and mini pizzas.
In Max’s memory, his whirlwind romance with Lukden starts with a dinner with her at Stardust followed by a short session in a nearby hotel. From then on, they meet regularly. Though he knows she is a hooker, the twice-divorced Max doesn’t mind and proposes marriage after a six-month courtship, which she accepts. After all, he’s forty-five and she’s only twenty-three.
On the big day, Max takes her to the Chinese Assembly Hall to register their marriage. Lukden brings a Thai friend as a witness and Max’s sister acts as the second witness. They take their vows and become husband and wife. From Chinese Assembly Hall, they are walking to Petaling Street for lunch when a van suddenly stops beside them. A brown-skinned man wearing dark glasses hops out from behind and drags Lukden inside despite her struggling.
The van speeds off and turns left to Sultan Road. Within a few minutes, Max’s cell phone rings, and he answers it.
‘Darling, please don’t go to the police,’ Lukden says, half-sobbing. ‘I’m inside the van and the man has a knife. I’m very scared. He wants to talk to you.’
Then another voice comes on the line. ‘Mr Tay, your wife’s life is in danger. Pay thirty thousand if you want to see her again. No bargaining!’
‘Tomorrow, put the money in a bag. Go to the Thai Chetawan Temple in Petaling Jaya at three in the afternoon. Kneel down in the main prayer hall, then leave the bag there. Walk out the main door. Don’t look back.’
Max goes to the bank immediately to withdraw the cash. Next day, he carries an old sports bag containing the money and drives to the temple. He enters the main prayer hall and scans around. It is empty. He sinks to his knees and utters a prayer. His handphone rings.
A man’s voice says, ‘Leave the hall now.’
Today, harried executives who are stressed out after a day’s work find that a massage is one of the best ways to unwind. Countless places in Kuala Lumpur are available for massages, and all types of budgets are catered for. For RM50, one can get a rubdown in a particleboard cubicle, where the customer lies on a mouldy mattress on the linoleum floor, while an overweight crone without training kneads at one’s back. At the top of the pyramid, high-class spas are outfitted with fully equipped gyms, steam rooms, sauna rooms, jacuzzis and pretty masseuses render professional services. After the rubdown, customers relax in a lounge, and can avail themselves of a manicure and pedicure.
To check out the spa and massage scene, I ask Charles Chow to show me around. ‘I’ll take you to the high-class and clean places first, then we go to the dirty ones,’ he says, steering the car to the back of a four-star hotel to enter the basement parking. ‘I’ve arranged interviews with a few people for you.’ We take the car-park lift to the spa and wait in the lounge for Charles’s masseuse friends. There are no customers as business only starts in an hour’s time.
As the seconds tick away, I reflect on my appointment with Miss Anoja Saipradit, the owner of a massage school, two days earlier. ‘Massage has many benefits,’ she says. ‘First, it reduces muscle tension. When the muscles are tense, the blood circulation is affected. After a massage, blood carries more oxygen to the organs. Massage also keeps the connective tissues of the joint flexible.’ Her right hand grips her left elbow and she bend and straightens her arm a few times. ‘See? This gentle stretching to the limbs helps to release toxins from joints. Skin condition improves as massage stimulates the sweat glands, these glands get rid of oils and toxins. Therefore, the internal organs benefit and quality of life improves.’
Adrian presses the bell and the door swings open. From behind, a face peeks at them. They step inside and the girl closes the door. Clad in an electric blue tube dress, she goes to sit on the chair at the dressing table. Her eyes are fringed by long, curving lashes and her complexion is the colour of longan.
Adrian and Charles plop down on one side of the bed. ‘How?’ Adrian asks.
Charles answers in Cantonese dialect: ‘Let me make small talk first. Get a sample of her character.’
‘Where are you from?’ Charles asks in English.
Tuyen stiffens and clears her throat. ‘Thuan An. Ten miles from Ho Chi Minh City.’ Her voice flows out like a clear stream over jagged rocks.
Charles switches on a smile. ‘What were you working as?’
She clasps her hands and rests them on her knees. ‘Seamstress in factory.’
She averts her eyes from Charles. ‘No, never.’ Her lips upturn in a weak gesture of warmth.
Charles turns to Adrian and says in Cantonese dialect: ‘What guarantee she won’t run away if I take her?’
Adrian replies in the same dialect. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m holding her passport.’
‘Fine. It is a deal then.’
Ten minutes later, Tuyen and Charles go to another room. After the act, Charles phones Adrian. ‘Come up, please! Got big problem. Need to talk to you.’
Adrian enters the room to see Tuyen slumped on a chair, one arm resting on its curved back, and her face buried in the crook of her arm. She is whimpering.
‘What’s this? You call this girl virgin?’ Charles points to the bed-sheet. ‘Not even a drop of blood or stain!’
‘How was she in bed?’
‘What you expect? She was noisy. Said "pain, pain, pain" but I think she was pretending.’
His face ashen, Adrian moves closer to inspect the creased bedsheet. ‘Let me call the Vietnamese agent.’
Sauna girls services in Kuala Lumpur. The captain takes me to the locker area, which resembles the safe deposit section of a bank. A towel warmer cabinet with UV sterilizer stands in a strategic corner, bragging the high, hygienic standards practised. In the hot and cold jacuzzis, bubbling calming spritz makes ‘taking a bath’ a whole new experience. The gymnasium is outfitted with an elliptical trainer, back fly station, leg press station, abdominal crunch station, barbells and dumbbells. A cafe offers a spread of fried bee hoon, fried rice, porridge, curry mee, tea, coffee and Chinese tea. The dry sauna, a twenty-by thirty-foot oblong with a wooden interior, can accommodate eight customers.
‘The dry sauna dries up the moistures in your nose, mouth and throat. Not many people can sit in it for long,’ the supervisor says.
We pass the steam bath, another oblong structure with a tile interior, and proceed to a mini theatre, a facial room and massage rooms. The mini theatre has five rows of armchairs with headrests, while massage rooms are actually sections in a common hall separated by thick curtains. According to the captain, a customer pays RM70 to use the facilities, excluding message and facials, and can consume unlimited food and drinks.
After my tour, Charles and I head uptown to a health centre in a two-star hotel. On the way, he pops a pill into his mouth, pulls out a bottle of mineral water wedged between the front seats and drinks a mouthful. He wipes his lips with his handkerchief.
Charles grins. ‘Prigily. Sex stimulant to enhance performance. Will last longer.’
The set-up of the health centre is simple: only massage rooms and no other facilities. The captain, a young man wearing an ear-ring, ushers us to a waiting room filled with the stink of cigarette smoke. A matronly woman enters and serves us Chinese tea. ‘Tiger beer,’ Charles says, pushing the glass of Chinese tea aside.
Please go online. He gives me the URL of the website moscow-outcall.org which I log into. Body scrubs and hydrotherapy, costing around 200 ringgit, are also available. Pictures of hunks wearing only briefs or swimming trunks are displayed, including their age, height and weight, a sign that the spa is gay.
The next afternoon, I check out another men’s spa in the city centre. As the website does not contain any picture of muscular, handsome young men, I conclude it is a regular spa.
The waiting area is outfitted with a small copper fountain decorated with Roman figurines. The violet walls clash with the salmon-pink cushion covers. An attendant ushers me down a passageway into a room filled with lighted candles where a six-foot-tall masseur is waiting. No more than twenty-five, he is clad in green track pants and a t-shirt that displays a swimmer’s physique, not muscular but fit and trim. Smiling, he hands me a towel measuring three feet by two feet to cover my modesty. I remove my shoes and socks slowly and peel off my clothes even more slowly, hoping he will leave the room for me to undress in private but he doesn’t. Wrapping my towel around my lower torso, I climb up the massage table measuring six feet by two feet with a gap at one end that functions as a face rest. I lie on my stomach and position my face in the gap.
The massage begins with a pair of strong hands rub my shoulders. I’m using sunflower oil so it is not greasy, the masseur says. Your body won’t be oily after the massage.
I close my eyes and relax. He whispers into my ear. Is the pressure okay? His hot breath against the lobule of my ear sends a chill down my spine.
I’m fine. I answer through gritted teeth, opening my eyes and looking at the floor through the gap.
Ten minutes pass. Apart from kneading my shoulders, the masseur uses his knee to work across my back very gently.
A skinny man with a towel wrapped around his waist emerges from a cubicle and walks barefoot down the passage to the bathroom. His back shines with massage oil under the fluorescent light. A girl appears from the same cubicle, goes to the humming refrigerator and takes out a bottle of mineral water. She sits down and gulps liberally. Her hair is long, tied in a ponytail, and she wears open-toed sandals. Her toenails are painted brown.
‘She’s number six,’ the burly man announces. The girl turns to look at us and smiles. Her drawn eyebrows are arched and there are dark circles under her eyes.
Her acne on both cheeks makes me wrinkle my nose involuntarily.
Charles nudges my shoulder and whispers: ‘Hey, don’t need to show face, you know.’
He looks at the burly man and shakes his head.
‘Another girl will be out soon.’
Fifteen minutes grind on. We dawdle over our drinks and swat a few mosquitoes. A door swings open and a petite lass flowing hair and a nose-ring joins the girl with acne. As she sits, her dirndl skirt balloons and settles.
‘Thai girl, number four.’ The burly man glances at us. ‘Speaks English.’
The Thai lass is wearing a halter top, and her small, brown face is a weak solution of a nymphet.
‘How much?’ Charles asks.
‘Eighty. Good-service girl.’
My buddy gets up and shifts to her settee. ‘How old are you?’ he asks, smiling.
‘Hey you, don’t sit near me.’ She speaks in a tone as though he is not there. From her handbag, she takes out a comb and a mirror and starts to comb her hair.
Sauna girls services in Kuala Lumpur. The captain takes me to the locker area, which resembles the safe deposit section of a bank. A towel warmer cabinet with UV sterilizer stands in a strategic corner, bragging the high, hygienic standards practised. In the hot and cold jacuzzis, bubbling calming spritz makes ‘taking a bath’ a whole new experience. The gymnasium is outfitted with an elliptical trainer, back fly station, leg press station, abdominal crunch station, barbells and dumbbells.