A Moral Tale from
Greg sat in the hotel lobby and sipped his beer. He often finished his days here, listening to the band, and admiring Elena the singer. She was in the mood tonight, singing favourites she knew he liked, and smiling at her audience when the music allowed. Don’t Cry for Me Argentina had just come out when he left home last month, but now he could hear Elena sing it so perfectly it hurt. He fantasised over Elena. Tall for an Indonesian, she was slim and breathed elegance. Her beauty, her long white cocktail dress, light brown skin and black hair deserved a much bigger stage. Sometimes he would chat with the band during their breaks and found she was as shy as a schoolgirl. Her innocent smile and dark eyes won him over completely.
He was not in her league. Sometimes, when he returned to the hotel late, he would see an expensive car waiting outside, and its rich owner listening as Elena finished for the night. The lucky men, both Indonesian and foreign, were unlikely to be favoured beyond one or two evenings.
Greg thought about how lucky he was. A junior engineer, straight out of university, staying in a fine Jakarta hotel because his company had landed a World Bank contract and needed a junior to do the field work. He enjoyed his work in the Sumatran jungle, but he looked forward to the weeks he spent in Jakarta writing up his results.
Elena started I Love You just the Way You Are, another favourite. It was getting late and although Jakarta never slept, Greg had to be in the office early tomorrow.
The lift stopped at the first floor and an Indonesian woman got in. She smiled at him and whispered “Good evening, sir.”
Greg smiled back and looked at her. She was older than him, but her pretty smile made her interesting and attractive. She was well-dressed in Western clothes, and had a chiffon scarf around her neck.
She smiled again and said, “Would you like me to give you a massage?”
The shock hit Greg, and his mind turned somersaults. He might be new in Jakarta, but he understood what she was offering. Sex for money. He had never imagined such a thing happening to him.
The lift stopped at his floor and she led him out. “Which is your room,” she asked, holding out her hand for his key. “It will not be expensive.”
He gave her the key, but still asked, “How much?”
“Very small,” she said. “Twenty-five thousand rupiah for all night.”
Twenty-five thousand. About twenty dollars. He could not refuse, and followed her into his room. She put his key beside the bed and held out her hand. “My name is Marisha. And you?”
“Greg,” he mumbled.
“Good. First mandi, then I too.” She sent him off for a shower.
Greg rushed his shower and came back wearing just his towel. She gestured him into a chair and taking a small photo album from her purse, said, “Here - I think you like. I go mandi.” The photos were of her, mostly half dressed, some with friends in bars, one posing on stage dressed only in a silver g-string and flowers in her hair. She looked beautiful, and his excitement rose.
She came back from the shower wearing a towel around her waist and nothing else. Her breasts were small and round, with dark brown nipples. He put an arm around her shoulders and his other hand went naturally to her breast. His hand covered it, and the wrinkled button poked softly at his palm. She let him brush a kiss onto her lips and steered him to the bed.
As he lay down, she pulled his towel free and left him lying nude on his stomach. He could not see her but heard her opening her bag. A moment later, she poured scented oil onto his back and spread it quickly. From his awkward position, he saw her towel thrown onto the neighbouring bed, and felt her climb up to sit astride his hips. Her warmth and intimacy set him on fire.
She pulled his hands down by his sides and started work on his shoulders. She felt good. As her small hands kneaded the muscles of his shoulders and neck, Greg began to feel good. Not relaxed, because he had a beautiful, naked woman on his back, but alive and impatient.
Once she had left his shoulders, he could wait no longer. He rolled onto his back.
“Oh, no. Not finished,” said Marisha. He had thrown her off and she was kneeling beside him. Greg reached for her shoulders and pulled her down on top of him.
She giggled and said, “Mr Greg like pom-pom, yes?”
“Oh yes. Definitely,” and he kissed her. She tasted exotic and spicy.
As soon as she could, she pushed free and slipped to one side of him so his cock lay open on his stomach. She seized it and squeezed. “Oh, oh. Very big.” She moved down the bed to study it closely.
Greg watched her playing. She seemed to enjoy the feel of his cock as she stroked it, and moved it from side to side to look at it from different angles. She pushed his legs apart and came to kneel between them. Then, cupping his balls in one hand and holding the skin of his shaft back tightly, she met his eyes and, without wavering, slowly slurped the head of his cock into her mouth.
Greg fell back. The sensations she gave him reached far beyond anything he had felt before. Her mouth enveloped him, and her tongue and probed in all the right places. It would soon be too much for him.
“No, no, stop!” he said, and reached for her shoulders to drag her back up the bed. She released his cock and chuckled as she sat astride his thighs. “Mr Greg like pom-pom quickly, I see.” She shuffled forward and lowered herself onto him.
She sat still, and Greg was full of the sight of her. Her long black hair a little dishevelled, her dark eyes watching his face, her slim figure resting lightly on him. Between her legs a small patch of trimmed hair, enough to hide their joining. Greg had never seen anything so sexy.
Marisha started to move but Greg lifted her up so he could move under her. He had stopped trying to hold back and soon he would come. He moved faster. Marisha closed her eyes and bit her lip.
And then it was too late. He was coming inside her, lifting her from the bed and pushing his cock as far into her as he could reach. She opened her eyes again and smiled. She came to him and, pushing his legs apart with her own, lay on top of him with his cock still inside her. Greg stroked her hair and they let their excitement subside.
“I go mandi, OK?” she said and climbed off him. A moment later she was back with a wet flannel to wipe him clean. She took her bag to the bath room and when she returned she was fully dressed with her hair combed.
“I go now, OK?”
Greg reached for his wallet and pulled out 30,000 rupiah for her. She put it in her bag and held out her hand to shake. “Terimakasi, Mr Greg. I like very much. You ask for Marisha, and I come back any time.”
She had gone, and Greg stood naked by the open curtains, looking at the bright lights of night-time Jakarta. The traffic still flowed busily along Jalan Thamrin. He wondered where Marisha had gone. Would she be looking for another customer, or would she be ready to take a taxi home? Her visit had been a shock, and perhaps the start of something new.
He had paid for sex. He had wanted sex, and a woman had come to him, made love, taken her money and left. He felt excited, and adult. He would do it again, he was sure. With a different woman. He had seen single women on the streets outside the hotel, and he guessed the floor captain had one or two on call. Only next time, he would not let the girl hurry him. Long and slow, the way he wanted. He guessed Marisha had not been excited, and he felt fairly sure she had not come. That was a disappointment, but next time would
be different. He would explore the girl, and play with her until she could stand no more.
He would make love the way he wanted. After all, he would be paying for it...
He would make love the way he wanted. After all, he would be paying for it...
Jacqueline lives in Far North Queensland, on the shore of the Coral Sea. She keeps herself busy with her cats and garden, and by writing books - some of which are far too naughty for her own good. You can find out more about Jacqueline and her books at www.jacquelinegeorgewriter.com