WEIGHT: 62 kg
Services: Fisting anal, Strap-ons, Fisting vaginal, Tie & Tease, Massage erotic
Naturally, my encounter took place in Singapore. In the UK, I was young, gangly and skint and not considered a prospective client for the vice industry. Besides, I grew up in a housing estate that once had the highest teenage pregnancy rate in London, a statistic that I proudly include in all job applications. We never had time for prostitutes. We were too busy having sex with strangers for free in the back of a Ford Cortina.
So I had to venture to the sunny island in the sea, our restrained sanctuary of staunch family values, to be harassed by a sex worker in a verminous back alley. It was late, a weeknight, too, so the crumbling, dimly lit Geylang street was filled with too many prostitutes and not enough punters.
I was there to research one of my books—insert your joke here—and felt a tug at my arm. Nevertheless, being the mature and sophisticated year-old scribe that I was at the time, I behaved appropriately. And then I ran. I resisted the temptation to scream, but all decorum was lost when I clattered into bamboo poles filled with washing. My water bottle, notepad and pen scattered in every direction, disappearing into the darkness, along with my ego.
There were other insalubrious encounters. About a year later, an older woman joined me at a bench, patted my knee and offered her services. Beneath the faint glare of the streetlight, however, this woman bore a passing resemblance to my mother, a Freudian nightmare on Orchard Road.
Indeed, infrequent trips to Orchard Towers often triggered a Kafkaesque metamorphosis. Pasty-faced Caucasian became Affluent Sex God. The skin colour was a calling card for sex workers. Being the only white, non-Singaporean in the group, I once experienced a Filipino woman bending over backwards, standing on her hands and feet with the grace of a nubile gymnast as she presented me with a red rose—via her teeth.