Sunday Night Out

Nothing ever happens in this shithole, and this was particularly true last Sunday. To alleviate our boredom, Fuzz Car and I decided to meet to shoot the shit. Disgusted by the sight of the unsightly mobs that thronged Jurong Point, we decided a change in scenery was in order and went to town.

Vivo City was not as crowded as Jurong Point and the scenery was considerably better. We had slop on the theatre steps and thereupon Fuzz Car told me of his ambition to be a social escort/gigolo. It doesn’t take much to be a paid companion in this shithole. As long as you aren’t ugly, have a sense of humour and some basic listening and conversing skills, you should be able to satisfy your customers. There is a potential market for male companions. Rich men are never known for being the most faithful of husbands, as temptations abound to make them stray. Why should some tycoon remain attached to one withered flower, when he can enjoy a harvest of fresh flowers of scintillating colours and hues? The flower in the house, thus neglected, pines for nourishment, and having been deprived of the essential care and nutrients on which it thrives, grows ever more desperate for sustenance. This is where people like Fuzz Car come in. When there is a demand, there will be a supply to meet that demand. Simple economics.

Besides our discussion on his ambition, the both of us also talked about the merits of women from different countries. We had debated this topic on the bus to Vivo City, much to the disgust of some ugly Shitholer woman who was sitting nearby. After I told him of the possibility of procuring Thai professionals for his enjoyment, he grew excited and bid me to tell him where such services might be found. Eager not to disappoint him, I rang up my friend who had had prior experience and asked him to send me the contact. (It has been five days since and I still haven’t heard from him. The useless bugger.)

As the night was still young, we decided to check out the night life in Tanjong Pagar. Fuzz Car showed me the bar where his Thai ‘girlfriend’ used to work at. He said she was dismissed by the management because one idiot beat up another idiot over her. The establishment was closed and I wouldn’t be surprised if it had closed permanently. We walked around the vicinity looking for interesting things but were left disappointed. For a district known for its pubs and discos, Tanjong Pagar was surprisingly quiet. We checked out a massage parlor but was turned off by the ugly woman at the counter. We made some excuse and beat a hasty departure.

We soon found our way to Chinatown – on the way we saw one gorgeous KTV hostess – and Fuzz Car’s need for sex grew more desperate. I told him to be patient, for I knew certain establishments there offered the services he craved for. Sure enough we saw a few ‘spas’ and ‘massage parlors’ and the first one we checked out offered high class massages. Sammyboy described this establishment as over-priced and this could not have been truer. Paying $150 for a 45 minute massage was ridiculous and I told Fuzz Car to get out before his loins overrode his common sense.

The next one we hit offered genuine Thai massage. Before we went up I told him it was the real thing but he didn’t believe me and egged me on. I was a bit irritated that he was behaving like a schoolboy. He was the one who wanted sex, so why rely on me to do the asking? And it was not as if he was a blushing schoolboy! His insistence that I asked, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girls (to see if they were pretty) while we were inside the establishment, was infuriating. He might as well ask the receptionist to arrange for ‘a pretty one’. Now, wouldn’t that have been a lot easier?! In the end, I was right and his hunger was left unsated.

The third – and last one – had very good ambiance. The receptionist, a pretty lady of probably Japanese or Korean ancestry, answered our inquires in a friendly and professional manner. I would not have minded if she massaged me, such was her attractiveness. It was by then 10 pm, and we were told we had to wait for 30 minutes for the massage, which would have been fine if the shop didn’t close at 11 pm. I made some excuses about going for our slop first and discreetly dragged my besotted friend out. If I were not around he would have waited and then ended up paying for a rushed job.

In the end, he didn’t manage to get what he came for. I sympathized with him, but he really deserved a bit of a rollicking. I have friends who whore regularly and none are as pathetic as my friend. Fuzz Car is in serious need of some re-education. It is fortunate for him that he has friends like me.