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Address: Seasons Tower, Jalan 1/77b, Kuala Lumpur, Wilayah Persekutuan Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.
they also have a Facebook page but it's called Bond Spa. Not sure why but in any case Bond Spa is the name they are most well known by.
Saboon Spa has changed name to Bond Spa in October 2015th. Even though there is a name change you will still see Bond Spa name throughout the premise. Everything else is the same regarding service and prices.
The video below shows you the quickest way to get to Bond Spa. All you have to do is get to the front entrance of Berjaya Times Square Mall which is super easy to find. Follow my same steps and you can get there on foot in 6 minutes. Bond Spa is on the 3rd floor.
A lot of local Malay men will tell you that Bond Spa is the best place to relax and find prostitutes from all over southeast Asia and China.
And they actually do provide full spa services. As a Bond Spa customer you will have full access to sauna, steam room, hot and cold pools. You can also make use of their sleeping capsules overnight. Or if you simply want to get back to your hotel within the Bukit Bintang area Bond also provide complimentary car service. But that's not all.
Plus there is an extensive food menu with local Malay and Chinese delicacy. It's all you can eat and once you sit down the friendly waiters or captains encourage guests to order drinks and food. There are televisions showing sports and newspapers to read plus even a room with computers for internet access.
So here's what it's like when you enter Bond Spa. You get in, you will be greeted by staff at the reception area. Don't be shy. There are women working at the front desk and even though they know you're a pervert they aren't there to judge you.
Address: Wisma Mpl, Jalan Raja Chulan, Kuala Lumpur, Wilayah Persekutuan Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. November 2015: It seems confirmed that E2 has closed. Apparently E2's demise is due to the reasons why many businesses have to close. Their rent was raised and deemed too expensive to upkeep. As I mentioned on my intro post to Kuala Lumpur's nightlife the place to find health spas which are basically brothels is in a section of the city called Bukit Bintang. It's basically one big tourists center with many restaurants and shopping malls in easy walking distance. So picking a hotel in Bukit Bintang is a wise choice too. But one of the best things of all is that there are many health spas in the area. Matter of fact two of the best health spas are located right in the area. And it is also possible to walk to all of them within Bukit Bintang. Just to give a quick information run down, health saunas and spas are the places to go to find prostitutes. Some of the happy ending massage establishments even though have a sauna and spa moniker do not provide such advertised services. They only provide customers with hookers and some food. While some of the bigger and most popular establishments provide top notch services which include the uses of sauna services such as wet and dry steam rooms, hot and cold pools and even fish spa treatment. And of course you can pick out many ladies from China, Thailand, Vietnam, Indonesia, Vietnam and local Malays. Below you'll find reviews of "8 Health Saunas and Spas" and I'll list what kinds of services they provide as well as pricing and of course what ladies they have to offer. The reviews below are listed in the order of the best to not exactly the best.
With blood boiling in his loins but his heart feeling as though it’s shrinking at the same time, Mazlan sighs in resignation and fishes out his wallet to make the payment. Nikolai and the short man leave the room. Mazlan emerges an hour later, thumping his lumbar vertebra with his fist.
Hardly has a month passed when he seeks out another two Russian-escort agencies from the Internet. The arrangement is similar. He goes to Malaysian Hotel in Ampang Road, and dispatches a text message from the lobby. A Russian guy approaches him and tries to usher him to the lift but he remains glued to his seat. From his pocket, he pulls out a folded piece of paper and unfolds it. It is a colour printout of the escort he has booked.
‘This is the escort I want,’ he says. ‘Her name’s Agnessa. If the girl in the room’s different or older than in this picture, I will not accept her. You understand?’ His eyes shine like steel, his voice is ruthless.
The pimp’s face turns ashen. ‘Let me re-confirm,’ he says and takes out his handphone. He says something in Russian. Then to Mazlan, he says, ‘Sorry, Agnessa’s gone to see a doctor. She just left the hotel ten minutes ago. She has stomach pain, ate spicy food yesterday. I have three other women. You can come up and choose which one you want.’
Mazlan gets up and walks away. Sitting in his car in the carpark, he phones a different agency to inform them of his impending arrival and drives away. In a hotel at Changkat Bukit Bintang, a Russian hustler takes him to a room filled with a bouquet of Russian roses for his scrutiny and picking, and he enjoys an hour of carnal entwinement with a voluptuous blonde.
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: Fahrenheit Shopping Complex (Rear Entrance), Jalan Bukit Bintang.
I mentioned that even though some establishments say they're a "health spa" or simply "spa" may not genuinely provide sauna, jacuzzi and even traditional massage services.
Well Sky River is one of those places. All they have are hookers and a cafe with a small limited menu. But they do have some pretty decent looking ladies. It's not a big place but the cafe room where captains greet customers and show the ladies is filled with large comfy lazyboy armchairs.
Sky River is perhaps the most easiest and the most convenient place to find hookers from all over China, Southeast Asia and even some ladies from Russia.
If you're staying at any of the hotels I've recommended in Bukit Bintang you can easily find and walk to Sky River. All you have to do is find the main entrance of Fahrenheit Shopping Center and walk straight through and taking the escalators down like I show you in the video above. It's directly behind Fahrenheit Mall.
The outside door entrance of Sky River is tinted up so you have to push a button on the door and someone will buzz you in. Once you walk in and turn right you'll see the reception area where you'll be handed a card with 3 numbers.
These 3 numbers are what the captains will use to record which or how many lady you've chosen during the course of your stay.
As I mentioned there are a lot of nice comfortable lazyboy armchairs and once you sit down a waiter will come by and ask if you want anything to drink or eat. Food is free too as long as you choose a lady and you can enjoy as much as you's like.
Eventually a captain will get to you and show you a pictures of the girls they have available on their cell phones. Or the ladies can come out and line up in front of you.
When dusk sweeps across Kuala Lumpur’s skyline, and doves return to their nests to rest, women in a teeny sector of the entertainment industry are preparing for work. They are the hostesses employed in nightclubs who provide fun, romance, and companionship to the patrons. Of the more than a dozen nightclubs, half will leave your credit card crying in pain; therefore, they are not for the hoi polloi. Through my friend Stanley Tang, who entertains his clients at a nightclub I shall call Zimpaco, I get an appointment with its mamasan who is known as Maggie Mah.
In the marble lobby, the receptionist asks for my name, intercoms her and tells me to wait. My interviewee strides out, extends her hand and presents me her glossy card. It says Lounge Manageress. Maggie is wearing a notch-collared grey pantsuit and has short hair with uniform layers at the top. She looks like a corporate executive. We walk through a carpeted hall the size of a basketball court with a stage rising at one end, two feet high. Circular tables with glass tops stand before lavender sofas with low, wide arms, and upward-shining wall lighting combines with flowing burgundy, swag curtains with beads to create a romantic ambience. A curved stairway with brass railings leads to an upper level that houses karaoke rooms. Maggie later tells me they are fitted with state-of-the-art equipment containing 20,000 English, Chinese, Malay, Hindi, Japanese and Korean songs.
We enter a small, partitioned room furnished with a white, four-drawer file cabinet and a nyatoh desk. Atop the desk sits a gold figurine of a pot-bellied Laughing Buddha that serves as a paperweight and a bottle of Hennessy VSOP Reserve, resting tilted at an angle on a plastic cannon carriage. The obligatory conversation is brief and I segue to the real purpose.
‘Maggie, why do men come here? Or for that matter, go to any other nightclub?’ I slip my hand into the side pocket of my pants and pull out my memorandum pad and a ballpoint pen.
Adeline, aged twenty-three, and her two co-workers exit the main entrance of Springflower Nightclub. She walks to her Honda City in the building’s basement carpark. In her duffel bag, which she carries strapped over her shoulder, she carries her evening dress, lipstick, a powder compact, house keys, a bottle of 21st Century Hang Over Shake and her purse. Her purse contains a photo of herself and her boyfriend. Her stomach carries seven litres of alcoholic beverage. She gets a cut from the ‘ladies’ drinks’ bought for her by her clients. At work, she carries an air of exclusivity, as she does not sell sex. She carries her father’s advice of not going out with any clients, lest she gets raped and murdered. Her heart carries the hope that he will recover from his stroke and be able to walk again. Her five foot-three-frame carries 120 lbs and she diligently carries weights in the gym twice a week. In her head, she carries a dream of starting up a florist’s or a boutique.
Honey (short for ‘Rohani’), aged twenty-eight, waves goodbye to Adeline. She carries a lonely heart with her. In her Polo tote bag, she carries her house keys, a neatly folded bareback halter top, a bottle of alcohol-free fragrance, a wallet containing a photo of her two-year-old son. Her face carries two gold needles inside each cheek, implanted by a bomoh a year ago. This magical charm is purported to attract men to her. Her glove compartment carries a copy of Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, Malay edition. Divorced, she carries hopes of re-marrying so she can quit her job. She starts her car engine and drives into the near-empty road, her heart carrying the anticipation of seeing her son, who by now is already tucked in bed by her Indonesian maid, and sleeping. While lying in bed, she is weighed down by the apprehension of her lover’s first wife not agreeing to their marriage, and she carries the burden of insomnia with her.
‘Have you considered working for an agency instead?’
He wipes his mouth with a napkin. ‘It’s difficult to balance studies and agency work. As a income dramatically, because the boss takes a cut.’
‘Have there been any particularly scary or funny incidents?’
‘Yes. Once, I was booked by a couple. They were really troublesome clients. The wife was so old and ugly, I had to prepare myself mentally by concentrating on pictures of porn stars. While I was bonking her, the husband – must be sick upstairs – wanted to videotape the act. I told him that it was not part of the deal. Then he joined in the action, and intended to sodomize me. I became scared and backed out.’ He lets out a whistle and shakes his head. ‘Another incident was this European woman who asked for anal sex. She said she enjoys anal more than vaginal. Her request was a damper because I’m not into that kind of thing, but I did it anyway. I just didn’t look down and tried not to inhale and ran to the shower immediately after. On another occasion, a client scolded me for purportedly poor performance – bloody hell! She even ridiculed the size of my manhood. She compared me to her ex-husband whom she said had a member the length of half her arm. What a lot of bullshit! Her scolding felt like déjà vu, it sounded like my mother disciplining me when I was younger.’
Robert Soo, a twenty-eight-year-old social escort, enters the suite of a hotel on Sultan Ismail Road. His hand carries a small bouquet of daisies. A day earlier, his agency’s boss had briefed him on a booking for him to do a striptease at a birthday party for a woman. She had spotted his picture in the agency’s website.
‘I’m looking for Janet,’ Robert says, stepping inside.
‘Yes, I’m Janet,’ says the woman facing him. Her eyes are grey and sharp as the points of icepicks. ‘I spoke to your boss.’ She smiles. ‘You look bigger in your picture.’
Laughter, music and a hive of excited voices float to him from the living room, which has floor-to-ceiling windows, which allow a spectacular view of the PETRONAS Twin Towers.
‘Can I have my payment upfront, please?’ More than a dozen faces full of grinning and glistening teeth are staring at him. There are no women under fifty.
Janet takes a brown envelope from the pocket of her blouse and hands it over. ‘Please count. Six hundred.’
Her apricot lips break into a smirk, and she shakes her head. ‘Most hostesses are not amused by them. Some girls may even feel insulted. The more a customer respects a hostess, the friendlier she’ll be to him. He should never tell her he has fallen in love with her after a few visits. Let things develop naturally. Trying to move too fast in a relationship is an amateurish sign. Another point is many hostesses don’t have the patience for a customer who sits with one miserable drink the whole evening. To be taken seriously, he should be generous and offer to buy food and drinks for the hostess; maybe order a bottle of Hennessy Cognac or Chivas Regal, and if he can’t finish it, the bottle can be kept for his next visit. And, of course, he should give big tips. You get the idea?’
‘Yeah. What type of hostess is easiest to win over?’
‘Obviously, the "girlfriend" hostess.’ She replaces the plastic letter-opener knife and rests her elbows on the desk. ‘She’s average-looking. Therefore, she doesn’t have as many admirers. Consequently, she’s likely to become emotionally attached to her sugar daddy and breaking up is painful for her too. Since her options are limited, getting rid of her can be a problem. The "model" hostess is more difficult to woo and more expensive to maintain as a mistress. She can also be demanding. But after the man has finished with his fling, breaking up with her is easier. She is often prepared to leave with some money as she has many suitors.’
Address: Jalan Bukit Bintang, Bukit Bintang, 55100 Kuala Lumpur.
Located within the basement level of the huge Federal Hotel along Bukit Bintang you can find Deluxe Health Spa. Just walk past the reception along the right side and you'll see the entrance halfway down. Looks totally legit, but there be hookers inside.
The time I went to Deluxe was around 6pm on a weekday. And they had about 3 customers lounging around downstairs. And their are spa facilities to lounge and relax in which is good.
The captain was busy with 2 customers at the time and I suppose he was the only one available. I asked if I could take a tour on my own alone and they said yes.
Deluxe Health Spa facilities are not bad. Not great either I would say it's on par with Genesis Health Club. I wanted to snap some photos too but it was evening time so there were customers inside.
When I got back out the captain was freed up so I inquired about the girls and pricing structure. He said at the moment he only has girls from China. But normally, they have local Malay girls and a couple of Thai ladies. If I want to see them I'd have to wait until later on in the night.
For sauna package, meals at the cafe and 45 minutes 1 shot deal with a China girl will set me back RM 280. That rate also includes a soapy body to body massage so it's not just a straight shag. So I asked to see the girls. He called them down and the lounge is not big, but when the girls came down there were only 5. None of them were to my liking. I would rate the girls a 5 or 6. But they looked cheerful and bubbly and perhaps fun too.
I simply told the captain I will come back later on when they have more girls. And I did go back around 9pm I think after having some beers at the nearby beer garden. And I saw the same girls plus some local Malay girls. Again, they were not the best looking. I felt kinda bad but I just said I'll come back next time.
The captain didn't look upset or anything. Because even while I was there they have customers. So it's possible that I was there at the wrong time and all the better looking girls were busy.
But I never went back and I do sort of regret it. So I'll definitly drop by again the next time I'm in Kuala Lumpur.
Top sexual services in Kuala Lumpur you'll find in our agency. Locals and tourits men say that Malasian Hotel and Spa is the best place where you can have a good time. Here you will have a full service spa. Guests can feel relaxed with a prostitute from Southeast Asia. The restaurant is dominated by Chinese and Malay menu.
Unlike sex tours to Thailand, to this kind of service until recently in Malaysia is very concerned with disdain. Currently, the professional level prostitutes Malaysia is growing rapidly. Already, both in large cities and the resorts of Malaysia provided sex services to the same level.
In connection with sufficiently strong foundations of the Islamic faith in Malaysia, a niche for providing sexual services quickly take prostitutes from China, Thailand, Vietnam and the Philippines.
Under the guise of wellness and spa beauty salons in the capital of Malaysia - Kuala Lumpur, hiding thousands of massage parlors provide various kinds of sex services prostitutes from Malaysia.
Such kind of Malaysian services is provided at a high level in a hotel or a private room. In these stores, of course, in addition to sex, you can also take a huge choice of treatments, or to order an erotic massage (for men). By this massage in Malaysia imply body massage with sexual intercourse, but with a special technique of massage genitals client.
Although the Malaysian authorities constantly warn that a wrong massage possible injury member, but men tend to ignore this type of advice. Providing escort services in Malaysia is at a fairly high level. Girl model looks for very wealthy clients.
The usual half-hour massage in Kuala Lumpur, which excludes the impact of the genitals of the client. Erotic massage with the provision of sexual services. Floor sauna and jacuzzi sections G does not look particularly so clean. This may be a gray interior and the object is a kind of old.
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Address: Inside Hotel Mercury M floor, 60-68 Lorong 1/77A, Off Jalan Changkat Thambi Dollah.
Summer Thai House is located right behind the Berjaya Times Square Mall. It is about a 3 minute walk to Bond Spa. Matter of fact, if you take a look at my video on walking to Bond Spa, once I exit from the rear of Berjaya Times Square you'll glimpse Summer Thai House straight ahead, you'll see on the 3 minutes and 8 second mark on the video.
There are two sections to this establishment. The ground floor section provides genuine massage for women and men. For guys looking for happy ending massage you have to go inside Hotel Mercury, get into the elevator and head to M floor.
So this place does have a sauna room but no jacuzzi. It's not a big shop overall. One thing to note is they don't do full service. They'll do hand jobs and body to body massages with hand job to finish and that's all.
Services here are quite limited as you can see on their service menu. I went for the B2B massage which lasted 45 minutes. This was one of the places I learned where it's very important to not let the captain choose a girl for you. I was in sort of a rush to get back to a meeting so I got lazy.
As a result I ended up with an out of shape granny. Okay, I may be exaggerating but she was old and defintly out of shape. Lucky I didn't pay first. I just canceled.
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?’
‘It’s best to be honest instead of giving hints or being indirect.’ He lifts his cigarette and taps ash into the ashtray. ‘If you’re too shy to use the word sex, say something like this: "I’d like to invite you to supper and later to a hotel. Would you like to come?" If she says no, ask her to recommend someone else. Don’t be afraid she’ll be offended by such an invitation. If you ask her to go out with you, and only later you mention sex, it smacks of manipulation, which she may not like.’
I book a table at Orchid Niteclub in Ampang Road and ask Charles Chow to join me but, he says it’s his squash night and declines; however, his younger brother, Ivan, whom I’ve met before, will be happy to come along. Ivan, aged thirty, is not as wild as his brother Charles, so I am unsure if he is the right companion for such a fling. Nevertheless, I’ll have someone to split the bill with.
We arrive at Orchid at 10 pm and the valet parks my car. Inside the hall, the receptionist takes us to a semicircular sofa with a coffee table in its mid-gap. A pair of floor-standing lamps in romantic shades of pink complements the cream-coloured settee. The air smells of rose tainted with a lingering trace of cigarette smoke.
A waiter, wearing a black bow-tie and a brown vest, passes two menus to us. ‘Please order your drinks and food first. Mummy will come soon.’
The number of karaoke lounges in Kuala Lumpur is something like thirty, and they are found in the city centre as well as in the suburbs such as Cheras, Puchong, Kepong, Pandan Perdana, Pandan Indah and Bukit Manjalara. If you’re looking for karaoke bars with no hostesses and no hanky-panky, here is a partial list: Red Box, Red Box Ria, Red Box Plus, Green Box, Neway and News KTV. Many karaoke lounges, irrespective of location, offer sleaze within their premises, whilst in others, you can take a hostess ‘home’ (‘My place or your place?’) after closing hours.
The New Straits Times of May 19, 2004, reported that a GRO in Crystal KTV in Petaling Jaya named Noritta Samsudin, who was murdered in her Seri Hartamas apartment, had frequently brought men home. And, of course, there are others like her. Two types of hostess systems operate in karaoke bars: the ‘butterfly’ and the ‘fixed hour’. Under the cheaper ‘butterfly system’, the hostess (also called guest relations officer or GRO) goes from table to table to sit briefly with patrons and is paid a tip from RM50 upward, but under the ‘fixed-hour system’, she will stick to a patron for the period she is hired, which ranges from RM60 to RM90 per hour. Obviously, the more expensive the rates, the younger and prettier the GROs are.
Squeezed between vehicles on both sides, I am driving Charles and Ivan to Kandy Karaoke in Cheras, four miles from the city centre. In between giving me directions, Charles tells Ivan and I the names and locations of the ‘dirtiest’ karaoke bars.
Everyone gapes when two of them take off their silk robes to reveal they are wearing two-piece bikinis. ‘Those bikini girls are Vietnamese,’ Mummy Molly says. ‘Hong Hanh on the right, twenty-two years old, Bach Yen, left, twenty-three years old. The other three girls are locals. All girls give bathroom service.’
‘Can the Vietnamese speak English?’ Charles asks, while Ivan removes his spectacles, wipes them with his handkerchief, puts them back to ogle at the Vietnamese girls, and then dabs his forehead.
‘Yes, basic English and Mandarin. Sing English and Chinese songs, no problem.’
Endowed with a 33-26-34 figure, Hong Hanh is five-feet three, and has a flat nose. She is wearing a high-waisted bikini bottom to conceal the baby fat on her tummy. Broad-jowled Bach Yen, crowned with a messy mop of blond hair, pouts her full lips. Attired in a high-cut bikini bottom, she strikes a pose sideways to display well-toned glutes.
A porcelain-skinned girl, with a nose that seems a mile long, has on a red miniskirt and a black bustier top. Her slender legs, looking like bamboo poles, end in three-inch heels that bring her height to six feet. An unfortunate choice of clothes as it emphasized her rather flat chest. ‘That’s Chen Chen, a former model.’ A brown-skinned girl, clad in a tank top and flashing a 200-watt grin, brings her hands to her waist to draw attention to her curvy figure and cocks her hip. ‘Linda, twenty-five years old, she loves singing, gives good service,’ the mamasan says. Next, she points to a fair-skinned GRO of five feet five, who has a skin-tight t-shirt rolled upward to expose her washboard tummy. Her false eyelashes are so long and thick she can barely lift her upper eyelids, and wavy, shoulder-length hair frames her oval face. Her low-waist, cut-off jeans short reveal smooth, satiny flesh. ‘That’s Monica, she speaks very good English.’ The last girl, squaring her broad shoulders and smiling, has hairy arms and legs. She has a high nose and curly eyelashes, and long tresses frame her face. ‘Her name’s Banita, Bengali mooi (girl).’
Charles and I are leaning back on the sofa, while Ivan is sticking his head forward like a tortoise protruding its head from its shell. Silence reigns for ten seconds or slightly more. Mummy Molly, sensing indecision on our part, says: ‘The Vietnamese girls are vulgar, daring, and their bathroom service is cheaper.’
We settle for Sapporo beer and three plates of fried spaghetti and a plate of groundnuts. Charles beckons Suzie to sit beside him and he whispers in her ear and she nods a few times and says something and he announces: ‘Okay, guys, Suzie’s doing a striptease show in about fifteen minutes’ time.’
While waiting for our order, Suzie tells us she’s from Seremban and has been working in SS Karaoke for a year. She lives in Ampang, and, in response to Charles’ question, she says she doesn’t go out with clients for sex after closing hours. The only extra service from her is the striptease, which she learned by watching CDs. Our food and drinks are served after what seems a long wait. While we are wolfing down our fried spaghetti, she loads a song in the karaoke machine and waits patiently, humming Indonesian songs "Emang Gue Pikiran" and "Bokong Semok".
‘Okay, Suzie, you can start,’ Charles says when everyone has finished eating.
Suzie clicks ‘play’ on the remote control and the theme song from Mike Hammer, an old TV series, seeps like a wave from the speakers and subwoofers. Robust and smooth baritone from a trumpet and fluid and rich tenor from saxophones fill the room. A pair of tom-tom drums produces the beat and a piano tinkles intermittently. Wow, she has chosen the right song, and seems a lao jiao (veteran) in her speciality.
She stands with her back facing us, and looks at us over her shoulder. She begins to unbutton her shirt, shrugging her shoulders slowly. She removes one arm and the bra strap comes into view. She removes the other arm, slips off the shirt and uses it to cover herself before turning over to face us. Then she gently drops her hands down the side of her body and the shirt drops to the floor, exposing a black lacy bra filled to the brim. She turns round again, sticks her butt out and arches her back, and unzips the side of her miniskirt in slow motion. Wriggling from side to side, she bends and pulls the miniskirt down to her calves, letting it drop to the floor, and steps out of it, one leg at a time. A pair of matching black lacy panties is revealed.
I recall Charles’ advice not to consume any Chinese tea in lady-barber salons as it may be laced with black magic to make the patron come back again and again. ‘Coca-Cola, cold’ I say. Though I believe that black magic can only be effective if the sorcerer knows the victim’s name and date of birth, I don’t want to take the risk.
‘Haircut and wash?’ Her face is oval, with big eyes, emphasized with matte eye-shadow and perfectly drawn arched eyebrows.
‘Sure, give me a trim at the sides and back, then a wash.’
The lady barber brings my soft drink and puts it on top of the styling station. She stands behind me to look at our reflections in the mirror. ‘Want ear-digging?’
‘Yes. How much for everything?’
She holds the back of the barber chair casually. ‘Seventy-five.’ Fine wrinkles cover her hands, probably due to the constant exposure to shampoo.
‘Okay’ I pause. ‘Your sign says got karaoke?’ Muffled music is coming from somewhere.
‘Yes, behind.’ Opening a drawer, she takes out a pair of scissors and an electric clipper and lays them on top of the styling station. ‘I can go with you after the haircut. You need to tip me.’
At the counter, a barman flicks the handle of a beer tap and a frothy jet shoots out into two frosty glasses. A waitress brings them to Charles Chow and I. We are stationed at a strategic table near the dance floor. Perched on high rattan chairs, Charles and I survey the tables occupied by women, swathed in dim light. I chew a French fry and look at my watch. It is nearing 11 pm and the party is warming up.
Like a star cluster, red, green and blue laser lights beam down on the acrylic-covered LED dance floor, which bursts into a grid of colourful lights. Smoke billows down in clouds from two overhead machines. A DJ, togged up in a gold holographic shirt with bandana over his head, yells into a mike and deep-bass rhythms accompanied by rapid drumbeats and a synthesizer melody blast from speakers. The dance floor quickly fills up with people, with two hookers forming the centre of attention as one of them performs a dance move called the Cabbage Patch.
The girl in a miniskirt and a burgundy halter top bends her knees, thrusts her pelvis repeatedly and wriggles like a worm while her partner, a taller floozy with flowing hair and clad in a spaghetti-strap tank top with a buckle puts her hands together, forming fists and moves them in a horizontal circular motion while turning at the same time.
From a nearby table, a girl with a dark complexion and long hair parted down the middle slinks over from a nearby table. At almost five-foot-five, she’s wearing a strapless, seamed corset bodice and a beige skirt in gold-sequined tiers. She places a hand on Charles’ shoulder. ‘Want a dance?’ she asks, smiling.
Eyes aglow, Charles leads her by the hand to the dance floor, and they gyrate. Several other hookers are also in action. If dancing is a prelude to romantic sex, why should it also be a prelude to commercial sex? Why not skip the dancing and get straight to business? The music ends in a crescendo. Charles orders a raspberry spritzer from the bar, and he and his partner return to the table. The girl is Thai, no more than twenty-five, and she shifts her stool closer to him.
‘Cheers!’ Charles says, and lifts his glass. ‘You’re a good dancer.’
In my email inbox is a response from David McCain, a newfound friend I met in a chat room. Earlier, I had asked him if he had any unpleasant experiences with pickups in an infamous bar on P. Ramlee Road in Kuala Lumpur. His story goes like this...
Imagine, Kuala Lumpur - the capital of the Malaysia. David, an Australian software engineer, enters a dance club in Bukit Bintang, plonks himself down some distance away from the stage, where a band will be playing later, and orders a Hanky-Panky, a drink containing Italian vermouth and dry gin, and a basket of pretzels. Attired in a sky-blue Oxford button-down shirt and dark pleated pants, he smells of a blend of musk, mandarin, magnolia, peach and sandalwood, having been liberal with his Calvin Klein EDT.
The night before, he had sat near the four-piece band and his heart had thumped along with the vibration of the loud music. Though the music fell harshly on his ears which annoyed him, he was successful in picking up a girl. A twenty-something year old girl – either Vietnamese or a Myanmar national – wearing a short dress in a floral print had sauntered past his table. He smiled at her and wriggled his fingers as a friendly gesture. She came over, sat on his lap, fingered the curls at the back of his head, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Then she took out a mobile phone from her purse, tapped in RM400 on the screen and showed it to him. Grinning, he took her phone and keyed in RM300. She nodded her head and they left for his hotel room. They did it in various positions. When she left, his loins were still tingling, and after a shower, he slept well.
Tonight, his eyes drift from girl to girl. Compared to the previous night, more hookers are hanging around. A tall lass, garbed in a red top, catches his attention; but her face is longish, which he doesn’t like. Another chick, standing at five-feet-two and with short hair is cute; at an adjacent table sits a fair-skinned girl, possibly Chinese, wearing a skirt so short that her black panties can be seen. Last but not least, a group of four girls are huddled at a corner table, laughing among themselves – they look friendly, and are likely to be accommodating in bed. With so many fishes in the ocean, David is unsure whether he wants to eat bass, perch, wrasse, pomfret or grouper.
‘Hello. You dress well – I like that in a man. I’m Chloe.’ An accented voice drifts to him. A whiff of patchouli and amber enters his nostrils. Glancing over his shoulder, he sets eyes on the owner of the voice – an oval-faced girl with a slender nose and full symmetrical lips. Long, silky hair flows down her bare, cocoa-coloured shoulders, and her deep cleavage churns a whirlpool of desire in him.
To test her patience, which will reflect whether she’s going to rush or do a proper job in bed, he asks her about the tourist attractions in Kiev. As enthusiastic as a tour guide, she tells him about Independence Square which is similar to Merdeka Square, the metro stations with their chandeliers and ornate ceilings, which are more impressive than KL’s LRT stations, the gold-domed St. Sophia’s Cathedral, the Taras Shevchenko National University where she learned English and graduated, and her farmhouse where she rides horses. As he listens, Leo envisions himself riding on horseback on a wheat farm in Ukraine, bobbing up and down, bowlegs astraddle; although there is no horse, only Iryna.
As her chemistry with him is right, they go to a hotel at Tengkat Tong Shin and Leo books a standard room for two hours. The room has an attached bathroom but no windows, no mini bar, no safe deposit box, no queen-sized bed – only two single beds. Iryna switches off the light, which displeases Leo, and an alarm bell rings in his central nervous system. Is she a transsexual?
‘Please leave the lights on,’ he insists.
‘Sorry, I’m new at doing this. I’m shy.’ Her voice dodders.
Leo undresses, switches on the table-lamp and flips off the ceiling light. ‘Come, let’s shower together. I’ll soap you up.’
‘I prefer to shower alone.’
Leo is mildly annoyed but does not wish to offend her. After separately prepping themselves, they squeeze into the narrow single bed. Leo embraces her, licks her cheeks and nibbles her ear lobes. When he kisses her breast, she pushes his face away and he recoils in shock as the breast slips off. It’s a prosthetic breast!
‘Holy smokes! You’ve only one breast?’
Her eyes glisten with mist. ‘Yes, the other breast was surgically removed because of cancer. I’m sorry I disappointed you.’ She retrieves the rubber breast and sticks it back to her chest.
The scene in my mind dissolves as Leo throws his hands up in the air. ‘It was frustrating! I didn’t know what to do. Pity her or get angry with her?’
‘Did you continue?’ I ask.
‘No. After thinking hard for a few moments I paid her the full amount – six hundred. We sat on the bed and talked about breast cancer and the Chernobyl Nuclear Plant for a short while. Then she returned to the club; I went home. It was really frustrating.’
‘I want to tell them the good news. That I’m married to a good man. Darling, there’s a custom in Thailand that a husband must give dowry to the girl’s family.’
Max raises an eyebrow. ‘Why you didn’t tell me this earlier?’
‘You’re also Asian. I thought you knew.’
Max does not reply and continues to eat.
‘I’ll only show the cash to my parents. Later I’ll return it to you.’
‘How much do you need?’
‘Can you give me – er – let me carry thirty thousand ringgit?’
‘I want to impress my parents. I’ll be back in a week. I promise. The money is proof that you’re capable of supporting me.’
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your parents?’
‘Of course I will. Next time, when we go together, we’ll stay for one month.’
Max buys her air tickets to Bangkok and sends her to the airport. He calls her the next day and she says she is fine, having reached her parents’ home in Nakhon Ratchatsima, a town 300 km northeast of Bangkok. Over the course of several days, he calls but she does not answer.
Two weeks pass. He flies to Bangkok and takes a bus to Nakhon Ratchatsima. From the bus station, he rides a tuk-tuk, a three-wheeled motorcycle-taxi, to her residence as indicated by the address on her passport of which he has a copy.
The tuk-tuk driver stops at the gate of a stilted wooden house and blasts the horn.
The perimeter of the front compound is lined with pots of orchids, plumeria and torch ginger.
‘Please interpret for me,’ Max says. ‘I’ll give you a tip.’
An old woman in a floral cotton tunic, comes out of the house and Max and the tuk-tuk driver approaches the gate of the house. ‘Tell her I’m looking for Lukden Chaichalermpol.’
The tuk-tuk driver and the old woman talk in Thai. ‘She is Lukden’s mother. She says her daughter has gone back to Kuala Lumpur. Working at the dance clubs.’
The tuk-tuk driver asks in Thai and the old woman replies.
‘She says four days ago.’
‘I married Lukden almost a month ago. What happened to my dowry?’
The tuk-tuk driver interprets what Max says. The old woman points to a Toyota parked in the side porch and utter something. ‘She said Lukden used part of the dowry to buy a used car for her father.’
Max’s mother-in-law doesn’t even have the courtesy to invite him inside the house. He gets into the tuk-tuk and returns to the bus station.
I puff on the cigarette he offered me earlier but do not inhale the smoke into my lungs. ‘I’ve heard stories of captains lying to clients. Like recommending girls who give bad service. Why they do such things?’
He sits upright suddenly, and crosses his arms. ‘Most captains know their girls well. It is our job to know. We ask for feedback from customers regarding their masseuses. Like who has big boobs, who can French kiss, who has birth marks, who offers anal and so on. Even in this centre, I know who the lazy girls are, who sit on the edge of the bed to massage. But customers’ expectations differ. A spa lou chiok may find an average girl’s service below standard. But an inexperienced customer may consider the average girl good. So, It is often a case of differing customer expectations, not the captain giving false recommendations. A spa cannot survive for long if its business is based on lies.’
‘Is it advisable to let a masseuse walk on your back?’
Ah Fook waves his hand and frowns, creasing his forehead. ‘Honestly speaking, that’s not a good thing. If She is having her period, it can give you bad luck. Also, she may step on the wrong places and dis-align something in your spine. However, if the man is big, and the masseuse is small, the risk is lower. It all depends on the girl’s skills.’
Charles Chow’s cell phone rings. He answers it and strides to the office toilet. ‘Hello? Yes, Adrian. Yes?’
Voice: ‘Boss, your luck’s very good. I’ve got a virgin from Vietnam. Interested or not? She arrived yesterday.’
‘Sure or not? Genuine or artificial?’
Voice: ‘Of course, real. You’re my regular. Where I dare to cheat you? You can take her to a doctor for medical check-up. If fake, you can enjoy a short time with her free.’
Susan and Tracy massage services. My reverie is broken by two massage ladies entering, whom Charles introduces as Susan and Tracy. Susan, in her late twenties, sports short hair that accentuates her oval face. She is togged up in a sleeveless top and a knee-length flared skirt, and wears mascara and cherry-red lipstick. Her waist is as slim as a wasp’s and her butt resembles that of a duck’s. No wonder Charles is her regular client. They engage in pleasantries for a while.
I smile at Susan. ‘What’re your unforgettable experiences working here?’
‘There was one man – I could not massage his body,’ she says, leaning back on the leather settee. ‘Every time I touched his chest, he would laugh hysterically, saying it was ticklish. When I tried to massage his thighs, he laughed until tears came. In the end I only massaged his arms, neck and head.
‘Then there was a Japanese man who was so lecherous. He touched my buttocks. Even tried to slip his hand under my skirt. When he repeated it a few times, I told the captain. He came in and told him that if he wanted sex, we would book a girl from a brothel outside for him. The Japanese man apologized and later gave me a tip.
‘Another bad experience was with a Saudi Arabian man. He popped in after midnight when we were about to close. I think he sneaked out of the hotel room after his wife had fallen asleep. He was wearing hotel-room slippers. Know what happened? During the massage, he ejaculated.’
‘Not disgusting, disappointing.’
‘No opportunity to earn handjob money already.’ Susan chuckles and covers her mouth with both hands.
How was Tuyen 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.
He talks briefly on his cell phone and passes it to Tuyen. Your agent wants to talk to you.
Tuyen sobs and wails in Vietnamese, while Adrian paces up and down the room, his lips pressed tight. She returns the phone to Adrian and stares blankly at the carpeted floor, bleary-eyed.
Charles asks: So how, now? I’ve to pay two thousand for one session?
Adrian discharges a deep sigh and takes out his wallet. I’ll refund you thousand eight hundred ringgit. Just pay the normal price.
Fifteen minutes later while Charles is driving away from Bukit Bintang Kuala Lumpur, his cell phone rings.
Hello, Charles! Looks like Tuyen’s attempting suicide. Words in a hurried torrent burst from Adrian’s voice through the Bluetooth headset. If she dies, we’re in deep shit. Please come and calm her down.
What? Charles, overcome with guilt and sympathy, slaps his hand against the steering wheel. Okay, I’m coming back.
He executes an illegal U-turn, speeds to Laguna Hotel and returns to Tuyen’s former room. The door is ajar and he strides in. The split glass casement windows are open and Tuyen is sitting on the ledge, her feet dangling on the other side, one hand holding the middle sash bar. Adrian is standing several paces from her, taking deep breaths as if trying to calm down.
Tuyen turns to face Charles and snivels, her voice choked with emotion. I virgin! I virgin! I no boyfriend!
An hour passes before Charles appears, twisting his neck from side to side a few times. This is Charles’s version of the action inside: First, the Indonesian lass gives him a good massage using baby oil.
Charles goes to the long bath and reclines in it and she supports his head with a folded towel. The masseuse allows the water to fill half the tub. Then she stands inside the tub, and uses a sponge and liquid soap to wash off the baby oil, starting from his arms, body and legs. She drains the tub and uses the shower head to rinse his body. Again, she sets a deluge of frothy water roaring into the tub, half-filling it, then she peels off her clothes. Charles’s eyes pop and his jaw drops. Her hour-glass figure is complemented by a pair of round breasts. The damsel serves him his beer, and he drinks while lying in the long bath. She takes away the empty glass and gets inside with him. She hugs him and rubs her breasts against his body. She asks Charles to sit with his back facing her and she gives his back the same treatment. Unable to control himself, he makes love to her in the long bathtub. Water splashes with their body movements, and Charles relives his childhood joy of frolicking in water.
We partake our late lunch at Ngau Kee Beef Noodle stall in Tengkat Tong Shin. ‘Customers should not always listen to the captain,’ Charles says, chomping on a springy beef ball. ‘He may recommend certain girls ’cause he gets tips from them.’
‘How do you know whether a place has hanky-panky?’
‘Simple, enquire from the person in charge. Don’t be shy even if that person is a woman. You’ll be surprised. The biggest mistake is to ask the masseuse after the massage.’ He uses his handkerchief to mop sweat on his forehead. ‘Another indicator is whether you can choose the girl. If they work by rotation, unlikely you’ll get extra services.’
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