Best of Asian Erotica, Volume 2

BIG LOVE Chris Mooney-Singh, South Korea

And so I was left there sitting opposite June. ‘Well, this is strangest business trip I’ve been on,’ I said.

‘I told you Gerald, you are on holiday. Don’t worry. Mr Wang will sign your paperwork before you leave.’

‘What do you know about my paperwork?’ I queried.

‘He makes. You buy. Right? Look, I don’t know, Gerald. Mr Wang has many business interests all over Asia. But I have known Mr Wang for a long time and known how he works with people. This is his style when he likes someone. He likes you.’

I must admit I had felt flattered or relieved hearing that, but still I still had my distrusting Singaporean guard up.

Instead I said, ‘Hmmm… really.’

‘Look, Gerald, relax! Enjoy yourself. Is that so hard?’ she laughed this time with a feeling of tired wisdom. ‘Look, I will tell you straight, Gerald.

Mr Wang has been good to me over the years. Yes, there is love there, but he also lets me be myself. I am haenyo, after all , under all this lard.’ She laughed more freely, then reached across and squeezed my hand, asking, ‘Gerald, tell me the truth. So do you like me a little bit? Or am I just the boss’ fat girl you have to spend some time with?’

The more I had seen of June, the more I found her smart, refreshing and quite unpretentious. Perhaps not being a typical ‘sex-goddess’ in society’s eyes had made someone like June come from a more sincere place. She had the gift of putting people at ease and was least concerned about herself. There was humility and loveliness in that. After seeing those hefty women divers, she had also taken on a new aura of big woman status in my mind also, a kind I had not allowed myself to appreciate before.

‘You have a lovely face, a lovely nature, June. And I saw how much effort you put into making Mr Wang happy. Alright, you are full-size, but only a large body could house such a big heart,’ and I squeezed her hand back.

‘Oh, you’re sweet!’ And with that, she lunged forward, grabbing me by each cheek with the flats of her strong hands and pulled me directly into the soft vastness of her bosom, kissing me wet on the lips. Then, the slippery muscle of her tongue deftly searched inside for my mine, which she located with loving ease, eager to coax, tame and relax it. I felt myself slipping under waves and being dragged by the current into the weedy depths.

But then, I pulled back, remembering who and where I was. This was all a bit too sudden. My God! I was a married man, an unhappy one, yet still married. So, I withdrew, crabwise, my heart still beating forward toward her.

‘You’re shy.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t worry. This is my nature. I am very friendly. By the way, Mr Wang and I noticed you haven’t been eating. You don’t seem to like Korean food much, so he wants me to cook for you tonight.’

‘No, no, no, no. Please don’t trouble yourself. I’m fine. Really.’

‘I can’t let you go hungry.’

‘Really, I don’t eat a lot. I work out at the gym with my wi—’

‘Your wife? Is she skinny or big like me?’

I realized, I had opened up an area best not gone into.

‘Well, she’s slim, I guess. A bit obsessed, actually.’

She sensed my discomfort again. ‘Don’t worry, Gerald. I am not going to come chasing after you to Singapore. What happens in Jeju, stays in Jeju.

Just relax.’ Again she disarmed me with that fresh, chubby smile.

‘Look, if I don’t follow Mr Wang’s instructions and cook for you, I might lose my job. Would you want that?’

‘No. Of course not.’

‘Fine then. Glad we got that out of the way!’

‘But…’

‘Shssh… look, I have to rush now and arrange for Mr Wang and his guests. He doesn’t like it when instructions are not followed closely. I’ll be back. Just sit tight. Enjoy. Put on the limo TV, have another beer. Oh, and by the way, I’m thinking pasta. I make good pasta.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘No buts!’ she admonished me firmly, shaking her finger in a friendly way. ‘I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.’

She spoke something in Korean to the driver over the phone intercom, got out, then strode forcefully into the hotel.

I hadn’t expected this. I now remembered again how dumbfounded and totally stupid I had felt. At such times, fear and doubt prey on the mind. You question everyone’s intentions. I had wondered what Wang was up to. He had nothing to gain from me. I needed his business, not the other way around.

Truly, it was very odd. I had never met such a strange entrepreneur before in all the fifteen years of my working life. Why such generosity? No one does things for no reason. My suspicious Singapore brain was working overtime.

Who in their right mind would be doing all this for me?

But the more I asked, the more I found that I had no real logical answers.

Putting the pieces together, I saw that June had clearly been Wang’s employee in the hotel and casino. Was he the silent owner? Why hadn’t he let on and how had June come to be here as his aide de camp?

Yes, I had gotten myself into a real state, feeling impatient and upset, thinking that perhaps he was avoiding talking business because he was not going to give me the contract after all. Perhaps he was letting me down gently. I was booked to leave the very next day. Should I trust what June said—that he liked me and would definitely sign the deal? I sighed and really prayed that she was right.

Remembering all those fears and uncertain emotions while waiting in the limousine had made me resolve: Hang it, Gerald. Stop being such a wimp. Just let things happen or you end up with an ulcer. That’s how I had slapped myself around for awhile sitting in this millionaire’s long black piece of luxury on four wheels, parked outside a huge hotel with its own flashing casino in the basement. Thus, I had reached for another Hite beer from the car-bar, switched to the other seat, pressed the console button that opened a compartment to a mini limo TV and channel-surfed: a children’s game show with the host dressed like a bear, a Korean cooking segment of the news with a local personality. I then sunk down in the seat with some dated Hollywood action flick dubbed in Korean with the ads scrolled along the bottom of the screen in block-character Korean, gulping my beer. It only took a moment and I began to feel drowsy. Yes, it was true I had hardly eaten a thing that day, starting with a disturbed breakfast and now the beer was going straight to my head. My eyelids and head began to droop.

I don’t know how long I nodded off for, but as the limo door opened I sat up, startled to see her back. This time, she plonked herself down with a heavy bounce next to me, closed the door, gave instructions to the driver through the intercom and then looked directly into my eyes, as if knowing that I was feeling awkward and uncomfortable. She took my head very gently like a baby and rested me on her ample bosom.

‘There, relax,’ she said in a very soothing voice as she stroked my hair.

As if going under hypnosis, I just followed instructions and let my last guard drop.

I must have gone straight to sleep again. When I woke up, I was brought to consciousness by June’s voice:

‘Here we go.’

She was easing me out of the cab, up stairs, into a lift, supporting me with her strong ample body that was like a soft vertical sofa. Was I leaning up or lying down? I couldn’t tell. The chime of the lift bell startled me.

‘Where am I?’

‘Home,’ she said, sliding a key into the lock and bouncing back the door with her sneaker as she navigated me inside. The light went on and I saw a comfortable apartment with a white, U-shaped sofa that looked vaguely familiar.

She deposited me there. I put my phone on the coffee table.

‘There, Baby. Give me a moment.’

Directly in front was a huge aquarium with all kinds of colourful fish, rocks and weed waving in the electro-generated current. Yes, I thought, this was just about right for the home of a haenyo.

June came back from the bedroom or wherever and bounced herself down beside me with a towel and bathrobe.

‘Here. Go take a shower. You’ll feel much better.’ And then kissed me again, hugging me close to the warm and abundant coastline of herself. This time, I responded with my tongue. She allowed me to explore her mouth and, then broke off.

‘Ah we are now waking up, are we?’ And with that, kissed me again with a quick smacking sound, rousing and pushing me off in the direction of the bathroom.’

‘Go on!’

I went in, closed the door, undressed, relieved myself and then lingered under the hot water and let my thoughts drift for quite a while. Yes, I was definitely in the hands of a big, loving woman. I heard her voice echoing in my mind: Just relax. One sucking kiss had brought on my first penile wetness in the cab and now here, thinking of it under the water, I had become hard. I tried to control myself with neutral thoughts and, fearing that I would come then and there, I got out of the shower, towelled myself dry and put on the red bathrobe, tying it around the middle. I slicked back my wet hair with the comb from my back pocket, looked in the mirror, took a deep breath, then returned to the living room.

She had dimmed the lighting and some jazz was playing on the DVD player. I took my position again on the couch. There were cooking smells coming from the kitchen area that formed one side of the living room separated by a bench and bar stools. I smelled boiling water, salt, herbs and tomatoes and there was the sound of chopping. I didn’t look over my shoulder. I had decided to let things unfold and accept whatever dish of experience was offered.

‘Feeling better?’

‘Tremendous,’ I said lounging back into the sofa.

‘Almost ready,’ she said. I heard the ping of a microwave and also the opening and closing of a fridge door. In a moment she was coming to join me, humming something in Korean to herself, holding a tray: on it were three small white bottles and two small ceramic cups. There were also various pickles, seaweeds and something hot-pancake squares with all kinds of vegetables cooked into them. She must have had a supply and quickly microwaved them. There was also a kimchi for good measure, which still smelled like detergent. Some things one never gets used to. She poured with the right hand, while holding the elbow with her left, then passed me the bottle. The liquor was milky-white.

‘Now you pour for me,’ she said. Being left-handed, I transferred the plastic bottle.

‘No, no. The Korean way,’ she said, re-positioning it in my right with my left just below the elbow as she had done. It seemed strange, but seeing that I had decided to surrender to whatever came, I accepted her direction and filled her cup.

‘We always pour for each other. It is polite.’

‘That’s nice,’ I said.

Now she picked up her wine cup with two hands, nodding for me to do the same.

‘Both poised and ready, she said ‘One shot!’ indicating for us to down our drinks at the same time.

The drink was both sweet and sour, almost rough and raw and she was quickly refilling for me, and I for her.

‘This is really nice,’ I said, ‘the best thing I’ve tried in Korea, by far.’

‘Makgeolli was a farmer’s drink. It’s beer. Made from mixed grains and fermented; it gives strength,’ She laughed, I guess wondering whether I got her joke. ‘Ah, you just need a good guide.’

‘Thankfully, I have found one,’ and looked straight at her.

‘Yes, you have,’ she giggled. ‘Okay, now we play!’

With that, she deftly undid the soft belt around my bathrobe and found my penis, already hardening in her chubby little palms. Then she kneeled between my legs and took me in her mouth, working my shaft into the mollusk of her mouth, bringing her tongue to bear, on occasion, from root to cock-head; and soon she changed her strategy of arousal by putting the whole of my scrotal sac into her mouth and rolling the testicles around like small, hard-boiled eggs.

‘Mmmm,’ she said and then worked me harder and faster. Already aroused from the shower, I couldn’t hold myself back any longer and came prematurely with a loud release, jetting my load between her lips.

‘Mmmm,’ I heard her say again, sitting up now before me and swilling my viscous whiteness around in her mouth, giggling and making eyes at me, letting some dribble out the side and then playfully pushing it back in with a finger. Then, without swallowing, she put her powerful arms around my neck and kissed me with the mouth full of my own cum. The residue of the white rice beer in my mouth merged with that taste of semen. I had never tried anything like this before. It was indescribable. My wife, Pearl Lin, would have died of shock.

June passed the load into my mouth and followed with her tongue sucking it back and forth, giving and taking, giving and taking—her pink tongue moving like a sea worm in our salty current. It grew in volume with our saliva, the full flavour of those two white essences perfectly matched and mixed now into one white cocktail of human sugars and acids. Then, with the same trademark deftness, she sucked my ejaculate back into her mouth, took ownership of it, so to speak, withdrew from my lips and swallowed it down with a satisfying release.

‘Ahhhhh,’ she said licking her lips and fingers. ‘Thanks for the vitamin pill. So nice. Now you know the secret of my young complexion,’ she laughed. ‘This is June’s own special technique for drinking Korean rice beer,’ she said with a slutty twinkle in her eye. ‘You like?’

‘I like. That was awesome. Come back here!’ With that I grabbed, but despite her dimensions, she had easily out-manoeuvred me to the side of the sofa and was now pouring me another cup of the milky beer. I took her cue and did the same for her.

‘One shot!’ We both said, and holding each cup with two hands, drained our drinks.

‘Now I must check on dinner and I will take my little shower. Okay?’

‘Sure. Please.’

Yes, I was in the hands of a big Korean sea-nymph who was kind, creative and sexier than I could ever imagine. After the entree, I wondered what was coming next.

The jazz played on in the background and it seemed that the fish in the aquarium were swimming in sequence to the beat, now turning this way, flashing another direction on cue. Despite the violation of etiquette, I poured myself another cup of rice beer and even picked at the side dishes, trying the pancake slices. Yes, kind of like a Korean pizza, I thought, and munched happily on one. I even tried a forkful of the black seaweed and a cube or two of pickled turnip. Downed with the rice beer, they weren’t too bad. In fact, they complemented each other. But I still steered clear of the kimchi.

The fish continued their technicolour routines in the aquarium and now I looked around and saw a painting on the wall. It was a portrait of the old haenyo.

Wang and June had brought me to see these famous women divers along the Jeju coastline earlier in the day. Her mother had been a diver, and June herself had imbibed from a young age that same trait of fierce independence of the haenyo, who didn’t rely on husbands to earn a living. I thought this was most unusual in an Asian culture; certainly different from my Singapore upbringing.

I got up to study more closely: Two women were sitting on the rocks.

The grandma in the blue one-piece was smoking a cigarette, the other had a white cloth around her loins and was stretching and scratching the back of her head with her magnificent breasts and orange-tipped nipples exposed to the afternoon sunlight. In the background, you could see the green-mesh trap with its orange float and a small trident used to loosen shellfish from underwater cracks and crevices.

They were coarse, Rubenesque, heavy jowled, with almost bulbous red clown noses. Perhaps this was the result of prolonged cold water diving and holding your breath at depth. I looked at the right bottom corner of the painting. There was a name or inscription written in Korean and a date: 1956.

I couldn’t help myself, so I found my phone and took a picture of the painting. It was so beautiful, and June Park could be found in every centimetre of it.

I felt as if I was swimming in the sea and moved and swayed in time with the jazz and the fish, until the next pleasant surprise of the evening: June had bathed and there she was dressed in traditional Korean red-and-white costume with her hair made up. I had seen photos of this courtly garb before, but had not realized that it really was a ‘fat’ dress. The red blouse at the top came up just under her breast-line and the skirt fanned out conically below into a wide circumference touching the floor.

‘Wow, June!’

She giggled and moved as if on invisible dolly-wheels in my direction.

‘Let me take your picture,’ I said, positioning and snapping her from various angles and in different poses—some serious, some girly, some comical, some down and dirty. She was so connected to her feelings that she was a natural model. I took some near the back-lit lampshade, another in the bedroom doorway, one looking out the high-rise window and others near the colourfully lit aquarium.

‘What can I say? This dress… It’s so… you, June!’

‘So now, Mr Singapore, this is my present—gift—wrapped in my traditional Korean hang-bok. Am I pretty?’

‘Pretty? You are gorgeous!’ and I meant it. She had really brought me to that point of appreciation for unpretentious pleasure and a belief in the importance of living lustfully in the moment. We joined lips and embraced for a long time with the oxygen filter gurgling in the background.

Primed and confident, I now felt it was my turn to give and not just receive. I was ready to fold back her inner sound of fabric and started by running my hands down her red-necked blouse over its breast-points, so elegantly and classically tailored with all the grace-lines of Korean history and ceremony intact. Then, I knelt to find her hidden ankles and kissed them.

She then helped by turning around and bending over, spread legs wide, while gripping the back of the sofa seat. She knew what she wanted. I put my hands underneath and lifted outer silk and inner petticoat, finding fleshy hand-holds and wet dew trickling down the inside of her thighs. I was soon rubbing my two palms up warm flesh and feasting my eyes on the curvature of her dimpled buttocks, scored with life-accumulated cellulite as if they were star-indents of real experience and accomplishment, not the bane of some prurient weight-watcher’s programme. Yes, she was most un-Hollywood, an unabashedly dimpled daughter of the sea, a traveller’s insulation against cold days and lonely nights. She was ever—prepared for picnic or camper fun, carrying like a small jumbo—her own howdah of excess baggage.

In the overwhelming presence of Big, I wondered why thin was so sought after today? I now realized how more comfortable it was to ride a fleshy she-mammal, rather than fearing you might crush some bony sea-horse with an exposed skeleton, like Pearl Lin.

But it wasn’t just about size or dimension. Desire was clearly a set of guided responses, manufactured and cultivated by aesthetics that differed from place to place around the globe and were also different during other periods of history. The ample body of June Park from Jeju-do now made me realize that life was meant to be big, broad-minded and ever-generous, not skinny, calculating and mean-hearted.

She bent over more to let me moisten her crevice with saliva, yet there was no need. She had already thoughtfully applied lubricant and I found myself hardening again, ready to caress the rosy petals of this Everywoman’s lower mouth.

Instinctive as a diver, I entered carefully, my member raised like a shellfish trident, the tool used to prise loose the pearl of an arching clitoris.

I fitted and rode her standing, working the hump-backed mammal into deep water, riding the wave of our lust without fear of failing, until I came to the precipice of climax and withdrew, controlling myself a little, then flipping her over like the underside of a ribbed crayfish. Her silk-dressed back now skewered gently to the top of the sofa chair, I opened her legs gently again, exploring wet loins up to her waist with hands carefully spreading the silk and petticoat cotton. Then, down-kneeling, I kissed and tongued the red anemone within that sea-crevice, finding her taste as authentic as the brine of the sea.

I stood and entered again, from the front now, looking into her eyes which met mine equally and with happiness as I thrust again and again, fully fountaining, releasing my milky beer and merging guttural yeses with the reciprocal moans she was uttering.

If a man has limits, these are not found in a woman who can still ache on for an interminable time, imploring her diver to go deeper and deeper. I tried and tried and then failed happily, until there was nothing left of my white blow to eke out for either of us. Spent, I lay across her like an octopus, limp on a hoard of sea-catch, joined to the mother-lode and a larger sense of the globe than what I had previously allowed myself to experience. As I came back to consciousness, I felt her arms like soft feelers at my back. The lit aquarium continued to gurgle and the fish schools did their jazz-jive to DVD music in the background.

‘June. I feel incredible.’ We came back to the couch.

‘This hang-bok was my mother’s,’ she said. It’s special. I don’t really wear it much. It’s mainly for special occasions, but tonight I wanted to wear it for you. Even Wang hasn’t seen it.’

I felt special. ‘I will always treasure this,’ I said. Then she poured me more Mokgeolli. I now realized why this ritual was done with the right hand holding the bottle and left hand on the elbow. This was clearly to make sure the hang-bok’s sleeve didn’t drip into the wine cup.

‘Actually, it is a bit old and delicate. I never made love with it on before.

I thought it would be a fun idea, something a sensitive man like you would appreciate. But let me go and take it off now. Okay?’

With that, she disappeared into the bedroom. I sat there feeling pleased with myself so I took another slice of the pizza-pancake and washed it down with wine.

Soon she was back wearing a matching bathrobe. ‘You must be hungry’ she said. I nodded, but to tell the truth, I was fully satiated on a deeper level.

It didn’t matter now whether or not I ate food.

‘Let me finish the pasta.’ She did her work quite quickly and allowed me to mind-drift for a while.

‘Hey, I recognize this furniture. Is it from Wang’s warehouse?’

‘Yes, it is. A gift.’ She didn’t say more.

Before long, she had brought two steaming mountains of curlicue pasta with sauce, made room on the table and then proceeded to put the first few forkfuls into my mouth. After getting me lovingly started, she proceeded with her own and began to eat with concentration. We didn’t talk, but she looked up from time to time to smile at me.

Dinner done, I tried to get up and clear the plates, but she shook her head. ‘Leave them,’ and dumped mine on top of hers at the end of the coffee-table.

‘Let’s drink,’ she said. We poured again for each other, said ‘One shot’ and downed our cups… again and again.

From then on, we passed the night hardly speaking but nestled together in our matching robes, watching the dance of the pretty fish and becoming tipsier and tipsier until I passed out on her shoulder.

I woke mid-morning and found myself nestled nakedly against an equally naked mountain. She had somehow transferred me to her bed and she was still snoring lightly beside me. I pulled back the sheet and looked at the whole side of her bulging body. She looked beautiful, still.

Beauty, I thought, is just a mental construction of emotions felt for its object. Beauty shifts and changes like weather, according to the eye of the beholder. Beauty is electricity lighting the lamp and illuminating the fish tank.

I would never be able to think of a fat person in the old light again, I realized, and ran my hand over her rump to reassure myself that this realization was indeed real and would last.

The touch of my hand climbing up and down June’s sleeping coastline began to tickle her and, suddenly, she woke with a start.

‘Oh, Gerald, are you still here? What happened? What time is it?’

‘I think we’ve overslept.’ There was a digital alarm clock on my side of the bed. ‘It’s 11.45.’

‘What? Mr Wang will kill me! What time is your flight?’

‘One-thirty,’ I answered.

‘Hurry up. Get dressed. We must go to the hotel and pack your things.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I could stay on a day longer.’

‘No, no. You cannot. Mr Wang is not available. You must get up. We have to get your papers signed, remember?’

Conscience struck. ‘Oh yes, the contract. I had completely forgotten that.’

‘Quick now. Jump in the shower.’ Reluctantly I obeyed orders, showered and shaved when I saw an electric razor there, and then splashed on some cologne from June’s shelf.