I’m easing up on the massages.

I’m feeling worse, not better.

He’s too much into porn.

‘Happy, I like.’

But if we get caught, it could spell doom and gloom for the both of us.

There’s one more dental appointment then I’m free to move.

I’m putting on my thinking cap.

Stimulation, where, when and how?

It comes from the most unlikely places.

I don’t feel good ridiculing my massage man.

He’s so innocent in many ways.

And he’s not getting me the results I need.

I’m contemplating sacking him.

‘Go back downstairs and find more customers,’ I said, after his lackluster performance.

He’s being distracted by the porn. It’s not good for him. He’s losing his focus.

I made sure he ate a plate of fried rice before he began the session. It’s my free breakfast. I can’t eat anything until I’ve had at least four coffees and double that figure in cigarettes.

He was shy. His guru was with his wife and told his former student to eat.

Malu-malu. Shyly Ariff ate.

He’s a great guy. But I’ve bled him dry and I feel there’s nothing more to write about him.

‘Please, I like blue movie.’

I type in Google Translate that we need to be very careful.

It comes down to one thing, I don’t like sharing my porn. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that. And I was worried I’d be receiving a poke in the back as he massaged my neck from behind.

Kuching, north, or a flight out of here. I’ll decide soon.

If I just hang on and not piss anyone off, I might be able to make a more civil departure.

Here’s to hoping.


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