Singapore 1994

5th September 2018

Still malingering in Montalivit so today's travelogue is yet another blast from the past. In the same era as yesterday's Malaysian motorcycle misadventure but set squarely in the sunshine city-state that is Singapore.

I should probably call my Asian recollections of the 1990s 'Morten Nielsen the Dashing Dane' as they all seem to centre round his debauched predilections - and today's interlude from 1994 is no exception.

Morten was a fine figure of a man in his day and used this 'gift' to maximum advantage. As my old mother might have said about him: 'handsome - and he bloody well knows it!'

Singapore 1994

‘Little India’

Morten's guest, a young Englishman whose name I now forget, had landed at Changi airport after a long haul flight from London just a few hours earlier. It was his first time in Singapore, first time anywhere from what I could gather, and despite the rigours of his long passage and the profound change of climate the fellow seemed to be running rather well at this stage on nothing more than alcohol and testosterone!

The three of us were sitting at a pavement table outside a somewhat seedy little bar in Scumbag Street, drinking Tiger Beer. Scumbag Street was Morten's informal name for Rocher Road, a traditional two storey downtown colonial street of shophouses, a small area of the business district that had, so far, miraculously escaped demolition.

I wouldn't go so far as to say the Tiger Beer was actually a reasonable price in this distinctly no frills establishment but it was significantly less expensive to drink here than in the more salubrious Orchard Road bars and clubs. It also had the benefit of a rather unique nightly side show and it was thought that as the young Englishman was in Singapore for only 24 hours it would be a shame for him to have travelled so far and to leave without witnessing it.

If one appreciates the spectacle of a multifarious display of impossibly attractive young women in their 20s, immaculately dressed and exquisitely made up then Scumbag Street is a little piece of heaven on earth. As the curtain of night descended a steady stream of alluring sirens, mostly Malaysian, started passing our table - the street's abundant nocturnal feral femme fatales. The side show had commenced and the young Englishman could hardly believe his poor jet lagged eyes. Morten soon engaged a small gathering of them in his customary banter, indeed I have an idea he may have known one or two of them rather well, and noticing that our new young friend was showing an interest in one particular young lady he invited her to sit and join us for a drink, which she most willingly did.

Morten and I soon became engaged in conversation with an expat we both knew, who just happened to be passing through the area, and we spent a pleasant hour or so shooting the shit as expats thrown together in a convivial atmosphere are wont to do whilst partaking of an evenings refreshing libation, or two, or even more. As the old saying goes a drink is just fine, two is too many and three is not enough!

When I finally surfaced from the deep hubbub of all this conviviality several beers later I came to realise the young Englishman, whilst keeping up with the beer consumption, had been using his time to get to know the alluring young lady Morten had introduced him to earlier rather well.

She was sitting on his lap and his formerly immaculate white shirt, which now resembled a well used damp dishcloth, was unbuttoned to the waist. His tie was lose, the knot being somewhere in the region of an armpit and his new beau, her arguably perfect breasts clearly on display, was lovingly caressing his torso whilst seemingly trying to eat one of his ears. The fellow looked exceptionally relaxed and was an interesting study when compared to the rather reserved young man we had encountered earlier in the day.

Morten and I exchanged a bemused raised eyebrow with each other but made no comment.

Our mutual expat friend suggested that it might be a plan to find a noodle bar and get a bite to eat. We agreed that this was probably, all things considered, not a bad idea. However, the young Englishman claimed that he needed sleep more than food and he would leave us to our own devices, return to his hotel by taxi and rejoin us at Morten's office the following morning. He went on to say that he would stay a little longer with his new friend and that under no circumstances should we should feel under any obligation to remain with him a moment longer.

Well, a wink is as good as a nod to a blind man so we didn't press him further and departed wishing him and the bare breasted beauty in his lap a very good night.

The following morning, to his everlasting credit, the young Englishman presented himself punctually and crisply laundered at Morten’s office ready for business. The meeting with Morten's client went very well, was followed by a typical local lengthy lunch of Szechuan cuisine and green tea and it was not until well into the afternoon that we found ourselves back in the office for a debriefing session. At its conclusion it was already time for the young Englishman to order a taxi to take him to Changi for his evening flight back to London.

Whilst awaiting arrival of the taxi we chatted amiably about the previous evening and Morten, quietly bursting with inappropriate curiosity, asked the young Englishman if he and the young lady had done anything further together after our departure. He freely admitted that they had returned to his hotel and spent the night together there in his room. Morten found this to be singularly interesting and relentlessly pressing him further learned that our young friend had most certainly enjoyed all the lady's pleasures to the full, possibly more than once.

I could tell something was really spiking Morten's curiosity now and he started asking some rather strange questions as to whether the lady had anything unusual to offer. Saved from further interrogation by the arrival of his taxi he assured us, backing out of the office, that the only thing that could be considered even vaguely unusual about the encounter was that she insisted they performed coitus doggy style and in no other way, but he certainly wasn't complaining about that!

Shortly after, Morten suggested we should return to Scumbag Street as there was something he very much wanted to learn at first hand from the lady of the previous night. Accordingly, we soon found ourselves back at the bar of the previous evening and didn't have long to wait before the lady in question came by our table to greet us.

Without preamble or hesitation Morten stood up and grabbed at the lady's crotch by putting his hand right up inside her short skirt between her beautiful legs. She gasped in horror and tried to back away but Morten obviously had a firm grip on something under her skirt that prevented her immediate withdrawal.

I just wanted to be absolutely certain he said a little later after all, exceptionally beautiful Ladyboys are what Scumbag Street is famous for!

I knew that already, anyway.

A few days later Morten and I were back in Little India at a late hour where we ran into the same Ladyboy who greeted Morten, speaking the local Singlish patois, with mock severity you very bad man la. Drinks were consumed, the conversation was convivial and at one stage she proposed to Morten that they should get married. Morten replied that he didn't think that would be possible as she had one rather significant bodily appendage of the wrong gender for his tastes in a marriage partner.

No problem la she replied, five thousand dollar, we change all that!

They never did get married but I learned some time later from another expat Dane that Morten had taken her back to Copenhagen the next Christmas to meet his elderly mother, his sister, family and friends and that, without exception, they were all rather enchanted by Morten's beautiful dusky young Asian lady.

Malaysia 1993

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