Later she reasoned that it was being on a bike–all that vibration between the legs–and it would have been a good, rational explanation had it happened every time she got on a motorcycle taxi, but it didn’t.
* * *
After a couple of months of serious and systemic culture shock–both physical and mental–Ellen Edwards began to adjust to the alien world of 21st Century Saigon. First time in Asia, her first time out of the U.S., in fact, it surprised her just how quickly she became used to the suffocating heat, the daily power black-outs, the total strangers in the street who would stop to practice their English on any white face they saw.
A year on, she let herself out the gate to her little house, into the little alleyway, and sat down to have a coffee at the local street stall. It had become a comforting routine now. Ellen would sip the sweet mocha concoction made with syrupy black coffee and thick condensed milk, smoke her single, time-allotted cigarette, and read the day-old International Herald Tribune. As she sat there on one of the low plastic stools in the cool shade of an age-scarred wall, her neighbors would trundle by down the narrow alley, treating her now as if she had been there always.
“Good morning, co giao!” The woman in the house opposite greeted her, pulling her pink-scrubbed six-year old son behind her.
“Teacher, hello,” the little boy said, correcting his mother and grinning at Ellen.
“Good morning, older sister,” Ellen responded in badly accented Vietnamese. She winked at the child. “Hello Thanh! Off to school?”
It was the same every morning. And at eight o’clock, the sun would peep past the roofs and nip at her sandaled feet, reminding her of the time. Ellen would get up, pay the equivalent of fifteen cents for her coffee, and walk to the mouth of the alley to catch a motorcycle taxi to the Language Institute.
For months it was the same guy, Binh. On seeing her approach, he would shift from his languid position, draped over the frame of his bike, and start it up. Ellen would greet him, hop on the back and steel herself for the chaotic ride to work through the morning traffic.
One morning in late September, after following the same predictable routine, Ellen walked to the corner. Binh was gone. Instead a stranger, wearing a faded blue cotton shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a pair of trousers two sizes too big, had usurped his place. He kicked the bike off its stand and smiled at her.
“Where is older brother Binh?” Ellen asked.
“Gone to his village in the country,” the stranger said quietly. “But I can take you. You go to the Language Institute, yes?” A heavy curtain of shiny black hair flopped over his left eye; he flicked it back with a toss of his head.
Ellen looked at him perplexed; unkind irritation bubbled up inside her. After so long, the routine that she had come to expect and rely on had suddenly and unfairly been smashed into nonsense.
The main street at the mouth of the alley was a riot of bicycles, motorbikes and the odd car. Perhaps she should take a taxi, she thought. She glanced at her watch: ten minutes to get to work. A taxi would be too slow in this traffic. Shit.
She looked back at the stranger, taking in his shabby flip-flops and dirty feet, examining his clothes again and finally staring him in the face. In her own country, the inspection would be considered downright rude; here it was normal.
“How much?” she snapped.
“How much did Binh charge?”
“Ten thousand dong.”
He grinned at her cheekily. “Then it’s ten thousand.”
“Eight,” she said gruffly, locking her jaw in stubbornness.
He tilted his head. “Why?”
“I don’t know you. You might be a bad driver.”
He shrugged and laughed, flashing shockingly white incisors and a single gold eye-tooth. “I might be a good driver. Better than Binh.”
She stood there in belligerent silence, feeling the seconds tick by.
He looked down and finally nodded his head, kicking the bike to life. “Okay. Eight. Climb on.”
Still angry that her flawless morning schedule had been blown to bits, she huffed and got on the back of the bike, nestling her book bag between herself and the driver.
Ellen had learned that the word xe om literally meant ‘motorcycle hug’, but no one actually hugged the driver. Xe oms were just one step up from the cheaper and slower cyclo–the three-wheeled bicycle taxis that ferried people and goods around the city–and the drivers held corresponding social positions. A cyclo driver was the Vietnamese equivalent of a street person in the West. For all Vietnam’s claim to socialist equality, old class structures still held firm. Passengers never hugged the xe om driver.
They pulled into the torrent of traffic, weaving their way between the other vehicles, passing a motorized aviary, live chickens flapping and clucking, hanging upside down by their scaly feet. Ellen tensed and held her breath as they drove within inches of two girls on a Honda carrying panes of plate glass between them on the seat. Suddenly, he gunned the engine to take a corner onto a small side-street.
“This is not the way I usually go,” shouted Ellen above the traffic noise.
“Perhaps, but this way is faster. Not so crowded.”
Ellen panicked; she didn’t know this route or this street. Saigon was a warren of tiny alleyways and winding one way streets. She was unable to tell whether he was telling the truth or not. They pulled to a stop at red light. This, in itself was a little surprising, considering that half the drivers in the city thought that red lights meant “kind of stop if you feel like it”.
“Are you sure?” she demanded.
He turned his head, giving her his profile. It was angular and exotic, skin stretched across his face so tight that it seemed a single cut might peel it open.” Teacher, don’t worry. I will get you to school early.”
“How do you know I am a teacher?” Ellen snapped back at his assumption, and resigned herself to being late for class.
He laughed and revved the engine again. “Everyone knows you are a teacher. Also, you talk like a teacher, foreigner or not.”
She opened her mouth to say something nasty but realized she lacked the essential vocabulary. Fuck you, she thought, making a mental note to find out exactly how to say “fuck you” in Vietnamese. He pulled to an abrupt stop out in front of the school gates, causing her to slide forward on the seat. Her head jerked, narrowly missing his shoulder.
“See? On time, teacher,” he said, smiling smugly as she climbed off the bike. Ellen rummaged in her pocked and took out some curled up bills, counting them out.
“Eight,” she said, handing him the money.
He took the bills and nodded. “My name is Tuan. Now you know me.” He gave her another winning, glinting grin.
She threw him a stern look and turned on her heel, walking through the gates. Cheeky bastard, she thought.
* * *
The next morning Ellen had her coffee in the shade of the wall as usual. She leafed through the day-old meager paper and smoked her one miserly cigarette. Again, Binh wasn’t there. It was the new guy again.
“Where’s Binh?” she demanded anew.
“Binh’s not coming back. He’s staying in his village and getting married.” Tuan smirked at her. “Lucky, yes?”
“Oh…” Ellen said distractedly. She stared at Tuan’s face. “How much?”
“No, eight. Same as yesterday,” she retorted.
He stood and kicked the bike to life. “No, ten because now you know me.”
Oh, fuck it, she thought. Why am I even quibbling over a lousy ten cents? But his informal tone irked her. “Nine. Okay? I only know you a little.”
He closed his almond-shaped eyes and nodded. “Okay,” he sang, in English and held out his hand. Ellen stared at him, not understanding the gesture. If he wanted the money now, he certainly wasn’t getting it!
“Give me your bag, Teacher. I’ll put it in front. It’s safer.” Tuan gestured at the hollow dip in the bike’s frame, between the steering column and the seat. “Otherwise robbers can grab it away as we drive.”
She eyed him suspiciously for a moment. She handed him the bag and he nestled it between his legs, hooking the strap over the handlebars to secure it. It only held exercise books, after all. Where was the harm?
“Hop on, or we’ll be late,” chirped Tuan, revving the throttle. His full lips curved into a lopsided smile.
She climbed on behind him and, as they pulled into the familiar and chaotic stream, she got the keen sense that something was missing. Then it hit her: it was the bag that separated her from the driver. Awkwardly, she edged along the seat backwards, widening the space between them.
As he drove, she looked at his shirt. Today it was white cotton and frayed a little at the collar. But it gleamed bright in the sunlight against the ochre-colored skin of his neck. Above it, his hair was neatly clipped to bristle at the back and sides, curving over the bones of his skull which disappeared under a jet black mop on the top, a little like an Eton crop. Ellen peeked over his shoulder at the traffic ahead of them and caught a whiff of something delicious; it was the clean, tangy smell of warm skin. She stared at the side of his neck and, quite unexpectedly, got a vivid flash: an image of pressing her lips to it.
He broke hard and Ellen skidded forward on the seat, sliding into his back with all her weight and, for a second, the scent overwhelmed her. She looked up and realized she had missed the whole journey. They were at the school gate. She scrambled off the bike feeling sheepish and plunged her hand into her pocket for the fare.
“Nine,” she muttered, handing him the bills without looking at him, and turning away.
She walked down the paved path to the main building, the hot, fresh smell of his skin still lingering in her mind, making her mouth water and her nipples ache. A year was too long– way too long to be without a boyfriend. Footsteps pounded the pavement behind her. Someone was running, perhaps late for class.
“Hey!” Tuan jumped in front of her; she almost barreled straight into him. “You are so forgetful, Teacher,” he chuckled, the book-bag swinging from his hand.
It snapped her out of her daze. “Oh…yes. Thanks. Thanks very much.” She took the bag from him. “See you tomorrow.”
He beamed, bobbed his head once, and took off at a trot. Ellen watched him go before walking on. For god’s sake, she reprimanded herself impatiently.
* * *
Dusk fell at five–it always did no matter what the time of year. This close to the equator, there were perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes of twilight before it got dark. Ellen chatted with some of her students as she strolled towards the gates, on her way home.
She twirled around, expecting to see one the boys in her class.
It was Tuan, sitting on his bike. Ellen could hardly believe her eyes. Balancing on the seat like a snake charmer, barefoot and cross-legged, he stood and slid his feet into the flip-flops. Kicking the bike to life, he plopped off the curb and pulled up in front of her.
“Why are you here, Tuan?”
“I take you home. Okay?” he stated cheerfully in cracked English.
Ellen shoved her hands in her pockets, taken aback. “Um… Okay, I guess.”
He held out his hand and she automatically went to give him the book bag, but stopped. Remembering that morning’s ride and the smell of his skin, she felt a twinge between her legs.
“Maybe I’ll carry it,” Ellen muttered.
“No, it’s very bad! It’s dangerous to carry it like that,” Tuan insisted, switching back into a torrent of Vietnamese. “It might get stolen.” He pulled the bag off her shoulder with good-natured bossiness and stowed it as he had in the morning. “Let’s go!” he called out, revving the engine.
Ellen sighed and climbed. The air was cooling down now and the traffic was thinning. They sped down the tree-lined street past the food stalls, their savory steam wafting on the dusk’s breeze. She was relieved not to have to endure the smell of his skin again. The aroma of cooking overpowered everything else and made her mouth water.
At every stop light, as the bike idled, she felt the rumble of the engine beneath her more acutely. Motorcycles in Saigon had tiny engines–never more that 150 cc’s. Ellen had been on really big, proper bikes, and for all the hype about how erotic they were, she’d never had this particular sensation before. It built as he geared up into third and sped down past the banana market, intensifying exponentially. Ellen almost moaned aloud, terrified of the possibility that, if she didn’t get home quickly, she was going to have an orgasm.
Clenching her teeth together, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on something other than the throbbing of her cunt, but the images that flickered in the darkness behind her lids were lurid and horribly erotic–it didn’t help at all.
She prayed that ESP didn’t actually exist. Somehow and with no possible rationale, she was scared to death that he knew exactly what she was thinking, and feeling. Her arousal was so powerful she was convinced it could seep through her pores and betray itself to the man next to her.
She scolded herself harshly and silently: stop it, you crazy bitch! What the hell is wrong with you? But the quiet desperation of the urges grew unabated. Her heart was thudding against her ribs and a creeping heat flushed over her skin.
The bike screeched to a halt. She fell forward, her breasts crushed against his back, her hands clawing at his shirt for balance. The impact pushed the air out of her in a sharp gasp that must have seemed like a roar in his ear; her mouth was pressed against it.
Fuck, he does this on purpose, she thought in a moment of clarity. The heat of his body soaked through the fabric of their clothes along the insides of her thighs and between her legs. Tuan made an odd noise–a little groan–deep in his throat.
They were sitting outside the gate to her house. The alley was desolate and dark, lit inadequately by a solitary street lamp. Her mind told her to get off the bike, but her body wouldn’t move. She could hear him breathing hard above the distant hum of the traffic out on the main road; his heart hammered through his spine, into her chest.
Gradually unclenching her hands that gripped fistfuls of his shirt, she felt him kick the bike stand down and rest his palms on her thighs. His hands trembled as they moved slowly backwards to her hips. Ellen stifled a sigh as his hands reached behind her, cupping her buttocks. He pulled her against him and dug his fingers into the flesh of her ass. The scent of his skin was overwhelming, invading her; the skin burned everywhere her body touched his. She shuddered against his spine.
What the fuck was she doing? Her brain kicked in and she climbed off the bike awkwardly, almost stumbling. Her hand slid into her pocket, automatically fumbling for the fare. She held the money out, unable to look at him at first. When he didn’t take the bills, Ellen glanced up to meet his stare.
He wasn’t smiling or smirking and his chest rose and fell with something close to violence. For a moment, she thought he’d say something, but he picked up her book bag and held it out for her instead. There was a horrible wretchedness in his eyes. Then, quite suddenly, he lowered the bag gently to the pavement and roared off down the alley.
Ellen stood immobile, the fare still gripped in her fist, watching the shadowy figure disappear at the end of the lane, swallowed into the river of traffic.
The next morning was a Saturday. Rays of light streaked through the bamboo blinds that shaded the windows of her bedroom. The sheets lay twisted around her body, damp with the sweat of a late morning sleep. Ellen groaned and turned onto her side, pressing her palms to her mound. She had dreamed. She couldn’t recall them with any clarity, but knew she had orgasmed–more than once; the muscles on the insides of her thighs ached with spent tension.
“Oh, Jesus,” she muttered aloud, trying to push away the images of gold skin and undulating torsos. What if he was there, at the end of the alley, waiting for her? What if he never went away? She’d have to move.
It was the doorbell chiming and the pounding at the gate that forced her out of bed. Ellen pulled on a cotton robe and wrapped it around her tight. Taking the stairs a pair at a time, almost slipping on the way down, she unlocked her door and went out to the gate.
“Hey, Ellen! Wake up, you lazy cow!” The mocking voice belonged to Ruth, a fellow English teacher at the language school.
Ellen fumbled to unlock the gate and inched it open.
“About time too!” declared Ruth. Her thick Aussie accent made Ellen smile. She dragged the steel gate open wider to allow Ruth to push her bike through into the courtyard.
As Ruth passed her, Ellen saw him. He was squatting in the shade of the wall, across the alleyway, smoking. Tuan met her eyes and it made her body stiffen. Her skin was burning.
“What’s up?” asked Ruth.
Ellen closed the gate quickly and bolted it shut. She took a big breath and turned to Ruth, forcing a smile. “Want some tea? I just got up.”
They sat in the kitchen with the fan going full blast, gossiping and eating toast with vegemite. At first, Ellen had found the sticky malt spread revolting, but it was an acquired taste and now she was addicted to the vile Australian goo.
“How long have you been here now, Ruthie?” asked Ellen.
“Six years or so. Why?”
“Most of the girls I know complain that if you are white and female in Saigon, you might as well be dead. You ever dated anyone here?”
Ruth raised her eyes to the ceiling and thought. “Dated… nah, not really. Fucked some backpackers, though. You know… coupla days… non-stop sex. Nice.” Ruth looked at Ellen and waggled her eyebrows lewdly. The flaming red hair and freckled skin made Ruth look like a grown-up version of Pippi Longstocking.
Ellen giggled. “And that’s it?” She took a sip of tea and another bite of toast, munching on it thoughtfully. “Never dated any Vietnamese guys?”
Ruth looked at her like she was insane. “You must be joking! They don’t like us… they think were fat… and sluts. They only like those slim little stick figures.”
“Yeah,” muttered Ellen distractedly. “Well, compared to good Vietnamese girls, they’re right on both counts.”
“Why? You have one you fancy?”
Ruth smiled wryly. “It’s Tinh from the Institute, isn’t it?” She nodded sagely and leaned back in her chair. “Right, girl. I don’t blame you. He’s a real looker. Little scrawny for my taste, though.”
“It’s not Tinh.” Ellen’s voice was just above a whisper.
Ruth swiveled in her chair and gave Ellen a predatory grin. “So who then? Come on, out with it.”
Ellen took a deep breath and rested her chin on her folded hands, on the kitchen table. “It’s my xe om driver.”
“Your what?” screeched Ruth. “Ellen, you must be fucking joking…”
“That’s scraping the barrel, girl. Don’tcha reckon? They’re like rats, them boys! They live on the bleeding street!”
“I know… I know,” murmured Ellen.
Suddenly, unaccountably, Ellen was furious. “They’re not rats. They’re people just like anyone else!” she said, a little more forcefully than she intended.
Ruth got up. “Suit yourself,” she sighed. She pulled her back-pack on and said, “Listen, I gotta run. I’m meeting some people at the pool for a swim. Wanna come?”
Ellen pushed herself out of the chair. “No… I have some things to do around here.”
They walked out into the scorching heat of the courtyard and Ellen unbolted the gate, pulling it open to let Ruth out.
He was gone from his spot against the wall, and so had the shade. A little twinge plucked at her insides, a tiny, irrational feeling of disappointment. Now that she had told someone, defended him, she felt much better about it. Who gave a fuck what he did for a living? She liked him and that was that.
“See ya, girl!” called Ruth as she rode through the gate and disappeared up the alley.
* * *
At seven in the evening, Ellen let herself out. She was armed with the latest blockbuster novel someone had brought back from abroad. It had been quickly read by so many of the expats at the school, the copy was already falling apart. But it was better than reading language textbooks and Ellen couldn’t bear the thought of eating alone in a restaurant without the distraction of a book. She jammed it into her jacket pocket.
The alley was empty. The huge bougainvillea tree that overhung the lane had shed pink blossoms all over the pavement; they scurried like living things in the night breeze.
Walking towards the main road, Ellen thought idly that there was no point even looking for Tuan. Morning xe om drivers never worked in the evening. That’s why she’d been so surprised to see him outside the school gates the day before.
“Teacher.” The voice was a soft whisper.
Ellen stopped dead in her tracks. Up ahead the bikes and cars sped across the opening of the alley. That gap was illuminated by the streetlights on the main thoroughfare, but the walls on either side were in shadow.
“Where you go, Teacher?” He was speaking English, sounding just like one of her students. She knew it was Tuan, but still she peered into the shadows trying to make him out. Her heart was in her throat, stuck there with a strange mixture of anticipation and hesitancy.
“I’m going to eat dinner, Tuan.”
He walked out of the darkness, his hands tucked into the pockets of his baggy trousers. His hair looked tousled and his shirt was wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up over his veined forearms.
“I take you, okay?”
The idea of having some company for dinner appealed to her. “Yes, okay. Please.”
He turned, disappeared back into the shadows and reemerged pushing his bike. He straddled it and started it up. But suddenly aware that she was making terrible assumptions, she made no move towards him. It didn’t matter in the least how she felt; she couldn’t assume he wanted her company.
“How much, Tuan?” Ellen asked, switching into Vietnamese.
“Nothing. Free. Get on,” he answered quietly.
This, Ellen knew, was coming from a person who made less that five dollars a day–it was a huge gift. She hesitated. “Why?”
“Please, get on, Teacher.”
“Not unless you tell me why.”
He sighed heavily. “I think that, if I don’t charge you, maybe you will sit a little closer.” He reached out, closing his hand gently around her wrist and pulled her to the bike.
Getting on behind him, Ellen gingerly moved forward until their bodies were just touching. “Like this?” she whispered over his shoulder. She heard him exhale, letting out a long slow breath; at the end of it, his body shivered.
“Will you… Will you put your arms around my waist? Just a little, Teacher? So people don’t think I’m just a xe om driver?” Tuan’s voice shook as he spoke.
“Yes, of course.” Ellen wrapped her arms around his waist loosely. Beneath her hands, the band of muscles that sheathed his taut stomach twitched and rippled. He let out the clutch and they pulled out into the traffic.
She had always liked riding through the city at night; it was pleasantly cool and the ugly edges of the city disappeared into the shadows. Tonight felt completely new. Sitting this close to him, smelling his skin, feeling the heat of his body against hers, the city seemed indescribably beautiful.
Riding a bike was the only time it was socially acceptable for Vietnamese men and women, regardless of their relationship, to touch in public. As they pulled up to a light the couple on the bike next to them stared. The woman had her arms wrapped tight around the man in front of her. Ellen cinched her arms around Tuan a little tighter and whispered in his ear, “Are you sure you want me to do this?”
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he took a hand off the handle bars and laid it on her thigh proprietarily. As the light changed, she pressed her breasts into his back again and inched closer. The tingling in her pussy was maddening and she fought the urge to grind her hips against his ass. Tension tightened the muscles in his body and set them quivering. He stroked her thigh as they drove down the broad leafy boulevard toward the Independence Palace.
“I forgot to ask,” Tuan said, and gave a little cough. “Where do you want to go?”
Ellen thought for a moment, or tried to at least. What she really didn’t want to do was have to break contact with his body. She smoothed her hands over his torso and slid them down between his thighs. She heard his sigh carried past her on the wind. Smiling, she pressed her lips to his neck and inhaled as her hand cupped his groin. His cock was incredibly hard. Her hand skittered lightly up the length of it, nestled in the crook of his leg, and he rewarded her with a gorgeous shudder.
“No where,” she said. “Take me home, Tuan.”
“Aren’t you hungry, Teacher? It is unhealthy not to eat before you sleep.”
She thought about saying she was, she was hungry for him, but the English metaphor didn’t bridge the language gap. Her cunt flooded, saturating the crotch of her jeans. Hugging him tight, she rocked her hips against him.
“No… just take me home, please,” Ellen whimpered, stroking her cheek on the smooth, soft skin at the back of his neck. The scent of the hot skin was almost unbearable. She was almost sure that she looked as aroused as she felt.
There were things she didn’t know how to say. That was the problem with learning a language in a formal environment. No one ever taught you how to say “take me to bed and fuck my brains out”. She could only hope that her interest was obvious and mutual.
At a light on Dien Bien Phu Street, close to her house, a guy on another bike pulled up on their left. After looking them both over, he said to Tuan, “Is that your girlfriend, older brother?”
Tuan cocked his head to one side and smiled shyly. “Yes… yes, I think so.”
The guy took another look at Ellen and winked. She grinned back at him. “She’s very pretty for a white girl. But sure looks… horny.”
Tuan burst out laughing but said nothing. The light changed to amber. Ellen brushed her face against Tuan’s back and looked at the other man. “I am,” she said in Vietnamese. They pulled away leaving the other man behind at the intersection, stopped and slack-jawed.
Tuan was still laughing, squeezing her thigh. “‘I am’ you said. On the street! I can’t believe it! He thought you didn’t speak Viet. What an idiot!”
They pulled into Ellen’s alley and up to the gate. It was hard to pull herself away from him for long enough get off the bike and unlock the gate. She fumbled the keys, dropping them once, and finally pushed it open. “Come in,” she said.
Tuan turned off the engine and sat, staring at her. “Teacher, are you certain?” he asked quietly.
Ellen was stunned for a moment; she stared back at him incredulously. “Of course I’m certain.”
“You…you don’t have to…really. Already I’ve had the best night ever.”
For fuck’s sake, thought Ellen. She walked out, took his face in her hands and kissed him– gently to begin with and then with hunger. At first he was timid, responding only in kind. But as the kiss grew deeper, he wrapped an arm around her waist and crushed her to him, devouring her tongue. If he didn’t come into the house, she thought, she would have to fuck him right there.
Ellen broke away and stammered, “Please, come inside house, yes?” Her brain was seizing and all her hard-won syntax was turning to mush and she couldn’t remember the colloquial invitation. “Ellen invites you, older brother Tuan!” she pleaded.
“Yes…yes, I will.” Tuan got off his bike and pushed it through the gate into the patio.
Even as he parked the bike in the shadowy overhang of the house, she was at him–tearing at the buttons on his shirt. She took his hand and pulled him into the house, kicking off her shoes at the door. He stepped out of his flip-flops and allowed her to lead him inside.
Half-way up the stairs, he pushed her against the wall and kissed her again, slipping his hands beneath her t-shirt, stroking her skin feverishly, brushing her nipples through her bra with his fingertips. When she finally coaxed him into her room, they fell onto the bed in a frenzy of muddled disrobing. Pulling off shirts, unbuttoning pants, fiddling with the hooks on her bra, all of it punctuated with kisses, moans and whispers.
They rolled and kissed, their legs intertwining, pressing blazing flesh to smoldering skin, as if they couldn’t find quite enough surface area to provide the breadth of contact they craved. His erection lay flat against her belly, burning a hole through her skin. It pressed fluidly through its own wetness as he moved his hips. For her part, she couldn’t seem to taste enough of his skin, dragging the flat of her tongue along the side of his neck, down to a dark brown nipple that shriveled and stood erect under the nurture of her mouth. As she fed on the other, her fingertips traced the sinuous line of his spine and the swell of his ass.
His hand burrowed between her legs, fingers plunging between the engorged lips of her cunt. Tuan groaned and pressed his face to her cheek and inhaled. “Teacher, you have the Saigon River down there. You do not pretend.”
It was then she realized, in all likelihood, he’d only ever been with a prostitute; no one else would bother to pretend arousal. She felt a momentary stab of pity, but the pain faded, buried under the heat of his mouth on her neck, on her breasts. He sucked and licked and kissed, nipping at the skin. The deftness of his fingers made her question whether any working girl who’d had him wasn’t the luckiest girl in Saigon.
Ellen shuddered and arched her hips. “Stop…Stop calling me teacher. I’m Ellen.”
“Ellen oi, little sister. Heavens, how you flood!” Tuan murmured.
She whimpered as his fingers slithered back and forth over her throbbing clit like whispers. “Yes… n-no… maybe,” she stammered. She wanted to give him an honest answer, but as his fingers pushed up inside her, she gave up trying to find words and buried her face in his neck as the orgasm detonated inside her, tearing animal sounds from her throat. Pleasure arced over her body like forks of lightning.
“You die so quickly, so quickly, little sister,” Tuan cooed, clutching her twitching form to him. He kissed her again, eating the sounds of pleasure she made as the climax rode her. Then he was stroking her face, leaving wet trails of her cum on the skin.
Her hands, her mouth, her fluids were all over him. He throbbed and thrust when she encircled his cock with her hand. She felt it swell and weep. His foreskin sliding back to reveal a dark red cockhead, he whispered things she didn’t understand.
“I think you’ll die just as fast, Tuan.”
He moaned and fed at her nipple, using his hands to push more of her breast into his mouth.
“Oh. Too quickly… too soon… please stop,” Tuan whimpered. He twisted away from her and sat up abruptly.
“We must stop Ellen,” he said with an achingly earnest expression on his face.
Ellen pulled herself upright, a little startled by the sudden cessation of caresses. “Why?”
“I don’t have any tires.”
She looked at him uncomprehendingly. “Any what?”
“A tire, a tire,” he panted franticly, “For no babies.”
Jesus, I found the most responsible male in Vietnam, mused Ellen, considering the birth rate. She laughed and pushed him onto his back.
“I’ll buy some tomorrow, very early,” she promised and began to trail her tongue down his body. His chest was absolutely hairless, and the salt of his sweat mixed with the sweetness of the oils on his skin and pricked at her taste buds. Tuan writhed and shivered, groaning as she pressed her tongue his navel.
Taking his cock in her hand again, she planted a kiss on the tip. He whispered feverishly, shaking his head. “No… Ellen. Good girls don’t… they don’t do that…” His voice was breaking.
Ellen laughed a low, slightly evil laugh. “Then it is convenient that I am not a good girl.” She flicked at the tip teasingly, and then at the underside. Tuan’s body arched up, his words incompressible to her. But when she took the full length of him into her mouth, and began to suck, he just mewed like a kitten. He came in seconds, quietly, spilling into her mouth in torrents. She drank what he gave her greedily. He was, without a doubt the most delicious man she’d ever tasted.
When she was finished, she crawled up his body, straddled him and kissed him. At first, he pulled his mouth away, but she held his chin between her hands and let the last few strands of his cum slide from her mouth into his.
“See? It’s good. Everything’s good,” she giggled. “And now you’re a bad girl too.”
* * *
They slept uncovered with just the fan buffeting their skin with cool air. They lay entangled, limbs chaotically wrapped around their nearest neighbor.
When Ellen finally woke, it was almost seven by her watch. She wriggled delicately out of his embrace.
“Little sister, where are you going?” he mewed pitifully, reaching out for her blindly.
She stood looking down at the beautiful thing in her bed and watched the cock between his legs thicken, smiling at her own hunger.
…this story now appears in the “Coming Together Anthology: Remittance Girl” which is a collection of my work. All proceeds from this book go to support free speech, through the ACLU.