Thursday, March 12, 2015

A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day previews - 3: Number 66

Here's the third in a series of six previews of the brand new stories in my upcoming collection, A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day.  The reason they're all scrunched together rather than spread out a bit more is the sudden cloud of chaos that engulfed my life over the past few months.  I'm currently in a nice new house and things are looking much better, but I'm without an internet connection until a phone line is put in next week.  Thankfully, blogger seems to have a "here's one I prepared earlier" feature so I can queue these previews up over the next couple of days.

That's all boring technical stuff anyway.  Let's go straight to the words instead.  This one's from "Number 66".  In this one there maybe sexy body-to-body massages on an air mattress.  There may also be terror and icky Bad Ends.  You'll find out at the weekend (I hope - I'm going to look very foolish after doing all this if the date gets moved back).

* * *

Harrison took a taxi.  The GI was right; it wasn’t where he’d expected it to be.  Pom Prap Sattru Phai was off the beaten path for the degenerate expat set.  This was where the normal tourists came to take pictures of old Buddhist temples.  Harrison thought the man might have the wrong street.  He arrived there and saw a plain narrow alley.  It was only when he walked down its length he found the massage parlour discreetly tucked away.  The signs and neon lights were as gaudy as any down Soi Cowboy, but positioned in such a way they couldn’t be seen from the main thoroughfare.  Harrison wondered how they did any business hidden away like this.

A shrunken mama met him at the door.

“American?”

“English,” he corrected.

She led him down a stairway festooned with tinsel and flashing pink Christmas lights.  At the bottom he was shown into the infamous fishbowl room.  Fifteen girls sat in three rows of five behind a big glass window in the far wall.  They were dressed in skimpy bikinis and each had a white disc with a number on it attached to their right hip.

And there she was—number 66.

She was impossible to miss.  She was tall, leggy, busty, blonde... totally unlike the other girls sitting behind the glass.  She was clearly a foreigner and Harrison wondered what she was doing here, working as a common hooker amongst the local girls, especially with a body like that.  She was as good as any glamour model Harrison had seen in lads’ mags and those models had the advantage of Photoshop to brush up their appearance.  It made no sense at all.  Why was the girl here when she could be doing the exact same thing for fifty times the price out in the expensive hotels by the airport?  It must be as they said—she was a rich heiress playing around for kicks.  She certainly had an aloof air about her.

The other girls were a much of a muchness.  Harrison saw plenty like them every night in the clubs in Patpong, apart from maybe the girl sitting in the centre of the front row.  She looked a real sweetie. It was something in her eyes and smile.  There was an infectious sense of fun about her.  Her figure wasn’t bad either.  She couldn’t compete with the blonde girl, obviously, but at least she had some curves beneath her bikini top.  Smiling enthusiastically, she beckoned to Harrison, urging him to pick her.

From the disc at her waist he saw she was number 9.  She was the girl both Murray and the GI had recommended.  He could see why.  She looked cute.

Under normal circumstances Harrison might have picked her.  That wasn’t why he was here though.  Number 66 was why he was here and that was the number he whispered into the shrunken madam’s ear.

The madam made eye contact with Number 66 and the blonde girl looked Harrison over.  For a brief horrible moment Harrison thought she might reject him, but instead she gave a curt little nod and got off her chair.  She met Harrison in the corridor outside and took him all the way down to a door at the end.

The room on the other side was a surprise.  When he’d visited establishments like this before, the girl usually led him to a small cramped bathroom with a narrow inflatable lilo squashed up against an equally narrow bath.  The room he walked into was palatial by comparison.  A big jacuzzi bath stood in one corner.  A patterned screen hid the other.  On the floor in the centre was a king-size air mattress.  Even as big as it was there was still space on the floor to walk around it.

Harrison looked at the lush designs of ancient debauchery painted on the tiles covering the walls.  “This is fancier than I was expecting,” he commented.

Number 66 didn’t answer, instead motioning for him to go behind the screen and take his clothes off.

Before he did he asked her for her name.

She smiled and pointed to the white disc attached to her hip.

* * *

Out soon, A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day and other tales!

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