Chapter 1

It was an incredibly long flight; I got to Singapore with terrible pains in my shoulder. My dad met me at the airport.

I barely even knew him; it was the first time I’d seen him in years, and everything was a bit weird.

We hugged hesitantly and got in a taxi. I’d never been out of the US before, and everything seemed different; the air was humid and hot, the lights all garish, and there was a cacophony of different languages.

It was late evening, so we dropped off my bags at the hotel and he took me to the restaurant next door for dinner.

Then I saw Huan.

She was the waitress, but looked more like a fashion model. Everything about her was beauty; her tall slim figure, her perfect pale skin, her electric blue kimono, and her amazing hair hanging in a perfect straight flood of black to her waist.

“Hey honey, meet my son James.” Dad said with irritating familiarity.

“Herro.” She said with a smile that could bring about world peace. I almost broke into a laugh, but managed to swallow it back. I had no idea people really had accents like that; I’d soon get used to it of course.

Huan served us with a natural grace that was nearly hypnotic; of course a woman like her was completely beyond the hope of a 16 year old boy like me. It was a privilege just to be able to watch her as she served.

“Huan, James has some back pain.” Dad said to her as she brought desert, “Do you know where he can get a massage?”

“Yes, street behind, number 45.” She said, “You like I make appointment? Charge to the hotel, no need cash.”

So the next morning I stumbled out into the hot street to look for the place. I found the door; it was unmarked and looked just like the other residential buildings on the street. Hesitantly, I rang the bell.

The door was opened by a middle aged woman, in a kimono.

I should mention that I never saw other women in kimonos in Singapore. On the street people were dressed just like everywhere else.

Anyway, the woman who opened the door wore a plain grey one, not like the gleaming blue embroidered one Huan wore in the restaurant. Her hair was thick and black, bound to the back of her head. Her breasts large, and her face creased yet friendly. She was short and a bit wide.

“You James?” she asked. “Come inside, girls are not here this early. What you want, massage?”

“My shoulder hurts.” I told her nervously. Girls? What kind of massages were normally performed here then? I’d obviously been sent to a whore house.

The woman nodded. “Ok.” She said, “Come, I’ll take care of you.”

Her English was better than the waitress’s; the older woman still had an accent, but it was much softer.

She led me down a narrow hallway and into a carpeted room with a massage table. The table was waist high, sturdy, narrow, and had a hole for the face, so it was possible to lie face down. The masseuse handed me a white towel and indicated a curtained off corner.

“Undress and put this towel around yourself.” She said, opening a closet to get a fresh cover for the table.

I felt pretty nervous, but there was no reason for it. I did as instructed, quickly pulling my penis under my belly as I lay down.

Looking through the hole, all I could see was the floor as her hands touched me for the first time. Warm, friendly hands, soft yet strong. The hands of a woman who knew what a man needed to feel. She poured some oil on me, squeezed my sore shoulder, then my neck. She moved down my back, expertly searching out each muscle in turn. She pulled the towel away and massaged my ass too. I couldn’t tell if it was sexual or not. She rubbed my legs and lifted my feet to really go at them. Sometimes it hurt a little. She might be an old prostitute, she might not, I thought to myself; either way, she sure knew how to give a massage, and it felt very good.

We talked; I told her I was here to be with my dad for the summer. He was opening an office in town for his company.

She told me she was the manager and didn’t normally serve the customers herself. Her daughter worked at the hotel, only a waitress even though she was very well educated. Huan of course.

The conversation was calming, but I was still anxious about her; everything was so odd, outside of my experience.

I felt the towel being placed across my rear again.

“Roll over.” She said.

I hesitated because I was a little bit swollen at the groin. But there was nothing to do about that, so I just did as she told me. It must have been pretty obvious under there, but the towel stayed in place as she put her hands on my face and gently pinched my eyebrows, then my ears, then moved down my neck, chest, arms, hands, and fingers. I tried to relax my cock, but I could feel that it was still half engorged.

I opened my eyes to look at her. Her face seemed softer to me than it had at first; she was a good looking woman, in her way. She had kind eyes, and her features were very symmetrical. Her cheeks were loose and old, but high cheekbones still gave her the dignity of beauty. Her breasts were huge, and seemed even bigger due to her small size. The kimono stretched over them, wrapped around them with an intimacy that kept pulling my eyes there.

She glanced at my face and smiled slightly. Her hands were wrapped around my right thigh, and I felt a sudden pulse in my cock that caused the towel to lift a little. She looked at the tented spot and the corners of her mouth lifted a little more.

“Excitable boy.” She said kindly, and reached in with one hand. “Big boy.” She added as her fingers slid across it, and then wrapped around it.

No one but me had ever touched it before; I almost came off the table with the unexpected blast of wild pure pleasure of that simple touch. Her eyes regarded me with fond amusement as her hand squeezed my young virgin penis. Her smile seemed genuine, but I was aware that if it wasn’t I wouldn’t be able to tell. I just lay there, staring at the old woman helplessly as she held my stiff penis.

She took the towel away and stoked my cock with her oiled hand. I was hard of course, completely erect.

“You have tension.” She said with mock concern. Her big breasts swayed in her kimono with her movements as she pulled on me. Her eyes stayed on my face, and she laughed indulgently. She was a whore, I knew that. Did that mean she couldn’t enjoy herself? It didn’t stop me from enjoying it, but I was pretty freaked out too.

“You have a girlfriend?” she asked.

“No.” I said.

“For you first time?” she asked.

“Yes.” I said.

“Hmmmm.” She said, taking my balls in her other hand.

I almost blew, the sensation of her two hands fondling my genitals was crazy, unexpected, wild. I bucked and shuddered, staring into her deep dark slanted eyes, her knowing little smile so wonderful and sexy and creepy.

She let go just before I lost control. She carried on with the massage, as if my cock wasn’t pulsing with desire on my stomach. Every now and then, she grabbed it for a few seconds, giving me a few strokes with her hand. She knew how to tease it, to keep me on the edge. It was the most incredible experience of my young life. I just lay there in surrender, letting her do her thing, because she was obviously very, very good at it. She worked my body for a little longer, rubbing and massaging, her tits swaying and bulging, her mouth smiling, her eyes gleaming.

Finally, she took my cock in one hand and my balls in the other, and expertly jerked me off. I looked into her face as she did it, she looked back at me with a tolerant smile as I came in her soft, capable hands.

I flopped like a fish, gasping and squirting, my orgasm four times harder than when I jerked myself off. I stared into her face, she stared back, her hands held tight, her big breasts swaying, but it was her smiling face that really affected me. She appeared to be enjoying herself, having fun.

She caught it all with a wad of tissues as I grunted and shivered helplessly.

“If you come tomorrow same time, I can help you more.” She said seductively as I dressed. I looked at her; she was so small and curvy. I knew what she was, yet I felt a real warmth for her. I thought of kissing her as I left, but wasn’t sure about it, so I held her hand for a moment, and thanked her.

“How was the massage?” dad asked when I got back to our room.

“Good.” I said guardedly. “The pain is almost gone.”

“The women here know how to look after a man.” He said.

“She said I should go back tomorrow.” I suggested.

“It’s on expenses, you can go every day if you want.” He said.

So the next morning I walked around the corner to the massage parlor again; I was terrified, which was simultaneously amusing to me since I didn’t know what I was afraid of. I was a stranger here, no one knew me and I knew no one. Anonymous, no one back home would ever know my secret. I wasn’t ashamed of wanting another massage and handjob; just inexplicably afraid.

Soon, I was on the table again. The massage was pretty much the same; we talked some more while she worked me. My fear level was lower but my horniness was about the same. I had no doubt that there would be sex of some sort, and I enjoyed the anticipation of it as the old woman’s hands roamed my back and ass with wonderful sensuality.

She had come to Singapore from Macau when she was 16. She worked as a ‘massage girl’ for ten years, sending most of the money she earned back to her family in China. Then she’d found a patron, and been his mistress. He was the father of Huan, but he had a legitimate family so everything had to be kept quiet.

Her hands spent some extra time on my ass. Her oiled finger slid into the crack, and tickled my anus.

It was too soon for that sort of thing, I thought to myself, so I rolled over, face up. The old Chinese lady laughed and grabbed my hard penis in her hand for a moment.

Her hand was cool against my hot penis; the tactile sensation of her small fingers against my young virgin cock was simply electrifying; I looked at her smug knowing smile, and was thrilled to the core.

Lian let go of me, and opened her kimono to expose her big breasts; she leaned over, squeezed them around my cock, and rubbed the soft sensitive flesh up and down. I was shocked to know that there was a sensation on earth more wonderful than her fingers; I looked into her face. She smiled, her dark eyes crinkling with pleasure, real or feigned. Her mouth pursed slightly, as if to offer a kiss. Her big soft oiled breasts against my penis felt too good, her smile was friendly and sexy. She wanted me to come, her dark slanted eyes were begging me for my spunk. My stomach fluttered and my mind emptied out through my cock, I grabbed her face in my hands and locked eyes with her as I came.

I knew I shouldn’t find her so attractive, I knew if she wasn’t doing those things to me I would just see an old lady. But she was doing those things to me, and I didn’t see her creases or her puffy cheeks. I saw her deep slanted dark eyes looking back at me. Her smile of accomplishment, happy to give pleasure to a foreign boy, a job well done.

She missed one pulse, and it shot into the air, then came down on my neck. Luan dabbed it away with a damp cloth and a smile. She was serving me, pleasuring me, attending to my needs.

I had no idea if the hotel bill was charged for sex, or just for the massage, or if there was actually any difference. After all, the massage took an hour and was a lot of work. Making me come took just a few minutes. It seemed as though it was just part of the service.

In the other 23 hours of the day and night, I kept thinking about the old woman, her smile, her tits, her wonderful skilled hands. I reminded myself that she was a 50 year old prostitute, she was doing it to me for money, I meant nothing to her. Perhaps she actually enjoyed her job, but I was still a job. I didn’t mind; I liked the feeling, the touch, the orgasms. I could find love with a suitable girl later, when I got home.

The third morning, she went down on me.

I rang the bell and entered when she opened the door. I felt calmer when I was inside, alone with her, where no one could see or interfere. But I was still agitated, very unsure of myself, a virgin American boy in a far east brothel.

She seemed more sexy, and I couldn’t tell if it was just my perception of her changing. She let her hair loose, it was long and thick yet somehow tangled and imperfect. She wore a little makeup. She chose a different kimono, it only reached to mid-thigh and hugged her waist a little tighter. Her great breasts bulged outwards, promising delights to come.

But those were just superficial signs; what I thought I saw was excitement, her expression was more animated, her smile no longer fixed.

And she hugged me; a big warm breast squashing hug, and a kiss on the cheek that made me want more.