Cheryl Tan - Sarong Party Girls

I didn’t want to respond to his cock comment. Usually better not to encourage him. If I answer one question, I will have to answer ten more. “This kind of obvious thing,” I just said, “no need to say lah. Waste saliva only.” Seng just put out his ciggie and pointed one more time at the kopi uncle, who immediately stood up, pulled up his pajama pants and shuffled over to make more kopi.

“Guniang, you last night didn’t vomit is it?” he said, shaking his head. I didn’t move, hoping that if I didn’t say anything he would just shut up. “You ownself ask for it,” he said, lighting another ciggie. I could see him looking at me—at first I thought maybe he’s pitying me or some shit but actually, it was quite funny. The fucker looked like he was concerned. Must be my lucky day.

“You should know this what,” he continued, “if you are going to get that mabuk, then must make yourself throw up before sleeping. Otherwise, if you get hungover until like this, what’s the point of drinking?”

It’s true lah. Right then, I was thinking, what is the point? That morning—aiyoh. That morning. At first, when we left Attica, I planned to just go that guy’s place, finish already then make some quick excuse and go home. But then, my god, guniang here was so tired and mabuk I just fell asleep! Not to say that the guy was that good—but luckily he was quick. So even though he was also quite mabuk it was almost literally like, garabing garabung then everything over already. If he didn’t shout one time when he came, I probably wouldn’t even know that anything happened. When he suddenly said “GOD!” guniang was actually lying there, still slowly adjusting my hair on the pillow and all, wondering whether I should try and turn over so I wouldn’t have to see his nose, which, once we got outside of Attica and I could actually see his face, I realized was not only big but also hairy as fuck. Kani nah, next time I go to Strip I’d better ask them whether they wax noses or not. If they don’t, next time I’m not even going to consider guys like this. I would have turned over from the start so I didn’t have to see that shit lah, but the first time with a guy, sometimes if you turn over they get the wrong idea. Hallo—guniang here don’t do backside.

Once the guy was done he went and got us some water—sweet of him lah. That move, I appreciated. But by the time he came back I was already asleep. Then this morning, aiyoh. When I woke up at around nine, I could actually see that his apartment was not very nice. It’s not small—one of those older condos, so it was quite spacious because when government first started granting land for building them, they parceled out bigger lots, so all of them were big big one. But even though it was not bad, it was totally empty! There was nothing on the walls—just white and more white. In the living room, there was just one sofa, one coffee table and one giant flat-screen TV and PlayStation. The fridge was empty. And walao eh, clothes were all over the place—half-rolled-up socks, dirty T-shirts, all thrown all over the living room floor. The bedroom (I guess maybe he doesn’t spend so much time there) was at least a bit neater.

I was still walking around the living room, thinking of what else I could look at, when he came out of the bedroom and said, “Hey babes. Hungry?” In the daylight he wasn’t, say, terrible-looking. The nose, it’s true, looked quite bad. (In the morning light I could see even more clearly just how much hair there was.) But his body—which I could see even more now since he was still naked (and also since I wasn’t mabuk and feeling a bit cross-eyed anymore by this point)—was quite thin and nice; his smile, quite cute. If I didn’t know by now that I’d probably have to end up picking up his rotting underwear from the floor my whole life, then I actually might consider. Also, I couldn’t remember his name. Babi, why didn’t I think of going into his wallet and find out while he was still sleeping? Now, what should I call him?

So I just smiled and said, “Not really hungry, sweetie.” I was about to pick up my handbag and tell him I’d better go. But then the guy came over and hugged me from behind. I didn’t know what to do. Usually they’re not so sweet. So I just turned around and he suddenly kissed me, the open open type. I was going to push him away since we both hadn’t brushed our teeth yet—why would he want to kiss like that now? Damn gross, man. But then I could smell something minty. Wah—fucker brushed his teeth! I was so touched I actually wasn’t thinking and just kissed him back. Then I could feel that he was getting a bit hard. And I remembered that he was actually quite nice-sized. Also, last night, since I was so tired, fucker came but guniang here didn’t finish. (Actually, don’t say didn’t finish lah—the fucker was so quick that guniang never even started.) So when I thought about it a bit—OK, might as well not go home just yet.

Overall, it was all OK lah. At least the second time, both sides also got action. But the bad part is, hooking up like that tends to mean that it cannot just be a one-night thing. So when he asked for my number, I felt a bit like I couldn’t say no. Also, since the girls and I sometimes go to Attica, I might bump into him again! So better don’t give a fake number, I guess. The good part is, at least when we exchanged numbers, guniang here had a number one idea. I pretend-told him I don’t know how to spell his name, asked him how to spell it and all. So he slowly spelled out for me: R-O-Y.

So, now—like that lah! I don’t even know how, man. With a nose like that and with his lousy apartment and I don’t even know what cock job he has, this situation—aiyoh, it’s not good, man. Really not good. Confirm will end up wasting time. By the time I got back home, I already got a nice text from him. This one—is really susah.

“Guniang, your kopi so cold already—come, I buy you new one,” Seng suddenly said. I had forgotten he was even there. Actually, I even forgot that I was there.

Just the other day, my mum actually said to me: “Please lah—why don’t you just go out with a nice boy like Seng? You know, last week he brought me and your dad breakfast—I think he came looking for you, but in the end he just gave it to us and watched us eat. This kind of good heart—I can tell you, a white-skin man definitely don’t have.”

Seng? My god. Of course in my mum’s mind this is the kind of dream husband for me—Goh Kwok Seng, major Ah Beng to the extreme! But my mum mainly loves him because even though outside the house these days, he is one of those kwailan assholes who likes to go to Marina Square and stare at other Ah Bengs and ask them “You staring at what?” before throwing down his cigarette and whacking them one time, at home, Seng is very sweet to his mum. Only son, after all. And after his dad died a few years ago, if Seng doesn’t pamper her, who will? Plus his mum and my mum used to be old kakis, so Seng is very “auntie-auntie” around her, always finding all sorts of ways to carry her water.

But expecting Jazzy to marry this kind of guy? Talk cock lah!

I don’t even know what Seng’s job is—one time he told me he was applying for some fuck job at a shipping company and I zoned out. Please—I know shipping is a big business in Singapore, but people (especially those at Seng’s level) who are in it are basically nothing better than the coolies that our grandfathers were, working at the docks. And no matter how many TAG Heuers he buys for himself or Prada shoes he wears, at the end of the day, a coolie is a coolie.

So even though guniang here wouldn’t have minded a free kopi from Seng, better not say yes. Don’t give him any funny ideas.

“No need lah,” I said. “I better go home already. Must help my mum clean the house.” This one—I know is lies. Seng also knows is lies. But whatever lah. As if he cares.