Cheryl Tan - Sarong Party Girls

The music suddenly started to get a bit louder—some Lady Gaga shit or something and people all over the bar were going crazy. Melvin opened the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and made four whiskey sodas. I was about to lean over and thank him when he pointed toward the bar, asking me to turn around. “Watch,” he said to all of us. “This is the fun part.”

Everyone was watching the bartenders now—these three buff Eurasian-looking young guys with short cropped hair who looked just like American sailors during Fleet Week. The guys were doing that Cocktail act—throwing bottles around and shaking and mixing. After they finished, they shouted together: “Kamikaze!”

The one in the middle looked around the bar, at all the tables—then pointed at me. “You—come up, lady!” I didn’t know what was going on so I was a bit scared. I just started waving my hands “No” and shaking my head but the crowd all around me started clapping and shouting all together, “Why are we waiting? Why are we waiting?” I felt someone pinch my arm damn bloody hard—kani nah! So I turned around.

“Just hurry up and go!” Fann said. “Don’t be so embarrassing!”

Since it was her night, her bar, her boyfriend, I felt like I had no choice. When I stood up, the whole bar started cheering damn loudly. Guniang here was feeling a bit dizzy from the drinks so far. And once I got near the bar, these few guys standing in front of the bar grabbed me—aiyoh! I had no idea what was going on so I struggled a bit. But these tall ang moh guys—they were all too strong! They lifted me onto the bar and left me lying down. Of course I immediately tried to get up but the bartenders were holding me down—one holding my ankles, the other pressing down my shoulders. The middle guy just said, “Don’t worry—this is just a bit of good clean fun,” and winked at me. Good clean fun? Guniang here was feeling so blur and getting damn bloody scared—how can this be good clean fun?

But I didn’t want to embarrass Fann or Melvin, so I just smiled back at the bartender. Whatever happens, it couldn’t be so bad right? After all, this is a public bar. And even if it gets bad I’m sure Fann and Imo will try and save me. (As long as one isn’t too busy snogging her ang moh while the other is too busy staring at her nonvibrating phone, that is.)

So I tried to relax a bit. The bartenders were shaking their shakers once again and threw them up in the air a few times before shouting all together: “Body shot!”

Oh, just a body shot? Why didn’t the bartender just say so earlier? If he had, I wouldn’t have been so worried. Cheh! A body shot is nothing. Guniang here has done it many times before—one time, it was even Fann who was the one who licked a Lemon Drop out of my navel! Don’t play play!

“Who’s up?” the middle one said. Immediately, there was a scrum in front of the bar.

“Wait! Wait!” the bartender said. “Men—don’t fight. The lady gets to choose.”

OK, this was looking promising. Who knew? Maybe I would meet a boyfriend out of this? I smiled, thinking about how we would have to explain this to our grandkids. “So your ah-ma here was spread out on the bar and a kamikaze shot was poured all over her…” Aiyah—good, let them know that their grandparents were happening once.

I looked around at the guys in front of the bar, all fighting one another to get close to me. (I have to admit that guniang over here did feel quite shiok about this. All this attention? As if I’m a supermodel or some shit.)

Who to pick? There was a range of guys—cute cute ones but also got damn ugly chee bye face ones. Among them, one of them look a bit familiar—ang moh, a bit older, around forty maybe, with a bit of longish shaggy gray hair, not bad-looking lah but from his big eye bags and saggy skin, he didn’t look so healthy. I was trying to think of how I knew him—not very possible that I actually did, I was thinking, since the ang mohs I actually bother to talk to at clubs are never that old. So I stared a bit longer, squinting squinting and all. The guy noticed me staring at him and my god, he started pushing his way up to the front saying, “I think the lady has chosen!” Once he got to the front, he turned around to face the crowd behind him and pumped both fists into the air.

Aiyoh, who does he think he is? Champion boxer, is it? But even if I didn’t actually choose him, this situation was habis—everybody started cheering right then, so it was all confirmed. Bloody hell.

When the guy turned back around, I realized how I know him—I had seen a phone-full of pictures of him just a few days before. It was Sharon’s husband!

I could feel the two bartenders at the ends holding my shoulders and ankles down again. The middle bartender pulled up my red blouse until it reached almost the bottom of my push-up bra. Walao—Sharon’s husband’s eyes got damn bloody big. I was not very happy but I really didn’t want to spoil the moment or embarrass Fann and Melvin so I just smiled at him.

“Hey, lovebirds—stop making eyes at each other,” the middle bartender shouted. “There’s time for plenty of that—and much more—later!” The crowd started clapping and cheering again.

“Ready?” the bartender asked.

Sharon’s husband nodded and bent down a bit. The moment the bartender started pouring his shaker all over my stomach, Sharon’s husband was suddenly super action! I could feel his fat tongue all over my stomach, fasterly licking and licking, his head was frantically bobbing up and down, from side to side, trying to catch all the liquid before it rolled off. To get a firmer grip the fucker at some point even grabbed the waistband of my skirt—I could feel him pulling it down a bit so his tongue could get some of the shot that was dripping down there. I tried to move a bit, to try and signal him to stop being so lecherous but all this did was make the two bartenders hold my ankles and arms down even more firmly. There was so much noise, so much movement, that no one seemed to notice any of this.

It was never-ending. How much more liquid could there be in that shaker? How many shots were there?

“And that’s the last drop!” the bartender suddenly announced, pouring the last few splashes of it onto my stomach. Thank goodness. Sharon’s husband was still licking though.

“Hey there, fella—enough already!” the bartender said. “There’s a Hotel 81 near here—just get a room!” The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter again.

Even Sharon’s husband knew that it was finally time to stop lah—even though I could tell that the fucker was damn reluctant. He gave my stomach a few final slow licks, then dug his tongue into my navel before kissing it. As he stood back up, he pumped his fists into the air again. Everyone cheered.

Guniang was feeling a bit shocked. Luckily one of the bartenders was nice enough to pull my blouse back down for me—and thankfully, in a decent way, too. I appreciated that he didn’t try and touch my tetek or anything.

“I think you… what’s your name?” he said, helping me sit up on the bar.

“Jazzy,” I said.

“Jazzy—what a musical name!” he said. “Jazzy—I think you deserve some kamikazes of your own. Boys, don’t you think?”

The crowd started cheering, so he poured me two shots and said, “Carry on!”

After the bad feeling of the body shot, I could still feel Sharon’s husband’s tongue on my skin—guniang here really did feel like she needed to get fucking high. So I grabbed both shots, raised them to the crowd and drained each one.

My god—these shots were definitely not like the Sex on the Beach shots. Each one was bloody strong! But good—I was immediately high!

The music—which I guess had been turned down a bit during the Jazzy Body Shot time—suddenly blasted back on. This time, it was another Katy Perry song—“Firework” or some shit—and everyone started dancing like mad again. Two skinny Singaporean girls in minidresses and heels started climbing onto the bar, one on each side of me. My goodness me—I was feeling quite blur at this point so I didn’t really know what to do lah. But then the girls grabbed my arms and helped me up so I suddenly found myself standing on the bar. I wanted to immediately climb back down but when I glanced over at our table, Imo and Melvin were clapping along to the beats and Fann gave me two thumbs up. So, no choice.