Cheryl Tan - Sarong Party Girls

I was feeling slightly like an auntie at this point, looking at these young girls in high heels, wondering how come they’re so daring, not afraid of falling off the fucking bar. (Then I caught myself realizing that that’s exactly something that my mum would say.) I was damn worried about falling myself, given how tipsy I was feeling. Then I saw the girls each using one hand to hold the gold railing on the ceiling for support, so I followed.

The shots were starting to make me feel good—and being that high above everyone else made me feel like I was floating. I knew the guys below me could probably see my lacy red panties every time I shook my backside and moved my legs but I didn’t care. Some of them were cute after all—as Albert sometimes liked to say, “Any publicity is good publicity.”

Looking out at the crowd—guys were staring at me, confirm quite interested, and a few ang moh women were giving me dagger eyes. Good! I purposely shook my backside at them a bit more. I felt good—perhaps even like a celebrity. In between songs, the bartender kept giving us shots, too—each one wasn’t that strong but they did make me feel more wild. I was really dancing like madwoman now, sometimes use my free hand to push up my boobs and all. The guys—I could tell from their eyes. They were all damn steam.

After a few songs, guniang’s feet were hurting so I squatted down. Before I could try and figure out how to climb off, three guys rushed forward to help me get off the bar counter! I’d never felt so special, man. Good to have this feeling, especially after this cock week and last weekend. I guess I should thank Fann and Melvin.

I was adjusting my skirt, getting ready to walk back to the table when a short ang moh guy with a paunch and messy gray beard tapped me on the shoulder. My god—of all the handsome guys at the bar, this one is the one who wants to chase me? Why is my life so unfortunate?

I blinked at him and started to walk away but he said, “Jazzy? I’m Steve—Steve Carlyle, Melvin’s friend.” Oh—bar owner! Of course I should be nice to him. So I turned around and smiled.

“You were terrific up there! Really lit up the room,” Steve said, shaking my hand. “Do you want to be one of my regular bar-top girls? I can’t pay you—not like Galaxy or one of those bigger flashier clubs. But I will give you free bottles. And you and your friends never have to queue up; you’ll always have a table.”

Wah—guniang here has been going clubbing for so long but I’d never been asked to be podium girl before! I’d always thought this kind of podium-girl arrangement is a bit LC. It’s true that podium girls at bars and clubs are just regular girls, not pros, who are just good at dancing and look quite cute but still—hallo, how much different is this arrangement, at the end of the day, from KTV hostesses entertaining guys by throwing around their body? And those girls get paid more! With LV handbags on the side if they are really smart about their strategies! Although I’d always thought that—that was based on having never actually tried it. In the end, after dancing up on the bar with those girls at Carlyle’s, the whole thing actually was quite fun lah. Plus, I didn’t want to be rude to Melvin’s friend.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, making sure to smile at him really sweetly before walking away.

“By the way,” I quickly added, winking at him, “could we have some Chivas at our table?”

By the time I got back to the table and sat down, I could see the waitress walking over with a bottle of Chivas from the bar.

“Eh—where did Imo go?” I asked, looking at her empty seat. Her phone wasn’t on the table either.

Fann just shrugged—that woman was a bit mabuk, I could tell. Her eyes were half-closed; her body swaying a bit. The bottle of Jack was almost empty, surrounded by a few small glasses—I guess they had been doing shots. When the waitress showed up with the bottle of Chivas and opened it, sticking a spout in, Fann suddenly got damn energy, clapping her hands and all.

“Come—another round!” Melvin said, pouring three big shots of Jack, wiping out the bottle. The two of them bottoms-up their glasses but I just sipped mine. Not that they noticed—Melvin had started to stick his hand inside Fann’s blouse, pretending to be holding her waist but from the way the fabric was moving I could see it gradually moving upward. I considered taking Fann to the ladies’ room to remind her of her grand plan to not let Melvin get any action until she became his girlfriend but the woman was too far gone. Shameless!

“Aiyoh!” Fann said, squealing and swatting Melvin’s arm so he immediately moved his hand back down to her waist. “How can you go there? We’re in public! You are so bad, Melvin. Just for that, you must be punished.”

Fann climbed on top of Melvin, sitting on his lap. Holding his head, she started frenching him deeply and moving her hips around, clearly rubba-ing his cock. These two—my god, it was like I was not even there. Just when he started to rubba her backside with his hands, she whacked him.

“No!” she said, taking the bottle of Chivas and sticking it inside her cleavage. “You must be punished,” she said, kneeling on his thighs now so the spout was just over his mouth.

When she said, “Drink!” she leaned forward, using her hands to cup her boobs up and steady the bottle. Then she started pouring Chivas into his mouth.

Kani nah. That was my hard-earned Chivas! You think I let that gross guy do a body shot on me, dance until my feet hurt, show my panties to the whole bar—all that so that I can sit here and watch Fann use her pushed-up boobs to pour my Chivas down her boyfriend’s throat?

But guniang here knows when she has become an extra. It was time to get lost.

Fann and Melvin of course didn’t even notice when I finished my whiskey, grabbed my handbag and got up.

Once I got outside the bar, it hit me how drunk I was. It hadn’t rained that day so the air was still bloody humid. I could feel my blouse and skirt glued to my sticky skin. Damn gross.

“Jazzy! Right? It is Jazzy?” I heard one of the ang mohs sitting outside the bar say.

I turned around to look but it was so dark and I was a bit dizzy so I wasn’t sure who was talking to me at first. Then, aiyoh, my god—it was Sharon’s husband!

“I’m Alistair,” he said, taking my left hand and kissing it.

I wanted to throw up—of all the guys in the bar, I would pick him to be the second-last guy I wanted kissing my hand. (Steve the paunchy bar owner would be the first.)

“Nice to meet you, but I’m not feeling well,” I said, taking my hand back and walking away. “I’m going to make a move first.”

“Wait!” he said, walking quickly to catch up with me. “May I send you home?”

Aiyoh—this guy really has balls, man. I stopped and quickly turned around, quite pissed off. I was about to say something like, “I’m your wife’s friend, you know! Don’t you give a shit about Sharon and your baby at home?”

But then I thought about it—is Sharon really my friend? Was she ever really my friend? That stuck-up bitch Sharon? Who called me shallow and all that crap when guniang here was just trying to help her? Whose husband is here steaming over me so much that if I tap his cock one time I bet he confirm will instantly come all over his pants? Besides, from Sharon’s Givenchy bag and the photos of her vacations, I was guessing that he was quite loaded.

“Hmm…” I said, scrunching my face up a bit and lightly touching his shoulder with my finger and making a little circle, like I was thinking hard about it.

“Please?” he said. His eyes were really begging me. I bet I could get this fucker to do anything I wanted. I should text his wife a photo, man. Who has the power now, Sharon?