My dearest Poison,
It has been a long while since my last letter. Suffice it to say that China has lived up to the expectation thus far. I have indulged my every whim, manipulated, stolen, entertained and come in equal measures. How fun to be morally superior to humanity!
As for humans, they remain as tediously fastidious everywhere one goes – but I won’t bore you with cosmopolitan pretensions. In matters such as this, you are as well versed as I. In fact, I can only just imagine how fastidious your pretty rich jet-setting boys, your fully bellied old men and your curvaceous, slutty ladies are being down in Monte Carlo.
Is it not a paradox then, that people like us are as enamoured with society as we are repelled by it? No matter, we have no choice – we were born with a skill to entertain and ruin, and for such purposes alone we exist, they alone we beseech.
I must say 5 star hotels bore me to death, and whereas I enjoy the comfort it brings to one’s back at the end of an extenuatingly long day, I could not face the rugged faces and upper-middle class vulgarity that fills these places for too long. Instead, I like to venture at night to places where European youths hang out, to try to impart in their romantically adventurous minds a little bit of worldly knowledge. They seem to think watching pandas chew on bamboo constitutes adventure. I take them by their hands and lead them through back alleys, I make them discover the dirt and grit that hides behind grey walls. Yet, all the while they are engulfed by that mysticism in me that has endlessly baffled you. The sweet perfume of my
Neck, my back, (…) my pussy and my crack
mixes with the fetid odours of sewage, of male piss and dead rats and cheap alcohol. They become inebriated and find themselves in ecstasy for the very first time in their whole insignificant lives. How they revel in their new discovery!
They will, however, never learn – you know this as well as me. For my part, I leave them in the middle of their orgasmic spell, creating perplexity and arousing in them a quest for another woman like me. Like cats, they will look through the night for a sign that I do exist, that I wasn’t just a product of their fertile young imaginations, and my ghost will follow them wherever they go. Like a vampire, I bite them and leave them in an agonizing, ever-lasting furore.
But why do I lose time recounting what you already know only too well? My dear, sweet Poison, we were made for each other, in the most sinister of ways. From all of those who have gone past my arms, it was your viperous embrace the only one that had the power to linger on.
So much for romantic spellings! I have another two months in this godforsaken continent, during which time I may quite possibly die of boredom if you don’t so much as grace me with a letter. Send your future correspondence to our friend M-‘s address in Shanghai, as I shall be departing for there within the next few days. I’m sure you will remember her sweet taste if you look enough through your old khetamine bags.
I kiss you profusely.
Yours,
Miss Mia Miow
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Au Revoir Beijing
After over a week in Beijing, I finally felt it was time to bid farewell to this town of polluted airs and racy pulse. Of course I wouldn’t simply jet off; I needed a send-off, as I always do. One must leave with as much style as one enters a place.
So we gathered, Chanel, Sunny and a few new friends I had made along the way. We collected some more acquaintances along the way, and soon there were 20 of us around a table, sipping martinis and being generally loud and outrageous. We were gently asked by management to move outside as it seemed that Chinese ears were unaccustomed to such high pitches and shrieks. What with three gay black men making part of the bulk, we were a strange sight – and sound – to this land.
Outside, someone started talking about some story about a gal with a fetish for diarrhoea. Not that the subject entertained my thoughts deeply, but it was most enticing. The two stern German women behind us however didn’t find the topic so engrossing. Lifting themselves from their seats with a mechanic efficiency that would’ve made Einstein shout Eureka! all over again, they looked at our beautiful, fun group up and down and failed to find any humour in it (Germans usually don’t find much amusement in anything. Except diarrhoea fetishes maybe, so we could be potentially offending their taste for adventure). “We werrre trrrrying to eat hieeerr.” Instead of apologizing, we just laughed away until their offended faces had run to further pastures.
Inebriated and happy to be alive, we ended in a strange place, a club by the Worker’s Stadium. Not much to inform there, aside that obviously the Chinese were fascinated by the fact we even existed. We wouldn’t want to let them feel like they were missing out on the show so we made sure to use all the poles and stages available and gave them a lesson or two in self-confidence. Let us just hope they were taking notes.
Sunny then had the great idea to move onto a KTV, one of the karaoke parlours that appear every two seconds in the Chinese urban landscape. Some people got into cabs and we were supposed to follow, but between a topic and another we lost the way. It took us two hours to find the bleeding place, and all the while we were worried as our group didn’t know Sunny’s friends we were supposed to join, and we wondered what would be of the children.
When we finally reached the destination, we opened the door of the cabin to find Chinese and ex-pats all holding the boat together with litters of alcohol and much bad singing. I was glad to know that my children did exactly what Mamma would do – not give up and continue the party.
As for the collection of people present, it was indeed a bizarre lot we had gotten together. Mine was all flamboyant and loud people. Sunny’s addition to the entourage was a bunch of other Mafiosi, all extremely strange in their own, individual way (if that is possible in a place like China). One of her best friends was indeed a deliciously odd character. His hair was the colour of piss and his lazy eye looked at you in fascination before closing every two seconds and staying closed for another three.
The singing, on the other hand, was rendered quite boring with the Chinese simply sitting down and delivering their lyrics in animosity. I decided to show them how to do it and soon everyone was on their feet, shaking as best bas they could (bless them, they did try).
At 6am, we all parted ways. A few tears were shed and we voice promises of mutual visits and that yes we shall keep in touch; promises that will remain forever unfulfilled as we will probably forget each other without a moment’s hesitation. But for now, we are all happy.
I must say that, as I lay my head down, I felt scared about what this massive country has to offer me in the forthcoming weeks. This is the first time I have had such a feeling – me, such a well-versed woman in the cosmopolitan ways of life. China, however, is not just any country. It’s another planet.
So we gathered, Chanel, Sunny and a few new friends I had made along the way. We collected some more acquaintances along the way, and soon there were 20 of us around a table, sipping martinis and being generally loud and outrageous. We were gently asked by management to move outside as it seemed that Chinese ears were unaccustomed to such high pitches and shrieks. What with three gay black men making part of the bulk, we were a strange sight – and sound – to this land.
Outside, someone started talking about some story about a gal with a fetish for diarrhoea. Not that the subject entertained my thoughts deeply, but it was most enticing. The two stern German women behind us however didn’t find the topic so engrossing. Lifting themselves from their seats with a mechanic efficiency that would’ve made Einstein shout Eureka! all over again, they looked at our beautiful, fun group up and down and failed to find any humour in it (Germans usually don’t find much amusement in anything. Except diarrhoea fetishes maybe, so we could be potentially offending their taste for adventure). “We werrre trrrrying to eat hieeerr.” Instead of apologizing, we just laughed away until their offended faces had run to further pastures.
Inebriated and happy to be alive, we ended in a strange place, a club by the Worker’s Stadium. Not much to inform there, aside that obviously the Chinese were fascinated by the fact we even existed. We wouldn’t want to let them feel like they were missing out on the show so we made sure to use all the poles and stages available and gave them a lesson or two in self-confidence. Let us just hope they were taking notes.
Sunny then had the great idea to move onto a KTV, one of the karaoke parlours that appear every two seconds in the Chinese urban landscape. Some people got into cabs and we were supposed to follow, but between a topic and another we lost the way. It took us two hours to find the bleeding place, and all the while we were worried as our group didn’t know Sunny’s friends we were supposed to join, and we wondered what would be of the children.
When we finally reached the destination, we opened the door of the cabin to find Chinese and ex-pats all holding the boat together with litters of alcohol and much bad singing. I was glad to know that my children did exactly what Mamma would do – not give up and continue the party.
As for the collection of people present, it was indeed a bizarre lot we had gotten together. Mine was all flamboyant and loud people. Sunny’s addition to the entourage was a bunch of other Mafiosi, all extremely strange in their own, individual way (if that is possible in a place like China). One of her best friends was indeed a deliciously odd character. His hair was the colour of piss and his lazy eye looked at you in fascination before closing every two seconds and staying closed for another three.
The singing, on the other hand, was rendered quite boring with the Chinese simply sitting down and delivering their lyrics in animosity. I decided to show them how to do it and soon everyone was on their feet, shaking as best bas they could (bless them, they did try).
At 6am, we all parted ways. A few tears were shed and we voice promises of mutual visits and that yes we shall keep in touch; promises that will remain forever unfulfilled as we will probably forget each other without a moment’s hesitation. But for now, we are all happy.
I must say that, as I lay my head down, I felt scared about what this massive country has to offer me in the forthcoming weeks. This is the first time I have had such a feeling – me, such a well-versed woman in the cosmopolitan ways of life. China, however, is not just any country. It’s another planet.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
The Great Wallet of China
Today when I woke up it seemed like a brick had slashed my head open. Indeed the alcoholic and cocaholic symptoms were ruining my ability to go on, but somehow I managed to wake up sometime in the early hours of the afternoon – a feat for a cat like me.
Sunny had insisted we go to the Great Wall of China, and she was adamant we go at 10am, at which suggestion I simply laughed at. I got a great sense of humour let me tell you that. After reminding her I missed pretty much any class that started before 1pm (which were in theory the most important ones) back in the Alps, she came to grips with the fact that I barely do afternoons, let alone mornings unless that is I am coming back from somewhere.
At 3pm sharp Sunny and her bodyguard were there waiting for me by my door. The bodyguard tried a smile at me, which I flatly ignored. You wouldn’t want a servant to get wrong ideas; a blowjob is a blowjob after all, a manifestation of desire and of my penchant for pleasing all, no matter what social strand, and that’s where it ends. On the back seat, Sunny lays down in a rather unladylike position, legs all spread and face hidden behind Tom Ford glasses that could protect the planet from UV rays. An exchange of air kisses was all we needed, a silent ‘nough said from us both.
The way was a battle with the hang over that dominated our senses and the sudden urges to vomit all the contents of my past life. Eventually we both fell asleep and I woke up a few hours later to find that which one connects the most with China – the Great Wall.
Notwithstanding the 37C that burned our souls as if the devil had finally come to pick us up, I felt a new-found curiosity and energy at seeing the Wall. I am not one to get too excited about landmarks, but this was one of those few ones that lived up to the expectations. Such was the night in which I came across the Fontana di Trevi and ended up swimming in it, and such was the night that awaited me.
Sunny and I took a cable car up to the Wall, as did the bodyguard, who was sat next to a scared 5 years old Chinese boy. Sunny was this close to falling the 30 plus meters down and into the woods, but I felt like a child waiting for a lollypop. When we got up there, all I could see was a wall that extended way beyond eyesight, and all I wanted to do was to explore it.
I pulled Sunny along, and she begrudgingly followed. My pace was increasing, and even though my heels made my feet bleed all I wanted was to see more. The views were fantastic and I could envisage the times of old. I fancied myself to be a princess of the Qing dynasty (or was it Ming) locked away in a tower and then running away, forever searching for my knight.
With so much running and going up and down stairs, I didn’t notice I had lost Sunny. Instead of going around looking for her, I simply slowed down and took the scenery in. I found a staircase that went down to a footpath and followed it for a while.
Footpaths invariably lead onto something, and led away I was. Sitting down was a handsome Chinese man, smoking a cigarette in silent contemplation. He noticed me and smiled, “What brings you here?” I smiled back, “Sorry, am I disturbing you?” He studied me with his eyes, taking in my figure. “You don’t disturb me at all. Come over here, sit with me.” I sat down and we chatted for a while. He told me this was his secret haven, and that no one had ever come this far. I obviously hadn’t realized how far I had gone in my haste for adventure, and thankfully so. I looked at the watch and realized it had been an hour since I had lost Sunny, and that she would be worried by now. Chang, as my Yellow Knight was called, offered to keep me company. In fact, he knew of a party that was going on at the Wall a few hours down the line and wanted us to keep him company. What was more, it was at a part of the Wall where there was a beach. It all seemed too interesting not to accept, so we made our way downstairs to find Sunny and see what she was up to.
I can’t say she was too pleased at seeing me reappear with a man behind me, as she unfairly felt I had gone away to find a shag – not that it would be beyond me, but that wasn’t the case then. She didn’t feel like going to the party, so I decided to stay with Chang and let her go. Another air kiss sealed the deal.
Chang took me for dinner halfway through the 5-hour journey at an amazing joint, and he was acting the gentleman all the way. After a long but thoroughly enjoyable drive, we arrived at a gorgeous beach party, with tents and service and whatnot, all perfect down to a tee. That, my friends, is how a man wins one’s heart – with cold hard cash.
After a few drinks, we were a bit tipsy. A friend of Chang’s named Jess bumped into us and there seemed to be a bit of tension. I quickly realized there was unfinished business between them, so I kept the girl with us and the drinks flowing. A few drinks down the line, I felt comfortable enough to suggest we all go up to the Wall for a late evening walk.
Lit solely by the half moon above us, Chang and Jess were my prey. I fondled him first and Jess got the hint. She came forward and we kissed, and both out hands felt his cock. And yes, next thing you know it was legs and vaginas and the one penis and the two testicles and three mouths going up and down and everywhere imaginable. I even managed to finger Chang, to his great pleasure. All while on a World Heritage Site – they can protect it from anything but Mia.
After we had all had our orgasms and were fully satisfied, I made sure the drinks kept on flowing for everyone but me. At around 5am Chang offered to go and crash at a hotel nearby and continue the party. All agreeing parties moved as best they could towards the cab, and by the time we got to the hotel bed my two companions were fast asleep.
Easy and pleasurable. With the two snoring beauties lying pathetically in bed, I moved towards his wallet and took out a fat stash of cash. That should see me through another month or two. Thank God for stupid rich men and their egos. If it wasn’t for them, there would be no me.
Sunny had insisted we go to the Great Wall of China, and she was adamant we go at 10am, at which suggestion I simply laughed at. I got a great sense of humour let me tell you that. After reminding her I missed pretty much any class that started before 1pm (which were in theory the most important ones) back in the Alps, she came to grips with the fact that I barely do afternoons, let alone mornings unless that is I am coming back from somewhere.
At 3pm sharp Sunny and her bodyguard were there waiting for me by my door. The bodyguard tried a smile at me, which I flatly ignored. You wouldn’t want a servant to get wrong ideas; a blowjob is a blowjob after all, a manifestation of desire and of my penchant for pleasing all, no matter what social strand, and that’s where it ends. On the back seat, Sunny lays down in a rather unladylike position, legs all spread and face hidden behind Tom Ford glasses that could protect the planet from UV rays. An exchange of air kisses was all we needed, a silent ‘nough said from us both.
The way was a battle with the hang over that dominated our senses and the sudden urges to vomit all the contents of my past life. Eventually we both fell asleep and I woke up a few hours later to find that which one connects the most with China – the Great Wall.
Notwithstanding the 37C that burned our souls as if the devil had finally come to pick us up, I felt a new-found curiosity and energy at seeing the Wall. I am not one to get too excited about landmarks, but this was one of those few ones that lived up to the expectations. Such was the night in which I came across the Fontana di Trevi and ended up swimming in it, and such was the night that awaited me.
Sunny and I took a cable car up to the Wall, as did the bodyguard, who was sat next to a scared 5 years old Chinese boy. Sunny was this close to falling the 30 plus meters down and into the woods, but I felt like a child waiting for a lollypop. When we got up there, all I could see was a wall that extended way beyond eyesight, and all I wanted to do was to explore it.
I pulled Sunny along, and she begrudgingly followed. My pace was increasing, and even though my heels made my feet bleed all I wanted was to see more. The views were fantastic and I could envisage the times of old. I fancied myself to be a princess of the Qing dynasty (or was it Ming) locked away in a tower and then running away, forever searching for my knight.
With so much running and going up and down stairs, I didn’t notice I had lost Sunny. Instead of going around looking for her, I simply slowed down and took the scenery in. I found a staircase that went down to a footpath and followed it for a while.
Footpaths invariably lead onto something, and led away I was. Sitting down was a handsome Chinese man, smoking a cigarette in silent contemplation. He noticed me and smiled, “What brings you here?” I smiled back, “Sorry, am I disturbing you?” He studied me with his eyes, taking in my figure. “You don’t disturb me at all. Come over here, sit with me.” I sat down and we chatted for a while. He told me this was his secret haven, and that no one had ever come this far. I obviously hadn’t realized how far I had gone in my haste for adventure, and thankfully so. I looked at the watch and realized it had been an hour since I had lost Sunny, and that she would be worried by now. Chang, as my Yellow Knight was called, offered to keep me company. In fact, he knew of a party that was going on at the Wall a few hours down the line and wanted us to keep him company. What was more, it was at a part of the Wall where there was a beach. It all seemed too interesting not to accept, so we made our way downstairs to find Sunny and see what she was up to.
I can’t say she was too pleased at seeing me reappear with a man behind me, as she unfairly felt I had gone away to find a shag – not that it would be beyond me, but that wasn’t the case then. She didn’t feel like going to the party, so I decided to stay with Chang and let her go. Another air kiss sealed the deal.
Chang took me for dinner halfway through the 5-hour journey at an amazing joint, and he was acting the gentleman all the way. After a long but thoroughly enjoyable drive, we arrived at a gorgeous beach party, with tents and service and whatnot, all perfect down to a tee. That, my friends, is how a man wins one’s heart – with cold hard cash.
After a few drinks, we were a bit tipsy. A friend of Chang’s named Jess bumped into us and there seemed to be a bit of tension. I quickly realized there was unfinished business between them, so I kept the girl with us and the drinks flowing. A few drinks down the line, I felt comfortable enough to suggest we all go up to the Wall for a late evening walk.
Lit solely by the half moon above us, Chang and Jess were my prey. I fondled him first and Jess got the hint. She came forward and we kissed, and both out hands felt his cock. And yes, next thing you know it was legs and vaginas and the one penis and the two testicles and three mouths going up and down and everywhere imaginable. I even managed to finger Chang, to his great pleasure. All while on a World Heritage Site – they can protect it from anything but Mia.
After we had all had our orgasms and were fully satisfied, I made sure the drinks kept on flowing for everyone but me. At around 5am Chang offered to go and crash at a hotel nearby and continue the party. All agreeing parties moved as best they could towards the cab, and by the time we got to the hotel bed my two companions were fast asleep.
Easy and pleasurable. With the two snoring beauties lying pathetically in bed, I moved towards his wallet and took out a fat stash of cash. That should see me through another month or two. Thank God for stupid rich men and their egos. If it wasn’t for them, there would be no me.
Revolutionary Sunny
When I was telling the world I was to explore new shores of this vastly small globe, news got round pretty quickly and it wasn’t long before the Chinese were bracing themselves for my arrival. That was when Sunny called.
Now, Sunny dear Sunny, she’s a mini-series waiting to happen. Back in our boarding school in Switzerland, Sunny would come into school from her Alps mansion in a black car, always with some big bulky bodyguard on her tail. I did have sex with a couple of them – they seemed so much like men in comparison to the sissy boys all around us. That is, however, beyond the point. In the five years we shared a classroom and a life, Sunny spoke to me a couple of times, if that much. Nor did she speak to anyone else – we all found her a bit weird and just a bit too blatantly Mafiosi, so we kept our distance as she kept hers.
So you can imagine my surprise when I got a phone call from awkward little Sunny, now not so little but still her same awkward self. She was all cheerfulness for my arrival. I am not one to hold impressions against people, and I work on a basis that the more people you know in a big city, the busier and potentially madder it’ll get. I politely declined her offer to stay at her parents’ 5-star hotel as I had already accepted to stay with Chanel in her equally luxurious apartment, but I took her details and promised to ring her as soon as I landed.
A few days after my arrival we met, and Sunny surprised me to no end. She picked me up with her car – still driven by a big burly bodyguard, and yes I started getting thoughts in my head. We hugged as if we had been the best of friends, and indeed it did feel like we were. She was so sweet and giving and incredibly well dressed in a Diane Von Furstenberg number (more mature than her horrid taste for holograms back when I must add) that I fell for her in instants, and everything we hadn’t shared in the cold altitudes of Switzerland suddenly was.
Sunny took me to Tiananmen Square, which I had been dying to see but had had no time (a lady of the night, I refuse to wake up early to see things. I happen upon them, more like). A sucker for history, I was obsessed with Mao Zedong and everything he represented in Communist China – the total opposite of Marxism, the idea of a man so hungry for power he was capable of killing 70 million people directly or indirectly. And although Sunny had had the best education her dirty money could buy, she was still unaware of how terribly evil that man watching over Beijing and China at large had been.
Seeing the state of affairs, I found it was my duty to explain a thing or two. I bought an English copy of the Little Red Book and started telling Sunny the order of events. At first she didn’t seem to believe what I was saying, but slowly the truth sank in and the puzzle started making sense. Naturally, I got excited and started speaking louder. Soon a small audience had formed, and it felt a bit like Speaker’s Corner, albeit scarier. Some Chinese people were throwing their fists at me, but luckily we had the bodyguard to fend them all off.
I started getting rabid with excitement. Amidst the thrill of the moment, I took my Little Red Book out and put fire on it. Some cheered, some spat in my direction, and from afar I could see a few policemen running in my direction. Sunny was by now so full of passion against Mao Zedong that her bodyguard had to physically carry her out of the square.
We made it out somehow, and by now a feel anti-Maoists were following us in search of some revolutionary action. Someone in the small crow shouted, “To the hutong!” and everyone seemed to deem this a great idea. Ignorant as to what a hutong was, I simply followed with the impulse that propels my entire life forward.
It just so happened that a hutong is a web of narrow streets that hide house after house, a delicious labyrinth of grey brick. In front of some of the houses were figures that had been smashed back in the days of the Cultural Revolution by the hooliganism Mao had supported and fomented. Now inspired by me, this new group of revolutionaries started smashing what was left of the relics. In hindsight, not the wisest idea, but at the time it felt fun. The fever pitch moment came when we arrived in front of Mao’s student lodge, where our group (me included) smashed pretty much everything we could find. We were quick enough that we had time to run and lose ourselves around the many streets that went right and left, and the group finally disbanded. Followed by a sweaty and worried bodyguard, Sunny and I ended up in hysterics in some other side of town.
A cab ride later, we were in the car, but the excitement had taken over and we wanted action. I phoned Chanel to join us with a gram or two of the White Stuff and we ended up at a private member’s club in Sanliturn called The Apartment. We downed martini after martini and sniffed line after line and we were politically fervent. Almost beyond herself, Sunny got up on a table and gave her final speech of the night, shouting revolutionary slogans for a New China. The clientele didn’t seem to give a flying fuck to what she had to say as they were mostly Westerners and none of what was being said was news to them, and I was relieved when she finally collapsed on the floor.
Half unconscious and carrying a fully unconscious mafia radical towards her bodyguard (who was himself carrying a semi-dead Chanel), we got into the car and threw the motionless bodies out at the back. I sat in the front, and for old time’s sake gave the bodyguard a blowjob as he drove us to Chanel’s. So satisfied I was with the day that had just gone by, I even let him come in my mouth.
Now, Sunny dear Sunny, she’s a mini-series waiting to happen. Back in our boarding school in Switzerland, Sunny would come into school from her Alps mansion in a black car, always with some big bulky bodyguard on her tail. I did have sex with a couple of them – they seemed so much like men in comparison to the sissy boys all around us. That is, however, beyond the point. In the five years we shared a classroom and a life, Sunny spoke to me a couple of times, if that much. Nor did she speak to anyone else – we all found her a bit weird and just a bit too blatantly Mafiosi, so we kept our distance as she kept hers.
So you can imagine my surprise when I got a phone call from awkward little Sunny, now not so little but still her same awkward self. She was all cheerfulness for my arrival. I am not one to hold impressions against people, and I work on a basis that the more people you know in a big city, the busier and potentially madder it’ll get. I politely declined her offer to stay at her parents’ 5-star hotel as I had already accepted to stay with Chanel in her equally luxurious apartment, but I took her details and promised to ring her as soon as I landed.
A few days after my arrival we met, and Sunny surprised me to no end. She picked me up with her car – still driven by a big burly bodyguard, and yes I started getting thoughts in my head. We hugged as if we had been the best of friends, and indeed it did feel like we were. She was so sweet and giving and incredibly well dressed in a Diane Von Furstenberg number (more mature than her horrid taste for holograms back when I must add) that I fell for her in instants, and everything we hadn’t shared in the cold altitudes of Switzerland suddenly was.
Sunny took me to Tiananmen Square, which I had been dying to see but had had no time (a lady of the night, I refuse to wake up early to see things. I happen upon them, more like). A sucker for history, I was obsessed with Mao Zedong and everything he represented in Communist China – the total opposite of Marxism, the idea of a man so hungry for power he was capable of killing 70 million people directly or indirectly. And although Sunny had had the best education her dirty money could buy, she was still unaware of how terribly evil that man watching over Beijing and China at large had been.
Seeing the state of affairs, I found it was my duty to explain a thing or two. I bought an English copy of the Little Red Book and started telling Sunny the order of events. At first she didn’t seem to believe what I was saying, but slowly the truth sank in and the puzzle started making sense. Naturally, I got excited and started speaking louder. Soon a small audience had formed, and it felt a bit like Speaker’s Corner, albeit scarier. Some Chinese people were throwing their fists at me, but luckily we had the bodyguard to fend them all off.
I started getting rabid with excitement. Amidst the thrill of the moment, I took my Little Red Book out and put fire on it. Some cheered, some spat in my direction, and from afar I could see a few policemen running in my direction. Sunny was by now so full of passion against Mao Zedong that her bodyguard had to physically carry her out of the square.
We made it out somehow, and by now a feel anti-Maoists were following us in search of some revolutionary action. Someone in the small crow shouted, “To the hutong!” and everyone seemed to deem this a great idea. Ignorant as to what a hutong was, I simply followed with the impulse that propels my entire life forward.
It just so happened that a hutong is a web of narrow streets that hide house after house, a delicious labyrinth of grey brick. In front of some of the houses were figures that had been smashed back in the days of the Cultural Revolution by the hooliganism Mao had supported and fomented. Now inspired by me, this new group of revolutionaries started smashing what was left of the relics. In hindsight, not the wisest idea, but at the time it felt fun. The fever pitch moment came when we arrived in front of Mao’s student lodge, where our group (me included) smashed pretty much everything we could find. We were quick enough that we had time to run and lose ourselves around the many streets that went right and left, and the group finally disbanded. Followed by a sweaty and worried bodyguard, Sunny and I ended up in hysterics in some other side of town.
A cab ride later, we were in the car, but the excitement had taken over and we wanted action. I phoned Chanel to join us with a gram or two of the White Stuff and we ended up at a private member’s club in Sanliturn called The Apartment. We downed martini after martini and sniffed line after line and we were politically fervent. Almost beyond herself, Sunny got up on a table and gave her final speech of the night, shouting revolutionary slogans for a New China. The clientele didn’t seem to give a flying fuck to what she had to say as they were mostly Westerners and none of what was being said was news to them, and I was relieved when she finally collapsed on the floor.
Half unconscious and carrying a fully unconscious mafia radical towards her bodyguard (who was himself carrying a semi-dead Chanel), we got into the car and threw the motionless bodies out at the back. I sat in the front, and for old time’s sake gave the bodyguard a blowjob as he drove us to Chanel’s. So satisfied I was with the day that had just gone by, I even let him come in my mouth.
A Heavenly Day
Today was a day of rest. You might think that my life is all madness and never-ending fun, but there are more sides of me that you don’t know. Behind the façade of the upper class girl who enjoys the world of glitter and pompousness lies an inquisitive soul. Why else would I be in a place like China?
I followed the signs and arrived at the Temple of Heaven, where one could see said temple and whatnot. Temple shtemple – you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. I did go in with a hope that this one would enlighten me further in the art of religiousness (a subject a tad alien to my sinning mind) but nothing there. However, a massive park encircled the temple, and I walked around at a leisurely pace, taking in the scenery and what Beijing was waiting for me to discover.
I obviously searched for the road less travelled, and found a random web of footpaths that went deep into the woods, and suddenly I could no longer hear the hubbub of Beijing, so omnipresent elsewhere. Here I was close to Godliness.
I must say the Chinese are a peculiar lot, and I obviously say so partly because I fail to fully understand where they come from, where their minds rest and how their traditions work on their behaviour. Every 100 meters or so there would be one or two shirtless men doing tai-chi like movements, always next to a tree. They wouldn’t even lift their eyes so concentrated they were in their inner peace and physical strength.
After walking for a good while, I started hearing a female voice singing a beautiful opera. It all felt a bit surreal, like I was in a movie and all became Technicolor. As if by magic, my body knew one reason alone to move, and that was to get closer to the voice that sang such beauty. Finally, I arrived in a little oasis, a Chinese gazebo under which a group of elders sat around playing instruments and taking turns with singing old Peking operas. I sat down and they were all smiles, appreciative of my attention. One of them even offered me to sing, and so I did. I sang Streets of Berlin, and even though they didn’t understand the lyrics, they showed understanding to the feeling. So foreign we were to each other, beyond language and culture. We were miles apart in life experiences and how they affected our perceptions of the world – and yet here we were, all sharing a unique moment of human communion.
I stayed at the park for a few hours and enjoyed the solitude and being with myself for a while. Even I need that sometimes.
I followed the signs and arrived at the Temple of Heaven, where one could see said temple and whatnot. Temple shtemple – you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. I did go in with a hope that this one would enlighten me further in the art of religiousness (a subject a tad alien to my sinning mind) but nothing there. However, a massive park encircled the temple, and I walked around at a leisurely pace, taking in the scenery and what Beijing was waiting for me to discover.
I obviously searched for the road less travelled, and found a random web of footpaths that went deep into the woods, and suddenly I could no longer hear the hubbub of Beijing, so omnipresent elsewhere. Here I was close to Godliness.
I must say the Chinese are a peculiar lot, and I obviously say so partly because I fail to fully understand where they come from, where their minds rest and how their traditions work on their behaviour. Every 100 meters or so there would be one or two shirtless men doing tai-chi like movements, always next to a tree. They wouldn’t even lift their eyes so concentrated they were in their inner peace and physical strength.
After walking for a good while, I started hearing a female voice singing a beautiful opera. It all felt a bit surreal, like I was in a movie and all became Technicolor. As if by magic, my body knew one reason alone to move, and that was to get closer to the voice that sang such beauty. Finally, I arrived in a little oasis, a Chinese gazebo under which a group of elders sat around playing instruments and taking turns with singing old Peking operas. I sat down and they were all smiles, appreciative of my attention. One of them even offered me to sing, and so I did. I sang Streets of Berlin, and even though they didn’t understand the lyrics, they showed understanding to the feeling. So foreign we were to each other, beyond language and culture. We were miles apart in life experiences and how they affected our perceptions of the world – and yet here we were, all sharing a unique moment of human communion.
I stayed at the park for a few hours and enjoyed the solitude and being with myself for a while. Even I need that sometimes.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Markets and Swedes and Lesbians - All That's Best Come in Threes
I woke up feeling reinvigorated. A creature of the night, I highly dislike seeing the world under the sun, but it was a sullen grey day and I thought it perfect for a wander around the city.
A sucker for a market or two, I decided to head down to the Silk Market. At first sight, it seemed fabulous in all the wrong ways. I was fascinated to see row after row of shoes, every shop sporting the same exact models. The Chinese may be known for a lot of things, but versatility is not one of them.
I now remembered the experience of a fashion show, although now I was the main focal point and the general smell and fashion sense were considerably more precarious than in Paris. Catcalls came my way like a tropical rain, but then again you can’t really blame them for succumbing to my curvaceous graciousness.
I got into the bags session and started feeling CFGTs (Catholic Fashion Guilt Trips) as my mouth watered at the sight of such well-made copies. I stopped in front of a perfectly invisibly fake Balenciaga and thought who after all would notice its Chinese provenience out there, and came to the conclusion it was a risk taking. I asked the shop assistant the price and she came with a ridiculous sum, to which I replied I would give a tenth of the price. At that point, I had already lost interest, as I am not the type to be seen begging for anything at all, but the woman persisted and I stayed out of politeness. A few minutes down the line, I wanted out, but little miss insistence wouldn’t let me of me, quite literally. She grabbed my wrist and wouldn’t let go of it, and by that point all I could think of was my safety and that of my heirlooms resting too close to her fingers. Another assistant magically appeared to block my way out, and they were ready to give me the bag for less than I had initially offered. By then I was so pissed off that I started screaming and a bunch of passers-by stood by us, watching the show unravel. The little woman shouted, “You make me angry now lady,” and I could see a Communist axe coming down on me anytime now. Somehow I freed myself from that grasp of iron and ran down the busy corridors, hearing men calling out for my sweaty although no less sensual figure.
As I stumbled out of the market, I bumped into a tall blonde man. He looked into my eyes and asked me if everything was ok. I tried composing myself but my knees felt weak. He took me by the hand and led the way, soothing me and telling me about himself, questioning me about my whys and hows and whatnots. No sooner were we sitting down having dinner, and what a blast we were having! Fredrik was Swedish and he had been here working for the Embassy for a few good years, could speak Chinese fluently and was adherent to sports. All was good and I was envisaging his member penetrating me in no time when the bill came. As an aristocrat, I’ve been taught politeness, so I asked him, “How much do I owe you?” His reply came in short Scandinavian form, “200 yuai”. Seconds later I bid him farewell – no man gets a peek of my precious without paying for something. He’d obviously have nothing in his wallet once he fell asleep on his bed – no good you see.
I met up with Chanel and we ended up at the A Hotel, housed in the Worker’s Stadium. A bunch of privileged kids had hired a room there and were having a bit of a party. Drinks and drugs mixed and the spirits were high. I started speaking to a Chinese girl who went by the name of Whitney and we hit it off from the beginning. She was a bit stupid bless her, but a Bimbo does the job when it comes to enhancing how gracious you are in comparison. A few drinks later, she offered me some coke, so we went to the toilet and had a line. As I lifted my head I noticed how she was looking at me with this little provincial, curious stare. I’d like to think that I am the Evita Peron of sex – I give to those lacking. So I gave her a good finger/tongue session and the girl discovered what lesbian loving was all about.
What an eventful day my dears! Let us hope tomorrow brings us more adventures.
A sucker for a market or two, I decided to head down to the Silk Market. At first sight, it seemed fabulous in all the wrong ways. I was fascinated to see row after row of shoes, every shop sporting the same exact models. The Chinese may be known for a lot of things, but versatility is not one of them.
I now remembered the experience of a fashion show, although now I was the main focal point and the general smell and fashion sense were considerably more precarious than in Paris. Catcalls came my way like a tropical rain, but then again you can’t really blame them for succumbing to my curvaceous graciousness.
I got into the bags session and started feeling CFGTs (Catholic Fashion Guilt Trips) as my mouth watered at the sight of such well-made copies. I stopped in front of a perfectly invisibly fake Balenciaga and thought who after all would notice its Chinese provenience out there, and came to the conclusion it was a risk taking. I asked the shop assistant the price and she came with a ridiculous sum, to which I replied I would give a tenth of the price. At that point, I had already lost interest, as I am not the type to be seen begging for anything at all, but the woman persisted and I stayed out of politeness. A few minutes down the line, I wanted out, but little miss insistence wouldn’t let me of me, quite literally. She grabbed my wrist and wouldn’t let go of it, and by that point all I could think of was my safety and that of my heirlooms resting too close to her fingers. Another assistant magically appeared to block my way out, and they were ready to give me the bag for less than I had initially offered. By then I was so pissed off that I started screaming and a bunch of passers-by stood by us, watching the show unravel. The little woman shouted, “You make me angry now lady,” and I could see a Communist axe coming down on me anytime now. Somehow I freed myself from that grasp of iron and ran down the busy corridors, hearing men calling out for my sweaty although no less sensual figure.
As I stumbled out of the market, I bumped into a tall blonde man. He looked into my eyes and asked me if everything was ok. I tried composing myself but my knees felt weak. He took me by the hand and led the way, soothing me and telling me about himself, questioning me about my whys and hows and whatnots. No sooner were we sitting down having dinner, and what a blast we were having! Fredrik was Swedish and he had been here working for the Embassy for a few good years, could speak Chinese fluently and was adherent to sports. All was good and I was envisaging his member penetrating me in no time when the bill came. As an aristocrat, I’ve been taught politeness, so I asked him, “How much do I owe you?” His reply came in short Scandinavian form, “200 yuai”. Seconds later I bid him farewell – no man gets a peek of my precious without paying for something. He’d obviously have nothing in his wallet once he fell asleep on his bed – no good you see.
I met up with Chanel and we ended up at the A Hotel, housed in the Worker’s Stadium. A bunch of privileged kids had hired a room there and were having a bit of a party. Drinks and drugs mixed and the spirits were high. I started speaking to a Chinese girl who went by the name of Whitney and we hit it off from the beginning. She was a bit stupid bless her, but a Bimbo does the job when it comes to enhancing how gracious you are in comparison. A few drinks later, she offered me some coke, so we went to the toilet and had a line. As I lifted my head I noticed how she was looking at me with this little provincial, curious stare. I’d like to think that I am the Evita Peron of sex – I give to those lacking. So I gave her a good finger/tongue session and the girl discovered what lesbian loving was all about.
What an eventful day my dears! Let us hope tomorrow brings us more adventures.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
The Art of Mia
Tired and slightly ill, but never one to cry over spilled milk, I faced the fact that yes, I did somehow end up in China and no, there was nothing that would stop me from having some fun. Speaking to Chanel, I discovered some luscious little area called District 798. Based in a number of blocks that housed factories in Maoist times, this is where all art in Beijing, China and Asia at large really happens. And when I spot a happening, I come to the conclusion that someone out there needs to make it happen a bit more, and that person is invariably me.
Yes, in Asia they don’t walk, but if there’s one thing I like to do is mix with the common and see how they leave. Taking taxis can be awfully tiring, especially when you need to mimic your way to a swinger’s party and you end up at the zoo – zoophilia being one of those few areas I have yet to conquer. So I took my subways and buses and saw the nit and grit of the city – until I came to the conclusion that grit is all Beijing has to offer.
Arriving there I was faced with a pleasant surprise – Asian art, for all the repression imposed in the people, is pretty out there. I know you may seem surprised my dear darling, but us Duchesses of the world are not made of diamonds alone. Our Swiss boarding school taught us more than how to sniff the perfect line, It taught us the world of politics and art, sciences and languages. I forgot most of it by now, true. But not art, never art – an aesthete at heart, I know green from red, and if together even better.
These images filled gallery after gallery, and in between one would be faced with sculptures of a crucified Christ in the foreground, an industrial chimney on the background; fat bodies made out of copper, gigantic baby Buddhas in shockingly bright red. My favourite of all was a black encaged angel on his knees, begging with his hands for redemption. The male body sported a booshy lower part with no prominence coming out of it. Looking at this fallen, begging angel I couldn’t but find a hint of myself in its lost eyes.
Then I turned around and walked away and fuck that, my wings can still fly. If not my wings, Emirates will. After a tiresome day viewing art, I returned to Chanel’s pad. Since this girl has taken up to working, it seems no fun comes out of her pores. After a few hours of her complaining about how much work she had to do and not getting any done, we finally set off for some dinner and whatnot. The waitress came to our table and asked us something in Chinese. Chanel kept her eyes on her before snapping at the poor thing, “Are you speaking in Chinese with me? Are you having a laugh?” Bless her socks dear thing.
Some people joined us for dinner later on, nothing of note – particularly no cock of note. Drinks yadda dada, nothing to report. If there’s at least not one finger introduced in my vagina by the end of the night, we may as well not even talk about it.
Yes, in Asia they don’t walk, but if there’s one thing I like to do is mix with the common and see how they leave. Taking taxis can be awfully tiring, especially when you need to mimic your way to a swinger’s party and you end up at the zoo – zoophilia being one of those few areas I have yet to conquer. So I took my subways and buses and saw the nit and grit of the city – until I came to the conclusion that grit is all Beijing has to offer.
Arriving there I was faced with a pleasant surprise – Asian art, for all the repression imposed in the people, is pretty out there. I know you may seem surprised my dear darling, but us Duchesses of the world are not made of diamonds alone. Our Swiss boarding school taught us more than how to sniff the perfect line, It taught us the world of politics and art, sciences and languages. I forgot most of it by now, true. But not art, never art – an aesthete at heart, I know green from red, and if together even better.
These images filled gallery after gallery, and in between one would be faced with sculptures of a crucified Christ in the foreground, an industrial chimney on the background; fat bodies made out of copper, gigantic baby Buddhas in shockingly bright red. My favourite of all was a black encaged angel on his knees, begging with his hands for redemption. The male body sported a booshy lower part with no prominence coming out of it. Looking at this fallen, begging angel I couldn’t but find a hint of myself in its lost eyes.
Then I turned around and walked away and fuck that, my wings can still fly. If not my wings, Emirates will. After a tiresome day viewing art, I returned to Chanel’s pad. Since this girl has taken up to working, it seems no fun comes out of her pores. After a few hours of her complaining about how much work she had to do and not getting any done, we finally set off for some dinner and whatnot. The waitress came to our table and asked us something in Chinese. Chanel kept her eyes on her before snapping at the poor thing, “Are you speaking in Chinese with me? Are you having a laugh?” Bless her socks dear thing.
Some people joined us for dinner later on, nothing of note – particularly no cock of note. Drinks yadda dada, nothing to report. If there’s at least not one finger introduced in my vagina by the end of the night, we may as well not even talk about it.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Getting There is Half the Trip - Literally
As I entered that cab I asked myself – what the fuck am I doing? I hadn’t slept for three days on a row and it wasn’t looking like I would for the next two – the flight would see me 24 hours older and the first day in town would see me opening the lights of this new city in a way they had never seen before. That amounts for a good week without sleep. I’m sure I’ve done worst.
The flight was what every flight is – I got to the counter and told them Miss Mia can’t possibly fly common class, to which the lady behind the desk insolently replied, “You shoulda bought a Posh Class ticket then innit.” She was Arabic so I don’t know if the innit was in there, but I thought I’d add it for an extra texture.
At the end it was Common Class all the way, and yes they also sat me next to a fat smelly lady. On the other side was a pervy short man who seemed to have a thing for slipping his hand a tad too close to my bare legs. Not a comfortable look. Six hours later, feeling slightly violated and cornered, we arrived at our Stop-Over of Hell – eight whole hours in Dubai.
Now, I wouldn’t want to be prejudiced but women like me are not welcomed in countries like Dubai. An oxymoron, if you think about it. Every time I lifted my bottom from a seat and went for a wander around the multiple Chanels and Armanis that peppered Duty Free, a sea of men clad in the most typical Muslim garments would run to the toilets for a wank. I could hear the swishing as I went – and I got to say it felt good.
By the time I got to the flight that was to take me to my final haven, I didn’t know anymore what time it was, who I was or my raison d’etre in life as a whole. The next seven hours were of torture as my stomach begged for arrival, for a bed, a valium at least. It was all denied to the poor thing. Seeing my agony, the flight attendant stared being extremely solicitous, giving me a medicine here, a smile there, and a word of comfort every so often to keep me at peace. Next thing you know he was licking me dry in the toilets – you can’t beat service in occasions such as this.
And finally, an orgasm and a few pills later, I arrived in Beijing. The door to a whole new phase in a life where every chapter lasts four pages. Nearing death, I somehow made my way to my friend Chanel’s pad. I can see we’ll be having a ball.
The flight was what every flight is – I got to the counter and told them Miss Mia can’t possibly fly common class, to which the lady behind the desk insolently replied, “You shoulda bought a Posh Class ticket then innit.” She was Arabic so I don’t know if the innit was in there, but I thought I’d add it for an extra texture.
At the end it was Common Class all the way, and yes they also sat me next to a fat smelly lady. On the other side was a pervy short man who seemed to have a thing for slipping his hand a tad too close to my bare legs. Not a comfortable look. Six hours later, feeling slightly violated and cornered, we arrived at our Stop-Over of Hell – eight whole hours in Dubai.
Now, I wouldn’t want to be prejudiced but women like me are not welcomed in countries like Dubai. An oxymoron, if you think about it. Every time I lifted my bottom from a seat and went for a wander around the multiple Chanels and Armanis that peppered Duty Free, a sea of men clad in the most typical Muslim garments would run to the toilets for a wank. I could hear the swishing as I went – and I got to say it felt good.
By the time I got to the flight that was to take me to my final haven, I didn’t know anymore what time it was, who I was or my raison d’etre in life as a whole. The next seven hours were of torture as my stomach begged for arrival, for a bed, a valium at least. It was all denied to the poor thing. Seeing my agony, the flight attendant stared being extremely solicitous, giving me a medicine here, a smile there, and a word of comfort every so often to keep me at peace. Next thing you know he was licking me dry in the toilets – you can’t beat service in occasions such as this.
And finally, an orgasm and a few pills later, I arrived in Beijing. The door to a whole new phase in a life where every chapter lasts four pages. Nearing death, I somehow made my way to my friend Chanel’s pad. I can see we’ll be having a ball.
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