Pink House

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lovingpenfull
Posts: 119
Joined: August 10th, 2005, 10:52 pm
Location: USA

Pink House

Post by lovingpenfull » August 14th, 2005, 12:19 pm

Out of the backpacker ghetto, into the dusty streets, my friend and I are on foot looking for one of Phnom Penh's many '63' streets. It runs through one of the many Vietnamese parts of town. There is to be a cheap Pink House still open after all the Cambodian government's recent, half hearted purges of brothels and prostitution. Ignoring the superflorious hords of motorbike taxi men asking to take us to some dump somewhere, four to a bike, no problem, we proceed past emanciated gutter dwellers and juvenile beggars down the main drag. Once in a Nam Viet part of town, we pass a place we had visited before, not the one we want, pricey and a little too conventional. We are looking for noteworthy experience and it is serendipitously come accross some blocks further down the street as a man rushes out from under a doorway and grabs hold of my Japanese friend's arm. We are ushered in through rusting accordeon steel gates and into a small room where cable television has someone riding a helecopter over a city. People laze around on fake leather sofas, maybe sleeping. Our escort leads us up a set of stairs with a ceiling low even for Asians and through a dripping kitchen into the fabled Pink Room. Pink florestent lights dilute the blue of the plastic lawn chairs the ladies slouch in into a white color. They watch some cable television program that has a bustle in some place that looks a lot like Las Vegas. The many heads of sleak, black hair of every lady have each a streak of pink from the single light except the one that hurries toward the customers just entered. We are shown blue chairs to sit in as the less ambitious ladies advance slowly to sit near or on us and ask questions in a jumbled mix of English, Vietnamese and Khmer. We ask how much, and we are impressed that they don't inflate the price for us as foriegners. Three dollars for a few minute's massage and 'boom boom', the universal term for sex of some description. I agree to go with the woman that first sat us down and soon I am being pulled through an actual hole in the wall with the bricks peeking out from behind the plaster into a dark hallway that leads into a particle board partitioned room with an egg carton cushion mattress covered in a garishly colored sheet. Magazine cut outs and photographs bespeckle the thin wall, and condom wrappers litter the floor. The squeek of rodent is muffled by the woman's rustling of plastic. She's preparing cigarette tin foil to be used as a surface for heating a nugget of sorts. First she heats the foil to burn away the paper lining one side of it, and the piece of intoxicant is smoked with a series of of sharp inhalations. After she is finished she wraps herself in a towel and removes her clothing underneath it. I just strip and peel away her towel once on the foam bed. I unfurl a 'love rubber' down and around my drawn love lance, and move to invade her soverign corporal territory. She accepts my advance like a like an old rag absorbs soap water, impassionately and slowly, but inevitably all the same. This is her job. I try to emotion as much meaning and love into it as possible, but she is just not into it; dry. It pains her a few minutes into it, so I stop. My Japanese friend is in the Pink area waiting as he has decided to take his girl out back to our guesthouse. I meet him and he wants me to take one too, he pays for me to have a different one, and we get motorbike taxis back to the backpacker area where the Western chicks eye me with distaste as we enter our rooms. Up in my room, we go about the pleasantries and she is not too disenchanted with her life yet to be too jaded to feel the love vibe and I am soon sweaty and her head is going side to side, gasping, and this is what I bother for, mutual appreciation. Pulled muscles and a certain smell about everything, I go to check on my friend in his room...
I am looking for a home for my thoughts.

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