“Well, if we fall in love with a new person, then that’s fine. That’s not something we can control.” You look bit cool.

“What you mean that’s fine? What you mean we can’t control? We can, if we want!” I say, as strong as woman warrior.

So we change subject. We know we can’t go anywhere. Anything else we can talk under one same roof? Apart from the lovely tea, salad, and learning new vocabularies?

“When is your national day?” I ask.

“Why on earth do you want to know that?”

“Not important day for you?”

“Not particularly. We call it St. George’s Day. It is some time in April or May, I can’t remember.”

I don’t know who is St. George. Or maybe he is someone like Chairman Mao. I don’t want bother myself to know all these dead people.

So we are speechless again.

“So, when is your birthday?” you ask me.

“July 23, but that’s not my real birthday. My mother only know my birthday in Chinese moon calendar date and when Western calendar system introduced into our society she forgot.”

“Seriously?” Your face is lighted.

“Yes, we never had birthday cake in our family for ceremony so why you need the date of birth? Only because the official registration,” I say.

“But what about your passport? What date is written on your passport?”

“I wrote any Western date I think of and authority just print it on my passport.” How exciting to you, this subject.

I carry on: “My father doesn’t know his birthday, because his parents died when he was little child. My mother know her birthday is on the fifteenth day of seventh moon, is the day of Hungry Ghost Festival. So all her life is about keeping away from that hungry day.”

colony

colony n. 1. a group of people who settle in a new country but remain under the rule of their homeland; 2. a territory occupied by a colony; 3. a group of people or animals of the same kind living together.

The way you make love with me, is totally new experience in my life. Is sex suppose be like this? Penetrating is way for you to enter into my soul. You are so strong. And your strength is overwhelming. For you, I am unprepared. You crush me and press me into your body. Love making is a torture. Love making is a battle. Then I get used it, and I am addicted by it. The way you hold my body is like holding small object, an apple, or a little animal. The force from your arms and your legs and your hip is like force from huge creature living in jungle. The vibrate from your muscle shakes my skins, the beating of your heart also beating my heart.

You are the commander.

You kiss my lips, my eyes, my cheek, my ears, my neck, and my silver necklace. It is like my necklace having a special magic on you. And that magic force you devote yourself to my body. Then you kiss my breasts and you suck them. You are like baby who is thirsty for mother’s milk. You lick my belly and my legs and my feet. You possess my whole body. They are your farm. Then you come back to my garden. Your lips are wandering in my cave, and in that warm and wet nature you try find something precious, something you always dream about. You wander alone there and love there and want live there.

My whole body is your colony.

June

*

prostitute

prostitute n. a person who offers sexual intercourse in return for payment-v. 1. to make a prostitute of; 2. to offer (oneself or one’s talents) for unworthy purposes.

I need develop my Western life so I go Charing Cross Road try to find some cooking books. I want know how to make Western food, like pastas, or Yorkshire pudding. I am ended up in Soho Original Bookshop. There are no kitchen books here, apart How to Make Love and Cook Dinner at the Same Time. Lots of books here exposing naked body. Prostitute, I read this word from one of photo books. The pictures are shocking. I am standing there and reading the whole book. Bodies, strange costumes, strange positions, more bodies having sex together.

Soho, Berwick Street. My feet can’t move away from a sex shop. Some leather bras with two hole in middle, some leather belt, some handcuff…

A word loin written on some instructions, which I never studied before. Standing in front of these shelfs, I check my Collins dictionary.

loin n. part of the body between the ribs and the hips; cut of meat from this part of an animal-pl. hips and inner thighs.

loincloth n. piece of cloth covering the loins only.

There is no more explanation. I hate this dictionary. Where is an exactly inner thigh? And what loincloth look like? Do people wear loincloth everyday?

Putting my dictionary back into pocket, I find shopkeeper stares at me like a tiger. And there are two old mans, both are bald, they stare at me too. I leave the shop.

Red light district.

One, two, three, four, five, six…I am changing the notes to coins.

I am in peepshow room. It is tiny room for one person to stand, and I can see turning stage through little hole.

I insert the coin of the first pound, and start watching a woman shows her nude.

She is a blonde. Shining hair like golden velvet. She is young. She wears a tight shining top. Her lower body is also covered by piece of shining cloth. Is that the loin cloth? Now she uncovers herself. She has a fine round breast, like two summer grapefruits. Her skin is a little dark, like she just coming back from sunny beach.

The peep hole close. I insert second pound. The light turns into red. Now her sex is bathed in redness. She lies down on round stage, which covered by red velvet. The stage is turning, slowly, smoothly.

I insert third pound. She is opening her legs. The legs of white jade. She smiles to everybody; even the place between her legs is smiling. Her garden is flirting with the world around it. She has a rosy garden, which two lips half opened like waiting for the kiss. I never saw other woman’s garden before. It shocks my eyes. I remember one day when you and me making love, you give me small mirror to reflect the place between my opening legs.

“That’s your clitoris,” you tell me.

“Liquorice?”

I found there my colour of my sex is brown. I never know the colour of my sex before.

I insert fourth pound. Now her hidden place is totally exposed, showing her secret landscape. Then her right hand caress her valley of the tenderness. Her long slim fingers, reaching her sex, are like a beautiful ballet dancer dancing in her garden. She fondles her valley, up and down, gently, and again and again. Two petals blossom in her wet garden. The petals are fresh like rose. Her bush is dark, like a fertile delta, a delta connecting to a secret path. She looks light heated. But her face disappears, only the desire talks to people.

I insert the fifth pound. Now she lays her back on the stage, raising her two legs high above.

– Yin Dao: the tunnel of darkness, that is Chinese word to say vagina. Her tunnel of darkness is right in front me. Her secret tunnel, winding and curved, is like a maze. Inside of the tunnel is pink and juicy, like an open fig.

The peep hole close off again, and I insert into my last pound. She still there. Her naked body moving on the red velvet. What her name? What her life like? Is there man in her life or lots of mans? Where she from? Serbia? Croatia? Yugoslavia? Russia? Poland?