In the overwhelming presence of Big, I wondered why thin was so sought after today? I now realized how more comfortable it was to ride a fleshy she-mammal, rather than fearing you might crush some bony sea-horse with an exposed skeleton, like Pearl Lin.

But it wasn’t just about size or dimension. Desire was clearly a set of guided responses, manufactured and cultivated by aesthetics that differed from place to place around the globe and were also different during other periods of history. The ample body of June Park from Jeju-do now made me realize that life was meant to be big, broad-minded and ever-generous, not skinny, calculating and mean-hearted.

She bent over more to let me moisten her crevice with saliva, yet there was no need. She had already thoughtfully applied lubricant and I found myself hardening again, ready to caress the rosy petals of this Everywoman’s lower mouth.

Instinctive as a diver, I entered carefully, my member raised like a shellfish trident, the tool used to prise loose the pearl of an arching clitoris.

I fitted and rode her standing, working the hump-backed mammal into deep water, riding the wave of our lust without fear of failing, until I came to the precipice of climax and withdrew, controlling myself a little, then flipping her over like the underside of a ribbed crayfish. Her silk-dressed back now skewered gently to the top of the sofa chair, I opened her legs gently again, exploring wet loins up to her waist with hands carefully spreading the silk and petticoat cotton. Then, down-kneeling, I kissed and tongued the red anemone within that sea-crevice, finding her taste as authentic as the brine of the sea.

I stood and entered again, from the front now, looking into her eyes which met mine equally and with happiness as I thrust again and again, fully fountaining, releasing my milky beer and merging guttural yeses with the reciprocal moans she was uttering.

If a man has limits, these are not found in a woman who can still ache on for an interminable time, imploring her diver to go deeper and deeper. I tried and tried and then failed happily, until there was nothing left of my white blow to eke out for either of us. Spent, I lay across her like an octopus, limp on a hoard of sea-catch, joined to the mother-lode and a larger sense of the globe than what I had previously allowed myself to experience. As I came back to consciousness, I felt her arms like soft feelers at my back. The lit aquarium continued to gurgle and the fish schools did their jazz-jive to DVD music in the background.

‘June. I feel incredible.’ We came back to the couch.

‘This hang-bok was my mother’s,’ she said. It’s special. I don’t really wear it much. It’s mainly for special occasions, but tonight I wanted to wear it for you. Even Wang hasn’t seen it.’

I felt special. ‘I will always treasure this,’ I said. Then she poured me more Mokgeolli. I now realized why this ritual was done with the right hand holding the bottle and left hand on the elbow. This was clearly to make sure the hang-bok’s sleeve didn’t drip into the wine cup.

‘Actually, it is a bit old and delicate. I never made love with it on before.

I thought it would be a fun idea, something a sensitive man like you would appreciate. But let me go and take it off now. Okay?’

With that, she disappeared into the bedroom. I sat there feeling pleased with myself so I took another slice of the pizza-pancake and washed it down with wine.

Soon she was back wearing a matching bathrobe. ‘You must be hungry’ she said. I nodded, but to tell the truth, I was fully satiated on a deeper level.

It didn’t matter now whether or not I ate food.

‘Let me finish the pasta.’ She did her work quite quickly and allowed me to mind-drift for a while.

‘Hey, I recognize this furniture. Is it from Wang’s warehouse?’

‘Yes, it is. A gift.’ She didn’t say more.

Before long, she had brought two steaming mountains of curlicue pasta with sauce, made room on the table and then proceeded to put the first few forkfuls into my mouth. After getting me lovingly started, she proceeded with her own and began to eat with concentration. We didn’t talk, but she looked up from time to time to smile at me.

Dinner done, I tried to get up and clear the plates, but she shook her head. ‘Leave them,’ and dumped mine on top of hers at the end of the coffee-table.

‘Let’s drink,’ she said. We poured again for each other, said ‘One shot’ and downed our cups… again and again.

From then on, we passed the night hardly speaking but nestled together in our matching robes, watching the dance of the pretty fish and becoming tipsier and tipsier until I passed out on her shoulder.

I woke mid-morning and found myself nestled nakedly against an equally naked mountain. She had somehow transferred me to her bed and she was still snoring lightly beside me. I pulled back the sheet and looked at the whole side of her bulging body. She looked beautiful, still.

Beauty, I thought, is just a mental construction of emotions felt for its object. Beauty shifts and changes like weather, according to the eye of the beholder. Beauty is electricity lighting the lamp and illuminating the fish tank.

I would never be able to think of a fat person in the old light again, I realized, and ran my hand over her rump to reassure myself that this realization was indeed real and would last.

The touch of my hand climbing up and down June’s sleeping coastline began to tickle her and, suddenly, she woke with a start.

‘Oh, Gerald, are you still here? What happened? What time is it?’

‘I think we’ve overslept.’ There was a digital alarm clock on my side of the bed. ‘It’s 11.45.’

‘What? Mr Wang will kill me! What time is your flight?’

‘One-thirty,’ I answered.

‘Hurry up. Get dressed. We must go to the hotel and pack your things.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I could stay on a day longer.’

‘No, no. You cannot. Mr Wang is not available. You must get up. We have to get your papers signed, remember?’

Conscience struck. ‘Oh yes, the contract. I had completely forgotten that.’

‘Quick now. Jump in the shower.’ Reluctantly I obeyed orders, showered and shaved when I saw an electric razor there, and then splashed on some cologne from June’s shelf.

APHRODITE

Suzanna Kusuma, Indonesia

Scene 1: Sunset

Under corrugated roofs, silky bed sheets, her whispers and sounds are carried off in the hiss of traffic from nightfall towards dawn. Sun falls.

With it, streaks of fog lurk and hover over quiet alleyways. Mice skitter around plundering morsels of leftovers. The wasted moon overlooks. A drooping silent witness to the frolics… A watchful tower to the jealousies and rivalries spurred by her whimsical gestures that entice and provoke men who find in her both the goddess they worship and the witch they would torture and kill.

Kali Jodoh is rows of unlicensed shag houses along the heavily polluted Ciliwung River, somewhere in West Jakarta district. The river stench mingled with cheap alcohol lures bystanders and travellers alike. Curiously drawn to the bright yellow spots of kerosene lamps burning through gaps of asymmetrical doors (invitingly loose and fragile), motorcyclists buzz in and out of the alleyways while quietly picking up and dropping off passengers.

Further into the alley, in some hidden nooks and corners, are glimpsed silhouettes of luxury cars which at the sign of dawn would swerve quietly away, leaving their spots empty for food peddlers. It is also not uncommon to find police cars among these luxury cars.

The dense flow and murmur of old Ciliwung River permeates the night .