Current song playing : Wonderwall by Oasis
Because maybe
You’re gonna be the one who saves me ?
And after all
You’re my wonderwall
Fundamental.
Noticed my rapid prance.
This weekend was sweet, splendid and split me against the world.
Friday, lavish, repleting Japenese dinner continued with cocktails in the wine bar. Mojito and Martini, my pussy drinks. The thrill of getting to know a person’s past, present and future stirs mixed feelings in my gut. Moments later, his fingers started tossing my frizzy hair, I rested on his arms. We sat there for two hours on the black leather couch, puffing cigarettes, sipping on mint-flavoured alcohol, we laughed and shared what two person always do in the first proper dates. Appropriate conversation topics : family, childhood, high school, uni life, best friends. The party started, poor constructed band with painful female vocals singing Lady Gaga famous hits. Friendly butch offered drinks and lollipops, the bad air ventilation and awful music kept me there for 30 mins, I hinted him I wanted to be at somewhere else. An hour of waiting in the hotel lobby, I settled for chilled Moët & Chandon with raindrops outside. The stake of baring the black dress, putting on his pink Polo Ralph Lauren shirt with my black lacy panties sticking evidently half of my bum was minimal. Jumping on that bed with dazed of light alcohol consumption, he stroked my back, held on to my waist and soon enough, I was dreaming on his arms under the blanket.
Saturday begins. Snuggling on the leather couch, flipping TV channels, pleasant breezy air out the balcony. The one week old necklace broke, I was restless, cursed. Birthday lunch, shopping vouchers, sinful Tiramisu from Alexis. Girlfriends you can spill dirty secrets to, the great results of sex toys, fascination of threesome, oral sex and other petty sex stories. Window shopping for the perfect dildo, I will distinctly keep them for a longer time now.
Sunday splits my heart apart. I was baffled in his arms. My wet hair flicked on the pillow, I drowned for six peaceful hours. Establishing curves and rhythms, he peeked a few seconds, placed his head on my shoulder, gently tracing the lines of scent on my bare neck. I pulled both his arms nearer to my frail body. Bliss and belonged.
The drive uphill with foreign mother tongue I couldn’t comprehend, I lightly nap with my grey cardigan wrapped on my body. Being 21, entering the sin city, welcome smiles and greetings in the exclusive VIP room, I glanced the room filled with rich tai-tais (to qualify as a Tai Tai, she has to have lots of leisure time, lots of money to spend and lots of gossip to exchange.) and loud chinese merchants. Minimum bet of RM 500 per game, I was people watching. Observing sinful deeds, throwing chips on the Baccarat table, I spared the ache of ringgits wasted on each game. Player, Banker and Tie, the frequent game stands with an experienced gambler rubbing the cards while others silently screamed “Picture!”. A game of chance, fair chance. To gamble is to risk chances away. The only vice that keeps me sanity, taking chances. An hour of poor decisions, lost a man thousands of ringgit. We proceeded to the room provided by the casino to rest, I shut my eyes and rest my head on that fluffy pillow. Prancing back to that room filled with chips and rich merchants, the losing of money in the game of risk and chances is distressing, I prefer sitting in Starbucks, sipping my hot Chamomile tea served with heated banana chocolate muffin. I did so. Hoping for chilling air breezed on my skin failed, we conversed and laughed with exchanged of lighters lighting the cigarette pressed on my lips.
Driving back to our congested city, they brought me to the luxury shopping mall searching for a light jacket for a ten month old boy. Brand-conscious father was easily lured by DKNY, Ralph Lauren, Burberry for babies. He reached for that tiny DKNY fire-engine red jacket and paid a heavy sum to please the child’s mother. A well-deserved heavy late lunch for four dined by three hungry gamblers. An hour later, the falling of raindrops on the car’s windscreen slowly brought me back to reality. It was end of the dazing weekend.
A good buddy itched for sips of Guinness Stout blamed me for religiously tempting him to our favourite Stout station, Sid’s Pub. BBQ pork ribs, fisherman’s pie and some perfect pints of Guinness Stout. I was sarcastically teased all night, it pays to be ditzy at times. My weekend ended with a light buzz and six hours of dead sleep. Comes the weird dream.
