Best of Asian Erotica, Volume 2

She then helped by turning around and bending over, spread legs wide, while gripping the back of the sofa seat. She knew what she wanted. I put my hands underneath and lifted outer silk and inner petticoat, finding fleshy hand-holds and wet dew trickling down the inside of her thighs. I was soon rubbing my two palms up warm flesh and feasting my eyes on the curvature of her dimpled buttocks, scored with life-accumulated cellulite as if they were star-indents of real experience and accomplishment, not the bane of some prurient weight-watcher’s programme. Yes, she was most un-Hollywood, an unabashedly dimpled daughter of the sea, a traveller’s insulation against cold days and lonely nights. She was ever-prepared for picnic or camper fun, carrying like a small jumbo-her own howdah of excess baggage.

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.