Best of Asian Erotica, Volume 2

Once upon a time there lived a village in the Indo-Malay region who worshipped the Sea. The latter, with its tempestuous mood swings, is a vast forbidding presence to the villagers who cower themselves away upon seeing a sheer flash of lightning in its horizon. Trembling, they would cover their heads, shut their eyes tight, mutter prayers and chants. It is not obvious what it is of the Sea that they fear, for they settle quite a distance away from the coast and they certainly don’t rely on it for their living. They are neither swimmers nor fishermen.

But for every little disaster that falls upon them, it is the image of the Sea’s silvery claws crawling underneath and its thundering wrath that shake their conscience and make them kneel for forgiveness-though it is not apparent what misdeeds they have done to earn this reprimand.

Once the Sea stole upon them and took their animals, children, elders and weak ones. Convinced it was the end of their days, they waited for the Sea to sweep their remaining lot away.

Weeks and months passed without work, without sleep. But the Sea remained calm and unaffected. Coupled with clear blue skies twinkling shine on its undulating surface, it seemed content and pleased even.

Observing this agreeable mood, it was then agreed among the villagers that what they needed to do was offer gifts to the Sea. It was also agreed that it should be done at each complete cycle of the moon. With this resolution, the villagers recommenced their daily routine, taking comfort from the ritual sacrifices they communally made to the Sea.

On a slab of rock beaten by waves, kneeling over the sprawled lifeless body, he caressed and admired the soft features of her nose, mouth and cheeks. His palms pressed on her breasts, then her belly, futilely stroking and massaging them. As he entered her, he met his face with hers turned everlastingly silent towards the sea and whispered in his native tongue his desire and worship of her. He stayed with her till dusk fell, when he had to continue on with his journey southwards to his people.

She blinked to a ray of sunlight resting on her wet eyelids. Quietness surrounded her. For a long while, she lay, unknown to herself if she were living or dead. Gradually, she heard sounds coming from the Sea and felt the wind on her cheeks. She was soon awakened to her arms, limbs, hands and feet. The entire weight of her body came to her. Feeling cold, weak and thirsty, she finally gathered herself up and treaded her way slowly towards the island.

It was her mother who first saw and quickly covered her naked body with a large piece of cloth. The night she was to be given to the Sea, she had said goodbye to her only daughter. The woman she now saw was not her daughter. She knew this as she led her into the house and rested her in her daughter’s bed. The next day she was presented to the villagers who gazed at her with wonder and awe. Not a few thought of her as the incarnated goddess of the Sea or, if that’s too big a thought, at least as the one chosen and favored by the Sea-but to what purpose they were not sure. She was feared and admired all at once.

Months passed. The woman who was her mother continued to care for her until it became clear to the villagers that a child of the Sea was to be expected.

They built a tall house for her to live with her son, with an altar erected at the front terrace for the villagers to offer prayers and sacrifices. She chose its location, on a steep cliff jutting outwards to the Sea. Every day, mother and son would climb down the cliff to the shore. Her son was nurtured by the Sea and grew from the Sea. They shared and taught what they knew to the villagers, who remained timid but, all the same, curious. Eventually, many of them learned to swim and, with their fine carpentry skills, built rafts and boats to venture further into the Sea. In no time, the entire village was converted to swimmers and fishermen who no longer trembled before the Sea, but embraced her moods along with the riches she yielded.

Some nights lit by the full moon, the woman would be seen on the shore with her knees bent and spread wide apart. Waves, one after another, lapped in and out, over her legs, thighs and belly, as she hums her song of gratitude, homage and desire for her ethereal lover.

On these nights, many women lose virginity to their pining lovers and many widows seek comfort from friends and strangers alike. And the sounds coming from the Sea gently rock and cradle the villagers to sleep.

The Phoenix Tattoos

Richard Lord, Singapore

It was probably because he was at Spinelli’s that day. He was really a Coffee Bean person. His drink was cappuccino, and neither Spinelli’s nor Starbucks has the right cup for cappuccino. Their cups are all tall and thin, so you get all the milk and foam at once and only reach the coffee when you near the end of your drink.