Best of Asian Erotica, Volume 2

She memorized the velvety heft of his penis in her hand as she bid him farewell by kissing him along the shaft. After her lover had let himself out of the tiny studio flat, she stretched herself out on the sheets like a contented oriental odalisque and dozed for a while, dreaming contentedly as another bright and muggy new day began dawning in Bangkok, the City of Angels.

The Sex Thing with the Tempoyak

Amir Muhammed, Malaysia

Zeb and Sarah had been having sex for nine and a half months, and she was starting to get bored. It wasn’t that she would openly yawn during sex or anything, but she would find her thoughts flying to places other than the man who was actively in bed with her-such as whether she’d remembered to pay the electricity bill, as they were so quick to cut off the supply the last time.

She didn’t bring up the topic in case he got offended. Besides, this was an unusually long relationship for her, so she figured that it was inevitable for the initial excitement to fade away after a while. It was probably the natural course of things. Weren’t there more important things in a couple’s life-

mutually enriching adventures that they could embark on together? Maybe they could get season tickets for the Malaysian Philharmonic or something; she’d always vaguely wanted to cultivate an interest in classical music. So she pretended to enjoy the sex and just kept quiet-or rather, just made the unquiet sounds he would expect to hear. After all, she loved him and hoped the feeling was still mutual.

Zeb, however, was fully aware that Sarah was getting bored with him in bed. He noticed it in a certain glaze that came over her eyes, and since they always kept the lights on during sex, he would get to see every little thing in those eyes that he loved so much. He didn’t bring up the topic because he didn’t want her to get defensive, which might trigger their first fight. It was an unusually long relationship for him, too, but he wanted to make it even longer. So he continued performing his sexual duties the best he could, while thinking of a plan to make things better.

One night in December, he suddenly thought of something. It was an idea that seemed to him quite fine, and so he started grinning. Luckily, Sarah was already asleep by then, so she didn’t have to wonder at this sudden, unexplained cheer.

Twenty-four hours later-after they’d both been to work and back separately, as was their usual weekday routine, the only difference being that this time Zeb had made an extra stop along the way home at a dusty bookshop named Toko Junk-they found themselves in bed again.

They were in the middle of foreplay, and without looking up at her face, he could sense (at the most subliminal level) that her enthusiasm was less than his. He suddenly stopped what he was doing. She noticed the change in the usual rhythm and opened her eyes. He was no longer in bed, but standing beside it.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, hitching herself up.

‘Wait till you see this,’ he said, and walked to a large paper bag that he’d left on the dresser. He removed something from the bag and walked back, joining her in bed. She accepted the thing; it was a hardcover book, exquisitely bound in burgundy and obviously old, but written in a script that she didn’t understand.

‘It’s an ancient Javanese sex manual,’ he explained.

‘It doesn’t look Japanese.’

‘No, JaVAnese,’ he corrected her. ‘Luckily, it’s a language I can read.

It’s called the Serat Centhini and it’s from the early 19th century. It’s sometimes referred to as the Southeast Asian

Kama Sutra because it’s so sexually explicit. During the course of the story-and yes, unlike the Kama Sutra, there is actually a strong narrative-there are many lessons on how men and women can best pleasure each other, because sexual ecstasy is seen as something that can help people attain spiritual enlightenment.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘You can Google it; the book exists!’

‘No, I mean I don’t believe you can read it. Who on earth reads ancient Javanese?’

‘I learned it from my grandfather. Look, I’ll prove it to you,’ he said, and he lay back against a raised pillow, getting her to do the same against the other one. The pillows, nice and big, were from IKEA.

He put his right arm around her shoulder while his left hand flicked open the musty tome at a random early page. He started reading aloud. The words sounded incantatory, even frightening, as if he were putting a curse on her.

She half-expected the room to start filling up with kemenyan incense. He read out a whole page, the fingers of his left hand travelling down the book while those of his right hand, almost unconsciously, touched various parts of her.

When he was done, he had a slight frown.

‘It’s very strange,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure I get it.’

‘Why, what is it?’ she asked, getting curious in spite of herself.

‘It’s describing an esoteric sex ritual involving tempoyak.’

‘ Tempoyak?’