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With the passage of time, finding Russian escorts in KL has become easy due to the advent with the internet. The internet has been pondered as one of the best places to find out a number of agencies finding out Russian escorts in KL. You are recommended to choose an agency popular for providing well educated, advanced, intelligent and beautiful ladies. The girls would accompany their clients wherever they want to go. Apart from the exceptional services, they also train girls to please their customers.
If you want to only pick out a girl for sex only, you have to tell them up front. Just tell them you want to see the ladies. A captain will then help you out. They will lead you out to the cafe area where the ladies are normally paraded around to show you what girls are available. Once you've picked out your lady the lady will take you to a private room for the 1 shot 45 minute sex session which cost about RM 198. Remember you pay up front if you're only there to have sex with the ladies and don't want to use the sauna facilities.
If you want to go enjoy the sauna, steam room, jacuzzi, food and drinks from cafe, followed by time with a 45 minute 1 shot alone time with hooker then say you want the full package and you want to use the sauna first. Bond Spas full package cost RM 238. You pay this amount plus the price of any ladies you've screwed when you check out and leave.
You can get traditional massage as well as spa services like facials and body scrubs at an extra cost. If are interested in those services you can find a price menu in the cafe. The cost for these extra treatments will also be paid when you check out.
For the full spa package you have a choice of leaving your valuables in a deposit box where they will hand you the keys. I normally don't leave my things in the deposit box as the locker rooms in my opinion is quite safe and secure already. Magnetic Locker Key and Safety Deposit Key - I wear the both of these during my entire stay.
Then you get an electronic locker key which also has the number of the locker. The number on your locker key is the same number the captains use to keep track of how many ladies you choose so you can be charged accordingly.
E2 Spa Club and Sauna in Kuala Lumpur Malaysia.
Address: Wisma Mpl, Jalan Raja Chulan, Kuala Lumpur, Wilayah Persekutuan Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.
I didn't make a video on how to walk to E2 Spa but it's very easy and straight forward. Though you can check their website which has plenty of info on how to get there. I suppose you can get there by taking the monorail to Jalan Raja Chulan Station. However, if you scroll down you'll see the info about Genesis Spa. You can walk from Genesis Spa to E2 Spa in about 10 minutes.
E2 Spa is also on the 3rd floor and it is managed by the same group as Bond Spa. And there are many similarities such as a large selection of ladies from China and all over Southeast Asia and professional customer services. The captains are just as friendly and helpful as the ones over on Saboon. Follow the drive way down and you'll see a set of elevators in the building to the right.
Even though both are run by the same group they are just as competitive however. E2 Spa however edges Saboon in the facilities department. Since it is housed in a larger building E2 has more much more space. Especially if you want to snooze and have some quiet time, E2 has a lot of large reclining lazy boys to chill out on. And the bathrooms are a whole lot cleaner so staying there overnight is a better option. E2 Spa has a larger jacuzzi but smaller sauna room.
And also E2 has a few more nationalities in their line up. So besides the usual PRC, Vietnam, Thai girls and local Malay they also provide just a few ladies from Mongolia and Russia. While I was there at the time there were no Russian girls available however.
Just to help you out a bit C Package means Chinese girl, V Package means Vietnamese , T Package means Thai girl, L Package means local Malay girl. M Package means Mongolian girl and R package stands for Russian.
Several evenings later, Mazlan keys in "independent social escort" and uncovers a few advertisements.
Several pictures of a brown-skinned girl, who calls herself Latifah, appear in a blog. Her eyebrows have been plucked and drawn at a rakish angle, her symmetrical lips are sealed in an expression of coquettishness, and her wide-spaced eyes are heavily made-up. She charges RM500 for a short session, and claims to be a Formula 1 Grid Girl.
He emails her for an appointment and her reply requests for his age, race and cell phone number. He complies and receives a request for a fifty percent deposit to be banked into her account. She also reveals her cell phone number.
Mazlan calls. ‘Hello, Latifah?’
‘Yes, I am. You’re Mazlan?’
‘Yah. Why do you need a deposit?’
‘Someone played a prank on me before.’ Her euphonious voice stirs Mazlan’s heart. ‘Made appointment but he didn’t show up. If you’re serious, I want a deposit. I guarantee I’m the girl in the blog.’
Mazlan banks in the payment, and on the appointed day, he receives a text message instructing him to go to a room in a two-star hotel in Bukit Bintang.
When Mazlan knocks on the door, a bearded European with a receding hairline appears. ‘Yes? Who are you looking for?’
‘Er – is there a Latifah here?’
‘No, no. I’m alone.’ The man, reeking of beer, shuts the door.
Maybe Latifah has given him the wrong room number? Sitting in the lobby, he calls Latifah’s cell phone but all he hears is a busy tone. He tries five more times, at ten-minute intervals. The phone is switched off.
Jeannie takes a sip of water from a tulip glass, leaving a lipstick stain on its edge. ‘Unbelievable, but it’s true.’ Charles and Candy, hands entangled, appear at the side of our table. ‘Hey, sit down and talk to my friend. He’s writing a book.’
Candy looks at her Cartier watch. ‘Actually, we only have fifteen minutes more before our time’s up. But the driver says he’ll be late. Traffic’s real bad.’ Charles pulls a chair out for her and they both sit down. ‘We can talk until he arrives,’ Candy says. She raises her hand to catch a waiter’s attention, and she and Charles order fruit juice.
I dunk the bag of Darjeeling tea in the cup a few times, and ask, ‘Candy, what kind of family do you come from? Strict? Lenient?’
‘My Papa was strict. He was a restaurant owner and also its cook. He only cared about me getting good grades, and disallowed all extra-curricular activities and late nights. I hated my childhood. I was not interested in studies, and had ambitions to be a singer, actress and model.’
‘Have you ever fallen in love with a regular client?’
‘Most clients fall in love with me instead of the other way round. Somehow, they don’t realize I’m just like an actress. One man told me personal things about his family and work. Then he showed me his I.C. and asked to be friends with me. It almost made me laugh.’
‘How long have you been in this line?’
She sips her watermelon juice. ‘Three years.’
‘What’s the ideal client like for you?’
‘Someone who’s well-groomed, polite and smells good. Strictly business, doesn’t ask for my personal phone number or about my private life.’
‘And what type of clients do you dislike?’
‘I hate a man who doesn’t respect my time and rates. The kind who’ll try to bargain for a discount or persuade me to stay a little longer in his room.’
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’
Address of Sky River Spa: Fahrenheit Shopping Complex (Rear Entrance), Jalan Bukit Bintang.
At Sky River Thai girls cost RM 198, I think Laos and Vietnamese girls cost RM 198 too. China girls cost RM 238. Russian girls cost RM 330. These prices are for 1 shot and you get 45 minutes time with girls.
Once you choose your girl the captain will look at your card and write down your 3 digit number. The lady you've chosen will take you to the room. I've been to Sky River at least 4 times and their rooms are as clean as it can be considering it's a brothel. The rooms are not tiny and cramped. And every room as a mirror by the bed which all you narcissist will enjoy.
Just like any other sauna spa in KL once you're finished with your lady you are welcome to hang out at the cafe and eat as much as you want from their limited menu.
I like Sky River even though they charge more. I mean if you choose one of their PRC girls you end up paying RM 238. While for that same price at Bond Spa you get full sauna access, food and a girl.
Yet Sky River hasn't been run out of business by their bigger competitor goes to show that the quality of their ladies must be pretty high in the eyes of local Malays. To me I don't see them having super hot girls. But they still do have some pretty girls.
Maggie leans forward on her desk, exuding a hint of jasmine. ‘Only a few purposes – to entertain clients, have fun with women, drink liquor, dance, or sing karaoke. In short, to enjoy themselves with high-class women.’ Her unblinking eyes shine with candidness.
‘Can you elaborate on the fun part?’
‘Customers who come to play with our hostesses go home either happy or disappointed. Disappointed clients are the inexperienced ones who end up choosing the wrong type of hostess. They ask me to recommend them new hostesses and assume that they can seduce them. They think such girls are easier to persuade to bed or to take advantage of. Actually, when a recruit joins us, I make it a point to stress to her that customers come here for fun, not to look for a wife. I remind her, make your customers fall in love with you, but don’t get emotionally attached to them. Sell sensuality, not sex. I teach the new hostesses how to behave seductively with their eyes, body language and conversation. Your clients must adore you, I always tell them. Then they’ll return more frequently.’
I nod my head and write at a scorching pace. ‘What do you mean by choosing the wrong type of hostess?’
Breaking away from Adeline and Honey is Ling, aged twenty-six, whose hometown is Johor Bahru. She presses the remote control, enters her Kia Spectra and flings her leather hobo bag on the floor of the passenger seat. It carries a bottle of Pro Care mouthwash, a packet of 003 Romantic Deluxe Condoms, a bottle of sweet almond aromatherapy oil, two cell phones, and a leather purse. Her purse carries an appointment card with a S.T.D. clinic and she faithfully goes for a medical check-up every month. Her side-door pocket carries a learn-Japanese CD. Her heart carries a desire to work in Roppongi in Tokyo. Her mind carries a plan of saving enough for plastic surgery so she can become beautiful enough to marry a rich man.
Janice, twenty-seven years old, strides to her car alone. She is carrying a Louis Vuitton leather bag on her shoulder and a hot pepper spray in her left hand. The bag carries the keys to her luxury condominium, a platinum supplementary card and a cheque for RM4,000 as monthly allowance – all courtesy of her sugar daddy. The back of her head bears a scar. It is a testament of the occasion when her sugar daddy’s wife caught her lover and her in a restaurant. The wife clobbered her on the head with the heel of her shoe, causing a laceration that required three stitches. Her heart carries high hopes that her lover, the forty-eight-year old CEO of a company, will start a family with her so she can be his mistress for life.
Perched on a bar stool and taking a deep drag from a cigarette, Stanley Tang, a business entrepreneur and a veteran night-clubber, says, ‘When you visit nightclubs, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Hostesses are human too, and sometimes they’re unhappy. If you’re unlucky, you may book a girl who’s just had a bitter argument with someone, so she may not be in the hospitable mood to give friendly service.
Janet takes a brown envelope from the pocket of her blouse and hands it over. ‘Please count. Six hundred.’
‘Thanks. These flowers are for the birthday girl. Where is she?’
Janet leads Robert to a large and heavyset woman smothering the cushion of a sofa, immersed in gossip with two ugly ladies. Her sheer size seems to amplify the mere act of breathing, which of course takes place through her mouth.
‘Oh, thank you.’ She thrusts her cheek forward for Robert to plant a wet kiss. The skin on her face is drawn as tight as that of a drum.
The singing of ‘Happy Birthday’ and the blowing of candles is over quickly, and everybody starts to snack. There are canelés, tea jelly, fish fingers, a lemon tart, mini pizzas, chicken nuggets, meatballs and foie gras on caramelized apples. A gigantic glass bowl brims with apple cider punch; another is filled with passionfruit sangria.
‘I’ll eat later’ Robert tells Janet when she offers him a plate. ‘It’s better not to perform on a full stomach.’
He goes to the bathroom to change into his tearaway pants and slips on a Pagoda brand cotton sleeveless singlet, which has a slit cut into the front. Earlier, he used a pair of scissors to make the slit himself.
Fifteen minutes later, Janet draws the curtains of the windows. ‘Ladieeeeesssssss!’ she calls. ‘Are you READY?’
‘Yessssss!’ scream the women.
‘Let’s have a round of applause for Robert!’
I endure an hour’s wait before going to the hall with Maggie to watch the ‘Miss Zimpaco Sexy GRO’ contest. Maggie tells me that the top three spenders for the past three consecutive months are among the judges. I take a long gulp of brandy and it flows like volcanic lava down my throat and settles in my stomach. Its effect bounces up through my body and my head like a heat wave. My face feels like it is on fire! Reflexively, my hand clutches the suede upholstery of the armrest of my chair.
Three loud bangs resonate in the hall. Colourful confetti showers onto the stage and the house band, comprising a guitarist, a drummer and a synthesizer, strikes up Ricky Martin’s ‘La Bomba’. Four couples spring out from the wings. They gambol on the platform, bending and kicking their legs rhythmically to execute a samba. An emcee announces the start of the contest. ‘Laaaaadies and geeeeentlemen...’ he booms. A musician begins a drumroll, and one by one, the twelve contestants sashay onto the stage to present themselves. Maggie says both the entry fees and contestants’ clothes are sponsored by the patrons (‘You gotta be kidding?’ I retort, but she’s serious), who are given front-row tables.
One girl is wearing shorts so tight that a slit forms at her crotch. Another is togged up in pants of such thin fabric that it shows her panty line. Contestant number eight, a strong contender for the title, is bedecked in a snug lacy top and knee-length godet skirt, and her silky, shiny hair is swept to one side. Another looker is wearing a pencil skirt that’s too short and a neckline showing excessive cleavage. She’s leaning more towards sluttiness rather than sexy elegance and is attracting wolf whistles.
Address: B2-6 Basement Level 2 Sungai Wang Plaza, Julan Sultan Ismail
This is another easy to find "health spa" in bukit bintang area. It's in the Sungwai Wang Plaza shopping center., just a little ways opposite from Berjaya Times Square Mall. The entrance is on the west side of this massive shopping center. I wouldn't go searching for this entrance within the mall. So it's best to walk outside. Green Elephant Executive Spa is on West side of Sungwai Wang Plaza.
Have you ever went into a place and you get this gut feeling you're not going to like what you're getting into. Well that's how I felt the first moment I stepped inside. Everything just didn't feel right. I went in around the evening time and it was quiet.
A captain quickly greeted me and he was a really nice guy. I asked about the sauna facilities and he was a bit hesitant in showing me but eventually did. Without going to explicit details lets just say you don't want to use what they've got. I wished the captain would leave me alone for a few minutes so I could take some photos.
And while we headed out of the "spa facilities" I saw a customer sitting down looking at the line up of girls. I think Green Elephant is just one of those places where guys go to get a quick release. And there's nothing wrong with that.
Anyways, I saw the girls and for me, they are not to my taste. Could be for somebody else of course. So if you're in the area you can always go in and check yourself. I didn't ask for the prices because there really was no point.
So those are the reviews for 8 health saunas and spas with hookers. From my research and asking around there are others in the area but not really much more and are in the same condition of Green Elephant. Which isn't a good thing. Though I think I've covered most of them in the Bukit Bintang area.
Overall it was fun running around and exploring different places. Sure there were some unexpected surprises but it was a good learning experience. And I can see myself coming back to Kuala Lumpur and checking out other places further out from the city.
Thanks for ur useful advice bro! Just went to Sky River SPA with one of the girl from vietnam I guess. She have very high rate of gfe. Really friendly girl. I dont know whether is plus or minus point for me is, when I do fuck thing we just got into very romantic one, and shit I forget to wear condom when we do it. Wish me luck bro hopefully I dont get those virus thing dude. when I done, I just so scare. Geez. Really dude, just wish me luck. Hopefully I didnt get anything serious.
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As soon as you walk in and turn right, you will see the reception area, where you will be handed a card with the number. These have rooms that capital will be used to record who or how many ladies you have chosen during your stay. There are many good and comfortable seating lazyboy as soon as you sit down the waiter would come and ask if you want something to drink or eat.
Food is also free as long as you choose a lady, and you can enjoy as much as you like. We can introduce Thai girls are, Laos, Vietnamese women, China girls, Russian girls.
This is not a large object, but not a big deal to most. This facility also provides a real massage. Square Cafe, however, is quite large, but very dark for my taste. When the captain called ladies and Spa Genesis does use a lot of ladies, mainly Chinese women.
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I did get a traditional Thai massage though which was really nice. My masseuse was from Thailand and she hinted I take off my shorts. She wasn't hot so did not opt for a hand job. But she gave one hell of a massage.
I didn't have a chance to take pics of massage cubicles but they look clean. There is a room filled with about 8 lounge chairs but I never took the chance to use them.
There is a small sauna room which wasn't working all too well. The sauna room shares space with some shower stalls and locker room. It's as is there spa services were a total afterthought. But that's not the biggest joke though.
Now I'm not a gourmet prick. Sometimes I'm not too choosy about what I stuff my face with. But if you're going to try and compete and win over customers it's probably best not to serve microwaved chicken nuggets. They have a tiny food service area and yes I know people don't come to these places to eat but I suppose I've been spoiled elsewhere.
This is one of the cheapest places on the list but as I mentioned it's not really full service. And I didn't ask to see what ladies they have available because I was just plain uninterested after coming across the granny they tried to stick me with.
In the menu are the prices for hostess time (RM60 per hour), ladies’ non-alcoholic drinks and bar grub. The items listed are nothing earth-shattering except for the prices, so we order two big bottles of Sapporo Premium Beer, fried mozzarella sticks, tortilla chips and deep-fried chicken wings.
A woman, wearing her hair in a shag with face-framing layers and an empire-waisted watermelon-red dress, strides to us across the plum-coloured carpet. Three hostesses pad along behind her.
‘Good evening, I’m Mummy Lulu,’ she says, extending her hand. ‘I’ve three very pretty GROs for you. All of them are very friendly. Who do you want?’
Like automobiles on display, they stand in a row facing us. At five foot three, the hostess on the left, with one hand on her hip, is wearing a beige pouf-skirted dress. She gives us a tight-lipped smile which makes me suspect that her teeth are ugly. ‘Angela,’ the mamasan says. In the centre, slouching slightly and cocking her head, a brown-skinned girl garbed in a tank top raises her left hand and wriggles four fingers at us, holding Ivan’s gaze and smiling. ‘Hi, guys!’ she chirps. Most likely a ‘girlfriend’ hostess, according to Maggie’s classification. ‘That’s Lina, short for Mazlina.’ A strapless dress beginning with a sweetheart neckline and ending with the shortest possible miniskirt on a five-foot-six body – endowed with 36-24-38 statistics – draws all attention from the other two girls. ‘Third GRO is Jessica,’ the mamasan informs us. Her face is fit for a beauty pageant.
Ivan, peering through coke-bottle spectacles, says,‘We’ll take Jessica.’
Holding a cell phone in her hand, she sinks gracefully down beside him. ‘How shall I address you?’ She has a broad forehead and high cheek bones that narrow to a small chin. Her cherry-red lipstick imparts sensuality to her fair complexion.
‘I’m Ivan, and he’s–’
‘Frankie,’ I lie, turning to look at her.
‘First time here?’
‘Yes, first time.’
‘You like my dress?’ she asks Ivan, looking down at it. ‘I bought it this morning at Fahrenheit 88.’
‘You’re gorgeous,’ is all he can manage.
‘Some GROs perform oral sex at GW Karaoke in Pudu, and a few GROs in SS Karaoke near Imbi Road – turn left – they can do a striptease show followed by a handjob,’ he says. ‘Don’t use the hot face towels in SS Karaoke and GW Karaoke – proceed straight ahead – the girls use them to wipe customers’ genitals after oral sex and masturbation. Right turn and try to park. In fact, in any karaoke, use only paper towels wrapped in plastic that are kept in the refrigerator.’ In front of a commercial block, I manoeuvre the car into a parking space, and we follow Charles to Kandy Karaoke, housed in two ground-floor lots.
Once we are inside, the captain approaches us. Charles tells him something and he takes us into a room with the words ‘VIP Room’ displayed on the door. An eight-seat, U-shaped sofa and a square, wooden coffee table are set facing a thirty-inch flat-screen wall-mounted TV monitor, a karaoke machine, two speakers and two subwoofers. The captain tells us the charges are RM75 for hostess time, with a minimum of two hours; the VIP room itself costs RM120 per hour and refreshments are priced at RM319++ for five jugs of beer, a plate of fruits, a plate of salted nuts and a plate of prawn crackers.
‘This room okay? Got attached bathroom,’ the captain says, his necktie swinging from side to side as he walks to the bathroom to open the door.
I pop my head in the washroom and a flush of adrenalin courses through my body. The six-feet by eight room is crammed with a washbasin, a gilt-edged mirror, a sitting toilet, and – of all things – a couch five feet long. A fat guy would probably have to walk sideways to get to the sitting toilet. Charles displays a thumbs-up to the captain who shows us the locations of the light and air-con switches before leaving, and everyone gets comfortable. A Myanmar waiter brings our drinks and tidbits and we start nibbling.
Charles and I are leaning back on the sofa, while Ivan is sticking his head forward like a tortoise protruding its head from its shell. Silence reigns for ten seconds or slightly more. Mummy Molly, sensing indecision on our part, says: ‘The Vietnamese girls are vulgar, daring, and their bathroom service is cheaper.’
‘How safe is the bathroom service?’ Charles asks. ‘What happens if there’s a raid?’
‘We’ve an alert system set up. The lights come on and a siren goes off for a few seconds so that our customers have a bit of warning.’
Charles points to Hong Hanh and nods his head. She settles beside him, tosses her dressing robe beside her, and puts an arm over his neck.
Ivan says: ‘I want Chen Chen.’ The tall lassie smiles, and sinks gracefully on the sofa.
I shake my head, and the rest of the party leaves the room.
We select a long list of songs, and the GROs load them using the remote control. Ivan and Chen Chen kick off with ‘Too Much, Too Little, Too Late’, and Johnny Mathis and Deniece Williams appear on the screen. Everyone applauds when the song ends.
She stands with her back facing us, and looks at us over her shoulder. She begins to unbutton her shirt, shrugging her shoulders slowly. She removes one arm and the bra strap comes into view. She removes the other arm, slips off the shirt and uses it to cover herself before turning over to face us. Then she gently drops her hands down the side of her body and the shirt drops to the floor, exposing a black lacy bra filled to the brim. She turns round again, sticks her butt out and arches her back, and unzips the side of her miniskirt in slow motion. Wriggling from side to side, she bends and pulls the miniskirt down to her calves, letting it drop to the floor, and steps out of it, one leg at a time. A pair of matching black lacy panties is revealed.
Suzie kicks off her five-inch stilettos and puts one leg on the coffee table. Then she slowly rolls down one black stocking using both hands and slips it from her leg. Holding one end of the stocking, she swings it in a slow circular motion a few times and drapes it around Ivan, who holds it to his nose! Then she lifts the other leg and rests it on Charles’ knee and gently pulls down the stocking, and Charles reaches out for it and balls it up, putting it in his shirt pocket. She looks Charles in the eyes, blows a kiss to him, and runs her hands upwards through her hair.
Suzie shows us her back again, slowly unhooks her bra, and holds it over her breasts. She turns to face us with a smile, holds one arm over her bosom and her free hand pulls the bra out from underneath, dropping it to the floor. Ever so slowly, she lowers her arm to reveal brown, round breasts with erect nipples bigger than fresh wolfberry seeds. After remaining still for a second, she wriggles her butt teasingly, then cups her breasts with both hands, and follows up with a shimmy.
For the finale, she turns around, and holds the straps of her panties at both sides and slowly wriggles out of them. Before our eyes is a bottom as round as a watermelon and bigger in size, that quivers under the saffron wall-lights. The panties drop to the floor, and she steps out of them, one leg at a time. Very slowly, she turns to reveal her womanhood. Sweating profusely, Ivan widens his eyes, swallows hard, and uses Suzie’s stocking to mop his brow. Charles, perched on the edge of the settee, chokes on his Sapporo beer and coughs. ‘Hack! Hack! Hack! Hack! Hack!’ He quickly puts the krug down on the coffee table and reflexively takes out the balled stocking from his shirt pocket to cover his mouth until the coughing stops.
‘Your sign says got karaoke?’ Muffled music is coming from somewhere.
‘Yes, behind.’ Opening a drawer, she takes out a pair of scissors and an electric clipper and lays them on top of the styling station. ‘I can go with you after the haircut. You need to tip me.’
She drapes a white sheet round me and starts the haircut, finishing it quickly. Next, she leads me to a sink for the shampoo and wash and back to the barber chair for a blow dry. When it is done, she asks me to lean backward, and she reclines the chair. She extends the foot-rest and calf-rest so that I lie almost horizontal on the chair.
She pulls a movable lamp near my right ear, whose glare makes me close my eyes.
First, she shaves my earlobe using a small razor (ee doe). Using a small, sharp, anointed stick (It’s called ‘ee fin’, she says.), she loosens the wax formation. The process tickles and sounds like a cave-in. Next, she uses the ee chiam, a pair of small tweezers, to take out the fairly big pieces of wax. She follows up by using the ee waa, a miniature spoon-like tool, to scoop out the tiny bits. Then, she cleans the ear with a ball of cotton wool dipped in an antiseptic, holding it with the ee chiam. Finally, she dusts my ear with a small brush. ‘This is called the ee so’ she explains. She moves the lamp to my left ear and works on it the same way.
She adjusts the chair so I am upright again. She holds her open palms together, and karate-chops my shoulders for a few minutes, moving her hands from side to side.
Glasses clink. ‘Kob khun ka.’ The girl sips her juice and extends her hand to Charles and I. ‘My name Maleen. Means flower.’
Her hand feels like a bag of soft chicken bones. She leans forward to Charles’s ear. ‘You want short time with me?’ Wow, she works fast. He smiles, inches closer to her and kisses her, slipping his tongue into her mouth. She reciprocates, exploring his mouth with her tongue.
‘How much?’ he asks, wiping his lips with the back of one hand.
‘Three hundred ringgit.’
‘Too expensive.’ He wraps an arm around her hip. A tactical mistake; it means he’s keen and price is the only consideration.
‘I’m not prostitute.’ She shakes her head and bats her eyelashes innocently. ‘I’m university student from Bangkok. I’m nineteen years old only.’
Fact or lie? Her lowered lashes veil a message I cannot decipher.
‘Gimme market price. Two hundred.’
‘No, I don’t do this always. I just need money urgently.’ She glances pitifully up at Charles.
‘Three hundred, we go karaoke bar. Then have short time.’ Charles asks.
‘Karaoke bar? What’s that?’
‘A bar to sing.’ Charles holds up an imaginary mike and puts it near his mouth.
‘Huh? Oral sex?’ Her eyes widen. ‘No, I don’t do that thing.’
I burst out in laughter that leaves me coughing. How could a university student not know what a karaoke bar is?
‘No, no, singing.’
The Thai girl hesitates. ‘Excuse me, I’m going to the toilet.’ She gets down from her stool and weaves between the tables to the back.
‘Hello. You dress well – I like that in a man. I’m Chloe.’ An accented voice drifts to him. A whiff of patchouli and amber enters his nostrils. Glancing over his shoulder, he sets eyes on the owner of the voice – an oval-faced girl with a slender nose and full symmetrical lips. Long, silky hair flows down her bare, cocoa-coloured shoulders, and her deep cleavage churns a whirlpool of desire in him.
He decides she’s the best looking among the lot. ‘I’m David. Please join me.’ He signals the waitress and she orders a drink and Mexican chicken tacos.
‘Let me be your girlfriend for this evening, okay?’ she says, smiling to display front teeth reminiscent of the rodent family.
They chat, dance, drink and eat. An hour passes before he pops the magic question: ‘Want to come to my hotel room?’ After agreeing on a price for an overnight session, they take a fifteen-minute stroll back to his hotel.
Inside the room, she opens the mini refrigerator. ‘What’d you like? Whisky, beer or rum?’
‘Rum.’ He sits on a chair, unties the laces, kicks off his shoes and peels off his socks.
Chloe prepares the drinks and hands one glass to him. Smiling, she toasts, ‘To happiness, to us’ and gulps down a mouthful.
David draws copiously from the glass. ‘Tonight is a night you’ll never forget!’
I sip my watermelon juice and ponder how tough life can be that a girl with an artificial breast must eke out a living as a prostitute.
I am sitting in the patio of Stardust, a dance club at Sultan Ismail Road. Though the night is young, several tables are filled with working ladies. Many of them are Thai and Vietnamese.
A fine-featured man with hair slicked back with brilliantine comes up to me and eyes me hesitantly.
I look at him. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’
‘Sorry, but have you seen this lady?’ He hands me an A3-sized photograph of a Thai girl. ‘She’s always hanging around the clubs here.’ The lass has pouched eyes, thin lips and heavy brows.
I look at the glossy print and return it to him. ‘Not tonight, but I come here often. If I see her in future, I’ll inform you. But may I know why?’
‘She’s my wife. I’m Max Tay.’ He fishes out another picture showing him and the Thai lady in wedding regalia, taken in a photo studio. ‘Here’s proof we’re married.’
‘Why’re you looking for your wife here?’
‘Her parents told me she’s working the dance clubs in this area.’ He hands me his name card. It says: Trustful Money Lender. Max Tay, General Manager. ‘I’d appreciate if you contact me when you spot her. Her name’s Lukden Chaichalermpol. I’m looking for her so that I can go through divorce procedures with her.’
‘I don’t mean to pry. But would you like to tell me what happened?’
The spa was invented by cavemen when they soaked their feet in hot pools of geysers, and ancient records of spas abound. For instance, the Egyptians had utilized hot tubs for therapeutic purposes since 2000 BC, and the early Greeks had built baths near thermal springs. The waters of Bath in England were used for therapy in 800 BC. During the 18th and 19th centuries, Europeans had constructed spas in the mountainous areas with magnificent views.
Spa treatments are based on hydrotherapy, which works on the body’s reaction to hot and cold stimuli on the skin carried deeper inside. The stimulating effects of moving water improve blood circulation and relax tight muscles. A soak in a hot bath slows down the metabolism of the internal organs, repairs frazzled nerves, and helps one to sleep soundly.
Usually provided in spas, massage also has a long history. In the 5th century, Greek physician Hippocrates referred to massage as ‘anatripsis.’ In China, a Chinese medical text written in 3000 BC., called Emperor’s Classic of Internal Medicine, recorded massage as a therapeutic technique.
Later, in the 6th century, Chinese massage techniques spread to Korea and Japan, where shiatsu developed.
From India, massage spread to Thailand more than 3000 years ago. Buddhist monks in temples first practised the art. However, since monks could not give massages to women, its demand encouraged Thai woman to learn massage. In the early 19th century, Per Henrik Ling developed a system of medical body manipulation which he called ‘Swedish Movement Cure’ that included massage. ‘Swedish Massage’ later grew from Per’s system. From the 1800s, massage techniques were brought from Europe to USA, where orthopedic doctors incorporated them in their practice.
‘How much is her price?’
Voice: ‘Market price is six thousand ringgit. But I got her direct from her Vietnamese agent. I give you friendship price. Four thousand.’
‘What! So expensive! Ridiculous!’
Voice: ‘Hello! Four thousand for one week. Not one session.’
‘Where’s she staying?’
Voice: ‘Upstairs, hotel room. Want to come and QC? If not, I’ll call other people.’
‘What’re the terms of payment if I take her?’
Voice: ‘Pay half in cash up-front. Balance of two thousand when you return her to me.’
‘Okay, tomorrow, I’ll come at three o’clock.’
Next day, Charles steps from outdoor tropical brilliance into the dim, air-conditioned reception area of Sandy Spa in Laguna Hotel, Bukit Bintang Kuala Lumpur. He settles into a sofa and Adrian, the spa’s co-owner, rises from the counter, and sits beside him. A stocky woman sets a glass of Chinese tea on the wooden table in front of Charles with a soft thud.
Adrian calls from his cell phone. ‘Hello, are you ready? Customer wants to see you. Hmmm... Hmmm...’
He ends the call and turns to Charles. ‘Her name’s Tuyen Trang. Tuyen means "angel". She is only twenty-one, knows how to speak English. She is not a farm girl. Please wait a while, she is putting on her make-up.
‘You can put her up anywhere you like. If you buy her and want her to stay here, she has to change room, which you have to pay. Don’t worry about food. She’ll eat in the coffee house or call room service and sign for it.’
The pimp’s mobile phone rings. ‘Come. Let’s go.’
The lift whisks them to the sixth floor and Adrian leads Charles to a room at the end of the corridor.
Wearing a short skirt with pockets, Tracy, a twenty-three-year-old Sabahan, packs a 36-24-36 figure. A fair complexion, dimples and breasts as big as pomelos make it easy to see why men are tempted to sleep with her.
‘Tell me your interesting stories,’ I say, glancing at her.
Interesting clients of sex services.
She flips her long hair back. ‘My funniest customer was this young Indian guy wearing thick spectacles. I think that was his first time in a massage centre. When I came in, he was sitting on the bed. While I was spreading a sheet on the bed, he took off his shirt, singlet and pants. Then he wore our shorts over his briefs. He lay on the massage table, wearing his spectacles, until I told him to take them off. He was very shy and kept quiet during the massage.
‘I’ll never forget a white-haired Chinese man who could barely walk. He came in with a walking stick. Sixty-nine years old. With stroke already, he told me later. He took each step slowly as if each step was hurting him. Walks like this.’
She demonstrates by shuffling on the carpet, gimping along with one foot. ‘His ribs were visible. He’s so fragile, I thought. But after massaging him for a while, he was having an erection and asked me for sex. Must’ve taken Viagra already.’
‘Is sex available here?’
‘No, the management doesn’t allow any hanky-panky.’
The supervisor, wearing a bowtie with a sleek tuxedo vest, appears and engages banters briefly with Charles. ‘Hey, have a look around,’ Charles says to me. ‘Tony, my captain friend will give you a tour.’
Adrian’s face is pale, his voice shaky. Her Vietnamese agent called again after you left. He insists Tuyen’s a virgin before she met you. In fact, he’s acquainted with her family. He suggests you take her to a gynaecologist for a check-up. Just look at her. She’s very upset. She’ll owe her agent a lot of money if the deal fails.
Come, we go to a doctor, Charles says, and extends his arm to her, and she climbs back into the room. Get your things. We leave, now. To Adrian: You coming along?
Of course. He locks the window. I show you where the nearest gynaecologist is.
After two hours, the episode at the doctor ends with a damage of 200 ringgit to Charles wallet. Tuyen is confirmed a virgin with a torn hymen. Charles returns to Laguna Hotel to allow Tuyen to collect her luggage and to drop Adrian. Then he installs Tuyen in a motel at Alor Road.
The next day, he visits her. I’m sorry about yesterday. Let’s go to a Vietnamese restaurant.
My investigation into men’s spas starts with an Internet search. A gay site lists several spa advertisers. The terms ‘gay-owned’ and ‘gay-friendly’ are used to describe a few of them.
I phone a spa located uptown in a commercial centre. How much for an hour’s massage?
Sixty-five onward, depending on service. He sounds like a foreigner.
YES... Of course!
What other services?
Please go online. He gives me the URL of the website moscow-outcall.org which I log into. Body scrubs and hydrotherapy, costing around 200 ringgit, are also available. Pictures of hunks wearing only briefs or swimming trunks are displayed, including their age, height and weight, a sign that the spa is gay.
We tootle to the outskirts of the city and Charles turns into a business park comprising blocks of shops and manages to park the car. At a particular block, he leads me to a side entrance with a grille door and presses a bell. A signboard above the door says ‘Kimmy Health Centre’. A CCTV camera stares down at us. The grille door springs open. We climb the stairs and end up facing a door with a one-way glass. Clack! The door is unlocked. Charles enters and I follow behind. Clack! The door shuts again, making me feel as if I have entered a castle with its drawbridge drawn up. A thousand tiny butterflies flutter in my stomach and my palms begin to sweat. What if they decide to rob us?
Red lights cast an eerie glow to the room we are in. Three PVC settees, coffee tables, a fridge and a battered wooden counter constitute the furniture. We sit on a settee, which sinks under our weight. A burly man of about forty with a large bulbous nose is stationed at the counter upon which stands a table lamp providing illumination for him to record transactions. A CCTV monitor squats on one side of the counter.
‘All the girls are working,’ the burly man says, his voice as rough as a rasp. ‘Please wait a while.’ He looks away and stares at the CCTV monitor.
Continuous muffled whacking sounds fill the air. A customer is getting his back slapped with great force. The slapping sounds come from a wall behind us.
Then a female voice, muffled but definitely audible, groans and moans. ‘Nnnnnngh... Arrrrrrh... Uhhhhhh... Ummmmmm’. It’s like listening to the sound track of a porn movie, its obscenity triggering blood to rush to my cheeks. Charles grins and winks at me. The burly guy turns away from us to answer a fixed line phone on a side table. I take the opportunity to tap on the wall a few times with my crooked forefinger, which produces a hollow rapping sound. It’s low-density gypsum board. A male voice groans. ‘Aaaaahh... Uggggh... Yaaaaah... Aiiiiiyaaah’. We listen until silence reclaims the room.
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