[Faidenk]

CHAPTER 1

I can’t shake off the feeling of being ridiculous. I was already quarter of a century old when she was born. What would a girl, barely out of her teens, see in a middle-aged man like me? I am probably as old, if not older than her parents, as if the case in many of my dalliances with the girls I encountered while ‘entertaining’ in the KTVs of Shanghai.

Xiao Qing was, as it turned out, 24. I met her while picking a new sweater for the coming winter. Like many of the male species, I am no window shopper, in fact, I don’t even like shopping. I usually walk in a store, make my pre-determined selections, and walk out of the store with my purchase in less than 20 minutes.

Xiao Qing was the salesgirl for that section of menswear. I told her I was looking for a sweater, preferably cashmere, dark blue or grey, and sized L. She smiled and instead of helping to fulfill my purchase, she said, ‘Sir, you should not be wearing darks, some colors make you even more distinguished’. Hah! Me, distinguished? Right, whatever you say. Nevertheless, I was intrigued, and asked her to show me what she has to offer.

She smiled again, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, and turned to search among the shelves. I admired her shapely legs, free of blemish, silky smooth. She had on skin-colored ankle socks the Chinese love, and probably company issued black patent shoes with inch high heels for a job that required standing for long hours. She’s about 5’2” and not more than 55kg in her socks, and from her back view I surmised, even in her company issued jacket, she was probably quite shapely, in fact, I would dare say quite a masturbatory accessory. I walked casually to the other side of the shelf as though to look at other stuff, to steal a look at her through the pigeonholes. Mmm… not bad, fair of complexion with a touch of freckles which I find rare in Chinese girls, and rosy cheeks as though she’d just stepped in from the cold. Her lashes were impossibly long, I would have guessed faux if not for the fact it would be more appropriate on a KTV hostess.

‘Here, this will be perfect on you’ she looked up. I looked away but knew I was caught, hand in the cookie jar, and felt the heat in my ears. She laughed, and had audacity to console me, ‘Don’t feel bad, I have that effect on men’. What cheek. It’s my turn to laugh. ‘Na wo jiu bu ke chi le, then I won’t stand on ceremony’ I said, completely out of character. I mean I don’t usually flirt on a whim. This is supposed to be a quickie shopping item on my to-do list but looked it is turning into something exciting.

I cupped my chin with my right hand and rested the elbow on my left, and tried to look as debonair as I could, as though admiring a piece of art. As I scrutinized, it strikes me I am looking at a piece of art. Her hair was dyed just a hint of brown with lighter streaks, with soft natural curls, just to her collar. Large doleful eyes that turn on a dime to mischief, and did I mentioned those lashes? And don’t set me off on those pouts, absolutely Julie Christie. She’d make a beautiful model. Many times she’d bemoaned her lack of height and I would console her that we’d not have met had she been another 6 inches taller, and she would sigh and then cheered up. Although I would not consider her slim (which makes me think of protruding collarbones) I would best describe her full, womanly, cuddly, you know what I mean, the sort you spent hours just holding in your arms enjoying the comfort in her fullness, face between her, er, fullness. I moved slightly to the side, her profile was no less enjoyable. Under the jacket I could make out a promise of very healthy lungs, definitely a C cup, the contours putting off any notions of pads. Summing up, I would say she looks like the attractive girl next door, not too in-your-face that says, ‘Hey, why don’t you jack off while you look at me?’

She laughed again at my scrutiny and asked if I had enough. I see she enjoyed posing. She came up close, unfolded the sweater, put it up against me, hands on my shoulders. I could detect emanating from her a faint aroma, not of perfume, maybe her feminineness. It made my heartbeat skipped a few beats and so loud I’m sure she could hear it. But she made no mention of it and explained why the sweater suits me so much. I was much speechless now and felt like a schoolboy. I thanked her and told her it will do. While writing the docket, I agonized over asking her out for dinner but the words just could not form. It’s been a long time since I felt this way, and I could not help smiling at my silliness much later.

I managed to get out of the store without any more gaffs, and kicked myself for leaving without her number, dammit, even without her name. This from a so-called middle-aged, well-travelled citizen of the world.

I thought of her the next few days and tried to rationalize my hesitancy. I had lots of doubts. What did she sees in me? and so on. Only on the net would I confess to going to the store to ‘peep’ at her and I did that for 2 days in a row.

The third day I was caught, well not exactly caught. I bumped into her just as she was making her way back to her station from the staff room, and I was coming into the store from the third floor to avoid being seen by her on the second. It was just as well, or I’d have to spent time antagonizing how to bump into her ‘accidentally’.

‘Oh, hello. Come back to see me?’ she greeted me in English. I must have turned red because she laughed and apologized. Caught the second time. Damn, I must stop this. ‘Where did you learn English?’ School, and also from her parents, she explained, Mother was a teacher, as we stepped onto the escalator.

Did you really come to see me? Yes, I confessed, throwing all caution to the wind, and today’s the third time. She smiled, I know, my colleagues saw you, although I didn’t. Damn, damn and double damn. You will have dinner with me, not a question, more of a sniveling groveling plea. Wait for me the entrance of MacDonald’s at 6.30. I was elated and felt like clicking my heels in mid-air. Yahoooo!