Contents

(Untitled)

ASIAN SHORTS

About This Ant1hology

1 THE BIKE

2 COW SAUCE

3 CATCH A STAR

4 LEMON POO

5 ARRIVING IN CALIFORNIA

6 PAPER SON

7 PEI QUAN

8 POPPIES

9 BEHIND THE SMILE

10 THE CHOPSTICKS

11 GIGGING AND JAMMING IN PATTAYA

12 MR. LEE’S PREDICAMENT

13 TAKING A YEAR OUT

14 MANGOES

15 A MIDNIGHT SWIM

16 TIGER LILY

17 CRAZY MEDICINE

18 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS

19 A VISA RUN TO CAMBODIA

ASIAN SHORTS

by

Various Authors

compiled by

Owen Jones

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

Copyright © July 2015 - 2018 Owen Jones Author

Published by Megan Publishing Services

at Kindle, CreateSpace and Audible

The right of Owen Jones and the other writers to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988. The moral right of the authors has been asserted.

In this work of fiction, the characters, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or they are used entirely fictitiously.

Conditions of Sale

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

CONTACT DETAILS

http://twitter.com/owen_author

http://owencerijones.com

http://facebook.com/OwenJonesWriter

Join our newsletter for insider information

on our books at:

http://meganthemisconception.com

The Authors

Trevor Aindow

Jennifer J. Chow

David Collier

Bernard Foong

Gay Ingram

Owen Jones

Mike Lord

Sarah Mallery

The individual authors remain the owners of their own stories and should be contacted directly with any queries using the details they have provided after their work.

CONTENTS

1

The Bike

2

Cow Sauce

3

Catch a Star

4

Lemon Poo

5

Arriving in California

6

Paper Son

7

Pei Quan

8

Poppies

9

Behind The Smile

10

The Chopsticks

11

Gigging and Jamming

12

Mr Lee’s Predicament

13

Taking a Year Out

14

Mangoes

15

A Midnight Swim

16

Tiger Lily

17

Crazy Medicine

18

Twenty-Four Hours

19

A Visa Run To Cambodia

About This Ant1hology

Asian Shorts came about because of a sequence of events on one weekend in May 2015. A friend was telling me that he had several short stories with Asia as a backdrop, I was saying that I had a few as well, another friend sent me an email that he wanted to write a short on Pattaya, and one of my Thai cousins sent me her latest photo, the one on the cover of this book.

It was like somebody was trying to tell me something, or several were anyway.

The nineteen stories by nine authors in this anthology were sent to me in one month, but are as varied as their writers. The stipulation was that Asia or an Asian had to feature strongly in the story. We have stories featuring Cambodia, China, Laos, Malaysia, Pakistan, Thailand, the USA and Vietnam, by Asian and non-Asian authors who live in or come from Britain, Malaysia, Thailand, the USA and Vietnam.

Some of these writers are well-known as writers, some are better known in other spheres, some have written a lot before and been published in the traditional sense, others are travelling the Indie Publishing path and for yet others this is the very first time they or you will have seen their stories in print of any kind.

You can read more about each author by visiting the web sites that they have given after their stories. I thoroughly recommend that you do this as what you will find out about the authors will surprise you, I guarantee it.

Finally, my thanks go out to all the authors who have made this book possible, we hope that you will enjoy it and give each writer your feedback about their stories or write to me at the publisher’s about the book as a whole.

Last but not least, please us a review of this book when you have finished it. Your opinions are important, they will help us authors and other readers

Best Wishes,

Owen Jones

1 THE BIKE

by Mike Lord

“Me oi, me oi.” for some reason this is always shouted twice. The family was having dinner, and the only way Ngoc could make himself heard was to shout. When you’re the youngest in the family that can be difficult and Ngoc often found himself in trouble if he interrupted a conversation.

“When is Huong going to university?” Ngoc followed up.

“Why do you want to know?” asked his mother.

“Because, then I can have her bike,” Ngoc’s logic, at the age of 10, was simple.

Ngoc had been pestering his mother for a bike for weeks since the new school year had started. He was in the last year of primary school, and apparently other boys had come to school this term with gleaming new bikes. Ngoc’s mother made a mental note to speak to her younger sister, and see if she could borrow a bike for Ngoc. An old one. Life was difficult since her husband had suddenly died four years ago, and the cost of a new bike would be an impossibility.

Two days later Ngoc was presented with an upright bicycle that had once been black. It had a basket on the front in fairly good condition, and a metal small luggage rack on the back. It had been carefully cleaned with an oily rag the day before to hide the rusty parts. Ngoc could not reach the pedals if he sat on the seat, so he learned to ride the bike by pedalling in a standing position. If he was careful the seat did not bang into his back too often. He learned quickly that a friend, sitting on the luggage rack, could help with the pedalling from behind.

One afternoon in late October, Ngoc and a cousin, Quang, decided to go and look for some catfish in the river. The river was behind the market near to the house, on the road to the military airfield. Carefully the two boys set off on the bike, with Quang pedalling from behind. The road was not used too much, except by military vehicles, but in the late afternoon there was no traffic at all.

They wanted to find some catfish, especially a big one. The river was about two kilometres from the market, which for two small boys is a long way. They parked the bike and had some problems with the old metal stand, as the bike kept on falling over, but eventually they managed to prop it up. From the bridge they could see the river, and noticed at once that the river bed had been widened, although the flow of water was still very slow. The catfish were basking in the autumn sunshine, and they could see one very large one struggling in the shallow water, so the two boys, shouting, rushed down to try to catch it.

The boys had not noticed that the river had been widened to allow for the construction of a small dam on the other side of the road, and a temporary embankment had been made to hold back the water until the spillway was completed. Catching the fish was no problem, but picking it up was, and as the two boys struggled, laughing, ankle deep in the water they became aware of some commotion on the river bridge immediately above them.

When they looked up there was a foreigner standing there. Later they learned that he was a engineer who was supervising the construction of the new dam, and the waterway system. Ngoc could speak quite a lot of English, and as the two boys approached the foreigner, Ngoc said:

“Hello,” and the foreigner looked up from where he was kneeling at the edge of the bridge. He had a large spanner in his hand and was trying to turn a large nut, but it wouldn’t budge. Below the nut was a long threaded screw, which went down below the level of the road.

“Hi,” said the engineer, who was sweating and cursing under his breath at the problem, “the river level’s too high and will burst the embankment if we’re not careful. Can you help me to open this flood gate?”

The two boys tried to help but the spanner was not big enough. The engineer realised by now that Ngoc could understand him. This was unusual as most children of Ngoc’s age only spoke a very few words of English, if at all.

“The man in charge of this gate was sick today, so this evening I came to check the water level. We really need the gate wheel to open this flood gate.” explained the engineer.

“Where is it?” asked Ngoc.

“It’s in the white pickup in the works yard,” said the engineer.

Ngoc knew where that was and offered to go and fetch it for the engineer. Off he set on the bike, and left Quang standing watching the engineer continue to struggle with the obstinate flood gate. He reached the pickup after about half a kilometre and clambered over the tailgate. The steel wheel was lying on the floor, and was much bigger than Ngoc had expected. He managed to get it over the edge of the tailgate, and let it fall to the ground. He then managed to lift it onto the basket in the front of the bike, leaning it against the handlebars. As he tried to ride the bike it was a bit top heavy, but he finally managed after wobbling a bit, to ride back to the bridge.

He stopped the bike, and the engineer came over to help him carry the wheel to the flood gate. The bike refused to stand up again, so this time Ngoc let it fall on the ground. The engineer fixed the wheel, and all three of them helped to turn it. There were also two other flood gates which they managed to open.

Immediately, they could hear the water rushing under the road below their feet as the steel flood gates were lifted up, and spilling into the river where they had been fishing. The water level at the edge of the road began to fall very slowly, and after a bit the engineer thanked the boys for their help.

Ngoc and Quang walked back to where they had left the bike.

“Where’s the bike ?” asked Ngoc. Quang looked a bit worried.

“It fell into the water,” relied Quang, “whilst you were carrying the wheel with the foreigner.” Both boys peered into the water at the edge of the road which had deepened considerably as the water came through the flood gate, and Ngoc had a sinking feeling that he had seen the last of his new bike. They found a bit of bamboo and started poking about in the water but they couldn’t even reach the bottom. As they started the long walk home, the engineer waved goodbye and set off in the other direction with the wheel.

When they got home they both managed to get into the house without being seen, Ngoc’s mother was busy cooking, and called to the boys to come and eat, when they had washed. Nothing was said about the bike that evening, and Ngoc decided that perhaps it was better to say nothing.

When he got home after school the next day, Ngoc was surprised to see the engineer’s white pickup parked outside their house, and the engineer and another man were inside talking to his mother. There was also a group of neighbours who had all come to see what was happening. As soon as she saw Ngoc, his mother called out:

“Ngoc, where’s your bike?”

Ngoc didn’t know what to say, and looked at the engineer for inspiration.

“He had a bit of an accident last night, when he was helping me,” volunteered the engineer, in English. “The villagers on the other side of the river were very lucky that he did help me, because had the embankment given way it would have flooded or washed away their houses,” the engineer continued.

The engineer took Ngoc’s hand and walked outside with him. Ngoc walked with him not knowing what else to do. His mother followed, and then out trooped the neighbours. The engineer reached into the back of the pickup and lifted out a bicycle, which he put on the ground and then handed the bike to Ngoc.

This bike wasn’t the old bicycle, but a brand new gleaming mountain bike. It had a brightly coloured frame, thick stubby wheels, and gears controlled by a lever on the handles. The handlebars and the mudguards were shining chromium plate. It didn’t have a basket on the front, but had a luggage rack with a hinged frame at the back. And it was small enough for Ngoc to pedal when he was sitting in the saddle!

Ngoc looked at his mother and then at the engineer. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just gazed at the new bike again.

“Thanks very much, Ngoc,” said the foreign engineer, who then got into the pickup and drove away. The neighbours were all talking at once, and Ngoc’s mother was beaming all over her face. Ngoc realised, with relief, that this time he was not in trouble.

Sinagiri, by Mike Lord – Rajah Kasyapu & the Frescoes at Singiriya, in Sri Lanka.

Smashwords: http://tinyurl.com/mrpafs7

(back to top)

2 COW SAUCE

by Owen Jones

Sometimes, I have to go to Vientiane, the capital city of Laos, in order to renew my visa for Thailand. This only happens when Lloyds TSB fails to send enough of my money over in time to qualify for a twelve-month visa extension. It should not happen often, but this was my eighth trip in as many years.

Laos is not that far from our home, but getting a visa is an arduous journey that takes about three days. In fact, our village is less than a hundred kilometres from the Laos border, but foreigners (non Thai or Lao citizens) may not cross there. We have to go over the Friendship Bridge at Nong Khai.

Now, to get to the Friendship Bridge, I have to go seventy-five kilometres in the opposite direction, southwest, to get a bus, then that takes us three hundred and fifty kilometres northeast. However, most of the journey is slow through the mountains, so if you have a bad back, the swaying and bouncing of the bus is quite painful.

The last time that my wife and I had to go, we had a few days to spare, so we stopped off at Udon Thani to visit some friends. Udon Thani is only an hour from the Lao border, so it is an excellent resting point where the aching back can recover.

Our friend, Ayr, is from that area, north Isaan and is very proud of the local cuisine, which has a reputation elsewhere in Thailand for being hot and, shall we say, a little ‘unusual’.

We stayed with Ayr for a few days and every day she would cook us something different - not only once a day, but three or four times a day. Sometimes she sent out for more food too.

My wife used to live with Ayr before we got married and I got the impression that when not working or sleeping, they must have been eating or talking the whole time!

Sometimes, I would go to bed or sit in the garden with my laptop and leave them to it. I really enjoyed watching my wife reminisce with her old friend, whom she now saw less than once a year.

At our home, my wife and I usually ate the same sort of food, but I can always tell when she is going to treat herself to something special because I get a plate of Western food like a steak, kebabs or really nice sandwiches. I love this food but my wife does not.

If she eats alone in the garden, then I know better than to ask what it is, although it will be nothing more than bala (rotten fish), som tam (red hot papaya salad) or chickens’ feet. She knows that they are not for me and I know that she doesn’t like the smell of beef.

On the last evening before we had to go to Vientiane, I went to bed early and left the ladies to it. However, I couldn’t sleep, so I got up, dressed and went back to join them.

They were sitting on the floor, Thai style, watching TV, surrounded by seven or eight bowls of food, as I had imagined they would be, so I went to the fridge, took out a beer and sat with them.

Ayr fetched me a stick of French bread that they had bought earlier and my wife pointed me at a few bowls of food and sauce she knew I could eat. She normally never offered me those sauces that she knew were too hot or too non-western for my palate.

When I dipped the end of my bread in one of the nearest sauces to me, Ayr looked at me and then at my wife and smiled. I interpreted this to mean that it was hot, but I was determined to carry on.

“This sauce is lovely!” I declared, “What is it?”

My wife looked at me: “It’s grass from a dead cow’s bum… Uh, cow poo! But don’t worry, it’s not dirty, it has never fallen on the ground.”

Owen Jones writes in many genre which you can discover on his here: http://owencerijones.com . His flagship series ‘Behind The Smile ~ The Story of Lek, A Bar Girl in Pattaya’ is here: http://behind-the-smile.org

(back to top)

3 CATCH A STAR

by Bernard Foong

Methodist Boys’ School

I shot up like Jack and The Bean Stalk while I was at the Methodist Boy’s School; I was mostly stalk. Both my parents were tall by Malayan standards. I was already five foot ten and still growing.

My voice was changing and so was everything else. I was becoming a young man. I hated the Methodist Boys’ School I attended because I was constantly teased and harassed for behaving like a sissy boy. Being bullied relentlessly by the older boys was a misery, my own “Nightmare on Elms Street.” I prayed for the day when I would be ready to leave for England.

I loved my mother, aunties and cousins, but I longed to see the wider world. Each day, I looked skyward like a frog waiting to jump out of the small pond of Kuala Lumpur to catch a panoramic view of the large ocean (London, England.) I knew it would happen soon. Foong Senior was a great believer in sending his sons abroad for further education and I was next in line.

To me, my days at Methodist Boys’ School were a phase that I had to endure for a short period. Thank God classes were only half-day affairs. Every morning before classes began, a half hour student assembly was held in front of the school’s main building out in the football field. All students stood at attention while Malaya’s national anthem played over loud speakers. The Head Master would stand at the podium providing the usual boring school agendas and current affairs.

The boys would be fidgeting, or up to their mischievous behaviours.

The Gang of Four

There was a gang of four boys in the same class as I who constantly bullied me, making silly remarks and calling me girlie names whenever they got the chance. I was a timid and shy boy, certainly not one to retaliate or tell them to go shag themselves! I was, in every sense of the word, a nice, polite well-behaved boy.

One day, KiWi, the most handsome one in the group, threw a tiny pebble on my back during assembly. When I turned around to check on the culprit, he started making silly girly faces at me. Ignoring him and his stupid innuendos, I tried to think of a quick escape route to the classroom right after assembly. I was too scared to think of the consequences if he cornered me.

Too bad - I wasn’t fast enough. He caught up and started insulting me. He was extremely obnoxious, threatening me that he and his gang of rascals would get me during our fifteen minutes mid-morning break. I hated him and his gang of four!

KiWi

True to his word, when the recess bell rang and all the students filed out of the classrooms, he and his gang cornered me. I ran as fast as my legs could carry, trying to make my great escape. I thought I would lock myself in one of the toilet stalls until the bell rang for class to resume. Unfortunately, I didn’t run fast enough, and fell while they were chasing after me.

I was caught outside the school hall. One of the bullies who had pushed me down locked the door and threatened to pull my pants off to check if I was a girl or a boy. They teased relentlessly, saying that if I were a boy I would get an erection if they played with my butt.

I hated these guys and desperately tried to escape their hurtful hands. Managing to pull free after a lengthy struggle, I ran towards the door but I couldn’t unlock it quickly enough. One of them threw me on the floor again, tackling me over behind, while the other three tore at my pants.

I was like a frightened rabbit trapped in the paws of the ‘Hounds of Baskervilles,’ doing my best to save my life. As much as I secretly fancied KiWi, I definitely didn’t care for his friends. Those malicious bullies were zooming in for the kill. Desperately trying to get free of their grip, I kicked and screamed and shouted for help. No one came to my rescue.

KiWi had me in a Judo lock, almost choking me, when the school bell rang to resume classes. Saved by the bell, the bullies reluctantly released me, warning that they would get me soon enough. They ran off to their respective classes, giving me malicious stares.

I was doing my best to recover from this dreadful attack. From the corner of my eye, I noticed KiWi was still there. Was he making sure I was OK, I wondered, or was he there to perform another abusive prank? I felt like he was afraid I might have choked to death or that something else too terrifying to comprehend had happened. I was desperately adjusting my clothes, doing my best to brush the dirt from my soiled white uniform. I was sure Mother would give me a good scolding when I got home.

KiWi stood by the door and didn’t leave. My heart was thumping wildly, wondering if KiWi was going to abuse me further, or possibly rape me. There was only one entrance and exit out of the hall, so there was no escape route. I had no choice but to face up to this guy, which was extremely terrifying for a gentle boy like me.

When I reached the door, thinking I would have to push my way through, KiWi leaned over, pulled me to him and kissed me full on the mouth! I was completely taken by surprise! I didn’t know how to react. I was stunned when he did it again! He did not wait for my reaction.

He fled down the hall, disappearing from sight.

I stood there speechless, wondering if a meteorite had hit me. Honestly, I wouldn’t have known what to do if he had stayed. This was the last thing I imagined would happen between me and this handsome swimmer who was every adolescent schoolgirl’s heartthrob.

I slid to the bottom of the door in complete and total shock until I heard the bell ring, announcing the next class would start in a few minutes. I got up and ran to class as fast as I could, not knowing which lesson I was supposed to attend.

As much as I enjoyed KiWi’s kisses, I was at a loss! A few moments before, he had been a hateful, bullying tyrant trying to molest and possibly rape me. The next moment, he was kissing me on my mouth! What was happening to my world? It was going topsy-turvy.

For the remainder of the day, I couldn’t get his kisses off my mind. I could not figure out what to make of this guy. It seemed completely contradictory, like a surreal dream.

Bakar drove up the school entrance to collect me. As I was getting into the car, a hand suddenly reached for me. Turning round, to see who it was, I froze. KiWi was standing by the car door. He whispered, “Meet me outside the main gate of your house at 5:00 p.m. this evening.”

He quickly released his grip, and fled. I became more puzzled by the minute.

When I arrived home, mother saw my soiled clothes and asked what had happened. I made an excuse, “I tripped and fell on the ground and dirtied my clothes,” I said. I didn’t dare mention the truth to anyone, lest one of the bullies was hiding in a corner listening to my conversation, about the assault by the Gang of Four. I certainly wasn’t going to mention KiWi’s mouth-to-mouth kisses!

The rest of the afternoon I paced restlessly and felt helpless, in my room. I couldn’t concentrate on my homework. I watched the clock tick away. I didn’t know what to expect when 5:00 p.m. arrived. Was the Gang of four waiting at the main gate to assault me? It was too unfathomable for my young mind to comprehend!

Earlier in the year, Father had bought a bicycle for me to ride around the neighborhood.

Being older, my parents were less paranoid about kidnapping possibilities than some. On the pretext of riding my bike to the neighborhood shop to purchase ice cream, I rode to the iron gate.

Sure enough, waiting on his bike was the boy who earlier in the day had tried to molest and maybe rape me. KiWi did not utter a word as we rode our bikes in silence.

Behind my house was a vast tropical rainforest, covered with thick carpets of undergrowth, surrounded by tall monkey-pod trees and huge shady banyan trees. Kiwi led me into the forest. We arrived at a small clearing.

We left our bicycles hidden behind some tall leafy bushes and walked into the forest, undetected. Without saying a word, KiWi leaned me against a huge tree trunk, and began French kissing me. My heart was thumping hard and fast. I could hear its boom boom sounds echoing in the silence. I shut my eyes, surrendering myself to KiWi. He was a good kisser. I was sexually aroused; my mind was racing a mile a minute. It was a fantasy, come true!

As much as I had fantasized about Philip, Eric and other cute boys, I had never believed my fantasies would play out. Although many times I had uncontrollable erections thinking of those boys, sexually, I had no idea what to do in real life.

In the past I waited for my manhood to subside, and continued with my life. Now for the first time in my young life, I was confronted with an opportunity to actualize my dreams.

KiWi did most of the work, as he was older. He was my sexual teacher but he was not very experienced in the art of lovemaking. Our stay in the woods didn’t last long. The entire process was over in less time than I imagined.

We dressed without speaking. He biked home and I went on my confused way. My head was reeling from the experience. More confused than before, I realized that I liked what had happened in the woods, yet I didn’t know what the Hell I was supposed to do.

All my sexual urges were present and highly activated. So were his. He ejaculated. I didn’t. I enjoyed being intimate with a boy but I did not have an orgasm. I didn’t know what an orgasm felt like.

The following day in school was a complete turn around. KiWi’s gang no longer harassed me. I never knew what he told them or what he didn’t tell them. I only knew that the harassment suddenly and mysteriously ceased. When we met in the school corridors, canteen or classroom, KiWi and the gang were cordial, and they left me alone.

Those days, our class teachers would pair up the boys to work together on various school projects. KiWi voluntarily came over to partner with me, which in our ‘pre-sex’ days would never have happened. We put on a facade of being regular friends, in school. But out of school, it was a different story; we became love buddies.

He, of course, never let on to his gang that we met after school, and were intimate. We did continue to meet daily at the exact same time in the exact spot in the woods, and did similar things each time. There were times I was invited to his home, since he lived half a mile from my house. During our rendezvous we seldom exchanged more than a few words. We did what we set out to do. When done, we dressed and went our separate ways, much like the Last Tango in Paris.

KiWi came from a wealthy family. His elder brother was in a British medical school studying to be a physician. His father was an accomplished local entrepreneur and attorney. The times I visited KiWi’s home, on the pretext of working in partnership on our prescribed school projects, we would lock ourselves in his air-conditioned library and be at it again, again and again, until we were spent, while his mother napped in her bedchamber. She was unaware of what was going on behind the library doors.

There was usually no one else in KiWi’s house in the late afternoons. His father was at work, and his chauffeur was busy in the garage working on their Mercedes and Bentleys.

Within a month after our initial forest rendezvous, I became a fixture in his house and at the Royal Selangor Club; KiWi’s father was an honorary member. KiWi had the privilege of using the club’s Olympic size pool for his swimming practice. I would go with him, like his ‘boyfriend,’ encouraging him on.

Mother knew I had a friend with whom I collaborated on projects. She was curious to meet him. When I told her KiWi’s parents’ names, she knew who they were. They moved in the same social circles. Kuala Lumpur was not a metropolis, back then. Mum wasn’t worried that I was spending time with KiWi because she knew his family’s background and she assumed I would be safe in their son’s company.

One day when K.L. was out playing mah-jong and Father was not home, (Tai Yee and Lai Ngor were busy with their sewing projects in their sewing rooms and the maids and servants were fussing in the kitchen,) I invited KiWi to our ohana.

Father had converted part of our large garage into an air- conditioned guest room. Most of the time, the ohana was vacant. It had air-conditioning; noises from within were undetectable when the air was switched on.

I locked the ohana’s door and Kiwi and I proceeded into our sexual zone. One day, half naked, with our pants on the floor, our love-making was interrupted. There was an urgent banging on the bedroom door, and it shocked us back to our senses. We didn’t have sufficient time to dress and so I wrapped a sarong round my waist and went to check out the commotion. Who should be standing on the other side of the door but a furious S. S., shouting and barking like a dog with his head cut off!

He took a look inside the room, and commanded us to get dressed immediately. He screamed at KiWi to leave the house right that minute. We were caught red-handed in the heat of our boy love session! To this day, I have no idea how father got wind of my secret rendezvous at the ohana.

All Hell broke loose! I would never hear the end of it! Father carried on for weeks about how disgusted he was with the way I behaved! I was sick and tired of old man Foong so I prayed diligently that I would be banished to a British school ASAP!

Of course, I was forbidden to see KiWi after the ohana drama. Father threatened to inform KiWi’s parents of our sexual misconduct but I doubt he ever did. After all, he couldn’t admit his third son was gay. It would have been difficult to tell his peers this scandalous secret. It would jeopardize his standing in the local community. The Chinese are fond of not losing face!

With all the fuss and drama going on, KiWi and I still met secretly in the forest. By then, Tai Yee, Lai Ngor, and, of course, Mother knew about my sexual escapades with KiWi.

I have a feeling Mother knew of my sexual liaison before father so rudely interrupted us.

Mummy never said anything negative about my relationship with KiWi, because she loved and accepted me just the way I was, unlike Father. He was narrow-minded and could not come to terms with what he feared most — his own sexuality being threatened. Since Father’s outburst, I hated him more than ever. When he was home, I would lock myself in my fairytale bedroom, refusing to come out for dinner until he left the house for the evening. Mother, being the kind, gentle woman she was, brought food to my room and urged me to be more understanding of my father. I would not. I wanted nothing to do with this man!

England

Shortly after this dramatic episode, KiWi told me one day he was leaving to attend boarding school in Belfast, Ireland. It was a sad day for me because I knew, in my heart, that our affair was coming to an end. After school that day, I locked myself in my room and cried. I was infatuated and ‘in love’ with the beautiful swimmer boy! I saw KiWi a couple more times. We made passionate love; by then, I sort of knew what I was doing.

KiWi had taught me a few tricks along the way, before he departed. After he left, I was devastated and fell into a miserable state. I didn’t feel like eating and I wept constantly, thinking of our times together.

Mother, Tai Yee and Lai Ngor comforted me, reminding me it was puppy love, and that all first time lovers go through this. Soon, they counseled, I would learn to live without him. But I did not get over this sexy handsome young man for a long time. We continued our relationship for another year before it faded, becoming just a memory.

The following summer, KiWi came home for his summer break, for a month and a half.

My parents had no idea KiWi was in town. I had been corresponding with him throughout the year.

We picked up where we left off. I was happy as a lark to see my boyfriend again but the winds of time had slowly changed the course of our lives. I was no longer passionately ‘in love’ with KiWi. I had moved forward with my life while he was away. I didn’t tell anyone that I was seeing KiWi that summer. It was none of their business and I preferred to keep it that way.

I was the happiest boy, when Foong Senior told me I had been enrolled in school in the UK. I was overjoyed by the news. Within six months, I would be a free man doing all the fabulous things I want to do! No Father Foong to tell me what I could or could not pursue.

The few months before leaving Kuala Lumpur, I promised myself I would not return to that ‘small pond’ if I could help it. I would, rather, soar high like a condor, with winds beneath my gigantic wings, pushing me forward to achieve great and marvelous goals, only to glance below when I happened to fly pass Kuala Lumpur! I would circle long enough to send kisses to those I loved, below.

In my own way, I’m glad I caught a falling star when I did, and that I put it in my pocket.

Memories of KiWi never waned nor faded, and I will cherish him in my heart forever. Past experiences are what make us who we are, today. What I learned with Kiwi contributed to the oceans of love I have to shower upon those who are willing to open their arms to The Gift of Love!

Bernard Foong (aka Young) is the author of ‘A Harem Boy’s Saga; a memoir’ by Young (seven book series): http://aharemboysaga.com/wp/ The first three books in the series – ‘Initiation’, ‘Unbridled’ and ‘Debauchery’ (published by Solstice publishing) are currently available at all Amazon online stores

(back to top)

4 LEMON POO

by Owen Jones

I had probably seen it rain in Thailand a thousand times over the previous ten years, so that day was likely to have been the thousand and first time, although it might have been considered exceptional because it was outside the traditional rainy or monsoon periods, but then weather patterns are changing anyway even in our remote fleck of the country.

Warm Thai rain has never caused me any trouble before, as long as it is outside the house, but it did that day.

You see, the council had laid a new road through the village. However, it is twelve to eighteen inches higher than the old one and without gutters, which causes rainwater to flow off it and into people’s gardens, which are mainly bare soil.

The slope up from our house onto the road had become a muddy puddle about nine inches deep and the slope down into the shop where I often go for inspiration and enjoy a beer, became a slippery mud slide.

So, having been taught to be cautious, but not having been taught to be sensible, I took the side route down alongside the path in order to avoid the well-trodden mud track, which I thought would be even more slippery.

There were about ten women watching me as first one foot and then the other sank several inches into the mud. They started laughing. As I took another step into the mire, they laughed even louder, but I was half-way now and so had to go on, but my 250lb bulk was causing me to sink deeper and deeper.

“Oo, er, oh dear”, I said, “Kee kon maak” (‘lots of mud’ in Thai).

They laughed even more as I repeated ‘kee kon maak’ and struggled to get out, making sure that I was smiling all the while in the way that Thailand is famous for as the Land of Smiles.

My mother-in-law came out of the shop to see what the commotion was all about. She gave me the look people give a dopey child, but came out into the mud to rescue me.

Don’t get me wrong, my mother-in-law is lovely, but she found it funny too and so would have to tell my wife. However, my wife takes things a little more seriously sometimes and would probably see it as my loss of face in front of the shoppers, especially as the eldest woman there had had to help me out.

About twenty minutes later, my wife arrived - the jungle telegraph had reached her and she had come to investigate. I could hear the two or three old ladies that were still there chuckling and repeating ‘kee kon maak’ to her. They kept glancing over at me and shaking their heads.

I sat there drinking my beer and writing, waiting for my wife to come over and scold me for being so stupid, but when she did arrive, all she said to me was: “Why were you saying ‘lots of lemon poo’?”

“No, ‘mud’, I was saying ‘lots of mud”, but as she pointed out, the Thai word for ‘mud’ is ‘kee korn’. It was lucky that I hadn’t said ‘kee khon’, which means ‘human faeces’!

Sitting in the shop, writing this piece, my shoes and feet caked in thick wet mud, I cannot believe that I had been so daft as to walk off the trodden path either, but at least it had made them smile for a while.

Well, more than smile and it will be more than a while before I hear the end of the ‘lemon poo’ saga too.

This book, ‘Asian Shorts’ was published by Megan Publishing Services at: http://meganthemisconception.com . If you want to publicise your book or other forms of art, please visit the website. Owen Jones http://owencerijones.com

(back to top)

5 ARRIVING IN CALIFORNIA

by Gay Ingram

I remember first time I see Doctor Woman. Mama San wake us early, long before sunrise bring new morning light. She say, “Put on special clothes.” I feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach when dress of red silk with gold threads slide past my face. My fingers feel clumsy as I struggle to fasten frogs. Mama San pull on my hair when she make tight braid, so hard it make water come to my eyes.

We set out from our hut; Ba-Ba lead way; Mama San carry Little Sister; and I, Mai Lin, tag along behind. We go long way alongside rice fields, rows of now-brown spears, marching across muddy patches. Soon my white slippers dirty from dust cloud I kick up as we walk on dusty road.

We walk long time until we come to cluster of tiny huts. There are other people gather about. One man sit on ground with boxes of dried carp all around. Woman, baby strap on back, yell at passers-by, wanting them to come buy her fresh vegetables. We settle in empty space and stand there to wait. Much time go by, and I look at those pass by to amuse myself, and I wonder where they come from and where they go. One old man shuffle past, bent over under wooden yoke that straddle his stooped shoulders. Two bucket of some kind of liquid slosh about with each step he take. Boy, not much older than me, ride by; sit upon a bullock which he give poke every few moment to keep animal moving.

When woman wearing silk robe and Western shoe with big heel approach us, Mama San seem to puff up with air. Woman say something but I not understand because her words come out in strange shapes. When she shake her head and make to turn aside, Mama San make her words louder. Woman come closer. “Open your mouth.”

I look at Mama San because I not understand woman words. She open her mouth wide, indicate I should do same. Strange woman bend forward and look at my teeth and pull down my eyelids. She pick up my hand and feel for life beat. I shrink back only to get whack on back of head. Mama San hiss for me to stand still and let woman look at me. Woman turn my hands up and down, and with finger, lift my chin so I must look her in eyes. She let me look, but I cannot see shape of her heart. She drop my hands, and after many loud word back and forth, woman nod.

She reach out and grab my shoulder. I pull back but that only make her hold on tighter. I am drag forward until I stand beside her. I watch her dig out tiny purse, count out some coin and drop them into Mama San outstretch hand.

“Come.” Strange woman start to walk away. I look at Mama San but her mouth is in tight line and she only wave for me to go with strange woman. Little Sister sit at her feet and tease bug and never look up. When I glance Ba-Ba way, I see he already turn his back to me and just stare across patchy field beside road. With butterflies again jump in my belly, I turn and hurry to catch up with strange woman who is already several pace down road. We walk for some time until we come to rope bridge. She start across, and each step she take, bridge sway and swing. I hesitate. Dread and fear consume my body. Strange woman stop near top of bridge. She turn and yell at me to come on; her words are fill with anger. I take one step on bridge, grab hold of railing, and look to find safe place to land my foot with every step.

After much walk that has my feet drag, we come to village and strange woman lead me to one of many huts that cluster along road. And so, I become slave of Doctor Woman.

She speak different Chinese and I have hard time understand what she want from me. I soon learn to move quick whenever she speak, and she have to yell a lot before I do what she ask of me. Sometime in my hurry, I spill cup of tea I bring her. My fingers soon sting from rap they get every time that happen. Then, there are times she make me follow behind and carry her bag when she go out into countryside to help woman make baby. I must fight churning in stomach when see much blood. I also learn quick not to ask question about Mama San, Ba-Ba, or Little Sister. It only in night hours that I can shed water that collect behind my eyes.

The seasons of chun and xià go by and one day Doctor Woman enter our hut in rush. She start throw things in bags, yell at me to help her pack what we take and give away rest. It seem no time before we are walk down road in direction opposite where I come from.

When I try to ask where we go, she shake her head and tell me I not need know everything. We spend two days walk, and stop to rest under tree with just thin blanket to wrap in. I stay sit up to keep watch for wild animals that love to eat us as their dinner.

I am very tired when we come to end of earth and all I can see is water. There is rowboat with man inside, and after we climb in, he row us down the river to another place that have big buildings and a lot of huge ship. We leave rowboat at wooden walkway and I follow Doctor Woman into one of many nearby buildings. I hold our bags while she show paper to man behind desk and they yell at one another until both are satisfy.

“Come,” she say to me, as if I may not do so. Outside, she stop a workman who pass by and ask him question. He turn and point to one ship of many nearby. I follow Doctor Woman when she climb walkway that wiggle onto ship flat shelf. Man in funny clothes lead us down ladder and to one of many doors in long narrow space. When we go inside, little room have four shelf nail to walls and already two other women inside. Doctor Woman point to one of two empty place and say, “That where you sleep.” I

6 PAPER SON

7 PEI QUAN

8 POPPIES

9 BEHIND THE SMILE

10 THE CHOPSTICKS

11 GIGGING AND JAMMING IN PATTAYA

12 MR. LEE’S PREDICAMENT

(back to top)

14 MANGOES

15 A MIDNIGHT SWIM

16 TIGER LILY

17 CRAZY MEDICINE

18 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS

19 A VISA RUN TO CAMBODIA