No Concept of Museli

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The jet-lag from England to HK was the worst ever. Perhaps old age played a part, but it was more likely a result of his friends dragging him around HK, making him eat and drink outrageous things at unfeasible hours. They have no concept of the need for sleep and muesli.

Just as Dick realized that he might never rediscover the meaning of time as measured on a clock, they took him to China, fed him even more outrageous foodstuffs and railroaded him into whoring, which was not his preferred mode of womanizing, not by a long chalk. Dick has both seduction and orgasm skills, highly developed over years of study, hundreds of trials and an almost equal number of errors. His labours were obsolete and surplus to requirements in a country where sex is purely transactional. Dick can’t see the attraction in prostitution from the man’s point of view. It was glorified wanking with the inconvenience of a more or less disgruntled woman interposing herself between hand and cock at considerable expense (though not his expense).

He saw what the woman is got out of it, of course.

Chow’s house was, to all intents and purposes, internet free, the one connection being deep in his bedroom. The dark internet recesses of a single, middle-aged Chinese male’s bedroom is a heart of darkness beyond Dick's fortitude. The place was a complete disaster, frankly. Chow lived alone in a massive house with three floors and about ten bedrooms, built by his father in the seventies when he was a powerful character in Dongguan. Its huge garden was now completely surrounded by skyscrapers. The place was falling to bits and Dick felt like a prisoner in it.

A week had passed and he had not got to bed before 3:30am through sitting up drinking (for comparative purposes) single malts and watching snooker on the telly: being a good guest. Dick doesn’t like whisky or snooker. He bagan to assume that life here may always proceed until 3 or 4am, may always consist of some malt or other, and will frequently include ‘whoring’ and other boring sports.

The worst part, of course, was being constantly treated like an idiot. Dick had lived a rough life of extremity for many years, but people seemed to be unable to accept the idea that he could cross the road, chop an onion, dress, light a barbeque or knew how to drink a beer, even. He was instructed on how to drink a glass of wine. He had been, until then, blissfully unaware that there was a ‘way to drink’ $5 plonk, except that generally if you are sharing the bottle with strangers, you should pour it into glasses.

He know there was a philosophy that says they are being ‘nice’ or ‘helpful’, but he didn’t swallow that crap. They were asserting themselves and expressing disdain mainly. He would get himself into trouble soon. Roll on trouble.

Can you write better than this? Click here to prove it.]

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Comments

[Planet of Death]

You're a twat.

[Luncheonmeat]

Thank you. I knew that already.