Chapter 4
Big Ben Strikes
Singapore-the heartbeat of the Far East-was the most exciting place I had been to during my short life as a stew, and it had an added bonus; I had friends there who were stationed at RAF Changi. Customs at Singapore airport rummaged through my luggage, and they thought it a great giggle to open a box of Tampax and undo one, pulling it about and dangling it by its tail as though it were a white mouse. They twittered like canaries as they discussed what this could possibly be used for.
Normally the crews stayed at the Ocean Park Hotel in East Coast Road, but this time we were put into a modern monument type hotel. On later visits, I came to love the Ocean Park Hotel with its rooms off long, open corridors and its superb dining terrace outside. You were at least aware of being in the East in this hotel, but once inside the superbly air-conditioned Americanized hotel you could have been in any city in the world. At the front desk we met another crew out of uniform. They'd all been out to visit the famous Tiger Balm Gardens. Girls and flight deck crew alike were all very friendly and asked us to join them for some refreshment in one of their rooms.
They were a complete change from our group. We chatted for ages. I really fancied the first officer. His name was Ben, and we called him Big Ben. He was a deeply tanned man, very well built with powerful muscles bulging in his arms and legs, midnight blue eyes, and a fat cigar permanently stuck between his lips. He had a deep booming voice and kept us all amused with hilarious stories of all the wild things he had got up to in his twenty years of flying. His manner suggested he'd had more girls than he had flown aircraft, and that must have taken some doing!
Hilary and I decided the room needed a little more decoration, and as everyone was getting slightly high they were open to all sorts of suggestions. (I should say that Captain Frozen Knackers had left after one drink. I don't think he could stand such jollifications.) Hilary and I collected as many potted plants from the corridors as we could find so that we could have our party in a jungle atmosphere. We were all leaping among the plants to the music of a portable record player when there was a great hammering on the door.
One of the more drunken members of our party shouted, "Come on in if you've got a drink; if not, piss off!"
The voice from without replied, "I'm the manager of the hotel. Open the door, please."
Hilary and I and a few others who were more or less compos mentis grabbed the plants and stuffed them into the bathroom-filling the bath, bidet, basin, and john, and we had just managed to close the door when the manager burst into the room.
"I've complaints about the noise coming from this room.
A drunken voice slurred, "Whassa matter?" It was the dour little Scots engineer from our crew. "We're only having a ... hie ... quiet drink," he added, prodding the manager in the chest with his finger. However, his dourness was disappearing fast as the thin blood in his veins was being replaced by vast quantities of Scotch.
I turned to look at the bathroom door, and to my consternation I saw a large green leaf poking out from under the door. It looked like some dreaded green lurgie which was about to creep under the door and take over the whole place.
The manager's eyes followed mine. "And what, may I ask," he screeched, "is that?" pointing at the foliage seeping under the door.
"I was just watering one of your plants which was looking in need of resuscitation," I replied.
"We are quite capable in this hotel of caring for our own plants," he retorted and strode to the bathroom door.
We all held our breath. He managed to inch open the door to the sound of shattering plant pots as they fell crashing down from their precarious positions. The manager emerged on all fours covered with dirt and green leaves. He looked just like a soldier camouflaged for a jungle expedition. He jumped to his feet and attempted to brush the filth off his white tropical suit. "You!" he said, pointing a finger directly at me. "Put these plants back immediately! You certainly haven't heard the last of this!" He left, banging the door behind him.
The laughter which had been contained with great difficulty now exploded. Everyone cracked up in glee and set to more drinking. A few of us returned the somewhat battered plants to their former places of honor and rushed back to the party. The music was still blaring, and the wee Scotsman Jock was doing a highland fling over two crossed toothbrushes, which he had placed in the middle of the floor while the others cheered him on. Suddenly he wobbled and gracefully slumped to the floor. We tried to revive him, but he was out for the count.
Loud-mouthed Big Ben came up with a wild suggestion. Two of the fellas hurried off in search of one of those mobile tables which are used by hotels to serve meals-on-wheels in your room. By the time they returned with the table we had completely stripped Jock. I remarked on how well-equipped he was for such a wee man. We took the dirty dishes and cloth off the table, laid Jock out on it with his arms folded across his chest, and placed the tablecloth over him so he was covered from top to toe. Then we wheeled him down the corridor and into the elevator. We summoned the other elevator at the same time and piled into it, and we sent Jock to the ground floor by pushing the button and stepping out quickly before the doors closed. We got to the ground floor just in time to see the other elevator doors open and the table-with Jock's unconscious body on it-roll out of the lift.
Two little old American ladies were waiting to get into the elevator when this apparition passed them. The sheet got caught by the closing doors, and Jock's naked body sailed across the lobby floor like a steamship traveling at forty knots. The two old American dears screamed and fainted. The whole lobby broke out in complete pandemonium as the white corpse progressed on its way.
We disappeared faster than a bullet out of a gun and regained the comparative safety of our room. The manager arrived seconds later to find us sitting quietly drinking and chatting.
Beside himself with rage, he spluttered, "Now you have really gone too far!"
We all stared at him and asked him what he meant because we hadn't left the room since his last visit.
He said chokingly, "There's a naked man in the lobby, and he's one of you!"
We stared at him in disbelief. "Nothing to do with us!" said Big Ben.
The frustrated manager left, a gibbering, incoherent wreck, shouting, "You crews will never stay in my hotel again!".
True to his word, we didn't, but I understand the final straw was when one of our stews sent him a Christmas card wishing him a venereal Christmas and a syphilitic New Year. He endured us for the remainder of our stay, but all the fun we had from then on was out of the hotel. Having decided we'd probably done enough damage for one afternoon, we all went off to our beds in various states of sloshiness. We arranged to meet for an evening out later on.
I'd no sooner slipped between the sheets than there was a great commotion outside my door. I wrapped a towel around me, opened the door, and found Big Ben and the tall slim-hipped steward from the other flight standing on my doorstep. They were having an argument about who had arrived there first.
"Who got here first, and for what?" I wanted to know.
Jack the steward behaved rather like a person in an elevator looking down at his feet as though he'd never seen them before. Ben just kept grinning and winking.
"I'm tired, and whatever it is you both want, you can go and get knotted. I'm ready to crash." I smiled sweetly and slammed the door in their faces.
I was just drifting into slightly drunk slumber when a pounding on the door stirred me awake. Not willing to open the door, I sh'outed, "Who is it?"
A soft Malay voice tinkled, "Room service, miss."
I replied "But I haven't ordered anything," and the Malay voice answered, "Oh, yes, miss, definitely room 405."
Dragging my weary bones once more from my bed, I grabbed the towel and opened the door. There was a giant Malay waiter with his back to me. I didn't know they grew them so big. He backed into the room, pulling the table with him. Still with his back to me, he closed the door. The only contents on the table were a bottle of champagne, a bottle of Scotch, and two glasses. I suddenly got a strong whiff of cigar smoke. The waiter turned around, and I found myself face to face with Big Ben! He was grinning lopsidedly with his cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. He looked so ridiculous with his vast body stuffed into some poor little waiter's clothes that I just collapsed on the bed with laughter. He roared like a bear and leaped on top of me.
"You really are a sperm head," I said. "Of all the daft things to do," I added.
"Well, I wasn't going to let any two-bit steward beat me to the post," he replied.
"Do you always go to these lengths to gain entry to a lady's chamber?" I asked him.
"No," he replied, "I normally just have to knock and doors-and-all open immediately. But I like a bit of a challenge. So now that's over get them off and we'll begin."
I was too weak from laughter and too much booze to protest, and apart from this I had gone overboard for this burly man as soon as I set eyes on him. "Don't you ever take that cigar out of your mouth?" I asked.
"Only when I've got something better to suck on," he replied, looking me straight in the crotch.
"Well, seeing as you've brought me a drink, you may as well open it and pour me a glass." The ice-cold bubbles tickled the back of my throat and revived me.
It wasn't only the champagne which raised my flagging spirits. Ben's presence had a lot to do with it. He grabbed my arm and said, "You're a little on the thin side. I normally like more meat on my birds." He pulled the towel away and examined my boobs. "Hmmmmmmm," he said, "very nice, very nice indeed! But I do have a preference for enormous boobs and I like a girl with good big thighs to wrap around my head, but you'll do," he concluded.
"Don't do me any favors!" I retorted, feeling like a horse being examined for auction. I expected Ben would open my mouth next and inspect my teeth.
"It's your funny little face I like best and especially that mobile mouth. It's always on the move, even when you're not talking. It's always showing some expression, and for that reason I can forgive your slender body. I would succumb just for the sake of those lubricating lips. Here," he continued, "wrap them around this," and he unzipped his fly and almost poked my eye out with the end of his cock! "Come on, funny bunny, get to work on this delicious morsel," he added.
I sat and surveyed this bear-like man sitting on the end of my bed squashed into the tight, ill-fitting uniform and blowing his own trumpet. I wondered why-he seemed to be so good at everything-he didn't try a little self-fellation while I sat and watched.
He looked incredibly funny and yet sexy at the same time with his large slug-like cock bursting past the zipper of his trousers. They could hardly contain his vast bulk. His weapon was looking very angry as though it would leap out at me and come crashing down on me, ripping the material of his trousers. I smiled as I looked at it.
"Don't you think you'd better let it out of its bag?" I said. "Otherwise you're going to have a nasty accident."
He undid his trousers and managed with a great effort and much heavy breathing to get them off. He struggled out of his underpants and waiter's jacket and shirt and stood there before me with his large brown-skinned sexy frame. He took a flying leap and jumped on the bed on top of me. It's a wonder we didn't go crashing down into the room on the floor below, the sound was so loud! The bed caved in under his weight. He forced up my knees and pulled them wide apart very roughly. Then came the surprise.
He moved his mouth over the entire surface of my body with lips as feather-light as the tip of butterfly wings over summer grass. He didn't lick or probe with his tongue, not even once. His mouth moved with moist and parted lips all over me, barely touching my silken skin. Shivers ran up and down my spine. He starting on my toes, he inched his way up over the arch of my foot, around the ankle bone and crept up my leg, hardly making a sound except for the occasional murmur of pleasure. I lay there, clutching the sides of the bed, trying not to writhe or push my body up. It was a great effort to keep perfectly still. The feeling of his lips sweeping, skimming, scarcely touching my body was strange. He mouthed his way all over my breasts; there was no hard biting, only continuous open-mouthed kisses. He carried on around and around, down to my stomach and into the insides of my thighs where heaven sits on a tiny pink flesh button. His lips pursed and puckered on my man in the boat and then on to the pubes themselves; the tap-tapping of Ben's mouth made them feel as though they were being brushed by the best bristle brush in the whole wide world. Then he traveled back down until the subtle suction from his lips manipulated my clit. He still used the some open-mouthed movements; the tongue was not used. Once he arrived at the very heat of the fire he blew little puffs of air, cooling me down.
His lips swept on to my buttocks. He turned me over and continued in delicious, delectable patterns over my rounded buttocks to the soft, warm hollow between. Oh, the feeling! The incredible soft sensuousness of being gone over like that! I could have let him do it forever, and it seemed as though he had every intention of doing so. He sat astride my back with his cock lying between my buttocks, and after his open lips had gone around the nape of my neck he sat up on me and pushed his cock in hard between my buttocks. He gently massaged my back. Oh, I can't describe the sensation it created of luxury, warmth, and sensuality. Everything was divine, perfect bliss! He worked his fingers down my back into that very special place, that little hard bone which gave away to the crease of my ass. He massaged it with his fingers until I almost passed out with joy and pleasure. My tired, aching, sleepy body stirred to his every touch.
He turned me over and pushed his head between my legs. His mouth closed around my lower lips, and then suddenly his tongue-a hot quick wanted tongue-flicked into me, far into me. I lay there like a rag doll, giving myself up to this feeling, to this big rough, tough, loudmouthed man with his soft, sexy lips and tongue wrapped around my cunt. Oh, for once I did nothing! I lay back and enjoyed every single moment! I was drifting and dreaming. He was obviously enjoying my cunt more than the cigar which, luckily, he had taken out of his mouth! The tip of his tongue felt red-hot as though he had shoved the tip of the cigar up inside me. But I could smell it burning in the ashtray so I knew I was quite safe; all that was inside me was this hot tongue. It was hardly minutes before I erupted like a volcano, flooding the earth with my hot molten lava. I flooded and gushed all over Ben's face. Finally there was so much love juice that his tongue just slipped from within my love cave. I looked down the bed at him at his cheeky grin and blue eyes! He had my come on the end of his nose and on his lips.
I was ready then to say good night, good day, good afternoon. What time was it? Where was I? I didn't know. I had been to another place, another world. I had drifted off, dream-like. One of the wonders of orgasm is when you lose time and space, and you also lose yourself; the only thing you're really aware of is the person who gives you the pleasure, that he is there making you feel like that. Everything else is blanked out, has disappeared, is gone forever. He came up grinning. I could have rolled over and gone fast asleep, selfishly sleeping forever, completely relaxed.
Up he jumped and poured me a glass of ice-cold champagne, while he helped himself to a Scotch. The sight of his erection was beginning to turn me on again, although in my present state of mind I could quite happily have given it a pat on the head and said, "Go way! Come back another day!" But this one wasn't coming back another day. He was coming here! And now! And any second!
We finished our drinks. Ben lay on his side, and pulled me to him. He put his leg over mine, and I put my leg through his. Within seconds I had sucked him into me. He didn't thrash about wildly like some men do. His was more of a circular movement, around and around, gently. Almost hypnotic was its effect, around and around he went. It felt very, very pleasant. I knew I wasn't going to have another orgasm. It's funny how you get the feeling; sometimes you just know that you won't, but you can still enjoy every inch of the stiff cock within you. And this was the case with Ben. His fingers played around with my bottom and toyed with the edge of my lovely little ass-hole. His tongue now pushed into my mouth. His mouth was the only thing I didn't really like. It smelt of cigar and Scotch. I normally love the smell of cigars, but not on the end of the tongue, although it wasn't too strong because it was mixed with the smell of my love juices which were sweet, like honeysuckle on the spring air. He circled his tongue in my mouth as he circled his cock in my cunt. There were no hard thrusts, no great let-me-show-you-I-can-get-it-right-up-as-far-as-it-will-go-so-it-comes-out-of-your-mouth. I was fully conscious of him as he came. He clasped me closer to him. There was no violence-not great thrusts-just soft rotation, and he slipped his fingers down and sank one deep between my buttocks. The feeling was unbelievable, and although I wasn't coming with him, the sensation was something close to orgasm, but orgasm with awareness. It was perhaps even better than the orgasm I had just had. He slowly ground to a halt, clutched me, and we fell into a long, deep, and dreamless sleep with him still inside me.
We awoke about eight in the evening thus entwined and were just going to begin a second bout when the door burst open and in rushed the rest of Ben's crew and Hilary. Ben dived under the sheets and made like he wasn't there. I quickly pulled the pillows in front of me and did my damndest to disguise Ben and his morning (read evening) cock stand.
"We're all going out on the town," they shouted. "Are you coming?"
Just at that precise moment Ben with typical finesse stuck one of his fat fingers straight up my cunt. I shot up in the air and squealed with delight.
"Have you seen Ben?" they asked me. "He seems to have disappeared without a trace," they claimed.
"No, I haven't seen him, and you'll have to count me out of tonight's festivities. I'm completely pooped and have every intention of staying in bed," I replied.
They all pleaded with me, but to no avail. So they trooped out to indulge in the delights of the Lion City, as Singapore is known. Hilary remained behind for a second, looked at the telltale cigar butts in the ashtray, gave me a wink, approached the bed, and plunged her hand under the covers. I can only guess what she got a handful of, but Ben bellowed like a bull, and Hilary fled laughingly from the room.
Ben emerged with a red face like the inside of a ripe watermelon. "Who the hell grabbed my dong like that?" he asked. "A lady with very large boobs," I replied, "but you've missed your chance to get a feel of those. She's gone," I explained.
"Oh, I'll catch up with her later after I've done with you," he answered.
"You're all wind and piss, Big Ben" I replied.
With that he slipped straight into me and told me he'd show me that he might be full of wind and piss, but also full of spunk. He had the horn, and I was certainly going to let him make music with me. We came together, a very quick, satisfying bang. I nearly always feel randy enough for this type of treatment in the morning-of course, it was evening in Singapore-but flying so completely disorients me that I was starting the evening instead of the day with a bang.
We showered. Ben went in search of more suitable clothes. I decked myself out in the flimsiest of white voile dresses in preparation for the heat outside. We bargained with the tri-shaw owner for the fare to Fatty's, a well-known street-stall restaurant in Albert Street. The slow pace of the tri-shaw was by far the best way of seeing Singapore.
Everything amazed and delighted me, and I even began to get used to the heat and heavy odor in the air. Singapore is the super simmering center of the Orient. The city caters to every caprice, panders to every perversion, and is a Shangri-la for shoppers. Ancient and modern cohabit in decaying splendor, a perfect hotchpotch. Sex and Singapore are synonymous, and where better to go to glimpse the seamier side of the city than the crossroads where Albert Street intersects with Bugis Street?
We arrived at Fatty's, which is a slightly more posh eating place than most. Apart from the tables in the street, he also has an inside eating thing upstairs-that's the only way you can describe it. Unless you are well acquainted with the fare, you point to one of the thousand and one species of animal, fish, octopus, and all manner of weirdies hanging up in the street. The waiter rushed to the balcony and chanted something quite unintelligible to the cook on the pavement below and-hey presto! up came a selection of delectable dishes. We were given piping hot white towels after the meal for our own private wash and brush-up. The bill was chalked up on the table by the agile little waiter as we consumed the food, and an old tin receptacle was placed under the table to throw in our bones and other rubbish. We thanked the proprietor, and his happy rotund face beamed with pleasure.
Ben and I staggered heavy-gutted up the road to arrive at the crossroads of Albert and Bugis Streets. The whole area was covered with tables and chairs and locals selling their wares. Wizened little old men sat in doorways puffing their opium pipes. We even passed a matelot giving a local girl a knee-trembler against a wall in the full harsh glare of the lights.
I remarked to Ben, "That must be the cheapest live show in the world."
We grabbed a ringside seat and waited with bated breath for the midnight parade to begin. We were surrounded by grimy little shacks with only tatty remnants of curtains at the windows to keep the outside world from looking in. We were pestered by scruffy kids with angelic faces begging for Missy to play tic-tac-toe. Of course I never won, and each time I was relieved of a dollar. Midnight chimed, and like the wooden figures on the chiming clock at Wells Cathedral, they sauntered out, an array of finely plumaged peacocks, the-likes of which will never be equaled. They came in all shapes and sizes, catering to all tastes, the rough and the smooth. They were slim, petite, flaxen-haired beauties; tall, willowy, wand-like wisps of girls; amazons with knockers that brought tears of joy to Ben's eyes. They were all decked out in extravagant ball gowns, and droplets of pearls in their exotic hairstyles made Sassoon look like an amateur. We watched while they pulled a few, lost a few, but eventually only the soiled-looking goods were left, pitifully begging for favors. Soon all the birds had flown to their dismal little love nests until once more, about half an hour later, the whole procession recommenced. This nightly ritual goes on until the early hours of the morning. Many customers are satisfied, but many more become distraught. Because every one of these visions is male or certainly started out life as male. Whether it's tucked up or cut off I've no idea, as I've never had the opportunity to find anyone willing to tell me what went on behind those thin partitions, and the gilded lilies themselves were uncommunicative on the subject.
Ben told me there was a place of further delights to be found in the swampland behind Bugis Street. Ben and I found it not so much delightful as hysterical. A seedy guide wheedled a vast sum of Malay dollars from us and in return took us down a muddy path and across swampy ground to a place known as The Shack. Here we were treated to nonstop blue films, the-likes of which I had never before seen nor hope to see again. They were badly made and badly done. All sorts of animals performed quite a remarkable variety of acts-I never knew donkeys were so agile! Ben and I giggled like schoolchildren, not being turned on in the slightest by the happenings on the screen. Suddenly, as so often happens at The Shack, there was the loud sound of a whistle being blown, and a breathless Chinese ran into The Shack screaming, "Police raid!" Ben and I moved across the swamp ground as fast as an aircraft on takeoff. Mud-soaked, but none the worse for wear and still splitting our sides, we regained the bright lights of Bugis Street.
Ben and I wandered the streets, amazed that people could survive in such closely confined and crummy dwellings. The population of Singapore is at its busiest at night. Their nocturnal pastimes are screwing, eating, laughing, chatting, and generally enjoying the hubbub of life. Eventually we'd seen enough and hailed a cab for a quick, hairy drive back to our hotel. We crawled onto the bed, not even bothering to pull the sheets over us.
When I awoke the next morning, Ben had disappeared. The only indication of his presence was the large impression his vast body had made on the bed. I was half sorry and half glad he'd gone, for it's nice to be alone for a while and do all the little feminine jobs that girls like to do in privacy. He'd left a note which read, "Get a trip with me sometime, and I'll really show you a ball." Talking of balls, I hardly remember seeing his, but I certainly remember every inch of the superstructure above them. He was off, back home to London. I was to travel the globe in search of more romance. We were transient people, airline crews, never knowing where or when we'd meet again. In fact, I rented a flat in Chelsea with four other stews and shared a bedroom with one of the girls; I only saw her once in six months, and that was in Kuwait!
Our next stop was Darwin, in the wild Northern Territories of Australia. As we flew out of Singapore I gazed at the tangled mass of hotels, shacks, and houses. The streets below looked as though they were bathed in great pools of blood. In actual fact, it had been Chinese New Year a few days before our arrival, and the red pools were the remains of millions of firecrackers that had been let off in celebration of this great day.
The rest of the crew had warmed to Hilary and me, especially Jock, who had awakened naked in his room none the wiser about his nude tour of the hotel lobby. Captain Frozen Knackers was cooler than ever.
We were all set for takeoff, with a full load of Greek immigrants; the doors were shut, and all four props were rotating for takeoff when the captain demanded a glass of lemonade. Much to Hilary's horror, because this was her responsibility-none had been uplifted. The captain switched off the engine, recalled the steps, and delayed the flight, letting all the crew and passengers sit in the sweltering heat until lemonade was brought on board for sir. Once again we were prepared for takeoff when I heard a strange noise coming from one of the props. All engines were switched off while the engineer got out to investigate. He soon realized that one of the props was out of alignment. He twisted it back into fine pitch. With all four props rotating correctly we set off with a load of not-too-confident passengers and a petrified crew-that is to say, me!
Hilary and I were at the back of the aircraft, setting up the rolling cart for a bar round, when suddenly the aircraft hit freak turbulence. Hilary, the cart,, and I sailed gracefully to the ceiling as though we were weightless and then crashed to the deck with the most almighty bang. We were both badly bruised and shaken, but worse still, a woman passenger beside me had started to scream hysterically. Her mouth gaped like a cavern, and she screeched horrifically. There was only one thing I could do to stop her hysteria from spreading to the rest of the passengers, and I did it: with the full force of my hand I slapped her across the face as hard as I could. The effect was instantaneous. There was complete silence at first, and then she started to cry softly. I thought her husband in the adjacent seat was going to thump me, but I explained as best as I could, his knowledge of English being very limited, that this action was necessary for the sake and safety of the other passengers. I put my arms around her and gave her a brandy, and she soon recovered from her two nasty shocks. Hilary and I cleaned up the mess and resumed our bar service.