m3 - make men move

It was my 50th birthday.
I wasn't feeling good that morning. I was up late.
At breakfast the mandidn't notice me at all;
so engrossed was he with the Star, people's paper.
Neither “Good Morning,” nor “Happy Birthday.”
I thought, “Well, that's a husband for me;
I couldn't let him climb on me last night."
Maybe the children will remember to call.”
No, the children never called. Why did I buy for them those Nokia phones?

By the time I arrived at my "Z+ Clinic" I was feeling depressed.
I just managed to smile at the dental patients waiting in both lobbies,
ground and first floors. As I walked into my surgery,Zheng, the junior assistant,
said, “Good Morning Madam. Many Happy Returns.”
Quite unenthusiastically I acknowledged, "Thank you, Zheng."
Then Za, the senior assistant, next door to me, popped in to wish me.
I knew Za so well. He was always sensitive.
So quickly he withdrew, having sensed that I was probably under the weather.

I began to feel a little bit better; at least 2 did care!

I told Zheng that I would try to take in only emergency cases right through lunch; and let Za handle the rest. Zheng said he too would skip lunch rather than let a reserve shift nurse stand in. We worked hard until 2.
Then Za knocked on my door and said,
“No more patients today until 4. Half-dozen could not make it here until after 4.
Not to worry, I'll take care of things and hang on here late.”

After Za left, I told Zheng, " Go fix for yourself something to eat and drink while I take a nap here."
Zheng asked nervously, "Anything wrong, Madam? It's your birthday! You don't look any older than when you interviewed me for this job 3 years ago. Yet it's not like you today. Do you want me to quietly call your doctor? Or, if you don't mind my funky run-down Kelawai apartment across the road I can fix some simple "nan"(pancake) or "sanza-cucur-bawang-style"(Melayu-Uighur dish) or even spaghetti for you -
of course I don't use a tennis racket like Jack Lemon or Walter Mathau."

I couldn't help breaking out to loud laughter saying, “I know that place. Zheng, you amuse me,
I feel better now... alright, why not, let's go. See how some of our staff live away from this clinic.”

Down on the stairs, Zheng pleaded that I should go well ahead of him; I perfectly understood his
"malu la"(shy) whisper. We walked across "Lim-Lien-Teng padang or square" - a 6-foot-6 immigrant
with roots in Urumqi, Xinjiang leading by a wide margin a petite 4-foot-4 native.
I stared back at those funny natives gaping at me as if they were ready to swallow a fly from the sky;
so they stared instead at the ground looking so silly.

Walking up the steps to the top floor of the 3-level apartment already made me hungry. Inside, as was customary, we left our shoes by the door. From the kitchen balcony the view of Gurney Drive and the sea was refreshing. There was the sound of waves and a cooling breeze. From the sitting room balcony I could spot silhouettes of those gaping idlers on the square below watching people go by. As Zheng said, the apartment was indeed funky. I was struck by the big picture of Zheng with 6 beautiful women all much bigger than him. Pointing to the images Zheng said, "these 2 are sisters, these 2 are nieces and these 2 are cousins."

Zheng continued, "Madam, please relax on this sofa while I do my magic in the kitchen."
I plumped down hard on the only colonial-type cane furniture; it was too low and not quite comfortable.
He looked at me hard, squatted on the red cement floor and held my left ankle with his right hand.
Instinctively I kicked him away; and he fell on his back on the floor murmuring "aadooouuiii";
I stood up and put my foot on his stomach saying, "Don't try to be funny; you are fired."
I was going to leave immediately; but I felt a little bit of pity for the midget.
As I stretched my hand to help him up Zheng pleaded,
"Please, Madam, I can never harm even a "lalat", "nyamok" or "cicak" (fly, mosquito, lizard);
you were so tense you couldn't sit for long like wood or stone on this low sofa made for small people like me
to stretch, rest and relax. I was only trying to help."

I felt silly and a little more pity for Zheng; I put my arm around his neck for a minute as he snuggled up by my side; and then I went back to sit down on the sofa as I did before. He rubbed his bottom "aaadooouuuiii" and sat down on the floor in front of me stretching his palms saying,
"Please let me show you what I was going to do; then you may kick me and sack me."

Poor Zheng! At the surgery we fixed an automatic--up-down stool for him. Surgical gloves didn't quite fit and had to be clipped to his wrists. He had small beautiful hands like a girl's.

Cautiously he touched my left foot, held my left ankle gently as he did before he got kicked and lifted my left leg to lay level with the sofa; and gently he lifted my right leg to lay parallel to my left leg.
Then with his right palm he gently held my toes saying,
"Please, Madam, why are you so stiff, so tense, like wood? Please let me massage your feet a bit."
So I felt, "why not" and took off my new stockings and hang them on the edge of the sofa. I felt much more pity for him sitting cross-legged on the red cement floor gently rubbing the soles of my feet and caressing his dainty fingers in between my toes. I was now feeling less tense; he really had a magic touch. I wondered silently, "Is this the return of a sensation I felt so long ago and never felt again until today?"

"Zheng" I said, "Please massage my legs a bit."
He looked surprised and shy but he obliged. As Zheng manoeuvred his fingers and palms over my legs, under and in between, I felt indescribably womanly as well as motherly. It was a sensation of stripping away so much stress. Impetuosly I sat up, grabbed his face with both my hands and while he tried to free his face from my clutch I kissed him all over his face; and he blushed looking so shocked and funny with those purple marks of my lipsticks on his forehead, nose cheeks ... all over.
"Please, Madam," Zheng pleaded, "I can't defend myself against your husband, children and friends."
I replied. "I know that. Worry not about husband or children or friends. They don't care.
Please, Zheng, forget about "nan" or "nang", "sanza" or "sanzi" or spaghetti."
Zheng looked so abashed as I flipped off my blouse, bras and panties
and hang them together with my stockings on the edge of the sofa.

I was really feeling free and fresh; my stress had gone to infect Zheng; he was very nervous.
"Madam, ta' boleh(cannot do)!" Zheng pleaded.
So I put my arms round his neck and whispered,
"Ta' naik (not up)? Never mind, please, massage my back and belly a bit."
He was very shy and nervous but obliging. I can feel his great restraint while I was no longer inhibited -
wasn't I the big boss for him?

I felt silently, "Oh my God, Zheng! This magic touch. These gentle hands like velvet on my back and then on my belly." The more nervous he was the sweeter the touch, the more scintillating the sensation. I couldn't wait for him to relax and let go; so I softly put my hands on his and then slowly took those hands and manoeuvred them to my breasts. Oh my God. What a sensation.
"Zheng, please, massage my breasts!" I whispered.
He obliged while murmuring "Madam, husband and children could be here."
I was feeling so sensuous with Zheng's dainty velvety fingers nervously wriggling around my nipples; I was going to ask Zheng to kiss my nipples; but I didn't want to risk him biting them like husband's heinous habit.
I must have been making some shrugging don't-care gesture when I accidentally brushed over his loins.
I felt moist.
"Naik (up) Zheng, naik Zheng!" I cried.
Oh my God, I was so exhilarated; the midget had a hard poignant stuff. Oh my God.
He nearly hit my chin trying to free himself from my hugs and kisses.
"Please, Madam," Zheng kept pleading, "please, let me go to the bathroom - must wee-wee la."
So off he disappeared.

I never knew that one could doze off stress-free in moments of excitement and exhilaration.
It was so relaxing. I never felt any sense of guilt or shame at all. I was free.

Some noise woke me up. Zheng was standing by the sofa carrying the "nang-sanzi-meal-tray";
husband holding a big tray of birthday cake; children and dozens of friends carrying presents.
All were singing “Happy Birthday to You”.

There on the sofa I Iay with my stockings, panties, bras and blouse out on its edge. For a few seconds I was dumb. I wasn't embarassed at all. I was angry that my privacy was rudely invaded. I was savagely cut off from total profound discovery of my nature. No more hypocrisy. I could very well have driven them all out;
but the apartment wasn't mine. Then I couldn't help laughing like hysteria. Zheng looked so funny with all those purple marks of lipstick all over his face. Children were giggling away with me; hypocrites or friends ?
smiling mutedly with a sense of humor at my expense; and husband looking grim and sullen and pretending
he didn't feel jealous at all - at least he had the guts to admit to planning this cruel practical joke.
"Gesine!" - pronounced "JeeZeen" - husband said,"Look at this!" opening a rose-colored box
"This is the diamond that you desired but I couldn't afford 2 birthdays past."

"Great, please leave it on the tray, I don't need any diamond now."
I mumbled as I stood up almost nude in front of everybody. Calmly I dressed up.
I no longer felt stiff like wood or stone as Zheng had remarked earlier.
Then I spoke "Thank you all. It's a great day.
Zheng, you are fired.
Qarnain, I want a divorce. In Xinjiang a wife may sue the husband for divorce on grounds of failing among many other duties to look after the sexual needs of the wife and on grounds of the husband pestering the wife to submit to the husband's phantasies of rape, sodomy and beastly perversions.
Children can opt to stay sometimes with dad and sometimes with mum;
when you stay with mum there will be some discipline and no more nagging for the latest models of Nokias.
The rest can go or stay; I am not keen on people who enjoy a joke on me on my 50th birthday."

End of episode.
Now coming up to 68 I live independently the life of a recluse with a little creativity after selling out my practice to Za and Zheng. I have had my share of joy and sorrow, a little remorse and some regret. The children visit me from time to time when they need to complain about husbands having become greedy, selfish, chauvinist and so much less caring than before marriage. I listen attentively but never make any comment; I trust them to hang on at least until they and the kids are independent. I refuse to meet Qarnain; he moved out immediately to live with his voluptuous secretary on that same day.

Every 6 months I meet Za and Zheng at the "Z+ Clinic". ZiYou, their young partner, now attends to my dental cares; she's great, very thorough and so patient with my idiosyncrasies. Za warns me amply in case I need to avoid Zheng ....... No, I was never angry with Zheng, nor embarassed. I was simply disappointed;
it wasn't his fault; I was impetuous; and I accept my impetuosity.
I have now made my mind manage my mood and my moment.

Sometimes I wondered what discoveries I could have unfolded
if that afternoon didn't end up a bad brutal joke.

Penang 2003 October 28