One night, Cary was going on about how cute Kevin was in his pjs, and thus I asked if sex has occured yet, to which she replied "I will not have sex with him until he shows that it's worth it.".
"Worth it? Like how? I thought he has been really sweet to you." we conversed in simple English, as she was going through her make-up brushes, cleaning them with tissue.
"If you give a man sex easily, he will think he do not have to work for it. So you must preserve it until he showers you with constant well-treatment and finally, a lavish token to seal the deal." Cary spoke, her eyes never leaving the make up counter.
"Lavish token... like an expensive present?" I asked, bouncing up and down on her soft pink bed.
"Yes... Hehe. A prada bag hopefully." Cary giggled, her eyes sparkled.
"What happens after you have sex with him then?" I was confused, for I thought they were serious about each other.
"If the man is serious, he will behave himself and continue treating me appropriately, if he leaves, it is okay, I have the gift, but he will never get my heart." Cary spoke slowly, stumbling over the words. And I could feel in her tone that she meant it.
And that was the second thing I have learnt from my China friend. Never give a man your heart if you do not first have his. Or perhaps, let men fuck you for a branded bag. Which, I of course, has chosen to interpret as the former.
~
Louis went on non-stop about how pretty I looked after I appeared at work with minimal make-up which application was taught by Cary. I marveled at how everyone's attitude towards me improved considerably as of which. Colleagues who never knew I existed started talking to me, asking about the weather, about my day and what-nots. Customers hitting on me, shoving me tips and leaving their contact numbers on napkins became something common.
I stared into the mirror at the start of every day, looking at the reflection who was staring back. As my fingers dabbed with foundation cream went across those cheeks, I grimaced at the superficiality of the human race, how people are attracted to nothing but the skillfulness of the paint job on a sculpted mask, and how our daily lives are just a struggle to be accepted, to stay alive in this societal rat race.
On a particular Wednesday afternoon, it was Louis and my off day as usual. Strolling along town, we were approached by a flyer distributor. As Louis was about to reject the girl's flyer in her hand, I stopped to take it from her, wanting to make her job easier. It was a promotional advertisement for one of the local aesthetic and bust enhancement companies. And then I saw, bust-enhancement going at a discounted rate. I nudged Louis and said "No harm trying?"
He looked at my chest and chuckled: "Well maybe... but i don't really think there will be much results."
"Well... we can always go inquire. It's just near by." I scanned the flyer for the shop address.
Truth to be told, I always hated the inadequacy of my breasts. When mother was pregnant with me, she always wanted me to be a son. Imagine her disappointment when she woke up from her localized anesthesia to find her child wrapped in pink. I grew up in pants and digimon t-shirts, played catch with the neighborhood boys and never had my hair beyond my shoulders.
Primary school went by just fine, as I remained part of "the boys" where recesses were spent playing yugi-oh, eraser battles and balls when Wendy and I got into different classes. Reality hit only in secondary school, when the boys and girls started developing hormones and all the boys realized i'm really, actually a girl. I guess maybe that was why I was ostracized by both genders... because I don't belong to either. The time I have spent with the boys made me a foreign object to the girls in class, for I could not keep up with their gossips and endless preening sessions in the toilet.
Wendy and I played barbie dolls at home previously, but she too was not the average kind of girl, having grown up with two brothers in the house. Thus my knowledge of the feminine department was close to zero, other than the fact that I, like any other girl, was attracted to the color pink, and that I have had crushes on boys.
Breasts to me, was a symbol of femininity. My chest has done nothing to help me feel better throughout my adolescent years. At that moment, flyer in hand, I was hopeful. I wanted to feel womanly, something that I haven't really experienced since birth.
I omitted the idea of breasts implants because the ingenuity of it was something I just could not accept. But still, even as a safer and more natural alternative, bust enhancement already anchored me to the abyss of the vainpot club. Though it beats going under the knife, the thought of pursuing such superficiality made me feel like a hypocrite. But my legs had minds of their own, striding in quick steps towards the devil's lure.
The consultant was a friendly woman called Helen with massive ballooned breasts and a protuberant belly to match. I expressed my interest in the promotion, and talked about my childhood woes. Louis promised to wait whilst shopping at ION. Helen brought me to a room for examination. I was greeted with an acrid smell of tea tree and Dettol. Helen then put on a surgical paper mask and a pair of reading glasses.
A lone surgery lamp stood beside the surgical chair. I was made to bare my breasts standing in front of the blinding white light emitted from the lamp. Having snapped on a pair of doctor's latex gloves, I felt the rubbery texture gliding across my areolas, curving as Helen reached below the slight bump of my breasts to feel the depth. Her hands went around, over to my back, under arms and stomach.
"Violette, I have good news for you. It seem that favorable results can be attainable as you have a considerable amount of baby fat here..." Helen's fingers trailed down from my triceps, under my arms and at the sides of my rib-cage.
She then keyed the details gathered into the computer before asking me to slip into a green gown. We were going into the massage room. The room was dimly lit, with soothing spa music and a flat out bed. I was instructed to lie on it after getting out of the gown. I covered my lower torso with the warm blanket provided, exposing my breasts. Helen returned to the room with a tub of gel and a strange machine.
Working as she spoke, Helen pasted several pads that were connected to the device onto my breasts after applying a layer of the gel. She explained that the machine's duty is to create pulses that will stimulate blood circulation. The pads were strategically placed at vital blood vessels to maximize the blood flow. Not only was the cream made to lubricate and protect my skin, it also has herbal properties to help stimulate growth.
The machine whirred to life upon the touch of a button and I felt the pulses on my boobs. It did not hurt the least bit, and was surprisingly relaxing. Helen left me to rest for 20mins. I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to wander into the surreal world created by the melodious music that was playing. I soon dozed off, and was woken by the cold touch of Helen's fingers as she removed the pads.
A large blue tub replaced the gel on the table as Helen reached in, scooping out generous amounts of a bluish gel and smoothing them onto my breasts. The gel felt cold and slimy, but smelt of lavender. She then proceeded with a therapeutic massage, claiming that the massage is to actively push the baby fats towards the bosom, and the gel helps to firm up the collated fats into the breasts. The gel as she boasted, contained 17 natural plant extracts one of which produces hormones that induces "puberty of the boobs".
After a rigorous massage, my breasts felt sore and alarmingly firmer and fuller. I stepped out of the clinic feeling satisfied and slightly sexier. I have signed up for a 1000 dollar package, which consists of 12 sessions, and a complimentary bust cream to apply at home nightly. Louis then met up with me with multiple shopping bags and a huge smile on his face. "There's a massive sale going at Armani Xchange! The crowd is crazy. I bought something for you!"
We sat by the fountain outside Ngee Ann City as Louis peeked into all his shopping, and singled out a paper bag from Armani Xchange. Folded in crepe paper, was a party gown in midnight blue. Made of soft silk, the dress looked as though it used to be part of the night sky until someone cut it and fashioned it into a dress. Beautiful swarovski crystals glittered like stars against the fabric, shimmering and dominating the upper half of the spaghetti-strapped top. A demure V-slit cornered the lower right of the skirt hem, and an enclosed zip held the back of the dress together.
I gave Louis a tight hug and promised to wear it the next time we plan our drinking session again. I was on top of the world that particular Wednesday. I felt accomplished, sexy and genuinely exultant. Back home that night, I told Cary about the package that I have signed. She kindly offered an aged old home recipe that has been passed down by her mother's ancestors, it was a recipe for a special tea that will trigger estrogen secretion, which in turn will stimulate the growth of breasts as the body will be tricked into thinking it's time to breast feed.
China people really do have more than just a few tricks up their sleeves, huh? With the recipe safely tucked away into my wallet for easy perusal when shopping for the ingredients, I made supper for Cary and I as we sat down and chat. Her school term was commencing the following week, and she urged me to take a diploma cum degree with her.
It was a shame Cary had no interest in sales, for her glib tongue can surely get her places. Even my staunch stand on No-more-studying shook at its roots, and crumbled a little as I let her talk about how important the few pieces of paper would be for me to survive in Singapore. But deep inside, I had a feeling she was just afraid of being lonely in school, for I know a girl like her would definitely find it hard to make friends with the other girls; either that, or it will be Gossip Girls, China edition with all the fake facades and sanguinary backstabbing.
Fashion designing was a juvenile and silly secret ambition of mine since I was a little girl. But if I were to agree and sign up for the courses, my finances would be really tight. I did not raise my financial issue to Cary however, as I wouldn't have accepted her help on this. She looked at me with that ineluctable pleading eyes that made me just exclaimed "Okay Okay! I'll go down to your school on my next off day to check out the course commencement date okay?"
Cary did a small dance of victory as I pretended to slump against the table in exasperation. The night ended with me washing the dishes, of course, as the princess was afraid of corroding her silken hands with the dishwasher. She was on the phone with Kevin all night.
A few days later, I went back to the clinic for my 1st official session of bust enhancement. After the same procedures as the trial provided, I exited the shop rubbing my breasts, as though the cells of my mammary gland were undergoing cytolysis. I had started to drink the tea that Cary suggested, and it tasted really bad. The things that women would do for beauty, I was growing to be surprised at myself.
Just as I was making a turn right at the corner of Ngee Ann City, I got a glimpse of a familiar figure going up the escalator. I squinted for a clearer view - It was Kevin. And he was not alone. In his company, was a Caucasian woman. There was no intimacy involved, but I bit my lips in bias dubiety. I guess my intuition about Kevin when we first met was pretty accurate. I felt anger gushing to my head, almost as though it was my own relationship.
But I had no idea if Cary ought to know about this, but to me, the hurt could very well be a knife of hope, before its too late. Or maybe... it already was.
Lesson 6: In the game of hearts, sex is a chip and love is foul play.
No comments:
Post a Comment