How to begin, how to begin. To detail my happy life before the fates deigned to make me a sad old Dragon, before I again found a reason to live.
I first met her nine years ago, on my first trip overseas, to Malaysia. I had landed in Penang only two days before, and was wandering around one of the city's many malls when I happened across a small bookstore. Going inside, I began to browse through the many Malay, Chinese, and a few western titles present in the overflowing shelves, and piled up on the floor, and this adorable, little Malay lass came up to me and asked in a very demure voice "Can I help?"
I smiled and with a slight glance towards her trim figure in the kimono-style silk shift she wore, shook my head. "Just looking, thank you." She smiled back, and as clear as a bell, I recall the store lit up, like a shaft of sunlight flooded it.
I smiled at her as she turned away to help another customer, and continued my browsing. A few minutes later, I heard a slight scuffle, and as I poked my head around the corner, saw another customer push her roughly into a shelf, which toppled over, or would have had I not put my back and legs into stopping it, and eased it back into place, losing about two tiers of books onto me in the process.
By the time I had managed to disentangle myself, the abusive customer had rushed out, and the store owner was bustling all around, red in the face, snarling at her angrily as he waved his hands at my apparent condition and the pile of books all over the floor at my feet. As they were speaking Cantonese at normal speed, I had no chance of following the conversation, but she simply nodded, saying the Cantonese word for 'yes' every so often as he berated her verbally, then gave her a sharp smack on the ear and stormed back to his office, indicating for her to clean up the mess 'she' had created.
She looked at me, eyes glistening with tears, and bent to one knee to begin picking up the books. I felt bad about not saying anything, even though the whole incident had happened in less than a minute or so, so I knelt and helped her pick up some books, getting a grateful smile in return for my aid. We quickly cleaned up the mess, and I found a book I hadn't seen before, a work by Arthur C. Clarke which to my amazement, had been signed by him. I still have that book on my shelf.
I went to the counter and paid for it, again getting a shy smile, and turned to leave when I heard a sharp exchange from the back office. My curiosity got the better of me, and I went to the partition and looked in. What I saw fascinated me and put me firmly in the realms of a spankophile for ever after.
Her Boss had obviously decided that a verbal growl wasn't enough, so he felt that a physical punishment was in order. She was bent over a desk, her shift around her waist, and her underwear around her thighs, and he was wielding some kind of thin cane. As I watched, he lashed it down five times, very hard. Each one causing her to cry in protest, except she was obviously biting her tongue or something, because she only groaned loudly at each stroke. I could clearly see the welts rise on her backside at each lash of the thin cane. He laid the final stroke down, then quickly put the cane down and growled at her again. Obviously the signal for her to get up, and of course, in my haste to make myself scarce, I made some kind of noise and although he couldn't see me, I heard her gasp, and knew she had spotted me.
She came out less than a minute later, saw me standing there, clutching my bag, and smiled, tears still leaking from her swollen eyes. She went behind the counter and picked up a bag, then walked past me and to the door. She walked through, then stopped and looked back at me. I didn't move, and she indicated that she wanted me to follow. I obeyed, perplexed and aroused by what I had seen.
She led me to a small park, mostly empty at this late hour, and very gingerly sat on the grass. I sat down opposite her and we just looked at each other for a few minutes.
"You see what happen?" She asked finally, in a quiet voice.
I nodded. "Are you OK?"
She smiled. "I hurt, but I get better."
"What is your name?" I asked her after another pause.
She blushed, but gave me her name, and I told her mine.
Over the next hour, we talked about everything we could have, and by the end of that hour, both of us felt very comfortable around each other. But, it was getting dark, and this adorable 18-year old had to get home or her parents would be getting very worried. I walked her to the bus stop and watched her get on her bus with a promise to meet again the next day.
Over the next two weeks we became very good friends, and I finally went to her home to meet her family. They hated me, I could tell. Not in the way they acted around me, but in the way they looked at my love. The scathing looks she was given from her mother, the angry glares from her father and brother, and the spiteful and sneering glances from her sisters.
I decided at that meeting to take her away from them. I was in my youth then, looking for love, and I had found it. Being independently wealthy from a lottery win, I basically could do what I wanted to do, I didn't have to rally to anyone else, and still don't.
The next morning, about 3am, I was awoken by the phone ringing in my hotel room, and I answered it. The night clerk told me that a very upset young lady was downstairs and wanted to come up. I said no, I'd be right down. I slipped on a pair of pj's and a robe, then went downstairs to find her standing in the lobby, in a voluminous leather bomber jacket I had given her. She looked tiny in the jacket, huddled against the outside world. And when I appeared, she flew to me, hugging me tightly and bursting into a flood of tears.
