Tales from Old Shanghai 01

I shiver, so hot and wet as I hold him upright with my hand, easing myself into the right position to sink myself down on him and I am slippery and ready, as I am slippery and ready for every man who desires to fuck me. I ease myself down, his hands rest on my hips, he brushes me and I bite my bottom lip as I lower myself a little further, opening to him, slowly, for he really is big. I have done this before, I have impaled myself for the pleasure of a man but this... he's so big.

"Uhhhhh." His hands on my hips urge me downwards, just enough that his cockhead enters me and his shaft stretches me around his girth, his cockhead presses against my channel walls where he is inside me. One hand moves on my hip, of his thumbs reaches to where we join, feathers over my clitoris and I am swollen and wet, my clitoris protrudes a little, his touch weakens me and I sink down on him, and we are both looking as his shaft slides up inside me.

"So tight and hot," he groans.

"Uhhhhhh," I moan, for his cock is huge in me, stretching me everywhere inside as he penetrates up inside me and I'm shuddering, helpless, easing forward, my hands on his chest, taking my eight, bracing myself but my thighs have turned to jelly, gravity and his hands on my hips draw me downwards, sink me onto his shaft and I'm shivering, I'm shuddering, I'm moaning as his shaft penetrates me, deeper and deeper and his cockhead is high inside me, touching places deep within me that have never been touched.

"Do you like that?" he groans as I finally take all of him. We are pressed together where we join and I am stuffed full, I am stretched almost to the point of bursting but there is no pain, no discomfort, only a thick fullness that holds me on him, unmoving, helpless, moaning as I sit on him.

"Yes," I gasp. "Oh yes," and I slowly topple forward to lie on him.

One of his hands takes my ponytail, lifts me head, he kisses me with a fierce passionate longing. His hips flex, his cock eases outwards, thrusts inwards, working his cock in and out of my sex as I kneel over him, straddling him, his to possess and my sex squirms and spasms and clutches at his cockshaft.

"Yes," I moan. "Oh yes," and my hands clutch at his shoulders. I am helpless on him, impaled. Thickly impaled on this rigid shaft that fills me, that reaches high inside me and my face rests on his shoulder, my hands clutch at his forearms and I am content to let him take me, enjoy me, use me.

"You're good," he groans. "You're so good," and both his hands grip my butt cheeks and he's moving me on him as his hips flex and I'm helpless. I'm not riding him. I'm not anything him. All I'm doing his taking his cock and I gasp and I moan and I grunt and shudder when he goes a little too deep within me and it hurts and he's as far inside me as anything can go, I am sure and I'd scream except I have no breathe for that.

"Uhhhh," I gasp. "Uhhhhhh."

He feeds me his cock. He pulls me down on him as he thrusts into me and he is deep and high and wet and slippery and hot and tight on him and I want him doing this to me and now I want to serve him. I want to give him what he paid for and I push myself upright, slowly.

"Ohhhhh," he groans. "Oh fuck... oh fuck."

I slowly sit upright, straddling him and he is so deep and high within me and I moan as his hands cup my breasts. I exhale slowly as I lift myself and now I am moving on him, riding him, up and down. Faster, deeper, harder, rolling my hips, sliding on him, squeezing him and his cock is a spear reaching to my heart.

"Ohhhhh." It is my turn to sob. "Ohhhhhh." His cock moves inside me and he's swelling, he's larger inside me. He's harder, thicker, he's pumping himself up into me and it is all I can do to continue to ride him and his hands take control of my hips, moving me with effortless ease and I'm being moved on his cock like a fireman on a greased pole and my hands are on his chest, bracing myself as he groans with his own pleasure and I can't stop those little noises I'm making.

Little cries, sobs, gasps, mewling like a kitten with the excitement and pleasure of those thick thrusts high inside me and he's relentless, he doesn't stop and my body is slick with my sweat now, my forehead beaded, sweat drips from my nipples and for him it is no longer enough. He raises himself effortless, holding me in those large strong hands. He lifts me and turns me and lowers me onto my back and plunges is cock into me and now I am helplessly pinned beneath him,

His hands, his thighs, he uses them to spread my legs wider, my knees clasp his ribs, my feet kick at the air and his cock plunges deep, he's grunting now, grunting with every thrust as he touches me high inside and every thrust sends a shockwave of pleasure rippling through me and I'm writhing beneath him, my head arching back, my back arching, pleasure filling me and I moan and sob and my sex spasms on him as he has me.

"Ohhhh," I sob. "Ohh... ohhh... ohhhhh."

"Chuntao," he groans. "Chuntao, you're beautiful... you're the most beautiful..." and he plunges deep, one large hand spayed beneath my butt, lifting me and holding me to take his driving penetrations.

"Ohhhhhhhh," I wail and my culmination overwhelms me, my back arches, those delicious waves of ecstasy roll through me as my sex clamps down on and I wail again as his cock throbs inside me, as he floods me with his release, groaning his pleasure as he spurts his semen into me in great hot jetting bursts that reverberate through my body and I can feel his cock throb with every spurt, I can feel those hot rushing bursts flooding me inside and a second orgasm washes through me in the wake of the first and he holds me tight, strength and tenderness as he relaxes on me and my body glows beneath his.

"Come back to my hotel with me, Chuntao," he says, afterwards, many minutes afterwards, as I lie on my bed before him, exhausted, glowing, tired now and he's propped up on one elbow beside me, smiling down at me, one of those huge hands resting on the taut flatness of my stomach, resting, circling, caressing. That touch, that look, he cannot have enough of me and so many men have worn that same expression but there is something else on this American's face.

He wants me, yes, but he also cares. That is the look, and I have not seen that look on a man's face since Martin and seeing this big American look at me in that way, I almost cry.

He sees. He notices, where no other men have, or if they did, they did not care and those huge arms engulf me, hold me, protect me and in that moment, as voices asks "what's wrong, little honey?" I realize he cares.

I do not know why, I do not understand what he sees in me. Why he cares for a Shanghai whore, but he does and he holds me as I turn in his arms, as I bury my face against his shoulder, as I lose myself in that sadness and that loss once more and I cling to him as I have clung to no-one before but Martin or my friend, Hua.

He holds me, he strokes my head, my hair, he dries my tears, he asks me again to return with him to his hotel and when I tell him how much that will cost him, all night in his hotel room with him, he doesn't even blink. He opens his wallet, he peels off ten times as much as I asked for and he tells me he wants me all week. He gives it to me without a thought.

"Let's go, Shun-tow," he says, and he's grinning like a boy with a new toy as he takes my delicate hand in one huge paw, and I am like a child at his side as I leave with him and Mrs Innes will have to cancel my clients for the week because I do not think about it. I leave with my American and already that is how I think of him and in his hotel room, I undress. I bathe with him. I go to his bed willingly. I give him what he desires and afterwards, I sleep in his arms.

And in the morning... that first morning with my American...

"His cock was enormous," I say, innocently. "The biggest I'd ever had. I'm glad there was no-one else after him, because he stretched me so much. Sitting on him that morning, it was like sitting on a baseball bat and riding a bronco at one of these Texan Rodeo's and when he came inside me, it was like a firehose flooding me."

"Uh... Grandmother," Tien-chien says. "That's maybe a little too much detail if that's how you met Great-Grandfather." Her cheeks are pink.

I giggle and I know, I'm ninety eight now, and a ninety eight year old great-grandmother giggling about blowjobs and sex and working as a whore when she met her husband, who was one of her customers, and nowhere near her first, it's a little strange isn't it, and I have to giggle again.

"I was a Shanghai whore, Tien-chien," I say, and I am blunt now. Straightforward. Honest, for if she is to know my story, she should know the truth. All the truth. "More men fucked me than I can possibly remember, and I was good at it. Men begged for an hour with me. They fell to their knees and pleaded for an evening. Your great-grandfather, he was a lucky man and everyone told him why and he knew why, for I showed him. He paid me to be his whore and I was good at what I did." I smile. "Very good. He couldn't get enough and when he married me, he knew everything about me." I pause and for a moment I am sad and then I qualify my words. "Almost everything."

I look at my great-granddaughter, my eyes so wide and even at ninety-eight, I can still feign that wide-eyed innocence that men once paid so much for. That her great-grandfather paid so much for, because after the first time he fucked me, he couldn't get enough and he wanted me again and again and I was willing.

"Aiiiyah! Grandmother!" she says, and then she grins. "I can see why you were in demand," and she giggles now. "Keep talking," she says, and to all appearances she's Chinese but she speaks with that same Texan drawl that her great-grandfather spoke with. I can understand it now, but that drawl from a girl who looks like I once did, it still surprises me now and then.

"Go on, Grandmother," she says again, her voice soft, her cheeks still a little pink. "Just, no more details about great-grandfather's big cock, huh. Spare your great-granddaughter's blushes on that one."

I smile, place my hand on hers. "Okay, Tien-chien." I say that in the American way but it still sounds strange to me.

"But he really did have such a big cock and when he came! Heavens. So much of it. Like a firehose every time." I fan myself with one hand, remembering that first time that he came inside me. My own wide-eyed surprise as his gigantic cock pulsed and throbbed inside me, as he flooded me, and that climax. I can still recall that climax, unfaked, genuine, leaving me blind and helpless in the throes of my own pleasure.

"No wonder we had so many children," I add. "He was a bull of a man, your great-grandfather." Six children we had together in the end, my American and I. Five boys and one girl, my daughter, the youngest and I named her Hua after my friend and she is here today, with her family, her husband, her children and her grandchildren.

They are all here, so many of them and I know my American would be full of happiness for he loved our children and while he was so much older than me, he lived long enough to see his first grandchildren, to hold them in his arms and I gave him that. I gave my American everything he wanted from me except my love and I hid that love that still lived within me. I concealed that from my American and he was happy and in his arms, treasured and cherished, so was I and there are no regrets, for I did what I had to do.

I survived, where I do not think anyone else in my family did.

"Grandmother! The story!" Tien-chien interrupts my thoughts. She wants me to continue.

"Where was I?" I have to think for a moment and I swear, even at ninety eight, yes, I am excited at those memories and I do miss my American's big cock and how he came in me. Is it any wonder we had so many children, he and I? Half a dozen of them. Where was I?

Oh yes, Shanghai and my American. I smile.

My American doesn't care that I'm expensive. He buys me gifts. Jewellery. Clothes. Anything I ask for. Ridiculous things. Whimsies. Anything I want. Anything at all. He can't buy back my innocence though. He can't buy back my past. He can't buy my memories away from me. He can't buy my love.

But after three months, he buys my body.

"'Ah'm goin' back to Texas soon, little honey," he says to me one evening, seated beside me in the White Horse Nightclub, watching the cabaret. "And 'ah don't want to leave you behind." He looks down at me and I could swear there are tears in those eyes.

"'Ah cain't bear to leave you here all alone," he says, because he knows a little about me now.

That I have no family. That they were in Nanking when it fell to the Japanese. That I haven't heard from them since. He knows what I am. He knows what lead me to do what I do. He even knows a little about what happened with Martin, that fiasco of an afternoon with his family. He drew all of that from me with a dextrous skill that surprised me when I realized just how much I'd confessed to him. How much he'd drawn from me. How much he'd surmised for himself.

"Ah want to look after you, Chuntao," he says, holding my delicate hands in his huge paws. "A little flower like you should be cherished and loved and protected." He looks around. "Not like this. You're not one of these girls, not in your heart. You want to be loved, you want a husband, a home; children."

I look into his eyes and I know he's serious and almost, almost I cry. "I'm a whore," I tell him, bluntly, the pain of my words forcing back the tears. "White men like you don't marry Chinese whores."

"Chuntao," he says. "Ah don't give a good goddamn what anyone thinks 'ah should or shouldn't do. 'Ah own half of Texas." He laughs. "Waal, okay, maybe not half, but a chunk 'n if I want to marry the most beautiful girl I've ever met, well, if they don't like it, they can kiss my Texan ass."

He pauses and he's thinking. I know he his. "Let me look after you, Chuntao. Come back to Texas with me and if you like it, we can talk more then, and if you don't, why, I'll bring you back to Shanghai and set up here with you instead. Or anywhere else you want to go. Come with me and we'll see how you like it and we can talk after that about what happens later."

Men have asked me this before. To set up with me. To make me their mistress. Always, I have refused. I open my mouth to say no and I look at him and he's so serious, he means it and I know he loves me. He loves a Chinese whore and he's willing to defy convention, defy everyone, he really does want to marry me and he doesn't give a good goddamn that I'm a whore and the tears well in my eyes and how I wish Martin had had half my American's courage, a quarter even. That courage you need to defy the conventions, to defy everyone and to do what you want to do, regardless.

My American has that courage. He loves me that much.

I do not say yes, not then, but I leave the nightclub with my American. I finally leave the Shanghai American Girls Private School, although I have not been back often since I first went to his hotel with him. I say farewell to the other girls. I leave almost everything behind except some clothes, that single letter from Hua, that locket of her hair, my painting, now removed from its frame and rolled in a protective case, and that red silk sheet. I openly move in to the Hotel my American is living in. I move in but I refuse to accept his offer of marriage.

Who would want to marry a Chinese whore? I tell myself he's not serious. It's desire. It's lust. He wants me but if he marries me, he'll regret it and cast me aside and then where will I be? Nobody wants a discarded whore.

It is known now that I am his exclusively, his mistress. His concubine. I don't think of myself as being his concubine. His kept woman. I'm not. I'm a whore.

His whore, but still a whore.

That has not changed.

He pays for me.

I see Martin once more. It's February 1941, two and a half years after I last saw him, and he must have returned to Shanghai. It's Valentine's Day and I'm wearing new diamond earrings and a beautiful diamond pendant that were my Valentine's Day present from my American. I'm in a nightclub, I forget which one. I am with my American, as I always am, now.

I'm twenty one and inside my head I'm far older than I should be. In those two and a half years I've gathered a lifetime of experience. I've been the American's mistress for months now. He calls me his girl now but I'm not. He pays me, he pays me well and I am his exclusively, but I know exactly what I am.

I am not his girl.

I'm his whore.

He's thirty years older than me and he's taking me back to America with him. I've agreed to go with him, and he's overjoyed. Elated. We're going to San Francisco by ship, and then to Texas and his ranches and his oil and he has all the papers for me. We're leaving on a ship in three days' time and I will have left Shanghai behind me. I will have left the last two years behind me as if it's a dream. A dream and a nightmare.

A dream and a nightmare I should forget, but how could I ever forget Martin, and when I see him, when our eyes meet for a second in that nightclub, when I see that he remembers me, when he flushes and looks away, I know that I will never be able to wipe the memory of him from my mind.

In that glance, in that single meeting of our eyes, I know I still love him and how could I ever forget? I haven't seen him since that Sunday afternoon of shame and humiliation, that dreadful evening with his friends and that once he came to me as one comes to a whore, two and a half years ago where my heart and my hopes and my love were shattered forever.

I gaze at Martin's face, that face that I loved, and in that moment, I know I still love him and my eyes well with unshed tears. All the bitterness, all the shame, all the humiliation and the pain of losing him, I could never erase that from my mind if it meant erasing him from my memories and I know I can never forget.

I know this love for him will be part of me until the day I die.

"Hey, Chuntao," my American drawls, and I still barely recognize my name as he drawls it. "There's someone there I gotta talk too."

He abandons me momentarily for an acquaintance, someone he loudly calls to as he pushes through the crowded nightclub with that arrogant self-confidence that so many Americans have, and I've met many Americans now. Americans, English, Germans, Italians, French. Every nationality under the sun. I've met them all and they're men, they want one thing. The thing that every man wants and if they paid for me, I gave them what they wanted, I sold them my body. For a price.

Always for a price.

Only Martin has ever possessed my heart. He possesses it still.

"Chuntao." It's his voice, waking me from my reverie. Martin's voice. He's here, he's come to me and he's here, he's standing beside me. My heart flutters like a sparrow's, my love for him soars within me, renewed, filling me as it filled me that first time ever I saw his face.

"I'm sorry, Chuntao," he says. "I'm so sorry." He looks so helpless, so lost and forlorn and my heart goes out to him as we gaze into each other's eyes. "I loved you," he whispers. "I love you..." His voice breaks. "I love you, Chuntao."

"I know you did," I say. "I know you do."

His eyes, his eyes say that he loves me still.

He did love me, he does love me, but he didn't love me enough to take me to his family when it would have made a difference. He didn't love me enough to stand up to his father when I needed him so much. He didn't love me enough to save me on that Sunday afternoon where my dreams and hopes were destroyed. He didn't love me enough to save me from his father. He didn't love me enough to save me from all those other men.