The Singapore Sling, the storied pink drink now known around the world, was first concocted at the Long Bar of the famous Raffles Hotel in Singapore in the early years of the 20th century. Although some claim that the recipe has changed over the years, the hotel still serves this potent mixture of gin, Benedictine, cherry brandy and several other ingredients to eager tourists and residents alike.
But if the Singapore Sling is the well-known signature cocktail of that bustling island state in Southeast Asia, the “Singapore swing” may be its most popular activity, at least among a certain crowd.
In Singapore there are many restless “expat” short for expatriate wives whose husbands are constantly away on business trips, providing them with the opportunity to prove the veracity of the old adage: When the cat’s away the mice will play.
What most surprised me about living in Singapore was how much it reminded me of a suburb in New Jersey an affluent suburb, to be sure, where each house came complete with a maid, a pool and a tennis court. But the people in these air-conditioned condos were fantastically friendly. After a few days I felt as though I already knew everybody. It was like being back on my college campus in freshman year, where waving hello to the students one passed was almost compulsory. In the mornings, when the kids were delivered by their mothers to the many International schools, it was customary to stay a while and chat, perhaps even go for coffee.
In other cosmopolitan cities the locals generally have a somewhat negative reaction to newcomers who, due to business reasons or whatever, are there for a limited amount of time. “Oh, you are only here for two years?” they will say, and that will be basically the end of the friendship. No more invitations to barbecues or birthday parties. What’s the use, since you will soon be leaving anyway.
But in Singapore this attitude is a non-starter. Most expats are there for a relatively fixed term, so one might as well make the best of it. Barbecues, drinking sessions, birthday parties the more the merrier, since we’re all in the same boat.
The real icing on the cake and a rather well-kept secret is that most expats here are living well above the manner in which they would be living at home. Initially my expectations had been quite low. I mean, certainly Singapore was not Paris or London. And yet life here is so much easier especially when you factor in the live-in help that it is almost ridiculous to imagine that anybody who has the choice of living here would ever contemplate leaving.
For one thing, in most other cities, it would be difficult for many of us to afford a maid, let alone fit one into our relatively small by Singapore standards apartment. Yet here at least one live-in maid was almost the norm in the expat crowd. Occasionally you did find a superwoman type who insisted on defying all rhyme or reason by doing it all on her own, but that was really the exception. In fact, I had been warned that the topic of maids was the main fodder at most dinner party conversations along with the pros and cons of the various international schools: Do they teach Mandarin? Will the kids end up speaking Singlish a unique blend of Malay, English and several other dialects ? Are the fees exorbitant? and that had certainly proved to be the case. Everyone seemed to agree that the biggest bonus of having a maid was that it allowed a pampered wife or tai-tai, as they were called here to have a lot of free time on her hands.
Some of my friends were surprised that I, a notoriously possessive wife, could ever accept an attractive young maid living in the house with my husband and me. But after years of housework and child care with only minimal and often incompetent assistance, having someone constantly there to help out was a huge relief, and I wouldn’t have cared if she had walked around the house naked, with just yellow dish gloves on. The fact is that she was often down on her knees scrubbing floors, or attending to our toddler, with her skimpy camisole top affording a good view of her ample breasts. But I honestly did not mind and judging from the barely concealed smile on his face much of the time, neither did my husband.
In your own hometown it is unlikely that you will be living in a place that boasts a beautiful outdoor lap pool and tennis courts, or a playground you can access via your own elevator. Or that you will be easily able to afford private tennis, swimming and even Mandarin lessons for your children. So if you are reading this and you have children, I strongly recommend moving to Singapore. Of course, if you are single and horny, I also recommend moving to Singapore.
In fact, there are so many classes and activities available here that the impulse to “keep up with the Joneses” needs to be kept in check, or you will end up shuttling your poor kids around like a demented soccer mom, and it is just way too hot to do that. Mostly the kids just want to hang out in their air-conditioned apartments, drinking chocolate milk and watching Pok mon.
After all, were talking Singapore, where there is only one season: hot and humid. Ideal for a fungal infection, but not necessarily for outdoor activities. Kind of like July in New Jersey, all year round. It’s the type of heat that makes a trip to the beauty parlor completely irrelevant, along with any but the lightest and skimpiest of clothing. If you don’t want to smell like a durian the local fruit which has the most odious odor possible more than one daily shower is in order, along with lots of fresh deodorant. If one is planning an outing with the kids allegedly for some fresh air, but also a good way to scope out the single dads or business types out for an early lunch it’s best to do it in the morning, before it gets way too hot.
And thank God for the Botanic Gardens, a real oasis right smack in the center of the bustling metropolis. Boasting more than half a million species of plants and trees, it provides the perfect sanctuary from the constant noise of construction work, a result of the frenzied building of high-rise condominiums all over the city. It is an idyllic park comprising about 130 acres of land. There are swans, ducks and turtles swimming in the surrounding lakes, and often there are free outdoor concerts staged by the symphony orchestra on a small islet right in the middle of what is called Symphony Lake. In accordance with both its tropical location and its historic colonial background, the park encompasses both a jungle atmosphere and a plethora of manicured lawns. The real highlight is the orchid breeding program, which began in 1928 and produces more than 400 species of orchid and thousands of hybrids.
In lieu of a relaxing session of tai chi in the park, you might opt for a cheap massage on trendy Orchard Road after a tough day shopping for Prada and Ferragamo. Inside the colossal commercial center called Ngee Ann City also known as Takashimaya , the massage is done by the visually impaired. Or you could peruse the colorful bazaars in Little India, and have a traditional henna design painted on your hands and feet. Enjoy some delicious food in Chinatown, and visit the Thian Hock Keng Temple Temple of Heavenly Happiness , one of the most fascinating temples in Singapore. Another must-see for those interested in theology is the Sultan Mosque on Arab Street. This whole area is especially lively at night during Ramadan when Muslims abstain from eating and drinking during the day , because at dusk the faithful come here to break their fast and eat together.
Also not to be missed is the quiet area around Club Street known as Ann Siang Hill, which was a clove and nutmeg plantation until it became a prime residential area for Hokkien merchants. This area is impressive for the highly decorated terraces which once housed the old Chinese guilds, and have now been restored.
Just a taxi ride away you can find Sentosa, Singapore’s answer to Disneyland, an entire island dedicated to entertainment and leisure. You can swim in the surf of man-made beaches but beware of the ever-present possibility of heat exhaustion . For war aficionados there is Fort Siloso, a 19th-century military base complete with underground tunnels, which was captured by the Japanese during World War II and used as a POW camp. Large black and white photographs document the period for the historically inclined.
You can get around Sentosa for free by using the monorail which operates on a continuous loop. Or if you are in the mood for something really different, go to the development known as Changi Village and take a bumboat across the water to the remarkably undeveloped and rural retreat known as Pulau Ubin.
In mid-September comes the Hungry Ghost Festival, when the local people believe that the spirits of the dead come back to earth. So to appease the ghosts, the people offer burning incense on street corners, along with oranges and other small food treats. At night Chinese street opera troupes wayang stage colorful and dramatic performances of ancient legends.
Another celebration, the Mid-Autumn Festival, takes place on the 15th day of the eighth month of the Chinese calendar, and is celebrated with mooncakes and lanterns to acknowledge the harvest. Legend says that this festival is in honor of a 14th century Chinese patriot who is said to have hidden notes to his companions in mooncakes while trying to overthrow the Yuan Dynasty. These little round mooncakes are sold in shops and stalls all over Singapore, but you can find an especially wide variety of them in Chinatown. Traditionally these pastries contain sweet fillings made of ground lotus seeds, red beans, and duck eggs. At the colorful Chinese Garden every year there is a lantern competition, with children carrying candle-lit lanterns that are said to light up the sky.
So my life in Singapore was breezing along, but soon I began to crave some adventure. After all, my husband, like those of most expat wives, was away on business every single week, and I had a lot of free time on my hands. It was time to look around and see what the local male population had to offer. Most of my friends were already involved in extramarital affairs, which they justified by pointing out that their husbands were taking weekly trips to places where sealing a business deal often involved some sort of hot woman, who wasn’t there to sing karaoke.
Often after an exhausting morning of shopping or sightseeing in Little India, a group of my girlfriends and I would stop for a quick bite at a nearby vegetarian restaurant. These breaks were usually taken up with gabbing about our favorite subject sex while munching on the long paper-thin Indian bread called dhosa, served with a variety of sauces and coffee. But one morning, in order to try something a little more upscale than Little India could offer, we treated ourselves to a delicious champagne brunch at the swank Fullerton Hotel, overlooking the Singapore River in what used to be the General Post Office building.
My husband was away on yet another business trip, this time to mainland China, which was only one of the reasons I found myself keenly ogling a gorgeous man in casual jeans and a crisp linen shirt, sipping a flute of champagne while reading the international Herald Tribune. As my friends and I giggled loudly over our usual titillating conversation, his eyes locked with mine, and I may even have blushed a little as I realized that he could probably hear every word of our X-rated girl talk. One of my friends, Ayesha, a sensuous and gorgeous girl who used to model and dance in Bollywood movies, was telling us all about how keen she was on oral sex, and how she had located this wonderful mechanical tongue in some shop in Little India. My hot stranger in jeans looked very interested in this revelation, and his smile seemed to me to imply that he had a wonderful tongue of his own, conveniently located in his mouth.
On the way out of the hotel I was caught in one of those heavy tropical rainstorms, in which an umbrella is completely irrelevant, since the rain seems to fall not vertically but horizontally, drenching you from all sides. In these heavy rainfalls, caused by the Northeast monsoons, you can very quickly find yourself ankle-deep in water. So of course I ran back into the hotel lobby, with my new beige Max Mara skirt now completely transparent, and my flimsy linen blouse rendered as sheer as a pane of glass. It had not been such a smart idea to wear no bra or maybe it had been, as the service certainly seemed to improve rapidly. The door was thrown open for me, and at least two men came to up to me to ask me if I needed assistance, while ogling my now visible breasts and very taut nipples.
The fact was that I had an appointment that night to meet up with an old college boyfriend named Nick, who was staying in Singapore for only a few days. Nick now worked as a news correspondent in Afghanistan, and I hadn’t seen him for over ten years. When he had contacted me, we had arranged for a rendezvous at a restaurant on Boat Quay, an area in which many old bars and restaurants have been renovated, and have given new life to the restored row of old trading houses lining the southern bank of the river.
Meantime, however, I figured there was nothing wrong with a quickie right there at the Fullerton if only so that I could get out of my drenched clothes for a little while and I might have gone with one of the oglers, if the gorgeous dude in the jeans hadn’t happened to come out of the dining room at that moment. I greeted him boldly like an old friend, and it didn’t take him long to understand that I was interested in getting to know him better. He offered me the proverbial “shelter from the storm” in the form of his luxurious suite right there in the hotel not to mention his hot body. This was what I called hospitality of the highest kind.
During our initial conversation he offhandedly mentioned that he was a plastic surgeon a turn-on , that he owned a Ferrari a major turn-on and that he had been using his suite to catch up on some work before an important conference to be held at the hotel. The conference wouldn’t be starting for another couple of hours, however, so there was no rush.
He graciously helped me get out of my wet clothes, and I returned the favor. Two naked strangers facing each other is there any better way of getting acquainted? As his large erect cock neared my hot, wet, throbbing cunt, I couldn’t help but think that this had to be the true meaning of global warming. My moistness may have been partly due to the rain, but most of it was the result of looking at his strong manly body and imagining all the things I could do with it.
There was no need for foreplay. The man it was not until later that I learned his name, and he mine lifted me up with my back against the wall and entered me swiftly, filling me completely, as my long tanned legs tanned from hours of lazy lounging by the pool, dreaming of just this type of scenario wrapped around his muscular back, trying to pull him as deep inside me as possible.
The sensation was fabulous, and I never wanted the growing spasms racing through my body to end. My head was thrown back in the throes of desire, and I held on for dear life as he pulled me away from the wall and moved around the room with his dick still pumping inside me.
When my orgasm was finally over he disengaged and set me gently on my feet, but I sank down onto the plush carpet, almost in a faint from the sheer passion of it all. But I managed to lift myself to a sitting position so that I could reach his huge cock with my mouth. I ran my tongue around his throbbing, twitching manhood, then licked the tip while running my freshly manicured nails up and down that hot pole. It didn’t take long for his lava-like cream to burst out of him, running all over my mouth and face.
His orgasm just made me want more, and I stood up and led him into the marble shower in the bathroom, where organic bath creams were waiting for us to pour them all over each other. Under the hot running water things started to get steamy again. This time he sat down on a low ledge in the shower, and I sat right on top of him, taking him into me slowly but surely. His lips and tongue kissed and nuzzled my face and neck, and his hands played with my hard-nippled breasts as I rocked my body up and down, slowly at first, but unable to resist for long the ever-growing rhythm of my intense desire. I tried to hold back my climax, but it was soon evident that we were both on the verge of exploding in an astronomical orgasm. Which is what we did.
Later on he ordered room service, and we ate some nasi lemak a Malay specialty consisting of rice cooked slowly with coconut milk and served with anchovies, peanuts, egg, cucumber and chili with mango pudding for dessert.
On my way home from this delightful encounter I decided to stop at a coffee shop in Takashimaya, a beautiful store where the employees have the pleasant custom of standing at attention and greeting the very first customers at ten o’clock each morning. It was deliciously relaxing to sip a latte while listening to Billie Holiday croon about her unfaithful man, and thinking about how I might set up a second encounter with my passionate, Ferrari-driving plastic surgeon. Perhaps, I thought, I should call up his office to book an appointment. I could see myself lying down on his examination table, opening my shirt and exclaiming, Look at these tits, doctor. I really don’t think they need any enhancement, but what is your professional opinion? You might want to suck them a little first, so you can make an educated guess . . .
In spite of the fact that my panties were moist as a result of these reflections, and the memory of my recent adventure, I also spent some time considering just what I should wear that night for my hopefully X-rated reunion with my college friend. There were various possibilities, but in the end I decided on a skimpy little pink number that showed off an enticing expanse of tit and thigh. I also decided I wouldn’t really need underwear. After all, less is more, as they say.
Just a few hours later I was eating a scrumptious and delicious dinner at one of the more romantic restaurants along Boat Quay. The dinner was Asian themed, and featured hot and spicy sambal tiger prawns and chili crabs, accompanied by baby Shanghai greens, washed down with imported wine lots of wine. Nick and I reminisced about our college days, and about all the great sex we had had then, especially when we would go out dancing at one of the local juke joints. Most of the time I would tease him by dancing with my girlfriends while he watched avidly, getting hornier by the minute. Then we would go back to my dorm room and have mind-blowing sex. Sometimes one or two of my girlfriends would join in.
These reminiscences turned both of us on, and after dinner, to show him that I was still the hot chick he remembered, I suggested my own version of a Singapore Sling. In my version he slung himself across the seat of a trishaw a three-wheeled pedicab with me sitting on top of him, bouncing up and down with his very hard cock inside me, while a blissfully oblivious or very discreet driver pedaled us around on a tour of Singapore by night. By the time we descended, we could safely say that the years had not diminished our passion, and that Singapore certainly had a great deal to offer.