Stop.

Step away from your computer and take a good look around. Soak in the sights and smells of this strange city. This story may change the way you look at things.

A couple of weeks ago my friend James passed through Seoul on a business trip. He's a stock broker on Bay Street ' and a damn good one. His wife, Odessa, tagged along for the ride too. She's an ex-model and a serious tramp, with mile long legs, large bedroom eyes, and a heart so hard it could split diamonds.

One on one, James and I get along the way old college buddies are supposed to. Beer for breakfast, wine at lunch, and a healthy dose of the hard stuff to get us through the night. But when she's around, James gets all puritan on me. The leash tightens, his sack shrivels, and all notions of fun fly out the fucking window.

A night with the newlywed Vanderbilts is torture.

It was a Friday night, if memory serves me, and I'd be damned if I was going to meet James and Odessa alone. Sure he's my friend and all, but there wasn't a chance in Hell that I was willing to subject myself to another night of their bland shenanigans. So I called Mr. Lee ' a doctor friend of mine - and invited him to join us for dinner at Gecko's Garden.

He asked if he could bring his wife.

Sure thing old trout! Bring your whole damn family if you feel like it!

The more the merrier.

That night, the regular whores and wastrels and wonton criminals swarmed the streets of Itaewon. Drunken English teachers, crazed Russians, debaucherous G.I's drug-slinging Nigerians, horny Ajashis. The herd was out in full force. Rampaging around the neon jungle like wild beasts, in search of soju, samgapsel and sex.

And not necessarily in that order.

It was a night fit for perverts and thieves. Ordinarily I'd be south of the river in Apkujung, drinking a martini and listening to some smooth jazz licks at Once in a Blue Moon. But Odessa saw a picture of Gecko's Garden on-line, and 'just had to go there.'

So, of course, we went.

Two hours in, and five bottles of wine later, the night is plodding along just fine. James and Mr. Lee jabber endlessly about junk bonds and mutual funds and a bunch of other corporate jazz I have no interest in. Odessa and Seo-yun (Mr. Lee's stunning wife) chat about cosmetics and fashion and recent Hollywood gossip.

On both fronts, my opinion is neither sought nor given.

Around midnight, I excuse myself and duck into the bathroom for a piss. The urine fairies are tickling Mr. Lee's bladder too, so he tags along.

The smell of the bathroom is shocking. The toilet is backed up, and a putrid waft of piss and puke and slippery shit lingers heavy in the air. But more shocking than the waft are the words coming from Mr. Lee's mouth.

'Odessa very beautiful,'� he says, shooting me a sly, shit-eating grin.

'Yeah,'� I tell him, 'if you fancy gorgeous, boring whores.'�

'A whore?'� Mr. Lee ponders this for a moment then asks: 'Do you think James would like to swap wifes?'�

Just like that.

Wife swapping.

The question catches me off guard, like a perfectly placed sucker punch. It isn't so much the subject matter (I'd heard of this Korean wife swapping fad before). It's more the manner in which he asks that throws me for a loop.

No compunctions, no guilt, no sense of shame. Just a straight forward question from a guy who knows what he wants.

I tell him I have no idea if James will go for it, but I'll ask.

What he does in his spare time was none of my damn business. If we wants to fuck Odessa and let James lay the pipe to his seemingly innocent wife, who am I to judge?

Back at the table, discreetly as possible, I whisper the twisted proposition into James' ear. To my surprise he agrees, but says he has to have a word with Odessa first.

Twenty minutes later they're gone. James with his arm around Seo-Yun. Mr. Lee with his hand on Odessa's ample ass.

The next morning James leaves Seoul without so much as a goodbye.

Three days ago he sent me the following e-mail:




Hobbes,

You foul & treacherous bastard!

That's the last time I'll ever let you talk me into anything. You hear me, you sick son-of-a-bitch? The last fucking time!

This is worse than the time you convinced me to pound the arse off that hair-lipped whore in Prague.

I still haven't forgiven you for that, and I won't forgive you for this either.

I'm not sure what Mr. Lee told you about his charming, polite, little wife...but I'm sure it was all lies. She's a no-good slut. A filthy rotten whore!

She shit all over me.

Yep. That's right asshole. She actually shit on me.

We went back to the hotel, one thing led to another, and before I knew it she was asking me to give her an enema ' said it was the only way she could have an orgasm. I got lost in the heat of the moment and said it sounded like a good idea. What a fucking mistake.

Long story short, we went out, got the necessary supplies, went back to the room and got down to business.

One minute I have a tube up her ass and she's moaning like a three dollar whore, and the next there's a stream of hot steamy shit spraying me in the chest.

God only knows what the cleaning lady thought the next morning.

I'll get you for this, you reptilian bastard. If it's the last thing I do.

James




One of these days I'm going to get around to responding to that e-mail. It's too damn funny to sit unanswered. But in the meantime I have bigger fish to fry.

I have to get a handle on the strangeness that suffocates this city. I've lived here for three years in total, and I still can't put my finger on the off-beat pulse of Seoul.

How can I make James understand that stuff like that happens all the time?

How can I begin explain to him that debauchery and licentiousness are rotting this place from the inside out?

Some explanations shouldn't be touched with a ten foot pole.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...