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I had a date this past Sunday. As usual, it followed a series of brief
flirtations on DIA (dateinasia.com), an insipid internet dating
site that brings together the players and the played. It’s what the
filmmaker, Claude Lelouch, would call ‘Le chat et la souris’ -- but
here the murder is more subtle – it’s a crime of the heart. What
is most memorable about the ‘date’ was not the famished woman
opposite me deepthroating the smoked duck, but rather how it
mirrored the last half-dozen such crash-and-burn encounters.
Like variations on a symphonic theme, my Bali dates progress
with the same theme and variation as Beethoven’s Fantasia in G
minor.

Adagio Sostenuto

O.K., maybe I’m a sexaholic, a 40-something stud wannabe
seeking a woman my daughter’s age (or less) with whom I can
play ‘whose your daddy’/ hide the sausage/’look ma, no hands’.
Maybe, like effete royalty, I’ve a cultivated an underserved sense
of entitlement that, despite sporting a belly that doubles as a
Djembe at the local drum circle, insists that I am ‘entitled’ to a
skinny woman of not more than 40 kg (88 lbs. for the metrically
challenged). Honestly, I’ve had larger bowel-movements than
40 kg after an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. Let’s face it; petite
girls make your pathetic small penis assume humongous Jay-Z
proportions. If you can’t get Beyoncé we men lower our standards
to the sub-basement level and settle for Bouncé, the nearly high
school graduate who works at a real estate office/call center/
internet café/laundry and who doesn’t notice your hairy back and
receding hairline because she has her eyes on the prize: s-e-c-u-
r-i-t-y. Sure, her vacuous emails resemble SMS texting and her
SMSs resemble Newtonian formulae but at least she’s fluent in
Facebook where she spends most of her waking hours updating

her photos and status. Like a cyborg her right hand has merged
with her hand phone and she can text and thumblash her BFFs
at supersonic speeds. Yes, Bouncé’s got some awesome, kick-ass
skillz!

Allegretto

We decide to meet at her favorite mall/fast food restaurant/
Starbucks. Sometimes we meet at a real restaurant with table
cloths and snooty gay waiters who were fired from Abercrombie
& Fitch for shoplifting. Here in her fantasy milieu 9acting the
Queen) she’ll definitely order the imported steak/smoked duck/
whatever’s the most expensive thing on the menu. If fact, she
often doesn’t know what she’s getting because she orders by price
alone. ‘Are you sure you want that $200 bottle of Merlot? You
told me wine gives you a headache.’ On the bright side ordering an
expensive meal means she’ll most likely sleep with you. She just
wants some prepayment – a little tit for tat. She’s also testing the
waters to see if there’s any ‘sugar’ in the daddy. But I’m getting
ahead of myself. She’s not even here yet. I’ve nursed this Bintang
so long it’s wearing a cast and crutches.
Finally, she arrives—only 45 minutes/2 hours/a week late. Holy
fried bananas! She’s prettier/fatter/taller/fuglier/darker/older
than I expected (her pix must have been retrieved from a time
capsule – yeah girl, you were cute in high school in 1997) - but
what are expectations anyway but laying the groundwork for
future disappointments. Keep an open mind. Be a man! Whatever
doesn’t destroy you makes you seek refuge in Häagen-Dazs. Often
our white chocolate raspberry truffle is doused in an ocean of
cheap perfume – eau-de-knockoff – which triggers my allergy
to ‘cheap shit’. If the perfume is real it means her last boyfriend
bought it – an impulse item she snatched up when she pretended
to shop for an eyeliner pencil (for that Goth ‘Twilight’ look). If you
handed her your credit card for 5 seconds she would buy gum and
an iPhone. That’s why I keep plenty of gum in my pocket.

After some strategically timed compliments, nice hair/eyes/smile/
dress/perfume, the food arrives and she starts multitasking –
eating and talking drivel simultaneously. I have developed the
smile and filter technique to an art, pretending I’m listening while
fantasizing about various Kama Sutra positions. I stare at her over
glossed lips. Here comes the litany of complaints, the food still
sloshing in her mouth: my boring job/I hate my boss he’s a jerk/
my friend got a job on a cruise ship/do I have a job for her? She
stuffs more food in her mouth: I love my family/I want you to
love my family/I want my family to love you/I want you to make
love to my family/my young sister needs money for school/my
other brother applied for a job on a cruise ship/do I have a cruise
ship? At last, the final mastication before desert (she ordered
two because she couldn’t decide which one she wanted - ‘so let’s
share’): I want 2 kids/I hope they have blonde hair and blue eyes
like my friend’s kids/she married a bule and moved to Australia/
I want a big house with a swimming pool/I don’t know how to
swim/I want a cruise ship. Of course, the ‘I wanna’ list is much
longer if the girl is from Bandung or Manado. And those pro-
golddiggers seeking soulmates usually get what they really want
-- by the third husband. It inspired Kanye West to write these
poignant lyrics:

Apparently there is no shortage of Bandung and Manado girls
trawling Kanye’s ‘hood’ with their booties.

Presto Agitato

After three/five/seven seconds/minutes you’re convinced Bouncé
is dumber than a bag full of hammers/into Oprah/has more
self-help books than the Library of Congress/her favorite work
of literature is Harry Potter/desperate to marry a bule (doesn’t
matter if he’s older than her grandpa). There is some common
ground here because I too am desperate -- desperate to get laid.
It’s been a while. With me it’s either feast or famine. She’s orders
another Es Campur/Bali Moon/Pluto Punch/Sex on the Beach/
Screaming Orgasm/Arak Attack. In fact she orders all of them
(‘so let’s share’). Oh, shit, she has that twinkle in her eye, the one
that says, ‘what are we doing next’? She saw me open my wallet
to pay the bill and glimpsed my sexy ‘six pack’: Visa, Mastercard,
American Express, Discover, Diners and Carte Blanche. This girl’s
now stuck on me - like the one in Push Stars’ clingy lyrics:

Maybe it’s time to make my move. She’s bored me to tears but
instead I say/I had a great time/you’re not just beautiful you’re
smart (yeah, like a toaster)/I’d love to meet your family one day
(can’t have too many gardeners on my estate)/your (retarded)
brother and I would get along well (if I use him for fishing bait)
/I hope you get that job on a cruise ship/I want you to see my
beautiful villa in Ubud (stealthily moving in for the kill). She
shakes my hand and offers me her cheek. I grab by the nape of her
neck and kiss her passionately on the lips (gotcha!). Let’s get out
of here and go to Ubud for a drink/desert/coffee/rough sex/lite
BDSM/watch Gunung Agung erupt (like you will shortly).
I’m not that kind of girl (oh yes you are)/I want a man to respect
me (as you giveth so shall ye receiveth)/tell your driver to stop
at my place so I can pick up a few things (no doubt, more cheap
perfume and a change of panties).

Recapitulation

‘Hey, look at this million dollar view’ (from my bedroom in Ubud).
Should I use a condom/maybe she has AIDs/maybe has more
crabs than a seafood stall at Jimbaran/oh God, maybe she’ll want
to go shopping for a new handphone/should I hide my wallet?
But by now I’m thinking with the little head, not the big one
(unless your Jay-Z).

Bouncé’s breast are not as big and firm as they appeared in the
push-up bra. They’re a bit small and bouncy. That’s O.K. I’ve
noticed age takes its toll even on twenty-somethings with stretch
marks and cellulite dimpling their asses. We kiss again and
have another go at it, this time inspired by Captain & Tennile’s
plaintive lyrics:

‘I had a great time’ (even though I did all the work). In Indonesia
you usually don’t get oral sex on the first date (unless she’s
had several bule boyfriends). I’ll call you/SMS/Facebook you.
Mmmmmuah!

I have my driver take her back to Denpasar/Kuta/Seminyak to

her miserable one room apartment in a boarding house she shares
with a roommate. No hot water; the bathroom is just down the
hall.

Finale

I return to my empty villa, brew a cup of Java and start scanning
new