Vicky Valentine’s Erotic Adventures: Dalisay’s Wish (Prequel)
In this prequel, Vicky Valentine works as a bar girl in Angeles City, the Philippines, the sex capital of Southeast Asia. Expatriate lowlifes and criminals abound in this dark world of steamy sex for profit. Voyeurism draws Vicky into the treacherous underbelly of Manila. Vicky befriends an amnesiac call girl trying to escape a pimp’s clutches. In walks a mysterious German stranger who offers help, romance, and an impromptu ménage à trois. Even with help absconding from the Philippines proves difficult. Vicky escapes this den of debauchery, but at what cost?
* Warning: This is a prequel story connected to the main series.
Print Length: 44 pages
Type: Standalone Prequel / Story Driven (For Men & Women)
Price: $2.99
Table of Contents
Vicky Valentine’s Erotic Adventures: Dalisay’s Wish (Prequel) (Excerpt)
“Hey Vic, two bulikil come dis way,” Lay Lay says in a mix of English and Tagalog, the main language spoken in Angeles City in the Philippines. Lay Lay doesn’t use it much at work, but it’s been another slow night at The Butterfly Problem, the most infamous casa bar on Perimeter Road. A new batch of American sailors hightailed it out earlier today for Manila. In two days, it’ll be the Bagong Taon, the New Year’s Eve celebration, and then the real party starts.
I look in the direction she’s motioning. Yep, two American G.I. Johns come our way.
I study them. They both wear civilian dress but their swagger identifies them as enlisted men. Soldier #1 strides tall, handsome, and clean cut with a nice body. Soldier #2 looks like he’s been through the ringer. His hair falls past regulation but he doesn’t seem to care. Both men are young, perhaps twenty. Not one of the expat frequent-flyer elders who hang in this part of the country.
As they approach our table Lay Lay says, “We pulot soldier. We pesos.”
Pulot means pickup. She wants to make money. Since the age of fourteen she’s been one of the 800,000 prostitutes in the Philippines. It’s common practice in Southeast Asia for poor teenagers to feed families this way. At twenty-five years old, Lay Lay knows it’s about time to move on to something else, but she still needs the pesos.
Lay Lay motions to them. The two men take a seat next to us with smiles like hyenas surrounding a fresh kill. I hate that smile. It reeks of desperation and it’s not sexy. After a few minutes of niceties, small-talk, and some drinks Lay Lay says, “Sarap mo jompakin!”
It would be so nice to fuck.
Obviously, they don’t understand Tagalog, but I understand enough to get the gist. Lay Lay snickers to herself. I smile, amused at her forthright manner. The boys show blank faces. They don’t get the joke.
I love Lay Lay. But I’m not like her.
These days, people call me Victoria Valentine. Vicky for short. I’m a bargirl, B-girl, guest relations officer, or whatever you call it. I don’t sleep with them. Men pay a bar fee to buy me drinks and a bar fine to take me home, but it’s my choice whether I want to have sex with them. No promises. Most times, I make out a little with them, go dancing, sometimes a hand-job, and then they pass out. Once or twice, I’ve slept with a cutie. That’s how it works here in Balibago District, the honky-tonk/brothel area frequented by U.S. servicemen and all kinds of unsavory characters. It’s the center for prostitution and sex tourism dubbed “Asia’s Sin City.”
But I wasn’t born in the Philippines. Nope, I’m American through and through. My do-gooder missionary parents died of malaria when I was fourteen leaving me to scrape a living out of this hellhole. Most of my early life the three of us globetrotted from one poverty ridden unbearable place to another: Liberia, Zimbabwe, Mali, Haiti, Burma, Cambodia, nearly every frickin’ dump on the planet. After they died, I decided my birth name died with them and there was nothing to go back to in America except hamburgers and false hope.
Now, I dodge the police hoping they won’t discover my outdated passport and arrest me. It’s the last place I’d want to go to jail. I doubt they’d deport me. They’d sell me into the full-fledged sex trade or bury me in a deep hole. Either way, I’d be screwed two ways to Sunday.
Lay Lay pulls me out of my reverie by saying, “How like yer woman?”
It takes a moment to realize she’s speaking to them.
Soldier #1, Mr. Clean Cut, says, “Preferably in a bed.”
Soldier #2, Mr. Long Hair, snickers at his friend’s quip.
“Honey, you wanna short-time or longer-time?” Lay Lay asks ignoring their giggles. Like usual she’s all business.
To Be Continued…
Read More
If you want to read the bundled neo-noir erotic collection, please check out Vicky Valentine’s Erotic Adventures: The Bundle or for a print collection see Vicky Valentine’s Erotic Adventures: Volumes 1 – 4 (Collection + Bonus Prequel). Vicky also has a few more free stories HERE.
