“This afternoon, Old Lady Goodall manages to outdo herself. As I am toweling off under a tree, she strides up and starts to run her fingers over my chest and shoulders, like I’m some sort of sacred statue from Angkor Wat. If this woman were 40 years younger and had a few more teeth, it might be a rather erotic experience; instead, it’s just kind of strange. Without warning, Madame Goodall leans in and licks the soft white flesh above my hipbone. Comically, furrowing her brow, she turns and makes a wisecrack to Boon’s mother, who erupts into laughter.
I can only assume this means I’m not quite as tasty as she’d expected.”
Up Cambodia without a phrasebook
by Rolf Potts on Salon
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