Wendy went to her room. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, tried to make sense of the past few hours.
The sun was moving to the horizon, it would set in the sea, and she wanted to be on the shore.
She came down, stood on the wide veranda, her eyes found the security guard talking to the a few of the beach bums.
She couldn’t understand it.
An older woman came to her.
“You may not believe me…” Wendy was told, “but women, white women, actually come here for sex. They come here to buy one of those bunga boys. They own and operate him during their stay. Then they leave and another one comes.”
“Why? They’re ugly. Look at them? There isn’t one I’d like to sit next to…”
“Oh there’s a batch of better ones, if you stay long enough, you’ll meet a ‘nice gentleman’. Tonight, for example, you’ll be at dinner and a man will be at the bar. You will think he’s a business man. He’ll talk to you, and you won’t know that he is a higher level of bunga boy. You’ll he really likes you and pay for his meals and whatever else.”
“No I won’t.”
“Well, perhaps you won’t, but if you keep your eyes open, you’ll see how many do.”
Wendy stared at the woman.
“Then why do you stay here?” Wendy asked.