Enough had happened, in fact, not to mention the nature of those happenings, that one might even expect Bob to suffer from some kind of PTSD. Of cours...e it wasn't post. Not yet. It was ongoing. Perhaps his memory of that first time was more like combat fatigue. But then they've decided that combat fatigue was PTSD before anybody knew it was PTSD.In any case, Bob didn't remember much clearly when it was "over."He did remember staring at those forest green nipples, perched on breasts that looked. His excuse for interest was that Thai women were beautiful - it was a view he had expressed to his bankers the previous year. The story contained enough truth that a terrible liar like me could say it with a straight face.We worked out a few other items: I was excited for the move from rural Thailand to one of the most crowded cities in the world in Hong Kong, my family had just moved to a commercial development in the south, I had never been to the US but I hoped to someday, I was looking over. I worked with girls do took these kinds of gigs, and more often than not, in ended with them doing a lot more than just dancing. Still, I knew how bad of a spot we were in, and since I didn't kiss the right asses at the club, another offer probably wouldn't be around the corner if I turned this one down. "This is the only chance we have, baby," Jon pleaded. "If you don't take this gig, then we'll never catch up on the rent. It's a matter of time before we're out, and then what? Besides,. Uh – like it’s simple at face value but then – uh-” I couldn’t think of anything more to say.“Then?” He looked at me accusingly.“I –uh,” The back of my neck felt hot. “I – and the more you look at it the more – the more you see?”He started laughing. Tossed the canvas across the room. Grabbed my hand and squeezed it.“You’re too nice for your own good,” He couldn’t stop laughing. “God! I’m so bad!”I couldn’t look at him. My cheeks burned with embarrassment.“I was only trying to be nice,” I.