Major Conflict by Maj USA (ret.) Jeffrey McGowan Page A

me just wanted to get the hell out of there but curiosity got the better of me.
    â€œLet’s do one more floor,” I said finally. “But if it’s as fucked up as this one, last man out buys beers.”
    So up we went to the fourth floor. A sense of deep relief washed over me as we entered the floor. It was quiet here. There was a kind of dismal tranquillity to everything. All the women were Asian. A few were quietly chatting among themselves, but most were simply standing or sitting, waiting. The scent of coriander and ginger hung heavily in the air. Despite their reserved manner it looked as though these Asian girls specialized in the more exotic sexual activities. Every room was outfitted with a swing and a lot of bizarre leather equipment. Halfway down the hall Zach suddenly stopped in front of a particularly beautiful Chinese girl. She was maybe five feet two inches, with long shiny black hair and a petite, nicely proportioned body. She had a squarish face with high cheekbones that gave her a kind of serene dignity. Her eyes were soft and a little bit sad.
    I listened to Zach negotiate with her. Her voice was soft when she spoke to Zach in just barely passable English, though harsher and much louder when she was interrupted by two of the other girls and forced to reply, first in German, and then in Chinese. I heard her tell Zach she was from Hong Kong. Behind us, one of the other girls said something in Chinese, and everyone starting giggling. I began to sweat again, thinking of the floor down below, but the giggling soon ran its polite course and petered out.
    â€œSo how much will it be?” Zach said
    â€œPipty mahk for bof.”
    â€œBoth? Both what?”
    â€œSuck n fock.”
    â€œOkay, and . . . okay,” Zach stumbled over the words a little.
    â€œAnything you want, you ask an ah give you plice.”
    â€œNo, what you said first, that’ll be okay,” Zach said, and he walked into the room past her. She quickly turned around and closed the door behind her.
    Meanwhile, I suddenly found myself standing alone in the hallway, blinking like an owl. The other girls seemed to be eyeballing me now with renewed intensity.
    â€œHey, GI, you wanna have fun? Whassa matter? You no look so good.”
    I looked hard at them, unsure what to do, and I guess I must’ve looked pretty intense.
    â€œOooh,” one of the girls said. “He bery mad, I think. Wha happen . . . you wanna go in room wif friend. Jus knock is all right.”
    â€œHey, you come here I make better,” another one said.
    â€œSmile, it not so bad,” said a third. “We give special for the soldier, bery special for the American soldier. You soldier boy?”
    At that moment I knew I had to get out of there. It would be too humiliating to just stand there and wait for Zach. I fixed my gaze on the light above the door at the end of the hall and walked resolutely toward it. I felt like shit. My emotions were all mixed together, and I couldn’t make sense of anything. I guess I hadn’t really expected Zach to actually
do
anything. Part of me thought he was just plain stupid for doing it, but another part of me gave him credit for being so fearless. He was a good-looking guy, and for a fleeting moment I saw his ass again on the stairs and wondered what he would look like doing it with the girl from Hong Kong. But then I felt guilty about having this thought and pushed it from my mind. Being here in the whorehouse was hard for me because I couldn’t be in the moment. I found myself getting angry that I felt pressured to take a girl myself. Deep down I knew that what I wanted simply wasn’t here. And I resented the fact that it seemed so easy for Zach.
    Suddenly, standing there in the midst of all these beautiful Asian prostitutes, an American soldier they said they’d treat special, I felt like an enormous fraud. It was the same feeling of fraudulence and in-authenticity