Chinese dress code

The Chinese government is cracking down on “vulgarity” in public places. The nation’s biggest on-line gaming fair has been told that the models who appear in the event should not display advertising logos in “sensitive positions”. That sounds like the deliberately vague catch-all prohibition of a Communist regime scared of counter-revolutionary nipple slogans. Some might think Chinese girls were insufficiently endowed to carry seditious material on their bosoms, but apparently much can be said with a couple of well-chosen characters. During the Cultural Revolution, the red guards checked whether suspects had shaved insults to Mao on their pubic hair. 

A more specific restriction on the models’ attire is that no more than two-thirds of their backs should be uncovered. One has to respect the mathematical precision of the ruling. A professor on safari told me that at least six measurements would be required to work out the bare-back ratio. I suppose an eager little fellow with an inch tape will be taking the girls’ dimensions from behind and feeding the data into his programmable calculator. It’s the sort of job any self-respecting geek would pay for the privilege of doing. 

I’ve only ever encountered one man who was besotted with the female back. He was a quarter Chinese but one-half Welsh, so we can’t draw any conclusions from that. The circus I worked for had hired him as a human cannonball, which meant that his own back was subject to considerable compression. Maybe that’s why he yearned to rub his face against the unspoiled vertebrae of a well-postured woman. 

He evaded capture for some time by preying on female spectators, who assumed their molester was another member of the audience. His luck ran out when I caught him sneaking behind a lady in an open-backed frock and licking her between the shoulder blades. He was wearing clown’s make-up as a disguise, but I saw through the subterfuge immediately. 

“Cheong-Jones!” I exclaimed, as he strove to escape my long-armed grip. “There’s no point struggling, my hand is like a vice on your collar! Never again will your lizard-like tongue moisten the innocent flesh of a ticket-paying customer!” 

After realising there was no hope of escape, he tried to mollify his bemused victim, who had turned round to face us. He began with flattery, telling her what an irresistible back she had, which had tasted even better than it looked. He then made the fatal error of offering to cleanse the defiled flesh with a damp sponge, which made the woman shudder and flinch. 

Cheong-Jones was later given his marching orders with a decent severance package. Before he left, I asked him why he was drawn to women’s backs. 

“They remind me of the marble columns in my uncle’s mansion,” he explained. “I used to rub against them when I was a boy. Nothing has ever come close.” 

The ingenuity of humans in finding sexual surrogates has never failed to impress me. I suppose you can’t beat marble if you like it smooth and hard. A bit too cool for my liking, I should fancy. 

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