Marco stood on the front of his veranda in a pair of jeans and a singlet, breathing in the humidity and eating an apple. It would be his third month in Ayam-Hutan next fortnight. Marco worked as a logger; pretty much everyone in town was a logger. It was the sole reason why the town itself existed. Ayam-Hutan first began as an outpost where locals from a nearby city would chop down giant trees, famous for their exquisite wood, and cart them back for sale.
As the years went by, more and more people became interested in the unique wood of the area and a logging firm was established, attracting many people in search for well-paying jobs. A few buildings were constructed to provide for the workers such as a general store and a clinic. Soon after a pub was built as a means of recreation for the loggers, who would spend their weeks wage on a Friday night drinking.
Marco was the only foreigner in town; everyone else was born in Malaysia. He came from Australia and after a holiday to Malaysia he never went back. Marco loved the country: the smells, sounds and especially the heat. He was a hard worker; all day he would be chopping and sawing, stacking and pruning. The result was that his body had become a dream, as if Michelangelo himself had chiselled perfection into his muscles.
With a satisfying crunch, Marco finished his apple, slung his bag over his shoulder and walked down the road to the plantation.
***
An air siren wailed across the plantation, signalling the end of the working day. Marco finished securing timber onto a truck and wiped the sweat off his brow.
‘You up for a drink tonight, Marco?’ said a voice behind him.
Marco turned around and recognised one of the overseers, Badan, as the person who was speaking to him. He was well built, had a large amount of stubble and featured a set of steel grey eyes that seemed to know exactly what was going on.
‘You know I am always up for a drink on a Friday, Badan,’ chuckled Marco.
‘That’s the spirit, boy! I know you too well,’ wheezed Badan, occasionally clearing his throat.
‘See you at the tap,’ Marco said hesitantly as Badan nodded, silently lighting a cigarette.
***
Friday night was always the busiest night of the week at the pub. Marco had put on a fresh shirt and casual jeans before he left; it was so humid that even the buildings seemed to sweat. Despite coming home covered in sawdust every evening, Marco viewed himself as a tidy man. Most of the workers didn’t have wives and shared a house with another person.
Marco was different. He had bought himself a small shack across the road from the pub. It certainly was small compared to the other accommodation available in town, but it was cosy and Marco liked having his own home. It was the perfect size for a single man. He turned off the lights and locked his door before walking to the pub across the road.
The door groaned as Marco stepped into the pub. The air was a smoky haze and the deafening roar of dozens of men was almost unbearable. Apart from the tin roof, the pub was all made of local timber which was rich in colour and polished with oils until it shone. The floor was scuffed from the years of trampling feet and neglect. All the honey coloured furniture was hand crafted by a local carpenter who was a regular customer in the pub and usually sat in a dim corner surrounded by a cloud of noxious smoke.
As Marco approached the bar he noticed that the usual bartender, Rodney, was nowhere to be seen. Marco was fond of Rodney, who had a thick moustache and combed hair that reminded him of salt and pepper.
In his place stood a new, attractive barmaid with long legs to match her long, black hair. She looked quite young, maybe in her late teenage years or early twenties. Marco shifted his gaze from her legs and approached the bar.
‘Could you get me a large Tiger please?’ asked Marco, flipping out his wallet to pay for his beer.
‘Could I see some identification first?’ the pretty barmaid inquired.
‘You’re joking, right? I’m twenty-two!’
‘I’m sorry, this is my first night and I don’t know anyone,’ she mumbled, her eyes wandering across the room. ‘Please can I just see that you’re over eighteen and I’ll remember for next time?’
‘That’s perfectly understandable. I wasn’t picking on you, I just get a lot of shit around here about my age,’ explained Marco as he took his Australian driver’s license out of his wallet.
Marco handed the barmaid his licence and waited for her to check his birth date.
‘Ooh, you’re from Australia,’ smiled the barmaid. ‘You’ve flown far from the nest.’
‘Yeah, I can’t stand miserable Melbourne. It’s either too hot or too cold. Constantly overcast and drizzling in the winter and sunburn and bushfires in the summer…’
The barmaid flashed a pearly grin and giggled. ‘I’m Lisa. I’ll be working the Friday through to Sunday shifts from now on.’
‘That will be a nice touch, sure to liven up this pub,’ Marco grinned. ‘My name’s Marco, by the way. I live over there,’ he said, indicating across the road.
Lisa smiled and turned around and grabbed an empty beer glass from the shelf behind her. She placed it under the tap labelled Tiger and filled the glass until in overflowed.
‘Got to give it a nice head,’ she explained, giving him a wink.
Lisa handed Marco his drink. ‘Have a good evening, Marco.’
‘You too. See you ‘round.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
Marco left the bar and scanned the pub for a table to sit at. He saw an empty chair next to Badan and decided to chat with him. He sat down and listened to the story he was telling two other workers about how many animals he had killed last weekend. As Marco listened to him talk, he nodded occasionally, one eye always fixed on the bar.
***
It was Saturday lunchtime and Marco was in the general store picking out something for dinner. The dark clouds outside had been building up the whole morning and threatened to unleash a torrent of water.
Marco stood in front of a small refrigerated cabinet that stored meat, deciding on whether or not he should have beef for dinner. He rarely ate meat, not that he didn’t like it; it just was expensive because it cost lots of money to have a refrigerated truck cart it all the way out to the middle of nowhere.
Marco thought that he should be able to treat himself at the end of a hard week, so he chose a few steaks from the fridge and picked a few local vegetables to go with it.
‘I thought I recognised you!’ said a voice from behind him.
Marco turned around and saw Lisa from the pub standing behind him. She was wearing a very thin white top that hung loosely off her shoulders and a pair of cargo shorts that only came down to graze the bottom of her curvy arse. Marco didn’t notice any bra strap.
‘Oh hey, Lisa, fancy seeing you here,’ Marco said awkwardly, trying to keep his eyes focused on her face.
‘Well this is the only place in town to pick up supplies,’ she laughed. ‘I had to come here sometime.’
‘Yes, of course,’ mumbled Marco as he tried to get a glimpse of Lisa’s braless breasts.
‘Marco, you are so strange!’ Lisa laughed as she adjusted her top so that it covered more of her chest.
Realising that he had been caught, Marco blushed and tried to excuse himself. ‘Well I have to get home, Lisa. See you tonight, yeah?’
‘Marco, wait for me, I was just about to go too.’
Marco held the door open for Lisa and walked with her back toward the end of town where the pub was. As they walked, Marco couldn’t stop staring at Lisa’s arse, which seemed to almost be popping out of her shorts. Then the sky growled and dots of water appeared in front of Marco’s eyes. The clouds were black and flashes of lightning sparked through the heavens.
‘Quickly, Lisa; we don’t want to be caught out in this.’
More rumbles rolled through the sky, vibrating the earth beneath their feet. The dots of water were now thick drops, falling faster and harder by the second.
‘Hurry, Lisa!’ said Marco urgently. ‘Quick, my house is just over there!’
The rain suddenly got torrential, as if someone was draining a pool above their heads. The rain was hitting the ground with tremendous force, breaking up the clay into muddy droplets of filth. Marco and Lisa dashed for the shelter of Marco’s house, their feet slipping and sliding in the ooze.
By the time they reached the safety of Marco’s porch, the ground was covered by several inches of water. Lisa stood next to Marco with her arms huddled around her body, her black hair dripping slowly onto the deck. Marco unlocked the door and ushered her inside.
They were both soaked to the bone. Marco walked awkwardly in his wet denim jeans, but not because they were wet. The rain had rendered Lisa’s thin white top transparent; and Marco could see her and all her beauty. He loved the look of her moist, perky breasts. They were the size of two large grapefruit and looked well supported, even without a bra. Marco’s cock was heating up in his jeans, expanding with excitement.
‘Well, let’s get you warmed up,’ he said kindly.