My friend, who is my favorite woman on the planet, had advised me that she would take sanctuary for the weekend in her old university's library to escape the heat, to find some solitude away from the distractions that occur at home, and to attack the studies material. The calendar had read that today was Saturday, and we would not be seeing each other until Monday at the office. I was free to explore this section of the city, free to find adventure, and most of all, I would be free to let my eyes lead me deep into this forest of dreams called Soho.

This section of New York City is called Soho because its northern boundary begins on the south side of Houston Street. In New York, we like to say it this way: How-ston. SoHo stands for south of Houston. Got it? It is an older part of the city, and has emerged in the last 20 years as a haven for art, design, nouvelle cuisine, photography, iconoclastic bookstores, sidewalk cafes, and unusual restaurants and wine bars. With a variety of attractions, it is no wonder that some of the city's most beautiful and tantalizing women will seek their own adventures down in Soho.

Mercer Street is a narrow north/south street, which parallels Broadway and runs between Greenwich Village and Little Italy. In the heart of Soho, and amongst nondescript loft buildings, warehouses, small factories, and hundreds of doorways behind which the mysteries of the city are hidden, is the Merc Bar. It is named for Mercer Street, but I think you knew that. What makes the place unusual is that there is no sign above the door, no neon glittering "BAR", and the smoked glass does not allow you to see into the place to get a hint of what is behind the window. In short, you need to be taken there, or be incredibly lucky to find the place.

You enter from the street and must walk down a narrow hallway. You make a right turn and then you are in. The place itself doesn't need a description. It is a bar, and it is filled. The lighting is low, and there is only a little motion as people stand, grouped in pairs and threesomes at the bar, or congregate in clusters at tables. The motion you are most aware of visually is the movement of hands filled with glasses, or the gestures of those in conversation.

But this is not to be thought of as a frozen tableau. The waitresses angle their way between the customers and the bar in the endless cycle of ordering and delivering drinks. As people pass into the beams from the few track lights, you catch glimpses of beauty, which then vanishes into the shadows and darkness only to emerge in another part of the bar, under another beam of light, to become part of another separate and new tableau.

The timing of my arrival was fortuitous as a small table became suddenly available and I grabbed the table. I was now seated with a suitable amount of space open in front of my table. My waitress soon reappeared with my drink, and a double tequila on the rocks was now before me. Also before me are the books I had picked up earlier in the day: White Tiger by Joseph Yogerst, The World of Suzie Wong by Richard Mason, and Hong Kong by Jan Morris. A mystery, a tale of an American sailor who falls in love with a local lass, and a vivid account of local politics, society, and history...all set in Hong Kong, where I would be going at the end of October.

I settled in and nursed my drink. I got deeper into my thoughts as the tequila worked its magic. The words on the pages I held in my hands created images in my mind. I thought of teak-decked Chinese junks underway in Victoria Harbor, I thought of the park forest atop the Peak which overlooked all of Hong Kong and Kowloon, and I thought of sleek Chinese women wearing mandarin collared tight sheath dresses called cheongsams. These dresses marvelously outline the shape of the woman wearing it, and the slits along the side of the dresses allowed for the flash of legs. Marvelous garments, indeed, and inspirational and provocative and the source of many a male's fantasy including the character of Suzie Wong herself.

Time passed. I was deep into the words on the page. The 'Fragrant Harbor' known as Hong Kong, with all its grand pleasures of the mind, the spirit, and the flesh were coming to life as they entered my reverie from the printed page. Suddenly a shadow crossed my table. There was someone standing before me. She was back-lit by the track light beam behind her. I couldn't see her face. I lowered my gaze from the face I couldn't quite make out. I was able to see a mandarin style collar and a string of pearls. This was a cheongsam before me. I turned my chair to get a better angle of light and looked at her again. I was simply stunned to find an astonishingly beautiful woman with enormous breasts standing in front of me.

I was blown away by the size of this woman's breasts. I could see her that her nipples were erect beneath the taut silk. The sheer elegance and radiance of her manner made my heart began to race. My imagination raced even faster. I looked again, and I watched her breasts inflate to an even more impressive size as she inhaled. I'm not sure, it may have been just a second or two in real time, but in my fevered imagination, we were already home in my bed.

Finally I heard her say, "M goi...[Excuse me]. Nei yau mo nui pang yau a? [Do you have a girl friend]?"

"Err...Mo. [No]. Cheng Choh. [Please sit down]."

I watched her ease her unbelievable body into the seat opposite me. Her long hair fell forward and she used her hand to sweep it back away from her face. I was captivated. I said, "Cheng man gwai sing a [May I ask your name]?"

She replied, "Giu ngoh Mai Ling dak la [You may call me Mai Ling]."

Within the hour we were leaving the Merc Bar. A cab stood by the curb as if it had been ordered in advance. The door swung open and we climbed in. Mai Ling said something to the driver up front and immediately we were on the way to another destination. I put my head back and closed my eyes. I could feel her shoulder against me and without seeing, I knew she was again sweeping her hair back. I smiled and relaxed into the cab. I felt her hand on my leg and I felt a rush of excitement.

____________________

I heard this voice but couldn't figure out what she was saying. And then, when it was repeated yet again...I slowly became aware. There was no one named Mai Ling in my arms. I was not home in bed with a huge hootered woman in my arms. In my hands were a book and an empty glass, instead of a pair of big-nippled breasts. I was alone, had not taken a cab, and I was still in the Merc Bar.

The back-lit woman in front of me was not wearing a cheongsam. She was my waitress and she was asking me if I wanted another drink. I looked closely at her. She was Asian and her name tag told me her name was Marilyn. She was drop-dead gorgeous and I caught a glimpse of something glittering on her finger, an engagement ring. I paid her for my drink, and stood up and made my way out of the Merc Bar.

As soon as I got outside, I found that I was no longer on Mercer Street, but instead I was on a pathway deep in the forest. Then I heard a phone ringing. My answering machine in my apartment clicked on. I listened from my own bed...Michael, Michael, pick up the phone. It's me.... I'm at the Merc Bar. I'm done studying...

"Oh geez. I fell asleep. I got lost in the forest of my dreams. What? You too? Hold that thought. We can talk about it. I'll be right there. Sorry Babe, Mai Pehn Rai.