Shasha was a Malaysian central banker, no joke.
She had come to the US for a mid-career degree at a local policy school, and was heading back home to KL to climb the ranks a few months after we met. She’d agreed to go to a small, out of the way bar in the area, and, given her pious image, I wondered if she would show up.
She did, in a headscarf and very modest dress. She only drank cranberry juice, no alcohol, like a good Muslim. The conservative look didn’t totally hide her figure: she had large breasts on her relatively small frame. Her eyes came alive and communicated charisma as we chatted. She was around 32-33 I think, with jet black hair (wisps visible) and eyes. Her skin tone bordered on nutmeg. I detected a trace of acne scarring on a cheek despite well applied makeup. She was eager and easy to talk to–she’d gone to school in Europe and the UK, and then done a stint in DC repping the Southeast Asian region to the IMF, so we shared enough to get on well.