Singapore Sling (1990)

The scene opens on a guy lying in bed, looking pale and out of it — short dark hair, lean build, totally limp. A woman with curly light hair and a jeweled headpiece is kneeling beside him, spooning something from a glass like she’s about to feed him or cast a spell. She’s wearing delicate necklaces, moving slow and deliberate, like this is some kind of ceremony. The lighting is low, all candles and shadow, gives it a creepy but sexy vibe. Not much action at first, just tension — her hands on his chest, then her lips near his face like she’s whispering or about to kiss him. Then she starts unlacing his pants, still with that calm, focused look. You don’t see penetration, but you do see her hand pumping him under the sheet, and then her mouth hovering over the tip. The whole thing feels like a dream — or a curse. There’s no dialogue, just her quiet breathing and the faint flicker of candlelight on her skin.