Winston and I checked out the hotel and rode our bikes along the beach strip, looking for somewhere to eat breakfast and wait for our friends to arrive by taxi from Bangkok.
Both of us are in our early 30s, yet we seemed to be the youngest foreigners around. The old men and women who surrounded us, those sunning themselves on the beach and strolling along the sidewalk, were not pretty to look at, but you stared at them, anyway, with the same interest you do animals at the zoo.
There was one young and fit girl, Thai of course, walking in our direction on the sidewalk. From afar, in her short shorts and skimpy tank top, she looked like she owned a tasty labia. Seconds before passing us, seeing that we were checking her out, she gave us a predatory nymphomaniac smile that gave us both a boner.
We sat at at a restaurant across from the beach. The food was bad; the beer was good. Winston pulled out a deck of cards and dealt a hand of Texas Hold’em.
On on our last hand we went all in, one big pile of small Thai notes, change and toothpicks between us. We laid our cards on the table. He had three of a kind – thanks to the last turned over card – which beat my two pairs. I cursed my fortune and accused god for having abandoned me like a black father. I wanted to play some more, but the crew had arrived, and we cycled to meet them at Nigga Steve’s hotel.
Since Steve is a hotel manager in Canada with connections, he got a thousand dollar a night suite for free. Gene stayed with him. The rest of us, Winston, me, Frances and Will, flagged down a songtaew, a truck you can ride in the back of, and went to our $5 per person a night Airbnb.
The owner was an hour late to meet us with room keys, and he wasn’t an innocent-looking young Thai girl like in his Airbnb profile picture, but a bald, rat-faced Frenchman. We followed him to the room, going up four flights of stairs. There was a long-dead cockroach on the floor, and not enough towels or toilet paper.
Winston took four cards from his deck, two of them aces, and shuffled them. Whoever drew aces got one of the two bedrooms, while the other two losers got the sofa or the futon on the floor. Frances and Bill went first. Frances won a bedroom, Will got the sofa. Now my turn. “I’m on the right, Trump is on the right, therefore I choose the card on the right.” I picked the card. An ace! My black god had returned to his knappy-haired son.
We met the Canadians, Gene and Nigga Steve, in a red light district to have sex in Pattaya with prostitutes. The whole street was nothing but bars, women, and men paying to screw.
“I want your sperm!” a girl shouted, as we passed. “Gangbang me!” shouted another.
Some grabbed us by the arm and held on until we broke free with our man-strength. We made it to the end of the street. None of us had chosen a bar. It was the paradox of choice. Too many options. I suggested the bar with the girls dressed as sailors. So we turned back but didn’t make it far.
A woman in a red China dress grabbed Gene by the arm, and he let her lead him into the bar. We followed them in and took a seat. Girls took their positions in front of us, backing their little asses into our crotches.
My girl, her face 20 shades lighter than her body due to makeup, looked shy and nervous as if her dad, a rice paddy farmer, had just sold her into prostitution yesterday. Winston sat across from me. His girl was a high-energy freak, the kind of girl you’d keep locked in a kennel and only take out to play with on Saturdays.
She bounced up and down on his lap with force that would snap a boner in half. She ground her ass against his dick rhythmically to the loud music. She grabbed it through his pants.
“Oh it’s so big! I want it now. Give it to me. Please! I want it!” Then she took two steps towards me, grabbed my dick and said: “Oh this dick is too small,” then turned back to Winston and said: “This dick just right!”
She got on her knees, put her mouth on his crotch, teasing him, and made like she was going to pull it out and blow him right there. He slammed his beer and paid $35 for her; then tapped me on the shoulder and said: “Sorry mate, I’m going to take your girl too.”
Next, Will disappeared with his girl. Then Steve was gone. Then Frances. Four men down just like that. Gene and I, left with scraps, finished our beers and went to a blowjob bar.
Three ugly girls were inside. One talked to a grayed man in the corner. The other two brought us beers, stood next to us and rubbed our dicks under the table. Mine was fat and nasty. Only the desperate would screw her under ordinary circumstances.
So we went to the back of the bar, the four of us, where there were two sofas against the wall. Gene sat on one sofa. I sat on another. The girls pulled curtains around us, dividing the sofas and making two private rooms.
My girl sat next to me. The cushion beneath her ass sank lower than mine. She undid my jeans and pulled out my chimichanga. She gave it a bath with a cold rag, a rag that I think had been used several times already. She started working me, trying to make my dick stand erect like a cobra out of a basket.
She went down with her head to suck me, but I stopped her right before her lips made contact, afraid the five minutes of pleasure wouldn’t be worth the following weeks or months of needless paranoia at the slightest itch or burning pee.
I chose a handjob instead. She was a dick-handler for a living, after all, so I thought it would still be nice.
She squirted baby oil me and jerked me with a mechanical hand. Up and down. No finesse. No rhythm. Her hand wasn’t going to work unless I closed my eyes and summoned forth the imagination of my teenage self. I stopped her and stood up. My jeans fell to my ankles. I had her massage my balls while I beat my meat as fast as dragonfly wings over her mouth.
“Tell me when you’re going to come,” she said.
I tried to hit her in the face but instead it fell straight down onto her chin. She tried to catch it from running off with her hands, but it was too late. It landed in a goop and on her blouse.
“I told you to tell me!” She wiped me off, wiped herself off, and walked out. I pulled my jeans up and did my belt. Hearing slobbery slurps, I threw back the curtain between me and Gene. “So this is what you look like when you’re getting a blowjob.”
I returned to the table. Nigga Steve was there. I asked him to finish telling me a story about this crazy girl he met on Tinderr in Bangkok.
“We were lying in bed naked after sex,” he said, “when she asked me to wrap my arms tightly around her so she could see if she was strong enough to get away. She couldn’t.’”
“After that she had me lie limp on the floor like I was lifeless and tried to drag me by one of my legs but she was too small and weak.”
“She stopped a couple of seconds to think, letting my leg relax in her grip. Then, without warning, she gave it a jerk. There was a screeching noise as the skin on my back, still sweaty from sex, was pulled inches across the wooden floor. It fucking hurt, and I yelled at her to stop.”
“She told me to be quiet and took the blanket from the bed, threw it on the floor, and rolled me onto it. Then she grabbed me again and was able to drag me to the door, where she stopped and looked satisfied.”
“Steve, you better not see her again if you want to live,” I said.
“I know but the sex was awesome.”
My girl returned to the table. She wanted me to screw her now. I could see my cum stain still on her blouse. I told her my baby carrot was sleeping, but if she could wake him within five minutes, which I knew was impossible, then, yeah, I’d pay for her again. She failed.
The three of us – Gene, Steve and I – went to another bar to meet Frances, Bill, and Winston. On the way there, Gene slapped a sleeping Russian on the ass. POW! And continued walking.
The Russian got to his feet and charged. Gene stood his ground, grinning. The Russian stopped just before him and asked for the pleasure of returning the ass slap—tit for tat. Gene let him have it. Then the Russian motioned for Gene to give him another. Gene said no and laughed and walked away.
I saw Winston. He looked happy. “I’m done,” he said. “There’s nothing left for me to do here. My life is complete.”
“Did the two girls touch each other?” I asked.
“No, they wouldn’t do that. It was hard work trying to keep them both wet by myself. I was going to eat their asses and their pussies but I remembered you said I shouldn’t do that.”
I looked at Will. “How about you? Did you eat an ass?”
“Of course. I’m an Arab. We eat more assholes than a dog.”
“Yes and no. Although most Arabs are anal-licking enthusiasts, my parents immigrated to Texas when I was a kid. Since then I’ve been as straight as John Wayne.”
“What’d you do, then? Tie her to a wagon wheel?”
“No but the lights went off as she was riding me and there was no window in the room so it was completely dark. And I didn’t have my hearing aid in so it was like have sex while being deaf and blind.”
All of us went to another bar, where the girls fed us cold pizza. I was talking to a girl who, because of her mangled teeth and Japanese style bangs, looked Japanese, when a Japanese man walked right up and stole her away with money. “Did you see that . . .” I turned around to say to Will.
He was licking an ass.
“Will, I thought you said you’d given up ass eating after moving to Texas!?”
“That will teach you not to trust an Arab!”