Winston and I checked out the hotel and rode our bikes along the beach strip, looking for somewhere to eat breakfast and wait for 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 we 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 and none of us had chosen a bar. Too many options. We turned back to make a second pass.
A woman in a red China dress grabbed Gene by the arm and led him into a bar. We followed inside and took a seat, whereupon 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 to the music. Then 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 is just right!”
She got on her knees and put her mouth to his crotch and made like she was going to pull it out and blow him right there. He slammed his beer, 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 us under the table. Mine was fat and nasty and hungry.
We followed them to the back, 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 unzipped me and pulled out my pecker and bathed it with a cold rag, after which she jerked it to get it to stand like a cobra. She bent over to use her mouth. I stopped her, afraid she’d give me something nasty, and made her continue with her hand, which she was disappointingly terrible with. Too mechanical.
I made her stop, knowing she’d never get me off, and I stood up to do it myself, jerking my pecker as fast as dragonfly wings over her open mouth, while she massaged my balls.
“Tell me when,” she said.
I felt it building. I held it back as long as I could, wanting to build extra propulsion, wanting to hit her in the face. When I could hold it no longer, I let it loose. It came up short, hitting her on the chin. She tried to catch it from running off with her hands. 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, to where Nigga Steve waited, and 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 and I’d rather die while inside of her than return to freezing Winnipeg right now.”
My girl returned to the table. I could see my cum stain still on her blouse. She tried to get me erect again, begging for me to back with her one more time so that I could screw her. I told her my baby carrot was sleeping, that there was no way it could happen. She insisted. I gave her five minutes to arouse me. But 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 who turned around and stood his ground, grinning. The Russian surprisingly stopped in front of 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.
Winston, when I saw him again, 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 should refrain from doing that to prostitutes.”
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 while she was riding me the lights went off. And there were no windows. And I didn’t have my hearing aid in so I couldn’t see or hear.”
Some of the prostitutes fed us cold pizza. I was talking to a girl who looked Japanese because of her mangled teeth and Japanese-style bangs, when a Japanese man walked right up and bought her.
“Did you see that . . .” I turned around to say to Will.
He was licking an ass.
“Will, I thought you said you didn’t do that?”
“That will teach you not to trust an Arab!”