Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: redragon@interserv.com
Subject: World Adventure In Bangkok by Andy L (MF, prostitute)
Date: 3 Oct 1995 23:40:48 GMT

		       World Adventure: Bangkok
		    A Fantasy Based on Real Events
				  by
			       Andy L.

	"Do you come here often?" I asked the man standing next to
me.

	There was no reply.

	I didn't mind really; I had to laugh at my own joke. No one
else in that elevator car understood a word of English, and I knew
that. The women - no, girls - hardly took notice of me, and the men
all looked down. Still, I was funny, and I remember wishing for an
audience. "Who else could make jokes at a time like this?" I thought.

	The elevator car crept up, floor by floor. It was slow and
unsteady. With each passing floor a creaking sound from the shaftway
could be heard. For a moment I thought we weren't going to make it at
all. Then, in the first moment of silence I had known in this busy
city, I closed my eyes and reflected on the ten hours that had just
passed.

				* * *

	The Oriental in Bangkok is a five-star hotel. It's a
spectacular place. The hotel is awash in white; it is palatial.
Outside, a fleet of waiting white Mercedes-Benz sedans take the place
of queuing yellow cabs. The dispatcher, a neatly groomed man in a
white suit, provides my first real glimpse of life in this city:

	"... and do you wish the driver to wait, sir?"

	"No, we'll get a cab back by ourselves, thank you."

	"Sir, are you certain you don't want the driver to wait?"

	"No thanks, I said, we'll get our own taxi back to the hotel."

	"But sir, the driver really should wait for you, sir."

	And suddenly the man talking to the dispatcher remembers where
he is. For in perfect contrast to this luxury and wealth, total,
utter poverty stands less than one hundred feet away. Vendors and
beggars hawk their wares on the street that leads to the hotel's
circular driveway. The line that separates the beauty of the Oriental
from the misery of the street is a fuzzy one, yet the beggars seem to
know where it is.

	Inside the Oriental, an elevator attendant manages five busy
lifts, maintaining perfect composure in his suit of white. Slow,
melodic ceiling fans turn away the afternoon heat. And beautiful Asian
women, in flowing print dresses of green and white, carry tall, frosty
drinks from Harry's Bar to guests in the lobby lounge.

				* * *

	The weekend in Bangkok was to be a much-needed vacation,
separating a week of business travel in the Far East from another week
yet to come. Steve and I registered, and we followed the bellhops to
our rooms.

				* * *

	The afternoon was spent poolside mostly, with the two of us
taking-in the sun, water, and Harry's very intoxicating drinks. (We
quickly discovered a "Harry's Bar Special". We lived on Harry's Bar
Specials that weekend. Let me see: passion fruit juice and vodka, was
that it? I'm sure about the passion fruit juice; that's what made the
drink. I wish I could find it in cans.)

	Bangkok was memorable for more than one reason, though. It was
the weekend, at poolside, incidentally, that Steve and I drew-up the
plans that would become the basis for our partnership in business. I
had been an employee up until that time. (We have a habit of
conducting our best business outside the office.)

	Later, only because our stomachs begged for something solid
and Harry asked us to leave him alone for awhile, we decided to go
upstairs and dress for dinner.

				* * *

	Steve had the name of what was supposed to be an outstanding
Thai restaurant with him, and it was our plan to go down to the
dispatcher and book a ride to the restaurant. We handed the paper with
the name and address of the restaurant to the dispatcher, and it took
him a minute to figure it out. "Yes," he finally agreed, and wrote the
booking into his log.

	Now, the currency in Thailand is called the baht, and it's
worth about four cents. Using a calculator, the dispatcher figured
what our car would cost us, and then asked, "Do you want the driver to
wait?" "No," Steve said, looking at me quickly to see if I agreed,
"we'll find a taxi back on our own."

	"Sir, the driver should wait."

	We looked at each other again. I said, "I don't think it'll be
that hard to find a cab." "No, thanks," Steve told the dispatcher.

	"Sir, have the driver wait until you're through with your
dinner."

	All right, fine, we had lost; the driver would wait. The
dispatcher figured our bill in advance: four hundred baht - about
sixteen bucks. Not bad for the services of a driver and a white
Mercedes-Benz for two or three hours. We got in and handed the address
to our driver.

	Lemon Grass Restaurant was in an impossible-to-find
neighborhood. We sped through narrow, filth-invested alleys and
gutters for a full half-hour before pulling-up in front of a rather
nondescript white building that looked like a converted house. The
driver, who spoke only detached words to us during the ride, managed
to say he'd find us when we came out after dinner.

				* * *

	Three hours later and very full and satisfied, we found our
way back out to the street. We looked up and down, but all we saw was
a sea of look-alike drivers standing next to cars, waiting for their
respective passengers to return. No sooner had we realized what was
going on outside, than up came our ride - *he* had recognized *us*. (I
guess we don't all look alike, after all.) We climbed in, and the car
drove away.

	Once we were a safe distance from the restaurant, Steve, in
his inimitable style, looked at the driver's face through the rear-
view mirror and asked, "So, now what?"

	A smile came to the driver's face. "You want someplace nice?"
he asked.

	"Sure, let's go someplace nice," I said, not knowing what
those words meant in this country. "Sure, someplace nice," Steve
agreed.

	We drove through the city of Bangkok. It had rained while we
were in the restaurant having dinner, and the city lights painted the
streets a brilliant red, green, and yellow in reflecting neon. It was
beautiful. All around us, bicycles, motorscooters, and pedestrians
darted in and around the traffic. The jockeying for front position at
a red light about to change was vicious. *This* was traffic. Don't let
me ever hear another New York cabbie complain about traffic. We pulled
into the parking lot behind a large, night-club-looking place. There
was a crowd of men standing near the back entrance, gathered around a
lone television set balanced precariously atop a kitchen chair on the
pavement. It wasn't until the next day that we realized these were
other drivers waiting for their passengers to return from inside. It's
all so organized, we would later think of the sex trade here.

	Our driver said he'd be waiting for us, not to worry, and he
joined the others around the television set.

	The glass doors were tinted completely black. We pushed them
open.

	Inside, a flood of pink light washed over us. It was
everywhere. Everything was pink. And the most amazing sight I'd ever
seen stood right in front of me: about a hundred girls dressed in the
most provocative ways imaginable sat on some sort of carpeted stairs
or bleachers, rising from the ground up, behind a huge wall of glass,
spotlights shining down on them for all to see and inspect. It was
like a people exhibit at a zoo; they were goldfish in a bowl - girls
on display for me to pick from. It was amazing. Bright, white light
behind the glass; pink neon everywhere else. I walked up to the glass.

	A man who spoke enough English for this particular exchange
held out a pad in his hand, pencil ready. "Which?" he asked. I didn't
understand. I never do. I needed to have it explained. Depending on
the number on their badge, some of the girls were available for
fucking and some only for a blowjob. I wanted a fucking girl, and I
told him so. He understood. "Sixty baht, tip included," he said. That
came to $2.40. Sold American.

	The man with the pad looked around briefly, then pointed to
number 24. She stood up, smiled at me, and walked out of the glass
enclosure through a hidden back door. When she came out, she took my
arm in hers like we were on a date, and walked me up to the desk. I
paid my sixty baht, and the girl was handed a basket of supplies:
there was soap ("soba" in Thai), a condom, some lotions, and other
stuff that I didn't get to find out about.

	We walked to the elevator, and waited with other "couples". I
had already lost sight of Steve, but I was sure he was in good hands,
so to speak. Finally the elevator came and we stepped in with about
twelve other people.

				* * *

	"Do you come here often?" I asked the man standing next to me.
I couldn't help it; it struck me funny. All these men not wanting to
be noticed by anyone, and here we all were stuffed into the same
elevator car. Sometimes children think that if they close their eyes,
no one can see them. I think these guys still believed that. No one
engaged me in light conversation, despite my attempt at breaking the
ice.

	Twenty-four and I got off on the eighth floor, still arm-in-
arm. We walked down a narrow corridor that reminded me of my college
dormitory or a cheap Holiday Inn in a remote town in Texas. The only
thing that was different was that standing up against the wall next to
almost every door was an inflated rubber raft, the kind a person might
lay on while sipping a drink in the pool. Not the black rubber kind,
but the colorful kiddy kind.

	Number Twenty-four opened one of the identical-looking doors,
and we walked inside.

				* * *

	Our room consisted of a bed on a platform, a sofa, and a
sunken tub. Stereo music played through a piped-in system. Twenty-four
placed her basket of supplies down on a table near the bed, and began
undressing. I followed her lead and stripped naked, then sat on the
sofa, waiting.

	"What is your name?" I finally attempted.

	No reply.

	I pointed to myself and said, "Andy." Then I pointed to
Twenty-four. (I figured that ought to be universally understood.) She
said, "Nute."

	Nute and I began kissing, first slowly and carefully, then
passionately and more aggressively. She was young. She sat next to me
on the sofa and I had the feeling I was kissing an eighteen-year-old.
It had been a long time since I did that. Her kisses were inviting and
encouraging, and I quickly had a solid erection which brushed-up
against Nute's dark, creamy skin. Nute lowered herself to her knees,
and took my cock into her mouth willingly. At first she started to
suck me too quickly, and that's not the way I like it. I held her head
between my hands and said, "Slowly, slowly," but I'm sure the words
meant nothing. After a moment, though, her mouth relaxed and became
wetter, and her pace slowed to the long, drawing, stroking action that
sends my cock throbbing fuller and fuller. Her tongue darted around
the head of my cock, and she licked and teased with her mouth as she
sucked and stroked me with both hands now. Realizing I would soon
climax if this motion continued, I drew her head off me and looked her
in the eyes. I didn't know whether Nute wanted to end our time
together quickly by causing me to cum so soon, but I figured it was my
two dollars and forty-cents, and I was going to get my money's worth!

	What happened next I was not expecting.

	Nute either realized I wanted a more complete pleasing, or had
been expecting to go forward with this anyway. She stood up and walked
to the tub, then drew a hot bath using the contents of one of the
mystery bottles in her basket. When the tub was full of hot, soapy
water, Nute stepped in and pulled me in by the hands. We sat down in
the tub facing one another. Nute reached for a washcloth near the tub,
and put both hands under the water. She found my stiff, throbbing cock
quickly and began massaging it. With the soapy washcloth, Nute took
great care to clean me carefully and lovingly. We kissed some more and
again I could have cum in her wet hands.

	After my bath, Nute and I stood and stepped out of the tub.
Nute took our rubber raft and laid it down on the floor. She spilled a
pail of warm bath water over it, soaking the raft and the floor
nearby. Nute motioned for me to lay down on the raft, face-up, which I
obligingly agreed to. Nute stepped over the raft, and lay down on top
of me. The sensation of her wet, soapy body rolling over me - and the
wet raft below - was indescribably good. (In Japan, the women give a
full-body massage where one girl is below you and another on top. This
is the Thai version, I supposed.) Nute began slowly rocking her body
left and right over me. My cock, now rock-solid and throbbing
intensely, was upright against my stomach. The underside of my cock,
the most sensitive part, was between Nute's soapy wet groin and my
body. As much as she rolled and rolled over me, Nute never let my cock
rest for a moment. Pressed against her groin, then up and down against
her belly, she worked my cock in every direction imaginable.

	We bounced and rocked and rolled over that rubber raft for an
eternity, and it was intensely pleasurable. Finally, when I was going
to explode for sure, I pushed myself down the raft and found Nute's
steamy wet pussy with the head of my cock. I slid back up the raft,
this time with my cock in position, so that as I slid up the raft I
could insert my shaft. Nute screamed in pain, and I liked it. "Ayyy,
ow!" she said. But I pressed in further, still rocking on that wet
raft. I rammed my cock hard, deep inside her, deeper I'm sure than any
Asian had been in her before. Nute was tight - very tight - and it was
like fucking a young virgin. I continued riding up and down inside
her, sliding on the raft and holding her waist for support. I looked
into Nute's eyes, and on her face I saw she was struggling not to
scream any more. I felt immensely pleased by this, and I came in huge,
heaving spurts inside my Thai slave.

				* * *

	After our love-making, Nute was again on her knees before me,
kissing my cock and making certain I was pleased with her. She was a
beautiful, curvaceous, eager lover who gave and gave of herself. I
wanted desperately to have her for my pleasure always, this Oriental
sex slave.

				* * *

	Downstairs, Steve and I met up again, and we found Nute and
Penn (Steve's Thai lover). We offered them both lifelong employment in
the United States in exchange for daily pleasing.

	It was an offer Steve and I thought hard to refuse for these
girls, and I keep telling myself it was only the language barrier that
eventually kept them from accepting.

	Well, I can dream, can't I?!

			       The End

From the author...

"World Adventure: Bangkok" is fantasy, but it is based on actual
events.

This is the second installment in the World Adventure series. In the
first installment, "World Adventure: Manila", I describe an "arranged
meeting" that took place during one of my business trips to the
Philippines.

I hope you enjoy this series and like to read about my experiences
around the world. I'll write new stories as my time permits. Your
comments are very much appreciated. Please e-mail to 71640,424.

Andy L.