TEN
IT WAS a busy morning at Heathrow Terminal Three. Stan was wearing a striped blue tie over a stylish white shirt that hid under a smart blue suit. He was weaving his way through a crowd of people heading in the opposite direction.
He escaped into the VIP lounge, poured a neat Scotch, took a bowl of salted nuts and sank back into a sleek, leather armchair. A few drinks later his flight came up on the monitor.
He took another handful of nuts then headed for the gate. On the way to the plane, he selected some newspapers and boarded the plane into first class. Flicking through the Financial Times, he checked his stocks whilst ignoring the safety demonstration and as soon as he could, he ordered a drink.
His Scotch was delivered by a gorgeous Thai stewardess wearing a traditional silk sash that stretched diagonally from her neck to her waist. Her make-up was flawless and her long, thick hair was tied back. She smiled as she bent over and served him. He caught a whiff of her perfume; it smelt like an exotic beach. He nodded his thanks and his mind strayed as he admired her figure and watched her pert bottom sway as she walked away.
Finishing his drink, he reached into his carry-on, pulled out a green and white bag and slipped out the latest crime thriller by James A. Newman. He reclined his seat, sat back, flicked through the first few pages of 'The Black Rose' and began.
Awoken hours later by a change in the incessant drone of the engines, they had begun their descent. A look out the window confirmed it was night but below the clouds, the distant lights of Bangkok sparkled like a Christmas night.
Flight TGFI07 touched down with a bang, a wobble and a skid. Stan was one of the first off and after queuing for ages at passport control, he headed to baggage. Retrieving his Samsonite, he wheeled it towards the exit and was greeted by a Thai lady in a beige suit. "You like Limousine sir?"
Stan shook his head. He loved a little luxury, but loathed being ripped off. He followed the exit signs, stepped out of gate five, through some automatic doors and bam - Bangkok humidity.
He sought refuge in the first taxi he could find and judging by the shabby state of it, he wished he'd taken the limo. He sat there for a minute and melted as he noticed an ornamental Buddha stuck to the dashboard. The air-conditioning was fine. Stan was tired; if this car could move, it would do.
"Where you go?" the driver asked with a slight smile under his thick lips.
"You know the Landmark hotel?"
"You want take expressway?"
"If it's the quickest way."
The driver nodded. Stan peered out of the window as they drove off into the night. Cars, buses, motorcycles and trucks were everywhere, overtaking, undertaking, speeding and rarely indicating. It was a white-knuckle ride all the way. They eventually arrived at the Landmark and Stan, still a little shaken, didn't know whether to tip his driver or slap him in the face. Still alive, he opted for the tip.
He climbed out into the humidity, left his luggage to be collected by a porter and made his way up the stairs to the grand entrance. Crossing the gold marble floor, he stood at reception and was greeted by a lady dressed in a gold jacket and brown skirt.
"Welcome to the Landmark, sir."
Stan checked in, followed his frisky porter to suite 1918 on the nineteenth floor, tipped with a purple five then took a look around. There was a long black table with black chairs, black sofa, black plasma - everything was black - even the bed sheets were black. He stepped into the bathroom expecting black soap - it was pink. He unpacked then lay on the bed.
He was dozing lightly when he was woken by loud ringing. He reached for the phone. "Hello?"
"Stan?" A familiar voice asked, from the other side of the world.
"Have you seen Michael?"
"They don't allow visitors over the weekend. I'll call you as soon as I've seen him."
"Alright. Go back to sleep."
"Thanks, take care, bye."
Stan hung up and sat there. He felt a sudden urge to go out. He sprung from the bed, pulled on a pair of brown shorts, slipped into a crisp white shirt, strapped on his Cartier then splashed on a little Old Spice. Finally, after applying a little mousse, he styled his hair and was good to go.
He was stepping down the street and into the oppressive Bangkok heat when a filthy-cute girl smiled as she passed him by. She was tall, thin and busty with firm thighs and long legs. She wore the highest of heels and the shortest of pink dresses. Stan smiled back then noticed more ladies hanging around and hooking on another corner. They were wearing the most revealing of outfits and strutted down the streets like they owned them.
He continued on his journey and noticed the streets didn't quite share the beauty of the girls. He had to tread carefully over crumbling concrete, side- step around copper piping sticking up from the ground and duck under thick electrical cables that hung down. He was passed by motorbike taxis and converted motorcycles with multi-coloured carriages. The drivers tried to catch his attention by slowing down and beeping their horns. He ignored them, walked on and passed several people begging. He sympathized, yet didn't care to spare any change.
Feeling beads of sweat trickling down his back, he was considering an escape, when he was met by a short Indian tailor standing outside his store.
"I have a wonderful suit for you, sir, for a good price. Please come in and take a look."
Stan needed to pee, but wouldn't buy a suit in order to do so. He was about to walk on when his attention was diverted by a beautiful girl standing across the street. She was hopping on the spot and waving at him. He waved back, stepped onto the road, weaved his way between slow-moving cars and joined her on the other side.
"Hi. My name Aey," she smiled saucily.
"I'm Stan. Why were you waving at me?"
"I think you want massage. Take look?"
Disappointed that he didn't know her, a massage did seem like a good idea after a long flight. He peered between a pair of heavy gold curtains and saw several more attractive ladies standing around. They wore loose colourful uniforms that showed a little cleavage and had their hair tied back. They smiled sweetly at Stan as he stared - he was sold.
Seeing an assortment of shabby shoes outside on the floor, he slipped off his designer sandals and tucked them behind a pair of red flip-flops.
"You want oil massage?"
Stan stepped in and looked around. An interesting ambience was created with scented candles, running waterfalls, Oriental music and prints of temples on the walls. "Alright," he agreed.
The sound of running water heightened his urge to use the restroom. He stepped into the toilet and found himself leaning and crouching under a sloping ceiling to pee. He returned to his masseuse and she led him upstairs to a row of cubicles. Each had a thin mattress, a soft pillow and a white hand-towel folded as an elephant.
"You like shower first?"
He nodded, hung his clothes on some bendy hangers, took a towel, headed for the bathroom and showered over a toilet with no seat. Then returning to his cubicle, he lay face-down on the mattress and loosened the towel.
It was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop; that was if you had a pin and you wanted to drop it. Stan then heard some small steps creeping towards the door. The sliding doors slid open; Aey crept in, knelt before him, slipped off the towel and placed it to the side. He smelt her cheap, tangy perfume. He wouldn't have bought that brand for his wife, but he liked it on Aey.
Stan was naked and suddenly aware of the air conditioning cooling his buttocks. Aey placed her cold fingertips on his legs, glided them up to his thighs then continued up his back.
She screwed open a jar of oil. It smelt of lavender. She poured plenty on his body then rubbed her small, firm hands up and down his legs, back and buttocks, spreading scented oil. Her nails dug in, her palms pressed down and her fingertips teased. Stan moaned and rocked his body gently as she continued to caress him.
About thirty minutes later she asked him to turn over. She didn't offer him the towel. He didn't want it, didn't need it. He turned over slowly, held in his stomach and searched her eyes for any sign of shame. She wasn't shy, didn't seem to care. She sat up and smiled at the excitement he was showing her - mission accomplished.
As he lay there naked, aroused and waiting for what or who would come next, guilt took a grip. He thought of his wife back in England and wondered how he'd allowed himself to be in this predicament.
His guilt was soon dispelled when she continued massaging him, caressing him, nudging his member as he lay there. It pointed to the moon. He moaned then reached up to brush against her small, soft, cup-cake breasts. She smiled, pulled up her shirt and bra and allowed him to fondle her. He squeezed her young, ripe nipples gently as she moaned.
Abandoning any pretence that she was massaging his abdomen, she gave full attention to his penis, utilising firm, sensual strokes. He enjoyed the motions as she brought him closer to climax with every stroke. His body suddenly stiffened and his face strained as he came - almost in her face. She continued stroking him with an even firmer grip and faster pace until he raised his right hand. She stopped and smiled like the cat that'd caught the cream. Wiping her wet hands on his waist she
smiled and demanded, "Don't move till I get back."
Stan nodded. She stood up and stepped out.
He lay there for a while catching his breath then reaching for the towel he pulled it over his loins and wiped himself.
She returned a few minutes later with a steaming, wet hand-towel, tutted that he'd taken the main towel, removed it and tossed it to the side. He lay there naked, suddenly feeling exposed. She dropped the hand towel onto his crotch. Stan twisted his
body like a lizard then realising it wasn't that hot, he laughed. She soaked up his sperm like a horny mistress. She was rough. Stan was aroused. She finished. "How you feel?"
"Relaxed."
"You take shower then come down for tea."
"Thank you."
He watched her leave, had a shower then made his way downstairs. He drank a cup of warm tea, paid, left a decent tip, took a card and walked out.
Back on the street and feeling the heat, he escaped into a pink Toyota disguised as a taxi. A young man with an Afro smiled through the rear- view. "You want see beautiful lady?"
"Where? How much?"
"Not far. Not much"
"Let's go."
After a slow-moving Journey along Sukhumvit Road, they arrived at a street of bars lit up by bright neon signs. Sexy, young ladies lingered outside in short skirts, shorter shorts, swim-wear, night dresses, sexy dresses, lacy lingerie and whatever else would catch the eye. Stan had never seen so many beautiful girls in one place and smiled at them all.
He stopped at a food stall serving fried crickets and wondered how drunk he'd have to be to try one of those. Then passing a bar with a wooden door, he noticed a couple of ladies sat at a table in lingerie. The one on the right was the prettiest, thought Stan but she hadn't seen him. The one on the left did. She rose from her stool, glided over, reached for his hand and led him inside.
Stan stepped into a small, smoky room with a long bar to the right, leather booths to the left and a stage area just large enough for a couple of girls to perform - and they did.
'Hotel California', played loudly around the room, but Stan wasn't listening. He was too busy ogling the girls on the stage. Two, probably a little south of seventeen stood naked, danced erotically and stared at themselves in mirrors on the walls. They seemed perfectly natural sporting their stuff for all to see. Stan felt a little sorry for them, but that thought was soon lost to lust.
He was shown to a booth and smiled at by a farang sitting opposite. He looked around fifty, had thick, brown hair and wore a pair of cream Chinos under a chequered shirt.
"What you drink?" a pretty waitress asked. She had her hair tied back and her teeth behind braces.
"I'll take a Heineken."
'Bony Nose' peered over. "Ze name is Helmut."
"Stan. It's my first time here."
"You want zome company?"
"Sure, it's always nice to meet new people."
"I was talking about za girl," Helmut laughed.
"Oh. Then why not."
As the music changed to another eighties' track, Helmut waved over an older lady. She wasn't as slim or as sexy as the other girls, had heavy makeup and bushy hair. She strutted over, blocked Stan's view of
the stage and spoke Thai with Helmut.
"Who's that?" Stan asked as she walked away.
"The mamasan. She's in charge of the girls."
A few minutes and a new track later, two attractive ladies in silk robes appeared and slid in next to the boys. Helmut opened his girl's robe to reveal a lovely little figure wrapped in purple lingerie and half covering a perky pair of fake breasts.
"We buy them a drink then we can play."
Stan agreed, ordered two shots of Tequila and turned to his girl. Her smile was encouraging; she had a pretty face framed with brown hair and busy eyes that kept flicking between Helmut and Stan.
"What you name? Where you from?"
"I'm Nigel," Stan lied.
"My name Pancake."
Two shots of Tequila soon arrived on a silver tray with a sprinkle of salt and two wedges of lime. Stan watched the girls as they downed them, licked the salt and sucked the lime.
Helmut, noticing Stan was a little shy, leant over, opened Pancake's robe and copped a feel of her breasts. "At least get zee money's worth."
Stan looked down at the red lingerie embracing Pancake's slender body, but didn't touch. Helmut fondled his girl's breasts, right in front of Stan then reached down to stroke his fingers between her legs.
"You can take any of zese girls upstairs to a private room and have ze wicked way."
"I couldn't possibly."
"Maybe after a few more drinks."
"I don't think so. I feel a little bad for the girls. I couldn't take advantage of them."
Several drinks later, Helmut was looking at his watch. He turned to Stan. "I have work tomorrow."
"That's a shame. What do you do?"
"I own ze travel agency. Perhaps ve can do zis again, anuzzer time?"
Helmut reached for the bill. Stan pulled it away and paid. Helmut handed Stan his card.
"Thank you Stan. It's nice to have met you. Call me if you want annuzer night out."
"….Definitely." Stan nodded.
Stan tucked away Helmut's card, followed him out of the bar and said goodbye. He continued his stroll down Cowboy, reached the end, then turned onto another road. It had several scruffy taxi drivers standing around, waiting for their prey.
"Taxi sah?" A cabbie asked with dry lips.
Stan waved a dismissive wave - he wasn't done yet. He continued on and was walking down a quieter road when he was accosted by three girls sitting outside the small entrance to a bar.
"You want drink, handsome man?" a tall, feminine lady offered.
"You look like Tom Cruise."
"I'm heading home," Stan replied.
"I go with you?" She asked with hopeful eyes.
She was sexy in a sleazy way with thick black hair and long legs. Her make-up was heavy and her thick eyelashes fluttered sensually at Stan. His eyes fixated on her black high-heeled boots that stretched half way up her legs.
"One for the road?" she smiled.
He nodded and followed her into a small, dimly-lit room where several black-leather barstools were lined up against the bar. It smelt of stale spunk. He ordered a whisky soda as she slid in next to him and started rubbing his leg.
"You buy drink for me?" she asked.
Stan nodded to the bar-maid. A whisky Cola arrived and Stan and 'Black Boots' clinked glasses.
"What your name?"
"Nigel," Stan lied again.
She pressed her hand firmly against his crotch and began to caress him. He opened his legs a little and glanced down to see she now had a firm grip on his member, through his shorts. He contentedly sipped his whisky while she slowly opened the buttons to his shorts, snaked her hand in and found her way to the fly in his boxers. Stan sat back, allowing her to search; he wasn't shy, he was too excited and too drunk to care.
She was quick to find his member and it was already giving her a standing ovation. She pulled it out right there in the bar and patted it like a pet. Stan blushed, but didn't stop her and watched as she took his balls in her hands and squeezed them.
There was nobody else, save a chubby, bar-maid wearing a denim skirt over a pair of pink stockings. She had placed some tissues and a small bottle of Johnson's baby oil on the bar counter. As Stan enjoyed another first-time experience in the 'Land of Smiles,' 'Black Boots' took a little oil on her hand, applied it to Stan's manhood and started to stroke him. He was shocked. The barmaid didn't look, didn't care and continued drying glasses. Stan sat back with one eye on 'Black Boots' hand and the other on the door.
He was reaching the point of no-return, when she slowed down then stopped. "You want more?"
"Okay."
"Let's go upstairs."
"What's upstairs?"
"Have private room."
Guilt had lost out to lust, again. Stan finished his drink, pulled up his shorts and followed her up a flight of broken stairs. They arrived at a room that smelt of smoke and sex. It had an old pool table with a torn cloth and a small, empty bar.
She locked the door behind them, leaned him up against the pool table and rammed her tongue down his throat. After several seconds of a sloppy snog, she broke away. "You want fuck me?"
Stan nodded.
She unbuttoned Stan's shorts and slipped them down to his ankles. She stepped over to the bar, rummaged around and found a dusty bottle of Thai whisky and some mixers, hidden in a cupboard underneath. "What you drink?"
"Whisky soda." Stan replied.
He started to shuffle over like a penguin to take his drink, his shorts still around his ankles.
"Stay there," she laughed. "I bring to you."
He shuffled back feeling foolish and waited. His heart thumped as she glided over, placed the drinks on the side then fell to her knees. She pulled down his boxers, took his manhood in her hands and tickled the tip with her nails. She took him deeply in her mouth and caressed him with her long, strong tongue. He glanced down; her eyes met his as she started to suck him fast and furiously. He could feel himself coming, again, and reached down to take her firm, left breast in his hand.
She continued, careful not to finish him, her musky perfume tickling his nostrils. He reached down, slipped his hand through her dress and ventured down her legs. He was about to reach her opening, when she stopped him. He paused for a Mississippi count of three, then tried again - this time she allowed him safe passage.
He reached down, grazed her thigh and then continued further on his voyage until finally arriving between her legs. Expecting a shaved, smooth moist opening, he was more than gob-smacked when he felt a long, hard bulge, taped up and strapped firmly to her inside leg. He felt it again - to be sure - it was still there - fuck!
A tsunami of aversion, revulsion, repulsion horror, disgust and despair swept over him, amongst other emotions that had all arrived simultaneously. He almost threw up. He lifted her(?) him(?) it from him and pushed her(?) him(?) it away. He stumbled into his clothes and dashed for the door.
"I thought you knew," the lady-boy cried out as she stood back scratching her head.
He struggled with the lock, opened the door, legged it down the stairs and rushed out of the bar. Then bolting blindly across the road, he side-stepped a taxi-tout to be hit head-on by a Tuk Tuk.