Stickman Readers' Submissions August 14th, 2003

Recreation At The Suction Lounge And More

Recreation At The Suction Lounge

Slept alone last night and woke up horny. Bored of sex with disinterested women, I decided a good blow job would be just the thing. Went to one of the BJ bars in town for expert service. Ugly girls meet you in the ground-floor bar and persuade you to follow them upstairs to the suction lounge. The customer sits at a counter with half-moon cut-outs that have curtains which part in the middle. You sit on a tall bar stool, drop your drawers and scoot up forward into the cut-out, your knees and crotch fitting through the partition. On the other side, the woman squats on a short stool and administers the treatment.You can't see her at all, under the counter where she is. Very anonymous. Very impersonal. Assembly-line service at it's industrial best.

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Another person is also behind the counter, running the cash register, serving drinks and fast-forwarding the XXX-rated videos to the "good" parts. Today there was a female cashier/bartender/VCR technician and, thankfully, no other customers there. (I'm a little shy about sitting elbow-to-elbow with a bunch of other guys during this sort of experience. Late mornings and early afternoons are best, because during peak hours the place can be full, and, of course, groups of friends will be cracking jokes and snickering. I don't understand why they don't have private booths, or at least put some curtains between the customers).

Got off to a slow start, since at first the idiotic cashier tried to chat with me while I was undergoing suction. She was not making erotic conversation; she was being a distraction and a nuisance. I did my best to ignore her, and she finally got the clue and shut up. Meanwhile, the gal underneath was doing a fantastic job. I peeked down through the curtains and saw her bobbing merrily away. Once the cashier left me alone to enjoy the video, things went just swell. Then, right at the crucial, final moment, the girl SQUEEEEZED real hard at the base, preventing a full and satisfying discharge! My GAWD! What the FUCK! Very unprofessional. I guess she's afraid of gagging on the stuff. Now I was more miserable than ever and still needed relief. As I pulled up my trousers and paid the bill, she had the cheek to ask why I didn't leave a tip. I just stared at her in mute disbelief. I'd have to look for a woman on the beach boardwalk while hobbling back from this place.

I suppose some would say this sort of thing is "disgusting." But even more disgusting than sex stripped to its bare, unemotional, mechanical essentials, is sex that's a big phony show. A long string of bad bedroom actresses was the inspiration for that little adventure.


Picked up my bar girl date, went out for dinner, returned to the hotel, showered. While pissing in the shower, I thought it looked rather strange. Dark and reddish. Peed into the bowl. Looked the same. Blood in the urine? That wouldn't be good….Toweled off, thinking what to do. Don't want to tell the girl. She might think it's some kind of V.D. and tell the whole town. In bed with her, she's giggling and chattering a mile a minute. I'm in no mood. I'm thinking I might be in serious trouble here. Bladder? Kidneys? Liver? Lord knows I drink too much. I want a drink NOW! No, better not. Drink lots of water instead. Should pee again. Have another look. Can't see well enough in that dirty toilet bowl. What to use? Not my whiskey glass! Oh, this clear plastic bag will do. I've drank about a liter of water already, thinking in a panic about which hospital to go to. Should I fly home…? Still no urge to pee. Maybe I'm just afraid of what I'll see. Oh, to hell with it. If I'm dying, I might as well have a drink. I pour myself a scotch and soda…. Well, this dying business sure feels a lot more pleasant now. I have another. OK, my courage is up and I can go now. Into the bathroom. I fill the plastic bag. SHIT! Pink piss! Hold it up to the light, look real close, blink, squint, look again. Well, maybe I'd better tell the girl after all. Maybe she can help get me a doctor if I suddenly collapse or something. (It's around midnight, Saturday. I'm thinking I'll wait until morning to see a doc). I carry my urine sample into the bedroom to show her and WHAT'S THIS? IT'S YELLOW!!! Looks perfectly normal. Before the girl looks at me, I turn back into the bathroom. I'm holding a bag of pink piss again. It's the lousy dim 15 watt bathroom light! And the pink tiles reflecting pink light everywhere. Hell, everything's pink in here! Why haven't I noticed it before? Whoo Hooo!!! I'm gonna live!!! I thought I was a goner, but I'm gonna live! I poured myself another scotch and soda. Never did explain to the girl what I was so damned moody, and then so damned happy about. I fell on her with a passion that night. Glad to be alive!

Running The Gauntlet

You know those irksome Indians who stand out in front of their tailor shops all over town, trying to sell every passerby a cheap suit? "Hello my friend! How are you today? A nice suit for you today?…." I've been in this area a while, and what really pisses me off is that I KNOW they all know me by now. They seem to think they can harrass me into submission; that maybe if they bug me one more time, the 999,999th time I'll give in and let them take my measurements. Well, about a week ago, I was walking past these idiots on my daily trip to the supermarket. Walking Farang-style: with direction, purpose and VELOCITY! I was weaving as quickly as possible through the throngs of tourists on the pavement, and there were four or five of them standing opposite each other, forming a gauntlet, forcing everyone to move single-file through the narrow path between. As usual I just ignored them, head slightly lowered, avoiding eye contact, not saying a word, when suddenly, out jumped one guy, directly into my path, thrusting his hand towards me as if to shake mine. I had the momentum of a steamroller and couldn't turn left or right without running into someone else. The way I see it, HE ran into ME. I didn't stop and I didn't reach out to shake his hand either. I felt the dull thump of his chin hitting my shoulder and the crisp "clack!" of his teeth crashing together and an instant later heard the sound of nervous laughter just behind me. I think it was his fellow suit salesmen laughing. I didn't look back. I just kept walking, full-speed to the market. Fuck! I'm through-traffic, man! I've got the right-of-way! Naw, that ain't true. I don't have any rights. Well, anyway, ever since that day, they leave me alone. They don't say a word and they sure as hell don't try to shake my hand or get in my way. Victory at last!

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Stickman says:

Nice stories!

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