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The Boardwalk



Black Pagoda Patpong Bangkok

She was over 30 and pretty heavy, but I was in the mood for tits and these she had. Face fairly pretty. Smiled and spoke sweetly. Not a clue to her true evil nature that I could discern. Beach boardwalk freelancer. The riskiest class of strumpet around, but some element of danger can be arousing, intriguing, tempting for a dumbass fool like myself. How much? 300. Cheap. Dirt cheap. Get what you pay for (Usually. Sometimes with extra surprises, as you're about to see). Did the walk of shame across the block to the best short-time hotel in town. Clean rooms, sheets, towels, pleasant owners. Only 120 (3 bucks). They do a roaring trade. Paid, got key, entered room, showered, and straight down to business. Very little foreplay with these gals, but she did give me a brief, decent backrub first. Then she's down on me. No enthusiasm about it, but the Viagra crumb I nibbled an hour ago is kicking in, so I'm immediately flying the colors full-staff. Condom on, let her get on top first– she doesn't like it. Only dropping down about an inch, wincing, then pulling back up and letting it out. A few minutes of this and I sit up, still inside, facing her, move to the edge of the bed, let my legs hang over, hers straight atop the bed behind me– this lets me grab her haunches and pull her towards me, entering deeper and deeper. She's hating it. I stand up, still inside her, holding her under that gelatinous maximus. She's a fat-ass milk cow, but I'm a pretty strong guy and I can take her standing up like this- for a short while anyway. Then I lay her back down on the bed, missionary position (My favorite position actually. Those missionaries weren't dumb.) She keeps grimacing with every thrust, letting her legs fall flat and limp so I can't get in too deep. I haven't got much, truth be told, but what I have, I've gotta get in to the hilt to feel satisfied. So, I pin her legs back with the crook of my elbows hooked into the crook of her knees. It's always the lazy, fat ones that let their legs drop and make you do this, and it gets tiring after awhile. Hell, it ain't happening. I'm no rapist. Seeing pain on a woman's face kills it for me. "Can you just smoke me, baby?" She agrees. Condom off. Wash again. Dry. Lay back and let her take me in her mouth. Her face registers disgust. Doesn't like to suck cock. Dabbles at it with her tongue, pulls away, takes it in an inch, backs off, grasps it at the base so it can only go in half-way, ("It hits my throat- HURTS!") Keeps trying to switch to a hand job, or half-hand/ half-blow job. Cheater's head. All the while making a face like she's eating a lemon– or a turd. "Baby, can I just fuck you up the stovepipe?" "NO! NOOOOOO!!!" " But your pussy hurts and your mouth won't work." "My pussy hurts because my period is coming up in a day or two, and my mouth is tired." "Well, what the hell are you working for? Why didn't you take a few days off?" No reply. "Oh, to hell with it. It's useless." She agrees: "Sorry! I cannot." We shower, dress, leave room– then, in the hall, she wants 300. "For what?! I just wasted my time and 120 on the room FOR WHAT? Now, I have to go find another gal and pay all over again for another room!" Then, she gets mean, nasty, deadly: "You think if you don't pay me, you can ever walk down that boardwalk again? I've been working that boardwalk eight years now. I know EVERYBODY! I know all the gals and lots of guys (pimps, basically, who will get revenge on any Farang who refuses to pay. Those boys need their whiskey money). The other girls will never go with you again,…and the guys I know?… Heheheheh!!!! You'd better watch your back mister!" I'm trumped. She's got me. Checkmate. I peel off the bills, one, two, three. "Alright, you win. Everything OK now?" No reply. Stonefaced, she stuffs the bills into her pocket and runs ahead of me down the stairs. I run after. I hear her say to the owner, "Blah, blah, blah, him no pay me! Blah, blah, blah….," as she walks quickly off…. Or did she say, "Him not WANT to pay me!"? My Thai's not that good, she's speaking fast, speaking dialect, I can't be sure if she's just accused me of not paying or just being reluctant to pay. I have to assume the worst and yell back, "I PAID YOU! YOU KNOW I DID! I PAID YOU!!!!" Anyway, she keeps talking dirt, talking slang, I don't know what she's saying, and although my Thai's OK for pleasant conversation, I'm no match in a heated argument. Can't win. I look at the owner, shrug helplessly, grin feebly, sheepishly. Then, THANK GOD! He seems to be on my side. He smiles warmly, shakes his head in that universal way that men do to communicate their understanding that all women are truly insane. He sympathizes! What a relief. It's rare for a Thai to side with a Farang against another Thai, but I guess sometimes male cameraderie overcomes racism. Also, he's let rooms to me many times before and has always seen the gals I bring leave with me happily, peacefully. I apologize for the spat and he says, "never mind," chuckling softly. Whew!

Well, I'm now blue-balled and still have a little Viagra coursing through my veins, so back to the boardwalk I go. Of course, I avoid the section where the Wicked One hangs out. It's a long boardwalk, so this isn't too difficult. I stroll along, nerves shaken, wondering if I really even feel like sex anymore, but I have a theory that after reaching a certain stage of arousal, it's unhealthy to quit before orgasm. Maybe that stuff all backs up and hurts the prostate? Anyway, blue balls aren't pleasant. So, I soldier on. Not that one,… no, not that one,… HELL NO, not that one, GOOD GOD, she looks frightening! Then, I finally find a cutie. 25, slim, medium tits, taut belly, no stretch marks. Pleasant personality (of course, that's what I thought about the last one…) She wants 500. That's standard. I don't even try to negotiate. I just want to blow one more wad before the Wicked One sics her maengda pimps on me and I wind up at the bottom of Pattaya Bay wearing concrete shoes. (Unlikely, since I DID pay her, but she is irrational and unpredictable, so who the hell knows?) Back at the short-time hotel, the owner grins happily, I pay, we go to the room, undress, she's ten-times better-looking than the last bitch (what was I THINKING?). In bed, she's great. Nice, slow foreplay, a few giggles here and there (nothing vicious, not a trace of contempt), she's really NICE. She goes down, it comes up, condom goes on, then, DAMN! the thing's on up-side down. I already applied K-Y to the wrong side. Turn it back over, fumbling, still nervous about the recent fiasco with the first gal, and,….now I've wilted. Condom off again, lube on wrong side not good, not good at all- makes it slip off, go shower again,and start all over with a new condom. Is this comedy? I suppose so. She was being a good sport. Not laughing at me, not losing patience, willing to try anything to help, but I was losing what little lust I had left after having my life threatened a few minutes previously. On top of that, I was now getting frustrated with myself and a little embarrassed. I told her it was not her fault, that she was great, I just had problems on my mind that were distracting me- all true. She suggested I was fatigued from having too much sex lately (a common affliction hereabouts) and I accepted this face-saving excuse gratefully. "Sweetheart, could you please smoke me?" I knew it was a long-shot. I'm a difficult one to get off with a blowjob, even under the best of circumstances. But she happily complied- and you know what? She gave me the best damned blow job I've had since I-can't-remember-when. It was slow-going at first, due to my extremely-agitated state, but after about ten minutes of her tirelessly licking and sucking, bobbing and weaving, tickling my balls just right, I finally got rock-hard, she exclaimed, "Ooh, now it's BEEEEEEG!!!" (It wasn't really- it just seemed big compared to it's recently-microscopic dimensions.) And then I was coming!, and coming!, and COMING! until it felt like the vas deferens was unwinding and spooling out into her mouth like monofilament line from a fishing reel. WHOOO-HOOOO!!!! RELIEF!!!! My nuts haven't been that thoroughly drained in a long time.

I looked in my wallet and didn't have a 500. I had a 1,000 and a few smaller bills. Shit. Now what? "Baby, I don't have a 500, do you have one? Can you change this 1,000?" I saw the wheels turning behind her eyes. I thought for sure she'd pull the usual trick- say she had no change, and hope I'd just give her the 1,000. I would have done it too (given her the 1,000). She'd worked hard, very hard, and been very, very pleasant while striving to please me. Then, she feigned surprised, "OH! yes, here's a 500, while she extracted the bill from a tiny side corner of her purse. What a doll she was! We walked down the stairs and out the door together, hand-in-hand, both smiling, while the owner beamed approval.

A happy ending? I hope so. I hope the crazy one isn't right now worrying that I might be talking shit about her, the way she was about me, and thinking that I might be hurting her business by warning other Farangs away. I should definitely avoid that stretch of boardwalk a while. Maybe I should avoid the freelancers entirely and go back to the safer, costlier bar girls. Maybe I should pack up and leave town- start anew in Phuket. Is it that serious? Probably not. I'll be thinking it all over tonight, though. -Mr. Noid.

Stickman's thoughts:

Great story.

One thing to remember is that prostitution is not like other types of business where you are protected by consumer protection laws. Sometimes things go wrong or just don't go to plan. When this happens there really is no redress available – and that is the risk people take and need to be aware of.