Stickman Readers' Submissions January 6th, 2012

My Thai Mistress (Part 1)

A few years ago, I was working in Bangkok in a fairly well-paid expat position. Recently divorced, I took up to flirting frequently with Noi, an attractive, college-educated, taller-than average, late 20’s Thai-Chinese (I was in my mid-40’s)
who worked on-site for the property management company in my workplace’s office building.

Noi was always well-groomed and well-dressed in a Western, “office-lady” style—high heels, skirt and blouse, some jewelry, though she appeared a bit more austere than your average Thai cutie—she often wore her long hair braided
and pinned behind her scalp, and her makeup gave her a bit of a severe appearance.

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One Thursday, after a bit of early-morning flirtation, I texted Noi and invited her to dinner on Saturday. She replied “sounds good” but requested that I “stop by her office” “to clarify a few things.”

This struck me as slightly odd, but I didn’t give it much thought, and so I found myself poking my head in her office on my way out for lunch. Noi gestured at me to enter. “Well now,” she said, “I just had a few questions before
we finalize our date—are you dating or pursuing other women?”

“Uhh, no . . . “ I stammered, somewhat off-put by the directness of her question. (My answer, though, was sincere—I had been deeply involved in a complex project for the past three months—and, truth be told, was not entirely
over my divorce, which had been the proximate cause of my relocation from Hong Kong to Bangkok.)

“How often do you masturbate?” she asked.

Now I was truly taken aback, and my face reddened.

“What kind of a question is that?” I stammered.

“I need to know how focused on me you are,” Noi responded, “Now answer the question.”

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“Well,” I said, “usually once a day or so.”

“You would need to stop that if you are dating me,” Noi said, her voice surprisingly calm and firm. “Is that something you could accept?”

“Sure,” I said, somewhat lamely.

“Why are you acting odd at these questions?” Noi demanded aggressively, “these issues go to the heart of any relationship.”

Before I could gather my thoughts, Noi stated “Look, these issues are important to me—if you’re telling the truth, then we don’t have an issue. But, it’s something I worry about—so, to relieve my concerns that
you are pursuing other women at worst, or masturbating at best, I would like you to be belted if you are going to date me.”

“Whoa—“ I said, my mind reeling.

“Yes,” Noi said, again surprisingly calm and matter-of-fact, “you need to be belted if you are going to date me.”

My mind reeled. What she serious, or was this some odd sense of humor that I had not previously detected in her?

“Well, close the door and get over here then,” Noi ordered.

In many ways I remain amazed that I didn’t just turn on my heel and walk out. But no, stupidly, I shut the door and approached Noi’s chair. She had removed what looked like a clear tube and some clear rings from a drawer.

“Drop your pants,” Noi ordered.

I complied.

My mind whirred.

Before I knew it, Noi had encircled my genitals with clear plastic rings and inserted my penis into a clear tube, with a slot at the tip. She secured the device with a small lock, and then said “I’ll be wearing your key on my anklet. And
*I’ll* be deciding when it comes off—so I don’t want to hear from you on the subject.” She made a display of attaching the small key to a small necklace-like adornment on her ankle. To my shock, I saw that two similar
keys already were hanging from her anklet!

“What!” I said “I thought you were worried about me chasing other women. Why do you have other keys?”

Noi chuckled. “I *am* worried about your chasing other women,” she said, “but what makes you think that means you’re enough for me—middle aged pasty farangs are good for some things, not for others. And you’d
be amazed at how Japanese businessmen like to play these games. Now pull up your pants and pick me up Saturday at 19:00” she said, handing me a slip of paper with her address.

I exited Noi’s office, stunned at the turn of events. Yet the enormity of what had happened only really hit me when I returned to my apartment Friday evening. Although there was no particular pressing need I began to panic. The sense
of confinement, of entrapment, began to overwhelm me. I texted Noi—“Noi I don’t feel comfortable with this.”

She replied about a half hour later. “You’re just going to have to get used to it. Now see you Saturday and if you know what’s good for you don’t bother me in the meantime.”

Stickman's thoughts:

Brilliant start!

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