I raised myself to a sitting position and poured a handful of oil into my cupped hand. I then applied the oil on her chest and stomach. She gently pushed me back onto the bed, whispering, “Lie, you liar.” She then lay on me, skin on oily skin, like two slithering snakes. “No sex, okay. Only touch touch. For sex, my rate is a hundred.” Hundred bucks for a blasted fuck! I knew my wallet had only a fifty-dollar note. Not this time anyway, I thought. “Not that I don’t have the money, but I think I will pass this time,” I said.
She looked at me but said nothing. She hugged me tight and continued rubbing her body on mine. Her breath came hot on my lips. I could catch the whiff of Fisherman’s Friend mints, apple and cinnamon, I guess. Her hair fell around my face like a black curtain. My whole body tingled with sensations never felt before. Primal moans rose in my throat. Down below, I was hard as rock. Feeling my hardness, she asked breathlessly, “Do you want sex?”
“Do you… take Visa?” I asked between gasps.
“Cash… only cash,”
“But…”
“Yeah… many others do, but we don’t… Never mind,” she said, getting up, “There’s always a next time.”
“But where’s my sandwich?” I asked innocently as she was putting her clothes back on.
She looked at me blankly before saying, “Oh! I forgot to tell you-
usually a sandwich massage is an oily guy between two girls. But I didn’t think you wanted to lie on top of Jane. After all, you’re only James Bond, not Tarzan,” she chuckled.
“Oh yes-the sandwich massage!” I exclaimed. Suddenly things were a lot clearer.
She gave me another blank look and said, “My time is up. Forty dollars please.” A month later, I rang up Passion Touch and asked for Linda.
“She go Austalia. Myglate myglate. With ang moh boyflend,” the reception hag said.
BANGING BILL’S WIFE
Stephen Leather, Thailand
This is the truth, the absolute truth, cross my heart and hope to die, as true as I’m sitting here. I can barely believe it myself, but it happened and it happened to me. The name’s Adrian, better not tell you my surname because it’s a small world. A bloody small world as it happens. I’m a stockbroker; usually I deal in shares, but I dabbled in bonds for a few years. Just on my way to my new job, and the company’s paying, which is why I’m up here in Business Class and not in the back of the plane with the plebs.
I’ve done all right over the last few years, though I have had my share of setbacks, truth be told. I worked for Barings before they went bust, even worked in the same office as Nick Leeson for a while. Nice lad, was Nick, just got a bit out of his depth, that’s all.
I worked for Lehman Brothers for two years, not long before they went out of business, and I was with a subsidiary of RBS in Hong Kong when they had to be bailed out by the British taxpayer. That’s why my mates they call me Jonah. They reckon I’m cursed. They’re joking, because I always make money for my bosses. Lots of money. I’m a rainmaker, that’s why. I bring in the business. When I move, most of my clients move with me. That’s what’s going to happen this time, as sure as night follows day. Most of them, anyway.
I never really liked Singapore, the whole place changed after Barings went under, but I’ll work anywhere providing the money’s good. I was in Hong Kong, working in the bond department of Standard Chartered Bank, when I got headhunted by the Singapore firm. You always know when it’s a headhunter on the phone. ‘Can you talk?’ they ask. Tossers. Of course I can talk. That what I do. I talk and people buy. It’s called selling.
Anyway, I go in to see the headhunter and it turns out the guy doing the hiring used to be my boss at Barings, Chinese high-flyer by the name of Robert Tam. I always got on well with Robert, so I fly over to Singapore and he introduces me to the top guys and, of course, they offer me the job. More money, expat package, they’d even have paid for school fees if I’d had kids.
The one problem was that my bosses in Hong Kong knew that I’d try to take my clients with them, so they had me out of the office as soon as I handed in my notice, and insisted that I couldn’t start work in Singapore until my notice period was over. Three months.
They’d pay me and my bosses in Singapore said they’d pay me, too, so I was getting double salary but effectively I was on gardening leave. But I’ve always lived in flats and never had a garden, so I decided to spend three months in Thailand. I’ve done a few R amp;R runs to the Land of Smiles over the years, but I’d never spent any real time there, so I figured I’d go and blow off some steam. Singapore pays well, but it’s not the most exciting city in the world for a single guy. I think maybe that was why Nick Leeson went off the rails.
Anyway, I booked myself into the Landmark Hotel on Sukhumvit Road, between the red-light areas of Nana Plaza and Soi Cowboy, and started to let rip. Like a bull in a china shop. I did my rounds of the Bangkok bars, night after night in Nana Plaza, Soi Cowboy and Pat Pong. I went through the massage parlours, the short-time hotels, the go-go bars, hung around the freelance joints like Gullivers, the German Bar in Soi 7, the Bed Club and the nightclubs attached to the five-star hotels. I spent weekends in Pattaya, the sex-tourist’s Disneyland-by-the-sea, non-stop sex fuelled by drink and drugs.
In the first month alone, I went with more than a hundred girls. At least. To be honest, I lost count. I’d have breakfast, then a soapy massage, then a nap, then pick up a bargirl and take her to a short-time hotel, then have dinner and then go to a nightclub and pick up a freelancer. And that would be a quiet day.
Sometimes in Pattaya I’d get laid four or five times, often with several girls at the same time.
I slowed down a little during the second month. I guess I was getting bored. Funny, right? Who would ever imagine that you’d get bored with sex?
But that’s what happened. There are only so many positions, only so many variations on a theme, and after a while it all became the same, pretty much.
Drink, shower, sex, shower, sleep. And money always changed hands. I think that’s what started to take the edge off it, the fact that I always paid. The girls smiled and laughed at my jokes and seemed to have a great time, but I was paying them. I began to realize that it was all about the money. No money, no honey.
That’s when I discovered Craigslist. It’s brilliant, Craigslist. Craigslist.
org: none of that dot com nonsense for those guys. It’s a website where you can buy or sell stuff, and where you can meet people too. Real people. And if you’re looking for free sex, then Craigslist is the place to go. I found it by accident. I think I was googling ‘Free Porn’ like I often do and it took me to a Craigslist page where a girl called Porn was looking for a date. She was a nurse at a Bangkok hospital and she was looking for a Caucasian guy with a good heart and I figured that two out of three was enough, so I called the mobile number, met her for coffee and an hour later, I was in her bed and between her legs. Sweet girl, and not very experienced despite her name. And she didn’t ask me for money. Not one baht.
It was a one-night stand and the start of many, all courtesy of Craigslist.
It was brilliant: hundreds of Thai birds gagging for it and not a penny to be paid. Most of the girls who posted put up their pictures so you could see what you were getting, and a few minutes on the phone was all it took to check that they were genuine. Then I’d go around to their place. I made that a rule.
They never came to my hotel, I always went to them. That was one of the things that made it fun-you got to spend time in their world. Mind you, most of them lived in tiny studio flats full of stupid stuffed toys with posters of Korean boy bands on their walls, but that’s not the point. I was getting to see real girls in their own homes and I was getting to bang them for free.