Next she unbuttoned her miniskirt, shimmied it down to her ankles, hooked it with one foot and flung it playfully onto the bed. Only her panties remained, a black thong that hid the merest sliver of the flesh between her thighs. Looking into my eyes, she undid the ties at each hip. With agonizing slowness, she drew the cloth forward, through her cleft. Then she held the garment out to me.
My hands trembled as I took it from her. It was warm and moist from her body. I held it to my nose, breathing deeply. Her musk was fainter and more delicate than the Western women that I had known, but still strong enough to bring me half-erect.
She posed for a moment, silent and desirable, her gold chain and Buddha amulet glinting between her breasts. Then she came and stood by the bedside, her thighs parted, her hairless mound close to my face. “Touch me,” she said. As nervous as a virgin, I reached out my finger and slid it into her folds. She sighed as if in bliss and closed her eyes, twisting her nipples between thumb and forefinger.
Her flesh was slippery and unbelievably smooth. I thought of sun-warmed porcelain, or stones rounded and polished by the river’s kiss. My fingers found her clit and massaged it gently. I was rewarded by her soft moans. My cock swelled to fullness as I imagined probing her more deeply.
Lek somehow knew that I was ready. She climbed onto the bed. On all fours, she presented her ass to me. Her pale, swelling cheeks flowed like sculpture under my hands. I wanted her as I had never wanted any woman.
Fumbling in my pocket, I found a condom and slid it over my now-rampant penis. Then I slipped my fingers back into her cunt, spreading her juices.
Lek looked back at me over her shoulder. “No, not there,” she said. “Take me the other way. In the other hole. Like a whore.”
Her crudeness, so out of keeping with her earlier manner, shocked me and excited me. I spread her cheeks and placed my forefinger on the crinkled ring of muscle. “You mean here?”
“Yes. There. Like that. You want to, don’t you?”
I did. I had never done such a thing, but oh, I had read and I had imagined. I was afraid, though, afraid of hurting her, afraid of the dirtiness of it, afraid of the unknown.
“Are you sure?”
“Do it. Please, now. Fuck me like a whore, Pat.”
“You’re not a whore, Lek…” I began, but I couldn’t continue. My cock surged, hardening to pain. I didn’t hesitate any longer. I smeared some of the lubrication from her pussy over my cock, until I was as slippery as she was. Then I pressed my knob against that tight whorl, that gateway to the forbidden, and pushed. To my surprise, I slid halfway in, halfway into the tightest, hottest space my cock had ever known.
I grabbed her hips and pulled her toward me, fully impaling her. She sobbed, in pain or delight. From the way she arched her back and pressed herself against my hardness, I thought it was the latter. I began to move inside her. Her muscles gripped me, rippling around my rod. Each time I thrust into her bowels, she moaned, urging me on.
The sensations and the thought of what I was doing fed on each other. I was butt-fucking a beautiful woman. Reaming her. Screwing her brains out with my cock buried to the hilt in her ass. And she loved it, I could tell, from her mewing cries, from the way she writhed beneath me and thrashed her head about until her hair was tangled all over her back.
It lasted a long time. My cock seemed to swell with each stroke. Her passage got tighter and tighter. Finally, I could bear it no longer. With a yell, I rammed myself into her and let the orgasm take over. It tore through me, sweeping away all thought in its path.
When I came back to myself, she was stretched out beside me, stroking my hair. Sweet satisfaction shone in her eyes. “Khorp khun kha,” she whispered. Thank you.
“Thank you, Lek.” I gathered her in my arms and showered her with small kisses. I had never imagined such generosity in a woman.
We spent the weekend together. The next morning, breakfasting late in the hotel coffee shop, I was self-conscious. Then I looked around and realized that we were by no means the only Thai-foreign couple in the place.
She was magnificent company, and a wonderful guide. She showed me the bejewelled Grand Palace and the National Museum. In the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, she lit incense and knelt silently for a long time. I watched, amazed, remembering her reverence in the bar.
We wandered through the weekend market laughing and sweating in the sun, while she bargained for sarongs and cheap jewellery. We toured the canals on a rice barge, ate fiery curry and fried bananas.
And, of course, we made love, a dozen times in a dozen different ways. Finally, I got the chance to sink myself into her cunt, while looking into her eyes. It was clear even to me, though, that she preferred entry via her back passage. I was more than happy to oblige.
On Monday morning, we held hands while waiting for the minivan. All at once I remembered that I had not paid her. I had bought her gifts and given her money for treats, but nothing to recompense her for her time and her physical bounty.
I reached for my wallet. She put her hand on mine. “Never mind,” she said.
“But, I haven’t given you anything. I have to pay…”
“No, no pay, Pat. I’m your girlfriend now. Just take care of me, OK.”
I shook off her hand and slipped five thousand baht from my billfold. Folding it, I stuck it into her palm. “You know I’m going to be gone for the next three weeks. This should help you take care of yourself. I’ll see you when I come back, OK?”
“OK, Pat. I miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, Lek.” The van pulled up and, at the same time, Charlie and the other guys tumbled out of the hotel, looking tousled and somewhat the worse for wear. I kissed her lightly on the lips. “See you soon.”
The next three weeks were the longest I had ever endured. The days crawled by in a haze of sunburnt dust. The nights I spent fantasizing, remembering Lek’s sweetness and her lust, thinking of new things we would do when I saw her again. I wished that I had a picture of her, but then I knew no photo could do her justice. No photo could capture her dancer’s grace, her whimsical sense of humour, her gentleness, or her blazing carnality.
Finally, I couldn’t bear it any more. I had to hear her voice at least. I asked one of the Thai members of our team to find the telephone number for Butterfly Bar, and one evening around six p.m., when I figured it would not be busy, I tried calling.
The phone rang and rang. Finally it picked up. “Kha?” a woman’s voice answered. “Is Lek there?” I asked, miserably aware that I might not be understood. “I’d like to speak to Lek, please.”
There was a silence, then the woman laughed. “Oh, Lek, yes, of course. One moment, please.”
The line crackled with static as I waited. Dimly, I could hear the thumping beat of rock and roll. I had no idea what I was going to say. I only knew that I needed Lek in some way that was totally new to me.
Finally, I heard a clicking, and then her softly accented English. “Hello? Lek speaking.”
“Lek, it’s me. Pat.”
“Pat!” she almost squealed with excitement. I heard her say something in Thai to someone in the background. “Pat, I miss you!”
“I miss you too, Lek. That’s why I’m calling. I just had to hear your voice.”