Border Crossings
3 Wat Kanidoo
18 March 2016
I ARRIVED IN BANGKOK in time for lunch. Seven-hour flight, but five hours by the clock. I was exhausted because I’d stayed up all night writing. My entire time in Odawara had been spent without even looking at my computer. I was thankful it had enough charge to boot. Fortunately, Japan uses the same power connections as Europe and I had the right adapter, so the computer was charged, even if I wasn’t. I wrote all about Ani Mai and what I felt, then realized I was probably reading much more into our relationship than actually existed. I’d never expected my trip around the world to start with… a trip around the world.
BKK, the Bangkok International Airport, was teeming with activity. There were four floors that included arrival, departure, food and shopping, ground transportation, and if you got down far enough, the train downtown. I didn’t get that far. My first stop was at one of the dozen phone shops that lined the area outside baggage claim. I had exchanged $100 US for Thai baht at the Narita Airport. I felt rich with 3,500 baht. I always try to arrive in a country with some local currency. A phone SIM with 30 minutes of text and voice plus 500 megs of data cost me 500 baht. Then I looked around for the shuttle to my hotel, which arrived about ten minutes later.
The ‘resort’ was about five miles from the airport down a dirt road. A chicken ran across the road in front of the van and the driver laid on the horn. And out there in the middle of nowhere was a small paradise.
VISMAYA LUXURY RESORT, where I paid a whopping $35 a night, had a nice restaurant and a beautiful pool where table service was available. My room was a marble shrine with a glass-walled bath and a soaking tub that was nearly three feet deep. In spite of the fact that the temperature outside was in the nineties, the air conditioned room was almost too cold. I looked at the king-size bed and thought wistfully of my little tatami mat in Japan. It would be lovely to have Ani Mai to share this room with me. I could just imagine her in the bath, visible through the floor to ceiling windows as she bathed.
I stripped and put on my swimming trunks. That was pretty much what I wore for the next three days as I just lazed around the pool, diddled with a new story, and recovered from my jetlag. I didn’t try to accomplish anything, go anywhere, or even think. I just lay by the pool and slept.
I ATE MOST OF MY MEALS in the hotel restaurant. My first night I ordered soup and a salad. Each was about 250 baht. When the food arrived, it turned out to be two full meals. Even with the glass of wine I drank, the total only translated to about $15. I learned my lesson, though, and only ordered one dish from the menu at each meal after that.
By the weekend, I was ready for the next adventure and headed for the airport to fly south to the beaches. I headed for Krabi, and after a night in a cheap motel, caught a boat for Koh Po Po, an island in the Andaman Sea between Krabi and Phuket. I’d found a nice little bungalow there with really cheap rent. Paid in advance, it was about $15 a night. I followed a strong guy in just a pair of fisherman pants who carried my backpack over his head for me to the long tail boat anchored on the sand. I got my jeans soaked getting out to the boat, but it was a hundred degrees out and the jeans were dry before we reached the island forty minutes later. Of course, I got them soaked again getting up to the beach, but they’d dry.
MY BUNGAOW WAS SIMPLE. The room was about eight feet square. It had a single bed that was wide enough and comfortable enough that I could stretch out and get a good night’s sleep. There was enough space to walk through between the bed and a table with one chair. In the corner was an electric fan. Behind the room was what passed for a kitchen. It had a sink, mini-fridge, hotplate, and microwave. It also had an electric tea kettle so I could boil water and get my coffee made in the morning. Off the kitchen was a toilet and tub in an alley-like bathroom. It was wonderful.
I was surrounded by a well-landscaped jungle, blocking the other bungalows from direct view. We were assembled loosely around a full-size swimming pool. The fountain at the end was low enough that we could see the Andaman Sea as we lazed about in the pool or cabanas.
“We” consisted of fifteen other vacationers or vacationing couples. I would soon find that we came from all over the world and our lives intersected for a day, a week, or more in the Enchanted Jungle.
WHEN I WADED OUT to the long tail boat, I discovered something important. The Andaman Sea is warm. I’d started this trip in Hawaii and dangled my feet in the Pacific until they were ice cubes. That’s an ocean. When they say the South Pacific is warm, they mean in comparison to the North Pacific, up around Seattle. They don’t mean in comparison to your morning bathwater. The Andaman Sea around this tiny Thai island is warm like bathwater. Salty bathwater. But with the temperature of the air at a hundred degrees, ninety-degree water is quite refreshing.
The real pleasure of the seashore, though, is not the water, but the mostly-there bikinis. I found these come in two varieties. The first is the fashion bikini. I have nothing at all against these tiny patches of fabric tied together with dental floss. But these bikinis are usually brand new and displayed on the very expensive bodies of rich European tourists who are “doing Asia.” I say European because during my entire stay in Thailand, the only Americans I met were staff. Over half of the citizens of the US, after all, don’t even have a passport. In Europe, you don’t survive without a passport. Even in Asia, it seemed that everyone had a passport and had been in at least two other ‘foreign’ countries.
But that has nothing to do with the bikinis. The British, German, French, Spanish, Italian, Scandinavian, and Greek vacationers who came to see the temple and complain about the heat were, nonetheless, beautiful. And having considerably less body-shame than Americans, they did not hesitate to strut through the jungles or along the beaches in nothing but their bikinis and a pair of flip-flops. In some cases, there were bodies that could have used a little more fabric in their coverings. Like a tent. There was one guy who had to weigh 250, most of it in his gut, and had so much hair covering his back that I was looking for his trainer. His Speedo was so small and tight that it disappeared in the folds of fat and all you could really see that he was wearing were gold chains.
Back to bikinis. Have you ever noticed that breasts come in a great number of sizes and shapes? I know some guys who like tiny titties, some who like big boobs, and those like DualWriter who just love huge funbags. I know women who complain about the size of their breasts, the size of their nipples, the directions they point, their aching backs, and STOP STARING! The thing is that guys will watch breasts all day long, able to see the full curvature above and below, but all they want is to get a glimpse of the nipple. A little wardrobe malfunction, please.
BUT LET ME SUBMIT to you that the true pleasure of watching bikinis is the rear view. I could follow the subtle movements of a woman’s ass, even when fully clothed, for hours and never tire of it. But when said ass is covered only by a string at the waist and one that runs down the crack—I guess that means it’s actually not covered—well, that’s a sight that will fill my mind for hours. I’m not interested in seeing more, but in filling my hands with those soft treasures.
This was supposed to be about bikinis. Type two. There are a lot of people out there in the world who are traveling like me. They have a backpack with the essentials they will need for months of wandering from place to place around the globe. Every item in that pack is carefully considered, not just for how much space it takes up, but how much wear you can get out of it. I had planned for my excursion with four pairs of undershorts, eight pairs of socks, the lightweight drawstring trousers that I wore on planes, and a pair of jeans. I had a pair of shorts, a swimming suit I could wear as shorts if need be, two T-shirts and a lightweight cotton short sleeved shirt. I knew I’d add a few items to my wardrobe as I traveled because I wanted some local things, but mostly people who pack for a trip like this don’t add to their suitcases. They replace. Buy that cute T-shirt you saw in Bali and you have to throw away the one you bought in New Zealand. So, you just don’t buy extra stuff unless you really want to add to the weight of your pack.
Which brings me to bikinis. I mentioned that, didn’t I? Staying in a cheap beach bungalow like I was, I met a large number of young women who were backpacking around Asia. They were strong, fit, incredibly confident, adventurous women. Most were multi-lingual and several of those I met on the island were just taking a break on the beach before they headed to an eco-farm, a nanny job, a monastery, or wherever they could get a job to earn food and lodging and a little money to continue their journey. These young women didn’t buy impractical bikinis. They needed something that would endure a game of beach volleyball, a swim in salt water, a three-mile hike to an incredible waterfall they heard about, and, in a pinch, could substitute for underwear for two days. This swimwear was a little more substantial than the butt floss worn by the elite. It wasn’t designed to expose so much flesh to the rays of the sun and eyes of the men.
But… Clothes that are worn a lot tend to lose their shape a little. Fabric stretches. Bodies shrink—or expand. Elastic starts to give way. And the result includes a lot more of those longed-for wardrobe malfunctions.
Char had a suit like that.
CHAR WAS ETHNICALLY Persian, but second-generation English living in London. She was well-educated and I could listen to her talk all day long. I know different accents ‘do it’ for different guys. I knew a guy from Indiana years ago who married his Georgia-born wife because he couldn’t get enough of her gentle southern accent. Different things for different people. For me it’s a cultured British accent that does it.
A dark and mysterious beauty, you could imagine Char walking into your tent in the desert covered in translucent veils, shimmying to the music of her finger-cymbals while the layers dropped away one at a time. Just watching her butt sway as she walked to or from the pool was fuel for fantasies from the first day that I met her.
Char had backpacker’s butt. That’s not a bad thing. I learned back in high school, when I was camping and climbing in the Rockies, that if you carry a heavy pack, you either spend all your time bent forward looking at the ground in front of you, or you learn to rest your pack on your hips so you can stand upright. Resting your pack that way tends to make you thrust your butt out in one direction and your chest in the other. It gives you a little ledge back there to rest the pack on. Nowadays, the packs have wide belts to actually help distribute the weight around your waist without having it all on your shoulders. When I started packing, it was all up to how you carried the weight and positioned your body.
Well, Char had been packing for five months already and planned to continue for another seven before she returned to London. Even when she wasn’t carrying her pack, her butt was thrust out slightly behind her and she walked erect as though straps were pulling her shoulders back, delicious full breasts on prominent display in front.
Char’s swimsuit was not particularly sexy. I don’t know if it was inspired by modesty, durability, or utility, but she wore a one-piece that had a little ruffle at the waist. It tied behind her neck with two panels that draped over her breasts and left a long line of cleavage exposed in front. In back, from the tie at her neck to the low waist of the bottom, she was bare. But what intrigued me most was that the suit was well-worn.
It wasn’t ratty or worn thin like that, but it had lost a lot of its elasticity. As a result, the fabric over her breasts tended to shift around a lot.
I’d gone out to the pool for a dip and decided to have a drink and a smoke in the cabana. It was mid-afternoon and the other residents would be stirring from their naps or returning from their hikes before long. After my dip, I left my towel and hat in the cabana and went to my bungalow to retrieve a few necessities: laptop, bag of peanuts, bottle of Hong Thong, case of cigars, glass of ice.
When I returned to the cabana, I saw another towel and hat beside mine. Glancing at the pool, I saw Char floating on her back, breasts emerging from the water as if to point the way to heaven.
“God! The water feels good this afternoon!” she said. Apparently, she’d noticed me staring at her.
“I was in a few minutes ago,” I acknowledged.
“And that was enough? Steve said it was 110 today.”
I set my things down on the table in the cabana and dove into the pool, surfacing not far from her.
“I love the fact that they use saline treatment for the pool here instead of chlorine. It doesn’t stink like pools back in the US,” I said.
“It’s like that all over Asia,” Char answered. “And the water in the pool is cooler than the water in the ocean.” Evidence of that was poking at the cups of her suit. I wondered if it was lined at all.
“The problem is that with my pale skin, I’ll be burnt to a crisp if I stay out in the sun too long. And I hate sunblock. I always feel like I’m leaving an oil slick behind me when I swim,” I laughed.
“Yeah. I suppose I should get into the shade, too.” We swam to the edge of the pool and as she twisted around to hoist herself out, the left panel of her suit shifted enough to fully expose her breast. Her areola was close to two inches across and a thick erect nipple jutted out from the center, both a darker brown than her skin. She didn’t seem to notice and when she stood, the fabric slid back to cover her again. “Hong Thong? Can I have a hit?”
“Sure. Let me go get another glass and ice.”
“Mine’s closer. I’ll be right back.” I watched her walk away, her round buns jiggling under the loose fabric of her suit. Damn! I poured myself a hefty shot of the Thai bourbon and extracted a cigar from my case. Char sniffed the air as she returned with her glass of ice. “Mmm. Nice cigar. Not to beg a drink and a smoke, but would you share?” Instead of pulling out another cigar, I simply handed her my lit one. She took a long drag and handed it back to me. We shared our drinks and the cigar in companionable quiet.
“How long are you here on Koh Po Po?” I asked. I’d seen her when she arrived the day after I did.
“Five more days.”
“I like staying put for a few days or even weeks between moves,” I said.
“Yeah. It’s like a vacation.”
“Where to next?”
“I met some packers who told me about a monastery in Laos. I checked it out online and they invited me to come and cook for them for a couple of weeks. It’s a nice gig. The monks are quiet and the work isn’t that difficult. I’ll get to do a little exploring and mostly just soak up the countryside between meals. Guests are housed in a dormitory. They give you a few bucks when you leave after two weeks.”
“I was thinking I’d go to Viet Nam, but I don’t want to walk across Cambodia to get there,” I said.
“You’ve got that right. Thieves. I felt sorry for them until they took the last of my money. I couldn’t report them to the police because I didn’t have any money to pay off the police. I got a ride from a guy on a motorcycle who got me into Ho Chi Minh City. I worked in a restaurant for a few weeks before I could catch a boat across the Gulf to here.”
“I think I’d feel too vulnerable without my credit card and a cash card. I carry all the work I want to do with me,” I said, tapping the computer.
“A real digital nomad,” she laughed. “I have a credit card and can get cash if I need it, but the idea is not to if you can help it, you know. The people on the beach who are staying up at the resort—they live on their credit cards. They never get to know anyone.” We shared another puff of the cigar and I tossed the stub into the ashtray.
WHEN WE MET at the pool the second day, I considered it a regular event. We swam, smoked, drank, and talked. She wanted to know what I was writing and I told her that I had a couple stories I was working on. One was a mystery and I’d decided to set part of it in Thailand. The other was a do-over called Not This Time that would feature a woman instead of a man. Char was very interested in that and in all my erotic writings. She swung one foot up on the seat between us so she could turn to face me. In so doing, the crotch of her suit pulled aside and I could see a very full bush surrounding pink lips. She seemed oblivious to the fact that she was exposing herself.
Her immediate response to the situation in my story was “abort it.” But then we talked about the influence of the former life on the present one. We also talked about the exploration of being bi, the difference between love and lust, and developing a polyamorous relationship—all of which she seemed to have experienced. While we were talking, some of the others started showing up for a dip in the pool and joined us in the cabana out of the sun. Food started showing up. One of the guys—who was a photographer and said he was doing a documentary on Thailand’s endeavor to get away from sex tourism to more legitimate tourist activities—collected money from all of us and went out to get food. I wanted more than Khao Soi, but was happy to have that when he got back as well as the various noodle dishes and fried vegetables.
I was surprised when Char brought up my writing.
“Ari is here doing primary research for an erotic novel,” she announced. I’d only said I was writing a novel. “Anyone who would like her crotch sniffed to help with his research should line up.”
“I love erotic,” Gretchen said. I couldn’t pronounce the name of the town she was from, but it was someplace south of Berlin. “Lots of sex!”
“I write mysteries and thrillers, too,” I said.
“I want to be in your novel!” Elsa chimed in. What a Swedish beauty. Thin, stacked, and nearly six feet tall, her blonde hair was almost white.
“Mmm, who would you like to be?” I asked. I was pretty used to this. It’s the next narcissistic thing to taking selfies on your cell phone. Meet an author and get him to put you in his novel. I’d been doing this for so long that I knew that even though I would follow through and write a character for her, she’d never read the book. People forget. You meet them and promise to write the character, but the book doesn’t come out for three years. By that time, they don’t even remember meeting you.
“I want to be the dead body!” she exclaimed.
“Well, that would be interesting. I’ll have to come up with some way of killing you now. Not exactly what I contemplated doing to you,” I said. She blushed and the others at the table laughed. Suggestions started immediately. “Knife.” “Poison.” “Drowning.” “Throw her off a cliff.”
“You guys are terrible!” Elsa laughed. “I had no idea how many of you wanted to kill me.”
“Only because you are beautiful,” Char said. “No one wants to kill the homely ones.” She pointed at herself and I shushed her. She smiled at me and glanced down. Her suit was gapping open enough for me to see her right breast. She straightened and the gap closed.
“I know,” I said, trying not to be distracted from the conversation. After all, they were talking about my novel. “I could use your picture on the cover. The beautiful naked body floating in the pool.”
“As if I would get naked for you to take my picture,” she sniffed.
“What are the odds?” Nils asked. Nils and Helene were an odd couple from The Netherlands. He was in his mid to late forties, pale white with sandy hair. She was in her mid-twenties, dark as night, and still spoke with a Jamaican accent, even when she was speaking Dutch. I’d been introduced to the game of ‘odds’ the day before. If something comes up, and you say you’d never do it or there wasn’t a chance, you’d be challenged to give the odds against you doing it. “What are the odds that you’d strip right here and now and dive in the pool so Ari can take your picture for the cover of his book?” Nils persisted.
“One in twenty,” Elsa responded. “If I had enough to drink.” That was pretty long odds. The objective now was that someone would count to three and on three Elsa and I both had to shout out a number between one and twenty. If we matched, she had to take the dare.
“One. Two. Three,” Helene called out.
“Six!” I said. Everyone started laughing and Elsa blushed. I hadn’t even heard her shout out the same thing. She held out her glass for another shot of Hong Thong and downed it in one swallow. Then she stood and started stripping. I grabbed my camera and started taking pictures while I was still in motion and heading for the pool. The shape of that ass as she bent forward to dive into the pool was digitally recorded. Everyone was applauding. She stood in the water, tits like beacons in the dusk as I snapped photos. Then she slowly stretched out on the water, face down and ass up, and floated as I took more photos. She stood again and glared at everyone in our little cabana as she stepped up out of the pool dripping water from her hair, the tips of her breasts, and her clean-shaved pussy. I’m sure there was water elsewhere, too, but who noticed? I tossed her my towel. She dried and pulled her shorts and T-shirt back on, leaving her bra and panties on her chair. She wrapped my towel around her hair and in stretching we all saw she hadn’t done that great a job drying her breasts before she put the T-shirt on. I climbed back into my seat and Char nudged me, giggling.
“Primary research,” she whispered.
“SO, YOU WRITE this sex stuff,” Helene said, turning to me. “You said she—your character in this do-over—has two lovers, a man and a woman. How does that work? Not speculation. From your experience.”
“I take it you’ve never experienced it,” Char laughed.
“No! Well, once,” Helene answered. “I was like sitting there on the edge of the bed surfing the web on my phone while I was waiting for my turn. Somebody is always left out.”
“It doesn’t work like that!” I said. “I mean, sure you can just take turns fucking him, but then you aren’t really a threesome. You are two couples. It only really works if the two women—or I suppose two men, if you were into that—are as into each other as they are to the guy.”
“You mean the women make love, too?”
“Yeah,” Char said. “For example, I might be on my knees with Ari fucking me from behind while I ate out Elsa.” Helene’s mouth dropped open.
“You’d do that?”
“You saw Elsa’s hairless little pussy,” Char laughed. “Wouldn’t you dive face first into that?”
“I might test that theory,” Elsa said. “Put your money where your mouth is. Or in this case, put my pussy there.”
“What are the odds?” Dave, the photographer, demanded of Char.
“One in two,” Char responded quickly. A fifty-fifty chance? Wow! She was serious.
“I don’t know why I keep getting in the challenge,” Elsa said.
“You taught us all the game,” Nils answered.
“Fine!”
“One. Two. Three.”
“One!” both girls yelled. Char jumped up, using me for leverage. She gave me a little squeeze. Elsa stood and held out her hand for Char.
“I didn’t agree to do it in public. We’ll tell you about it tomorrow.” She glanced at me. “And I didn’t agree to have Ari join us. This time.” The two girls disappeared back toward Char’s bungalow.
The party broke up and I swallowed the last of my Hong Thong. I’d had too much to drink. My nose was numb.
A Long Time Ago: A Beer Too Far
LEE FERIN WAS A GRAD STUDENT that seemed to always be in one of the places where I was. She was a sleek, elegant costumer whose favorite saying was ‘You can never be too rich or too thin.’ She’d done a pretty good job on the second one and was working on the first. She was also on Paula’s ‘loaner list.’ That was a list of the three or four girls Paula considered such good friends that she’d loan me out to them for dates. I was a commodity.
We were at a cast party one night—God knows what show. Half the time in grad school it didn’t even take a show to have a cast party. I floated from group to group as I was completing my MA in tech theater, but had already been accepted on my PhD program for playwriting. I can tell you a couple things about theater people that might surprise you.
All of us are more demonstrative than what might be considered ‘normal’. My mother warned me about that. She knew how demonstrative and affectionate I’d been with my girlfriends in high school. PDA didn’t nearly cover it. She was worried for my soul when I started associating with theater people. If she’d only known!
You can’t have a conversation with actors without having lines quoted from plays or sudden bursts of song from musicals. On the other hand, when a bunch of actors get together, there is always music. Apparently, learning to play the guitar was one of the classes that I missed as an undergrad. Memorizing the lyrics of every popular song and show tune of the past fifty years was another.
The directors and stage managers were deep into irrelevant discussions about the meaning of life as revealed in absurdist theater. It wasn’t unusual to hear someone in that corner of the room suddenly bellow out “Rhinoceros!” You’d think playwrights would collect around the directors who were usually responsible for picking the shows they wanted to direct. Not so. There’s something disconcerting about always feeling you are being compared to Ionesco.
Playwrights were more often found around the tech people. Tech people are funny. Tech people are intelligent. Tech people usually have the best dope. Without techs, actors are naked people standing in the dark on an empty stage trying to emote. Without actors, techs are in a bar. Yeah. I hung out with the techs. I don’t remember the exact conversation we were having that night. It had something to do with the politics of protest and whether anyone was joining the march on Washington this summer. That’s when Lee walked into the room. She walked straight up to me and laid a kiss on me that curled my toes. The other techs applauded.
“Paula said to go shut you up,” Lee said. She pressed against my solid protuberance with a rub and then turned around and left.
“That girl really knows how to make an entrance,” Jim sighed.
BUT THIS WAS A STORY about beer. I went out with Lee one night in the middle of the week for no other reason than that she had me on loan. We ordered a pitcher of beer at Shenanigan’s and sat to talk about the upcoming completion of our grad work. We were having a good time, but I suddenly wrinkled my nose. I was twenty-three, but even at parties, I didn’t drink all that much. Lee looked at me and asked what was wrong.
“My nose just went numb,” I said. “What’s in this beer?” We laughed and she made a number of comments about me not being able to hold my liquor. I walked her to her apartment in the brisk night air, thinking that would certainly reawaken my senses. Lee kept joking about me going numb in her presence. She dragged me inside her apartment when I was going to give her a light little kiss and leave. She made sure that kiss was not light. Then I felt her hands unfastening my belt.
“I want to find out if anything else went numb as a result of the beer,” she said. She pushed me back against the door and pulled my cock out of my pants. “God! Maybe it has!” My cock was not at full mast. It didn’t take long to get there, though, when she inhaled it. I sagged against the door as she fellated me within an inch of my life. And as the pitch rose, I filled her mouth with my spend.
“Lee! What got into you?”
“Well, I’d say about two tablespoons of your come,” she answered. She stood and shoved my cock back into my pants. Her arms came up and wrapped around my neck as she pressed her lips against mine. I was reluctant. I’d just come in her mouth. She was insistent. I relented.
Once I let her into my mouth and discovered that the slight aftertaste of my own come in a girl’s mouth wasn’t that disgusting, she rewarded me further by shoving my hand up under her sweater. Lee had firm mounds with hard nipples and was known to never wear a bra because they mess up the line of the clothing. Her bare breast in my hand and the aftereffects of having an earthshaking orgasm were messing with my head.
“Don’t ever resist a girl’s kiss after you’ve come in her mouth,” Lee whispered. “She got it in her mouth, you can take it in yours. And there are rewards at hand, so to speak.”
“You blow me away, Lee.”
“Tonight, I just blew you. How’s your nose?”
Back to Char
I BORROWED one of the bikes at the resort the next day and rode out to the historic wat, or temple, about three miles away. It was mostly uphill and I was glad I made the ride early enough in the day that the temperature wasn’t too extreme. At least when I went back, I could coast most of the way. It was a beautiful view from up there. You could see the sea and other islands in the hazy distance. The temple was still functioning and there were bald guys in orange robes around. There was an area set aside near the entrance of the temple where three of them were sitting with a sign that read, “Got a question? Ask a monk.” I assume the other five or six languages on the sign said the same thing. I’m usually pretty good at identifying what Asian language is written by the character set and spotted Thai, Korean, Chinese, and Kanji. One of the other languages was French, I’m sure.
THE TEMPLE was beautiful with a golden laughing Buddha in the front and paintings of several people who were identified as the founding monks in 1831. Of course, there were several items for sale near the entrance, including prayer flags, medallions, and shawls so women could buy or borrow something to cover up with rather than entering the temple in immodest clothing. There was a park area nearby, though, and a lot of people in immodest attire stretched out in the sun. Food vendors sold a variety of Thai specialties, including hotdogs and ice cream cones.
I was just coming out of the temple when I saw Char ride up and lock her bike to mine. Guess I wasn’t going anyplace until she was ready. She came toward me smiling.
“Kiss me,” she demanded. Who am I to say no to that? I kissed and she opened her lips to welcome my tongue. There was a nice flavor and scent around her mouth.
“Nice,” I said when we parted.
“That’s the only way you are going to get to taste Elsa,” Char said. “I just had to share since I know you had high hopes.”
“Hey, I wasn’t expecting anything!”
“That’s why I said ‘hopes.’ Or maybe it was my hopes. But I’m bi. She’s lesbian. Now it’s still possible that you could be fucking me from behind while I’m eating her out. I don’t think she cares if you drool over her tits as long as she doesn’t have to touch your tool,” Char laughed.
“Hell!” I said.
“Heaven is more like it. Once she gets revved up, she just doesn’t stop coming. There’s probably juices on my face all the way to my ears if you want to lick them up.”
I leaned forward and licked her ear.
“I was kidding! Oh, God, that tickled. Help me tie my shawls. I want to go into the temple.” She had her own collection of shawls that I helped wrap her body in. The first was pretty big and wrapped above her breasts and under her arms. She tucked it in like a bath towel and it hung just below her knees. The second, she draped over her head and shoulders. I joined her and went back into the temple. I dropped another fifty-baht coin in the donation box and kicked off my sandals. We walked around the temple and Char made a quiet commentary on everything we saw.
“Are you Buddhist?” I asked.
“No. More like Hindu. But many of the beliefs are similar. I’m actually Advaitic. That’s non-dualism. There is no separation between humans and God. We aren’t two different things. There is only one.”
“So, you come to a temple to worship yourself?” I asked.
“Oh, geez! That is so gross. Advaita has no temples and nothing to worship. If we gather, it is for satsang, or conversation. Sometimes we meditate.”
“I’m pretty big into medication, myself.” She paused and looked at me. Then she laughed and shook her head. We left the temple and she stripped off the shawls, returning to her shorts and tube top. The shorts were a kind of gym short sort of affair, but they had lace around the legs. They did wonderful things for her ass. Or her ass made the shorts look good. There was no panty line when she bent over to tuck one of the shawls in her day pack.
“Want some food?” I asked.
“Yes. And a cup of coffee. Jan found me pounding on your door this morning and told me you took a bike to come up here. I was trying to get my face to you before the juices dried. Anyway, I left immediately and pedaled like hell. I haven’t had any coffee yet.”
I ORDERED TWO COFFEES and watched them stir powdered Nescafé Red into cups of hot water. Well, that passes for coffee here. I brought the beverages to the park where she was spreading her big shawl on the ground. She handed me a hot dog.
“I thought Buddhists were vegetarians,” I said.
“Do you really think there is meat in hotdogs?” she asked. Regardless, she had no difficulty chowing down. I asked myself that question with every bite. “What are you looking for?” she asked.
“I don’t think I’m looking for anything,” I said.
“No great quest for enlightenment?”
I shrugged. “Not really. I’ve listened to a few gurus over the years. Been to a few churches. Even sat in the strangers’ section of a synagogue and stood outside a mosque during prayers. I don’t really feel a need to be enlightened.”
“So, you aren’t trying to get into heaven. You don’t want to be at peace. You don’t want to truly know yourself.”
“That whole search for enlightenment thing feels narcissistic to me,” I said. “Even the Christian religion is that way. I will become enlightened. I will be saved. I will be the chosen people of God. It all focuses on the individual. Me, me, me. I don’t need a god to validate my existence. I’m not on a quest. I’m fine the way I am.”
“Have you ever done any bondage?” Whoa! Where the hell did that come from?
“Bondage? Like B&D or is this an Advaitic thing?”
“Well, like B&D only without the D. I’m not into getting slapped around. I can tolerate a couple whacks on the ass if that does something for you, but it doesn’t really do anything for me.”
“I’m not into hitting people, even for their pleasure. Like you, I’ll tolerate a little if it turns my partner on, but it doesn’t do anything for me.”
“So bondage? Getting tied up?”
“Not really. I had a relationship…” Could I call my time with Ani Mai a relationship? “Anyway, a sort of girlfriend who liked to play that she was a pet and be led around on a leash. It was just a game, though.”
“I’m not a sub.”
“I don’t get the attraction of bondage. It feels like forcing yourself on someone. That’s rape.”
“Bondage isn’t about sex. Not to say sex can’t be part of it, but if you just want to have sex, we can head back to my room and fuck like bunnies for the next few days and we’ll both have lots of fun. You don’t have to tie me up to have sex with me.”
“That’s encouraging to know.”
“Do you want to have sex with me?”
“I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”
“Yeah. Well, it crossed mine, too. The whole time Elsa was eating me. Well, not the whole time. Just when I was coming.”
“I liked kissing you. Even without the extra flavoring.”
“Good, because now I have hotdog breath.” She leaned forward and pulled me into another long and sensuous kiss. “Would you consider tying me up, too?”
“What… I mean, why do you want to be tied up if it isn’t about some sadistic rape fantasy?” I asked.
“Good. You didn’t just say yes. I’m getting hot and want to go swim. Let’s go back to the pool.” Apparently, that was the end of the conversation. We tossed our cups, folded the shawl, and coasted back down to the bungalows. I quickly changed into trunks while she went to get her suit on. I gathered up everything else I figured we’d need if we spent any length of time down there: bottle of Hong Thong, cigars, bucket of ice, glasses, towel. I set the things on the table in the cabana and turned when I heard her splash into the pool.
I was one of those people who always slipped slowly and painfully into a cold pool. I guess it was the way I was raised in the north. The water was cold. I hated diving in. The one time I dived into a lake without thinking, I ended up getting my wife pregnant. The water was so cold our systems demanded that we procreate! Now, I didn’t think twice about it. I stepped to the edge of the pool and dove. I just had to be sure to keep my eyes closed so my lenses didn’t wash out. I surfaced halfway down the pool and swam to the end before pushing off with my feet and floating on my back until I was near Char.
“I can’t believe I just dove into a pool,” I sighed. “Without having crept in and gotten all wet first.”
“There are over a hundred correct ways to enter a swimming pool,” Char said philosophically. “None of them involve using the steps.” We floated next to each other, just drifting in the pool. I didn’t think it was quite as hot today as it had been yesterday. Maybe I was just getting used to it. Eventually, I followed her out of the pool. Apparently, steps are allowed when exiting. Her suit had collapsed inward and was all gathered in her crack. She paused on the step and pulled the suit out, rearranging it to sort of cover her butt. I couldn’t quite see her pink gash, but definitely saw the black pubic hair. She had to know my face was only a few inches away from her ass.
“Drink and smoke?” I asked.
“Yeah. You’re so thoughtful.” I poured the bourbon and lit two cigars, handing her one.
“Let’s play word association,” she said exhaling a cloud of smoke. I nodded. “Sex.”
“Love.”
“Nice.”
“Naughty.”
“Salt.”
“Pepper.”
“Bondage.”
“Freedom.”
“Game over,” she said. I couldn’t think up a snappy response. “Why does bondage make you think of freedom?”
“Well, I guess because it’s an opposite. Like naughty and nice or salt and pepper.”
“I’ll accept the concept that naughty and nice are opposites if you want, but salt and pepper are more of a pair, don’t you think?” I nodded. “And what about sex and love? Are they opposites?”
“No,” I said. “I just think they are more complete when taken together. Sex without love can be fine. It’s just a pleasant physical sensation shared by two people. Love without sex is a lot harder. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about there. But when you put the two together, you have something that is… whole. Complete.”
“I get that. Though I don’t think love is the only thing that can complete sex. I think there are a lot of connections that can make sex complete. Think of the extremes of anonymous sex, like a glory hole where the only contact you have with the other person is genital and compare that with being face-to-face gazing into your lover’s eyes as you penetrate her hot, wet pussy. You might not be in love, but you can’t help but connect.”
“I see your point. But I still hold with bondage and freedom being opposites.”
“They are the same thing.”
“Freedom and bondage?”
“It’s my own non-canonical take on Advaita. I brought it up in satsang once and got a lot of blank stares. Later, though, the guru accepted that it was a reasonable conclusion. There is no opposite. It is all one. In bondage, I find freedom.”
“That just doesn’t seem to make sense.”
“You are tied to the conventions of Western thought. Still, isn’t your plane ticket a kind of bondage? But it is your freedom at the same time. If you don’t show up for your flight, you are stuck. You lose your money. You can’t leave. You are bound by the flight schedule. But you chose that schedule freely. You bound yourself to the airline so you could be free.”
“The airline doesn’t tie me up with ropes.”
“I hear Homeland Security is considering that.” We both laughed. “There are two things when I choose to be bound by ropes that I’m thinking. The first is the release of fear into the sensuality of the cords. Feeling them bite into my skin, knowing that I can’t move or escape, I have to give up my fear and be free to enjoy my bondage.”
“That’s pretty heady,” I said. I was still trying to picture this as being something that was pleasurable, but the way she talked about it, it was clear that she found it so.
“The second thing is trust. If I give up mobility, I have to trust that you will take care of me. I have to trust that you will get me someplace safe if there is an emergency. I have to trust that you will take me to a toilet when I have to pee or wipe my butt when I poop. Those are pretty big trust issues,” she said.
“Char, I like you, but I could never let go enough to trust you like that.”
“I’m not asking you to. It’s me who is trusting you. I trust you, Ari.”
“Why? What have I done that makes me trustworthy?”
“How many times have you looked at my bare nipples or pussy this week?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to look, but…”
“But I was on display. Believe me, no woman—at least no woman who is traveling the world alone with just a backpack—no woman is unaware of when her tits or pussy are on display. But even with my gash staring you in the eye, you didn’t reach for it. You didn’t try to get overly friendly. You didn’t try to seduce me. You didn’t pressure me.”
“That would be stupid and uncalled for,” I said hotly. “How a woman is dressed or exposed is not an invitation for an assault. That’s a rape culture issue.”
“Exactly. The very way you are getting upset about it tells me my trust is well-placed. Even when I was flashing you, you kept your respect for my body. You might have questions about my mind, but I know my body is safe in your care.”
“But you are asking an awful lot of me. You are giving me power over your body and trusting that I won’t abuse it. Once you are tied up, I could bend you over a chair and fuck you with impunity.”
“If I tell you what my limits are, will you respect them?”
“Of course.”
“Believe me, bending me over a chair and fucking me is within my parameters.”
A Long Time Ago: Bound to be Free
I WAS BEGINNING TO UNDERSTAND something that had bothered me for years. I guess it’s true confessions time.
The summer school I went to in Colorado wasn’t all about acting and playwriting. Every student was required to participate in a sport. I’m from Indiana. I’m thinking basketball or football. Maybe track and field. No. The sports offered were hiking, mountain climbing, kayaking, or horseback riding. Only the elite who brought their own horses got to participate in that one. I chose hiking. I couldn’t afford the equipment for mountain climbing and didn’t like to swim well enough to kayak. Each weekend, we went to another section of the mountains and spent two or three days out hiking and making camp at night. Apparently, the only difference between hiking and climbing was that we didn’t do any of the technical stuff the climbers did. But until we reached the cliff face that the mountaineers scaled, our paths were pretty much the same.
Leslie Prine, our leader/coach, commented to our group of seven hikers on the various flora we passed and the ecology of the back range. She would stop us and motion us quietly forward to see deer, elk, and even a bear at one point. Aside from our cameras clicking, we were pretty quiet. Most of the mountain trails were just one person wide, but there were spots where we came up alongside a companion for a while before falling back into line. Mostly, I was assigned to bring up the rear and make sure no one fell behind.
Sue was often right in front of me. Tall, thin, blonde, and just about everything else my adolescent fantasies could describe. Sue wasn’t stacked, like the Valley Girl, Brittney, who filled most of our classmates’ fantasies, but she was trim and obviously every bit a girl. When it was cool, she filled out her jeans nicely. When it was hot, she filled out her cutoffs even better. They were cut off right at her butt ledge, but when hiking with a full pack… I mentioned how hikers thrust their butts out a little to balance the weight of the pack. Sue had the original hiker’s butt. Just ahead of me most of the time, she pushed her butt back under her pack and those cutoffs would ride up so the round globes of her ass stuck below the fringe. I made many a hike with a hard-on.
Sue was playful in that odd way that you see a lot in grade school, but that usually disappears by high school. She was very touchy-feely. She’d tease and run, give a playful punch in the arm and then scamper back out of reach. She’d tweak my nose or slap at my face a little. Nothing hurt, but she was always watching for me to try to get her back and then she’d run away a few steps and see if I was chasing her. And there were a few times that I did chase her. Caught her, too. And then, not knowing what else to do, I let her loose. Usually, the next thing that happened was that I’d get my face slapped again.
We were out gathering firewood for our camp one weekend when she started in on me.
“You’re so slow, Ari.” She gave me a little shove that made me stumble. I dropped the load of wood in my arms and she scampered back. Something in me just snapped and I reached for her. She took off running, but only a couple of steps because she assumed I would give up like usual. Only this time I didn’t give up. I caught her around the waist and swung her around.
“Gotcha!” I called triumphantly.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe I should spank you for being a real pain.”
“Aw! Am I a pain? You should kiss it and make it better.” Now that was a thought. Not that I hadn’t been thinking about kissing her all summer. But… I started to pull her toward me and she started lightly slapping my cheeks. I grabbed her right hand in my left and pulled it down and behind her. She started slapping me with her left hand. Hmm. She wasn’t trying to get away, but she kept doing these teasing little slaps. I grabbed her left hand and pulled it down to join the right behind her at her waist. That brought us close together. I pulled her tight up against me and kissed her hard on the mouth. She was shaking her head like she was saying no, but she was doing it while keeping her lips tightly sealed against mine. I stuck out my tongue to get her to open her mouth. I wasn’t very skilled at kissing, but after a couple of jabs, her lips parted and her tongue joined mine for play time.
I let go of her with my right hand to begin petting her and she immediately brought it around to start slapping and pushing at me. It was like her hand wanted me to stop, but her tongue was still in my mouth. I grabbed her hand and pulled it behind her back again. Trying to figure out what to do was confusing. Sue was really into kissing and was rubbing up against me, but if I let go of her, she had to push me away or hit me. I shoved her left hand under her right and trapped it there with my left hand wrapped around both her wrists.
If you’ve ever tried to hold both wrists of a person with one hand, you know that, unless you have a really big hand, it isn’t a difficult position to get out of. My hand barely held both wrists together, but Sue didn’t try to break away from my grip.
“Trapped like this, you could do anything to me,” she moaned into my mouth. “I couldn’t stop you.”
“Anything like petting your hair,” I said, using my right hand to smooth out her locks.
“Yes.”
“Anything like running my hand up and down your bare arm?” I continued to demonstrate.
“Yes,” she panted into my mouth.
“Anything like touching your pretty breast?” I asked. I moved slowly, expecting her to break free and push me away, but what she pushed was her breast into my hand as I cupped it.
“There’s nothing I could do to stop you,” she whined as she renewed the passion of her kiss.
I was sixteen and had only dated a few times through my sophomore year in high school. Heidi and I had never gotten past the hand-holding stage. The first time that happened, I almost came in my pants. But in spite of the fact that we dated for several months, we never even kissed. And Diane was even more conservative. She didn’t mind if I had my arm around her, but considered holding hands to be too intimate. Needless to say, we’d never kissed. No, that had been reserved for the one date I’d had with Jill. When I got home for my junior year, there was a good chance that I’d date Jill some more, but we hadn’t had time to establish ourselves as a couple before I left for the summer. We’d been in the backseat of my parents’ car as my father drove us home after our date. I didn’t have a license yet. Jill had cuddled up as close to me as she could get with my arm wrapped around her. Then she lifted her lips to kiss me. I was lost for fifteen minutes while Dad drove to her house out in the country. When the car stopped, I discovered that my hand was touching the bulge of her breast as I reached beneath her arm. Just a bit of the side, but Jill had promised more on our next date. In spite of her being a year younger than me, she was a great kissing instructor.
But I’d never had my hand directly on the front of a girl’s breast. I hardly knew what to do. It was soft and, of course, I squeezed it. Not too tight or rough. I didn’t want her to jerk away and break this up. There was a hard little nub in the middle. Sue wasn’t huge, but the softness of her breast was making the hardness of my cock difficult to restrain. Especially since Sue was grinding her crotch against my erection.
She pulled back slightly and I thought it was over, but she only guided us so her back was against a tree. She leaned back into the kiss again.
“Oh,” she moaned. “My shirt is untucked and my bare tummy is right out there. You could put your hand right under my shirt and I couldn’t stop you.” God! Was that an invitation? Yes! I slipped my hand under her T-shirt and moved up until I felt the hard nub of her nipple and the soft fullness of her breast in my hand. She wasn’t wearing a bra! I was gasping into her mouth now as she brought her left leg up and wrapped it around my waist, opening herself more fully to where our crotches rubbed together.
She made a couple attempts to bring her right leg up, too, but we weren’t stable enough. She kept trying to get her legs farther apart. I finally got the message and pulled my hand out of her shirt. I ran it up the outside and back of her bare leg. When I reached the tattered edge of her cutoffs, I was already over her butt ledge, but I kept going right under the leg hole until I was cupping her bare butt in my hand. Apparently, that was the secret ingredient. Sue’s other leg wrapped around my waist as I supported her weight in my right hand. I couldn’t move my left hand because it was as trapped as her wrists against the tree. But that didn’t mean that Sue couldn’t get her pelvis in motion.
She rocked against me, moaning into my mouth, and I knew that I was toast. I joined her in thrusting toward her spread crotch as I squeezed my hand further around her ass cheek and into her crack. I could feel the pressure and knew what was about to happen. I thought I knew. I knew I was going to erupt into my pants. I didn’t know Sue was going to erupt at the same time. She pressed more tightly against my mouth to silence her long, drawn-out moan. I started squirting and Sue stiffened. The only motion was little pulses of her pelvis as she continued to rock against my exhausted cock. Her head lolled back against the tree. Her eyes were closed and her lips were parted. Her legs slid down from my waist and my hand was forced out of her shorts by the new position. I slid it once again up under her shirt to cup the only breast I’d ever touched. She moaned again and pushed at me slightly to step away from the tree. She pulled one hand out of my grip and used it to pull my questing fingers out from beneath her shirt. She turned her other hand so that she was holding both my hands in front of her. Sue lifted her lips to me once more for a soft kiss.
“There was just nothing I could do to stop you. I was helpless,” she whispered.
We heard Leslie’s shout asking for firewood and quickly bent to gather the bundles we’d dropped, rushing back to camp with the load.
Sue and I didn’t get a chance for a repeat. The next weekend was the survival test and the four girls went on one trail with the three guys deposited on a different trail. We had spots on our topo maps where supplies had been dropped for us and had to use our compasses to navigate getting from point to point. The following week was the all-school cultural hike to the Anasazi Ruins. On campus, Sue and I often walked together holding hands, but never got more intimate than a light kiss goodnight.
Now I was beginning to realize that for Sue, bondage was a kind of freedom. As long as I held her hands behind her, she was ‘helpless’ and could enjoy what she really wanted to do. It only took me decades to figure it out.
Back to Char
CHAR AND I didn’t get a chance to explore the issue that night. As people began to gather after their day’s activities and have a drink, Jan came out and suggested that we all go to a Thai barbecue in town. It was less than five dollars when I converted the baht, so it seemed like a good deal. The food was great and we all cooked and ate out of a common bowl.
TWO LARGE BOWLS of hot charcoal were set in the middle of the table. On top of that was placed a domed grill with a deep tray around the edge. Our host filled the moat with broth and sent us to the buffet to choose our food. Vegetables, pork, shrimp, fish, mushrooms. It was an all you can eat buffet, but if you didn’t eat food you took, you had to pay extra for it. Jan arranged the shrimp, mushrooms, and vegetables in the broth for soup. Then we placed the meats and some of the other vegetables on the grill to cook. Our host showed us how to mix the sauces and which ones to use for which foods. We ate and drank Singha for about three hours. On the ride back, Char was sandwiched between Elsa and me. Char held each of our hands.
“It’s too bad you’re male,” Elsa said.
“Think about it, Elsa. What do you like sexually?”
“Eating pussy. And being eaten.”
“Well, I like the same thing. We’re probably pretty compatible.”
She was quiet for a few minutes.
“Will you shave?” she asked quietly.
My beard is a matter of laziness, not style. I don’t care if I’m shaved or bearded, it’s just easier when I’m traveling not to have to shave.
“My trimmers will cut it off short, but I don’t have a razor. Some women like the feel of the beard between their legs, but not the stubble,” I said.
“I’ve got a razor,” Char said. “How about if we shave off everything but the mustache. Leave it long and tickly.”
“That would work,” Elsa said.
“Elsa, why the willingness to let me join?” I asked. I really wasn’t going to try to make a lesbian into my lover.
“I figured if you’re licking my juices off her face anyway, you might as well get them directly from the source. Besides, I won’t have to look at who’s doing me if I have Char’s pretty pussy on my face. I know she was going to stay with you tonight instead of me and I have to fly out tomorrow.”
“I’ll try to not make it gross for you.”
“Just don’t leave a load of come in her pussy for me to lick out. I hate the taste of that stuff,” Elsa said as we headed for Char’s bungalow.
“That’s okay,” Char said happily. “I like the taste!”
It was an interesting night. I got shaved. Char got shaved, too. Elsa was already as smooth as a baby. Mostly, it was kind of two-on-one. Elsa and I shared Char between us, taking turns kissing her and licking her. And Char was delicious. My cock was straining and leaking, but I was careful to only do things Elsa was comfortable with. Fortunately, that included touching and sucking on her luscious breasts. Our Swedish playmate was well-endowed and her rosy nipples were sensitive. She came when both Char and I sucked on her. She had no trouble coming again when I stroked her with my fingers as she was kissing Char. That was when she rolled over on her back and pulled Char over the top of her for some serious pussy eating. Before she disappeared, she shook a finger at me.
“Let’s see if you are as good as a lesbian. And, Ari! You can stick your tongue up there and your fingers, but not your cock.” Her eyes opened wide to let me know how serious she was and I nodded my agreement. Exploring a beautiful hairless pussy with my tongue and fingers was not going to be a problem. I was pretty sure that before too long Char would make sure I wasn’t suffering.
Elsa was lush and enthusiastic. She didn’t fit my image of a dyke at all. She reminded me more of the woman who married Ellen de Generes—Portia de Rossi. What a dish. Very feminine and very willing. And when I buried my face between her legs, she was even tastier than when I’d licked her off Char’s face. By the time I had three fingers in her pussy searching successfully for her g-spot, Elsa was a juicy, coming mess. I licked up as much as I could.
“That is so filthy and disgusting!” Elsa said. “To have a man licking my puss. It’s like having a dog down there. Disgusting, but it turns me on.” A dog? Really?
“Are you sure you don’t want a ride on my dildo?” I asked. Elsa reached for her bag and pulled out a huge phallus.
“Use this one. I don’t think yours could compete.” Well, that was true enough. What she gave me was a monster. Still, I had that disgusting fascination awaken as I wedged the dildo into her folds and licked her clit as I pushed on the substitute cock. If this was what she wanted in her, it was no wonder that she didn’t care for mere men. Exhausted from her own orgasms, Char crawled down Elsa’s body to join me in invading the blonde’s pussy. As we watched it plunge in and out and listened to Elsa’s moans of pleasure, Char leaned over to kiss me and then worked her way down my body.
I was pretty primed and ready to go after the hour or two we’d spent so far. When Char took my cock in her mouth, I knew I wouldn’t last long. I sucked on Elsa’s clit.
“Yes! Pound me! Suck my clitty! Fuck! Fuck!” Elsa screamed. If what she had experienced earlier were orgasms, this was an earthquake at an eight point five. And I was riding the epicenter. My eyes rolled up into my head as my cock started releasing copious amounts into Char’s mouth. Without thinking about it, I ground the huge dildo around in circles. Elsa screamed again and passed out.
I was happy that Char took care of me and milked every ounce of come I could produce. I was glad I’d not been fucking Elsa. I started chuckling as I thought of the old joke. “My, what a little organ you have,” the woman said to her new lover. The man responded, “I never thought I’d be playing in a cathedral this big.”
Char wedged her way between Elsa and me. She kissed us each and we fell into exhausted sleep.
THE MOMENT OF TRUTH finally arrived. Elsa had left to fly to Bali. Char and I had spent much of the morning cuddled naked together, but not really being sexual. We managed to find coffee and eat a Thai breakfast that included fishcakes, rice, and stir fried vegetables. With a bowl of thin soup. We’d dressed enough to go out to the pool and spent the afternoon lounging in the cabana. A Thai woman came around offering massages and we both took her up on it.
Thai massage is not focused on a happy ending. It’s a form of tissue massage that uses a lot of pressure rather than rubbing. You don’t even undress for it. We didn’t move from the cabana, but stretched out on the cushions as she worked and manipulated us. I felt like a cooked noodle when she was finished. After an hour, I gave her 200 baht and she mournfully said she didn’t have change. I told her to keep the change and thanked her for the excellent massage. Seven bucks for an hour? Hell, come back tomorrow, too!
WE HAD KHAO SOI for dinner. Light but flavorful and Char looked questioningly at me. I held out my hand and let her lead me back to her bungalow.
Any thoughts that I had about just tying her hands and feet together and then kissing her for an hour flew out the window. She handed me a coil of rope that must have been more than fifty feet long—black and satiny. I was glad that at least it wasn’t coarse hemp. She handed me a sheet of instructions and I began by tying her hands behind her back and then wrapping them fairly close together up to her elbows.
“Is this too tight?” I asked.
“I like the feel of the bite into my skin. Just try not to completely cut off circulation.” The instructions then showed how to bind the rope around her chest, including tying off the base of each breast so they bulged outward. I progressed down to her knees and finally to her feet. When I was finished, Char was sitting in a chair breathing just deeply enough that her chest strained against the ropes, but not so deeply as to cut. She opened her eyes and I could see such a sense of bliss that I lost my misgivings about participating in this bizarre scene. In fact, I could see a beauty in the picture that I hadn’t imagined before.
“Ari,” she whispered. “I’m giving you complete control of my body. Take your time. We have all night. You can touch me any way you want. You can fuck me in any hole. You can kiss and tease me. There are only a few rules. Some people have safe words. Mine is simply ‘stop.’ I don’t use the word unless I really want you to stop what you are doing and release me. I encourage you to use me for sex, but please be sure I am well-lubricated before you shove your cock up my ass. My pussy shouldn’t be a problem, but like I said before, I’m not into being hurt. I might have to pee sometime. I might feel like I need to poop if you fuck my ass. You need to move me and clean me. I’d love it if you were naked with me. I really liked seeing your body when we were with Elsa. I’ve chosen this. I’m free.”
So, being given all this permission, I really didn’t know what to do. I certainly wasn’t going to just turn her over and start fucking her. Like she said, it wasn’t about the sex. In spite of the fact that it was cooling down outside, I felt the heat in the little bungalow was oppressive. I opened the doors and looked outside. It was a quiet night and no one seemed to be out on the grounds. A few feet from the door, there was a small pool with jets in it like a Jacuzzi. Only the water wasn’t heated. It gave me an idea.
I stripped behind Char’s back. She seemed content to just sit as I moved about, not attempting to squirm around to see what I was doing. I stepped in front of her and she smiled at me.
“I think we need to cool off a little,” I said. I reached beneath her and carried her out to the jetted pool. This time, I used the steps. It was only a couple feet deep and I stepped down into the water and sat on the low stone bench with Char cradled in my arms.
“This is nice,” she said. I gently scooped water up in my hands and poured it over her breasts and shoulders. She sighed. She lay in my arms and I petted her, tracing the lines of the ropes around her body, and caressing her breasts. I could tell immediately that one of the disadvantages of being bound like this was that she would be unable to open her legs for me to get a hand or my cock in. While we sat in the water, we talked quietly about a range of subjects that went from spiritual life to Elsa’s orgasm around the dildo. She asked about what else I was writing and I told her a little about the mystery I was working on, For Mayhem or Madness. I asked her about her home life and discovered that she had parted with her parents and with Islam when her father wanted to arrange a marriage for her while she was in high school.
I carried her into the bungalow and dried her carefully before laying her down on the bed. As we continued to talk, I kissed and caressed her, becoming more comfortable with her bondage as she relished it. She did have to pee and I carried her to the toilet. She told me it would be neater if I reached beneath her and parted her pussy lips so her stream didn’t spread along the crack. I did, getting only a bit of urine on my fingers and wiping her off carefully before washing my hands and returning us to the bed. The experience enlightened me as to the fact that even though I couldn’t get my hand between her legs, her vagina, which was very moist and slick, was still accessible from the rear.
I spooned behind her and she stroked my cock with her hands tied behind her back as I kissed her hair and shoulders. In spite of the fact that I knew she was wet and I could part her pussy lips with my fingers, I lubricated my cock with gel to begin pressing between her tightly squeezed labia. I didn’t ask her permission. She’d already given it. I simply pushed forward until I was fully seated in her. And then I stayed there. No sawing in and out. I simply lay behind her, continuing to kiss and pet her with my cock lodged firmly in her very tight, very hot pussy.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t do it,” she sighed.
“I’ve wanted to do it since the day you arrived,” I answered. “Things have been a little crazy.”
“Do you call fucking a woman from behind who is tied up and can’t move crazy?”
“Well…”
“Guess what. I can move.”
Only once before have I felt anything like it. Sure, I’ve read stories about women with incredible control over their vaginal muscles. I’ve been with women who squeezed and rippled when they climaxed. But this was unlike anything my cock had ever experienced. Anything but Jodie. And I couldn’t think about her right now. It was me who was helpless. The tight ring of muscles I had penetrated at the opening of her vagina suddenly relaxed and then squeezed again. She started rhythmically relaxing and squeezing the base of my cock and it felt wonderful. Even though that part of the cock isn’t the most sensitive area, just being in that hot sheath brought my blood to a boil. Then the motion shifted. The muscles around the base of my cock tightened and released less frequently as muscles further up in her vagina began rhythmic pulsing. It surprised me to the extent that I pinched one of her distended nipples and she squealed, sending vibrations up the length of my cock.
After a few minutes of getting used to the pulses at the base and middle of my cock, the motions relaxed there and I felt a tightening at the frenulum, just below the head of my cock. This was the most sensitive area of my cock and a woman can get me off just licking that spot. But mere licks were nothing like the pulses in Char’s pussy. As still as we were lying, I was sure she was managing to stroke as well as tighten and release.
“How do you do this?” I asked as I rubbed my face along the ropes on her back. “It’s incredible.”
“Shh. I’m meditating.” Her breathing became deeper and if it were not for the incredible sensations that were emanating from her pussy, I would swear she had gone to sleep.
And then there was a new warmth and my cock was drenched in a flood of her juices being released. I twitched and discovered that I could slide in her pussy again. It was extremely tight, but so well-lubricated that I withdrew about halfway and then pushed slowly in again. This time the head of my cock was met with squeezing and releasing and I could feel her cervix gliding across the tip. She caught her breath and held it before releasing it in a barely restrained whine. I pulled out and pushed again. Again, the ripples, the sliding, the held breath, the whine. And again.
Aware that I was reaching my peak, I became more active in other areas. I nibbled at her shoulder blades and then her neck. I caressed and tweaked both nipples. I caught her earlobe between my teeth and tugged before I licked behind her ear. And when I thrust again, all pretense of restraining her vocal response was lost. Char was not a howler like Elsa had been, but her cries undoubtedly carried across the jungle to other bungalows. I ran my hand down to squeeze her ass where I pressed against it and then slide around to her tummy where I pressed against the spots where her ovaries nested. I couldn’t part her lips from the front to reach her clit, so I settled for this.
When I came, the space was so tight that it was forced back into my cock and erupted again. Char’s wail lasted longer than my last spurt. As it died and I started to pull out, she whispered, “Stay. Stay in me, my lover. Let me hold you.” I pushed back in firmly and felt her grip me again. I didn’t think I’d last, but when I woke up, I was still lodged in her warmth and she was pulsing again.
I WAS WORRIED about how long Char had been tied up. In spite of my trying not to cut off her circulation, I knew that simply pressing against the ropes would eventually lead to numbness. We’d made love in this position for hours. ‘This position’ meaning that I was lodged in her pussy from behind. I discovered there were other positions that kept me here. I rolled with her onto her stomach and lifted her hips as I pounded into her. I rolled us to my back and she sat on my cock gaining remarkable motion as I supported her back and she pressed up and down on my cock. And finally, at her urging, I slipped out of her pussy and pushed into her anus. It was curious that because of the way her legs were tied tightly together, the back door was not as tight as her pussy. But it was equally exciting and we found I could actually turn so that she was on her back and I was facing her with her legs extended over my shoulder as I continued to pump inside her.
After that one, my cock finally wilted enough that I could withdraw. I wondered if there had been something in my soup tonight that had given me additional stamina. I was sure I’d come four times and there was certainly enough come dripping out of her to make me believe that. I got a towel and wiped the bulk off, leaving it under her leaking holes as I moved to her feet and began loosening the knots. Maybe taking her to the soaking pool earlier had not been such a good idea. For a few minutes, I was worried that I would have to cut her satin rope. Determination and a broken fingernail succeeded in releasing the bonds, however, and I began unwrapping her.
“Go slowly, lover,” she gasped. “The feelings of my body being released are as intense as the feelings of being bound.”
Eventually, she was loose, but too weak to stand. I carried her once again to the toilet and wiped and cleaned her when she was finished. She still wasn’t strong enough to do more than stand and lean on me and I decided on another dip in the soaking pool to rinse off the sweat from our exertions instead of the shower. I continued to caress her and kiss her as we soaked. Her arms around my neck as we kissed showed increasing signs that her strength was returning.
This time, I carried her to my bungalow. God knows, hers reeked of sex. I had a bottle of lotion in my room, though, and once I laid her on the bed, I massaged her, tracing the marks of the ropes. I wondered how long the indentations would remain. I worked on massaging her for nearly two hours as feeling came back into her limbs. Then I crawled into to bed with her and she draped herself over me as we slept.
CHAR HAD ONLY one more day at the Enchanted Jungle. We spent it in bed, not always making love, but holding each other and whispering our thoughts and plans. And making love. There was certainly more of that. She left on the long tail boat for Krabi after a kiss and promise to meet me again now that we were connected on Facebook and email. It was hard to watch her go.
For the next three days, I sat in front of my computer working on a new story. I thought a lot about Char, but I couldn’t imagine what kind of story I would work this into. It was just so unlike me. So unlike anything I would ever write. Bondage? Me? I seriously doubted that I would ever be in that position again.
Still… Every time I thought about her gripping me inside her, my cock came to attention.
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