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"Do you come here often?", I asked the man standing next to me.

There was no reply.

I didn't mind really; I had to laugh at my own joke. No one else in
that elevator car understood a word of English, and I knew that. The women
-- no, girls -- hardly took notice of me, and the men all looked down.
Still, I was funny, and I remember wishing for an audience. "Who else could
make jokes at a time like this?", I thought.

The elevator car crept up, floor by floor. It was slow and unsteady.
With each passing floor a creaking sound from the shaftway could be heard.
For a moment I thought we weren't going to make it at all. Then, in the
first moment of silence I had known in this busy city, I closed my eyes and
reflected on the ten hours that had just passed.

~~~

The Oriental in Bangkok is a five-star hotel. It's a spectacular
place. The hotel is awash in white; it is palatial. Outside, a fleet of
waiting white Mercedes-Benz sedans take the place of queuing yellow cabs.
The dispatcher, a neatly groomed man in a white suit, provides my first real
glimpse of life in this city:

"...and do you wish the driver to wait, sir?"

"No, we'll get a cab back by ourselves, thank you."

"Sir, are you certain you don't want the driver to wait?"

"No thanks, I said, we'll get our own taxi back to the hotel."

"But sir, the driver really should wait for you, sir."

And suddenly the man talking to the dispatcher remembers where he is.
For in perfect contrast to this luxury and wealth, total, utter poverty
stands less than one hundred feet away. Vendors and beggars hawk their
wares on the street that leads to the hotel's circular driveway. The line
that separates the beauty of the Oriental from the misery of the street is a
fuzzy one, yet the beggars seem to know where it is.

Inside the Oriental, an elevator attendant manages five busy lifts,
maintaining perfect composure in his suit of white. Slow, melodic ceiling
fans turn away the afternoon heat. And beautiful Asian women, in flowing
print dresses of green and white, carry tall, frosty drinks from Harry's Bar
to guests in the lobby lounge.

~~~

The weekend in Bangkok was to be a much-needed vacation, separating a
week of business travel in the Far East from another week yet to come.
Steve and I registered, and we followed the bellhops to our rooms.

~~~

The afternoon was spent poolside mostly, with the two of us taking-in
the sun, water, and Harry's very intoxicating drinks. (We quickly
discovered a "Harry's Bar Special". We lived on Harry's Bar Specials that
weekend. Let me see: passion fruit juice and vodka, was that it? I'm sure
about the passion fruit juice; that's what made the drink. I wish I could
find it in cans.)

Bangkok was memorable for more than one reason, though. It was the
weekend, at poolside, incidentally, that Steve and I drew-up the plans that
would become the basis for our partnership in business. I had been an
employee up until that time. (We have a habit of conducting our best
business outside the office.)

Later, only because our stomachs begged for something solid and Harry
asked us to leave him alone for awhile, we decided to go upstairs and dress
for dinner.

~~~

Steve had the name of what was supposed to be an outstanding Thai
restaurant with him, and it was our plan to go down to the dispatcher and
book a ride to the restaurant. We handed the paper with the name and
address of the restaurant to the dispatcher, and it took him a minute to
figure it out. "Yes," he finally agreed, and wrote the booking into his log.

Now, the currency in Thailand is called the baht, and it's worth about
four cents. Using a calculator, the dispatcher figured what our car would
cost us, and then asked, "Do you want the driver to wait?" "No," Steve
said, looking at me quickly to see if I agreed, "we'll find a taxi back on
our own."

"Sir, the driver should wait."

We looked at each other again. I said, "I don't think it'll be that
hard to find a cab." "No, thanks," Steve told the dispatcher.

"Sir, have the driver wait until you're through with your dinner."

Alright, fine, we had lost; the driver would wait. The dispatcher
figured our bill in advance: four hundred baht -- about sixteen bucks. Not
bad for the services of a driver and a white Mercedes-Benz for two or three
hours. We got in and handed the address to our driver.

Lemon Grass Restaurant was in an impossible-to-find neighborhood. We
sped through narrow, filth-invested alleys and gutters for a full half-hour
before pulling-up in front of a rather nondescript white building that
looked like a converted house. The driver, who spoke only detached words to
us during the ride, managed to say he'd find us when we came out after
dinner.

~~~

Three hours later and very full and satisfied, we found our way back
out to the street. We looked up and down, but all we saw was a sea of
look-alike drivers standing next to cars, waiting for their respective
passengers to return. No sooner had we realized what was going on outside,
than up came our ride -- *he* had recognized *us*. (I guess we don't all
look alike, after all.) We climbed in, and the car drove away.

Once we were a safe distance from the restaurant, Steve, in his
inimitable style, looked at the driver's face through the rear-view mirror
and asked, "So, now what?"

A smile came to the driver's face. "You want someplace nice?" he
asked.

"Sure, let's go someplace nice," I said, not knowing what those words
meant in this country. "Sure, someplace nice," Steve agreed.

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We drove through the city of Bangkok. It had rained while we were in
the restaurant having dinner, and the city lights painted the streets a
brilliant red, green, and yellow in reflecting neon. It was beautiful. All
around us, bicycles, motorscooters, and pedestrians darted in and around the
traffic. The jockeying for front position at a red light about to change
was vicious. *This* was traffic. Don't let me ever hear another New York
cabbie complain about traffic. We pulled into the parking lot behind a
large, night-club-looking place. There was a crowd of men standing near
the back entrance, gathered around a lone television set balanced
precariously atop a kitchen chair on the pavement. It wasn't until the next
day that we realized these were other drivers waiting for their passengers
to return from inside. It's all so organized, we would later think of the
sex trade here.

Our driver said he'd be waiting for us, not to worry, and he joined
the others around the television set.

The glass doors were tinted completely black. We pushed them open.

Inside, a flood of pink light washed over us. It was everywhere.
Everything was pink. And the most amazing sight I'd ever seen stood right
in front of me: about a hundred girls dressed in the most provocative ways
imaginable sat on some sort of carpeted stairs or bleachers, rising from the
ground up, behind a huge wall of glass, spotlights shining down on them for
all to see and inspect. It was like a people exhibit at a zoo; they were
goldfish in a bowl -- girls on display for me to pick from. It was amazing.
Bright, white light behind the glass; pink neon everywhere else. I walked
up to the glass.

A man who spoke enough English for this particular exchange held out a
pad in his hand, pencil ready. "Which?" he asked. I didn't understand. I
never do. I needed to have it explained. Depending on the number on their
badge, some of the girls were available for fucking and some only for a
blowjob. I wanted a fucking girl, and I told him so. He understood.
"Sixty baht, tip included," he said. That came to $2.40. Sold American.

The man with the pad looked around briefly, then pointed to number 24.
She stood up, smiled at me, and walked out of the glass enclosure through a
hidden back door. When she came out, she took my arm in hers like we were
on a date, and walked me up to the desk. I paid my sixty baht, and the girl
was handed a basket of supplies: there was soap ("soba" in Thai), a condom,
some lotions, and other stuff that I didn't get to find out about.

We walked to the elevator, and waited with other "couples". I had
already lost sight of Steve, but I was sure he was in good hands, so to
speak. Finally the elevator came and we stepped in with about twelve other
people.

~~~

"Do you come here often?" I asked the man standing next to me. I
couldn't help it; it struck me funny. All these men not wanting to be
noticed by anyone, and here we all were stuffed into the same elevator car.
Sometimes children think that if they close their eyes, no one can see them.
I think these guys still believed that. No one engaged me in light
conversation, despite my attempt at breaking the ice.

Twenty-four and I got off on the eighth floor, still arm-in-arm. We
walked down a narrow corridor that reminded me of my college dormitory or a
cheap Holiday Inn in a remote town in Texas. The only thing that was
different was that standing up against the wall next to almost every door
was an inflated rubber raft, the kind a person might lay on while sipping a
drink in the pool. Not the black rubber kind, but the colorful kiddy kind.

Number Twenty-four opened one of the identical-looking doors, and we
walked inside.

~~~

Our room consisted of a bed on a platform, a sofa, and a sunken tub.
Stereo music played through a piped-in system. Twenty-four placed her
basket of supplies down on a table near the bed, and began undressing. I
followed her lead and stripped naked, then sat on the sofa, waiting.

"What is your name?" I finally attempted.

No reply.

I pointed to myself and said, "Andy." Then I pointed to Twenty-four.
(I figured that ought to be universally understood.) She said, "Nute".

Nute and I began kissing, first slowly and carefully, then
passionately and more aggressively. She was young. She sat next to me on
the sofa and I had the feeling I was kissing an eighteen-year-old. It had
been a long time since I did that. Her kisses were inviting and
encouraging, and I quickly had a solid erection which brushed-up against
Nute's dark, creamy skin. Nute lowered herself to her knees, and took my
cock into her mouth willingly. At first she started to suck me too quickly,
and that's not the way I like it. I held her head between my hands and
said, "Slowly, slowly," but I'm sure the words meant nothing. After a
moment, though, her mouth relaxed and became wetter, and her pace slowed to
the long, drawing, stroking action that sends my cock throbbing fuller and
fuller. Her tongue darted around the head of my cock, and she licked and
teased with her mouth as she sucked and stroked me with both hands now.
Realizing I would soon climax if this motion continued, I drew her head off
me and looked her in the eyes. I didn't know whether Nute wanted to end our
time together quickly by causing me to cum so soon, but I figured it was my
two dollars and forty-cents, and I was going to get my money's worth!

What happened next I was not expecting.

Nute either realized I wanted a more complete pleasing, or had been
expecting to go forward with this anyway. She stood up and walked to the
tub, then drew a hot bath using the contents of one of the mystery bottles
in her basket. When the tub was full of hot, soapy water, Nute stepped in
and pulled me in by the hands. We sat down in the tub facing one another.
Nute reached for a washcloth near the tub, and put both hands under the
water. She found my stiff, throbbing cock quickly and began massaging it.
With the soapy washcloth, Nute took great care to clean me carefully and
lovingly. We kissed some more and again I could have cum in her wet hands.

After my bath, Nute and I stood and stepped out of the tub. Nute took
our rubber raft and laid it down on the floor. She spilled a pail of warm
bath water over it, soaking the raft and the floor nearby. Nute motioned
for me to lay down on the raft, face-up, which I obligingly agreed to. Nute
stepped over the raft, and lay down on top of me. The sensation of her wet,
soapy body rolling over me -- and the wet raft below -- was indescribably
good. (In Japan, the women give a full-body massage where one girl is below
you and another on top. This is the Thai version, I supposed.) Nute began
slowly rocking her body left and right over me. My cock, now rock-solid and
throbbing intensely, was upright against my stomach. The underside of my
cock, the most sensitive part, was between Nute's soapy wet groin and my
body. As much as she rolled and rolled over me, Nute never let my cock rest
for a moment. Pressed against her groin, then up and down against her
belly, she worked my cock in every direction imaginable.

We bounced and rocked and rolled over that rubber raft for an
eternity, and it was intensely pleasurable. Finally, when I was going to
explode for sure, I pushed myself down the raft and found Nute's steamy wet
pussy with the head of my cock. I slid back up the raft, this time with my
cock in position, so that as I slid up the raft I could insert my shaft.
Nute screamed in pain, and I liked it. "Ayyy, ow!", she said. But I
pressed in further, still rocking on that wet raft. I rammed my cock hard,
deep inside her, deeper I'm sure than any Asian had been in her before.
Nute was tight -- very tight -- and it was like fucking a young virgin. I
continued riding up and down inside her, sliding on the raft and holding her
waist for support. I looked into Nute's eyes, and on her face I saw she was
struggling not to scream any more. I felt immensely pleased by this, and I
came in huge, heaving spurts inside my Thai slave.

~~~

After our love-making, Nute was again on her knees before me, kissing
my cock and making certain I was pleased with her. She was a beautiful,
curvaceous, eager lover who gave and gave of herself. I wanted desperately
to have her for my pleasure always, this Oriental sex slave.

~~~

Downstairs, Steve and I met up again, and we found Nute and Penn
(Steve's Thai lover). We offered them both lifelong employment in the
United States in exchange for daily pleasing.

It was an offer Steve and I thought hard to refuse for these girls,
and I keep telling myself it was only the language barrier that eventually
kept them from accepting.

Well, I can dream, can't I?!