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decreaseI'm naked and sitting up and Fon is naked and sitting up. Her small bony hands are squeezing the flesh under my shoulders so tight I know it's hematoma time. Sweat is running off of us like a torrent, she is gasping the marathoner's oxygen deprived death rattle, and her anus is oozing. It's a hot hot rainy night in Bangkok, and the humidity level is about 100%. It's a death zone for most living things on this night at 2 a.m. but she is not going to stop now. She has been riding my dick like a piston gone berserk long enough to know that it is just a matter of time now and she will have an orgasm.
She's all bones and make up this girl but one giant clitoris in heat under the right circumstances. And tonight everything is right. The three foot speakers are pumping out the little Thai songstress Tata Young and her Dhoom Dhoom is giving Fon the rhythm she needs.
She's wired and pumping now and if she comes down crooked she'll snap my dick off but I'm past caring. It's sexual commitment time. Some guys beat the train at the crossing: some guys don't, but they all signed on for the ride. She can't see because her hair is in her face, and I can't see because her head is in the way. We are doing 90 miles per hour flashing over the Taksin bridge!
This how we initiate new cars that I buy. Every time I buy a new vehicle we take it out and fxxx while driving. The sex, and the nakedness in public, and the danger, and the wind in our hair from the open window is intoxicating. And the hotter and the more humid the better. I piss in the mother's milk of all the little pukes who complain about it being too hot and too humid in Bangkok. Little whiney mortgage holders and pansy breeders who know what is best for everyone else. The flaccid and the weak who rode into town on their Bibles. Well, fxxx them and fxxx the Bibles they rode in on. Run it up to about 130 degrees and keep the humidity up around 95%. Now lets see who the players are!
Fon and I will be there. Naked. Jesus Mary and Joseph these little suit and tie losers just want to make me hurl; with their savings plans, and their responsible behavior to their dependents, and their mature citizenry. The only things that count are chaos and anarchy and violence and sex. Any other dream is the weak who can dribble but can't shoot. Line up you babies. And let the pimp slapping begin. Do you know who gets my respect? Whores who steal from me! That's what they are supposed to do. At least someone is living right.
Leaving Thon Buri behind and barreling over the bridge this night in our new car at 90 miles per hour I still don't have the plates and the papers and the insurance but those are small things. Actually I haven't made the first payment to the little Chinese guy with the soft fat hands who runs the mototaxis in my neighborhood either but I can take care of him. I took the precaution of getting pictures of most of his family and all of the stupid places they live. We'll have a little talk.
But there is one problem. Whenever I buy a new car I have to take the front seat out and take the carpet out and unbolt the seat channel tracks and take the seat channel tracks out. Then I drill seat channel track bolt holes further forward and reinstall the seat channel tracks and reinstall the seat further forward and put the floor carpet back in. That way my short legs can reach the accelerator and the brake pedals.
On the way to the mechanics or when driving just purchased vehicles home I can just reach the pedals with the tips of my toes so it all works out. But on this hot humid rainy night in Bangkok every time Fon drives down on my dick my knees come up and the tips of my toes leave the brake pedal and the gas pedal. She thinks I'm grunting and screaming because of the sex. That ain't the reason.
I lose control about three quarters over the bridge and slam into the guardrail. So much for Dhoom Dhoom and if this doesn't go right our arms and legs are going to look like we are dancing to The Ketchup Song. The concrete and the metal mate like two soi dogs on a schoolyard playground and the car slides about 75 yards welded to the barrier. Now Fon is screaming. Best sex of my life. Sex before pointless violent death. Unbeatable. Violence and sex: the sandwich everyone dreams of eating.
The door handles are skimmed off like a putty knife slicing pimples from a fat man's ass. The hood flies up and now I'm blind. Up ahead is a storm drain with a missing cover. Wouldn't have mattered if I did see it. No time. The front wheel drops into the big drain hole and we do a cartwheel like a Midway Island gooney bird coming in for a landing. Fon never stops humping. Nothing trumps the call of a woman's orgasm. Down on the roof and the metal coffin slides a little and stops. We crawl out of the flaming wreck to the Nu Virgos singing Stop Stop Stop. Completely unhurt. Naked. Fon is holding her purse and her dildo. I am holding my dick and a fistful of CD's. There is always time for music.
I flag down a pickup truck from Ban Tha Bor with a load of fermented fish paste. On this night, wet fermented fish paste! I tell the driver he can do Fon in the back if he lets me drive. Fon's gonna smell great tonight. God love this little rural snake dodger; he had a great sound system. I twisted the dial off cranking it up: took a big hit from his whiskey bottle, and Fon got shagged to Don't Call Me Baby by Madison Ave. Her arms and legs were flailing around like a half filled inflatable doll and she was spraying fish paste juice like a wet dog shaking his coat. I drove us to the Oriental Hotel. Fon finally gets her orgasm.
I pull up in front of the lobby door and we all tumble out. The fish paste peddler who has been banging Fon is pantless and has the glazed look of the too happy, Fon is naked and covered with slimy bits of fish, and I am holding a whiskey bottle and a fistful of CD's. The uniformed doorman doesn't want to open the door for two naked people who just got out of a fish paste delivery truck at 3 a.m. I give him 2000 baht and the door opens. The lobby is empty. We go to the front desk. So so many things could have happened in this bastion of what is classy and correct and elite; instead 5000 baht and my Platinum card gets us rooms. Since they are slamming my card I wonder what we are going to get.
Top floor. Penthouse with private pool, jacuzzi, and a view of the river and Thon Buri beyond. Fxxxin' A Man--we are going to bang on every horizontal surface and push and grunt all over the snow white carpet. We'll pull the curtain cords down, cut up chair cushions with the complimentary serrated steak knife from the en-suite kitchen, and tie them to my knees and her ass. No $400 per night rug burn for us. We're pros.
I put Super Freak by Rick James, and All Along The Watchtower by Neil Young, and Big Legs, Tight Skirt by John Lee Hooker in the machine and pipe it into the shower speakers. I'm in there an hour singing and screaming and throwing the fruit from the complimentary fruit basket against the tile walls. High on life and finishing the fish paste peddler's bottle of whiskey. Dodged another bullet. Still alive.
Fon says she doesn't want to join me. Says she wants to do yoga. Go figure. While I'm in the shower I hear a huge booming crash. What the fxxx?
Out of the shower and I slam into a piece of furniture because the apartment is pitch black: Fon has killed all the lights except for a glow coming from the living room. She has pushed the three hundred pound eight foot tall teak armoire over on its side and dragged it up in front of the picture window that overlooks the Chao Praya river and faces the skyscraper condos of Thon Buri on the other side. Two floor lamps have been moved behind the armoire for back lighting. She is naked and on top of the armoire in the Vrischika Asana (Scorpion pose) yoga position. Head arched back and pointed into the room, fish paste pussy pressed against the glass.
Fon: Aren't all the boats on the river pretty dahling?
Me: Boats my ass: you are just hoping some Thon Buri condo perverts have telescopes.
There is always time for exhibitionism. Hit the lottery when I met this woman.
An hour later Fon and I are sitting up in the bed trying to figure out the remote. The TV is playing You Promise Me by In Grid. Public sex, a car crash, and a near death experience! Come on Bangkok. Is that all you got? Let's jack it up: 130 degrees and 95% humidity for 150 straight days. Who's a player?
God I love this town.
© Dana. All rights reserved by the author.
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