Overland Run - Part 2

Max spent some time thinking over his breakfast rice and omelette. Not being a fan of Chinese steamed buns he had settled into a Thai restaurant, sending across the road for Chinese tea. He couldn’t see any problem getting down to Chiang Mai where he would get the train to Bangkok. Booked well ahead he would arrive with minutes to spare and be on his way before anyone noticed. Being a tall, fat Farang had its disadvantages when it came to being noticed in Asia. He felt a twinge of guilt when he thought about the Finn’s breakfast, no way would Duangvichit have accepted his protestations of drunken innocence, but hopefully the backpacker girls would have fled back to Mae Hong Song before someone inquired about their part in the drama. You could never tell with fucking junkies though.

Warming up the BMW he pointed it south, happy with the difficult drive, time spent behind the wheel was easy time to him. Ten years driving cabs in Adelaide had sorted that out, as had twenty years on the trucks. When people pointed out he must be eighty years old with all the jobs he had had Max merely said that a hundred hours a week allowed for considerable over lapping. He liked the cabs and had nearly bought one but Leah wanted her own house, a good investment back then. Sure, but when you had your own car you could run it eighteen hours a day, only coming home for a nap and a quick bang, essential to keep you from accepting the many offers a good looking young cabby got. Living on café food but no grog and no pills to keep awake, the customers could pick that in an instant. His mate PJ had cleaned his act up big time with his own cab in Hobart; pity he hadn’t given the smokes away too.
Max left the car at the Thaphai Gate, ringing the hire firm with directions and an apology, saying he would pick up the false passport and the deposit the following week, grabbed a tuktuk and headed for the airport. He was there long enough to buy a cheap suit case, concealing the backpack and his own small kit, walked out and got a cab to the train station. Timing it well he settled in for what he hoped was relaxing ride to the capital.

Waking up with a start-and a erection, it was amazing how a night of sex fired up the system, Max looked out the window. Fucking police every where and some of higher rank than the normal tourist checking squad. Where was he? Phitsanulok; what to do? He grabbed his bag and headed down the train to the third class carriages, there would be a crowd down there and a pack of tuktuk drivers waiting for customers among the backpackers getting off the train. He went down the steps and pushed through the crowded platform, people getting on, people getting off, tuktuk drivers clutching at potential customers; he was off the platform and into a tuktuk before the delighted driver realised he had a fare. Declining an invitation to see the Chinarat Buddha he directed the driver to Wang Thon, a few kilometres east, but safely off the Bangkok to Chiang Mai road and rail routes. He would get the bus there and flee to the North East, crossing the Mekong at Nong Kai into Laos. God, Laos, it would be like going home.

Max looked out of the window as the land grew steadily poorer; Isaan, the largest and least wealthy province of Thailand, a land that supplied it’s daughters to the bars and brothels of Central and South Thailand. Max had slept with Isaan girls as far south as Sungai Kollok, a shit hole brothel town on the Malaysian border. They catered almost exclusively to Malay men who crossed the border to frolic at pursuits denied them in there own country. Max still remembered the joyous reception he had received on his first visit, ordering a round of drinks in a small bar and sending out for Tom Yam Goom, spicy shrimp soup, pork BBQ and rice for all; while across the street half a dozen Malay men shared a soft drink and dickered with the Mama San for a bulk rate. Isaan girls, nearly every Farang who married a bargirl ended up with an Isaan girl. Max remembered that once, drunk in the early days he had asked a stunningly beautiful Korat girl why she worked bar. She looked at him in amusement, “When I was a little girl” she said, “my father walked to the village meeting, sat at the back and said nothing. Now he rides there on his motorbike, sits in the front row and when he speaks, everybody listens. That’s because I work bar.”

Few things are less comfortable than a Thai bus if your weight is in excess of a hundred kilos and your back nearly crippled from years of picking up things that were too heavy. Especially if some of them didn’t belong to you. Max made the most of the many stops, finally giving up at Udon Thani, it was too late to cross the bridge anyway and he had to think about the dangers of leaving through Thai immigration. Getting into Laos across the Mekong illegally was a breeze, a hundred small boats made the trip every night carrying cheap Thai goods to Vientiane and returning with Lao produce and illegal immigrants for the factories and brothels of Thailand. Getting back into Thailand was another matter, he had planned to run overland to the Malay border- a simple tactic using the Thai road and rail system but the Thai police were onto him, The fucking Wa had set him up, he had hoped to buy the E off the Shan, they had a reputation for honesty and may have even walked it across the border in the mountains, making delivery in Thailand.

The charade at the border with the Finn had definitely been plan B, covering the worst case scenario. Now the hunt was on, the police wouldn’t expect Max to head for Laos, but his name would come up on the computer the minute he handed his passport over. Better to cross illegally, stamping his own passport using the skilfully crafted Thai immigration exit stamp he had purchased in Bangkok’s Khao San Road, then go back into Thailand through one of the ‘casino border crossings’ where the immigration just stamped the passports and ignored the computer. This meant back to the Golden Triangle, only a few kilometres from the Mae Sae crossing or overland through Cambodia to cross near Hat Lek.

Max went into town from the bus station and booked into a central hotel. The temptation to do the extra hour into the border town of Nong Kai was there but time wise it made little difference. He showered up and walked around to Steve’s Bar, more of a restaurant than bar, Steve’s Thai missus had run a good food pub in London for ten years before her first husband died, then she married Steve and talked him into taking her back to Thailand. He had had a few laughs in this bar, no bar girls but draught Heineken and good grub. Australian lamb chops were a speciality and after two days with one meal it fitted the bill precisely.

One night he had walked in on a visa run from Laos and watched hilariously while the place stopped dead leaving Steve to serve the drinks. The eyes of every waitress and barmaid were glued to the TV in stunned silence, the English magician David Copperfield was working his spell over the audience. Max had caught one’s eye, “Phee Mor,” he said, Ghost Doctor? She never doubted it for a minute. Sophisticated Thais they may pretend to be but they were all Lao this far to the North East. They knew a witch doctor when they saw one.

The draught beer and lamb chops settled Max down; he was wary of this, feeling good didn’t necessarily mean things were good but at least you could put things in perspective. He would cross the bridge early using his second legal passport, a British one. If he was questioned by the sleepy Thai officials about the lack of an entry stamp he would produce the Australian, showing the near lack of empty pages as an explanation for the switch. There would be no police there and if they put the number of the Aussie passport into the computer he would just walk away, hopefully across the bridge into Laos, stamping the passport himself on the way. There was no love lost between the Thais and the Lao anyway, the Lao still holding a grudge over the Thai theft of the Emerald Buddha, which they had stolen from the Thaïs several centuries before.

The beer was going down well and as usual Max’s thoughts turned to the fair sex, One of the waitresses was particularly attractive but Max doubted she was on the game. He had a lot of mates in Asia who specialised in the conquest of this type of girl, believing that she was only interested in their charm and good looks. Max knew it was all about money and subsequently only went with girls after the price of the night had been decided up front.

Tiredness and booze were catching up with him so calling for the check bin he paid up, tipped the waitress and barmaid a hundred baht each and walked out to their grateful wais. He wouldn’t mind getting laid; if he ran into Da in Vientiane tomorrow being horny would offer no assistance in any discussions. Plus if he ended up in the slammer it could be a while before he got a sniff again. Entering the hotel foyer he noticed a group of young women sitting in the corner. An older woman beckoned him over but he turned away with a show of indifference; one of the girls approached him as he picked up his key but he smiled and said “ Mai kop khun khap, mao mak mak”, no thanks, drunk too much. Letting himself into the room he turned on the air con and TV and laid back on the bed expectantly. Within minutes there was a knock on the door, he let it knock twice then opened it, leaving the chain in. Two girls stood there smiling. Sure, they would do nicely.

Max had slept with three girls once and when telling of it to the gaping pub drinkers in Australia said that the problem was that you kept losing your place and having to start again. He always enjoyed a threesome though, letting the girls work on him, usually one either end, until he was ready to burst. He didn’t mind if they messed around together a little bit but was not into extended lesbian shows, he could watch that on porn movies and save paying the girls.

The first time he tried it was at a beach resort one Christmas in Northern Luzon about two hundred miles north of Manila. He had got drunk and taken a half Afro-American girl back to the hotel suite, he had been in the chips then and it had a living room and a spa tub. The girl said she could she could only stay an hour, she had to get home. Max hated that, he should have been told it was a “short time” before leaving the bar and had angrily taken her back and claimed a refund.

Somewhat annoyed with himself he had gone back to the hotel, and reluctant to sleep alone on Christmas Eve had looked into the hotel night club. It was minutes from closing time and most of the remaining dancers were getting dressed but a solitary girl still swayed hopefully on the stage. Max paid her bar fine her on the spot. The bar fine system, for the uninitiated, involves a payment to compensate the bar for the loss of the girls work if she leaves with you. In Thailand it means exactly that and the wise man negotiates a fee for any extracurricular activities he may be hoping for before he pays it. In the Philippines it usually covers the earlier mentioned activities for the duration of the night as well.

The girl was strangely reluctant and Max, drunk, annoyed and unromantic had banged away for half an hour before falling asleep unfulfilled. The next morning both were apologetic and she asked if she could spend the day with him. Max was going to the nearby town of San Fernando to check the markets for silver jewellery and had plans involving less alcohol and a more enthusiastic girl for that night. Always kind hearted to a fault with the opposite sex Max said he would call in and buy her a drink. Returning with tongue dragging about four that afternoon, conveniently the bar’s opening time he ducked in, ordered a San Miguel and looked around as his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit bar. The girls were getting onto the stage in their dancing “costumes” a small bikini, and Max recognised his erstwhile partner. Beckoning her down to his table she came and sat beside him and he realised she looked several years younger- about eighteen, a considerable effort on his considering his alcohol intake the night before. As she looked at him with out recognition he saw another girl enter the door and duck down behind the island stage when she saw them. The penny dropped. Wrong girl, right girl comes in and tries to hide to save embarrassment all round. Oh boy. Max went and got her, full of apologies, they looked similar he said. They were similar, at least cousins, possibly half-sisters; small hooked nosed girls from southern Mindanao, Arab blood. Pure Sulu Sea pirate stock.

All pride restored with a drink Max started looking at his watch, he had heard of Philipino bars in town where nearly anything went and he wanted to conduct a survey. The older girl recognised the signs immediately and suggested Max take them both on. “One up, one down,” she said. Max stopped dead in the act of calling for the check bin. Two girls? Was he up to it? Even then on his way to his mid fifties he still surprised himself on occasions. “OK, why not?” he said. While they were doing whatever bargirls do before leaving the bar Max shot back to the suite and turned on the spa tub taps. Teenage masturbatory fantasies were rushing through his mind and all would be played out tonight, he could see it coming.

The girls arrived and sedately removed their clothes, holding towels against their bodies as they tiptoed into the tub. Max joined them, raising the water level considerably. Strategically placed beers added to the festive atmosphere and the three people began to cleanse each other. The younger girls body was stunning, her small breasts were rock hard almost as if silicone enhanced, impossible up here. He washed her down and grabbing his shampoo he began washing her hair; always a turn on for him and guaranteed to put even the most hardened bargirl off balance. Looking down he saw that the older girl was soaping her work mates breasts unnoticed. Suddenly realising what was going on the younger girl pulled away, squealing with embarrassment and outrage. Max nearly lost it, dragging the girls from the tub they rinsed off and set to partners on the bed. As an introduction to threesomes no man could have wished for more, the older girl refused to let him enter her, directing his efforts at the younger who welcomed him with mouth and pussy eagerly. Finally collapsing utterly sated on the stained sheets Max marvelled at his endurance as the younger girl rolled to the other side of the bed and fell instantly asleep. Dozing off himself Max was awakened by an angry blow on the back. The older girl took his hand and placed it between her legs. She wanted to be fucked and badly. Her very arousal brought Max back to life and the girl came the second he entered her. Her single orgasm lasted fifteen minutes before she passed out.

The next morning she woke early and talked to Max earnestly. If he stayed with her he could do this all the time; she would organise anything he wanted and as long as she could be there it would be OK. “Bloody hell,” thought Max, “but what would a man do to give himself a treat?”. He slept all the way while his amused mate drove back to Manila.

The pair of young Thai ladies were not in the Filipina girls’ class but they took the edge off his anxiety about the following day, like most Thai prostitutes they had picked up some basic massage and managed to get the kinks out of his back allowing him the untroubled sleep that had become so essential to his wellbeing in his later life.
As usual Max abandoned sophisticated plans and headed for the border like any other tourist, first the bus then a tuktuk to the bridge, declining the drivers kind invitation to allow his brother to organise his visa. Force of habit made him do it himself at the border and save ten US. The sleepy Thai immigration officer hardly glanced at his passport.

“Kop chai lai lai”, he said to the Lao border official as he passed through, thank you very much, his first Asian language slipping easily off his tongue.

© Julian. All rights reserved by the author.