Chapter 1: Catching A Husband A small town in East Thailand Summer 2006

Call me Dara. I was a born and raised in Thailand. Like many Thais my name is long, almost three dozen letters, so just between us, we will stick with Dara. This is a story of how I came to have my temporary husband, using my own modern twist on the old way. I was inspired by the classic works of the Jane Austin, although she might not approve of the direction I took.

In Asia, marriages are often arranged by the parents working with the extended family, and a significant portion of those marriages involve young girls who marry distant cousins or older men.

However, my wicked mother was killed a decade ago, during an evening of unfaithful but very willing sex with several men. You want to know just how was she killed during disgusting sex? Such a question, this was my mother! I will say that the “Kung Fu” guy died in Bangkok. Look it up. Nobody gets HIV that way. Disgusting.

After that (well, also before that) Mother’s family wanted nothing to do with us, and my father’s family was unlikely to come up with an arrangement. A Western-style “love marriage” was also not a consideration. I was thus left to my own devices when things got desperate.

I had no devices until I invented one.

The story starts during July 2006, in a mid-sized town in eastern Thailand. I was 18 years old.

They say that the Thai people are descended from royal gods. As one who was raised a Muslim, I do not believe such things, and in any case it would seem these words do not apply to me because I did not considered myself attractive. I am very skinny and underfed, with breasts so shrunken I need no bra in most cases. My face looks unpleasantly asymmetrical to me, so I usually cover half of it with my long black hair. My teeth, while white, clean and healthy, do not agree on the direction in which they will grow, but each go their own way. I stand 5 foot 4 and weigh far less than I should, as I miss too many meals.

I walked three klicks to work on Monday evening as usual. It was hot and raining, so I was semi-miserable. I was employed by a cleaning service that did nighttime cleaning for a number of stores in the area. However, when I got to work the building was dark and locked. There was a sign on the door that said “closed” and nothing else. I went to a side door, to a hiding spot I knew. Kai, my employer, had left me a note saying he was so sorry, but he had to leave town. I learned later he left in the dead of night, to avoid his creditors and unpaid employees with long knives. As was our custom, Kai had paid me with cash in my pay envelope after work on Sunday morning; other employees were always paid by check on Tuesday. When I got home Sunday I found my pay envelope actually contained twice what he owed me! Kai never overpaid me. It was a fact that he liked me but was terrified of my father.

Now I knew why I was paid double, it was Kai’s way to say goodbye.

After reading Kai’s note I was terrified of starvation for my family which was always close but was now right up in front of us. I had much to think on during the walk back home so I did not notice the rain. Lucky girl.

Earlier in the year, somewhere in the hellish game of pass-the-misery that is the new global economy, a very modern factory opened someplace, to strangle our local 50-year old factory. The stores where factory workers shopped soon closed. I worked for the cleaning service those stores used. Kai kept me on as long as possible, he said I was his hardest working and most dependable employee. He might have wanted me for a wife if he had the courage to ask and Father did not kill him. But now that was over.

I have worked part time for Kai since I was 10, to help feed my family. Two years ago I ended my schooling to work full-time at night so we could eat. When I started working full-time, Kai felt bad because I quit school, so he gave me a unused laptop computer. The wi-fi at one closed store still worked (it was hard-wired in, with a contract) and I had a password (I used to clean the office of stupid lazy managers who wrote on the wall) so I could connect if I was nearby, for as long as the power stayed on (also a contract).

Losing my job was a serious problem for me and my family; my meager pay was the only cash we took in. I lived with my unemployed widower father and my three younger sisters (14 year-old Bop and the 10-year old twins) at the outskirts of town. We were very poor, the house we live in was abandoned by the owner after part of it collapsed due to shoddy construction and an unfortunate misunderstanding with an elephant.

The home’s original owner was an ill-tempered American expat who misunderstood what happens when you say bad things to somebody who has an elephant. Elephants can hear very well, and while they do not understand Americans they do understand their owners. This elephant went into the expats bedroom without the benefit of a doorway. There he did something very rude and smelly on the owner’s expensive bed. After that the elephant left. You would too.

The American had left his home country after “the worst person imaginable” was elected president. (I am not sure if it was Clinton or a Bush.) He was a very unreasonable man who used bad words often. He had this house built. After “the elephant incident” he abandoned the house and moved to an island someplace, possibly the Seychelles where ocean-front property is cheap and elephants are scarce. He will probably give a shark indigestion someday.

Two or three days after the American left, Father was out walking his M-16 and a bag of chickens he found. At the time we lived in a tent and a small trailer home at the edge of the jungle. A man with an elephant told my father that somebody had abandoned a house. Perhaps the man thought that, with my father and his M-16 living there, the American would not change his mind and come back. We have lived in the house ever since; Father calls the former owner’s bedroom - he has knocked out the two external walls and put up screens to keep out insects - our “four season” room. It is a dry place to play outside.

To help feed us, my unemployed Father goes into the woods looking for food, mainly he snared birds and shot monkeys using a atlatl (spear thrower), a compound bow or a crossbow (both bows may have been “borrowed”). He has M-16s, shotguns, and some pistols, but bullets are expensive and noisy. Father makes his own spears, arrows, and bolts, forging his own nasty twisty barbed points. Sometimes the birds he brings home look like tame chickens; he said they were “free-range” chickens that cost extra in a store but were sometimes found wandering, homeless. You know, they do taste good!

Father often talks of places like Wisconsin, where deer and geese and even giant turkeys run free, “like a supermarket on legs.” He had heard of these wonders from an older uncle who traveled to an airplane convention there, and saw these impossible wonders with his own eyes, all on the same day. Also, Uncle swore they did not have a rainy season. We agreed it sounded too wonderful to be true.

We needed my income to buy things Father could not hunt for, like rice and salt. But without my job the food we had on our shelves would not last. We had no savings, and we owned nothing of value that we could sell, so we would all starve. It would be a tragedy, I was sure.

I did not eat that night, I crawled into bed very worried.

The next day, when my sister Bop came home from the library, I noticed she had a Jane Austin book. When I saw such books I always thought of arranged marriages. Suddenly I got an idea. We did have something to sell: my virtue! Not as a prostitute, Thailand has enough beautiful girls and pretty boys who look like girls plying that trade; I could not hope to compete in the flesh markets. But I could sell myself as a wife!

Muslims recognize “temporary marriage” which, if you think about it, is not much different from prostitution, except that it is written and blessed. Indeed, in some places, one can marry a temporary bride for a single night. Traditionally, the groom pays the father a lump sum at the start of the contract, and the groom pays the bride a lump sum at the end of the contract. This is written. Perhaps some such arrangement might save my family. But how to arrange such a marriage? That is where the laptop came into my inspiration.

I knew that in the west there were “dating websites.” Places like India and Japan have “matchmaking websites” but I know of nothing similar here. In any event, I could not afford such things. However, I wrote and spoke the English taught in our schools, I was the best student in these courses. Plus I knew that English-language “erotic story” sites were read by many people around the world. I confess to reading such stories myself; since I did not go to school I considered it self-education, and since I did not date anybody reading stories in bed also helped fill another, more private need which you might guess.

My revelation was to combine these ideas.

In desperation I dashed out a poor story of a willing virgin with a deformed leg who seeks a temporary marriage to a man of modest wealth. She attaches her plea to an erotic story and posts it on a story site. The white man who reads the story and answers her is not muslim, but the idea of a temporary marriage to a woman of the Faith appeals to him. He is the college-educated son of a wealthy white landowner, with an office job in Bangkok. He has little hope of attracting a wife because his foot is deformed, and his scarred face is less than attractive. Plus he is white. In my story they meet and marry because the man wants a housekeeper/cook in his house during the day and a woman’s body in his bed at night, when it is dark, for the usual purposes. Her deformed leg and his foot and face are not a problem at night, when she is serving as her Faith commands.

When they first meet the man is pleased with her ripe body, which he plans to use often for lust. But during negotiations he realizes he really wants a wife who will be “faithful as a muslim.” The couple has a rocky start to the day-to-day parts of marriage, but with lots of sex at night - sex which they never fight about and both come to enjoy - it is successful. Over time they start to know trust, friendship and eventually affection. At the end they happily agree to extend the marriage another 5 years. People like happy endings so I hinted at a blessed event on the way (for female readers), and some kinky revisions of their sex contract (for male readers). They were thinking of holding a second marriage ceremony, only having it naked, with sex for friends! (Cliffhanger: would they find a naked Imam to officiate?) The promised second payment is made to the father instead of the wife, allowing the wife’s sister to entertain a traditional arranged marriage. Rich people always have close relatives and friends. The plot left openings for additional sex stories, should they be needed. Maybe the younger sister will thank her sister’s husband. Or maybe her sister!

There was a problem, while I could outline and write the story, I could not write a sex scene to save my life! I lacked experience, I had never even kissed a man.

I was desperate, so like my father I hunted - for sex scenes! The sex parts added to my story were mainly the hottest, most disgusting vaginal sex scenes which I adopted from other stories, as I have no personal experience. They included tongues and fingers going in disgusting places before, during and after the penis-in-vagina sex. I was very sorry I stole from other authors who thought of these disgusting things, but I really felt I had no choice. In every case I changed some things around, like when lips touch a breast, or a finger touches someplace special, or who kisses who. In one draft I actually mixed up who had the penis! But I caught that and changed it. Also, I always changed the name of the sex parts, thanks to clever people who have actually made lists of words for parts and actions.

Once I had ‘bagged’ the sex scenes it took me little time to modify/copy/paste the story. Then I sent it to two story sites.

Time was important so in an “author’s note” at the end of the story I tried to be clever; I said that in real life my family was negotiating with a man for my hand, my never-been-kissed lips and my unsullied young body, but that this potential groom was “older than my father” plus “he lacked many of his teeth.” I asked, how unfair would this be, given that so many intelligent but shy single guys reading the story could appreciate my willing untouched flesh? I suggested that if a young man who read my story was interested, I might still be available for a short time, assuming a proper contract could be written. I would be so grateful, in bed every night, for the next five years. Plus I could cook and clean and was not deformed.

I indicated that my Mosque was sympathetic, they adopted a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy regarding the groom’s faith in such matters. I had asked. Our Imam was from India, where Hindus arrange marriage within their caste; the Faith is growing there in part because those from different castes who want a love marriage can convert and marry.

After submitting the story I went to the closed store every day. It took time to get posted, but was not rejected. Then I started to get hits and emails. People like it! Between the two websites I had thousands of “hits” with two dozen “favorites!” Comments said it was a novel idea, sexy, but was crudely written. (They were wrong, it was VERY crude.)

I did avoid hot button issues like infidelity so few trolls were roused to their usual stinky excretions.

I got about 50 private responses to my email address. The majority, which I ignored, asked for naked pictures and said they might be interested if I was attractive. But there were five responses that looked like they could be serious. I downloaded them and took them home.

One was a guy in California who sent a grainy video of a house, three cars and himself on a surfboard; at first blush he looked the most attractive (also rich and young) to me. Another said he was on a ship and would be docked in Leam Chabang (a port) in 4 days, and would have a week before sailing again, so he would be close soon. A third hinted at being a Muslim, from Bengali India, with a factory “of his own.” A fourth was in Hanoi and was willing to come immediately upon my invitation. The fifth was a professor, a Korean, educated in the US and employed in Hong Kong, but currently in Bangkok on business.

I wrote a reply to each of the five, but could not send the emails immediately because I was not near the store. In each response I stressed the importance of a timely resolution. I also attached a topless head shot (a selfie using the laptop’s camera) where my long hair covered half my face. The picture was cropped to show the upper third of my sagging breasts; I thought it was the best view I could offer. I wanted the picture to be real without showing my puffy nipples.

Then I shared everything with my sister Bop; at 14 she is smarter and more attractive than I. She recognized our family’s dire need and the sacrifices I made. While focused, she also lacked what she called my “Pollyanna” view of the potential suitors.

Bop was stunned by my cleverness! Completely astounded. She moved to kiss my feet (I stopped her). She complimenting me on the unique wisdom of fishing for a temporary marriage to save our family using an erotic story for bait, saying it was genius - as long as father never found out the truth.

She begged to read everything. I let her.

After reading the story, the emails, and my proposed responses to each, she broke them down. “The sex in the story is disgusting enough to work well, I even got wet! (I didn’t.) Your picture is perfect for you, nice job. But the emails? Not a good hand. I bet the Cali guy is 16 and is messing with you. The ship guy, you know that is a cargo port, right? You could wind up as a freighter crew’s sex toy, they could send their best looker to marry you, pass you around every night until they got tired of you; then sell your ass to a brothel in Japan if you are lucky, or Vietnam if not lucky. The guy in India sounds older and could be looking for a second wife; he used a generic email, so you know he is poor. Hanoi Boy sounds young and very slimy; do you see there is nothing economic in his response? That is “frying pan into the fire” trouble. The Korean sounds too good to be true, so he has to be older. Also, I find Koreans are ugly, don’t you?”

Actually, I did. Plus I had heard that some of the food they ate smelled revolting.

I had to agree that she could be right about all of them, but I had to play out the hand I was dealt. She saw my point. Together we modified my emails to address her questions. I must admit she improved them all. When we were done we walked to the store and sent my responses.

I returned to the store late the next morning, 20 hours after sending the emails. To my great surprise I had responses from all five! Bop went to her morning math class at the library, when she came home we read the responses together.

The Cali guy thought my picture was hot. He said if my bottomless picture was also hot, he would “raid his college savings account and fly” to me.

“So, still in high school,” Bop said.

I also noted his last name, which he included. “He is Jewish besides ... the Imam can’t miss that.” (Actually, that is not a problem, the key is an Abrahamic religion. Who knew?)

Bop was both wrong and right about the ship guy. He was a officer, the Navigator. However, he let slip the year he finished school, it put his age at 48, older than Father! He likely had some money, as he said he was “banking” military benefits. Bop said that meant an injury. I wondered what he was missing.

The guy in India was, in fact, a devout Muslim looking for a type of second wife. His first life companion, a Hindu, had died over a year ago; they lived together for 20 years but did not marry because of their religions. His email, sent from his work email account, identified him as the Chief Custodian - he was a janitor. “His own factory” indeed!