Stepping cautiously over a chunk of uneven pavement, Chucky quickly shifted his weight, caught his balance. Then a wayward motorcyclist brushed by him, flying like a bat out of hell down the sidewalk.

Such is the pedestrian’s struggle on the streets of Bangkok...

Turning on his heel, at the neon-lit entrance to Soi Cowboy, Chucky swung his gaze and spotted a smallish man lurking in the shadows. The man, who appeared of Khmer descent, stepped forth, and crept toward Chucky, like a cat stalking prey.

The man wore ratty flip flops, jorts and a puke green Chang beer tank top, and in his hand, he held a small black pipe that was packed with yellowy crystals. The man’s bulbous eyes darkened and bulged as he jutted the pipe forth, nodded for Chucky to take hold of it.

Chucky, though not an old Asia hand, knew well enough what this was. Cold shivers of fear spread over him, and he cringed and walked away as briskly as possible, avoiding that pipe like it was a live hand grenade. He knew the deal. He knew simple possession of even a small quantity of illegal drugs could land him in a tiny, stinky, fucking shit-hot jail cell, packed in like sardines with 50 or so other people.

Unless, of course, he paid something like a $10,000 bribe to the local police, the “boys in brown,” who were probably watching from afar, having themselves set up the scam.

Though he’d gladly puff weed or whatever else might be offered, in the right circumstance, Chucky wasn’t dumb enough to take drugs from a random, sketchy stranger. Especially not in a public place in a Southeast Asian country ... This was one bitch ass bait and switch he’d definitely not be suckered into...

And not that Chucky needed much of an extra buzz anyway. The “pre-game” shots of rice whiskey he slammed before heading out were taking root, coursing through him. Just at the right time too.

Entering Soi Cowboy, the adult playground, he swiveled his gaze left and right, left and right, soaking in the sights, the assorted punters, brightly lit rows of girly bars, and best of all, the scores of scantily clad Asian skanks standing out in front of bars, waggling ass and tits, the demimondes calling out drink specials, lambasting any male passersby with cloying bursts of winking flattery.

Walking slowly, scanning the scene, most of the demimondes Chucky spotted were fuckable but none were worthy of posting about on Stickman, Teak Door, or even that fucktarded Thaivisa forum.

Okay, sure, like all of them he’d do for free, and one or two he’d pay a small sum for, if he were inebriated enough. But none of them warranted a second look. It wasn’t until he laid eyes on HER, however, that he halted in his tracks.

“Sawadee KRAP!!!” boomed Chucky. His brows beaded with sweat, his gait off-step, a result of his creepingly severe intoxication.

The university-aged girl outside the bar smiled widely. She was all teeth and eyelashes. Her ears perked up as she sniffed in the pungent aroma of Chucky’s alcoholism.

Chucky’s head bobbed like a pigeon, and his lips curled into a goofy smile. His pupils dilated. Whoa! This had to be one of the hottest chicks he’d ever seen! No hyperbole either. No beer goggles, nothing like that. He was drunk but not that drunk. This girl was amazing! She was light-skinned, succulently slim, had legs up to her chin, and her curly, shoulder-length platinum dyed hair was glistening under the flashing glow of the bar’s marquee.

Chucky thought about all the water buffalo he’d buy her. That is, of course, after he got behind her and banged the sloppy shit out of her sweet ass.

“Hello, han-sum man,” the hot young girl cooed, “where you go? You come inside for drink, ka. Have happy hour, drink special.” The way she accented the second syllable in special, speh-SHULL, ooh, it was plain adorable, got him all woozy, weak in the knees.

Then the hot young demimonde slid down from the stool she’d been perched on, tilted her pretty little head, and motioned Chucky to accompany her inside. Chucky instantly noticed how much shorter she appeared, once on her feet. She couldn’t have been more than 5’0 or so but her legs still looked ravishing ... Ah, TIT, this is Thailand, Amazing Thailand, he thought. How remarkable that such a petite girl could have those swimsuit model-like legs...

“Shall I compare thee to a summer day?” proclaimed Chucky in a faux posh British drawl. He enjoyed quoting Shakespeare to bar girls, if nothing else to amuse himself, seeing their puzzled reactions.

The hot young girl just smiled wider at him, reached for his hand and led him into the bar. Her tiny hand was warm, soft and smooth as silk. Following her inside, he lowered his gaze and gasped, his jaw hitting the floor at the sight of her tight little Asian ass all rippling and wiggling under the fabric of her miniskirt. Then in they went through the center part of a loose red velvet curtain hanging over the bar’s front doorway, and the curtain swished at their shoulders as they entered.

The bar was freezer cold, dimly lit, and reeked of cheap booze, cheap perfume, and stale cigarette smoke, and was only sparsely populated. Only a few punters at opposite ends of the floor. The tired “sexpat” stereotype, of all go-go bar patrons being fat, old bald White guys was again being disproven. The bar’s punters were actually diverse in age, appearance, and nationality. Like many Bangkok bars, it was a venerable UN of girl gawkers.

The music in the bar was loud. Body shaking loud. Even louder than most bars. Not good music either, like the classic rock Chucky dug. No AC/DC or Motley Crue. Nope, it was fast, repetitive, annoying Thai dance-pop. The same kind in almost every Bangkok go-go bar. The kind of music he wouldn’t listen to for more than a second. Unless, of course, it was accompanied by naked or half-naked tits, ass, and pussy.

Sinking into a leather seat, in a booth, Chucky glanced around at the bar’s catalog and was distraught to see the demimondes, the go-go girls inside were nowhere near as hot as the chick outside, under the awning. The inside demimondes appeared older, fatter, and one was covered in faded bluish tattoos, even had a few face tattoos. Yuck, Chucky winced. The hag looked more like a prison inmate than a go-go dancer!

The only thing consoling him at this point was the smoking hot pussy sitting next to him. Now she, she was hotter than the summer in Isan, and, comparing her to the hags in the bar, her pussy’s stock shot up exponentially.

So he wasted no time. Bought her a “lady drink,” and they began chit-chatting. Her English was pretty good. Holding a frosty Singha beer by the stem, he sipped on his suds and swept his eyes over every beautiful inch of the scorching hot young demimonde’s hourglass figure. Fun, friendly, easygoing, and with a smile seemingly plastered to her face, she laughed at his lame attempts at the Thai language, and touched his arm multiple times, sent him all the signals. Then it was time to close, and Chucky leaned in, cleared his throat, and asked her, in a firm voice, “Hey, how much for short time?”

“Cannot,” was all she replied, giggling.

“Cannot?” Chucky quizzed, his head cocking back. His eyebrows then lifted so high they nearly flew off his forehead.

“Cannot do,” she insisted. Her perpetually widening smile fading into a nervous, crooked little smirk.

“Why not?” Chucky asked. There were a few bar girls and dirty massage bitches who’d refused to boom boom him, since he had a somewhat large jimmy, at least compared to many of the local guys, the bitches’ boyfriends, husbands, etc ... Those sluts sucked him off, jerked him off, sure, but wouldn’t let him run his snake in the grass. Wouldn’t let him tap their tiny, tight Asian pussies...