฿

The whore lay on the bed. Nude. Her shaved pussy exposed. Then she eased back into the bedboard, smiling, spreading her legs wider.

I was in the mood. But I lost my train of thought when a hammer drill shattered the silence.

But she didn’t care. Just kept a smile on her heavenly face. And her pointy, pepperoni-sized nipples had hardened.

The whore always smiled, so this wasn’t new. She even smiled when angry, steady beaming like an ad for dental floss...

Forcing the drilling sounds from my mind, I eyed and inspected the wondrous sight of her pussy. Her purplish outer pussy lips had always been curious to me, as one of the lips drooped downward, as if it were a pulled piece of chewing gum. I’d never seen a pussy like that.

Then the air thickened as her shapely legs created a capital V. Her nude brown body aglitter as if she’d been sprinkled in gold dust ... Then the room started spinning...

฿฿

When I awoke, my apartment was hot and the whore was gone. As usual, she’d stolen half the fruit from the bowl on the table, plus a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips.

It’s what she does, whenever she leaves. She steals food. Sometimes an entire bottle of milk or orange juice. But she’s never stolen money or anything valuable.

Stories abound about thieving hookers in Thailand. And it can happen. Especially with streetwalkers. They’re known for going Cardi B, drugging and robbing unsuspecting mongers, tourists. Especially in the red-light districts.

But mine never stole nothing. Except food.

฿฿฿

I don’t even know her name. Well, I sort of do. But she changes her name every time I see her. One day she’s Erika, then May, then Pop, then Beam, then New. So eventually I stopped calling her by any name and just refer to her as “Teelak,” which translates to “sweetheart” in Thai.

But Teelak never calls me by my name.

Come to think of it, I don’t think she’s ever even asked me for my name...

฿฿฿฿

Following my morning routine, I jumped out of bed, dropped to the laminate floor, and did one hundred push-ups, then one hundred squats and sit-ups. Then I caught my breath and climbed back in bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Then I began a Thai language-learning video on YouTube...

Teelak speaks Thai and English to me. My Thai is minimal and so is her English. But we meet halfway, and translation apps help iron out any communication difficulties.

Whether speaking English or Thai, I’ve noticed Teelak often refers to herself in the third person. And I must admit I find this quirk endearing...

฿฿฿฿฿

The morning was fucking hot. My apartment was even fucking hotter than outside.

I’d gotten morning wood, so I began masturbating, thinking of the whore, suddenly seized by heady mental images, steamy scenes from our romp last night.

Slathering slippery coconut oil along the shaft of my cock, I sniffed in the sweet lingering scent of her perfume still clinging to my sheets...

Teelak is fucking hot ... Her skin is pure gold. Besides her oddly shaped pussy lip, and the crescent-shaped scar on her elbow from a motorcycle accident, there really isn’t a flaw about her. Her body is svelte yet soft and curvy and well-proportioned. Her ass, tits and legs could have been crafted by a sculptor. She’s basically a living sexdoll. A little gold fuck-machine...

Moreover, her face is strikingly beautiful. Like a Buddhist angel. Like an ornate painting on a temple wall...

I once asked why she never modeled or acted, with those looks, and she said that plenty of girls look “better than her” and that her skin is “too dark.” Apparently darker-complexion girls like her are less popular in Thailand, Asia as a whole.

But to me, the farang, with those curves and those cheekbones she couldn’t be any more beautiful...

฿฿฿฿฿฿

My a/c cut off again and the sound of hammer drilling returned, filling my apartment with grinding noise and a tremendous vibration. So I put in my earbuds. Then I padded over to the balcony, pulled apart the French doors, and waved away a waft of exhaust fumes from a motorsai buzzing by below...

The balcony is where I often am. I like to sit out and sip whisky, smoke ganja, listen to hardcore hip hop, or meditation music ... And watch the whores...

My balcony overlooks a row of bars across the street. Including where Teelak works.

She sits outside the bar with three or four heavily tattooed working ladies, and the ladies stare ropes, catcall and cajole male passersby through a hive of excited voices, explosions of laughter and high-pitched screams, with their mating calls of: “Hellooô, hansum man!” The bargirls offering expats and sex tourists alike drink specials and other...

(Teelak’s solicitations tend to be somewhat tame compared to the ladyboys at the bar next to hers ... Like many working ladyboys, they’re known to engage in highly lubricious, aggressive offers of sexual services. At times literally seizing male pedestrians by the arm and playing tug-of-war, fighting to pull the passerby into the bar; and even occasionally grabbing male passersby by the nuts or buttocks... )

But on this smoggy, hot and humid monsoon season morning, with the sky gray as a clam, I didn’t see my Teelak anywhere...

When Teelak isn’t with me, that’s where she is. Across the street, under the awning, perched on a stool by the bar’s front door. Or she’s inside the bar. Or over at the adjacent hourly hotel, in the tiny room she rents there, where she services her customers.

I wonder if she’s with a customer now.

฿฿฿฿฿฿฿

Back inside, I clicked on the a/c and a puff of cool air swept over me. Then I pulled out my earbuds and found the hammer drilling had ceased.

But my heart skipped a beat when I saw my apartment had a strange visitor- one of the whore’s johns from a fortnight ago.

Normally the johns that frequent Teelak’s bar fit the typical Thailand “sexpat” profile: bald, floppy gut, hairy ... The type, generally speaking, that one might expect to find in Bangkok, Phuket or Pattaya paying for sex.

But this customer stood out in that he was a young man, 20 to 23 years of age, tallish, and in good shape, handsome too, with a sort of 1998 Justin Timberlake look, that curly, ramen noodle hair thing going on.

Now the john stood in my apartment, which was curious. He was in camo shorts, a white wifebeater and knockoff Gucci flip-flops, and his face was screwed into a goofy smirk.

Then he vanished. Then reappeared next to me, aglow, a spectral silver cast silhouetting his cut, muscular frame.

As I sat down at the table, the effulgent young john sat down next to me, and I poured him a coffee mug full of Japanese whisky, then poured a tall glass for myself.

I slugged back a big gulp of whisky, and as the whisky warmed my stomach, I thought of Bukowski and Pete from Private Dancer and wondered what they’d do in this situation...

Then I returned my attention to the young john and hoped he’d used a rubber, especially since I knew the whore had her slip-ups. Oh yes, I knew that for sure...

My buddy Tony from the Irish bar says that he’s been with over one hundred hookers, most of whom he hit raw. And that he “never caught nothing” and that you’ll only catch AIDS if you “put it in the dirt patch...”

(Still, I can’t help but recall the classic Eddie Murphy stand-up bit from Raw, ironically, and posit that regularly fucking hookers without a condom is akin to playing Russian Roulette with your dick... )

((Tony also confided he avoided using condoms with hookers because hookers and brothels collect the condoms, sometimes give or sell the sperm to single Thai women wishing to have a mixed-race, lighter skin baby, and that that could be used for blackmail or to extort a farang... ))

“...”

Young JT, my eskimo brother, never said a word. Wouldn’t drink hair of the dog either. He just sat calmly, slouching in the shield-shaped chair, smirking at me, right in the spot where I’d bent the whore over the table last week...

฿฿฿฿฿฿฿฿

Some asshole once told me that if you have sex with someone, especially unprotected sex, then you’re having sex with everyone they had sex with. If that’s the case, then ‘98 JT and me have fucked thousands.

I sipped my smoky Japanese whisky, neat, and said to young Justin Timberlake, “Think of how many eskimo brothers we have.” Glancing at him, across the table, his eyes glazed over in a way that reminded me of frosted glass...

“Think of packing a football stadium with all our eskimo brothers ... All of us naked as skeletons ... With Beam alone on the stage ... her in the spotlight ... the cynosure ... her stripping to “Wet Ass Pussy” for the whole fucking football stadium ... her in that burgundy thong she wears ... her pulled pussy lip fighting the fabric ... her twerking to pyrotechnics ... She could be the new fucking Madonna...”

฿฿฿฿฿฿฿฿฿

When I get too drunk, I’ll go Al Gore with the fuzzy mathematics and attempt to craft a hypothesis about how many people Teelak has fucked.

If she does one, two, or three dudes a day, that’s maybe 60 per month. Then that’s 720 men she fucks in a year. And she’s been in Bangkok for 10 years, she said, so ... that’s roughly 7,200 men she fucked.

Then there might have been days where she fucked 5 or 6 men. Maybe 7 or 8. Perhaps a busy day, fucking 10 people, so it could be more...