Thai Temptation of a Farang
Ever since Jamie Parker had stopped seeing Ort for health reasons, I had been expecting a phone call at the least opportune moment possible. A week went by and then two. it appeared I was off the hook.
Several of the dancers at the Paris A Go-Go said Ort was traveling to Singapore to work with Chinese businessmen. I offered a silent prayer for her good luck and thanked the stars she was gone. Ort liked sex, especially if she was on Ice. Ice and sex was a 21st Century formula for disaster.
Here there and everywhere.
Ort was nothing, but trouble.Three days ago my wife came back from the country. She checked my phone. No calls from strange girls. I had deleted any messages from Mint and Bee. They were ‘friends’ and wouldn’t call until my wife returned to the country. I didn’t go out to the bars, because during low season the clientele tends to be as old as extinct creatures and I’m scared shitless of catching olditis if these wizened geezers farted dust in my direction.
I played good man or poo-chai di and stayed with my daughter. My wife got attention and I drank 3-4 Leo beers a day instead the usual onslaught of 10-12 Changs at the Buffalo. Sleep came early. Not like in the country, but 10ish with a book lulling in the direction of Nodville.
My little compound near 3rd Road has two houses separated by an open-air garage. The larger has two bedrooms, kitchen, and TV room, in which my wife, mother, nephew, sister, my daughter and niece watch a never-ending supply of Thai Soaps.
I write and listen to punk music in my office.
The twains meet when the mobile food carts beep their horn. My daughter runs to my desk with an outstretched hand. “Twenty baht please.”
My wife asks for a hundred and everyone is always hungry from dawn to midnight, so I keep lots of small bills in my ATM dispenser ie wallet.
Last night the Jam were playing on the stereo Nick gave me before his dreaded return to the UK. The family was mesmerized by the bootleg version of HARRY POTTER in Thai. The phone rang in my pocket. I answered without hesitation.
“Hello tee-lat.” It was Ort.
“Where are you? Singapore?” I cupped my hand over my mouth. My wife has big ears.
“No, can’t get a flight. I’m in Pattaya. you have time for me.”
“No, I’m with my wife.”
“Can’t you come see me. I have Ice and want you to play my master.” Ort was also a masochist. She didn’t know why other than to say that she liked it rough.
“Sorry, I don’t have any money.” Feeding my wife’s relatives had sapped by ‘fun’ funds.
“Not problem. I have money. Have Ice. I want you. Not have to have sex. Can only talk.”
“Talk?” The devil was trying to buy my soul for a free night of sex with a tramp. I leaned back in my chair. I could see my daughter’s head. She was bouncing on the sofa. Nobody would miss me for an hour or two.
“I talk to you and you talk to me.” Ort’s 3rd language was 69.
The DVD of her plans played within my brain at 32 times the speed of light. She would smoke her pipe and then mount me cowboy-reverse, telling me not to move until she finished with brown eyes rolling into her skull. I was getting hard as a 40 year-old on Viagra.
‘C’mon, you know you want it.”
I’m fairly sure my final destination is down rather than up and I’m sure that on my death bed I would be ruing refusing Ort this favor, but I said, “Sorry, I can’t, my wife is coming. Bye.”
I shut off my phone and went over to the TV room.
My wife looked at me with a smile.
“Good movie.”
“Okay. You watch with us.”
“Why not?
It wasn’t like I had a choice.
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