6 Months – sober……Well Done Mobi!! ! (even if I say so as shouldn’t..)
Yesterday I had to go to Pattaya for a quick visit to the doctor and while I was sitting in the surgery, I received a call from a young lady I haven’t seen for nearly two years. I have written about her before. For those of you with good memories, it was the only Thai lady I have ever had ‘relations’ with who is not a hooker. She had her own advertising company and we first met at gold course near Chonburi, where she took me out in a golf buggy as dusk was falling and gave me a blow-job in a bunker on the eighteenth green.
We subsequently adjourned to my condo in Jomtien where she continued her sex lust. It was only after the dirty deed was done that I discovered to my immense shock and surprise that she was a virgin. One of the very few virgins that I have screwed in my long and distinguished mongering career. I actually shy away from virgins; I’d much rather have someone else run them in for me.
The newly found relationship soon withered on the vine as she started to make silly requests, like asking me to invest vast sums of money in her business so that she could open a branch in Pattaya. She had her own car, but even tried to tap me up for petrol money to come and visit me.
I decided that in future I would stick to whores. At least you know where you stand with ‘professional’ ladies; what the going rates are and the likely extent of your financial outlay.
She has sent me the odd cryptic email during the long period since, and once in a while she would call me but as soon as I knew who it was I would ring off. But yesterday, she caught me unawares and when she told me she was in down-town Pattaya – as I was – my curiosity and sex craving got the better of me and I agreed to meet her.
I picked her up on Sukhumvit Road and she immediately embraced me like a long lost lover. She’s not a bad looking lady; she has a very pretty face , but her little body lets her down a bit, being somewhat on the plump side, although there is no extraneous fat – it is just her natural shape. She has lovely, well rounded, unspoilt breasts and her skin is milky white and very smooth. She speaks quite good English, without a bar-girl accent.
Once I had her in my car, along with her overnight bag, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with her. She asked me if I could take her to my home but I told her straight out that I had a lady at home, so that was impossible. I drove on for a while, reminiscing about old times with her and she reminded me about the BJ on the golf course and the fact that I had ‘de-flowered’ her. I suddenly made a management decision and flipped my turning lights to indicate I was going to turn into a motel, just of the Sukhumvit highway.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked me.
‘Into the motel.’
‘Why are you going there?’
I didn’t reply, but cancelled the indicator and drove on.
‘You want to sex me?’ she asked
‘Up to you.’ I responded.
‘Oh, all right then.’
I did a U-turn and returned to the motel, parked up and we adjourned to a room without a view but with a mirrored ceiling, a pink velvet sofa and a TV which was showing a soft porn movie. We sat on the bed and I tried to fondle her breasts, but she was having none of it.
She told me that she was looking for a husband as she had decided it was time to start a family and asked me if I was interested. I politely told her that I already had a ‘live-in’ and in any case, I still wasn’t divorced from my last wife. I tried to joke with her and lighten up the mood but it was hard work. She told me she had been on a business trip to Australia with a client so I asked her if she had fucked him. She looked at me aghast!
‘No, of course not! He was a client and he was married with a 17 year old son.
‘Oh, so did you fuck his son then?’ I asked in my feeble attempt at a joke.
She refused to answer, so I persevered.
‘Have you fucked anyone since you met me?
‘Yes, one man – an American – he was very nice and helped me a lot.’
‘Was he a good fuck?’
‘No, not really, he was too old.’
This wasn’t going very well. ‘So what happened?’
‘He died – in California. His daughter sent me an email to tell me,’ she said sadly, with a whisper of a tear at the corner of her eye.
There wasn’t much I could say to that.
After commiserating for a minute or so, I once more tried to lighten things up a bit by reverting to my earlier preoccupation of trying to get my hands and mouth on her delectable nipples. This time there was less resistance and she allowed me to remove her bra and even joined in the proceedings by inserting her nipples into my waiting mouth, one by one.
Once having satisfied my puerile gratification, she became very serious and the whole sorry tale started to come out. She told me that her business had failed, that she had many debts and that she had sold her car and her house. She was now destitute and had nowhere to stay. I asked her where she had slept the previous night and she said she had spent the last 3 days in a Wat.
Then tears stared to fall in earnest and the realisation dawned that I had made a very bad decision in agreeing to meet her and bring her to this place. All thoughts of sex had vanished, and I was suddenly feeling very hungry. I ordered some food and she ordered a large bottle of beer, which I declined to share with her, (of course!).
As I ate, and she drunk her beer, I told her that I had to leave soon as I had an appointment with a friend to discuss some business in Mabprachan.
‘So you don’t want to sex me?
‘Sorry, there’s no time.’
There was no way in the world that I was going to become further entangled with this woman, and having sex was completely off the agenda. I didn’t even feel like it any more. After I got it through her little brain that I wasn’t about to ‘sex her’, put her up, or marry her, she called a friend she knew in Pattaya and I breathed a sigh of relief when she informed me that her friend had agreed to let her come and stay for few nights. So that was that; I told her, I would drop her off.
Her friend lived off Pattaya Tai so we drove down the designated soi but we couldn’t find her friend’s place anywhere. We drove up and down the bloody soi about a dozen times while my little lady kept calling her friend , in a pathetic attempt trying to establish precisely where her friend lived. She kept asking moto -taxi drivers and other random Thais who were sitting around alongside the road, but no one seemed to have heard of this particular apartment block..
This has happened to me so many times in this country; nobody can find anyone’s home and even people who live right next door have never heard of the place. Either that or they send you off in completely the wrong direction as they don’t want to ‘lose face’ by admitting they are ignorant of the place you are enquiring about. I once drove a whore home, in the daylight, in a soi behind Carrefour, and she couldn’t find her own room! She had forgotten where she lived, and it took about an hour of continually calling her sister, who lived with her, before we finally located her home. And I thought I had a bad sense of direction!
I was becoming increasingly agitated as I wanted to get away; we had been looking for this place for almost an hour! At long last we spotted a lady wearing pink pyjamas with a bright blue plastic shower cap on her head, standing in the middle of the soi, waving frantically in our direction. It was her friend – Thank the Lord!
She jumped out of my car retrieved her bag from the back seat and just I was about to speed away, she re-opened the front door, climbed back inside and begged me for some money!!.
I looked at her. The day had already cost me the price of a hotel room plus some over-priced, motel food. There was little I could do, short of being a total bastard, so I pulled out my wallet and handed over a thousand Baht, hoping that this would satisfy her and that she wouldn’t beg for more.
She took it and smiled. ‘One thousand baht for no sex’, she said, with a sardonic smirk.
‘Mobi, you have a friend who want to marry me?’
‘I don’t know, I might have,’ I said, thinking; ‘anything to get rid of her’.
‘Really? How old is he?’
‘I don’t know yet, I have to think. I will call you later, OK?’
‘OK, darling,’ she replied, and with that she finally let me go.
I drove back to the lake to meet my ex-wife who wanted to talk to me about getting a divorce. Out of the frying pan into the fire.
These women will be the death of me!
But it’s all good fun☺
The Strauss-Kahn Affair
I note with interest that according to the New York Times, the case against Strauss-Kahn is about to collapse. If I understand the report correctly it seems that the so-called victim of the rape is trying to settle the action out of court by extracting a large sum of money from the fallen Frenchman. It would now appear that the woman has connections with criminal elements, has had phone calls with criminals in jail for drug related offences about the case and that there are large sums of money in her bank accounts.
I suppose that we shouldn’t really be surprised at all this, assuming that the reports are accurate, as frankly nothing would surprise me these days that comes out of that once great country.
Do you remember those bellicose public statements by a senior official of the New York police department, telling us how strong their case was and how they were convinced that the woman was telling the truth?
These Yanks seem to be so determined to shoot their mouths off before they have given proper consideration to what they are saying and before they have properly checked all the facts – be it the details behind the killing of Bin Laden or the arrest of the IMF chief on rape charges. I wonder if they will ever learn?
But whatever the culpability of the ‘victim’ I still feel absolutely no sympathy for him, as he has never tried to deny that he had sex with this woman; and just what the head of one of the most powerful and influential organisations in the world, and also someone who was a potential future President of France, was doing, having sex with a maid in his hotel room, defies all reason.
He is either an out of control sex addict who seeks his thrills by having dangerous liaisons, (a la George Michael or Hugh Grant), or he is guilty of a huge lack of judgement; or both. Either way, in my book he deserves everything that has happened to him.
Arrogant , froggy bastard….
Coming to terms with abuse
The other day I watched a British television documentary entitled: Abused: Breaking the Silence.
This was the extraordinary story of how the internet helped expose a culture of violence and abuse at two Catholic prep schools in England and Africa that went back at least 50 years.
Former pupils who had logged on to share memories of two schools run by the Rosminian Catholic Order –one in Leicestershire and the second in what is now, Tanzania – found themselves sharing stories of abuse that, as boys, they believed had been suffered alone. The men were now in their fifties and sixties. Each had been terrified into silence as a child.
In September 2009, the former pupils had compiled a dossier of abuse and confronted the Order. It was taken seriously. The men began to receive letters from their former teachers, now elderly, confessing to sexual abuse and sadism and expressing contrition. One received a letter from a senior catholic priest, (who became the rector of St Ethelreda’s in London’s Holborn, and received an MBE) asking for forgiveness. He even subsequently returned his MBE, a further admittance of his guilt.
The current head of the Order invited the victims to meet their abusers. He even paid their travel expenses, including one from Australia, in what appeared to be a genuine effort to achieve reconciliation and closure between the abused and the abusers.
But once the Order became aware that the victims had instigated a class action to seek compensation, they closed ranks and refused all further contact. One of the retired priests, who had previously confessed to his abuse by email to his victims, now denies that he did anything wrong, even in a secretly recorded face to face interview with one of his victims.
These denials fly in the face of account after account from the victims, who painfully, (sometimes breaking down in tears in front of the cameras), spelt out the horrors of their abuse all those years ago. The earlier confessions from the abusers and the acknowledgement from the current head of the Order that the abuse had occurred, was now conveniently denied and forgotten.
One of the senior priests, the one who had returned his MBE, actually died during the making of the documentary. There were many glowing obituaries written about him in the British press without any mention that he had returned his MBE. There was even a packed memorial service held, at St Ethelreda’s, which presided over by the very same ‘Head of the Order’, who had previously acknowledged the guilt of the abusing priest. The hypocracy of this act is mind -boggling.
This was all happening at the very time that the Pope was visiting Britain and was making public apologies for past abuse by Catholic priests and met with some of the abused victims.
It saddened me to watch this programme and left me with an ever increased sense of indignation of how, even after all that has happened , that the Catholic church is still as invidious and evil as it ever has been, and that they still use every opportunity they can to deny their past misdeeds. They will tell you that it is for ‘the greater good of the church’. Didn’t Hitler say something about it being for the ‘Greater good of Germany‘ when he killed 6 million Jews?
But they are probably no worse or better than almost every other organised religion that has ever existed in this flawed world of ours – be it Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, Shintoism and so on – with all with their multitude of individual sects. Over time, they all become the products of venal, selfish, often extremely evil human beings who shape and fashion the world’s religions to suit their own ends, and satisfy their desire for riches and power.
I wrote the other day about my father and how, in recent years, I have finally a managed to come to terms with what he did to me and effectively put it out of my mind. I was reminded of this during the programme, as I listened to one of the abused victims telling us how he felt since he had met his abuser. This priest had actually apologised and expressed remorse to him during their meeting. The abused man said that he had felt much better since that meeting and that for the first time in decades, his depression had lifted.
He added that his feeling of ‘forgiveness’ had finally stopped his abuser from ‘renting space in his head’.
I can relate to that so much as I now know that my father no longer ‘rents any space in my head’.