Outcalls: Thailand

You took another drink of the hard stuff, and the bartender quickly refilled another. The expat on your right was motioning the bartender everytime, and your words were quickly slurred.

It'd been two weeks in Pattaya. You were used to pushy, bossy expats making their move on you in this bar. You tended to attract the older, alpha ones. Bruna got the fey, effeminate tourist white boys here for a new experience. Men of both ilks were partial to you both, and you had a steady train of attention.

Your boyfriend-du-jour was in his 60s, a British retiree with a beard that would have been good kempt, but he'd let it go. Many expats had, you'd observed. His hand gliding up your thigh, cupping your small remnant and squeezing it. It was a confidence many boys back home lacked.

That night, you could hear Bruna laying the wood to her latest conquest, a French white boy that was there for a week. Your man for the night, Max, tried in vain to keep up, but your brown Cuban ass milked a nut from him far easier than either of you would have preferred. As he started snoring, you looked at the calendar. Another two weeks here, then Dubai. Hmmm...