The flight from Madras to Phuket was going to be long and boring. Once I left land, that would be the last I’d see of dry earth until I reached Thailand. The good thing, if I did have to ditch the plane at least I’d be in the warm waters of the Indian Ocean; no freezing various body parts off.
The computer said the flight was 4:53 long. I checked weather: broken clouds and scattered showers over the Andaman Islands, but nothing severe. The runway at Madras points straight to the ocean. I climbed up to altitude leaving the coast behind me. At 7,500 feet I leveled off and set the throttle, leaned out the mixture to lean of peak, and set the prop angle to max endurance cruise and I settled back. The only thing I needed to do for the next five hours was follow the line on the GPS and stay awake.
I started thinking about Phuket. Well, not actually Phuket. I started thinking about all of those stories I’d heard about Thailand. When I was in the military, I’d tried over and over to get to Thailand. Instead, I’d been sent to Okinawa. Ugh. But the stories other guys told about being in Thailand. The bars were full of little brown fucking machines, in other words, bar girls. They told about the hanging basket trick, where the girl would sit in a hanging basket, just high enough to engulf your rod. Then, you could start turning her, winding it up until only the tip was still in her. Then, let her go and she would sink down on your cock as she spun around. There was nothing like it, they’d say. I’d listen with undiluted envy, my sexual experience being limited to teenage American girls who were so fucked up by their upbringing that sex wasn’t even fun.
In researching Phuket, I’d run across this description on the official city webpage:
The majority of Patong's à go-go bars can be found down the small sois (side streets) leading off Bangla Road. Girls in these bars dance on stage wearing nothing more than a bikini, or even less depending on the bar and the local authorities. Nudity is prohibited by Thai law although shows with nudity can be found. The girls may talk with the customers when they are not on stage. They are not owned in any way by the bar and it’s up to them if they want to spend time with a particular customer or not.
I could read through the officialeze as well as anyone. If you had money and didn’t smell, you could have a girl. Things hadn’t changed in Thailand. Somewhere over the Indian Ocean, there was a pilot with a smile on his face and a hard-on in his flight suit.
As I cruised along over the Indian Ocean, the plane would fly through the occasional cloud. Zip, the world would turn white, then a moment later, zip, we’d be back in the bright tropical sunlight. As I flew into the eastern Indian Ocean, I checked the satelitte weather again and saw that what had been a scattered front over the Andaman Sea was now coalescing into a strong front in the eastern sea. That got my attention. I could fly through weather, but it wouldn’t be comfortable and it might not be smart. It looked like the front was mostly south of my route. I should be able to loop a little north and go around the front, or most of it anyway, and still arrive before the front hit Phuket. Suddenly, I was watching the gas gauge carefully. What had been plenty of reserve might be close if I had to loop far north. There was an airport on the Andaman Islands. I could land and wait out the front. But the weather seemed to be west of Thailand. It should be okay. Fuel wasn’t a problem if the front didn't move too fast. I sped up a little over max endurance cruise and calculated the additional fuel usage. I should be okay.
As I passed through a gap in the island chain, I turned slightly north and leveled out again. Halfway across the Andaman Sea I ran into the trailing edge of the front. First clouds, then rain started streaking off the windscreen. There was a sudden thump as the plane dropped in the uncertain air; a warning of what was to come. The plane started bouncing in the turbulent air. I thought I had been on roller coasters before, but this was something else. I checked the computer. I was closer to Phuket now than any other airport, so I pressed on. I drank water hoping it would settle my stomach. The computer said forty minutes to Phuket and the display showed the storm front right ahead.
My blue baby really started bouncing as rain beat against the plane. Then, like a stone, the plane dropped from a wind shear which robbed the wings of all lift. It was the worst feeling, dropping and there was nothing I could do except pray. With a jolt that caused my head to bang against the head pad, the Corsair hit clear air and we were flying again. I was truly afraid, as the old asshole puckered up. I had dropped a thousand feet in an instant. I had to pry my right hand off the stick and flew left handed trying to work blood back into my right hand which had been clutching the stick convulsively. If this was the edge of the storm, I could only imagine what the heart of it must be like.
Then bang, I flew out of the clouds and into sunshine. I could see the island right ahead and called in for landing. Gas was a little low. I told approach that I was a little low on gas and they gave me a straight in approach vector. One turn and I lined up with the runway. 30 degrees flaps, gear down, lock the rear wheel since there was a cross wind. I opened the cockpit. Two miles out, I started to relax. That was unusual to relax on landing usually the tensest part of the flight but I was going to make it. I smiled. That great big runaway looked inviting. And bang, the struts absorbed the shock as I cut the throttle and slowed. Damn, but solid land felt good under the wheels, and it wasn’t bouncing around.
The rain hit as I was finishing up the post flight. I had to run for the terminal building as a mini monsoon swept in from the west. I looked out the windows and watched the rain cascade across the tarmac, pelting everything with buckets of water. Blasts of tropical wind and rain blew across the runway blowing the palm tree fronds about like paper. I stared at the sudden arrival of these fierce winds and swallowed. Commercial aircraft might be able to land in winds like this, but mine? The Corsair is a heavy plane, for its time, but it wasn’t designed to land in these sorts of conditions. Those gusts could easily turn a Corsair on its wing and drive it into the ground. I was one lucky gomer. I should have had a premonition about hop thirteen, just the number itself. I had made a mistake. Every pilot makes mistakes. The secret is, never make the mistake that kills you. I had come closer than I should have…
Phuket is a small island right off the coast of the Thai peninsula that leads to Malaysia. The airport is at the north end. I arranged for a taxi to Patong Beach, the center of the raucous night life. Families tended to go to the other beaches. I found a nice hotel blocks off the beach because it was cheaper. I didn’t need a beach view since the ceiling in one room looks like the ceiling in any room, and I was planning some bed aerobics. I hung up my flight suit, hoping it would dry some in the oppressive humidity of the storm. I jumped in the shower to get the sweat off and lay out on the bed to rest up for the night.
It was eight when I woke up. The rain had passed leaving everything smelling fresh and clean, as if the whole world had just been washed, which I suppose it had. I wandered over to Bangla Road, and through the sois crowded with open air eateries and jumping bars, all with their complement of bar girls. I picked an eatery, almost at random; this one looked clean and I sat down so I could do some people watching. The girl showed up immediately, and with a half way good accent asked, “What would you like?”
I saw a sign for Phuket Beer, on draft, so I ordered one, along with chicken satay and spring rolls. I was a little worried about the satay knowing that Thai hot sauce could make my Mexican friends weep. Hopefully, they had a tourist version. The girl brought the beer and I took a sip. Not bad. I sat and watched the tourists and a few locals prowling the streets. I was surprised at the number of couples and mixed groups of tourists. I had expected a much greater proportion of single men.
When the food came, I took a nibble of the satay, and found it was a tourist version; it only charred the inside of my mouth instead of taking my head off. The spring rolls and beer helped put out the fire. After eating I knew it was time to sample the decadent pleasures I had heard of, and wondered about for all those years. It was with a bit of trepidation - what if it didn’t live up to the reputation? I picked a bar and went in.
I might have been in a tittie bar in San Francisco for all the lights and songs, at least when disco was still going strong. The first thing I did was look around carefully. I checked out the girls to make sure they were girls. I definitely didn’t want to find a katoey bar. Katoeys are guys dressed like women, some transvestites, some transsexuals. Thailand does more transsexual surgeries than any other country in the world. But that just wasn’t my thing. I like a real girl, no Y chromosome, thanks.
I was watching some of the girls dancing, trying to stir up some interest from the men. There were two couples sitting at the table next to mine. They had obviously already had their share of liquid refreshment. I thought they sounded French. The guys were teasing the women about the girls. I just wish I could have understood the language because it was lively. Well, apparently the amount of alcohol was at critical mass, because the one woman stood up and pulled the other with her. Off came her top, and she started dancing with a couple of the bar girls, who laughed and joined in.
The second woman doffed her top as well and joined the melee of women, now all dancing topless - tits were bouncing every which way and men were piling in from the street to see the show. The French guys realized they had gotten more than they bargained for and weren’t laughing as they watched a bar full of horny men catcalling at their girls. One of the girls was loving it, while the other seemed to sense that maybe this was getting out of hand. The two guys were talking seriously now and seemed to reach a resolution. They hopped up, grabbed the respective tops that were on the floor, grabbed their girl, hurriedly trying to get her dressed as they dragged them from the bar. The men in the bar booed and whistled at the retreating foursome. The bar girls, trying to get things rolling again, took off everything and began dancing, distracting the men from the fleeing European women and back to the little Asian fucking machines on the stage. I was laughing to myself as I got up and headed out. The bar was way too crowded and noisy for my tastes.
I wandered around the small sois, looking in at various bars. I found a relatively quiet one and ordered a beer. A girl came up and in broken English asked if I’d like company. She was gorgeous.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Kathy,” she answered.
I laughed. “No, your real name.”
“Maeje Unakhonwittaya,” she answered, her voice musical.
That voice did it, that plus she was a beauty. She was wearing a nice black dress and her hair was done well, not a typical bar girl. “You work here?” I asked.“No, I just out for dancing. You like dance?” she asked me.
In other words, she was an independent. That was fine by me since I wouldn’t have to pay off the bar to get her out. This was a right fine sample of femininity and I was sure she could help with a little stress reduction on my main spar. “Actually, I am a bit tired of the bars. Would you like to walk with me?”
“Where?” she asked.
“Back to my hotel,” I said smiling.
“You pretty forward,” she said teasing.
“No, I’m a gentleman, a patient wolf,” I said. I could see that had gone well beyond her grasp of English. I held out my hand and stood. She paused, then took my hand and I led her out of the bar. We walked hand in hand back to my hotel.
As soon as the door was closed the girl smiled and got right to business. Clothes were scattered, not that either of us was wearing much. She sat back on the bed smiling and tempting me. My cock was quickly rising to the occasion. I walked over to the bed and she leaned in. grabbed my cock and cupping it in her hands, bent forward, and sucked it in. Jesus. The girl was worshipping my cock, sucking and licking, stroking it like it was sweet candy.
I had intended to have a regular screw with her, or so I thought. What she was doing to my cock felt so good I couldn’t stop her. I normally don’t pop with just a bj, but this one… It was like her mouth had hands, so many different sensations were cascading along my shaft at the same time. This girl seemed to love sucking a cock. Her lips would hold the head as her tongue wrapped around it lashing it while her fingers were strumming my cock like an instrument. Some guys joke about a skin flute, this girl was a virtuoso and played my cock like it was a musical instrument.
Before I could hold back, I felt it deep inside. My knees were getting weak. My eyes rolled back in my head and I groaned as she sucked my cum from me. She literally sucked it out of my cock even as I blasted away. My whole body shook like a leaf. One last dribble and I was sucked dry.
I slumped to the floor, done in. “You like?” she asked as if leaving a guy dead on the floor of his room from her blowjob was an everyday occurrence. Maybe it was.
I could only nod.
“You want me to stay the night?” she asked.
I guess she wanted to hit the bars and get another live one. I knew I owed her for this experience. I managed to roll to my knees and grab my wallet. Her eyes locked on the wallet, just like a pro anywhere. I pulled out a wad of Baht and handed them to her. I, to this day, have no idea what I paid for that bj but whatever it was, it was worth it.
She bounced up and quickly dressed. I managed to stand on weak legs. She kissed me and made me promise to look her up, and was gone. I fell onto the bed, dead to the world.
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