I’m kind of torn whether I should respect the truly horrible things that happened to this guy and keep what happened between me and him or write the story for the simple fact that the events that transpired were truly unbelievable and a story like that has to be told.
I was at The Comedy Club a couple of nights ago, having been invited by a Japanese friend that I went to school with oversees a long while ago, and though that venue wouldn’t have been my first choice to go to (or my 100th for that matter) it was really nice to go out with one of the last guys I can remember who was truly my friend and would never ask me out for the end game purpose of banging me back at his condo at 3am. In fact as I sit here now less than 12 hours away from New Years eve I’ve just turned down my fourth separate invite to go party by the same four guys who have been trying to get into my pants since last New Years Eve. Instead I’ll stay here at Wael’s condo and type this for you while she goes to Lotus to buy meats for our bbq later on tonight.
It was an open mic night and I’ll tell ya my command of the English language must still be at an infant level because when a drunk Scottish guy got up to the mic and started telling jokes I couldn’t understand a frigging word he said. In fact I found nothing that anybody tried to say to be even close to being funny but my Japanese friend was loving it so we stayed. I get the feeling that Japanese guys, after having a few drinks in them, will laugh at pretty much anything and that there is absolutely nothing that could be considered taboo enough to spoil the fun. So I was temporarily shocked when he reached out to grab my wrist and shout out a serious “Nooooo” when I stood up and shouted out “I can, easily” – responding the the MC on the stage who had just uttered the line “wow, I doubt anybody can beat that story.”
The story he was referring to was of a Canadian guy who recounted a first date with a girl in Toronto whom he had taken for a walk in the park and somewhere upon their trot back to her place he had to endure the three levels of having to take a crap. The initial warning level as he called it, then the ‘red alert’ level two if I remember correctly and finally the “Cuttlefish” level – the level where it’s coming out no matter where the location or circumstances. I was the only one to laugh out loud at the Cuttlefish reference, hell I had just put a reference to that South Park episode a few stories ago. His monologue was lame if not humorous, but the line that caught my attention was when he said “the need to crap is inversely proportional to the distance when approaching the nearest toilet in time of desperation.” Or in other words, the closer to the toilet, the more determined the poo is of coming out the back door.
I was holding on to that sentence in my mind, recounting the unfortunate events that had happened almost a whole year earlier which truly validated his statement, and that’s why I responded out loud to the challenge that a greater story didn’t exist. It did, it was floating in my mind and I think I blurted out what I said not because I wanted to experience stand up comedy, but because of the validity of the statement.
“Would you like to come up and share it with us miss?” the broad shouldered lanky MC said as he gestured towards me to come up to the stage. Again, I strode up to the stage without hesitation, stopped only briefly by my friend clutching at my wrist to stop me, not because of bravery or insanity, but because it’s been bottled up inside me for an entire year that my client that night has forbidden me to talk about what happened and I needed to exercise my right to free speech.
I ignored the whistles and cat calls as I hopped up onto the stage and felt proud when he announced that I was the first ever Thai lady to attempt stand up at his club. But this was no stand up routine, nothing had been written or scripted, I was just going to accurately recount the events, starting with my description of the oddest guy I’ve ever met for one of my sessions.
Andy (fuck it, I’m going to use his real name, there’s what, like 10 million Andy’s in the world right?) is the kind of guy who’s nice enough to go to dinner with but one who soon thereafter makes you want to stab him in his eyeball with a fork. True enough I found myself curling my fingers around the dinner fork with my right hand that evening long ago remembering one of Jaa’s rules that she swore by: “never accept a 24 hour session with a guy unless you really like him.”
Yet there I was in a shitty Thai food restaurant in Krabi listening to him try to order off the menu asking for organic mushrooms and to have the sauce cooked with artificial sugar and absolutely no m.s.g added. My grip on the fork tightened.
I wanted to stab Jaa first I decided, for she had tricked me into coming here with this guy. She knows, she absolutely knows what buttons to push inside me to get a reaction, and she knew when she said that this guy is a 50 year old playboy who is so irresistible somehow that he sleeps with every girl he goes out with, that I’d want to prove I’d be the one girl who’d shoot him down. Saying this guy was irresistible is like saying live maggots are appealing as an appetizer though.
The premise of the trip was a three day submissive relationship with me as his Mistress 24/7 which wasn’t enough to get me to go really, not until he threw in a scuba diving certification course as a sweetener to the pot did I actually consider going and even then I had my reservations as I never found his emails particularly inspiring. It was the challenge of being a three day mistress that enticed me to go and any long time reader of my blog would know that of me, that I’m looking for real experiences that allow me to grow my dominant personality.
When he took out of his backpack his own jar of wheat grass and asked the waiter to have it blended with special oxygenated water I quite literally had enough. Even the waiter at this point was looking at me with desperate eyes that begged for me to throw him a lifeline anytime soon. My foot found his balls under the table rather quickly and I jabbed him mid sentence interrupting his explanation to the waiter of what oxygenated water is and why it is more beneficial to drink. Andy looked at me both startled and rudely as he clutched his balls below the table cloth and fought away my foot only to have me kick his fingers instead.
“Tap water will be fine” I said, dismissing the waiter from any further headache of having to listen to Andy’s English accent, one that was already gnawing into the cranium of my skull.
The absence of frivolity in my voice along with my shoe in his hand poking at his fingers and the glare in his eyes determined the course of the next two days. I hadn’t been set up with a submissive at all, nor was this guy an alpha-male, he was simply a well to do British guy that had patterned his lifestyle after every health fad in the past 20 years, enough so that his habits protected him from the plain as day fact that it was a miracle this guy was still alive at 50 years old. I’ve never met someone so berift of how normal people function in day-t0-day activities, this guy was an island among islands, as clueless as he was stupid, and he was my “date” for the next 48 hours. Fuck you Jaa.
While he was doing the math of the bill in his head, determining to the very last Baht how much of the bill was his responsibility I got up and walked out of the restaurant to saunter slowly down the street by myself allowing him time to anti up for the entire bill of 368 baht (how obscure is it that I remember the exact total a year hence?) and chase after me. But as he did so I grabbed a passing motorcycle taxi and dangled the room keys at him behind me as we drove off and I found myself wishing that every telephone pole we passed was a kilometer instead.
I abhor lynch mobs and any such violence that accompanies it. I’ve told you before that I’ve long since stopped watching television, or reading any news that social media deems fit for us to consume, I find that my happiness is better reflected when focusing on things that interest me which improve who I am like the Muay Thai lessons I’m currently taking. Well, supposed to be taking, my trainer has disappeared to Vietnam for the past two weeks. It’s important to me that I convey to you just how annoying not only this session was to me but this man as a whole, because I think I seek justification for the delight I took from seeing this guy choosing to drown over being torn apart by an entire boat load of passengers and crew.
I caught a chill that night – ironically from being too hot as he refused to turn on the air in the room. something about mold in the old units that circulate air-borne diseases such as Legionnaire’s Disease. I felt rough enough at breakfast to decide to opt out of jumping in the swimming pool for the first day of the scuba certification program he was there to participate in. I’ve always wanted to scuba dive and it seems that every time I get a chance to take the course that allows me to do so something comes up to stop me.
Rather than sit in the room all day I accompanied him to the scuba club and to their swimming pool adjacent to their office. Now I’ve never taken the course but it seems easy. I got the “i’m ok” and “I need to surface” hand signals the teacher was explaining to the class of 8 Europeans and 2 Americans … and this fish out of water British dude. Seemed simple enough. The instructor, a “tourist adjusted” Thai guy who had about as much sincerity as I have cleavage had everybody down in the deep end of the pool within minutes but had to keep surfacing as Andy would swim up to the surface gasping for air every other minute.
“THIS means ok and THIS means go up, not the other way” the instructor repeated. I shook my head and went back to soaking in the sun knowing that while the deck seemed peaceful, 8 feet below the water an explosion of rage was beginning to swell in the instructors temperament.
I had drifted off to sleep when a splash with the same resonance of that of a whale breaching the surface of the ocean awoke me. Andy was flailing, more dramatically this time with his snorkel mask dangling upside down and in a 45 degree angle across his face as he coughed and splattered water across the instructors face as he towed Andy to shore.
As Andy sat there at the side of the water wondering how his wheat grass and oxidized water was failing him in his ability to acquire the necessary skills to scuba dive in a baby pool, the instructor came over and kneeled down beside my white plastic deck chair.
In Thai he confirmed first that I was indeed a Thai girl and when I responded in our shared language he rested his hand on my arm and told me that while he is instructed by the owner to basically pass everybody who pays money for the course, he thought it would be better if Andy went along on the ocean part of the trip the next day as a snorkeling journey rather than as a scuba dive.
He was trying to be as cordial as his job allowed him to be but his inner rage was still peaking through in the quivering of his voice. In just 30 minutes Andy had brought this guy to the fork stabbing state of consciousness that he had brought me to the evening prior.
It irked me that the instructor thought Andy was my boyfriend, as I was thus guilty by association of being a retard girl. So I stood up briskly, strode over to the side of the pool where Andy was simulating the action of removing and reapplying his mask. I snatched the mask from his hand and slapped him twice – hard, on each side of his cheek.
Pointing to the instructor I said “He’s asked me if it’s ok to fail you. Are you going to let that happen? Are you going to embarrass me like this? ” slapping him to encourage the proper response.
I then stuck my two fingers into his nose and pulled him to his feet but he viciously slapped my hand away from his nose and turned to walk away from me. Except, his flippers bent into the concrete as he took his first step and he fell face first onto the side of the pool and then flopped over like a dead fish sinking head first into the water.
We, the instructor and me looked at each other as if to say “did that just happen?”
Hours later, Andy sat at dinner with two squares of facial tissue stuffed into each nostril, hanging out like a Walrus’s tusks and he sipped on his Noni juice , another item he carried in his backpack of healthy survival gear.
“Ya I think snorkeling is better” he said dejectedly, “i just don’t have a grip on the tank thingy, I tend to panic.”
“It’s ok, I”m sure you’ll find a way to fuck up snorkeling too” I reassured him as I ripped off a piece of my Italian bread and dipped it in my Carbonara sauce, wishing for tomorrow to be over with as soon as possible. No amount of money was worth the torture of being in this guys company. I looked up at him as I chewed on my bread and suddenly burst out laughing. I was overcome with the thought that every single girl he’s sat at dinner with, no mater how much she has hated his company, have all let this guy be balls deep inside them a few short hours later.
The thought of the song “she works hard for the money” came to my mind and the world seemed at that moment to be intensely funny and justified. Why was I even there and furthermore, why was he paying me two thousand British pounds for 2 1/2 days when he wasn’t nearly as submissive as he said he was in his email. I took the session because he was a guy who the original Jaa had seen on more than one occasion and she had referred her guy on to me the way one might redirect a cancerous virus onto an unsuspecting victim. At this point he was thoroughly frustrated with my frankness as I was with his inability to cope with life. At least the next morning would be the beginning of the final day and I’d be done with it.
The thunder clouds which awoke me the next morning were ominous, and in retrospect they offered a hint of the tumultuous day that lay ahead. I opened up the drapes to my hotel bedroom to be greeted by a skyline as dark as soot and the miserable looking drizzle, the kind that hangs from your eyelids as you walk, was trumped by the ‘rat-a-tat-tat’ of the wind which played the flimsy hotel window like an unworldly musical instrument.
By 8am we were at the pier and being a Thai company I fully expected us to be whisked out to sea in a long-tail boat. But the owner of the scuba place was Danish and he had gone out of his way to dig deep into his pockets and buy an almost exact replica of Quint’s sunken Orca boat from the movie Jaws. Exact as in the stern of the boat which had the same spacial area where the passengers lay on the deck beside strapped in scuba tanks, but not so exact thereafter. This hunk of junk was the Millennium Falcon of the ocean, a two story vessel with the captains roofed steering room a climb up the ladder above and a bottom deck that had both the posterior open air section I’ve mentioned along with an indoor section accessed by two unbearably narrow hallways one on the port side and one on the starboard side of the boat. The starboard door was clearly marked “Crew Only” and probably led to the engine room and most likely the odds and ends the crew had to drag along on each scuba trip. While the left port side hallway led only to the washroom near the bow of the ship. There were no laser cannons as I could see.
A curious design of that hallway I noticed early on was that it was adorned with windows that one was able to open from the topside out. Meaning that the window, though it had an upper and a bottom component to it, could only be opened from the top half and when done so, the very top of the window would open up to let the sea air in. I suppose the close proximity of the window to the level of the ocean water just where ones legs would be standing was the reason to make the windows open in such a way, it would prevent water from seeping in too easily while riding through choppy waters.
As the passengers, myself included, were ushered onto the boat like cattle, the crew was carrying cooler after cooler of picnic supplies and hoisting them up the ladder where a crew mate was strapping them to the rails above where the captain would be steering the ship. Once we were all aboard there was barely enough room to move aft of the boat where we were all congregated. Some of the European girls had already marked out their deck territory with a towel, headphones and suntanning oil while others stood clutching their morning coffee’s like it was the last worldly possession they owned.
Andy on the other hand was busy mixing his plastic bottle of Hemp protein powder into his imported oxygenated bottle of H2O and making sure to swish it around in his mouth before swallowing each and every gulp. It was then that the Danish guy in charge of our excursion came around offering everybody a tiny white pill which he had piled in his hand like roadrunner birdseed.
“For the stomach” he said to each and every one of us as he passed by. For the most part, everybody took the pill in good faith and gulped it down immediately, all but Andy who I assumed had his own organic version of said pill but I didn’t see him take anything otherwise. I was handed my snorkel set and spent the beginning part of our push out to sea adjusting the strap and getting the mask to fit my smallish face so that no water would seep through. It’s been a problem in the past and I had the time to work on it as it would be an hour’s jaunt out to our special diving area everyone was told.
Meandering slowly through the pretty rock formations that surrounded Krabi was easy and gentle enough, and I thought again how nice it would be to visit Halong Bay in Vietnam to compare the beauty. However a few moments later we were clear those limestone rocks and hit the open sea where as I told you the winds had her unsettled, something which was immediately noticeable when the first wave splashed against the port side heaving our ship clumsily to the starboard side. The ship quickly rocked itself back to a even keel position just as the second wave hit spraying the barbie doll girls and causing them to scramble to avoid being soaked by the water that was quickly gathering on the deck. Good for them, there was no sun to be seen anyways, just these foreboding dark clouds that seemed to surround our vessel like two cupped hands from the sky.
Thirty minutes into our ride parallel to the shore but far enough out that the ferociousness of the water made us feel like we were on a cross ocean trek, Andy’s protein jar was nowhere to be seen. Instead there he sat crouched like hovering over one of our Thai toilets and nestled in between two scuba tanks holding onto his trusty backpack between his arms like it was keeping him alive. His face had turned a pale white, almost greenish even, and while I was moderately nauseous my discomfort was nothing compared to what he was feeling. I had taken the little white pill which he had rejected in favor of his oxygenated hemp protein water … a concoction which moments later came heaving back up out of his stomach as he clutched onto the tanks and heaved his breakfast up into the ocean.
I just held onto my two tanks and rode along swaying constantly from side to side as the boat pitched forty five degrees to the right and then subsequently back a symmetrical ninety degrees to the left. Each time it did so it would be accompanied by the sound of Andy wretching his guts over the port rail “wratwratwratwrat” a sound as foreign to my ears as German.
One by one the twelve of us in the back of the boat thinned out, disappearing into the port side hallway of the boat. It wasn’t forty minutes into the trip that with the exception of the older American couple and one of the deck hands, we were the only five people left riding out the trip at the back of the boat. The rest had disappeared completely.
There was no heavy rain to speak of, just the annoying never ending vertical drizzle that was accompanied by the horizontal splashes of the waves across the boat’s stern. One of the brown suntanning towels long since abandoned by the barbie dolls swished to and from along the deck like it was some sort of robotized mop.
“wrat wrat wrat wrat wrat” , Andy was at it again but finding that since he had successfully tossed up his protein juice there was nothing else in his stomach that he could vacate in order to bring him the relief he so desperately sought.
“I have to go to the loo” he eeked out.
I pointed with my hand to the door leading to the left side hallway. He took a few steps to the door but the swaying of the ship knocked him right back into the tanks he had been clutching to. A wave slapped him in has face harder than I’ve ever slapped a slave just then and his eyes glazed over with the same panic I had seen in the swimming pool but a day earlier. With one hand holding each adjacent tank and the other hand pushing against his anus he made his way one side step at a time towards the port side door.
Upon reaching the door and swinging it open violently he was met immediately by a line up of equally discombobulated passengers with queasy stomachs all lined up to use the single solitary bathroom at the end of the hall.
“Move” he cried out as he made his way down the narrow hallway on the right side of it trying to squeeze by the folks who were clutching to the left side of the hallway standing on their tiptoes trying to get a whiff of fresh air from the tops of the propped open windows. The smell coming from within was horrible, rancid and putrid all at the same time. A good half hours worth of vomit and shit smell leaked out from the sealed hallway as they all waited patiently for the toilet to be come vacant.
One of the not so tall but definitely thick and fat German fellows blocked Andy’s ascent toward the “loo” with his forearm across the hallway.
“Back back back” I heard him say.
“I have to shit” Andy said again trying to move past the thick flesh barricade of the German.
“you wait” Germany guy barked again. It was a wise choice for Hemp boy Andy to back away as I”m sure the thousand of protein shakes he had consumed the past years of his life wouldn’t have saved him against the much thicker and much hairier German fellow.
Like a cat trying climb a tree Andy instead tried to paw at the open window in the hallway where every other one of the passengers had their nose and mouths pointed upward at the fresh salty air blowing in from above.
He gave up however, instead opting for a double hand grip of his ass as he staggered out of the hallway back towards me as if I had an answer for his troubles. He opened his mouth to speak but when he did so all he could muster was another “wrat wrat wrat wrat” as his upset stomach brought him to his knees. You know, for a moment as he grabbed onto the scuba tanks I thought I could read his mind, that he was seriously considering dropping his three day build up of non organic vegetables and wheat grass right there on the deck. But as he squat down he thought better of it , instead eyeing the ladder to the upper deck.
He sprinted, yes sprinted, over to the ladder timing his run right as the boat reached even keel between being smashed between the waves and double clutched the sides of the ladder just as the boat lurched to the left again. As Andy climbed up to the top of the ladder he was met by two of the scuba boat crew urging him to back down the ladder and blocking his way further.
I couldn’t hear the conversation he had, he was out of ear shot but the talk between him and the two Thai guys was short as each was equally determined. The discussion ended with Andy determined to proceed and the crew equally determined to block access to the upper deck. There was an attempted push by Andy which was met by four gentle hands stopping his upward progress. Then, magnificently Andy did a frog jump off to the ocean side of the boat and his hands clutching the top deck railing were the only thing that kept him from plunging into the ocean. Like a monkey he tried to shimmy to his left towards the bow of the boat but as he did so the ship rocked like a roller coaster so that he was leaning dangerously close to the ocean waves. He thought better of his shimmying and instead remained motionless in a stretched out position while the crew guys up above were confused whether to again stop him or to offer him a helping hand.
Even for me, I saw the danger of the situation as I remembered how uncomfortable Andy had been in the peaceful swimming pool the day before and I had genuine concern for his safety if he didn’t immediately make his way back to the deck where I was.
I yelled up to the crew guys to help him but they had left to alert the captain.
Then it happened.
There was a stillness in Andy and time seemed to freeze or at the very least slow down to capture the thought process going on in Andy’s mind. I think what happened was that for a moment the terror of his predicament subsided and was instantly replaced by his preceding concern, the fact that his need to vomit or shit had driven him to that side of the railing in the first place.
With his right hand clinging to the rail he pulled down his Khaki tan shorts and his underwear and jiggled his legs until they both simultaneously fell to rest at his ankles over his flip flop shoes. His left hand waved a few times missing reacquiring it’s hold on the railing, but when it did I saw something that will forever blind my eyes and scorch my memory.
A shower of shit blew out of his ass , a very long and seemingly never ending shower of fluffy light liquid poo – the type brought on by a rabbits diet. The grossness of seeing that was replaced by sudden curiosity as like I told you, it was windy, very windy. I actually from my perspective leaning out the port side of the back of the ship saw the trajectory of the shit stream being redirected from his ass and blown back down and in from the wind … into the open windows down on the hallway below.
All of a sudden there was a mass shriek of men and women alike and an instant later five to six people came stumbling, coughing, retching out of the hallway door all collectively trying to clean the shit they had just accidentally swallowed from Andy’s ass up above. Some had been hit in the hair , some on the side of the face, and some, or in particular the barbie girl and the thick German guy had taken a direct shot to the mouth.
My eyes shot back and forth, and there couldn’t have been a more opposite set of feelings within meters of one another. Andy up above had a post-orgasmic look of relief on his face as he tried to shake his pants and undies off his ankles preferring to go naked rather than to cover up his organic dirty ass with newly bought British underwear. Meanwhile, Germany guy had a look in his eye when he saw Andy hanging there like he wanted to exact enough violent revenge on Mr. England Andy that it would surely atone for the losses of World War two in one horrible beating.
Like I said, I’m going to cut the story off there as what unfolded after that was neither funny not kind enough to write about. Though I know that to this day Andy is traumatized about the remainder of that day trip I constantly remind him in emails that the epic comedy of the situation and that it is the single biggest ass to mouth bdsm session ever administered makes it something he should remember as a memorable day … not a forgettable one.
Jaa xx
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e one thing I can’t stand while drilling a guy in his ass with my dildo is the half-turn they do when I’m giving it to him too hard – trying to put their hand on my hip to make separation between his butt hole and my drill bit. I’ve had to handcuff most guys while I let them have it because that pushing motion is effective and it never lets me get up to full speed for the length of time that I like.
is possession a wallet and no passport either. Both of which are in my possession. Credit cards and his atm card he has surrendered to me to use as I please while he is under my control which is even more maddening for him as he has no idea if I’ve gone ahead and charged something outrageous to his visa card. Hey, a girl has her needs and what is it you guys say in the USA , “never look a gift horse in the mouth?” My thoughts exactly.
