This story is the fifth in a series of events that have actually taken place over the last two years. Although most names are fictitious to protect the ‘not-so-innocent’, places and events are factual. I have put ‘pen to paper’ for three reasons: i) to preserve the images and memories in our minds; ii) to share the images with you. Had I not experienced these events first hand, I would not have believed what is written, and probably treated these words as fiction; and iii) what has happened over that last couple of years has injected even more excitement into our sex lives – so much so, that even as I trace back over the images and transpose to text, I have to periodically stop and relieve myself – with the help if my lovely wife, Tanya, of course. So, read and enjoy in the knowledge that the words are relating true events; and when you feel stirring in your loins, feel free to relieve yourselves of any stress that may be swelling up.
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It had been seven months since that fateful day of the accident. My leg had fully healed and the slow healing process took their toll on our sex life. Our sex life had been virtually non-existent, and had only begun to recover following Julie’s therapy session. We were both desperate to get things back to where we were before the accident. Tanya and I were open when it came to discussing our feelings, and we longed for the sex drive we found in Tenerife that was lost seven months ago.
“I think we need a break,” I said as we held each other, wishing we could make love. “We’re due a holiday, and you’ve worked your fingers to the bone over the last ten months.”
“A holiday would be nice. Where do you think we should go?”
“I saw Ronnie in the pub last Friday. He’s just back from Koh Samui, Thailand. He reckoned it’s the best holiday he’s ever had. The food, the sun, the beaches, the sea, all out of this world – and it was cheap.” Ronnie was our postman and we had met in the local pub the previous evening. Ronnie had taken his wife to Thailand for their 25th wedding anniversary. “I’ll do some surfing the ‘net tomorrow and see what I can find.”
“Okay lover,” Tanya whispered as she kissed me goodnight.
***
The 13-hour flight to Bangkok seemed more like 24. I was glad that I could stretch out my stiff legs after being cooped up on the Boeing 747 Thai Airlines Jumbo. The Thai hostesses were absolutely gorgeous and couldn’t do enough to keep you comfortable throughout the flight.
We arrived at Koh Samui in blazing sunshine and temperatures high in the 90’s. A mini bus took us to our hotel at Chaweng Beach, a small town on the east coast of the island, and we checked in with the assistance of another Thai babe. Everywhere we turned, we were confronted with either young, divine creatures, or, old haggard females that had been through hell and back, (judging by their wrinkled, tarnished faces).
It was early afternoon and, although tired after our long journey, we decided to relax a little on the hotel’s beachfront. Local youths waited on the tourists hand and foot, supplying ice-cold beers, soft drinks and water. You didn’t have to leave your sun lounge to go to the bar, just raise your hand and your drink was replenished. Our laky was Dom; he spoke very few English words, but the words he did speak were enough to keep our needs supplied. We absorbed the sounds, smells and heat shaded by huge coconut umbrella shades. The occasional dip in the sea was more like a bathing session in a Turkish bath; the water was so warm.
The long day’s travel and the heat made us sleepy. After dinner at the hotel’s beachside restaurant, we retired for the night, leaving our adventuring for tomorrow.
The elevated air and sea temperatures, along with the clean, unpolluted air, functioned like an old fashioned tonic; ‘just what the doctor ordered’. By the following night, Tanya and I felt like new people, all our worries began to wash away – we made love for the first time in weeks.
The following afternoon, we decided to head up to the north end of the town. It took all of twenty minutes to stroll from our hotel lobby to the last of the street stalls. The shops had some pavements in front of them, but what pavement there was, was taken by the street sellers, erecting corrugated stalls to shelter their wares from the sun’s harsh rays or the occasional heavy tropical rainstorm. Anything and everything was for sale – CD players, watches, laser pointers, woodcraft, food, clothes, it was a regular Pandora’s box, a hive of mixed colours, shapes and smells. The sellers wouldn’t just accept your money either; if it had a price tag, you still had to haggle; it was an instilled ritual.
***
It was another hot day and the sun beat down on the road, causing it to shimmer as the heat haze bent all reflected light. We were thirsty again, and, as we hadn’t eaten, it was after lunchtime, we decided to have a little liquid lunch.
We came across an Irish bar with traditional Irish music piped through to all corners of the thatched coconut roof. Sitting at a table, we absorbed that atmosphere; bustle, noise, dust, music, the smell of stale alcohol ingrained in the dirt that substituted for a carpet.
“Back home, this place would be closed and pulled down for contravening the health and safety regs,” Tanya commented.
“Yeah, but back home you can’t by a Heinekin for twenty-five pence!”
We both laughed and something clicked. We didn’t realise it at first, but some of the old magic was coming back. I noticed Tanya checking out all the tourists in the bar, especially the younger guys. “I wouldn’t say no to some of that,” she grinned as a 6’6” bronzed athlete ordered another drink at the bar. I hadn’t seen it at first, but Tanya had clocked his curled-up oysters when he had strolled to the bar. I guess the sun agreed with her – it wasn’t doing me any harm either.
Two girls approached Mr Athlete and they began to chat. They were local girls, probably prostitutes, though I must say, we hadn’t seen much prostitution so far. Mr Athlete laughed at something the girls had said as he turned his back on them and he walked past us, sitting back down with his girlfriend, ‘Miss Athlete’. She too had a fit body, tanned and firm. I guessed they might be German or Scandinavian from their looks, we couldn’t hear them speak over the piped music and general noise coming from the street.
“She’s not bad either,” I told Tanya, retaliating to her earlier observation. We bought a couple more drinks and relaxed in the shade of the bar. A group of girls wandered in from the street – backpackers with Australian accents. They were having a great time, teasing a couple of lads sat at the bar.
“I wouldn’t mind being set amongst them,” I teased.
“Ha! You wouldn’t stand a chance. They’d eat you up and spit you out,” Tanya laughed.
Mr and Mrs Athlete stood to leave the bar. As they brushed by Tanya, Mr Athlete accidentally tapped Tanya’s elbow as she was about to take a sip of her drink – it spilled all over her white cotton summer dress.
“Oh, I’m, I’m sorry,” apologised Mr Athlete, trying to wipe Tanya’s drink from her dress. Tanya didn’t know how to react to the shock of having an ice-cold beer poured down her cleavage. Her nipples stood instantaneously as the cold liquid cascaded over her breasts and onto her lap. Mr Athlete’s attempt at mopping up the spill resulted in him gently brushing his hand against Tanya’s breasts – I don’t think he realised at first what he had done.
Tanya, as quick as a flash retorted, “Hey, you can spill my drink over me anytime as long as you’re prepared to mop it up!”
Apologising again, and looking extremely embarrassed, he offered to buy us another drink.
“Why don’t you join us,” I asked as Tanya started lifting the material away from her flesh, trying to air it but succeeding only to give anyone who happened to look, and I think most of the bar was looking, an eyeful of her breasts and erect nipples.
Erik and Joli were from Finland. They were former national gymnastic champions and were former members of Finnish Olympic Team, six years earlier. They had come to Thailand to chill out after three years of working in Saudi Arabia for a state school, teaching rich Arab kids how to vault wooden boxes.
