The Phuket Escape - Pt 1

If there’s one way to kick start your holiday, it’s to be fashionably late for your departure. At 1 hr from departure, while everyone else should be cashing in on duty free cigarettes and perfumes, we’re caught in a traffic mayhem and laughing our asses off about missing our flight.

Huixx: “They might not let us in, so we have to think of something. LB, you are going to act as a spastic and if they refuse us entry, shout words like, ‘discrimination’.”

Me: “And also periodically throw in ‘New Paper’.”

By the time we got there, we’re 30mins from SilkAir leaving our procrastinating asses behind and I had to unglamourously run with my Ferragamo shades threatening to fall off to the check in counter.

Me: “What is the latest time we have to check in?”
CounterGuy: “Usually at least 45 mins before take-off.”

We looked to LB as if almost to cue him to salivate and wail in protest.

Me: “So can we still check in?”

CounterGuy takes a look at his watch and realize he’s contradicted himself and had us checked-in despite us being 20mins past eligibility.

The morning drama was all I needed to known how eventful this trip was going to turn out. Everything till this point had been arranged desultorily, from the sponsored tickets to the last minute lodging and yet everything had been charmed that I almost believed I was back in favour with fate.

The plan was simple. Misbehave.

I’ve never had an easier goal. It’s almost like a magnification of my lifestyle. It’s the same routine. Party hard, eat heartily, laze in the sun and get laid. This was going to be easier than winning paraplegic penguins at table-tennis.

Everything was going well. One sufficiently pretty stewardess, good exchange rates at the airport and a hotel pickup in a rice-boy mobile with hanging gauges and a manual gear knob fitted on an automatic transmission. Amazing.

I’d recommend you the place I stayed, but only if you promise not to whisper it on the same breath as Banyan Tree. It’s called Little Buddha, a cozy ‘back packer’s’ inn, fitted with relatively good room amenities, and that means air-con and cable TV to waste the afternoon away, sinfully indulging myself with reality crap that’s called, the Jerry Springer show.

Going to Phuket beach has only one perk, topless sunbathing. Two, if you consider an ego boost from the endless sea of beer bellies and saggy tits with nipples closer to the belly button. I took a glance and thought hundreds of albino whales got washed up on shore. I don’t know if I should shout for joy or for the sushi chef.

It’s almost an assembly of masses. You have hot Japanese chicks, Italian stallions, German beer guts, horrible gays in knitted G-strings and two dogs humping each other by the deck chair. All we needed was some paper bullets and we can have ourselves a re-enactment of World War II.

Nikki arrived in time for dinner and I was fiercely promoting A Go Go bars to her. Finally her eagerness to end her virginity at it with a Thai Girl Show allowed me audience to one of the most miraculous stunts since Copperfield vanished the Statue of Liberty.

She spits out live FISHES from her pussy into a fish bowl.

Not one. Not two, but seventeen fishes! Nah, just checking if you’re paying attention. She had 3 of them swimming inside her while she danced. My bet is on her for ‘Longest Pee Controlling’.

The Erotica Story

Then enter the one club that had us glued with their performances, Erotica. Forget topless dancing and live fuck shows. NOTHING is sexier than dancers in choreographed dances with themes that will nail testosterones right where it’s supposed to be, the mind.

Think French maids, Japanese kimono’s ending off at mid thigh, dominatrix and cowgirl hats. The repertoire of MTV gimmicks just run up an endless cycle. Every act just refreshed our interest like cold lemonade in summer. By the fifth act, LB and I were lounged by the stage, cheering wildly at everything that was moving seductively.

Then she appeared…my Thai Doll

Her half back tattooed with flowers and vines that stretched from her shoulder to the waist. Her nose immaculately sharp, her eyes dolled with infinitely long lashes and her hair pony-tailed like a Japanese. Then we gawked. All four of us, smitten by her swaying hips, her seductive gaze and her precision body arches.

I was lost. LB and I intoxicated like school girls at a neo print discount, emphatically congratulating ourselves for finding paradise in Patong, while the rest of the pub erupted into raucous whistles.

I made one smile to her and that one reciprocated grin was all I needed to validate my 5 metre walk over to chat her up. I threw everything I had, cheeky grins, buttering Thai phrases and fleeting touches. She was the one prize I had now fixated my attention to. The sole resolute cause to give motive of exisitence.

Me: “I am going to fuck her.”

LB: “Wah.. going to be quite an uphill task my friend.”

Two dance routines and many flirting smiles from her later,

LB: “Got chance, got chance. I think you seriously may have a chance.”

Then my attention mildly flickered to the door bitch who had comparatively good grooves and relatively cute. I headed out to make conversation with her and before I know it, she starts throwing herself at me, literally.

It was a dramatic play act of fallaciously falling over just to hug me and seizing chances to grab my arm.

Me: “Are you flirting with me?”
Pai: “No, but I think you must be very tired talking to me.”
Me: “Huh? Why?”
Pai: “Cos’ U’ve been running around my heart all day.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

As chessy as it sounds, I actually laughed my ass off and told her this was the sweetest thing anyone had said to me all day.

What followed later that night would plunge me deeper into resolution; my Thai doll calling out to me from a pub just as I was about to head back to the room. We chatted and she scribbled her number for me on a piece of paper and told me to call her as soon as I get back from Phi Phi Island on Sunday.

Perhaps, I would finally out do myself and throw all away all cautions to leagues and physical compatibility. On normal cases, I’d have earmarked her as ‘way too hot for me’, but in Thailand, the great denominator is being ME.

In the hordes of the other fleeting girls who came up to me thinking I'm Japanese and LB's all time favourite joke, one girl who said I looked like F4, I lost interest in the fields of mediocracy. The one other highlight was actually bumping into Fiona. This girl actually deserves on whole entry dedicated to her for punching me in the face at Zouk. Yes PUNCH. Out of jealousy. What an asshole.

And so there were two….