A working girl's bedroom has a surprising audience.
A quiet night
Oat has seen her for three Sundays in a row now. She has been dressed in tight tops and the shortest skirts or shorts imaginable. And she always looks stunning.
But he sat in the bus helplessly as it zoomed past her.
His bus is tonight rumbling past her again but with his heart pounding, he beeps the button for it to stop and let him off at the next stop. The girl has pranced further into the street where she now stands presenting her perfect buttocks to him.
They are not too big, not too small, just perfection. Such a sight kills him stone dead.
Oh what a wonderment. Oat walks slowly forward. He will probably sneak past her behind the lit bus shelter that is obviously her turf. Yes he is, looking ahead now, pretending not to notice her.
“Hey brother!,” comes her voice from the street.
Oat reluctantly stops and looks at her, sweat dripping under his shirt.
“Where are you sneaking off to?”
“Er, nowhere. I’m just passing,” says Oat.
“Better watch out. It’s not safe walking alone this late,” the gorgeous woman says.
“You got any money?”
“No. How much?,” asks Oat.
“Just 1000 will buy you a few hours with lil’ ol’ me… Interested?”
“Er, yes…but I have no money.”
“How much have you got?”
“300 baht.”
She laughs so prettily.
“For that you get one finger,” she says, lifting up her index finger.
“One finger?”
“Give me the money and I’ll show you,” she says with a wonderful smile..
The woman approaches him now with exaggerated swaying steps. Her cloying perfume arrives well before her body.
She pulls Oat by the hand behind the glass bus shelter and places both his hands on her ample and soft breasts.
“Go on, squeeze. It’s a bonus,” she laughs.
Oat does as he is told and just about melts into the night from the pleasure of it. He can do that all night and all day.
The young woman now places his right hand under her skirt. Where he feels her wispy pubic hair straightaway, there being no underwear.
She puts his middle finger on her vagina that is dripping wet.
“Go for it,” she says.
Oat holds his breath and inserts his finger to its base. He feels her squeezing it quite hard in immediate response.
“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Now you’ve got it. Or I got you, really,” she laughs.
“Oh goodness, oh.”
“Good,is it?,” she asks.
“Oh yes … but…”
“But what? Oh oh.,” she says, alarmed.
“Ahh, hell!,” Oat yells.
“Wait,” she says.
“Too late, too late,” mumbles Oat.
“Well, look at you,” she says as she unbuttons his trousers to find his small underwear soaked and sticky. “ Looks likes the water mains busted. Don’t fret, I’ll clean you.” She pulls out a wad of tissues from her handbag, hold his messy penis and patiently wipes it dry.
They sit now on the bus shelter bench under the street light, watching the fewer cars go by. It’s getting late.
The woman points to a lane opposite and gives a key to Oat, telling him to let himself into her house in that lane. She tells him to go into the room beside her bedroom and wait. Oat does as he is told, hoping for some crumbs later.
It’s a long wait. Her house is wooden and large with another storey on top.There is a large one-way mirror build into the wall between the two rooms. Oat sits down in an armchair. The mirror gives the full view of the woman’s large bed.
Then the door to his room opens, startling him. An old couple in their pyjamas shuffle in and smile to him. They sit in comfortable chairs next to him and pour hot tea for them all from a thermos that they have brought in.
They introduce themselves as Duang’s parents then sit and wait quietly with contented smiles.
Throughout the night until the early hours, Duang came in with three clients at long intervals: a drunk policeman in his tight uniform and holstered revolver, a jolly fat Japanese businessman and a furtive Thai husband, away from his marriage bed.
Lighting in Duang’s bedroom is tastefully subdued. But all could be clearly seen through the mirror.
When stripped of her clothes, Duang’s body is spectacular.
Oat had the treat of seeing her undressing many times that night.
The old people nod, sharing their appreciation with Oat, as if to say: See our daughter? Isn’t she something. As if Oat needs to be convinced on that score. He wishes he is one of those lucky people in the room with her.
Will his turn come, although he is broke?
Duang skillfully dances a little striptease for one or two clients, prolonging her games with them, so that in the end they are all in an extra big hurry to jump all over her. Their struggles are often clumsy and comical, making even the old folks giggle between themselves.
The clients were so worked up that they came several times in all sorts of positions, making the weirdest loud noises and pulling unbelievable faces. Then they staggered off into the night, satisfied.
When the last customer leaves, Duang opens the door between the two rooms next to the mirror and cocks her finger for Oat to join her.
“Time for bed, little brother” she whispers to him, looking wan and smiling at her parents who smile back and promptly doze on.
“It was a quiet night,” she says quietly.
Continue reading Jan's quest
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