SP's Thailand trip ~ aka ~ fisted by the mamasan
Sebasatian Pintor bowled through Bangkok airport with a decided spring to his stride. Having negotiated passport control and the scrutiny of a bookish official who had scrutinised him with not a little distaste — Pintor, you see, was attired in faded denim cut-offs, a Beer Chang singlet and a pair of worn Dunlop Green Flash — he made for the terminal exit sporting the beginnings of a robust erection.
Pintor led a tragically bland existance in the UK. He lived in a little bedsit on the outskirts of Blackburn where nothing ever happened - nothing happened at all. So he amused himself, as many red-blooded - and socially inept - males do, by developing an unhealthy obsession with internet pornography, the viewing of which he'd punctuate with trips to Amsterdam, Thailand and occasionally the Philippines.
And now, with a pair of balls bursting at the seams, he hailed a taxi and instructed the driver to take him "to the fanny".
After a 30 minute drive, the yellow and green Toyota Corolla sidled up to a row of neon lit drinking emporiums: "The fanny," said the driver, gesturing towards a gaggle of scantily clad females standing at the threshold of each establishment.
Pintor licked his lips. The sight of writhing brown flesh glistening with greens, pinks and reds reflected from the light always made his heart race. Seismic activity in his underpants was now taking place and he tossed a selection of notes over the front seat before leaving the cab in a kind of trance.
"The fanny," he drooled, walking mesmerised towards the ladies of questionable virtue.
But if feeling virtuous is on your agenda, you've come to the wrong story; you've stumbled upon the wrong man; you're on the wrong damn city.
Pintor activated 'sex pest mode' and before you could say 'bar fine' he had been saturated by a deluge of bodily fluids from at least nine separate females - all of whom possessed the incredible ability of being able to tap out a text message while being drilled up the shitter by an 18-inch dildo. Indeed, Pintor had brought with him a suitcase full of carnal apparatus. The man was totally, totally obsessed.
After his testicles had been comprehensively drained of every last cubic millimetre of semen, he had been fisted by the mamasan, and the taxi driver's uncle had blasted his beans deep into the abyss of his anus, Pinter repaired to the nearest road-side eatery where he ordered a celebratory Khao Pad Gai with an egg on top.
This, after all, had been one of the greatest days of his life - and the egg on top had been the cherry on the cake.
