The Newbie – Part One

Most guys can remember the first woman they bedded far more easily than their 27th bedmate (or their 1655th bedmate, in the case of your otherwise very wholesome narrator).

It’s simple, really. For me, #1655 had been much more fun than #1 (which lasted for only about two seconds!), but the difference between #1655 and #1654 (and their predecessors) was much less dramatic than the difference between #1 and her predecessor (my right hand). And since what we feel the most in life are the contrasts, “something” is rather memorable when compared to “nothing”.

In that same vein, most punters can fondly remember their first trip to Southeast Asia (excepting many who came as a guest of Uncle Sam a few decades back). Sure, we got overcharged. We got scammed. We had our naivety taken advantage of. Perhaps we even nursed a sick water buffalo or two back to health.

But the contrast between the women in Southeast Asia and the women in _______ (fill in the name of your home country here) was dramatic. For many guys I’ve known, their virgin trip to Southeast Asia was the FIRST time any woman had ever actually treated them with kindness (and that includes some guys who were in their fifties at the time of their first pilgrimage).

Those of you who have been coming here for a while will recognize the facial expressions on guys who are on their newbie trip. It’s that same look that little children get the first time that they see something really exciting (or magical). Their eyes fill with wonder and you can see their “personal universe” expanding right there in front of you.

And that certainly applied to your Uncle Hannibal.

Before I got to college, I had never seen an Asian woman. Once I got to college, I discovered them rather quickly. But I could only lust after them from afar since there were so many malibog white boys like me lusting after them (relative to the number of hot Asian babes there to be lusted after). That resulted in long lines, and your kindly old Uncle Hannibal never seemed to make it up to the front of those lines.

Relocation to Hawaii solved that problem, since roughly two-thirds of Hawaii’s population is of Asian ancestry. And so I was able to partake in the bounty at last. It was “good fun” as we used to say back there, but it was also a costly addiction (since these were American women with correspondingly high expectations for care and maintenance).

And then came the Internet. I soon stumbled upon a website selling a videotape of a Thai body massage. That’s right, friends, the old “slip & slide”. And solely in the interest of scientific research, I sent off for my copy. It arrived a few days later and, to be sure that I didn’t overlook any key scientific data, I watched it several dozen times.

They didn’t mention the name of the massage parlor, but they showed three Thai lovelies in it. One served as the person being fondled while the other two ladies did the honors.

It was great … enough so that your armchair anthropologist decided it would be a splendid idea to go to Thailand for some on-site fieldwork.

I decided to bring along a colleague to help with the heavy lifting: my old college roommate from many years earlier. He had been through “the mother of all divorces” eight years earlier and had not been laid since then … but not for lack of interest on his part, as he’s very high in testosterone (translation = “needs it five times a day”). And to add to the irony, he’s also hung like King Kong. You know how some guys give a “pet name” to their male member? He refers to his package as “the California redwood”, so we’ll just refer to him here as “Big Red”.

With several Internet sites naming Thailand as “the sex supermarket of the world”, what could be better? It took only one viewing of the “scientific literature” for Big Red to agree that a fieldtrip was in order. So we booked our flights for a few weeks hence and started planning the rest of our arrangements.

We decided to skip Bangkok, since we heard it was a big city and you know how big cities are: crowded, polluted and expensive. But we had seen the old James Bond movie (“The Man With The Golden Gun”) and that part of Thailand did look pretty damn nice to us.

And so we selected Phuket as our virgin Thai destination, and decided to stay in Patong Beach since that had the naughtiest reputation … er, I mean, the most scientifically significant cultural sites to be studied. And not coincidentally, they had a body massage venue: Christin’s.

That was in the low season and just after the Thai economy crashed, and prices were cheap compared to what I was used to in Hawaii. So I decided, “Why rough it?” when for such a modest nightly rate we can get suites at the Holiday Inn right across from the beach, and around the corner from Christin’s?

A few weeks later, we were jetting off to Thailand on China Airlines. And since Big Red had only been on U.S. airlines before (with aging linebackers for stewardesses), the sight of more than a dozen young Asian lovelies at his beck and call was enough to give him wood for most of the time we were in the air.

We got in late in the evening and had to overnight in Bangkok before catching the first flight out the next morning for Phuket. We figured we would just stay at the airport hotel, but that turned out to be so much pricier than lots of the places along Sukhumvit that we took a cab into town and headed for the hotel recommended by the Bangkok airport hotel desk: Nana Hotel.

We checked in and headed for our rooms. And once there, the bellboys asked (with a nudge and a wink), “Is there anything else we can bring you, Sir?” I decided I prefer to do my own prospecting, so I said “no”. Big Red was new at this sort of thing, so he asked for “more towels”.

We knew zilch about Bangkok, we had been in airplanes for the past day and we had an early morning flight onward, so we never did get out that night. But we were awake early and on our way back to the airport.

We had heard horror stories about Bangkok traffic, so we allowed two hours of travel time to get from the hotel to the airport. And our actual time was? Maybe twenty minutes! A slight miscalculation on our part, and just one of many miscues we would end up making.

In due time, we arrived in Phuket and checked into the Holiday Inn. Once unpacked, showered and all gussied up, we headed out to greet the afternoon. And as it was by then half an hour after the opening time for Christin’s, we decided that this would be a splendid place to begin our Thai adventure. You know, with cleanliness being next to Godliness and all that sort of thing.

In no time at all, the barbarians were at the gate … but there was no sign of life at “ye olde body massage shoppe”. The place was closed!

We figured we’d wait around a bit to see if someone came but no one showed up. Eventually a kindly passerby ambled along and said to us in broken English that it was a Buddhist holiday and that’s why it was closed … but it would open again the next day. Some luck!

Did you ever really have to pee, just barely make it to the men’s room and then find that the men’s room was closed for repairs? Big Red was having the semen equivalent and he was ready to burst a nut.

So when we passed another venue a block later with a “Massage” sign over the door, he made a “beeline” (no pun intended) for it. I pointed out that it was a traditional massage place (no hanky-panky) but to no avail … he wanted a woman’s hands on his body and he wanted them there NOW!!!

So in he went, with lust in his heart, while I continued on to explore the cultural sights on Soi Bangla. We met up later for dinner and Big Red was grinning from ear to ear. Pumped for details, he announced that he had a hot date for later that night … his first one in the better part of a decade.

Who’s the lucky lady, I asked? It was none other than the young lady who had done his massage that very afternoon. She was coming by the hotel to meet him when she got off work at midnight and he was stoked.

But that hit me as being odd. I had double-dated with him many times back in college and I’ve never seen anyone strike out so consistently. It was always hilarious to see him put the moves on a woman, though:

Example #1:

His Date: “I don’t sleep with guys on the first date.”

Big Red: “Then how about on the last date?”

Example #2:

His Date: “I don’t hop into bed with a guy just like that … it has to mean something.”

Big Red: “It’ll mean that you won’t have to walk home.”

Example #3:

His Date: “I can’t have sex today … I’m having my period.”

Big Red: “That’s okay … I like a little catsup on my meat.”

Anyway, you can imagine my skepticism when he announced that he had lined up a date … the historical odds augured otherwise. I dug for more details.

He tells me that when he went in, they gave him a very baggy pair of pajama bottoms to wear. He slipped them on, assumed the position and a minute or two later he was joined by a young lovely who was rather winsome.

Not long into the massage, she touched one of his erogenous zones (his leg). And being well mannered, his California redwood stood in the presence of a lady.

His eyes were closed at the time, and the girl apparently had not seen that much displacement before so she delicately lifted the waistband of his pajamas to sneak a peak at his package.

Waiting for just the right moment, he opened up his eyes and told her something suave and debonair (that escapes me at the moment), but she reacted true to form by gasping with embarrassment (if you prefer Big Red’s take on it, she was gasping with erotic delight).

Ever have a buddy in high school or college approach a hot babe and then say something lame, like “My face is leaving at nine … be on it”? And the babe responds with a look of total disgust as she tells him in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t be caught dead with a loser like him even if he were the last man on earth (but then your buddy struts back and announces confidently, “I think she likes me!”)?

I’m predicting something like that here. So I pump him for details:

Uncle: “She’s coming to your room tonight?”

Big Red: “Indeed she is!”

Uncle: “What exactly did she say?”

Big Red: “After I caught her peeking, I invited her over after she gets off work so that she could ‘take a ride on the big guy’.”

Uncle: “And she said ‘Yes’?”

Big Red: “Not exactly … but she didn’t say ‘No’”

Uncle: “Does she actually speak any English at all?”

Big Red: “I’m sure that she does.”

Uncle: “So you and she were chatting together in English during the massage?”

Big Red: “Well … no. But I’m sure she knew what I was saying … the language of love is universal.”

If I were a wagering fellow, I’d be plunking down a month’s wages at the “no show” window. But he insisted that she would be there at a tad past midnight and that his long drought would soon be over.

So we made arrangements to rendezvous the next morning, your old Uncle Hannibal headed out for some meaningful social interaction and Big Red stayed back to get ready for his big date.

Will this be the night that Big Red breaks his long dry spell? Will your old Uncle Hannibal successfully dodge the lady-boys? Will Christin’s be open for business the next day? The answers to those questions and more will appear next month in “The Newbie (Part Two)”.

Stay tuned…

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