'Hidden desire and ultimate temptation in the streets of Bangkok'
Sweat clung to his back as he trudged through the dim streets of Bangkok. His wife had sent him away. “Go for a walk,” she had muttered, eyes closed and her hand pressed to her temple. “I can’t stand the light and the noise.” Migraine, yet another souvenir she had picked up this time.
He gave her a quick kiss, closed the door behind him, and disappeared into the alley. Bangkok would offer him something else, a cold beer, a street stall full of smells, people to watch. Just something to get him out of the stifling four walls of their hotel room.
His gaze slid over the neon signs, bright and enticing, like the city itself. He saw it on every corner, that twilight of possibility that Bangkok seemed to be saturated with. What the 'City of Angels' is so notorious for, it slowly creeps into your pores. He walked slowly, enjoying the freedom and anonymity of the night.
There she stood, in the soft light of a sign. She leaned against the doorway, her face half hidden in the shadows. All he could see was her eyes, the slightly curled corners of her mouth, and her silent wink, almost imperceptible. He felt a slight hesitation, but his feet seemed to have already decided. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of her. She pointed inside, whispered softly: “Oil massage, mister?”
He felt something burning beneath his skin. What harm could a massage do? He nodded and she led the way, down the hall from a narrow salon to a small, incense-filled room. She pointed to the couch and he lay down. His muscles relaxed as he felt the soft cushions. His thoughts wandered, the distance to his sleeping wife seemed to grow with every minute.
She let the oil slide over her hands and began slowly, kneading his shoulders as if she could squeeze his very existence from his skin. Her hands moved skillfully, firmly, but with a kind of slowness that had something promising about it. He felt his breathing grow heavier, felt her go a little further, her hands sliding to his chest, his stomach, his hips.
He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. “Uh, maybe you should…” His words hung in the air and she just smiled, an almost innocent smile, as if she knew exactly what he wanted and exactly what he didn’t dare say. “You like, mister?” Her voice was low and soft, a whisper that cut through the music.
An internal struggle flared up. Images of his wife surfaced, she had looked at him with such love this morning, full of anticipation for their tourist adventure together in Bangkok. And now here he was, in the dark, his hand in that of a woman whose name he didn't even know.
Her hands pressed tighter, and he felt the last bit of resistance dissolve like sugar in hot tea. He knew he should have stopped, that this moment was cutting deeper into his conscience with every touch. But as she leaned over him, he felt his own desire take over his morals, his reason slipping from his grasp.
She bent over him sensually, whispering words he couldn’t even understand anymore, her eyes big and dark, her hands slipping every last bit of resistance from his body. He smelled the sweet scent she carried with her and felt the warmth of her beautiful shapely body. His heart pounded, his breath quickened, before he knew it there was nothing between them anymore…
Afterwards, he lay in the dimness of the room, staring at the ceiling, surrounded by the smell of oil and a tingle of guilt that slowly bubbled up. She stood up, handed him his clothes, and left without looking at him again. He was left behind, naked and vulnerable, with the knowledge that he had done something irrevocable.
Back at the hotel, he found his wife fast asleep, her hand still pressed to her temple, as if the pain had only held her tighter. He stood by the door, his hand on the doorknob, wondering how he would ever be able to tell her the truth.
As he watched her peaceful face, he felt the bitter aftertaste of his choice, a sense of guilt. Desire, he thought, was an assassin, a whisper in the night that had seduced him and now left him with a wound only he knew. Bangkok, that sultry city, might not be the culprit. Maybe it was something else, something he had always carried with him, hidden deep and unseen, until tonight…
About this blogger
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My age officially falls into the category of 'elderly'. I've been living in Thailand for 28 years - try to do that. The Netherlands used to be paradise, but it fell into disrepair. So I went looking for a new paradise and found Siam. Or was it the other way around and Siam found me? Either way, we were good-natured.
ICT provided a regular income, something you call 'work', but for me it was mainly a pastime. Writing, that's the real hobby. For Thailandblog I'm picking up that old love again, because after 15 years of hard work you deserve some reading material.
I started in Phuket, moved to Ubon Ratchathani, and after a stopover in Pattaya I now live somewhere in the north, in the middle of nature. Rest never rusts, I always say, and that turns out to be true. Here, surrounded by greenery, time seems to stand still, but fortunately life doesn't.
Eating, especially lots of it – that’s my passion. And what makes an evening complete? A good glass of whisky and a cigar. That’s about it, I think. Cheers!
Photos, I don't do that. I always look ugly in them, even though I know Brad Pitt pales in comparison. It must be the photographer, I think.
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I always look forward to the stories of Farang Kee Nok! They are always taken from life and often recognizable situations. A breath of fresh air here on Thailandblog, because sometimes it is a boring place here, with sour and biting comments in the discussions! But keep writing please Farang Kee Nok!
Beautifully written, even though I prefer stories without white noses (in the lead role). The lead character and his wife seem to have the familiar situation where the flames of love have long since gone, where they no longer invest enough time and attention in each other. The couple that grows apart bit by bit, perhaps talking too little together and doing things together to grow back together. A holiday to a highly regarded place, who knows, as an attempt to heal the relationship. But that takes time. With a head full of thoughts, then going out into the street, wandering, and then thinking not with your big but your small head.
And then.. afterwards. Regret? Confessing that you visited a prostitute (disguised as a masseur) would be the right thing to do. Honesty is the basis of relationships, hand in hand with trust. But if the relationship is indeed under strain, that honesty can push the relationship over the abyss. But carrying a secret is not easy or pleasant either and if it ever comes out, the damage, the lying and cheating on your partner, may be even greater. The choice between two evils… Perhaps a moment of realization that he should have counted to 10 instead of chasing his dicks?