What I did on my Holiday

11 I order a beer and, as an afterthought, a Southern Comforton the side. I know it should be Scotch, the traditional tippleof the lone drinker, but I can’t stand the stuff. The smell alonemakes me wince. I prefer the sweetness of Southern Comfort. As I give my order to the bar girl, Linda hears my voiceand turns to stare at me. Her face creases with loathing and Ithink for a moment she’s going to say something, shout at meperhaps. Well just let her try. Tonight I’m ready for her. I starecoldly back, inviting, almost begging her, to say the wrongthing. But she doesn’t. After several seconds of lasering me withher eyes, she looks away, back at her drink, staring into theblack liquid as though it might hold a clue as to how her lifewent so miserably wrong. I relax a notch and sip my beer. Apart from Linda and myself, the bar is empty. The barmaidsits on a stool at the other end, shapely legs crossed, reading amagazine. She doesn’t even try propositioning me. I supposeI must be giving off vibes, or perhaps she’s really just here toserve drinks. I light up a fag and read the labels on the bottles behind thebar for something to do. My mind keeps wanting to go backto the go-go bar, to Anna spreading her thighs and inviting meto look, to touch, to fuck. I shake the thought away and tryto focus on something more positive. I conjure up images of 100

England; my flat, my job, Helen. No, not Helen, not tonight.Not with eight long and lonely hours of night to get through. Desperate now, I think of my cat. I wonder if Mrs. Bensonis feeding her properly. More likely, she’s feeding her too well,spoiling her. I imagine them curled up together in front of thetelly, watching Eastenders, the old lady’s wrinkly hands idlystroking the cat’s ears. That cat was always a sucker for havingher ears stroked. By the time I get back she’ll have abandonedme, just like Helen did, having found a better home, someonewho can give her more than I can. I order another beer. I feel the need to be drunk tonight. ‘Where’s your whore then? Upstairs warming the bed?’ Linda is watching me malevolently. Her face is tight andangry, her cheeks red and blotchy. I’d say she’s three quartersdrunk and spoiling for a fight. The hatred in her eyes makesher look ugly, and the bitter sarcasm in her voice releasessomething ugly in me too. ‘Fuck off, Linda,’ I tell her. She pretends to be shocked. ‘Oooh, that’s nice language touse to a lady,’ she says. ‘I thought you were supposed to be agentleman.’ ‘It’s the same language you used on me last night.’ ‘Last night?’ She looks confused. ‘What happened lastnight?’ ‘I said hello and you told me to fuck off.’ She seems genuinely surprised. ‘Did I?’ she says. ‘I don’tremember that. But then I was pissed last night. And If I keepthis up, I’m going to be pissed again tonight. And very prob-ably I’ll get pissed again tomorrow night. And the next night,and the night after that, and…’ ‘I get the picture,’ I say, to shut her up. ‘Well I’m pleased tosee you’re enjoying yourself. Don’t let me keep you from yourdrink. I’d hate to come between you and your own personal 101

oblivion.’ She stares at me for a long time. ‘Bastard,’ she mutters andgulps at her drink. I should leave it at that. I’ve achieved my aim. She won’tspeak to me again in a hurry. But I can’t do it. I don’t makea habit of being rude to women, even when they start it and,sunk in the depths of my own misery though I am, I can stillfeel sorry for her, all alone in this bloody town. ‘Listen Linda,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. It’s justthat I’m having rather a bad day and I’d prefer to just sit hereand drink in silence, so perhaps you wouldn’t mind…Fuckoff!’ This last is directed at a prostitute who has stepped in fromthe street and is heading my way. The girl looks taken aback,then affronted. She flips her middle finger at me and goes offin a huff. ‘Told her where to get off,’ Linda nods approvingly. Shegives me a sly, drunken look. ‘So what was wrong with her?Tits too small? Arse too big, perhaps?’ ‘Just not my type,’ I say, looking at my drink rather thanLinda. I’ve said my piece. Now I just want her to leave mealone. ‘What type’s that?’ she asks. I sigh heavily. I can see I’m going to have to go through thewhole bloody thing one more time. ‘I don’t go with prosti-tutes,’ I tell her. Her lips curl into a sneer. ‘Oh yeah? Pull the other one.’ ‘Suit yourself.’ The silence returns between us, but I can sense she’s notfinished with me yet. ‘Why not?’ she says. ‘Because I don’t. Now can we drop this, please?’ ‘I don’t believe you. That’s what you lot came here for. You 102

can’t tell me you didn’t come here for the sex. I know men.They’ll fuck anything in a skirt.’ I’ve had enough. ‘Really? Well perhaps you don’t knowmen as well as you think you do. Perhaps you shouldn’t judgeus all by the standards of the one you married.’ The barb goes home and her face collapses. She buries it inher drink and then fumbles a fag from the packet lying beforeher. ‘Bastard,’ she mutters again as she clicks the lighter re-peatedly, trying to get the cigarette lit. I watch her sobbing and clicking pathetically. After a dozenfailed attempts, she drops the lighter on the floor. ‘Shit,’ shegroans, and puts her face in her hands, elbows resting in a poolof water that stains the bar top. With a sigh I get off my stool, pick up the lighter and flickit alight. I hold it steady as she sucks greedily on her fag, thendrop it back on the bar and go back to my stool and my beer. A couple of minutes go by before I hear Linda ask, in amuch quieter voice: ‘Did you mean that, what you said aminute ago, about not sleeping with prostitutes?’ I should ignore her. Sooner or later she’ll get the message.But her voice sounds different. The venom has been replacedwith something else, a sort of pathetic, wistful quality. I turnand examine her face. She looks awful, her make-up smudgedand her eyes puffy. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I meant it.’ ‘Why not?’ she says in the same small voice. The enquiryseems genuine. She’s looking at me as though she doesn’tquite believe me, but wants to. But I’ve been through all thistoo many times today. ‘I just don’t,’ I tell her. ‘But don’t you think they’re attractive?’ ‘Do you?’ I don’t mean anything particular by it. I’m just tired of herquestions and it’s the first thing that comes to mind, but her re- 103

action startles me. Her face crumples once more and her eyesstream with tears. Her shoulders shake helplessly as she wails, ‘They’re allso fucking beautiful. And so bloody young. I thought whoreswere supposed to be old and ugly.’ She turns her distressed face towards me. ‘Why couldn’tthey be old and ugly?’ she pleads. Her red painted mouth writhes like a snake in its deaththrows and snot runs from her nose. She wipes it with the backof one hand and then begins to rummage in her handbag for atissue, still crying and gulping air though her open mouth. If this were a movie, I’d offer her a spotless white hand-kerchief from my top pocket, but I don’t have one, so I sithelplessly and watch her paw through the contents of her bag,sniffling and sobbing as she does so. She doesn’t seem to begetting anywhere. In the end I get up once more, walk through to the diningroom, and come back with a napkin from the breakfast set-tings. I hand it to her and she wipes her nose, then her eyes. Ican’t help thinking that this is the wrong order. ‘Don’t you think they’re beautiful?’ she says. Her voice issteadier now, but she still sniffles between words. ‘I…I suppose some people might think so. If they liked thatsort of thing.’ ‘What sort of thing?’ ‘Well….you know….the Oriental form of beauty. I mean,they’re all small and dark, aren’t they? Black hair, brown eyes.But if you happen to like blondes…’ ‘Do you like blondes?’ The question has a desperate, plead-ing quality to it. ‘My wife was a blonde,’ I admit. ‘I’m blonde.’ ‘I noticed.’ 104

I also noticed the dark roots but I don’t think this is a goodtime to mention that. She essays a tremulous smile, made ghastly by the lipsticksmeared on her teeth. ‘Why don’t you come over here,’ shesays. ‘It’s silly us talking like this and sitting so far apart.’ I realise I’ve made a mistake. I should have settled for fuckoff, got out while the going was good. Now I’m trapped inconversation with this drunken woman. ‘I was just going to finish this drink and head up to myroom,’ I tell her. ‘Let me get you another one. What was it? Scotch?’ ‘Southern Comfort, but…’ I watch fatalistically as she orders it and another Bacardi forherself. I get up and move to the stool next to hers. ‘Are you married?’ she says, taking a big bite out of her newdrink and lighting up another cigarette. The previous one isstill burning in the ash tray, but she doesn’t seem to notice. ‘Divorced.’ ‘What happened?’ ‘She left me.’ ‘Caught you playing around did she?’ she says, but withoutheat. It’s just what she’s come to expect. ‘No. I was happy. She wasn’t. So she left.’ ‘Was there another man?’ ‘She’s with someone else now, if that’s what you mean.’ ‘How about when you were together?’ ‘I don’t know…maybe…’ I sigh, unable to lie to myselfeven now. ‘…probably.’ ‘Do you still love her?’ ‘No. At least, I don’t think so. I think I’m over her. It’s beenmore than a year.’ ‘Have you been seeing someone?’ ‘Since she left? No.’ 105

‘No girlfriends? No one-night stands?’ ‘No. I haven’t been able to raise the interest.’ ‘That’s why you came here,’ she says, as though she’sworked it out. ‘For sex? No. I meant what I said. I’ve no intention ofsleeping with any women over here.’ ‘Why not?’ That damned question again. Before I left England, theanswer was clear and straightforward. I didn’t like the ideaof paying for sex and I certainly didn’t want to risk catch-ing something. Besides, who can find a prostitute attractive?Knowing that she’s slept with so many men. Knowing that shecares nothing for you as a person, nor you for her. What’s thepoint? You may as well have a wank. But now, after seeing the girls over here, after seeing Annaand feeling the lust rise in me like an overwhelming force, I’mnot so sure. Why shouldn’t I sleep with prostitutes? Would Ihave enjoyed sex with Anna? Almost certainly. So why didn’tI do it? Why don’t I sleep with a prostitute? ‘I don’t like the idea,’ I tell her lamely. ‘So why did you come here?’ ‘I made a mistake. I thought it would be different. Howabout you? D’you think you make a mistake coming here?’ ‘I hate this fucking place,’ she says, and the anger is back inher voice. ‘All those men, fawning over those little girls. It’sdisgusting. They make me sick, every last one of them. Whycan’t men be satisfied with one woman? Why do they have tosleep around?’ ‘You’re asking the wrong man.’ ‘Maybe,’ she says, still not sure about me. She finishes herdrink in one swallow, then climbs clumsily off her stool. ‘I’mgoing to the bathroom. You can get me another Bacardi andCoke if you like.’ 106

I watch her stumble her way across the big room, and thinkbriefly about not being here when she gets back. But I can’t bethat cruel. I order our drinks. The trouble is, I can understand only too well what wentwrong with Linda’s life. And I know it will never get better. In her thirty-five year old face I can see the remnants of thepretty nineteen year old who married Adrian and set herselfon a course through life filled with misery and betrayal. And Ican see why Adrian, being the man he is, would have chosenher. Back then she’d have been the prettiest girl in her class,perhaps the prettiest in town, the one whom her friends enviedand secretly resented. Everything would have been so easy forher, boys falling over one another to be with her, and at thetime that must have seemed like everything that mattered. But she wasn’t beautiful. Her face was not individualenough, had no striking features, lacked the character neces-sary to qualify as truly beautiful. All she had was the ordinaryprettiness of youth, and now it’s mostly gone. Her features aresmall, eyes, nose mouth, and now that her face has filled outwith age, the cheeks beginning to look pudgy, the skin losingits tone, those same features crowd together in the middle ofher face, looking like they belong to someone else. She doesher best with make-up, lots of mascara to make her eyes lookbigger, lipstick to exaggerate the curves of her mouth, tryingto re-create the lost looks of her younger years, but it isn’tenough. She’s ordinary, and she’s suffering the fate of those ordinar-ily pretty girls who, during their short prime, learned to liveon their looks alone. She never developed the skills of con-versation, never exercised her mind to become a full, roundedperson. Never cultivated the art of making friends who weren’tjust stage dressing, chosen to show her off at her best. There isso little to her, it makes me feel terribly sad. 107

Something brushes across the back of my shirt and I lookround to see two young Thai girls moving past me towards thefar end of the bar. They move in a cloud of perfume and smileat me as I glance their way. They take their stools and orderdrinks, and the one on the left purses her lips and blows me akiss. I look quickly away. With unexpected relief, I see Lindamaking her way back between the tables. She climbs heavilyonto her stool. ‘I got you a drink,’ I tell her. She doesn’t hear me, her attention taken by the bargirls.‘Did you see that?’ she says. ‘What?’ ‘That girl. She gave you a look.’ I glance again at the two girls and they smile back at me.The one on the left winks and licks her lips lasciviously. Theaction is so false, so stage-sexy, that I’m inclined to laugh, butLinda is enraged. ‘Fucking cheek!’ she says. ‘She’s giving you the come on.She can see us sitting here together and she’s got the cheek tocome on to you.’ ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested in her. Or any of them.’ But Linda isn’t listening. She’s staring at the girl, hernostrils flaring with anger. She leans heavily across the barand growls, ‘Who the fuck d’you think you’re looking at youChinky bitch?’ The two girls look momentarily shocked, then they put theirheads together and giggle. ‘Linda,’ I say with quiet urgency. ‘Just ignore them. They’renot worth the bother.’ I don’t think she can even hear me. Her eyes are locked onthe laughing girls and her cheeks quiver with rage. ‘Fuckingwhores,’ she grates, ‘Fucking dirty whores. They can see we’retogether and she just treats me like I’m not here.’ 108

‘But we’re not actually together, are we?’ I say reasonably.‘Not really.’ ‘She doesn’t know that!’ she snaps. ‘No, but it makes a difference. It’s not like she’s trying totake your husband away from you, is it?’ ‘She can bloody well try,’ she mutters darkly, then, rising onher stool, she grabs the front of her tee-shirt. ‘Here, you!’ she yells. The girls look up at her, amusement in their faces. Theypretend to be surprised to find Linda addressing them. ‘Yes you,’ Linda goes on. ‘It’s you I’m talking to, youmangy sluts. Think you can steal a man off me, do you?Reckon you’re all that? Well you haven’t got these, have you?’ I watch in horror as she tugs the tee-shirt up to her neck, re-leasing a pair of balloon-sized breasts that flop heavily forwardand swing from side to side as she staggers to her feet. ‘Think you’re so fucking sexy, don’t you?’ she yells at thegirls, advancing towards them. ‘But you haven’t got tits likethese, have you? I had bigger tits than you when I was twelve.Call yourself women. A pair of fucking slags, that’s what I callyou. You…’ ‘Linda, for Christ’s sake,’ I say, staring round the bar inpanic. ‘Put them away before you get us arrested.’ ‘…effing cows…’ I get off my stool and go after her, reaching out a tentativehand to try to pull her tee-shirt back over her boobs, but shelurches suddenly and my hand brushes against a nipple. ‘Get your hands off me!’ she cries. ‘I…I wasn’t….’ ‘I know what you were trying to do! You were trying to copa feel!’ ‘Jesus, Linda. I was just trying to get you to pull your tee-shirt down. Please, just…just put them away, will you? Please. 109

We’ll get into trouble.’ ‘It’s them that’s going to get into trouble,’ she roars. ‘I’llgive them bloody trouble. Fucking whores, trying to steal myhusband from me.’ I badly want to get out of here. ‘I’m going to bed,’ I tellLinda. ‘I’ve had enough. Of everything.’ She looks surprised, then put out. ‘What about me?’ shesays. ‘I think you should go to bed too. But I don’t care. Stay anddrink yourself to death if you like.’ She stares at me for a long moment and I can almost hearher sluggish brain calculating. ‘All right,’ she says. ‘I’m going too.’ Together we make our unsteady way towards the stairs. Thegirls giggle as we pass and Linda rounds on them as though tostart the whole thing again, but I grab her pudgy arm and pullher after me. I clamber my way to the first landing, but whenI get there I find I’m alone. I go back down and find Lindasprawled against the wall of the half landing. Her eyes areclosed and she’s breathing heavily through her mouth. ‘What’s up? Can’t you make it?’ ‘Did you like them?’ she says, eyes still closed. Her voicehas a dreamy quality about it. ‘Those girls? No. Not a bit. I thought they were ugly as sin.Now d’you think you can…’ ‘Not them,’ she slurs, shaking her head extravagantly fromside to side. ‘My tits. Did you like them?’ ‘I…uh…sure…they were…very nice.’ ‘D’you want to see them again?’ ‘I think that would be a really bad idea.’ ‘I’ll show you if you like.’ ‘Linda. Listen to me. You’re very drunk. We both are. Whatyou need is to just…oh God!’ 110

They’re out again. I stare at them in desperation as I feelmy cock spring to attention in my jeans. It’s been a long day,and he’s been up and down like a yo-yo, building up a head ofsteam that simply aches to be released. All the lust that I feltfor Anna, and Kara and all the others, wells up inside me. Myhead spins with booze and lust and I clutch the wall, my armbrushing against her as I do so. ‘Linda,’ I beg. ‘Put them away.’ Her eyes open and she stares at me blearily. ‘Wanna fuck,’ she says. * 111

12 I follow Linda into her room and close the door quietlybehind me. The room itself is cool but I’m feeling distinctlyhot and bothered. The disorienting effects of the alcohol areamplified by the lust pumping in my veins and the warningscreaming in my head. This is soooo stupid! This is just aboutthe worst idea I’ve ever succumbed to. I don’t even fancyLinda, not really, but my cock is pulling me onwards. If I don’tfuck someone soon, I’ll go mad. The only illumination comes from the street outside, redneon that seeps through the thick curtains. I stand just insidethe door, unwilling to go further. I can hear her moving aboutin the darkness, bumping into things. ‘Linda,’ I say, my voice hoarse. ‘I really don’t think this is agood idea.’ ‘What?’ ‘I think it’d be better if we just went to our own separatebeds. We’ve both drunk an awful lot and…’ She looms up in front of me, her breath in my face, her eyeswhite in the blackness. ‘Whash wrong? Don’t you fancy me?’ ‘Of course I do. You…you’re very…fuckable. But you’realso very married.’ ‘No I’m not!,’ she snaps. ‘I’m going to divorce the bastard.Soon’s I get home.’ ‘Maybe so, but right now you’re still married.’ 112

‘Married to a fucking arsehole,’ she wails. ‘I’m six thousandmiles away from home, all alone, everyone else is shaggingthemselves stupid except me…’ ‘And me,’ I point out. She falls against me suddenly, pressing me back against thewall. Her face is raised to mine and her breath is hot in myface. I feel her hand fumbling down below, burrowing like abusy rodent between our bodies. ‘All the more reason why we should have a bit of fun to-gether,’ she says. ‘We deserve it. We deserve each other.’ ‘But…’ ‘I know you want to,’ she purrs, ‘I can feel it.’ So can I. And of course, I do want to, right now, right thisminute, but a small, lucid part of my brain knows that if I gothrough with it, I won’t respect myself in the morning. ‘This is madness,’ I moan. ‘Just this once,’ she whispers. She’s got her tongue in myear and I’m hearing the sounds of the sea breaking on a pebblebeach. ‘Just tonight. I really, really need a damn good fuck.’ ‘Oh Christ…’ I murmur as I feel my resolve crumbling. ‘Please. It’ll make me feel better.’ I admit defeat. ‘All right.’ ‘Get into bed,’ she tells me. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’ She moves away and is swallowed up in the dark. I leanagainst the wall and take deep breaths to calm myself. Then Iflick on the light switch. ‘Turn it off!’ Linda squeals, and I quickly obey. ‘I can’t see,’ I complain. ‘I don’t like the light on when we’re…you know…doing it.’ Her voice is coming from the direction of the bathroom. Isuppose she’s taking off her make-up or some other girl-thing. My eyes are adjusting slowly to the dark and I begin tomake out shapes. I realise that her room shares its layout 113

with mine, only in mirror image. Carefully, one arm extendedbefore me, I make my way across to the bed and sit on theedge. The booze is making its presence felt and my head isthrobbing slightly. I lie down and the room swings disconcert-ingly several times before settling down once more. I can hear music coming through the floor from the barbelow. I recognise the tune, Santana’s “Samba Pa Ti”, an oldiebut a goldie. I’m humming along when I notice another sound,the high tinkle of running water. Too late, I realise it’s Lindahaving a wee. There’s something terribly unsexy, I find, about listening toa girl having a widdle immediately before you make love toher. She could at least have shut the bloody door! I try to tuneit out, humming louder, but it goes on for a long time and thefeeling of arousal drains out of me as the water drains out ofher. I’m beginning to worry that I won’t be able to get it up,what with this on top of all the booze I’ve taken on board. Notthat I’ve ever experienced any difficulty before, but this is dif-ferent. There are added factors at play here. Emotional issues.Moral issues. For a start, I can’t help feeling that this whole thing, goingto bed with the wife of a business colleague is fundamentallywrong. Admittedly the guy’s a prat, a womaniser who cheatson his wife, but does that make it okay for me to fuck her? Notreally. Of all the women in Pattaya, Linda is probably the onlyone I should absolutely not sleep with. Then there’s Linda herself. She’s pissed as a newt and Ifeel bad about taking advantage of a girl in that state. But thenagain, am I? It feels more like she’s taking advantage of me. Finally, there’s the little question of Linda’s attractiveness.To be frank, she’s not really my type. I’d certainly never haveset out to seduce her. It was sympathy, not lust, that made me 114

stay and chat with her. So how did it develop into this? Tits. That, of course is the answer. That quick flash of Linda’stits, which sent a jolt of pure lust through me, building on thefrustration I was feeling after my encounter with Kara earlier.Not to mention Anna last night. But now I have mentioned Anna, and the image of hernaked rear end arrives in my mind and the lust wells up in meonce more. My dick twitches and begins to swell again. Theroom doesn’t feel so cool anymore. Beads of perspiration aregathering on my brow. I hear the toilet flush and Linda enters the room. Shefumbles her way over to the bed and I feel the mattress dip asshe rolls on beside me. Her groping hand brushes against mychest. ‘You’ve still got your clothes on,’ she says accusingly. ‘So have you,’ I point out. My night vision is pretty goodnow and I can make out the sheen of her white tee-shirt andthe tight blue shorts. ‘It’s your job to undress me,’ she simpers. She nudges me with an ample hip and I scoot across the bedto make room for her. She moves into the middle, lies flat onher back and waits expectantly. Last chance. Either I get up and go, or I get down to thebusiness at hand. What’s it to be? My mind votes go, but my dick exercises its veto. I bendand kiss her gently on the lips. She tastes, predictably enough,of Bacardi and Coke. ‘Mmmmm,’ she murmurs, and I feel my lips vibratingslightly to the sound. She wriggles her body sensuously,settling herself deeper into the bed, and reaches her armsup above and behind her head, where they lie resting on thepillows. 115

I lift her tee-shirt and carefully lick each nipple in turn. Shemoans slightly and murmurs, ‘Oooh, that’s good.’ I spend quite a bit of time on her breasts, more than theydeserve frankly. They’re big, right enough, but uninteresting.The nipples are surprisingly small and despite my best efforts,refuse to swell and harden. I’ve always preferred the combina-tion of small tits, big nipples, like Helen, my wife, had. Or likeAnna. The thought of Anna stirs my interest and I quicken mypace. I have one hand working on Linda’s shorts, trying tounzip the fly, but it’s a tricky operation one-handed and I’mmaking a mess of it. But Linda’s been here before. She takeshold of the waistband and tugs it tight. The zip slips easilythen and she braces her shoulders and feet and lifts her back-side off the bed, so that I can slip them down and off. But theyget tangled round her ankles. She kicks and squirms but theyrefuse to budge. Finally she’s forced to sit up and tug themfree, breaking the rhythm of our passion. We both sense this,so we take the time to dispose of the rest of our clothes. We lieback down, both quite naked now. I prop myself up on one elbow and take a good long look ather body for the first time. As I’d already concluded, she’s a bit past her prime, but itmust have been some prime. Her figure is best described asRubinesque: full breasts, slightly thick waist, big rounded hips,shapely, tapered legs. Her muff is a good deal darker than thehair on her head. I imagine its been a long time since the twomatched. Her natural colour is rather nice, actually, and I findmyself looking at her and trying to imagine what she lookedlike before she started her love affair with peroxide. She makes a little noise, a sort of annoyed mewing sound,and digs her elbow into my side. I gather she’s feeling neglect-ed. It’s time to get serious. 116

I go back to her tits, giving them a fairly cursory lickingbefore moving down her ribcage, planting a line of soft kissesas I go. I arrive at her waist, where I press my face into hersoft belly, feeling my nose sink into the yielding flesh. Myspare hand, meanwhile, teases her legs open. I move on,running my tongue very slowly down the last few inches ofher abdomen until my mouth encounters the treeline of herpubic hair. Her thighs are still half closed, and I gently in-crease my pressure on them, trying to nose my way in, but shesuddenly jerks herself half-upright and cries, ‘No!’ Her hand is in my hair and she pulls me roughly away fromher muff. ‘What’s wrong?’ I gasp, rubbing my scalp gingerly. I’m sureI’ve lost some hair. ‘I don’t like that,’ she croaks, her throat constricted withembarrassment. Well you’re the only woman I’ve ever met who didn’t, Ithink bitterly. ‘You only had to say,’ I tell her. ‘Sorry.’ The atmosphere has evaporated once more, so I start again,right at the top, back with her breasts, nuzzling and lickinguntil I feel her relax. I give it a few more minutes then letmy hand slide down her body. I stop just above the hair line,waiting to see her reaction. She doesn’t seem to mind so I goon, brushing the soft fur with my fingertips, then sliding onefinger into her crease. I’m half expecting resistance again, butit appears that this is okay. She moans a bit more and gives herhips an encouraging wriggle. I play with her for quite a while, feeling the moisturegrowing under my finger tips. I’ve always enjoyed foreplay,but it’s nice if it’s reciprocated. She still hasn’t done anythingto me. Her arms are stretched behind her head again, the hands 117

hanging loosely from the wrists. My cock is beginning tothrob uncomfortably. I shift position, so that it lies across herstomach, nicely within reach, but she still doesn’t take the hint. Helen was always a more active lover than this, so I’mfeeling a bit disappointed. I decide to cut to the chase. I raisemyself up on my arms and lower myself gently onto her, stilltaking most of my weight on my elbows. To my surprise, Ienter her immediately, slipping straight in without the leastresistance. She’s a bit loose down there. Gradually, I increase the pace, watching her face for signsof enjoyment, but she’s just lying there, arms still stretchedabove her head, eyes tight shut, face blank, as though she’sasleep. It’s not doing a lot for me either. I’m getting very littlesensation down there. ‘Stirring the porridge’ I think is theexpression. I carry on pumping but all I can hear is my ownbreathing, slightly laboured now with the effort of supportingmy own weight above her. We go on like this for what seems like an eternity, and itdawns on me that I’m not going to come. There simply isn’tenough friction, or whatever you call it when it’s wet. Without warning, I pull him out and Linda’s eyes pop openwith surprise. She looks annoyed. ‘What’s happened?’ she askssharply. ‘Why did you stop?’ ‘I thought we’d try something different. Another position.’ She looks uncertain. ‘Why?’ she asks. ‘What’s wrong withthis one?’ ‘Nothing. It’s great. But why don’t you roll over.’ ‘Why?’ she says again, and her eyes have become cold andsuspicious. ‘I just want to put it in from behind,’ I say, feeling foolishhaving to explain. ‘Just roll over.’ ‘No,’ she says, sounding suddenly scared. ‘I don’t want to.’ ‘Why the hell not?’ 118

I’m getting a bit fed up with this whole thing. My erectionis flagging while we talk. I wouldn’t mind just walking awayfrom this one. ‘I don’t trust you,’ she says in a little voice. ‘You’ll put it upmy bum.’ I stare at her, momentarily speechless. Then I say, ‘Don’t bedaft. I’m just going to put it in your…you know…only frombehind. Now roll over.’ She shakes her head. ‘No. I don’t want it up my bum.’ ‘Look, ‘ I say, trying to make my voice sound patient andreasonable, ‘I’m not interested in your bum. I just want to fuckyou from behind. There’s nothing wrong with that. It won’thurt you, I promise. Now, just roll over and you’ll see. Godknows, you might even enjoy it.’ I find time to wonder whether this is a clue to her maritalproblems. Is her husband, Adrian, into anal sex? I wouldn’t besurprised. A man who puts it about as much as he does proba-bly likes a bit of kinky stuff. Perhaps that’s why their marriagestinks. He can’t get much satisfaction from Linda here. I’m about to tell her not to bother, I’m off, when, her facecrammed with misery, she rolls over onto her stomach. Shehas a nice back, her spine running in a deep valley of flesh, buther buttocks are tightly clenched and her thighs pressed hardtogether. There’s no way I’m going to get to her pussy throughthat wall of flesh. I sigh and tap her on the shoulder. ‘Forget it,’I say. ‘As you were.’ ‘Don’t you want to? I thought you wanted to do it like that.’ ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I tell her, and she rolls gratefullyonto her back, her face lit up with relief like a condemned manwho’s just received the King’s pardon. My dick has gone completely off the boil by now. I brieflyconsider asking her to give it a suck, to revive my interest, butI can guess what she’ll say. Instead, I give him a surreptitious 119

couple of tugs while we resume our previous position, thenslip him in with my hand. Linda still doesn’t move as I starthalf-heartedly pumping once more. I force myself to think ofAnna, conjuring up the images of her naked body stored inmy long term memory under ‘W’ for Wank. After a couple ofminutes I’m getting interested again, despite Linda, but I’malso still doubtful about my ability to come. I stop and peer into her sweating face. She looks back at methrough heavy-lidded eyes. ‘What?’ she says. ‘I don’t suppose you’d consider being on top?’ ‘You want me to sit on you?’ ‘It might be nice,’ I suggest. ‘All right,’ she says, to my surprise. I roll away and she peels herself heavily off the bed. I takeher place in the deep depression she’s caused. She clambers ontop and lowers herself onto my cock. ‘Gggrrummph,’ I moan ungallantly as her weight descendson me. ‘What’s wrong’ she says sharply. ‘Nothing. Bit of cramp.’ ‘Should I get off?’ ‘No! Just carry on. It’s fine now.’ She begins to move then, slowly at first but getting faster.Her hands are on my chest and her breasts swing like plumppendulums before my eyes, back and forth, back and forth. Iamuse myself, trying to catch a nipple in my mouth withoutusing my hands, but I’m risking a black eye if one of thosethings hits me, so I lie back and just enjoy the show. This is definitely better. Much better. I’m really starting toenjoy myself. And, as far as I can tell, Linda’s enjoying it too.Her eyes are shut again and her face has that tight look thatwomen get shortly before they come. Then she stops. ‘What?’ I say. 120

‘I don’t feel too good. I think I’ve drunk too much.’ ‘D’you want to stop?’ ‘No-o,’ she says doubtfully. ‘I’ll be all right.’ She begins to move again, but I’m watching her face and Idon’t like what I see. Beads of sweat are standing out all overand she looks very pale. Her mouth falls open and a bubbleof spit forms between her lips, then bursts. She’s moving fastnow, riding my cock like a hobby horse, but she looks likeshe’s in a trance. Then she burps wetly and I see her swallowhard, as though she’s fighting back bile. ‘Whhoooa!’ I tell her, grabbing her elbows and bringing herto a stop. ‘Don’t stop,’ she moans. ‘I was almost there.’ So was I, but I don’t fancy a face full of regurgitatedBacardi and Coke. ‘Turn around,’ I say. ‘What?’ ‘Turn around. Same thing, but facing the other way.’ She’s about to argue, but I say quickly, ‘I don’t want yourbloody bum. Just turn around and sit back down. You can putit in yourself, so you’ve nothing to worry about, okay? Nowdo it. Quick, before we both lose it.’ She does as I say, moving ponderously like a sixteenwheeler executing a three point turn. Then she’s on and we’reoff again. The view has gone downhill but at least I feel safe ifit starts raining vomit. ‘Oh God,’ she groans, and something inside me moves upa notch. I love the sound of a woman coming. ‘Oh God,’ shesays again, louder this time, and I grit my teeth. It won’t belong now. ‘Oh….Oh…Ohhhh….Ooooaaagghhhh! she cries and I feelthe spunk start it’s way up my dick. ‘Aaagghhhhrghh,’ I say, joining in the fun. ‘Don’t come inside me!’ she screams, and I leap like an 121

electrified salmon. My hips jerk upwards and my hands shootout, planting themselves on her buttocks. I heave. Linda,caught by surprise, flies face forwards over the end of the bed.I hear the heavy thump as she lands on the tiled floor. ‘Oh shit,’ I murmur, sitting up and looking in horror at theplace she went over. Something tells me we’ve had all the sex we’re going tohave tonight. ‘I’d better go,’ I say, slipping into my jeans and pulling mytee-shirt over my head. Linda doesn’t say anything. She’s lying on her stomach withher face buried in the pillow. I wonder for a moment whethershe’s sobbing, but I can’t hear anything. ‘Well, goodbye then,’ I say. I almost add ‘thanks’ but I stopmyself just in time. I open the door and slip into the darkened corridor. ‘Mike…?’ a cockney voice says in surprise. ‘Where thefuck did you come fro…? Jesus Christ!’ I’m back in Linda’s room, with my back to the wall, lis-tening to someone hammering loudly on the door. It takes mea moment to realise the hammering is my own heart and thesound is getting no further than my ears. Linda is sitting up in bed, the sheet drawn protectively upover her breasts. ‘Mike…?’ she says, panic in her voice. ‘What…? ‘Oh God,’ I moan. ‘What’s happened? Mike, what’s going on? Why did youcome back?’ She’s staring at me with wide-open eyes, waiting for me tospeak, but I can’t. My mind is reeling from the shock of seeingBenny out there on the landing. From the shock of his having 122

seen me emerging from Linda’s room at two in the morning. ‘Mike?’ Linda, says again, then when no immediate threatpresents itself, more fiercely, ‘Mike, what are you doing? Whatdo you want?’ Her face hardens as she answers her own ques-tion. ‘If you think you’re getting any more, forget it. I don’twant…’ ‘Shut up Linda,’ I tell her. ‘Let me think.’ ‘Get out. Get out of my room. I don’t want you here. I don’tknow why I ever let you in. Get out this minute.’ ‘I can’t,’ I snap back. ‘Benny’s out there.’ ‘Benny…? But…Oh my God, did he see you?’ I nod miserably, and her face collapses. ‘You bloody fool’ she screams at me in a hoarse whisper.‘You stupid oaf. You know what you’ve done don’t you? Thatlittle rat, he’ll tell everyone. He’ll tell Adrian. Oh God….whydidn’t you look before you stepped out?’ ‘It’s dark out there. He was creeping along in the shadows.’ ‘You should have checked,’ she wails. ‘Why the hell did Iever let you in here? If I hadn’t been drunk…’ ‘Listen,’ I say. ‘This is getting us nowhere. We need to thinkcalmly.’ ‘Think calmly!’ she cries in disbelief. ‘If I could thinkcalmly, do you think I’d ever have let you fuck me. I waspissed out of my mind. You took advantage of me. Youseduced me! It was practically rape.’ Her eyes light up with the sudden, mad idea. ‘If I tell them you raped me…’ she says, her words ahead ofher thoughts. ‘Linda, just shut up! Don’t say another word, understand?’ I move over to the bed and say, quietly but with great force,‘Now if you ever use the word ‘rape’ around me again, Iswear I’ll see you regret it. There are tough laws against falseaccusation and there were plenty of witnesses down there in 123

the bar who saw you fawning all over me. I’m a professionalman with plenty of money and there’s ten thousand girls outthere who would readily sleep with me for just thirty quid. Doyou seriously think that anyone would believe you? Just thinkabout it for a moment.’ I watch her as the logic penetrates her drink-befuddledmind. Then she places her head in her hands and sobs loudly. ‘Oh God,’ she wails. ‘What am I going to do? Adrian willkill me. He always said that if I ever slept with anyone else…and all my friends, they’ll all know I…I….and with you!’ shefinishes, making me sound like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. ‘Maybe not,’ I say quietly. ‘Wait here.’ ‘Where are you going?’ she wails, as I open the door a bareinch and peer through the crack. ‘To have a little chat with Mr Benny Slipshaw. Stay here.Don’t go out for anything.’ I close the door gently behind me. I have to go down to reception to find out Benny’s roomnumber. It takes a few minutes to make them understand whatI want, then I head back up the stairs. He’s on the second floorwith the rest of our group, so I pass my own room on the way.That’s when I notice the light coming from under my door.I push it gingerly open, half expecting to find Ray lungingfor me, but all I see is Benny lying back on my bed, one armpillowing his head while he puffs on a slim cigar. ‘Thought you’d want ‘ter have a little chat,’ he says. I nod carefully. ‘I was just on my way to your room.’ ‘Saved yer the trouble then. Got any booze in the place?’ ‘Nope. Warm water in the bottle by your side.’ He pulls a face and shakes his head. ‘I’ll wait ‘til I get backto my own room. Got a bottle of Scotch and a hot womanwaiting for me.’ ‘Then let’s not waste any more of your valuable time,’ I saycoolly. ‘We both know the deal. A secret for a secret. I don’t 124

tell the lads about the discount, you don’t tell them aboutLinda and me. Agreed?’ ‘Dunno,’ he says, enjoying himself. ‘The way I see it, yoursecret is a bit bigger than mine, ain’t it? I mean, you being aprofessional and all, wiv a reputation to protect.’ ‘You think so? Fine, let’s put it to the lads. After all, whatdo I really stand to lose? They’re no friends of mine. I couldn’tcare less what they think of me. I’m only talking to you forLinda’s sake. But when it comes right down to it, why shouldI care about her either? She’s a big girl. She makes her ownchoices, she can take the consequences. And besides, peoplemight not feel so inclined to take Adrian’s side when theyknow he was party to stiffing them out of their discount,hmmm?’ Benny grins at me, apparently hugely pleased with my littlespeech. ‘Nice one,’ he says. ‘I like a man who knows how tobargain.’ He swings his feet off the bed. ‘Fair enough. It’s adeal. It never happened and I never saw it if it did.’ I let him pass me at the door. He stops with one hand on theknob. ‘Just out of interest…’ he says, ‘Any good was she?’ ‘Be sure not to trip on the stairs on your way up to yourroom,’ I say, and he laughs and leaves. I decide it’s too risky to go back into Linda’s room. It wouldbe too ironic if I was seen leaving a second time by one of theothers. Instead, I scribble a quick note, push it under her door,tap gently, and scuttle back to my own room. ‘Don’t worry,’ my note reads. ‘Benny will say nothing tothe others. I have something on him, so he won’t dare. Just actnormal in the morning.’ I leave it unsigned. Then I lie on my bed for two hours, unsuccessfully willingsleep to come. 125

My mind keeps coming back to the same question: What thehell am I doing here? These people are not my friends. Even disregarding thetrouble with Linda, I’m having a pretty miserable time. Andthere’s twelve more days of it to come. How the Hell am Igoing to get through it? Dawn breaks at four thirty and I lie in the growing lightwith the resolve gradually building in me with the new day. Iget off the bed, pack my bag and scribble another note. ‘Benny, I’ve had enough of Pattaya. Flying home today.This doesn’t affect our deal.’ I slip the note under his door, then walk quietly down thestairs and out of the hotel. * 126

13 At five in the morning, the streets of Pattaya feel differ-ent. The bars are closed now, though the odd buzzing neonsign still flashes, the pale colours reflecting in the rainwaterpuddles. Rubbish lies in piled heaps in gutters and doorwaysand dogs, mangy-looking curs with short ginger hair and highcurling tails, cruise the dark streets in packs. They make meuneasy. It would be too ironic, I think bitterly, to come to this placewhere men routinely risk contracting the killer disease AIDSfor the sake of a moment’s bargain priced ecstasy, and to getout clean, having rejected sex, only to be sent into screaming,froth-mouthed madness by a casual, joyless dog bite. I stand very still but tensed to move as a pack approachesdown the narrow street. There’s six of them, loping along inloose formation like soldiers engaged in urban warfare, eachfollowing his personal zig-zag course that takes him first tothis side of the street, then to that. Their tails wag constantly,noses sniffing busily at the seductive smells of rotting garbageand faeces. They drift past me like a school of sharks, inher-ently threatening but apparently uninterested in me. I move on. There are few people about. Those I see I take to be the firstof the early birds rather than the last of the late night revellers.They’re mostly Thai men, small, sullen and slightly menac-ing. They watch me as I pass. One calls out to me in bastardEnglish, his voice sounding harsh and mocking but I can’t 127

make out the words. I don’t stop, don’t invite further conver-sation or a quiet mugging in a damp alley. I walk on, eyesstraight ahead, tensed to run. Yesterday when I was shopping, I know I passed a dozentravel agents, but now of course they’re gone. I wander aim-lessly, no longer heading for anywhere specific, just hoping tostumble across one. After half an hour my plan works. There’s a girl outside, a westerner, sitting on a large ruck-sack with her back to the shop window. She appears to beasleep, her head bowed, chin resting on her slight chest. The light is on inside the shop but when I push the door itrefuses to budge. ‘They’re shut. They don’t open until seven.’ The accent is Australian. I turn around and find her lookingup at me with weary eyes through an untidy fringe of lank,mouse-coloured hair. Her clothes, baggy combat trousers overheavy hiking boots and a tie-dyed tee-shirt with long sleevespulled high up on her forearms, look dusty and sweat stained.Her skin is deeply tanned but her body is skinny to the point ofemaciation. I’d put her age at twenty one perhaps. ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Thanks. Do you know if there’s another travelagent around here? One that might be open now?’ She shakes her head tiredly. ‘Seven o’clock. They all openat seven.’ ‘I see. Well, I suppose I’ll have to wait.’ ‘You got a cigarette?’ ‘Eh, yes, yes of course.’ I dig out my fags and pass one toher. I’m about to offer her a light but she beats me to it, usingthe Clipper lighter that hangs around her neck in a leatherthong. ‘Thanks,’ she says, taking a long, luxurious drag on thecigarette and blowing out a plume of blue smoke. ‘I’m Zoe, bythe way.’ 128

‘Hi. I’m Mike.’ ‘So where you heading Mike?’ ‘Home. England. How about you?’ ‘Bangkok. Sodding bus is late.’ ‘A bus? Isn’t it quicker to fly?’ She gives me an amused, almost scornful look. ‘Sure. And ahell of a lot more expensive.’ ‘Oh, I see. You’re traveling on a budget?’ ‘You could call it that. More like trying to survive on thinair. You got anything to eat on you Mike?’ ‘Eat? No, sorry.’ She shrugs. ‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll get something in Bangkok.’ I look at her thin forearms, resting like a pair of sticks onher bony knees. She’s wearing lots of bangles and bracelets,at least a dozen on each arm. They circle her thin wrists likecurtain rings on a wooden pole. I feel guilty that I don’t haveat least a roast chicken in my bag. ‘Is it far?’ I ask. She looks surprised. ‘To Bangkok? Don’t you know?’ ‘No. Should I?’ She shrugs again. ‘I guess not. You’re a tourist, right? Justhere for a holiday?’ ‘That was the idea,’ I say ruefully. ‘It didn’t work out.’ ‘Yeah? What happened? Catch a dose?’ ‘A what?’ ‘A dose. You know, the clap.’ ‘No,’ I say stiffly. ‘I didn’t catch a dose, thank you verymuch for your concern.’ She shrugs again. She seems to do that a lot. ‘Keep yourhair on. I was just asking. This is Pattaya.’ ‘Yes, well, that’s why I’m getting out. I’ve had enough ofPattaya for one lifetime.’ ‘How long have you been here?’ 129

‘Two days,’ I admit, feeling a little foolish. ‘Jeeze, you must really rate the place.’ ‘Do you? ‘Me? No way. I’m just passing through. I never wanted tobe here in the first place. I was out on Ko Chang…’ She seesmy blank look. ‘….one of the islands, right? I caught the busfor Bangkok, but it dropped me here. Told me they didn’t haveenough passengers to make it worth their while going on toBangkok. Bastards.’ ‘That’s a bit of a cheek,’ I agree. ‘Did they pay for yourhotel for the night?’ She stares at me in blank astonishment. ‘Jesus, Mike! Whatplanet do you come from?’ I feel my face flush with embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry. I justassumed….if they let you down….any reputable companywould have….’ ‘Not the companies I deal with,’ she says flatly. ‘So I wasforced to spend a whole fucking night in this shit hole of atown.’ ‘Where did you stay?’ ‘Here.’ ‘You’ve been sitting here all night?’. ‘I couldn’t afford a hotel,’ she says simply. ‘This town is arip-off, the prices they charge you for a room.’ ‘My hotel seemed reasonable enough.’ ‘Sure. Reasonable if you happen to be a rich tourist with awallet bulging with travellers cheques.’ ‘I’m hardly rich,’ I tell her. She gives me a sceptical lookand I quickly add, ‘But I take your point. So how are yougoing to survive in Bangkok? Isn’t it expensive there too?’ ‘It’s not cheap,’ she sighs ‘but at least it’s on my itinerary.I mean, you come to Thailand, you just have to see the KhaoSan Road, don’t you?’ 130

‘The what?’ She laughs. ‘Jeeze, you really don’t know anything, doyou?’ ‘As you pointed out, I’m just a poor, rich tourist.’ ‘So how come you’re going back to England? You’ve gotmoney. Why not see a bit of the country first?’ ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’ ‘You’re not very adventurous, are you?’ ‘Maybe not. But I reckon I’ve had enough adventurealready on this trip.’ ‘Suit yourself,’ she says, with a final shrug. She takes onelast drag on the cigarette then drops the burning end on thepavement, grinding it out with the heel of her heavy boot. Shebegins to get up, groaning a little as she does so. ‘What timeyou got Mike?’ ‘Ten to six. What time was your bus due?’ ‘Five.’ She’s stretching her body, hands locked high above herhead, elbows pointing inwards, back curving like a bow. AsI watch, she bends down and touches her toes, keeping herlegs straight, knees locked. The image of Anna comes to me,bending down like this in the go-go bar. It’s not the same. I can’t get over how skinny she is. I could circle her waistwith my hands. She can’t weigh more than six stone. ‘Would you care for something to eat?’ I say. ‘We couldprobably find something open at this time of morning. A stallor a café or something.’ She tilts her head to one side and gives me an appraisinglook. I get the uncomfortable feeling she’s weighing some-thing up, though I don’t think it’s breakfast. Before she can answer, the bus appears. It’s a miniature Japanese people-carrier, tiny, neat andcramped. It rolls to a stop in front of the travel agent and a 131

small Thai man, beaming happily, hops out and opens the reardoor. ‘Okay Mike,’ she says, watching me with her head stillon one side, a whimsical smile on her lips. ‘You can buy mebreakfast. In Bangkok.’ ‘Bangkok…! But…I…I…’ ‘Up to you,’ she says, hefting her bag and handing it to thelittle man who stows it in the baggage compartment. ‘But I don’t have a ticket.’ ‘Pay on the bus,’ she says airily. ‘They don’t turn downmoney.’ Her foot is on the sill of the little bus and she ducks herhead to enter, then stops and looks at me over her shoulder. ‘Last chance,’ she grins. ‘Adventure awaits. Or...you couldalways just go back to England.’ * 132

PART 3BANGKOK 133

14 By nine o’clock we’re in Bangkok, in the Khao San Road,the most famous street in Thailand. Zoe has used the journeytime to clue me in. The Road, apparently, is a Mecca forindependent travellers. ‘Backpacker Central’ they call it. Sincethe Sixties it’s been a major weigh-point on the hippy trailbetween India and the rest of Asia. Old-time travellers speak in disgusted tones about how theplace has changed over the years. According to them the KhaoSan Road, along with everything else, everywhere else, simplyain’t what it used to be. But to me, standing here now, it’ssomething else. ‘Where do we go now?’ I ask Zoe. ‘Somewhere they sell food. I’m famished. And you prom-ised me breakfast.’ We don’t have far to go. The Road is lined with stalls, shopsand cafés, the latter doubling as bars, restaurants, hotels andjust about everything else the independent traveller mightneed. The place we choose is open-fronted, about forty feet squarewith a high ceiling, revolving fans, and bamboo tables andchairs dotted haphazardly about. The menu is in English andthe food familiar. I order a cheese omelette and tea. Zoe hasone of everything on the menu. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she says, looking not the least bitguilty. ‘I need to stock up. Build some fat to see me through 134

the next stage.’ ‘What’s the next stage?’ ‘Trekking.’ ‘Trekking?’ ‘Sure. I’m heading for Chiang Mai. That’s up north, aboutfour hundred miles from here. That’s where all the treks leavefrom.’ ‘Oh. So you’re not staying in Bangkok?’ I feel oddlycheated, brought here under false pretences. She smiles at me, reading my thoughts. ‘I can’t afford tostay long in Bangkok,’ she says, ‘Unless….’ ‘Unless what?’ ‘Unless you feel like supporting a poor girl in the style towhich she’d like to become accustomed?’ I don’t much like the sound of this. ‘Don’t worry!’ she says, laughing at my concern. ‘I’m notasking you to buy me a mink coat. I just thought maybe youwouldn’t mind sharing a room tonight. That’s all.’ ‘Well…I…’ ‘It’s a bit cheaper, though not much,’ she goes on. ‘But if weshare, we can get a place with hot water.’ Her face becomes dreamy and she rolls her eyes comicallyas she says, in sepulchral tones, ‘Ahhh, hot water! A warmshower. I could even wash the shit out of my hair.’ ‘Didn’t you have hot water at your last place?’ ‘On Ko Chang? Are you kidding? It’s all bamboo huts andcold showers there. No electricity. No TV. Just peace, perfectpeace. Blue sea, golden sand, and all the grass you can smoke.It’s a cool place.’ ‘Sounds it. Well, If you don’t mind sharing a room, Isuppose we can get a place with twin beds…’ ‘Jesus Mike,’ she says, laughing again. ‘Would you be-grudge a lonely girl a shag? What are you, a monk or some- 135

thing? Can I have another Coke. I’m really thirsty.’ ‘Uh, of course,’ I say, feeling confused and out of my depth. I order the soft drink and another tea for myself and watchin uneasy silence as Zoe eats. I’m trying to work out what I’vegot myself into here. If I’d had more time to think, I’d proba-bly never have got on the bus. I reckon she knew that. That’swhy she popped the question the way she did. She sees me asa meal ticket. I don’t like being used, but to be fair, she clearlyneeds feeding up. It’s not expensive here and I do have plentyof money. It wouldn’t hurt me to support this girl for a day ortwo. And besides, now I’m here, in Bangkok, in the famousKhao San Road, I can’t say I’m disappointed. For the first timesince I arrived in Thailand, I feel calm and relaxed. And if thisgirl wants uncomplicated sex with me, why not? I’ve certainlyhad my fill of the complicated variety. Zoe says something to me with her mouth full but I don’tcatch it. The café where we sit has a huge video screenmounted on the rear wall, and several ordinary TV’s dottedaround on high shelves. They all seem to be linked to the samesource and throughout breakfast Asian MTV has been playingthe hits of the moment. The sound is pretty loud, but it has alot of competition from the stalls that line the road outside andthe taxis, motorbikes and tuk-tuks, those strange three wheeledmotorbike-taxis, that buzz constantly up and down the roadlooking for passengers. In fact, we have to damn near shout tobe heard over the din. But it has a good feeling about it. Bus-tling, alive, exciting. I find I’m looking forward to exploringBangkok with Zoe. ‘I’m sorry,’ I shout. ‘I didn’t catch that.’ ‘I said I’m stuffed. I can’t eat another mouthful. Thanks forthat Mike. It won’t matter if I don’t eat for three days now.’ ‘And here I was thinking I was buying you lunch later,’ I 136

say with a smile. ‘Perhaps I could manage lunch,’ she says. ‘If we do a bit ofwalking first.’ We do plenty of walking as it turns out. The Road itselfisn’t very long, perhaps a quarter of a mile, but little alleywayscrammed with stalls head off at regular intervals. I follow Zoeas she explores, seemingly stopping at every stall, pouringover cheap jewellery and clothes, chatting with the stallholders, looking excited and girlish. She finds a bracelet that she likes, a line of silver tortoisesbiting each other’s tails. She haggles with the woman runningthe stall until they find their sticking point, but she doesn’t buy.Replacing the little trinket on the velvet cushion she movesaway, casually investigating the rest of the woman’s wares, butI see her eyes return time and again to the little tortoises. I get the message. I thought I’d signed up for food andboard, but now it appears I’m expected to buy her jewelleryas well. I bite the bullet, asking the old lady how much for thebracelet, and Zoe moves quickly to my side, hugging my armin both of hers. ‘It won’t suit you,’ she warns, with a mischievous grin. ‘I thought I’d take it home for my sister,’ I say, and shekicks my shin gently. The old lady states her price, and I realise we’re onlytalking a few pounds. I relax again. Diamonds may be a so-phisticated girl’s best friend, but backpackers, it would appear,will chum up with bits of polished jade, shells, suspiciouslycheap silver and any other crap the Thais can find lying aroundand turn into attractive trinkets. Zoe is delighted. By the time we’ve done both sides of the street, I’ve alsobought her a tee-shirt and a pair of sunglasses. I’ve blown all 137

of ten pounds and I feel like Onassis. ‘Stop!’ Zoe cries suddenly, and starts digging in her back-pack. She comes out with a battered guide book. ‘I’ve read about this place,’ she says. ‘I think it came highlyrecommended.’ She flips through the pages while I take a doubtful lookat ‘this place.’ It’s a hotel, or guest house, as they call themhere. We’ve passed a few on the way and this one looks fairlytypical. Typically awful, that is. The entrance is down a littledark alleyway and the body of the hotel itself appears to be allabove ground floor level. Damp-looking white concrete wallsstretch away above us, with barred balconies and rusty air-con-ditioning units hanging out of the windows. It looks a dump.Compared to this, my hotel in Pattaya was the Ritz. ‘Here we are,’ she announces. ‘It says, cheap, clean, andsafe. Bit noisy, from being located above the street, but veryfriendly. This’ll do.’ She leads the way down the little alleyway which opensinto a small reception area. The receptionist confirms that, yes,they do have a double room. Would we like to see it? Yes wewould. The room is a shock. It’s about seven foot square, with afive foot double bed crammed in. It’s clear that this room andseveral others have been created from one larger room bythe simple expedient of slinging up crude wooden partitions.There’s so little floor space that Zoe has to stand sideways tolet me pass. I stick my head into the tiny bathroom. The whole room islined with cracked white tiles. The shower cubicle has no dooror curtain and the floor is puddled with water. The toilet iswestern but there’s something distinctly odd about it. Behindthe seat itself, several copper pipes run up the wall. From oneof these a short hose projects, with a shower head on its end. 138

Nearby there’s a sort of concrete trough affair, lined with thefamiliar white tiles and filled with water. ‘What’s that for?’ I say. ‘Washing your feet?’ Zoe, puzzled, squeezes into the door frame and looks whereI’m pointing. She laughs. ‘You really have been living inluxury, haven’t you?’ she says. ‘That’s for flushing the loo.’ I look again, and realise that she’s right. There’s no cisternabove the toilet, but a large plastic scoop is floating in thetrough of water. ‘Nice,’ I say. ‘All mod cons, if we were living in the MiddleAges. And the hose?’ ‘For washing your bits after going to the loo,’ she says witha giggle. ‘The Thais are very keen on personal hygiene. Sowhat d’you think? Shall we take it?’ ‘Look, Zoe,’ I say carefully, ‘I know I told you I wasn’t rich,but this…well, let’s just say I can afford something better.’ Her face falls. ‘Not posh enough for you?’ ‘If it was any less posh the cockroaches would move out.’ ‘There aren’t any roaches,’ she says quietly. ‘It’s the firstthing I checked.’ ‘I was joking,’ I say, a little taken aback. It hadn’t occurredto me that the place might really be infested. ‘Sure.’ She sits heavily on the bed, folding her hands in herlap and letting her head drop. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘I guess you’re used to better,’ she says, her voice quiveringslightly. ‘Aren’t you? I mean…back home at least. Wherever homeis.’ ‘A long way away. I’ve been on the road a while.’ I sit down on the bed beside her. I can’t make out thissudden mood change. All the bounce has gone out of her,simply because I suggested we stay somewhere more comfort- 139

able. ‘How long? Since you left home?’ ‘Oh…a year…maybe two. I don’t know. I lose track.’ ‘That is a long time,’ I say softly. ‘I wanted to see the world,’ she says, and a touch of defi-ance enters her voice as she adds: ‘And I have. Not all of it.Not yet. But I’ve seen some stuff.’ ‘I’m sure you have. I just thought maybe you’d like to seesome five star luxury for a change.’ She shakes her head. ‘I can’t Mike. I might like it too much.Then you’ll go back to England and I’ll have to stay in placeslike this again. It’s not worth the risk. I’d rather stay here.’ ‘Okay,’ I tell her. ‘Here will do just fine.’ She looks at me doubtfully. ‘Really? D’you mean that? Youdon’t mind?’ ‘I don’t mind,’ I tell her sincerely. ‘Hey, it’ll do me good.Get me out of my flabby bourgeois ways. Back to basics.Build some moral fibre.’ She giggles like a young girl. ‘Besides,’ she says. ‘You justwait ‘til you see some of the places we’ll be sleeping whenwe’re trekking. You’ll wish you were back here in all thisluxury.’ I leave her sitting on the double bed, and walk slowly downto the reception counter, where I pay the rent for one night inadvance. Then I go back upstairs. All the way, I’m thinking to myself: ‘When did we agreethat I was going trekking with her?’ ‘You need to lose that suitcase,’ Zoe says. ‘You can’t lugthat thing around on the trek. We’ll go shopping later. Buy youa pack.’ ‘It’ll need to be pretty big,’ I say doubtfully. ‘To fit this lotin.’ 140

‘You should get rid of some of that stuff. Better if you travellight like I do. Look.’ She opens her pack and begins to remove the contents,laying them on the bed. ‘Knickers,’ she announces. ‘Three pairs. That’s one pairon, one in the wash, and one for special occasions, like whenI’m hoping to get laid. Same with tee-shirts, one on, one dirty,one clean. No bras. I don’t bother with them.’ She sticks herchest out and spreads her hands in a gesture that says, “See, nopoint!” ‘One sarong,’ she goes on, taking from her bag a richlypatterned piece of fabric that looks like an exotic tablecloth.‘These are really great. You can wrap it round your waist andwear it like a skirt, see? Or over your shoulders like a shawl,like this. Or even on your head, to keep the sun off. And theycome in the most fantastic designs and colours. We’ll get youone.’ She laughs at the expression on my face. ‘Don’t worry. Menwear them too. Now, socks, two pairs, for when I’m wearingboots. Do you have boots?’ I shake my head. ‘Never mind. You can wear trainers. They’ll be fine, unlessit rains. Then you can wear sandals, like mine, see? Water-proof. We’ll get you a pair of those. They’re dead cheap. Whatelse? First Aid kit. Very important, but you can share mine.Tampons. You won’t be needing those. Loo roll. Better buyyour own. Guide book, iPhone, spare batteries, torch. Book forlong journeys. Are you a reader Mike?’ ‘I read quite a lot actually,’ I say. ‘About three books a weekwhen I’m at home.’ ‘Jeeze, you need to get a life Mike. I can tell you’re notmarried.’ ‘I was. I’m not any more.’ 141

‘Yeah? Well, it happens. Now, the only other thing thatmight be worth your while getting is a rain cape. It can getpretty wet out in the hill country.’ ‘Perhaps that’s why they call it rainforest?’ I suggest mildly. ‘Very observant of you. The rest of this stuff is mostly mypersonal junk. Souvenirs of my travels, that sort of stuff. Justtake my advice, don’t buy anything bigger than a matchbox. Itmounts up.’ She drops onto the bed beside me and lights a cigarette. ‘So, what do you want to do now?’ she asks. ‘I don’t mind. How about you?’ ‘Personally, I’d like to get my washing done first. If I do itnow, it’ll be dry by this evening. Then I wouldn’t mind a fuck.Then perhaps we can go out and get something to eat.’ I stare at her in amazement. ‘That…eh…sounds fine to me.’ ‘Okay,’ she says and bounces back off the bed. ‘I’m going totake a shower. I’ll take my washing in with me. Saves time.’ She begins to root around in the pile of clothing on the bed.Selecting a tee shirt, she holds it to her nose and sniffs audibly.‘Clean,’ she announces, placing it to one side. She picks upthe other one, sniffs again. and pulls a face. ‘Poo, smelly.’ Shedrops the offending garment on the floor. Then she pinchesthe front of the shirt she’s wearing and pulls it up to her nose.‘You too,’ she says, tugging it over her head and dropping it onthe floor with the other one. I blink at the sudden, unexpected appearance of her breasts.They’re tiny, barely protruding from her all-too-visibleribcage. But the nipples are surprisingly long and pink, asthough they’ve been transplanted from another, larger pair ofbreasts. I wonder idly whether this could be a new fashion:nipple transplants. ‘Shorts,’ she says. ‘They’ll do for another few days.’ She peels them off anyway and places them to one side, 142

leaving only a pair of faded blue knickers to hide her modesty.When she turns her back to me, I notice they have a small holein them, on the right buttock. She appears entirely comfort-able with her near-nudity as she continues to work her waythrough her clothes, placing them on the clean and dirty heapsrespectively. Finally, she consigns the blue knickers to thedirty heap, stepping out of them without ceremony and drop-ping them on the floor. ‘There,’ she says with satisfaction. ‘It’ll be nice to haveclean stuff again. The facilities on Ko Chang were primitive tosay the least.’ I stare at her naked body with a mixture of fascination andembarrassment, though oddly, little arousal. Her arms, face and legs are nut brown, but the rest of her isso pale that the veins show blue through her skin. She seemsto be made up entirely of skin, bone and muscle, without thebenefit of padding flesh. Her buttocks are concave. Her spineis a series of notchy bones that stick out like a xylophone. Theonly part of her that bulges is her belly. She sees me lookingand pats it familiarly. ‘That’s breakfast,’ she says. ‘I haven’t felt so stuffed inweeks. God, look at me. I look three months gone.’ Her pubic hair is dark blonde and plentiful. It spills overonto her skinny thighs and climbs high on her abdomen, asthough straining to reach her belly button. Her belly buttonitself projects outwards like a third nipple. She has a tattoo, a tiny rosebud, nestled in the crease whereher thigh joins her belly. It feels very odd to be sitting here on the bed, fully clothed,while this young stranger moves about naked before me. Itshould be erotic, voyeuristic even, but it’s not. She bends to pick up her clothes and her skinny bottompoints at me for a moment, then she disappears into the shower 143

and I hear water running. ‘Mike. You’re shy!’ she says and emits a surprisingly deepand fruity laugh. I’ve just emerged from the shower, still dripping wet, andI’m trying to towel myself off while she lies and watches fromthe bed. There simply wasn’t room in the tiny bathroom. ‘Of course not. It’s just that…well, this whole situation feelsa little strange to me. I haven’t done anything quite like thisbefore.’ ‘Oh my God,’ she says, throwing her hands up to her face.‘Don’t tell me you’re a virgin!’ ‘Shut up,’ I say and throw the now-wet towel at her. I slipquickly onto the bed as she removes the towel from her face.I’d like to get under the cover, but she’s sitting on it. I have tostop myself from folding my hands in my lap as she examinesmy member with frank interest. ‘Not bad,’ she says. Not bad at all.’ ‘I’m glad you approve,’ I say, feeling pleased with myself,but she spoils it by saying: ‘I’ve seen bigger, of course, but nottoo often. There was this one guy I met in India…’ I shut her up by rolling on top of her and she squealshappily and grabs my balls. We roll about the bed for severalminutes, licking and slurping, fondling and caressing, then sheannounces: ‘Time for Johnnie!’ ‘Pardon?’ ‘Time to break out the condoms,’ she says, still smiling, butthe smile fades as she watches my falling face. ‘Oh-oh,’ shesays. ‘That’s torn it.’ I roll off her and lie on my back, my willie pointing eagerlyat the ceiling. ‘Shit!’ ‘Hey, no worries. We’ll just have to make do without. Hell,I never cared that much for penetrative sex anyway.’ 144

She grabs my dick, lowers her head, and makes him dis-appear. A moment later he re-appears, only much improved:bigger, harder, and an engaging shade of purple. ‘Looking good,’ she says. ‘Feel free to join in down there.’ She deftly straddles me with her leg and presents her pussyto my mouth. Half an hour later we’re lying bathed in sweat. My breath-ing has returned to normal and my mind is drifting. I’msinking into sleep but I’m vaguely aware of Zoe leaving thebed and returning some time later. ‘Ready for round two?’ she asks with a mischievous smileon her face. I notice she’s fully dressed and I realise I musthave fallen asleep. She holds up a packet of condoms. ‘Here’s…. Johnny!’ she says, doing her best Jack Nicholsonimpression. ‘That was fun,’ she says. ‘Hear, hear,’ I mumble. I’m lying on my back and Zoe islying on my front. Her body rises and falls with my breath-ing, but she’s so light I feel no discomfort. She slips nimblyoff me and revolves to sit beside me, leaning against the wall.She lights a pair of cigarettes and passes one to me. We sit incompanionable silence and puff our fags. ‘You know,’ I say thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think I’ve everheard anyone, at the moment of ecstasy, shout, “One hundredand eighty!” She nods eagerly. ‘I used to know this guy. He was very bigon darts.’ ‘I see. Did he ever score less than one-eighty?’ She giggles. ‘Sure. One day I shouted, “Twenty-six”. That’swhen we split up.’ ‘Then I feel honoured to have been awarded the maximum,’ 145

I say, with a trace of smugness. ‘Get over yourself. I was being generous, seeing as how itwas your first time.’ ‘Very kind of you. But I’m a cricket man myself.’ ‘What’s the highest you can score at cricket?’ ‘Off one ball? Six.’ She shakes her head. ‘No good. Doesn’t offer enough scope.I’ll stick with darts.’ In the afternoon, we’re back amongst the stalls, this timeshopping for my needs. Zoe has announced that I need tochange my image. I don’t really see what’s wrong with mycurrent one, but she’s a girl with her mind made up. I leave thebargaining to her. She seems to revel in it. ‘Here,’ she says. ‘Try this on.’ ‘What is it?’ ‘It’s a bandana. It’ll keep the sun off your head.’ ‘I already have a hat.’ ‘Yeah. I noticed. That’s why I want you to wear thebandana.’ ‘You have something against baseball hats? Everyone wearsthem.’ ‘That’s what I have against them. Come on Mike. Dare tobe different. This’ll look really cool.’ I wrap the cloth clumsily around my head, not botheringto knot it, merely grasping the ends behind my neck. ‘Whatd’you think?’ ‘I think it’s very sexy,’ she says, and despite myself, I’mpleased. ‘Okay. We’ll buy it. But it’s going to take a bit of gettingused to.’ ‘It’s a pity your hair is so short. You should let it grow.’ ‘Maybe,’ I say doubtfully. 146

‘The stubble is good though. Don’t shave for the rest of theholiday, okay? You’d suit a beard.’ ‘You’re trying to turn me into a hippy, aren’t you?’ I accuse. ‘Sure. Why not. Christ Mike, the way you look at themoment, anyone would think you’re an accountant.’ ‘I am an accountant.’ ‘Seriously? Oh my God. That’s terrible. How did it happen?Does it hurt?’ ‘Very funny. So what else do I need to effect the transitionfrom accountant to hippy? Rose tinted glasses?’ ‘No. Your shades are cool. We just need to get you somenew shorts. Those are definitely not cool. And a couple of teeshirts. And maybe…’ ‘A ring through my nose?’ I say sarcastically. ‘Or perhaps astud in my eyebrow?’ She looks as though she’s taking my suggestion seriously.‘No,’ she says, ‘I don’t think you’re ready for that. Maybelater, but for now we’ll just get a ring in your ear. And a tattooof course.’ I put my foot down over the tattoo and Zoe finally concedes,though I suspect she’s simply shelving it as something toreturn to later. But I have my left ear pierced and a small goldring inserted and an hour later, I look like a new man. Unfor-tunately, I feel like a complete prat. I keep expecting peopleto stop and stare at me. I feel a fraud, like someone in fancydress. But as we continue our stroll down the Road, no-one staresand when I catch a quick, unexpected glimpse of my reflectionin a shop mirror, I realise that, in the Khao San Road at least, Ifit right in. * 147

15 As evening falls, the Road changes character. The daytimestalls, with their jewellery and tee-shirts, are replaced by theirnight time counterparts, selling hot food, freshly grilled overcharcoal. The neon lights begin to flash and the huge videoscreens are alive with action. Every café has a menu outside,written in chalk on blackboard, detailing the films to be shownthat night and their starting times. We eat a late lunch cum dinner in the same café we usedfor breakfast. Conversation is limited by the action movie, avintage Schwarzenegger gunfest, which pounds away behindus. I’m just beginning to get interested in the film when Zoetugs my sleeve and motions for us to leave. ‘I want to soak up the atmosphere,’ she explains, as westroll along the centre of the road. Taxis and tuk-tuks contin-ue to ply their trade, weaving between the crowds of youngpeople wandering down the street. Everyone seems to considerthe road a desirable alternative to the narrow strip of pavementleft by the encroaching stalls. Young people mill about in couples and small groups andthe atmosphere is relaxed and friendly. Everyone seems to bewearing some version of hippy / back packer regalia. ‘Let’s check out the music,’ she says, pulling me towardsa stall on which thousands of cellophane wrapped CDs aredisplayed. ‘I assume they’re all bootleg copies.’ 148

‘For two hundred baht a throw? What do you think? Butthey’re okay. I’ve bought loads. They play fine.’ ‘What sort of music do you like?’ I ask. ‘Oh, everything,’ she says airily. ‘How about you? I supposeyou like really ancient stuff, huh? Like the Beatles.’ ‘I don’t think I know them,’ I say dryly. She giggles. ‘Neither do I. I just heard the name someplace.’ ‘Zoe,’ I say. ‘I’m thirty two, you know. Not fifty.’ ‘That’s how old my first lover was,’ she muses as shethumbs through the stacks of CDs. ‘Your first lover was thirty two?’ ‘Fifty,’ she corrects. ‘He was my teacher at school.’ ‘And you were…?’ ‘Fourteen,’ she says, then looks doubtful. ‘Well, thirteenactually, if you count fooling around. You know, blow jobs andthat sort of stuff. But we didn’t actually make love until aftermy fourteenth birthday. He was very particular about that. Saidit had ‘legal consequences,’ something like that.’ ‘It’s illegal if the girl is under sixteen,’ I point out. ‘I know,’ she says, eyes skimming over the CDs as sheflicks them with her fingertips. ‘But he said even a year couldmake a difference.’ ‘The difference between ten years and twenty years inprison, perhaps,’ I say. ‘Maybe,’ she says. ‘Do you like this band?’ She shows me the cover of a CD. I’ve never heard of themor the next three bands she picks. I’m beginning to feel old. While she browses I stand and watch the people drifting by.I notice a few middle aged men with their young Thai com-panions. I suppose even the sex tourists hear about the Roadsooner or later. They probably stay in hotels elsewhere in townand make the trip over here in the evening to see how the otherhalf enjoy themselves. 149