I had a banner week in Bangkok with the “170 Club,” which is my nickname for a coterie of exceptionally tall and sexy women who I see whenever I can — one at a time, mind you. In town for a mere 2 nights last week, I still managed to enjoy leggy pleasures of all three illustrious bodies that make up this, errr, illustrious body.
I’m not extraordinarily tall for a farang myself, a more-or-less average 186cm. But that’s enough altitude to make me tower over most Thai women. No complaint about spinners and pixies, but an occasional taller girl is a treat. It seems so many tall women one encounters fall into three categories: tall but homely; tall but katoey, and therefore not women at all; and tall but two dimensional, in the sense that they only exist in the pages of magazines or on television, or are spotted remotely in shopping malls. Therefore putting together the 170 club was a dedicated labor of love, or at least sustained lust.
First came Miss 173—yes that’s her height. She’s probably one of Bangkok’s most successful long-ballers. As long as I have known her, for the last two years, she has worked two older overseas sponsors for about 150,000 baht per month combined, not including luxury gifts like phones, clothes, handbags, and trips, while putting out very little sexually. At 27, she’s truly good-looking, not just relatively cute compared to the normal range of slutty chicks. She has a unique, funky look and could hold her own with any group of hotties worldwide. Go Team Thailand!
Aside from her height, she has a smoking hot body—shapely ass, firm, slightly up-turned b-cups, flat stomach, beautiful legs. She could pass for a lingerie model, and in fact has been approached often with dubious and not-so-dubious offers of a career in modeling. Just as important, she’s got a great personality, loves to party, and is just an all-round sweetheart. Yet she is incurably lazy, and the thought of working for a living repulses her. When we first met, I mistook her for a freelancer, but soon learned that she wouldn’t sleep with guys for money in the normal sense. She was happy with the income from her sponsors and the life of luxury she could enjoy without lowering herself to the daily trade. Luckily, there was instant chemistry between us. I know enough about Thai culture to comfortable slip into polite suitor mode, and indeed it took three months of serious dating before I could get her into bed. But once we crossed that bridge, we entered a land of extreme sexual satisfaction and quite a strong friendship that has lasted quite well. There has never been any suggestion of payment, though naturally I take her out whenever she wants. Her tastes range from Soi Cowboy to Vertigo. I also offer a modest gift here and there within my means. In fact, some nights I pay as much in drinks and food as you would for a roll with model-grade pro. We meet 2-3 times a month, go out, drink, talk, and fuck like wild animals on steroids.
Last week I told 173 I’d be coming down from the north and had a surprise. She pestered me to reveal it but I held firm, so that when she finally showed up at my place in Bangkok at 10pm, anticipation hung in the air as I pulled out a nice fat one and asked her if she wanted to smoke. She had mentioned that she wanted… special cigarettes… which she hadn’t tried for 10 years. We smoked about half, went out for a meal, then came back for an extended fuck session. She was clearly feeling the groove as we frolicked in the tub. On top of all her other fine qualities, this little honey has a fondness for ass play, and just loves when I probe her plucky little poop-chute. Most impressively, when we retired to the bed, she came 4 times and yelped like a startled puppy (and she’s already a yelper by nature), her muscles clamping around my cock so hard neither of us could move for a few seconds. Next day, an SMS: “Can we do it again tonight?”
Tempting, but I had a prior appointment with Miss 171, who joined the club just this past January, but who is a quick study and dedicated member. Or at least, she has shown herself to be dedicated to my member. 171 is quite fair-skinned, though surprisingly has no Chinese ancestry. Big round eyes, braces on her teeth, just turned 30, long straight black hair. 171 is a good girl through and through—she doesn’t drink, doesn’t really go out, has a real job, and I think only sees one guy at a time. She comes over, folds my clothes, peels my fruit, and walks on my back.
Spoiled perhaps by Miss 173, I always forget that in her own way, 171 also has a great body. Nice firm legs and ass, flat stomach and small but earnest, purposeful tits. Best of all, 171 has an insatiable appetite for sucking cock, and each time we go to bed we enter into a heated contest. Her goal is to make me come in her mouth, mine is to hold off so that I can actually cleave into her tight pink matchbox.
I told 173 that we’d burn another one next time, but tonight I was all tied up. I felt sorry for sweet 171, who waited patiently until I escaped from a late night at work. Figuring she’s not ready yet for that combination, I took a few tokes on last night’s, aired out the apartment, and opened the door to a grateful 171, ready for bed. She could see that I was tired too, so offered a nice long massage while I drifted into a Rastafarian twilight. Then we stripped and went at it. Again, she sucked voraciously, and again I held off, flipped her over, and took charge. It was a long, long struggle between us, but I was determined to see her white skin flush and develop those lusty hot spots so visible on a fair-skinned girl just before she comes. For some reason, when I am under the influence I especially enjoy licking pussy, and was happy to concentrate my tongue on her sweet and nearly virginal gulley. I had to run off in the morning, feeling great and anticipating my flight back home in the evening.
Not a bad couple of nights, I told myself. Perhaps in the afternoon, if I had some time between work and the airport, I’d kill the roach and head to my favorite spa, which offers a great body scrub and aroma massage, with a hand job or blowie to boot.
So what a surprise it was when Miss 174—the founding member of the club who I hadn’t seen since December—sent an SMS out of the blue: Where are you? What are you doing? Now, my 3 year, on again, off again affair with 174 deserves a blog of its own, plus many thousands of dollars in psychotherapy. In short, unhappily married to a wealthy farang businessman, completely insane, worked as a model in her youth, and still gorgeous today in her mid thirties. The word that always comes to mind when I describe her to myself: elegant. Anyway, it’s been a stormy relationship, but we always come back to each other, sometimes after losing contact for months. Are you in Bangkok? My husband is out of the country. Can you stay tonight?
Well, I couldn’t stay, and so offered instead that perhaps we could meet for dinner before I fly off. That’s how much I like 174: a quick dinner with her trumps smoking, a naked massage, and a blowjob. So another pleasant surprise ensued when she replied: “Come here now.” Within 15 minutes, I was riding the lift to her luxury condo. We always start off coy, chatting about life, family, politics. But I find her irresistible and it wasn’t long before my hand was on her perfectly smooth, long, shapely thigh. We took our time but finally ended up in bed. We last met four months ago, and she whispered in my ear that she hasn’t had sex since then. In the three years we’ve been seen each other, I’ve never known her to lie. She has done and said plenty of things I didn’t like, but it’s not in her nature to make things up just to be nice.
I sucked on her clit until it was full and ripe, then she ordered me to put on a condom and lay on my back. I obeyed. She mounted me, a mischievous gleam in her eye and her long hair falling into my face. What a remarkable body. Hardly an ounce of fat, tight muscles just below the surface of her midriff, real strength in her core. Tastefully augmented C-cups backing up a pair of pert, succulent, eager nipples. “Have you missed me?” she asked as she rocked back and forth, hair cascading over my face. “You have no idea.”
Later in the evening I said goodbye, knowing that we’d meet again, but having no idea when that would be. I packed my bag, smoked the last of it, and called a cab to the airport. I gazed out the window of the airplane, reflecting on what a great fucking country this is.