From Cambodia with Love

As I licked and pleasured Sikha, I noticed a change in intensity as she continued moaning and crying out. Her sexy body shuddered, trembling as if a storm were coursing through her. Oh my Gosh I'm about to cum, Sikha cried out, and I watched as she shuddered one final time, her mouth agape, her eyes wide open. That's when I knew she'd reached the magic moment. It's all about the big O. I wormed my tongue deep inside her womanhood, using it as a spear and tickling her insides with it. I had her crying out my name in Khmer, French, English and profane.

Holy hell you're good, Sikha said, staring at me with surprise-filled eyes. I shrugged. A day at a time I suppose, I said, then pulled her close and placed her on my lap. Sikha felt my hard manhood underneath her and smiled wickedly. I want to ride, Sikha said suggestively, licking my ear. That can be arranged, I said, and eased my aching manhood out of my boxers. Sikha took it in her hands. You're not circumcised, she noted with surprise. I shrugged. So what? I asked nonchalantly.

Sikha smiled, and kissed me. I like guys with hoods, she said, then slid down and took my dick into her mouth. Sikha is one talkative lady at times but finally, I silenced her in a most pleasurable way. Am I wrong to think she looked real good with my dick in her mouth? Sikha licked the underside of my shaft and tickled my balls with her tongue, driving me absolutely wild. Hell, Sikha surprised the bejesus out of me by sliding her finger into my asshole while sucking my dick. Later, I would discover exactly how kinky my Cambodian goddess truly was.

When I finally came, Sikha tasted my cum and licked it all up. I wasn't expecting that, but then again, I would later learn that with Sikha, I should always expect the unexpected. Rolling a condom on my dick, Sikha climbed right back on top of me a few moments later. Fuck me, she said, locking eyes with me. I smiled and put my hands on her hips. Let's dance, I said, and thrust my dick into her cunt. Sikha wrapped her arms around me, and began riding me energetically as I pumped my dick into her pussy. I hadn't had sex in almost a year and desperately wanted to make up for lost time. Lucky for me, Sikha and I were on the same page.

We made love all over Sikha's apartment that night, going from the couch to the living room carpet, and somehow ending up in the kitchen. I took her on all fours, face down and ass up, as they say in North American urban vernacular. Smack my ass you bastard, Sikha screamed, clearly more into the rough stuff than I thought. Who am I to disagree with the lady's wishes? I smacked Sikha's pert little ass and slammed my dick into her cunt, taking her roughly, just the way she liked it.

Sikha wanted me to pull her hair but had to settle for having me grab the back of her neck because her hair was too damn short. We'd been at it for a good hour before Sikha switched tempo. Ever fucked a woman in the ass? she asked, winking at me. I grinned and shook my head. Nope but I'm always up for a challenge, I said. Sikha smiled at me. That's the spirit, she laughed, and then we got down to some real fun.

Now, in the porno movies you watch online and on DVD, anal sex is easy, and clean, and happens with almost magical smoothness. Doesn't work that way in real life. Sikha and I had to do certain things before getting to the actual ass fucking. For starters, we want to the shower, and cleaned ourselves up with soap and water. Then we did the do. Go slow, Sikha said, as I bent her over the bathroom sink, and finished lubricating her asshole with Aloe cream.

No worries, I said, and rolled a condom on my hard dick, the sight of Sikha's gorgeous ass thrilling me beyond measure. Gently I eased my dick against Sikha's asshole, bracing myself. Now, Sikha whispered, and I pushed. Slowly, gently, I eased my dick into her asshole. Even with the condom on, my dick felt snug inside the warmth and tightness of her hole. I guess I was too timid for her for Sikha chastised me. I'm not asking you I'm telling you to fuck my ass, she snapped, and her vehemence surprised me. Alright milady, I said, smacking her ass for good measure as I pushed my dick harder into it.

A sharp groan escaped Sikha's lips as I slammed my dick up her asshole with all the force I could muster. Oh shit, she cried out, buckling slightly. I caught Sikha right before she could fall, and pressed my hand on her back, steadying her against the washroom counter. Loving the feel of Sikha's tight asshole around my dick, I totally gave in, fucking her like there was no tomorrow. My hands gripped her hips like steel, holding her into place as I fucked her, hard. We went at it for who knows how long, and in the end, I made the tough, tattooed tomboyish slut I love so much tap out.

That was so much fun, Sikha said breathlessly, tears in her eyes, as I eased my dick out of her shapely butt. I winked at her. I guess I had it in me all along, I said, smiling at her. Sikha glared at me, but instead of the coyness I usually saw in her eyes, I saw newfound respect, even awe. You're a naughty man, Sikha said, then she kissed me. I kissed Sikha passionately, then picked her up in my arms and carried her back to bed.

Over the coming weeks, a world of passion and sexual exploration opened up to me as Sikha decided to show me ALL she could do. We were inseparable. We hung out at McGill University and the University of Quebec, checked out each other's classes, and dined in local restaurants. We checked out museums, and danced at top notch night clubs. We were madly in love, and I couldn't imagine my life without Sikha Youtevong in it. I told my Mom and Dad about her, and even introduced her to them via Skype. What can I say? The lady matters to me.

Sikha was changing my life, and at the same time, I was changing hers. I got a job working for the campus library at McGill. The job pays sixteen bucks an hour, it's alright, I don't really need the money but I desperately wanted to integrate myself into Canadian society. Also, my attorney assured that working a steady job while attending university would look good on me when the Canadian government decided whether or not to grant me permanent resident status. If a spoiled rich brat like myself could get a job and keep it, why couldn't Sikha?

I wanted to entice Sikha away from the grifting lifestyle. That's why I tried to get her a job, but she assured me that she didn't need one. Whenever I tried to talk to Sikha about something along those lines, she would change the subject. I'm quite weak when it comes to her persuasive sensuality. What can I say? Sikha has that effect on me. I mean, she could talk me into almost anything. How else would you explain how I let her do, ahem, certain things to me? Let me explain.

I've never been with anyone like Sikha, that's for sure. This vibrant young woman believed in living life to the fullness, a far cry from the overly cautious approach an analytical sort like myself preferred. Sexually, she was leagues ahead of me, and I desperately wanted to catch up. I want to dominate you, Sikha said, and I made the mistake of daring her to do it. That's how I ended up tied up and spread-eagled on her bed, getting my ass whipped by her.

I'm going to make you my bitch, Sikha said, before fetching yet another implement of sexual torture. After smacking me around, berating me and whipping me, Sikha brought out a strap-on dildo. Oh shit, I said, my eyes going wide as I watched her stalk toward me, swaying her hips suggestively while stroking her artificial cock. Grinning, Sikha leapt on the bed and told me to get ready for her. Your ass belongs to me, Sikha cooed, and grabbed my dick.

Gently Sikha sucked my cock, and fingered my asshole with her gloved fingers. Then she applied Aloe cream all over my anus, and pushed me down on the bed. Raising my legs in the air with a strength that surprised me, Sikha pressed her dildo against my asshole. Don't be such a pussy, Sikha said, smacking me hard across the face. Then she plunged her dildo into my ass. Go easy on me, I pleaded, squirming as Sikha held me into my place while fucking me. Where's the fun in that? Sikha laughed, gently biting my neck as she thrust her strap-on dildo deep into my ass. I told myself I wouldn't scream. I gritted my teeth against the exquisite pain and vile pleasure I felt as Sikha invaded me. When she slammed into me with all the force she could muster, I cried out like a madman.

Getting dominated by Sikha and having my ass relentlessly pounded by her strap-on dildo was quite an experience. The odd thing is that I enjoyed some of it. It was so much fun, Sikha said, laughing merrily. I shook my head. Um I'm kind of sore, I said, and Sikha kissed me, her way of making the point moot. I love you babe, Sikha said, hugging me tightly. I smiled at her, and told myself that the next time Sikha told me to try something kinky, I'd say no. Did I enjoy letting Sikha fuck my ass with her strap-on dildo? Um, sure. I just wish she'd been gentler. That's all.

A few days later, Sikha and I had our worlds rattled when her girlfriend Nadine Duchene, who was apparently still doing the pickpocket/hustler/escort thing in Greater Montreal, nearly died after being attacked by a creep she'd had sex with in a motel. Sikha was summoned to the Hotel Dieu-De-Montreal Hospital, since Nadine had no next of kin. As we sat in the hospital room, watching Nadine fight for her life, I sat next to Sikha, holding her hand as she wept. I'm going to kill whoever did this to her, Sikha said, eyes filled with tears.

Sitting next to Sikha, watching her weep as her oldest friend fought for her life, I felt so helpless. I wanted desperately to help, do something, but there was nothing I could do. At the same time, I led a life so far removed from Sikha's and Nadine's that I couldn't relate to what made them who and what they are, nor could I understand why they do what they do. I grew up pampered and sheltered, first in Belfast, Ireland, then in London, England, and finally, I came to Montreal, Quebec. A rich guy with rich parents, forever sheltering me from much of the world's evil, though as a mixed-race man, albeit a university-educated, connected and well-traveled individual, there are certain things I can't escape.

I'm here for you and I'm sorry for what happened to Nadine, I said, looking at Sikha while holding her hand. Gently I squeezed it. Sikha glared at me, her eyes filled with a rage and anger I had never seen before. You sorry rich bastard you don't understand people like Nadine or me, Sikha snapped. I looked at her, frozen in shock by her sudden anger. I love you Sikha, I said, pleading with her. I wanted to let her know that I just wanted to help her. I wanted her to know that I love her and would never judge her or Nadine. Life puts all of us in different paths, and only God can judge any of us.

Sikha was growing increasingly agitated, and the hospital staff noticed. A burly orderly asked her to calm down. Sikha shot him a murderous look. I want him out of here, she snapped. I looked at the orderly, then at Sikha. I'm so sorry my love, I said, then walked out. I left the hospital, and took the bus back to Montreal-Nord. I went to my apartment, fell on my bed, and slept. At the risk of sounding un-masculine, I actually cried myself to sleep. I wept for Sikha, for Nadine, for my sheltered yet empty life. God, why did You let it come to this?

The next day, I called Sikha, and got no answer. I went by her apartment, and she wasn't there. I walked through the University of Quebec campus for two hours, stalking from building to building, looking for her. Whenever someone asked me where I was going, I simply flashed my McGill University student identification card and told them I was visiting the campus while considering a transfer. U of Q is the most French-centric school in all of Canada, and hearing a McGill University student praising their school ingratiated me to several Quebecers I spoke to on campus. Ah, the wonders of academic politics.

I swung by the Griyo restaurant, and asked the staff if they'd seen Sikha, but they hadn't seen her. I called her cell phone three times a day for over a week, and eventually was notified that her phone was no longer in service. Oh, and she pulled me from her Facebook and Twitter, and then deleted those accounts as well. I had some friends look for her online and they confirmed my suspicions. Sikha pulled a disappearing act worthy of James Bond himself, or perhaps Cat Woman.

In the months that followed, I missed Sikha Youtevong sorely. When someone you love leaves your life, either taken away from you by death or the caprices of fate, you can't help missing them. I thought of the wonderful times we shared, and the wicked ones as well. I missed her fearlessness, her charm and wit. A part of me will always remember her fondly. Eventually, though, I moved on with my life. I finished the novel, and shopped around for a publisher. An American publisher looking to branch out into the Canadian market, Golden Castle Publishing, showed some interest. I sent them the manuscript, got a literary agent, and they said they're going to run an initial printing of fifty thousand and see how it fares.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed. My novel features a black man and an Asian woman, along with elements of intrigue, international settings, violent adventurism and erotic themes that some might not stomach. We'll see how the Canadian and American markets digest it. I do have some good news. The Canadian government accepted my claim and granted me permanent resident status. I'll be receiving my PR Card in the mail any day now. I can't tell you how excited I am to become a permanent resident of Canada. Especially considering I'll be graduating from McGill University's MBA program in a few months. I guess the future looks bright, I just wish I had someone to share it with. Perhaps the right lady will come along. Keep your fingers crossed and say a prayer for me, will you?