Sex Tourist Ch. 30-31

Best Regards,

Trevor.'

He attached his ten best shots, and pressed 'Send.' The programme whirred for five minutes, then displayed 'message sent.' By nine he was fast asleep.

The week dragged as he fought jet-lag, and a post-holiday-depression more profound than he had ever before suffered. By the weekend, large glasses of wine and early nights had stabilised his mood, and when he woke on Saturday morning, the prospect of two empty, lonely, days provoked him to fight back.

After breakfast, he sat and took stock. The anniversary of Dennis's death was less than two weeks off. He felt a different man to he who was traumatised a year ago by that sad event, and struggled to put into words how, exactly, he had changed.

Most obviously, he was now a man with needs - AND a man with agency. Strings still pulled him - but he also pulled strings. He had a dream - and a different track. He was also an intrepid aviator, flying by the seat of his pants - no longer, another caged commuter. His hair, which before, rambled aimlessly across his skull, now lay, like fresh snow, in neat submission. His complexion was no longer pallid, but retained the golden kiss of the sun. He had learned the conjugal appeal of both a woman's mouth and anus, and felt ambitious to indulge, to the full, his new found appetites.

But, the change went beyond his mindset and physical appearance. His physiology, galvanised by these appetites, again controlled his body as it had done in his youth, involuntarily readying him at the slightest provocation. The office girls, however, raised no response. It was the slender, brown girls on the forums, and the girls in his photos, who moved him physically. And the pictures that moved him most, were those posted by boyfriends, lovers and husbands.

Unlike pin-ups in a magazine, these were posted, not for profit, but for love. The poster could see a beauty and sensuality in his lover which he wanted to share, and Trevor wanted to share back. He was a like mind. The contributions of the Horn Dogs, of course, prompted pleasant reminiscence, but they offered him their cast-offs. The lovers, by contrast, shared their greatest treasure.

He understood their secret. Unlike a cake, a treasured woman, when shared, grew more, not less. In a virtuous spiral, the more she was shared, the more she was admired by others, and the more she was admired by others, the more she was desired by her lover. He wanted his treasure, his girl who also understood this, as Boxi had. He had wanted Allyza, but had had to settle for Boxi. Boxi was, indeed, a treasure, but her fate was to be treasured by someone else. Against all reason, Trevor was convinced that Allyza was fated to be his treasure, and he sought ways to reconnect.

Donald had been his go-between, and he would seek news from him.

When he opened his email, he found a response from Grant.

'Hi Trev,

I do remember we met briefly. Thank you very much for your photos. I miss Alma so much between my visits and I appreciate the sight of her naked and entertaining in the bar. You've captured just what I love about her. Your girlfriend, Boxi is a beauty too, cast from the same mould as Alma I would say, and Alma tells me you gave her a cluster-fuck before you left. Hope all went well. One day I'll do the same for Alma. Maybe we can get together and team them up. That would be fun. Keep in touch and hope we can hook up again one day.

Best wishes,

Grant.'

He replied:

'I plan to travel again in January, and it would be fun to meet up. The cluster-fuck was a great success. Here's a photo of Boxi showing off her scalps.

Regards,

Trev.'

He attached the photo of her with her arms spread, and draped with condoms. He then composed a message to Donald.

'Hi Donald,

It was nice to have met you in person. I'm sorry we didn't get to meet again, but my holiday didn't go to plan and Allyza and I had a falling out. I'm still in love with her but she's cold shouldering me in favour of some other fellow who says he will marry her. Do you still bar-fine her on Saturday nights? Do you know if this fellow is serious? I'd be glad to receive any news of her. If you see her please tell her I love her and still think of her.

Regards,

Trevor.'

Then, he turned to the forums, to catch up on the recent holiday reports and download photos.

These became the means by which he kept a finger hold on, not life, but living. Each evening, he sat before his computer like a diver coming up to gulp air, sufficient to keep him alive until he next broke surface. His days, he spent submerged in suffocating grey sludge, holding his breath, longing to break surface - dreaming of Angeles City.

Planning holidays had once been a chore, the easy thing being to wait until everyone had booked theirs, and taking whatever slot was left at the last moment. Now, he wrote out a schedule for his holidays for the next few years; three weeks twice a year - in the new-year, to celebrate his birthday - and in August. He listed eight holidays before he would retire and live in Angeles. These, besides being little slices of happiness, would be his stepping stones to that dream.

Donald's first response was a setback.

'I'm afraid Allyza's dropped off my radar. I've been into La Bamba on Saturdays but, you know what it's like, I'm told 'Allyza is not working.' I haven't bar-fined her since before we met in MacDonalds. I've seen her out with a guy a couple of times, in the mall and in the market, so it seems to me she's shacked up with him. I'm really sorry it didn't work out between you two, I had high hopes; you seemed such a natural couple. Anyway, if you're here again, contact me and we'll meet and have that beer.'

Trevor replied:

'Thanks. I'd be grateful for any news of her that comes your way. I'll be back in January and would like to meet up and pick your brains. I'm planning to retire to Angeles in four years and want to prepare.'

When Trevor booked his next holiday, for barely eight week after his last, there was some surprise expressed by his colleagues.

"It's my sixty-first birthday. I want to spend it doing something I enjoy. I've got my micro-light certificate and I want to get in flying hours so I can progress to light aircraft," he told them.

However, flying was now the condiment; the main course was the girls. He wanted to experiment - to react when his body exhibited an impromptu response - to follow where his penis led, and explore the abundance of feminine enticements which Angeles City offered. His principle occupation was, in the meanwhile, to read of others' exploits, and plan his own.

In February 2002 he celebrated his sixty-first birthday in Thi-Hi, with Grant, Donald, Alma, and his new friend, Brianne.

On arrival, hoping to hook up with Boxi once more, his first port of call had been Nifty's. He had shared her on the forum, and she had been a sensation. The eruption of admiration had amplified his enthusiasm to be with her again. The news was disappointing, but his disappointment was mitigated. He would have liked to have relived happy memories, but he was pleased that at Christmas she had met her man, and was now in the province awaiting her visa to a better life in Australia.

He had then trawled the bars for several days without settling on a wholly satisfactory girl. Trevor was sitting in Kokomos shooting the breeze with Donald, and confided his disappointment with his recent bar-fines.

"I've got a suggestion. I know a girl, you might like. It'd just be for a couple of weeks mind. She's already spoken for.'"

"Go on," said Trevor.

"A fortnight back, one of my buddies, Charlie, was choosing a girl. He didn't trust himself in bars, so he advertised for a live-in girlfriend. The response was good, and he asked me to sit it on the interviews and advise him. We did it here. We spent two afternoons interviewing girls, he made his choice, and he's happy. But there was one girl, she was the best of the bunch, but she's getting married in July and Charlie was looking for permanent...

... She's a clever girl, studying to be a teacher, but she's working to support her family as well. She was looking for support for a few months so she could stop work and concentrate on her studies. Her finals are in June. But that wasn't the end of her troubles. Her husband-to-be has written her saying he wants her to indulge in kinky stuff. She's Ok'd it, but she's not experienced in that sort of thing and she's freaking. She wants experience.

I still have her file. I can see how she's fixed up. You interested?"

Trevor smiled inwardly at the irony. Such a short time ago he was the naïve lover, now Donald considered him the roué, capable of coaching a nervous bride in the arts of marital submission.

"Right now, I'm up for anything. I don't know about the kinky stuff. I'm a meat-and-two-veg kind of guy. But, I'll suck-it-and-see."

"That's the spirit. I'll call her."

They met in Jollibee, and Trevor's babe-detector twitched violently in his pant's. Brianne was quiet and demure, unlike the bar-girls, but articulate and sincere, and her slight nervousness at the prospect of indulging her husband lent her an appealing vulnerability.

"I'd like to come to an arrangement," Trevor told her. "The deal I offer the bar-girls is that I'll pay their daily bar-fine and out of pocket expenses, food clothes, that sort of thing. If I give you 1000p a day, that should cover that element. In addition there's a bonus. At the end of my holiday I'll pay a 10,000p bonus if you do EVERYTHING I ask. If you're happy with that, we can do it."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you Sir," said Brianne.

On arriving at his hotel Brianne proffered a letter, "This is Thierry's letter. This is what he like in his relationship."

"Do you want me to read it ... you don't mind?"

"It is best if you read, so you understand."

Trevor sat and read while Brianne watched television

"... But in exchange for my love, and I'll give you my heart and my body, my emotions of love and all my mind and all my fortune to have as you please, I wish some indulgence...

...My life passes and I have great need. I can not remove or change these conditions. I tried for many years, but my aspirations remain and grow stronger with time. I want to die fulfilled. All my hopes now rest on you. I wish you to be the end of my trip, but if you can not accept, I must continue my search until I die. You see, my hopes are high for you as it will be your reward...

...Give me, as your husband, these wishes. I ask for your interior body and I wish you dream of interior mine. In pursuit of this I want to give and receive a pleasure enema. I want you to come in and massage my prostate until I ejaculate. I want to get into your anus as into your vagina. While I lay there, I want to stimulate your vagina with my fingers and I wish you ejaculate a beautiful response. And these things that I love, I love you to perform in a costume of my choice, especially in a religious costume of nun in coronet, but there will be others...

...And then I shall give you your penance. I shall wash your feet, tie you in rope, and administer bastanido until you are once again pure..."

Trevor assumed the unfamiliar character of experienced roué.

He drew in a deep breath, and paused before he bullshitted. He'd done this many times, before meetings of senior managers, when they had asked questions about matters of which they were ignorant, and so was he. It was all about form. Sound knowledgeable, sound confident, make it up as you go along. No one will ever know.

"Well, there's nothing there that'll cause you serious harm, or requires a skill that can't be acquired with practice. Obviously Thierry's given a lot of thought to these matters ... he's elaborated their performance in detail. So far as I can see, beyond a willingness to please your husband and permit him ... ahh ... unconditional use ... of your body, so to speak, there's little required of you."

"I do want him to have his pleasure, but I do not understand the costumes, the ropes, the punishment; why does he want to treat me like a dog?"

"He does have a theatrical streak; he sees you in the part of a wanton, his temptress. It's called Adam and Eve Complex. Religious folk believe Eve tempted Adam with the sins of the flesh, and women are impure creatures tempting men into sin...

...Men blame women when they succumb and have to punish the women to expiate the sin. Maybe, he believes you shouldn't willingly give him what he desires, and his little scenes place you in positions where you're punished for your depravity. Maybe he's had a religious upbringing. Maybe he wants a good girl, but lusts after a bad girl to serve his base desires, then purges her sin with his whip. If you cultivate desires complementary to his, if you're a willing counterpart but can pretend to abhor your conduct, then you'll both be happy."

"I see. Now I understand. He really wants me to be a good girl."

"Strangely, yes. But he has some psychological baggage to work through."

"And what must I do?" asked Brianne.

"You must learn to control the sphincters of your anus, urethra and bladder. I think that's what he means by your interior body. They are trainable, and perhaps he sees control of your body, inside and out, as the ultimate proof of love. You must learn to enjoy it; you must take the initiative on your wedding night, seize his body and introduce him to all the pleasures yours can offer. In the morning he'll wake up a happy man, relieved of his uncertainties and the two of you can enjoy his theatrical props together."

"But what about the bastinado?"

"He wants you to scream and writhe, and vocally renounce your sin. He'll tie you up and threaten to whip your feet, but, as when the Inquisitors showed the heretics the instrument of torture, it will be to hear you renounce your sin, not with intent to torture. When he shows you the whip, go straight into your act."

"Can you show me what to do?"

Trevor hesitated. He had slain his Dragon. He felt no guilt and he projected none onto his girls. His libido desired no prop beyond an attractive and compliant woman, but he decided to accept the challenge.

"We'll follow, faithfully, Thierry's requirement, as set out in his letters, and we'll practice until you're perfect. We'll pop into Nawty-but-Nice and get a few things, then start straight away."

So, ten days later, they came to be sitting in Thi-Hi; Trevor, Grant and Donald enjoying the Saturday afternoon bonhomie, and Alma introducing Brianne, naked apart from her suspenders and stockings, to the other patrons.

"Is Alma coming to the airport with you?" Trevor asked Grant.

"Yes. We leave at six, tomorrow morning. I like to hang on to her to the last moment."

"Do you have a long term plan for her?" asked Donald.

"In eighteen months I'll come here for good. I'll get a retiree's visa and we'll settle down. I'm thinking of a place in Hensonville."

"You've decided on Alma then?" said Trevor.

"Yes, she's the girl for me. I've never got such a buzz from a woman."

"And, will she be retiring too?"

"Possibly go part-time. I want to spend a lot of time with her, but I don't want her to change. I fell in love with a bar-girl ... a wild girl ... and I don't want to lose the magic."

Donald chimed in. "They say you can take the girl out of the bar, but you can't take the bar out of the girl. In the thirty years I've been here I've seen so many marriages fail because the guy expected the girl to change when they married. There are plenty of cherry-girls, but these guys go for the wild ones and expect the marriage vows to change them by magic."

"Do you know how long she's been in the bar?" asked Trevor.

"Twenty three years, on and off. She started, down in Buccaneer."

"Buccaneer!" said Donald, "That takes me back. It stood near to where Norma's stands now, on Teodoro St. Those were wild days, and Buccaneer was a wild bar."

"I wish I could have been here," said Grant. "Alma tells me stories of her time there, best years of her life. Danced naked, and got fucked every night."

"HaHa," said Donald, "I may have fucked her. That's where I met Toppsy. She was a dancer in Buccaneer about that time."

"Toppsy?" said Grant.

"My wife, Maricel. Toppsy's her nickname, after Toppsy Curvey who featured on the back of many locker doors; 'cause she's a 36D cup. She was such a whore I married her two months after we met. I was coming up to the end of my time so I invested in a little, plank and corrugated, bar, a cheap beer and blow-jobs set up. That was the best selling combo in those days. We were a hundred metres from a gate to the base. At half-nine some evenings, we had ten girls giving head, and a queue of guys waiting. Pinatubo fucked all that up for us."

"What happened to Toppsy?"

"She's still around, but spends a lot of the time in the province with our kids. Before they came along, we'd leave our girls sucking dick on a Saturday night and go down to Buccaneer to watch the sex shows. Saturday was the big night 'cause the guys from the base were out for a good time. Some bars were stripped of girls by eight in the evening, all out on bar-fine, so Buccaneer put on a show on Saturday to attract customers in."

"Alma's told me about those," said Grant. "That was before Pinatubo. She spent two years in the province after the irruption, before her Mama-San started recruiting again. But it'd changed. No base, no wild times."

"I was thinking about a little bar," said Trevor.

"Not viable anymore," said Donald. "We piled it high and sold it cheap. At a buck a blow it was like popping out for a coffee. A guy could sit at the bar, have a beer, and a girl would dive under and blow him off. On a good day, our top girls ... and Toppsy was our top girl ... would blow twenty customers in a twelve hour shift. Today it's equivalent to six cups of skinny late with an extra shot, the beer's expensive, and you've got to be furtive. Sneaking into a dirty back room isn't the same experience. You'll be hit for kickbacks by the cops and city officials, and if you're raided you do jail-time till you've raised bribe money. That business model is fucked."

"I've noticed the change in the last five years, everything seems to be more expensive ... moving upmarket," said Grant.

"Down on Fields they now have 'models' in some bars," said Donald, "The best girls are dressed up and their bar-fine, or must I say their Early Work Release, is quadrupled. In the old days, all girls were equal. Now there are girls and super-girls,"

"They can be prettier than the other girls," said Grant.

"Not just prettier. All the models are three-hole-girls. They're packaged for all these Japanese and Koreans you see around. That's how they do it at home. Look at them when you're out. You'll see they all like a 'model' on their arm."

"I was asked for 3000p to bar-fine one," said Trevor. "I gave her a miss. She was beautiful, but didn't make much of an effort."

"They have a goldfish bowl mentality, no flirting, just stand there and wait to be picked," said Donald.

When Alma and Brianne returned, Grant nodded at Donald. "Alma, do you remember this guy ... from Buccaneer ... he hung out with a wild dancer called Toppsy, or Maricel."

"Maricel is a common name. What is her province?"

"Cagayan," said Donald.

"No. I do not remember a Maricel from Cagayan."

"Before Pinatubo, we used to run the Suck and Blow Lounge up at Friendship?"

"Sorree. I did not know it."

"We stayed in Cagayan for a year and a half after Pinatubo. Came back in 93. The place was pretty much cleaned up but the base had gone and business consisted of ex-pats and a few ex-service nostalgia-tourists. Only some bars on the main drag were open. We didn't re-open. Toppsy worked the blow-job bars down on E.Santos until our first kid came along. Then international air travel took off, and there were enough sex-tourists from Australia and Europe to attract investment...