Once a week I taught a class in Cultural Orientation. That day's topic was The Job Interview. At the start of each interview, I explained “you have to shake hands and introduce yourself.” Vietnamese are painfully bashful about any physical contact with strangers. Even eye contact is considered impolite. So I went around introducing myself—”Hello, my name is Leland Street,” I said genially, extending my hand to her. She rose gracefully to her feet and warily laid her hand in mine. It was the most delicate thing I had ever touched. I squeezed it gently and she squeezed back.
“Um … in America, you must look the person in the eye when you shake hands.” Slowly, she raised her head and our eyes met. Her eyes were somehow both shy and brazen. I was drawn inside them like Alice down the rabbit hole.
That afternoon was the weekly soccer match. Each Friday the
farangs
(as foreign volunteers were called) would play against the Catholic or Buddhist boys' team. They literally ran circles around us in the deep sand, but it was a major entertainment event. Everyone in the camp would cluster around the edges of the field and cheer wildly as we flailed around the beach.
At the end of the game I was leaning against the goal post, trying to get my breath back. I was dripping with sweat and covered with sand. “Hello, Mr. Eeland,” said a soft voice behind me. I turned to find Lé Chi standing there with her hand held out. I took it and bowed my head slightly, as the Vietnamese do. “You very good,” she said, smiling. Those eyes again. “No. Very bad,” I replied. When I released her hand, she reached up and lightly brushed the sand off my shoulders. “Airy chest,” she noted with a giggle. “Yes. Very airy.” I blushed like a schoolboy.
Just then the monsoon rains let loose, as they did for an hour each afternoon. We ran for the nearest cover—an overturned refugee boat beached on the shore. By the time we ducked beneath the deck, we were both soaked. Her pajama-style outfit showed the outline of her boyish body, and her wet hair clung to her face and neck. She was shivering. When I wrapped an arm around her shoulder, she did not draw away. Instead, she clasped her delicate cool hands around mine. I wanted to do more, but this was not a college dormitory. It was a refugee camp. Lé Chi already risked scandal by visiting in private with a
farang.
So we just sat there holding hands and listened to the rain pelt against the wooden deck above. Afterward Lé Chi released my hand and skittered back to her barrack. But I could still feel the warmth where our bodies touched.
The air-conditioner roared in my head. I was too cranked up now to sleep. I wanted a drink but all the ice had melted, so I called down to room service for a fresh bucket. I drew open the drapes and looked out on the darkened courtyard. Only the pool was lit, and below the shimmering blue water I could read the words MIAMI HOTEL spelled out in black tile. I felt a long way from home.
Someone knocked on the door and I donned a robe to answer it. There, with a fresh bucket of ice cradled in her arm, was a pretty Thai woman. She stood barely five feet tall in her sandals, jeans and halter top, but every inch was in perfect proportion. Like many Oriental women, she appeared lithe and willowy despite her height. She smiled slyly at me and I cinched the robe tighter around my waist.
Leaving her shoes at the door in Buddhist fashion, she breezed past me into the room. Setting the ice bucket on the dresser, she proceeded to scan the music tapes piled there.
“Rocky roll. I like. You got Madonna?”
“Er … no, I don't think so.”
She selected a David Bowie tape and popped it in the deck. Then she leaned against the dresser and undulated slowly in a private reverie, her long black hair bouncing against her ass in rhythm to the music.
“I only ordered ice, thanks,” I finally managed to mumble.
She turned to me with a knowing smile. “Your friend Rick say you too much cold up here alone. I make warm for you.” She laughed in that lilting high-pitched way of Thai women. It sounded like a beautiful birdcall.
“Thanks, but I was just going back to bed—I mean sleep.”
Ignoring my feeble protest, she shut off the air-conditioner and threw open the window. The night air poured in like hot syrup, blanketing the room with its musky tropical scent. She gave me that smile again. “Better, yes? Much better for massage.” She settled lightly on the edge of the bed and patted the mattress invitingly. Her eyes drew me to the bed and I sat down beside her. Everything about her was delicate—everything but her mouth, which was wide and thick lipped.
She drew a joint from her back pocket and lit it. “You nervous like monkey. This make nice for you.” She took a deep drag, then leaned to me and blew a thin column of smoke from her mouth into mine. It tasted sweet and strong. I sucked hungrily at her lips, but she pulled away. Then she fed me another hit of smoke, smiling with her eyes now. Our lips touched, and her tiny tongue licked playfully against my teeth. I followed it back inside her mouth. It was warm and wet and inviting, and I wanted more.
But she eased away from me and drew back my robe. A fine film of sweat had already beaded on my shoulders. “Much muscles. I like,” she cooed in my ear. Laying a delicate hand on my chest, she guided me down on my back and propped a pillow beneath my head. She stood up and wriggled out of her jeans. She was not wearing panties. Then she untied her halter top and gave me a glimpse of her bare breasts before draping the satin garment over my face. As she gently rolled me over on my stomach, the Thai-weed kicked in like a jet stream. I was off for the clouds.
She straddled my back and worked her fingers deep into my shoulders. Her hands were surprisingly strong, and soon warm waves of pleasure began to surge up and down my spine. As she worked her way down my back, my body became lighter and lighter. Only her gentle weight and small firm hands kept me anchored to the bed.
She was sitting across the back of my knees now, her hands on my buttocks. She stroked them gently with her fingers, lightly tracing the contours of my ass and upper thighs. Her caresses deepened till she was kneading my ass, spreading my cheeks with each circular motion. My whole body broke into a sweat as I clenched the pillow with my teeth and moaned aloud. Gradually, she spread my legs apart and worked my cheeks open wide. Bending down, she let her long hair dance teasingly over my crack. She lowered her head, nuzzling my ass, nipping it playfully with her teeth. Her tongue flicked upwards from my balls, slowly circling my asshole. Her lips puckered against my sphincter as her tongue darted in and across and around.
My cock telescoped outward with magnum force. She slapped my ass sharply to keep it in place, then returned to tonguing my asshole. A warm wet finger snaked its way past my sphincter. I howled softly into the pillow. She guided me over onto my back, her finger still plugged firmly in my anus.
Soon her mouth was wrapped around my throbbing balls. My cock was in a purple rage, tremendously large beside her tiny, perfect face. She raised her eyes to mine. With a mischievous wink, she pulled my shaft towards her smiling, moist lips. Her tongue peeked out and flicked against the bottom of my pulsing glans.
Then she curled her lips around my cock and plunged her head downward. Her hand massaged my balls and the molten fluid churned deep within my groin. As my cock erupted, she reared back her head to catch the steaming spurts across her face. Eyes closed and mouth agape, she laughed that laugh of hers, and I joined in with my own appreciative cries. When I was spent, she rubbed her come-smeared face across my belly and nestled her head against my chest.
I do not remember falling asleep, but I do recall my dream. I was back in Songkhla, in the Buddhist temple, but all my students had gone—all except Lé Chi. She glided up to where I stood by the blackboard and gazed at my sweating brow. Standing on tiptoes, she lightly licked the sweat from my forehead, then from my temples. She licked my neck and ear, the way a cat cleans her kitten. I kissed her, and it was salty and sweet.
Then we were on the beach, kissing still. The barbed wire was gone. Everyone was gone. And we were alone on the sand, writhing together under the blazing sun.
I awoke to find myself being ministered to by room service. She was sitting beside me, dunking a washcloth in the half-melted ice. She fed me a cube, then wiped my steaming brow with the cool wet cloth. As her girlish body hovered above me, I drank in all the beautiful naked contours that had lain hidden beneath Lé Chi's modest garments; the lithe, hairless arms, the soft amber thighs. They had always seemed beyond my grasp, but now I could reach up and touch her lovely shoulder, her tender neck.
Holding a cube between her lips, she bent down and traced icy circles around my nipples. She tweaked them between her chilly fingers till they stood up erect. My hands found her thighs and easily lifted her forward. I pulled her crotch to my mouth and hungrily explored her cunt with my tongue. Her downy hair was soft and fragrant against my nose. Soon her breath grew short and sharp, her moans building in intensity to a high-pitched wail.
“Banh lai!”
she cried. “Do it! Now!”
I lifted her to my waiting cock. She was so small and tight I had to pull her down onto me. We groaned in unison as I entered her. My cock felt like a redwood up inside that dense tropical jungle of a cunt. I cupped her small breasts in my hands, squeezing the nipples hard between my thumbs and forefingers.
She finally broke a sweat; the hair clung to her moistened face and shoulders. She rode feverishly up and down my shaft, clenching it tightly in her cunt with each ascent. She arched her back and braced her hands against my thighs as I drove deeper and deeper inside her. I was reaching my limit when her hands found my scrotum and squeezed. I grabbed her hair and pulled her forward onto my chest, then came in violent spasms which shook through both our bodies. As my come shot up inside her, she grabbed my chest hair and brought her mouth hard against mine.
The last thing I remember before falling asleep was her long hair curtained around my head and her gentle laughter echoing in my ear.
What do Americans love almost as much as sex? Talking about it. Here, as told in their own, uninhibited words, is the state of the union between men and women today, in all its inventive, eccentric, energetic variety. The sex is unbelievable … and every word is true!
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THE PENTHOUSE LETTERS
(0-446-35778-2, $5.99 USA) ($6.99 Can.)
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MORE LETTERS FROM PENTHOUSE
(0-446-34515-6, $5.99 USA) ($6.99 Can.)
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LETTERS TO PENTHOUSE III
(0-446-36296-4, $5.99 USA) ($6.99 Can.)
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LETTERS TO PENTHOUSE IV
(0-446-60056-4, $5.99 USA) ($6.99 Can.)
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LETTERS TO PENTHOUSE V
(0-446-60195-0, $5.99 USA) ($6.99 Can.)
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EROTICA FROM PENTHOUSE
(0-446-34517-2, $5.99 USA) ($6.99 Can.)
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EROTICA FROM PENTHOUSE III
(0-446-60057-1, $5.99 USA) ($6.99 Can.)
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MORE EROTCA FROM PENTHOUSE
(0-446-36297-2, $5.99 USA) ($6.99 Can.)
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