Heaux Confessionals: Traispsing the Heaux-rient Bangkok’ed, Deutschmarked, and Blacked Out

“I’m American”, I replied, a smile on my face. “But I lived in Germany for five years.”

“Ah, so you speak German?”, he asked.

“Naturlich. Of course”, I shot back. And then on to more important matters. “Aziz is hot, isn’t he?”, I ask, with a glimmer in my eye that I hope he caught. Of course, he did.

“Yes, he is, but then so are you”, Germany says to me. And on any other night, this would have been the perfect answer. I would have considered adding him and making the perfect double-stuffed Oreo, if I were so inclined. But not tonight. Tonight, I was not sharing my conquest with any other country but the good old red, white and blue.

Moi.

“I’m definitely ringing in the new year with that in my bed”, I said to him as I narrowed my brown eyes deep into his blue. If he didn’t catch my drift after that I was prepared to be even more direct, ie, the German approach.

“Oh! Wirklich? Really?!”, he grinned at me.

“Yes. Really”, I answered. “So don’t even start with any impure thoughts with this one. I’ve already started and I have plans for this one tonight that would make your head pop off!”

“I’m jealous”, Germany laughed.

“As you should be. Now, good luck with your new year efforts.”

That’s right, heauxz. Sometimes, when it comes to your tricks, you have to mark your territory. And since Germans like watersports anyway, you have to dodge that potentially slippery slope and hope a verbal slap will suffice.

By the time Aziz returned from the bathroom, Germany had gotten the hint, and was off and away onto another prowl. But before I could make any headway into getting the head in, we were interrupted again. This time by a dancing queen who obviously had been hit, battered, and quite possibly even strangled by the beat.

“Why aren’t you dancing? I know you can dance!”, he said to me, smiling widely as his hands stretched out towards the ceiling.

“I don’t dance to songs by Katy Perry. It’s in my handbook”, I answered back.

“So you’re just waiting for the right song then?”, he asked me, not missing a beat.

“Something like that”, I said, looking over at Aziz, who was now smiling at our conversation.

“What is your name? My name is Hao”, he said, and shook my hand. “Where are you from? I’m from Bangkok.”

The name of that city alone, and also his chiseled body reminded me that I was indeed going there before I went back home to Istanbul. With that in mind, perhaps I should test out the Bangkokians before I landed in their city?

Nah.

It would be hard to find hot black flesh there. And tonight it was standing right in front of me. So although Bangkok bought me two drinks, fondled me incessantly on and off the dancefloor and dropped none too subtle hints right and left, I was not about to surrender my special dark. Eventually, Hao just up and disappeared. I guess he figured it was a lost cause and he’d left in search of other prey.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two one…happy new year!!” The DJ yelled from above us as balloons fell and confetti filled the room. It was officially a new year and my current best laid plan was to get laid.

Now I could unwind a bit and after several more drinks, I decided to finally hit the dancefloor in earnest, since the music had elevated itself to lukewarm status. I had already learned that in China that was about as good as could be hoped for, so I had to take advantage of it while I could. As I was dancing, I felt hands all over my body which I largely ignored until they began to head south of the border and remained there in some kinky form of a Mexican standoff. I finally came to the realization that the hands groping my naughty bits…had tits. Beyonce was screaming over the music that girls ruled the world, and here were girls grabbing my boys. Being savagely fondled by a gaggle of Chinese girls had never came into my mind on this night, but I guess I did not think of all the possibilities on the table. Aziz noticed the nether-region action and ran to the stage to help me out, so to speak.

“Are you straight now?”, he asked, smiling at me as he danced nearby me and the horde of girls surrounding me.

“Only on New Year’s Eve”, I replied.

“Unlucky for me”, he answered back.

“I’ve been known to make exceptions”, I smiled at him and then nature called and I had to make a beeline to the bathroom.

And in the bathroom, I learned that Chinese men are just like men all over the world. Lady Gaga was singing about the edge of glory on the loudspeakers as a Chinese ladyboy tried to pull me towards a glory hole in the corner. What he could not say with words he was trying to convey with hand motions and soft tugs of my torso. I ignored his hand gyrations that looked like epileptic vogue-ing, fought him off, and returned to the dancefloor. After another hour of dancing, the lights came up in the club. That was the cue that the festivities were over. But not for the little Chinese queens, who ran to the dancefloor and began to sashay as the music became nearly inaudible. I exited the floor and returned to the side of the bar. Standing there diligently was Aziz, that same smile on his face. I never wear watches but I knew what time it was.

Trick-thirty.

It was time to cut to the chase.

“It’s getting late and the crowd is thinning out. You see all those little Chinese queens run to the dancefloor just now? Some people just never want to go home. I think I am going to go soon.”

“Where do you stay?”, Aziz asked.