The Taste of Vice
The Taste of Vice.
Thailand. The outskirts of Bangkok. A blowjob girl emerged from a plywood booth painted pink and headed to the cafe at the end of the street. Here it was—the chance to fulfill my secret, perverse desire—to suck a guy off! Making up my mind, I slipped into the booth and hooked the door shut.
Above the sitting bench, a small round hole was cut into the wall; next to it, a green towel hung on a nail; on a shelf stood a plastic water bottle—that was all the simple furnishings of this strange workplace.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded, and a moment later, someone's hand pushed a rolled-up five-dollar
bill through the hole, followed by a cock, all limp in shorts, about fifteen centimeters long, appearing in it. The owner's skin was probably white as milk. Curly, reddish hair bristled on the pubic area… The guy seemed to be German.My heart pounded like a bird in a cage… Taking it with two fingers, I brought the cock to my lips. My nose caught an unfamiliar, sweetish-sour smell of male flesh. On the slightly exposed head, a drop of clear pre-cum had formed…
Here it was—the first touch, to be remembered forever! A warm, leathery, slippery, living phallus, hardened and swollen in your mouth! Clumsy, erratic movements… Saliva… Tightness in the throat and lack of air… He came fairly quickly. There wasn't much semen. I held it in my mouth before swallowing and leaving that place…
On the way out, I bumped into the booth's owner and startled her. Seeing the "tent" in my pants, she thought I had come for her soul… Catching on, I played along and stood where my "first experience" had been just a minute ago. People walked past me, paying no attention to what I was doing. Many people. Locals and tourists. Guys. Someone, perhaps one of them, without knowing it—had revealed his taste to me…
A second before orgasm, licking my lips and remembering how I myself had sat behind that wall—I thought I wouldn't drink or eat until evening, to preserve the taste of HIM on my tongue a little longer…
I will place the five-dollar bill in an album, along with photographs from Thailand, so that on winter evenings, looking at them with my girlfriend, I can recall a small, intimate secret—the warm taste of vice on my lips…