The Thailand Goddess Pt. 01

Hello there. My name is Larry and this is a true story. It's a slow burn leading to an incredible interracial love and sex between me and an amazing Thai woman named Chalermwan. That means Celebrated Beauty in English. The most unlikely of meetings turns into something rarely found - true connection! I hope you enjoy my tale. As always, if you do enjoy, please feel free to reach out, comment and connect.

Part 1; The meet.

It's one thing to be a tourist. Quite another to be a traveler. I am the latter. Always have been.

Planning a trip to a far-away exotic land, somewhere you've fantasized about over the years is a massive undertaking (FYI: Martini's help). I've always encouraged family and friends to do this at least once in their lives. It is important. Why? Because expanding one's horizons should be a part of personal life goals.

Travel, at its best, rearranges your molecules. It doesn't care about your itinerary. It's here to challenge, unmake, and reforge you. You'll get knocked off course, and if you're lucky, that's when things get good because adventure doesn't come looking for you - you must chase it, then welcome it with open arms and an open heart.

I was back in Bangkok after spending a month at a monastery high up in the mountains, then traveling all over northern Thailand for an additional month. I'd gone from monk, back into my hedonist ways and was enjoying exploring, learning, meeting, eating and drinking throughout all of that amazing country and culture and I wanted more - more of everything.

Everywhere I went, incredibly beautiful local women were a natural aphrodisiac - their own special brand of estrogen-fueled intoxication. From their physical beauty to their kindness and open nature, I was falling in lust every six minutes. And these weren't the ubiquitous bar girls or professionals. These were simply local women, living their Thai lives in that day-to-day world where we all reside.

I hadn't acted on any of my fantasies. There were many reasons for that but let's just say, after my divorce and spiritual quest, I wasn't in the mood for entanglement.

Sex? Sure! But I'm not a one-night-stand guy. I find those activities to be fun, but leaving me wanting for something more soulful - a connection that goes deeper and makes all those orgasms - you know - the one's you share, together, as you eat drink and fuck each other into bliss. A state of being where you look at your lover and absolutely need them naked every time you gaze upon them.

That rampant desire, that lust - for the sights, the scents, the tastes, the sounds, as you ravish each other, wanting nothing more that to get your partner off over and over again - that's what I craved.

Here's a story - a true, real life tale of exactly that kind of connection. I was staying, for two weeks, in the quieter neighborhood of Bangkok's Bang Kho Laem district for a couple of weeks before I would relocated to the craziness of the Sukhumvit for my last three weeks before heading back to the States.

I'd had a wonderful day as I melted into stillness. Nothing to do. Nothing wanted or needed. I'd wandered the neighborhood getting to know my new surrounds. I was hot and sticky - Bangkok's heat and humidity can be overwhelming at times.

Back at the apartment I'd rented, I took a long, luxurious shower, letting the warm water wash away the residue of the day. The kind of shower that stretched time and clears the head - both big and small. It wasn't until I was toweling off that I thought about dinner. No plan. No map. I walked out the door, turned left instead of right, and let fate give me directions for the evening.

The neighborhood had shifted as the hours deepened. What earlier had been sleepy, quiet storefronts near my building were now alive with light. The air smelled different--richer, heavier, laced with the scent of street food mingling with the faintest breeze. Asiatique was waking up, the river of lights stretching along the road in an endless procession trying to get into the parking lots; the city felt like it was just about to burst into song.

And then--I saw them.

At a fresh fruit shop that looked like it had been arranged by an artist with a keen eye for color and shape, balance and perspective, a rainbow of tropical fruit beckoned. But at the very heart of the display, resting like precious jewels amidst the glistening mangoes, papayas, and rambutan, was the queen of all fruits: Mangosteen.

They were on my bucket list before I ever left the States. And. There. They. Were!

Deep purple orbs, the size of a tangerine, glossy like fresh plum skin, radiated a floral, Chinese five spice-sweet perfume that hit me like a punch to the chest. I stopped dead in my tracks. I'm pretty sure I looked half-witted. Possibly drooling. This was fruit transcendence personified. And I wanted them!

A woman appeared from inside the shop. The tag on her blouse said Chalermwan but I was too caught up in the vibrant piles of fruit and the serene, hypnotic way she moved to pin down her name the first time. I tried to pronounce it but butchered the hell out of the rhythm and syllables so come even close to getting it right. I asked her how to pronounce her name just to make sure I could come to a close approximation as it was literally foreign to my ears. "Chal -- erm -- wan," she repeated slowly so my brain could catch up.

She was dirty. She was radiant. She was stunning. Her silky black hair was tied back in a long, flowing ponytail, Her face was gorgeous, and her body was classic Asian lithe and elegant but with breasts. Large breasts hidden underneath a t-shirt and apron. Still - they were obvious, large and heavy. Funnily, she was dusted head to toe in the dirty detritus of a busy fruit stall.

I tried not to stare - at her curves, at her chest, trying not to take her in like an animal.

But it was her glittering eyes and smile that were enough for me to rapidly fall into a stuttering brain-dead fog. I stammered out "Sawatdee krab," which made her eyes brighten even more. And smile. And that smile? It was radiant. Her physical presence caught me off guard, but what really knocked me back was how present she was, how she owned every inch of the space between us. It felt like there was no one else on the street. And that was packed.

She pointed to the mangosteens, her eyes questioning mine, and spoke in rapid Thai, her voice, melodic. Whether she was inviting me to indulge or daring me to pick the best one, like a game, I didn't know--but I stepped closer like that little waif Oliver asking for more. Her English was halting. I was acting like an idiot.

I fumbled with my translator app, the weight of the mangosteen and my deep yearning for it on full display. She looked at me with bemusement as I clumsily confessed to the depth of my desire for her mangosteens, and when she laughed, it was warm and unhurried, an invitation into something both simple and... profound.

Without another word, she snapped open a lock-blade knife with the precision of someone who had honed that motion a thousand times. She tapped the flat of the blade against the firm purple skin like a jeweler inspecting rough stones. She cut with practiced ease, revealing the secret inside: gleaming ivory-white segments of fruit, as pale and luminous as moonlight. With the grace of someone handing over a precious heirloom, she passed me the mangosteen on a napkin, her smile lingering just long enough to leave a trace of warmth.

"Seed very bitter. Not bite and eat," she warned with a smile, making the warning sound as ancient and wise as any old proverb.

I took my first nibble of mangosteen.

Holy Fucking Toledo! Bliss. An almost holy kind of bliss. The taste was a revelation--lychee, banana, peach, cantaloupe... but more. Something floral, ethereal, delicate. Like someone had captured the essence of a flower garden in full bloom and made it edible. The texture was soft, lush, and seductive. I probably looked stoned--euphoric, maybe deranged. But it was the kind of bliss that comes only once in a lifetime. Like losing your virginity.

She was watching me, eyes giving me a thorough once-over with a look that said she was considering calling for help; or maybe it was amusement and... something else. "You like!" she said, her voice dancing with playfulness, as though the entire world's worth of pleasure had just been passed between us in that one moment.

I bowed as gracefully as I could, murmuring "Khob khun krab" like it was some kind of incantation, a prayer of thanks. I reached for my wallet and tried to hand her some Baht notes. She shook her head and gently pushed my hand away.

Watching me devour that mangosteen, looking at me like I had just discovered pleasure for the first time, was apparently payment enough.

Then she asked me, via her phone, if I was a chef.

I typed back: "Not a chef. Just obsessed with beautiful things throughout the world. But back home I cook almost every night."

She nodded thoughtfully, but didn't speak. There was a pause between us, a flicker in her gaze that lingered just a beat longer than might be offered up over a basic transaction.

As I turned to walk away, I saw her eyes following me, her face still illuminated by that soft, radiant smile. Maybe I was still smiling too. And maybe I couldn't tear my eyes away from hers. But damn, I couldn't help it. She was as disarmingly sweet as she was stunningly pretty, and I wasn't ready to leave that moment just yet. I stopped.

I typed I'd return after dinner to pick up a few more if she was still open. She nodded, but didn't speak. As I walked into the Shabu Shabu place just next door, I caught her eyes still following me, her face lit up as she saw my looking back at her.

After a great meal, I returned next door. Through a heroic mixture of bad Thai, bad English, enthusiastic pantomime, and frantic pointing--at fruit, phones, and occasionally each other--Chalermwan and I resumed our mangosteen summit. At one point I obviously botched some pronunciation so badly that she was dripping tears from laughter. Her laugh was infectious and I wondered if I had just asked her if I could have sex with a lawnmower.

After we settled down, she advised me to hide the mangosteens in a bag before returning "home" because hotels didn't allow them in rooms--not for any durian-style stench crimes, but because the rinds bled a vicious, inky purple that could stain even black things purple. "Like black magic," she said, and I lost it.

I studied her then--not just the fruit, not just her broken Thaiglish, but her spark. I asked why was she so into mangosteen? She leaned in just a little, eyes twinkling, and in a quiet conspiratorial voice said, "Make man strong. And delicious!" I laughed and said "everything in Asia makes men strong."

Part 2: Dealing with life.

I had to deal with my visa extension the next day. I'll bypass the long day and bureaucratic mess I delt with but that evening, freshly armed with a new passport stamp and a half-baked sense of accomplishment from the slog, I made my way to Chalermwan's fruit store. The day had drained me, but there was something about the pull of her presence, the easy unhurried rhythm of our exchanges, the twinkle in her eyes, her incredibly sexy body and, of course, the promise of fresh fruit that kept me moving forward. I was both hungry and thirsty, and fruit has that magical ability to satisfy both at once--plus, it was about as far removed from the sterile government building I had spent the day in as I could get.

As I walked up, feeling broken, Chalermwan's face broke into a wide smile. But then she paused as she looked me over, her brows furrowing slightly. I must have looked like I had been through a war zone--face pale, even with a tropical tan, body and mind a little stiff from the long hours of waiting and the monotony of forms and stamps. She asked me something in Thai, her voice laced with concern. I gave her the rundown of my day, exaggerating the boredom for comedic effect, and she laughed, her whole face lighting up in that warm, genuine way that made me feel like I was more than just a customer. She placed her hand on mine and said "It ok. Let's laugh." How wonderfully Thai!

She said something that I didn't catch, but her eyes sparkled with playful amusement, and I caught the playful tone. Then, as if to help me recover from my self-inflicted trauma, she went about selecting an assortment of fruits with a skill that was both practical and poetic. I ended up with a ridiculously juicy pineapple, a candy-sweet sprite melon, ultra-creamy fat bananas, tart mountain oranges, a watermelon so firm, the flesh so crunchy I thought it might squirt red juice if I looked at it wrong, and, naturally, more mangosteens for good measure. She was more than a fruit vendor; she was an artist at work.

She handed me the large bag of fruit, and I could feel the weight of it in my hands, the promise of sweetness within. Then a delightful surprise: along with the hefty bag was a slip of paper, on which she had written her number. I looked at it, then her, raised an eyebrow in surprise--how wonderfully old-school.

I stood there for a moment, gazing at that slip of paper like it was something rare and delicate. This wasn't just a number. It was an invitation, a trust offering in blue ink. And something about it--the simplicity, the directness--cut through the static in my brain like a razor blade. She stared into my eyes challenging me. Challenge accepted. I hadn't felt this kind of pull in a long time. No chase, no pretense. Just presence. Connection. Something beyond mere fascination? Time would tell.

With a smile and an almost frantic clarity to not let this moment slip me by, I put the bag of fruit aside and put her number into WhatsApp, then sent her a quick text with my name. The sound of her phone pinging immediately was like the most perfect confirmation of this little spark that was growing between us.

Her smile widened as she looked back at me, clearly pleased, and I could almost feel her relief at the small but significant gesture of exchange. I felt it too. "Done and done," I said, as if sealing some unspoken deal between us. She opened up the app, found my text, snapped a pic of my bedraggled face to add it to my new profile. I looked like a half awake zombie that desperately needed and shower and shave.

We ended up texting back and forth well into the early morning hours, revealing more about ourselves than either of us had intended. It was one of those late-night conversations where the filters slip away, and the usual guardedness between new acquaintances fades away, replaced by a real desire to know more. It was funny how quickly we both found ourselves sharing things we hadn't planned to, things that came out almost too naturally, as if we'd been talking for years instead of just hours. Each message, each laugh, felt like a small piece of a puzzle we were putting together.

There were no grand gestures, no overly-cautious probing questions about each other's pasts. Just casual exchanges about food, music, art, nature, Buddhism, and the little quirks of our lives--things you'd share over coffee if you weren't already three steps into something deeper. It was honest in that breathable, comfortable way that comes only after the first walls come down, leaving the kind of conversation that feels more like a release than an effort.

As the night stretched on, I could feel the natural pull of sleep starting to weigh on me, but I didn't want to end the conversation. Neither did she. We wrapped things up with a video chat, the glow of our screens illuminating the wee hours before dawn in a way that felt intimate. The sound of her voice, even through the tinny speaker of my phone, had the quiet power to make everything else feel unimportant.

"We meet for dim sum, yes?" she asked, her smile lingering as she wiped a stray strand of hair from her face. "I not work until three."

I agreed without hesitation, because how could I not? The thought of seeing her again, in just a few hours, continuing this thing that felt so simple, yet unexpectedly profound, felt not only right, but needed.

And then, she did something that made my heart flutter for a micro-second. With that mischievous smile of hers, she leaned into the phone, closer to her camera and asked, "What we do after breakfast?"

The question hung there for a moment, heavy with potential, and I found myself searching her eyes for something more. Was it flirtation? Curiosity? Or just a playful spark between two people testing the waters? Whatever it was, it made my chest tighten, and for the first time in a long time, I felt that flutter of possibility.

It was effortless, though. The whole thing felt effortless, like we were both stepping into something that was already meant to be. There was no pretense, no weighing of expectations or false starts. It just was. And that's the way it's supposed to be when an unexpected, yet welcome connection lands in your life.

We had a date!

Part 3: The next morning.

And it wasn't the kind of date shaped by the usual rituals and expectations--no heavy build-up or awkward pauses. It was just two people, connecting, in the simplest and most natural way. One bag of fruit, mangosteens included, at a time.

Dim sum with Chalermwan was delightful. Our morning was filled with charming surprises and laughter. She was genuinely impressed with my chopstick skills--though I've been using them since I was a little boy and had enough practice in dim sum joints and Asian restaurants all around the globe to be a decent contender in any contest.

Her expertise however, was in the obscure, in the dim sum secrets that menus dared not whisper to anyone outside the inner sanctum. She ordered dishes that weren't listed, the cooks whipping them up just for us. One standout blew my mind and has kept me awake at night ever since trying (and failing) to find the name of it. It was a whipped scallop and chive mousse ball, dipped in corn starch and rice flour, then fried to golden perfection. Ethereal, is the only word I can think of. An amazing thin layer of crunch, followed by a creamy molten mousse of scallop and chive yumminess. I wondered if there was some kind of divine culinary intervention throwing us together.

Over breakfast, Chalermwan confessed that she had seen me the day before, sitting and eating alone, confidently navigating the sea of dim sum as if I were born with chopsticks in my hand. She teased me about it, about how much I ordered, and I couldn't help but laugh along. There was something about the way she spoke and the way her warmth radiated out of her when she brazenly locked her eyes with mine--like she saw me in a way no one else had, not with judgment, but with curiosity and something a little mischievous.

I asked her more about herself. When she told me she had family in San Francisco but could never afford the trip, I felt a sudden but unmistakable pang of empathy that I didn't expect. I felt her. It was strange how her voice had a quiet powerful ache when she mentioned it, a desire that wasn't just about the trip itself but about something deeper--about wanting to escape, to see the world beyond what she knew. I'd never seen such longing in anyone's eyes. She wasn't just dreaming about a city; she was dreaming about possibilities, freedom, and the hope to visit someplace so far out of reach.

We shared stories of our lives: my California adventures and the fact that I had spent over thirty years not only living in, but exploring every inch of San Francisco. I talked about the rhythm of the fog rolling over the Golden Gate and how the horns bellowed from vessels unseen through the surface-bonded clouds, the way the city changed from dawn to dusk, the way every street had its own character. Her eyes lit up as I described the broad sky over the Richmond District at sunset, how the ocean breeze smelled like cool salt and far away ports, and how you could walk down Market Street, hear a hundred different languages, but somehow it still felt like home.

Her dreams of seeing the Golden Gate Bridge, Ocean Beach, Fisherman's Wharf and Chinatown were vivid, so full of life and detail that I felt like I could almost see them through her eyes. She spoke of the bustling streets of San Francisco, the food, the culture, the feeling of standing in the middle of the city that was a symbol of freedom and reinvention for so many people. And then she mentioned the one place that, to my surprise, felt more like a metaphor for everything she longed for: the view from the top of Twin Peaks.

"That the one," she said with quiet certainty. "That's where I go when I see San Francisco. I want to stand at top, see all of it--like I make it."

I wanted to tell her of the many times that my friends and I used to go up there, getting high and gaze down upon the blazing yellow spear of Market Street glowing bright at night from the Castro to the Ferry Building, but I thought better of it. No need to bring up a past that had very little to do with who I was now. Yet.

We switched gears as I told her about my adventures, walking through the khlong (canal) neighborhood behind my apartment. She revealed she lived back there. We made a deal. She'd show me around her neighborhood, the canal streets I'd become fascinated with, and I'd tell her about San Francisco in more minute detail so she could envision--its fog, its hills, its food, its sights, smells and sounds. It would be a fair trade, culture to culture. And frankly, I was was beginning to feel that to spend time with that enchanting woman, any exchange would be worth it.

The morning was beautiful--clear skies, the kind of day that promises nothing but good things ahead. It was still early enough that the rising heat hadn't started to creep. We walked through winding lanes and alleys, some so tall and narrow they felt like they were sucking in their gut simply to let us pass. The homes were small, tidy, and well lived-in, many with colorful gardens spilling out from every possible spot. Many had hanging pots along eaves, others had lush micro-gardens so full of plants, so green, I half expected them to jump into a salad bowl. Chalermwan guided me through it all, pointing out the little touches of personality of each home and explained what made the area so special. All the while we exchanged brief touches; an arm held while a finger coyly pointed at something to showcase an example of something culturally important, or eyes locked on each other for more than a passing glance as questions bounced back and forth.

At one point, she stopped at a little bridge, gesturing to a cozy, picturesque garden-covered house. "This where I live. Would you see inside?" she asked, as she tugged at my hand, the invitation hung in the air like unspoken wishes.

There was no way I would or could say no. Of course, I said yes. You don't get graciously invited into someone's home, to explore someone's life like that often. To be invited to experience someone else's culture from such an intimate perspective, then turn that down? You don't turn down such a generous invitation. Not if you know what's good for you.

My heart was beating loudly. I could feel it in my veins. I wondered if she could hear it. I wondered if hers was racing too.

We stood there for a long breath, side by side in the hush of her home, surrounded by the elegant dignity of her personal space. There was something unspoken in the way she had opened the door not just to her home, but to the deepest, most personal corners of her life. No fanfare, no grand gesture--just quiet permission. And in that silence, I slowly turned in place, taking it all in: the subtlety of lived-in comfort, the warm light filtering through small louvered windows, and the unmistakable sense that every object had been placed and touched by time with care. And not a single modern electronic in sight -- no TV, no iPad, no computer, no phone, no cords... nothing but home.

In the far corner of the main room which served as sitting, reading, "family" space, nestled against a wooden wall painted by the gentle patina of age, stood a small shrine--a beautiful, timeworn carved stone Buddha seated in serene stillness on a carved teak table, surrounded by offerings and gentle reverence. It was clear this wasn't for display. It was devotion. A living relationship.

I humbly, shyly asked, if we could take a moment together to pay homage to the Triple Gem. She turned to me with a smile that was gentle, real--quiet, warm, and full of something I can only call understanding. She nodded.

She moved gracefully, retrieving three sticks of incense from a porcelain jar, lighting them with intention and practiced care. The smoke began to rise in slow, swirling threads, curling like whispered prayers toward the ceiling. We knelt together on a deep Persian rug, the silence around us a kind of music. I opened my phone to the Pali verses I had come to know and cherish, and in that small moment--knees on her floor, palms together, heart gently thudding in my chest--I led the incantation.

The cadence of the words, familiar to me now like the sound of a departed one's voice, flowed lightly through the room, mingling with the sweet fragrance of jasmine incense. The walls seemed to exhale around us, holding the ancient sacred syllables like breath. Outside, I could hear the soft hum of the neighborhood--the distant splash of water in the canal, neighbors chatting, a rooster crying out a second morning. But inside, time stood still.

I could feel her beside me--not just physically, but in that deeper way, when two people are fully present in a shared moment. I didn't dare look over. I didn't want to break the spell. We had stepped into something older than both of us, something tender and true, stitched from shared silence and sincerity.

When I finished, we sat there for a moment longer, knees still on the rug, hands now resting lightly in our laps. The stillness that followed wasn't empty--it was full. A sacred kind of full. And in that fullness, something had shifted. Something both beautiful and quietly thrilling.

It wasn't a declaration, not yet. It didn't need to be.

It was simply a promise--unspoken, but undeniable.

She leaned into, then onto me. "Only people I like use name Charlee. I want you that," Chalermwan whispered into my ear, her voice barely louder than the breath that carried it. A shiver went through me--not from the air, which was warm and still, but from the closeness, the care enveloped in her words.

"Also, you say name funny," she added with a soft giggle, the kind that made it impossible not to smile in return.

"I know I do -- I'll get it but you'll need to give my tongue time to wrap around Chal -- erm -- wan," I said slowly, deliberately, carefully.

I turned, just enough to see her searching eyes--wide, glimmering, half amused, half serious--and in that look was something unmistakable. It wasn't just affection. It was exploration of a different kind. This was the quiet tipping point between something casual and something that could no longer pretend to be. That look must have been splashed in my eyes too, because we stared into each other for a long time.

I didn't know exactly what I was supposed to do next. But I knew what I wanted. And for once, the wanting didn't come with panic or second-guessing. Just a steady, quiet clarity.

Part 4: Lust takes over.

Charlee solved my dilemma. Eyes open, smiling, desiring, she leaned further in as our lips met for the first time. More, then more, from exploratory and gentle to lust-filled open-mouthed, tongue-dancing kisses, and yet our hands and arms remained at our sides, uneasy but needy.

I finally broke ground and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her to me. She was accommodating, molding her body into mine. She gasped when she felt my hardness press into her belly, then attacked my tongue with renewed vigor. I reached down and grabbed her incredible ass and pulled her even tighter into me. She moaned as I kneaded those incredible globes as she subtly ground herself onto my cock.

Time stretched. The kind of quiet you don't notice until you're wrapped in it, settled into place around us--light, kind, alive and lust-fueled. I didn't want to just take her. I wanted us to take each other, willingly and with the promise for more.

Her scent was as intoxicating as the rest of her. I was kissing her neck as her head lolled side to side, making that slender zone open, vulnerable, available, The pheromones flowing out of her pores flooded my senses, making me harder than I had ever been with any lover before, like the best kind of drug, bringing me to heights of lust I'd never experienced.

Charlee was moaning as I licked and kissed behind her ears, along her graceful neck, along her jaw.

She pushed me back down, onto that rich Oriental carpet, climbed atop of me as her raven-black silky hair cascaded down over my face. Still fully clothed - well as much as that entails in tropical heat, she started to grind her cunt along my shaft. I could feel her heat through my linen pants and underwear.

I reached up and gently started to cup and fondle her incredible breasts, her nipples already erect, like little cocks, tenting her top with top points that had me salivating. She looked into my eyes - her eyes, beautifully almond shaped. Her irises were a light grey and the whites of her eyes were so clear, they spoke of radiant health. They were as disarming as she was.

As I gently played with her generous tits, my thumbs occasionally sliding over her nipples, she moaned and ground down on my hardness. If she kept that up, I was going to flood my pants with cum.

I reluctantly let go of her magnificent chest, wrapped my arms around her and gently rolled us over. Her glossy hair fanned out, framing her gorgeous face as she looked up at me without blinking. She reached up and slowly began to unbutton my shirt. A creamy short sleeve silk Tommy Bahama piece that was perfect for the SE Asian climate. She undid the last button and helped me shuck my top.

I slid down her torso, trailing kisses down her neck, across her collar and down between the valley of her bosom. Breathing her in, her sweet feminine scent was driving me crazy. I gently nipped at first one, then the other of her nipples through her top and hearing her moan and hiss as I applied more pressure onto those buds was like beautiful music, like Debussy or Handel floating through the air.

I moved down her torso as she reached down and fondled my hair, gently caressing my head and face as I descended along to her midriff. I lifted the hem of her top up to taste her skin. Which, was a flawless. A soft golden brown, there wasn't a single blemish anywhere I'd discovered so far.

As I placed soft kisses along her toned belly, I felt her breath intake. I wanted to feel this reaction more so I circled her navel with my tongue until I started to tickle that core with just the tip. She giggled as I tongue-fucked her belly button, her hands holding my head there, giving me instruction on what she liked, what worked.

I could smell the perfume of her womanly arousal and it only fueled mine more. Exotic. Erotic. And sexy as hell. I fought the urge to speed things up, to pull her pants down and drink her slickness up. Instead, I kept trying to bring her arousal to a peak she'd never known before - or at least I hoped no one had ever taken her to that place of arousal where your entire brain shuts down and there's nothing left but connected lust.

As I continued to worship her torso, she began to squirm. Just a little at first, then with more urgency. I had one hand gently tracing patterns on her ass while the other stared its journey back up to play with her breasts.

I moved further down and began to mouth her covered pussy, breathing through the fabric, into her petals and over her clitoris as My fingers found a nipple, even more pronounced than before.

Charlee was moaning loudly now, her hips rising and falling, circling, trying to get more pressure applied to her sexual core.

I couldn't stand it anymore either. I raised up, a sheen of sweat on my upper torso as I gazed into eyes that were now smoldering with need and desire. Her hands reached up. She began to twist and pinch my nipples. No one had ever done that before and I almost came right then and there.

Then she pushed up and scampered out from under me. She took my hand and led me to her small bedroom. It was neat and clean and I didn't care if we'd be rolling around in a lave field at that point - I needed her. It seemed she needed me too as she said "stand there" as she pointed to the end of the bed.

It was the first thing she'd said in a while and I'd almost forgotten how musical her voice was.

She came to me but stood a few inches away. She reached out and caressed the hard outline of my cock through my linen drawstring pants and closed the distance between us. She started to plant kisses down my neck, then my chest until she reached one of my nipples. Mouth mouth encircled my left nipple, then I felt her teeth starting to apply pressure until it got a little painful. I hissed in my breath as I felt her tongue dance over the tip that was protruding from her teeth.

All the while, she was softly tracing the outline of my erection. I'm not porn star huge, but I am 8 inches and fairly thick. Her hands started to grasp my shaft as she moved to my other nipple and gave it the same treatment, making my dick even harder and pulse with each little nibble.

I couldn't take it any more. We'd been teasing each other and bringing each other so close for over an hour now and I was ready to do anything she desired.

She had other ideas though. Slowly she descended to her knees planting kisses along my abdomen as she slowly lowered down to her knees. There was no more teasing now. She took the strings of my pants, untied the bow with one quick tug, reached up with both hands and yanked them and my underwear down, all the while, never breaking eye contact.

Fuck - this was lust turned up to 20 as I felt my pulse race. She took my cock at the base in her small hand and without blinking, sucked over half of my rock hard cock into her mouth. Her technique was indescribably sexual and sensual all at the same time. She had a trick - keeping my disk at the top of her mouth while her tongue danced along my glands, making me squirm and jump as her fist jacked me into her beautiful mouth.

"Baby - I'm getting so close....." I moaned, which made her suck harder and jerk my shaft faster. She was looking up at me, unflinching as I was rocketing towards what I knew would be an epic orgasm. And then she did something I've never experienced before. She popped my raging hard cock out of her mouth, spit on her finger, took my dick back into her mouth and slid her wet digit right up inside my ass, wiggled it around and made me cum so hard I was literally seeing stars and jet and jet of cum basted her tongue and coated her mouth.

She gently spun me around, her finger still inside of me and rose to meet my mouth with hers. I could taste my cum on her tongue as she gently fingered me while helping to may me down.

So she wanted to get that dirty? Turn about is fair play!

My head finally cleared as I kissed her hard and she kissed me back with just as much passion. I didn't mind. Not one bit! But now it was my turn and payback as they, is a wonderful bitch.

I quickly moved down to her cunt. I grabbed her thighs and spread her wide open. Never in my life had I seen such a beautiful pussy. Trim and neat with not a hair or stubble to be seen, she was soaked with her arousal, her slender inner lips parted and glistening, and she had a prominent clit, that was already poking out of its hood begging to be sucked.

I dove into her cunt with reckless abandon. And the more I ate her, alternating between flicking and sucking on her cute clit, sliding my tongue between her folds, and burying my tongue as deep as I could inside her body, she kept getting wetter, her pussy constantly streaming her delicious slippery juices. I was in sex heaven!

So she wanted to play nasty? My mouth latched onto the entire upper region of her cunt as I slipped two fingers into her wet canal. She moaned, loudly as I continued my assault on her sex. Each time I felt her muscles beginning to contract, I stopped, keeping her at the edge of orgasm until she calmed just enough to begin my assault again.

By the fourth round, Charlee started to plead, beg and demand that I allow her to cum. I figured she had suffered enough pre-pleasure and using the same trick she'd done to me. as I began to bring her higher towards her release I slipped a third finger into her ass, sucked on her clit like it was a small cock and wiggled my fingers in her pussy along her g-spot. That did it. Boy did that do it!

She grasped my head, holding my mouth clamped to her clit and with a long groan, she came and came and came. I had only heard about women who could squirt but now may face was being sprayed with her orgasmic juices as I refused to stop. I wanted to drink her from the source so I slid my fingers out of her cunt, clamped my mouth over her lips and pistoned my remaining finger in and out of her tight ass. Her orgasm kept going and with each moan and groan she kept releasing squirts of girl juice into my mouth.

I kept swallowing as best I could but it became too much so I back my mouth away and let her finish her climax all over my face. It was glorious!

I slid my finger from her anus and as I did, she whipped up, grabbed me and kissed me harder than ever. We made out like first-time teenagers as we stared into each others eyes. The glorious scent of sex was thick in her warm room as we drifted off into PCS.

I awoke, holder her tightly. Her head was resting on my shoulder as I listened to her breathe, drool was running down my pec and I couldn't believe my incredible fortune as I felt her shift, her arm draped over me, pulling me closer. I drifted off again feeling better than I'd felt in a very long time.

When I came to, the sun was lower, her room bathed in a soft orange glow beaming through the small screened window. I was rock hard again. Charlee was still in my arms though she was awake, the very tips of her fingers delicately playing along the length of my engorged dick.

"Don't you have to be at your store?" I asked.

"I text employees. No delivery today. I stay here. With you?" she ended with a question.

"There's no place I'd rather be!" I replied.

And with that, she slid over on top of me, grasped my cock, placed it at her lower lips and slowly impaled herself, little by little until our pubic bones collided. She was tight. Very tight. And wet. And scorching hot.

She sat there, allowing her cunt to become used to my dick inside of her amazing body. She was staring down at me, her long silky hair disheveled, her eyes aglow as she placed her hands flat on my chest and slowly started to swivel her hips in a slight circular motion. I'd never seen anything so raw, so beautiful.

I reached up to play with her beautiful breasts, lightly pinching her nipples as her movements became timed with my nipple play. We stayed like that for over twenty long, drawn-out minutes, gently making love, building slowly as we learned how to play each others erotic buttons like finely tuned instruments.

She began to pick up the pace, now rising, then lowering herself onto my shaft as I raised my pelvis in timing with her top down fuck. As she picked up the pace I realized I was getting closer. She felt so good, so tight and wet that my sexual pleasure was becoming overwhelming.

I pulled her down to me and began to kiss her with a lovers passion. As I did, I rolled us over onto the only dry spot left on the bed. She grasped her ankles and did what I love to see the most in a lover. She spread her legs as wide as they could go all while looking into my eyes yet again.

For me that's the ultimate in eroticism. The full giving, by a woman, of a lover. To take her however I desired. I placed my arms on either side of her and slowly started to long stroke into her accepting body. Each time I would hit her cervix, she moaned and whispered my name, hunching her hips up to get me even deeper than I already was.

I picked up the pace until I was slamming into her welcoming cunt, which at this point was squirting a little with each thrust. I was getting close again. She released her ankles and pushed me off, rolled over and got onto all fours. Looked back at me and wiggled her ass.

Instead of plunging back into her incredible body I crouched down behind her, grabbed a cheek in each hand, spread her ass wide and plunged my tongue right up her ass as far as it would go. She moaned in delight and pushed her perfectly shaped and delicious ass back on my tongue each time I slid it into her.

Reinvigorated, I raised up behind her and put my tip at her entrance, but she reached back, grasped my cock, raised it a little and simply said, "ass."

Now I love anal sex! Fucking a beautiful woman in the ass is such an ultimate thrill. However, it usually comes with a lot of convincing and prep. Not with Charlee. There was no pleading or begging needed. As soon as she felt the swollen tip at her anus she started to slowly push back all on her own.

Fuck she was so tight. As I let her guide how fast and deep she wanted my cock in her anus. She reached up and under a pillow and tossed back a small tube of lube.

"Make you wet, baby," she said.

Slowly I backed out until just my head was still nestled inside her asshole. I drizzled lube along my shaft and slowly slid back inside. Then I did that again until I was gliding in and out with relative ease. Then Charlee took over. She changed from a lover into an animal.

She began to rapidly fuck her ass on my cock, rocking back and forth, taking my full length deeply inside her nether hole and moaning like a banshee the entire time.

"Fuck me. fuck me. FUCK ME!" she was screaming as I grasped onto her hips and mat4ched her timing with hard thrusts.

"Spank baby. Spank ass!" she moaned as we continued to ride each other.

Crrrrrack was the sound as I spanked her incredible cheek. Then again on the other side as she slammed back onto my cock.

That was it. "I'm going to cum baby" I shouted. She slammed back into me, fully burying my dick inside of her bowels as blast after blast filled her ass up wit4h cream. That set her off as I felt her hot juices spray my thighs with each of my own pulsing releases.

We were drenched with sweat, panting heavily as the intensity of our congress slowly waned. I gently collapsed onto Chalermwan's back and rolled us onto our side, my cock still deeply inside of her ass. I was still hard and she was wide open and accepting of my thick cock.

We rode each other again to another, slower, gentler climax, then drifted back off into a completely sated, dream-filled nap.

To be continued....

Remember to vote and reach out if you like my stories. I love hearing from my readers.