It was when Ouan’s aunt asked her to do the aunt’s usual lottery round that the idea came to her.
It made her blush from both shyness and the expectation of making money.
Ouan had to walk around the village, to the nearby coffee and soft-drink place, to the restaurant near the market, along the shophouses and among the sleepy stalls in the market itself. It was near the time for the usual weekly lottery draw, and she had many buyers, all of whom she knew from childhood, and sold all the tickets.
The men were mostly older now. Ouan could see their eyes brighten when they saw her. Poor lonely guys. They had wives who gossiped loudly from morning to night, lounging in the market place or on the steps of the shophouses.
The husbands sat behind the counter in their singlets, waiting for customers, staring into the distance while smoking, or follow a comely shape in a tight-fitting skirt mincing along on the busy road near the market. Ouan wondered what they were thinking as they ogled the girls.
Some of the Thai and Chinese men had mistresses or second wives in other houses in the village of course, usually with the full knowledge wives number one. This was probably why the wives did not seem to want to have much to do with their husbands.
On her return, Ouan went to her aunt’s house nearby and offered to do the lottery round once a week, starting the next day. At home she cut paper into small square pieces, numbering them from 1 to 100, then mixed them well in a small paper box with a lid.
As she goes on foot on her aunt’s round the next day, Ouan knows exactly to whom she would sell the tickets she made.
The towkae (Chinese owner) selling bicycles in the first shophouse is the first man she has to explain her new lottery. Ouan nearly bursts out giggling at the old man’s face. His mouth falls open. He looks all around to make sure that no one sees him giving Ouan the 10 baht coin (30 cents US) for his new lottery ticket.
Ouan has to explain 100 times but she sells all her 100 tickets and returns home with a list of names with their ticket numbers along side. Some of the Thai men who knows her and her mother well give her a lecture about what she is doing. But in the end they all buy a ticket anyway, under the table.
After dinner with her elderly mother and her older unmarried sister, Ouan goes to her room at the back of the house where she undresses and walks naked to the outside shower under the cover of darkness.
The water is refreshing and as she soaps herself thickly, her hands touch her firm young body all over, feeling good and reassured. The slight evening breeze dries as she walked back to her room.
On the bed she put the lottery list near her pillow. Then she climbs on all fours to straddle the list then lowers her breasts so that her left nipple hovered above then touches the list. Where it does, returning a slight pleasure as well, she reads the name that was written there.
Very early the next morning, Ouan showers again then powders her body well with fragrant prickly heat power. She choses a comfortable and cool loose-fitting dress. In the front pocket of the dress was a small plastic bag with 1000 baht ($30) in coins that she will deposit in the bank as soon as it opens this morning.
She looks at her own attractive face in the mirror and smiles.
“You have done well,” Ouan says to herself. She is ready, what’s more.
Wan lives by himself at the edge of the village, not far from the train line, since his wife passed away some years ago. As Ouan approaches his house on the bicycle, she was glad it was him that her small nipple chose from the list. She likes him and senses his loneliness.
The man was buying his catfish and vegetables at the market when she sold him his ticket. The decent man did not want to buy but finally did, probably thinking that he was just donating a coin to a needy girl.
Ouan finds him tending to his orchids at the back of the house.
“Sawatdee ka, Lung Wan,” Ouan says, giving him a graceful wai, which he returns. She smiles at the surprise on his face.
“You won my lottery!”
“Oh, really,” he stammers.
“Can I give you your prize? Where do you think? Up in the bedroom?, asks Ouan.
“Er… No, not in the house … because of my wife.”
Ouan reminds herself again that Wan’s wife died some time ago.
“ Here will do maybe, if you don’t mind. But is Ouan sure she wants to do this?,” he asks.
“Of course. I took your money, didn’t I?”
Ouan looks around. There are shrubs and trees all around. The orchids themselves hang on the smooth truck of a large tree behind her. It’s OK.
She boldly leans back on the trunk of the big tree, lifts her short dress and parts her legs. She is not wearing underwear.
Wan is in a hurry now. He drops the checked pakama, the short sarong wrapped around his loins.
He is bare underneath as well.
Ouan often sneaks a look at her brother bathing. But now a half- naked man with his wiry muscular body stands so close to her.
His erect penis asks for her hands to hold it. She refrains from doing that and instead watches it touch her vagina then without hesitation plunges its way inside through wispy black pubic hair.
The pain of the entry is sharper than she had expected and she cries out despite not wanting to. She feels her bottom being pushed onto the hard smooth tree truck again and again.
Lung Wan is kissing the top of her head and he searches for her mouth. She feels his gentle kiss becoming more sucking and wet. The sensation is unlike anything she had experienced before.
She kisses him back, mouth sloppy and open. Not the usual Thai way. This immediately adds to Wan urgency. Her own too is piling up ready to topple.
But Wan is coming too fast as he moans appreciatively, finishing in final hard trusting, shuddering to a whimper. Ouan doesn’t let him stop but pushes and pulls at his loins between her legs, all her fingers digging into his hard bottom. She rubs and jerked until her own climax comes a stifling sound, her eyes tightly closed and her head banging repeatedly on Wan’s upper chest.
They hold each other for a long time, leaning on the tree. When he pulls himself away, there is a bright bloodstain running down the inside of her left thigh. Wan seems awed by that sight and he quickly fetches some garden water to wash and dried her thigh.
As she cycles away, Ouan waves back at her first very satisfied customer.
Ouan feels that she was on to a good thing now and so do her customers, all of whom never fail to buy their tickets each week. Some want to buy more than one and Ouan obliges by writing their numbers on blank slips, and putting their names twice or three times on her list at home.
Each week she puts her money in a growing account in the small bank in the village.
Not one man has yet won the weekly lottery twice. Her nipple, either left or right one, makes a different choice each time.
Each Friday when Ouan cycles to the winner, she is elated and free. But then she has never listened seriously to preaching by monks or elders about good and bad. She has met many men, most of whom she would be happy to see win the lottery again.
It’s Lung Nit’s turn this week.
The old man comes to the market to sell his mangoes and some greens. He normally spends certain months of the year growing rice and the rest of the time growing what he can. Ouan find him walking in the morning sun to his field. It is just as well that they meet there as Ouan knows that his old wife is at home.
The old man smiles broadly on hearing the news, presenting quite a sight: most of his teeth were missing, the rest stained dark brown by chewing betel nuts and his face has shrunk into lines of fine wrinkles.
His smile becomes broader when Ouan whispers in his ears to ask how he wishes to be paid.
“I win, I win,”
That is all she is able to get out of him.
“I claim my prize, I claim my prize.”
“But how, grand dad?,” asks Ouan.
The sun climbs now and it’s getting hot.
“Come this way, granddad.”
“This way, this way, hehe,” chants the old man.
Ouan hold his bony hand and leads him nearby where bushes and small trees form an island in a brilliant sea of rice saplings growing in water. Lung Nit is planting those saplings today.
Reasonably private under a shady bush, Ouan directs the old man to stand as she kneels in front of him to remove his pakama, the knee-length cloth wrapped around his loins. His wears no underpants and his thin penis the colour of the earth of his field, with its grey wiry hair, is stiffening visibly.
“Sit down, granddad and look at this.”
Oye sit opposite him, almost in his lap, and parted her thighs. She laughs at the man’s face.
“I have not seen anything like this for 50 years,” he mumbles.
“I bet you have, granddad. I bet you use to chase the girls.”
“Yes, I chased them. Hehe. But didn’t catch many. Too fast for me.”
“I bet you did.”
Ouan moves forward now closer, so that his tough penis can be stretched to touch her vagina.
She is gently stoking it now, moving its red-black head up and down her opening petals.
The old man is agitated now, mumbling something incoherent.
“Where do you want to finish, granddad? Inside me?,”
“Yes, inside, inside. Yes, finish, now!”
The poor man’s bald head was bending over onto Ouan’s breasts now where he has a full view of his penis ejaculating into the vagina. He is making a sound like a snippet of a song.
Ouan has the idea of franchising her lottery to Suay, her schoolfriend in the next provincial town, then maybe even to Bangkok, where she also knows other village girls working there in massage parlours.
As she needs travel and other set-up money, Oye announces to her lottery buyers that in the next draw, the ticket will be 50 baht, ($1.50) but that the prize is one whole night with her.
Where will this night be is a problem until Ouan remembers her first winner, Lung Wan, who lives by himself at the edge of the village. She quickly made him an offer that she was sure he couldn’t refuse.
She would spend the next night with him, if he lets her have his house for one night, while he goes to visit a relation. It was comical how quickly Wan agreed to that!
Her 50-baht tickets sold in extra quick time, many customers bought extra to increase their chances. It seems that the male population of the whole village is waiting for her news that Friday.
When Ouan cycles to announce the news to her winner, a podgy Chinese hardware merchant who has not won before, she is told that the man bought that ticket for his friend instead, who wanted to remain anonymous.
Ouan hands him a sealed envelope with information of the time and the place for the winner to claim his prize.
Wan’s house is empty and ready as Ouan makes herself a glass of iced Coke and sits on the balcony to wait. As evening fades into a warm night, a man rides up to the house on his bicycle. He looks up to the balcony where she sits.
It’s her uncle Tu.
The elder brother of Ouan’s father smiles sheepishly as he climbs the stairs to her.
“Hello, Ouan. I knew that it will be you here,” says Tu awkwardly.
“I didn't expect to see you, uncle Tu!”
“Sorry for the surprise.”
“If you would rather that I go away again, I would understand. But since your aunt died, I have been very lonely.”
“Stay, Uncle, You did win the lottery after all.”
Ouan has known her uncle since she was a girl playing in his house. So it was like being in bed with her own father, as Tu looks like him as well. While he is gentle, he doesn’t spare her at all and in that one night climbs on top of her many times.
Ouan too does not inhibits herself but uses all tricks that she has learned, not least to pleasure herself in the process.
Her first one-night customers went off whistling in the morning.
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