When my employer invited me to relocate to Thailand, I wasted no chance in accepting and weeks later emerged from the familiarity of a British Airways airplane to the unfamiliar humidity of an Asian morning. Confusion swirled around me in those early days, yet through the misty haze of unknown faces, indiscernible languages and unreadable signs, against a backdrop of relentless dusty heat, my eyes found themselves increasingly lingering on the beauty of Asian women.

I recall a landmark moment, stepping out from an intrusive medical, onto a crowded pavement, over populated with stalls, bubbling with unusual scents and not for the first or last time, having the feeling that I was alone in not knowing where I was. Yet lunchtime also meant the adjacent university had unleashed its’ contents in search of a hurried edible relief from their studies. The narrow pavement was swarming with Thai university girls, uniformly dressed in tight, short black skirts, belted to show their university and white, breast hugging blouses. It was visual paradise my mind wondered what delights must lay beneath their teasing uniforms. I knew then I was going to enjoy living in Asia.

However, like most foreigners, I soon found out that seedy bars aside, despite their ready smiles, the omnipresent beauty of Thai females was frustratingly off limits to foreign males. As weeks became months, desperation supplanted my initial confusion. Through it all, a friend of mine, with years of experience of living in Thailand repeatedly advised me to be patient, take your time, wait for the right one. It was the best advice I had and the last thing I wanted to hear, but I waited.

Halfway through that first year, I was invited by a friend to a traditional Thai wedding. I was not going to miss the opportunity of immersing myself into a culture that seemed to hold me at arms length and soon found myself surrounded by the mesmerizing sights, sounds and scents of a Thai wedding. A dizzying array of beautiful food and women, friendly smiles and a welcoming feel that lives with me to this day. And there, right at the back, seeking solitude and eschewing attention, she sat.

Whilst the empty chairs around her hinted at loneliness, she had turned her side to the festivities and was busily feeding scraps from the abandoned plates to a stray dog. I stared at her profile without the fear of being caught staring. Her long silky hair hid too much of her face, but something had meant I could not turn away, not even to feast my eyes on the other beauties. She turned back to face the wedding with the neutral expression one has when they know they are not being watched and rested her chin on her fist. She looked young, frustratingly too young for me, but I could not move my stare from her dark, pretty eyes that were tinged with an unknown disappointment.

A light breeze was blowing wisps of her long hair across her face and I watched as she girlishly wound them around her finger. Then she caught me. I glanced hurriedly away and when I dared to look back, her eyes met mine again. She is gorgeous, I whispered to myself. But was she looking at me out of interest or to merely check whether I was still staring? That second, smileless glance is always so annoyingly unreadable.

The wedding festivities were fading and chairs were not being returned to, I knew I had to act fast and I acted too fast. Everything about my approach was clumsy and I soon found myself leaning on the edge of her table. Her face lifted and her beautifully mysterious, almond eyes met mine. I hadn’t thought what to say and my mind fumbled for the words. I nodded awkwardly at her and she returned my nod with a graceful ‘wai’, palms flattened and head briefly bowed.

‘Hi, how you doing? Look a bit lonely there? Can I join you?’ The words tumbling out, my hand waving at the empty chairs.

‘Sorry I don’t speak English’, she smiled, briefly, but long enough to see how pretty she was when she smiled, how innocent and pure that smile was. But a welcoming smile it was not and I was left without anything to cling onto. She had already turned to her returning friends, who glanced suspiciously at me. As she rose I noticed how petite she was. The looseness of her pink summer dress betrayed her, as the breeze wrapped it snugly against her, briefly illuminating how firm her little tits were and how slim her hips were. Her hand reached behind her to clasp her dress against her thigh and prevent it being blown higher and the way it clung to her bottom offered a teasing glimpse of just how wonderfully firm her little ass was. Yet as she walked away, so did my hope of seeing her again and I stared after her, until, as she stepped into a taxi, she turned and her eyes found mine. Then she was gone.

For several days I was left without hope, the friend who invited claimed not to know her, but I persisted. Be patient, take your time. Anyway, plenty more fish in the sea. But I wanted her, badly and I was not going to give up. I asked a girl I had befriended at work to help and finally she traced her. I found out her name was May, she was 18yo and studying traditional Thai music at university. She came from a fairly wealthy background and was in a relationship with a long term Thai boyfriend, although it seemed to be failing. And most annoyingly of all, she was educated in an international school and spoke good English. Again, my hopes appeared to be fading, but then, through the same contact, I found she was due to play at an exhibition at her university. It was to prove the breakthrough I needed.

I knew I had to persist, but I also knew over persistence is stalking and I was treading a thin rope between the two. I went to the exhibition and sat through a series of performances with ever decreasing hope. Yet finally my persistence paid off. I didn’t recognize her Thai name, Chaisee (meaning innocence) when it was announced, but I recognized her instantly.
 
She looked even tinier, so fragile, as she emerged shy and alone onto the big stage. She was wearing a sparkly traditional costume, greeted the crowd with the traditional ‘wai’ then sat cross legged and performed. I wanted to shout out, stand up, get her attention, but of course I didn’t. I sat and urged her to look up, but she didn’t. She stood, bowed then smiled, and looked suddenly awkward as she was driven by her shyness off the stage. I looked through the programme and circled her Thai name and it was to be the moment when my luck changed.

I contacted her university, told them I had attended the exhibition and was researching the instrument she played, the ‘kim solo’ and having been struck by her performance, I wondered if I might interview her. Her tutor replied that he would ask her and a day later had set up an appointment with her at the campus. I had learnt by then that appearances meant everything in Thailand and a few days later I sat waiting for her in the university canteen, wearing my office suit.

When she arrived, with her tutor, I was initially disappointed that she wasn’t wearing her university uniform, but then what she was wearing, tight jeans and a white t shirt, revealed the full pertness of her young, taut body. It stretched teasingly over her firm, little tits and when she stood, proved that her ass was indeed extremely sexy. She hadn’t recognized me from the wedding, and I wasn’t going to remind her and I feigned interest in traditional instruments, looking for a way to engage her in more general conversation. I loved her mysterious Thai eyes, that smiled when she did, offering a hint of submission in her shy glances. My desire for her was compounded by her teenage, coquettish mannerisms.

She would let her hair slant over her eyes and peer upwards, she would chew on strands of her hair and giggle cutely at my mispronunciations. I pleaded ignorance to my location and when she drew me a map, she sucked on the pencil, absent mindedly easing the pencil in and out of her pursed lips. I watched in silence and when she looked up, I had no idea what was on her mind, but there was only one thing on mine, fucking that sweet young mouth.

I persuaded her to show me where the nearest station was and we walked together along the street. I felt protective of her, she was so innocent, so sweet and I couldn’t take my eyes off her cute little denim clad ass as she walked in front of me. We stopped and she pointed towards the BTS station. I thanked her and asked her if I could buy her a drink at the Starbucks opposite. She bit her lip and looked slowly up at me with those sweet eyes, smiled and shook her head, but indecision coursed through her, I could tell.

‘I would like to contact you again, May’, I said, making it sound as casual as I could.

She paused, the indecision at least showing me there was hope, even if it was only a glimmer.

‘Ok, what’s your number?’

I gave her my number and she tapped it into her phone and put it away, without giving me hers. My hopes, once more, and I watched her slim figure until it was swallowed up by the crowded pavements. I didn’t know when, or if, I would see her again. The evening was spent staring at my lifeless phone, until finally, it buzzed message received. A simple ‘hi’, but it gave me both her number and renewed hope that she wanted to see me again. She had trusted me, at least to have her number.

I had sensed she would, after all we had talked, laughed and smiled more than I had expected. She was flattered by my interest and praise in her performance, but did not yet seem to realize how much I wanted to take her jeans down. I had to tread carefully, be patient, take your time. I didn’t, I couldn’t!

The next evening I invited her to the cinema, and that and an invitation to dinner, were both rejected. I needed help and my friend advised that because of her traditional Thai background, she would be hesitant to accompany me on anything that sounded like a date at this stage. It seemed painfully old fashioned, but it also seemed my only hope, and it worked. A week later she was with her friends at the bowling alley, whilst I was with a few of mine on the adjacent alley.

‘She is really cute’, my friend observed, studying her in her long skirt and loose shirt, surely worn to prevent encouraging my eyes to her body. It didn’t work. ‘I think she’s a virgin’. He added, both of us staring at her, both of us no doubt having the same lascivious thoughts.

‘No chance’, I replied confidently, ‘she had a Thai boyfriend for a few years’.

‘That doesn’t mean anything here. Most traditional girls will want to stay a virgin until they are married.’ He glanced at me, ‘You might have a long wait, hope you have the patience! That, or marry her!’

I didn’t care, I just knew I had to see her and be with her. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Sporadically, she left her friends and appeared beside me. She was far more animated, chatty and giggly than when we had met at her university canteen. Despite the fourteen year gap in our ages, despite our differing cultures, our inability to communicate as we wanted to and our different sizes, it was becoming clear that we really gelled. She giggled at my jokes, made fun of my attempts to speak Thai and spoke a little of her background, her university and her family. And now and again, our eyes would meet and linger undeniably. I knew when she left, I would see her again.

A week later I did, only this time she was with only one of her friends. We ate lunch and her friend became steadily obsolete, ensconced in her own private world of her smartphone. Once again we talked easily, widening our knowledge of each other and for the first time, she asked questions about me, my past, my family. Yet it was at risk of becoming a platonic friendship and somehow I needed to move towards the direction I wanted it to go. The next time we met for lunch, she was on her lunch break from university, accompanied by a different friend. When she sat down opposite me, in her university uniform, I found it impossible not to show my insatiable hunger for her teenage body.

I drank in the sight through snatched stares. Her long, black hair flowing silkily over the crispness of her white shirt. The whiteness of her shirt making her golden brown skin tone appear darker and the formality of the tightly buttoned shirt offered no clue as to what lay beneath, other than the visible white straps of her bra. Her black skirt clung tightly to her firm ass, but at knee length, was worn longer than most. Nevertheless when she sat on the plastic stool at the noodle stall she had chosen, her skirt rose alarmingly, briefly treating me to a teasing glimpse of her taut teenage thighs.

How I hungered to part those luscious thighs. She seemed to sense my stares and placed her bag over her lap, crossing and uncrossing her legs beneath it and I had an irrational hatred of that bag. Yet the lunch was reminiscent of a picnic on the motorway. Constantly shouted over and buffeted by passers by, with her friend continually interjecting and conversation impossible, I left only extending my knowledge of her by what she looked like in her university uniform.

Neither did I add to that the next time we met, a near silent visit to the cinema, again with her friend in tow. It worsened. Our next meeting, it seemed inaccurate to think of it as date, was a cycling trip around Old Bangkok. Again we were joined by her shadowing friend and whereas I had hoped to see May in her cycling wear, her loose shorts offered little to attract my eyes.

By this time my friends were equally divided into those who urged me to stay patient and those who assured me she was taking me for a ride. The doubts were increasing in my mind, I could feel she was interested in me, could feel how well we got on, despite our differences. Yet as much as I enjoyed being with her, I couldn’t sense she was interested in take our friendship to the level I wanted. I felt I was being placed in her eyes somewhere between a foreign ‘friend’ and a language tutor.

My optimism and my patience were fading. I had to find out.

A few evenings later, for the first time, I called her. She answered in Thai and continued speaking Thai, even when she realized it was me. I could hear her mother in the background.

‘I’ll call you back’, she whispered.

I had long forgotten the frustrations of dating a teenager, but sure enough, later she called me and whispered she was sitting on her bed. I resisted the temptation to moan, but couldn’t help imagining her.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered, ‘I don’t want my parents to hear me speaking English’.

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t want them to know I am dating a white guy’.

‘Are we dating?’ And the moment my thoughts slipped into spoken words, I wanted them back. I silently cursed myself.

She didn’t reply.

‘Hello?’

‘Yes I am still here, how was your day?’ She avoided my question with hers.

We talked, recovering from that early awkwardness, we laughed and the conversation flowed. In the safety of her bedroom she was relaxed, open and animated. An hour passed and neither of us noticed until her mother called her and she needed to go.

‘May, I want to take you out to dinner. On a date, a proper date. Just us’.

Silence.

‘May?’

‘Yes’, she whispered softly.

Yes to her name or to the dinner date? I wanted to clarify, I needed to know. 

‘Can I? Take you out to dinner?’

‘Yes’.

‘Great, when are you free?’I tried to calm my voice from betraying the fact I was punching the air.

‘I’ll message you’. And she went, my new girlfriend to be, my pretty teenage girlfriend. I couldn’t believe it and stared in excited disbelief at the one photo I had of her on my phone, in her university uniform. Could it be true? Was she really going to be mine? Give herself to me? Happiness and anticipation surged through me, as the memory of her smile mocked my futile attempts to sleep, I opened her photo once more. I had begun to accept that I may never see what lay beneath that uniform, but now, suddenly, the prospect of me removing it, was becoming increasingly possible. Not for the first time, I relieved myself looking into her static eyes and gasping her name.

Ten days later, I sat in a Thai restaurant, awash with nerves. Hitherto, I had been excited but relaxed, but this was our first date and knowing I was so close to what I so badly wanted, yet knowing also that a mistake or misunderstanding could drive her away, filled me with caution. She was late and I studied my phone, expecting a message to tell me she cancelled. I didn’t notice her enter, until she said ‘hello’.

And when I looked up, my mouth fell open. It was the first time I had seen her in full make up and her oriental beauty rendered me speechless. I stood hurriedly, gave a clumsy ‘wai’ and for several minutes, such was my awe, I found it difficult to look her in the face. When I did it was in snatched glances. She had had her hair straightened, and it was so glossy it looked almost unreal. Her eye make up had accentuated the innocence of her Asian eyes and her lipstick was deliberately matched to her dress.

My eyes slipped down as she studied the menu. She was wearing the same pink dress she had worn the first time I saw her, at the wedding. Only now she was wearing it for me. And it couldn’t hide how perfectly pert her small breasts were. I fought hard to keep my thoughts at bay, I knew one wrong word could undo all that I had done to get to this point.

She refused alcohol and I was enthralled by how demurely she ate, but the formality of the restaurant, her beauty, had unnerved me and conversation was stilted, uneven, permeated with pauses. My doubts returned, mocking my hopes, my desires. Was our age and culture difference too great a gap to bridge with romance?

It never ceases to amaze me how rapidly a sunny Asian day gives way to the black of night and it was to darkness we emerged, apart and silent in our own thoughts. I could not let the evening, our first date, end in such coldness. I had to resurrect our former closeness and as we passed a quiet, dimly lit bar I persuaded her inside. And everything changed.

We were shown to a candlelit corner and what few customers were there, barely noticed us. The sofa we sat on ensured our closeness and immediately we relaxed and the world around us ceased to exist. Conversation flowed and as she sat on the edge of the sofa, I admired her profile, the way her soft lips moved, the way she brushed her sleek, black hair from her cheek and the way those innocent, dark eyes, would shyly flick to mine when I spoke. I could hold back no longer.

‘May, you look so beautiful tonight’. I studied her profile for her reaction. She giggled and bit her lip shyly, then her face turned and her eyes rose and they were smiling.

‘Thank you’ she mouthed, her eyes staring into mine in a way that came perilously close to disarming my ability to control myself. Our smile lingered and as her eyes slowly lowered mine did too, over her flimsy pink dress to her exposed thighs under the table and I wanted her there and then. I hungered to have her, to confirm the sexual attraction the smile had hinted at. I only had to move the table back, get in front of her, hook my hands under her knees and push them back to her shoulders, opening her up. Her panties briefly displayed to the old men opposite, before I tugged them aside and slid my cock right up her young pussy, uncaring of who saw.

My heart was quickening as I tried to calm myself. She asked of my ex wife and was satisfied by my answers that it was long over. I asked of her Thai boyfriend, forgetting she hadn’t told me she had had one. But she told me, how she had loved him, how he had let her down and how he had secretly dated another girl.

‘Did you parents mind?

She shook her head. ‘They thought we were just friends, they didn’t know…’

‘That you were…lovers?’

She gazed down at the table, her finger drawing imaginary circles. And nodded. So she wasn’t a virgin and not for the last time, I imagined her being fucked by a handsome Thai man. Her face was sad, reflective.

‘It’s ok Chaisee,’ I liked using her real name, to make her feel closer to me, ’thanks for telling me’.

My hand reached for hers and as our fingers entwined she moved her hand beneath the table, whispering that public affection wasn’t ‘good’. I didn’t mind, our hands were tightly clasped together and my fingers extended, brushing the outside of her taut thighs, exposed by the shortness of her dress.

‘I need to go’ she sighed, letting go of my hand, standing and smoothing her dress down. I walked with her until we found a taxi and as she turned to thank me for the evening, I pulled her to me and kissed her cheek gently, her perfumed hair tickling my face. As I sat in the back of a taxi, on the way back to my apartment, what had so often been a lonely journey, felt so very different. I sensed an unstoppable momentum building and as I stared out at the grimy, steel shuttered, silent streets of Bangkok, they had never looked so beautiful. I was in love.

A week later, after a constant flurry of texts and lengthy phone calls, I waited outside another restaurant, several silent alleys from the incessant noise of the main street. When May stepped out of the taxi, I sighed. She was wearing a strappy black dress, the hem of which hovered a few inches above her knees. It was the most she had exposed her body to me and I knew this time, it was deliberate.

The invitation to my eyes was greedily accepted and as we ate, my eyes massaged her shoulders, bare except for the strap of her dress and the black strap of her bra below. I studied the firm bulges of her young breasts, relishing the way they thrust so pertly against the slinky material of the black dress. I fought with the idea of inviting her back to my apartment, where finally I could slip that dress off her, but I had been patient until now, and would wait until the timing was right, until I could feel she wanted it.

As we left, our hands instinctively clasped together and we sauntered along the silent alley, her petite, slender body so tantalizingly close to my hungry loins. I let go of her hand and put my arm around her, I wanted her closer, and hip to hip we continued, her head resting on my shoulder. The closer I was to her, the closer I wanted to be, and I knew my frustration would continue until I was inside her.

Ahead of us the alley turned and met the street. I knew that meant we would have to show physical distance between us and I was in no hurry to feel that. Our steps slowed until we stopped. I guided her in front of me and wrapped my arms loosely around her, looking down into her uncertain smile, her eyes blazing with innocence. I moved her wisps of hair from her face and pulled her closer until I felt the firmness of her tits pressed against me.

‘You look so beautiful in this dress, any dress, anything’ I sighed and my hand moved round from her hair to her chin, which I lifted gently., as I lowered my lips to hers. Our eyes closed before impact, before I felt the softness of her lips accepting mine. Our lips pressed, lingered and withdrew slowly. She giggled and lowered her eyes like a naughty schoolgirl, before glancing nervously around. We were alone.

I tightened my grip around her slim, young body and she buried her head under my chin. I kissed her silky hair, the top of her head, softly, lovingly and with increasing urgency as my lips smoothed down, over her forehead. I tilted her head gently back to see her face and her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. As I began to smother her pretty face in loving kisses, I felt her breathing quicken. I paused and her eyes slowly opened, only this time they were filled with an emotion I had waited to see from her. Lust.

Our lips thrust together, twisting as they met, our lips parting in unison as my tongue thrust into her willing mouth. My desire for her exploded and my lips forced hers wider apart, as my hands slid down, over her bra strap, until I felt the elastic of her panties through her dress. I could not resist and my hand swept lightly over the firm curves of her teenage ass through the material of her dress.

As our lips parted, we were both panting, her eyes staring up with a wanton desire that hinted of submission. She wanted to be taken, it was written in her eyes, panted through her parted lips and her gently heaving body. Our lips met again, less frantically, my tongue licking over her lips like I wanted to lick her pussy, and the submission in her eyes grew more apparent. My hand slipped between us, down the side of her dress until I felt the line of her panties beneath and slowly I began easing the hem higher and higher. Suddenly, feeling her dress rising, her hand thrust down and blocked mine.

‘No’, she gasped, ‘not here’.

‘Come to my apartment May, please’. Her eyes lowered and I was already regretting asking, I sensed she wanted me to tell her I was taking her there, tell her she was going to be fucked. She shook her head.

‘It’s too soon’. She sighed, ‘sorry’.

‘You want to, I can feel it’.

She nodded shyly, without looking up. ‘Not yet, not now’, she stepped back and held my hand. Minutes later I was back in my apartment alone, still panting and my head still dizzy with lust and the scent of her perfume, I relived my frustration once more.

Our messages became increasingly frequent and littered with kisses. A few days later she insisted on taking me to a ruined temple one afternoon. She thought I would be interested in it and chatted away excitedly about its history. I barely noticed it, my eyes rarely leaving the sight of her sexy teenage ass in her tight pink jeans. When they did it was to study her silky, clingy top, the breeze making her bra teasingly visible. But opportunities to hold her hand, let alone her body, were few and snatched.

Only once, as we followed a tour group, did I manage to pull her into a hidden alcove. I ignored her muffled shriek of shock and pressed her up against the old stone wall. Our lips met open, as my body pressed her into the wall, our tongues thrusting with mutual sexual intent. My hand slid down her clingy white top until my fingers found her gorgeous ass and wrapped tightly around her firm ass cheek, squeezing it through her jeans. Her ass felt as sexy as it looked like it would feel, pert and perfectly ripened by her teenage years.

As our mouths parted, her eyes looked up at mine searching for the answer to the question in her mind. Surely I didn’t mean to take her there? I held the back of her head, our eyes locked together, our lips slightly parted, panting rhythmically, as I eased my thigh between hers, forcing them open. And I pressed harder, watching her face as she bit her lip and her eyes closed.

For the first time, her hand reached between us and slid up, under my shirt, her fingers gently exploring my chest. Voices, too close. I didn’t care. I began to slide my thigh up and down between her open thighs. I reached down to the button of her pink jeans and tugged them open, glimpsing the white of her panties beneath. Her eyes flicked open, her breathing quickened. ‘Fuck me’ said her body, but not her mouth and approaching footsteps forced me back.

An old foreign couple had appeared behind us. They smiled and nodded, the man looking her up and down, looking over his shoulder at her with a purposeful grin, as they walked on. We held hands briefly, then rejoined the eyes of the public. May whispered ‘sorry’, but the frustration was becoming unbearable. Yet I could feel the wait to see what lay beneath her clothes, to be inside her, to make her mine, was nearly over. I also knew that at any moment she may decide not to go against her parents’ wishes.

She was in my every waking moment and I hated the uncertainty. At that moment I would have given anything to know what I know now.