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didn't know how to go about it any more. 'Oh, yes, lovely . . .' she replied all the same; she wasn't demanding, she really was a nice girl. Even so, as soon as the coach arrived at the hotel, I ran straight to the bar.
    Three cocktails later, I was beginning to regret my behaviour. I went out and walked round the lobby. It was 7 p.m.; no one from the group was around. For about four hundred baht, those who wished could have dinner and a show of 'traditional Thai dance'; those interested were to assemble at 8 p.m. Valerie would definitely be there. For my part, I had already had a vague experience of traditional Thai dance, on a trip with Kuoni three years previously: 'Classic Thailand, from the "Rose of the North" to the "City of Angels".' Not bad, really, but a bit expensive and terrifyingly cultural; everyone involved had at least a masters degree. The thirty-two positions of the Buddha in Ratanakosin statuary, Thai-Burmese style, Thai-Khmer, Thai-Thai, they didn't miss a thing. I had come back exhausted and I'd constantly felt ridiculous without a Guide Bleu. Right now, I was beginning to feel a serious need to fuck. I was wandering round the lobby, with a sense of mounting indecision, when I spotted a sign saying 'Health Club', indicating the floor below.
    The entrance was lit by neon and a long rope of coloured lights. On the white background of an electric sign, three bikini-clad sirens, their breasts a little larger than life, proffered champagne flutes to prospective customers; there was a heavily stylised Eiffel Tower in the far distance - not quite the same concept as the fitness centres of Mercure hotels. I went in and ordered a bourbon at the bar. Behind a glass screen, a dozen girls turned towards me; some smiled alluringly, others didn't. I was the only customer. Despite the fact that the place was small, the girls wore numbered tags. I quickly chose number 7: firstly because she was cute, also because she wasn't engrossed in the programme on the television or deep in conversation with her neighbour. Indeed, when her name was called, she stood up with evident satisfaction. I offered her a coke at the bar, then we went to one of the rooms. Her name was Oon, at least that was what I heard, and she was from the north somewhere, a little village near Chiang Mai. She was nineteen.
    After we had taken a bath together, I lay down on the foam-covered mattress; I realised at once that I wasn't going to regret my choice. Oon moved very nicely, very lithely; she'd used just enough soap. At one point, she at length caressed my buttocks with her breasts; it was a personal initiative, not all the girls did that. Her well-soaped pussy grazed my calf like a small hard brush. I was somewhat surprised to find I got hard almost immediately; when she turned me over and started to stroke my penis with her feet, I thought for a minute that I wouldn't be able to hold back. But with a supreme effort, tensing the abductor muscles in my thighs, I managed.
    When she climbed on top of me on the bed, I thought I would be able to hold out for a long time yet; but I was quickly disillusioned. She might have been very young,
    but she knew what to do with her pussy. She started very gently with little contractions on the glans, then she slipped down an inch or so, squeezing a little harder. 'Oh no, Oon, no! . . .' I cried. She burst out laughing, pleased with her power, then continued to slide down gently, contracting the walls of her vagina with long, slow compressions; all the while looking me in the eyes in obvious amusement. I came well before she got to the base of my penis.
    Afterwards we chatted a bit, entwined on the bed; she didn't seem to be in any hurry to get back out on stage. She didn't have many clients, she told me; the hotel was aimed at groups of terminal cases, ordinary people, who were pretty much blase. There were a lot of French people, but they didn't really seem to like body massage. Those who patronised the place were