Saigon Style Ball Sucking, Anyone?
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Saigon Style Ball Sucking, Anyone?

Saigon Summer of ’07:
I was 19 going on 36. Fresh meat to the meat market, vibrant, carefree, adventurous, wild, and teaching English in a country so beautiful and surreal it makes those paradise sets done in romantic comedy movies look like the ghetto. I was in love. I still don’t know what’s in the fucking water there but everything and everyone seemed so special and so beautiful- and that was just the fucking city!

So, 19.
Teacher.
English.
Saigon.
Okay.

One of my “go-to” places after the clubs was a bar aptly called the ‘Go-To Bar’. The Go-To Bar has two floors, the first being the bar and the second being the after hours club. The place sits at the corner of Pham Ngu Lao and Bui Vien, in District 1 of Ho Chi Minh City (Old Saigon), which is also considered “backpacker’s district”, where all the tourist go when visiting because of the shops, bars, cheap but fucking delicious eats, and excreta. The venue layout fits Saigon’s norm; completely open, loud music, tables and chairs lined on sidewalks on the streets, and sometimes colliding with other businesses. The main and only bar on the first floor is accessible from every direction, since they never close there is no point in close walls or close spaces. A chair, table, cup or customer in every nook and cranny!

So on the night in question, I was there in the early evening drinking a Saigon local Beer, which is pretty unusual given I hate beer. Next to me, there is this awkward 6’2 powder pasty, fair skinned, freckled British man just standing a few feet away giving me the “I want to fucking rape you and cut up your bits and then rape the bits” look. His stance, his look, his basset hound-like facial features just highlighted the pathetic desperation he so strongly exuded. One quick glance at him and I choked on my beer from laughter so hard, beer was spewing out of my nose and mouth.

Coughing and laughing. Coughing and laughing, simultaneously.
Sue me, I am rude. And that is because I am blunt. People perceive bluntness with rudeness. Well, I think those fuckers must have small dicks or smelly vaginas. It was in THAT time of my life, though, that I really became aware that perhaps I was a tad bit more straightforward than most people could handle (it would be years later before I was diagnosed with Aspergers). I had decided to try and really work on being less blunt and it paid off!

Instead of realizing I was laughing at him, he thought I was choking. The British Bloke threw down his beer, looked around, and ran over to save me like some cheesy Disney film hero. Upon reaching me, he immediately slammed his fucking big ass hands onto my back and tried to burp the fucking beer out of me like a baby. My choking only gotten worse, but even so, I managed to weakly slap away his “heroic super sucky save move” , but alas, only long enough to see him attempt to wrap his arms around me and lift me in a Heimlich Maneuver. My oxygen levels were lacking, forcing my usual pale porcelain pink facial complexion to a crimson burnt red. My as of yet undiagnosed Aspie brain apparently had some amount of stored oxygen, because my flight or fight response kicked in full throttle. I grabbed the Saigon beer bottle (1 liter) by the neck, quickly flipped it, smashed it on the bar top and was ready to stab the dumb shit if he dared continue.

With a broken beer bottle in one hand and me slightly crouched over with my knees bent, legs apart and the other hand holding myself up, I started to catch my breath. As became aware of my surroundings, and looked around to see the entire bar, all of whom heard the glass break, staring back at me.
“Shit” I thought, “I am going to get thrown into a Vietnamese prison. Cockroaches are going be living in my ears.”

I quickly dropped the glass and, thinking fast on my feet, I made a very graceful curtsy to a nearby group of drunken Aussie backpackers. Being Aussies, they were obliged to raise their glasses and ask for more, which sent the rest of the bar in a drunkenly uproar.
God Bless the Land from Down Under.

Once my heart stop racing, I climbed back into the bar stool and decided to reward my quick thinking by having another drink. Something strong this time. Something along the fucking lines of,whiskey, on the rocks. I shouted my request to the bartender. He nodded and began making my drink. As I waited, I rubbed my face into my hands thinking how relieved I am that my ears would be vermin-free. The glass clinks as it hits the counter and I lower my hands and slowly to reach for it… when, BLAM! Basset hound bitch sits his ass down right beside me. He quickly tosses what he thought should suffice onto the bar and tells the bartender to keep the change.
“Thanks, but tipping a bartender $44 on a drink that is only $1.73 cents is not going to impress me.” I told him, as I grabbed my drink and sipped on it.
“Did I really just tip the bastard 40 quid?!” he asked.
I thought about it for a second, then responded with, “Well I have no clue what a quid amounts to, but if it means you spent 44 US Dollars on my drink, well then yeah….yeah, you did.”
I knew this one way or another he was going to make small talk so I figured why the fuck not entertain myself, I ain’t doing shit else that night.
I found out his name is Nicolas King, a by-day an investment banker, and by-night…..a Sex God?! (Maybe to his left hand) or so he tells himself. He is from “the best city in the world “London”. He was 27, traveling alone, big surprise there. Apparently every three months he has 3 weeks off to travel. Must be fucking nice! He mentioned that he had been in Saigon for about a week now and was ready to move around the country to see all the sights and that he would love it if I could join him. I bet he would. I thanked him and explained I, too, had a job, one without three weeks off, and that I simply cannot desert it.

Fast forward to 3 o’clock in the morning and a shit-ton of alcohol later. I awake with my bags packed on a train to the beach town of Nha Trang. The familiar “Oh Shit, I have no clue what the fuck happened” followed by my old friend “Why the fuck do I always allow myself to drink too much” and the third member of the trio, the “Once again, did I exert enough control over my impulsivity?” as I check to see if I still had my panties.
They were on! Yes! No drunkenly pity fucking for you, ye ole basset hound looking mother-fucker.

After taking a few minutes to get acquainted with the pounding in my head, I decided to divert my attention elsewhere and began to take in my surroundings. I was laying in one of the four bunks of a rented room car. I looked out the window and noted we were at a standstill. “Fuck Jayde, Where are you? WTF did you do now?!” I mumbled under my breath.

Nicolas turns the corner, humming a song from The Libertine’s, sporting a huge smile on his face. I quickly plop down, pretending I was still asleep but he doesn’t buy it. “Hey sleepy head, time to rise and smell the bacon!” .
“What the fuck is wrong with this douche?!” I thought. He was bent over me now speaking softly and sweetly.
“So yeah…. Babe…. is that not what you Americans call each other? Babe? Quite silly. Well….Never mind that… Babe…. I gathered all your belongings and they are in a service car waiting to take us to the Hotel.”

My ruse clearly not working, I didn’t bother to even pretend was tired and ejaculated from the bed with a grunt of “Let’s go” as I was thinking in my head “I sure hope I am not making a stupid fucking mistake,” even though I knew damn well I was.
We exited the train and headed over to the Hotel. In the room, I was able to get some more rest, then enjoyed a beach body massage, did lunch, and even managed a little solo shopping. As I walked along the little beach shops I couldn’t help but to think, “Man this isn’t half as bad as I thought it was going to be. A girl could get used to this pampering!” I looked back towards the hotel “Strange he didn’t try to fuck me last night… Shit Not that I’m ain’t complaining! I’m not into bestiality.” I decided to walk back to the Hotel and begin getting myself ready for getting ready for a crazy night in a new town! After about two hours, I was fully and completely dolled up to perfection. I grabbed my purse and called to Nicolas letting him know I was ready to go.

He entered the living room, still buttoning his shirt. He looked me over and his eyes widened. “What are you wearing?! You look like a streetwalker!” Nicolas scowled.
“I think I look amazing thank you very much!” I snapped back. He wouldn’t know what hot looked like unless it was a fire-hydrant.
“Well then there is the problem with you yanks.” he remarked and walked out the door.
I rolled my eyes and followed. He jumped into a cab and I thought, “Great, he’s gonna make a dash for it!” but he waited and invited me to join. The car ride was very silent. I was wearing a simple, slim fitting satin black baby doll dress. No straps, nothing too revealing….. “So what about this pissed him off so badly? Wait why is he even pissed? And why the fuck DO I feel bad and slutty for wearing this?” I asked myself. Then I started to fill with anger, “SMH. Fucker, wanna be domineering, I’ll show you!!”

He told the driver to take us to the “Red Apple Club” When we arrived I couldn’t believe all the people that were around. The place seemed more of a bar then a nightclub. If it was this busy outside, I couldn’t imagine how crowded it would be inside. The thought of getting lost in the crowd and losing “‘over’ dressed” was appealing. The taxi stopped and I hopped out as quickly as I possibly could and headed inside.
As expected, the place was packed. On top of that, I was so used to seeing tiny Vietnamese people everywhere that this venue full of white people stopped me in my tracks. “Damn it you gorgeous white crackers, how the fuck am I supposed to get lost in the crowd, now?!” I growled. Once again flourishing my improvisation skills, I quickly ducked between groups of crackers until I found a dark secluded area neurotic Nicolas couldn’t find me. It was a nice little corner with only one bar stool left, and I slid my happy ass on it and ordered two vodka shots and a vodka martini. I down both shots and chugged half the martini before I started to loosen up. I kept the martini’s coming one after another, after the other. The night started to blur away. I recall images of people, faces, conversations, a tall, hazel eyed gent, drinks……

What would be hours later, I woke up sweaty and clammy. Nothing looked familiar. Nothing smelled familiar. I squinted through my dried contact lens and made out a door. Nearby was a lamp. On the wall, some framed pictures. I look down at my bare feet, then slowly up at my bare pelvis, and then my hands folded in between my legs. I jumped up quickly,

“I’m naked, I am naked. Where the fuck am I?”

I panicked, realizing that I was laying on a bare mattress without any proper sheets, and looking around more, it is evident that my only source of warmth that night had been an old towel that smells like musky ball sweat. I look around for, my belongings and found my purse, one of my heels, and my dress. Missing the other heel and my panties, and not wanting to waste more time looking, I said fuck you to whomever lived in that ball sack smelling shithole who apparently was too poor to even spring for sheets.
I dressed even as I was dart out the door. It took me several minutes to get my bearings, but I finally figured out what was where I was and made it hoofed it to the nearest main road. Still piss drunk, however, I quickly lost my stamina. Barefoot, one heel in hand and my purse sitting across my shoulders, I huffed, puffed, cursed and cried. I must have really looked bat shit insane, because not one single soul approached me. That suited me just fine, and I stayed as far away from them as possible. I was scared, dehydrated, hungover, and I still had one fucking heel in my hand!? I stopped to throw the shoe, and of course the fucker ended up slamming center face of this gent….this gent who just HAPPENED to be pulling alongside me. This gent happened to not only get smacked by a shoe, but I recalled, as he pulled alongside me, he was the proud owner of Ball-Sackville.

It took me a little while for his familiarity to click, mind you, as I was very fucking drunk, but when it didn’t seem my ‘batshit insane’ was crazy enough to get him to go, I jumped on his back like a spider monkey and started sucker punching him until I ran out of energy. I let go and fell back onto the pavement and started to bawl. Harden, the gent’s name, turned out to be really a gentleman, despite having an aversion to sheets I guess. He put his coat around me and picked me up. Gently, he carried me to the nearest restaurant (albeit it was only a few yards away).

The man placed me in a booth and ordered two iced coffees in almost perfected Vietnamese accent. This thick, clean cut ash blonde, with piercing blue eyes and an English accent spoke Vietnamese better than I ever will.

“Who the hell are you Harden?” I blurted out.
He smiled with a half cocked smile, “Hardly the person who should be demanding answers after the madness you reigned down just a few hours ago.”
“I…wha….ARGH! What games are you playing, perv?! I mean who leaves a putrid ball-sack smelling towel over their guest as their only means of warmth?”

I stuck my finger in his wave, spittle flying from my mouth as I nearly shouted at him in anger? “Ball-sack smelling?” He chuckles. He mouthed Americans wordlessly and looked up to the ceiling shaking his head.

I was baffled by his nonchalant attitude and said, “Yeah, you… you FUCKER!”
He laughed a little harder this time, “Now, now as cute as a button as you are, I still will noy abide ladies cursing and losing their tempers in the middle of dining darling. So settle down and if I may, I would love to revisit the events of last night.” Whoever this guy was, he sure had a talent about making me feel little.

I lowered my pointing finger, straightened out my tattered dress, pulled back my hair, straighten my posture, and said, “Fine, do enlighten me with your perverse excuses to justify taking advantage of a defenseless, angelic, Asian church girl.”
“With pleasure, dear” he answered and proceeded to describe, in grueling detail, the events that took place within three hours. I swear the bloke didn’t even stop the story until the very moment he carried me into the restaurant. Unlike him I won’t bore you with the details. I’ll skip to the highlight reel. Set it to “She’s a Maniac” by Michelle Sembello.

After my chugging martini marathon, Harden walked by me and I grabbed him, demanding he dance with me. He agreed and described some floor/leg humping move I performed with my hands up in the air or running through my hair. He didn’t mind cause I was fun and I looked cute doing it. I told him I was being stalked and I needed a bodyguard to walk me to the bathroom, and so he obliged. He thought it was my cheesy pick up line to get him to screw me in the bathroom. It wasn’t until I climbed on the toilet, both feet flat on the seat, squatting then actually urinating that he realized I wasn’t trying to bathroom bang him. He did feel the need to comment on my excessive moaning when urinating for some reason. After, I grabbed his hand with my unwashed post-bathroom hands and asked him to take me to the beach.

We both got on his bike and I wrapped my arms around him and started grinding on him. I pinched and slapped his nipples, which he said hurt, and then tried to cup his balls. Abruptly I made him pull over and I started to kiss him in a “very disturbing manner”. Since he was so prudish with all this PDA, I told him to take me back to his place which he did. We got there, went straight for the bedroom, and I pushed him onto the floor and tried to remove my clothes seductively. There was no music yet I decided to start singing- off tune from his description. When I had achieved complete nudity, I jumped him and tried to rip off his clothes. I bitched about it looking so easy in movies.
After resuming our make out session, about a minute in I threw up in his mouth, as well as all over him and, all over the bed.

Yeah, I took the first train back to Saigon and never looked back. Well of course not before I got my shit from Ole Basset Boy. He acted all surprised I came to get my shit and wondered where I was the night before. He said I ran off so fast he couldn’t be bothered to find me and left to get food instead. He ‘waited’ and ‘worried’ about me all night. SMH. Seriously, ya get out much? GO pay and get laid. And Harden, WTF? I know you sentimental bitches are thinking, “awwww he’s so charming and sweet.” NO, he’s creepy for still taking my ass home after all the “white girl wasted” shit I did! Either he deals with that level of crazy all the fucking time or he will fuck a hairy beast as long as its female. Doesn’t matter, shits all the same: A RED FLAG.

stalk

Jayde Onyx Lei

Blogger/Writer at Raw, Lewd & Indecent
Http://rawlewdindecent.com/about
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2 Responses

  1. B. K. Hung
    |

    Nice tale! Now 2 notable things:

    First:

    ““I want to fucking rape you and cut up your bits and then rape the bits” look. His stance, his look, his basset hound-like facial features just highlighted the pathetic desperation he so strongly exuded. One quick glance at him and I choked on my beer from laughter so hard, beer was spewing out of my nose and mouth.”

    1. I love how you set the scene and go on to undermine it the next second; 2. the line, ” I want to fucking rape you etc” is so hot! Sorry! 3. your reaction – as ever – is enlightening, naughty and hilarious.

    Second:

    “I told him I was being stalked and I needed a body guard to walk me to the bathroom, and so he obliged… I climbed on the toilet, both feet flat on the seat, sqatting then actually urinating… He did feel the need to comment on my excessive moaning when urinating for some reason.”

    Strange as this might (not) seem to you (now you know me), I found this deeply troubling (and have become so aroused).

    Third:
    You have the most crazy things happening to you. So amusing to read and understand your thought patterns. You are a wild one!

    • Jayde Onyx Lei
      |

      Yeah, it sucks growing up. It’s not fun now actually thinking before doing. I feel boring compared to my 19 self. Thank darling! You’re always so sweet and touching. In a non perv way!

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