The FARANG Speaks 2 Much (tfs2m)

editor’s note: Bule Gila is a P4P newbie. Maybe others will chime in with some Bali tips. I have never been but I remember what it was like to first come to Asia and to first “explore”.

Once again truth proves stranger than fiction.

First of all, allow me to preface the following by saying that this is for the ears of men and men only. Any mention of the following to any female that has ever, or will ever make my acquaintance and I will reign down upon you with the fury of an old man sending soup back at a deli. A mere whisper of a hint of this tale in the presence of a female will result in a certain and untimely death for those who uttered the proscribed words.

It all began on a quiet night in Bali where the full moon hung high like an unreachable, unattainable summit, taunting me with its ethereal glow and serene beauty. Well, that’s not really where it began. It began when the first caveman dragged an unsuspecting cavegirl back to his cave, and was carried on by Hugh Grant and Divine Brown and then by the man himself, the great Charlie Sheen. Better known to his friends as “Machine” And so, the torch was passed to yours truly.

I had just finished eating a thoroughly crappy meal at a local restaurant which featured native Balinese dancing. The food was about as interesting as the dancing I guess you could say, although not nearly as good. After dinner I met up with my loyal taksi driver Made (pronounced Ma – Day). Now keep in mind that if you ever travel to Bali, the name Made means second born. So inevitably you will meet about a million taksi drivers and street hawkers named Made. But this Made was special, he was my Made and he would lead me on my unforgettable quest for Indonesian Jiggy Jig.

Now as you may or may not have ascertained at this point, depending on how bright you are or aren’t. You may already know what Jiggy Jig means. For those of you who are a bit slower than others it is roughly translated as “Wild Monkey Sex with Cheap Indonesian Hookers”.

So Made and I took to the streets, the dark and narrow alleys of Sanur, Bali. Where many fortunes have been won and lost, and as many dreams have been shattered as have been made a reality. As we ambled along the back roads in Made’s taksi, through a jungle of shanties, juxtaposed by high priced villas tucked deep in the shadows, we finally came upon our destination. The Hotel Diyan.

Upon first glance the Hotel Diyan appears to be completely empty. However, once the “Boss” smells the money of an American tourist his eyeballs become dollar signs and that’s when the show starts.

I cautiously step out of the car and look towards a dark building. Not really sure what is going on I am encouraged by Made who says “is good”. I am greeted by the “Boss” who is very friendly and seems to speak decent English. He seems nice but whether or not I will be beaten robbed and tossed into the river still remains to be seen. The “Boss” is a small Indonesian man but there are some bigger, meaner Indonesian men hanging around in the shadows. It was at this point that I first began to doubt the sanity of this endeavor. But like any fool hearty, red-blooded American I forged into the unknown with a cavalier spirit rivaled only by the likes of Lewis and Clark, General Custer and Marty McFly.

Once the “Boss” realized I was a tourist and potentially loaded with money he signaled to the girls. Out of the darkness, lurking like a pack of hyenas hidden by the savannah grass came about 25 or 30 “Night Butterflies”. “Night Butterflies” is the pet name for Balinese hookers. They give them a cute little name and look the other way even though prostitution is illegal in Indonesia. Why prostitution is illegal anywhere is as much a shock to me as it is to you, but that is a whole different discussion. Anyway, back to the story….

So as I stand there, pretty much in awe of the surreality of the moment; I watch as the girls walk out of the bushes and shadows. As they pass they stare at me hungrily and say “Hello Mister” and do their best to capture my attention. As they approach the steps of what seems to be a dark stage area the motion sensor lights begin to flicker and flash. As they mount the stage and wind their way around the railings and along the back wall the whole stage lights up like the Rose Bowl. Only problem is these girls ain’t exactly the USC Cheerleaders if ya’ know what I’m sayin’. In my head I can almost hear the great Keith Jackson, “Whoa Doctor!”

At this point I figured I was ready for anything. I mean, already I could leave now and have a great story. Maybe even make up some shit and get people to believe it. But if I did that what kind of man would I be to come this far and quit? Get real. Lance Armstrong didn’t ride through the Alps with one nut for this. Barry Bonds didn’t take all those steroids for me to quit now. George Washington didn’t get halfway across the Potomac then turn around because he was scared. Hell no!

It’s hard to really describe the feeling I felt as I took the stage. One part of me felt like Rocky when he beat Mister T. Another part of me felt like James Bond pursuing a sexy female spy and another part like Ron Jeremy sizing up an 18 year old porn prospect. I have never felt so awesome/triumphant/deviant/perverse at the same time.

“Hello Mister….Hello Mister…Hello Mister” The siren song was coming at me from all directions now. It was time to choose and there was not turning back. It was like a cross between a slave auction, a fashion show and the NFL Combine. Lucky for me, not only did I have the most money but I also had the #1 pick.

As I began to peruse the product I noticed that about half of the girls were pretty beat and worn out. Some were also pretty thick and not in a good way. But….there were at least 10 to choose from that were pretty hot. The first one that caught my eye gave me an inviting look but I wanted to check out the rest of the selection before I settled so quickly. I made my way around the entire stage before finally going with my first instinct. The girl I selected looked pretty hot to me and still feeling a little strange about the whole thing I didn’t want to linger too long under the hot floodlights. So I made my pick and she took my hand and led me towards our room.

One of the bigger, meaner Indonesian type guys let us in and offered to get us some drinks. He returned a moment late with water and a soda. He asked for 20,000 Rupiah which is only like $2.50 but for Bali it was a complete rip-off, but none of that mattered at this point. We closed and locked the door behind him and now it was go time.

As I looked about the room I started to doubt myself for the second time on this trip. The room seemed decent enough but the bathroom was another story. It was so dingy that at this point I figured the current state of the bathroom had just doubled my odds of catching something. Just for the record, the odds were probably very high at this point.

My girl told me her name was Sary and that she was 24. I mean, she looked 24 so I figured she was close enough. She went into the bathroom to wash up but when I followed her in to check things out I almost did a double take. As she crouched on the side of the tub cleaning her self she struck a startling resemblance to a hairless chimpanzee, right down to the way she was splashing water on her crotch. I had to double check to make sure she had opposable thumbs. “Well” I thought to myself, “at least she is giving her undercarriage a once over.”

After checking out the scene in the bathroom I really had to dig down deep. I needed to focus; I needed the eye of the tiger. No Pain! I needed that little something extra that all great players need when they are up with the bases juiced in the bottom of the ninth or when they are leading a game winning drive in the Superbowl. I looked to my heroes for inspiration. Doug Flutie, Roger Clemens, Joe Rogan, Rodney Dangerfield….please, give me that magic spark that I need.

Humming the training theme song from Rocky IV I started to get a little pumped up and I thought to myself. Fuck it! I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing this for all my friends. Hell, I’m doing this for all mankind, for America. And most importantly, I’m doing it for the story.

After some small talk and some negotiations it was on like Donkey Kong and the next thing I new I was Buck Naked on the bed and she was giving me a hummer. I was so in shock that I had some difficulty “rising” to the occasion so after a few minutes she stopped and the conversation went a little bit like this. Sary: “Ok, what’s wrong? Ok, me till strong (flexing her bicep) then me blowjob, then you fuck, then me massage. 350,000.” Me: “What!?! Till strong? 350,000? No, I already paid 400,000!” Sary: “ME TILL STRONG. ME BLOWJOB. THEN FUCK. THEN MASSAGE. THEN DONE. 350,000.” A similar exchange went on for a few minutes until I was able to understand that “ME TILL STRONG” meant that she was jerk me off till I was hard before blowing me then fucking me. Once I had that figured out she continued to negotiate but I was able to hold her hostage with my Jedi Mind trick and eventually she caved and just started to tug on my Hogan anyway.

To overcome the insanity and absurdity of the moment I again had to dig down deep inside to find that little bit extra to get me through, but it wasn’t there. I struggled, I was weak, I started to doubt my own manhood. Then I looked to my left and saw my reflection in the mirror (yes of course there was a mirror next to the bed). As I stared into my own eyes I felt like Roy Hobbes when he sees the Lady In White stand up in the crowd. At that moment I knew that nothing could stop me. Not a rock hard bed. Not my sun burnt knees. Not the questionable Indonesian food that was doing yoga in my stomach. Not the Hep A amusement park that was the bathroom. No Pain! I was back baby! No Pain Rock! NO PAIN!

I tell you this, my friends; her pussy was as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon and as dry as a Texas oil field in August. What I was lacking in stimulation I made up for with creativity and enthusiasm. I did it like this, I did it like that. I did it with a Wiffle Ball bat.

By Round 16 I was done. I lay there exhausted, exasperated; still in disbelief. I couldn’t think of anymore positions. I couldn’t take anymore punches. My sun burnt knees were throbbing and I wanted to vomit. I refused my massage and decided that I should vacate the grounds as soon as possible. The only thing preventing a successful getaway was my girl Sary. Again she started with the negotiations and again I declined, repeatedly. At this point Sary was not too fond of me and as she dressed she complained of being sore. At least that made me smile. Then she spun angrily and went back to the bathroom to assume the primate position on the rim of the tub. As she turned away she swore at me angrily in Indonesian. That too made me smile.
I took that as a sign and made fast tracks. Hopped in the car with Made and we were out of there faster than the Duke boys runnin’ shine.

Will I ever return to the Hotel Diyan? Only time will tell; perhaps on a night when the full moon hangs high. Just remember, I didn’t do this for me. I did this for all of you. I did it for America. Most importantly I did it for the story.