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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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 ankara travesti 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 travesti ankara 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, ankara travestiler 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.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32