"Kanga" (AndREW - KangaROO) Bilson brought his considerable frame into perspective by watching himself on the exercise machine repeated into infinity in the mirrored walls of the hotel gym. Why was he putting himself through this? Wearying his muscles and joints on the fat-burning cross-trainer machine (a strange insect-like structure); all this maximising of calories out, the restriction of calories in... The mirrors told him why. As a youngster he thought the term "pear-shaped" referred to some sort of SNAFU, some sort of logistical failure. Now he had verification of where it truly came from: he saw his legs holding up a genuinely pear shaped torso, the swollen gourd of his ripening, formless belly. He had gone to ruin, he was SNAFU itself.

He kept sweating, he kept exercising. But why? Who was he still trying to impress? Whose life was he trying to save? Why bother?

To put some perspective into his frame of mind, Kanga thought back to the mid years of his marriage, when he and Tina were still having sex, and compared them to last night...


Click MORE if you wish to continue reading.

WARNING: the rest of this post is rather sexually explicit, even by E@L's forthright standards.

Consider it an E@L fiction experiment. Resemblance of characters in this post to real people and events that actually happened is purely on purpose coincidental.



After two hours of jaw-numbing, finger-aching, battery-draining but eventually futile foreplay, Kanga finally slipped his member inside his wife. Even though he could not feel much down there anymore - after all Tina had had three kids - and even though she turned her face away when he tried to kiss her, even though he was tired beyond exhaustion and soaked in sweat, after only six or seven strokes he felt his orgasm rise. He slowed, stopped. She turned to face at him with a questioning look then, sensing it was true, a mask of derision. "Oh you're not going to come so soon, are you?"

He was: the pulsations kept building. He knew he was losing it but what could he do? It was his dick's decision, his dick at least was having a good time. And what did she mean, so soon? Doesn't the last, he glanced at digital clock on the beside table, two hours count as sex? Hadn't he tried as hard as he could, didn't he always try so hard? Why were his efforts and innovations never good enough?

"Not inside, Andrew!" she puffed, for she was tired too but not from climaxing, that was for certain, more from the effort of fantasizing. She kept trying to think that it was someone else fucking her, someone she found attractive. Someone who got her juices flowing, someone sexy, someone with stamina, someone who didn't snore, someone who didn't toss his hay-fever-tissues around the floor all day, someone who didn't have the unmistakable swellings of a paunch, a sportsman, someone who didn't criticize the way she rinsed his beer-glasses, a romantic, a gypsy lover, someone who could give her all that she ever needed: an orgasm.

Kanga pulled out and tried to move up quickly to Tina's face. He imagined her opening her mouth as he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, she was wiping her breasts with disgust and a tissue, for that was as far as he got.

Her eyes were red as she rolled over away from him and switched off the light. In the darkened room, she began to quietly sob.

Kanga lay on his back, staring at the patterns of light his retinas constructed out of the darkness near the ceiling. His face was flushed with the dopamine rush; he kicked off the sheets. Well, that was satisfying for both parties, he thought. Not. Let's try it again next month.

As he drifted away to sleep, what sounded like a major construction site began its work inside his nasopharynx. His wife pulled a pillow out and covered her head.


After another disappointing meal, after another disastrous round of golf, after another disappointing day in sad, sad Pattaya, an older but no wiser Kanga walked passed a bar called Jupiters. There was a Bollywood movie in production in the soi.


Bar-girls in orange bikini tops and orange ultra-short shorts held advertising placards for Jupiters on the road, watching the movie proceedings from near the front door. "Sexy Show." "49 Gorgeous girls and 1 Ugly One." "Go-Go Dancers."

Kanga smiled at the second sign despite his black mood because it showed a bit of self-mockery and Kanga could relate to that. He turned back, deciding to go in.

A very slim, very pretty girl in a black G-string and lace bra gyrated on the stage in front of him, playing hide and seek behind a stainless steel pole; smiling, laughing and looking away when he caught her eye. Cock-tease.

He asked Mamasan to call her over and to get her a drink. She immediately jumped off the stage and came to sit next to him, stroked his arm and ran through a series of questions to which she could not understand the answers. But she had to ask, it was her job. She managed to remember his strange name: Undo.

She was happy to go with him back to his obscure hotel. The taxi-truck driver didn't not know the hotel, did not even know the Sheraton which was right next to it. They found it, somehow, "up on the hill."


Norn whimpered in feigned disappointment as Kanga finally withdrew. He could feel every velvet centimetre of the folds of her vagina on his member, even through the latex. A bar-virgin - no children, well not by normal delivery. She turned over to face him and slapped him lightly on the chest, smiled the widest smile possible, and then chuckled. "You make lub too long time, make me sore!" She reached her head up and pouted her soft lips to give him a lingering kiss. She kept looking in his eyes as she expertly reached down and pinched off the condom.

Kanga was amazed. She had been enthusiastic, pliable, almost caring. She had suggested new positions, groaned appreciatively at the appropriate times. Her eyes were wide and moist and she looked into his deeply, smiling as if she recognized something lovable inside. At least, likable. She had appeared genuine - perhaps at 23 she had already mastered and still could be bothered to offer, this, her greatest skill.

When she had first entered the room, she immediately took her T-shirt and bra off and lay on the bed in her jeans pretending to read Kanga's book. Kanga traced her perfect spine with kisses. She moaned. He nibbled at her ribs and she was tickled, she rolled over with a laugh. The doorbell rang. It was the maid with two fresh towels.

Norn had the body of a cat-walk model: small but perfectly formed breasts, flat hard stomach (no Caesarean scar either), buttocks carved of something like dark polished sandalwood, about a handful each. Kanga tried to get to know her firm aromatic body, to explore it completely, in the short time they had together.

She had arched her back, throwing her breasts into glorious silhouette, and pretended to cum when he kissed and played with her smoothly naked labia for a few minutes.

She had sucked his cock as if she was keen to make him enjoy it and to let him know that she was enjoying it herself, for that is when it is best. "This the first you've given a blow-job?" Kanga had asked. She had pulled off with a practised POP, smiled and said, "Yep, fird time," then ran her tongue around his glans.

With almost all of the others it had been a case of, "Hurry up, hurry up - I am performing the technical procedures required to assist you in achieving rapid ejaculation, why don't you conform to the protocol? Don't you know I have other tricks waiting?" But Norn was taking her time. Of course it was still mid-evening; she could afford to pamper Kanga just a little longer and still get back for at least one other John.

As he lay back, the dopamine rush to his face making him sweat heavily, Norn stroked the hairs on his pear-shaped belly.

"Oh, you nice man, Undo. Heb good heart. You make me cum many time! You care 'bout Norn."

Care about her? Kanga worshipped her!

So much so he tipped her an extra 500Baht as he let her out the door.

His head throbbing, he lay on his back and kicked off the sheets. He drifted off to a pleasant sleep and that same construction site resumed work in his nasopharnyx; but as no-one was there to hear, did it really make any sound?


Posted by: expat@large on Jul 24, 05 | 7:44 pm | Profile


Impressive - this is very Sidney Sheldon-ish, but in a good way!

Posted by: chlim01 on Jul 24, 05 | 9:38 pm

Sidney Sheldon??? WTF???

You were supposed to say James Joyce, Samuel Beckett, Joseph Heller, Chuck Woww, Barbara Cartland!

Thanks for the support anyway ;-)

(But I really have no idea about Sidney Sheldon.)

Posted by: expat@large on Jul 25, 05 | 2:08 am

Kanga's wife sounds frighteningly like my ex-wife. And the whole story like my first visit to Thailand.......

Thank God for Asian bar girls!

Posted by: Skippy-san on Jul 25, 05 | 2:21 pm

You weren't married to my ex-wife as well?

But notice the subtle theme of "fooling oneself but who cares" in the story.

Posted by: expat@large on Jul 25, 05 | 7:32 pm

Is marriage that bad?

Suddenly I'm glad to be single.

Posted by: chlim01 on Jul 25, 05 | 8:05 pm

YES! Its that bad! I tried it and now, I just need a maid with benefits.......

Posted by: Skippy-san on Jul 25, 05 | 9:04 pm

Neil Young, "Harvest": side one, track 3.

Posted by: expat@large on Jul 26, 05 | 7:33 pm


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