Part One
My best friend is Gene Jacklin. I am Murray Stanton. Both of us are confirmed bachelors, having had hugely disappointing experiences trying to find our female soulmates. We’ve known each other since we were classmates in the fourth grade, which makes us the same age. This year we both turned 42. I am a month older than Gene is. We still live in the same mid-size, western Canadian city where we grew up. Gene’s house is only about a five-minute drive from mine.
For years we made an annual, week-long trip to Las Vegas because we both liked its casinos, sports gambling, the impressively huge buffets, and the overall fun atmosphere to be found in Sin City. However, the past couple of our trips have lacked sparkle. Prices for hotels and restaurants have risen sharply. Rising minimums at casino table games now challenge our budgets. With casino gambling within a short ride of our homes and sports betting now easily available online, the allure of traveling to Nevada to gamble has strongly dissipated. A year ago, when we got together at my home to plan our trip, I asked Gene, “Are you getting a bit tired of Las Vegas like I am? Maybe we should do something different for a week.”
Gene readily agreed. “I was going to suggest the same thing myself,” he informed me. “Have you any marvelous ideas, my friend?”
“Actually, I do,” I told him. "This might shock you a little bit, but there’s a place in Laos that interests me. It ought to interest you, too.”
Gene was never much of a geography student. He had never heard of Laos, much less knew where it was located on a map of the world. I got an atlas from the top row of a bookshelf to show him exactly where it was.
“Southeast Asia!” he said in a surprised voice. “Murray, that’s a heck of a long trip to make for a week’s vacation.”
“Perhaps,” I stated, “but the attraction might be worth it.”
“Okay, please let me in on what the big, wonderful attraction is in Laos, Murray. I can see you’re dying to tell me all about it.”
Although Gene was never a great scholar in his school days, he has always been a highly perceptive person. He has long possessed the ability to read me like a book. Gene was right about my desire to tell him where we ought to go on vacation together sometime in 2025.
I took a deep breath and told him this: “According to what I’ve been seeing on the internet, Laos is becoming famous for elaborate prostitution vacations designed to attract foreigners. They have a few places that are basically a combination of hotels, buffets and brothels. You pay one price that covers everything: airport shuttles, rooms, western-style food, and, best of all, unlimited hooker service! Tourists are flocking there to eat and fuck non-stop. The best part is, when you factor in everything, do the math, and make the comparison, the trip wouldn’t cost us much more than going to Las Vegas would cost us these days.”
I was right: Gene was quite interested after I gave him that brief description. We decided to do more online research about these faraway places dedicated entirely to adult male pleasure. We found one such tourist attraction called Supreme Spa in Vang Vieng, a city known to cater to tourists. It was no spa, of course, in the western sense of the word. It was basically a glorified whorehouse attached to a 24-hour buffet and a hotel, but it could not advertise itself that way as prostitution is officially illegal in Laos. The law, however, is regularly flouted with impunity. When the proper civic officials are sufficiently bribed, the country’s laws don’t carry much weight.
For a single price, a customer would get transportation to and from the airport to Supreme Spa, a modest hotel room, access to a large buffet specializing in western fare that never closes, and as many hookers as a man could handle—also 24 hours a day. The female employees were collectively described as “fine Asian ladies from Laos, Thailand, and other Far Eastern locales.” Gene and I both admired the natural beauty of women from that part of the globe, so that was a huge incentive for us.
“Wow! Supreme Spa sounds like an adult version of Disneyland,” Gene stated excitedly. “Murray, if this place is real, you can absolutely count me in. I’d love to go. I only wish I could trim 20 years off my age to enjoy this so-called ‘spa’ to its fullest.”
Supreme Spa had a website that had a 24-hour chat feature where one could type any and all queries in English and have them answered swiftly by a real human agent, not an AI robot. Gene used it well, asking all sorts of questions about the food, the rooms, and the girls who service the customers. The website featured images of absolutely stunning Asian beauties. Gene asked the agent, “The girls pictured on your website are almost too beautiful to be real. Are they actual employees of Supreme Spa?”
The response he got was an elusive one. It said, “We have many beautiful ladies available for our customers’ enjoyment.” I thought the evasive answer might dissuade Gene, but I was wrong. He typed back, “If your female employees are even 1/10 as beautiful as the girls pictured on this website, that means they’re twice as beautiful as any woman I’ve ever slept with.” The agent thought that Gene’s comment was highly amusing. Within an hour we had booked two rooms for a week of adult fun in the middle of May, three months hence. Since a one-way trip took about 24 hours, we each took nine days off work so we could have a full week of fun at Supreme Spa. We were both self-employed, so that was easily arranged.
Part Two
As our departure day approached, I made frequent visits to Supreme Spa’s website to see if there was anything new there for us to know. I saw they had recently added a “playroom”—which was a euphemism for a gym-like area filled with mattresses. It was a place where customers who were exhibitionists could have sex with a hooker (or two or three or ten) along with other likeminded individuals. Like everything else, the playroom was part of the all-inclusive price one paid to stay a Supreme Spa. I told Gene I’d likely forego the playroom and do all my screwing in the privacy of my hotel room. Gene was a more open-minded fellow than I was. He told me, he might try that option after a few days if he got bored.
“If you become bored at Supreme Spa, you’re not the Gene Jacklin I’ve known since I was nine years old,” I told him.
I learned a lot of other things about Supreme Spa that had not occurred to either Gene or me just by reading old questions (submitted by random people making inquiries) and the answers they received. One man asked about personal safety. He was told that security guards were plentiful, for both the wellbeing of the spa’s customers and its employees. Anyone who caused problems would be “ejected permanently” from Supreme Spa. A picture showed a burly, scowling, menacing male. He was wearing a uniform and clutching a truncheon. I had no intention of getting into any trouble if this fellow was on duty.
Another person asked whether theft of personal items was a concern at Supreme Spa. The answer was that every guest was strongly advised to take advantage of the free safe deposit boxes located at the front desk to store their passports, wallets, and other valuables. “Remember, there is no need at all to carry money on your person, as you’ve already prepaid for everything. You will find this to be a great convenience.” That was comforting to know.
A third potential customer inquired about the length of time one girl could stay with one client. Was it unlimited if he really fancied her? He was told, “Although it rarely happens, theoretically a girl could accompany a client from the minute he arrived until the moment he departs Supreme Spa. Most of our clients prefer to sample our smorgasbord of delightful ladies to get the full experience we strive to provide.”
I was absolutely champing at the bit to board the airplane that would begin my eagerly awaited trip to Laos—and Gene was even more anxious than I was!
When the big day finally arrived, it was a long and tedious 27 hours, spent mostly in the air, to get from our hometown in suburban Canada to our vacation spot in Laos. The trip required stopovers in Vancouver and Los Angeles before we boarded a third airplane to cross the Pacific Ocean. The journey seemed twice as long to both Gene and me because we couldn’t wait to arrive at our destination and begin our carnal adventures.
The trip went smoothly. When we finally landed in Laos, three small shuttle buses parked at the airport were ready to take us to Supreme Spa. Gene and I were surprised to recognize at least 25 people from our flight rush to board these vehicles alongside us. Had we known their destination was the same as ours, we could have had some very interesting discussions during the long flight from Los Angeles!
The shuttle bus passengers represented a true cross-section of males, as various ages and races were represented. One Japanese man looked like he was about 70 years old. (“Good luck and God bless you!” Gene sincerely told him.) At the other end of the spectrum, there were a few men who looked to be closer to age 20 than age 30. Gene and I were part of the largest demographic: white males in our early forties. “I guess we’re typical guys,” I stated to my friend. “There seems to be a lot of us horny forty-somethings who want to spend a week screwing Asian beauties. Yay! This confirms we’re completely normal males!”
Gene and I were both a bit sleepy due to jetlag and the length of the trip. I never slept well on airplanes, and the long trip to Laos was no different for me. I felt I needed a good eight-hours of shuteye to feel refreshed. Gene and I both intended to get our room keys and sleep for a while before we began our recreational activities. However, when we were approaching the front of the queue to check in to Supreme Spa, we glanced at the bevy of comely Asian beauties passing by us. They were more undressed than dressed. Our priorities abruptly changed. “Sleep be damned!” I told my friend loudly. “I can sleep forever when I’m dead. Since I’m still breathing, I’m going to take advantage of every hour I’m here and fuck, fuck, fuck—starting right now.”
“I totally agree!” Gene replied. “Murray, I guess I’ll next see you a week from now when the shuttle bus takes us back to the airport!”
My longtime friend meant his comment to be a joke, but he was more prescient than he had imagined. Over the next seven days, I saw Gene only three times. All were by chance. Each time was at the Supreme Spa’s buffet when we paused our screwing marathon long enough to re-energize ourselves with a large meal.
Part Three
When I got my room key, I immediately asked an attendant about the protocols, specifically where I could choose the first girl I would bed. In very passable English he said I had two options. There were always girls in the playroom whom I could screw there or take to my room. There was also another room—commonly known as the waiting area—where I could mingle with numerous females, choose one (or more), and take her (or them) to my room. “Either way you get to fuck without delay,” he told me with a smile.
“I think I’ll start with just one girl; I don’t want to appear greedy,” I said, being my practical self.
Still wheeling my suitcase behind me, I went to the waiting area where a petite, cute girl with dimples and a lovely smile was wearing something akin to a tennis outfit. She was absolutely adorable. I estimated she was about 20 years old. She had a small chain around her neck that had #12 on it. I correctly assumed that was her Supreme Spa ID number. I told the attendant there that I fancied her. He loudly spoke a few words of the Laotian language which I, of course, did not understand. Within 15 seconds Girl #12 was clinging to my arm. She looked at my key to Room 217 and led me to where it was on the hotel’s second floor.
Her English was quite spotty, but she nevertheless managed to be humorous. “Mister,” she stated to me, “you must be in big hurry to fuck me if you haven’t put your suitcase in your room yet.”
“Good observation!” I said to her with a smile. “You are right; I honestly can’t wait to fuck you. I think you are gorgeous, whoever you are.”
She never did tell me her name, but I didn’t care. I was to learn that every girl employee was a “part-timer” who was paid a daily salary by Supreme Spa regardless of how many clients she served and for how long. However, the longer she was occupied with servicing guests, the more points she accrued. Those girls with the greatest totals often got pay raises and guaranteed employment. Therefore, unlike most whorehouses, a girl at Supreme Spa usually worked at a relaxed pace to extend her time with each client as much as possible. Each girl was absolutely content to stay with the same client for an unlimited time. That was great! (At the front desk, I was given a plastic wristband. Each guest was required to wear his at all times. It displayed his name and unique ID number for the girl to record on a logbook she kept. I was G76.) Based on her prettiness alone, I was quite happy to have the beautiful Girl #12 in my bedroom for a long, long time.
A few seconds after I shut and locked the door and wheeled my suitcase to the far corner of the room, I saw Girl #12 disrobing. I paused to watch her for a few seconds before I did the same thing. She was about 5’5” tall and perhaps weighed 110 pounds. She had shimmering black hair that descended past her shoulders. When she removed her plain beige brassiere, I saw her lovely tits. They weren’t especially large, but they were a quality set! They were the pokey type with prominent nipples. I could feel a hardon building in my trousers. I removed my pants very quickly to free it.
Girl #12 was wearing cute sky-blue panties with a pattern of white stars on them. She stepped out of those swiftly and practically leapt onto the bed. She lied in its center and spread her legs slightly enough to display a hairy muff, which she fingered sexily. By my estimation, Girl #12 was a 9.99 out of 10 in the good-looks department. I also knew I had undoubtedly chosen a terrific vacation spot for 2025.
“Time for fun!” Girl #12 cutely said to me, followed by a direct instruction. “Fuck my tight, Asian pussy, please. Take your time, though, mister. No rush at all.”
I promptly jumped into bed beside Girl #12, embraced her, and began to fondle her perky boobs. They were wonderful objects to occupy my wandering hands.
“That’s right. Play with my titties, mister.” I was told. “Do whatever you want with me so you get the biggest possible erection.”
I knew that Girl #12 was regurgitating rehearsed lines that she has spoken dozens of times before to horny foreigners, but that didn’t bother me, either. I was having too much fun to care if my bedmate was being sincere about anything she said to me. I began to thoroughly suck on her fantastically erotic nipples. I concluded playing with her breasts by giving her a titty fuck. I struggled mightily not to come on her sexy mounds.
I then moved downward and enjoyed her vaginal area. I stuck my left middle finger in it and began to slide it in and out of her. I began slowly and then increased my speed. Her cunt became wet in a hurry. That was my signal to mount and enter Girl #12. To my recollection, that last time I had fucked a 20-year-old female was when I was 22. That was 21 years ago—about the same time Girl #12 would have been born. That didn’t daunt me. Quite the opposite, it turned me on!
Girl #12 moaned when I shoved by penis inside her most important body part. It really wasn’t as tight as she told me it was a few minutes before. Unless they are very new to the business, prostitutes seldom have tight pussies. It’s part of the typical wear and tear that comes with the job, I suppose. Still, I enjoyed being inside the Asian beauty. After about five minutes of ramming her to the best of my ability, I let loose with a large cum shot comprised of several long and short spurts of jism. All of it went inside Girl #12's waiting vagina. When I pulled out, a stream of my semen oozed onto the formerly pristine, white bedsheet and made a bit of a gooey mess.
“Do not worry about any cum stains in the bed,” I was told by Girl #12 without asking her. “A maid will change the sheets as often as you want. Just phone the front desk and ask for it to be done. It’s all part of the inclusive services here.”
That was the last thing on my mind. I wanted more sex, not a lesson about the spa’s laundry policy!
“One more time!” I declared. I remounted Girl #12, placed my flaccid penis in her vagina, and surprisingly was rewarded with another firm erection a short time later. Not bad at all for a past-his-prime 43-year-old! (I had learned in my youthful days that it’s a terrific experience to get hard with one’s dick already inside a female. The girl seems to like the growing sensation as much as I do!) About 30 minutes later I launched more sperm into lovely Girl #12 after another round of vigorous fucking. It was thrilling work, but an exhausting pastime at the same time. Two cum shots in so short a time had completely sapped me of my energy. I needed to rest. I knew from experience that I would fall asleep within a few minutes. Girl #12 wrapped her arms around me, placed her head on my chest—and we merrily dozed off together into Slumberland. Four hours later, when I woke up hungry, this delightful sexpot was still affectionately clinging to me. It was heavenly.
I let out a contented sigh. This was just the start of what was easily the greatest vacation I had ever had!