Raw Silk

Excerpt from: Raw Silk

Breathe... Moist, ripe, heavy, laced with the scents of jasmine, garlic, diesel fuel, the tropical air was strange but welcome after the stale atmosphere of the airplane cabin. Kate O’Neill stepped off the jetway and filled her lungs gratefully. Even in business class, the twenty hour flight had been gruelling. Kate ran her fingers through her tangled auburn curls and tried to smooth the wrinkles from her practical cotton skirt as she joined the crowds queuing at Immigration.

She felt a bit dazed. Only a month ago, she had answered the advertisement in the Boston Globe and now here she was, half a world away, surrounded by foreign faces, buoyed by the musical rise and fall of Thai and a half-dozen other Asian languages.

It was nearly midnight, noontime in Boston. David would be headed out to lunch soon, perhaps to their favourite falafel place in Harvard Square. She remembered telling him of her decision to take the job, as they sat there nursing their espressos. His stricken face, the tears welling in his brown eyes: it was painful to recall.

Why had she chosen this course, so sudden and so radical? She was happy in her work, a senior engineer at a relaxed, progressive software company. Her family, her friends, her Back Bay condo, her dance classes, her volunteer work, all tied her to New England. And then there was David, her lover of nearly three years, since they had met in graduate school. David was bright, funny, creative, gentle, strong. He shared her love of the outdoors, her interest in film, her enjoyment of exotic cuisines. David was her best friend as well as her partner in the bedroom.

A clear image of David came to her: lush, wavy brown hair, compact, wiry body, deft hands, and eager manhood. On their last night, he had sunk to his knees before her, weeping, begging her to reconsider. Then, the next morning, he had taken her, unexpectedly, in the airport parking garage.

Partially hidden by the open trunk of the car, he began by kissing her hard, backing her up against a concrete support pillar. As their tongues entwined, he raised her skirt, pushed aside the fabric of her panties, and stroked her clitoris, lightly at first, then with greater force. Even as she worried about their exposed position, she could not help but respond, rubbing against his hand as he inserted one, two, then three fingers into her, all the while continuing to stroke with his thumb. His whole hand was inside her underwear, stretching the elastic, as she bore down, trying to work him even deeper into her.

Then, without warning, he stopped. Gently he turned her around to face the pillar. He pushed her skirt up to her waist and pulled her knickers down around her knees. Kate had been only too willing to spread her legs wide, holding on to the rough concrete with both hands. A car drove past, seeking a parking spot, as David eased his cock into her hungry depths.

“Next, please.” She started, embarrassed, as a young man in uniform beckoned her forward to the counter. As he examined her passport, for what seemed like hours, she wondered whether she had made a mistake, leaving David and her home for this land of strangers. David, though always enthusiastic, was not usually so daring and inventive, but perhaps he was changing. Her vague dissatisfaction and the sharp pang of wanderlust that had seized her when she first spotted the advertisement, were these realistic justifications for committing herself to a year in a foreign culture?

Finally, the inspector stamped her passport, with great ceremony, half a dozen times. Then the serious youth surprised her by breaking into a brilliant smile.

“Welcome to Thailand, Miss O’Neill. I hope you enjoy your stay here.”

Kate smiled back. “Thank you.” She suddenly knew that she had chosen well. However this year turned out, it would be an adventure, a welcome variation in her well-ordered life.

She followed the stream of people to the baggage carousel and retrieved her luggage without incident. Trailing the cart behind her, she emerged from the international arrival area, into the confusion of the general concourse.

The area outside the gates swarmed with noisy humanity, faces everywhere, waving hands, shouting voices. Here and there, signs on sticks bobbed above the crowd, with hotel logos or the names of individuals. Kate scanned the scene nervously. She located the placard inscribed “Katherine O’Neill,” just as its bearer, a balding

Thai with a drooping black moustache, noticed her. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd.

“Miss O’Neill?” The man grinned at her as she nodded, his lively black eyes taking her in at a glance: her petite frame, unruly curls, rumpled clothing. “Welcome to Bangkok —City of Angels!”

“I am Chaiwat, Mr Harrison’s driver. Mr Harrison has sent his own car, to take you to your house. Please follow me.”

Without waiting for her reply, he took charge of the luggage cart and started through the crowd toward the exit. Kate struggled to keep up, watching his back recede, worried at having lost control of her bags, trying to make progress through the press of bodies without seeming impolite.

Chaiwat was waiting for her on the curb, still grinning. “Stay here, please. I’ll go for the car.” He disappeared into the humid night.

Kate leaned wearily against her largest suitcase. She had never met Edward Harrison, the Managing Director of DigiThai, Ltd., her new employer, although they had spoken several times by telephone. Clearly, he was considerate, to offer her the services of his personal car and driver. Of course, he was an American—from Chicago,

she recalled—and no doubt understood from personal experience how exhausted she would be after the trans-Pacific flight.

A sleek white Mercedes sedan slid up to the curb, and almost before it stopped, it seemed, energetic Chaiwat was loading her cases into the trunk. He held open the back door, and she sank down onto the leather-upholstered seat with a grateful sigh. She drifted in and out of a half-sleep as Chaiwat drove out of the airport and turned onto the highway toward the city.

From under heavy eyelids, she watched the roadside sights fly by. Garish neon signs, in English, Thai and Chinese, lit up the night with the names of multinational corporations. Gleaming, modern buildings two dozen stories high alternated with stunted blocks of grimy concrete, weak fluorescent light visible through their open windows. Every now and again, she would glimpse the peaked, layered roofs and delicate spires of a Buddhist temple, rising incongruously from the middle of a residential or industrial district.

The full moon rendered the scene even more alien. High above the horizon by now, it lent a silvery sheen to the buildings, while creating sharp black shadows between and behind them. Brighter than any manmade illumination, it reminded Kate of an old-fashioned flashbulb. Each tableau seemed frozen in meticulous detail, captured by the moon like a surrealistic snapshot.

The car was silent, seeming to float over the road. The slight hiss of the air conditioning soothed her. Kate tried to stay alert, to pay attention to her new surroundings, but drowsiness was irresistible.

She found her mind drawn back to David and the scene in the parking garage. The recollection, on the edge of sleep, was vivid, almost hallucinogenic. She could feel his hands, grasping her hips, positioning her for his thrusts. Despite their exposure, he did not hurry. His cock stretched her deliciously as he slid in, practically in slow motion, as if he were savouring every centimetre. He was deep inside her, but only for a moment before he started to withdraw. It was as if he were trying to memorise her body, imprint it upon his senses; he lingered at each stage, focused on each motion, constriction, texture.

Her own body was afire, but her urgency did not seem to communicate itself to him. Her nipples, hard as little pebbles, brushed against the smooth cotton of her blouse, raising a little gasp that she tried to suppress. David made no sound, breathed deeply but smoothly, in rhythm with his strokes, while she found herself panting, smothering her moans. She writhed against him, rubbing her bottom against him. The rough curls of his pubic hair against her bare skin made her wild.

She reached behind her and grasped the base of his penis with one hand. The other hand found its way between her own legs, working its way among the slick folds to find her aching clitoris. She squeezed David and massaged herself, both hands moving together. David responded, drawn out of his reverie, catching fire from her.

He began thrusting harder, faster, deeper, just as she craved. Now he was panting too. She had to stop her self caresses in order to hold the concrete support in front of her with both hands. Otherwise, the force of his thrusts would have knocked her over.

David made an animal noise, deep in his throat. He dug his nails into her flesh, pulling the mounds of her buttocks apart to have better access to the juicy cleft of her sex. Kate arched her back, opening herself wider, aching for total penetration. Again and again David plunged into her, riding her with a ferocity he had never shown her before.

She loved this position, the feral quality of being taken from behind. She loved the danger, too, she admitted to herself, the chance of being discovered with her panties down and her private parts glistening with moisture. The thought of this, of how they would look to some passerby, was the final stroke. That image, added to the furious friction of David’s cock, the tingling in her nipples, the brush of his pubic hair on her thighs, his fingernails marking her ass, finally pushed her to edge and beyond.

David felt her spasms, and matched them. He collapsed forward onto her, both of them leaning against the pillar. As their breathing gradually slowed to normal, David caressed her breasts, left tiny, precise kisses at the back of her neck.

Kate started, suddenly alert. Her real environment reasserted itself, the supple leather beneath her, the artificially refreshing breeze from the air-conditioning vents. She realised that Chaiwat was watching her in the rear view mirror, at the same time as she found she had both hands in between her legs. Her sex ached with imagined or new hunger; she could not tell which. Casually, she moved her hands to her sides, sat up a bit straighter, tried to ignore the grin she saw reflected towards her.