I was forty-five years old when I achieved a lifetime total of one hundred sex partners. I don't keep a precise count -- but I've picked one as a symbol of achievement -- a Bronze Medal for sluthood. I may never win silver or gold, as I got off to a slow start.
One problem in toting up partners is defining "sex." Does it have to be vaginal intercourse? What about oral sex? Yes, oral sex counts. Masturbation? Only if it goes both ways. Thus, my count doesn't include a few men I jacked off. But mutual masturbation qualifies as sex. And so does the exertions of a few men who tried and failed to accomplish linkage with me not through lack of intention but lack of woodiness. Any attempted penetration, I decided, whether successful or not, qualified as sex.
I only counted one woman among my sex partners although a few other working women in Thailand had brought me to climax with tongue and mouth.
So I came up with 100 sex partners, and while my hundredth was unremarkable in most respects, he was the only United States Senator I have ever fucked.
I was living in Bangkok, Thailand. I'm a divorced woman who worked in American Embassies around the world. In that isolated and insular world long term relationships were hard to come by. The US government frowns on its confidential employees cohabiting with the locals and with each other, so my sex partners were mostly tourists and visitors to the Embassy, along with a sizeable number of young marines and peace corps volunteers.
My Senator was on an official trip to Thailand, and I was assigned as his "control officer" meaning that I arranged meetings, accompanied him, ensured that his visit was useful, and that he was suitably impressed with the efficiency of the Embassy -- so impressed that he would vote in favor of budget increases we were seeking.
I liked Senator Foghorn. He was about the same size as me: 5 feet, eight inches tall and 150 pounds. He had a good sense of humor and we laughed and joked as we went around town meeting with Thai officials. I have an accountant's personality so I'm not exactly scintillating, but I was comfortable with this Senator.
At the end of our work day, when I took him back to his hotel, he suggested dinner. I accepted. I wasn't thinking of sex. He was in his late sixties and he seemed like a little old man and he was married -- although that has never put me off.
We had a lovely dinner and over dessert he suggested that he would like to see something of Bangkok's fabled night life. He was polite and shy -- and so embarrassed at raising the subject -- that the thought of a night in bed with him first crept into my mind. I tossed my head and made my hair fly, crossed my legs, and turned off the professional me to become the personal me -- moderately attractive and sophisticated and quick to go to bed.
I was familiar with Bangkok's night life. It was wide open. Thai girls are dark, slender, willing, and cheap. Sex of any variety was readily attainable at moderate prices. This being 1987, prices were still low. A one hour massage with masturbation as the piece de resistance was ten dollars at the best massage parlors and for a tip of the same you could enjoy more than a massage. Most of the attractions around Bangkok were for men; a round-eye woman like me was a rare sight in a Thai bar, night club, and massage parlor.
I took Senator Foghorn to one of the better known bars in town, the Thai Beer Garden. It was (and is) a big thatched roof place with a rustic bar, wicker tables and chairs, and lit well enough so that you could examine the merchandise on display. About fifty women showed up every night to ply their wares. They were mostly non-professionals -- waitresses, maids, and secretaries who turned a trick when they needed extra money. Most were in their twenties, but a few were as old as me.
The men in the place were almost all Western. They came to drink beer and talk to the girls and make onward assignations. You saw a little kissy-feely, but, unlike the raunchier places, I never saw couples at the Beer Garden fucking on the tables. But, then, I always went home early...
The Senator and I sat down at a table and ordered Singha beer and the girls began to drift by to have a look at him -- and cast a wary eye at me. He was about twice the average age of men in the place. And what was I doing there? I quieted their concerns with a welcome smile and a wave to join us. Two girls sat down. Both wore provocative, slit-sided dresses of cheap polyester and push-up bras out of which their not-so-voluminous breasts protruded. That's catty of me. I've got big tits, which is about the only asset I can claim as superior to those sensual little Thai honeys.
One of the girls settled in next to me, indicating a willingness to travel the lesbian route if that was my desire, and the other squeezed into a chair very close to the Senator, ensuring that her little body pressed against him. Both girls spoke a few words of English and I spoke a little Thai and we attempted to communicate.
The Senator was jolly; he asked me about the Thai sex scene and I enlightened him, although protesting -- not in complete candor -- that I knew little about it. I warned him, however, that you should always ensure that the girl you're planning to engage for an evening is really a girl. He laughed and told me that was not on his mind.
