THE SURRENDER OF DESIRE by Peter Nolan Smith

Before 9/11 I was madly in enamoured with a blonde model from the UK. Judith was smart, funny, and liked her drink. We seemed doomed to be friends, then one wintry evening we drank ourselves past the portals of inhibition. Judith invited me back to her apartment. We made out on her sofa. This wasn’t only about sex. I fantasized more about her as someone to love than a one night stand. After ten minutes of passionate groping she suggested sharing a shower. We stripped naked and stepped under the hot water.

All systems go.

Except for one.

My penis was as flaccid as al dente spaghetti and failed to response to Judith's attempts to bring it back to hardness.

“Don’t worry, this happens to all men,” Judith told me later in bed.

I never got a second chance.

This was not a one-off occasion either and as someone once wrote, “Fear is the first time you can’t get it up for the second time, but terror is the second time you can’t get it up for the first time.”

I became a eunuch with women.

I confided to a security guard at the diamond exchange about my failing and Big Dave repeated the blonde’s statement. “It happens to everyone.”

The excuse sounded no better coming from his lips, except Big Dave added, “But never with this.”

A blue pill was pinched between his thumb and index finger.

“Viagra.”

“Viagra’s for old men.”

“You’re closer to 70 than twenty. Next time you get the green light for consensual sex, drop it 30 minutes before getting in the taxi. You won’t have softieitis. Trust me.”

I thanked Big Dave and stuck the pill in my wallet. It remained a useless bump for months.

Every woman in New York seemed privy to my mission unaccomplished with Judith. I had no takers, until I read THE HOLE OF HEAVEN at Joe’s Pub. An attractive Korean artist offered to buy me a drink. I thought her gesture was a compliment of my literary prowess, but an hour later we were in a taxi, heading to her Soho loft. Maria from Korea filled my ear with whispered desires. I liked oriental flesh. My libido responded au natural, however the doubt created by previous debacle was spreading southward to my loins.

As the taxi stopped before her loft building, I paid with a $20 and surreptitiously withdrew the linty Viagra pill. I swallowed it, as Maria fumbled with her keys. We had two glasses on wine on her sofa and she said, “I’m going to change into something more comfortable.”

“I can hardly wait.”

Other men had heard the same line. I didn’t care, because the Viagra had flooded my veins with a tsunami of lust.

“It’ll only be a minute.” She changed into a push-up bra, g-string panties, garters, silk stocking, boa feather high heels. Her smile widened lasciviously with a glance at my trousers. “You like what you see?”

“Yes.” I was no lie, except without warning blood pounded through my temples as if I was seconds away from transforming into the Hulk. Closing my eyes barely relieved the pain and this agony was joined by a variety of other unforeseen reactions. My body shivered with a strobe of hot flashes and my heart was bodychecking against my ribs.

“Are you all right?” My hostess was genuinely concerned for I could feel my face burning with blood.

“I don’t feel so good.” More like I was minutes away from a heart attack.

“Did you take a Viagra?” Her voice blew as cold as the first day of winter.

“Yes.” I was in no condition to lie.

“So I don’t turn you on enough?”

“Yes, but____” I never had a chance to explain about my problem with the blonde.

She shoved me out the door five seconds later.

Worst the headache would not go away and neither would the ungodly erection.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” My friend Jamie Parker shook his head upon hearing my story. “You only need Viagra for women with whom you don’t want to have sex.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but swore never to take another and have been faithful to that vow.

Strangely the Pentagon experimented with dosing US mountain troops in Afghanistan with Viagra to help them deal with chasing the Taliban around the Afghan peaks. The test was canceled after the Religious Right heard about the oxidation program.

Soldiers with erections is not Christian.

And I agree.

They would have been better off with coca leaves.

Yum Good.

MENAGE A TROIS A LA THAI

Western press continually brattles on how Muslim suicide bombers are rewarded for their ultimate sacrifice with seventy-seven virgins, even though virgins are not renown for their sexual prowess and this generous gift for their ultimate sacrifice has seemed more a curse to me, then again most western men fantasize about a dirty weekend in a cheap hotel with two whores more than a full platoon of uninitiated virgins; ranging from girlfriends, mother-daughter, sisters, twins, fat girl/skinny girl, lesbians, dildos, however men rarely accomplish this goal for most women are prudes.

Having sex with a man already tests their limits, let alone messing around with a member of the same sex to satisfy a sexual maniac's warped perversions. Of course escort services in the West routinely offer this Nirvana, but the hour-long session between two hardened pros would cost a few monthly car payments in America.

Not so in Pattaya.

A farang can go into a go-go. A beautiful girl will sit on his lap. Her skin has the texture of a shaved peach. Two Viagra counteract the effects of the 15 beers drunk at a cheap beer bar. Blood flees his brain for the lower auxiliary station. Its activation is signaled by the tent pole rising under his trousers. The little exotic dancer knows what's in store for her this evening.

Five hours of hard-core sex and relentless pounding for even the most well-traveled vagina and she surprisingly offers the farang an opportunity to satisfy a long-suppressed desire.

"You want go with two ladies?"

"Want?

This retired postal worker has been dreaming of this moment since flicking through his first stroke book.

"Damn straight I want."

Normally the girl will pick out a friend, usually an aging hooker, who hasn't been barfined in months.

The farang doesn't care, because his skull is swirling in a rich soup of libido juices.

The two go-go girls invite him to the nearest short-time room, which has mirrors on the walls and ceiling. The lighting is a dim red. The girls shower the farang in a state of complete nakedness. They laugh, as they hang a towel on his member. He think it's funny too, but swears to wipe the smile off their faces.

It's show time.

He has seen thousands of menage-a-trois porno movies and now he has a chance to play movie director. The girls initiate a lesbian show, since it's better for them to play with each other than the sex-crazed farang.

Once more he doesn't care, because they are faking the right noises and his eyesight is fading in and out with the hot Viagra flashes pounding his temples.

Warning: this is a danger sign of having consumed too many 'blue boys' or Viagras.

Again he doesn't care, because if he dies, he'll die in saddle like the billionaire Nelson Rockefeller.

His patience snaps when they lay on the white sheet in a classic 69.

They look so happy.

The farang wants to be happy too.

From here on in, the scene becomes too pornographic and there's nothing really pretty about a middle-aged guy acting like a high school football quarterback wreaking havoc on the opposing team's cheerleaders.

Within thirty minutes it's over.

His heart is thumping like a gorilla is attempting to breakout of his chest and the girls are dressing to get the hell away out of the room before he demands a second act.

He pays them. They leave him the satisfied farang alone, but not too alone, because he set his mobile phone on video record and he will be able to replay his performance to friends in foreign places via the magic of the internet. He lies on the pillows and says to himself, "I'm glad I didn't go to Club Med this holiday."

And the farang says this knowing that he meant it and he hadn't meant anything for years.

Menage a trois in Pattaya.

We should all be so lucky.

Everyday Spam

Everyday spam promoting the use of various male-oriented products floods my email inbox.

Increase your sperm load.

Grow 3-4 inches of penis instantly.

Viagra for renewed sexual vitality.

Having lived in Pattaya throughout the 90s and 00s I understand their targeting a man in his 50s surrounded by go-go bars, bars, and promenades of promiscuity. He wants sex and he wants it now, but there is a urban legend particular to Pattaya rumors that the local hospitals bodybag 50-60 middle-aged western males per month.

The Thai coroner is kind with his cause of death, however their cardiac arrests are usually the result of too much excess at one time, for freed of their purgatorial lives in the West, farang men hit Pattaya like a cowboy on the range.

These lustful pilgrims spy the girl of their porno fantasies on stage at a go-go. She's less than half their age and some objects of desire are even a third as young, since old boys arrive in the Last Babylon like it's the fabled elephants' final resting place, however chronic penile dysfunction is a buzzkill for an old timer in bed with a 19 years-old go-go dancer with skin smooth as silk.

THe remedy this affliction the old git drops a Viagra. 'Blue boys' revs his heart to supply more blood to energize his loins for a 'money shot'. His temples throb with pain from the overload to the system and the farang ignores the warning lights until a capillary implodes in his heart.

A groan and a clutch of his heart frightens the go-go girl, who flees the hotel room and the next morning the old geezer is bodybagged by the Pattaya Police.

I can understand why farang men buy sexual performance drugs, but why would anyone in the USA buy the stuff, since none of them are having sex with the living?

There's only one answer.

American men are purchasing Viagra, penis size growth pills, and pumps to aid their masturbation, while watching internet porn.

Viagra to get wood.

Zinc pills to increase sperm load to masturbate.

Endurance drugs to lengthen the time of masturbation.

A scary thought, which is why I don't shake any men's hands in America anymore.

There's no telling where it's been.

Worst was when the Pentagon announced that they wanted to dose the mountain troops in Afghanistan with Viagra to aid their breathing in the high altitude.

Now that's some real military genius.

Have a bunch of soldiers take Viagra and walk in the mountains with Superman like erections for 8 hours.

They'd be better off with coca leaves.

Of course that's against the law.

Pattaya has cured me of porno and I don't ever feel the need to be an ancient XXX star ever since having met my hero back in 1986

That winter I was staying North Hollywood with my cousin. Sherri was a veteran porn star.

One evening the phone rang.

The mumbling caller was Harry Reems, the star of DEEP THROAT. He was bad shape from drugs.

We called the 911. The operator informed me that EMS didn't go to that address anymore, since Harry had reached his limit of near-death experiences.

Sherri and I drove over his Hollywood Hills bungalow. The trip in the rain on the Hollywood Freeway was life-threatening, since my cousin was legally blind.

Upon arrival we found Harry sprawled on his bed at death's door. We brought him back to life.

In the morning he was back to normal and ready to meet his public, who were demanding another stellar XXX performance. He asked if I wanted to be an extra.

I turned him down even if you haven't skated on thin ice. 

Sometimes you have to know when to hang up your skates.