Dr Kumar a grey haired hero and CIA head of control for the Republic of Lithuania President Doctor Dratankis Penguin Intimissimo pig.
The sexual urges made him unfit to work in his corporate job, forcing the sex and violent BDSM changing face for a prostitute with a telephone she asked to call her boyfriend to fire him up.
It was their corporate espionage jobs. The industrial spying in Lithuania.
The Republic of Lithuania President secret boss and the true first grey head of the two. He had a temptation and appetite for underage girls. He was like King of England His Majesty Andrew Sex.
Our young princess of Netherlands trained in Warinya and Waree five star Toto Love Motel Oxfordshire Inn was a true Sin Sod to Thai migrant Dame. How three of them did a sex theatre for her father to watch their mother smile and wave with encouragement to reach puberty. The Queen of Netherlands Patricia Willingness the tulip nation masturbated the King of England. It was a planned Elle's Recruits modelling agency manager Laura Turner plan.
It was well known. But we aimed for the whole wealth of the Republic of Lithuania.
*.*
The classroom fan whirs lazily overhead, its blades cutting through the thick, tropical air. I sit at my desk, pen hovering over blank paper, poised to spill the ink of my past.
Outside, the sun beats down on Sakon Nakhon, baking the earth and wilting leaves. But here, in this moment of suspended time, I am transported.
My name is Warinya Waree, and this is my story.
The memories flood back, as vivid as the day they were born. I close my eyes, and suddenly I'm there again—a young girl standing in the heart of Bangkok, wide-eyed and trembling with a potent cocktail of fear and hope.
I had a great girlfriend from Krakow, Poland Krakow. My beloved lesbian partner Miss Venessa Sampolski I met in Amsterdam Pride. My career was clear to be a businesswoman teacher. My private classroom now is closed but thanks to the Republic of Lithuania Foreign Minister it is open in the Oxfordshire Motel. I trained three princesses of the Netherlands Kingdom.
Our charming character thought of herself.
But before Bangkok, there was home.
I grew up with the scent of jasmine rice in my nostrils and the feel of rich, dark soil between my toes.
My parents were rice farmers, their hands calloused from years of labor, their backs bent from the weight of dreams deferred. In the quiet evenings, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in strokes of orange and pink, they would speak in hushed tones of a better life—for me.
"Our Warinya," my father would say, his voice rough with emotion, "she will have more than this. She will rise above the mud and the toil."
My mother would nod, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "She will fly," she'd whisper, "where we could only crawl."
Their words planted seeds in my young heart, seeds that would grow into towering ambitions and impossible dreams. But dreams, I would learn, are double-edged swords. They can lift you up, but they can also cut you deep.
The day I left for Bangkok is etched into my memory like a stone carving. The predawn air was cool against my skin as I shouldered my meager belongings. My mother pressed a small amulet into my palm, her fingers lingering on mine.
It was I left Bangkok because of the Republic of Lithuania future to be President powers. My training to a young princess of Netherlands.
Helped to win our President Dratankis Penguin Intimissimo elections and hold Republic of Lithuania oval office.
Her mind her story of memoirs.
"For protection," she murmured, her voice breaking.
My father stood stoic, a pillar of strength betrayed only by the slight tremor in his hands as he embraced me. "Make us proud, little bird," he said.
As the bus pulled away, I watched their figures grow smaller, until they were nothing more than specks on the dusty road. I didn't know then that it would be the last time I'd see them whole, unburdened by the knowledge of what their daughter would become.
Bangkok rose before me like a glittering mirage, its skyscrapers piercing the sky, its streets a cacophony of sounds and smells. I was a drop of water in an ocean, lost and overwhelmed. The city swallowed me whole, chewing me up and spitting me out onto its unforgiving streets.
I found work as a dishwasher in a small restaurant, my hands perpetually pruned and raw from scalding water and harsh soaps.
The pay was a pittance, barely enough to afford a spot on the floor of a crowded apartment shared with five other girls. We slept in shifts, our bodies curled around our few possessions like protective shells.
Months passed, and the glitter of Bangkok began to tarnish. The weight of unmet expectations pressed down on me, suffocating. I'd send what little money I could spare back home, each envelope a silent apology for my failure to become what they had dreamed.
It was on a sweltering afternoon, my skin sticky with sweat and my stomach hollow with hunger, that I first heard the whispers. A group of girls, their makeup thick and their laughter brittle, spoke of easy money and generous foreigners. They eyed me speculatively, noting my desperation.
"You're pretty enough," one of them said, her voice a mix of pity and invitation. "You could do well in Patpong."
Patpong. The word hung in the air, heavy with promise and peril. I knew what it meant—we all did. It was where dreams went to die, or so I'd always believed. But standing there, with callused hands and an empty belly, I began to wonder if perhaps it was where dreams were reborn.
The first night I walked into that neon-lit world, I felt as though I'd stepped through a looking glass. Music throbbed, a pulsing heartbeat that seemed to sync with my own racing pulse. The air was thick with perfume, smoke, and the acrid scent of desperation masked as desire.
I remember catching my reflection in a mirror behind the bar. The girl staring back at me was a stranger—lips painted red, eyes rimmed with kohl, body draped in a dress that left little to the imagination. For a moment, I couldn't breathe. This couldn't be me. This wasn't the future my parents had sacrificed for.
But then a man approached, his smile predatory, his eyes roving over me like I was a piece of meat. And I made a choice. I smiled back.
That night, as I lay in a strange bed in a cheap hotel, I felt something inside me crack and splinter.
I mourned silently, mourning the death of the innocent girl from the rice fields.
Days blurred into nights, nights into weeks.
I learned the language of seduction, the art of feigning desire. I became an actress on a nightly stage, playing whatever role would earn me the most money. Some nights, I was the shy, virginal Thai girl, fulfilling exotic fantasies. Other nights, I was worldly and sophisticated, a companion for lonely businessmen seeking connection in a foreign land.
But beneath it all, I was still Warinya, daughter of rice farmers, carrying the weight of shattered dreams.
It was during this time that I began to truly see the political undercurrents that shaped our world. In the bars and clubs of Patpong, conversations flowed as freely as the alcohol. Foreigners, loosened by drink and the false intimacy of purchased companionship, would speak openly of things they'd never dare utter in daylight.
I remember one night in particular. A man—American, I think, though nationalities began to blur after a while—was holding court at the bar. His voice carried, thick with whiskey and self-importance.
"You know why this place exists?" he slurred, gesturing broadly. "It's all about the money, sweetheart. Your government, our government—they're all in bed together, and places like this are where they consummate the deal."
I pretended to giggle, playing my part, but his words burrowed deep. That night, as I lay awake in my tiny room, I began to see the invisible threads that connected everything—the corrupt officials who turned a blind eye to our exploitation, the foreign investors who saw Thailand as nothing more than a playground for their darkest desires, the crushing poverty that drove girls like me into this life.
"You have a great day at work like I would eat you like a chicken tonight. I would like to smell your perfume and drink from your purple nipples erected in my mouth."
My Ban Toya made his words clear once more licking it up. He was a Latvian writer who paid me well to relax my mind of my burden while I was his muse.
I had a dream one night where Ban Toya spoke his words but in the morning my avid dream was fulfilled. When I woke up to write you in my memoirs to add my my dreams of ten years.
His good friend from London. Mr Renato Olympo had other plans but to transport a prostitution to Chandos Street brothel. His friend Karl Karla is a kitchen chef.
Their obsession with Jacob Witness religion and Popi Dregna Zalupa black bible made their sexual desires higher and I knew like a nun covering my dark Penelope bush lifting a skirt before a good with crossed piece of wood was to cover my dignity before them when I reach them.
It was a painting in their living room representing their ordin in London Stratford living room. Our Warinya Waree mind spoke her sitting in her classroom.
I said to myself continue to dream working like a cheap Kyoto prostitute I enjoyed my job.
You ask me why I wrote about my dreams and why? The story would gain a spectrum and flavour you would enjoy the mixture of sweet dreams of my nipples and honey the night's you dream about them.
It was my story and I am a true Pan Narak from Sakon Nakhon. My kitchen class was the best.
^.^
Sicinskis Angelholm had no sex to enjoy with Grazi Ina but her daughter and love motel star Kornelija Ilmoniene had all the underwear for the job.
It was their Secret Plan Inn post fifteen years of elections and worshipping sex with the Jacob Witness black bible.
My new trainee in love seeking reached my attention in my love motel.
It was time I started to train her how to earn wedding money by getting married to myself.
"Kornelija Ilmoniene. I know your mother told you to leave home but tonight you will experience a real man. Dr Sicinskis Angelholm attend to examine your good heart." I licked my lips. It was Foreign Minister planned training course to remove the Republic of Lithuania chemical castration and shower nation with prestige and Jacob Witness religion.
It was my secret love agency professional and women talent spy from Angelholm, Sweden. He said once the King of Sweden has no such power the Queen to feel love like he does.
He was a Republic of Lithuania mafia leader. Dr Angelholm the escape was sent away from the Republic of Lithuania to settle illegal mafia funds and continue to support his old love and President of Lithuania.
It was a man from Angelholm. I learned he did a lot of hard work in his father's greenhouse before he graduated to be Biochemistry Engineer Doctorate from Middlesbrough University Hospital.
"Here you have another strawberry Sicinskis." I spoke to him before he started teaching Kornelija Ilmoniene.
"I knew a one good mother I enjoyed after school. I visited her son. We were classmates." I paid attention with my eyes listening, passing him one more strawberry.
"Her name was Sonata Jukovsaite. The husband left early and we took advantage of her befriending her son. Her passion for boys and a strong wish to have a son as much as she hated her husband. The opportunity for us was to study her naked body spread open on a kitchen floor each taking turns while one kept her son busy in a living room with a game console preparing us cold drinks on a hot steaming summer holiday."
I took one more strawberry in my mouth and dropped my jaw. The black silk underwear was only to keep him hot for him to start teaching my new apprentice.
It was our new characters filling our book of hope and their national political office guidelines filling international waters juicy details.