A Week in Angeles City – Part Two

Day Two – Barren, no Bonk

There are, for some reason, three taps in the shower. The one on the right is for hot, the one on the left for cold. The one in the middle must be for… Warm? Soap?

As it transpires, it’s not a tap. It diverts the water from the shower head to the low-set tap. Thus ensuring that the weary traveller can easily alternate between boiling his head and searing the skin off his feet.

Eventually, after skilled and precise knob-manipulating that made me feel like a safecracker – or a fluffer with a cold sore – I settled on a temperature somewhere between “saute” and “poach”, and showered.

Our destination was the Phoenix Hotel – On Nutter says that on his last visit, four years ago, this was home to the finest breakfast in Angeles.

We had planned to get a bus up to the hotel, but none of them seemed to be going our way. A motorbike with sidecar (“trike” – local equivalent of the tuk-tuk, and at least half as irritating) pulled up.

trike

On Nutter eyed the vehicle approvingly, and said “I think we can both get this one”. I eyed the sidecar warily. It wasn’t very big. I eyed On Nutter’s prosperous frame. “Er…”, I said.

He slid snugly into the sidecar, arse-first, and nestled comfortably – like a satsuma in a teacup.

“No, you get on the back”, he said, before I could turn a foolish look into a foolish question.

I eyed the rear fender incredulously.

“No, on the back of the bike.”

The mounting for the sidecar was in the way.

“You’ll have to sit side-saddle.”

I felt a bit like a Bangkok uni girl. But then, don’t we all, on occasion?

The Phoenix Hotel restaurant was comfortable enough – the vinyl tablecloth had a few of those reassuring cigarette burns, which usually mean that even the tea is fried.

On Nutter opted for the breakfast steak, sausages, and poached eggs on toast.

I went for bacon, sausage and scrambled eggs, with toast and a mug of builders’ tea.

One of my sausages appeared to have exploded in the microwave, the bacon had the consistency (and, I imagine, the taste) of shoe leather, and the eggs seemed to have cheese in them. I hope it was cheese. The toast was nice though.

As I struggled with the first slice of bacon, I realised On Nutter was staring at my plate like a hungry dog. He had finished his breakfast already.

“Are you going to finish that?” he asked, visibly salivating. It would not be the last time I heard this question.

“I don’t think so”, I said. I did finish the toast.

On Nutter finished the rest. He said it was lovely, so perhaps it was just my fragile physical and mental state.

After breakfast, we walked up Perimeter Road (I think) to a particularly dingy bar called Nifty’s.

One of the least attractive women I have ever seen stared at me as I walked in, mumbled “oh my God!”, and grabbed my penis firmly, using it as a makeshift rein with which to lead me into the bar.

The interior made the night shift at the Soi 7 Biergarten look like the cast of Dream Gakuen 10.

There was an unoccupied bench seat next to the door, uncomfortably close to a middle-aged sweating Asian man with his cock out, who was being eagerly wanked off by a couple of depressingly ugly girls.

I wanted to see if there were any seats further into the bar that weren’t next to men being masturbated, but On Nutter wouldn’t let me – “just sit here”, he said. I did, but took the half of the bench furthest from Wanky Yoshi.

“You want drink?” asked the barely-human girl whose hands I had by now forcefully shaken off my penis.

“Um, lemonade”, I said.

“HEEEUUUUGH??”, she rasped far too closely into my face.

“Ouch. Er, Sprite?”

“Sprite!”, she shouted to what appeared to be the cave troll from the Moria sequence in The Fellowship Of The Ring, in a fright wig.

“What’s your name?”, she asked.

“Young Penfold”, I lied. After all, I figured the month couldn’t really get much more embarrassing for him – what with his bad call on the WWF Royal Rumble (or whatever) and then sharing his bum-rape shame with the world, and not even winning a prize for doing so.

“HEEEUUUUGH??”

I wiped a few speckles of spittle from my ear. “Young Penfold”.

“HEEEUUUUGH??”

“Young, oh for fucks sake, why am I even here?”, I muttered, looking around in desperation for a towel. None were forthcoming, so I just stood up and walked out. Wanky Yoshi looked up, puzzled. I closed the door behind me, and exhaled.

I get a bit tetchy when I’m hung over. And a bit more tetchy when I’m sat within eyeshot of a middle-aged bloke with his knob out. And yet tetchier again when I’m being hassled by sub-human hookers.

I left On Nutter to it, and decided to walk back into town and clear my head. It worked, particularly when I spotted an establishment called “Wobbly Pensioner’s Home (cheap rooms!)”, and I was in a pretty good mood by the time I got back.

I returned to the hotel, craving a “proper” internet fix – despite being able to use my mobile with the many open WiFi hotspots around town, the resultant thumb cramps were affecting my beer grip. At reception, I discovered that I could rent a laptop for P250 (Γ ΒΈΒΏ175) a day. Sold!

Meanwhile, it was On Nutter’s turn to explore Blow Row. He was rather taken by a tartlet in the subtly-named Gobbles Bar, and had his way with her in an, um, minimally furnished back room.

On Nutter writes:

I think I told you about the following but I insist it goes in the trip report. The short time room at Gobbles Bar set a new low in basic standards of hygiene, as you can see from the attached pix. On my first visit, there was a pair of rotting knickers on the stool. When I tried to use them as a flannel, they just disintegrated. Sadly, they had been removed by the time of my second visit.

shower

stool

I chilled in my hotel room while this was occurring, then met On Nutter for dinner at Azzuro – an Italian restaurant situated directly on top of the Club Lancelot gogo bar. On Nutter almost wept when I only left him one slice of my pizza, and didn’t order any dessert.

We checked out Club Lancelot after dinner – no wine this time – a nicely done-out bar. Appearing something like a mediaeval banquet hall, or something, the decor was sadly more impressive than the lineup. At least they danced though.

That’s another difference – the Filipina gogo girls may not be as attractive on average as their Thai counterparts, but they do seem to actually enjoy themselves on stage. Watching girls actually moving in time to the music in a gogo bar was a novel experience for me, and one I can heartily recommend.

Then a couple of beers at the Dirty Duck, which, while friendly enough, just didn’t contain anyone who really stood out. On Nutter was frolicking with a relatively cute waitress, and considered barfining her but stopped just short. I was more than ready to try our luck elsewhere.

Genesis, further down the road, was okay – one service girl had comically enormous boobs, but little else to offer. Considering the size of the bar and the number of girls, I was actually quite impressed that I didn’t particularly fancy anyone on the stage.

By this point, I’d spotted another three mullets, and a weirdo on a hand-pedalled low-slung tricycle with a live monkey sat on his shoulder. Yes, really.

Blue Nile had an even worse lineup than Genesis, which puzzled me as the girls loitering outside had all been attractive – and were the only reason I’d ventured inside in the first place. Just as I was considering wandering back out to grab one, they shuffled onto the stage – introduced as the Blue Nile Dance Team.

A couple of dull choreographed routines followed, during which I was amazed to learn from the waitress that none of them were barfineable. Except the ugly one. Astonishing.

“Is he your Dad?” asked the waitress.

“No”, I said.

Sometimes it’s just not your night, and I know when to throw in the towel. I walked back up the street, had a chilli dog at Kokomo’s (a restaurant/bar with 24-hour alcohol and junk food service – dangerous!), and went to bed.

Day Three – On Which I Considered Having A Wank

I woke up at 2.30pm. Which was nice. On Nutter had already eaten, so I had brunch alone at The International – a sports bar with a poker room. Poker is a dullard’s game. The friendly waitresses are all barfineable, of course, but none particularly appealed.

I ordered a tuna sandwich. Angeles is, as I have mentioned, largely patronised by an American presence. Hence my sandwich was the size of a Buick. Seriously, aren’t sandwiches specifically designed to be picked up and eaten? This one was loaded so high with tuna (in watery mayonnaise, I regret to inform you) that it positively wobbled. Closing the bread roll over the filling was physically impossible. I had to use cutlery. For a sandwich. I didn’t eat at The International again.

Given that I still hadn’t seen anybody I wanted to have sex with, I decided to relax with a foot massage. Oddly, I was shepherded into a booth, and asked to remove my trousers. Sometimes the girl needs to reach above the knee, so I’m used to changing my jeans to loose-fitting trousers. But I wasn’t used to being massaged in my underpants. Well, actually, The Heckler‘s underpants. But that’s another story.

Anyway, I found myself lying back on a massage table, in a rickety booth in the middle of a row of rickety booths, with the (pretty cute) massage girl sat on a stool outside the booth, which meant that we couldn’t close the curtains. Which meant that every time another of the massage girls went past, they would stop to stare at the Englishman reclining in his smalls. A lesser man might have felt a little vulnerable – but I am not a lesser man, and waved cheerily as they gawped at the ruck in my slim-fit (on me, anyway) drawers, teasingly suggesting the outline of my mighty gusset gopher.

“Are you married?” asked the massage girl.

“No,” I beamed.

She looked around warily, leaned forward on the stool, and pulled the curtains of the booth closed behind her. She was still sat outside the actual cubicle, but now so were the curtains. It looked deeply suspicious to me, and more so as she oiled her hands and slipped them right up my thigh and inside the leg of my undercrackers.

She started to look really cute at this point – I have discovered in my travels that there is almost certainly a positive correlation between the stiffness of a penis, and the perceived attractiveness of any members of the appropriate gender within line of sight of its owner.

Bizarrely, although she did more than enough to prompt a blustering erection, no extra services were offered. I squeezed back into my trousers, eventually using both fists to hammer my knob into place beneath the belt-line, and limped out into the Angeles early evening.

Aroused and frustrated, I wandered back over to Blow Row. The Black Pearl Bar was a pretty grim sight, but there was one cutie sitting outside. I joined her for a drink, but as I looked more closely, I became concerned about her age. She could have been 18, or even 20. But she could have been younger. I can usually tell with Thai girls, but I have little expertise with the Filipina phenotype.

She wasn’t wearing the usually ubiquitous licence, and while she claimed to have an ID card that proved she was 18, she didn’t seem too eager to go and get it when I asked to see. I erred on the side of caution, and left alone.

As dusk broke, we were about to embark on our third night out in Angeles City – and I still hadn’t got laid. I was seriously considering stomping back to my hotel room and having a wank. My balls were like watermelons, particularly after that massage, and then having to turn down the fledgeling fellatrix…

But sadly, there was no time. I had to meet The Baron and On Nutter for dinner – and another bar crawl…

44 thoughts on “A Week in Angeles City – Part Two

  1. Havent you learned by now that just because someone else says
    Quote “On Nutter says that on his last visit, four years ago, this was home to the finest breakfast in Angeles”

    It doesn’t mean that it is good even though it could be the finest

  2. While in a private booth a massage girl oils up her hand and puts it inside your underwear and she doesn’t offer anything else? c’mon BBB that is bollocks.

  3. The appeal of being able to have a chat in your native tounge with these ladies is becoming more and more over shadowed by the problem that most of them sound like rotters! The only philapina chicks I have experienced have been in Hong Kong … I guess they export the lookers.

    Did you use a shoe-horn to get into The Heckler’s under garments? I imagine you looking like a tube of toothpaste that has been squeezed in the middle!

    I really hope this tale gets better.

  4. If you look closely at the photo, to the right, just past the guy with the Clint Eastwood slouch of the frame, there’s a hottie lugging a box around – perhaps you could’ve offered to carry it for her!

  5. @PG – BBB’s standards too high? His previous nana short time stories were already scraping the bottom of the barrel so I am frightened at what all these flip whores are really like. Wait, I’m more frightened at OnNutter’s standards after seeing the photographic evidence of Gobbles short time room.

  6. Re Thai Gogo girls and dancing

    Was in Cowboy (somewhere) last week when the music changed to what must be the latest Thai dance hit

    Stage went from a sparse line barely moving girls to a heaving throng of screaming writhing naked flesh

    I vote they ditch half the show (some of which were actually not bad although perhaps not the fireeating guy in the tight lycra)
    and just put the Thai tunes on for an hour or so

    With a good set of earplugs installed it is really a sight

    Who these poor girls are all having a terrible time

  7. For cell phone use, what’s the deal? Can you use the Thai sim or do you have to switch to a Phil one?

    What are the costs involved?

  8. @8: On Nutter is a connoisseur of breakfasts – and as he is a fellow Brit, I trusted his judgement impeccably. Americans eat pancakes for breakfast, and therefore cannot be trusted. See here for an in-depth dissection of the topic.

    @BBA: It happened. I don’t make this stuff up. Her hands entered my pants far enough to tease the crease of my groin, but no further. She offered nothing more, and it didn’t feel right to ask. Bizarre.

    @ST: They were loose-fit πŸ™‚

    @MSB: Patience…

    @oRiOn: Good spot. Sadly though, I found that photo online – not one of mine.

    @sm: Absolutely. Bars need to play the music that gets the girls going, no matter how awful. I’d rather deal with Thai pop music and happy girls than decent music and bored girls.

    @JB: I just used my Thai SIM, but restricted myself to communicating via SMS rather than making calls. I’d loaded 500 baht on my phone before I left Thailand, and didn’t run out of credit. I’m sure I could have saved money by buying a local SIM card, but didn’t consider it worth the bother.

  9. Wonderful..Classic BBB – an even higher ‘chortle quotient’ in part 2 – you must be getting into your stride…
    It’s clearly much more amusing when you fail to pass semen so I’m voting for those watermelons to keep swelling…

  10. @BangkokBadAss: don’t forget that BBB also had a miserable time trying to find sex worthy girls during his trip to Cambodia. Me thinks maybe BBB is maturing and is finally realizing the P4P scene is not as great as it seemed when it was new to him.

  11. BBB — 1,2,call worked over there? Surprised at that. When I go I use my Thai phone, but I have a contract and int’l roaming package. But I’ve also bought a PH sim card on one visit. Can’t remember prices, but seemed pretty much the same as 12Call/DTAC here.

  12. ‘Bizarrely, although she did more than enough to prompt a blustering erection, no extra services were offered’ …..

    No doubt I would have taken care of business manually.

  13. “I felt a bit like a Bangkok uni girl. But then, don’t we all, on occasion?”……….Arf arf!
    Good story, made a wet cold morning here in Blighty a bit more bearable………..
    Roll on Part 3………
    Uncle Dave.

  14. Dude, you are not selling the AC with any kind of gusto. Are there any hot birds getting about or are they all faux-mexican munters with moustaches, giant sagging facial moles, and mastiff jowel tummies?

  15. It sounds like and looks like a typical 3rd world shithole that was ruined by yanks along time ago,and where the locals are too dumb to fit anything or offer anything decent.why bother?but ill keep reading to see if he gets laid at all by the end of the week there.

  16. BBB, I am in the process of going through all your archived entries. I don’t think there has been an entry yet that hasn’t made me laugh. Once I manage to make it over to LOS I will be sure to buy you a beer or six.

  17. Sounds like the famous book, dantes inporno, but without all the sex. I have been to ac a couple of times and, has been rightly pointed out by numerous peeps, 4 days is a max stay, then it gets really tired, really fast. I am concerned at you feeling jaded from day one.

    You may have to lower your standards from your regular fare in the land of asian hunnies, thailand. As you’ll note, looking at the regular “guys” around you on the street and in the bars, they are not lowering their standards with the porky lasses often on display, for them its a real step up in quality from whatever monsters usually sate their lust. You need to lower them though, though there are plenty of nuggets out there.

    The grub is disgusting in ac…try the burger and chips meal one evening at the orchid inn…you will love it if its anything like it was 18 months or so ago. Have also read a lot about the new atlantic club…seems to be some fine fillies in there judging by some of the pics i’ve seen, be interesting to hear your take on that.

  18. “”Young, oh for fucks sake, why am I even here?”, I muttered, looking around in desperation for a towel. None were forthcoming, so I just stood up and walked out. Wanky Yoshi looked up, puzzled. I closed the door behind me, and exhaled.”

    Outstanding BBB.

    Mullets at the airport,
    “why am I even here”
    Dumpy looking girls,
    “why am I even here”
    Shit food,
    “why am I even here”
    Shit transporatation,
    “why am I even here”

    Cheap beer…..
    hmmmmmmmmmm.

  19. “like a satsuma in a teacup.” Loved it, excellent read, even allowing for the obvious exaggeration! “eventually using both fists to hammer my knob into place beneath the belt-line” indeed!

  20. @zepplin “It sounds like and looks like a typical 3rd world shithole that was ruined by yanks along time ago”

    The yanks created the whoring in AC, Pattaya, Soi Cowboy, etc. It was the eurotrash that followed was what soiled it. Bow down to the yanks next time you get your knob polished in any of the aforementioned locations.

  21. quality prose, as usual. i’d buy you a beer or six as well, as your contributions to this blog are among the best, although word has it that you’re a margarita man?

  22. FFS, three days in A/C and haven’t found a pinay worth your time yet??? You must be looking in all the wrong places -or- you’re gay!!!

    A/C is not Bangkok or Pattaya… It has it’s own flavor and vibe… Either you like it or you don’t… Personally, I like it, but after 3 – 4 days I’m ready to move on…

  23. Like all first-time visitors to Angeles, BBB was still in the “shock and awe” stage on the second day, which explains his unenthusiastic appraisal of the world-class Phoenix Hotel breakfast.
    The Phoenix uses only the finest Australian meat. There was nothing wrong with his four large rashers of bacon when I ate them. Yes, something had gone seriously wrong with his sausages, but I ate them anyway.

  24. It’s good to see that in the last 41 years nothing has changed in AC. Still the same dumpy broads, still crap for food, still crap for transportation, and crap for bars. lets not even talk about the local law. Forgot one thing the beer is OK when ice cold.

  25. @Mango Fanboy: Whoa, steady on. I was disappointed (not “miserable”) in Cambodia because all the Vietnamese girls had disappeared. And since I went there to shag Vietnamese girls, it put a bit of a downer on the trip. Next time, I’m going to Vietnam πŸ™‚

    @PG: I’m on DTAC, not 1-2-Call, but yeah – a regular pre-paid SIM. It worked in Cambodia and the UK as well. Call prices are extortionate, but SMS is just about affordable.

    @ht: Wait and see πŸ™‚

    @Dickens Cider: Aw, shucks. Thanks!

    @bassyfarang: Lay back and think of England? I did that at the end of Part One. England 1, Angeles 0.

    @gs: Margarita is a lady drink. Beer would be great. Or a manly G&T.

  26. One should bar hop solo if you really want to find something sweet. Sounds like you were there to accompany on nutter on a trip down memory lane.

  27. @mango fanboy..Acually, we eurotrash have been whoring right across asia since before america was a country. You guys just added the burgers and mullets. Before you got there, it was all red ribbon escapades.*

    Next time YOU are getting your knob polished in asia, a curteous nod to the euro pioneers please. In fact, next time you are getting your knob polished in america, a curteous nod to us again, for creating your country for you. πŸ˜‰

    *. …see red ribbon post, this blog….somewhere.

  28. BBB goes back to the UK and moistens a butter troll, day one. Three days in the Phillllliiiipppppines and he can’t even burst a Kleenex in his own hotel room. Plus, he’s wearing another man’s underpants. This is about as much fun as a Slinky in a bungalow.

  29. @Mango Fanboy, it’s also my observation that when ever a holiday destination will get invaded by American Tourists, the prices get up and the quality down. Soon the place is spoiled and ruined.
    I guess it comes from the fact that Americans have only a few days holiday and so spent the same amount of money in 3 days (average duration of their holiday) than Europeans spend in 3 weeks (average duration of their holidays). Also, Americans have this tipping mentallity. They are just too uneducated to realize that this habbit is not usuall in all countries of the world. Meanwhile tipping will be expected in Thailand even for bad service. The Americans brought this habbit to LOS.
    In South America it’s the same. Americans spoil the holiday destinations for others. Well, maybe I am not quite objective since as it is human only to see the faults of others and not the own faults. Anyway it would be intersting to have a discussion about that with the American fellows.

  30. @ropeadope – amusing comments. Cheers mate.

    @Jackie Treehorn – I’d guess tipping is practiced in Euro countries and I’d also guess you give tips when in Thailand which just contributes to the problem.

    According to the stats posted on tfs2m recently, Americans are in the minority as tourists here. Indians, Russians, Australians, and Brits all outnumber the Yanks. So seems unlikely the Yanks can be held at fault for the tipping phenomenon because the overall cheapness of the the Indians and Russians would cancel out any excess Yank tipping. The Americans are just an easy scapegoat. Just like the Japanese are blamed for ruining the prices on the hottest p4p thai girls.

    To make it fair for everyone, let’s all stop tipping and overpaying p4p girls in Thailand starting today. Who’s with me?

  31. @Mango Fanboy, no tipping is not usual in all Euro countries. In England for example I made the experience that a Tip is not expected in pubs or by hairdresser or somewhere else. In Italy or Germany tipping in Restaurants is not unusual but not by 10% of the bill. It’s usually 50 cents to 1 or 2 Euro.

    Russians are often with their girlfriends or wifes in Thailand. So, they are not really good customer of the p4p business. At the moment are not much US Tourists in Bangkok. I guess this is because of the low Dollar ratio. But, in the past there were much more US Tourists and not to forget the US Military who used to bring over hords of Soldiers and Sailor for R&R to Thailand.

    I really don’t dislike the Americans. Many of them are nice guys, easy going and generous. But, like an Elephant in a porcelan shop.

  32. Tipping is normal in the UK alas. Hairdressers, cab drivers and certainly restuarants. I just don’t get tipping london cabbies and hairdressers. I have a number 1 all over, a 4 minute job, usually done poorly, and the hairdresser gives me doe eye “tip me” looks as I hand over the extortionate Β£10…fleecing cunts. Don’t get me started on albanian london cabbies.

    Tipping I thought was all about divving up alower income workers wages so they can eat and shit..like waitresses etc on minimum wage. That I can understand. Hairdressers and cabbies are NOT on minimum wage…especially in fucking london….greedy bastards.

    +++++=NEWS BULLETIN+++++RANT OVER+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  33. @rope-a-dope. I worked one year in Southampton and lived in Ocean Village, which is a decent quarter. When I went out to pubs or to hairdresser and traditional English restaurants I noticed that tipping is not expected and English customer did not tip as far I could see.

    Exception was Taxis and restaurants like TGI Fridays.

  34. @Twinley: So if I’d gone into the same bars, at the same time, without On Nutter, the girls would have been prettier? You’ve lost me there…

    @Panties: The Slinky line is a top one, which I will merrily steal and use as my own, but I’m afraid she wasn’t a butter troll. UK size 10, US size 6.

    On tipping, it is nowhere near as common in the UK as it is in the US. In Thailand, it was an utterly unheard-of concept until the farangs arrived.

  35. Their still are Viet girls in Phnom Penh night spots, but the numbers and quality are way down from 6 years past.

    There is a hostess bar on Street 108 that has an all-Viet staff.

    My 1-2 sim works both in Cambodia and the Philippines, but the roaming charges are quite high.

    Bought a $5 USD sim card in Phnom Penh, and a 40 pesos Sim in the Philippines.

  36. I think it is known that the Vietnamese girls are more adventurous than the Khmer girls who are all a bit vanilla. RGFE kinda thing. There were quite a few viets around when I was in Phnom Penh two years ago. As for the the lack of poontang so far in this report it is more than made up by the wit and erudition and I can’t wait to read on.

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