Worlds Apart

Western women, yesterday
Western women, yesterday

For reasons too depressing to reveal, I was playing host to some visitors to Bangkok recently. A coach party of Issan nymphomaniacs, lost en route to a Bangkok support centre? Sadly not. A gang of Japanese businessmen, so eager to find a bar guide that they’d happily supply me with more beer and women than even I could possibly consume? Again, no.

It seems my karma must have taken a hit recently. They were western girls – friends of a friend, who were in Bangkok for a few days, and in need of a guide. The horror.

Culture Shock

“We want to see a ping-pong show”, one of them told me. I groaned. Mindful of an unpleasant recent Patpong show-bar experience, I thought I’d play it safe and take them to the Long Gun on Soi Cowboy. Oddly enough, ping-pong balls are actually one of the few imaginable projectiles that are not part of the Long Gun’s inventive and imaginative gynaecological demonstrations.

The fat farangettes seemed comfortable enough with the shows, but had their first major hissy fit at the sight of a middle-aged guy (I’d guess late forties or early fifties) smooching with a twenty-something Thai girl. “That’s disgusting”, they frothed.

“Why is it disgusting? I hope I’m still sleeping with twenty-something Thai girls when I’m fifty. Better than sleeping with fifty-something Western women, any day. Now that would be disgusting”.

They couldn’t tell me exactly why I was wrong, but were sure that I definitely was.

Two Fat Ladies, Eighty-eight

Another bar, another bombshell. “Why have the girls all got number badges on?”, she asked.

I laughed. “Um, so that customers can make an order”, I grinned.

“Oh, so you can call them over for a lap-dance then?”

“Er, no. We don’t really have lap-dancing in Bangkok. Not that I know of, anyway. There’s no point”.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, why would you pay for a lap-dance when you can have full sex for less than the cost of a single dance in the UK?”

“OH MY GOD, ARE THESE WOMEN ALL PROSTITUTES?! IS THIS A BROTHEL?!”

Natural Selection

“This is disgusting. I wouldn’t sleep with any of these disgusting guys for any money”, she said.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure none of them will ask you to sleep with them”, I just about managed to stop myself from replying.

Never again…

Milky Milky

Milk, yesterday
Milk, yesterday

She’d come straight off the stage at Shark bar, where she’d been jiggling like a wild thing, and then bounced straight into my lap. The barfine was paid, and we left in a hurry.

A little hungry though, we picked up some mystery meat kebabs and sausages on Cowboy before heading back to my place. And then, after feasting on these surprisingly spicy satays, we retired to the bedroom.

Where I discovered first-hand the all too unpleasant effects of having oneself pleasured by the mouth of a young lady who’s just eaten nuclear spices.

The amount of pain I was suddenly experiencing in my nether regions, dear readers, lay somewhere beyond what is describable with mere words. Suffice to stay, it burned.

I ate a lot of spicy food in the UK, where curry is the staple diet in many areas. So I knew from experience that neither water nor lager have the power to douse spiced-up taste-buds. Milk, however, does.

And so, with this in mind, I sprang over to the fridge, poured myself a large glass of nicely chilled milk, and immersed the “old chap” in it. Forget Thai massage, dipping one’s spicy burning knob in cold milk is by far the most soothing experience I’ve had in Thailand.

And I think it was then that I had what’s referred to as a “Naked Lunch moment”.

Naked Lunch is, of course, the surreal William Burroughs novel. Supposedly Burroughs’ buddy Jack Kerouac came up with the title, which refers to the instant when a person can see exactly what is on the tip of his or her fork – that is, what is truly going on.

There I was, stark naked in my living room, at three o’clock in the morning, listening to the giggles of an entirely unconcerned bed-ridden whore, with my flaccid member immersed in a glass of milk.

Time seemed to stand still, as I took stock of my life, my achievements, and my current situation, vis-a-vis the natty penis/milk combo between my thighs. I wondered what my friends and family would say, if they could see me – frozen in time.

I decided they’d find it highly amusing. And so the clock of my life resumed ticking. I removed myself, pleasantly soothed, from the glass of calcium-rich, nutritious and now both slightly spicy and slightly cheesy milk, and took it into the bedroom where, before we resumed the evening’s activities, I handed it to said bargirl – so that she might soothe her spicy-hot mouth*.

*Okay, so I made the last part up. But it would have been extremely funny if it were true.