The Power

Max Power One of the fundamental differences between Bangkok and the West is that the underpants of power, with regards to sexual relationships, are firmly wrapped around the buttocks of the male of the species here in Amazing Thailand.

Whilst in the West, it’s the female’s prerogative to pick and choose from a gaggle of desperate suitors, here in Bangkok the shoe is on the other foot, and comfortably so. It’s probably a Hush Puppy, or perhaps a Sukhumvit tailored (cobbled?) custom fit. Whatever – it’s a comfortable shoe, despite being on the wrong foot. I need to steer clear of analogies, don’t I?

My point is perhaps better illustrated by the events of Sunday night. I had a burger and a beer (or three) in the Big Mango at Nana Plaza, whilst enjoying the free live entertainment (ie. Pmmp almost getting killed over a fish), but since I have a policy of treading carefully in bars I actually like spending time in, I’ve never barfined a girl from the Mango, and wasn’t going to start over the weekend. Jealousy issues, however unlikely in my case, can be a very real problem if you take more than one girl from the same bar.

Still, by deciding not to take any of what was available, I effectively turned down 15-20 girls.

Onwards, then, to Mandarin – possibly my favourite NEP bar at the moment. Some cute girls, but none really stood out. I drank up and left, thus turning down another 50 or so girls.

On to Fantasia, which I’m delighted to report sucks more than ever before. I’d heard that they’d made the bar no-smoking, but there was no sign of this. A quick drink later, I was out of there, having turned down another 30 or so ladies.

I’d turned down about one hundred girls now, in less than an hour.

I left the Plaza and checked out the Beergarden on Sukhumvit Soi 7. About a hundred pairs of eyes followed me as I walked a quick circuit of the bar. Some were on stalks. I was just vaguely looking for someone who stood out, but in a good way. Nobody did, so I left.

I’d turned down about 200 girls by now, and the night was but young. In the UK, I’d probably have actively pursued at least 100 of them if I’d met them in a bar, and probably would have at least considered another 50 or so of the others if they’d approached me. So I turned down 150 girls who I’d probably have agreed to sleep with a year ago, plus the 50 I wouldn’t. In about an hour. I called one of my speed-dials in the end, who easily beat all of them.

We take a lot for granted here.

Disclaimer: Yes, most of them would have expected payment. However, that payment would have been less than the cost of the drinks and dinner they’d have expected from me in the UK.

Flamebait: They’re all whores, from a certain point of view. Discuss.

Urban Legend or Truth? Need Answers by Arthur.

Recently I saw a couple of independent ladies from the Beer Garden that I’d last seen some months ago. I noted that both of them had significantly worse complexions on their faces than before. Spots and zits like teenagers.

It could be due to hormones or too much som tam, but someone told me that bad skin is a sign the girl is taking drugs. Does anyone know anything about this?

Truth or urban legend?

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.

The Laundry Girl


Laundry At a recent Bangkok Bloggers Cabal meeting, we got onto the subject of what might perhaps be described as our more regrettable dalliances. Smitty’s Chinese grandmother experience has me beaten, but my own almost-forgotten tale still makes me chuckle.

I was drunk, again, in Thermae – this was last summer, incidentally, before Thermae had been annexed by the Japanese. The end of the night, and closing time, beckoned. I stared into my bottle of Heineken, wondering what to do next, and didn’t even see her sit down.

She was… maybe a 4 out of 10. She was really giving it the hard sell, though – describing to me in great detail the wide variety of services she could offer. The only problem was that she would have to leave early in the morning, as she worked in a hotel.

Given that the bar was almost desolate by this point, and that I was pretty much ready for sleep – I certainly didn’t have the energy to start trawling the Miracle Mile for alternatives – it was effectively her or nothing. “Come on then”, I told her, and she followed me out to the taxi.

I got a half-hearted massage back at my apartment, followed by some fairly forgettable fumbling. And then we had a conversation of some sort, but I wasn’t really listening, and was soon asleep. I was dimly aware of rustling movement early the following morning, but slept on – I finally rose at lunchtime.

She was gone, of course. As were all of my clothes.

I eventually remembered the post-coital conversation I’d basically slept through. She’d offered to do my laundry for me at the hotel where she worked, free of charge. I had apparently accepted. So, unsure of which piles of clothes were clean and which were dirty (I have a very complicated laundry organisation system – it involves sniffing), she’d swept all of my clothes up into a bin bag, and hauled them off to work.

I stood naked in my living room (I eventually found a couple of grubby t-shirts and a pair of shorts that she’d missed), wondering whether anybody in the world had ever done anything quite so stupid before.

Once I’d given up all hope of ever seeing my clothes again, she returned the next day with a basket full of my freshly laundered clothes. I felt obliged to tip her, but not before setting off everyone I explained my wardrobe situation to in the meantime into incurable hysterics.

It Doesn’t Matter How Hard She Tries… by Arthur

A couple of weeks ago I visited the Beer Garden and picked up a very sweet young lady. Kung is 22, from Chiang Mai, with very light skin and a good attitude.

Kung took great care of me, staying for nigh on three hours. We were both tired and happy when I took her home.

She called me next morning and asked if she could come and see me again. I made an excuse: ‒no more money for boom-boom” and wished her good luck at the Beer Garden. In fact the reason was that no matter how beautiful she was or how great her passion and technique, I like variety. That’s one of the many reasons I live here.

I have sympathy for Kung. She did her very best, but I think I am typical. Men love variety and 9 times out of 10 we will choose a new experience over a sure thing.

But I wonder if my reaction contributes to bad attitudes on the part of the working ladies?

A Little Knowledge

My executive lifestyle has taken its toll this week, hence little activity on the site. I got back to Bangkok last night, and made it to Nana in time to drink way too much, and stayed out way too late with a couple of sleazy reprobates. I have a hangover the size of Belgium, but must write.

A Little Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing

Learning to speak Thai if you’re going to spend any amount of time here is a huge help. Even “survival Thai” will make things ten times easier, and open up a lot more possibilities.

Unfortunately, the more Thai we learn, the more dangerous we become. Knowing precisely how to insult a mamasan in her native tongue is a recipe for disaster – as a buddy found out in a certain Nana Plaza bar recently. He narrowly escaped a beating, but ironically if he’d been cursing in English they probably wouldn’t have batted an eyelid.

I found myself in a similar situation last night, having slept too little and drunk too much. Incredibly, as I staggered past Thermae at around 5.30am, there were still a few young ladies touting for business outside.

My offer of ฿100 for the “holey trinity”, complete with altogether too many Thai swear words, was not well received.

Kryptonite

Wandering the streets of a more “civilised” Asian capital recently, I felt like Superman must have felt in the criminally-underrated Superman 2, after losing his super powers.

Tons of hot Asian chicks, 99% of whom were showing zero interest. In Bangkok, you can ascertain whether a girl’s interested just by making eye contact – whether in a bar, in a disco, on the street, on the skytrain or wherever. To have hordes of hotties positively avoiding my eye was a sobering experience. It’s good to be back.

One venue – multiple girls. Is it worth it? by Arthur

For a long time I thought this was a matter of principle – as a customer it should be perfectly acceptable for me to take out / barfine / have sex with as many of the ladies working there as I wanted. After all, the Golden Rule always applies doesn’t it? He who has the gold makes the rules. Continue reading “One venue – multiple girls. Is it worth it? by Arthur”

Service Girls Try Harder by Arthur

Like most people I have had my fair share of disappointing experiences with hottie gogo girls who are a huge disappointment in bed. I’ve been developing some ideas on predicting if a hot sexy gogo dancer will be anything like as good once barfined, but I have insufficient data on the good ones.

So a couple of nights ago I thought I would test a new theory. Many of the service girls in gogos are good looking. Some used to be dancers but do not dance any more for whatever reason. Others are straight off the farm and are sticking their toes into the bar scene but haven’t taken the plunge yet. And others aren’t good looking enough to dance (although in some bars they seem to accept anyone who walks in the door.) Continue reading “Service Girls Try Harder by Arthur”

Another Point of View by Arthur

This is another view of life as a sex worker in Bangkok written as a counterpoint to the article with the same name published on the BBC News web site :

(http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/6360603.stm).

Pan’s story is true but I changed the characters’ names. Pan is a good friend but I have never been her customer. Her baby is due in May.

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Bangkok is a popular tourist destination and many of the tourists are single men looking for enjoyment and sex in the bars and clubs. Many of the city’s sex workers who cater to these customers have difficult and sad lives. But there are also remarkable stories of success and hope. Continue reading “Another Point of View by Arthur”