Not a lot to write about this week. Things are quiet. Too quiet. It is peak low season and the girls are getting hungry. No one has any money anymore and if they have, they’re certainly not spending on booze and women.
As I write this, I am sitting at in the lounge at Heathrow airport. I have taken 3 flights already today so this will be my fourth.
All I am focused on is what am I gonna do when I hit town.
I have to meet the gang in the Mango, which is also sporting the girlfriend, so I have to play smart with the cards that I am dealt.
I hit the Mango around 5pm. I go through the usual greetings and hand out various duty free trophies and give my unconditional thanks to the team for manning the fort whilst I’ve been away. Ring the bell a few times and tell everyone I’ve been working really hard.
The team have done a grand job and Tim is still on the top of the list of girls I want to marry. She is a superstar. Why she is at the Mango is beyond me? She is not a bar girl. She doesn’t go with customers, yet she puts up with untold shit each day and always returns a smile. Continue reading “Mango Fortnightly 30th July”
As the girls have aptly named me, and DW pointed out, I seem to be looking for love – and didn’t find it in YP’s bed. The story continues..
I sit in the departure hall of Hua Lamphong railway station, on a hot Friday afternoon, waiting for teerak to arrive. After the disastrous YP episode (and the NSW Blues losing by 1 point) I decide to take her away for the weekend to improve domestic relations. I have already purchased a few dozen roses from somewhere on the Suk earlier that day, and am looking forward to a the train trip down to Hua Hin. Phone buzzes, she is late, has been caught up having nails done, talking to girlfriends , shagging thai boyfriend or all of the above. I’m not quite sure. At that moment I know we will miss the train. Sure as shit, she arrives 5 minutes late – I stay calm and consider our options (after running for a train that had already left). An enterprising motocycle taxi rider approaches, examines our tickets, and promises to get us to the next station in time to meet the train. If I hadn’t heard of this before I might have thought it some type of scam, but we join the club of those who have chased the train to Bang Sue, and let me tell you, it’s not for the faint of heart. A lot of firsts – the first time I’ve worn a helmet on a motorbike, the first time the bike I’ve been on has done north of 120K’s an hour and the first time I’ve ridden against oncomming traffic – all with a 12 kg backpack strapped to me. We get to Bang Sue with about 10 minutes to spare, and my wallet is B700 lighter (for two bikes) – the train tickets were only B300 – go figure! Continue reading “Back in Bangers Pt 2 – by Lomeo”
Nice try. I would argue that wearing one of those tattoo sock things and bright red lip-stick is fooling nobody. Why doesn’t he just come along to Patpong or the Plaza where nobody actually gives a fuck?
Each year, I feel like getting away from it all and treat myself to a little holiday…
I’ve tried to persuade the girlfriend that there are many nice hotels in soi 4, but she insisted we go further afield.
After putting up a good fight, some tears, name calling, dirty dishes left in the sink, laundry thrown everywhere, she told me to grow up and stop being a big baby. Being called a bigbaby is possibly the worst insult ever.
This was all for show really, as there is a place in Phuket that I like, and have been a few times now. I just didn’t want to seem too keen.
This week, I want to dedicate to the unsung hero of the Mango. Kwan!. As many of you know, Kwan was the Manager of the Duke of Wellington in Silom when it was under the Mango umbrella. When it was sold, Kwan stayed on as Manager and did such a good job that she was soon responsible for the operation of other establishments her new boss had invested in. Kwan works hard. Damn hard. There isn’t much she doesn’t know about the food and beverage industry. There isn’t many people she doesn’t know. There is no limit to her talents. But it doesn’t stop there. She ‘manages’ anything you can throw at her. So it was without hesitation when I asked Kwan a few years back to take a look at the Mango operation. Continue reading “Mango Fortnightly 16th July”
I am somewhat nervous when I hand my passport over to Thai immigration at Swampy as I wonder if Virgin girl has made some type of complaint against me after I told her I could not pop her cherry – given that we had indulged in mutual masturbation a la webcam after I sexted her a picture of my tool.
Good girl now has a condo in Ratchada and meets me at the airport. When we get back to hers we get straight into hot nasty sex. The up against the wall type. She is good – no she is bad, very bad, in that good kind of way. It’s great to be back, that’s for sure. Is monogamy possible here? On my 2nd day I visit my favourite massage girl who gives me a very good ‘oil job’.
The last week is a bit of a blur. I hit the mango and picked YP out of the lineup. Happy with myself I have an ice cold Leo. Play pool with the girls, they are hard to beat. I remember sitting in Tilac with a mate as I was sucking milk out of a go-go dancers left tit. Very sweet – tick lactation fantasy off the list. Get her out of the bar, and I realise she’s near cunted. The first ST hotel takes one look at her and the receptionist says “No have room” and shortly after she spews twice.
Memory loss is a wonderful thing (not!) and with me tequlia shots are always involved. I open my eyes one morning. Where the fuck am I? It’s a swish pad, very trendy and somewhere a K-Pop star would live. Who the fuck is next to me? Do I really want to know? My only plan is to have a shower and get out of there pronto. As I put my jeans on a head appears from beneath the covers. It’s YP! – I don’t want to think too much and am happy my last memory is that of downing a shot of jungle juice. At some stage I remember wanting to take on a few Africans at the Mango for playing pool and not buying any drinks. “Did I pay my bin?” I ask Penners. Always good to see your wallet empty, not knowing where the money went. Apparently I spent some time studying it when the last of the kings notes vacated.
It should go without saying that I’m in the shit with my teerak, and I’m not convinced that an exit visa is not imminent (for me). She thinks I was with lady. Not true! She still love me but cannot trust anymore. On top of that someone has been impersonating me on the blog. With about 100 years IT experience, stuffed if I know how. Last time I had my laptop near Soi 3 was about a week ago.
Heading back now to face the tears. Oh well, at least I’m near Nataree ..
Don’t touch me. That is, if I am in the toilet having a pee. Don’t touch me. Too many times I have entered the toilets in a gogo to have some guy put his hands on me I no like. Now if it was a woman, then I could let that one slide. But it’s never a woman, is it.
Walking between soi 3 and 7, it is a common sight to see our Muslim Brothers holding hands and being very ‘close’ to one another. What’s the deal with that? Even if my nearest and dearest male friends get so close that our flesh touches.. then one us takes evasive action. How is it these men can comfortably touch each other. And don’t get me wrong, it’s not a gay thing. I am not a homophobe. I just can’t understand how straight fellas can happily hold hands with other men. It’s just not right! Continue reading “Mango Fortnightly – 2nd July”