The FARANG Speaks 2 Much (tfs2m)

Part 1

Once I got the hotel sorted out, I decided to rock up at California Wow! Experience (that’s what the Thai version of California Fitness is called). I have a membership card that covers many of the clubs worldwide, but was told that Thailand is operated differently (can’t let those multinationals in a normal fashion now can we, Uncle Puuyai won’t get his cut). However, the pleasant clerk said I could have a 30-day membership free and put a sticker on my card, so in I went. The gym’s new and quite nice, and it was great to get back into the cardio after almost a week of sea air of compressed air at depth.

After this I went to Silom Sauna on Soi 2 where you can steam/soak/hang out, eat fruit and drink iced tea. Then I got a Thai massage there, but the masseuse was problematic: she insisted on giving me a “happy ending.” An absurd conversation took place in Thai:

She: Every massage here includes a chuk wow.
Me: Thank you, but I only want a massage. I’m meeting my friend later.
She: You must have a chuk wow.
Me: No really, I’m meeting my friend. Thanks anyway.
She: OK, but you give me a tip OK?
Me: We’ll see.

That’s Pattaya: you have to talk women OUT of jerkin’ your gherkin.

Steve and I ate at some Middle-Eastern place (the sign above the entrance read “Alkohol Not Allowded”), snarfing fresh-baked bread, hummous, murtabal, a chicken biryani, some kofta and, what the hell, another murtabal. Fuel for a Wiccan evening. We arrived early but not until the shows started did we have women foisted on us. Being softies (and the gals being presentable and polite), we bought them drinks and chok dii’d one another while waiting for the shows to start. Mine was gorgeous, quite reserved, said she’d worked there two months. I had gone in with the idea of not-barfining, and rebuffed a few attempts by the mamasan to pair us up.

But I started talking to my impromptu date. I think everyone reading this has their own version of the “Thai bargirl bullshit-detector,” you know what I mean. Needless to say, in Thai game preserves the TBG is often the deadliest predator. But like all predators they seek the easiest prey. Tighten your defenses, harden your weak points…they are much more fun IMHO if you show them you know the game but are fun to play with all the same.

One technique: ask a question (knowing the correct answer), and check the reaction. I asked her how many barfines she was expected to pull in a month and got the answer. Asked how many she’d managed and got a reasonable figure. It’s towards the end of the month and these gals need to hit their quotas. I decided to play Mr Nice Guy and barfined her.

Oh yeah, Steve (the bastard) had volunteered me to appear onstage earlier, which featured naked vixens with lovely back-tattoos writhing on me as I sat on a chair. It was great, but they did most of the routine solo—suddenly a chair appears on stage, I’m shoved up there, they’re gyrating and I’m enjoying and the music STOPS. One of ‘em says to me: “Thanks.” I got maybe 30 seconds.

Then later they bring a bed onstage and some schmo gets on it. Now he gets SIX girls, they tie him to the frame and make a squatting-conga-line. Obviously I got the wrong skit…damn! Then Shiva makes her appearance.

Destruction
Shiva is the Hindu goddess of destruction, and one of my better nicknames for a Bangkok Wiccan. If you ever went to Wicca and saw the Rammstein number, the gal sliding upside-down on the pole? The portly “Thai goth” with black lipstick and a mean look in her eye? The one who used to beat the floor, her dance-partner and whoever/whatever with a length of black foam-rubber tubing? That’s Shiva.

Steve had met her at Wicc-PTY a few months earlier and mentioned me, said when she figured out who he was talking about she got a look in her eyes and said (like Pinhead in that HELLRAISER sequel): “Bring him here.”

So Shiva, the Hellraiser girl, suddenly appears, scarier than ever, and as the sextet of sexy tartlets had pulled this guy’s shirt up, blasts him across the abdomen with the foam-rubber truncheon. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Suddenly I was glad I did the first onstage thing.

And, it was getting late…should I stay here and breathe more cigarette smoke, see if Shiva comes sniffing after me? Or should I go to my hotel room and dally with my date? I left Steve (who’d barfined another cutie) and headed hotelward.

These girls often surprise me. Miss Reserved turned out to be highly sensual and fucked my brains out, then we had a conversation I enjoyed immensely. I think maybe because guys don’t talk to these girls as much as they should (or more to the point, LISTEN to them), you can learn some fascinating stuff.

She told me her story, mostly in English, and if you hear enough of them you do learn what’s important to Thai working girls in *their* culture, which is not *your* culture. They’ll talk about their kids, I always ask to see pictures and they love to show them off (they won’t talk about their boyfriends/husbands unless it’s a past-tense-farang situation). The kids are cute, and you can talk about their families, how they like working, whatever. I find these human stories interesting, and this one really wanted to share…at one point, she looks at me and says “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” I just shrugged, I knew. I like to listen to women talk—as long as they’re telling me what’s true or mostly-true, and not some bullshit they think I wanna hear.

After we’d chatted for awhile, we fucked some more, then I turfed her out because I generally like to sa-leep alone.

Tacos and a blowjob
Slept great, went to Pattayathai Road (the old-school shopping district) and met Steve at Tuk-Com Center, which used to be the Day-Night Department Store. Now it’s Pattaya’s Phanthip Center, and worth a visit—plenty of optical disc and mobile-phone products.

Steve took off and I wandered the streets snapping pix of everyday market-life. It’s concentrated there: loads of color, flowers, fruits, prepared food. Across the street there’s a stunning wat complex. There is more to Pattaya than just the FUCKING. But soon I was back on the street with tailor-touts and the holy trinity of Pattaya biz: massage shops (foot/Thai/oil), tattoo parlors and beer-bars. Although the proliferation of convenience shops (7-11 and Family Mart, American and Japanese chains, respectively) and coffee/fast-food chains is equally impressive. And down every sub-soi there are hotels/serviced apartments going up. Not a lot of cement sitting idle in Pattaya, but not much thought given to sidewalks either. The sidewalk is just a place to park your motorbike or set up some other obstacle, Amazing Thailand, it’s not easy walking from point A to point B.

I walked to California and had my Wow! Experience, then headed for the sauna again. Skipped the massage.

Silom Sauna is getting dingy and faded, and while it’s still the best 150-baht deal in town, the Sino-Thai guy with a toupee who’s run the place forever and greets me every time I come in isn’t going to keep it running until eternity. At some point he’ll sell the land to some drone who will raze the structure and slap up a strip-mall of bars where you can get tattooed WHILE having your feet massaged. And that’ll be that. I visit to my favorite places in Thailand because I know one day I will go there and they will be boarded up or torn down.

OK, the sun has set and it’s time for a blowjob. And I know just the gal for the job, and when I turn up at Lolita’s she’s sitting on point with a big smile. Oh I know Thailand has its faults. They had an election last week, who won, who cares? The sidewalks will never be fixed, policemen are good for nothing except cash-magnets, lunkheads wander the byways of Pattaya until they fall into a sewer and are never missed. Fine. There is something to be said for a place where you can show up and get professionally blown. There should be one (or more) in every major city. Worldwide. And there should be similar establishments for women who just want some quick, er, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Why not.

This time we use another room and the chair works, but it’s fully reclined so I’m getting the back-view. Which is not so bad, as you can put your hand up your technician’s plaid skirt and fondle her shapely panty-clad ass, which is kinda fun (perhaps if you’d been subjected to Catholic school it’d be even more fun). But I didn’t think I’d be able to cum that way, so when it was clear that Nong was getting a bit uncomfy we switched back couch-mode and after a while my afterburners sharpened to that cone-shaped apex of maximum acceleration and…”Houston, we have no problem!” I blasted off.

And went directly into Bob’s Burger next door. This native of Houston Texas specializes in monster-burgers: you can get a 700-gram (!) burger there and if you can eat it all in 45 minutes, it’s half-price. However, I saw tacos on the menu and couldn’t resist—some of the better food/service I’ve had at a farang-restaurant in Thailand. It’s almost literally next-door to Lolita’s so if you’re “known” you’ll be eyeballed for not stopping in to get a blowjob after your burger.

Took it easy tonight and wrote this up, tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. Thais have been detonating major fireworks this entire trip (Xmas Eve at my beach bungalow they were shooting off industrial-strength stuff right at the beachfront, I’m not talking Roman candles here, this is serious blasting material: booms and sparkly showers). Right now it’s 1:00AM and there are still what sounds like distant firefights off in the distance…I’m putting in earplugs and getting some sleep.

Final day: Jack avoids Hell
The last day of a trip always arrives with a mixture of satisfaction and regret. You can never do it all, but did you do ENOUGH? And, carpe diem, what’s on the menu for today??

I wanted to get in a workout, buy snacks for co-workers back at my office, catch a flick (Will Smith in I AM LEGEND, which I dug: not an original concept but good execution and nice nasty zombies), maybe do a little shopping. Took care of all that by sunset.

OK. You’ve all heard of Eden Club in Bangkok, and its twin sister in Pattaya which is known as the Hell Club. Eden seems to get dissed quite a bit on every sanuk-oriented forum I’ve ever read. I don’t want to start any flame-wars, but I think that part of Eden’s bad rep comes from its function as a brothel rather than a place where you meet people, get tipsy, chit-chat and then maybe pick a girl. As in beer-bar or go-go: people have their faves, and will go on at length about how rude the mama-sans are or whether they’ve jacked the price of beer by ten baht.

I like strip clubs and the camaraderie even though I don’t drink alcohol, and I’ve had great times watching luscious Thai ladies pole-twirling and goofing with the clientele. I’ve taken groups of gents to Thai strip-clubs over the years. But that’s not Eden. Eden is about FUCKING. And one thing I like about is the Bullshit-Veener-Remover: some guy brags about how he wants to engage in kink, gets specific, and you say OK, that can be arranged, and it’ll cost you this much, check bin and I’ll take you there NOW. Cuts through the bullshit.

Case-in-point: I went to Eden once when Marc, the French-Belgian-who knows guy was there, walked in and said hello. “Would you like a drink?” he said. No, I replied, I’d like a lineup. “Ah well,” he said in that Claude Rains accent, “drinking is not ze point.” It’s not. The bar is there so that the place can be a bar in case some gendarme wanders in. it’s a brothel. Eden is all about the fucking.

And I’ve had some great times there. It’s not for every evening, it’s for when you want a pair of ladies to work you over sexually until you feel you’re ready to cum blood. I can usually get it off three times in a 90-minute Eden session and that includes fun-intervals. Get the Eden gals to tell you about their crazier clients. Amusing as hell. And laughing/joking/speaking Thai gets them in a good mood. Don’t expect them to get into it (they’ll pretend to, it’s for your benefit), but treat ‘em right: I have never left less than fully satisfied and I have never had an Eden duo mention the clock.

So that’s where I stand. And of course I wanted to try Hell. In fact, I was staying just around the corner. So I tabbed up with my Little Blue Friend and walked over to the Red Devil and…

An A4-size piece of paper on the metal door-shutter said “We’re closed for New Year, open at 14:00 tomorrow.” I had to laugh. My shut-outs in Thailand are always amusing: I was in Hat Yai once and the Pink Lady, my favorite soapy there, was (like all other soapies) closed for the King’s 50th anniversary. That was 1996.

But it was New Year’s Eve and, well, I wanted to try the burger at Bob’s anyway. So I walked around the corner to Lolita’s, walked straight up to Nong, wished her a happy new year and asked if it was OK if I selected an alternate technician. She said, of course—what a change from the pouting/clawing/aggro you’ll receive if you dare select another dame from a go-go once one has “claimed” you. I asked her to suggest one, she demurred, so I selected a sweet young doxie named Am. Upstairs we went and I enjoyed another great pole-swallowing, although if I’d known about my denial of Hell I’d have made one less visit to Lolita’s! There are of course many alternatives but I was lazy. I wanted to write, pack, and watch fireworks.

After snarfing a burger of course, so I went next door to Bob’s. Chatted with him and a table full of gents, they were discussing the concept of maximum barfine. One said he’d paid 2,000 baht on Xmas Eve…TWO THOUSAND baht? That was just the “off”: he said the girl cost an equal amount short-time, but as he put it: “I was horny.” So that’s what going on, gents, horny tourists are paying over US$100 just for the FUCKING, who knows what the bar tab was.

Prices are up all over Thailand, the new airport is at capacity, they’re planning to reopen Don Muang to int’l flights, and the tourists are packing in like lemmings. It’s high season, but if you don’t book your room months in advance, you might be out of luck. Nothing stops the tourists (mongers, backpackers, entire families), twelve million a year, who knows, who knows…I had a good time. In the end, the fireworks were great: amateurs in sub-sois competed with the official display, blasting off “prosumer”-level pyrotechnics, filling the sois with smoke. I was glad to view all this at a distance. Safety? What could possibly go wrong? Mai pen rai. Happy new year.