Thai Thoughts And Anecdotes Part 34
I WANT A CONNECTION
It is hot, hot, hot, hot and has been hot for a long while. It is April in South Pattaya and once you get away from the boardwalk next to the ocean there isn't any more inane talk about it being cooler in Pattaya than in Bangkok. Soi dogs are just lying and panting, bars are empty or have closed, girls are bored or have quit and gone upcountry to visit their children. The veins in my forearms are like ropes from the nitric oxide, which means all my veins are dilated and engorged. Laced on top of the NO2 is Yohimbine and Viagra. My balls are high, my head is clear, and I am dropping off the 10 baht bus at the 2nd road end of Soi 6. Soi 6, the infamous 'get in now', 'get it cheap', 'get it here' street; where the girls are not necessarily the most feminine or glamorous of their species, but enthusiasm and accessibility are great compensators. I plan to walk the length of the street. It is 2:30 in the afternoon. There are probably 100 girls and me. Nice odds. Only 30 yards into the street and already the 'outside the door' girls are smiling and waving. I look like easy business. I look like farang business. But I am a fraud. I don't want it now and fast and easy and in the main room or upstairs. I am looking for something else. I am looking for someone who will be grateful to be taken away to a nicer place and be treated in a nicer way. Desperate girls, desperate weather, desperate bar owners, desperate country. Desperate farang. Maybe we can all do business! I want to find a smiling face with an emotional knife in her heart. Then I want to take her hand and take her for a walk. We will walk down the soi to Beach road. Then we will cross over to the boulevard and walk the long pleasant distance to the AA hotel. There won't be any hurry or hustle. We will hold hands. I will buy her whatever she wants. Boiled eggs and spicy crickets–no problem. Gold earrings–no problem. T-shirt and sandals for baby–no problem. Into Big Mike's Shopping Center to pick up my new glasses from Annie at the glasses store. Then upstairs in front of the supermarket for a Gelato ice cream. Now she is starting to relax. I am not going to hurt her. I am not a bad guy. I am relaxed. I poke my finger in her stomach and she smiles, a little. Then back out to the sidewalk to complete the walk to the hotel. As we walk by the tour desk I get a smile and a wave from Anna. My soi 6 lover smiles, a little. Then up to the room. She throws off all of her clothes immediately and just looks at me. But that is not what I want. I go in the bathroom and start the shower. I go out into the bedroom and take her hand and take her into the shower and stick her hand into the stream of water and make it known that I want her to get the water temperature right. The we both get in. I turn her so that she is facing the wall and gently nudge her elbows until she lifts her arms. Eventually, I get her arms up fully extended and her hands pressed against the tile. Then I start washing her back. Gently, lovingly, slowly. No hurry! I get down on my knees in the tub and start washing her legs. Out of the corner of my eye I see that she is almost, maybe, possibly going to smile. That is what I want. A smile. I am a human being. I want a connection. Recognise me. Value me. Please smile with me. I want and need love. I am dying inside every day. But I'll accept a smile. So that is why at 2:30 in the afternoon on this 100 degree day I am starting a walk down soi 6.
I really question if I return to Thailand time and time again for the sex. The sex with ignorant disinterested farmer's daughters is mostly disappointing. I know the difference between a woman going starfish on me and a woman putting her soft brown arms around my neck and kissing me full on the lips because she wants to. I return to Thailand, like many men, time and time again hoping for a connection. At my age I have the final landing strip in sight and my landing gear is down. There is not much time left to get lucky. Lucky! Maybe that's it. Maybe each girl I meet is a lottery ticket in the game of love and I am hoping one is a winner. Maybe that is why men come to Thailand. You can buy more love lottery tickets in a shorter period of time! Do I really prefer Asian women to all other women? I think so. But maybe I am not even sure about that anymore. Today's cutie is going to be shaped like a fireplug–and fast–when the first pregnancy blows out her stomach. The only thing I am sure of is that there is not much time left.
Oh, there is someone smiling and waving at me. Essan face, dark skin, soft shoulders, short body, wide feet, splayed toes, black hair, almond shaped brown eyes. I smile at her and start to walk over. I don't even see her other friends. Just her.
Wish me Luck. . . .
MANDINGO SUAVE AND SHOTGUN JONES–A WHOLE NEW ATTITUDE
Farang Tourist Alert: I am going to Thailand for two weeks or so in February and March. So if you see a man in a blue goatskin suit with yellow silk shirt and yellow crocodile shoes leading an elephant down Sukhumvit road and handing out silver speckled french-fried bananas to Thai kids and beak-nosed tourists from Perth; that's not me! Too obvious. This time I am going with a whole new attitude!
You are better off to search for me two rows back in the ribbon cutting ceremony pictures that appear in the Style/Living/Arts/Entertainment sections of the Bangkok Post or the Pattaya Mail or Metro magazine. I will be wearing my routine day and night wear of French Brittany red yachting pants, black background flowered shirt and made-in-Cyprus rattan style open weave leather shoes. I will have my arm around one of those tall white-faced Chinese girls that pop up out of the ground every time a ribbon has to be cut or a building dedicated or an art gallery opened or a political party speech made. Are you looking? Don't see me!? That's because I am not there either! Too pedestrian. Been there, done that. This time I am going to the Kingdom with a whole new attitude.
I am going incognito. Myself and my pants pal are going underground. Instead of sending out transparent vibrations of sexual need and psychic need; this time the message is going to be: I Don't Need It and I Don't Need You!
The power of the negative will be my sword and my strength and my mantra. Females of every fertile persuasion will pick up this rare scent and fly to me like blind bees to a hive. They will press up against me in bookstores, sit down unbidden at my early morning coffee table, and block my way on sidewalks. When questioned I will tell them my name is Mandingo Suave and my pant's pal name is Shotgun Jones. Watching a Thai woman try to pronounce Shotgun Jones will be fun. Careful handling the shotgun girls; its loaded and the safety is off.
So this February and March you probably won't spot me. But if you hear the sound of a shotgun going off, you know I am around. With a whole new attitude. . . !
STORMTROOPERS OF LOVE
OK, guys: I'm going to Thailand. But here is my question. How come everyone isn't going? How come we are not all going together? I'll bet every man reading this right now has more money than me and is in better health than me. So you have no excuses. We should all be going together. Let's do this. Let's all plan to meet this time next year in Hong Kong. There should be about 30,000 of us. We'll charter 60 747 air planes and go as a group. The planes will have Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes painted on the sides and a pair of black wrap-a-round sunglasses on the nose. The stewardesses will be the best of the best culled from Singapore and Thai and Cathay Pacific and Indonesian and Malaysian and Korean and Japanese and Vietnamese airlines. The planes will take off from Hong Kong two abreast at 15 second intervals military style. No flight plan will be filed for Thailand. All 60 planes will hit Don Muang airport at once. Landings will be done two abreast. We'll form up on the tarmac in a battalion sized corps of 30,000 farangs lined up 300 across the front and 100 deep. When I blow the whistle we will roar through Customs in a human wave. Fuck Customs. Then on to the Nana. At the Nana we'll make the Indian owners an offer they can't refuse and take over for 10 days. No Thais, French, Japanese, Arabs, West Equitorial Africans, Russians or Women allowed. Fuck 'em. Free beer. Who's in?
This is how I imagine some of the details:
North American continent farangs will all meet at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport and then make the big jump to Hong Kong in one go. As the planes leave US airspace and cross the US–Canadian border there will be mass moonings of ex-wives and current wives and left-behind girlfriends in the plane windows. So long honey–I hope you enjoy that fucking poetry reading I'm not going to. Oh, and by the way; I have our son with us. He's going to see a woman smile. There will be about 15 planes flying wingtip to wingtip at 30,000 feet as we make the Bering Sea crossing. We will be able to see each other holding up drinks glasses in the windows.
Our South American friends will all meet at Lima, Peru and then make the puddle jump to Hawaii. As they deplane for the layover–Polynesian women will rush up to them–place flowers around their necks–and say they have been 'leied'. Then on to Hong Kong.
All Europeans and North Africans will meet in Athens–then it is on to Hong Kong. Early interplane tensions will dissipate as drinks are poured and stories are told. The North Africans from Morocco and Algeria and Libya and Egypt will stare at the stewardesses from Vietnam and Thailand and Kuala Lumpor and Bali and China like hungry dogs.
Our southern cousins from Australia and New Zealand will be directed to meet and depart from Brisbane on a certain day and at a certain time and to arrive en mass in Hong Kong at a certain time and on a certain day. They will have the least distance to travel of anybody and they will be the most unreliable. They will pay no attention to any of the agreed upon itinerary and delay the groups departure by two days. Let's hear it for Foster's Beer.
There will be designated and dedicated 747 aircraft for those of you attracted to the Gay or Transvestite lifestyles. And I will provide forms for you to sign stating that you got on the wrong plane by accident. Yeah, sure. Of course there will be minor issues. The Gay planes will do way way too much wingwaggling and tail wagging. Their ass end contrails will look like snakes while the straight planes will be flying steady and level. And of course there will be the constant organizational headache of the Gay planes wanting to get way to close to the other planes. Wingtip tapping and fuselage bumping is not sexy at 30,000 feet. The Tranny planes won't know whether to leave their landing gear dangling down and hanging out or tuck it up out of sight. Hey, these are my problems. I'm the organizer. For you high heel shoppers and big willie enthusiasts who just can't wait; the Gay planes will do low altitude parachute drops over Boystown in Pattaya. Pink parachutes lit up by the neon night sky is always a crowd pleaser.
There will not be any tranny parachute drops–heels hitting the city streets and rooftops at 20 mph is just not something our insurance can cover. As the organizer I have to be practical. Sorry.
Because I am an organizational genius, magnetic personality, world wide celebrity, and natural bon vivant–I'll be in charge of everything. That includes the thankless and arduous task of interviewing and hand selecting the stewardesses. That's right. With no thought for myself other than the selfless support of the mission I will be interviewing the most charming, the most feminine, and the most beautiful asian stewardesses in the world. Now I know what you are thinking. You are thinking: how can interviewing the world's most beautiful asian stewardesses be arduous? Well, imagine this. Imagine an erection that won't go away for 10 straight days. Doesn't sound so easy now, does it. No need to send me condolences I don't mind taking one for the team.
OK guys: that's about it. We'll meet a year from now in Hong Kong and hit Don Muang airport like an airborne artillery barrage. When my whistle blows and the three foot long cloth-covered hammer strikes the brass gong–the airport will explode with the huzzas of 30,000 horny men. The air will fill with frightened birds, control tower weenies will be running around like chickens with diarrhoea, and the rush will be on. We'll roll through Customs like a farang tsunami wave. Our shoulder patches will be a heart crossed with lightening bolts. Stormtroopers of Love. No using Thai words or making politically correct statements or using condoms. This is a party–get with the program! Remember, the beer is free. Who's in?
I admit it, I chuckled more than once.