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How About A Game Of Chess?



Part I – Introduction

At the age of 21 I dated a girl in Canada and one day she introduced her girlfriend who lived with a guy. I looked at that girl and gazed at her boyfriend quite astonished by the evident gap: the man was extremely good-looking while his girlfriend was quite unattractive. When I expressed my surprise, my girl said something which still rings in my ears so many years later:

“She cooked him”.

Please keep this statement in store – it will be of great value.

Part II – Overview

This website consists almost entirely of postings depicting personal experiences encountered in the Land of Smiles. Some are sad, some are hilarious, some are dry and factual, other inject some lively spices. But, basically, if there is any coherent message vibrating in Stickman’s ocean of feelings and tears, it stems directly from the emotional involvement of so many love-hungry farangs who had fallen for that captivating Thai charm.

The steps are consistently identical: bar, beer, sex, love, marriage, money, heartbreak, posting to Stickman.

The stories abound with folks “losing their head” and, I must admit, had I not visited Thailand for three times already I wouldn’t have understood this unique phenomena.

This posting will be totally different than anything appearing so far, with its sole purpose aimed to serve as a red flag for averting that emotional, painful and costly involvement.

Here is how I intend to do it:

A certain guy posted a truly incredible (yet not uncommon) tale of getting heavily involved with a girl he had met at a massage parlor (“Pattaya Diary” – November 15, 2003”; I shall paste the link at the end of this posting).

This involvement became apparent quite early in the relationship, leading to cash outlays, such as a TV set for her children, cancellation of a scheduled trip to Cambodia, a non-contemplated return soon thereafter for a three-month period and, ultimately, marriage plans. I’m not at all passing judgment on somebody else’s decisions (certainly not feelings), while strictly contemplating an objective observation of an emotional involvement that has so profoundly changed someone’s life without him contemplating such a drastic upheaval in the first place.

I’ve read almost all the stories published on Stickman and can thus vouch that this one was probably the most fascinating tale, partly because of the author’s superb writing skills and fantastic sense of humor. The reason I’ve decided to use his posting for my present purpose is simple: the unfolding tale contained all the signs previously outlined by many folks on Stickman yet this (middle-aged American) man has ignored (although incredibly aware of) them all, while falling into an emotional trap despite his clearly demonstrated intelligence and life experience.

And don’t, please don’t say, “this won’t happen to me” – because it will (unless you come to LOS wearing a protective armor, something this present outline intends to be.)

The scope of this outline will consist of quotations taken from that article and my comments in regard to each. I truly hope that my effort will constitute an eye-opener to many.

Part III – Analysis

Our friend came to Pattaya for a three-week vacation. After three days (during which he had not yet found an adequate companion) he entered a massage parlor.

While Som worked on a pair of hairy German feet in the next chair, she talked to me the entire time I was in the chair in front of Daeng.

“Where you from?”

“San Diego, California.”

This is the TGs standard opening and if you have ever played chess you know that it will always (always!) be followed by another move.

“Cally-Forn-Ee-Ah. Like America. What you do?”

“I write. When I don’t write I work at jobs that I hate.”

“Slow-lee, Dah-ling.”

After the foot massage is over Daeng asks demurely:

“Want Thai massage?”

At his point the defenses must already be in place.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

But right now I have to get out of here. My head reels with images of the tops of Som’s breasts, as I look down the front of her open necked shirt.

My dear pal, do you for one second imagine she’s not aware that her tits are exposed and jumping freely during the entire massage? Can’t you see it is done on purpose so that your head begins reeling and your wallet opening? Please let me illuminate a certain fact of life for you: in the shrewd business world it has a name: “the bending”. Many secretaries use this “weapon” on unsuspecting executives who – without realizing it – submit to an act of aggression in the battle of the sexes, many losing their head in the process and ultimately ending at the nearest divorce attorney (or priest or both). Now, why should a poor girl from Thailand not be allowed to use this trick?

Rule of thumb: never, never assume that things are innocent because they seldom are.

Thursday, March 13. I go back to the shop, only a three hundred yard walk from my hotel on Soi 11, the Diana Dragon Inn.

After the foot massage is over I come to a decision that will change my life forever. Her mouth is inches from my ear.

“Want Thai massage?”

“Yes.”

Pawn to King 4.

Her phone rings.

“Sorry. Must get.”

“No problem.”

She walks into the back room. I can hear her talking in English. Even at this early stage I know it’s a man. English equals foreign man. Thai equals local woman friend.

One thing we must grasp as soon as possible is that while we’ve just landed, those girls have lived here before and during the course of their “diversified endeavor” had met other (many other) men, just as hungry like you or me for some “warmth” (hey, I like this word). This fact is so self-evident yet, surprisingly, many folks refuse to accept this reality, stubbornly clinging to a notion that the TG who got them tangled up has all along been waiting just for them – in anticipation for the love of her life (come’on, give me a break).

“Boyfriend?”

“Him from France. Him love me. Want send me money, passport, go Europe.”

Interestingly, at this early stage of the game she openly admits having had relationships in the past, something that will not prevent her from claiming later on that she had not. Nevertheless, our friend does not yet suspect a thing.

She asks me about my family and tells me she’s getting a divorce from her Thai husband.

“Him box me.”

She mimes a fist to the face. I immediately hate this man who could do damage to this beautiful woman.

“No good. Fifteen years. No good. Me crazy. Me think too much.”

OK, here we are. I’m (patiently) waiting for the sick buffalo.

My God, now I’m Dear Abby. Spouting self-actualization clichיs on the second floor of a massage shop yet I hope, God do I hope, that I will soon experience what everyone says I will experience in Thailand.

In case you have not yet noticed, our man is an extremely kind person, a fact that will soon only serve as a pain-inflicting boomerang.

The phone rings again.

“Sorry.”

“No problem.”

More English.

“When you come Pattaya? Yes…Yes…. Me see you then…Okay…Bye bye.”

“Him from Germany. Him love me, want take care my baby.”

I find it incredible that despite those two phone calls (coming in during such a short time span) our friend did not subsequently question the sincerity of the chastity assertions.

As she works the front of my body (towel now a tent) the tent twitches and then throbs when she begins sliding those incredible fingers up and down my legs. She removes the towel and grabs my cock.

“Want me help finish?”

She strokes slowly. What the hell am I supposed to say?

“Yes.”

“Oh, big dick for me!”

Who would not love to hear that?

We lay together for the sweetest five minutes of my first week in Thailand. Then it’s back to business.

“Tip me first. After pay shop.”

She sure is not the one to lose the compass.

I’m still reeling. Thailand is now my official favourite place on Earth. She turns off the water and hands me a towel.

“You want eat?”

I’m still a dumbass.

“With you?”

“Yes.”

Bishop to King 2.

Three hours ago I was just a dumbass from San Diego. Now I’m walking down the Soi with a beautiful woman at my side, one who has just given me a better hand job than I had ever given myself. This is what people (well, men) go to Thailand for.

The cooking process is in full gear.

She smiles again. Have I mentioned that she smiles a lot? I’m starting to surrender to her spell.

“Have lady in Pattaya?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Because I’m only now starting to understand how this town works.

“Haven’t met anyone I like yet.”

“You want see me tonight?”

“Yes. When?”

“No may-bee?”

Rock to Queen 1.

I pay the bill. Almost 1,000 baht. We walk back to her shop holding hands for the first time. I know I’m supposed to be more cynical, but I sincerely like this woman, completely separate from the lustful urges and images that I can’t get out of my mind.

Next stop: Bamboo Bar, a nightclub off Walking Street.

“You special man.”

Suddenly I feel ten feet tall. This is why we come to Pattaya – to believe the bullshit. I look back at Som.

“God you’re beautiful.”

Something must be wrong with our lives in the West if a hand job, followed by a smile, is powerful enough to melt our hearts. What the hell is it? I wonder.

I lived both in Europe and America (Canada included) and must say that the explanation to this phenomenon was not too hard to come by. The pressure on the North American male is much heavier than that experienced daily by his counterpart in any part of the world. Any employee on this continent (except for the 18% of unionized workers) can get fired from his job on the spare of a moment without a dime’s worth of severance pay, a practice unparallel on this planet. (Just for comparison purposes: in some European countries a fired employee is entitled to severance pay equaling one year’s salary while in others he receives one month’s salary for each year of employment). This reality adversely affects just about everyone, leading to anxieties and financial insecurity. Result: the woman becomes the dominant figure in the relationship and ultimately demonstrates many non-feminine traits, mostly bitchiness, so badly disliked by American men. When I immigrated to this continent at 21 I noticed how women boss around the men and couldn’t at first understand it. Moreover, I was amazed to watch TV programs in which the woman seemed to treat her man like shit while he stood there submitting to it like a yoyo.

This poor man may own a house (but it may be repossessed if he gets fired and can’t meet the mortgage payments); this man has a car (but it will be taken away if he fails making the monthly installments); his child goes to an Ivey League university costing $50,000 a year, including rent, food, medical insurance and transportation (but he will surely be kicked out if the payments are not made on time.

How about a divorce?

I believe that the combination of an American female joining hands with a lawyer has created one of the deadliest poisons known to man. Guys are literally taken by their wives to the cleaners, leaving them penniless at best or subject to endless alimony payments at worst. Is it surprising that in today’s high cost of living the following term was also born: “The high cost of leaving”.

Yeah, life ain’t as rosy as the Hollywood tales.

Can we now better understand our friend’s vulnerability?

She smiles. The house lights come on, dim, but illuminating. The bar is closing. Has it been two hours already? I barely remember the time passing.

“Bar close. Go now.”

Time for my pitch.

“Can you stay with me at my hotel?”

“You want?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Rock to Queen 6.

It’s so warm and wet inside her. Newness makes it better than it really is. My God this is great, I’m really with her.

“She cooked him”.

“I cum to you.”

After a few days of hearing this I realize that she means I cum with you. I don’t believe her for a second, but it’s nice to hear.

I remove the cover and check the stew. It seems OK but needs more time.

It’s the start of the odyssey. I’m sure many faithful Stickman readers are well aware of the pull these ladies have. Som is no different. She’s not 19 or 20 but for me that’s better. It’s bad enough pretending Som is my girlfriend. Doing the same thing with a woman half my age is something this john is not prepared to do.

This is, evidently, an intelligent and sensible man. No one is immune, so it seems.

She tells me that she sleeps better than she has in years, feeling safe, warm and comfortable. “With you, me no think too much. Before can not sleep. Maybe three, four hour. Now want sleep all time. Sleep with you. Good bed.”

Good that you’ve come from the States, buddy, otherwise she would not be able to sleep, having to turn perpetually and perhaps cause an earthquake in the region.

Day three she says she loves me. Soft, after sex. I ignore it. I’m sure it’s all part of the act. I had mentioned that I would be going to Cambodia. She jokingly (so I thought) told me “No go Cambodia. Miss you.” Yeah, sure, miss my wallet; but I don’t say it, because in Thailand you don’t hit the woman over the head with the fact that she’s a prostitute and you’re a john.

At this point our friend’s head still seems to be screwed up right and it truly amazes me that, ultimately, it turns so loose.

I mention Cambodia again and she cries.

Our lady catches on soon enough that our man is a good-hearted man on whom tears might have an astounding impact.

Knight to Bishop 4.

“Go Cambodia, no see me again. I go away sure.”

And so I make a life-altering decision.

“I’m not going to Cambodia. I want to stay with you.”

She’s very happy. She dries her tears and we screw in front of the open window for an hour.

Indeed, nothing sells like sex. Then, following an unintentional look at another woman, she uses this weapon again. The statute of limitation does not apply to tears.

She cries. Real tears? Who knows. Certainly not I. Does she really feel this depth of emotion for someone she met as a customer?

The make-up sex is incredible.

After sex she begins telling me the saga of her life.

The abusive Thai husband, the daughters and her hopes for them, the inability – due to poverty – to finish school beyond the seventh grade.

Queen to Rock 8.

I’m not prepared for this. I try to keep the armour in place but I’m starting to slip, lose my grip on my cynicism. I’m about to tumble over the cliff of fun into the dreaded L word.

Each Stickman reader who – for a second perhaps – might have thought ‘this wouldn’t happen to me” is well advised to re-read this last paragraph. This man is falling even though is fully aware of this fact. Imagine how many folks just plainly tumble without realizing what has hit them in the first place.

“I love you but you don’t know.”

I keep silent. What can I say? I’m not about to tell a prostitute I met in a massage shop that I love her. Am I?

I reexamine the stew and taste a bit. Well, tastes good but more cooking is required. Indeed, following another quarrel she cries again:

“Why you no want me?”

Queen to King 6.

More crying. I can’t figure this woman out. “Me love you but you say “Som, Som, go Som. Why you no want me? Do everything for you. Love you. You don’t know.”

At this point this fantastic Thai chess player is ready for a crucial move:

“No want go work. Want be with you all time. I don’t know. But you no want me.”

She does not want to work anymore. Can anyone explain to such a silly farang like me what does this have to do with all the tea in China? Why should the existence or non-existence of love in a good-hearted man after two weeks lead to quitting her job (with that sucker, naturally, footing the bill)?

Part IV -Dried-up tears

“Yes I do want you. I did not know how you felt.”

“Tell you, but you don’t know. No want work. Want you. All time.”

My dear lady, please explain to me why can’t you love this good-hearted man while keeping your job? To the best of my knowledge millions of ladies worldwide maintain a (nine-to-five) job while still loving their man and even raising several children in the process.

How many tears can one woman produce? Is she for real? If not, she should be in the movies. Even my black heart is starting to melt. I’m a pretty good guy, fun to be with, treat her with respect, but come on. Am I the best thing in her life? Or is my wallet?

“Never go with man. Work, go room. Go Bamboo with Som. Now want be with you.”

Can you believe that, folks? This poor soul has never dated anyone and simply been waiting for this guy from San Diego. (Do you still remember the reference made earlier in regard to the French and German guys?). Interestingly, though, the guy has not lost his judgment but his heart, as he puts it, “is starting to melt”.

She wants to quit the shop. Tells me she hasn’t given an oil massage since she met me. Against my better judgment I believe her. I’m falling for it? Falling for her?

Bishop to Rock 4.

“Me hate massage.”

All you out there, how many of you like your jobs? Are you thus also looking for someone to pull you to early retirement?

Then I say it. The last week of my life has been a primer on how not to behave in Pattaya and now I take the last step.

“Som, I think I love you and that scares the crap out of me.”

She looks at me through her tears. Disbelieving. “I love you Som. Please don’t leave. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I cry. What the hell is happening to me?

The stew is ready to be served.

“Me tell shop I quit.”

Please pay attention to this stunning part: her man has just (in an outburst of feelings) told her that he loves her. What do you envision should a girl (any girl on this planet) do or say at such a moment? Tell him she loves him too? Express her happiness? Look at him quietly and lovingly for an hour? Plan for the future?

No, our lady is too good a chess player to act so foolishly. She wants to capitalize on her (surprisingly gained) triumph and attain an immediate financial reward. She wants to quit working. This is the only thing on her mind right now. I must admit that this line has been my biggest surprise in this entire evolving tale.

What follows is the best sex we’ve had to date. She rips off the condom and tosses it across the room. Incredibly stupid, but at the time I don’t care.

Afterward she goes to the shop and quits.

Now, our Thai chess player realizes that the three-week vacation is rapidly coming to an end and she must therefore act expediently.

“Want TV for my babies.”

You’ve got it right, Stickman readers worldwide: after knowing the man for two weeks she wants him to purchase a TV set for her.

I’m a sucker. I can’t say no at this point. I buy her a 19” TV with a remote at the local Tesco. I also buy a large oscillating fan for the room.

Knight to Bishop 6. Check!

Som cries.

“Now you have two babies same me.”

“No I don’t.”

I try to resist. More crying

“Why you no want? Say ‘No Som, no have babies’.”

I’m reading this last sentence and simply cannot believe it. This lady has two teenage daughters from her marriage to a Thai man. Being divorced, she met (let’s not forget: two weeks ago) an American man with whom she has since been having an affair. At this point in time she wants him to adopt her daughters, no less. Yes, dear Stickman readers, I’m sure you find it unbelievable, just as I do.

At the hotel another long talk. I am happy to help, but just because I buy a TV and help with the rent does not mean I am their father.

Yes, pal, you’re certainly right but what has happened to your defenses? What has gone wrong with your judgment? Brother, you’ve been here on vacation for a mere two weeks. The plight of a man who has let his heart overrule his head.

Then comes the epilogue just prior to departure and plans of marriage.

“Som, I came to Thailand to be with a woman like you and have sex. If your husband didn’t box you, if he didn’t drink, you would still be with him in Bangkok and I never would have met you. Som. I’m just the lucky one.”

Check mate!

As promised, here is the link to that original posting by JN on November 15, 2003, titled “Pattaya Diary”:

http://www.stickmanbangkok.com/reader/reader506.html


Stickman's thoughts:

Great stuff!