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Thai Thoughts And Anecdotes Part 56

  • Written by Dana
  • August 7th, 2004
  • 11 min read


Thai Thoughts And Anecdotes 56


THE GIRL-NEXT-DOOR

Every time I go to Thailand I see bars choked with men talking and drinking and laughing. No, not gay bars; regular bars. But wait a minute, how can you tell the difference? I don't know. Looks the same to me. Men travel long distances at some expense and risk and inconvenience to act like gays. Crammed into small spaces elbow to elbow pretending they are there to watch the cricket match or the soccer match on the television set. When I take time out of my busy day to point out to them that their behavior mimics gay behavior they get upset. Sometimes there is yelling. Next comes the finger pointing, followed by the ever popular pushing and shoving. Experience has taught me that if there is a bald guy with tattoos and the eyes of a beagle–he'll be the first to want to beat me up. I hate to tell you this Mr. Football Fan but beating me up is just more man to man touching. Don't believe me dear reader? OK, try this experiment. Walk into any bar stuffed with farangs and jump up on the bar and call everyone a homo. I guarantee the bald, tattooed guys will get the most excited. This works particularly well in bars full of Irish and English and Germans. Let me know how this works for you! But I digress. . .

So, since I am mostly cerebral; I have spent some time trying to figure out why these pathetic leaders of tomorrow come to the Kingdom in the first place. OK, all of these guys crammed into these bars elbow to elbow with their super interesting stories about sausages and sports and beer are not gays. But what are they? You rarely see these guys with women. You rarely see these chatting women up. Every night you can watch these guys go to the Nana Hotel Angels Disco and come out thirty minutes later empty handed. Empty handed? What are you going to tell me? That they went into the disco to listen to the music and to dance? Naw, you are not going to tell me that. OK, are you going to tell me there were no attractive available women in the disco? Naw, you are not going to tell me that either. I once sat in one of the big chairs in the lobby of the Nana Hotel between 12:30-1:30 AM and heard a group of four New York / New Jersey accented guys in their dress shoes and their pressed black jeans and black T-shirts complain ad nauseum that there were no attractive women around. Meanwhile some of the most beautiful and most sexually interested women in the world were streaming through the lobby coming and going to the Angels Disco, the parking lot was full of freelancers, and the street in front of the hotel was a sexual flea market. No attractive women around?!? Excuse me! Earth to guys! Time to turn in your penises or get an express taxi to Boyztown in Pattaya. Well, I think I figured this behavior out. To wit:

The reason these little sexual wanderers are empty handed is because the pouty
lipped, small waisted, high cheekboned, dark skinned darlings with black hair and pearl smiles are not really what they are looking for. What they are looking for is the Girl-Next-Door. That's right. The Girl-Next-Door from Oslo or Jeddah or Hamburg, or Honolulu or Haifah or Akron or Auckland or Tampa or Manchester or Dundee who never noticed them when they were 12, or 13, or 14, or 15. The girl they had a crush on. The girl they never got over. Their dream girl. The girl they imagined talking to while ‘doing homework', or the girl they imagined walking with going to and from school. The girl who never noticed them–no never, not once! The girl who never cared. The girl they were too nervous to speak to. The girl that they were not equipped to chase or to charm. The girl they never got over. The next door man / boy crush from the past that is still their big dream. Having sex (dates) with exotic women in foreign lands isn't their big dream. That's just the lie that they told at the office or the mill or the mine or the plant. The lie they told themselves. A lie so cunningly crafted and told so many times that they even believe it. Yessiree, they are going to go wild having sex with foreign women in a foreign land. But now that it is crunch time; now that they are sweating in the Big Mango, they can't do it. They are still the same Junior High School and High School losers who can't talk to women, can't charm women, can't make women laugh, can't get within three feet of women without getting nervous. They just can't do it. They can't have happy sex just for fun. Animals with brains the size of peas can do it–but they can't. And the reason is because they are in the wrong place and the Thai women are the wrong women. What they want to do is meet the girl from next door. The girl from their hometown who would never give them the time of day when they were young. So they stand around and they sit around and they walk around waiting for the girl from next door, the girl from the past to walk up to them and say "Hi". Well, it isn't going to happen! She ain't here and she ain't coming. You might as well go home.

On my last trip to Thailand I made a late night trip out to the Nana parking lot. I was too wired to sleep and too tired for sex. Leaning on the parking lot sign I looked up and across the street standing on the curb was one of the most beautiful and sexually arresting women I have ever seen. And that is saying something!! She had hair down to the backs of her knees, an extremely small blue plastic mini dress that left nothing to the imagination, and the kind of figure that you would see in a Japanese comic book. Her face was so beautiful and high class she looked out of place. Out of context. Too high class for the Nana neighborhood. I assumed she must be waiting for a limo or a rich Japanese or Malaysian or Korean or Thai businessman. To get a closer look, I crossed the street, walked by her, smiled at her; and then went into the Angel Witch bar to watch some shows. In the Angel Witch, watching farmer's daughters putting on lame shows; I temporarily forgot about her. An hour later, I left the Angel Witch bar and started to walk back to my hotel. And as I was about to step off the curb of soi 4 I was STUNNED to see that she was still standing on the curb. I couldn't believe it. In the last hour not one of these big talking rough tough Kiwi or Aussie or English or American or German or Danish manly men had picked her up. Not one man had walked up to her and said "Hi". Everyman looked at her but not one man walked up to her and said "Hello". So I walked over. She towered above me. She was a big girl with a big body made up of big parts and the dress was so small it looked as if someone threw a postage stamp at a Christmas tree. Jesus Mary and Joseph what a load of sex. If this is other men's ideas of leftovers, please let this dog under the table so that I can feed on scraps. No wonder women have such contempt for men. This woman was the living incarnation of every man's sex dream and not one little weak willed fool had had the balls to pick her up. Her name was Gee. She was smart and professional. In the hotel room she delivered the goods, had fun modeling my clothes, and let me wash her all over in the shower. I can now honestly say that I have had intimate relations with one of the most beautiful women in the world. At least I know why I am in Thailand.

Apparently, when confronted with a real woman offering real sex right now these little mother's sons from Liverpool, and New York, and Tokyo, and Montreal are intimidated. Their doubts exceed their needs and they just walk on by–maybe there will something less intimidating in the Rainbow bar or at Soi Cowboy or over at Gulliver's. Maybe they'll meet the Girl-Next-Door in the next bar or tomorrow. I'd be interested to know how many men never had relations with anyone at all on their big-time sex vacation in Thailand. Maybe that should be part of the exit interview at Immigration at the airport as you are leaving. You have to stand up in public on a box while an Immigration official dips your penis in a beaker full of litmus testing fluid. If your penis can't turn the pink fluid blue than that means that you didn't bonk once on vacation. Your passport is then stamped ‘Stupid' and you are prohibited from re-entering the country. I think I'd endorse this idea. In fact, to kick off this new social filter; I'll be the first one to whip out my wanger in public and do the test.

So that's it. That is the reason you see so many men lurching around the sex tourist parts of Thailand alone and lonely. They are not really sex tourists in the first place. They are love tourists. Men still not fully developed in terms of affection. Affection they were supposed to receive as young developing boys. The Girl-Next-Door never looked their way once when they were in school. And they aren't good for much until they get that part of their lives completed. The sex scene of Thailand is too much and too fast for these lonely guys. They still haven't got the smile and the laugh and the hand holding and maybe a kiss from the Girl-Next-Door in San Francisco or Minsk or Paris or Edmonton or Singapore. Like wandering asteroids they are always out of place and out of time. Always in an alien neighborhood–always far from home. I once saw a young, good looking sad sack wandering around the lower Sukhumvit road part of Bangkok. I would have killed to have had his face and his body and his youth and his health instead of being constantly handicapped by my own self. But he was always alone–broadcasting his needs and his dreams but just completely incapable of walking up to a woman and saying "Hi". A week later I was walking down soi 13 in South Pattaya and I saw him again sitting on the steps of my hotel. Now he was in a different city. Maybe he would meet the Girl-Next-Door in the new city. A part of me wanted to talk to him–to help him; but it is hopeless. He is in the wrong city and Thai girls are the wrong women. He needs to go home. Home to Gdansk or Vancouver or Madras or Osaka or Naples and join a singles club. There he will finally meet the Girl-Next-Door from his past. She will be divorced now with two children. She'll be overweight and starting to walk as if she has a hump on her back. However, she'll be a lively talker. There'll be the story about how she was runner up Prom Queen in High School. Actually, fourth in a field of seven; but her face still flushes with the retelling. And there'll be the other gripping narrative about how she was once so petite she had to buy her underwear in the girl's section in the department store. But she will be at the singles meeting because she is still a player in life. She will admire his big meaty hands with the black hairs on the back, and she will like his leased Jaguar automobile, and she will think him an exciting world traveller when he talks about Thailand. She will think that his shyness and sexual ineptness is a sign that he is different than other men. Something new. He will finally get his chance. I wish him luck. I wish them both luck. The pinata of life spills its gifts randomly. Some men receive so much. Other men receive so little. But any guy who is just looking for love should get his chance.

Stickman's thoughts:

Like I've been saying for years, many guys mistake their search for love to be a pursuit of sex.