Stickman Readers' Submissions February 24th, 2005

The Most Beautiful Girl I Ever Met #4

So there I was flying back to my ‘beloved disgusting’ Farangland thinking about the most beautiful girl I had ever met, my new ‘absolutely gorgeous’ girlfriend, who turns out, as it happens, to be a prostitute. A “filthy,
disgusting, nasty” prostitute! A woman of endless lies and absolute infidelity who would fabricate the truth without fail every time. The thought would have been inconceivable just six months prior, but all of a sudden, it had become a
reality, and an undisputable reality that was part of my holiday experience, and now, an unmistakable part of my life. Had I unwittingly become another one of those ‘contemptible Sex Tourists’? Was I all of a sudden one of those
‘despicable lonely men’ who travel half-way round the World looking for cheap Third World sex?

Well, this particular prostitute had touched me like no other woman ever had, she had taken my emotions and fantasies to heights that I had never imagined possible. How could it be that this could happen with a prostitute? Of all the women
of the World, how could it ever be possible with a ‘filthy, disgusting, nasty’ prostitute? The dilemmas of my predicament were overwhelming my brain to the extremes. Extremes that I had never experienced before. Extremes that I had
never imagined possible. The experience had violated the boundaries of knowledge and understanding of the opposite sex like never before. It had activated parts of my brain that I had never thought possible. Ridiculous as it may sound, this is
how it felt.

He Clinic Bangkok

The innocence of her face, the sadness in her eyes, the beauty of her physical presence against the cunning strength of her deceitful mind were completely perplexing to me, but extremely fascinating at the same time. This girl had upturned
parts of my inner-strength and had literally transformed them into acute points weakness in just a matter of days. She had completely overturned all of the prejudices and preconceptions that I ever had of the ‘evil’ world of prostitution
into something that I barely understood, into something completely alien but captivating at the same time. All of a sudden, prostitution had strangely become part of the equation.

There had been no discussion of any transaction, no prior agreement as to what service should be provided at what cost. No discussion of the sort. No formal agreement, no contract and nothing signed. So indeed, how could it be prostitution?
How could I have become another ‘contemptible Sex Tourist’ when there was no transaction, when there was no agreement on the service to be given, nor of the cost of such a service?. Was it Sex for Money? Was it Love for Money? Was
it the Girlfriend Experience in exchange for cash? What was it exactly? Was it all just an amazing dream? Had I simply been dreaming about the sexiest woman of my wettest dreams like all men do? Was it really prostitution? I mean, where do we
draw the line? Who decides when Girlfriend friend experience becomes ‘man gives woman cash for sex’? Can we leave such questions to people like Gecko?

Here we have this seemingly innocent and shy farm girl that had become well and truly mixed up in the ‘tireless, victimless and indiscriminate’ business of the flesh trade. This Angel at my side that had expressed such sweetness
and bashfulness was actually nothing of the sort, she was shrewdly going through my mind seeking points of weakness and exploiting them in any way she could. And, on many an occasion, I had succumbed to her whims and desires. Incredible as it
may seem, I had temporarily lost control of my senses and had succumbed to the powers of the opposite sex in ways that I had never known before.

CBD bangkok

She had made me question any notion I had of the expression of shyness, at the same time she had began to overturn some of the basic fundamental ideas that I had been brought up to believe about so many issues. She had submerged me into a
deep psychological plethora of confusion of emotions that I had never experienced before. How could it be that I was already onto this journey of emotional and sexual fantasy when, at the same time, I knew at the back of my mind, it was doomed
to fail? How could it be that I was already cruising down this highway of desire and love knowing full well that there could be no future in it? Knowing that the tall bridge just a few kilometers ahead was still unfinished, and that in just a
few minutes I would be driving my car filled to the brim with emotions of love and desire over the edge and fall into the abyss that would only leave me penniless and still craving for more, and slowly dying of HIV / AIDS.

There she was, totally alone, in the middle of this sprawling metropolis. The only person in that whole city who ever meant anything to her being her sister. All her ‘friends’, that I had met to date, had meant nothing to her.
Absolutely nothing. They were just other desperately lonely people working in the flesh-trade to make ends meet, looking to make money anyway they could, and by any means possible. That’s to say, from all our conversations, I had already
concluded that she didn’t have any real friends at all in the whole metropolis, I mean, what kind of friend would borrow money and then not call her again? What kind of friend would say that she would help her when in need and not turn
up? All her friends had, in one way or another, used her to get money.

Then there was the Chinese landlady who owned the hostel where she lived gossiping day and night about her activities. And the people on her Soi. They all knew how she lived, they all knew what she did and when she was doing it. Even the motorbike taxi
guys were in on it. They would sit there on their bikes with eyes full of desire and lust, hoping, wishing that one day they might be lucky enough to taste the forbidden fruit walking by my side. Everyone on her soi gossiped day and night about
her. But given her extreme instinct for survival, her ceaseless determination at maintaining her status, and her powerful gift in picking up and luring freewheeling farangs to her bed, she had become so hardened that they all meant nothing to
her. Me included! She walked up and down her Soi with her chin sky high and with no regret whatsoever. Determined to survive, determined to succeed, she cruised up and down her soi with her head in the air of confidence and knowing.

So there I was on my miserable return flight to Farangland, thinking how the hell am I going to overcome these feelings of love and desire, these feelings of regret and absence. I was left in this confusing cloud of irrationality and fatigue,
of sadness and longing. All that night, all the way to my ‘beloved disgusting’ Farangland, I was consumed by the memories of her sounds, memories of her movements and memories of her presence. My brain just wouldn’t give me
peace of mind, it insisted on providing with reveries of her squealing and wailing, of her riding me into an endless black hole of longing and craving, of pleasure and joy.

So had I really expected fidelity on her part in the beginning? Well, maybe during the first few weeks. I might have had some misguided thoughts after getting back that if I were to support her, she would ‘somehow’ be faithful
to me, but it was plain to see what she did for a living at the outset. So, even though she kept insisting “I good girl for you”, “I only go dancing”, “I love you, only you”, it really didn’t feel
anything like monogamy from the beginning. In fact, the more she lied, the more I played with the game of love, deceit and illusion. Notwithstanding the fact that I was still “hoping” that she might still see some good in me and
fall for me. I guess at the time there was a real prospect that she could cling onto me for at least something, for money, for support, for affection, for whatever, it didn’t make any difference.

wonderland clinic

But I hadn’t even offered to sponsor her. It had never crossed my mind to offer anything of the sort. I think it must have been alien to me at the time and the thought of sending money just put me off completely. Having said that,
I had already ‘unwittingly’ been her sponsor for 6 weeks and maybe I was denying it to myself that this was the case. Nevertheless, I still didn’t want to continue down that path, I mean, where would it all end? And having
visited her home and seen, touched and felt their poverty, how could I possibly sustain all her family? Besides having sent her baht every week during my absence there had been no change on her part whatsoever. I’m sure she had been under
much less pressure to “go with farang” but still, now I knew that if I were to send her money, that I would have to send it without conditions. Without any conditions whatsoever, and that was the question I continued to ask myself.
Could I support her without putting down conditions? Could I support her unconditionally? Could I love her unconditionally, knowing that she would be sleeping around with other ‘farang’. For money or not, it was completely irrelevant.
The question was whether I could give her all, and not expect anything in return.

And this is the basic fundamental mistake that I believe we newbies all do in Thailand. Our concepts of faithfulness, and of loyalty simply do not apply in this strange land. Having said that, there are exceptions, every time, to any generalization.
But basically, this is where I had failed miserably. Expecting her to be something that she wasn’t. Something that she had probably never known, something foreign to her. She was a prostitute, so what the hell was I thinking?

I really wanted to believe that maybe there was something there. That in fact, she actually did feel something for me, however small it may have been. I knew she at least liked me. Was that enough for me? Just being liked? At the time I couldn’t
have cared less about her impatience, her abusive behaviour and her relentless demands, all I could think about was being in her company one more time, ‘making love’ to her one more time, all I wanted was to go back and be with her
again, one more time. Just one more time…

Stickman's thoughts:

Some people really get sucked in…

nana plaza