Thai Thoughts And Anecdotes Part 82
Way Ahead Of You Baby
"No matter how good she looks, some other guy is sick and tired of putting up with her
shit."–Men's Room, Linda's Bar and Grill; Chapel Hill, North Carolina
It's 2 a.m. and dark as pitch. No moon and no stars. July. Pizza oven hot all day and now cloying sweltering hot with a hot wind coming in the windows. Boom is naked. Her real name is Ratharawarin Pichaironnarongsongkhram but she whored under the name Boom. One of her legs is up on the dashboard with her foot scrunched under the windshield and her other foot is hanging out the window. It ain't about sex. It's too hot for sex. A woman's pussy needs air. We've been driving all day and driving hard down from Sangla Buri. It's her truck. A gift from me. She never maintained it. When I had the truck delivered to her I contracted to have a guy come by and pinstripe her name BOOM on the drivers side door. When he arrived she had him put her name BOOM on the passenger side door also. Well, she kinda missed the point but if you had downed a couple of beers it was kind of funny. She was an ex-prostitute and the doors said BOOM BOOM. Anyway, what the pinstriper should have painted on the drivers side door was CHANGE THE OIL and what he should have painted on the passenger side door was PUT WATER IN THE RADIATOR. But hey, that's white people talking. We're in Thailand. South of Bangkok I notice the dashboard instrument readings for oil pressure and for water. Nothing. Nadda. Zippo. Finit. Empty. I don't say anything. Just keep the pedal to the metal. Smashing south full of anger and heat I wonder if the cat Boom befriended in the 'P' Guesthouse parking lot in Sangkhla Buri will find another engine block to sleep on. Turning the key for ignition in the morning would sometimes be followed by startled cat noises and cat gymnastics under the hood. Looking out our windows either Boom or I would see the fast disappearing cat. Apparently coming back late at night from poking around the Thai countryside like tourists was a dream come true for the cat. He would wait for us to disappear inside and then crawl up under the hood and go to sleep on the warm engine block. Worried about him getting caught up in the fan belts when the engine started I had taken to pounding on the hood and yelling before getting in the truck. Local Thais and local children would stare at this farang behavior open mouthed. Sometimes the kids would run. One morning I came out to find Boom with the hood up. She was putting a blanket and crumpled up newspapers on top of the engine. "For the cat" she says. The wisdom or lack of wisdom of putting flammables on an engine block had not occcured to her. Why should it? It is Thailand. A funhouse of mirrors where nothing makes sense. Now I am idly wondering if there is still an engine baked blanket and toasted newspapers under the hood. I had asked her to remove the nest before we started the long trip but talking to ex-prostitutes is a little like talking to children. If you are not offering them sweets or money they tend to be poor listeners. Oh well. Fuck it.
I met Boom two years ago in a bar in Phuket. She was the highline girl. Top earner. Tall and leggy and beautiful. High firm breasts and some Japanese in the face. Dyed her hair blonde on the top. Japanese used to rip their pants pockets getting to their wallets. She didn't do anything for less than 10,000baht and a trip to Tokyo was a 100,000baht in her bank account before she got on the plane. First class all the way and there had to be a car and a driver waiting when she got there. The more she demanded, the more they paid. A couple of years earlier she had been selling minnows out of a rubber bucket in Phang Khon and now she thought she was in a James Bond movie. Favorite position was anal. You can't even dream a dream this big. I fell in love. I thought she did. She moved out of the bar and in with me. I gave her an allowance and paid all the expenses. She shook and trembled and cried in my arms, "I'll never have to be a bad women again–I've found love!" We set up in Jomtien. I moved us there to escape the Phuket Japs. Too much temptation. I sent her to school so that she could learn to read her own language. She studied hard. I was 54 years old and dreaming a dream that was too big.
In a two year relationship of the husband-wife variety there were some little bumps in the road. Some lies I caught her at. No biggee. All worked out. A man's gotta be reasonable. Then some bigger lies. Then some more lies I didn't call her on. Girls and women in Thailand are brought up on soap operas where everything is the man's fault and the woman is never understood and there is always lots of drama of the yelling and crying and sometimes violent variety. Women of Thailand think this is the way things should be. Boom is angry. She is angry because she knows that I know she has been misbehaving but I am just keeping quiet. That is not what she wants. She wants confrontation. She wants drama. She wants to be the center of her own little soap opera. She wants an excuse to throw things and yell and scream and threaten to kill herself and threaten to kill me and threaten to go back to the bars. She wants to have fun of the 25 year old Thai female variety. I'm 54. That train left the station a long time ago.
Plan B is already in place. I have rented a place at the Right Spot Hotel just beyond Soi 16 at the extreme end of Walking Street in South Pattaya. In a recent life of missteps and wrong decisions and negative vibes and the deadly emotional stew of self pity and anger and dreams of violence and revenge this is at least one decision of mine that was the right decision. The Right Spot Hotel is located so far down Walking Street that most farangs do not even get that far. Then it is located in a cul-de-sac at the end of a very narrow alley of no particular aspect. It is so well hidden that the moto-taxi guys at the corner of Walking Street and Beach road have to be given directions. It is so well hidden that when I have friends come to visit I have to stand out on Walking Street and flag down their hot wandering dispirited asses before they give up and turn around. Down on this extreme end of Walking Street is a little community of friendly people. The maids at the hotel are friendly. The night watchman is friendly. Even the birds are friendly–sometimes landing on me in the morning as I sit in the sun under the big tree out in front. The little bungalow style rooms are very unusual with a perfect mix of Thai architectural elements and modern features. The big bed is on a raised platform and the spa sized tubs are so big Uri and I can swim in them like seals. All in all a great place to hide. Quiet, private, affordable, and a good refuge from Boom and her mercurial roller coaster Thai-fueled juvenile tantrums. At a certain age a man realizes that he needs nourishment, not punishment. Ten days of hiding out here and soaking up the sun in the morning under the big tree should get my heart rate down and stop the twitching at night. If I have to travel further afield soi 16 joins up with 2nd road in a very unspectacular fashion used only by locals. If my paranoia exceeds this remote connection to highways and byeways I can always run the Phantom motorcycle south on Walking Street and then go out to the end of the new maritime park where there is an access road that climbs to the top of the cliff where the skyscraper condos are. This ain't Boom territory–I'm safe. If you are a fuckup at Plan A's in your life, you better at least be pretty damn good at Plan B's. The Right Spot Hotel sanctuary is a good Plan B. I'm moving in tomorrow while Boom is at her language classes.
We had gone to the 'P' guest house overlooking the Sangkhla Buri reservoir to try and put things back the way they were. At least that is what Boom told me. But I also knew because I had overheard her on the phone that she plans to move out and dump me. It's all an act and it's all a lie and I'm playing along. Nine months into our relationship the Phuket Japs found her. Or she contacted them. I'll never really know. The phone would ring and I would pick it up and someone would hangup. Or she would get a call on her cellphone and go into the bathroom to talk (in Japanese). Packages started arriving. I intercepted one and opened it. Inside was a stack of 1000baht notes and a letter in Japanese and a phone number. I had a friend hack her cell phone and her computer. Japanese numbers and names and correspondence. There was now a big black snake under the bed and it had Japanese eyes. She was irresistable to them and she couldn't say 'no' to temptation. They wanted the Caucasion hair and the Thai body and the Japanese face and the tight little rectum that made them feel like they had real penises. Sellers and Buyers. Unbeatable. Because she doesn't know that I know–she is using this last time of ours together to make amends and to leave a nice memory. In short, I am getting the fucking of my life. She is a big strong girl who thinks rape and love are both four letter words. Why quibble? The only bump in the road was mindlessly stupid indefensible behavoir of hers on the third day. We had signed up to take an elephant tour. She bounced out to the tour van wearing a short white 'fuck me' skirt and tube top. For an elephant tour. Three hours later the elephants come to a river. The bank is a sheer drop. The elephants have done this before but they are practically standing on their heads negotiating the steps on the way down. Up in the sedan chair Boom and I have gone vertical with our spread apart feet on the front rail and our backs arched over the back rail. The mahoot has his knees jammed behind the elephants ears and his body arched back. His head is lolling and then I see his neck snap to attention and his eyes nearly burst from his head. Once we reach the river I pull back Boom's skirt. No underpants. That's my Boom. Treating me to make-up sex and trying to leave a good impression while flashing shaved pussy at a local who could not afford her if he saved his stang coins for a hundred years; thus insulting and demeaning both of us.
Rolling down hill with the ocean in sight and the Welcome to Jomtien arch sign up ahead I withdraw my legs from the foot well and put my feet up on the dashboard. The firewall is so hot my feet feel as if they are going to catch on fire. Yellow flames licking like snakes tongues are crawling out from under the hood. Look from Boom–"My Pen Rai," I say. Farang-Thai on this hot lonely night for ‘go screw yourself honey.' Last night in the quiet dark night of the little cabin overlooking the lake she had told me that she wanted to go back to being a prostitute, especially servicing the Japanese. She still loves me but one little trip to Tokyo couldn't hurt. I can't even believe I'm hearing this shit. Well, I can believe I'm hearing it because I am living it–but no sane person would believe this stupid fucking insenstive crap. The room smelled like her sex and the mesquito coil and her perfumed hair and the incense stick she had gotten at the Three Pagoda Pass temple that afternoon. A single candle threw light and shadows on the varnished round stones that formed the floor and the walls. Smells and sights out of Asia that should have been markers of pleasure. Emotional tidal lines of exotic pleasure in a faraway land. I could see and I could smell but I could not feel pleasure. All I could feel was the knife in my heart. Why does God hate us so? Why does he do this to us? Why did he deliver these monsters to us? What is the cosmic point? Whose horrid black joke is this–to make us addicts to women and then taunt us with their strengths and our weaknesses? But this is not what I say. My mouth opens and I hear myself say, "Sure baby–no problem. I'll always support you. I love you. I love us!"–then I fell asleep dreaming about packing in Jomtien the next day.
I slide the truck in under the palms at the seawall and kill the engine. From one side to another and all around there are little flames licking under the hood. Kinda pretty on this dark night. We grab our stuff and head for the apartment. I know tonight she is going to fuck my brains out as a last good-bye. She thinks I don't know. . . . .
Way ahead of you, baby!
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