Thai Thoughts And Anecdotes Part 88
I drop off the baht bus one block before the left hand turn in front of Walking Street in South Pattaya and cross the street. It is 4p.m. and I am headed for my favorite open air bar. Usually I don't have good luck with open air bars in Pattaya. Actually, in the last 5 years due to changes in the Thai nightlife scene (that's my excuse) I haven't had that much luck with most farang traditional nightlife venues but I sift a lot of sand to make up for it. Better lucky than good and through no credit to myself I have stumbled on an afternoon open air bar that has been good to me. I am now going to go see what the afternoon offers. I step off the curb and go down the steps and sit at the bar. Ten minutes later (I shit you not) I am laying 200 baht down and barfining Uri from Udon. Plain face, about 41 years old ("I no bullshit–I tell truth"), cantaloupe breasts that look like advertisements for an 18 year old, and a winning smile. Next I have to get us to the AA hotel on Soi 13 and stumble through the relationship part of the experience. Now the hard part starts.
But first I digress. . .
You know why a guy doesn't mind holding his wife's purse when they are shopping at the Royal Gardens Plaza mall? Cause that's where his nuts are! His balls are in her purse. She moved slow and quiet. He never saw it coming. First she laughed at his farang stories. Then she tested him by telling stories about her sisters in Udon and her mother with the bad leg. After that she let him get a little. Setting the hook. Then she did some flanking. Showed him pictures of her cats. They are named Fluffy and Muffy and Puffy. Asked him if he liked the butterflies exhibit in Chiang Mai. He heard himself say he "loves Thai butterflies!" That night she agreed to get in the shower with him. His friends (who aren't his friends anymore) once actually heard him say: "Yes honey–I agree that Tata Young is an underated Thai National Treasure". Start sharpening the knives. Another farang is about to be filleted. Then there was the trip to mom's house–"Gee Mrs. Fuckwad, I can see where your daughter gets her beauty!" In the kitchen the ex-mamasan mother tells the daughter to kill the gai. They are married in a month. On their honeymoon she gives him a cellphone so that "We can talk all the time!" Money runs through his fingers faster than prunes through an old lady. Dead Man Walking. When she cut his balls off with a bamboo spoon he didn't even feel it. By then there had been about 200 cellphone calls. Two hundred times the cellphone straw had been shoved in his brain and sucked out his manhood. Now he carries the purse. The purse with his balls!
So here is my question. Is God a Feminazi? I mean there are animals that have both the male and the female genitalia. It's a complete package. . . . No need to mess around with others. Everything is right there. Fast. Fun. Easy. Abundant precedent. I don't need Na and Noi and Num and Nip and Non to tell me that kittens are cute and butterflys are gentle. I'd rather tour an axe factory and then shoot guns at frogs. Man stuff. So why didn't God just give men everything they need? Why don't we have dicks AND pussys? I'll tell you why–because God is a Femi-nazi. The whole male-female thing was set up just to give men the most misery that an organism can absorb. The whole male-female invention was based on hate. Femi-nazis hate men. No one would have created the world we have today where men are forced to carry purses in malls and agree that they like sisters and mothers except someone who hated men more than the Devil hates good. God is a Femi-nazi. Another good reason for not going to church. Men going into Church to worship God has to have the Femi-nazi in heaven laughing like a hyena.
Think of this: I am once again on the cusp of the future; come with me as we explore a brave new world. With both male and female genitalia if someone told you to "Go fuck yourself" you could take it as a good thing:
Anybody: "Hey Dana–Go Fuck Yourself."
Dana: "Thank-you very much sir–don't mind if I do–take my calls, I'll be gone for about twenty minutes".
More Fabulous Examples:
1. Checkbin Controversy at the Hollywood Strip Bar:
Dana: I ain't paying this bogus bill.
Mamasan: Go fuck yourself.
Dana: Don't mind if I do. How much barfine do I have to pay myself? Wait a minute, I just remembered; I don't have to pay any barfine to myself.
Mamasan: Go fuckee yourself.
Dana: No ploblum thunder thighs.
2. Dana at the Registration Counter at the Chiang Mai Hotel in Chiang Mai
Hotel Clerk: Sir, you pay 325 baht 'guest fee' if you bring girl to room.
Dana: I won't be paying any 325 baht 'guest fee'.
Hotel Clerk: Why is that kind sir? You hansum man!
Dana: I'll be fucking myself.
I think scientists should stop wasting time and resources and taxpayers money on silly stuff like stem cell research and cloning and documenting the gnome and get to work on something important like me having a dick AND a pussy.
Think of it brave readers: you would be seducing yourself. I'll bet you won't be getting a headache either–you'll be getting to the main event and fast. You'll be taking yourself out to dinner and not having to spend as much. The only one talking will be you so the conversations won't have those awkward pauses as you try to puzzle out what the fuck she is talking about. Cellphones? No problem–the only cellphone is yours and it is OFF. STD's and Aids; forget about it–you are fucking yourself. Kiss the condoms goodbye. Mood swings, visits to stupid boring family members, wearing identical cute little outfits, pretending to listen when her lips are moving, wracking your brain trying to buy her another stupid gift, asking her opinion about things ‘cause your supposed to, opening the door to your home and actually allowing her fat water buffalo mother to come in, worrying about her happiness in bed, etc: ALL THINGS OF THE PAST. Kiss all the crap goodbye. You're fucking yourself now and talking to yourself now and buying things for yourself now, and only worried about making yourself happy in the bed now. Welcome to mens' reward for the last 10,000 years of mindless crap and drivel where our sexual needs were dependent on another uncaring unresponsive brain dead carbon based life form. We paid our dues guys. For hundreds of generations. Well, TIME'S UP. Big fucking time. Time is up. As soon as the scientists get this whole 'male and female genitalia in one package for men' thing figured out women can make love to women and talk to women on their cellphones which is all they really wanted to do in the first place; and men can happily fuck themselves. God, I just hope I live long enough to see it. And if some woman wants my semen to fulfill her destiny and have HER baby she can fucking well pay for it. I want $100,000 per drop and I'll ship it to you. I don't even want to see you. And no I don't want to know about the issue of my seed; my son or my daughter–more emotional extortion to get me to go to the chicken plucking plant for forty goddamned soul destroying years to pay for it. Sign for the package Noi, impregnate yourself, and never contact my again. You see–all I wanted from you was the money. I never cared about you at all. I just wanted the money. How does that feel?
OK, digression over–back to Uri from Udon.
So the 20 minute walk to the AA Hotel with Uri from Udon is a twenty minute relationship I can not possibly benefit from. It's an unequal battle–men against the Femi-nazi in heaven and every minute spent in the company of a woman is risk. That is why I don't like to have the hotel room more than 200 feet from the point of contact. Hello, How Much, and Get Naked. No room in that relationship for dignity robbing talk about hopes and dreams and high school boyfriends and children and kitty pictures and . . . excuse me–gotta go the bathroom and puke. . . !
OK, back now. Anyway, on this hot night in South Pattaya I am gauging the long walk up the Beach Road to the AA Hotel with Uri. It's against the traffic so there are no baht buses to jump on for quick delivery. I'm going to have to spend time with a woman and pretend I'm interested. I've done this numerous times and it is a lose-lose situation. If we go up the sidewalk it is painfully slow because the vendor tables block the sidewalk and you end up doing the farang death march as you and your teeruk single file up the sidewalk. She's ahead and you are behind and then you are ahead and she is behind and then sometimes you are holding hands in the rare interval where two human beings can actually walk side by side–and all the while you are chattering like a magpie trying to keep the social balloon inflated until you get to the hotel. Exhausting. If you cross over and make the distance up to Soi 13 on the beach boulevard side of Beach road it seems easier at first but all the way up you have to dodge tourists and trannies and freelancers and locals and construction debris. Plus you have to factor in dangerous highway crossings. Heads you Lose–Tails you Lose.
That is why I always try to stick to the 200 Foot Rule if possible. Dana's FIRST RULE FOR SEX TOURIST ENGAGEMENT: No contact made more than 200 feet from the front door of the hotel. Eliminates phoney baloney relationship building and maintainance. You can walk 200 feet with someone and not say a thing and they think you are just shy. And believe me they are probably not going to say much either. They don't give a fuck about you. That is why I love the Nana hotel in Bangkok so much. From the top floor of the Nana Entertainment Plaza to the front door of the Nana is within the 200 foot rule. Hell, you don't even have to leave the hotel. Or the carpark. Another find was the AA Hotel on Soi 13 in South Pattaya. At 7 a.m. in the morning the knee tremblers start lining up opposite the hotel on the boulevard. Well within the 200 foot rule. I have picked up a woman, walked to the hotel, taken her up to the room, fallen in love, and then given her taxi money at the door and never said one word. Now that's what I call a relationship. Another geographical wonder is the Diamond Hotel in South Pattaya at the end of the alley called Soi Diamond on Walking Street. All you have to do is stand with one hand on the door handle and hold your wallet up. Girls from the bars run over. Honk if you love meaningful relationships. . . !
I'm always amazed to see guys putting girls in taxis. At night you can see guys in Washington Square or Soi Cowboy or in front of the Nana Entertainment Plaza on Soi 4 putting whores in taxis. Obviously these guys have to transport to where they are staying. Big mistake. In the taxi she will talk to the driver for the 20 minutes to an HOUR that it takes to go a couple of miles across town and you will hear him use the word FARANG ten times. In the bar doing the pickup you actually temporarily believed your alcohol fueled lies about how you are handsome and clever and worth knowing. By the end of the cab ride you'll be lucky if you can get it up. In the beginning when I was green I used to get involved in these whore transportation issues. No more. I don't care now if she is humping my leg in the bar like a terrier on yaba; if we are more than 200 feet from the hotel she ain't a part of my life. You gotta have rules.
But on this night with Uri of Udon none of this is an issue because from the bar at the beginning of Walking Street to the moment I put the key in the lock at the AA Hotel she does not stop talking. Hook cables up to her mouth and you could power 100 vibrators. Just thinking. Anyway, she talks ("I am a one man woman–I will be your only woman."), and laughs ("I'm so happy to be with you."), and charms ("You hansum man–I no like Thai man."), and tells stories (has a son–spent 5 years in Singapore as a maid) continually. I am a salesman by trade and it occurs to me by the time we reach Swenson's Ice Cream that she is selling me. Softly and charitably it occurs to me that this selling is the over-the-top desperation of a prostitute who is forty-one and has a plain face. You could throw a rock in a crowd in Pattaya and hit something younger and prettier than her. And she knows it. My heart softens.
Well, an hour and a half later I am a whipped smiling puppy! On the way to the hotel she had been a gattling gun of charm and winning talk and clever bargirl mannerisms. She trots out ever bargirl smile and cliche and trick. I am not some sailor boy that just stumbled out of a landing craft during military exercises. But she is selling and I am buying and I appreciate her attempt to do business. I imagine she is overselling because she realizes that she is not 18 anymore and she is up against a lot of competition. Later I learn that the other reason she was starting the selling early was because she knew something that I did not know. She knew that she was going to say NO in the hotel room to some things. But every NO would be annulled by a YES regarding something else and delivered with enthusiasm. The selling of Compromise by the experienced hustler. Sometimes it works with farang, often it doesn't. On the 20 minute trip to the AA Hotel she is hoping compromise will work with me. She knows I have a pocket full of money and she knows I would like to spend some of it on smiling women. She is hoping one of those similers will be her. But her game is compromise. She is taking a risk. She is nervous. I am oblivious.
Up on the bed the first NO is to sex without a condom. Normally, this is a non-compute for me and I help them dress and leave. But she has so convincingly sold me on the trip to the hotel that I put on one of the stupid things and press ahead. Well what she delivered as a YES compromise was missionary style sex of athleticism and stamina and enthusiasm that was memorable. Towards the end, up on straight arms and locked elbows; I asked her to punch me in the face and she didn't even hesitate. She is no boxer but if this all the farang wants–if he'll accept this as a compromise replacement for wanting to fuck without a condom; she's a ready teddy. With the muscles in her body from her dug in heels to her hamstrings bars of leveraging steel she arches her back up off the bed and starts a rain of blows that temporarily staggers me. Punching me with her right hand and slapping me with her left hand and punching and slapping and punching and punching and punching and slapping and spitting and groaning. I snap my head back to escape a head butt and then she goes into a frenzy of slapping and punching until finally she can't hold her arms up anymore. A trickle of blood is dropping out of my nose onto her neck and the ensuing orgasm feels like my intestines are coming out of my penis. And to think it all started with a NO and a compromise. She has a plain face and a forty one year old body and she knows she has to work for the money. God bless pros. You can have the newbies from Essan–I'll take the experienced older woman anxious to please!
Now to the shower and I get a NO to the ‘hide the soap' game but a YES compromise to everything else I can think of. And I am talking stamina. She ain't looking at her watch. Whatever the farang wants and for as long as he wants. I have some experience with indifferent inexperienced shower games with bored bargirls–this was not that experience. Made up for years of disappointments in the shower. Forgot about the NO.
Now out of the shower I am feeling frisky but I get a NO to oral sex–she sees my disappointment and offers up anal sex as a YES compromise. "Uri, I accept your compromise!!" And so it went. A delightful experienced professional with enough brains and enough business sense to know that a NO has to be followed up by a YES. The selling of Compromise. And as a part of the compromise package she delivered kisses and kissing from start to finish that you simply can not find in Thailand. Good Thai girls–Bad Thai girls; it's all the same. Don't want to kiss you on the mouth. A thousand year history of sexual liberty in their society and none of these numbskulls has discovered kissing. (I figure when the Thais discover kissing they'll also discover toilet paper and napkins in the same place). So the farang is always disappointed. Here comes Uri. "You mean the farangs like kissing? And I don't have to worry about being butt fucked or wrestling over condom issues? OK, no ploblum." Uri was the best, the sexiest, the most aggressive and enthusiastic and skilled kisser I have ever come in contact with. All part of delivering the compromise package. She wouldn't do oral sex but her kissing would make me forget the NO.
Uri and I have been spending time together now for years. I know the limits and I know the game and I always have a wonderful time with someone I respect. In all of that time and intimacy and built trust over the years none of the NO's have become YES's, but something is always delivered up as a compromise. It's called smart business.
Sometimes Compromise Can Be A Good Thing.
Uri? She sounds Russian, not Thai.