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Thai Thoughts And Anecdotes Part 93

  • Written by Dana
  • July 23rd, 2005
  • 12 min read


Take Me To Your Leader

It's been a great vacation–at 13,000 miles per hour and 60,000 feet you can cover some ground: Rio–Cuba–Cambodia–Angeles City–Vietnam–Dominican Republic–South Miami Beach–Tokyo–Recife–Amsterdam–Kuala Lumpur–Bali–Indonesia: and now Pattaya just over the curve of the earth. Consorting with the women of the world is not only about sex and love; it is my right and obligation as the most superior man in the world. Millions of women fax and email and snail mail and eye mail me requesting my attention and my seed and my strong western arms. At headquarters in the poolside garden condos on the grounds of the Marriot hotel in Pattaya my staff enter incoming data and collate and file and schedule. Once a week I have my ground crew at the A.A. Hotel go over the plane and then I head out to spread more Dana vibes. Hang on girls. I'm doing my best. Dana's coming.

It's been a great three months in the skies and the pussys of the world but I am starting to fade. I'm in need of nourishment, not punishment; so this horse is now headed for the Pattaya barn. I'm anxious to leave testosterone adventures behind and zero in on the latitude and the longitude of Swenson's Ice Cream on Beach Road in South Pattaya. Even though I know all twelve digits of the latitude and longitude coordinates by heart and could direct the plane just by thinking of the destination; I am tired from three months on the love road and distrust my mind. So I manually punch in the nav request and wait for computer chips to do what my own cerebral mainframe computer could normally have done on its own. My mind is so tired. So so tired. I want to go home. Home to Pattaya. When the numbers glow up on the nav screen it is a thrill. Visual confirmation of my state of mind. A mind so tired all it can think of is home. Briefly the two rows of green numbers look like little palm trees. Then a mind-body cockpit Klaxon alarm sounds warning me that I am losing concentration. The plane is looking after me. Like a tired bargirl making a promise to a farang–I mentally pledge to regroup; but first I steal one more look at the latitude and longitude symbols. They are the candle in the window on a dark night and the smile at the door to a weary traveler. I am going home. Home to Pattaya.

Amsterdam was a bore and Cuba was too desperate. South Miami was a kick but better for looking than hooking up. If you don't speak conversational Spanish you are wasting your time. Vietnam had breathlessly beautiful creatures but you had to sneak around like a criminal and the women were too greedy. Tokyo could be great but only if you were Japanese–the culture is just too inclusive. The woman of the Dominican Republic were ready teddies and hot. Enthusiastic fuckers. I'll be going back. But the two best places on the planet outside of Thailand for me were Recife and Rio in Brazil. More on that later. Malaysia sounds scary because of the Muslim influence but you are only going to go to Kuala Lumpur to the 6000 girl whorehouse. Wonderful. Beauty and exotica and friendly smiles and diversity and sheer numbers beyond anything else in the world. This has to be one of the best kept secrets in the world. I'll be returning time and again. But I won't stray more than two streets over unless I have a Koran surgically attached to my forehead. Too dangerous. Similar to the creepy feeling you get now on the bus trip to Angeles City in the Philippines. You might as well have a target painted on you for any unemployed undereducated Muslim punk who hasn't actually read the Koran but thinks you should die for it. Bali and Indonesia were simply wonderful. Lovely chilled out creatures without the mercenary behavior of the now westernized Thais. I'll be returning time and again.

If Bali and Indonesia had more infrastructure they would be in the running with Recife and Rio. Recife and Rio are must returns. Recife is a social urban clusterfuck of vice and chaos and danger and sex. I loved it. Rio on the other hand was just the opposite. Tremendous infrastructure and efficiency and simply astonishing sexual creatures. Beautiful big buxom strong aggressive voluptuous creatures that could rip your jugular vein out of your neck and convince you it was great sex.

But that is all part of the recent vacation past for now. I am now headed for Pattaya. The end of my vacation and my final sexual wind down will be in a familiar place of no particular aspect but many pleasant memories. I pull the yoke back and climb from 38,000 feet to 80,000 feet. There in the weightless wonder of the edge of space I shut the engine down. In the cramped cockpit of a machine that can almost read my thoughts there is time for reflection. In Pattaya I am going to visit with Gary and Oi. Oi was a Patong highliner who has fallen in love. Half Thai and half Japanese and 100% smouldering. Reminds me of Brazil. The confidence of a sexual predator. Japanese face, short Japanese arms, and Thai body. Heartstopping. I hope Gary and Oi invite me to their apartment for coffee. There I will pretend not to look at Oi and she will play with me like a cat plays with a mouse. Gary will know and observe the sexual drama but he is ok with it. Part of the accommodation he has had to learn to share his life with a force field of sexuality greater than his own. The Pattaya experience.

Then I'll visit with David and his long time companion. A solid stable intelligent easy woman that makes you think that marriage might be a good idea. I hope they invite me to their place in Jomtien. I would like to just be a part of a successful pairing. A farang and a Thai woman without issues or dramas. Two birds on a branch. Hip to hip and song to song.

Then it is on to parts of my past. I'll be hooking up with Fa and Uri and Tum and I can't wait. I am just unreservedly excited about meeting them again. Long time hookups. Easy times. Wonderful sex. I have made up T-shirts of these three honeys with photos of their smiling faces laminated on the shirts. An old gift trick that never fails to amaze and please. A man with a gift and an erection. A woman with the need to feel special. A timeless equation.

And then of course there will be just the looking–one of the most pleasant parts of the Pattaya experience. I am not talking about the looking that goes on in the Gogo bars but the daytime observing. Thai women going about the business of their lives. Shopping or traveling or talking to their friends. Dark skinned women with noodle thin arms and small waists and flat tight stomachs and wide cheek bones coming down the escalators in the Royal Garden Plaza. Women of such exotic aspect and sexual power that you are brought to a metabolic halt as they go by. I am 55 years old. For 40 years I identified myself to others and internally as an atheist. Then I came to Thailand. I am not an atheist. I worship women. They are my god. The women of Asia. The women of Pattaya. Pattaya is my church and I don't have to be dragged there to worship. Worshiping in the church of Pattaya has changed my life–changed me. I now have something to believe in. Something to look forward to. Something to give my life meaning.

A Klaxon warning in the cockpit nearly gives me a stroke and snaps me out of my reverie–the gauges show the exterior surfaces are heating up as we drop like a rock into atmospheric soup and the ground is rising up to meet me. I start flicking switches and the cold fusion plant causes the engine to explode and bark and roar like a night time African lion only inches from the tent wall. Terrifying. The capillaries in the backs of my eyes nearly burst from the acceleration as we go from zero miles per hour to the speed of a 38 caliber bullet in seconds. More navigational switches and screen punching and the course for Pattaya is illuminated. My arrival will be late late afternoon. Just for fun I am going to come in from the west with the sun at my back–a mythic entrance of power and advertisement. I am the fastest homo sapien on this third planet from the sun traveling without passport or obstacle. My existence is my political portfolio and all governments smile and turn away as I enter their airspaces and territorial trivialities. I am Dana.

Down below I pick up the Gulf of Aden as a visual and just start ripping across the Arabian Sea. By the time I hit the Indian subcontinent the leading edges and frontal surfaces of the plane are starting to glow and pulsate. Subharmonic vibrating puts a flutter in the control surfaces that the computer has to dampen and the cockpit starts to house a background groan like an old man having an orgasm. The plane is stressed. Time to sit up and rearrange my internal organs and clear my nostrils and find the zen center of my mind. Minutes at 13,000 miles per hour has me flashing over India and then it is the Bay of Bengal and dropping down to 13 degrees north latitude for Pattaya. As I start eating up the Andaman Sea I switch on the collision avoidance systems that will identify any arriving or departing planes from Beach Road or South Pattaya Road or North Pattaya Road or Pattaya 2nd Road runways. Pattaya direct aviation has become so popular that it is now like flying into a flock of seagulls at a municipal dump and at anything over 1000 miles per hour there isn't much time for collision avoidance. I have the right to shoot down anything in my flight path but debris dents my tiles so I try to avoid this. So I am now hyperalert–the living embodiment of my place at the top of the evolutionary pile. The scattered green diamonds below and to starboard of the Mergui Archipelago on the western Burma border announce the Bight of Bangkok coming up. Soon I will be headed for Ko Lan as a visual at 4500 miles per hour only 100 feet off the water. Streaking in from the west with the sun at my back no one on the beach in South Pattaya can see the ballistic Dana. But the renting of the fabric of the universe triggers reptilian responses. People start to turn on the seawall and get up from their deck chairs and come out on to the balconies of their skyscraper condos. Like the elephants of Patong that knew a tsunami was coming before they could see it–these South Pattayaites know that Dana is coming. Then there are the sonic booms. It is Dana time. Time for everyone to reflect on the wonders and the joys of life. To key in on my iconic and mythic status as a way to reappraise their own lives. I am on my way to secular godhead status and the earth's six billion beating hearts instinctively know what they can not intellectually process. When sex tourists from Mars arrive and say "Take me to your leader" I will be the chosen one.

Straining to see to seaward the watchers and waiters silently compete to see who will spot me first and gain face through association. Soon there are separate and same-time shouts from the North Pattaya Garden Cliff condos and the roof of the Marriot hotel on Pattaya 2nd Road and the Pattaya Park Tower. I've gone from ballistic speck challenging space and time to an incoming 21st century machine pulling a wall of superheated water and flames and sonic booms behind me. There is a wake of startled fish and a nose cone rainbow before me. As I clear Ko Lan I kill the engine and shut down the fusion plant. Residual power will be channeled into chute deployment, spoilers, control services, electrics, computer and hydraulics. Nothing else will be needed.

This setting sun as a backdrop approach calls for something special. The Skipping Stone approach: or in military parlance; the Military Issue Float Plane Skipping Stone Landing Approach (MIFPSSLA). We are going to regress to youthful fun. Leave for a moment the technology and the power and the narrow performance margins behind and participate in communal bonding through shared memories. Remember when you were a kid and your dad showed you how to skip a stone across the water? Well tonight this hot mass of brushed plutonium and spent uranium and Thai noodles in epoxy is going to leave the 21st century behind and become a little girls skipping stone on a pond in Isaan. As my airspeed drops to 600 miles per hour I touch down lightly. It is like hitting concrete and my ejection seat sensors slam the seatbelts in so tight I can feel my clavicles and chest wall bones bending but the bay is flat water tonight so there is no ploblum. SAM missile defense undercarriage armor means the aircraft is strong enough; it is just a matter of careful flying. Dip a leading edge and I will never hear the words 'Second Chance' again. Skip-skip-skip-skip-skip-skip-skip-smash-skip-skip-skip-skipskipskipskipskipskip. . . . : 27 skips and then I deploy the spoilers and chute. Sand contact. Through the windshield I can see my solid gold baht bus pulling up and Tammy the tranny is wading out to carry me ashore.

Now it is party time. Dana Decrees have been issued and municipal palms have been greased. As soon as I touch down all bars have been instructed to put their girls and their sound systems in the streets. Tonight in Pattaya is going to be rocking. I hope I get invited to Gary and Oi's or to David's place in Jomtien with his girlfriend. Something simple and civilized. Then tomorrow I will be on the boardwalk at 9:00 a.m. to pick up Fa. God I'm happy.

It is Pattaya Time. And I am home.

Stickman's thoughts:

They're getting weirder and weirder by the week.