Let me share with you guys my first and last experience at a massage parlour. 'Twas in '95 in Pattaya next to the Diamond Hotel. Had landed a day or two before at Don Muang with my pal, Soi Dog Steve (an old hand), and at his suggestion we jumped
straight on the bus to Pattaya from the airport. First time in Asia for me, never had a whore in my life, and there I sat at the window as the bus (the original broke down on the highway – welcome to Thailand) rolled thru Pattaya with about 5,000
girls waving at me from beer bars. With me blushing and grinning like an ass and wondering what the proper etiquette was in a situation like this, we were somehow decanted in front of Soi Diamond and staggered up to the Diamond Hotel with about
500 girls shouting and clapping and inexplicably pleased to see us.
OK. This wasn't like home. That was for sure. I never realized how attractive I was until then. My pal Steve wasn't giving anything away. He was acting as if nothing was unusual. I realized later he's a guy who likes to let others find
out things for themselves. I did, slowly…
Anyway, we booked in. Best get separate rooms, says Steve. Sounds good, says I. Emerging 20 minutes later, shaved, showered and sober, if a tad jet-lagged, we began a two-week tour of the local sites.
The trip to the massage parlour didn't take place immediately, thank God (thanks, Steve), but I remember walking about for a few days wondering how exactly one scored. As hard as it is to believe, I didn't realize you could buy out a girl from
a beer bar. Only now, thinking back, I guess it was because the first girl to whom I had taken a fancy (at one of those Soi Diamond outdoor carousels – spitting distance from Diamond Hotel you will note) wasn't selling. From that I got the
idea that none of the bar beer girls were available. She was gorgeous, btw, and her name was Pai. Shy. Almost no English. Somewhat pointed teeth. Got her eventually on my second trip, which is another story.
Anyway, within a day or two I was amazed when a girl behind a bar said she'd like to come back to my hotel. Really? Oh yes. Then I learned about the ancient Thai custom called the "Barfine". You can guess the rest. Later, I knew enough
to pay her, at least. Didn't really like her though, which was probably for the best.
So there I was, three days in LOS, an old hand. One day we were sampling our fifth or so beer somewhere when old Steve suggested we try out the massage parlour next to the hotel. Sounds good, says I. We walk over there. It's like entering one of
those House of Horrors places at a fair. Pitch dark and nobody but us. What the hell? A grinning, obsequious Thai lout approaches out of the gloom. “Yesss, gentlemen, you like a lady? Thisss way, please,” says he, dry-washing his
hands. He leads us around a corner, hits a switch, and there behind a monstrous glass wall under Klieg lights are what seemed like 100 numbered Thai ladies sitting on a terraced affair dressed up for the Prom. Every single one desperately smiling.
They weren’t the only ones! I don’t know how Soi Dog was taking it (he’s about as sensitive as a toilet seat), but I had but one thought, and that was to end this and end it now. I don’t know when I’ve ever been
so embarrassed (I still regarded Thai hookers as fully human, you see). Well, being an ass and a gentleman I pointed a trembling finger through my hallucinatory haze at the nearest one who seemed to possess her own teeth, and gurgled, “That
The lout tells us to return to our rooms and the ladies will come up. So the hell out of there and back to the room, thinking, Jesus Christ, what have I done? Barely had time to light up a smoke and inhale one of those tiny Johnnie Walkers from the mini-bar,
and there’s the Knock at the door.
I really can’t remember any conversation, coherent or otherwise. She’s like, thirty. Somehow we get in the bunk. I note the stretch marks, and then, the Smell.
I’m not one of these losers you hear going on about the “pigskin bus rolling into Tunatown” and that sort of crap, but by Jesus, she stunk down there. I couldn’t believe it. It was beyond my experience. But I was a gentleman,
first and foremost. To my cost. And my whatsit, unbelievably, didn’t seem to mind. So, into the breach. Yes, into the breach. With my party hat on, of course.
Well, it was the first time in my life I’ve faked an orgasm. Five seconds. Aaargghh and all that. Thank you, ma’am, and, jeez, I gotta go see my friends, so, ah, you’ve been great, and we’ll have to meet up again sometime.
Out the door she goes. Into the shower I go.
Two minutes later I’m at a beer bar up the alley from Soi Diamond called, I think, the Last Resort. I feel unclean. Must purge the horror. I grab the first young lady behind the bar.
Back to the hotel. What they must think! Do the deed. Ah. Feel great. She was great, too. Nice girl. I had her for several days.
Now I’m an old hand, thinks I.