Thai Thoughts And Anecdotes Part 95

Another Day in the Life

Greeting FF's (Fellow Farangs)–Well, Noi is at the door to my darkroom (we are covering the walls of our condo with pictures of me) with her flightsuit and helmet in one hand and a 20 baht bottle of fresh squeezed orange juice in the other hand. Lately she has developed an extreme liking for these 20 baht plastic bottles of fresh squeezed orange juice so there are now orange stains all down the front of her flight suit. I made a remark about this the other day and her lightning quick steel bear trap Roi Et mind suggested that I should just buy her an orange flightsuit. Maybe I should. Ok, I'm a beaten farang. I just don't fight anything anymore. I am now in that part of my farang experience here in the Kingdom where no matter how bizarre or nonsensical or downright insane the idea might seem in the outside world; here in Thailand I now find myself saying "Maybe I should". Here is another example of Life With Noi: Last night she suggested that her teddy bear should also have a flight suit and a helmet and an oxygen mask. I'm actually thinking about it. Stick a fork in me–I'm almost done.

At any rate Noi has developed the notion that we should go visit the State of Florida in the United States. She has heard and the Internet has encouraged that the State of Florida is chock full of orange groves and oranges and orangeobilia and of course orange juice. Although I am not 100% sure how my teeruk Isaan minx mind works I believe that the State of Florida now occupies a place in her mind similar to the head of the Ganges for an Indian mystic or Mecca for a Muslim believer: a source from which all things 'orange juice' flow. I believe that when we get there she expects to see a Thai temple shaped like a 20 baht plastic bottle of orange juice and smell orange peel incense. Disabusing her of this notion would take more emotion and time and energy than I have but the idea of going to Florida does have some appeal. The flora and the fauna and the weather are similar to Thailand, the amount of low class behavior and litter is about the same, there are plenty of beautiful empty-headed mercenary Thai women about, and there about the same number of nonworking air conditioners and spooky fruits and snakes. We'll both have a great time. Hell, I might even be able to find an orange flight suit for her or for her teddy bear in one of the orange grove gift shops.

So that's it–Noi and I are leaving soon. In a couple of hours at 13,000 miles per hour and 60,000 to 80,000 feet we will be sonic booming into Florida airspace. No time to send our triangular-toothed katoey bodyguards ahead so it will be just Noi and I acting as tourists. Kool. I'll have the grin of the returning pilgrim and Noi's mouth and flight suit will be covered with orange juice stains. Works for me. But that is not really what I want to talk about today. What I really want to talk about today is a more personal and intimate part of my life so I hope that people will respect that. It isn't always easy for me to open up and to share. It is a story called:

Bad Bad Bangkok Girl

Inside the Mike Shopping Mall on the north end of Beach Road in South Pattaya is a store that sells women's' wigs. Jet black wigs with long straight hair that falls to the backs of your girlfriend's knees. Or your knees. OK–let's cut to the chase. Ever wondered what it would be like to dress like a bargirl? Of course you have. It's natural. I can't be the only one. Put on a rockin' CD of blues guitar by B.B.King and crank it up to maximum volume on your giant speakers. Hit the dimmer switch and replace all the bulbs with purple lights. Get naked in your hotel room. Jack off. Now you are loose and ready. Pull the box out of the back of the closet and start pulling out the clothes. The clothes for tonight. Your night. No one else. It's you time. Private time. Man time. Men can do anything they want and some men like to dress up like bargirls. I know I do.

I've got about five outfits that are old friends. But one of my favorites is the schoolgirl look. Short pleated skirt with suspenders, white button blouse, little short white socks and black loafers. Add a bra (or not) and a little backpack. Schoolbooks and smile and wig and teddy bear. Now you are ready for some serious pleasure. Private pleasure. Dancing and posing and mirrors and dressing and undressing and pouting and talking and moaning and crying. Schoolgirl stuff. Man stuff. Thailand.

So lets put the stack of tunes on for tonight:

Chilly Cha Cha–J.J.Girl

You Promised Me–In Grid

Stop Stop Stop–Nu Virgos (great for pulling the underpants box out of the closet)

Can't Get You Out Of My Head–Seduction

The Ketchup Song–Glamour

Don't Call Me Baby–Madison Avenue (great for pouting)

Give Me A Sign–Jean Michel Jarre

Sun Is Shining–Technique (good for shaving and cold cream action)

Butterfly–by Smile

La Copa De La Vida–by Football All-Stars (good for post-copulation pick-me-up)

D.I.S.C.O.–N Trance (good for putting bras on and then taking them off)

Boom Boom Boom Boom–Vengaboys (great for dick pounding inflatable Wan)

Macarena–Los Del Rio

My Heart Will Go On–Titanic All-Stars

Papa's Got A Brand New Pigbag–Carillo

Dhoom Dhoom–Tata Young

Bounce–Sarah Connor (fun–fun tune for putting underpants on teddy bear)

L-L-Lie by Diana King

I Don't Know–Erika

Into The Groove–Mad House

We Know What You Did–Svenson & Gielen (outstanding for inflatable doll love)

plus some heavy Howlin' Wolf, The Sinatra Song by Miss Kitten and The Hacker (there is always time for perversion), some select Zappa, some four and half octave Yma Sumac (you can't get too much Peruvian opera), some Mambo by Lou Bega, Bjork, Teresa Young, spooky sexy Sade, Super Freak by Rick James, and All Along The Watchtower by Neil Young.

In my normal everyday king-of-the-world intellectually superior white western male life I haven't got the patience for the top list of immature adolescent bubblegum pop crap but remember: this is Dress Up Like A Bargirl night. Rachmaninov's Symphony #2 and Pavarotti's interpretation of Puccini's Madame Butterfly and Johanne Brahms Symphony #4 (Opus 98 in E minor) and the Parita No. 4 in D Major by J.S. Bach simply are not going to make it. What is needed is bouncy brainless female centered youthful junk. This list of tunes is time tested, diverse, and lengthy enough so that the Bangkok dawn's early light will still find my brain waves crackling and happy. It seems like a lot of tunes but it really isn't. It is midnight now and I won't be done until sunup. That's about six hours. Hell, I've got 50 bras and 200 different underpants to try on. Most of them in the original store bags and packages and wrappings. Hey, I'm not a pervert–I'm a collector. Plus the pictures and videos. You know it baby. I had a photographer geek set me up for studio quality still pictures and my friend Nip will be over in about four hours for some video action (she can't come too soon–I've got to get shaved and cold creamed first). In and out. Quick. Like she wasn't even here. And of course there is the relationship between my bargirl persona (I call myself Bang) and the inflatable doll I call Wan. Tonight Wan will be wearing an outfit identical to the outfit favored by a bargirl who works in the bar next to J.P.Travel on Soi 4. This outfit is all black and totally hot with lots of fishnet holes and silver accents and jewelry and black stiletto heel boots. I've been mooning over and making eyes at this woman for years to absolutely no effect. Well tonight Wan is going to get 'Banged'. She is going to find out about girl love. All girls dream of being raped by horses and of having relationships with other women. Well, tonight half of those dreams are going to come true. So there are just tunes enough.

If I ever win the lottery I might do some different things. An on-site DJ might be nice and some bleachers filled with groupies and social anthropologists might be fun if I ever decide to make this kind of pleasure a little more public. Ultimately I like to do some of this private pleasure on the roof of a building in downtown Bangkok with night time helicopters overhead and MBK opening night kleig lights and arrest and public humiliation and pictures in the Bangkok Post newspaper. Big dreams. This girl has big dreams. But for now six hours of personal pleasure stretches out ahead.

There is lots to do. It'll take all night. Different short skirt and suspender combinations. Different white blouses to try on. Heels as well as loafers. Different backpacks and teddy bears and a whole box of panties with cartoon characters on them. Then there are challenges of make-up and dress-up and cell phone issues as well as boyfriend problems and vaginal yeast infections and sex toys and mammary exams and picture books and diary entries. And don't even get me started on skin whitening products. There is an hour right there. And of course always the responsibility of the journal. Making entries and remarks about each outfit and make-up choices as well as their effect on Wan. Taking things seriously. I hate trivial and undignified people. So so much to do. So many choices to make. So many personal girl dramas to deal with. Mood changes. Many mood changes and trips to the mini-fridge for beers and whiskey. Sunups early morning light through the drapes at the Nana will find me somewhere in the hotel room passed out with the pleated schoolgirl skirt up around my neck. The teddy bear will be in some other part of the hotel room wearing Tweety Bird underpants and suspenders. Wan will be deflated on the bed (tough love). Another great night in Thailand. God I love this country.

I know what you are thinking. You want to do this with me. Sure you do. All men want to get naked with me and pretend to be bargirls and dance and get drunk and pretend the life-size teddy bear wearing the Tweety Bird underpants is a post op tranny. It's OK. I know where you are coming from. I feel your pain. But this is a personal thing. I can't dilute the dignity of this by getting others involved. Sorry. Oops, there is someone at the door. I'll just look through the peephole to see who it is. Great Christ, it's my parents. Forgot they were coming over. Oh, and I've been a bad bad Bangkok girl. I hate it when my daddy spanks me. And mommy watches. Gotta go.

Stickman's thoughts:

The star writer hits the spot again.