Readers' Submissions

Delightful Pattaya – Two beach Birds

See that dark-skinned chick over there on Bitch Road, funny with her curly hair, she gives Mr. F. a very self-ironic smile. Not the generic pseudo-horny stare for a change! He smiles back, but what – she is already talking to a Thai guy. Do we now compete
with Thai guys for street sex? That bird's too dark for Thais. But better walk on.

Mr. F. passes a mile of terrifying painted concrete whores – west of soi 10, celibacy is the order of the day. But that dark-skinned curly cutie back around soi 11, she was something else. He strolls retour past the well-hung mile of petrified in-heat
looks. And see, there is his cutie again – awaiting him with a lively witty smile.

Ms. Khmer

What a story she has! Khmer mother from Battambang, Afro father from Mississippi. Father run-away, mother dead. A highlight: She speaks Thai, Khmer, Lao and English all mixed together. But then she refuses to use Khmer openly: "Police can hear, they
want see my passport". She has none.

Who was that Thai guy before, a punter? – No, plain-clothes police! He wanted to check her, "because my Thai not so good." – So what did Ms. Khmer tell him? – "I say, I am from Surin area, family only speak Khmer, so my Thai not so good!"
– And did he believe her? – "He believe me!"

butterflies bangkok

That bird has power. But no place to stay. If there is no bedroom assignment (there rarely is), she sleeps on the beach chairs at night. "I pay 40 Baht to security". – And where to keep her things? – "I have no things."

There is no way to get juicy with this wild one. But she's interesting and positive, even humane, not pushy and not self-pitying. Mr. F. wants to take her to his room for more vibes, mixed-language talk and unusual stories. He'd also like to
offer her a shower, Thai food and pocket money. "Can you do real Thai massage", he asks? – "Sure!" – "Why, did you learn it?" – "Yes, my mother very sick leg, so I learn to massage her." – "Oh, great,
I don't want boom boom, but can you give me massage, 2 hours 500 Baht?" – "Ok, let's go, baan hoai", she whispers comparatively in Khmer.

In the room, he sends her to shower and tells her she can keep all the hotel's toiletries, like toothbrush, soap, comb and the petite shampoo bottles. – "You sure", she asks? – "Yes, please keep it, I have my own soap from Farangland."
– She still can't believe it: She takes a small piece of wrapped soap, makes sure he sees her action and slowly shoves the stinky soap into her pocket; "Ok????" – "Yes, sure, baan hoai."

While Ms. Khmer splashes, Mr. F. takes off all but his slip and stretches out on the cool cotton bed sheets, happily awaiting relaxing skilled Thai massage and entertaining talk from his newest Bitch Road discovery. And there she comes, wrapped in a clean
white hotel towel, wet hair, enterprising smile, delightful legs sticking out.


He closes his eyes in joyful anticipation, when – AAAAArrrrrgh… – she hits him on the back like a wet rice sack! Is THAT Thai massage? We all know it can be painful, and surprisingly powerful for the novice recipient. And there are different massage
schools of course, some softer, some – AAAAAAAAArgh…. – another killer slapper from tiny Ms. Khmer!

And THAT is Thai Massage? He'd call it Thai rice sack boxing. Or maybe Muay Farang? He winds like a snake under the wheel from her uninspired punches. Didn't she learn massage for her mother? "So you did massage for your sick mother",
he asks under pain? – "Yes!" – "Did she feel better then?" – "She died."

Enough deadly massage for Mr. F. There is more fun waiting outside, he decides to cut it short: "Hm, sorry, maybe I don't need massage. I pay 500 and we say goodbye, ok?" – "Why, you don't like me??" – "No, I like, but
I must see friends on Walking Street at 10 pm." – "You don't like my massage??" – "Oh, I like very much, chowlchet na – AAAArrrrrghhh -, but again, I forgot the meeting at 10 pm. And don't worry, I pay full price

"Oh, you no like my massage", she frowns, "but I want to work for my money, I cannot take money for nothing." – At least she stopped her beatings by now.

Like so many whores and other service people, he'll pay her just to leave him alone. But this she won't accept.

"Ok!" Her towel goes to the floor. "We boom boom, ok, so I do something for money!" – My god, see her body… – "400 Baht for you, I want to work something for money", she exclaims and stretches out… what a shape, see…
– "No, thanks, maybe tomorrow, I want to see my friends now!" There is a tent pole rising in his slip, and she grabs it. – "300 for you, I want to work something, baan hoai, I give very good blowjob!!!" – Maybe effective as
her Thai massage? Her teeth look strong. – She gestures suck-suck-suck.

Let's try her, says tent pole, I'm ready. – Not this wild street chick, intervenes top floor. – Why did you bring a shitload of condoms then, moans tent pole. – NOT this wild street chick,
insists top floor. – Mr. F. manages to loosen her grip on tent pole: "Sorry, I have to go now", he smiles, slides off the matrace and stuffs contumacious tent pole back into the jeans.

She accepts 600 with a regretful sigh.

Ms. Baby Face

Back on Bitch Road towards Walking Street. Around soi 12, he never fails to look for Ms. Baby Face. She will sit on the same concrete wall. Always. See, also today.

Not that he would use her. Her face is that of an innocent ten year old – who has seen more horrible things than her 100 year old grand-grandmother. Pink lipstick. A painted, crumpled baby face. From Korat. The saddest bird on Bitch Road.

She is never friendly, but they got used to each other. – "Farang already", he would ask her in Lao when passing by? – She'd throw her head up abruptly, with a disgusted look: no Farang that day, no Farang that week.

Tonight he asks her again: "Farang already?" – She says "yes". – Oh, wow, Farang already! "Good heart", he asks? – Abruptly she throws her head up, with that disgusted look.

For some reason he can't explain, he feels she must be protected. Not by touching her. But he always inquires her wellbeing, and when a snack seller shuffles along, he invites her to buy fried munchies. Most times she accepts his offer.

10 Baht, 20 Baht, baw pen yang dor, at least his broken bird has something to eat. He never had that funny urge to shelter a painted beach bird, only crumpling Ms. Baby Face kind of strikes a fatherly side of him.

Oh, and look who comes there! His failed curly dark wild Khmer masseuse! Ms. Khmer smiles wittily when she sees Ms. Baby Face and Mr. F. together. – "Hey, you know each other", Khmer masseuse inquires? "She good heart", Miss Khmer
continues, "sometime I have problem, I can use her I.D. card. Sometime I hungry, she give me 200 Baht." – Maybe they will share his 600 Baht, that would be fine.

Ms. Khmer drags him aside and whispers into his ear: "Her boyfriend so bad!!!" – "What, Ms. Baby Face has boyfriend??" – "Yes, VERY bad man. Drink whiskey too much, smoke ya-baa too much, only come hit her and take her money!!"
– Oh my god, poor Baby Face, now I know why your face is so broken. – "She can stop him, no", Mr. F. suggests back into Ms. Khmer's dark ear? – "No!!! She love him too mutt!!"

"And you know what", continues Mrs. Khmer? – "No?" – "She have baby inside!!" – "WHAT? Baby Face is pregnant???" – "YEEEES, have baby inside, three months already!!! From crazy boyfriend!!!" – Oh my god,
why did he ever start listening to those disaster chicks.

Should he hug poor painted pregnant Ms. Baby Face and give her nasty boyfriend a beating? – You crazy o' what, intervenes top floor. – Should he use poor painted pregnant Ms. Baby Face on the linen to give her warmth and Baht? – You crazy o'
what, intervenes tent pole.

He knows too much now. These girls are meant to be fun, but when you look behind the painted façade, it's all horror!

He knows too much he never wanted to know. He needs a whiskey now. A whiskey and a stage, bouncing with nude things.

He steps back into the dark balmy Pattaya night, towards the glittering lights of Walking Street. Towards nameless nude things, whose story is UNKNOWN to him!

Stickman's thoughts:

If only I had time…