Stinging The Queen Bee
I don't get out to the girly bars much these days. I'm married to a daughter of Isaan with some fairly conservative views on fidelity, and I gotta behave. Few can hold a candle to the wife anyway, which goes a long way towards keeping me honest
and, frankly, takes half the fun out of flirting.
Though I am effectively disqualified from the race, there's no reason my hard-earned girl-chasing wisdom has to die with my errant ways. "Those who can't do, teach, and those who can't teach, teach phys. ed." as my Dad is fond of saying.
Now, I often read that girls in the gogos are becoming a pack of prima donnas. Customer satisfaction comes far down their list after money, phone calls, som tam and social status amongst their peers. The girls care more about impressing their friends than impressing their paying customers. Yet this very trait is the root of their weakness. This trick which I'm about to impart (imagine now that I'm aiming a laser pointer at an impressive-looking pie chart) actually turns the rigid Thai social structure to the customer's advantage. Unbelievable, but it can be done.
I first used this technique quite by accident. At one of the Kingdom's more expensive a-gogo bars I invited the girl I judged to be the most attractive dancer down to my sofa for a drink. Beauty is a personal call, but it soon became obvious that she agreed with my assessment, as did the rest of the staff, who were quite deferential towards her. She was the queen bee and I was expected to be grateful for the opportunity to spend my money on her.
For one reason or another I'm not accustomed to putting up with that kind of silliness. Yet kicking her out and calling another girl was not an option as the rest of the girls now clearly considered me branded as her sole property.
So I was on the verge of calling check-bin when something happened that changed my mind. Her hand happened to stray briefly where nice girl hands shouldn't and, with an audible 'ping!' the pants-brain took control. No one was surprised when I decided to bar-fine her.
Now, call me a hedonist, but I enjoy a nice Ghengis Khan experience. That is, lounging like an emperor on comfortable furniture, drinking beer and getting molested by a beautiful girl while other girls are dancing and throwing their clothes around. At that moment, the formula was almost complete, with the beer, furniture and dancing girls. Try as I might, though, there was no way any serious molesting was going to happen. Apparently, I was expected to behave like a gentleman and follow meekly as she towed me up to her favorite short-time room. It was too early for bedtime, though, and I wanted to hit at least one more gogo bar.
Luckily, head-brain was not totally out of the picture. Pants-brain was smart enough to listen to head-brain because he vaguely remembered that head-brain had some clever ideas on how to get into girls' pants. So head-brain fabricated a scheme.
"Darling, I want to go straight to bed with you, but do you mind if we go somewhere else first? I'm supposed to meet my friend….er, Steve…at another gogo bar." She gave the idea some thought while looking petulant, then agreed and I forked over the barfine.
We took a taxi to another major gogo bar area, where I started casting about for a place I liked. "What's the name of the bar?" she asked.
"I don't remember. Something a-gogo. I'll know it when I see it." Spotting an interesting place, I said, "Ah-ha. Here we are," and led us in.
We found some comfy furniture and sat down to "wait for my friend" (darling – it's my lascivious friend that's brought us to this den of iniquity – I would certainly rather have brought you for an elegant evening at the Oriental). Drinks arrived and suddenly her hands were all over me. It was a bit of a surprise, like when blazing hot water comes out of the shower head. Struggling to think through my blissful fog, I tried to figure her angle on this. Why was she suddenly all amorous?
Then I caught one of the dancers staring daggers at my girl and it hit me. Back at her bar, she was queen of the nest, but here, she's an invader, lower than the newest newbie. Suddenly her only claim to any sort of status was little old ME, and it was now in her interest to keep me happy and focused on her. For once the peculiarities of Thai social games were working in my favor. At that moment I was bathed by a beam of light from heaven or maybe a disco ball, and I could distinctly hear the voice of Einstein among the choir of angels singing my praises.
Meanwhile, a nearby group of gentlemen were receiving some half-hearted entertainment from a couple of the girls. The guys seemed to be having a decent time of it, but they kept glancing over with looks of obvious envy at the attention I was getting. This was not missed by the girls. The challenge had been issued and the next time I looked over, bikini tops were off and they were having some sort of lap dance competition. Everybody's a winner!
As time passed my girl occasionally asked when my friend would arrive. "Hmmm. I wonder why he's late?" As her impatience grew, she explored new and wonderful ways of convincing me to forget my friend and leave with her. As I finished my third beer, I caught a view of myself in the mirror opposite, being begged by this Total Freakin' Fox to bring her to a hotel of my choice. "Well, darling, I really should wait for my friend, but…." The rest is history, or rather a persistent recurring memory.
Oh, and for anyone who questions the morality of 'bringing take-out food into another restaurant', you can rest assured that her drinks came at lady-drink prices, though the bar somehow forgot to pass the profits on to her.
A lot of guys swear that taking a lady from one bar out to various other bars results in a more pleasant evening's "entertainment." But there is always that odd dynamic and you're never quite sure how it will be.