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My Bangkok Experience And A Lesson For All

  • Written by Ocean Wave
  • October 31st, 2006
  • 9 min read


I came to Bangkok in 1983 with my best friend. We were the kind of global drifters who gravitate to wherever you can make some serious, loose money. In 1983, that place was Saudi Arabia. On our first leave, we grabbed some cash and headed to the place all the old Saudi hands told us would clean us out proper. So, we went, like beef to the slaughter. Bangkok in those post Vietnam War days was a paradise. The country was still pretty poor, funneling all the prettiest girls to the capital. The bar / hotel / glass bubble infrastructure was still massive from the war years, but the customer base was a fraction of what it was. So, supply was plenty and prices plummeted. It was most definitely a buyer's market.

First a word about what kind of blokes we were. Almost all of the guys living our life were running away from something. My friend, call him Sam, was divorced. His story was more horrific than most, involving a childhood sweetheart that ripped his heart out. Me – I never fit in my culture. I was an Alpha male in the time when Alan Alda ruled. I played the sensitive male role on occasion, but I could not do it very long without feeling like I needed a shower. I compensated by playing violent sports. When the chance came to chase some serious coin, I jumped at it. A few months later, I was face to face with the void that is the Kingdom of SA. After six months of living like a 7th century Muslim cleric, my pants were getting tight and I needed to lose a few gallons of pent up anxiety. Our older, wiser compatriots told us to head north to Amsterdam or east to Bangkok. Most of my browner friends had a hankering for blondes and headed north, my friend and I voted for soy, so we went east.

We landed at the airport after drifting over green rice paddies for the last 30 minutes of the six hour flight. It is hard to describe how striking live green places look to eyes that have only seen the dead browns of the desert for any length of time. I was looking forward to fully immersing myself in the things that are haram in the KSA — beer, bacon and women, not necessarily in that order. From our advisers, we had been supplied with the phone number of some Thai sharpee with some phony westernized name who was to connect us with what we came for (for a fee of course). Loading up on baht at an airport bank, we took a cab to a cheap hotel — I think it was the Ambassador Hotel's annex for about $24 a night. Once in, we ordered bacon, fruit, cucumbers, rice and toast from room service. We lit into the beer from the mini fridge, while savoring the bacon. I missed girls and beer, but I really suffered in KSA without cured swine.

Bellies full, we called the sharpee to get on with the evening. Within an hour he picked us up in his car and took us to a "student house". The girls looked real good, but way too young. We were mid twenties, and these girls were at least 10 years younger than that. So, we fought the urge to jump on the first thing and, after a few more student houses, we ended up at a fishbowl near the Nana Plaza. I learned later that the fees from the student houses are higher, hence our guide's reluctance to move on to older fare. Once at the fishbowl, we started to ask for girl after girl to come out and sit with us. Fairly soon on, Sam picked early, a lovely girl with beautiful eyes and serious curves who said she was twenty something. I thought she was 10 years older than that, but we were never ones to under appreciate the advantages of experience. An annoying 30 minutes later (to Sam anyway) I selected a true twenty something girl who said her name was "Miss Skylab". We threw some money at everyone we had met so far in Thailand and headed back.

When we got to the hotel, we were pretty tightly torqued, so we agreed to dispense with any pleasantries and move to the main course of the evening. When we got almost through the lobby, a little guy came running after us saying that we had only paid for single rooms, and more money would be needed to get the girls to the rooms. I put my face very close to the little man and almost whispered to him "not now". Sam calmly nodded and told the fellow that it would be best for everyone involved not to delay me. He looked at my eyes, and waved us on. When we got to our floor, Sam practically ran to his room. He actually waddled. I understand that Sam is a pretty good sized guy. Anyway, after I locked my door, I joined the lovely Miss Skylab in the obligatory pre-activity shower and a rather complicated docking maneuver. After a little fruit and a beer, I docked again, just to be sure that I had the procedure down. I then shut down the evening for a few hours of sleep.

The next morning, I docked once again and then went to Sam's room about noon. The girls said they had to go, so we gave them twice what we were told was the going rate, because we knew that we were more than a handful after months in Saudi. Extra work deserves premium pay. Sam ordered the usual European breakfast and I ordered bacon, rice and cucumbers ala carte. I was determined not to let too many meals be void of bacon, because lord knows when bacon and I might be reunited again. We compared notes on how these lovely girls were so different from the women of our home countries. It seemed wrong to even classify the two groups in the same species. I know I started to realize that maybe there were cultures on our planet where a man like me could be himself and still be able to take a dip in the gene pool.

Always a popular lad with guys, women were either scared of me or indifferent to the extreme. My ultra-aggressive personality and stalker kind of intensity when after something I wanted was a severe liability in the dating game of my home country. It made me successful in school, sports and business, by any scale, but it left me alone, with only my family and other guys saying good things about me. Because of this, I was nervous and impatient when set up on blind dates or at pick up places. Within an hour of the start of the date, I would find myself wanting to scream, "Well, are you going to fxxx me tonight, or what? Let's do it now, so I can relax." Despite this, I actually had a few girlfriends, one for more than a year, but sooner or later, I would let my guard down and they would see Cro-Magnon alpha male unvarnished and that would be the end of it.

And then came Bangkok — it felt like dating, with all of the misery removed. It was an unbelievable feeling to know you would get some at the end of the evening no matter what. Of course, it was not dating, but it sure felt like it. That illusion is the craft of the Asian woman. After only one night, we were considerably more relaxed than the day before, but were like kids on Christmas morning who have just opened one present, and can see all the others under the tree. We had to get back out there, every minute wasted was one would regret once we got back to the desert. Over the next two weeks, we sampled all kinds — tall, short, thin, busty, light skinned, dark skinned, long hair, short hair, heavy drinkers, but it was a tiny Chinese girl who taught me a lesson I would never forget.

Truth be told I never even noticed her. We were bar hopping around Soi Cowboy and I was kind of thinking of drinking a bit more than usual and taking a night off from exercising. We found that every 7 to 10 days it is best to take it easy and let the protein levels in our bodies build up again. Anyway, it was about that time in my cycle when a little 5 foot girl from the back of the bar sat down next to me. She clearly was not dressed for bar work. After a bit, I thought she would be the perfect person to hang out with, if tonight was a sleep night. Well, turns out she spoke English real well and she told us that she was an English teacher on a rare night out. This story flew pretty well until it was clear that she wanted to go back to the hotel with me. I thought, what the hell, and added her to my tuktuk for the short ride to the hotel. When we got up to the room, to my surprise she went right to work. She knew English, and it turns out, a little French.

Now, up to that point in my life, I had learned that if you had too much of a good thing, it can turn real bad. Easter candy, 5 pounds of bacon in an hour and marathon running races had taught me that you have to know when to say when to keep from blowing chunks. The sole exception to this rule, I thought, was cleaning the pipes. A good cleaning or two, and occasionally three, in a night made you mellow and put you in a deep sleep. I could not have been more wrong. This little girl knew things and did things to me that should be banned throughout the civilized world and the uncivilized one as well. I learned what a prostate was that night. After 4 or 5 cleanings, I was begging her to stop – but she didn't. On and on it went, each time mixing in more unpleasant than pleasant. By 6:00 am the next morning, I was completely empty of all that is vital to life. I was laying on my side staring out the window, unable to speak, when she left. I saw the void. I stared into the empty pit of non existence. I was one with the abyss. I learned a great deal about life and respect that night. Never again would I be as sure of myself. I learned that you can literally be f-ed to death.

Take the middle road my friends.

Stickman's thoughts:

I thought you said you were in your mid 20s when that happened? You should have been up for the task!