Readers' Submissions

Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes Part 156

  • Written by Dana
  • December 23rd, 2006
  • 7 min read


by Green Day

"Boulevard of Broken Dreams"

I walk a lonely road–
The only one that I have ever known.
Don't know where it goes–
But it's home to me and I walk alone.

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams;
Where the city sleeps–
and I'm the only one and I walk alone.

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me.
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating.
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me–
'Til then I walk alone.


I am so tired I feel as if I have been beaten with sticks, and dragged behind a car; and then drop kicked off a cliff. Too little REM sleep and too much Viagra and too many adventures. I am beat. It's been a slow day and an off day in
the Kingdom love wise but that is ok. Life is not a contest. So I decide to get dressed up and end the day by stopping into the Superbabies bar in Soi Diamond, and then going over to the Club Electric Blue and licking the pussies of the girls
on the second floor. I'm a dead man but I can still lick a pussy.

Two bars is enough. Usually I would then stagger up South Pattaya road and check out my email in the internet place with the Japanese keyboards before catching the baht bus on 2nd road and going on down to Soi 13. Tonight however I decide
that even though I am a dead man I will end the evening by walking back to Soi 13 on the beach boulevard. It is a beautiful night and there are more cruisers than fleas at a dog pound. Eventually I get to Soi 13. I should cross the street and
go into the AA Hotel and fall into a coma. But I don't. For some reason I keep walking. Ok, the reason is that I'm an idiot–but I keep walking.

And not one hundred feet later I spy Daow leaning against a palm tree. Her friend is leaning against one palm tree and Daow is leaning against the next palm tree. Sort of a pussy stakeout. This is like hitting the lottery. Daow and I have
already done two ‘short-times' together and she is just great. Fun and funny and likes to get naked with men and likes to be boom-boomed by men and all for 500 baht. Unlike most Thai females she has an exaggerated hour glass body and
breasts that look like two funnels. One look at her breasts and you go from age 56 to about age 15 in a nanosecond. The second time we were together I had her put one of my T-shirts on in the shower and then I sprayed her with the nozzle and then
jerked the shower curtain open so that we could see her in the mirror. A Wet T-Shirt contest. And her laughing and loving the attention. Ever wash a woman's breasts through her wet T-shirt with her pedaling in place saying you are tickling
her? But I digress.

Anyway, I smile and she beams and I take her hand. But instead of taking her right across the street I start walking back down the boardwalk with her. No questions from her. She is just happy to have hit certain money. Where am I taking us?
To Swenson's Ice Cream. I really like this woman and would like to have something between us besides just animal acts. So some ice cream parlor foreplay should be a good thing. We can spend some non sex charged time together and maybe get
to know some things about each other and just luxuriate in the mystery and the wonder and the joy of two differently sexed adults starting a relationship. I'd like her to be my teeruk.

In Swenson's it is slow and kind of disappointing and makes me think of all of the other times I have tried this with whores in Thailand to absolutely no effect. Honest to god, she doesn't even seem to be up to speed on what reading
a menu, and making selections, and chatting about options, and having simple ice cream eating fun is all about. I feel as if I have taken a defected adult out of an asylum for a day outing. And once again as in all of the previous times I have
attempted to get beyond the farang-whore relationship I am doing all of the pulling at the oars.

There are pictures of the different ice cream treats in the big glossy fun menu. One item is some kind of big fancy dessert dish with a cherry, and hot fudge sauce, and ice cream, and a wafer cookie, and a banana. She points to the banana
and says, "Like you."

Well, ok. If I was twenty-five I might have found this engaging or racy or sexy or fun. But I was hoping for more from my hopefully future teeruk. Something a little more thoughtful. Something a little more personal. Something a little more
intelligent. Maybe something that spoke to us and our future. Instead I get the observation that my dick is as big as a banana. Another farang hope for a relationship dashed on the rocks of Thai disappointment.

Don't hope for more. They are just whores.


Are you like me? Do you wonder why a famous Dutch painter is supposed to have cut off his ear because of some involvement with a woman? Whether it is true or not it does make you think. Boy–she must have asked for a lot of taxi money. I
can see it now. He picks her up at a street café run by Thais in late 19th century Arles and they end up in his room that smells of turpentine and oil paint. She ends up with so many colored smudges all over her that she looks like a Jackson
Pollock painting. But he makes it up to her by giving her some money, and a loaf of bread, and a drawing of a drawbridge, and an unopened tube of Burnt Sienna. Then at the door she has the Thai nerve to ask for taxi money.

That did it. The poor guy snapped. Out comes the knife and off comes the ear and here come the guys in the uniforms with the straitjackets. What is it with women anyway? In the words of Freud–"What does woman want?"

I'll tell you what women want. Are you ready? Here it comes:

They want two things–

1. They want babies.
2. They want to talk to their girlfriends on their cell phones.

Ok, no big shock. Really? How close are you reading? Do you see any mention made of you in that list? Do you see your name? Do you see the word ‘men'? In fact, do you see anything in the list of what Thai women want that crosses
with you in any way?

The answer is ‘NO'. You are not a part of the drinks at the bar, or the appetizers, or the entree, or the desert in her life. So don't take it all so seriously. She doesn't take you seriously. You don't count. You
will never count. Just go with

it. Learn to operate with new rules and diminished expectations. I bring sexy lingerie items from the States and have them try them on and pose in front of the mirrors. I wash them in the shower and the bath. I tell them I love them. I tell them they
are beautiful. I take respectful pictures of them. Etc. We have fun. We laugh. We make love. And then do you know what I do when it is all over? I give them money. They are prostitutes. They are selling and I am buying. But I do not expect it
to be love. I do not expect to be more important to them than their girlfriends and their cellphone. I do not expect to replace their baby dream that they have had every bleeding month from the time they were thirteen years old. I'm a realist.
I don't count. But it's ok. She laughed and I laughed and I got to hold her in my arms. Now she is gone.

I'm not going to cut my ear off over it.

Stickman's thoughts:

We simply have to lower our expectations, so as to avoid disappointment. But just how low is one prepared to go?