The Party Hat – Sartorial Tips
The Stickmeister recently published an impassioned and sensible piece exhorting us all not to party without a party hat. No arguments (pace Dana, who is clearly big enough and old enough and ugly enough to look after himself); with two adult sons, one
gay, one straight, I have given the same advice myself.
Of course, this raises a lot of questions: at what point and under what circumstances should the party hat go on? The medical experts will tell us, right from the start. Probably right enough, in principle. It is possible though difficult
to pass on HIV through female-on-male oral sex. And one probably shouldn’t dine at the Y without a dental dam, either. But how many of us actually take our precautions that far? I’ve recently been pleased to hear that a gay friend
of mine got the all-clear after 25 years of unprotected oral sex, with a strike rate of which we heterosexuals can only dream. Anal sex just isn’t his thing, like it isn’t for a lot of gay people. Quite a relief, that, although I’m
aware it doesn’t prove anything. And I like the feel of a woman’s mouth and the taste of her nether regions as much as anyone.
So let’s assume that when we talk about the importance of condom use, we’re talking largely about heterosexuals, and meaning the use of rubber prophylactics when performing penetrative vaginal sex. We ought to be able to stick
to that, surely. However, when Stick admonishes us that over 50% of mongers in Thailand have at some point gone bareback, I have to admit that I am here in the majority. It was, however, entirely accidental.
Back in my unregenerate days (i.e. not all that long ago) I arrived in the Kingdom planning to have a blast. I settled down in my normal haunt off Sukhumvit, and wandered off to my favourite soi, 7/1. For quiet beers, or decent nosh, or partying
with delightful ladies, you can’t beat it. And there is also the Eden Club for the real hardcore, which flatters to deceive by the well-attired demureness of the ladies on show – but we know better, don’t we? I wasn’t
up to that, but on the way down the soi I found myself subjected to what I call the Bargirl Judgment of Solomon; one grabs you by each arm, and for a moment you stand in danger of being dismembered or cloven in twain by an axe, until you firmly
indicate your choice and are both claimed and released. I found myself in the hands of Nong (all names changed to protect the non-innocent) and gratefully received a beer. Nong was in her thirties and no great looker, but a lot of fun. I had a
Thai phrasebook with me, and we spent some time going through it having a two-way language lesson over a few beers; I can’t imagine a way of spending an evening both more enjoyable and more productive. I had, however, to go and meet some
farang friends on the Silom side; Nong reminded me that if I wanted her, leaving no doubt as to what she meant, she would still be there later in the evening. Later on I came back; she had been waiting for me, and off we went to my hotel.
Don’t wish to breach Stickman’s rules on excessive detail, but the story won’t stand up, as it were, without some details. Nong, being a sensible girl, insisted on rolling the condom on at an early stage in proceedings.
It was this caution, however, which was to prove fatal. Foreplay continued for a fair time, as I prefer, before the formal business of the evening was got down to. Once this was over, post-coital relaxation was marred by Nong’s discovery
that the rubberised apparatus had completely disappeared. We looked all over the battlefield, but found no signs. Nong then gave herself a thorough internal examination, and it didn’t appear to have got stuck up there. With a growing sense
of mutual panic, we both searched the entire room for clues, but drew a blank. Being both utterly knackered, we then went to sleep.
Next morning the search was launched again. This, of course, was a tad annoying, as I could have done with a morning session, but this was out of the question. I was too tired to influence events anyway. Round about 9 AM Nong gave up and
went home. It was only later that evening that I discovered the errant object in a corner under the bed. It was entirely pristine, proving that it had deserted its post before the act was actually committed.
Therefore we / you mongers (I’m not supposed to be one any more) cannot be too careful. Perhaps one could find a way of saying – I must confess it beats me – that she shouldn’t put the hat on too early as it might
lead to it coming off. You may think that you’ve taken all precautions, but the best-laid plans of mice, men and mongers…
Stickman's thoughts:
That's a nice fun story on a fairly major topic.
