Stickman Readers' Submissions July 24th, 2008

A Tale With No Ending

Would you believe a bar girl would ever do a service free of charge for you?

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Of course not.

Everything that could be said about bar girls has already been said, or almost. We all know how swift they are in stripping you any cash you may carry and then go away after they have drained entirely your wallet. These little mischievous contrivers,
fine-tuned in the art of charming and deception, always keen of depriving valuables from customers, are skilful evildoers in withholding your money.

Nope, of course not; they would never do any service free of charge for you. Or, at least this is what I thought. Well, the story I will recount has a different ending, believe it or not.

At my age, I’m not necessarily the guy for whom ladies fall helplessly in love at first sight; and if any, I would expect a bar girl charging me twice as much for the same service they would charge to a twenty year old handsome guy. But I would
never expect them doing for me anything free, not even giving me the slightest insinuation of an unfettered smile unless I pay for it.

– o – o – o – o –

Following a suite of unfortunate events that occurred to me during the past few days, my feelings had fallen down to the deepest darkness of the realm of eternal fires. Whether out of genuine desperation or simply using my gloomy mood as a cheap pretext,
the fact is that I ended up in a bar with the aim of drowning chagrin in alcohol. It was early in the afternoon, and I was the only patron in the bar, so all the girls were available. Yeah, I can choose the best for myself! They all gauged me
in a few instants, and probably deemed – with that accurate intuitive perception common in bar girls – that I was not the typical guy who would buy drinks or take damsels out. Not one single girl approached me. I was there, surrounded by
pretty good looking lasses, alone with my thoughts and a glass of liquor. I randomly picked a girl, the nearest to me, asked her to sit at my table, and rushed to offer her a drink before she would walk away. She was from Isaan, of course, and
since she had been in Pattaya for only one week, her English was nearly non-existent, so we went on in Thai, despite my rudimentary Thai language proficiency. Anyway, the type of conversation you can have with a bar girl does not necessarily involve
profound philosophical abstraction, so our conversation went pretty smoothly. Several hours and many more drinks later, the time had come to go home before I was in need of help to negotiate the fifty meters that separate the bar from my apartment.
Before leaving, I asked her how much she wanted for staying a night in my room. One thousand baht for short time; two thousand baht for long time was a pretty fair deal, given that she was only nineteen and pretty good looking. But I judge that
sex is a two-way road, and that when it only goes in one direction, it leaves one with pretty bad feelings. So I made her the following proposition: “After the bar closes, if you have no client, come to my room, only for company, no sex
involved. I pay no bar fees (300 baht) and I give you five hundred baht.” She quickly accepted my offer, and I went to my room to sleep.

At 2:00 a.m. she calls me and says that the bar is closing, but she still has to work to close the bar, so it would take some time before she could come – or, perhaps, she had gotten a short-time client and I was second in the queue. Whatever it
was, she shows up in my room at nearly 3:00 a.m. I own two contiguous studios, I inhabit one of them and the other is for rent. My studio was pretty dirty and in complete disarray. Thai women, even prostitutes, have extreme disgust for disorder,
so I proposed her to move to my next door studio, which was clean and ready to receive a tenant. We went there, she looked at everything, but she came back to the studio I occupy, saying she would clean my room. I protested that it was too late
and that she must be very tired after so many hours of work. For response, she got a mop, sponge, and other cleaning devices, and started the job. She made me feel so guilty that I was obliged to help her with the task. By 4:00 a.m. my room was
clean and shinning as I don’t remember seeing it before. She was very tired by then, took a shower and came to bed.

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This desirable young lady lying in my bed, scarcely covered by a small towel, got my beastlike instincts in full motion. Her tight, tanned flesh; her gracefully curved legs; her firm breasts, barely veiled, insinuating the delightful shape of the sequel
that followed inside the cloth; such a harmonious body of seductive nymph lured me to the point of ecstasy. But haired sex, in my opinion, is just a short step ahead of a good masturbation, and I know the sense of frustration that follows a paid
climax. Nevertheless, inflamed by such a display of eroticism, enticed by her sensual figure, an irresistible aphrodisiac impulse grew inside me. I was too weak to stand by my principles. “Let’s go for the two thousand bat full service,”
I thought, “to the hell with these bogus moral beliefs, forget your maniac phony values.” But during all my hesitation, after all the time spent in the fight between my puritan doctrines and my wild natural impulses, she had already
surrendered deeply into Morpheus arms; she was exhausted, and it would be inappropriate to wake her up just to appease my libidinous impulses. “In the morning we will complete the job,” I thought, and tried to conciliate an elusive
sleep. I rolled and rolled and rolled in the bed, and at each turn that I was facing her, my most lechery longing vibrate strong in my veins until my blood was boiling. Somehow I finally got to sleep.

At 8:00 a.m. I woke up, and quietly got up trying not to disrupt her sleep. But she also woke up, got dressed, and washed her face. I invited her to have breakfast, but she declined, saying that she had to wash clothes, took her purse and hastily left,
not giving me the time to reach for the five hundred baht bill I had reserved for her. My first impression was that perhaps she had stolen something and wanted to leave as quickly as possible before I perceived the burglary. But this was not possible,
since the only valuables I had – passport, cash (other than the promised 500 baht note), and mobile phone – were inside the safe; besides, all the time she was within sight. The second option was disheartening: perhaps I am so bad that in the
rush to leave she didn’t even care for the money. This option was also discarded as unrealistic. It left me with only one option: she will be back. She knows where I live, my phone number. She will be back to claim for her honestly earned

She never did.

Out of any other reasonable option, she left me wondering. Until now I keep speculating what this young girl had in her mind when she walked away without taking her wages. Women have always puzzled me. The more I know them, the more I learn that I know
nothing about them. They are predictably unpredictable. You can always expect the unexpected outcome from them. Roll the dice and you are more likely to get a better forecast than using common sense. Pull the petals of the flowers game and it
may tell you more about her than by applying pure logic.

Now I know the answer to my question.

Yes, a bar girl can do a service free of charge. The open question still remains unanswered.


Stickman's thoughts:

Unusual, I have to agree.

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