Researching Thai Tottie 2
I am not too pleased with my secretary Moira for booking me cattle class on a British Airways flight to Bangkok. We are only a few hours into the flight and already my ass is a numb as a katoey's ring piece and my tongue as dry as a nun’s mudgeon. I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much. I did get her to book it at very short notice and I am at last on my way to Thailand, the Land of vertical smiles. But why she couldn’t get me on Thai or Singapore Airlines I have no idea. At least then there would be some lithe exotic Asian hostess to rest the eyes upon rather than the lard arsed morose geriatrics British Airways employ as stewardesses. They are a bit stingy with the booze as well hence my arid tongue.
I imagine the old bat was getting her revenge for some perceived slight.
Moira has been my secretary for 10 years. In her 50s with horn rimmed spectacles and frizzy red hair she is best described as aesthetically challenged and is definitely spinster of this parish. But in fairness Moira is loyal, works like a coolie and covers my back at all times. Particularly with my father who also happens to be my boss.
I suppose I should introduce myself, my friends call me Algie but you peasants can call me Algernon Wright-Barsterde which is my moniker. I work for the family business Hunt, Lunt and Cunnington; Bankers to the British Gentry for 300 years. You serfs wouldn’t have heard of us as our clientele is very select. My father owns the bank but you can appreciate I have my job entirely on my own merits.
Those of you with a greater attention span than a goldfish will remember my previous submission: Researching Thai Tottie (readers submissions 16). For the rest I remind you that I had recently developed a taste for Asian crumpet. This was the result of a sequence of events beginning with the annual cricket club bash. Generally they are boring occasions but this one was enlivened by the presence of my old pal Jeremy Forbes Hamilton with the most gorgeous little Asian poppet on his arm. This girl was so mouth wateringly delicious I subsequently dedicated a full week of self abuse to her. I know old Jeremy couldn’t pull such a tasty creature in open play so I assumed he had paid for her. It turned out he had met her in Thailand and actually married her.
Inquisitive about this source of first class crumpet he told me about the stickman site. Too busy to actually read it myself I got Moira to commission one of the Bank’s graduate minions to read all the readers submissions and give me a synopsis. In the interim an encounter with a Thai ex bar girl with a conch like a mouse’s ear served to reinforce my developing jasmine fever. The commissioned document was impressive; Analysis of the Stickman Bangkok website: A study of it’s relevance to the discerning gentleman tourist, penned by an Alex Shaw. A most imposing title I thought although the sub title (A newbie’s guide to sex mongering) may have detracted from the effect somewhat.
Turns out Alex Shaw was Alexandre Shawattanra, a piece of high class Thai womanhood educated in the west, who once worked for the Thai tourist board and knew enough about the naughty nightlife to pen the dissertation. I was impressed.
The first time I saw Khun Shaw I was smitten. She glided into my office with a feline grace, a vision of raw Asian sensuality from her Jimmy Choo shoes to her dark black hair cut in a fashionable bob. Hang on….I need to expand on the image.
As she stood before me my eyes naturally moved up her dark tanned calves, the muscles taught from her 4” heels. Up past delicious thighs encased by a tight skirt the hemline an inch shorter than was decent displaying a pair of superb legs, long slender and shapely, adorned by nothing more than smooth tanned skin. An impossibly narrow waist, a simple elegant white blouse covered the pert breasts that led naturally up her smooth slender neck which displayed a tiny faint scar up to her exquisite face. High cheekbones, full lips, eyes like dark limpid pools I could hardly get my breath. She opened her mouth to reveal a perfect set of teeth and a tongue that promised certain delights.
She implied she could help me discover the delights of the orient without me getting on a plane. Talk about full of eastern promise. Turned out she was a prick tease of the highest order ….but more of that later
My reverie is disturbed by the middle aged gentleman returning from the toilet to the seat next to me. He had experienced a little difficulty circumnavigating one particular stewardess in the aisle with an ass like two bags of grocery shopping. She was fluttering her eyelashes at some young stud in the opposite row and did not take kindly to being disturbed in her flirting. The gentleman’s smile and polite excuse me was met with a look of disdain and some clearly audible comment about old farts, designed to impress the object of her attention. Clearly chastened the gentleman took his seat next to me in silent embarrassment.
I am a reasonable tolerant man, as any member of my local branch of the “Society for putting the poor back in the workhouse and their children cleaning chimneys” will attest. But I was getting a bit pissed off with this salad dodger who had earlier given me the look like a bulldog chewing a wasp, when I requested a second scotch and dry.
I have no issue with her being overweight, I have shagged my share of fat wenches in. my time. She probably attributes it to her glands (her glands ate all the pies?). I was even unconcerned by the pinch faced demeanour that gave the appearance she permanently had an unpleasant smell under her nose as many English women develop this characteristic in middle age. But her superior attitude irked me. She ignored any male customer she did not fancy or felt did not meet her standards. She was probably pretty once and not much older than my 35 years but the extra timber and her demeanour ensured she looked considerably older. She was what I call an aero plane blonde; a dark haired female who dyes her hair blonde and is therefore equipped with a black box.
A hour or so later when things were quiet I stopped her and put on my charm (other than minor dental imperfections I cut a good figure) I asked if she was staying overnight in Bangkok and continued, “If I took you to the Oriental for dinner and gave you £5000 to go shopping would you sleep with me tonight?” She looked me up and down and establishing me as a guy of substantial means she smiled coquettish and said “maybe”. I gave it another hour and stopped her again as she passed and asked her “If I gave you a fiver would you give me a quick blowjob now?” The look of indignation would have shocked even the sour faced sisters at the church of the perpetual chastisement.
“What sort of girl do you take me for?” She exclaimed.
“We established that earlier we are now merely negotiating price”. She stormed away in a righteous fury. It was a good job the flight was almost over as my chance of any further service was finished.
The fellow in the next seat was quietly chuckling and remarked he hadn’t heard that hoary old chestnut for years. “I am surprised she fell for it” he continued. I smiled and explained women like her always fall for it because they actually believe their moth eaten orifices are lined with gold and all men are willing to pay for it. My companion smiled and remarked “Yes it is the by product of the feminist covens who run the media and perpetuate the because your worth it myth”.
He continued “Well you have buggered your chances of joining the 5 mile high club on this flight”. I laughed “My pal Anthony Westminster claims he did the 5 mile thing, but as it was on a turboprop from London to Manchester I reckon he flew solo in the toilets!”
My neighbor introduced himself as Malcolm. He was a personable fellow, well turned out with a good head of hair, probably in his mid 50s. He inquired if it was my first trip to Bangkok. I explained I had come with my family some 20 years ago and we had done the holiday paradise stuff but couldn’t remember much about it. When you have money one holiday paradise is very much like another. I went on to inform how my recent infection with jasmine fever had prompted this trip and inquired the purpose of his visit. He explained how he came two or three times a year for many years, ostensibly on business. He said this with a smirk on his face so I felt it impolite to enquire further… not yet anyway. I told him I was staying at the Nana. He gave a huge grin and told me he was staying not too far away so we could share a taxi and maybe have a beer together later. This suited me admirably; although I had arranged to meet my pal Tristan Grosvenor the following evening it would be good to have a veteran show me the ropes on my first night in Bangkok.
We arrive mid afternoon at swampypoo which is certainly an improvement on what I remember of the old airport. My new found friend navigates me through the vagaries of the system. On leaving passport control we proceed up to departures where we wait for a taxi depositing an arriving passenger thus avoiding the taxi mafia at arrivals.
It was only a few minutes wait before a taxi arrives depositing a passenger and we jump in. The taxi smelt like a small African village. My new pal issues his instructions in an authoritative Thai which I assumed was “Hotel Nana toot sweet Gunga Din, and put the bloody meter on”. Malcolm is an entertaining fellow and in next to no time we were pulling off the expressway into the mother of all traffic jams. We turn into a side street and pull up outside a dilapidated looking building. Malcolm turned to me and informed me this was the infamous Nana. He offered to pay the taxi and pointing to a bar at the front of the hotel instructed me to meet him there in two hours time.
I enter reception to be confronted by a scary looking woman at the desk with the strangest pulled up hairstyle reminiscent of Marge in the Simpsons. “Are you hot with that balaclava on?” I asked, but her look of total bemusement shuts me up. I imagine the staff quite accustomed to dealing with strange gentlemen of a certain age and persuasion. Registration complete I am led to the lifts to my room. I see a notice on the wall of the lift referring to the hotel’s “comparatively beautiful rooms” which amused me until I actually saw my room.
A decent tip finally gets rid of the bellboy who I think was trying to sell me his Aunty and I switch on the TV. BBC World news is on and there is an interview with Sir Terry Wogan the popular TV and radio personality, something to do with the Eurovision song contest. I leave it on as old Wogan is a decent and amusing cove. As I start unpacking Wogan is replaced by those assholes from HBOS and RBS the Banks that got us all in a mess over the toxic debts and the huge bonuses they awarded themselves. They are being grilled by politicians from a Parliamentary Commons Select committee and falling over themselves to apologise for their greed and incompetence. If they had cloth caps they would be wringing them in true Victorian melodramatic style. I can not imagine my father sitting patiently in front of a bunch of oiks from halitosis hall… mind you our clientele are quite select and my Pater is clever enough not to get caught.
I was highly amused to see those three assholes Sir Tom McKillop (CEO RBS), Sir Fred”the shred” Goodwin (Chairman RBS) and Sir James Crosby (HBOS) squirming in discomfort. Seeing them juxtaposed with Sir Terry Wogan (TV, Radio star and raconteur extraordinaire) reminds me of a joke. Of these four Knights of the realm, who is the odd one out? Well Wogan obviously… he is the only one with any banking qualifications.
So motivated by self interest and greed their show of contrition is like a virgin’s promise and not worth a knob of goat shit.
Talking of virgin’s promises takes me back to the UK and Khun Shaw, my tantalising Thai temptress from Tottenham.
After such promise of erotic pleasures I could not fail to respond so I take her to dinner that evening at an expensive little bistro near the office. We had a pleasant evening and I received a kiss on the cheek as I dropped her off at her flat. At the weekend I took her to Stringfellows, a well known nightclub in town. I am not too keen on the place but she was impressed with all the minor TV celebrities she saw there. Again all I received was the peck on the cheek as I dropped her off. The next week she wanted to see Mamma Mia at the Prince of Wales theatre, I know the manager there so I got decent tickets. Sitting through that girly nonsense had got to be worth a knobbing but when I suggested she come back to my flat she claimed a headache.
The following weekend I took her away to a charming country spa hotel I know. She did not spare herself in availing herself of the facilities. She ran me up a regal bill sampling, facials, massages, colonics and numerous esoteric treatments that defy belief. But when we returned to the bedroom she claimed her period had started so intimacy was off the menu. To compound things she had allegedly burnt her mouth during one of the more obscure treatments. The menstrual excuse was maintained all next week but when it continued to the following weekend I became a bit miffed. I was reminded of a limerick our housemaster at Eton would oft recite.
There was a young lady of Leek
Who menstruated seven days every week?
“There is no time for poking”
Said her boyfriend near choking
With a solitary tear on his cheek
I could not understand my Siamese sweetheart, when we were out in public she was exotic provocative and seductive but in private she was as abstemious as a nun. We had a routine of going out two or three times a week, we had good fun but she liked to spend money …my money. I am not short of a bob or two and I was besotted with her so I didn’t mind too much but this teasing was beginning to annoy.
Her excuses to avoid the pork sword injection became more and more imaginative I finally persuaded her to come to my apartment for a quiet dinner. Before bedtime she took a shower and claimed the shower had scalded her. She was so sore she could not let me touch her even though she slept next to me that night. The next week she wanted me to take her to see the Vagina monologues in the west end, but I drew the line at sitting through three hours of women talking about the organ I couldn’t get my hands on. The final straw was the evening I took her to Annabels in Mayfair. I have been a member for years but don’t go too often as it is a bit expensive even for me. It is very impressive however and my Thai poppet was mesmerised by the place. We went back to her bedsit in Tottenham and I was certain tonight was the night.
Imagine my horror when she climbed into bed with flannelette pyjamas and a bed coat buttoned up to her neck. She wore more clothes to bed than she wore outside on a winter’s day. She claimed exhaustion and was asleep immediately I got in beside her. I was in such a state of tumescence I would have had her eye out if she had turned over. Undeterred I rubbed my painfully erect member against her buttocks through what seemed like seventeen layers of military grade Winceyette to no effect, she remained sound asleep. After some four weeks of being teased and denied I was so hard it would have pierced armour plating and my gonads had turned blue and swollen like two WWII barrage balloons. I got out and walked to her side of the bed. Only her face was exposed. I rubbed my member across her cheek and lips but to no effect, she still did not wake. By now I was at bursting point. The feel of her soft skin precipitated a romantic eruption and I deposited the full contents of a month of frustration over her inert visage without waking her.
I went for a shower with no fear of her puny shower unit scalding me. On my return she was still asleep but the results of my bukkake episode covered her face like an egg white facial. It was beginning to dry and harden over her eyes and a translucent stalactite hung off the end of her nose.
I dressed and left her asleep to return to my own apartment. On the drive from Tottenham to my apartment in Chelsea I resolved to cease prevaricating and visit Thailand to investigate the subject of Thai tottie at its source. When I got back home it was only 0500 so I sent an email to Moira my secretary asking her to book me on a flight to Bangkok as soon as possible. Knowing she would pick it up when she arrived at 0900 I climbed into my own bed for a sleep
I am awoken at midday with a phone call from Moira informing me she had booked me in the Nana Hotel and on a flight to Bangkok leaving at 1930 that evening.
So here I am in Bangkok and raring to go. I take a shower, put on my tropical wool flannel slacks, a Givenchy linen shirt and Baker-Benjes loafers to meet my new pal in the Golden bar at the side of the Nana hotel. Malcolm is sitting at the rail that overlooked the street and on seeing me waves me over. He ordered two beers from a cheerful little poppet with a delightful smile. The first beer hardly touched the sides but with a second in front of me I began to relax and savour the atmosphere of early evening Suhkumvit. My new mate Malcolm took the opportunity to continue my education giving me some pearls of wisdom regarding the dos and don’ts essential for a newbie. He confirmed much of what I had gleaned from the stickman site.
We check bin and turn onto the busy Suhkumvit road taking our lives in our hands as we cross at the pedestrian crossing. During the short stroll avoiding the numerous hawkers and beggars, Malcolm pointed out some of the local Landmarks such as the Landmark and the beer garden on Soi 7. In next to no time we are at the Nana sky train station. I was glad to have my companion show me the system. A comfortable journey in air conditioned comfort with which the Victorian London underground stood little comparison. A short walk through the Suhkumvit metro underpass saw us at the entrance to the legendary Soi cowboy. I consider I am a man of the world but admit to being mesmerised (and not a little intimidated) by the astonishing atmosphere, the sights smells and sounds that overwhelm the senses. It is the most wonderful piece of real estate in the world. We stop at Sam’s bar to line the stomach for the evening’s festivities. I am glad of the moment to collect my equilibrium and having put ourselves outside a bowl of noodles we begin an earnest perusal of the entertainment on offer.
We visited Rawhide, Long Gun, Suzy Wong, Sheba’s, Dollhouse in a blur of chrome poles neon lights, techno music and …perpetual pussy. It was around midnight we are in the Tilac, I had still not made a selection, the choice is so overpowering to a newbie.
I was starting to feel the effects of jetlag and the beer. Malcolm has two dark skinned sisters sitting on his lap and a grin like a wanking jap. I informed him I was returning to the hotel so he gave me his number in case I got into problems and advised I take a motorcycle taxi. I take his advice and as we pull away I grit my teeth and close my eyes certain my days are numbered. I instantly sober up. I am finally deposited shaking like a leaf, into the throng of Nana Tai…if I thought Soi Cowboy was overwhelming Nana car park defied description. The Nana car park reminded of Rudyard Kipling’s words
Take me some where east of Suez where the best is like the worst
And there aint no ten commandments and a man can raise a thirst
I am stood in total awe at the massed humanity with half clad little beauties of every age and shape to satisfy the most catholic of tastes. I feel my shirt sleeve being tugged and hear the words hello hansum man. I look down to see a set of pearly white teeth set in a little monkey face. “You take me upstairs boom-boom one thousand baht”. Delivered more in instruction than in request, I stepped back to get a better look. She was little bigger than 5 foot tall. She was wearing a tee shirt that exposed a bare midriff and pair of shorts that displayed a pair of legs that could only be described as delicious. They were enhanced by pair of sandals with just enough heels to give them a lift. The effect was a slutty innocence. All the advice about freelancers on Nana car park evaporated at that moment. What the hell I thought someone’s got to have it so it may as well be her. “Ok” I said “get your coat you’ve pulled” and led her through the doorway of the Nana hotel.
Unsure of the procedure my little minx led me to the security guy at the foot of the lifts, deposited her ID and put me into the lifts with a practiced ease. Once in the room she immediately disappears into the bathroom. She must have been in there 3 hours (alright 10 minutes) and I wonder just how clean a girl can get her mudgeon to be. When she finally emerges with a big towel wrapped around her, she expertly undresses me and orders me to take a shower. I do so with no argument and once my tadger is clean enough to eat your dinner off I leave the bathroom and lie on the bed. The little popsey deftly puts on my party hat and climbs aboard me like a national hunt jockey with her feet high in the stirrups. We set off at a fair gallop and pass the finishing post in what was probably a record time for the course such was my urgent need.
Thinking my 3 minute performance terminated the contract I gave her the agreed 1000 baht and an additional 500 telling her to get herself something to eat. She waied me and disappeared through the door. I am just settling myself to sleep when there is a knock at the door. I open it to find my little popsey had returned standing there with armfuls of strange looking food. I let her in and she lays her exotic comestibles on the floor and proceeds to devour them with a fervour rarely witnessed. I decline her offer to share and sit on the bed watching her. To see this agreeable little waif demolishing a huge pile of food with such pleasure was an unusual delight for me
Once her repast is complete she washes her hands and climbs aboard me for an unexpected but totally acceptable seconds. Later she tidies the remains of her feast and stays with me all night. Her poor English prevented much communication but the presence of her soft warm body next to me was very welcome. She finally left at around 0900 giving me the chance to catch up on my beauty sleep.
I am awoke at midday by my mobile, it is my pal Tristan Grosvenor
“Wot ho Algie you old scoundrel, welcome to Bangkok, Oh by the way do you prefer legs or breasts?”
“Actually I am partial to a nice shaven fanny” I reply
“That’s very interesting you pillock but it is not an option in a KFC Bargain bucket ….I was going to bring one up to you in case you needed a bit of sustenance”.
I told him to forget the KFC I would meet him in the Golden bar in 20 minutes. Tristan is a good sort; he is the brother of my old school pal Ernest and about four years younger than me. He has been working at the British Embassy for a couple of years. I suspect it is in a menial undemanding job, not that he needs the money as his family are big time landowners in the city. Tristan is a decent chap, if a bit dim. I humour him because of my friendship with his brother and his twin sister Isolde is one of the most delectable fillies in London, I would give 5 years of my Pal Antony Westminster’s life to poke her.
Tristan is waiting in the Golden bar looking the very epitome of the innocent abroad. We make our greetings and he wants to take me to a couple of small friendly bars in Soi 7/1. We arrive at a lively Soi in the shadow of Nana BTS station that I would never have found unaided. The entrance to the Soi is blocked by a vehicle and the air is filled with shouts and curses of the tradesmen trying to circumnavigate it. As we enter the Soi we see the offending vehicle is a Jaguar and is parked outside the Eden club. Tristan turns to me and exclaims that is a British Embassy vehicle… in fact it is the Ambassadors car.
The commotion created by the inconsiderate abandonment of this vehicle was reaching boiling point and a fight between a taxi driver and a street hawker is imminent. We take a seat at the bar opposite in order to observe proceedings. We order a beer and Tristan explains about the nature of activities at the notorious Eden club. “Just the place for two ex public schoolboys” I observe “I may indulge myself if one of the girls dresses up as the old schools matron and dispenses a mild spanking”. Tristan is still absorbed in the ensuing fracas and declares he can not imagine the ambassador himself being in the Eden club …”it is not his scene”. I agree and mention that my father knew the Ambassador from when he did some business when the Ambassador was working for Vickers a few years ago.
“The old man reckons Quinton is a decent cove and anyway it is rumoured he follows an obscure football team called the baggies …that should be enough flagellation for anyone”.
A tall man emerged from the Eden club his acute male pattern baldness accentuated by the long hair he had let grow down his back. He was wearing a safari suit with sunglasses perched on an unfeasibly long nose. He looked like a stretched version of Danny De Vito’s portrayal of the Penguin in Batman, without the hat. He stood in the doorway observing the chaos with amusement.
“Oh shit!” exclaimed Tristan “I might have known, it is James Short, he must have borrowed the Ambassadors Jaguar. He is an unmitigated bounder.”
I recognise the man and remark “I know him from school, although he was a few years above me”.
The object of our discussion strolls to the vehicle ignoring the furore his selfish abandonment had caused. With a sneer and a total disdain he climbed into the Jag and drove away almost running over the remonstrating taxi driver.
“That man is a real 22 carat asshole; he throws his weight about and bullies everyone in the office. We call him James Shit. His father was a permanent undersecretary in the Foreign office and is alleged to know where all the political bodies are buried. Because of this James thinks he is bullet proof.”
I had never seen Tristan so angry and animated; so I interjected
“He was always a bully even at school. When I was about 14 he tried to roast me on a spit over the fire in the prefects’ study. He had read about a similar jape in Tom Brown’s schooldays. It was probably the only book he had ever read. He and his fellow prefects were about 18 and they had no problem overpowering me. If it wasn’t for the housemaster hearing my screams he would have burnt me to cinder.”
“I did get my revenge eventually”. I remarked with a grin.
“You must tell me about that Algie, that cad makes every ones life a misery”.
“I will tell you about it another time …but if you really want to upset him, leave a condom and a tin of industrial strength oven cleaner on your desk for him to see”.
Tristan is bemused but agrees and says no more.
We explore a bar half way down the Soi. It is owned by a fellow from the northeast of England and full of interesting ex pat characters. A few stories are exchanged and a few beers imbibed. After an hour Tristan leaves and I returned to Nana for my afternoon kip.
That evening Tristan takes me to dinner in an Australian bar near the Asoke Suhkumvit junction. The atmosphere is relaxed and the food is good. We take a gentle stroll to Soi33 to a bar called the Office. The place is buzzing and reminds me of some of the bars in the financial sector of London except the drinks are a quarter of London prices and the clientele considerably less odious. The hostesses are quite toothsome and only bother you when you want them. All in all I was impressed and a little reluctant to leave when Tristan suggested we move on. However he took me on a tour of the Soi which was remarkable with all the bars named after French impressionist painters. However we end up in a bar named after a Corsican …Napoleon.
The bar we enter has a cosy ambience like some of the private clubs I frequent in the West end of London. We are directed to a table by a rather tasty looking lady in her early forties who Tristan informs me is the mamasan. We had hardly taken our seats when we are joined by two little stunners with smiles that would not have been out of place in a toothpaste advert. Both were mid 20’s, petite with long raven hair down to their waist and the beautiful dark complexion I was beginning to learn placed their origins as the Issan. They were identical to the numerous delightful girls I had seen in the go-go bars the previous evening but were wearing little black cocktail dresses which I felt added to their allure. I buy them a drink and engaged them in what passes for conversation in these situations. They introduced themselves as Nit and Noi and confirmed they hailed from Nong Khai which they enlightened me is near the border with Laos. They also claimed to be sisters which I felt was unlikely although there was an obvious family resemblance which suggested they were probably cousins. Not wishing to spoil the atmosphere I went along with their harmless pretence. After we told them our names and where we came from we had clearly exhausted the conversation so Tristan suggested a game of pool.
Snooker is my game but I know my way around a pool table so I propose we play for a small wager of 200 baht a game to make it interesting. These two little moppets would have held their own with the best pool hall hustlers in the east end of London. They wiped the floor with us and after losing four games in a row I concede defeat. By this time I am thoroughly enchanted by these sweet creatures and suggest to Tristan we pay the bar fine and off them with all good speed. Tristan seems somewhat reluctant and when I question his reticence he informs me that the bar fines in this district are 1000 baht. So what is my immediate reaction but I discern my pals’ lack of enthusiasm may not be about the money. I have always suspected there was a whiff of lavender about Tristan and that he probably bowled from the pavilion end or at least helped them out when they were busy. To save his discomfort I declared I would take them both …a little threesome was just what the doctor ordered.
Tristan appeared relieved and takes the chance to depart with his dignity intact. I settled the bill and we proceed to the nearest 7/11 to stock up with food and drink for our intended party. Then back to the Nana by taxi and don’t spare the horses.
There is a child’s bike parked outside the stickman office so I will spare you the lurid details of a wonderful evening. I wake in a delightful tangle of arms and legs. We all take a shower together and help each other dress. Breakfast in the Nana dining room draws a few admiring glances and I feel like a Premiership footballer. After breakfast my enchanting minxes depart and I slip them an extra 1000 baht apiece to get a taxi and treat themselves. My Siamese waltz had cost me around 12,000 baht which at less than £250 was wonderful value. To tumble two tarts of that quality in London would have cost me ten times that.
I am in a blissful mood and take a coffee and chat to some of the girls in the Golden bar. They are generally a little older than the girls in the go-gos but pleasant floozies nonetheless. I stroll down Nana Tai and my foot turns into the Bus Stop. I immediately spot Malcolm and he calls me over. He is still with his sisters from Soi Cowboy and still has the huge grin on his face. “Hi Algie I am glad I have seen you… I am off to Pattaya tomorrow for a week or so”. He handed me a card with the address of a hotel “this is where I am staying if you decide to go down to Pattaya. Oh and tonight I am exploring Nana plaza, if you fancy it I will see you in Angelwitch at 2200”.
We chat for another 20 minutes before Malcolm and his Siamese sisterhood depart. I return to the Golden bar, barfine one of the girls and take her up to my room for some afternoon delight.
That evening I meet up with Tristan in Gullivers on Soi 7. He is quivering with excitement to tell me something but I make him wait until I had taken the skin off my beer and was comfortably settled.
“I did as you said Algie about the oven cleaner and the condom on my desk. James the shit came past my desk around lunchtime and on seeing them he stopped rigid, his jaw dropped and his face went a deathly shade of green. He then started crying”
“I kid you not Algie …he blubbed like a baby right there in the middle of the office. It created quite a scene I can tell you, particularly when he started rolling his eyes and tearing his hair out in big chunks.”
“One of the diplomatic officers had to lead him away in an arm lock. Apparently he is currently under observation in a secure ward at Bumrungrad hospital.
“You have got to tell me the full story Algie”.
Seeing Tristan in such eager anticipation I began my story.
“After the incident with the barbeque I was looking for an opportunity for revenge as only a 14 year old can. James the Shit had an arrangement with the dopey daughter of the school cook, a 16 year old fat wench with terminal acne who was clearly flattered by the attention of a senior pupil. They would meet Friday evening in the kitchen for an hour of illicit coupling. He had a single condom he used to wash out and reuse. He was clearly thinking green even back then. In fact there was a green tinge around the condom which I believe was a World War II issue.
Friday afternoon I sneaked into the janitor’s cupboard and purloined a jar of industrial strength oven cleaner and entered James dormitory whilst he was in class. I carefully smeared the inside of the condom with the oven cleaner, taking care to wear rubber gloves. I am glad I did as I noticed the cleaner was so corrosive it burnt a hole in my marigold gloves.
That evening I took position overlooking the kitchens to see James and his paramour enter for their tryst. I could see him placing her on the large table used for food preparation that dominated the kitchen and pulling up a stool he would stand on to achieve the correct height for insertion. I saw him rolling the condom on his erect manhood.
It took a few seconds for the caustic lining to take effect….
It is claimed his screams of agony could be heard in the next county. His first shriek had his companion departing as fast as the knickers around her ankles would allow. His subsequent banshee cry had alerted the whole school and in no time there was a small crowd to see young James trashing around on the floor trying in vain to remove the source of his in agony. The pain and corrosive effect of the chemical had caused his already tumescent Hampton to swell even further, preventing the removal of its venomous casing.
Within minutes the whole school had arrived at the kitchen to witness our hero, who by now was using a cheese grater in a futile effort to remove the offending membrane from his bloated appendage. Eventually the emergency services arrive. Into the kitchen come Police, fire brigade, medics plus a platoon of army cadets to control the crowd and the local WRVS to serve tea and light refreshments. The police had to handcuff James to allow the medics access to his distended tadger.
I shall never forget his wild rolling eyes particularly when amputation was suggested. The fire brigade finally removed the remains of the condom….with a hydraulic cutting tool they use to extricate victims from crashed vehicles. The medics managed to bandage his wounds and he was taken to hospital with a full police escort.
We never saw him at school again. The trauma of the incident had deranged his mind and he spent a few years in a mental institute until he was found a job in the foreign office on diplomatic service”.
By this time Tristan is rolling on the floor in a paroxysm of laughter. The Gulliver's bar staff assume he is having an epileptic fit so in true Thai generosity …we are asked to leave.
We stroll back towards Nana taking a beer in a couple of bars along the way. Tristan is almost euphoric; my story had definitely put a spring in his step.
It is almost 2200 when we enter Nana plaza so make our way to our assignation at the Angelwitch. Malcolm is sat in a prime seat without his sisters but with two new companions. We move towards him and his new companions vacate the seats allowing us to join him. “They were just keeping your seats warm”. He explains. We order beers and get comfortable just as the loudspeakers declare the cabaret was about to begin. The first show involves two nurses who begin naked and proceed to iron their clothes and put them on. It was a reverse strip tease but captivating none the less. At the end of the set we leave and follow Malcolm into a series of bars in the Plaza. I liked the Mandarine and noted it for a future peruse. The big Rainbow bar was also noteworthy with some impressive eye candy on display although the huge Japanese presence was disconcerting.
Malcolm finally leads us into a bar which even my inexperienced eye identified as a Ladyboy bar. We are led to a table near the stage, settle in and order beers. I was curious and considered watching a bunch of blokes dressed as women would present little hardship to an ex public schoolboy. But nothing I had seen in England could prepare me for the spectacle of these exotic creatures dancing on stage before my eyes. They are far more woman than most of the females I know back home. I was mesmerised.
One of them has a bottle of moisturiser and is squirting her colleagues to the accompaniment of shrieks of delight. There is one delicious creature dancing in front of me that has captured my attention, if that is a bloke, he is certainly a fine looking woman. A pair of pert breasts lead the eyes naturally up a smooth slender neck on which is displayed a tiny faint scar. The face is quite exquisite with high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes like dark limpid pools. I get a strange feeling she reminds me of someone. She sees my interest and opens her mouth to reveal a perfect set of teeth and a tongue that promises certain delights … the feeling of recognition becomes uncomfortably stronger. Just then the friend with the moisturiser squirts her face and a stalactite of liquid hangs from her nose. I finally realise who she reminds me of … oh dear. The object of my attention then lowers his panties to expose a penis that a Rotterdam stevedore would have been very proud of. I suddenly have an unfortunate epiphany and feel very light headed. Tristan turns to me and exclaims “Bugger me Algie; you have gone pale, what is the matter are you ok?”
In a barely audible groan I explain “I think I have just realised the truth about Alex Shaw my little Thai tottie back home” and point in the direction of the exotic creature on stage brandishing his impressive Hampton on.
I get up to leave on shaky legs. Tristan is now concerned and asks “where you going Algie?”
I am going back to the hotel, I have the urgent need to brush my teeth and take a very long hot shower.
Very nicely put together!