Stickman Readers' Submissions June 11th, 2010

Arai Na?

Hunter S. Thompson is/was probably my favorite author. He had an unusual knack for cutting through the gloss of the human experience and getting right to the heart, the very core, of the basic shit that motivates us. And that, unsurprisingly, is us. Yeah, that’s it, we’re essentially a self serving, what’s in it for me, bunch of fuckers really aren’t we. But that’s okay because, if we’re honest about it, ninety nine percent of the worlds’ population thinks the same. Credibility problems only come into question when one tries to promote the idea that we’re in it for the noble cause or that we’re here to fight the good fight while, at the same time, our peers are still seeing that the talk doesn’t match the walk. Selfless types are few in this world. Mother Teresa and Sir Edmund Hillary are the only two that readily come to mind. So, why don’t we just cut to the chase and admit it? The primeval urges of the days when we were running around in bear skins still actually apply to this present day. Blokes, given the opportunity, want to procreate with as many women as they possibly can, during their short existence on the planet, and women are looking for the best possible provider, in terms of food, clothing and shelter, as they can possibly find.

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Now, let’s apply this equation of basic human instinctive urges to the Thailand scenario. Are there any Thai women out there – and Thai women are no different to women in any other part of the world in this regard– that aren’t looking for the best possible male provider that they can find? In these modern times food, clothing and shelter essentially mean money. Are there any Thai women out there that don’t like money? Are there any Thai women out there that aren’t interested in getting as much as they can possibly get for themselves? Are there any farang blokes out there that don’t like sex? Are there any farang blokes out there, when presented with the opportunity, aren’t interested in having sex with beautiful, young, attractive Thai women? The silence is deafening.

I think I’ve just sorted out the Jayson debate in one short paragraph. Hunter, bless his soul, knew what he was on about; cutting through the gloss, and the rhetoric, and getting down to what really makes us tick. And, as far as I’m aware, the thing that makes most foreigners tick, here in the LOS, is purely about self indulgence. Being the honest character that I am, I’m going to fess up to being one of the most self indulgent types that ever stepped off the plane. I’m probably a disappointment to the minority out there, such as the Jayson types that do their best to promote the noble cause, but I like having sex with attractive, lithe gogo dancers. And, I’m sure, there’s no objection on their part to money that I give them.

It’s been about four months since I broke up with the ex. The problem with breaking up with a professional Thai hooker – in their eyes at least – is that you’ve never really broken up, you’re just on hold. The fact that we’ve had the odd tryst, during the break up period, is a testament to that. The open ended arrangement; what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Who the hell am I kidding?

I’d been away working and was now back to get my fill of self indulgence. I’d spent a fair bit of time feeling sorry for myself but, as a couple of my hard-nosed work colleagues pointed out; sorry is a word in the dictionary somewhere between shit and syphilis. If you take a bird out of a gogo bar, and try to form a relationship with her, what do you expect? It’s time to harden the fuck up old sport. My first stop was the Tilac bar. After spending six weeks cooped up on an offshore diving vessel it was nice to be sitting in the comfortable surroundings of a place I’d referred to, jokingly of course, as Sticks’ office. Drinks in hand, and a couple of lithe twenty two year olds bouncing in my lap, I hadn’t reckoned on the speed of the jungle drums. The fact that the ex’s older sister, and cousin, work there as well probably didn’t do me any favors either. Within thirty minutes, of being absorbed in my little world of indulgence, my blissful reverie was interrupted by that bane of the whore-mongering experience; the ringing of the mobile phone. It was the ex.

“You butterfly man; I know you fuck lady tonight”

“Hmmm. What is it that you are doing then?”

“Not same. I am working”

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“Is that what you call it?”

“You no good, you big butterfly”

“Well how about I just go with someone you know”

“Arai na?”

“I’ll just take your cousin and sister”

“Fuck you”

“You can later if you want”

At this point the expletive deletives were coming so thick and fast I thought it would be easier just to shut the phone off. Drink back in hand I turned my attention to the older sister and the cousin. What was that about revenge being a dish best served up, or eaten, cold? Hmmm, not worth the hassle, forget that. And besides, I’ve never really subscribed to the eye for an eye school of thinking; there was nothing to be really gained by rubbing her nose in it. It was time to move to a location that was less discriminating; the Dollhouse or Baccarra would be just the tonic.

My mood had been dialed down a couple of notches as I sauntered up the soi in the humidity of a post Songkran, Bangkok evening. Just as I was about to veer towards Baccarra, the enticing lilt of a Thai female voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Bai nai?”

It wasn’t a hello welcome, come inside please, buy one drink, it was a bai nai. I looked to my right. Sitting at one of those high, circular tables, in front of one of those small bars, that one never considers going into, was a couple of attractive Isaan ladies. I took a seat, introductions were made and a round was ordered. A couple of freelancers, down from Korat for a few days, trying to pick up some easy cash to supplement the pig farms they owned. Pig farmers indeed. Well, they were easily the most attractive pig farmers I’d bumped into for quite some time. One was tall and leggy with a small rack. The other a bit shorter with an abundant silicone enhanced chest and a killer body; the butt looked so firm you could probably bounce a ten baht coin off it. I instinctively moved my chair closer to firm butt.

We chatted, joked and, after another round or three, the decision was made to head off to one of those late night venues. Long legs decided to call it a night and so, without further ado, firm butt and I made our way up to the long line of taxi’s straddling the intersection of Cowboy and Soi twenty Three. I’d previously been to a place called Spicey but, after mentioning it to our enthusiastic cab driver, was told that Bossy would be a better choice due to the red shirt problem; Spicey was located somewhere down near MBK and would involve a long circuitous drive. Point made, we sped off into a red shirt ravaged Bangkok night.

There are those that would say that at fifty four I should grow up, act my age and what the fuck are you doing hanging out in one of those late night dance venues where mood enhancing substances seem to be the order of the day. To be honest, I really have no answer to that except, when you’ve got a twenty four year old Thai gal with a firm butt hanging off your arm, it doesn’t really matter.

I paid the entrance fee, got some approving nods from the boys on the door, and walked into the full blast of house music. Firm butt had already told me that she liked dancing and, as we made our way to an empty table, she looked enthusiastically at the raised dance platform that runs the length of the subterranean bar area. There were already a number of groovers up there gyrating away and the three chrome poles, that formed part of the platform construction, gave the freelancers the added bonus of recalling their past days as professional pole swingers.

We ordered our drinks and I took in the atmosphere; the place was heaving and the music was pumping. I looked up at the dance platform again and it began to resemble something of a circus, or, a carnival. A large breasted, two hundred pound farang women, dressed in a pair of black lycra shorts, and a black body hugging top, was knocking people left, right and center as she gyrated around one of the poles and looked seductively down at the crowd below (take it as a given that the crowd was not looking seductively back at her). In front of us a Thai female dwarf, dressed in a pair of board shorts and a tank top, was dry humping some prone, twenty year old farang tourist on the platform. Fuck knows what he was thinking.

Firm butt took one swig of her Bacardi Breeze and then asked me to help her up; it was time for the show to begin. I’ve seen some hot movers in go-go bars before but, without a doubt, the routine that my sexy pig farmer had was the hottest I’ve ever seen. She was that good that she even out danced the hottest dancer from the Tilac Bar, number thirty eight, who was there to strut her stuff as well. While some of the other girls, who were watching, clapped her performance the younger guys, mesmerized by her moves, looked at me while I smiled smugly and thought yeah, that’s right boys, she’s with me and I’ll be banging her in another three hours; money talks and bullshit walks.

My sexy pig farmer continued drinking and butt grinding into the small hours of the morning and, when the alcohol and fatigue eventually took its’ toll, we made our way back to my apartment. Her performance in a horizontal position was equally as good as her performance on the dance floor. By mid afternoon I’d paid her off but told her that, if she was up for it, we’d do it all again that night. As an added incentive I handed her some extra cash and told her to buy one of those body hugging, lycra, leopard skin patterned, one piece, skimpy dresses (the type that bar girls buy for three hundred baht down at the On Nut open markets) for herself, and her long legged friend, for that night; a dastardly plan had begun to form in my mind.

By late afternoon the grumbling stomach finally forced me to order a full English breakfast down at the restaurant on the premises. A couple of the other expat residents were there enjoying the odd sundowner, or two, and, as is usually the case, we shared our tales of drunken debauchery from the previous night.

“So, are you hooking up with her again tonight?” said Sean.

“Absolutely, I’ve told her go and buy one of those one piece, body hugging, leopard skin patterned, skimpy, lycra things that you see on a lot of the girls down on Soi Six in Pattaya” I said enthusiastically.

“What devious scheme have you got in mind” said Sean.

“I’m taking the pair of them to the bastion of the Hi So clubbing scene tonight” I said sniggering.

“Where’s that then?”


“Fuck mate, you’re taking the piss aren’t you”

“I’ve got every intention of doing that” I said laughing.

My phone began beeping. It was an SMS from firm butt. She and long legs had completed their shopping assignment and would be good to hook up at the same location, on Cowboy, at nine pm.

I got there a few minutes before nine and took up a position looking back down Cowboy towards Asoke. I wanted to get an eyeful as they walked up the soi to our allotted meeting point. They were running a few minutes late but, as my second beer landed on the table, I spotted them walking side by side; about fifty meters back down the soi. It was a sight to behold. Those skimpy, body hugging, leopard skin patterned, three hundred baht lycra dresses – if you could call them that – looked bloody fantastic on a pair of hard bodied Korat pig farmers. Firm butt was a total knockout and her skimpy dress was so skimpy it barely covered her crotch.

There were smiles all around as they arrived at the table. Due to the fact that I had rivulets of sweat coursing down my back the decision was made to go into the bar that had been providing my beers during my wait in the humidity of another pre wet season Bangkok evening. We entered the bar. It was a narrow go-go with a small dance platform on the right near the door. The girls on the platform gave us a cursory glance as we looked for a place to sit. A friendly looking Isaan lady appeared out of the huddle of girls, which were sitting at the far end of the bar, and gave firm butt, and long legs, a hug and a warm greeting. It was then that I realized that they weren’t in here purely by chance. No doubt this was, more than likely, one of their previous places of employment and the lady giving us the enthusiastic greeting was an old work buddy.

We settled on a position about half way along the length of the bar and ordered our first round. The sexy pig farmers informed me that it was going to be their last night in town and they wanted to make it a big one. I had a pretty good idea what that meant; I’d be doing another trip to the ATM before too long. I ordered a beer and the girls ordered tequilas. There was no mucking around with this lot; they were going in hard right from the get go. I’ve often wondered what it was that attracted people to that vile concoction; it’s not too far removed from the constituency of high octane fuel. Whatever the case, bar girls seem to love the stuff and most of them seem to be able to put it away like they were raised on it. Whenever I’ve enquired as to their liking for it, I always seem to get the same response; it give me power.

We were into our third or fourth round when firm butt cuddles up next to me, grabs a hold of my old fella and, with one of those seductive looks that only a Thai bar girl has, asks me if I could bar fine their work buddy so she can join us for the night. What do you do? Answer yes, of course. To do otherwise would see me consigned to the ranks of those considered mai sanuk or, god forbid, a jai dum. My affirmative response was rewarded by a firmer squeeze of the old fella and sniff on the cheek.

Our new found drinking buddy was certainly good value for the six hundred baht bar fine as she kept up a constant stream of slapstick Thai humor. There’s no doubt that bar girls have always got one eye firmly fixed on the money (tell me who in this world hasn’t though) and one must never forget that they’re simply doing a job. Even so, their entertainment value can’t be underestimated and they certainly know how to create a lot fun while they’re prying the cash out of your pocket. I don’t think I’ve laughed so much, and so hard, for a long time.

After what seemed like too many rounds to remember I checked the time; it was nearing eleven pm and I decided that a move up to the Sheraton of the Thai clubbing scene was in order. There are some that would argue that Spasso's, at the Erawan, could lay claim to that tag but, having spent the odd night or two there, I can safely say, in the hindsight of my night at the Narz, Spasso's is simply an upscale meat market these days and isn’t much in the way of a true dance venue. Simply put the Narz rules.

Narcissus isn’t too far from Soi Cowboy, in terms of distance, but it’s a world away in terms of the social strata that hang out there. A stand alone, three story building of architectural coolness, its upscale construction reeks of middle class and Hi So Bangkok. Even the bloody toilets wouldn’t look out of place in a five star hotel.

Our taxi pulled up at the entrance and, as the four of us clambered out, the boys on the door gave me a bit of a smirk and a thumb up when they saw it was one farang accompanied by three rowdy Isaan gals. There are two bars within this shining glass and steel edifice to electro dance music. The one dedicated to Techno is on the ground floor. We glanced at the entrance and continued up the stairway to the hip hop bar on the next level, arriving there to find the place virtually empty; we were definitely early. The wait staff assured me that, as it was a Saturday night, it wouldn’t be too long before the place started filling up; midnight was the time that things normally kicked into gear.

We made a bee line, through the plush lounge setting, to a seating area next to the windows that looked out over the car park below. My three Isaan gals, having not been to this standard of venue before, were well impressed. A bottle of Black label was ordered and the girls got into the groove straight away alternating between double shots of Black and working on their sexy dance moves. Firm butt had already done a warm up session on the dance platform back at the bar on cowboy and was quickly into her stride with more of her butt grinding rhythm. The skimpy dress she’d bought was probably a tad too skimpy as it continually worked its way up her thighs to a position slightly above crotch level. A hasty readjustment and it was back down to a position slightly below crotch level.

It wasn’t long before the tables around us started to fill up with those that one could clearly see considered themselves to be part of Bangkok’s elite. To be honest I really don’t know any Hi So’s but, from what I’ve seen while hanging out in Paragon and The Emporium, most of them look as though they take themselves fairly seriously. They also look as though they don’t really know how to let their hair down. It’s as though they’ve got to be continually on their guard because every move they make is being scrutinized by their peers.

A large group sat down at the table in front of us and I gave firm butt her cue. She got straight into it by doing that thing that the hot go-go dancers do; they spread their legs slightly apart, lean against a wall, or hang on to a pole, and roll their butts as though they’re engaged in copulation from the rear. It was classic and I sat their laughing like hell as her actions caught the attention of some of those hi so boys. I don’t think they’ve ever seen anything quite like it in their lives as they looked on wide eyed and slacked jawed. Their female contingent looked on in disgust with their

noses in the air.


I sat back and took a slurp of my lukewarm Nescafe in the fading light of a late afternoon in Bangkok. I closed my eyes in a moment of total relaxation and thought about the previous forty eight hours; it had been exhausting but totally entertaining. Although the sexy pig farmers had gone back to Korat, to continue breeding pigs, they’d mentioned to me that it wouldn’t be too long before they’d be back in town for some more fun. My sedated state was interrupted by the ringing of my phone. It was the ex.


“Teerak, what do you think about us be back together again?” she said with that seductive voice that I knew only too


“I’ll have to think about that” I said enjoying being in the dominant position.

“Ta mai?” she said with that edge to her voice, that I also knew so well, when she wasn’t going to get her way immediately.

“I’m going up to Korat to have a look at a pig farm” I said with a grin

“Arai Na”

Stickman's thoughts:

Sounds like a good time was had!

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