Stickman Readers' Submissions November 13th, 2010

Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes Part 264

Greetings lickers and moaners, drinkers and stoners, mongers and fongers (ok, nothing rhymes with mongers)–a dedication and a story. Enjoy.

This story dedicated to H.W. Tilman: personal hero, courageous World War One and World War Two soldier, alpha intellectual, wonderful writer, adventurer, sailor, climber, raconteur, and 20th century yogin. Tilman traveling in Thailand would have been witty, trenchant, and hilarious in his dry wit way. Our loss that the Kingdom had no mountains worth climbing.

He Clinic Bangkok


The Bell Travel van drops me off at the Mothership in Bangkok like a sack of cement. Too tired to carry my backpack and my carry-on bag I just drag them inside and up to the check-in counter. Fifteen minutes later it is give the porter a tip, slide the lock into the brass security channel on the inside of the door, and sleep. I don't even make it to the bed.

I wake up on the carpet in a puddle of drool around 10 p.m. I can hear the boom-boom sounds of the bars across the street, but I am too tired to even leave my room. After three weeks in Pattaya cycling on and off Viagra, and nitric acid, and Horny Goat Weed; falling in love two or three times per day; and almost no REM sleep: I'm a wreck. My private parts are held together with duct tape. My plane back to the States leaves at 6:20 a.m. and all I am going to do is sleep. At least that was Plan A.

CBD bangkok

An hour later I'm at the front door of the hotel and headed across the street. It won't hurt to just look. Plan B. I'll have a Coke at the Rainbow bar and then come back and crash. Yeah, that's right; that's what I'll do. I've got a plan. Plan B. Halfway down the parking lot I spy a goddess. About 4'10" tall, dark skin, black hair to her waist, almond eyes, big lips, and a body you would see in a comic book. We talk. She is from Phuket but visiting Bangkok. It's nice to have a portable profession. Her English is excellent. She is intelligent and quick and fun. I leave her.

I what? I leave her? Just too tired. Working Plan B. An hour later I am returning from the bars and she is still on display. Ten minutes later and we are in my room. I guess I am now on Plan C. Whatever. Anyway, I have a Polaroid camera and several film packs. I move the table and the chairs and have her pose in front of the white wall. She relaxes. We laugh and have fun. She examines each picture as it develops and makes suggestions. Soon there are thirty pictures on the table top. A messy happy example of two adults connecting and bonding and smiling. And what did these pictures show? A happy, smiling, confident woman at the height of her sexual and mental and physical powers. An alpha human. Her choice of profession might not have gotten her invited to all of the best parties but I'd pick her for any team.

Picture time over, she stands in front of the TV and strips. Naked in ten seconds. Breathtaking. A goddess making a living the easy way. But she made a mistake. While the clothes came off something else came on. She turned the television set on. Mistake. Take my word for this fellas, once you push through the 100 girl mark you have learned a few things: turning on the TV is a deal breaker. She doesn't want to make me smile, she just wants to watch TV and get paid for it. That's not my plan.

I turn off the television and I say:

wonderland clinic

"Sorry honey–I'm only looking for players."

and then I start to dress her. Underpants, high heels, pleated skirt, etc. — she gets the message and finishes dressing herself. There is steam coming out of her ears and she is infuriated with me but she stays in control. She's tough. She's experienced and she isn't gonna let me see her sweat. I try to give her some 'taxi money' but she waves it away. Her contempt for a man who can not be manipulated is complete.

She grabs her purse and heads for the door. Half-way to the door she wheels around, opens her purse, goes to the table, and sweeps every photo into her purse. So much for two human beings bonding and connecting. That's going with her. She'll leave me nothing. No eye contact, no remarks, no histrionics, no loss of control, no smile, and no photos. The door slams.

There I am. No naked woman and no photos. I start to pack. My plane leaves Boomi at 6:20 a.m. I'll have to leave the hotel around 3:30 a.m. It's been another great vacation in the Kingdom. I'm walking like a bow-legged duck because of genital abuse but I'll heal.

So, what do I miss the most: the beautiful naked woman, or the photos? I kinda wish I still had the pictures. God bless photography.

Stickman's thoughts:

God bless photography indeed!

nana plaza