Confessions, and A Lot More

I am a hardcore whoremonger, having paid for sex with more than 2,600 women in 32 countries on five continents. Seldom have I been with the same hooker more than twice, and I have rarely been tempted to get romantically involved with one. I have a First
from Cambridge and a Ph.D. from the University of Chicago in Late Renaissance literature. With unlimited time to travel the world, I do so with the aim of finding women who will go with me for money, while enjoying four- and five-star hotels,
good food and expensive wines, and at the same time seeking an environment where I can read at leisure the classics–Chaucer and Shakespeare are of particular interest—and the best of modern literature. By birth I am an American, though
I rarely spend more than a month a year in my homeland. I am a little over six feet tall, 170 pounds, and am fifty-four years old. I jog four to five miles four days a week.

I am a feminist, but only in the sense of wanting women to have the same rights as men, neither more nor less. I have no interest in anything else that goes under the name of feminism, and regard an awful lot of feminism as ill-conceived, hateful, and
pernicious. With regard to my claim in the essay on Pattaya that I am a neo-conservative, post-Kantian feminist, I have no idea what this means, and I know of no feminist of any stripe who has every described herself in these terms. As for my
further claim that I am Ukrainian, this is, as I’ve already alluded to, a bald-faced lie. About all that can be said in this regard is that I have had the pleasure of several Ukrainian women, and some with gorgeous long legs. When you find
a good one they are as good as any woman I have ever been with or can imagine having. Were it possible for me to score with several of the tall, young and quite attractive Russian and Ukrainian women that one sees with boyfriends and husbands
on the streets of Pattaya, I would love to do so. I regret to say that I have not thus far been so fortunate, or rather taken the kind of initiative that might make it possible. I should note for the curious that the lifestyle I lead has been
made possible by having made a good deal of money in the illegal drug trade, a venture from which I am long retired.

A couple of other things need to be noted before I turn to the important issues I want to address, namely the cold-hearted deception that I undertook in penning the Pattaya essay. I did so with the aim of eliciting comments from Stick and other readers,
with the intent of then illustrating several points that have struck me over the years about the human mind. I need to emphasize that the only reason for claiming that I was a feminist, and a rather queered kind at that (the laughable nonsense
about being a post-Kantian, neo-conservative feminist) was to see exactly how everyone might react, and thereby bias what they had to say. My feminist label was mischievously compounded by claiming to be a woman.

Let me note at this point that I have received over twenty-five e-mails, and nine of them have been highly positive and agree with little or no qualification about what I had to say about Pattaya. What follows applies generally to humans, and some of
what I have to say does not apply to the nine individuals who seemed utterly unconcerned about my claim that I was a woman and a feminist.

Now to the real heart of what I want to say, using examples and thoughts from my considerable mongering in Thailand and elsewhere, and from comments I have received via e-mails and, to date, two posted submissions, both of them keen on addressing my alleged
sex and feminism rather than what I had to say about tourism, bar girls, and expats and sexpats in Pattaya.

The Inadequate Nature of Spoken and Written Language. I am not here referring to different languages (Thai, German, English, Bengali), but rather to the very considerable difficulty we all have in communicating to others what
we think we want to say and want others to hear.

Several people who wrote to me took me to task for being against prostitution. My intention in writing what I did about Pattaya, however, was not to address the issue of whether or not prostitution is good or bad. In the essay
I make the point by noting: “each to his own,” and leave it at that. I in fact—as the history of my behavior would suggest–think prostitution is a very good thing, and virtually everywhere for the same reason: it gives a
great many women with few skills and little education a small measure of equality in the economic marketplace, because men all over the world are willing to pay good money for sex, whether or not they are married, and largely irrespective of age.
Women with few skills and little education can make more money on a per hour or per day basis selling access to their bodies than they can doing almost anything else; until, that is, they get quite well educated and then are able to sell their
skills in the West—or the westernized islands of the third world–in various kinds of business endeavors.

This idea that prostitution is not just okay but a quite good thing is, in fact, a “progressive” feminist idea, and one embraced by more than a few of the kind of women so disliked by a great many men on this site. Need it be said that there
are as many different feminists as there are ways to enjoy women.

Some of the people who wrote to me wanted to let me know that prostitution is good for Thailand. I agree. But there is a real problem here with people who revert to this claim that prostitution is good for Thailand or other less developed countries, often
noting as they do so in the same breath that the industry greatly advantages those from Isaan, the poorest region of Thailand. The central problem here is that men who go to prostitutes do not do so with the aim of benefitting
the women or their families. The economic payoff to the young women of Isaan or those of the Philippines or those of the Ukraine, and their families, is a byproduct of what men seek and pay for; it is not, to reiterate the point,
the reason men go to the women, anymore that middle-aged white women from Europe or America go to the Caribbean to have a sexual fling with young black men to help them and their families. They go to meet their own sexual needs and fantasies,
just as mongers do; and if they claim otherwise they are either lying or deceiving themselves.

One of the points here, beyond what I have just noted, is that no effort whatsoever was made by me to address the issues just touched upon, yet several people who wrote to me felt compelled to take me to task on these issues or claim that I should have
addressed them. I have every reason to believe that the people who wrote to me, with one possible exception, have English as their first language. Did I note communicate clearly what my aim was: to portray Pattaya, and to alone characterize the
kind of place Pattaya is? Or were my readers simply not reading with care, or not paying attention to what I did and did not say? And did many of them—as I strongly suspect—have their ability to think clearly greatly compromised
by the very focused zoom lens through which they saw the submission—one written not just by a woman from the West but by one who claimed to be a feminist? These are the same kind of men who deeply resent outsiders or Thai inferring that
because they are married to a Thai woman much younger than they are, they must, ipso facto, be married to a former bar girl. Whether their wife is or is not a former bar girl is an empirical fact, one to be established with the same care that
one would take in trying to find out if I am not only a woman but a feminist with views that are widely thought to be beyond the pale.

A Profound Lack of Skepticism. The principal aim of all higher education is, or should be, the cultivation of a skeptical mind. This does not mean, literally, that everything should be questioned. But it does mean that one should
look at claims of whatever sort with a skeptical eye, with the thought that the claim or claims is or are overly simplistic, lacking supporting evidence, or for all kinds of reasons that might be brought to mind, just plain wrong.

A clear-headed read of what I wrote should make any reader question whether the many things I have to say about mongers and bar girls could have been written by a woman from the West. It’s possible that a woman could have done so, but highly unlikely.
And at best it would not have been based on first-hand experience. And who among those, including Stick, questioned that what was written was written by a woman? No one. Which speaks not just to a lack of skepticism but to an equally disturbing
gullibility. I have never met a person, and I don’t exclude myself, who wasn’t gullible about all kinds of things.

As already noted, most of those who wrote to me jumped to the unwarranted conclusion that just because the essay was highly critical of Pattaya and the kinds of people found there this meant that I had a “feminist agenda” and was, in all
likelihood, a man-hating feminist. This, I think, is an inference based on little more than a hot-button label, one that seems to drive an inordinate number of expats and visitors to Southeast Asia half wild with rage, and to bring forth that
well-worn word femi-nazi label. For women who behave with hatred toward men, I prefer a word that no woman can deal with: cunt.

Of course, none of this too surprising. I would venture the guess that much like the moderator of this site, most of those who contribute to and read what gets posted have not had university training, and even if they had it does not follow that they
got from that education what they should have—a mind always vigilantly skeptical and alert to falsehoods and raw prejudice and unvarnished opinions that belong in the toilet. The Thai are notorious for their uncritical mindset and poor
analytic skills. A great many Westerners who have been drawn to the Internet to spout off about anything that comes to mind are not much better when it comes to clear thinking and thinking through what they have written on their computers.

Simple-Minded Reasoning. Very much related to not being skeptical and consistently demanding evidence, and putting a premium on tight analytical reasoning, is the presence of simple-minded reasoning. Even were I a feminist with
all kinds of agendas, there is no way to know without knowing me or my positions (by talking to me) whether or not I am in favor of or against prostitution, or whether I dislike the English in general just because there happens to be so much English
skinhead scum in Pattaya as I noted. In fact, I have all kinds of English friends, as many as I have in America and Australia and France (I speak fluent French and spend several months a year there). A prominent characteristic of poorly educated
farang (and not just because they have not gone to university) is that they revel in dividing up the world into good guys and bad guys; bad-attitude Western women and great-attitude Asian women; women who have been whores and will never be anything
else, and “good girls” who will never be whores no matter how much they suck every last pound or euro or dollar out of their farang husbands or boyfriends. Stick’s site is cluttered with such simple-minded submissions, including
more than a few, especially on marriage, to which he has awarded green stars. You can only reason well if you are consistently among people who genuinely reason and think with their minds rather than with their feet, or like they were the ass
end of a braying jackass full of itself.

Having said this, we all make mistakes, and we all commit the sin of over generalizing. We do so to get on with the argument, to not get lost in the single case, knowing if we have any sense at all that there are virtually no generalizations in the human
arena that do not have exceptions—dying being one of those immutable human certainties. There are no doubt plenty of good and classy Englishmen in Pattaya. There are men living in Pattaya married to Thai women who have never worked in beer
bars or go-go venues or as freelancers on Beach Road. And there are more than a few old and fat and bald men married to Thai hookers that are happy and as well-adjusted as any couple one might encounter in the West. Do any of these many exceptions
undercut my generalizations about Pattaya? I think not; in fact I am certain they do not. As the old saying goes: they are the exceptions that prove the rule. Could I have written an essay three or four times as long that addresses the many exceptions
to the generalizations I made? I most certainly could have. But to have done so I would have had to give up time for reading and fucking and drinking—and that I won’t do. I know where my priorities lie.

The Denial of Hard Truths. There aren’t many of us who can comfortably live with the thought that our partner has shagged several hundred men; or is consistently taking us for a sucker and lying to us about all kinds of
things, and all the time; or is a thorough-going gold digger (bar girl or not) and will abandon us as soon as it becomes apparent that she has reached the bottom of our money barrel or we start refusing to feed her voracious consumption habits.
Those who have chosen to live out their remaining years in a place like Pattaya don’t want to be told by me or anyone else that they are living in a noisy human rat hole flooded with voyeuristic tourists, and that no amount of wishful thinking
is going to change any of this. And Pattaya’s even a noisy rat hole and not something else if it’s got some good restaurants and more than a dozen golf courses and you can get a short-time fuck on Soi Six for a thousand baht or less
anytime the wife or girlfriend gets grouchy and uses sex as a weapon. Pattaya is no less of a rat hole for me just because a couple of times a year, and for a week or ten days, I’m there to pay 4,000 baht day after day to a twenty something
stunning hooker without a kid who’s going to make my cock sing three times a night and then for another 1,000 baht tip give me a nice full and wet going-away present on toward noon. Do I delude myself that she would truly love me if I gave
her 5,000 baht daily for an allowance until the end of time? Not for a moment, anymore than I deluded myself when western ex-girlfriends, of which I have had several, began to profess undying love for me when they got wind of how much money I
was making in the dangerous drug trade. Their mind-set was no different that the Pattaya whores who know exactly how to satisfy my sexual needs, and the hookers, as hookers always are, are a lot cheaper than any girlfriend or wife.

A corollary of this line of argument is that all of us see what we want to see, and reason and truth be damned. The several people who wanted to burn me at the feminist stake for what I wrote (and who knows how many more than didn’t write to me
or Stick), and without the benefit of a last meal and a final act of contrition, saw only an angry feminist who hates men from the West; and nothing I said then, and perhaps now, will change their minds about me, or the Pattaya they love, or all
the men and women of that gigantic whorehouse who I described as losers who deserve each other.

There are those who have heard of my appetites and sexual exploits in one-on-one conversations. More than once, and to my face, they have described me as an immoral and unconscionable and very unhappy bastard with no redeeming qualities. Nothing I could
say to try to convince them that they were mistaken would change their minds. Nothing I might say about Pattaya would change the minds of those who think it is more than just okay as a place to live. Most of us believe what we believe no matter
the nature of the evidence and the arguments slapping us in the face.

The Inability to Take Criticism. It is a fact of what might be called human nature that few people are ever comfortable with direct or implied criticism of who they are or what they represent or what they have written or said.
I know of extremely few exceptions to this rule. All kinds of western men decided at some point that Pattaya was the best of all places to live out one’s final years, and being told that it is an unredeemable shithole as a place to live,
and it’s getting worse, is not welcome criticism. And it would not be welcome criticism no matter how much evidence and nuanced argument were brought to bear. Again, each to his or her own, in his or her own little prison of conceits and
self-satisfactions.

Finally, am I really who I say I am in the opening paragraphs?

It doesn’t matter, or matter much. Nor does it matter much that I was deceitful in the original submission. What matters, I think, is the way I was able to provoke responses, and to then use such responses to make a number of points in this essay
that no doubt others have thought about at one time or another—if they have used their minds, and been skeptical, and not simple-minded, and not reasoned as so many men are prone to reason with their stiff cocks when in the presence of
a flirtatious and charming bar girl working the best scam in town.

As a concluding aside, Patti is the name of the last Filipina bar girl I slept with. And Dern? When younger, I had the strong urge to spend a night or two in bed with Laura Dern, the Hollywood actress. It never happened; I had the money to do so but not
the connections.

Jackson (the name one of my western girlfriends gave to me when she wanted to get it on)

Aka Patti Dern: pattidern@yahoo.com.

Stickman's thoughts:

I actually thought Patti Dern was an anagram for something but couldn't work out just what.

Welcome back, Korski! 🙂