Readers' Submissions

Exotic, Erotic, Psychotic / Smoke, Pussy and Mirrors (sPam)




One of the first women I met in Thailand was a rather untypical bar girl. Working in a pool bar, there is perhaps no more desirable place for me to meet women than playing pool.

Any monger who claims there is nothing sexual about the game of pool has had way too much to drink (or is an unimaginative moron). The longer, slender cues ramming forth, the shiny balls dropping into the pockets, the rack is even the shape of a triangle. Everything about it suggests sex. You see the woman grip the stick in one hand and slide it through the slender, feminine fingers of the other hand. If you're watching her from behind, you can't overlook the posture. She's bent
over at the waist, her derriere fully displayed, her breasts lightly skimming the table. Then she drives the stick into the white cue ball and you might just as well climb up on the table and fxxx right there.

And although Jeab was barfineable, she was perfectly clear upfront that indulging in sex wasn't going to happen. And she was true to her word. As I got to know her better in the coming months, I was reasonably sure that this woman in her late 20's had never slept with a man, although perhaps a few women. Even that was uncertain. I attempted to help Jeab improve her pool abilities which weren't bad, but when I attempted to teach her some rudimentary ideas about playing for position and playing a defensive game, her reply was that she didn't want to think but only to have fun. Years later I got the exact same reply from another Thai lady (although much to my ongoing delight, SuperBitch not only already had a remote sponsor, she was more sexual than any woman I'd ever met). Both enjoyed playing pool and wanted to win, but you'd have thought that I'd try to engage them in an advanced course in rocket surgery. Their mental acuity wasn't really up to the minimal task of advance planning and thinking beyond their current needs of phone, food, family and face.

There are some other things I'd once wanted to share with bargirls, particularly some English language aphorisms such as:


A) A penny saved is a penny earned.

B) An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure (If you're going to work the bar, use some contraception other than condoms).

C) Killing the goose that lays the golden egg (the xx,xxx baht I give you per month isn't enough you say? Maybe the number zero will help convey the meaning of this adage).

D) Hair of the dog that bit you (I always knew that if a bargirl said she understood this, she was merely saving face).


While still dallying with Jeab, I met a woman from the other end of the spectrum. I met Annie boarding a baht bus in Pattaya and being as free (and reckless) as the wind, she was available to spend the next 14 hours with me when we got off of the baht bus. In our subsequent get-togethers, Annie would disappear from about midnight until 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning. Of course I was curious as to where she was going and once I gained her trust she told me that she was selling yaa-baa.

It was a drawn out emotional entanglement with Annie and I was well rid of her by the time she and her Thai boyfriend made Pattaya headline news by stabbing a one-legged Finnish man while robbing him. The newspapers referred to Annie as a bargirl, but she never held any conventional job when I knew her. A bargirl was a paragon of punctuality and honesty compared to Annie. I never ascertained if this Finnish man and Annie had been interrupted mid-session (coitus interruptus) or had their cigarette reverie quashed by the clumsy boyfriend. But if Annie and the Finn hadn't finished, the boyfriend and Annie surely finished him off. R.I.P.

Jeab and Annie did share one trait which likely helped draw me into their sphere. Both had parted lips which left their teeth exposed. Years later a woman I met in Phnom Penh eliminated all my sexual interest in her when we stopped for a meal on the way home and I discovered that her upper front teeth were AWOL. For some reason, I still brought her home, but sex was no longer on my agenda. I could laugh at the situation and couldn't at this point miss the absurd but apparent notion that teeth comprised an important element of my sexual attraction to a woman. Or in this Phnom Penh instance, sexual repellent. Some guys are put off by roadmap bellies or tattoos, but I had more esoteric and inexplicable ideas.

Our world is a bizarre place and I have tended towards intellectual laziness partially out of indolence, but also because I think that psychological explanations and revelations are as often as not merely mental masturbation. The human mind, in its infinitely varied varieties, cannot be examined and proved like a mathematical expression. There seem to be a couple of common approaches to dealing with our curious brains and our need for an explanation as to why we are here, what we are doing with our lives, or in my current dialogue, what's my issue with women's teeth. One approach, and one that I used for a good part of my life, is what I now refer to as the Caveman approach. Duly named after that Las Vegas wit and sage, his entertaining submissions (see the memorable LDS entry here:) are mostly comprised of redneck renditions of 'what you see is what you get' (WYSIWYG) and the platitude that because 'I feel something, therefore it is and must be true'. The 2nd common approach is to ascribe the unexplainable and ineffable to some mystic deity or to some tortured and dubious psychological mantra postulated by a disturbed phallic smoking / cigar sucking analyst / therapist / psychologist. Both are tortured intellectual attempts at making sense at that which clearly doesn't.

Whether we like it or not and regardless of how much we succeed at intoxicating ourselves (with whatever is our drug or distraction of choice) reality is a frustratingly and disturbingly complex affair. And the human mind tends to seek a compass and scorecard to play the game. Choose the proper religion, or hope that the right political opportunists get into power, or look for the magic partner or lottery wealth; all attempts at satisfying the perennially discontent. Spending time in Thailand only adds to the confusion of the situation (our lives) and we find ourselves forced to seek more frequent (and pleasant) distraction or to fabricate even more unlikely explanations as to what the fxxx is going on around us. I've made almost 60 trips around the sun and travelled my whole life and if there is one place that WYSIWYG is absolutely inapplicable, it for me is Thailand. A commercial aircraft looks awfully streamlined and simplistic on the outside, but then what you see isn't what's inside, what's really going on. If you think you can tell when an experienced bargirl is lying to you, you are lying to yourself. If you aren't confused when living in Bangkok, then you don't understand what is going on around you.

But there comes a point and a time and a desperate reason to sometimes delve a bit deeper into what is going on around us. When you live in Bangkok and what you see is NOT what you get, if you don't pause on occasion to do a little mental due diligence, chances are pretty good you are going to get hurt. Emotionally, financially, arai gadai. When you play in the gutter, you should expect that sometimes you'll get scratched, get dirty or perhaps even run over and squashed. And make no mistake about it; whether you are in the urine-scented stairways of Nana Plaza or the neon lights of Soi Cowboy, you are playing with trash in the gutter. Sure, it's alluring trash and some of it smells good and is full of radiant smiles (sometimes full of exquisite teeth that I fully appreciate) and your alcoholic haze only adds to the illusion, but then what you see is NOT what you get.

If you're still reading and expecting a dental explanation and analysis from me, you'll be sadly disappointed. The teeth issue remains a point of curiosity for me, but I have more important questions to answer. Such as:

A) Why does Thailand have such a huge number of ladyboys on a per capita basis?

B) Why are so many mongers dismayed by and hold in great disdain the bane of starfish?

C) Is it possible to return to a 'normal' existence in the West after a certain threshold of time and / or bargirls has been exceeded?


D) If sexual acts are intrinsically and fundamentally attempts at reproduction, why are we so oblivious to this fact most of the time?


E) Is the likelihood of 'intelligent design' significantly lessened by the intertwining of the reproductive organs and excretory organs in most mammals?


Yes, I could likely go on ad infinitum with more questions, but that wouldn't be much fun for me or the reader. But make no mistake, this is being written for my (cathartic) benefit, not yours. Hopefully you'll be amused or get a few chuckles for the time you waste reading this drivel, but even a bargirl doesn't mind if you have a good time with her. As long as you pay her adequately, she doesn't begrudge you having a good time. Hell, you are safer to be with if you're happy and she might get a bigger tip or some repeat business from you. It's a lot less work snaring you for a 2nd barfine than the first if she goes home leaving you a happy customer. And if you enjoy reading this crap, perhaps you'll send me an amusing email and give me some reason to get out of bed today.

My suspicion is that if I weren't at least somewhat susceptible to emotional responses (as opposed to merely sexual responses) to my time spent in Cowboy and Nana, those visits would lose all interest for me. Not that I like having to deal with these emotional reactions, which are all too often to my detriment. And in an effort to ameliorate the scratches and minimize further damage, I sometimes must succumb to mental masturbation and then I enter the realm of powerful competing interests. Those of laziness and those of self-protection which include a desire to lead a contented, happy existence. It reminds me of the paradox of the buttered toast affixed (butter side up) to the back of a normal housecat who is then dropped from a considerable height. Everybody knows that cats always land on their feet and that buttered toast always lands buttered-side down. Eventually something must give as gravity will not be kept waiting forever, but in the meantime, great advances will be soon made in commercial aviation due to this cat / toast hovering. It doesn't do much for propulsion, but it does provide a great amount of lift leading to substantial reductions in fuel consumption.

OK, a little digression is now in order and we return to question 'b' from above, the question of starfish. For the uninitiated, starfish are ladies who lay with their limbs akimbo and provide access to desired chambers, but show no interest or satisfaction from your ministrations and exertions. Apparently I am far from the only monger who finds such starfish to be the antithesis of what we are seeking in the P4P arena. But this brings about further questions such as:

A) Why is the man in the least concerned with the starfish response when he is indulging in P4P?

B) What is it that I am actually seeking from encounters with barladies?

C) Is even the most hardened monger totally driven solely by his own physical pleasure?

D) How conscious are we or can we become of our deeper instinctual needs?

I once lived next to a guy in Pattaya who would not infrequently partake of two different sessions with two different ladies in a given night. And he would invariably let me know that he had 'fxxxed the shit out of them' when he got them back to his room. I suppose that this phrase was meant to convey to me his virility and masculinity and his prowess with the ladies. But all it did for me was to further raise the question, what are we truly looking for in a sexual encounter.

OK, it's confession time. Not only have I sent starfish home in the opening minute of what I'd hoped would be a 12 round match; I am irresistibly drawn to the responsive woman, the lady who lets you know that she is enjoying very much what you are doing to her and with her. And the rolling motions of her eyes, her reactions to your caresses, and particularly the tone of her vocal sounds make a compelling case for the notion that she is having a far better time of it than you. The sounds that are emitted from her throat are far more pleasing to my psyche than a collection of the fattest and finest opera singers from any century. And because I am not Don Juan or Young Juan, this doesn't happen very often at all. And much to my dismay, when it does occur it inevitably occurs with a woman who is inconsiderate, less than polite most of the time and in short, a bitch. (Or a drug dealer and murderess.) My latest debacle in this kind of situation was all too recent and none too pleasant. I find myself becoming obsessed and seeking far more than can be even remotely considered plausible with such a bitch. I don't throw all caution to the winds, but certainly too much. Recently when she was sitting on top of me with my prong inserted into her receptacle, I had the conscious thought that 'although this is pleasant, it is a lot of work to get to these idyllic moments'. That's a pretty good indicator that this is not a particularly promising encounter now or in the future. A professional gambler once said, 'sex is good, but poker lasts longer'. There's a lot to be said for that observation. Sort of a return-on-investment view of how we spend our time.

One of the conveniences of spending time with a bargirl is that she has lots of time available for her customers. And I have found no surer means of relieving the itch of obsession with a bargirl than by spending additional time with her. Assuming that she isn't a conniving, lying bitch, invariably you'll find a rather shallow and simplistic personality. Some guys are content with such a companion, but I need a woman savvy enough to be sarcastic and make me laugh; wise enough to have some desire to plan for the future; clever and curious enough to seek more from a customer than merely money. If you are a remote sponsor sending monthly monetary contributions to a bargirl, her absence only accentuates the sexual abstinence forced upon you by your residence in Celibacyville. You are likely dreaming of something that really doesn't exist except in your imagination; hope springs eternal.

A lot of guys come to Asia and Thailand out of a sense of disenfranchisement with their lives and women from their homelands. Yes, it is important to acknowledge what you don't want and need to get away from. But it is also of paramount importance to have a sufficient understanding of yourself that you can obtain ongoing pleasure; not merely brief bursts of ejaculatory relief.

Asia and Thailand are a fantastic delight and experience to the disenfranchised man from the West. Sort of a Montessori school in female studies. If you like, sort of a speed reading course or perhaps even an ongoing tag-team wrestling tournament.

Western men and perhaps the majority of men in the world, strive to be independent and strong, assertive. Sometimes we posture a bit too much for our ultimate well-being. Out of frustration or rejection or prior experiences, we conjure up such notions as "I don't need a relationship", "I don't need other people", etc.

My hunch is that what draws me to the bars and gogos is the inner sense that I have been accepted. There is a festive atmosphere sometimes (at the Rainbows at Nana, instead I find an assembly line mentality at work) and grizzled mongers can engage with youth and beauty that not only doesn't exist in our homelands, but that wouldn't give us the time of day if we spoke to them. To young women in my homeland, I'm a non-entity. Not even wallpaper. Indubitably, I have to pay something for this acceptance. Just as I must pay a price in all relationships and interaction. This kind of access isn't condoned in my homeland but mostly I find it worthwhile and a rather safe diversion from the daily grind. I have a friend back in my homeland who knows something of my exploits here and he points out to me that he is surprised that with my insights I can still find pleasure in a bar or gogo with bargirls. I learned decades ago that it is sometimes best not to delve too deeply into a matter. Countless times I read the biography of a person I once admired; only to have my appreciation for that person destroyed by reality. Analyzed to too great an extent, all of life becomes an absurdity. Life is a carefully calculated balancing act of trying to obscure reality while facing up to the necessary truths. The Thais know this all too well. The notion of saving face strikes me all too often as nothing more than attempting to transform the truth, obscure the facts, rewrite reality.

To refuse to acknowledge our innate need for acceptance is a very male malady. The lady in the bar can smile and chatter and caress you endlessly, but you won't know until you get home if you've selected a starfish. Likely, the starfish grotesquely offends the monger because her lack of responsiveness is read by us as a sign of rejection. She played you well in the bar, knew all the gestures, the right times to smile and laugh, but when it came time for the palpable playoff, you find yourself unaccepted and rejected. In general, lack of responsiveness is read as a sign of rejection. The normal response to rejection is take it personally. We become sad, shame bound, constrained in our behaviour toward the other, and we defend ourselves with anger, counter rejection, and vengeance, obvious or disguised. In this light the starfish metaphor is an act of revenge cloaked in humour, a kind of cursing of the offending behaviour in the abstract. This does nothing at all to make the starfish feel safe and there is likely to develop a positive feedback loop of negative reaction. This applies to every form of human communication, even financial transactions. Comedians die on the stage in the presence of a cold audience and often lash out at the audience with cruel and poorly disguised contempt. The child whose mother is depressed or preoccupied does not develop a full range of social responsiveness. They often are flat in their self-expression. To be expressive one must experience a responsive world and our first world is the world of our mothers. If you want more information than this on the subject, either consult with a professional or meet me at Soi Cowboy some night and pay for my drinks and barfine of choice.

There is a damn good reason that 'dogs are a man's best friend' and that is that your furry friend accepts you unconditionally. The dog doesn't care if you are rich or poor, a man of fashion or a cross-dresser and is totally oblivious to whatever you do on your computer.

At the entrance to Soi Cowboy and to Nana Plaza are very large illuminated signs that explain in no uncertain terms 'Entertainment'. It says nothing about love, sex, emotions and living happily ever after. When all else fails, follow the directions. When you go to the cinema, you expect a diversion for a few hours, not a life altering experience. I actually prefer the beautiful French word 'divertissement'. Although at times it is indeed sordid and squalid, I prefer to consider this entertainment a magnificent divertissement.

Watching a movie again that you haven't seen in years or re-reading a book that moved you when you were young can be very revealing. Passages that once meant a lot to you might now leave you empty and flat. (Just as a lover who once made your tongue hard, now leaves you limp.) Conversely, scenes that at an earlier age meant nothing to you now have your full attention. In an earlier submission to Stickman I preferred up a one sentence quotation about boredom. Recently I had the good fortune to re-read the entire paragraph in question and I share it with you. "The basic fact about human existence is not that it is a tragedy, but that it is a bore. It is not so much a war as an endless standing in line. The objection to it is not that it is predominately painful, but that it is lacking in sense".

After a number of years shuffling about in the arenas of Pattaya and Bangkok, life here continues to make far less sense than were I to return to my homeland. But what it lacks in sense, it makes up in pleasurable escapades. When you enter Nana Entertainment Plaza (NEP) or Soi Cowboy, failure to read and follow the directions is a recipe for disaster. What you see is NOT what you get. Regardless of how flawless the smile and the teeth. There is an aphorism I need to recall time and again. I'm 'barking up the wrong tree'.


Stickman's thoughts:

I like your final paragraph. Yeah, this place really is one big illusion.