Of course, part of the problem, as you age, your attractions are not to the corresponding of the opposite gender. We like em young. And in Thailand, or Philippines, as you hit your thirties, or older, you can get the still attractive wenches in their twenties.
In some of the submissions the mates purely chose women closer to their ages, thinking chances for success would thus improve, but generally this is not the case. For as the gender dearest to soft, their bodes, and minds, do gather dust drops indeed with age.
I am now firmly in my thirties. And notice I am attracted still woomen in their early twenties. My main lass has just turned twenty two.
Problems occur when young lasses don't necessarily see, in long terms, the niceties of Biggert bellies, receding hairlines, greyer hairs. Yes, they give it a go to enter the loops of middle class, but they also must tire of the older rashes and snores.
Come to Thailand and fun with the silk and sex. But if one seeks marriage, especially in bar scenes, prepare the hangovers of disappointment. Them's just the facts.
In my own submissions here I have tried to be true, but haven't really because I left out the uncoool parts.
I hate to be alone. And in these times I feel alone, I have taken drugs. Cocaine I like, it makes me social, also starts to itch, and you become constipated, and interferes with sleep., and you become obsessed with it.
Oxy is more of a solitary inwardness. It feels good and is real addictive. I have entered recovery based on just this one drug.
Drink is another problem for me. I get into a falling state of mind and it allows me to fly.
A truth to avoid the itch is to move around a lot, and attach to people without addictions.
I think the common thread is: we try to avoid loneliness. We know we may be on dick street but if there's moments of lust, or warmth, like stretching upon lady ass, or drinking into stupor, surrounded by mates, loneliness is avoided.
I'm currently sitting with a San Miguel in front my wife's house watching workers construct a terrace. A terrace I am paying for from a loan from my stepmother and real father in San Marino, California. You see, I was teaching my step sister to drive in her BMW and she ran into a wall. It was insured, but I think they felt bad about my three fractured ribs. By the way, there is no real treatment for fractured ribs. You let it repair itself and put up with 5-6 weeks of pain. At least I got 60 pain pills to reach a more pleasurable accommodation.
I am in Rizal province and am trying to think of anything good about this country. The girls are pretty until about 30. That's the only thing I can think of.
My wife is happy with me because I am building a terrace and everyone sees the terrace and she gains great respect. As for me, I drop a pain pill and ask for another San Miguel.
My mind is really not before this terrace. My neurons silently construct a red-headed lass with a 22-year set of natures boobets. She is of red heritage and I remember the strands of her pubby ones between my teeth and tongue.
In England with her some weeks ago we had partaken of some mushrooms which produced incredible geometric symmetries. When the drug effects wore of I licked at her bobblerts and went from mind expansion to penile extension.
I tried to be responsible in this life. The 9 to 5 though meant taking stupid instructions. I was often castigated because I never had quite the proper enthusiasm.
When I tried my art painting I was constantly told they weren't as good as my Dad's. But my father compromised his best instincts to make ugly ladies pretty.
Anyway, back in Prinza baranguay, people constantly stare at my blond hair. They have plenty of their own blond colored kids, although drawn from a bottle.
I miss Bangkok. My Aberdeen princess named Deena is in London studying medicine. She thinks I'm a prince, seeing only the sides I want her to see.
I haven't told of the times yet when I used to hang around Alexander Platz in Berlin and suck off tourists to earn enough bread to eat the best bread. Course, a lot of the times they would suck me off.
Does telling you this tarnish my cool image?
Sometimes reading Stick something doesn't sound right in the stories and I think it's because writers sanitize themselves.
More dirt painting: I once shoved a squeeze outside quite naked to humiliate her after a row. Quite the asshole I was.
Oh I am dark in this submission. But I hold a picture from a secret fold from my wallet that wants me to delete all my poisons and pray for jump into a cleansing stream.
For in Deena I have that most inspiring addiction, whose natural product can change one from a narcisstic little ass to a responsible polisher of diamonds.
I pull out a little piece of picture paper with a grainy photograph. I can just make out from the sonogram pic a little prick promising me a son.
Loneliness is a contributing factor to many of the problems Westerners in Thailand, or the region in general, find themselves in.