Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes Part 307
I'M GOING OUT TONIGHT — PART ONE
I make a cell phone call to Fa on the boardwalk and tell her I'm going out tonight. She knows what to do. She had been standing under a palm tree with her make-up kit spread out on a concrete planter but Dana needs help. Easy money for her. God, she loves this town. Fifteen minutes later she finds Gary outside at Starbucks talking to the retired airline pilot from Canada. She puts her hand on Gary's forearm, leans in to him (she's always selling it), and whispers in his ear. Contact made, message received, Dana money in the bank.
Gary jumps on his crotch rocket and does a three quarter circle to the A.A.Hotel on the corner of Soi 13/0 and Beach Road. Up the marble steps into the dark lobby and there is Anna the Activities Director plucking her bleeding eyebrows. Anna knows what to do. She's too good to talk to Fa but they both know what to do. Humorous.
Fifteen seconds later Gary is off and Anna is standing in the middle of the soi to get better reception. She cell phone calls the Pattaya manager of the Angelwitch bar and he calls Dave the Rave at the N.E.P in Bangkok. Normally, Dave wouldn't have been in this early but today he had to talk to vendors and delivery people. Things just work out for good people. Dave takes the message and boogies across Soi 4 to the Mothership and delivers the message to the front desk clerk with silver bracelets up to her elbows and black hair down to her rear end. Post just her face on a ThaiLoveLinks style site and she is ordinary or plain. But dress her up Thai style with a little smile that whispers inaccessible imperiousness and the effect is riveting. She calls the manager at the Viengthai Hotel in Banglampu and he dispatches a runner from the massage place down the street. It is Dana Time.
The massage girl, thrilled to be temporarily off sidewalk solicitation duty, darts down the alley that runs to Khao San Road and finds Nambu the Indian thief (oh excuse me, jeweller). He sees her coming and starts punching buttons on his phone. She only does one kind of business with him so he knows who to call and he is glad to do it. Dana money in the bank. He uses a left hand middle finger custom silver ring with a protruding prong to punch the cell phone buttons. He's an Indian faggot but a faggot with style. He tries to give the massage girl a rupee tip and she kicks him in his Calcutta nuts.
In a penthouse apartment in a nondescript building Esther picks up the phone. She owns the building and the buildings on either side but no one knows. Power does not need to advertise. Results are everything. All else is wasted time. She's got barbed wire in her underpants, gargles with razor blades, and her breasts have tattoos that say: Remember Mount Masada. Her idea of a good time is to recreate the last days of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising. She has a personal collection of replica firearms from that horror with her name etched into each stock. This chick is tough. Feminist, Jew, Israeli: she delivers the goods. Dana is one of her customers.
Esther runs the girls on Khao San Road and other places in the Kingdom that do hair braiding for tourists. The money's a straight split and sex bonuses are available to high achievers. Sex tapes are made of all sex bonuses but none of the little adventurers from Sydney or Boston or Paris care. I am sure Esther has her fingers in lots of other pies but only a fool would ask. Esther is strictly undercover. I once inadvertantly made eye contact with her at the Q bar. A note was delivered to my table. It said:
"If you look at me again you are a dead man."
I looked up through my upper eyelids. She was gone. Esther's parents remembered the battle of Algiers when the French were trying to penetrate terrorist cells. You can't be too careful. Hence the number of contacts necessary to get a message to Esther. Each human is a cell and nobody knows anything except their job. And if the chain has to be reworked you never lose more than a single link. Anyway, another drama in the economic vermin puzzle that runs the world.
So, what is going on? I'm going out tonight. In a converted warehouse on the Thonburi side of the Chao Phraya river there is going to be a tranny battle of the bands. The Maak Maak Big Package Four rock 'n roll band, the Tranny My Fanny degenerate cover group from Manilla, the CIMBD (Come In My Back Door) group, the HHR (Hammer Handles Revue), and the Stick It And Lick It Soul Sistas will all be there in each corner and the center of a huge building. Capacity five thousand Thai and farang patrons plus about two hundred freelancers. Six bars, twelve big screens showing floor, stage, and bathroom action, plus raffles you can win. What can you win? Public sex on the center stage. Chaos and anarchy? Well, not quite. There are some rules. Get caught with condoms and you are thrown out of a second floor window. There have to be rules.
Esther lets me in at eight p.m. Purple shag carpet, bubbling fish tanks, French chanteuse background music, rubbings of Israeli tombstones on the walls, Algerian pillows and shawls, ceiling strobe lights, and the smell of sabra armpits. Hairy women with breasts like boulders strap me to the gurney in the lab and tape my flaccid penis up on my abdomen. Esther expertly finds the vein and starts the calcium-magnesium double hydrogen drip. Then the shaving begins. My whole body except for pubic hair will be shaved with a mixture of grain alcohol and chili powder rubbed into the pores and cuts as they go. Honk if you love pain.
I thrash and moan and fill my adult diapers. The topical pain from the shaving and the interior pain in my toes from the intravenous solution causes my penis to fill to bursting with blood. Someone rips off the penis tape and I fire. Buckets of diluted bleach are thrown on me front and back followed by a rubdown. I love getting ready to go out.
Then the real work begins. Temporary dragon and snake tattoos will cover my entire body and Esther will braid extensions on to my pubic hair. The pubic hair extensions will go half way to my knees and mimic hair extenstions running half way down my back. Esther and her assistants will bead on small penis amulets, lockets with pics of me, and laquered scorpians. Painted nails, foreskin beads, blood red contact lenses, and tongue bolt complete the lab work. I'm going out tonight.
It's almost eleven now. The drip needle is pulled and I am dressed in pink crocodile shoes, black armadillo pants with holster for a Glock, pink silk shirt, and black stingray vest. Naturally all hair and hair extensions have been dyed to match my red contact lenses. You knew that.
Down the private elevator and a smoked glass armored Benz waits in the garage. I give Esther the bank transfer code to pay the bill and the driver starts for the river. As the big black car makes the last turn and the bridge fills the windshield; six flankers on motorcycles take positon around us. I had requested custom bodyguards from Esther so they are wearing the same red contact lens, red dyed hair and hair extensions, clothes, and pink crocodiles shoes as me. Ditto the Glock. Why contact lens instead of contact lenses? All of the flanker bodyguards on cycles have had one eye removed in Esther's Banglampu penthouse clinic by her and her assistants. Why? Obediance training. If they do not obey orders they will lose the other eye. Nothing alerts like the spector of blindness. I'm protected tonight. God I love this town.
The tiny Japanese girl with the black bangs and the schoolgirl outfit in the back of the car has a two hundred milligram custom made suppository of Ecstacy and Kamagra in her small soft hand. She starts to pull down my pants. Sweet Jesus on a cracker. I'm going out tonight.
Never a dull moment with Dana.