Back in Paradise
I think this may have been my sixth visit to Thailand. Amazingly, shamefully, I have not yet visited a temple. Temple visiting just seems too much trouble when one is on vacation. Plus it seems a little sad, even a little gay, for one old guy to get in
a taxi to go look at a temple and take pictures. Then what should I do with the pictures? Look at them? Bother other people?
I can hear them talk as they clean up my house after I die.
“Do you want Dad’s pictures from Thailand. Has some good photos of temples.”
“Nah, just toss them.”
I have myself cleaned up after somebody died, an uncle who was a missionary and priest in Africa for some 40 years (surprise, he did not like little boys, but he did like little girls). He kept a diary for all those years. There was like
fifty centimeters width of notebooks, all carefully filled with his daily life in a small village in Africa, decade after decade. I couldn’t think of anything else to do with all those notebooks than to put them in a garbage bag on the
sidewalk, like putting his life in a garbage bag.
So sometimes I think about people cleaning up after me. Then I remind myself that once I am dead, I will be dead for some fifty billion years or so, or five thousand billion or trillion. Against that time frame I will be forgotten in a nanosecond,
as will everybody who has known me. I think I must suffer from depression. Could be post-coital depression after ten days in Bangkok.
Went for a nice breakfast on Soi 11 yesterday, the newly exciting street so well described by Stickman some months ago, one of my favorite sois also. Got me a newspaper first in Villa Market, upon exiting the usual offers for massage, which
I think is nice. One cute one caught my eye, not fat, but not thin, soft strong thighs and butt, plus breasts, the sort of thing one has to do without mostly in Asia, but I had breakfast and newspaper on the agenda.
On the way back from my 99 Baht German Biergarten American breakfast, made somewhat less appetizing by having in my eyesight a little old guy having breakfast with his young teerak, a boy with an earring, both smoking, both not talking, just
looking at one another, I don’t mind two guys wanting to bang one another in the behind, but if they get all romantic about it, that’s when I have to throw up; in any case, on my way back I see Miss Curvy has gone to the street to
troll for customers.
An exchange of a twinkle of an eye and she is my excited companion back to her place on the side of the supermarket. I have a little of that continental European reserve, but she is warm and smiley and chatting, just massage is just 400,
how about sexy massage I ask. Sexy massage is more, up to you.
I suppose it happens occasionally that a customer for just a massage comes by. The little 1.5 meter by 2.5 meter work space with the mattress on the floor and the lockable door has no pretension to a ‘400 baht just massage’
massage though.
She is a dutiful massager nonetheless. Not a rub and tug, get out of here type. Working diligently at all the muscle groups. Chattering away, where am I from, her sister is married to somebody from my country (of course), lives in Jomtien,
should she take her clothes off, do I mind if she smokes me, do I want a condom, we are going all out, and luckily there are no other customers yet to annoy me, something about the proximity to the supermarket and it only being about 10 AM, it
feels like I am doing something wholesome, like taking a swim or something. I feel kind of proud of myself. By 11 AM I feel I have been really productive already. Upon leaving she informs me that the bill is 3000. I make it 2000. Still way too
much, but she did work hard, she is pretty, and at 2,000 it is cheaper than Annie’s (not that there is anything wrong with Annie’s).
The high charge is a bit my fault too. She was asking if I had had massage before or a Thai girl before, and I always totally lie and say never, this is my first time, please be careful with me, is it safe for the police not coming in, is
your age legal (she was happy for me to ask that, I would have guessed she was 25, which she said she was), and other stupid stuff like that. We like the girls to be innocent, fresh off the farm. My theory is the girls like their boys too to be
fresh off the farm, innocent.
She really likes me she tells me. I should call her again. She can come to my hotel. There is an extra 500 baht for that, but it is OK, she can give me a discount (!) for my second massage. I don’t plan to call, but then do so anyway.
Next day afternoon. She comes to my room. She is really pretty looking now, all dolled up, make up on, hair in curls, little pink hat to match her pink pants. I am thinking that bargirls tend to look better than they really look, because of the
lighting and the clothing, etc. While massage girls, in work mode, getting oil on them, sitting outside or in a bathing suit in the fishbowl, look less attractive than they really look.
She wants to know if I have a girlfriend or wife. In truth, I’m a bit ambivalent about that myself, but for sure I don’t have a girlfriend in Thailand. She is happy to hear that. She would like to be my girlfriend she tells
me. It has to do with the fact that I am a really nice man, and very handsome. Quite perceptive, my Miss Curvy. Nice body too. No children. No road rash or moles or arm hair or leg hair, or any of those things I hate. Since we are only about thirty
years apart, and since like all other contributors to this site, I look much younger than my real age, and am fit, etc., curvy girl and I are in some sense a match made in heaven, close enough.
But I send her on her way anyway right after we are done. She is a little taken aback. She wanted to cuddle, maybe watch HBO, go to eat somewhere along the street, very cheap, very delicious, she wanted to deliver the full GFE. She looks
so cute too, her face, everything. I know if I saw her with another guy, I would be a little envious. “Why do you want I go?” I lie that I have a dinner appointment (I’m in bargirl mode, my lips are moving you know I’m
lying. In normal life I never tell even the smallest lie.)
The truth is that I don’t really care that she likes me and that she would be a lot of fun. It’s too much work. I think I must be depressed. I wasn’t sure before, but I know it must be bad if this black mood is still
there even in Bangkok with all its delights, women, food, bookstores, bars, everything within a short walk’s reach, plus great friends to hang out with, and a cute girl that likes me (I know, she might like me for the money, and I like
her for the body, it’s still mutual liking. Just because such relationships don’t work out doesn’t mean they aren’t good while they last.)
So I partied down with old friends and with new girlfriends, and had a great ten days, and everything was perfect once again back in paradise, except me.
Stickman's thoughts:
It sounds like you had a good time.
