After a Year or so in Thailand
So I’m sitting in Ireland, thinking back to year or so ago, my Thailand days, women, God there are so horny for foreigners and I delivered oh how I love to fxxx but personal crap made me come to home to what brothers, sisters, parents and I found more shit than I dreamt of and it kept coming, the shit then really hit home when but that’s another story.
This one is about a Thai bar girl, someone covered for me when I got to work late, I meant to pay the sub but didn’t although the teacher took the class and heard me on the phone asking the broad if she was still in bed as the sub taught my kid and I talked to the Thai bar whatever at my home in my bed they were both angry but that’s life and my student didn’t care nor did the parents as he the kid was in a class with furiner it is how it is there and then, then and now.
Then I found trouble or as usual it found me. I’m not a bad soul, just lost, lonely and like to crawl into whatever pussy will get the job done and I got lots of that and then more because being a white furiner is the best person to be in Thailand if you are male and it’s all free if you can manage the language and the bullshit dished out but what’s bullshit when you can get all the sex and hot and sweaty and horniness taken out of you whenever you want with whoever you want and then you get more of the same any day night or afternoon god how I love that country.
And fxxx I did everyone every beige-skinned beauty / not so beautiful pidgin Thaiglish including the fat trolls with phrases like same / same and hungry again so soon not that they got that but / and all cats truly are not wh/light in the envelope of darkness and they know things that no one of any other color knows and are they are pretty good at it as long as you provide food and a place to sleep and who doesn’t want to sleep with a beige girl who is compliant as long as the money is there for the food, hairs, nails and rude blings they want but the moment you want some emotion or some tenderness or need a connection you’ll be a lonely man and left wondering if it was worth getting laid when the bullshit starts like throwing your stuff off the balcony and your phone in the pool and the nails and biting and howling and no one howls like an angry beige female who is denied anything she believes is her entitlemententitlement (sic) is what I believe I had coming and got my entitlement as those whores got theirs and no I’m really not together or well and have a few months maybe.
And it gets worse because the she of the moment shows up at work and makes trouble and has you followed and gets her brothers (hired) to chase you down alleys and you duck and weave as she’s trying to get back / even / teach you lessons you don’t want to learn because it’s an old game that no one ever wins and you / I lose because I don’t understand or want to learn the rules that exist nowhere else on the planet and she’s from poverty and I make lots of money and she can’t make the connection she’s not entitled because it’s my money and not hers and I left and want to go back to find another one who may be different but at the end of the day it’s only another beige body with the place where I can put my man part(s) and just screw it or them until the morning comes until the who gets how sick I am.
When I realize from the haze I’ve done my weight in coke for weeks (or has it been years?), meth / ice teeth black as Toby’s ass and my body is broken down and I’ve had more raw pussy than any man is allowed in five life times and I’m broke and now sick, really sick from one or more of my girls and didn’t heed Stick’s advice to wrap up, I thought he meant rap, stupid, stupid and I’m pus oozing from my eyes and other orifices and it stinks and I can’t get rid of the stench of me or her or them and I want to go home but I can’t because I’m already home and ill and although I’m getting weaker at every breath I still want to go back to the sexpat thing and enjoy what I’ve got left which ain’t much now but I don’t care who gets what I’ve got because I made choices and they have choices and I want to die happy in some beige arms that will give me comfort and bathe me and feed me because that’s what someone will do because I have no health left but a little money which is enough to buy whatever comfort I can for a little while longer and then she can sell my passport for about a hundred grand on the street and toss me off the balcony when it’s all done which is fine because that’s what happens.