When the Condom Breaks, the Truth Leaks Out Part 2
I awoke from my restless sleep, still torn over whether to see the young masseuse Bot again. Of course it was too soon to know the ultimate outcome of the broken condom last night – maybe pregnancy, disease, or both?
What would be the point of seeing Bot again anyway? To reassure a naïve 18-year-old masseuse that I am a “good” farang, who actually cares about her welfare? Or maybe just to feel better about myself, for now?
I then remembered the only other time that a condom had torn while I was having sex. It was with a freelancer in my Nana Hotel room, during my second trip to Bangkok in April 2012.
To give a little background, I am an Asian American from Hawaii, age 62. Three years ago, I experienced an awakening as a sex tourist, after I had finally accepted that I would not marry and have children after all. Sometimes I still feel fresh shock, when I realize I am a freak of nature who failed to do what 95% of other humans have done. The burning question then arises for the loner: without love in your life, what reason is there to keep living?
My answer was to embark on a last-wish, 5-week whirlwind sex-tourist tour in December 2011, visiting Bangkok, Pattaya, Ho Chi Minh City and Phnom Penh. I previously wrote about my inner darkness surfacing in that first trip in an earlier Stickman reader's submission, “Bangkok Farewell: The Death of a Dream” (23/09/2014).
Nearing the end of my heavenly sex tour, I returned to Pattaya from Phnom Penh, to spend a few more nights before returning to Hawaii. On my last day, I had a blissful afternoon encounter in a Soi Honey massage parlor, with a 27-year-old masseuse who re-ignited my buried longing for love. Yeah, go ahead and laugh. But I was to eventually survive the rite-of-passage that nearly all virgin sexpats must seemingly undergo – of being totally smitten by a Thai sex worker.
I thus returned to Thailand several months later, intending to live in Pattaya and re-unite with my dream masseuse again and live happily ever after. The eventual outcome of my pathetic delusion was of course predictable and inevitable (but that’s another book-length story).
Upon my return to Thailand, I had decided to spend a few nights in Bangkok before returning to Pattaya, trying to re-create the magic of the first sex tourist experience, which of course can never be recaptured.
I arrived at the Nana Hotel on April 27, 2012, at about 10 PM. It had been a long flight from Hawaii, with an overnight layover in Osaka, Japan. After cursory and hurried unpacking, I quickly hit the street, cruising for action. I felt an immediate letdown.
The Nana parking lot was nearly empty of freelancers, unlike the Christmas holidays during that magical first trip. However, the bars and streets were still busy. I was surprised, because it was late April, about a week after Songkran. Wasn’t this supposed to be the slow season? But the Nana Hotel clerk told me that they are never slow at their hotel. I did notice that the lobby and restaurant was full of old farang and their obvious Thai hookers.
I was sipping a beer at the Golden Bar, not seeing any interesting freelancers, feeling disappointed. But my real letdown was the worried awareness that I wasn’t here for a carefree sex holiday. I was returning to Thailand for a different purpose, to start a new life. But my so-called new life was rife with uncertainty and a doubtful outcome. I was going to settle in Pattaya and find a job, maybe as an English teacher, but above all, to see my dream massage girl. Nothing else on earth mattered.
Yet I knew deep inside that my return to Pattaya was really about letting go of her – the age difference made it foolishly impossible – but I still had to actually see her, and be physically intimate with her again, at least one more time. (What I still regard as my last Answered Prayer in life was granted. For that I remain grateful – always grateful – no matter what happens to me now.)
A plain-looking bargirl sat by me at the Golden Bar and was very friendly. But I remained distantly polite and made no offer to buy her a drink, so she abruptly split. I finished my beer and decided to wander around a bit, maybe have one more beer. I didn’t really feel relaxed yet.
I was cruising along the sidewalk in front of the short concrete wall in front of Striker’s Sports Pub, when a slinky dark small sexy Thai girl slowly walked past me. I immediately stopped and turned to look at her. She also looked back and smiled at me. Well, hello stranger!
In that marvelous instant, I felt so immensely grateful – this is why I returned to live in Thailand! Back in Hawaii, a young, hot sexy chick like this wouldn’t even glance twice at an old man like myself. To foolishly try to pick her up, or even just make a friendly remark to someone like her, would only invite painful, stabbing public humiliation.
My new Thai girlfriend’s name was "Noi." She barely spoke any English, but well enough to communicate with me. She was very friendly and had a cute, pert face. Noi was about 5-feet-2 inches tall, about 100 lbs. She was wearing tight jeans, and a sheer black blouse that outlined promising ample breasts on her slim and curvy body.
At her suggestion, we bought two beers at the Family Mart across the street, and headed to my room. Meanwhile I was gleefully exulting at my luck in finding a real hottie amid the night’s sparse crop of forgettable Nana fuglies.
Inside the hotel lobby, a Nana security guard was seated at the desk across the elevators to collect the IDs of hookers. There was a slight snafu. Noi had lost her ID, but had gotten a letter from the police station verifying her identity. But the guard still was not going to let her in.
Meanwhile, a big black dude with his small skinny whore walked up and tried to go to his Nana room. But his Thai girl had no ID also. So the guard said no.
"No problem", the black man said. They then immediately left. It seemed to me that the black guy gave up too easy. Mai pen rai, I guess.
But I understood why the guard was so strict. No hooker would dare to drug and rob us because of the ID requirement. Perhaps because Noi had her police letter, in contrast to the other hooker with no ID, the security guard relented and let us pass.
Inside my room, Noi and I sat and drank our beers and chatted for about 15 minutes. She barely touched her beer. Noi’s story was another sad Isaan girl tale. Her father was absent from Noi’s life, and when she was 15, Noi’s mother made her leave their home and told her to go to Pattaya and find work.
Noi was 26 now, but typically looked much younger. I mentally calculated. Noi would have been age 15 about nine years ago. That was the year 2003. Let’s see, I was age 51 then.
Noi said she stayed in Pattaya for two years. Initially the bars refused to hire her because she was underage. But Noi managed to survive and at least get off the streets after meeting two “very bad men” in succession. I could only imagine with a shudder what Noi had endured at their callous hands. Noi said she later moved to Bangkok and had several odd jobs, including a chef at restaurant and as a personal cook for families. Now she was freelancing in Nana.
Noi had no brothers and sisters, and no family left to care about her. During her years in Pattaya, Noi became estranged from her uncaring mother, and broke all ties with her. I asked Noi if she missed Isaan and ever planned to return home. But Noi said that the only person in Isaan who still cared about her was her very old grandmother, who had helped raise her. Noi said she cannot return home to Isaan with no money and no means of support. It would only burden her poor grandmother further.
“Many girls like me who leave Isaan can never return,” Noi said. “I have to take care of myself now. There is no one to help me. I know I have to do it all alone. But it’s OK for me. I can support myself. I’m still young, I can learn new things and work.”
I felt a kind of sad admiration for Noi. Such a shame that a cute hottie had to struggle like this, with her future looking so bleak. If anything bad should happen to Noi, who would care?
I got up from my chair and made a half-joking remark to Noi. “Well, this is your lucky day,” I told her. “I can take care of you right now.” As Noi laughed, I leaned over her. As her face turned upward toward mine, I bent slightly and began French kissing her. While our tongues played together, my greedy hands started groping her breasts. Unlike most slim whores, Noi had good-sized, natural knockers with firm big nipples.
A short while later, Noi went to take a shower. Too late I realized I should have suggested taking a shower together. A soapy massage shower, rubbing our slippery bodies together would have been great fun – a most ideal way to ease jet lag, I’d say. But the bathroom door was locked. I later took my obligatory shower, making sure to bring my wallet with me into the bathroom. My passport, bank cards and valuables were all secure in the room safe.
After I emerged, we proceeded quickly. I roamed with my hands all over her sleek dark body, marveling over her slimness. There was a big tattoo on her upper back near her right shoulder. Her shaven pube looked so clean and inviting, I began licking it, even though I rarely go down on a sex worker. Meanwhile, Noi was fondling me, and then began sucking me too. I was thinking, if Noi was a sex worker from age 15, then probably anything goes with her now. Yesss!
Eventually I entered her, and we did all types of positions: missionary, doggie, etc. I was glad I could stay hard without Viagra. Maybe because I had not had sex in Hawaii during that barren 4-month interval between my Asia trips.
I was perversely enjoying Noi's groans and grimaces while thrusting deeply in to her. Her discomfort triggered my demented old-man porn fantasy of being a virile King Kong stud plunging into her. As an added bonus, unlike other younger hookers from my last visit, Noi also did not object to the mildly kinky things I subjected her to. I'm thinking this jewel Noi is a keeper.
I finally spurted after about 15 minutes or so, somewhat longer than usual for me. After I pulled out, Noi noticed that hardly any sperm was inside the tip of my rubber. I looked closer at my deflating member. My "Ultra-Thin" Trojan latex condom that I had purchased in Hawaii, which claimed to be "40 percent thinner," had torn. Shit!
Noi was more distressed than me over the broken condom. She assured me she got regularly tested for STDs. Her real worry was whether I was safe. She wanted to escort me to the health clinic the next morning. I readily agreed, but then backed off when she said it's a 40-minute taxi ride away. She wanted to go there at about 9 AM. Too damn early for me, with my jet lag and all. My body was still on Osaka time, so that would mean a 3 AM wakeup. I selfishly just wanted to just wake leisurely and late, and feast alone at the hotel’s bountiful breakfast buffet.
Noi then scribbled down her phone number and her e-mail, and said to contact her when I was ready to get the health check. Before she left, I told Noi that I would only be staying in Bangkok a few more days before leaving for Pattaya.
“I can go with you to Pattaya, if you want take me with you,” she said eagerly. Noi said she knew Pattaya well, and could help me find a cheap apartment and get settled. I hesitated.
Noi was a gem, and it was a tempting offer. But the only thing that truly mattered right now was to meet my dream masseuse in Pattaya. To bring Noi along would be too risky. If my Pattaya masseuse were to find out about Noi, she might reject me. That would destroy my final desperate illusion – that love might still be waiting for me, in that heaven on earth called Pattaya. I could not give up my obsession yet. I declined Noi’s offer.
Before she left, Noi started warning me to be careful of unscrupulous freelancers who drug and rob farangs in their hotel rooms. I listened to Noi with mild amusement. I had read about these kinds of sexpat traps on the internet. Only in hindsight, did I later realize that I had taken a risk with Noi, and been lucky. At Noi’s suggestion, we had been drinking beer in my room, and I had left my beer unattended when using the toilet. But Noi did not end up slipping knockout pills in my beer and robbing me. I could be dead wrong, of course, but it seemed to me Noi had a core of decency and honesty, in spite of her harsh, unforgiving life.
After Noi left, I felt very shitty and depressed. My body felt very bad, and I had a slight headache, perhaps from the beer and stress of travel. But mostly, I was depressed about the broken condom. I felt obligated to Noi now, to make amends and get myself checked for STDs. More basically, I wondered what I was doing, and what lay ahead of me in Pattaya.
I had an uneasy sleep, and woke up five hours later, at about 6:30 AM. I felt physically OK, but was even more depressed than when I fell asleep. I felt awful. This was an unpleasant shock. I wasn't expecting this. I thought I would be ecstatic to be back in Bangkok, re-living my magical sex tourist trip. Was it because of the broken rubber that had spoiled the otherwise perfect short-time with Noi?
As the author Thomas Wolfe famously wrote, "You can't go home again." I now know what Wolfe meant. When you leave home, it is not only your home that changes, but also yourself. So you can never re-create the past, or who you were previously, however much you try.
While eating at the buffet breakfast, I saw the big black man from the previous night who had tried to bring his skinny little whore to his Nana room. Presumably after being refused entry by the Nana security guard, she probably had just taken him to a nearby short-time hotel – mai pen rai. The black guy was sitting by himself. I gazed briefly at him, and saw my reflection in the magic mirror. Another loner here in Bangkok just for sex.
I never saw Noi again. The hotel’s room phone repeatedly wouldn’t connect with the phone number she gave me. My later e-mails to her also went unanswered. So I gave up. I kept looking for Noi vainly on the streets before I left for Pattaya, but she had vanished.
I still think about Noi sometimes, about how her mom had kicked her out the house at 15, basically treating her like rubbish. I always feel sad regret that I did not bring Noi with me to Pattaya. In my biased memory, Noi was a hottie of gogo quality, a rare find.
I also sometimes wonder, too, what it might have been like if I could somehow have met Noi at age 15, homeless and wandering alone in Pattaya. Perhaps I could have somehow “saved” her from meeting the very bad men. Oh really? And who will save Noi from you? Oh yes, this world is so full of very bad men – and other kinds of men who maybe aren’t so bad, just despicable opportunists. Better not to even go there.
In the end, the only important thing is that Noi survived, seemingly more or less intact. As long as you’re still alive, you still got a chance. Especially in a place like Thailand, where for so many, just surviving is all you can do.
But that’s all behind me now. Nostalgia is a dead end. Bye bye my sweet hottie Noi, wherever you are. Bye bye my dream Pattaya masseuse. Thank you for being who you were. Bye bye Hawaii. I don’t miss you at all. Hello Bangkok. Hello Bot.
I walked nervously along soi 23 toward Bot’s massage parlor, dreading what I might encounter. Bot had been so shaken after the condom had broken last night. Her continual glaring at me in angry shock and fear had unnerved me – I needed to just escape and flee the scene.
I was also apprehensive that her co-workers might think – that I was a slimy farang bastard who treats Thai sex workers like used Kleenex, to be casually discarded after spurting my milky wads into their orifices.
But I had a plan. I would show them I was a farang with a good heart. I had earlier stopped at the Eastside Pharmacy on Sukhumvit to buy two packs of extra-strength condoms. The male Thai clerks had laughed heartily when I tried to explain in broken English that I needed really “strong” condoms.
My plan was to simply ask Bot how she was doing. I would reassure her that she didn’t have to worry, I would help her if any problems arose. Then, I would give Bot the extra-strength condoms to help her protect herself. Then I would just make a graceful exit. Yeah, I would show the massage ladies that I wasn’t just another sex pervert. I would help take care of Bot. I was not a heartless asshole, like the typical Isaan jerk who impregnates young chicks and then deserts them.
My enchanting Asoke masseuse Bot awaits another hands-on encounter.
When I approached, Bot and her co-workers were sitting on stools outside the massage parlor. When Bot saw me, she greeted me with a startled smile. I was taken aback. She didn’t look worried or disturbed at all.
“How are you,” I said cautiously to Bot, putting my hand lightly on her back. “Are you ok?”
“I’m OK,” she said. “You came to see me?”
“I was just worried how you were doing,” I said. “Hey, I’m real sorry about what happened last night. I hope nothing bad will happen.”
“Oh, no problem. I’m OK,” she said with a laugh. “You want massage now?”
What! Massage? Right now? I totally wasn’t expecting this. I was reeling at the abrupt turned of events. I needed to mentally recover. This was not how like I imagined it would be. I thought Bot would be all angry and reproachful, and want nothing to do with me.
I hesitated. If I agreed to another massage, it would be my second night in a row having sex. I had not remotely imagined I would be having sex tonight, so I had not taken any Viagra. I wasn’t a young dude any more. I did not want to risk getting soft during crunch time and wasting 2,400 baht.
“No, I no want massage tonight,” I told Bot. “But I bring you a present.” I lifted the small plastic bag I was carrying. Bot’s co-workers stared curiously at my plastic bag as I began taking out the condoms. When they saw it was two packs of extra-strength condoms, they all burst out in hysterical laughter. I suddenly felt embarrassed.
Feeling clownish now, I sheepishly handed over the condoms to Bot. “Here, I give you strong condoms,” I said. “I buy from the pharmacy on Sukhumvit. These are special condoms, very strong. No break.”
Bot laughed as she took the condoms from me. “You sure you no want massage now?”
“Sorry, no want massage,” I said. “I not feel strong tonight. Maybe tomorrow massage. Proong nee.”
I then patted Bot’s back lightly in reassurance. “You take care now, OK? Be careful. Use condoms I give you.”
I then left quickly, leaving Bot and her co-workers still laughing in my wake about my latex gift. I then walked toward Soi Cowboy and took a seat on the patio of the bar across from Suzie Wong's. I needed a beer to calm down and recover from my emotional jolt.
I had recently devised a sneaky way to shoot candid photos of bargirls on the street. Casually holding my compact camera at waist level, I would aim it in the direction of my target and click the shutter. Only a sharp observer would realize I was secretly taking a photo.
I was starting to recognize a couple farang regulars who came for the cheap happy hour beers. There was an older white guy, always joking with the bar staff, sitting comfortable alone. Tonight there was that older Japanese guy who seemed to be a tourist. He usually sat on the stool at Suzy Wong’s closest to the street. We all studiously ignored each other, quiet loners in our own private universes, distracting ourselves with the Soi Cowboy soft parade.
I quietly observed the old Japanese guy in amusement. He would openly ogle any sexy female walking by, his head turning on a swivel as she passed, tracking her with a radar gaze. He looked to be in his late 60s or early 70s, short and husky with a round face, wearing wire-rim glasses. He was wearing casual shorts and a “No Money, No Honey” T-shirt. No-one was paying attention to him, except me. In a place like Soi Cowboy, a leering but harmless old tourist was nothing out of the ordinary.
I bet he wouldn’t dare act like this in his home country of Japan. It would be too shameful. Like in the Thai version of “saving face”, the Japanese seem to have a similar custom of shame. But somehow to me the Thai notion of “saving face” seems to be all about shallow vanity and ego, and telling shameless lies to avoid embarrassment. The Japanese concept of shame seems to go deeper, as I understand it. Real shame for a Japanese is to violate what they know is honorable and right. Hell, in feudal Japan, you were expected to kill yourself in ritual suicide if the shame was great enough.
I gazed at the old Japanese man, contentedly smoking a cigarette, doing his own thing, not bothering anyone. Yeah, more power to you old man. The only thing that should really matter to anyone is that happy smile on your face.
As my beer buzz crept in and gave everything a warm glow, I felt like I re-discovered the key to the universe. Just be kind and the world will open up to you.
October 12, 2014
The time has come to boom-boom Bot today. I start chanting the lyrics from the Chambers Brothers song during the psychedelic 60s era in America, “Time has Come Today.”
“Time has come today . . . Young hearts can go their way . . . Can’t put it off another day . . . I don’t care what others say . . . They say we don’t listen anyway . . .”
Ah, those were the days, dear diary. In the late 70s, I was in my twenties, young, stoned, and ignorant. Watching porn and banging hookers, clueless that I was already firmly on the path to my destiny.
I actually feel ambivalent right now. I kinda don’t really feel like f***ing Bot. Funny how I so often feel like this nowadays – intending to have sex with a freelancer when they come out at night. But as the time nears, I start feeling a strange reluctance, a tug pulling at me to just stay home and relax. It’s almost like I have to force myself to go out and have sex. But I guess it’s now or never with Bot . . .
October 13, 2014
This morning when I woke, my first thoughts were of the boom-boom with Bot last night. So how you feel now? Happy? Not especially. Would I like to have Bot lying beside me right now? Not especially. Not even for a morning romp? A maybe-maybe not feeling. It doesn’t seem especially vital or urgent now. I just feel – kind of a mild relief.
Anyway, last night Bot was there, wearing a white blouse and shorts. As I approach, her co-workers all laugh, even the neighboring masseuse in the parlor next door. They all knew I came for Bot and no one else.
Inside the massage room, I secretly pop a half-Viagra tab, as Bot leaves to fetch me a towel. After my shower, I later return to the massage room, wearing my towel like a sarong. I spontaneously hug Bot as I drop my towel. I grab her soft meaty ass cheeks and mash her groin into mine. She spontaneously hugs me back. We’re standing and briefly hugging each other tightly. I indulge in the fleeting fantasy of us being lovers embracing intimately. I think to myself – Is this all there is for me, then? These fleeting illusions with Thai sex workers? If so, if this really is all that’s left – well, ok then. Ok.
I’m later laying on my stomach, savoring the sensations of Bot’s massage. I start focusing on her tender hands – and how good they feel sliding over my body in oily caresses.
My mind keeps idly drifting to the past – the scattered fragments of a wasted life. That time in my early 40s, when I had spent New Year’s Eve alone. I was in the office of a suburban newspaper on Oahu, getting stoned and drunk. I later intended to go out to shoot some photos of neighborhood kids playing with fireworks for possible publication. I had a dream job as sports editor, writing stories and taking photographs every day. My boss was later shocked when he found out about my extreme loner trip. Funny, I had not felt lonely at all that night. But I now know that the loneliness has always been there – just completely buried.
Bot finishes massaging my back so I turn over. I gaze at her face in the dim light. She has an odd girlish face really, bordering between cute and plain. With her braces, she looks younger when she laughs. She has somewhat thick thighs, although her limbs are long and shapely. Bot is not that small really, she’s normal size, even a little fleshy. It’s just her face looks young.
The Viagra starts to kick in, and Bot feigns surprise at seeing my exposed member grow slowly like a giant worm before her eyes Yet, I know it’s no big deal for her to see aroused guys. This is all in a day’s work.
Later, while we are humping away, somehow Bot’s pussy doesn’t seem so exquisite or tight like the first time, although it feels pleasant enough, as if my member is being squeezed by tight slippery sponge. I look at Bot’s face as I thrust deeply into her, causing her to wince. I see a resigned grimace on her face. But I keep plowing away, feeling slight guilt at her discomfort.
Even as I revel in Bot’s smooth skin softness and her submissive attitude. I grab her young hands with long slim fingers, while continuing to bury myself deep inside her. She reflexively clasps her hands tightly around mine, just hanging on until her rough bucking ride is over. I ease up, afraid of the condom breaking, and spurt soon after.
Later as we clean up, Bot says I’m her first customer that night. I say maybe she will get lucky, and her next customer will be an Indian man. She laughs in horror and playfully slaps my shoulder.
So I left Bot, feeling not sexually satisfied so much – more just a dull relief, that I was no longer in a crisis. Feeling almost glad my obligatory boom-boom was done with. I’m kinda already thinking, maybe I won’t return to her. What would happen if Bot is pregnant?
I stopped writing my diary, feeling weary. I looked around my messy studio. I had got into a habit of accumulating serious clutter, with big stacks of useless daily diaries lying around.
I then noticed the folder that had a letter from a co-worker in Hawaii. When I had turned 50, I got a job as a shuttle driver for a Waikiki surfing school. I then spent most of the ensuing decade foolishly having a second childhood teaching surfing lessons to tourists.
That regretful experience was mostly an exercise in humiliation. Droves of young single Japanese girls, most of them in their early twenties, would take surf lessons almost daily. I just ended up making a fool of myself, with my clumsy and crude attempts at hitting on them. I discovered the modern Japanese chick is just as worldly and affluent as any American. They were inwardly repelled by an old dude in his 50s hitting on them, and they especially loathed anyone who appeared to be a “playboy,” the Thai equivalent of a “butterfly” man.
Shortly before I left to re-settle in Pattaya to see my dream masseuse, I had confided my torment to a co-worker and fellow surf instructor Sean, a half-black guy from Florida, who was an astute observer of human nature.
After I had been in Pattaya several months, Sean e-mailed me a long letter that really got to me. The first time I read his E-mail, my tears began flowing midway, jolted by the shock of recognition of the truth of my life. I pulled out the printout I had made of his e-mail, and began re-reading it.
Aug 29, 2012
My friend, the good news is that learning is learning, no matter how you choose or are able to do it, and learning the hard way is better than not learning at all.
So now all you must do, since you already have chosen the hard way, is simply choose whether or not to learn. I think your problem is simple, but simple should not be confused with easy.
The past choices and circumstances have left you with all that you now have to work with. You must accept this, or you will never learn what it is your life is offering you the opportunity to learn. To me life is a choice.
"To be or not to be" is indeed the question – but it's not just survival.
You have to decide from now on and from each new day onward, what it is to you… To you is it movement or is it action?… Is it contact or just reaction?… and for you, revolution or just resistance?… is it really living or just existence?"
You are the age that you are, have acquired the physical and mental assets that you now have, and are in the physical and mental state that you are in, which is lucky for you, since you are intelligent, healthy, attractive, and in good shape, but nevertheless, this is what you have. This is all that you are.
These things are combined with the time you are at in this life, and are a result of all you have been given, and have chosen to do with your gifts – and lack thereof.
Because of who you are, and who you have chosen to be, you have refined your options down to this singular point in your life, where much of what was available is no longer available. And sensing this, your fear is elevated.
There was a time in your life when you were young, and that is the time when you would normally seek and find a young woman, and a mate, and start a family together. This is the main driving force in most men's instinct to survive, for it is not just an instinct for your personal survival, and your genetic lines’ survival, but also for our survival as a species.
You, through circumstance and choice in your adult life, did not follow this basic instinct, I reckon perhaps out of fear, – fear of fatherhood, fear of intimacy, or perhaps just fear of choosing. Even if you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice. Your choice was to insulate yourself from intimacy.
This choice is probably because of a great many things, which is something you probably should give serious thought to, and try and figure out, but one reason for this choice is most likely because you were a sensitive person, which is a good thing in many ways.
But after years of choosing not to find a mate, your instincts have been converted into something not natural to your own sensitivity and sense of rightness, and you battle back and forth between these opposing desires.
To be good and sensitive, yet yearning to have what your sensitivity and fear have kept you from – the passion and pleasure that comes with intimacy – and so you long to have what you chose not to have.
This polarization is the problem.
You lust for something that is natural to lust for, but it makes the sensitive part of you feel shame, because you are too afraid to give what you are supposed to give, in order to have these feelings satisfied. In this way, you let your ego and fear choose for you to remain unworthy.
Your battle is internal – with an enemy that you yourself are nurturing.
These sexual desires, to now be in your older days with the young women that you chose to avoid in younger days, are natural desires, but at the same time a perversion of what is natural.
You have waited this long to find and create in yourself the courage for love and the sex that comes with it – you sense and feel an anxiety that time is running out – but instead of seeking love, you seek out and find a false intimacy, because you are still letting fear drive you.
You let your ego create these lies in your mind, these false reasons why you don't want intimacy, or that it is not possible to correlate it with your desires. So you shield yourself, by telling yourself that you only desire what you believe out of reach – for women that are too young.
So you return to Pattaya to this easy, seemingly safe version – which is what? Sex for as little money and commitment and caring as possible?
You know better, and you know that the problem is that the sex alone will never give you the fulfillment of even its own purpose.
It true purpose is intimacy and family. The pleasure is a means to an end and not the end itself… it is not the point. It is a pleasant byproduct and an integral reward. Sex is meant to create bonds and create family.
Sex outside of that function is not in and of itself wrong, it can be rewarding and in fact serves a natural function. But even this is a function of back up, a plan B, that is outside the family, but still has the purpose of reproduction outside the family, just in case, or a function of compensation for something lacking in intimacy or passion.
What you must understand, is that the perversion is not the sex without function, which is merely dysfunctional – but the real perversion is the sex without intimacy.
If you are having sex with five different women and only one is intimate and you care for her, you consider her needs to be, at least in part, your responsibility, that would be enough.
The other dysfunctional sex would not in and of itself be a problem because you have the bonds of intimacy and love in your life … it may be superfluous and dysfunctional and it may cause problems in your relationship, but I am not indulging that concern or topic at this time.
Now I speak of the one singular point that, in the end, the lack of intimacy and the failure to at least have known love, will cause your fortune hunt to be unfulfilling, unsatisfying, and most importantly, lead you to a fate of your own choosing that is not what you really want.
But despite the alarm being sounded, it is less a cause for fear and more a call to arms. A wake-up call that the time for dreaming your life is over, and the time to live your life awakened is at hand.
You can choose to learn to wake up to face your fear, and quit letting it make every excuse not to do these things.
The worst and biggest excuse / false reason, for you, is this voice that you think is you, that keeps telling you what to desire – when sadly, the choices you are making now in Pattaya, spurred on by it, just leads to that lonely place and feeling, which is anything but that which you truly desire to be and to have.
Your desire is something that needs to be met in the form of an intimate relationship. It can fail or succeed, that is not the point or a reason to fear.
You can feel joy and pain but through all of this, even though you fear – it must be faced. And then you will feel fulfillment.
My ex-wife and I, you could say, failed. It caused me to feel pain but still I feel fulfilled by that relationship. I don't feel that feeling of self loathing that I feel after sex with some woman that I don't care about. Or after several dozen women.
No matter how many (young women) you have and collect, you will feel incomplete, unsatisfied, other than for a moment, and worse, you will cultivate an ever lingering, be it ever so slight, feeling of shame.
I feel complete – but your fortune hunt is ever incomplete, a book with no end. Even a sad ending feels complete. The pornographic movie feels like something that is over but incomplete, and it feels wasteful, self indulgent, and unsatisfying, whereas a story with a feeling of completion, be it happy or sad, feels satisfying.
You are getting a full-on meal with no nutritional value, and instead of feeling satisfied, you feel guilty and bloated. But I think you have the opportunity to write and take pictures and share your story and what you learn and then get published.
I think your destiny is as it has always been, is a choice that is waiting to be made, and it is right in front of you if you can just find love. To find it simply stop looking for it. I mean really stop and instead focus on preparing yourself for its arrival. Make fine your home and your heart.
Love is not to be sought and chased after – in fact this repels love because it is sign of selfishness, of self-serving desire, and of fear, all if which are unattractive to true love and only attract perversions of love.
And so in the meantime, give love away as much as possible in the form of your natural sensitivity and kindness. Love is magical in this way. It is elusive if you chase after it, but like your destiny, is always there once you decide to choose it, and make a place for it in your heart.
The more you practice giving love, the more you of it you will have. Give it away if you want to keep it – give it away, and the more you practice this, the better you get at it, and the more you ready your soul for its arrival.
The first step is to choose what you know already to be right, over what you think you desire. I believe in you – and believe all you have to do is believe too.
Sent from my iPhone
I did visit Bot one more time, but after that third time, I never went back. In the end, I was too afraid of draining my savings if Bot did get pregnant with my child from the broken condom. How could I take care of Bot, when I can’t even financially take care of myself?
Recently I had watched the movie “Interstellar” at the SFX Cinema. The plot was about astronauts exploring new planets that humans could migrate to, because the earth was becoming toxic.
Matt Damon plays a marooned astronaut on a distant planet inhospitable for life. But he deliberately sends out fake messages about the planet’s livability, so that someone would come to rescue him – even if it meant they might doom themselves on a suicidal mission. Damon later engages in a battle to the death of one of his rescuers. As they struggle, Damon explains the reason for his lying betrayal.
In the end, Damon says, it all comes down to survival. You will do whatever you have to do to survive. The basic primal instinct. Even if others have to die so you can live, all that matters is that you keep living.
In the end the E-mail from my former friend Sean couldn’t help me. No one really can. I now realize my destiny is and always has been: to be Alone at Last.