I recently returned to Bangkok. After spending way too much money having nowhere near enough fun in a cold and windswept corner of Northern England, I was the guy clad in arctic thermals, kissing the tarmac after landing at The Amazing Sinking Airport.
After dossing it in cattle class with the usual class of visitors to Bangkok (backpackers and paedophiles) for ninety-seven hours with no sleep, I was ready to splash out. So to speak.
First stop, a quick breakfast with a pal at Bus Stop on Sukhumvit Soi 4. The service was the rudest I have ever experienced in my life, topped off nicely by a huff of indignation and a verbal torrent of complaints from the waitress when I went to settle the ฿190 bill with two ฿100 notes. I stood there, giggling at just how rude she was being, trying to remember all the suggestions I received in comments after we discussed the matter recently.
And then I did something you won’t appreciate at all. I realised that I had just experienced the worst service in my life. It had been so bad that it was actually making me laugh. That’s not the kind of thing that happens every day. So I tipped the grumpy cow an extra ฿20 for the entertainment.
From there to Lolita’s, where I lasted mere seconds before almost leaving an exit wound on the back of the poor girl’s head with a jet-powered gush of happy unguent. Which was nice.
At this point, I should probably have gone home. I’d hardly slept in three days. But I’d missed Bangkok, and here it was. So I figured I’d have a quick drink in Big Dogs. Followed by another one. I got chatting to a delightful daughter of Issan whose English was endearingly bad. “Thank you very big!”, she said when I bought her a beer.
Into Nana Plaza proper for one absolutely last beer, and things got a little hazy after that. I ended up boozing in the Plaza for five hours. I returned to Lolita’s, only to find that the entertainment provider who’d done such a good job earlier on wasn’t there. I walked on, and vaguely remember falling asleep several times during an awesome foot massage on Soi 8. I figured it was time to go home.
But then, walking The Miracle Mile - ostensibly to grab a cab - I was accosted by a pair of delightfully dishevelled girls who apparently wanted to “go with” me. So touching.
Despite being somewhat tired and emotional, I sat down to negotiate.
They were offering a threesome for ฿600 each, but wouldn’t be getting into each other, as they were Real Sisters, Honest Guv, Jing Jing. Damn. Oh, and if I wanted to put it up the wrong ‘un, the price would be ฿1,000 each.
I declined. See, if the girls aren’t genuinely into each other, it’s not really a threesome. It’s just two short-times in rapid succession. If a threesome’s worth doing, it’s worth doing properly. Instead, I took the prettier of the two, and went for the ฿1,000 no-holes-barred experience.
Now, some folks will warn you of the perils of freelancers. Especially street walkers. Personally, I’ve been around the block a few times, and haven’t (yet) had any trouble. But I’ve been vigilant. Don’t leave cash lying around. Take your wallet, along with your trousers, into the shower with you (no, don’t get them wet, just hang them on the back of the door, dum-dum).
One thing you absolutely should not do, under any circumstances, is take one to a sleazy short-time hotel, and fall asleep after soundly violating her in every available orifice. By rights, I should have woken up with no cellphone, no money and no clothes. Instead, I woke up to a pretty awesome blowjob. It’s good to be back.
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