The FARANG Speaks 2 Much

As if it ever left. When I phoned a friend from the Bangkok airport, the one whose name is spelled something like “Superbsalamibarmy” but pronounced “Suwannapoom,” he described Fun City as a “vulgar shithole.”

I wish he’d quit soft-pedaling his opinions and just let ‘er rip, but yes: PTY is manifestly vulgar and allusions to unsanitary cavities (sidewalks, alcohol dispensaries, meatier apertures) are apt.

So what. I like the air and space, decent infrastructure, and range of entertainment-options: which of course include catching up with all the stuff I’ve been intending to watch on my MacBook but haven’t gotten around to.

I took the bus from Submarineparmahambaloney Airport and, as I often do, purchased two tickets (an extra 100-baht and you can put your bag on a seat which might otherwise be occupied by either a farang pleading with his tilac until his mobile phone battery drips dry, or a Thai gleefully chomping on dried squid). It was cold/grey/rainy—drizzling miserable as we arrived at some drop-off point in Jomtien. I walked with my bags and, spotting an eatery boasting Yorkshire-style house-made sausages, decided to check it. The meat-bags, sizzled and served with onion gravy and mushy peas, were damn good. Plus I was able to get transpo directions from the waitress: “Songthaew tu-wenny baht but if u walk past police box, 10 baht.” Nothing like local knowledge!

Ten baht later, I checked into my “superior” (1200-baht/nite) room at Sawasdee Seaview Mansion in the center of town. The town was significantly less crowded than during Xmas: maybe some turistas are heading for the Phnom. The room’s good value though: spacious, meatlocker air-con and well appointed. Most impressively, it’s quiet: I actually slept without earplugs during my stay, awakened only once (by firecrackers on ChiNewYr Day).

Off to the gym at the new mall for some cardio action, then to Lolita’s to see if my favorite blowjob-technician had lost her touch (not….at…ALL) then to Bob’s Texas-style BBQ joint for one of his bitchin’ burgers.

My goal for PTY this trip was to explore some Advanced Powerlounging techniques: enhanced relaxation. Watchin’ flicks, gett’n laid, hitt’n the gym, getting a meticulous pedicure, sampling some dining options, and enjoying a good night’s sleep every night. I did not want to get a suit made, explore the crocodile farm/transvestite costume-revue or purchase any salty T-shirts or heavy metal decor (if you can’t live without a carved wooden staff with both a skull AND a big sharp horn on the end, you’ll want to shop here).

There are new shopping malls both finished and under construction. You can certainly rocknanroll awl nite and party ev-ery day if that’s yer thing, and if you want to get bent on ether and do a Hunter Thompson-style stumblebum-stroll down the sidewalk, yeah, they’ve seen it all before. Tourists are coin of the realm literally and figuratively, and while most are reasonably well behaved, well, we also have the Pattaya print media to tell us all about when they’re not.

I can’t decide between the Pattaya Mail, with its fabulous perjorative prose (a recent headline: “Two Manaical Monks and Attendant Cook Dog For Dinner”), and Pattaya People, which opts for enormous blocky type and stacks of furious headlines. Here’s their URLs if you want the latest wacked-out crimes from Fun City:

http://www.pattayadailynews.com/index.php?p=news&CategoryID=008

http://www.pattayapeople.com/default.asp?Folder=2089

As is often the case, trips tend to blur until the last day, which features a blizzard of who-knows-what. My pal SteveFromAuckland suddenly arrived and I thought, great, we can go check go-go bars. But as I’d saved my inaugural visit to the Hell Club (PTY’s version of Eden in BKK) for my last day in town, I figured I’d go in the afternoon, then meet Steve.

Hell is on Soi LK Metro, a dogleg between Soi Bukhao and Soi Diana Inn (there’s this thing called the Internet that will give you maps and details, you can GoogleWhack the URLs of these places or, heck, just whack ‘em:

http://www.thehellclub.com/

http://www.lolitaspattaya.com/ (all the Lolita websites seem offline of late, a good excuse to visit in person. Bring your penis.). Lolita’s Bangkok guide page.

I walk into H-Club and am greeted by a tall North American guy—I tell him I’ve been to the place in BKK before, there are a few differences, he explains. While Eden offers a lower rate before 19:00, HC standardizes throughout their opening hours. The Hershey-friendly ladies are on the right of the infamous yellow line instead of the left. And most importantly, while the greeter tells me that HC has (or has had) 35 employees, there’s a total of seven at this particular point in time.

I consider walking—I’ve done it before, and have no problem doing so (point of etiquette: diplomacy is appreciated. If you’re going to walk out on a lineup, I suggest you smile, ask what time they close, say you will return whether you intend to or not, and take a business card…those ladies lined up for you and you are, for whatever reason, rejecting them). But I sit and chat with the guy, about biz, high season, the usual. It’s only polite, and I need the time to make up my mind. After all, I’m meeting Steve later and if I go for this it will almost certainly preclude any spontaneous barfining during the evening’s aktivitiez. Decisions, decisions.

Bottom line: I made it to Hell and to hell I will go. I pick a pair and we’re off to the “hotel next door” (unlike Eden, you don’t actually leave the building) where the rooms are a bit nicer than the Star Inn where Eden outsources its fuck-premises. My techs are pleasant and one flips open the pack of boot porn DVDs and asks which one I prefer, I have no special requests.

It’s the same routine/paraphernalia as Eden—a bunch of sex toys, condoms and they’ll perform routines for your amusement. I’m not fascinated by these accoutrements and their deployment. Here’s what I like:

Sex in a variety of configurations, with plenty of smooth warm Thai flesh surrounding/caressing/swallowing/licking/kissing me at any given moment.

A trio of orgasms during my allotted ninety minutes. I’m surprised when guys regard this as a feat mythical or impossible. OK, I prepped by no-orgasms in the previous 24 hours and a bite of my favorite blue enzyme-inhibitor, a slightly larger helping than if I was, for example, involved in a short-time liaison. I’m going for the trifecta.

And, as in Eden, these women are like Terminatrixes: “they will not stop, ever, EVER!” Do laugh/joke with them (one of ‘em told me that chatting and being friendly makes the experience better for her…they’re not going for their own orgasms, but will dig deep for yours), and of course it contributes to the atmosphere when you relax between rounds. But for me, three shudders is standard. Given the rates, a high level of service should be expected. Of course, if you want a condom-adorned vibrator rammed up your Khyber, or “lez-bee-ANN show” they’ll oblige.

Emerge from Hell and turn on my phone…poor Steve has received an unwelcome visit from the Intestinal Assault Demon and is confined to quarters. The go-go go-round will have to wait, as I’m off the next day.

Pattaya: it’s not experiencing the uproarious inflation and tourist-tweaks of many other Thai destinations. It soldiers on, and while many of its denizens are less-than-savory, I enjoyed my visit.