Hey folks, it’s your man Seven again. I’m going to call this larger series (reposting old articles from bkknites.com and my Tumblr) “Frowback Fridays” since–well–they’ll be coming out each Friday, and I like alliteration. Here’s part two of the “red-light addict” series. Hope you enjoy…
For addicts, step one is admitting you have a problem. I’m not there yet. Because really, is spending one’s leisure time in the company of beautiful women a “problem”? Is tapping one’s foot to a hip-hop beat while watching girls in bikinis shaking what their mama gave them every single night……..a “problem”? I’m not sure it is. I mean, I’m not hurting anybody. The only negative effect is, I’m not saving for retirement. Is that such a bad thing? Is it wrong to have a special girl or two at every single gogo who I buy a drink for and give a squeeze on a nightly basis? Although that does raise the question: How many girls is too many? I have three in Shark, one in Pink Panther, two in Kiss, two in Kings 1, one in Kings 2, one in Black Pagoda, and three in The Strip. Is that too many? Well, yes….the answer is yes. But if I only visit half those places one night and the other half the next night, that tempers things a bit. I’m cool. I’m maintaining.
Then there are my girls who got off the pole. My way-back girls, the ones I used to visit in Electric Blue who got regular jobs at coffee shops and 7-11. They like to come over to mine for a roll in the hay every now-and-again when their boyfriends are busy or when rent’s due. Are they part of my so-called addiction? Surely not. For one, they’re no longer in the red-light, and for two, I never call them—they always call me. That’s not my fault. My hands are clean. OK, so we all agree those girls don’t count. Back to the Pong….
It’s true that drinking copious amounts of alcohol every night isn’t healthy. But get this: lately I’ve taken up interspersing every boozy drink with a bottle of water. That’s right ladies and gents, I’ve cut my alcohol consumption in half. Clearly the drink ain’t a problem.
So what is the problem? That I’m onPong every night? Lots of people do things every night. People eat every night. Do we say they’re “addicted” to food? And what else would I be doing with my idle time? Watching TV, that’s what. Talk about an addiction. And it fries your brain! No thanks. Although, full disclosure: I did try to find other hobbies. I bought a ukulele and started teaching myself to play, but it’s been slow-going. I got a keyboard and occasionally practice chords and scales, but to be honest, after about 10 minutes of that nonsense I start getting visions of long legs, high heels, short-shorts, and halter-tops, and there’s no competition for that kind of eye candy.
All I know is that I’m happiest with a seat at the edge of the stage, a vodka in one hand and a girl in the other, rocking out to an old 80s tune or a new Thai girl favorite (Bay-beee SHARK doot-doo d-doo-d-doot!). The girl smells like youth and candy, skin as soft as her back tattoo is hard, her sweet cheek-kisses landing like pixie dust, her six-pack abs small and smooth under my nimble fingers, my nose nuzzled close to her neck……Does that sound like addiction? Or simply the most awesome situation a man my age can find himself in? I mean, are the rich addicted to yacht parties? Are penguins addicted to water?
I’m sure that from a Western-minded point of view, I’m doing something wrong. Something immoral. Certainly the average female farang would say so. But that’s one of the main reasons I chose to live in Thailand. I can’t stand female farang (FYI, the plural of farang is farang). They hate the red-lights because they couldn’t possibly compete with all the sexy hotness contained therein, and because one look at a RLD by their husband and the divorce papers are practically signed. They can’t hope to outshine Thai girls, so they take on the fake self-righteousness of the most devout pearl-clutcher, looking down their noses at any who would frequent such houses of ill repute. So who cares what they think? I certainly don’t. Because like I always say: Once you go Asian, you can’t do Caucasian.
OK, now that might point to a larger problem—maybe my addiction isn’t to RLDs but to Thai women. Maybe the RLD is just a symptom and not the disease. Maybe the Pong is just a means to an end—a way to curb an overriding craving. Hmmmm…..could this be a breakthrough?
We’ll have to wait for Part 3 to find out. In the meantime, I’m off to Black Pagoda. Until next time, fellow Ronin…….maintain.