December 15, 2019 By bangkok7
Hello there, websurfer. I’m Bangkok Seven, and this is my blog. This week, I submit another one of my series devoted to the lovelier examples of our species—the Bangkok gogo dancer. This one’s a little more somber, though, as it highlights a few that are either temporarily or permanently gone.
Bangkok can be a dangerous city. Especially if you’re on a motorbike. Part 8 of my gogo dancer series pays respect to the girls I’ve lost—literally—since moving to BKK.
May was a sexy little dynamo from Billboard in Nana Plaza. With a wide, bright smile, big natural breasts on a tiny frame, and a happy-go-lucky attitude, she was a breath of fresh air on every visit. From 2011-2013, she was one of my regular harem and one of my favorite people. I never heard her say a negative thing, or frown for that matter. She was a good friend. And she was an absolute wonder in the sack. After taking a month off to visit family in the US, I returned to Bangkok to find May completely off the radar. Facebook messages didn’t receive replies. Phone calls went to voicemail. After a couple weeks, I went to Billboard to look for her. I asked the first dancer I saw where May was. She went pale and wide-eyed. She said nothing—just hurried to the toilet. A moment later, she returned with another dancer. “You ask about May?” Yes. “Normally I not speak because of bad luck…she die. Crash motorbike.” I was stunned. The girls then asked if I could see her ghost anywhere inside the gogo. I told them I didn’t see any ghosts, and they breathed a sigh of relief. To this day, I still leave occasional messages on May’s Facebook page. I miss her a lot.
I met Sai in Mandarin in Nana Plaza. She caught my eye immediately thanks to her smile and a spark of real intelligence in her eyes. Her English was nearly flawless, and she had a cutting wit that rivaled anyone I’ve known in the West. She loved to laugh, laughed easily, and treated my bed like an amusement park ride. Her voice was husky, like Jessica Rabbit. Her tiny frame was strong and lithe. And with long, golden blonde hair, she was the perfect little sex package. The crazy thing about Sai is that we rarely made plans. She and I just happened to run into each other at random times and places, and each of those chance encounters led inevitably to a round of bedroom Olympics. But after a few months she, like May, dropped completely off the grid. A year later, I saw one of our mutual friends walking down Soi 4. I abandoned my beer to chase her down and ask about Sai. She said that Sai was killed by her Thai boyfriend, who was jealous that she had so many male farang friends. I wondered guiltily whether or not said boyfriend had ever seen us together. In the subsequent years, I’ve had to let go of that thought along with Sai. She was a bright ray of sunshine, taken unjustly and too soon.
Kat is still alive, as far as I know, but she’s trapped in exile in Vietnam. I’ve mentioned her in past lists, but she deserves a spot on this one as well, because the more time that passes, the more likely it seems that she’ll never return to Thailand.
I met Kat on Soi 4. She was freelancing, and I took her home mainly out of sympathy. It was a rainy Sunday afternoon when I spotted her huddled under a spirit house with 90% of her tiny body still exposed to the deluge. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in days. I brought her back to my apartment and wrapped her in a towel. She shivered for a good ten minutes, resembling an actual wet cat. I noticed a long scar on her leg that stretched from her knee up to her hip bone. “Motorcy,” she said. She was surprisingly good in bed, so I let her hang around for a few weeks. She cooked, cleaned, did laundry, ironed my shirts. For the next year or so I’d see her now and then. Occasionally she’d show up on my doorstep randomly with no forewarning. She was my first charity case, but she was lovely, optimistic, and the word “no” didn’t seem to be in her vocabulary, and so she wasn’t much of a burden. Then one day she said she was heading out to the country to work on her cousin’s durian farm. I bade her farewell, not believing her, until a few weeks later when she sent me a photo of her on a tractor, in full farmer gear, hauling a load of durian. I was amazed. A year passed before I heard from Kat again. She emailed me. Said she had gone to Vietnam to see a friend but when she tried to re-enter Thailand, she was denied. Apparently her passport wasn’t stamped right, or maybe the information was incomplete. I couldn’t figure out the exact problem from the convoluted explanation she gave. At any rate, that was in 2014. There’s been no word from her since, and I doubt there ever will be.
Oil is very much alive, but the reason she’s on this list is because of how close she came to kicking the bucket. A few months back, she went head-first over the handlebars of a motorbike into the windscreen of an oncoming car without a helmet. How she survived, I can’t begin to guess. But she did, though not without some serious trauma, namely a concussion and a brain hemorrhage. She’s still recovering, can’t work, and must see a neurologist once a week. And she had to take a month off from visiting me for bedroom Olympics. Thankfully, though, she’s still with us, and a few weeks from now this single mom can go back to the pole.
The upside of losing a girl in Thailand is, there’s a slew of new ones waiting to take their place. But it doesn’t mean we stop missing them once they’re gone. I think about May and Som all the time. The best thing I can say about it is, I’m grateful to’ve known them, I’m sad they’re no longer here, and I appreciate every girl who’s crossed my path in this—the greatest country on Earth: Thailand.