An American Whorewolf in London Part 1

Salutations reader, I’m Bangkok Seven. For the last 20 Fridays I’ve posted a series of old blogs that were written whilst trapped in America and juxtaposed them with my current dream life in Thailand. Now that I’ve blessedly run out of those old whining wine-centered, sentimental entries, it’s time to fill in a big blank: namely, the time between escaping L.A. and resettling in Thailand. The first part of this limbo stage was a year-long sabbatical in the UK. Foolish, I now know, not to’ve just come straight here. Instead, I set out on a meandering odyssey, not unlike that Greek wanderer, which took me to Europe, then Korea, then back to Europe, then Central America before finally finding this paradise on Earth we call The Land of Smiles. This is part 1 of a new series chronicling my exploits in England, back when I was ignorant about Thailand and still trying to find a farang girlfriend. At that time, I actually thought there was something exotic in British women. I believed they’d somehow be different from American women. I was, of course, terribly mistaken in this regard, but I did manage to briefly hook a lovely English rose. I’ll get to her a bit later in this series. First, let’s talk British brothels…

My first stop after fleeing Los Angeles was to a small town in Essex, where I landed a job as an English teacher. Yes, the irony of an American teaching English to the English was not lost on me, or my students. Setting aside the nightmare that is the education system in England, life there was not unpleasant, and at times, wonderful. I loved the old architecture (nothing built in LA dates back further than the 1900s), the lush fauna, and pub culture. And I especially enjoyed the brothels. It was here that I eschewed the taboo notions attributed to the oldest profession and openly embraced what so many have come to realize: that there’s a transaction in every human encounter, and anyone who says different is deluding himself. And so began my happy foray into debauchery. In fact, it wasn’t in Thailand but in the grand city of London where I first copulated with a Thai. Her name was Dao and she lived in Bayswater.

She told me of course that here name was Star and I didn’t realize until moving here that she was giving me the English translation of her name. She was a live-in prossie there in London. It’s not uncommon for “international girls” to do gap years or long stays in European countries where their “exotic” flavor draws in lots of customers. Dao was brash, and bold, and enjoyed sex the way I did when in my teens. At the time, I was much fitter than I am now, and 12 years younger, but I couldn’t keep up with her. She was insatiable, and every time I left her, it was to the lilting sound of her gentle pleas to stay and bang again. “I’ll fuck you again for 10 extra quid.” Which would’ve been a tempting offer indeed, if she hadn’t totally exhausted me on the first go. But I couldn’t quit her, for many reasons. She was gorgeous, for one. Dark skin, fit and fat-free, with a constellation of star tattoos on one shoulder. For two, she had an infectious, optimistic attitude that I couldn’t justify. After all, what does a prostitute in the UK have to be happy about? After moving to Thailand, I discovered that her positivity was something she brought with her from her home culture.

In the middle of the frigid, bone shattering English winter, she was an oasis of warmth that I couldn’t get enough of. I took the train to London every weekend to walk along the river, shop on Oxford Street, take a beautiful but standoffish Bulgarian hotel receptionist to the cinema, and spend an hour with Dao.

For the first few months of my UK internment, Dao helped alleviate the homesickness and (initial) profound solitude of life in Essex, where “Essex girls” were by and large as stupid as they were boorish. In my first week, while suffering from jetlag that had me up at all hours and while on a late-night stroll through the High Street, I passed two sluts as they left Yates’. One of them pointed her chubby finger at me and simply said, “…..No.” And she and her friend giggled with delight at her perceived pre-jection of me. As if I’d be caught dead in bed with what I assumed was a Chlamydia-riddled albino dairy cow in a mini-dress and heels. I encountered several such bovine-like creatures around town in my first weeks as an Essex resident, and it made me more than a little despondent. I had begun to think that this herd of pachyderms was the only pool from which to pull. That is, until I discovered craigslist personal ads (now, sadly, defunct) and the direct train to London, and a revolving door of whores that started with Dao and led me to a tryst with a Danish goddess, then a Brazilian, then two Brits, then back to a (different) Thai, and then my English rose which forced me into temporary monogamy. Each of these lasses deserves a separate blog, so be sure to check back weekly.

As for Dao, she was, at the time, something new and enigmatic for a novice world traveler in search of something different, and we crossed paths and bed sheets at a perfect time. Call it kismet, but it was her bright shining inner light that chased away the shadows of my lonesome soul, and today it is that same light emanating from each girl in my harem that makes for a veritable constant stream of happiness into my world, like an IV of bliss hooked straight to the veins of my psyche. And it all started with my first taste of Thai, on the other side of the planet, in a room overlooking Hyde Park.

That’s all I have for you today. Swing by on Sunday for the weekly, and here’s to another week above ground in this magical adult playground we call Bangkok. Cheers.