An American Whorewolf in London: The Slut in Camden

March 21, 2020 By bangkok7

An American Whorewolf in London: The Slut in Camden

Howdy partner, it’s your amigo Bangkok Seven. Esto es mi blogo. Not sure why I’m using Spanish but that’s neither here nor there. Apologies to my one regular reader for posting this a day late. I’m currently trapped in California under draconian coronavirus-related martial law, and when I should’ve been finishing this blog I was busy fighting an old woman for toilet tissue. At any rate, here it is—a day late and a hundred words short.

Today’s Frowback is the 2nd to last episode in my Whorewolf series, recalling the events in my life that, like the needle of a compass, pointed me inevitably to relocate to Thailand. It’s a reminiscing about a lovely slut who I met by chance while record shopping in Camden. Her name was Lisa.

After my English Rose (as recounted in a previous blog) had given up on me, I was temporarily left on my own in London. This was mere months before my permanent move to Thailand, and I had the feeling it would be my final visit to the UK. So I wanted it to be memorable. A few days before I was set to come back to the US, I popped down to Camden for a canal-side Tuborg and bootleg Smiths concert CDs (remember CDs?). Whilst navigating the lanes of shops, I happened to lay eyes on an unusually statuesque brunette in thigh-high black suede boots and skin-tight dress. After a quick double-take I walked on, content to’ve admired her from afar and go on with my life. Twenty minutes later I was shuffling through CDs in a shop when my Spidey-whore sense began to tingle. I turned around and was face-to-face with the girl in the boots. Eye-to-eye would be a better description. It was only a moment, but it felt then like a long, long time. I was unable to tear my gaze away. Just when I started to sweat around my hairline, she let loose a small crooked smile. It was too much for me, and I cast my gaze footward. Then I turned and resumed CD browsing as my ears got uncomfortably hot. After buying a recording of Morrissey’s Coachella set, I looked around for boots girl but she was gone. So I walked across the canal, grabbed a beer at what is now The Ice Warf (I can’t remember what it was called back then), and sat alone at a table outside. As I began to get lost in my own thoughts, who should emerge from the bar with a pint of Tuborg but boots girl. She strode confidently up to my table and asked if she could sit. I told her she could do whatever she pleased, to which she responded, “Oh, you’re American.” What ensued was a 10-pint odyssey around Camden town that ended with her saying, “I never do this, but…I want to go with you back to your room.” Not the most romantic proposal but I didn’t complain or protest. I just paid our last bill and began walking in the direction of my hotel. She hooked her arm in mine and we were off. Along the way she confessed that she was doing this to get revenge on her recent ex-boyfriend who’d left her to get back with his high school sweetheart. I wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to justify anything to me but instead I kept my trap shut. Back at my hotel, we took turns showering. When I emerged, she was already in bed, coaxing me over with one finger. She threw back the sheet, revealing a pair of legs that seems to go forever, a pair of perfect breasts, and porcelain-white skin. I climbed in next to her and twenty minutes later it was all over. She sighed. “That was nice.” Not the best sex compliment I’ve ever heard but I took it. She then rolled over and went to sleep, to my utter shock. In fact, she spent the night, and was a loud snorer. In the morning, we banged again. Then she got dressed and left, blowing a kiss as the door shut behind her. I never saw her again. The next day I went back to Camden, perhaps hoping I’d run into her again. I even had another Tuborg and sat at the same table. When the barmaid came to collect my empty glass, she asked me about the girl. “Where’s your friend?” “Oh, I don’t know.” She then proceeded to tell me that the girl in question is the local slut, that she picked up a different guy every night, and that she hoped I wore a condom. I assured her I had. A few hours later, I was on a plane back to L.A. That was 12 years ago. I haven’t been back to the UK and likely never will, so she was a nice punctuation mark at the end of that life chapter.

In the thrush of Thailand’s plentiful bed partners, it’s easy to forget about these previous girls, these past farang. And their performance in the sack pales in comparison to my current Bangkok harem. But that shouldn’t diminish the significance of their influence. Had I not taken these first baby steps, I doubt I’d be where I am now, living a life of blissful bachelorhood with a bevy of beauties sharing my bed. I have these past prossies to thank for my present contentment.

Regardless of how long this Covid-19 hysteria lasts, let us never forget how lucky we are to have found Thailand, a whoremonger’s paradise on Earth. Stay safe, and peace out.