Sunday, June 03, 2007


(PICTURE: Just a pretty lady who has nothing to do with the story below.)
I enjoy the writing part of this blog. Posting what I have written is a chore. Right now I have seven little essays written, but posting them is too much like work.

When I started this thing I wondered what I would write about after the first few subjects were done. Now there are more things to write about than I have time for.

Why are writing and posting different? Because I seldom compose directly to the computer. The atmosphere in front of the keyboard is a bit stifling. I like to write longhand in massage parlors and other disreputable places.

My favorite location is a barn like, fan cooled structure in downtown Bangkok. It is not a cat house although it is usually populated by 50 or more ladies of that persuasion. The “house” gets nothing from them except they seem to draw many male customers. The ladies are independent contractors but there is no sex on the premises. They have a nearby hotel that rents them rooms by the hour. The energy level (noise) in this place is high and I absorb some of it. It’s fun to be flirted with even if I know it’s only for the money. The ladies are 2s thru 8 ½. Some are here because of the color of their skin. Massage parlors only hire light-skinned Thais. But the hot looking women probably make out better here than they could in a massage parlor. Everything is negotiated.

It’s stimulating to watch the proceedings although it would be better if all the ladies didn’t wear bras. I hate that Thai fixation with bras. You’ve heard the joke about wearing a bra with a strapless dress? I see them do it here.

The hormone level is pretty intense here. As the afternoon wears on it gets higher and the girls get prettier (and that’s not the beer talking). The ladies keep coming in, more than go out. I’ve never been here after 4PM. Maybe the 10s come in in the evening. I bet they do.

What is truly a taste of reality is that the some of the top looking ones won’t give me a second look. That sets up the prospect of being rejected by a hooker if I were inclined to go that way, which I’m not.

No, really.


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