Amazing, to be writing one of these again. Every year I bring up how it might be the last trip. Every year I pull it together, and make it happen. I won’t pontificate on the precarious state of my financial affairs—you guys don’t give a shit—but I write this as much for me as you, so just for the record…
FLASHBACK: Three weeks. I’m in a too-tight red shirt carrying a picket sign in front of my college. You’ve read articles about the state of Adjunct teaching in this country. Colleges being run as and by for-profit corporations. Only we don’t make widgets. We form young minds. My school has commenced an active campaign to destroy our union, destroy livelihoods and lives by decimating what once was a decent gig at a teacher. Part-timer classes are being cut back severely, class sizes increased for no extra pay, whole departments merged or dropped, renaming classes and adding requirements to bounce long-tenured teachers, giving already salaried full-timers maximum sections. Last year I survived a termination attempt because of a simple mistake on a resume. I’m a 13-year teacher with excellent evaluations (Red Hot Chili Pepper status on ratemyprofessor.com, bitches!) and they were happy to dump me for a $30 buck an hour grad student. They just don’t care, long as it improves the bottom line.
With my job in limbo, I’ve worked other avenues for cash. Made a movie last year and am pitching it internationally and to US cable outlets. My blog is making money. Teaching online at two different joints. Hired to adapt somebody’s novel, hired to produce somebody’s web series. I consult, too, helping people with their scripts. Someone just paid me to rescue a story about a half celery stick, half man who pleasures women to death and tears guy’s heads off. Frankenstein creation of a horny Nazi scientist. Christopher Guest could not write this. I give meaningful notes on this screenplay in between blow jobs. Hey, it’s a living.
I see this as a race. At 57, I’ve got 5 years to make it to 62 and early Social Security. Maybe I’ll last it out in Chi-town. Maybe I’ll wind up teaching English in China in two years. One thing for sure… the days of the $250 a day budget for mongering are almost at an end for me.
Hope you enjoy these scratches against time. Onto the bitches…
PREPARATIONS:
Planned it well. Alldaychemist.com-the usual order: 70 100 MGS of Viagra, 30 25 MG Cialis. Two Z-Packs. Various antibiotics for nasty STD’s rumored by the advanced guard. A full bottle of Target antacids for the Viagra burn. Full bottle of ibuproprin for the Fuck Backaches. Echinacea and Vitamin C to ward off colds and kisser’s cough.
Toys…Humphrey the Humping Hound, Fart Pillow, Silly string, party poppers, Furby, large sunglasses shaped as guitars, peace symbols, and Starlet glasses—great ice-breakers…also a cool Repeater Monkey that repeats whatever is said in whatever language. That was the big winner this trip.
Clothes…I opt for EBay club dresses and lingerie. Bought some awesome Chinese-made heels but they arrived smelling of gasoline for whatever reason so chucked them. I carry over two 50 pound bags of the shit, plus the 50 pound bag I have stored at the Pacific Breeze.
I’m ready.
DUES, MAN: PART 1(CHICAGO TO ANGELES CITY):
Cathay Pacific “bargain fare” of $1,200 (thanks Porker!) vs. last year’s $1,800. The 24-hour journeys aren’t getting easier the older I get. The “mechanical issues” on a blue-sky departure day that cost us 90-minutes on the front don’t help matters. Follow it up with a 20-plane departure cue and I’m already snarly before we leave Chi. Then the 45 minutes of turbulence over Chi air-space like a giant fuck you, enjoy your slanty-eyed hos asshole, see ya in August when the bills come due.
15+ hour flight to Hong Kong, 2 hours in Hong Kong. 3 hour flight to Manila. 45 minute bag wait at Manila. 2:17am, 22 hours in and I’m looking around at a completely new terminal. Well how about that! Only…where the fuck is the Pacific Breeze driver? Later I discover this is Terminal 3, didn’t exist when I flew in last year. They sent an email on it which I didn’t look over. Stupid as I take a near 20-minute taxi over to the old terminal, 1, which is surreally empty. Grab a worker’s phone, call the Pacific Breeze. The driver, waiting for me near the Burger King (I was supposed to know that HOW? Oh, you sent me an email. Well, OK, send him over). On the road 20 minutes later, arrive at 3:30 AM or so, 24+ hours later.
PACIFIC BREEZE:
Remarkable hotel. I use those words carefully. Here’s why…
Rolled in cranky and po’d at 3:30am. Led to Room 606. Great room. Only one connected room, as quiet as possible at the end of the row, first floor. 2100P per day. My bag and mirror in storage, already in the room. 4 pillows, 4 towels. Lamp busted? Within an hour, even at 4am, a new one appears. More worrisome, the AC isn’t working. This is a MAJOR issue. Unacceptable. Out, out vile cherry! Front desk promises at 8am the maintenance guy will save the day. 8am, there’s a knock, two of them at the door. They haul out the AC. Its condenser—or whatever—is clearly frozen. They replace it. Knock the control down to 16, run it…YES! Working. I never take the key out of the slot here. This new machine will run for the next 16 days straight, plus my back end 4 day stay. I tip everybody in sight. I’m Pauly Vegas, an asshole, but an asshole who tips.
The sink’s stuffed up? They fix it without me asking.
Maid takes care of me first on the row. In and out by 11am. 4 towels, fresh linen. She gets 1500 on the back end. Every one of them with a “Hello, Paul!”
Elmer and Joey @ Central Park, walking by a year later, “Hello, Mr. Paul!”—Nobody knows my name is Phuket. This place kills it.
PRINCESS AND THE PEA:
I need a PERFECT room to crash:
• Cold
• Dark
• Absolute Quiet
• Running Fan for White Noise
• Earplugs
• Eye shades
• 4 pillows
PAULY VEGAS, THE SLEEP-DEPRAVED:
There’s fucked, and there’s F U C K E D.
There’s seeing the world pass in real time and seeing it go by in Wong Kar-Wai slow- mo CG effect.
This close to going face over ass into a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. Eyes rolling into the back of my skull. My body has the shakes, involuntary. Feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed—not.
First, it’s the jet lag. Takes me a good four days to get over it. This is a war for sleep. Initially I get a max of three hours under. Troubled, non-REM sleep. If I’m lucky I crash with a siesta at 5:30pm. Cobble together 5-6 hours a day. Red-eyes, to where chicks notice. Brain scrambled. Do I want the seafood chowder or the Sisting soup the waitress wants to know? Why are you asking me such a hard questions?! YOU choose.
By then the back pain kicks in. Brutal. Dose it multiple times a day with Ibuproprin. Then there’s the travel schedule. I wanted to try new horizons this trip so split my 8 days in Thailand, four and four, Phuket and Pattaya. There are early morning planes and extensive hours long car rides with each. I’m logging all these miles not to crash upon arrival. I’m doing this to FUCK, so no sleep when I arrive either. It’s out onto Walking Street or Fields or wherever. Sleep has last priority.
Trippy Ken Kesey vibe, like soon to be killed lobsters unknowingly scuttling, out of no TS Eliot poem. That scent drifting in the air, what is it? Prawn soup. Octopus in garlic, crab fried rice?
What CAN I do about it? Try sleeping on my other side? Two Ibuproprin before bed? How about trying something really extreme, like FUCKING LESS? All I have to do is stop fucking, and the pain will go away. But fucking in Angeles is my raison d’etre. In screenwriting, it’s called the double bind: What makes me feel bad makes me feel good. Or, put another way, what makes me feel good makes me feel bad. My back surgery, a non-factor in the non-sex world of Chicago, is in play. I am fucking myself, literally.
ANGELES CITY, STATE OF THE STATE:
“Starts with a fix, ends up a fixation, when you were looking at the black and white world.” —Elvis Costello
Brought $7500 in cash this trip. End of trip had 30 bucks. 30 days. $250 per day excluding airfare.
AC: Raymond Street 800BF+500TIP =1300p = $30 bucks
Perimeter: 1600BF+500TIP+300Drinks+200Tryke = 2600p= $60 bucks
Fields: No barfine lower than 2500p. Some 2700. Some 3000. There is no negotiating this--Other than getting phone #’s and hoping the girl gets back to you at a discount price some future time. Me? I’m not letting the bird in hand get away. Tomorrow with her may never come, especially with just a couple weeks available to me. I’m fucking her now, and that costs.
At least this year I can say the word barfine without people breaking into rashes. I handed money to the waitress, to the girl, to Mamasans…it’s discreet this year, not loco. Thing is, Fields girls are largely 5’s and 6’s. 7’s are the hotties, 8’s are rare indeed. Yes yes, I know there are alternatives for guys with a longer time frame. I crash out at midnight. I don’t dance like a d-bag at HISO into the wee hours.
FIELDS:
Pretty good trip. Normally my success rate is no better than 50%. This year it was about 75%. Success meaning the $80 I spend feels justified. They like me because I just want short time and pay full. My only expectation is an hour in the sack, no rubber, and photos. What’s left to do with them after an hour, discuss Schopenhauer?
I’m a technophobe. I’m one of the remaining 7% to not have a cell phone in the United States. Why would I get one here? I’m literally BESEIGED on Facebook, pursued like prey by them. The in-the-know crowd says use the tech, accumulate phone numbers, never barfine, play the long game. Filipino Cupid? Who has the time? High Society discount fucking? Who wants to start fucking at 1am?
I don’t have time for the long game. I see a chica I want, I pull the trigger. KISS. Hey, I grab numbers too. I make dates with Fields chicks. Half the time they don’t show.
Pretty much given up on dancers. SO many of the dancers are 5’s and 6’s. With the price now being 2500 minimum (now the experts will tell me I blew it and they get it for 1500 no problem) I rarely feasted here. $80 bucks and they split after one go-around? Where’s the upside? English, pictures, no rubber-cool. But I need something more. I desire cute, and I mean REALLY cute.
MY CUTE DOORGIRL THING:
Here’s my M.O.: 20. Innocent face. Great legs. Blonde, if possible. FRESH. Most of the girls in this report are doorgirls.
ABBY @ STARDUST: Blonde in a box. Cheerleader type. Yes, Homeland Security, she has a high-school cheerleader’s face. First to wear the Alice In Wonderland dress I found at a Chicago Salvation Army store. One wonders if Louis Carroll could have imagined this photo session.
MELISSA @ LOVE & MUSIC: Rockin’ MILF for sure. At 33, oldest I had this trip. Hope she forgives me for giving away the black checkerboard Legs Avenue dress I promised her. Says she feels like a mother hen to some of the 20 year-old dancers. Some den mother!
JOCELYN @ THE JOINT NEXT TO VOODOO: Pass her all the time and stare. Finally stopped and she engaged. Had a drink. Cool chick. Hardbody. Miss Pinatubu material. 1 hour in bed, photos, no rubber? She says yes, I say yay!
ABBY @ 7 CLUB. Another rail-hard blonde. Girl caught my eye as she was trolling for customers in the street. Something about her, quiet but not snooty. 3k, as usual. This is what it is if you want your chocolate now. She’s close physically to the Stardust girl who ended my night in tears so it’s risky but fuckit. Turned out to be a great bet. Great photo session. Look at how she poses and pouts. I direct her like I’m shooting with a 2000$ Canon, not a hundred buck commercial piece of crap. It’s decided—I like fucking 20 year-old blondes.
SARAH @ KING’S LANDING. Found her in her last days at White Wave. Darkhair. Fresh. 20. She’s the one that draws you in, it’s why she’s out front. She’s the honey pot.
KATIA @ STARDUST. AVOID! Yet another blonde. Gave me the “you too big!” bit. C’mon man, I just spent 3000 on you, I’m not THAT big. When the tears start, I stop. Just not worth it. She runs into bathroom and it’s over. No tip but still out 3500. Stay away from this scamster.
Foreplay for me is positioning beautiful women like a Vogue photographer, a turn of the hair here, a lifting of the heel here, a Spiderman kiss with her on the bed. Who does these things?
RAYMOND STREET:
I was ready to make THE pronouncement- Raymond Street is DEAD. Didn’t fuck a single new girl my first two weeks. Bea gone. Ashley in Manila. Abby still the stuck-up Princess, popping in at her own need. Madel is by appointment only, Rochelle, gone. Only Mariel and Cindy as holdovers from last year, and both have seen better days. And let’s not even talk about the graveyard that is Santos Street. Only Wow bar (or whatever they’re calling it these days) still above water, but with dinosaurs like Trixie and Lyka around, not exactly my watering hole of choice. RIP, Raymond Street?
It was only after I came back from Thailand in Week 4 that things got interesting.
GERALDINE: Wow bar. Great body still, years later. Raymond Street holdover. She’s only 22 for Christ’s sake. Dark and powerful. If only I could describe the tensile tautness of her skin. Run hands over her legs as she models a French Maid’s outfit in the mirror.
HANNAH: Wow bar. New girl usually equals stay away. I was her first customer- Always a disaster, but not here. Skinny chick—love me my skinny chicks. Lost it using the vibrator for the first time.
JESSA: Only newbie I went with in a month on Raymond Street. Great addition. Fresh face, legs, attitude. Needed and welcome.
PERIMETER:
Very good trip here. 3 for 3 as a matter of fact. Only went out there because of the Raymond Street weakness. These are 3pm lays, and they’re not cheap. $60 bucks, all told. Cheaper than Fields, more than Ray St.
ARLENE AND IRENE: Banana Peel. Both are 20 and look --. Petite. California Golden seal skin, amazing to the touch. Arlene is a recent cherry girl, only had four guys in her life. Irene the more experience, left with an “accident baby” by some English guy. I’ve got the two of them in the low key Banana Peel club. I’m the only dude in there at 3pm and I’m loving the attention. Fuck it, you’re both coming with me. Back to PB, laughs with my humping hound, Cat Woman photos. Now, ladies, it’s time to read from the Book Of Love. Irene first… Out she comes in that schoolgirl outfit. Glasses. Skinny. Daddy wants a word with you about your report card, young lady!
ROSEANNE: Can’t remember where you find her... A few doors down from Banana Peel. 3PM, same deal, I’m the only one in the joint. 5 dancers with only me as the focus. I wave her forward. 28, exotic, great legs, sweetheart. This one has brains. Two years running a clothing store in Manila. Already with an exit strategy. Slow-hand fucking. Long kisses in front of the mirror. Towel hits the floor. Eye to eye, riding me. GFE to the max. Lost it when I broke out the Magic Wand. Stupidly, I only fucked her once.
FREELANCERS:
I only did repeats and regulars this trip. The youngest was about 23. Just too many reports of police set ups to fuck around like I did just three years ago. Risk/reward ratios in play.
ANALYN: Ex- Raymond Street, by appointment only. Put her in the Disney dress too, now lick that lollipop, babe. Tell me how you’d rather have more dick from me than that pack of double-chocolate cookies I promised you on the fridge. Bola bola!
ROSE: Ex-Sea Star doorgirl, currently re-employed at Lollipop. Blonde sex kitten. Powerful legs like an Olympic gymnast, cross ‘em and she could break you. Needs 6k for hair extensions. And so it begins again. 2X around the horn- meaning missionary, spooning, riding me, doggie, dick and vibrator combo… the PSE of the trip. Find her.
LUZ: Alley cat. Mid-20’s but in jail last trip, part of a “package deal” police set up, wrong place wrong time during the blackmail of a white guy. Luz explained it all. The part that stuck with me were the jailhouse descriptions. Seven months laying on a four-foot piece of foam in a single room with 19 women. That would certainly kill me.
LYKA AND GIRLIE. Two more alley cats. Only saw them once. The usual chaotic fashion show. The usually alley cat grabbing for anything they can take from the room. Back to back and trained. Ordered chicken wings and egg rolls after, watching I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER together. 3K total.
IMPRESSIONS & MISCELLANEA:
GIVE IT AWAY:
Hotel Ozo in Pattaya wants 150 Baht (five bucks) to wash three shirts. Mamacita wants 150 pesos (4 bucks) to do FOUR KILOS of laundry (15 shirts, appx). So yes, I tip her. When she says 150 I say no, 300. This makes her happy. I like making people happy. I head down to the food stand and pick up two portions of food—six sausage links and a fish head—and feed Mamacita’s dog and cats. This makes them happy. It’s a chain reaction that costs only a few bucks. The old lady stumbling down the street in 97 degree heat, selling an old shirt. Keep it, doll, and this 100 too. 50P to the street urchin who calls me on my bola-bola when I said “next time” last time. He recognizes a walking chocolate-chip two-week millionaire. The two kids selling 10p mango pops in front of the PB. I ask for a pop. “10 pesos,” they say. “No. 100.” The look on their faces is priceless. Give it away. The shit is addictive.
FIELDS, MAGIC HOUR, SLEEPLESS:
Fields, my 8th and 42nd, my Ginsburg and Bull Lee Burroughs and saintly Jacky K. Alas, I don’t have a photographic memory so these will be miserable blurs, a French Impressionist pointillist painting with dots too far removed for real meaning, all destined for ash. Like Jacky K told us—fame is just old newspaper blowing down Bleaker Street. Right here in Angeles Cityyyyyyyy we got us a living, breathing, orgiastic whorehouse! Intact and screaming, like the ones in forever ash at Pompeii. Seeing it through a Ken Kesey telescope. Kaleidoscopic. From a great distance of about ten feet, the rail of Kokomos—Fields Magic Hour screams POSSIBILITY. Like no Wrigleyville or blogger-hip Logan Square. Those hipster coffee shops back home got nothing on this crossroad. Three of the girls in front of Monsoon, the middle one with a dress like the Japanese flag. There’s Arlene in front of Shipwrecked. Fucked her last year. She went blonde, huh? I n t e r e s t i n g. Cacophony. Hip Hop from Voodoo annihilating the “what your name where you stay I buy Apple” conversation. Where the white women at? Stayed 21 days this trip, didn’t see one. Black dress, white heels, there goes one of the girls, hustling to work. White dress, black heels, eating two pork sausages. Orange neon over Rhapsody, taking form. Night slips in like a thief, shade by shade, the fly eating my onion ring is unimpressed, fake blonde with a guy with orange shoelaces. I count six sound sources on this Kokomo’s stool. Looks like it’s gonna rain…
EMAIL BLURB:
Orson Wells lives forever but the worms have already had their way with him. Meanwhile doomed-to-be-forgotten Pauly Vegas just got laid first time in 11 months. She begged me to let her come back tomorrow. She offered to bring her friend, skinny, schoolgirl sexy. I say maybe, have to Facebook with the blonde ex-doorgirl from Sea Star. She has to see me tomorrow, too. It’s a conundrum. It must be, she actually capitalized HAS in the post. What’s the draw here that never happens in Chi-town? It’s not the 40-inch waistline. $$$, of course. Maybe that between my dick and Magic Wand vibrator I get them off regularly? Sure, can’t hurt. The two Shipwrecked doorgirls I fucked last year are looking me over like a piece of chum. I am NOT ready for them yet, historically crappy early lays. They have mental miles from fucking a new girl almost every night, and bodies of rock of course. With an entire bag of EBAY Chinese lingerie, the legend of BaBoy (locally meaning little chubsters or little Porky or little doublemotherfucking chins) Super Power name: Pauly Vegas.
TO THE KOKOMOS FRONT RAIL SMOKERS:
I’d like to say I missed you motherfuckers who light up a cigarette EXACTLY as my French Toast breakfast or Pad Thai dinner is served, inevitably blowing smoke in my face, forcing me to move. Alas, I did not. But it IS great to know there are some things in the world I can control. I don’t breath your fucking smoke. EVER. Now suck on that cancer stick!
ISREALITES:
Those poor fuckers on the construction site opposite the new Central Park Hotel. Like Israelites, they hammer away at the earth in 95 degree/95% humidity conditions, paid just a few bucks a day. Slave wages, shit you not. No American machinery here. Eight of them on a rope driving pole into the ground, creating holes, pulleys and chains, driving pylons into the earth. There’s the BS my college is pulling, and then there’s this. That’s the beauty of life. No matter how fucked you are, there are always others who are FAR more fucked than you.
Like the Turtle Man, making his way up Fields at 9:13am with his bootleg DVD’s. In the age of Pirate Bay the bootlegger has become obsolete. Didn’t he get the memo? No buyers in sight. What must it be like for him? Squeaking out a few hundred pesos a day like this? In 90/90 heat, day after day? God help you if you’ve got nothing to sell. You must make an impact on the world or it will make an impact on you.
92 IN THE SHADE:
More like 97. With 95% humidity. Merciless heat. The construction boys at lunch, laid out in the shade. The tryke guys laid on their bikes. Like dead bodies. I head back to 606 and the mercy of my AC.
ARLENE, THE SCAMMER:
Of course I see her on my first day. This was the woman who scammed me last trip for a couple hundred with the tale of her father dying, give her the $ only to catch her stealing cash from my wallet. Junkies live in a perpetual state of emergency and this year’s emergency was a dog bite. She walks right up to me at Kokomos, with nowhere else to go. Of course the death of my girlfriend from drugs doesn’t help my ability to say get THE FUCK out of my face. I give her some cash for the wound, which, if rabies, could complicate. Last year’s bill 200$. This year, $25. She needs a clean wound dress and an antibiotic shot, now. Didn’t see her after this. Some things never change. Baboy is an easy touch.
THE SMALL STUFF
• Kissing her stomach 22 times, or how she gets out of bed and bounce toward the shower, not considering that it might be the last time I ever touch her.
• Booty calls at 8:30. So many unannounced visitors the desk girls definitely hate me and I have to pull the phone cord from the wall.
• Backache…use pillowed chairs for support. Crew at Pacific Breeze finds me an ace office chair—YES! 1000% better than hardwood straight-back.
• Sucking up so much coconut milk this trip…
• Norma’s: First rate I got was 44.60, last was 45.15!
• Could NEVER retire here! Not without never-ending A/C. On a fixed income budget?
• Fucking two women in schoolgirl outfits an hour ago, then naked, not even showered, turning away two more women who somehow managed to get through the door guy.
• SM MALL conversation as she pours one of the .25 cent vanilla cones: McDonald’s pays minimum wage $8.25 an hour in USA. Eight hour shift = 67$ bucks a day. About 3000 pesos. Girl tells me she makes 3000 pesos in TWO WEEKS.
• These bar conversations are so ridiculous. First the music is too loud and I can’t hear you. Then it lightens and I hear what you’ve been asking: What your name? Where you stay? How long you stay Angeles?
• I’m starting to say “I wait you.”
• When they ask what I do I tell them I’m the greatest writer since Dostoevsky. They just blink. Then I pull out Repeater Monkey, repeating every word they say, and it buckles their knees in laughter. Comedy = this.
• Bowing to air-conditioners in two countries. No words for the heat this trip.
• My SM Mall ritual, waiting for my tryke with the boys, showing them last night’s conquest in photos. Tip the guy who called the tryke, tip the guard 20 too, just for the fuck of it. Drive away like the hero I am SO not.
• Love the aftermath. Legs intertwined. Face to face. Sweaty, intimate. Running my hands like an addict over the swell of her back, where the back connects to the bass, that dip. Bend her leg and look over and run hands over the legs. Until the inevitable. “I go take shower”. And up she goes to leave. Pauly V, melancholy.
THAILAND, OVERVIEW:
DUES MAN, PART 2: Angeles City To Bangkok:
Flight isn’t until 9:30 but I have to check out at 12 noon from Pacific Breeze. Take the full night before to pack up my belongings. Put them into storage (this is harder than you’d imagine because I took two 50 pounds bag of shit with me, plus the 50 pound bag already in storage. So, everything into storage and it’s 12:30. My car leaves at 4. The fuck am I supposed to do now? In this heat? Hit the mall. Missed MAD MAX by a day, have to sit through SAN ANDREUS. Less painful that I’d imagine but still, The Rock ain’t Olivier. It’s already been a long day when I get in the car and we hit Manila rush hour traffic. The two hour trip becomes 3 hours. Manila, what an obscenity. 7pm, arrive airport to another mini-drama. My bag is 10 pounds over limit and the counter chick isn’t backing down. So I start tearing stuff out and leaving it behind. Not good and not happy Pauly V, Mr. Type A in anger. Her co-worker shows compassion and lets me slide going over by 3 kilos. Cebu-Pacific can be flaky and I’ve gotta hope the flight gets out on time. Their counter people won’t give me an answer and the plane isn’t even here yet. Meanwhile the girl I was with last night had kisser’s cough. I never opened my mouth with her but suddenly I’m pulling out cough drops and kisser’s cough might be on me. C’mon, God! Put on a chartered flight—and I seriously mean I was the ONLY one who wasn’t with the “group”—the group being a well-rested and relentlessly optimistic Philippine contingent of the company Herbal Life. Feel like I’m ready to puke by the time the plane lands at 12:30.
MAJESTIC GRANDE HOTEL:
Tried something new this trip. Used Booking.com with TripAdvisor.com. Compared and contrasted prices and reviews. Worked well. Went three for three on hotels in Bangkok, Phuket, and Pattaya. MG is a three star hotel within five minute walking distance of Nana Plaza, yet quiet enough for sleep. And if the Princess and the Pea guy can sleep here, so can you.
ONE NIGHT IN BANGKOK (MAKES A HARD MAN HUMBLE):
Trashed. Forced myself to shower and get out of the room at 1am. Down to Nana Plaza at 1:30am for the first time in my life. WOW. True 8’s, multiple, in both the Rainbow clubs. 2000/1000 quotes. Wow wow wow. Now, a decision. Already trashed, do I stay up half the night and get no sleep in front of tomorrow’s trip to Phuket, or do I do the smart thing and just call it a night. I called it a night, the only guy on a Saturday night in Bangkok to not get laid. I hate leaving it on the table like this! Biggest regret of trip, not grabbing one of those late night 8’s.
PHUKET:
DAY 1:
Breezed through customs. Found the guy who would become my driver for the whole trip, Mr. T. Fated. The airport taxi stand gave me #34, he was 34. You need a reliable driver in Phuket, as I would soon discover.
Phuket is car culture. Everything—at least seems to be—30+ minutes away.
I hate car culture.
Haven’t owned a car in 20+ years. You need access to one here, unless you’ve rented a motorbike and make the treks yourself. Every single move is an ordeal, even without Manila-style traffic. It was one of the negatives of Medellin, there you need to rely on taxis. Here, I never set foot in a tuk-tuk because I found a great driver.
Find a guy you can trust. Negotiate a ½ day or per day rate. I paid Mr. T 1000 Baht for 4 hours of driving. Worth every penny.
Mr. T drove me down to my hotel, the ACCA PATONG. Second direct hit via my Booking.com/Trip Advisor research. Great joint, five minutes’ walk to Bangla Road. The tipping point came as I checked in. “I need a QUIET room, high up, away from the street, with a VERY good air conditioner.” The desk chick, Sy, said she would cut the famous “second key” for me, meaning I could leave the AC on 24/7. “Big tip for you!” sez I. She just made the trip for me. And giving me room 508 (recommended!) high up and away from the street, which is in play all night. Do NOT get a room street side. Free beach towel, water and tea service, a third pillow and towel, and that second key with a kickass AC unit. Yes and YES!
Didn’t spend 20 minutes in the room. No time. Mr. T is waiting downstairs. Booked him half a day at 1000b (4 hours) to do some beach recon. Nai Harn, Promontory View, Kata beach, Karon and Karon Noir. The famous Upside-Down house (Baan Teelanka).
Shooting photos like a madman. Me falling out of the upside down bed, me under the upside down toilet. Fun stuff. And right back in the car.
And we’re driving…
And we’re driving…
I fucking hate driving.
Phuket is maxed out. Commercially. Everywhichway. French restaurant on top of Mexican on top of Indian, pizza joint, hammock vendor, tattoo parlor, 7/11’s, all night pharmacies. Not an inch of space. A temple to capitalism. Chinese noodle place, “genuine” Thai seafood menu touristico, real estate development office, English pub.
We end up at Karon beach, my fav among the ones we visit. All the beaches I researched I never got to see. Four days in Phuket ain’t much and these beaches were an hour or more away from the hotel. No fucking way am I doing 2 hours of driving. Karon will do. Take a picture of a hang glider at sunset. His friend approaches for a tip. Hustling, always hustling Phuket.
Two steps forward, one step back. I want to like this place…but look at the street approaching Bangla. SO many motorbikes parked, rows of them, people can barely walk through without getting sideswiped by passing motorbikes. Speeding motorcycles and humans co-exist with difficulty.
This is a community of hustlers. Trust me, I’m from Chicago. Takes one to know one. The primary occupation of Phuket locals seems to be wrestling the contents from the wallet of every foreigner in the joint.
My Spidey Monger Sixth Sense is supposed to pick up on booby-traps along the way but how do you interview a girl about her aperture? Or how wet she gets? Several $100 buck lays went south this trip because of a tight hole and my fatty cock—not big, just fat, like me—“oh, you so biiiiiiig!” Honey, please, don’t even start that shit. I paid $100 and we’re fucking. Then I see her face scrunching, the onset of tears and I stop—what’s the fucking point? Is it an act? How do you know? You’re out the 100, just not your night.
This is a seller’s market. Reminds me of Jaco in Costa Rica. Beach town with a monger bent. Overpriced pussy with over-packed tourists willing to pay. Supply and demand. Bangla RESEMBLES Walking Street, Pattaya, but the monger scene here isn’t even close. 1/3rd the size of Pattaya’s WS, without Soi 6-7-8, Beach Road, Soi Honey, Soi LK Metro.
BANGLA ROAD:
Never-ending pitching scamsters at the top of bottom of Bangla. Can’t walk four steps without another signboard gal in your face. Indian dudes with “promotional giveaways”, whirly toy vendors, and waitresses pushing ½ priced drink specials. Sure, they’ve got them in Pattaya, but not in your face like this.
SOI SEA DRAGON. Hit my first Phuket Go-Go. Two Hotties right at the door. Oh, how nice that you want to escort me to my seat. You want drinks, of course. But first, what’s the barfine here? 3000 for lady/1000 bar fine, plus drinks. Aha, so that’s about $150 bucks, yes? Yes, they smile. No, sez I, and walk out. Suzy Wong’s, same deal—3000/1000. At 34 B per dollar, that’s a bit more than 130$ for ST. Varying quotes in other joints. One mentioned 5000b. And out the door I go.
Hit the outdoor Tiger Go-Go joints. They look like beer bars but the quality of chick is higher. I’m thinking prices will come down but they don’t. Same deal. 3000/1000 plus drinks, which they want NOW.
Phe-nomenal 8 stops me cold in the street. So we’re drinking. She brings a board game over, which attracts her friend, which means drinks for her and friend and me. Aha, shots huh? That’s convenient. Done in 10 seconds, only a couple minutes go by before requests for more drinks. Ask her about BF. 2500/1000 but only at midnight. Get the bar tab, 880B! Phuket, hustling the hustler. Running out of gas, first night, post Bangkok crash out. Pushing my body to the limit. I suck it up, go home, and wait it out. Back there at midnight. Here’s her friend saying sit, have a drink. NO, it’s 12, I’m here for the girl, as advertised. Here she comes, now talking to her manager, the body language says she’s not going anywhere. You asked me to wait til 12, I waited til 12, time to go, as you PROMISED. No more milking Pauly for drinks. Heat heat heat. Sweating from every pore. This isn’t happening. Amazing. I split. What a bust out.
In ensuing days, after I mentally accepted that I wasn’t getting laid by top chicks without the $130 price tag, I lived at Suzy Wong’s.
DAY 2: TRICKEYE MUSEUM, GO KARTS, KARON BEACH
11 am, Mr. T downstairs waiting, on time!
And we’re driving…
And we’re driving…
Mr. T wants to know how much I paid to get laid. I told I got a bargain. Only $100 for 90 minutes. “TOO MUCH!” he sez. Can find me beach girls off Bangla Road for 500 or 1000b.
We head to the Trick Eye museum. Photo enclosed. Great photo op place and can’t have enough of them. These will be the photos I show “the folks” of my month long trip. Me pissing with the Incredible Hulk. A giant foot about to crush me. Inside Van Gogh’s starry night painting, on Time Magazine’s cover for the 100 Most Influential People. Fun.
Mr. T says “OK!” a lot. He’s no chatterbox. And at 1000B per, the driver is HUGE here in Phuket. Taking me to the rifle range. I want to shoot a compound bow and arrow. They want 1000B for 10 arrows! Fuck that, I walk to the Go Karts and spend the thousand for 10 minutes of driving. I have experience driving the AC piers, nobody will pass me! Alas, a pack of swarthy Malaysians did just that. Infidels!
Capped the day at Karon Beach. Mr. T crashed in the car for a couple hours while I lay a color base on my milquetoast skin. Nice stretch of beach. Not so many people as to be Coney Island, but not deserted. Thinking about the assholes at my job trying to get rid of me as I lay on my back in the ocean and laugh. Even here and now, the anger never leaves.
That night’s Phuket girl was a looker, solid 7, but absent. For $130? Gotta call her disappointing. The other option with only 2 days is to go without. Not exactly in the cards. Ante up…deal with the accounting later. I’m a vampire. An intimacy vampire.
DAY 3: PI PI ISLAND
7:30am rise. This is how you burn the candle at both ends. Attempt to be the nature tourist AND monger. No sleep, AGAIN. Off to PI PI ISLAND. Day trip differs from the lame on in Patts because 1-you go out in a speedboat 2-there are amazing caves you visit. 3-the water is actually aquamarine and beautiful. We go to the beach where they shot THE BEACH with “Leonardo Dicappuccino”—(Speedboat guy laugh line for the tourists). Overcast day, a good thing as I’m already a rock lobster from the Karon Beach day before. I’m up front almost alone because the boys warned the folks it gets seriously choppy. VIP seats, cool! The boys check out some of my photos of women. Drinking beers pretty early, aren’t we dudes?
They drop us off to snorkel in a roped off area and I rebel of course, looking to move away from my fellow man. Like Bukowski said, I don’t hate people, I just feel better when they’re not around.
Caves were cool. No monkeys on the beach and the sun broke through, forcing me to cover a la Peter O Toole in Lawrence of Arabia with a makeshift hat. Good day out, 11 hours long.
That night, Phuket Girl 3, pictured, doorgirl at Suzy Wong’s, a solid 7, perhaps an 8, her perfect Botticelli breasts fondled in front of a mirror, reach-around kisses, jacking and kissing me in TV light. Still, somehow distanced, but better performance.
DAY 4: THE BIG WRAP:
Only two hours with Mr. T today. We’ve done a lot in our short time together. I’m burned, and burning through this town. Hit Big Buddha for pics with a view. Lots of construction up there. Down the hill, stop for a photo op with an elephant. It smooches me, I feed it bananas. Damn man, get yourself some a bottle of Scope and tube of Crest! Rolling again with Mr. T. He’ll drive me to the airport for 800B tomorrow. Will be kinda sad to say goodbye to my constant companion.
And we’re driving…
And we’re driving…
Dino mini-golf, and one last time on Karon. Fewer people today. Grab another coconut milk. Hit the ocean one last time. Mr. T could take off with my cash and camera but he’s a rock.
Last night on mercenary Bangla Road. The strip is actually small, it’s the FRENZY of the place in 110 decibel music that deceives. There’s only the Tiger Bar Complex and Soi Sea Dragon for me. Back into Suzy Wong’s. Grab the hot brat I met the night before who I promised to come back for. Blonde, great legs, young face, tats all over. 3000/1000 as ever. Back home, great photo session. She wears the Cat Woman outfit and tears it up. Running hands over her legs as she takes selfie after selfie. Looks like a cyclone hit my room. The sex? Not bad, best was eating her shaved pussy to climax. Pin her down in missionary and stroke. I think she has ADD, she can’t stay still. Funny bratty chick.
So, bottom line on Phuket?
I’m an amateur nature tourist. I’m a pro monger. With apologies to Viking Cave and James Bond Island… Pattaya > Phuket.
Phuket is a nature tourist destination masquerading as a monger haven. Pattaya is a faux tourist destination that is, at its core, a whorehouse.
PATTAYA:
I’m a man with few needs. Give me the Hilton Hotel Buffet, a good foot-fish massage, the Blackberry shake at Nam Sing, watching the artisans at the Sanctuary of Truth and, oh yeah, the 10 Baht bus that takes me everywhere, losing myself in the scent of the hair of the barfine riding in front of me on the motorbike back to my hotel, a quelling of my addiction for the female.
Pattaya soothes these.
FUCKING THE HILTON HOTEL BUFFET, YEAR 2:
Best fuck in Pattaya for the money.
Yes, I did go back. And back again. And back YET AGAIN. 3 times in 4 days. Counter-productive for my 40-inch waist to eat so much good food, but fuckit. Let me run down some of the buffet items from my first time there, entitled International Seafood Night. All of these, of course, in unlimited portions:
Oysters on the half shell
Marinated salmon
Fresh cut sushi
Lobster, Tiger prawns, and squid grilled and skewered
Sea bass in banana leaves
Potato gnocchi with prawns and tomatoes
New England clam chowder
Lobster Bisque
Roast sea bass with white beans and salsa verde.
Now, take a breath, take a walk out onto the patio and look at the setting sun over Pattaya Bay, the neon Pattaya sign that speaks of all things POSSIBLE. Ready for dessert? Here it comes:
Ice cream teppan (Grilled vanilla ice cream in a Nutella cone)
Blueberry cheesecake
Brownie squares
Glazed crème Brule
MY FRIEND GARY:
Talked about him before. He’s the model. Making it in Patts on $1200 a month. How’s he do it? Keeps the rent cheap, no AC, goes everywhere with his motorbike, keeps the girlfriends occasional. 10am he’s at Starbucks, reading American papers, enjoying the AC, using their wireless. 12 noon he hits a massage, three years here he knows the best in town. He leaves loose and healthy. 2pm he’s shopping for this and that at the Big C, also in AC. 4pm he’s at a different type massage, the happy ending type. Or he’s readying for his daily run. 5:30 he’s running 5 miles with a steady crew. Gary looks about 50—he’s 64. 7pm he’s back home reading or online again. 8pm he might be watching TV, a movie, or walking Beach Road. He’s scored many a time just starting a conversation, which brings back memories of so many Medellin old-timers casting nets for non-professionals. Look up, it’s 11pm and the day is done. Lather, rinse, repeat. Beats dying of prostate cancer in an old age home in Cicero. Anonymous and free.
HOTEL OZO:
Very few Monger reviews on this new hotel which is across from the Areca Lodge and just east of the Pattaya Bay Resort, my usual joint. Emailed PBR over Christmas to find out they’re under heavy construction, couldn’t book me a room for June. So I did my Booking.com/Trip Advisor cross-referencing looking for a joint close to PBR and got good reviews. Now let me give you the skinny- This hotel is superior to Pattaya Bay Resort in every way but one. Start with the two keys they dispense on check-in, which allows you to run the AC non-stop, which is fucking essential for a Chicago dude used to snow four months a year. The AC doesn’t stop, period. So, check. Four pillows and towels as requested, check. Walk-in ultra-modern shower plays well with the girls. Noise—because of nearby construction—was a worry, but a non-factor. So, check. Sleep was excellent. Quiet, cold, dark, fan and 4 pillows, check. Price? How about $39 a night? Check and double-check. Location- I can walk to Walking Street or Soi 6 from here. Check. So where’s the Achilles Heel? They let your first girl of the night in for free. The second one, and each after, is 500 Baht per.
I know it’s not the only joint doing this, but color me outraged. Why is my hotel PIMPING—do you know another word for it?—these women? Why is my hotel making money on the backs of sex workers? The Hotel Del Rey in Costa Rica would do this, take a piece, and it never outraged me because I never stayed there. So if I double dip, say 5 of my 7 nights, that’s 2500 baht or $80+ bucks. So my actual cost just went from $39 per to $50 per night. W T F? I asked the manager and she didn’t even deny it—“it’s to increase revenue, siiiiir.” These women are selling their bodies, and your company is profiting from it, and your paycheck comes from it? And you’re good with that? Get rid of the charge, Ozo. Your hotel rocks, otherwise.
SANCTUARY OF TRUTH:
Sawdust at my fingers, sawdust in the air… Artisans in action, working the wooden Gods with chisels and real patience. Fallen idols, some of them just scattered and laying on their backs. There’s the temple itself, of course. Soft contemplative music, infinity considerations, copper light, wearing the surreal hardhat, considering the deterioration of physical being and immortal nature of Goodness. Hell, I’d go just to feed the goats. There are also some words of wisdom on display to consider:
“Humans are only dust in the universe and will ultimately become one with it.” Check.
“Physical beings deteriorate, ravaged by time, but truth and goodness are immortal.” Check.
“Materialistic pleasure is superficial physical and external joy. True happiness is found in spiritual pleasure.” –Ahhhhhh, nah. I’ll stick with the physical pleasure, thanks.
PATTAYA CHICKS:
May I repeat: Pattaya is a whorehouse masquerading as a tourist destination. Phuket is a tourist destination masquerading as a whorehouse.
As far as each area of town:
BEACH ROAD CHICKS: I don’t travel 24 hours+ and suffer days of jet lag for 5’s. And 5’s, in some cases, is being charitable. Skank City for blocks on end. Walk it all, you might find a Go-Go chick equivalent for 4X less, sure. But that’s more work than I’m willing to do. I’ve got 4 days here. I want it under glass, placed before me. And I’m willing to pay for that. PASS.
BEER BAR CHICKS: The very definition of a 5. I have neither the time, nor the inclination, to play board games with you whilst I get sloppy-smashed on 69 Baht beer and watch the chick go from 5 to 7 in a drunken stupor. No time, no time, no time for this. PASS.
SOI 8 CHICKS: Nada. What can I say… I’ve taken chicks from here before. Not this year. PASS.
SOI 6 CHICKS: I say it every year- I want the pretense of sweetness, like with the Raymond Street chicks. These ho’s down here are hardcore, man. I walk the full stretch doing a Pasadena before I’m stopped by one of the last bars. She’s sweet, love the braces… for $40? Why not. Only one the whole trip.
SOI 7 CHICKS: The one that got away. So trashed the first night, I let a hottie slip away (she had a FUCK cap on) and had the body of a back-in-the-day Rosie Perez. Loved the style but had no juice in my body. Said I’d find her the next night and look the next three, never to see her again. Ain’t that the way?
SOI BUAKHAO: Similar deal. THE OFFICE was loaded. Blonde in SHOWGIRLS. Somehow connected with none of them. The four days in Phuket really hit my diversity this trip, but yes, this strip, SOI HONEY, SOI LK METRO, definitely worth mining. Pretty much stuck to…
WALKING STREET: I thought it might have been in my head but juxtapose nights on the Walking Streets of Phuket and Pattaya, you can really see it…no one is in my face here! OK, not no one…there are a couple guys with signboards who approach, but the beer promo girls stay to their patch of bars and don’t confront you as you move past.
The club sodas that were 150 B last night in Phuket are 80 here in Patts. It’s 2000/1000 at the OFFICE, says the Mamasan. I feel like I’m stealing. The $130 buck a night Go-Go quotes, while not a thing of the past, are much less the going rate. Mostly it was 2000Lady/1000BF/300 drinks/100 motorbike = $100 fish. For 90 minutes? A bargain!
Actually got an offer from a chick with a homely face and hot bod for 2000/600—sub $100! Somebody wake me!
PU: In that light, in those heels, dancing above our heads to the embryonic throb of electronica and the BEAT, they all look like Goddesses. Get them in bed and it’s another spinner, like PU. The only craps roll is if they’re INTO IT. You can spend an hour having them dance on your lap (and grab a four-figure bar bill doing so). I’m faster. Get a sense, make a judgment. Night on Walking Street started out at Sexy Airplane, always over-rated in my book. The girls soaping themselves on the spinning wheel were tip worthy, maybe the two slapping each other with plastic hoses like a Chicago backroom police questioning—Pass. Onto Baccara, absolutely crushed with Koreans. So many there isn’t even a seat for me. Ciaoooo! Crazy House—had luck here last year. Nothing much tonight. Iron Bar? Nada. Tried Living Dolls. It’s loaded with talent and amazingly, the Mamasan quotes 2000/1000. Bingo! She laser points Pu over to my table and she’s a sweetheart with 2% body fat. We need to go back to my place and read the Book Of Love, ok babe? She has to dance and while she does her friend, a hot blonde plants herself down next to me. We watch three stacked dancers twirling their hair in unison like a Motley Crew video. Then Pu joins and I’m bracketed. Drinks for both! They take turns playing with my double chins. Yes, I know you don’t a second chin, you’re not an obese teddy bear like Pauly Vegas. All Chicagoans are required to have second chins, and fine layers of blubber to get through four months of winter. Life is berry good when the question of the hour becomes who wants to fuck me—someone who looks like a blonde Romanian gymnast or 21 year old Pu? It’s Pu tonight. And it was good. Living Dolls gets the gold medal this trip. Don’t miss it.
TOON: Cutie POO at Skyfall was a slam-dunk until she looked me square in the eye and said she wouldn’t come off her 3000 price. Along with 1500 BF and 500 drinks/motorbike = 5000baht= $160 and THERE is where I draw the line. Followed with a blonde at Peppermint, negotiating with her Mamasan before the girl even got off the stage (which is downright rude) 2000/1500 was within the bounds, until during drinks when she told me no photos, no exceptions. Honey, if I’m paying $110 bucks for 90 minutes of a rubber fuck, I’m taking photos, period. Which meant onto the next. Sapphire is hit or miss, tonight miss. Baby Dolls, bunch of 6’s showering and whacking each other with plastic tubes. Angelwitch, Beach Club, nada that I’m paying 110$ for. About to head out when I saw, in front of Misty’s-a-Go-go, long chick, savage belly, braces, innocent face. My feet stopped before her—which is pretty much the signal to have a drink with the girl, who had the cool name of Toon. Sweetheart who could go for 2000/1000. Kissing on the back of the motorbike (always the sure sign of a good lay to come). Then at the desk, she forgot her ID! Burned 30 minutes…and despite the good lay, another BUT in a trip where too many lays had a BUT attached to it. There was a happy epilogue though. I found a $200 buck back payment from my school where none was expected. Laughing when I thought of the bastards picking up the tab for my femaling that night.
TAC: Crazy House
This one forgot her ID too. What is it with these chicks? At 2000/700/300, the first sub $100 Walking Street lay of the trip. See, it CAN happen! Smoking hot darkhair, affectionate, motorbike kissing, amazing lay, amazing body. Lounging in a catwoman outfit on the settee, Best of the trip.
BEST: Gentleman’s Club
After Tac, last night, I could have rested my body, but no, went out for a nightcap, last night in Patts, gotta gotta… found a chick with the name of Best. Well, actually, she found me. Walked down a side street I don’t usually make (think it’s the street with Shark Club on it), walked in and out of a couple joints, gave Gentlemen’s Club a quick shot, sat down, a girl immediately sat with me. Usually I hate this—I pick the chick, she doesn’t pick me. But this girl was so funny, so sharp, strong body and when she started tongue kissing me, minute long kisses right there. 2000/1000. Done! Back to home squeals with Humphrey the Humping Hound, under covers, dick bursting as she jacks and kisses me, she’s moaning already and, as Jackie Gleason would say, away we go! Minutes long kissing in the spooning, riding me into the ground. What a way to go. Thanks, Pattaya!
MISCELLANEA & IMPRESSIONS:
• The three buck motorbike ride that would cost $30 in Chicago
• Riding a motorbike passing Soi Honey, bars, tattoo parlors on top of travel agencies atop ladyboy dens atop pizza joints pell-mell atop massage joints—the place is alive.
• What’s up with the $11 buck quart of Haagen-Dazs? Who pays that in this country? Who pays $6 for a chocolate bar? Or $3 for an avocado?
• Fucking chicks with cool names like Toon, Best, Golf, Pu.
CLOSE IT OUT: FOUR DAYS IN ANGELES:
ANALYN AND FRIEND:
Just when I thought there wouldn’t be a porn movie this year. Analyn, keeps telling me how fat she got. I keep telling her that 10 pounds doesn’t mean squat, she’s still beautiful. Known her four years and yeah, she was a stunner back in her early Raymond Street days. I say it’s our last time this trip, let’s do something different. She says did I know she likes to lick pussy and she has a friend. Why NO, I did not know that, young lady! Perhaps you have a picture of this friend? Instantly onto FB, I see the friend. Aha, well now you just call her right now and invite her over. If she can make it in the next 20 minutes, we’ll do it, I’m on a tight schedule you know. In five minutes the friend texts that she’s in, in 15 she’s at the front desk of the PB. In she comes and she’s a skinny 6. Hard face and not much personality, but when she and Analyn come out of the bathroom in heels and dualing negligee outfits, I know this’ll be more than the usual Raymond Street jackhammering. Start with pinning her friend to the wall kissing, then reaching back to kiss Analyn. Trying to remember some Rocco Sifferedi moves. Onto the bed, friend sucking me while Analyn kisses. Analyn oils me up and jumps on, riding me while friend French’s. Break out the vibrating and do the friend while getting ridden and now both are moaning. Pull friend into doggie, pull hair and finger her while Analyn tongues me. It goes on like this. Let the friend go and cuddle with Analyn. I tell her she cuddles better with the extra ten pounds. She kisses me and giggles and giggles and…I’ll have worse days.
3 BY 3:30:
Rochelle a no-show at 12. Kathy on Facebook, begging to come over, her kid needs this or that. PLEASE! OK babe, come on over. THANK YOU! This, obviously, leads to motivated fucking. Is this Lollipop waitress an 8? Ah, no. But she’s a great appetizer lay. Then via Facebook comes a desperate Rochelle. What happened? She’s waiting for me out front! Only 15 minutes late. What can I say, babe? Better luck next time. NO! I WANT TO SEE YOU TODAY, NOW! PLEEEEASE! Has to buy books for her kid tomorrow. Gee whiz, in those MSBNC human trafficking specials, they never have the woman desperately via Facebook propositioning the man! Why is that? OK babe, c’mon in. THANK YOU! Another motivated lay with a 6 who I’ve known for four years. Come to think of it, multiple year “relationships” with these ladies are also never presented on MSNBC. Maybe it’s time for a doc with a monger POV? So, it’s 3pm and I’ve got a booked date with Rose, now working at Lollipop as a doorgirl. Looking good with that new blonde weave. Rose is a PSE, best of the trip. I would seriously suggest you look her up. She’s looking to replace her cell phone and is motivated to BF right now. It is sublime savagery with this one. 4x leche (milk) for her in 40 minutes of fucking. Imagine what would happen with an all-nighter? Keep the heel on, oil up that mag spinner body as she jacks me. Fuck her doggie and damnit, gave away the vibrator I use for the mouth so had her “take the finger” from behind, grabbing hair, American Pyscho dominance, me looking at the mirror a la Christian Bale, more like six chins than a six-pack, laughing my ass off. Turn her and split those gymnast-hard legs unbending like wings, size in, size in.
AJ/JAM:
Walked into Atlantis. Hadn’t barfined once here despite the best talent of any of the big bars. What the fuck happened to Dollhouse anyhow? Used to be a factory of hot lays. Not this trip. So, walked in haven’t set the limbo bar still HIGHER from the Phuket trip. I had paid $130 a lay there. $100 used to be the bar but I had paid $130 a lay for the right chick, and I would again. Didn’t last five minutes before a pair of hotties blind-sided me. Drinks, cool attitudes, photos ok, no rubber, agree to 40 minute sessions each. They have me in the center and both have hands on or near my cock. Working it…must be a slow night. 3K each, of course. With drinks and tip, that’s close to $90 per. Fuck it, I’ll do the accounting later. Two solid 7’s get dressed, heading home with me. Both dressed well. Cool to walk down Fields with one on each arm. Pretty great photo session. Despite having given away a ton of clothes and heels, I put one in an Alice In Wonderland dress and the other in the Cat Woman gear. Photos were a blast! We talk about odd shit, like how they work two weeks for free to pay back their ID licensing fees. So let me get this straight, at Atlantis, one of the biggest bars on the strip, they make YOU pay that by taking the miserable slave wage of 150 per day for 10 hours a night for 14 days? Yep. Wonder why THAT aspect never makes the MSNBC specials? Back to the sex—what do you want me to say? Do you actually care? It was good! That’s AJ (or was it Jam) in the AIW blue dress and blonde wig). Turns out it was her first barfine. She thanked me for being “gentle”. I told her there were gonna be lots of dudes who wouldn’t let her walk after 40 minutes of sex so get ready for that. She was the 44th woman I fucked in 29 days. My dick was happy with a little moderation. Win/win, babe.
LAST DAY IN ANGELES:
8 of them. Never left the room. 8 women delivered themselves to me this day. Didn’t fuck 8. My dick actually deposited itself in only 3 of these women. The others were alley cats, uninvited. The first group of 3 dispatched with a thousand pesos because I still felt bad for poor Luz, spending all that time in jail. No customers, she said, producing sad Betty Boop eyes and rubbing my crotch simultaneously. Two hundred pesos more went to another set of two alley cats who got in when I mistook one of their names, announced at the front desk. Equally desperate and disappointed, they left with the pesos, my orange sodas, the chocolate chip cookies. The front desk chicks must HATE me. Without a cellphone, they become my screening device. How can I tell them I don’t ask these women over? Well, not most of them. I barely got the last group out of there before my 3pm appointment with Danica…
DANICA:
GFE of the trip. The keeper. The deep looks in the eyes, the “love” making, and the sadness at my leaving the next day. Strolling up to Brown Sugar and finding Danica, my Tequila Girl, out front. She turned down another tool an hour before me for whatever reason (I think she said he was ancient, wrinkly, 59. Didn’t have the heart to tell her I’m 57.) She’s a cute 7 for $80ST. Oh sure, there are a handful of gazelle-like 8’s in Atlantis. I leave those $100 buck cold rubber fucks to the Koreans, who pack the joint and buy drink after drink. What’s a 57 year-old talk about with a 20 year-old? Not terribly much. I let her sip her “Apple” (the drink they ALL order) but we’re outta there in five minutes. Walk hand in hand by the Wow bar crew—where I have to walk every single time and feel their eyes on me—back home fast where she welcomes the Fat Guy’s fatty (it’s true, the dick drives increase the blood flow to where my dick isn’t lengthened, but it’s for sure fattened). Sex with Danica is Venus Fly Trap stuff. Just fall into her clutches in missionary, riding me into dust. Afterwards, buy her a Sinigang soup and watch DEEP BLUE SEA together, screams and cringes as the shark eats people. This doesn’t make the CNN specials either—this intimacy. Would love to put her in my suitcase. Air hole, sandwich and water, curl up, 24 hours later she’s in the USA with me, no paperwork needed.
DIRTY POOL, GOD:
Inside the room all day, I make a last appearance on Fields. I’d take a promenade and head home to get a good night’s sleep ahead my 24 hour venture back home. Walk past Stardust to see Jean, a rare and true 8, wooooooooooooow, doorgirl at Stardust. This was surely the most beautiful girl on Fields. 3x fucked already, I simply was NOT walking by this woman. “Have a drink?” She beams, Unpretentiously, Unstuck up. “Sure.” Hell yeah! Inside, no chick is even close to her. She’s baring her stomach and there’s simply no fat on this body. I make her laugh—like I make them all laugh—with my double-chin trick. She’s a sweetheart. I can’t believe it, attitude AND looks? I’m barfining her, I don’t care if it costs 4000p. As it happens, she was an ex-Golden Pharaoh 4k dancer. We have a mutual pal, Rhea, whose attitude, unfortunately, was corrupted by being constantly in demand. This girl is a doll. Please say you’ll come back with me, make my last night memorable. “I can’t.”
WHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHY?!
“Menstruation”. I’m thinking fuck It, I’ll just lick every inch of her body for $100. Then I get a grip, give her a kiss and walk away. Sometimes it just bes like that, Papi.
MANILA, LAST NIGHT:
The bad luck aspect has already been documented. You step out of the hotel door and they DESCEND on you. Begging kids with hands out, rail thin dudes with sunglasses, women with sun and street hardened faces selling fried bananas. The heat hits you like a wave, 97 degrees, 95% humidity. Virtually impossible to cross the street because of the TRAFFIC, which is astounding and perpetual. 25 million people inhabit this city, fully ¼ of the entire population of the Philippines. The poverty on display is unlike anything you normally see in Angeles. This is truly 3rd World shit. As is the desperation that comes with it. I walk toward the polluted Bay in hopes of finding some kind of breeze. I spend exactly 10 minute at the Bay wall. I am HIT ON for 9 of those minutes. A huckster pitching me a horse and carriage ride, then hot young chicks he knows, in the 99 seconds before the light changes. Then there were other horse and carriage drivers, the lady crackhead whole offered her AIDS-ravaged chipped tooth walking corpse for a cheap blowjob. Lastly the dour-eyed six year old boy who told me his name was Marvin. He was wearing a Toy Story t-shirt and he knew who Woody was. He was hungry and I couldn’t help but pull 100 out for him. He grabbed it like a thief and ran back with it like a real prize to his waiting mother. Good luck, Harold.
I GAVE A BEGGAR AN ONION:
“Once upon a time there was a woman, and she was wicked as wicked could be, and she died. And not one good deed was left behind her. The devils took her and threw her into a lake of fire. And her guardian angel stood thinking: what good deed of hers can I remember to tell God? Then he remembered and said to God: once she pulled up an onion and gave it to a beggar woman. And God answered: now take that same onion, hold it out to her in the lake, let her take hold of it, and pull, and if you pull her out of the lake, she can go to paradise, but if the onion breaks, she has to stay where she is. The angel ran to the woman and held out an onion to her: here, woman, he said, take hold of it, and I’ll pull. And he began pulling carefully and had almost pulled her all the way out, when other sinners in the lake saw her being pulled out and all began holding on to her so as to be pulled out with her. But the woman was wicked as wicked could be, and she began to kick them with her feet: ‘It’s me who’s getting pulled out, not you; it’s my onion, not yours.’ No sooner did she say it than the onion broke. And the woman fell back into the lake and is burning there to this day. And the angel wept and went away.”
Grushenka then says that “in my whole life I’ve given just one little onion,” and the theme goes on through the whole book. “I may be wicked, but still I gave an onion” is considered one of the most famous quotes from Dostoevsky (translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky).—bytheonionsea.com
MANILA THROWS ME A BONE:
I have to admit, that Persian dinner was stellar. Hummus as good as I’ve ever with fresh baked nans. A mixed grill for 10 bucks that was so big, it made the second plate of food I bought, a chicken curry, uneatable. Simply no room. I bagged it to go and gave it to two street urchins, who snatched it from my hands and devoured it like Christmas dinner.
Walked into Manila Café (or whatever it’s called now). The same 5’s I remembered from last year. Bolted into rain. Sought shelter across the street and found a cutie waiting there with friend. Yeah, she was available. 2000. She was a 6 and not bad, but I didn’t want to end with not bad. I told her I’d be back in 45 minutes, had to walk back to the hotel. I lied. I was heading to the EDSA complex. Hard rain now. Told my driver to hang and wait for me, I’d be back in twenty minutes. It only took 10…
Costs are standardized inside EDSA. 1900 and change BF, 3000 for the lady is what I was quoted in four straight joints. Chicks weren’t bad, 6’s, some 7’s. Nothing spectacular. I wasn’t ending with not bad, not for $130 ST. About to hit a 5th joint when I saw RACHEL. Feet stopped. WOW! Long, lean, rock hard belly on display, long black hair. Model quality. Not quite the equal of Jean from Stardust, but on a rainy Manila night, hell yeah we’ll do this. Add cab fare and drinks to the 5000p, you’ve got Phuket-style prices. Splurge time. Vamos!
Excellent opening with her allowing some photos. Pity I didn’t bring any outfits. Generic stuff. Next best, after her shower, was her sitting in my lap in nothing but a towel, this model-quality chick, watching the trailer to my movie. That’s right, baby, I’m a SERIOUS FILMMAKER! A neglected GENIUS!
Sex with a goddess, never gets old does it? It might be the Viagra that stiffened your dick but it’s your dick that’s making that girl moan, rolling her eyes into the back of her head. Got her once with my tongue too. Feel that belly, look at the definition there. Lay her flat on her stomach and rowing on top of her in doggie. Moans. Make that fucking sound…
Lay together after. “You happy?” “Yes, of course.” Hands over the miracle that is her ass. “I shower now.” “Sure, baby”. And there she goes, bounding away. Pauly V, melancholy.
DUES, MAN- PART 3 (Manila to Chicago, Illinois,
Touhy Avenue, to be precise):
Manila, the boil. My “Chinatown”, bad luck ended my trip three years in a row. Three years ago, a typhoon closed the roads, couldn’t make the plane, nearly had the cops called on me when I stormed the Cathay Pacific office demanding they put me on the next plane out. I was lucky to get out of town paying only an extra $600. Next year, $4600 taken from my Paypal account, only discovered in Manila. Last year, management at my school trying to get rid of me because of a resume discrepancy, the first email happening in Manila. So not only had the other shoe dropped, but a third shoe to boot. Would this trip be a 4th shoe?
Got into town, staying at Executive Plaza Hotel. Ask for an absolutely QUIET room ahead of my flight. They put me in an upgraded room on the 15th floor. Wow, nice! Only…something I hadn’t noticed…the air conditioner blew DIRECTLY onto the bed. The tilt up/down wasn’t working. No biggie I thought, til it came time to crash. Cold DRY air was blowing right on me. Tried to hide from it but the dryness killed me. Turned it off and the 95 degree heat soon filled the room. FUCKED, either way. Got about 4 hours sleep the whole night, never any REM sleep, up after an hour each time. So STARTED the journey disabled.
Already in Manila shaves 2+ hours off travel time. Plus the flight back is only 14 hours instead of 15 ½. So, ONLY 20 hours. Still, by the time 30 minutes goes by and I get my luggage (thanks for that rib kick, Cathay Pacific) I stumble through customs and take a cab to the Touhy Avenue “this ain’t Paris” Super 8. I subletting my apartment and would be staying at this airport joint in lieu of a trip to New York. Positively tripping from fatigue, it was 2 o’clock in the afternoon and I attempted to make it through to the evening to try to beat the jet lag.
I make it to 9:30, ending with “waking life” style non-sleep hallucinations. Hitting the bed at 9:20pm, asleep within seconds. Not counting the three piss wake ups, I was under for fourteen hours.
Waking to write this, Good Reader.
“There’s mud in the water, roach in the cellar, bugs in the sugar, mortgage on the home, mortgage on the car, mortgage on my life. Down the road I go…”—Ramble Tamble, Credence Clearwater Revival
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Thanks for sharing