BANGKOK NAKED!

1980 – 2017

Now and Then

By Diamond Jack
 Copyright

Diamond Jack –Short Time

Productions (2017)

The right of Diamond Jack to be identified as the

Author of the Work has been asserted by him in
accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988.

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Diamond Jack Hughes
Bangkok Naked

Text Copyright @2017

Published by Short Time Productions

All Rights Reserved

 WHAT READERS SAID ABOUT
BANGKOK NAKED!
I read somewhere that only one in a thousand readers posts
a review, so many thanks to those would have kindly taken
the trouble to make an honest appraisal of Bangkok Naked –
it is appreciated !

“Entertaining book throughout. It reminded me of my

(mis)adventures in the 90s. I look forward to the follow up
book!”
………………………………………………………………………………
………………………………………………………………………………
………………………….
“This is a rough, unpolished, but thoroughly enjoyable
memoire of a first trip to the Land of Smiles. It resonated
with me because, like the author, my first trip there
occurred about the same time, and because I had many of
the same “have I died and gone to heaven” reactions as he
describes.
The fact that this was not written by a professional author,
but by a “normal” guy who might sit next to you at a
Patpong bar adds not only to its credibility but also to it’s
humour. It’s a good read, and envoked lots of good
memories for me”
………………………………………………………………………………
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 SPECIAL DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to the memory of the late Paul
Martin who was my mentor on those early forays to Asia.
PM was a great friend and all round good bloke, but has
now sadly gone to that big massage parlour in the sky. Even
so, I will continue to raise a glass of Singha to his memory
whenever I am in his second home, the infamous Nana
Hotel Coffee Shop.
Rest in peace old son, this world is a poorer place for your
passing.
The other part of the original trio of intrepid pork
swordsmen, Graham “Flash” Gordon (aka the infamous
“Beast of Bangkok”) is also missing from active duty in
Thailand these days, which is due to an unfortunate case of
terminal “hen pecking” by his dear Memsahib - the lovely
Vanessa.
In Flash’s sad case, his ever-thoughtful wife has most
unreasonably put a stop to his jaunts to South East Asia.
This ban is justified in her little mind, on the grounds that
with unlimited erotic sexual delights on offer, it might turn
his head and lead her innocent “other half” astray.
Darling Vanessa is about forty years too late in my view to
worry about her hubby’s moral compass, but sadly another
of the top lads bites the dust.
These halcyon days, Mr. Gordon leads an exciting suburban
lifestyle. The lad is apparently busy washing his new BMW
and deadheading the roses in the garden of his executive
mock Tudor residence each weekend rather than playing
“hide the sausage” with various Asian ladies of the night -
how the mighty have fallen.
We all miss you Flashman, but life is a bit quieter without
you!
Both these guys were the very best of travelling
companions and are sadly absent from Amy’s Soapy
Massage Emporium and all the many other famous Thai
watering holes in 2017.
It would also be churlish not to also give heartfelt thanks to
all the many beautiful girls who made our many vists to the
“Land of Smiles” over a long thirty-six-year period so
unforgettable.
You touched our hearts, touched our wallets and also
touched various parts of anatomy that we will examine in
more graphic detail later in this publication.
Thanks ladies (and ladyboys), without you all the following
book would be missing its main love (or perhaps lust)
interest.
Lastly, I really appreciate the patience and good humour of
the staff of my local UK coffee shop, which have supplied
endless great drinks, free Wi Fi and put up with me tapping
away on a laptop for hours on end whilst trying to record
our adventures for this modest tome.
However many copies this book sells, I doubt it will cover
the cost of all those endless double espressos and apricot
croissants – but who cares?
Money is not everything….
Now in these Health + Safety conscious days of 2017, here
is an important public health warning from the Nanny
State. Even as I write these words, I am sure some
overpaid EU Bureaucrat or UK civil servant is drafting a
Code of Conduct for Sex Tourists all at the long-suffering
taxpayer’s expense of course.
BEWARE all those readers, male or female, who decide to
venture to the Land of Smiles.
Go to Thailand and your life will never be quite the same
again.
Way back in the day, a famous racing driver once said that
the only time you really lived was in a fast car, at high
speed and lapping on the very ragged edge of adhesion.
The rest of life was just waiting for the next time on the
circuit – the same could be said for South East Asia.
After sampling this endless smorgasbord of sexual and
exotic excitement, everything else fades into insignificance
and for many of us it is a matter of just passing time and
counting the days until the next trip.
Sometimes the anticipation can be nearly as good as the
real thing.
OK that was a slight exaggeration, but remember when you
were a youngster how exciting the build up to Christmas
Day was? Well, this is the same sensation for adults when
waiting for that plane to touch down at Bangkok
International Airport.
The good news is there is no hanging about until December
and it is you, rather than Santa, who may come down the
chimney (or anywhere else you fancy, for that matter).
Asia gives you a different perspective on things, that can
easily become an enjoyable addiction. It is a delightful, but
insistent itch without cure, that only a vist to BK will
satisfy.
My advice is don’t try and fight it, but lie back in the warm
soapy water and get scratching!
Enjoy it while you can – life is too short to deny yourself the
many pleasures of the Orient in my view.
“Diamond” Jack Hughes
 CONTENTS

Chapter One - A Big Thai Surprise

Chapter Two - The Land of the “Butterfry”

Chapter Three – First Taste of Oriental Delights

Chapter Four - One Night in Bangkok

Chapter Five - Two’s Company, Three is Better

Chapter Six - Get Them Out for the Lads

Chapter Seven - Flash’s Perfect Day

Chapter Eight - Love All or Balls to You

Chapter Nine - Operation Cobra

Chapter Ten - Clap Hands, Here Comes Flash

Chapter Eleven - Don’t Worry; You Will Just Feel a Small

Prick

Chapter Twelve - The Lady in Yellow

Chapter Thirteen - Going Down Under

Chapter Fourteen - Look Mum, No Hands

Chapter Fifteen - I Never Promised You a Rose Garden

Chapter Sixteen - Short Back and Sides, Sir?

Chapter Seventeen - The PM’s Twenty Point Survival Guide

Chapter Eighteen - What Has Really Changed from 1980 to

2017?

Chapter Nineteen - A Happy Ending

Chapter Twenty - Bangkok Nude (2017) – A Preview

 A Brief Glossary of Terms used in
this Book:

Back Scuttling, Sludge Gulper - A rather graphic term,

describing some special O + A services from a versatile
young lady (or ladyboy!)

Beer Garden/ Lady Bars – These are street bars, often

with pool tables and waitresses available to take out.
Drinks can be cheaper than the Go-Go bars and sometimes
a bit quieter without the mega decibels churned out by
some demented DJ in the clubs, therefore giving you a
better chance of retaining your some of your hearing and
sanity in later life.

BJ Bars –The clue is in the title. Besides drinking, your

female companion(s) may offer you a chance to enjoy the
pleasures of an expert “gob job” in a dark corner – all for
the price of a modest round of ale back home. It beats the
hell out of pub games like dominoes for a night out, so what
is there not to like?

Balloon Chaser – These are gate crashers who target any

places with balloons outside showing there is a party going
on and take the opportunity to liberate any free drink or
food. Some Expats have made this virtually an artform!

Civilians – Farang Mug Punters.

Coyote Dancers – Also dance around chrome poles, but

usually better looking and superior performers to the
regular Go Go Girls, They are not always available to bar
fine, some will go to your hotel for a large fistful of baht, if
they like you - they earn enough dancing to be choosey.

Donkey – A less than attractive lady friend.

The Enemy – Wife/girlfriend or anyone of a female gender

who might unreasonably, not appreciate your night-time
(and day-time) antics in the “Land of Smiles”.

Farang – Someone of Western or non-Thai origin.

Farm Fresh – A favourite saying, describing young girls

new to the city and red light industry. Many come from up
country, often the rural poorer North East Province.

Flash/The Flashman/Beast of Bangkok = Graham

Gordon

Freelancers – They work the coffee shops, clubs and

streets. As the name suggests, not tied to a particular
massage parlour or bar.

Go- Go Girls - Dance around a silver pole in a state of

partial or complete undress. Most are available to bar fine
as a “take away”.

Hand Massage – A bone cracking massage from head to

foot. Not erotic, but good after a long flight or physical
exertions - often available with a “happy ending”.

“Hansum Man” – All of you readers, if you are walking

past a bar with girls acting as barkers outside. Do they
mean me? In this case, yes!

Hi-So Girls – These are the top end of the Thai female
social scale. Called Hi-So (or High Society), you tend to find
them in the better restaurants or late night discos at the
top end hotels. These young ladies are into designer labels,
fast cars and maybe you will get into them, if there is
enough cash around. Their company can get expensive,
even for us “two week” millionaires…

Hobbyists – These are ordinary girls who do the occasional

naughty when they need to boost their finances. Can be in
regular jobs such as a student, secretary, receptionist or
shop assistant during the day, but will do the odd discrete
session of nocturnal horizontal dancing with Khun Farang
in his hotel room for some of the folding stuff.

Ketiow – A Cheap Charlie i.e. mean with money.

Khun – The polite Thai equivalent of Mr or Ms and put in

front of your Christian name i.e. Khun Paul.

Lady Drinks – Overpriced, small glasses of cola or alcohol

bought in the bar by punters for their latest girlfriend who
may have just finished dancing around a silver pole. LBGs
get commission, so they may appear extra thirsty!

LBG – Little Brown Girl.

LBFM - Little Brown Fucking Machine. This was a term

used by American GIs during the Vietnam War. (True in
many cases, but maybe a touch uncouth….)

Long Time – All night booking.

Mamasan/Papasan – the female or male bar, club or

massage parlour manager.

Motorcycle Taxis – the fastest way around town, if you

have nerves of steel, full health insurance and a death wish.
A good cure for constipation!

“No Hands” Restaurant – A Thai version of a Geisha

House, where the girls feed and hold your drinks. You then
conveniently have both hands free for other, more pleasing
matters….
Oil Massage – similar to a Soapy, but a bit messier!

PM/The President – Paul Martin.

Prickly Heat Powder - Most massage parlours had tins of

this stuff in the eighties. It smells a bit medicated, but has
fond memories to most of us Thai “Old Hands”.

Saluk – You will hear this term from Bar + Massage girls, it
means fun or having a good time. If it is not “Saluk” - the
Thais don’t do it!

Star Fish – A female companion who lacks enthusiasm for

sex and lies back with legs open, thinking of Thailand (or
more likely the money..)

STW- Soapy Tit Wank –A novel way to get a “hands free”

happy ending during a massage in the suds.

Short Time – A quick nookie session.

Short Time Hotel – Often located in the red-light areas of

town, available for a swift “entertaining” session. They vary
in the state of cleanliness on offer.

Speciality Acts - often staged in the clip joints upstairs in

Patpong. You may never fancy another egg or courgette,
after you see up close and personal what these little
beauties do with the contents of your lunchbox

Spinner – A suitably small sized female companion able to

do propeller impressions on your manhood.

Tilac – Darling

TIT – This is Thailand

Tuk Tuk – a three wheeled transport in Bangkok that is

expensive, hot, dirty and dangerous. Popular with the
tourist mug punters.
Wai – A Thai way of giving respect or thanks. Used instead
of a handshake.

Walking ATM – How the financials work. You make a

deposit, if she gets a withdrawal.

Yum Yum – Asian slang term for a Blow Job.

 INTRODUCTION
The year is 1980 and Mrs Thatcher has recently come to
power.
There is industrial unrest in the air, the UK has been
dubbed “The Sick Man of Europe” and Disco is King. You
cannot turn any radio on without hearing Donna Summer
or heaven forbid, the Bee Gees giving it large!
At this time, I had been working in travel publishing for a
number of years and clocked up an impressive tally of air
miles, but had not ventured beyond the Bamboo Curtain
and into South East Asia before. This was all to change
after a chance conversation with a business colleague, the
redoubtable Paul Martin.
In just a few short months, we were on that first foray to
the land of unlimited pussy and a life altering experience.
In this world, you meet some people you like, a few you
cannot stand at any price and tiny number who you have an
instant connection with and a natural strong bond that
never changes.
In this case, PM was one of that latter rare breed.
We immediately had common ground in a number of areas
like music, girls, sport, girls, business, girls and most
importantly-more girls!
Being an experienced Far Eastern Pork Swordsman, The
President knew both the region and a number of its female
inhabitants intimately. But perhaps more importantly, he
seemed to understand the mind-set of the local population
probably better than any other westerner I have met before
or since.
As an Asian “Virgin”, the plan was to organise my
education with a two-week initial red light offensive
covering Bangkok, Pattaya and Manila during February
1980. This initial campaign was mapped out in meticulous
detail after many long “business” lunches in London and
numerous sessions in PM’s Piccadilly office after work
discussing “strategy”. On this first adventure, we were to
be joined by another newbie in the shape of a good mate of
mine, Graham “Flash” Gordon.
As both young, single guys, Graham and myself had spent a
lot of time chasing young women around the capital, but
unfortunately not catching too many. Flash felt our lack of
current success in the totty stakes put us at risk of
repetitive strain injuries from nightly vists from Mrs Palm
and her five, lovely daughters. So, he was up for a Far East
jaunt or as the lad so charmingly described it “to get some
dirty water off his chest”.
Paul explained help was at hand (bad choice of words) and
it was difficult NOT to pull in the part of the world we were
heading for. so the excitement and anticipation grew as the
departure date slowly inched closer.
This book is brief record of those heady days of 1980 in the
“Land of Smiles “and how things have changed (or not)
thirty-six or so years later.
Let me say at the start, this is not meant to be a “How to
Survive in ThaiIand” type guide. There are enough of these
about and I am not qualified to write one anyway.
I would recommend readers interested start off by taking a
look at the infamous Stickman’s weekly blog on
www.stickmanweekly.com. for up to date info goings-on in
the current bar scene and happenings from Thailand.
This excellent long running website, contains a long list of
articles written by expats and is highly recommended.
Being a regular visitor to the Kingdom over more than
three decades these are some tales from our first
adventures. All are an accurate portrayal of real
happenings with just the odd name changed in a few cases
to protect both the guilty and the hopelessly depraved.
Maybe what follows could save a few first-timers and
perhaps even some more experienced visitors, making
expensive and obvious mistakes.
In a small way, it may help to take the place of a personal
guide like Paul, whose invaluable expertise Flash and I
enjoyed on all our early forays. Hopefully it can also give
you a “heads up” on a few important areas and steer you
away from some of the regular scams and rip-offs.
I make no apologies for the following content being graphic
at times, this is no sanitised book or a fictional account.
It is a real-life journal of what went on in 1980, when a
number of young guys were let loose with some of the
world’s most beautiful women - this is “Bangkok Naked”!
For younger readers or those with a more delicate
disposition, it might be wise to look for one of those twee
guide books on Bangkok, full of colour pictures of temples
and floating markets.
You will not find this type of stuff within these pages.
To be honest, I have enjoyed doing some of the tourist
things myself at times in the past. Thailand is a fascinating
country with a rich history and has plenty to see, but my
priority in these early vists was getting to grips with as
many attractive LBGs as possible.
Let’s face it, I can do the cultural thing when I am old
enough to get a telegram from the Queen and that ton of
Viagra is no longer working….
So, come with me and let’s time travel back to the early
eighties.
After showering, shaving, splashing on some cologne and
stuffing a fistful of baht in our pockets, we can now hit the
town in pursuit of some quality action - Bangers waits for
no man or woman.
Let’s do this thing…….
 THE CAST OF THE MAIN
PLAYERS
Just so you readers have a rough picture in your mind of
the leading characters, I thought it might be useful to do a
brief resume of the cast of the 1980 Bangkok Pussy Hounds
Team:

PAUL (THE PRESIDENT) MARTIN

Having worked in senior positions in the travel industry

both in the UK and overseas for many years, PM was a
long-term veteran of many Far East outings in search of
female perfection.

Tall at around 6’ 2’, very slim and always smartly dressed

with stylish thin long sleeved shirts, pressed tropical
weight trousers, sheer silk socks and lightweight slip-on
shoes. Paul was rarely seen without a leather “clutch” bag
containing the essentials of life in Thailand, which included
a packet of St. Moritz cigarettes complete with a pirated
copy of a Cartier lighter, hotel keys, camera and a handful
of small denomination baht notes to kindly and selflessly
donate to any attractive girl in need he came across (in
more ways than one..).

Suave and urbane, PM was great company and having an

interest in many things, could be relied on to always make
intelligent and well informed conversation.

Mr. Martin was our mentor for all those early nineteen
eighties trips to the Land of Suds and in this book, appears
under the various monikers of Paul, PM or The President.

Why the President?

Well, on our first trip to the Far East due to his involvement
in the travel trade, he got upgraded in one hotel in Manilla
to the Presidential Suite and the title stuck!

GRAHAM (FLASH) GORDON

The Flashman was the polar opposite to our leader.

I met Khun Gordon a couple of years earlier when the two

of were the only “pet poms” in a couple of Australasian flats
in a building in Kensington Church Street. As the only none
Aussies or Kiwis there, we quickly became good mates.

At six foot, he stood around a couple of inches shorter than

Paul. The problem was that the lad also approached the
same dimensions around the waist…..

Graham had freckles and a mess of curly red hair which

was cut in a long style, although he hated to be called a
ginge and would tell anyone who would listen or even those
who did not, that he was a “Strawberry Blond” – whatever
that was!

Our tubby hero tended to look like he had slept in his

clothes, which in many cases was probably true.

Being a junior partner in a firm of overpriced London

commercial solicitors, Flash always had a few bob to spend
and displayed an impressive total lack of morals or
discernment when it came to women, food or drink. To give
him credit, he was often generous to his mates and could
certainly take a joke, which was just as well in his case.
For someone with good academic qualifications, Mr.
Gordon was daft enough to go looking for trouble and
usually found it in spades.

Loud, sometimes obscene, with the a brain the size of a

caterpillar’s arsehole and the rampant sex drive of a rabbit
on heat - what is there not to like?

In fact, these were Khun Graham’s best features.

So all in all, perfect qualities for membership of The

Bangkok Pussy Hounds.

“DIAMOND” JACK HUGHES

My name is Jack Hughes, so why “Diamond”?

It is a long story that originates in Thailand, but perhaps

better not to ask or this book will go on for ever!

Best pals with the above two delinquents, I both lived and
worked in London in travel publishing.

In my twenties and standing roughly the same height as

Flash, (but luckily without the ever-expanding girth) with
longish brown untrimmed hair and at that time sporting a
beard, I certainly needed a bit of guidance from PM in the
Far Eastern dressing stakes!

One my first vist to the far east and having turned up with a
suitcase full of UK winter gear, I quickly realised that in a
pavement melting climate smart, light casual attire was the
way to go to avoid terminal heat exhaustion.

After stocking up with local “designer label” kit in the back

streets of Bangkok, this made life more comfortable in the
crippling heat and seemed to go down well with the Thai
female population too.

What more could you ask for?

 IMPORTANT LEGAL
DISCLAMER
All the characters appearing in this book are real,
non-fictitious and sadly as bad as they are portrayed.

The only thing changed is a few names, to save the

perpetrators both embarrassment and possible much
deserved criminal proceedings!

Unlike some books in this genre, everything that is

described in these following pages really happened
and any similarity to persons alive or dead is
completely intentional – those of you with a nervous
disposition you have been warned.
CHAPTER ONE

FEBRUARY 1980

A BIG THAI SURPRISE

As I reclined in my hotel room and lying prostrate across on
my giant bed, I must admit to a touch of smugness when
my oriental vision of loveliness appeared from the shower.
She was nearly wearing my impossibly short Thai silk
dressing gown which unhappily just covered her modesty
by a whisker.

I had bought that bathrobe in question at the night bazaar

in downtown Bangkok a few days earlier and it certainly
looked better filled with her ample curves, then trying to
cover my six-foot frame. This was a garment which was
made for LBGs not your average six foot farang.

At best, the garment barely came down to just under my

armpits - I have had wider belts in my wardrobe home.

If only the lads at work back in England could see me now I

thought, as the little sweetheart suggestively swayed
towards me.

She had smooth, long brown legs right up to her armpits,

model looks, big boobs and mass of long shiny hair that
cascaded down to caress her shapely bum.

(I cannot say that last phrase without thinking of the

comment made by a famous blues singer, “beautiful black
hair all down her back, mind you, I would have preferred it
on her head!)

Strange how silly, abstract phrases like this come into your
mind at the most inappropriate times.
Times don’t come more inappropriate that this, as Miss
Bangkok looked at me with those sultry eyes as though I
was the centre of her universe and for a few special
minutes I kidded myself that I was.

One of the things that really stands out for me, in addition
to the obvious with these young Thai girls, is the almost
uniform fantastic skin quality. We had been on the pussy
hunt in the kingdom for a week now and to put it bluntly all
our team have put themselves around a bit.

Being a novice, I was amazed at the skin texture of every

member of the female sex that “yours truly” has come
across (another poor of words), but you know what I mean.

choice It may sound like a worn out cliché, but the best way
to describe this physical feature would be to compare it to
the feel of a ripe peach which is smooth, warm, soft and
silky.

Most of their female western counterparts would kill for a

natural complexion like it.

Forget overpriced cosmetics, you don’t get this texture out

of an expensive bottle it is in Asian girl’s DNA, they are
born with it in spades.

My humble nutritional advice is, if you want to eat a

healthy diet try snacking on a Thai Massage Parlour Worker
or Go Go Bar Girl. It beats the hell out of the fruit and veg
department of your local supermarket and does not cost
that much more to feast on their natural attributes for your
five-a-day.

With a mega pair of melons approaching and within easy

reach and I was looking forward to nibbling on them in the
very near future and improving my Vitamin C levels.
As far as LBGs were concerned, Pang was a classic case in
point.

I found her half an hour ago in a small soi just off Sukumvit

Road, while trying to locate my lost partners in crime. I last
saw the dynamic duo of The President and Flash who at
that time were heading for some dubious beer garden, just
before we got separated in the crowds.

Actually, to be really accurate, Pang found me.

In this town, there is no doubt that trouble comes looking

for you. I was just innocently heading back to my hotel
along the Sukumvit Road when this little stunner virtually
walked into me.

She was turning heads all along the crowded pavements,

which was in stark contrast to some of my previous UK
girlfriends who were more likely to be turning stomachs.

Tall for a Thai girl and wearing an impossibly tight red

dress that left “naff all” to the imagination and complete
with a matching sheer silk scarf around her slender neck,
Pang had flowing curves in all the right places.

After colliding, our eyes met across a crowded pavement.

She hooked her arm quickly into mine and suggested we go
back to my room for a bout of nocturnal delights.

Well, I had to give that proposition both careful and lengthy

thought for at least two seconds, I did want her to think us
Brits are an easy bunch with low morals!

After a quick bout of haggling while the lady in question

was gently stroking Little Jack who stood to attention, the
randy little sod. We agreed a fee of a thousand baht for
“long time”, so it was a done deal.
I mean twenty quid for a girl who could grace the cover of
Vogue magazine for a full night of passion, just has to be a
steal.

Back home in London, my good mate Graham Gordon and I

spent more than that on a few overpriced drinks in some
trendy Kings Road wine bar, without even getting so much
as a “knee trembler” from the local Sloane Rangers. Who
all to be frank, looked like a load of donkeys compared to
what was on offer everywhere on a Bangkok Friday night.

Since we arrived, it was noticeable that these Thai girls

must be the cleanest race in the world they are always
showering, it is amazing they don’t go rusty.

Pang was no exception and after diving into my bathroom

as soon as we got back to base, the lady walked out like a
supermodel on the catwalk.

My current companion took off the shower cap, shook her

shiny long hair free and started to giggle as she gently
stroked the top of my leg. This particular young lady had
that beautiful smile so typical of certain Asian women,
which was an attribute that I would become more familiar
with in future

After putting her tongue down my throat; (I thought Pang

was trying to crawl right in there at one point) her expert
manipulation of my willing nether regions continued apace.

This went down well (literally) with “Little Jack” who was
by now standing proud again, even though he had seen
more action in the last week than in the previous year.

The little fella was a bit pink around the edges from both
excessive use and too much soapy water, but my newly
found girlfriend expertly helped him escape from captivity
of my increasingly too tight, boxer shorts.
The delightful Khun Pang then proceeded to give the best
and most sensuous blow job, I had ever had up to that time.
Her luxurious hair cascaded in a tent around my privates
and tickled my stomach and chest.

She seemed to know just how to find every nerve ending, so

it was difficult not to be a bit quick on the trigger when you
are being worked over by a girl that could suck a tennis
ball through a hose.

The old excuse “it went off while I was cleaning it” came to
mind……

The dressing gown was now down to Pang’s slim waist

exposing a spectacular pair of fun bags. It looked like they
may have had a little artificial help in the past, but you
would not hear me complain. I never paid much attention to
science lessons at school, but these brown puppies defied
Newton’s Theory of Gravity. In fact, this was a law of
physics that does not seem to apply to many Bangkok
bargirl’s boobs.

If Pang had been unlucky enough to be aboard the Titanic

when it hit an iceberg, this girl would be able to keep all
the passengers afloat without difficulty. They would
certainly not drown with these buoyancy aids holding them
high in the water.

I mean, who needs a lifeboat with norks like that to cling

to?

Her large brown nipples stood up like chapel hat pegs and
every time I sucked on one and rolled it around my mouth,
she groaned and wriggled on the bed.

Things were just getting better and better.

Then Pang stood up and demurely turned her back on me,
dropping the gown to the floor with practised ease.

I rather ungallantly muttered “Wow – what an arse!” as my

partner in crime, slowly disrobed like a stripper on a rowdy
stag night.

She looked as good from the rear as full frontal and the
idea of some doggy position action was definitely on the
agenda here.

It was only when the little stunner unhurriedly turned

around smiling and displaying her full charms that things
went a bit pear shaped (or should I say penis shaped?)

Now, I am not the sharpest knife in the box.

In fact, some would say I was very unobservant by nature,

but my darling Pang appeared to have something she
should not have had. There between her legs was “Little
Jack’s” bigger brother, erect and ready for action.

Slow or not, it dawned on me with sickening inevitability

that I had just invested 1000 baht in a Ladyboy.

“Bollocks” I muttered under my breath (which was exactly

what I was looking at). This was my first painful lesson, that
things in Asia are not always what they seem on first
impressions.

What happened next?

Well, it was not one of life’s great love stories, but I did not
want to waste twenty quid and it was also getting late to
get a full female replacement. Let’s put it this way, this girl
could get a job in the circus doing a sword swallowing act,
no probs, so it was not a totally wasted night.
Now on this trip, our little team had an ongoing
competition and the rules were simple.

Basically, we all brought any LBG staying the night down to

breakfast first thing (at the crack of midday) for the rest of
the team members to award points.

Whichever one of us won the contest with the best score,

they got a free soapy massage later that very day paid for
by the two losers.

But I decided in Pang’s case to play for safety.

To be fair, after putting on her make up and restyling her

hair the following morning she looked good enough to eat
(again)….

But I just patted her shapely bum before sending the lady
off home, before headed downstairs alone to get outside a
breakfast chicken satay in the hotel cafeteria.

Those lads might be hung over, but I reckon even my gang

might have got a bit suspicious when my latest girlfriend
went to the gents for a leak…
CHAPTER ONE

JANUARY 2017
I reckon the” healthy food advice” from 1980 is still good.
Having a succulent LBG is still more fun than your official
quota of fruit and veg and has to be the way to get your
vitamins naturally. No sure about five a day, but if you have
the money and stamina and fancy winning the Queen’s
Award for Industry - go for it.
It sure beats the hell out of these “you are, what you eat”
type programmes on your 48” Plasma screen back at home.
Looking back, I can see where this little episode all went a
bit wrong.
Hindsight is a great thing, but Pang’s height coupled with
the scarf and those deep sexy, husky tone should have rung
warning bells long before getting down to any sexual
gymnastics.
It is a little embarrassing to travel thousands of miles with
the prime objective of playing “doctors + nurses” with as
many attractive girls as possible and end up bedding a
bloke in a dress by mistake.
That is probably not a completely accurate picture of the
Third Sex as they are they called in Thailand and I always
see them as a men’s mind in a female form, often with a
few things extra added…
As far as ladyboys are concerned, the first question you
have to ask is, are you trying to avoid them or meet one?
If the first option is for you, there are a few things you can
do to try and make sure that beautiful little honey you have
brought back home has no surprise packages taped up and
hidden away in her knickers.
It would obviously be sensible to give some of the
renowned ladyboy bars in Soi Cowboy and Nana Plaza a
miss but it gets a bit more confusing in places that have
both bargirls and kaytoeys on the staff.
Which seems increasingly common recently, especially in
the Nana area.
I reckon 95% of fully clothed ladyboys have a number of
giveaway signs, such as height, lower voices, bigger hands
and shoulders and a more prominent Adams apple
(although there are operations available to reduce this) but
what about the other five percent?
This can be a bit more difficult, as the very best can look
stunning and feminine even to the most heterosexual male
on the planet.
Paul told me after my first up-close and personal encounter
with the lovely Pang, that if the pretty girl you are chatting
to has immaculate make-up and dress sense, regularly
looks in the mirror and constantly flicks her hair; you have
probably got a chick with a dick!
That may be a slight exaggeration, but there is an element
of truth in there somewhere.
One thing I did not fully appreciate on my early vists to
Asia, was that a number of both pre-op and post-op
ladyboys work in ordinary jobs.
They are not only in the red-light areas in Bangkok, Pattaya
and Phuket.
That good-looking girl in the pharmacy or department store
serving you could be a trans-sexual.
Thailand generally has a high tolerance of “The Third Sex”
which is maybe due to 95% of the population being
Buddhist who follow a middle way philosophy.
If you have inkling that your potential new girlfriend is not
quite all she seems, ask her outright. Many will be upfront
about their sexuality.
On a recent trip, I was targeted by a real little stunner in a
bar in the Nana Plaza; she sat on my lap and wriggled
about on Little Jack when I bought her a few “Lady Drinks”.
To be honest, I was very tempted to pay her 500-baht bar
fine and use a private room upstairs for some entertaining.
It is no good getting older, unless you get a bit wiser and I
had a suspicion that when she was telling me that I was a
“hansum” man, things may not be quite all they seemed.
So, I asked the lady outright.
Quick as a flash the little sweetheart smiled, jumped down
from warming Little Jack, pulled up her mini skirt and
whipped out some impressive semi-erect landing gear from
her panties. The funny thing was that back in a UK bar the
whole place would have been looking on aghast at a sight
like this but in BK nobody blinked an eye in that bar.
What did I do?
Well, that is a story for another book, but what if you want
to have the company of a ladyboy?
A few pointers may be useful.
Kaytoeys have a bad reputation in some quarters for
criminal acts such as robbing visitors. This can take the
form of a group surrounding a “worse for wear” farang and
stealing wallets and some even drugging their victim’s
drinks, when they get back to his (or her) hotel room and
then disappearing with all their worldly goods.
In one famous case that Paul warned me about some
katoeys were going back to visitor’s hotel rooms and
putting a strong knock-out liquid on their nipples. When it
was sucked off by the unfortunate victims, they went to
“bye byes” and woke up later with a sore head and an even
sorer bank balance.
I have seen more than a few ladyboys at work off the
Sukumvit Road in Bangkok and along Beach Road in
Pattaya, where they usually seem to hone-in on westerners
who have had a few too many Singhas.
These girls are certainly good at relieving individuals of
excess valuables.
One may be talking to you and stroking your crutch while
her (his?) mates are busy emptying your wallet - some are
excellent pickpockets.
You cannot generalise in life and I am sure there are many
honest ladyboys plying their trade, just like their female
counterparts, but it pays to be careful.
My advice for the newcomer to the scene would be to avoid
freelancers on the streets and invest a few more baht with
kaytoeys working in bars. Even better, might be to use one
of the specialist escort agencies.
Then you have some way to possibly trace your partner, if
there are any hassles.
In addition, it can be good to use your own hotel on these
occasions, rather than enjoying dodgy rooms upstairs in
bars or those that offer short time.
Your reception should take your partner’s ID details to help
if anything goes wrong and check with you before your
beloved departs the premises. But make sure you keep
valuables locked in the room safe.
The current cost of an agency ladyboy escort is around
6000 baht for a couple of hours, which is about what the
best female equivalent charges.
Not the cheapest option, but hopefully you may have one
from the “5%” of absolute trans- sexual stunners and feel it
was it was money well spent. I know a number of both Thai
ex- pats and regular visitors, who occasionally enjoy the
company of a great looking T-Girl as a change sometimes….
Hey - this is Thailand.
“If you fancy it, go for it” is the motto of us Bangkok Pussy
Hounds!
 CHAPTER TWO
THE LAND OF THE
“BUTTERFRY“
Let’s go back to the beginning, the infamous Flashman and
I had arranged to meet Paul at Don Muang Airport on
arrival, before all heading off to our hotel together and to
avoid any of our speciality “cock-ups” in finding places.

You would be hard pushed to find anyone with a worse

sense of direction than the two of us – it was a great
success to be on the right plane and land in the correct
country.

PM had his own special deal and working in the airline

industry was travelling free on a “sub-load” ticket, so the
wily old fox had arrived an hour or so before our plane
touched down and he had time for a coffee and a smoke.

Graham and myself as the other two thirds of the “Far East
Snatch Squad”, were flying with Thai Airways on the
famous Thursday Heathrow – Bangkok flight TG 913. Which
was known affectionately in the trade as the “Nookie
Express”.

The problem was that the pair of us were totally

unprepared for the intense Asian heat and being prize
pillocks to boot; we packed everything except for the
kitchen sink.

In fact, Flash would have probably taken that too, if it could

be prised off the wall in his flat.
It was amazing that our DC10 managed to get off the
tarmac at all with the total stock of Selfridges Winter
Sports department in our bursting cases on aboard.

This was a painful and valuable lesson learned early on that

you really don’t need a dozen changes of thermal clothing
in the back streets of Bangkok.

Travel light and remember Thailand is a tropical country

and it is always hot, really hot.

If you need something extra, then buy it over there. Which

can be cheaper and saves getting a double hernia trying to
drag a ton of unnecessary kit around.

Leaving behind a cold February day in England, we both

took clothing more suitable for a skiing holiday in the Alps.
The pair of us must have looked a prize couple of prats
resplendent in anoraks, heavy jeans and Timberland boots
whilst struggling to get on board.

The best bit was that I had some useful travel industry
contacts in London and following a word from PM in the
right ear at Thai Airways; we had been upgraded to
Business Class.

So there we were, sitting back in spacious, comfortable

seats with a cool drink in hand, enjoying good food and
being waited on hand and foot by an attentive, pretty Thai
Air Stewardess.

She gave us both fresh orchids and a wide smile - nothing

was too much trouble.

Let’s face it; customer service does not get much better
than that.

There was one small fly in this particular Thai ointment for

me, which hopefully would not affect the planned couple of
weeks endless sexual pleasure.

The last thing I wanted to do was to get involved with

business on holiday, I had much more pressing matters to
attend to.

The problem was I had met Ladawan, an attractive, middle

aged Thai lady at the World Travel Market in London a
couple of months before our first trip eastwards and
strangely she had seemed to take a bit of a shine to me at
the show.

The lady was a divorced and successful business woman

based in Bangkok ,with her many enterprises including
exporting Thai antiques, jewellery She was also involved
with the travel industry.

A real “wheeler dealer” in the Arthur Daley mould and had

her immaculately manicured fingers inserted in a number
of pies. In fact, I think she had more pieces of pastry on the
go than digits…

I was keen to get my little porkies and other parts of my

anatomy in a few female pies too, so we had something in
common.

Turning on the charm and trying to chat her up at the show,

she kindly offered to sort out our hotels in Thailand over a
coffee and get all three of us rooms at a very advantageous
travel trade rate.

Giving me a business card, she waied me and suggested I

telex her with our requirements.

It seemed like an excellent idea at the time when chatting

in Earls Court and good as her word, Ladawan got us three
double rooms in a newly built four-star hotel, just off the
Sukumvit road at a very cheap price.
The downside was I had rashly promised to meet her for a
working lunch during our stay as a thank you – it was a
done deal.

Sitting on the plane with what passes for my mind

whirring, I wondered if there was a way to wriggle out of it
and be as slippery as a Bangkok massage girl’s chuff on
Saturday night.

The last thing I wanted was to have my precious pussy

hunting time eaten into with hours of talking about
publishing and advertising.

Still, this was not the moment to worry about such small
incidentals, as Mr. Gordon and myself quickly reclined our
seats to the sleep position and put our brand new
headphones on.

Flash and “yours truly” had invested some of our hard

earned in a couple of new Sony Walkmans and a handful
cassette tapes. Plus, at the Presidents suggestion, two of
latest Olympus XA cameras. So we could record the whole
trip in glorious Kodakcolour for posterity.

As anyone who has done the Heathrow – Bangkok route

knows, it is a long flight and it seemed to go on for ever.

Even more so, if you are unfortunate to be sitting next to

the Flashman, who’s idea of top inflight entertainment is to
give you a blow by blow account of what some drunken old
slapper that he pulled in a wine bar a few nights ago did
between the sheets – too much information...

TG 913 briefly stopping for fuel in Delhi and the dynamic

duo finally landed at Don Muang very early in the morning
totally knackered after way too much complimentary booze,
endless chat and no sleep.
Our body clocks were totally confused and were still
functioning on London time.

We had been chatting away like randy schoolboys at lights

out in the dorm for most of the flight about the exotic
delights in store on the holiday to come.

The phrase “managing expectations” was not in our

vocabulary.

Much as though I like Dire Straits, after twelve hours of

“Sultans of Swing” on the Walkman it was good to get
going at last and stretch our legs.

I made a mental note to expand our song collection before

heading home on the return journey. The louder the better
and even heavy metal was an attractive option, if it
drowned Mr. Gordon out.

Although Paul had spent much time briefing us on what to

expect in Thailand, our knowledge of the country was
mainly gained from watching that 1974 successful “X-rated
film, the first “Emmanuel”.

Flash and myself had seen it at a local flea-pit in

Kensington, which was much frequented by the “dirty mac”
brigade.

This was just for research purposes you understand. It was

a tough job, but someone had to check out all that
gratuitous nudity - Mary Whitehouse eat your heart out.

The unpleasant fact that Sylvia Crystal got her kit off at

every opportunity was something us lads just had to suffer
in the name of research.

In fact, to make sure we had not missed any valuable travel

information the two of us had to put up with seeing it more
than once.
We were in the stalls in the weeks before take-off more
often than the usherette with the torch and nearly qualified
for a cinema season ticket.

After watching all this soft porn, it was amazing we both

did not get invalided out of the trip with repetitive strain
injuries or maybe that should be “stain” injuries?

I should think The Flashman’s duvet cover could walk to

the launderette on its own after the third trip to the big
screen and the likely numerous “five finger shuffles” that
followed.

This first Emmanuel film was made in the early seventies

and apparently shot on location in Bangkok, which looked
like a really dusty shanty town in those days. The thing that
worried us was the idea of getting a massage lying on an
uncomfortable wooden bench and carried out by a fully
clothed girl, as shown in the film.

That did not look too much fun and carried the serious risk
of splinters, but we trusted PM’s word that this would be
an experience we would never forget for all the right
reasons.

Like sitting next to Khun Gordon,the first thing that hits

you between the eyes on arriving in South East Asia is the
mixture of heat, humidity, smell and noise - not necessarily
in that order.

After trying to say Sawadee Khrap to the charming trolley

dollies and stepping out of the cool of the aircraft, we got a
taste of them all in one big hit.

The two of us, headed for customs as fast as our jet lagged
little legs would carry us with sweat running down the
parts that other heat cannot reach.
The good news was that getting through immigration and
collecting luggage at that early time of day was a breeze.
The old Don Maung Airport might have looked a bit travel
worn, but after the scrum that is Heathrow it was a
welcome sight for this particular travel worn duo.

Paul was a sight for sore eyes and was patiently waiting for
us when we finally emerged from air-side.

Flash and I arrived in a cloud of dust, dragging our mega

bulging suitcases behind us, which were so big it looked
like we needed an HGV licence.

Fortunately, our main man was as cool and swerve as ever

and had already sorted out a taxi ready to ferry us to our
hotel in the Sukhumi area with the minimum hassle.

Having beaten our arrival time by an hour or so, our leader

being an old hand at the game, had negotiated a set price
for the trip already.

This was an important tactic, as we quickly learnt that few

drivers even knew what a meter was ,let alone ever used
one.

In a few minutes and complete with a mountain of luggage

in the back, we were speeding off to our hotel. The three of
us intrepid explorers were all looking forward to enjoying a
shower, a few hours rest and a bite to eat before we
starting our initial campaign to play “hide the farang
sausage.

Now I say “speeding” but this is not completely accurate.

Well, our first two lessons were that you need to speak
“Pidgin English” fluently and loudly to the locals, plus
traffic in Bangkok does not speed, it crawls at best.

There are two paces, stop and bloody near reverse!

Even at six o clock in the morning, we were stationery and
looking up the driver in front’s exhaust pipe for hours, in
what felt like a sauna bath on full chat. The taxi “air con”
was well named, as “con” it certainly was.

Like Flash, it seemed to only work when the driver took

both hands off the wheel and gave it a right hander and it
then packed up a few seconds later with a predictable
groan.

We joined in the groaning and a certain amount of panic hit

Graham and myself.

We were worried that valuable pulling time was being lost

in what was a decent impression of Thailand’s answer to
the “Wacky Races” held in an NCP car park.

Our chauffeur on this journey, Khun Dick Dastardly himself

managed to avoid hitting no more than a handful of
vehicles and PM assured us that we would all be in action
between the sheets later guaranteed - so relax and enjoy
the ride.

Even these reassuring words did not completely pacify our

fears; I mean we can enjoy sitting in a traffic jam on the
North Circular back at home any day.

We had not travelled thousands of miles just to admire the

scenery. But Flash and myself took Paul’s word for it and
after what seemed like an age, the ancient cab finally just
made it to our hotel.

It arrived in a cloud of blue smoke that obscured much of

the Sukumvit Road, complete with a final small explosion.
To make things even better as we all eagerly jumped out,
The Flashman nimbly fell down a convenient hole in the
pavement.
When the swearing had stopped and he had managed to
extract his leg from the uncovered Bangkok drain, I paid
the jockey a handful of baht. The ride was so cheap; you
would have given that amount to a London cabbie as a tip.

So, following all the excitement of the world’s slowest

motorised ride and nearly losing our ginger mate into a
local sewer, it was with some relief that we all finally
checked into our temporary abode.

The initial plan of action quickly agreed in reception, was

that we would all briefly rest up and then meet in the coffee
shop around late lunchtime for a bite to eat. Next on the
list would hopefully be a large portion of afternoon sexual
delight for afters.

To be honest, both Graham and I were knackered, shell

shocked, jet lagged and very glad that the bell boys carried
our heavy cases full of our pile of essential Antarctic quality
snow proof clothing up to our rooms for us at Base Camp
One.

My particular young bell hop was chatty and I used my best

pidgin English to communicate as recommended by Paul.

The only slight problem was that the lad had offered me six
different girls before we had even got out of the lift.

Talk about hard sell, this boy was keener that a double-
glazing salesman on amphetamines.

Female companionship was a nice idea. But with the

serious feeling that I was going to fall asleep on the job if I
did not close my eyes soon, it seemed sensible to politely
decline on this occasion.

OK, call me a lightweight if you like, but the thought of

some full-on nookie with an energetic nubile Thai girl did
not appeal until after I had at least few hours of recovery
time.

I was so tired; I was not even sure Little Jack would rise to
the occasion.

Even so, my new found friend was determined that I

needed “company” and on entering the room then offered
me his younger sister who was “new Bangkok, eighteen
years old, stunning and wanted to meet “hansom farang”
man like me, cheap, cheap”.

The price started at 2000 baht and quickly dropped to only

700 baht for short time, when I politely declined the initial
sales pitch.

Being of an enquiring mind, I was intrigued to find how

much my own “Mr. Fix It” was getting from the deal, so I
asked “how much for you?”

Mega mistake.

With a big grin he said “Me? You like boys, me only 1000
baht” and then tried to jump into the bed.

It is these type of misunderstandings that cause wars I

thought, as I ushered him out of my “loom” and suggested
that my pal next door was gay and might like to
accommodate him.

Welcome to Thailand, Flash!

CHAPTER TWO

JANUARY 2017
There are a few changes in the Kingdom, since our first
foray into Asia.
These days, substitute digital camera for Olympus XA and
an iPod for Walkman.
In those heady days of 1980, your basic inflight
entertainment seemed to comprise of one film, with limited
audio channels.
Now all the main carriers give a shed full of choice on ICE
with popular TV shows, a number of different movies and
CDs covering lots of different types of stuff from golden
oldies to the most up to date releases - all available on a
touch screen.
Pop a set of headphones on and you can spend many happy
inflight hours playing at being your own DJ. They is not so
much need for a Sony Walkman and a few tapes in 2017!
The relentless march of progress has given Thailand the
shiny, big, new International Airport of Suvarnabhumi,
although the dear old Don Muang is still used for domestic
flights.
I rather miss the ancient, rather worn place from thirty
years ago, although the latest hub is probably a necessary
evil to cope with the currently much increased amount of
arrivals and departures.
Thailand is now the leading holiday destination in the
region.
In my humble opinion, it now just looks like any other large
major airport from Paris to New York.
Efficient yes, but a bit soul less, plus it is miles to walk to
your gate for us lazy old Bangkok Pussy Hounds.
I really must be getting on; nostalgia is not what it used to
be….
In the early eighties, virtually no cabs seemed to use
meters, you bartered for prices everywhere. After a few
trips to Thailand, I reckoned I was pretty good and always
offered half what the cabby asked for and walked off, if they
declined.
Usually, they came after you blowing their horn and agreed
a discount price – happy days.
The fares were cheap enough, but as with the girls, it was a
point of principle to negotiate strenuously.
Well, I thought I drove a hard bargain.
My touching faith was shattered a few years later, after I
got into a cab with a sweet little girl from a favourite bar
near Patpong and headed back to my regular Hotel off the
Sukumvit Road.
She effortlessly got the ride for a third of what I usually
paid and even then, called the driver a “robbing lizard” for
overcharging us.
It was a bit sobering to learn that the “master wheeler,
dealer” was paying inflated “farang” rates.
Overcharging, is an area that upsets some westerners.
In Thailand, there quite blatantly operates a “two tier”
charging system, where locals pay one price and non-Thais
pay a different, higher rate. You may not like this cash
discrimination, but these are the rules, so we have to live
with them.
I have been told that ex-pats living in the country full time,
can get the local prices by showing their visa stamp or
driving licences. I don’t know how many succeed in getting
a reduction and it seems a hassle, but TIT.
In 2017, you can request the cab driver to turn his meter
on and most actually use them. If not, get out and find
another that does.
There are now some additional options on the travel front
to get around Bangkok, such as the Skytrain, which can
make life a bit easier and cheaper. Although they can be
rammed at peak times.
To be honest, these days I tend to take the air-conditioned
hotel transport both to and from the airport. Yes it does
cost more, but after a long flight some of old boys need a
bit of luxury to get us to downtown sex city in half decent
shape.
What has not changed is that Bangkok is still clogged with
traffic – period. You can be stuck in a mega jam anytime of
the day or night, particularly during the rainy season.
There is no point in stressing about it as that is the way it
is, just allow for extra time for your journey and life gets a
little easier.
One thing any single male needs to get used to, is that
every cabbie, barman or Thai Tom, Dick and Harry will try
and sell you an endless stream of girls (or boys).
You cannot blame them.
As I was told by Paul early on, there are only three reasons
for guys to come to Thailand – Sex, Sex and Sex.
Having had a lot of experience in the region, PM always
used to advise never get angry, shout or lose your temper in
any situation, even if you are provoked.
If you don’t want something, just smile and politely but
firmly say “no thanks”.
It works, however frustrating it can be at times, even when
you are suffering from jetlag and have a randy bellboy
trying to get into your boxer shorts.
 CHAPTER THREE
FIRST TASTE OF ORIENTIAL
DELIGHTS
With the curtains drawn and the air con flat out, I slept like
a zombie in my darkened room until being awakened by the
shrill sound of the phone. The dulcet tones on the other end
of the line was our leader Paul, suggesting a meeting in the
downstairs coffee shop in around half an hour to discuss
our forthcoming sexual agenda.

Amazingly, The President sounded bright and cheerful.

It was as though he had just travelled a couple stops on the

London tube, rather than flown for twelve hours.

Still half asleep and after heading out of the shower and
sorting out my lightest weight clothes, I decided that a pink
lurid tee-shirt, new shorts and flip flops would be the height
of sartorial elegance around here.

At least my colour choice would match Mr.Gordon’s

bloodshot eyes, that usually looked like piss holes in the
snow at any time of day.

So, resplendent in my latest fashion wear I walked across

the corridor to “Chez Flash”.

It was with some difficulty and the careful application of

some of the freezing contents of a conveniently placed ice
bucket, that I successfully extracted the zombie like Mr.
Gordon from his pit.
Finally, we both headed off for the cafeteria.

I ignored an endless stream of complaints that he could be

the first farang in history to suffer frostbite in Thailand,
which emanated from the member of the “undead” who
was trailing along leaving a trail of wet footprints behind.

By the time we had got to reception, the “Ginger Whinger”

had recovered and avoided dripping anymore cold water on
the carpet.

Following Paul’s sensible earlier suggestion, we deposited

passports, air tickets and excess traveller’s cheques into
the hotel safe deposit and changed some of the UK green
folding stuff for a pile of baht at the front desk.

With an exchange rate of around 50 baht to the pound, you

don’t have to be a genius to work out what things cost in
your own currency. Maths may have been my poorest
subject at school, but this little bit of arithmetic was not too
demanding for even me to do without the aid of a
calculator.

PM was his normal swarve self, when we found him

chatting to a cute little waitress, smoking his usual brand
of menthol cigarettes and fondling a fresh cup of coffee in
the restaurant.

He explained the suggested plan was a quick drink here, off

to an expats bar he knew well for a spot of lunchtime
sustenance and then on to find a bit of mid-afternoon
action.

That sounded like a plan, so after a quick-fire caffeine

injection, the Trainee Thai Snatch Squad were all soon
ensconced in another cab and on route to our very first trip
to enjoy the pleasures of Patpong.
This taxi looked like it had been made up from second-hand
“odds and sods” left over from the London to Brighton Rally
at around the turn of the century, but it lurched its way to
the infamous red light area eventually and then ground to a
shuddering halt.

This was both a destination and a cross town journey that

both the Flashman and myself would become very familiar
with over the next few years.

When we arrived at our destination and finally stopped

coughing from the cloud of blue smoke belching out of
what passed for the machine’s exhaust system, I asked Paul
why he had told the driver to go to a nearby restaurant,
instead of Patpong itself.

He explained, if you ask a Bangkok cabbie for a ride to a

massage parlour or go go bar, he will probably take you on
a Thai Magical Mystery Tour of the city to try and get
himself some extra commission from places that pays taxi
drivers.

This was a bit like our recent problems when we arrived in

our rooms with the resourceful young porter on the make.
Who was convinced that as visting (rich?) farangs, we must
all want to get our leg over some local talent, girl, boy or
ladyboy as soon as possible….

In fact, the intrepid Mr. Gordon was still getting unpleasant

flashbacks from that same randy little bell boy trying to get
into his knickers a bit earlier that very day.

On the whole journey to Patpong that incident was his only

topic of conversation. Luckily, for team relations and being
as thick as the proverbial plank at times, Flash had not
twigged that I set the plonker up in the first place!
A nearby address helps avoid this problem of being
chauffeured to all the places you do not want to go –which
was an early lesson learned.

After our red headed mate had extracted himself from

another hole in the pavement which his size 10s unerringly
found (there is appears to be a pattern emerging here).

PM then led us through a multi storey car park somewhere

off Patpong 1 after passing a number of respectable airline
offices and travel agents, we headed into the small back
entrance of what appeared to be a hidden Australian ex-pat
bar.

It was a bizarre way to get in, but TIT (this is Thailand) and
it was cool, nearly empty and they served what looked like
decent portions of western style bar food.

Now although Flash and myself were both committed

Indian/Thai food fans, Paul seemed to survive on Asian trips
enjoying a health-conscious diet of beer, cigarettes and
steak sandwiches - so this menu was ideal for our mentor.

To be honest, my ginger pal and myself were both starving

and the temporary lack of spice was not a problem for us
two apprentices. It was just good to chill, talk and feed the
inner man.

The whole team demolished generous of platefuls of that

most exotic Far Eastern speciality - sausages and mash,
with optional onion gravy. After a cold beer or two and all
feeling suitably refreshed, the trio of intrepid explorers
then headed back out into the full-on heat that is mid-
afternoon in Bangkok, in search of some female dessert.

We wandered down the soi for just a few yards and then
The President ushered us into a small upstairs bar that he
knew from previous trips to the area.
As soon as we walked in, our leader quickly ordered three
Singhas.

Before Flash and my own couple of backsides had even

settled on the bar stools and our eyes had adjusted to the
low light, a trio of Thai girls appeared as if by magic out of
the gloom.

Emerging from the darkness and wearing just enough to

cover the very bare essentials, they quickly sat on our laps
without being invited.

As far as Flash and I were both concerned – result.

We had pulled first time out in town!

At this early time of day, the bar was empty of both other
girls and punters. But after finishing our drinks and a bit of
fun and some fumbling with our new girlfriends in the
gloom, we were surprised to be gently ushered back out
into the street by Paul.

There was some protesting from the lower ranks, but PM

good humouredly would have none of it and eased us out of
the door and down the road.

Due to some surprise stiffness in the lower regions

(probably from the long hours flying) it was noticeable that
both Flash and myself were walking rather slowly and in a
straight legged way.

It was also evident that Graham Gordon Esq had his

trademark, suspicious wet stain on the front of his trousers
on public display. His lame excuse was that his latest
female companion had spilled beer on his crotch, but that
did not convince any of us.

When we asked our mentor why we just knocked back that

trio of talent, he explained when you are let loose in a
sweet shop it is best not to grab the first chocolate bar on
offer. Anyway, it was about time that we all relaxed in some
warm soapy water to combat jetlag.

In fact, he was convinced the recent new loves of our lives

were just three of opportunist female cleaners from that
particular bar.

Well if he was right, they were the best looking “Mrs.

Mops” I had ever seen.

Let’s face it, not many domestics at home wear bikinis with
numbers on, whilst scrubbing floors or hoovering the
carpets. If they did, then my “bachelor pad” would look a
lot cleaner than it does

So, the intrepid Mr. Gordon and myself carried on bravely

limping along in the sunlight both sporting serious semis
and smears of lipstick in places it should not have been.

Paul quickly grabbed yet another cab and it delivered us to

a small soi off the Sukumvit Road area and at around four
o’ clock local time, we pulled up outside a fairly basic sign
saying “Orchard Massage”.

To be honest, the frontage was not that smart, but Paul said
he knew the Mamasan and they usually had a good
selection of LBGs “early doors”.

Plus, as it was a bit off the beaten track, so at this early

time of day the girls were usually fresh and we should be
able to organise good value horizontal dancing with some
decent looking female talent - no probs.

If those really were cleaners earlier, what were the top girls
at the Orchard going to be like?

This was this thought that I mulled over when going

through the entrance and past a small Buddhist shrine let
into the wall, complete with fresh flowers and a cloud of
incense.

The three of us went down the internal steps, through the

double doors and as we parted a curtain that unique
fragrance of a massage parlour hit our nostrils big time.

This was to become very familiar aroma over the next few
years, which was a heady mixture of Thai traditional music,
air freshener, beer, prickly heat powder, soap and a secret
ingredient or two.

But we were not worrying about the smell of the place, Mr.
Gordon and myself were transfixed in the darkened lobby
looking for the first time at the impressive ceiling to floor
glass frontage.

Flash and I were face to face with the infamous massage

“tank”.

There was no seahorses or guppies swimming around in

this giant aquarium, just dozens of potential pretty bed
mates.

The word must have got out quickly to the staff, that some
afternoon punters were drooling on the carpet in reception.
As within a minute or two, more girls all resplendent in
what looked like American prom dresses with red number
badges attached appeared as if by magic.

It happened quicker than you could say “mine’s the one on

the left with the great legs”.

Well, it certainly beat the hell out of my tropical fish tank

back at home - you were spoiled for choice in this giant
goldfish globe.

Looking back now it was obviously not a big place by local

standards, but for a couple of novices it was if we had died
and gone to heaven - there was wall to wall pussy
everywhere.

All we had to do was “pick a number, any number”.

It was like a type of sexual bingo, but with “Sixty-Six - Two

Fat Ladies” mercifully nowhere in sight.

One of the golden ground rules is to take your time and

don’t be hustled into making a fast choice.

But being total newbies we had made our minds up, even
before the Mamasan had even appeared with the tray of
cold drinks.

I swiftly booked my little apparition of loveliness, who

surprisingly was called Noi (along with about half the
massage girls in BK). Standing less than five foot in her
high heels, she was ideal and could be an honorary member
of the “Propeller” Club” and would not take up too much
room into the bargain - perfect.

This particular young lady grabbed me by the arm, just as

soon as had I paid the king’s ransom of 1500 baht for a full
service with apparently everything included.

I was going to say “quick as a flash” as my Noi steered me

to one of the private rooms, but this was inaccurate.
Looking at Mr. Gordon who was heading for a session next
door with his oriental prize in tow, the lad was moving at a
snail’s pace.

OK, our favourite “ginge” is no natural athlete.

He gets out of breath playing a tough game of Monopoly

,but how he avoided moving at more than one mile an hour
with a pretty LBG on his arm and unlimited delights on
offer beats me.
At times, The Flashman makes a sloth look like a gold
medal 100-meter sprinter.

When I arrived at the small, but well equipped room, the

delightful Noi started filling the bath and motioned me to
sit on the bed. Whilst the water was running, she helped
me off with my shoes, socks and slowly worked upwards
pressing her curvy body against me with practised ease.

All was going great until the spectre of TIT (This is

Thailand) struck with a vengeance.

The water was freezing cold, so I was left alone shivering in

the buff as Noi rushed off to try and sort it out.

This was not good news, as after flying for twelve hours I
was keen to start playing a serious session of “spearing the
bearded clam” as soon as possible.

Now call me a wimp if you like, but lying in a bath of the

freezing wet stuff and taking the risk of getting serious
shrinkage in the nether regions did not have much appeal.

Following a loud knocking on the door and thinking my

beloved quickly had returned, I mistakenly opened it and
there stood a dripping Flash resplendent in just a small
towel – not a good look.

Obviously, he was having the same problems on the current

freezing plumbing front and was moaning that he had only
just recovered from my emptying the contents of his ice
bucket in his bed earlier and now his nasty case of
exposure was getting worse.

Being a concerned mate, I said “Not today thank you” and

quickly slammed the lock shut.

The much anticipated first naughty soapy session was not

going quite to plan, but about five minutes later my new
girlfriend reappeared and apologised profusely.

Apparently the hot water system was not working properly

and the Mamasan suggested we take the girls back to our
hotel to enjoy “long time” at no extra charge.

Noi made a point of telling me she would “fluck and suck

me in my loom, much good pussy”. Well, I always like a girl
that is subtle, so the swift move was settled without delay.

Flash had agreed to a similar offer from his beloved, so

before heading off, we quickly checked with our illustrious
leader who was camped out in the next room.

When we put our heads around the door, it was obvious

that he had forfeited the soapy suds side of the operation
for a serious session of “hide the sausage”. PM was already
getting into the action and calmly chatted to us stark
bollack naked on the bed, whilst his latest partner was all
over him like a rash.

Our leader was lying nude and face down on the mattress
with his small, but very well-proportioned girlfriend (also in
a similar state of undress), busy rubbing his back with her
ample globes.

PM said go for it and he would see us back at the hotel

later after he had sorted out the current business in hand.
By this time his young lady in question had switched her
attention to sucking his toes with gusto.

So before she moved higher, we bade The President a fond

farewell and grabbed another emission belching cab. It was
busy punching a hole in the ozone layer, as we headed back
to our basecamp “El Pronto” (which according to Flash, is
Thai for very quick).
On the journey to show the girls our bedroom ceilings, the
delightful Noi pointed out the Nana Hotel as we drove past
and said that is a top spot. Apparently, no problem in
“entertaining” guests, no joining fees, king-sized beds and
plenty of that current rare commodity - hot water.

She had obviously done some “entertaining” at the Nana

herself before and this proved to be good advice that we all
heeded in future.

We skidded to a halt outside of reception in the usual blue

haze of taxi generated carbon monoxide, which may have
helped to hasten melting the world’s ice caps and wipe out
the last polar bears at a stroke.

Expertly both girls swiftly checked their ID cards with the

front desk and then at last it was off to our rooms for our
first taste of some hard-core Bangkok action.

Now according to The Flashman’s “Thai for Idiotic

Beginners” phrasebook, Noi means little.

Well, small she was.

But what that girl lacked in being a bit on the vertically

challenged side was made up for with the “wow” factor.

While running the bath for the second time that afternoon
and this time with hot water, the lovely Noi undressed me
carefully, neatly folded my clothes up and put them into the
wardrobe.

I could not see any of the western girls we had left behind
in London taking this time and trouble to avoid our tee-
shirts getting creased.

It was then her turn to get naked and Noi discreetly

stripped to display a diminutive, but a great body.
Cripes these girls are not shy I thought, as I admired that
superb chassis on display (her’s not mine).

After soaping both of us all over slowly and saying

complimentary things about the size of my “banana”, Noi
gave Little Jack a good rubbing. As I believe the wise
Chinese philosopher, Confucius said “it good to have a
female companion with small hands, it make everything
look bigger”.

Wise words indeed.

The Thai female contingent must have quickly learnt that

the most reliable way to a farang’s heart is to compliment
him about the impressive dimensions the punter’s manhood
and is a good ruse to increase their tip in proportion.

I was yet to appreciate this was just a flattering little ploy

on my first foray into the wonderful world of the Orient and
almost believed that my little “pocket rocket” was hung like
the proverbial stallion.

Now, I am going disappoint all you readers that are

expecting a blow by blow account of the action.

Looking back, the finer details of that first session had a

dream like quality to it, which was maybe due to a heady
mix of jet lag, tiredness and a few beers.

The sex was good, but the only problem was that Noi like a
number of Thai girls was really tight with a capital “T”.

The expression like a mouse’s ear comes to mind, so you

need to go a bit carefully in the early stages until things
loosen up a bit. After spending a couple of hours rumpling
up the sheets and trying every position known to man and
few new ones, I finally escorted the lovely Noi back down to
the reception.
The lady in question appeared as fresh and cool as ever, but
unfortunately the same could not be said for her latest
farang customer who looked like he had been dragged
through a proverbial hedge backwards.

After slipping her a 500-baht tip and getting a large wai

and wide smile in return, she disappeared into the
relentless early evening Bangkok traffic leaving me with a
slightly sore pubic area and a room which looked like a
small nuclear explosion had gone off within its walls.

Flash and the PM were already well settled inside the

coffee shop, when I returned from waving my newly found
love goodbye. This was a sad moment and I am sure a tear
or two rolled down my leg at the emotional parting.

You did not have to be a mind reader to guess the dynamic

duo had had a good time too. It was hard to get the smirk
off Mr. Gordon’s face and Paul had also apparently enjoyed
a very satisfactory afternoon, even with the lack of hot
water.

As our mentor said, you can have a bath in the hotel

anytime, so don’t stress about plumbing issues.

The whole team had enjoyed some great female company

and the best bit was, we still had the pleasures of that first
erotic night in BK, stretching out before us.
CHAPTER THREE

JANUARY 2017
For Flash and myself, I think this was a really good start to
our first Asian Adventure.
The moral of the story is avoid being in too much of a rush
to get laid when you are jet lagged and have just staggered
off the plane. Plus, don’t think you are as well-endowed as
Errol Flynn just because your latest delectable Thai
companion says so.
The Flashman and myself were really fortunate to have
Paul to guide us on this initial foray. Otherwise, we would
have probably got off with the couple of fairly rough
hostess/cleaners we met earlier in that first Patpong joint
that we staggered into on that initial afternoon.
Even so, we both over-tipped our first Massage Girls. But
no problem, we had managed to empty our tanks a couple
of times within a few hours of hitting the city so who is
counting?
We both also learnt another useful fact.
The hotel that my Thai business contact, Ladawan had
innocently booked us into had a couple of major drawbacks.
Although it allowed “guests” to stay in our rooms, they
rushed us with a “joining fee” of a cool 500 baht, which was
added our bills every time we had female company.
The other problem was that they had put two single beds
together to make a double and this made the working space
definitely on the small size for our sexual gymnastics.
Apparently even someone as well apportioned around the
nether regions as Graham Gordon Esq; (for that read
obese) the fat ginger bastard had still managed to fall down
the gap in the middle on a number of occasions ruining
moments of extreme passion and putting other hotel guests
below at risk from a falling FGB.
Rumour had it, that the rotund redhead ended up on the
bedroom floor with his petite partner on top of his not
inconsiderable bulk. It was a real pity there was no “You
Tube” back then or if we could have captured the romantic
moments on a phone it could have trended bigtime on
social media.
Fortunately, she was not trapped underneath the man
mountain or a fatality could have been reported in the
Bangkok Post…...
These important issues of cost and comfort are ones that
any pussy hound should consider.
Many hotels, particularly around the naughty areas, do not
charge for guests being entertained (or in the Flashman’s
case, terrified) in their rooms and still take ID cards.
These are only released after checking with you before the
girl (or lady boy) leaves the premises as a form of customer
protection.
This information is readily available on the Internet today,
although it was a bit more difficult to get back in 1980. You
found out then by word of mouth or in our case, trial and
error.
Bed size is important and it is worth checking on this
before booking. Thai girls may be on the small side, but as
you might want to bring back a few at once, so size does
matter in this area!
We also learnt from our mentor, Khun Paul, that timing with
massage parlours is a crucial issue.
On our first afternoon vist, it was a bit too early for a good
selection.
These days, I reckon around 6.0 pm is a good time to hit
the suds. Most girls are fresh then having often recently
arrived for the “night shift” and have not just serviced a
coach load of Japanese or Russian visitors before you pick
them for your turn!
Even so, some of the really big Massage Parlours such as
Darling, Cleopatra and others, do have a mind boggling
selection of LBGs on display at virtually all opening times.
So, if you feel the need to get into the suds mid-afternoon
and who doesn’t occasionally? Then the larger
establishments may be a better choice at this early time of
day.
CHAPTER FOUR

FEBRUARY 1980

ONE NIGHT IN BANGKOK

It was nearly seven o’clock local Thai time and our little
team, were all feeling pretty mellow.

This may have been due to that heady mixture of a few

bottles of Singha, our body clocks being out of sync and a
couple of hour’s hectic entertainment between the sheets -
but it was catching up with everybody.

The team were all looking a bit bleary eyed, tired and
emotional. So the sensible option might have been to quit
whilst we were ahead and turn in early for the night.

But one thing you can bet your house on, is that Paul, Flash
and myself were rarely sensible and had not come all the
way to Thailand just to catch up on our beauty sleep
(although in Graham Gordon’s case, that might have been a
good move.)

We were all hell bent on enjoying “sex city on legs” to the

full. Resting was for wimps as far as the intrepid trio were
concerned.

With each of us having a roll of baht notes burning a hole in

our pockets, each felt the serious need to hit the town and
inflict ourselves on some more local talent as soon as
humanly possible.

Mindless sex, does definitely burns calories and can give

you the munchies big time.

So we had to make a decision of whether to have a bite in

the hotel coffee shop or wander down the Sukumvit Road in
search of sustenance to build up our strength and increase
supplies of bodily fluids, which were currently in short
supply for round two.

The unanimous vote went for the latter, so our team

strolled through reception and back into the amazing
bedlam of noise and heat of early doors Bangkok.

This took a bit of getting used to after having all enjoyed

wet cold London weather, only a day or two before.

I read somewhere that Bangers has the highest night time

ambient temperature of any major city in the world during
the hours of darkness and it also has the largest number of
homicides of any capital city in the globe.

It is unlikely the two issues are related, but apparently the

soaring nocturnal heat is due to a mixture of the intense
mass of concrete buildings close together acting like a
giant storage radiators and churning out heat after dark.
Having experienced the sauna bath heat and humidity after
midnight, few of us would argue that like the local girls, the
temperature at night was scorching.

Add to this, the mega number of air-con units all blasting

out red hot air, twenty-four seven and you do not need to be
a genius to realise things will be a bit on the warm side.

The above is an interesting little “factoid” and it could even

be true.

You may scoff, but that little nugget of wisdom could help
you win your local pub’s quiz night, so I would suggest you
make a note of it!

The usual discussion of where and what to eat continued

unabated, as we battled to avoid ending up on the bonnet
of a speeding car heading for Pattaya.
PM was keen on his normal English grub, but Mr. Gordon
and myself managed to finally talk him into going for
something a bit more exotic.

So, after lengthy negotiations we all agreed on a quick

spice injection and we took our lives in our hands by
crossing the Sukumvit road opposite the infamous Grace
Hotel.

In this place, it is the quick or the dead and none of fancied

the latter.

Here, you are trying to dodge the wayward speeding

convoys of Lorries and Tuk Tuks all with no visible means
or intention of braking.

To make things even more interesting, you have to run the

gauntlet of the regular swarms of kamikaze motorcycle
taxis

Many laden down with luggage, over-weight farangs and

bar girls heading off to dance around a few chrome poles.
Often, these LBGs are calmly sitting side-saddle on back of
the bikes and doing their make-up whilst weaving in and
out of the hordes of suicidal traffic.

Finally, when we had thanked Buddha at having arrived at

the far side just about in one piece the UK Trade and Pussy
Finding Mission then wandered aimlessly down a couple of
small backstreets, hunting for a suitable place to get
outside a decent plate of Indian food.

We were proposioned at few times by a motley bunch of

freelancers in the street, but the age-old rule of never
getting between a man and his curry applied here and we
intrepid explorers carried on their culinary mission
regardless.
Even though, one little determined sweetheart refused to
let go of her prize.

This demented girl, complete with both her hands inside his
ample trousers was dragged along by Flash for what felt
like the whole length of the Sukumvit Road. She wisely
finally admitted defeat and reluctantly let go, much to the
amusement of an audience consisting of Paul, a few
passers-by, a random soi dog and myself.

Finally on rounding a corner, we were hit by the welcome

smell of spice and there in all its regal splendour was the
stunning sight of the Taj Mahal in moonlight.

( No, not that one! Even we didn’t walk that far - although
in that oppressive evening heat it just felt like it) .

This particular building may have not been listed as one of

the seven wonders of the world, but this modest looking
Indian eating establishment was top of the list for us
starving travellers.

The delightful aroma of a tandoori oven wafted out into the

narrow street, stopping us dead in our tracks like a spaniel
that had scented a rabbit.

Tucked away in the maze of mini side streets and nestling

between clothes shops, leather goods outlets plus dodgy
stalls selling pirate cassettes and knock- off designer tee
shirts – there it was, shining like an oasis in the desert
night.

The menu outside looked familiar to us regular Indian food

addicts and The President good naturedly allowed himself
to be persuaded to go inside, after I made the point that he
could always go for a mushroom omelette or whatever if he
did not fancy the more exotic cuisine on offer.
When our trio entered the curry emporium we were faced
by a virtually empty restaurant, but the words “hot stuff”
were a good description of the sight that greeted us.

The place was staffed by a bevy of some really stunning

Thai waitresses. This was a bit different to what you get
back home in blighty in the average curry house on a
Saturday night.

No disrespect, but I have never considered giving any of

the UK waiting staff at my local Star of Bengal watering
hole the benefit of a seeing to, but these oriental angels
were in a different league completely.

Not only beautiful to look at, but ultra-efficient and graceful

too.

The girls did not stop smiling and ushered us politely to a

window table in the corner, which overlooked the melee
that is “early doors” Bangkok.

Being the only punters in the establishment, we basically

had a waitress each. How is that for personal service?

Embarrassingly, I felt a familiar stirring in my newly

purchased silk boxers, as Little Jack woke up and then tried
to escape to have a look at what is on offer on the menu.
So, I had to swiftly cover the randy little sod up with a
napkin

The dirty devil had been at “hammer and tongs” only an

hour or two before with the delicious Noi and he now
seemed to want more than just a portion of prawn
biryani…..

PM seemed to change his culinary preferences pretty damn

quick too, deciding to get outside a Lamb Korma a bit
sharpest and hopefully inside one of these visions of
loveliness perhaps a bit later.

Before you could say Chicken Tikka Masala and don’t spare
the Mango Chutney, the wily old fox was chatting up one of
the LBGs with his usual smooth charm.

Over the years, I have been in a few great Indian

restaurants both in the UK and overseas, but this was as
good as it gets.

The owner was apparently originally from Bangladesh and

did most of the cooking himself. Being a superb chef, he
produced some mouth-watering delicately spiced fresh
dishes, while his front of house staff were stunning looking,
friendly and all eminently beddable.

The bonus was it really cheap too, so Flash and I had

thought we had died and gone to heaven.

The girls seemed delighted to try out their basic English on

us and have the chance to practice their language skills by
chatting to the three greedy farangs in the corner.

Being renowned gourmets, we were by now surrounded by

an ever-growing pile of pillaw rice and assorted dishes.
Fortunately, words such as Meat Madras and Keema Mince
seem to be international.

The sad thing was that Khun Gordon and myself felt we had
unfortunately no chance of getting to grips with any of the
delightful LBG waiting staff in the naughty stakes. They
were the best group of talent I had seen so far, but Sods
Law strikes and they are a “no go” area.

Little Jack was upset.

These waitresses were obviously respectable and not your

average bar girls, so both of us novice members of the team
thought them unfortunately off-limits for a game of “hide
the sausage” or maybe “hide the sheik kebab” might be
more accurate in this particular case.

Well, all of us except Paul, who being an old hand in the

Thai Nookie stakes thought otherwise.

I noticed PM having an in-depth conversation by the bar

with what appeared to be the leader of these apparitions of
beauty after he had returned from a swift pit-stop in the
gents. It was noticeable that the old boy appeared to have
turned on his renowned chat-up lines to maximum using his
fluent grasp of Pidgin English to good effect.

“Sadly, no chance of getting in her knickers” I thought

whilst trying to wrestle my bottle of Singha back from
Flash’s hot little paws.

“All sorted lads” Paul said after returning to the table,

sitting down and grabbing a last poppadum complete with
a grin that even a Cheshire Cat would envy.

“The girls finish normally well after midnight” Paul said

“but as it is a bit on the quiet side tonight, they are going to
meet us at the Thermae Coffee Shop down the road for a
nightcap later around eleven thirty”.

He went on “It looks like they all appear to do a bit of

freelance nocturnal work occasionally and think we look
like the sort of blokes that need more than just a portion of
Sag Aloo!”

I think it would be fair to say both Flash and myself were

both seriously impressed and even more so when we finally
paid the bill.

I am sure our prospective hot dates, seem to have forgotten

half of what we had eaten. So, we left a good tip and
waddled outside after demolishing an Indian feast fit for a
Maharaja and his entire court.

Well, as a point of accuracy, Paul and I did some waddling.

But after walking out the door and down the street, we
realised something or somebody was missing.

The illustrious Mr. Gordon was noticeable by his absence.

“I thought it was quiet” PM muttered and we retraced our

steps back to the Taj Mahal and the two of us entering the
restaurant to the sound of peals of female laughter.

Mr Dynamic was there, comatose and exactly where we

had left him. PM and myself were now faced with the
difficult task of waking dozy devil up.

The Thai version of Rumpelstiltskin had become

unconscious with his head resting on a couple of Garlic
Nans that had been left on the table. Leaving a few extra
baht for good service is one thing, but forgetting to take
Mr.G.Gordon is another, that must be a gratuity too far for
any right-thinking person.

How can someone fall asleep after one beer, a brilliant meal
and when you are probably on a promise too?

I mean these sweet waitresses gave a whole new meaning

to the concept of an “Indian takeaway” and then our top
mate looks like he has slipped into an induced coma and if
not roused from his slumbers will miss everything…

After a severe shaking and yet another cold ice cube down
the back, The Flashman showed some signs of human life
and dragged himself into the street to the sound of the girls
still giggling fit to burst behind.

The lad made the weak excuse of passing out due to a long-
haul flight, but got stick from the other two members of
The Bangkok Pussy Hounds.

The big question was, what to do for the next few hours to
kill time until our waitresses had finished work and were
due to make a guest appearance up the road at the
Thermae?

The suggestion of an extra soapy massage was given

careful thought, but the idea of yet another enthusiastic
LBG bouncing around on our stomachs, which now felt as
though they had eaten half of New Delhi was not that
attractive at this moment in time.

It would be embarrassing to “Cry Ruth” at the critical

moment, as our Australian friends might have put it, so a
quiet drink in one the bars seemed to be a safer option.

That is assuming you can have a “quiet” drink in Bangkok

in 1980.

Wandering around these little passageways off the main

Sukumvit Road, we finally stumbled on what looked like a
suitable dive for a glass of the amber fluid. It had a dim
blue sign above the door blinking the immortal words
“Lucky Elephant” into the dark night.

Well, that is what I think it was meant to say, but the neon
tube had half failed on part of the second letter and it
proudly stated “Licky Elephant”.

This was a bit of a worry.

As although The City of Angels was a wild place and

anything goes, I do draw the line at bestiality and the
thought of trunk job from Fanta was not top of our “to do”
plans for that evening.

But if it was compulsory, I suppose we could always

volunteer The Flashman for the job. If it was cheap enough
the lad might be up for it, he is never that choosy about
who gets their laughing gear around his wedding tackle.

So undaunted by these issues, the intrepid three

Musketbeers pushed the door aside and entered our next
den of iniquity.

This was yet another pitch black bar, has nobody in

Thailand heard of 60 watt light bulbs? Next time I made a
mental note to bring a torch

Falling over various furniture, it took us five minutes to

navigate our way to the bar stools and order some
refreshment due to the gloom and thick haze of cigarette
smoke hanging over the place.

Peering through the fog that would not have disgraced

Widecombe Moor in Dartmoor on a November night, there
was no sign of Old Tom Cobbley and all.

In fact, we were the only farangs in the whole place as this

seemed to be a bar frequented by the local male
population.

Once our eyes had slowly adjusted to the lack of light and
excess of burning tobacco, we noticed there were a number
of Thai men drinking in the dark corners.

These included a couple of “The Boys in Brown”.

Busy looking after the local long arm of the law, were a
bevy of young waitresses serving Chang Beer and some
kind of Mekong type whisky in little glasses.

These shorts looked particularly dangerous and appeared

to be drunk as a chaser.

Bearing the name of the place, the Chang beer on offer was
apt as Paul pointed out that name means Elephant in the
local lingo, so we ordered a trio of their best ale and
relaxed at the bar.

The female serving staff were wearing very short pleated

skirts, tight t- shirts with the “licky” Elephant logo, white
socks and trainers with their hair back in a ponytail or
bunches.

It looked a bit like a six-form reunion, so although the girls

were probably 18 plus, it must have still been a top spot
popular for any locals who enjoyed a schoolgirl fetish.

Every so often, one of the girls disappeared with a

customer and headed up the stairs at the back of the bar.
She then magically reappeared a few minutes later with the
same guy in tow, who certainly looked happier than before.

Her homework had obviously been done to a high standard

and teacher was pleased…..

PM explained to us raw beginners that like a number of

other drinking bars in the area, this place had “short time”
rooms on the second floor. We had stumbled into an
establishment that seemed aimed at randy Thai
businessmen.

Apparently, these in-house facilities are very useful for

married customers, who can organise a quick bit of extra
curriculum activity on the premises and still get home to
the wife at a reasonable hour.

Looking at the check bin, we saw the drinks were half of

the price that we paid earlier that night, so this appeared
to be a good choice to chill out. Even if you are the only
westerners in the joint and the LBGs on offer were perhaps
a bit young looking for our tastes.

Nobody seemed to speak much English, but who cares?

We all sat back, drank our beers and enjoyed the cabaret
which consisted of a couple of attractive, if rather bored
looking girls, doing traditional Thai dances on a small stage
in the corner.

Unlike the pictures in tourist brochures that I had seen

before, these beauties were topless and displayed an
impressive quartet of boobs that bounced in time with the
music.

I mulled over the question of how they can bend their

fingers back that far? It beats me that nobody ends up in
plaster even if they do start learning to do it at a very
young age.

Flash ruined the cultural mood by saying if they are that

flexible in other areas, it would be worth investing in bar
fining them. Which all three of us discussed in detail, while
watching the show and the local brew flowed like water.

No, make that flowed like beer!

Still pondering on the interesting possibility of entertaining

a couple of Thai dancers between the sheets and worrying
about those long razor like fingernails around my wedding
tackle, things then got even sillier.

The full effects of the drink started to take its toll.

I reckon this Chang brew was a bit stronger than it first

appeared, plus all these small glasses of local spirit that
kept appearing like magic, finally hit home with a bang.

Now to be fair, I should put on record that my traveller, Mr.

Gordon is a clever bloke on the academic front. He got an
honours degree at Nottingham University and qualified as a
solicitor in commercial law.
The trouble is because of his legal training; he always likes
to prepare for every possible eventuality.

A good example was when we went on a ski trip last year.

Before the off, the silly sod spent six months in physical
training and read every book published on Winter Sports.

Mr. Gordon did all the special Sunday Times Winter Sports
exercises each evening and went jogging for weeks without
fail, before we left for the snowy slopes.

A local terrier must have thought Christmas had come early

and ambushed Flash on a nightly basis, chasing him
through the streets of Wimbledon and even managed to get
its canine dental equipment into the lad’s new Lycra
running shorts on one memorable occasion.

Mind you, I reckon the canine in question was more at risk

of catching rabies off Mr. Gordon than the other way
around. My concerns would be with our terrier friend biting
that oversized rear end.

Apart of his strenuous “get fit” regime, our favourite red

headed legal eagle, proudly showed me a book of
Australian Air Force exercises that he was also considering
doing.

I kindly tried to help by pointing out the obvious that the

lad did not have a plane to practice with, but sadly this
important point went straight over his head. The whole
thing was a total waste of time of course, he made Eddy the
Eagle look like a success on the ski jumping front.

“Flashman the Downhill Racer” predictably spent most of

the holiday, either all night clubbing or being unconscious
during the day in booze induced state of suspended
animation.
He gave a new meaning to the phrase of being “on the
piste”.

I reckon, Mr. Gordon’s expensive ski lift pass got about as

much work as a parson’s cock at a wedding on that
particular winter sports extravaganza!

Totally in character for this Thai trip, dear old Flash had
decided to learn a bit of the local language before his first
foray into enjoying the pleasures of assorted Asian
womanhood.

So, a couple of weeks before take-off, the lad had splashed

out a few quid on one of these phonetic phrasebooks from a
shop in Charing Cross Road.

Now call me anti-education if you like, but I cannot see the

daily use to us sex tourists of some of the language proudly
listed in its pages.

Classics like “Do you know where the nearest art gallery
is?” or “Your budgie looks ill, is it eating its seed?” are the
types of invaluable phrases that this particular good
publication abounded with.

It is obviously essential stuff to be able to discuss the

current political situation or direct someone to a local
knitting club, when you have a couple of week’s serious
whoremongering in mind.

I know it takes all sorts, but there is serious danger in

trying this particular route in my view. A little knowledge is
a dangerous thing as my dear old Grandfather used to say
and the PM agreed.

Paul was a master of using slow, loud English complete

with occasional obscene phrase in the local lingo and an
odd graphic gesture. This seemed to work fine and had
never failed on his many previous vists, but Flash by name
and Flash by nature.

Mr. Gordon was determined to impress all local females

with his instant grasp of fluent Thai.

So, to show off his new found skills in the Licky Elephant

Bar, every time we bought a round of drinks our own Mr.
Lingaphone shouted out “Pak Choi”. He then raised his
glass to a bevy of totally bemused locals who politely
smiled back.

Not really surprising, as he should have said” Chok Dee”

which means good health or luck.

The congenital idiot obviously had not got past the

introduction in his language guide and was loudly calling
out a type of Chinese vegetable at the top of his voice.

This shows the wisdom of what The President had said to

us earlier about knowing your own limitations.

It also reinforced my view that Mr. Gordon would not be my

choice of legal council, if I was the defendant in the dock at
the Old Bailey on a murder charge.

Perhaps, the old saying that doctors bury their mistakes

and lawyers hang theirs, may have a bit of truth in it after
all.

I was amazed that the regulars of “The Licky Elephant” did

not have us all committed, locked up, deported or possibly
all three at once. It shows how tolerant the Thais can be of
a pissed, stupid farang with a brain the size of a
caterpillar’s arsehole in full flow.

If the roles were reversed, just imagine that you are having
a quiet pint in your local pub back home and then some
deranged oriental buffoon kept shouting out Savoy
Cabbage in a loud drunken stupor – lesser things than this
have started international wars.

After this little fiasco, we decided it might be a good idea to

wander off to our meeting place a bit before the appointed
hour and wait to see if our hot dates would put in an
appearance.

Paul was confident we would get a result, although

personally I thought it was a long shot.

This was my first trip to the infamous Thermae pick-up joint

and talk about jammed, this was a “no go” area for anyone
suffering from claustrophobia.

We had to push our way in and it was packed with “wall to

wall” LBGs looking for men and horny farangs looking for
female companionship – this gave a whole new meaning to
the phrase “meat market”.

The quality was mixed, there were a few stunners, but

some of the older freelancers looked rough even in that dim
lighting. It was a real mixed grill, but the atmosphere was
something I had never experienced back home.

The heavy rancid aroma which was of a mixture of cheap

perfume, booze, cigarettes smoke and sweat greeted us –
so we Bangkok Pussy Hounds felt at home immediately.

For Flash and myself, it was a bit like being back in London
at that notorious pick-up joint The Loose Box wine bar in
Knightsbridge on a wet Friday evening. The big difference
was there was seriously more available talent here than our
normal overpriced stomping grounds yielded.

After fighting our way through a scrum to try and get a

drink, we realised we had a small problem. Our female
companions would hardly be carrying a menu, clutching a
Tandoori Chicken or wearing those tight Taj Mahal tee-
shirts. All three of which they had been sporting, when we
last met them working in the restaurant earlier in that
evening.

To be honest at this time of night with so many assorted

Thai girls moving around the floor in the dim light, many
looked similar to our tired western eyes. So finding our
target LBGs, was a bit like looking for the proverbial needle
in a haystack or a virgin in a massage parlour.

We should not have stressed, as within a minute or two of

our arrival our hot dates appeared at our sides as if by
magic. I guess to the girls we three lads must have stood
out like an erection in a pair of boxer shorts.

Well, to be truthful, only two of them materialised out of

the gloom.

Lek and Fon apologised that the third member of their

team had to miss out on our little love tryst as her rich
Dutch “sponsor” had turned up expectantly, so she
unfortunately had a pressing engagement under her
occasional boyfriend that very night.

But the two girls scored major brownie points with us all by
using some praise worthy initiative in the “leg over” stakes.
They had brought Lek’s younger sister Bum along to keep
the female numbers up.

I kid you not, that was her name and I reckon she was the
looker in the family.

The President, Flash and myself were surrounded by wall

to wall available females, a bevy of attractive Indian
restaurant waitresses and had a beautiful little LBG looking
up at us adoringly called Bum – you could not make this up.
It was hard to talk in the Thermae with the cacophony of
noise, plus the girls grasp of English was a bit limited and
was perhaps better geared to ordering a mutton biryani or
a mushroom bhaji to be honest. Even so, all three girls kept
laughing at our attempts at conversations using a mixture
of gestures and “Pidgin English” with the odd Thai word
thrown in for good measure.

But this minor communication hitch did not seem to matter,

as our new girlfriends surprisingly seemed to like us and
even kept smiling during Mr. Gordon’s attempts at groping
each one in turn. It was lucky he did not have three hands,
two was embarrassing enough…

All the girls were giving out” buying signals” and

intimating that they might not be averse to carrying on the
evening’s entertainment at our hotel, so Paul felt it was
time for us to swiftly head off with tonight’s victims and get
down to some action ASAP.

The big question was, where had the third member of our
team gone?

Flash was missing, but looking across the packed room, we

finally saw the redoubtable Ginger Whinger attempting a
slow smooch with Fon.

As the couple turned on the floor to the sound of the 60’s

soul classic “When a man loves a woman”, we were all
treated to the unedifying spectacle of Mr. Gordon being
quietly sick down the back of her dress – a class act or
what? The other dancers certainly gave The Chunder Kid
plenty of room after seeing what looked like a batch of
second-hand sweetcorn making a slimy trail across the
floor.

Looking at the Flashman lurching around gently ejecting a

dribble of vomit, a favourite phrase of my Father came to
mind.

Dad had a strong suspicion of anything equine and always

said “horses are dangerous at both ends and unsafe in the
middle”, which summed up neatly the third member of our
team.

So perhaps the delectable Fon should take notice of those

wise words?

PM and myself then faced a stark choice.

Plan A - Take Graham G. with us, reeking of second-hand

prawn patia and probably ruin our chances of getting some
of the action which was on offer that night.

Plan B – Abandon him in this pressure cooker of vice and

depravity. Basically, leave our best mate to possibly get
murdered or worse by heading off at top speed to our hotel
to enjoy a virtually guaranteed a night of ecstasy with our
new girlfriends, both of which were all over us like a rash.

Tough choice.

But us whoremongers have a strict code of conduct and

would never knowingly let a good pal down.

Obviously, Flash’s safety had to come first.

Decision made - Paul and I were out of there quicker than a

soi dog at feeding time with both our dates in tow, leaving
the silly sod still quietly chucking up whilst doing a John
Travolta (or maybe Travolting?) impression.

Bun and Lek had quickly agreed to come back to our rooms
with us. In fact, they suggested it was a good idea.

So being reliable blokes who never let a friend down, we

decided to also leave Flash to pay the “bin check” for the
drinks alongside the dry-cleaning bill for Fon’s dress.

The two of us lads were off like sprinters out of the blocks

and exited the Thermae holding tight onto our pair of
LBGs, |running at full tilt while we both had the Bangkok
standard requirements of sporting a serious semi and
clutching a handful of baht.

I doubt Khun Gordon’s latest poor girlfriend of the moment

expected to see that Indian meal again quite so soon? But
then again, the delightful Fon was taking a major chance
dancing with The Beast of Bangkok in the first place.

PM and I got our bed mates back to base camp in record

time, after the girls beat the price of a passing cab down in
the street outside.

As the lift arrived at our floor, Paul and I swiftly wished

each other a good night and headed off to our rooms at
high speed clutching our latest Thai delights and both
being keen to unwrap our presents.

This was after our new companions had checked their IDs
into the front desk and we had both clocked yet another
“joining fee” each onto our growing bill. Still, when a
decent bit of action is on the cards money tends to get
forgotten, you are thinking with a different part of your
anatomy.

By chance, I had ended up with little Bum, who was fun,

pretty and proudly told me she “work beer bar, only few
week and no like Thai men. They bad, bad, falang good”.

As her name suggested, Bum had a great arse and even

before I had shut the room door the little darling suggested
we take a shower together. Playing hard to get, I must have
taken a full ten seconds to get all my kit off.
Hopping around on one foot, whilst trying to get my fake
Kelvin Klein’s off in a graceful manner gave her a laugh and
she called me “Butterfry”.

This may have had something to do with a large cloud of

Prickly Heat Powder that emulated from my lower regions,
which my thoughtful massage girl Noi had rubbed there
earlier that same day.

Not being used to Thai bargirl’s sense of humour this was a

bit embarrassing, as I tried to deny having been at it all
afternoon. But little Bum thought it was funny and the two
us were straight into the shower and playing a game of
“hide the soap on a rope” a bit sharpish.

I reckon she was five foot nothing soaking wet and a good
twelve inches shorter than me, which was a real advantage
as Bum did not have to bend down far to give me a blow
job. In fact, the little darling almost had to stand on a
stepladder to give me oral sex. But the great advantage of
having girls of this tiny size is that they have everything in
easy reach, which makes life simpler for all of us lazy
bastards!

Bum was not the most sexually skilled operators I have met
in Thailand over the years, but the girl made up for it with
her boundless enthusiasm and the novelty value of every
time she climaxed she started shaking.

At first, I thought the cold blast from the air conditioning

was to blame and turned it down a notch. But Bum seemed
to just be highly sexed and having a good time, so she
carried on regularly vibrating.

Things were going well and an interesting night of passion

looked on the cards.
In fact, the girl seemed to love me going down on her for as
long as humanly possible and showed her approval by
holding my head locked in position in her impressive
natural bush.

Bum sported a large tuft of soft, silky, smooth pubic hair. To

be accurate, it WAS going well, until there was a persistent
loud knock on the door and I was daft enough to answer it.

To be truthful, I was relieved at the slight diversion as I

needed to come up for oxygen as a matter of urgency. I felt
I was getting an attack of the deep sea “bends” after that
mammoth muff diving session….

Bun hurriedly got off my face and hid under the sheets, as

the little darling thought it might be hotel security or a
police raid. To be honest, neither was a great option in my
opinion when you are just about to slip your latest beloved
a length.

Quickly pulling on the first thing that came to hand, I

staggered to the entrance without time to use the much-
needed mouthwash in the bathroom. The thought that went
through my mind was that if it was that little bellboy back
again still trying to get into my bed, he is likely to be get
right foot somewhere the sun does not shine (even in
Bangkok).

I must have looked like an upmarket flasher, as I threw the

door open in my new silk dressing robe (hang on, that
sounds stupid, let’s try again). I opened the room door,
whilst wearing a dressing gown, that is a bit better….

Standing outside in the corridor, was the third member of

the female Taj Mahal team the delectable Fon.

She smiled widely with one of her size two feet resting on a
dishevelled bundle on the floor. This was apparently all that
was left of the “Chinese Cabbage King” following his recent
Saturday Night Fever dancing display at the Thermae.

Yes, there was good old Flash snoring face down on the
carpet in the corridor right outside my room of erotic
pleasures.

Emulating from this prostrate comatose heap of

unpleasantness that was unfortunately resting on the hotel
shag pile, was a similar smell to an over ripe compost heap
that charmingly assaulted your nostrils.

To add to the spectacle, when I rolled Khun Flash over, he

proudly displayed his trademark extensive wet stain down
his trousers.

There was a pattern emerging here.

My incontinent pal appeared to have wet himself again, just

to make the lad even more of a babe magnet than normal.

Fon apologised for disturbing me “in mid flow” so to speak.

But as she chatted, I could not help noticing that whilst

talking she seemed slightly preoccupied and avoided eye
contact by staring downwards.

I am sensitive to things like this….

It was then that I realised that I was displaying a “lazy lob”,

courtesy of her younger sister’s recent efforts at polishing
the old fella.

Part inflated, Little Jack was peeking out of my kimono

probably not realising that I had stopped in my attempt at
the World Record Long Distance Cunnillingus Event.

So, I quickly tried to cover up the evidence with my hands

and act casual. Which easier said than done with a raging
hard-on, whilst standing in a hotel corridor in full view of
the passing public.

At least she did not laugh too much or made any

unwelcome jokes about “seeing better things crawl out of
cauliflowers” or perhaps in her job at an Indian restaurant
“crawl out of a spinach bhaji”.

Apparently, my currently horizontal best mate had been

helped into reception by his unfortunate taxi driver. Then
after finally standing nearly upright the inebriated prat had
collapsed again outside the lift before reaching his “loom”
and getting between Fon’s soft brown legs.

“Him heavy much to carry next door, Ching, Ching” said an

out of breath Fon. That must have been Thai bar girl speak
for “cannot move the fat urine soaked bastard without a
dumper truck”.

Talking of which there was an all-enveloping whiff of vomit,

beer and nicotine about, as we struggled to drag the
unconscious Graham Gordon Esq to his chamber of
slumbers.

It was made worse as every time I bent down to assist,

Little Jack popped out again to make a further guest
appearance from inside his lair much to the amusement of
my two female helpers.

By this point, Bum had realised it was not a raid by the

authorities and had joined in to help out as best she could -
bless her.

I decided the easiest way was to drag the unconscious lump

of lard by his ankles along the corridor which seemed to
work, but it was slow going.
The sight of the “Sukumvit Body Snatchers” in action
certainly gave an ancient French guy a bit of a surprise as
he appeared from the lift at just the wrong moment.

This venerable partier was heading for his room a few

doors down and was tightly clutching a ladyboy at least a
foot taller than himself, who obviously was his evening’s
prize at the “Over Eighties Bangkok Bingo Evening”.

He would not need to worry about drawing his winter fuel

allowance with that katoey keeping him warm.

What seemed to particularly upset Grandad was that in my

new role of the resident hotel pervert my dressing gown
predictably opened up again and it put Anglo French
relations back to Agincourt at a stroke, even if his trans-
sexual partner had a good laugh at the goods on display.

It must have looked like Flash had been murdered, as we

pulled the dead festering weight by his heels along the Thai
Axminster. Well, it seemed best to avoid the dangerous end
just look at what happened to the back of Fon’s dress.

A word of advice here to any potential murderers.

If you ever bump somebody off and need to get rid of the

evidence, I can tell you a carcass like this is not much fun
to pull around. Try and find a light victim and not an
overweight lawyer in an alcohol induced coma who may
“make a call down the big white telephone” at any time
without warning.

On reflection, it may be better to leave the corpse where it

drops is my considered advice.

A hernia was on the cards for “yours truly”, but Fon was
stronger than she looked and we managed to move the man
mountain foot by foot. Assisted by a naked Bum, who
collapsed in an uncontrollable heap of laughter after
joining in the new game of “pull the drunken farang
around”.

I would be a martyr to my back after this little episode in

the morning and I think “Flash the Chief Numpty” should
have been dumped into the laundry chute, but the code of
the Bangkok Pussy Hounds is strong.

So the three of us finally got the drunken idiot onto his

king-sized bed.

There did not seem much prospect that that the delightful
Fun would be getting the benefit of any “hide the sausage”
games that night as Mr. Gordon looked like he only had one
shot left in him and that was holding everything together.

Looking back, if I had been a bit more Bangkok street

smart it might have been a good move to have invited her
to stay with us and make up a gleesome threesome.

Waste not, want not, as the old saying goes and that
kindness would have avoided condemning the dear girl to
untold suffering, by having to spend a night of non-passion
with the Sukumvit Road’s answer to Sleeping Beauty.

I reckon there would be more action in a morgue than in

his pit that evening.

Anyway, after this unpleasant little episode was over, I

finally got the sweet Bum back to the main business in
hand and between the sheets in my room.

After again spending a long and sensuous time in a 69

position and bouncing around the place trying out various
positions, Little Jack proved to be on top form.

But all that long haul flying and carting about a dead
noxious weight took its toll.
So, after a couple of shots, I finally fell deep into the
dreamless with my head between the little darling’s legs.

Awaking the following morning, Bum needed to go home to

change before breakfast. So, following another quick BJ, I
asked her about money and she gave the standard LBG
reply of “up to you”.

We had not discussed finances last night. But bearing in

mind she had spent most of the previous evening either
dragging the man mountain around on the deep pile Wilton
or having Little Jack tickle her tonsils, I felt generous and
gave her 1500 baht.

I mean, this young lady had gone beyond the call of duty
and deserved some extra financial reward.

She seemed delighted with the cash and wrote down the
address of her workplace on a piece of hotel paper.

It was a local beer garden called “The Juke Joint Bar” which
was apparently just a bit further down the road from where
we were staying. Little Bum then kissed me, gave my
privates an affectionate squeeze and said to come and see
her for more Yum Yum before heading off into the sunset
(or sunrise, in this case).

After she had gone, I felt knackered and my mouth tasted

like the bottom of the parrot cage in Bangkok Zoo, so a
fresh orange juice and a proper breakfast was urgently
called for.

I mean, if just one day in Thailand does this to you, what

the hell is two weeks going to be like?

Waiting for the lift which appeared to be on a go-slow, there

was a line of overweight, middle aged western guys all
heading in the same direction of the coffee shop and each
with an LBG displayed on their arm (or for the greedy, two
or more on both arms).

There certainly does not seem to be shortage of available

female bed mates in this part of the world whatever your
age and looks, which was reassuring for our ginger freckle-
faced pal who was still comatose upstairs.

Resplendent in perfectly ironed chinos, a smart shirt with

fashionable polished Bally (copy) shoes, there relaxing in
the cafeteria was Paul complete with his date from last
night. He was smoking the usual St. Moritz menthol
cigarettes and chatting to the gorgeous Lek.

PM was a keen judge of women and he had done a good job

on the selection front yet again.

In fact, she looked even better in the light of day and was
showing an impressive amount of cleavage due to wearing
a low-cut pirated tee-shirt with the legend saying“ Domma
Summa-Badd Girls”.

Which was pretty appropriate, even if the spelling was a bit

dodgy.

The trouble was looking at those magnificent jugs, it was

not cool to have to cover up the front of your shorts when
walking up to the buffet bar due to some unwelcome
stirring showing down below to your fellow hotel guests.

Little Jack was embarrassing me yet again. Down boy!

Although Lek referred to Bum as her “little sister” I was not

sure they were related, there was certainly no obvious
family resemblance.

When she decided to go to the loo to powder her nose or

whatever bit of her anatomy she felt needed attention, The
President kindly offered to mark my card with her.
Did I fancy a quick bout back upstairs with his date of last
night?

If so, he reckoned she was up for it, but I decided

discretion is the better part of valour and politely declined.
Plus, I worried crucial bits of me might fall off if I keep this
frantic pace up.

Paul had apparently already partaken of a hearty breakfast.

Well, his usual cigarettes and coffee, but I was starving and
demolished large full English and a jug of Columbia’s best
black brew.

With no more additional early morning business on the

horizon, Lek headed off to prepare for another lunchtime
shift at the Taj Mahal. We told her when the urge came for
another another dose of Indian food came upon us –
complete with special “afters”.

She left with a broad smile and after a quick waggle of her
puppies turned a few heads as she walked out of the coffee
shop.

A few moments later following the departure of beauty, the

beast turned up.

Luckily, I had just finished eating when The Flashman put

in a guest appearance, shambling along with his fingernails
dragging on the carpet.

You could hear the giggles of the freelancers in the

restaurant with their short time farang “boyfriends” and
the shock looks on the various blokes’ faces.

It looked like the thought had occurred to them of “if that’s

what Thailand’s nightlife does to you, maybe I should go to
Spain for holidays in future?”
It was a bit early for Halloween, but something more at
home in a Hammer Horror film shuffled up to our table
with a grunt.

I was just wondering how much we could make with a

“baht for the guy” scam here next November, when
wearing a pair of thick dark glasses, a tee shirt on back-to-
front and sporting a dazzling white lumpy complexion; Mr.
Smooth fell into a festering heap right in front of us both.

“Sod it, that Indian grub must have been off” he said
groaned, drinking my coffee after helping himself to Paul’s
last piece of toast and neatly wiping his mouth on his shirt
sleeve “I feel as rough as a bar girl’s fanny, what are we
going to do today then?”
CHAPTER FOUR

JANUARY 2017
Being a pair of Asian “Newbies” at the time, this episode
was a bit of a culture shock to both Flash and myself.
We thought there was always a strong demarcation line
between ladies of the night (who are “sex workers”) and
ordinary girls (with “respectable” jobs).
Basically, back at home in the UK never the twain would
meet.
I mean, you did not offer to bung your first date with a
secretary from your company a few bob to do the business.
Well, not if you had any sense, which has probably left Mr.
Gordon out of that question.
To be honest, we would not even thought about trying to
get off with your average waitresses, but as has been said
before, in Asia everything is not always what it seems – at
least sometimes.
In this case, I am sure Fon, Lek and the delightful little
Bum did not jump into the sack with every customer in
their restaurant or beer bar, but did a bit of discreet
“freelancing” occasionally.
The Thermae was and still is a classic after hours BK pick-
up joint, so I am sure we were not the first or last guys that
these girls had arranged to meet in that particular top spot.
Mind you, I would not be surprised if they decided to re-
think the idea of picking up farangs after Mr. Gordon’s
antics. Being sick all over your date is not really a great
chat up line in my experience, even though 1980 was still
deep in the punk rock era.
Sid Vicious eat your heart out….
The interesting thing is that the unfortunate Lek had
apparently departed before Flash regained consciousness
in the morning and got no money for this little incident,
even after helping our mate to bed and apparently paying
the cabbie.
His wallet was left untouched in his pocket and she had
even folded up his clothes – that is one honest girl.
Personally, I would not have blamed her for taking a fee for
her trouble and dry-cleaning bill.
Looking at this from a 2017 perspective, I would personally
recommend you don’t get legless, take a girl back to your
room and fall face down comatose on the bed with loads of
baht poking out of your trousers.
You are asking to get robbed and if you get done, I doubt
you would get much sympathy from the Thai Tourist Police
or your travel insurance company.
One of the many changes from 1980 to now is that things
have got a bit more commercial and money rules in many
cases. So, it pays to be a bit more sensible.
Even so, on my last trip to the Land of Smiles which was
not long ago, it was amazing to see how many male visitors
still seem to ignore this advice and almost ask to get done
over.
Paul explained to us that many Thai females will refer to
another girl as a “sister”; this does not mean they are
related and maybe are just friends or work colleagues. Bar
girls have also twigged that many guys have a fantasy
about having two sisters together in bed and this puts the
price up, so there is money in an extended family.
Having a convenient sibling available, equals more baht
from some western punters….
Although I spoke no Thai on first few trips, I really think
Flash had the right idea trying to get a few words of local
lingo under his belt. The problem in his case was the plan
of trying to master the lingo from a phrase book a few days
before arriving was wildly optimistic.
It is not an easy language to learn; as Thai is tonal and
utilising the wrong tone (with five to choose from) can
mean a different word.
Even so, I would recommend that anyone learns a few
phrases. The local Thais will love you for trying and may
think you are an old hand who knows the ropes, so it can
save you few bob too.
Lingaphone do excellent basic language courses, plus there
are online tutors you can use with SKYPE, which being”
one-to-one” tuition can be really good.
If nothing else, it may save you shouting out “Chinese
Cabbage” instead of “Good Health” in the local bars and
looking as big an idiot as a certain member of our team did!
CHAPTER FIVE

FEBRUARY 1980

TWO’S COMPANY, THREE IS

BETTER
As it was now the crack of midday, Paul suggested we have
a leisurely afternoon doing a bit of shopping around the
local area.

The plan was to also pay an exploratory vist to the Nana

Hotel coffee shop for a bit of refreshment later on and have
a look at the place that was so highly recommended by the
girls we took from the “massage parlour with no hot water”
yesterday.

This all seemed like a sensible plan.

So, once Flash had partly recharged his depleted batteries

by drinking all my remaining coffee, loudly demolishing a
gallon of fresh orange juice and issuing a belch that would
have gone to at least Nine on the Richter Scale of
Earthquakes, we swiftly all headed into reception.

Well, Paul and I did it swiftly, but this could not be said of
our favourite pet zombie who was trailing in our wake.

The boy was still feeling no pain from the excesses of last
night and staggered along behind, still complaining to no
one in particular that he must have eaten something that
disagreed with him.

After changing a few more travellers cheques at the desk

and resplendent with a new roll of baht burning a hole in
our pockets, we retraced our footsteps from last night and
again managed to negotiate the Sukhumvit Road in one
piece. It was like trying to cross in front of a Formula One
grid just as the starting lights go green.

The drivers seem to get extra points on their licences for

hitting pedestrians around here.

None of us were heavily into “retail therapy” but it was a

real eye opener to see what was on offer in these shops.
Paul took us to a number of places he knew from previous
vists and which sold a wide variety of leather goods at
knock down prices.

Before any of you readers get the wrong idea, when I say
leather this was not sadomasochism gear I hasten to add,
although knowing BK I am sure this is available if that is
your taste.

No, this was an array of briefcases, belts, shoes, wallets

and other stuff, all at low, low prices and really well made.

To be honest, it did not seem worth haggling over the

modest costs involved. But PM believed that the shop
owners would be insulted if as representatives of the UK,
we did not try to negotiate a bargain or three.

So, he asked for their “best price” in every emporium we

visited and all the prices discussions were done in good
humour with the customary smiling on all sides.

I reckon we still got ripped off by Thai standards, but by

late afternoon we staggered back to our hotel and dumped
the mountain of stuff in our rooms that had been purchased
for the price of a cheap meal out in London or even less.

I had bought piles of tropical shirts and ultra-thin socks in

abundance, a new leather flight bag, plus some pairs of
very lightweight trousers on a “buy two, extra one free”
deal. These were being made by PM’s recommended Indian
tailor and could be collected the following day – that is
quick service for you.

It was a pity the 3 for 2 promo offer, did not apply to the
girls in the beer bars next door to the shops.

In fact, PM always looked “smart casual” which was in

contrast to the other two scruff bag members of the Official
UK Bonking Team i.e. Graham Gordon and Diamond Jack.
He felt this gave you an edge in an appearance conscious
country like Thailand and it paid dividends in both comfort
and sometimes getting the best looking girl in your bed.

Initially, I thought Paul was wearing ladies tights as at first

glance at the start of this trip, because his socks were so
sheer. But these were ultra-light tropical weight socks and
just very, very thin.

They provided comfortable footwear in the regular 30-

degree heat that was Bangkok, so his eager apprentices
both quickly invested in a batch and chucked those woolly
skiing ones back in our suitcases No point in getting a
terminal dose of athlete’s foot in the first few days in
paradise.

I also bought a snakeskin wallet made from local farmed

cobras, apparently reared not far from BK. It was really
smart and stylish, but the best bit was that Flash had a
phobia about snakes and could not even bring himself to
touch it.

A good deterrent for the tight sod helping himself to a few

baht from me when I was not looking – wish I had got one
before.

Both the Flashman and I decided to buy a small, smart

leather “man bag” at Paul’s suggestion.
He reckoned that it was an invaluable asset to carry hotel
keys, cameras, and cash around in, as things have a habit
of getting lost from pockets and unsightly bulges are best
avoided in our quest for sartorial elegance.

To be honest, we both always thought these type of “latin

clutch bags” were a bit effeminate and more suited to
Italian or Spanish blokes than English macho types like us.

But our oracle had spoken, so we both took The President’s

word for it and got our own.

In addition, all of us had invested a fistful of baht in a

mountain of pirate cassettes from some of the street stalls
to play on our new Sony Walkman’s. We were not sure
about the sound quality, but at that price, who is arguing?

If only one in ten works well, we were still ahead on the

deal compared to what we would pay in our record stores
back home for some of the latest music.

Once we had all-off loaded our truck load of purchases back

in our rooms, showered and speedily changed yet again, an
appearance at the Nana Hotel Coffee Shop was next on our
urgent “to do” list

The Nana was only about a five-minute stroll from our

current abode, but it was a million miles away in everything
else.

As our team walked towards the inviting tinted glass doors,

Flash was accosted by a couple of slightly dodgy
freelancers who both must have been due to a trip to the
opticians.

Sadly, the poor boy was still looking like something found in
an archaeological dig and decided to pass on their kind
offer of a quick session spearing the bearded clam. To be
honest, they were both a bit on the rough side, but
compared to Mr. Gordon at least they appeared to be half
alive.

Having shaken off these couple of less than attractive

examples of Thai womanhood with some difficulty, the three
of us then made good our escape and wandered across the
Nana Hotel car park and through the line of taxis parked
outside.

The main doors opened into the welcoming cool of an air-

conditioned lobby and it was obvious straight away that
there was little sign of any western girls or family groups
around here. The place was absolutely heaving with
numbers of farang guys of various ages and nationalities all
surrounded by hordes of LBGs in abundance.

Paul, Flash and myself felt immediately that we had come

home and followed the signs to the coffee shop.

Grabbing an empty table, we had hardly had a chance to

look at the menu before a pretty Thai girl who had been
sitting with a group of her mates on our far right, wiggled
over. Without being invited, she parked her shapely bum
down on the vacant chair next to Paul and pouted her
bright crimson lips.

Wearing a red low-cut singlet top, impossibly tight shorts,

high heels and resplendent with a large tattoo of a cobra on
her shoulder, she did not look like she was collecting for
the Salvation Army.

Proudly thrusting out her more than ample boobs, she

introduced herself as Moon and in really good English
asked us our names, where we came from, had we been to
Thailand before and if we staying at the Nana?

Khun Graham then asked her if she had eaten lunch today?
When she said yes, the plonker cracked some awful joke
that she must now be a “Full Moon” and fell about laughing
at his own wit. If nothing else, our freckle faced buffoon
seemed to amuse himself with lines from various kid’s
comics, even if nobody else finds it funny.

After ordering our newly found friend a coke, Moon was

surprised that we were booked in a hotel up the road.

“That bad place” she told us,” small beds and big charge
for entertaining ladies, no good – here much better for
plenty Boom Boom and Yum Yum” – you want now?”

“Best price for you all three at once, if you like. Why not
get day loom?” the little siren purred.

I was always a sucker for those smooth talking,

sophisticated girls like Moon and looking at the young lady
in question’s lips, she looked a “sucker” too….

Noticing the multitude of female talent on offer whichever

way you looked, I could not disagree that this was a top
spot, plus the chicken and potato curry in coconut sauce
that I was demolishing was equally tasty.

We had only been in the place a few minutes and had

already been offered a gang bang, so things were looking
good.

Moon seemed definitely up for servicing us all and a special

group rate.

But when she realised that our team were not currently in
the market for any financial transactions and looked a bit
closer at the state of “The Ginger Whinger” the girl wisely
and politely moved off to join a table of Americans on the
other side of the restaurant.
She closed the deal over there all right and fairly soon
headed upstairs with what appeared to be half of the male
population of Texas in tow…..

After careful thought for at least a nano second, we decided

that after our trip to Pattaya in a couple of days, we would
to change our return booking to this little oasis of pleasure
following our return to BK.

This place had everything.

Great position in Sukumvit Road on Soi 4, freelancers on

tap 24/7, good cheap rooms and food, plus no “joining fees”
what more could The Bangkok Pussy Hounds want?

As Flash was still having problems in taking his dark

shades off and stringing more than a few coherent words
together (no change there then), so Paul and I left him
slumped in the cafeteria cuddling a mega black coffee and
a king-size hangover and went off to have a swift chat with
reservations.

The girl behind the counter was not exactly a “barrel of

monkeys” personality wise and hardly cracked a smile, but
was efficient and quickly showed us a sample room.

To be honest, the place was built in the sixties and they was
not in its first flush of youth (No, not the hotel receptionist -
the fittings!) the carpets and curtains had seen better days
and there was the odd dodgy stain here and there. But we
had not flown thousands of miles to admire the quality of
furniture.

The rooms were spacious with an old, but serviceable

bathroom.

But there in all its glory was a mega size, firm sprung
double bed. You could get half of the girls from last night’s
vist to the Thermae in action on that mattress in comfort –
perfect for your committed whoremonger.

Costs were very reasonable too, in fact cheaper than our

current abode.

So, we quickly put in a reservation for three double rooms

on our return to the capital in a few days’ time following
our jaunt down the Sukumvit Road to “Sex City by the Sea”.

This decision seemed well justified by a conversation we

had in reception with a couple of good natured Aussies, just
before going back to collect Flash from his stupor.

Both of these affable chaps had a decent LBG on their arms

and informed us that the late-night nightclub and the coffee
shop in the hotel was packed with talent after midnight. In
their view, it was a perfect back-up if you come home empty
handed on the pussy front and need some guaranteed
action between the sheets late in the day.

“You fall over hookers in this place” said one of them “it is
only a trip down in the lift to the action, when his
companion in crime added “Come to think of it mate, they
are in the elevator too!”

Music to our ears.

This was definitely where we should be staying and PM

decided we needed a special treat tonight to celebrate our
good fortune.

Returning to collect our own personal member of the

undead, Paul thought it was time for his trainees to sample
two girls each and felt one of the bigger soapy
establishments was called for to give us the required
choice.
So, after yet another “split arse” terrifying ride across a
grid-locked Bangkok, a little time later our battered cab
expired in the usual cloud of pollution right outside the
Darling Massage Parlour.

This was certainly in a different league sizewise from the

“hot water free “place we went to on our first afternoon in
the suds.

Once inside and our eyes had adjusted to the usual dim
lighting, we were faced by a mega tank with around thirty
plus girls sitting inside with shed loads of others wandering
about.

Well, this full colour vision of lust was true for Paul and
myself, but Mr. Gordon was still suffering from alcohol
poisoning and had not dared to take his pitch-black shades
off. Blind Pugh from Treasure Island would probably had as
good chance of picking Miss Thailand as that hung-over
ginger zombie squinting through his pirated Polaroids

All the silly sod needed was a white stick and a guide dog,
but in Flash’s sad case he might have struggled to pull the
Labrador.

The President felt that taking an extra one or two LBG’s

was always a good policy. As in many other walks of life
having a spare was always useful, so don’t stint on numbers
was our mentor’s sage like advice.

Even so, on this particular occasion he just picked a solo

performer and after paying the Papasan, headed off for
some seriously slippery work with a very curveous piece of
Thai womanhood on his arm.

You were really spoiled for choice here, but Number 26

caught my eye.
Even wearing the usual long dress, it was not hard to see
that this girl had some decent form on offer and I decided
to take her complete with a little cutie at the back sporting
a number 60 badge for my first “Thai Three’s Up”.

As usual, Mr. Gordon was struggling to make any rational

choice, so I decided to book my couple of companions and
leave him to his indecisions.

In fact, the lad was still seeing double, so one LBG might
have been enough for him even though he had by now
wisely switched to drinking orange juice.

The manager congratulated me on my selection of Miss

Twenty Six, but suggested I take her good friend to make
up the team. This double service apparently works better if
the two get on well and I could be in for a portion of some
“girl on girl” hard-core lesbian action.

Well, it seemed like a sensible idea at the time.

So being an innocent abroad, I asked who would fit the bill

and the helpful chap swiftly pointed out a dark-skinned girl
half hidden at the back who was apparently her best mate
in the world.

“Done” I said, handing over the double fee in crisp baht

notes and I think I was!

Before you could say “mine’s a threesome” these two

quickly appeared after their numbers were called. They
slipped their arms in mine and lead me off to a large VIP
room like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter.

It was obvious that my first choice was good, but her

BFF(Best Friend Forever) appeared older and rougher that
she looked under the lack of lights at the back of the tank.
This one was a tad overweight and sported too much make-
up complete with a bit of a sour look on her face.

In the UK, she would have been very fuckable, but here
with the stiff competition in the Land of Unlimited Rumpo, I
reckon she was a three out of ten at best.

Mistake - I should have stayed with my original choice who

was at that very moment being called to the reception.
Flash had decided he liked the look of her too – well,
originality was never his strong point.

The good news was that the VIP room we were given was
spacious and really comfortable. The pretty one of the team
ran a bath in a big tub for all three of us, as her less
attractive top mate helped me get undressed.

After stripping, we all had a dip in the hot water with the
girls both giggling when doing the usual intimate washing
of my lower regions, which I hoped was not an adverse
comment on the dimensions of my landing tackle on
display.

With their kit off, it was noticeable that the more mature
member of the team did have a big set of norks on her,
although due to hard use were both starting to head in a
southerly direction.

Whilst my young number one choice was less well

endowed, she sported those perky nipples that point
upwards and look ideal to chew or even hang your hat on.

The one thing I cannot resist is temptation and after

getting my sticky little mitts on both sets during bath time,
the trio moved over and got to work on the family sized
Lillo.
After soaping it up, Khun 26 lay on the top of my back and
slithered up and down with her pubic area scratching
delightfully all over. She then proceeded to rub the soles of
my soapy feet with her erect little rosebud nipples, while
her more mature mate did an unenthusiastic massage of
the inside of my thighs.

The two girls swapped positions a few times and although I

would not rate the Manager’s choice highly, there is no
doubt that having four hands and two LBGs wriggling all
over you is something every guy should do at least once
before they die.

We changed over again and having one in front, one behind

made me the meat in a Thai sandwich, which was a novel
sensation and the Little Jack seemed to be enjoying it all.

The three of us then washed off the suds and the girls

carefully dried me, as we laid together on the large double
bed, just as the older one sweetly asked if I wanted Boom
Boom?

Well, what could I say?

It is hard to negotiate when you have one girl stroking your

balls and another giving you a blow job, so for the second
time in an hour “yours truly” paid over the odds - but who
is counting?

To be brutally honest, the two girl sex in this case was

unremarkable.

I gave the pretty Number 26 a bit of a pounding and then

they both changed positions.

As soon as I slipped into her older mate, the senior member

of the team professionally brought me off quicker than I
would have liked with the application of some lotion on two
of her fingers.

This mature lady gave me an unexpected quick prostrate

massage and seconds later, I was on the vinegar strokes in
double quick time.

Thanks Little Jack, a great time to develop a hair trigger

and firing both barrels before I had the chance to empty my
tank into the decent one of the brace…..

After dressing quickly and a wad of baht being handed

over, the three of us wandered back to reception when both
my LBGs smiled and waited me before disappearing back
behind glass to await the next punter without a second
glance.

The President arrived a few minutes later and by the big

grin on his face looked like the cat that had got the cream –
or maybe that should read that his latest date had received
a large portion of something similar.

We had just ordered a much needed drink, when then the

redoubtable Graham Gordon honoured us with his
presence. Not only had the jammy sod pinched my original
choice of No.60, but added an equally attractive girl to
make up a matching set.

They looked so good, that I was in two minds whether to

take these two on the spot for a second bout of horizontal
wrestling. But playing sloppy seconds to Flash did not
appeal, as you only have to look at his room to see how he
leaves stuff when he has finished.

So reluctantly I made the decision to pass on a repeat

performance with a different cast and go for something to
eat instead.
The three of us agreed that all this “Boom Boom” and “Yum
Yum” really gives you an appetite.

When all our girls had finally left us, Mr. Gordon the randy
swine that had pinched my first choice, was creased up in
fits of laughter and looked really pleased with himself.

He was obviously dying to share some bit of juicy info.

I am embarrassed to tell you readers the reason of his

hilarity, but I did warn you all at the beginning that this
book is not suitable as a present for your old spinster aunt.

Well, I suppose it depends on your ancient relative’s taste,

she might like it – anyway, I digress.

As you know, Flash was still suffering from a serious

hangover which he blamed on the food or possibly the
eighth bottle of Chang beer being off (the first seven were
apparently fine).

Making his only sensible move of the trip so far, my good

mate decided to play for safety and only have soft drinks
for a few hours to let his system recover. The lad had then
downed a few gallons of fresh fruit juice and water which
was fine until the he was in the bath and being pampered
by the dual visions of loveliness of No 60 and her lissom
partner.

Not surprisingly after partaking in all this liquid, Flash was

bursting for a leak.

So instead of doing the decent thing and getting out, the

dirty little sod quietly deposited a golden shower in the
bath water on the QT without mentioning it to the girls.

His lame excuse was it was too warm and comfortable and
he thought he got away with it anyway, although apparently
the water went a bit of a funny colour.
If you have ever wondered why Brits abroad have a dodgy
reputation in some quarters in Thailand, look no further
than my travelling companion.

In less than twenty-four hours, this sterling representative

of the UK has been sick down one girls back and then
pissed on two more pretty massage girls, I dread to think
what the lad will do next.

Please don’t ask, you will just encourage him!

To really wind me up, he said both his LBGs were really

enthusiastic and he managed to give each one a portion
and they were happy with a 500-baht tip each.

The phrase “Jammy Bastard” comes to mind …………

CHAPTER FIVE

JANUARY 2017
I think if you are going to buy copies of goods, clothing,
CDs, watches or other “designer” stuff, Thailand is a great
place to go.
You don’t believe me?
Well, I learnt from Paul on my first trips to get lighter gear
suited to a tropical climate and bought a number of pirated
Bally copy slip-ons from one of the many shoe outlets
around Sukumvit Road.
These were not only brilliant in the heat of South East Asia,
but were very comfortable, looked good and worked well in
London in the summer too.
There was a time in the late eighties that I did not get back
to Thailand for over a year and was silly enough not to
stock up in advance and needed a new pair before my next
flight on Thai Airways “Nookie Express” was due.
So, I went to an official Bally Shop in New Bond Street and
paid four times what they would have cost me out in the
Land of Smiles.
But I was comforted by the fact that being expensive
originals, at least they would be great quality even at this
eye watering price.
Well, that was what I thought.
The first pair leaked badly and you could not even walk on
a damp pavement without getting soggy feet. Not good, so I
took them back and an apologetic shop assistant gave me
another new pair.
The same thing happened again and then with a third set of
shoes too. In the end, I had to have a thick rubber soles put
on to make them vaguely waterproof, which tended to
defeat the object of lightweight footwear.
The many “knock off” versions I bought for a modest
amount of baht near the Nana Hotel wore much better.
These shoes lasted and lasted, keeping my feet dry at a
fraction of the price of the real thing.
The Flashman seemed to buy more pirated goods than
Long John Silver on those first trips, but got good service
out of most of it, so rubbish it was not….
Regarding getting a couple of massage girls together, there
is a moral in this little story.
What a lot of first time farang visitors do not appreciate is
that many Thai massage and Go Go girls like a threesome
for practical reasons. This is not because they necessarily
fancy their female workmates or even you!
The reality is they get their normal wad of baht for half the
work.
I know it hurts the ego a bit, but never forget that this is a
financial transaction and money talks. As Paul used to say
“no money, no honey”, which sums the game up well.
I was also caught out by a regular scam.
Beware ,if the Mamasan or Papasan tries to persuade you
spinning the “take girl’s best friend – better for you” line.
It is maybe because they get a backhander one way or
another from an older, less pretty or desirable member of
their staff and will try to steer you away from your first
choice.
After thirty plus years, my advice is go for your original
selection and avoid “recommendations” as a normal matter
of course. (Unless you really know the manager well and
can trust his or her suggestions).
In this case, Paul felt bad.
He knew all about this technique, but as I had already
chosen well to start with, he understandably thought I was
sorted. So, after grabbing his partner our leader left me to
it with a clear conscience.
It was not his fault, but in hindsight perhaps he should have
waited before making off with his little LBG at indecent
haste to get her stripped off on the lilo, but you can hardly
blame the old fox for that.
I know PM had pangs of guilt about abandoning one of his
“apprentices” to be given bum advice by the manager. But
you live, learn and hey - I still got laid!
TIT - This is Thailand.
Paul’s tip regarding the timing of your vist to a massage
parlour can be helpful in getting the right girl and a good
experience and is perhaps well worth repeating.
In the scorching heat of Bangkok, the afternoon shift is a
good time to get your tackle washed by some little sweeties
in the suds and refresh the parts other things cannot reach.
The only problem is your selection can be a bit limited, but
if one catches your eye, I would go for it.
She will probably be fresh and you may be her first action
of the day.
If you stagger in an hour or two before they close, your
little darling may have serviced a coachload of Japanese
Tourists and could be just a touch jaded.
Well wouldn’t you be, if you had just seen more pricks in a
day than a second-hand dartboard?
In my view and with all other things being equal, a good
target time to hit the soapy stuff is around six, when
maximum girls are there and you are “up to the peaches”
before rush hour kicks off.
 CHAPTER 6.
FEBRUARY 1980
GET THEM OUT FOR THE LADS
The original plan was for us all to travel by coach to Pattaya
the following morning, but then The President had a better
idea.

As all transport costs involved would be split between the

three of us, Paul thought it might be useful to head back to
our hotel tours desk and see if we could negotiate a good
price for a personal air conditioned taxi ride direct to our
next destination.

It might not cost that much more money per head to have
our own private limo and we then could miss the possible
rigours of a crowded coach journey. The great advantage
would be avoiding sharing our crowded mode of transport
with numerous kids, a few drunken farangs and the odd
ladyboy.

Before leaving the UK, I had booked our little team of pussy
hounds into a new complex in Wongamat area of North
Pattaya, where I had got an excellent travel trade rate on
all the rooms involved.

If we could organise a luxury ride right to the doorstep of

the hotel, there would be no messing about sorting out
taxis at the other end and the team should be refreshed,
ready for action and able to hit the ground running.
Well, it might cost us a few baht more, but there seemed no
point in wasting good LBG hunting time dicking around and
trying to save the price of a packet of PM’s famous menthol
cigarettes.

As it was our first trip to the Kingdom, Flash and myself

were all for a bit more pampering and fancied having our
own personal chauffeur on call.

So after grabbing another cab that looked like it had come

a distant last in a London to Brighton Rally, in this case
held just before the Boer War was over, we arrived back at
our current Bangkok abode with everyone in one piece.

After PM and I enjoyed the spectacle of the accident prone

Flash falling down yet another open pavement drain, Paul
quickly did a deal with the in-house tours section in the
lobby.

Almost before our favourite member of The Red Headed

League had extricated his chubby leg from the black hole,
we had secured a modern air conditioned car to take us
down to sunny Pattaya in style.

Our transport was booked to hit the road at lunchtime the

following day and it seemed a cracking deal, as it only
worked out a modest amount more than the regular coach
prices (or cattle wagon) per passenger and seemed like a
good call all round.

Sitting in the coffee shop, we had to sort out the big

decision of what were we going to do on our last night in
Bangers for a few days.

We were all pretty mellow at this stage of the trip and as

usual, everyone seemed happy to go with the flow.
Flash was keen to hit the infamous Patpong area ( I think
he just liked the name…) and sold the idea to both Paul and
myself.

The proposal eventually got a unanimous vote of approval

at the impromptu board meeting, after we had demolished
what felt like the entire coffee production of Kenya.

So, we all swiftly headed back to our rooms for the

standard quick shower, change and sort out the basic
packing to prepare for tomorrow’s trip. Everyone got this
done in record time, being keen to get back into the red-
light action and I just tossed everything into my bags.

The only slight hitch was I was struggling to fit all my

recent shopping into an increasingly strained suitcase,
which looked a bit like Mr. Gordon ample girth trying to get
into a pair of lira shorts.

Just like Flash, press one bit and something else pops out
on the other side!

Being the true experienced travel professional, I jumped up

and down on Antlers best which seemed to do the trick
after the distended luggage was lassoed down with a
serious few straps.

In only twenty minutes flat, the “A” team were back on the
street again.

Our trio were all resplendent in clean clothes, wearing

what smelt like half a bottle of aftershave each and busy
sorting out our transport to the red-light area which
beckoned to us over the other side of town.

Paul always advised us never to use those hotel cabs

parked right outside reception, in his view these were
expensive and aimed at mug punters.
After being a veteran of many previous Thai vists, PM felt
these were for farang civilians and charged a premium on
principle which was better invested in getting inside some
pretty LBG’s knickers.

He usually just picked up a freelance taxi in the Sukumvit

road for less cost after the obligatory bout of bartering.

On this particular occasion, our leader felt an introduction

to one of the infamous Tuk Tuks would be fun to start off
our evening expedition.

Khun Paul thought this would be an interesting new travel

experience for the two of us and improve our education of
all things Asian and work as an exciting prelude to yet
another session of “Exercising the Beef Bayonet - Thai
Style” waiting at the other end of the journey.

A few moments after wandering out of the cool air-

conditioned lobby and into the heat, noise and smell of
Bangkok, it was obvious that finding an infamous Tuk Tuk
was not a problem. There were swarms of the little three
wheeled devils hovering around searching for victims
looking like clouds of mosquitoes on the hunt for fresh
blood.

We had both been warned by PM not to mention certain key

words like “Patpong”, “Girls” or “Massage” to the driver.

He would then treat us as a bunch of over sexed foreign

mug punters and attempt to take us on a magical mystery
tour of the city, thus wasting valuable “suds time” while the
jockey was trying to get commission from his favoured
spots.

Which one way or another, we would end up paying for.

Our standard tactic was to agree a fare to a nearby hotel
which was conveniently close to that particular “naughty
area” and if quizzed by the driver say we are meeting our
wives there.

It seemed to work, even if none of us were married at the

time!

But it was not until the fourth one we hailed that we got
offered something approaching a sensible price. These local
Tuk Tuk pilots were a hungry bunch of bastards….

The problem is that this form of transport has become a

“must do” for many visitors to the Kingdom and the drivers
try to fleece farangs on the basic principle, that:

(a).You are a non-Thai national and therefore fair game

(b).To use this form of transport, you must have more

money than sense and a death wish.

It is a bit like buying one of those stupid policeman’s hats

or a daft overpriced tee-shirt from a street vendor back in
London, which marks you out as a legitimate target for
every hustler and con merchant in the capital.

After giving the porky Graham Gordon a hearty push, we all

finally managed to squeeze onto the two hard bench seats
in the back.

But before we were even seated the machine took off at its

flat-out speed. It enjoyed the acceleration of a slug on
valium and would have been beaten off the line by a
second-hand mobility scooter - no problem.

The ride across town was certainly an experience. For

those readers who don’t know, the average Tuk Tuk has a
trio of wheels which are rarely all on the ground at the
same time.
It proudly sports a noisy, smelly, inefficient little engine of
sub-lawnmower size situated under the floor and is coupled
with open sides designed to cunningly let all the heat,
smells and dust in.

Whilst this fun is going on, you bounce around painfully on

your increasingly sore rear end and risk developing a bad
case of the dreaded “Farmer Giles”.

(Come to think of it, I not sure you can have a good case of
haemorrhoids!)

Add to this, they resemble the notorious Del Boy Reliant

Robin that starred in the “Only Fools and Horses” hit
comedy TV series back home in the UK and show a
worrying tendency to turn turtle at the smallest
provocation.

Which is all a bit disconcerting for congenital cowards like

Flash and myself.

To underline that the life expectancy of any suicidal idiots

like us riding in Tuk Tuks is probably less than a WW1
fighter pilot enjoyed, we went past one example lying on its
side in the road with its wheels still spinning. All this within
in two minutes of embarking on Thailand’s answer to the
Wall of Death.

Our own intrepid pilot touched his amulet, said a word to

Buddha and carried on weaving around regardless on half a
wheel and a prayer.

Add to this, the inflated price coupled to the lethal gene of

being an accident looking for somewhere to happen, you
can see they are not the top of my list of desired transport
around BK or anywhere else for that matter.
The other problem is they seem to be usually manned by
failed Kamikaze pilots, who make the Le Man 24 Hours
Race look like a health + safety film on defensive driving.

Anyway, that particular evening we somehow arrived

across the other side of town virtually unscathed. This was
even after the hair rising spectacle of jumping a number of
red lights and at one point racing down a pavement the
wrong way.

Mr. Gordon was as confused as ever calling them

“rickshaws”. But the excitement of this short trip, seemed
to have helped the lad clear his monumental hangover and
nearly empty his bowels, as his life flashed before his eyes.

So, after making a mental note to cultivate my luck in

future by not walking under any black cats, avoiding
magpies and to buy a Buddhist bracelet to try and get a bit
of divine intervention for any future trips, I gratefully paid
off Thailand’s answer to Mutley.

With my hands still shaking from the journey, we all set off

for some more action - Bangkok style.

Grateful to still be breathing, the three of us took our lives

in our hands yet again and dashed over the road to the
infamous red light area. Patpong’s gaudy flickering,
coloured neon signs beckoned to us offering cold drinks
and hopefully hot girls.

After that recent “buttock clenching” ride before our

evening’s fun and frolics had even kicked off, the whole
team needed a stiff drink or three to settle frayed nerves.

Paul had wisely decided not to risk a cigarette on the Tuk

Tuk, as there was a strong smell of fuel during the journey
and being in the middle of a three-wheeler inferno in the
Sukumvit road could easily ruin our evening.
So, he took out one of his signature St Moritz from a green
packet in his “man bag” and enjoyed a much needed drag
after lighting up with the standard pirated Cartier lighter.

After that recent little road race, I almost felt the need to
take up smoking too just to calm down.

But the thought of some attractive female companionship is

a great healer, so once we had got our act together and our
breathing returned to normal, the three of us took an early
evening stroll around the world famous Patpong.

Paul had briefed us in on what to expect in this area after

dark and we had already heard of its reputation as the
Soho of Bangkok, but it was still a culture shock to see it at
night time, up close, personal and in your face.

These streets are full of respectable airline and other

company offices during the day, but in the evening it
metamorphosises into the beating heart of the city’s sex
centre.

Like a “Shape Shifter” street stalls spring up as gaudy

mushrooms in a blur of bright lights and bars. You are
regularly accosted by an army of touts, showing you a
variety of pictures of “ping pong speciality sex shows” in
the various upstairs bars.

Can you really do that with a marrow and a Doberman I

wondered, looking at one explicit full colour flyer?

Mr. Gordon was up for it, but as an animal lover, I felt sorry
for the dog.

These and other random thoughts were going through my

head, as we strolled along whilst being assaulted on all
sides by a mixture of pimps, ladyboys and the hot sticky
atmosphere with the exotic pungent smells and sounds of
Asia.

We had a beer in a number of street level go go joints,

admired the talent dancing around a number of chrome
poles, but nothing really caught our eye as being worth
taking away.

The team had only been in town a few days, but already we
were getting even more picky…

Eventually the three of us ended up in the Zambezi Bar at

the top end of Patpong One - what a little oasis.

It was complete with a bevy of sexy potential bed mates, on

stage, off stage and behind the bar – now this was more like
it.

Even the music was good with the girls doing twenty
minute stints, dancing in high heels, bikini tops and short
pleated skirts to the sound of AC/DC and other rock
classics.

Great music, pretty girls and cold beer, the only

disappointment was they were not topless. Flash was
particularly upset that none of the cabaret had stripped.

As swarve and urbane as always, Mr. Gordon kept shouting

“get your knockers out for the boys” at the top of his voice
in loud English.

Surprisingly, we had little response from the pole dancers.

The lad in question thought the reason the girls had not
dropped their knickers was just due to a problem with the
lingo.

So our favourite Prize Wally then predictably spent the next

five minutes trying to find the words for “get naked, give us
all a feel and we will chuck you a few quid” in his “Learn
Thai in a Weekend” book, which surprisingly did not seem
to contain a suitable phrase.

The current issue of not enough bare flesh on display was

apparently nothing to do with communications, but due to a
recent clampdown by Bangkok’s finest law enforcers, the
infamous “Boys in Brown”.

We were told in hushed tones by the friendly manageress,

that The Royal Thai Police had been instructed by a high
level female MP a few weeks ago to clamp down on the
popular nude and semi-nude shows in the area.

This lady politician was convinced that this ill-conceived

directive would improve the numbers of upmarket tourists
visiting the City of the Angels by cleaning things up and cut
back the number of sex tourists sampling the many female,
male and ladyboy delights on offer.

The Mamasan said her income from lady drinks and bar
fines had dropped dramatically since the recent diktat from
above.

The government might be sad to learn that its latest moral

initiative had certainly not put Flash off.

Proudly representing the down-market sector, Khun

Graham was still desperately trying to find a local phrase
along the lines of “get stripped off and I will pay you to
undertake various obscene acts in my room later and in
return give you a pitifully small fistful of baht”.

So, according the manageress, apparently the Patpong bars

had to all go through the motions of temporarily cleaning
their act up to “protect the city’s morals”.
No nude dancers, what is the world coming too? The three
of us were appalled.

Did the Thai administration not know that us intrepid world

travellers had travelled thousands of miles at great
expense, to see as many of these girls in the buff as
humanly possible?

I then had my first lesson in the resourcefulness of the local

bar owners and that few things in this part of the world are
totally black and white.

Yes, to comply with the recent ruling all the girls were fully
clothed - but the reflection in the highly-polished dance
floor showed clearly none were wearing panties.

I spent the next half an hour looking down to my shoes and

ended up with a stiff neck and suffered the same problem
in my lower areas too.

The Flashman made the profound comment that this

current situation was useful, as we could check that all the
dancers were natural brunettes.

He said it with such authority that both Paul and I nodded

in agreement, but a few minutes later the full stupidity of
the statement struck home to both of us.

Of course, they were brunettes.

You don’t see too many Thai women who are born naturally
blond or redheads.

A local village must have lost its idiot….

After an hour or so of chatting to a selection of the

Zambezi’s best, we all three found something suitable to
keep us amused on our last night in the capital for a few
days.
We had settled the bar check after each round, as per
standard anti rip-off “Bangkok Pussy Hound” procedure, so
Paul asked the Mamasan what the bar fine would be to rent
our new girlfriends for a “long time” night of passion.

She said normally 600 baht each, but special price for all
three as business was slow. Only 400 baht a time and the
last round of our drinks free, which was sort of a “buy two,
get one free” supermarket deal, but with no loyalty points.

Then suddenly a strange and unusual thing occurred.

That top linguist the renowned Mr. Gordon, took his hand
from under the skirt of Number 37 where he had been
romantically fisting the poor unfortunate girl for the last
few minutes.

As a lawyer, he had apparently been undertaking due

diligence to avoid the chance, in his own words, of copping
a “pre-op Ladybird”.

Carefully checking that he had not left his newly purchased

Thai Rolex (or “Rollex” as it said on the face) behind during
the recent full gyno examination, he then thoughtfully
wiped his fingers on my clean trousers and whipped out the
full 1500 baht due from his top pocket.

With a flourish, The Flashman then pushed this bundle of

notes into the manageress’s eager little hand.

This was before Paul or myself could reach for our wallets
and pass over any of the folding stuff, but our generous red
headed friend waved away our efforts to pay with a big
smile and said “my treat – fill your boots”.

Well, it was not our boots that PM and myself fancied

filling, but I think our female escorts were seriously
impressed with this act of unexpected generosity.
Old Ginge was no Cheap Charlie, but a High Roller in
action.

He may be lacking something down below in the trouser

department, but the size of his wallet more than made up
for the lad’s shortage of endowment below the waist.

In Patpong, as other parts of Thailand, money talks and our

mutual pal’s wad of cash was shouting big time….

Even so, this sudden burst of largesse was a puzzle.

Was it Flash’s birthday? Could he have had an attack of a

strange tropical disease giving sense of warped reality? Or
maybe he had been struck down by a bout of unexpected
generosity?

No, on all counts.

He had celebrated the first, a month ago back in London,

there was no sign of Malaria, Berry Berry or similar
tropical aliments and regarding the last one - the bloke is a
lawyer for heaven’s sake……

Flash could get the occupation a bad name and be struck

off for giving money away like this.

After the manageress, had gone over to check the health of

a couple of seriously pissed up farangs who were face down
and totally comatose over the bar in the corner and our
three little sweethearts had disappeared off to get changed,
the lad decided to enlighten us about why he was changing
the habits of a lifetime.

Apparently, he had told everybody at his workplace (with

tongue firmly in his cheek) that his trip to Asia was really a
charitable mission to help save poor young Thai females
from a life of vice or a similar fate worth than death. (I am
not sure there is a fate worse than death, but I will let this
pass).

His proposed mission to end people trafficking was meant

to be a bad taste joke, but following a series of “Granny’s
Whispers” in the law firm where he allergically worked
occasionally, this laudable claim got to the ears of one of
the senior partners in the practice.

Now don’t ask me how he did it, but the smooth talking sod
managed to blag money out of his bosses as a tax efficient
company “charity donation”. Apparently, they were always
keen to appear to help “Third World” causes and happily
coughed up some cash.

It was a sort of informal sponsorship from his law company

(Blag It and Run, I think they are called).

The sad thing was, in Kuhn Flash’s twisted mind, he

reckoned as long as we gave cash to every hooker in sight
no deception had been done.

The fact that this was just payment for the little sweetheart
to open her legs, did not seem to register in his warped
logic.

You can see that he is in the right business and he

laughingly explained that no harm was done, as indirectly
their well-heeled commercial clients would be picking up
the tab, one way or another.

Paul thought he should change his name by deed pole to

“Robin Bastard” but as the PM pointed out, there was a
sweet irony in this situation. All of us seem to have been
screwed by solicitors at some time in the past, but this is
the first time that law firms have paid for us to screw
someone else….
What goes around, comes around - there is a God!

PM and I thanked the crafty little devil and never being

ones to look a guest horse in the mouth (or not look up a
bar girl’s skirt) headed back into the night with our new
trio of assorted LBGs draped around our necks.

Mine’s name was Jeab, which apparently means “baby

chicken” in English.

Well, I reckon Colonel Saunders would have been

impressed with this dish as she sported legs that started in
her armpits. This girl was definitely “finger lickin good”
with plenty of meat on the breast and looked ideal for a
large portion of stuffing.

Resplendent with a tasteful tattoo on her back; my new

companion really looked the business as we wandered
down the crowded side streets fighting to stay upright in
the seas of people clogging up the pavement.

Before you could say KFC and can I get my hands on your
family bucket, Jeab was wiggling along suggestively in her
fringed cowboy boots and mega tight jeans, which showing
her shapely derriere off to its best advantage.

Thoughts of how this girl would be better at the doggie

position than all the entrants of Crufts put together came to
mind and certainly giving her a bone would be a pleasure.

In true bargirl speak, the lovely Jeab told me she had only
worked in the Zambezi for a couple of weeks and had not
been with a farang before and she hated the local Thai
guys, but was looking forward to giving me some “yum
yum”.

In fact, it sounded that my latest partner was nearly a

virgin.
Not sure I completely believed her, as when we both got
back to my “man cave” at the hotel, she quickly ushered me
into the shower and gave the old fella a professional work-
out with the “soap on a rope”.

Then after deep throating me on the bed, Ms Little Chicken

went through just about every position in the Karma Sutra
known to man, plus few new ones that may have missed the
latest edition.

If she was telling the truth about her chaste past, then this
girl was a seriously fast learner.

Jeab had a neat trick by reaching back with one hand

between her legs when on all fours, to give my balls a
gentle massage and never missing a stroke at the same
time.

The only problem was noise, with a capital N.

She should have been christened Lassie.

Wow, this girl not only had long legs, but also boasted a set
of lungs that on full howl would drown out a rock band’s
stack of 200 watt Marshall amplifiers at a heavy metal
concert. I reckon my neighbouring guests got the full
benefit of her screaming in stereo that night.

But except for that slight volume issue and the fact that
this girl should come with a set of complementary earplugs,
she was really good value for money.

To be honest, “yours truly” lost a bit of cred as a top

Bangkok Stud as after doing the deed, I was totally
knackered and collapsed immediately into a deep sleep.

I was still shagged out in the morning and reckoned

enough was enough, feeling that unfortunately another
screaming session at ear splitting decibels might not be a
good idea at “Sparrows Fart”.

So I tenderly patted her shapely bum, after my Little

Chicken had taken the obligatory shower and reluctantly
decided against a pre-breakfast sexual encore.

No point in being greedy and anyway I was on the “dry

heaves” in the bodily fluid stakes. The idea of some early
morning sustenance beckoned and was desperately needed,
plus Little Jack was a bit on the sore side due to various
friction burns.

So common sense ruled, as I slipped the lovely Jeab 1500

baht in crisp notes rather than a length and the girl quickly
stuck her tongue deep down my throat, which is obviously a
Thai way of saying thanks.

Complete with her sexy red fringed leather cowgirl boots

and impossibly low cut top that ended just above her navel
that defied Newton’s Law of Gravity, Jeab headed off
through reception with a practiced wiggle.

The girl certainly turned a few heads as she picked up her

ID from the front desk.

To confirm my original suspicions that Khun Jeab had

received more pricks that an average porcupine, the lady in
question seemed to know all the hotel staff by their first
names.

Call me cynical, but I had a serious feeling my nocturnal

partner might have been telling a few porkies about her
limited sexual history with western visitors.

Wandering into the coffee shop, covered in love bites and

scratches (I said that girl was enthusiastic) both my co-
conspirators were already installed on a table by the buffet
bar.

Amazingly, Mr. Gordon looking nearly human and

apparently both their two recent dates had also just hit the
road a few minutes earlier.

Now seemed a good time to have a strategy meeting to

discuss the imminent trip to the seaside.

After lighting up another menthol cigarette, Paul explained

that Pattaya was a more laid back destination than BK.
There were enough massage parlours and bars to keep us
amused for a few days and the prices were usually a bit
cheaper than the capital city.

This sounded ideal and give a chance to chill and get our
breath back from a whirlwind start to the trip.

So after finishing our coffee and generous breakfast, we

headed off to our rooms to collect our bursting suitcases - it
was nearly mid-day and time to hit the highway.

A team of bellboys dragged our luggage down and probably

all got a hernia loading them into our taxi, which was
already waiting by the entrance with the engine running
and feeding the essential air con.

Paying the hotel cashier and checking out, it was noticeable

that when looking at the bill in detail that we all had a
number of the dreaded 500 baht “guest joining fees” added
to the total.

This unnecessary expense made a move to a different

Bangkok venue definitely on the agenda, when we got back
from making Pattaya sandcastles at the end of the week.

Before we left, I had collected an urgent phone message in

reception.
It was from my travel industry contact Ladawan, asking me
to call her so we could sort out a lunch date together as
soon as I returned back to BK.

This invitation amused Paul and Flash no end, as I would be

wasting valuable screwing time discussing business
matters with a middle aged respectable Thai Lady. All this,
whilst those two dirty, lucky devils would be up to their
necks in gallons of soapy water and various accommodating
LBGs.

As they both said with a smirk, it was a tough job but

someone has to do it – is that extracting the urine or what?

Still, as I patiently explained Ladawan had sorted out our

accommodation at a very good price, so it was payback
time.

Anyway, this luxury hotel car to Pattaya was one of PM’s

better ideas. In fact, it was more like a personal air
conditioned stretched limo, complete with driver in a smart
white uniform.

After all our burdensome luggage was stowed in the back

by a young bell hop who smartly waied each of us and then
staggered off with a bad back from battling with three
suitcases weighing as much as the Royal Palace.

Feeling guilty, I over tipped him and then the three of us

got comfortable and prepared to enjoy the ride in comfort,
as we moved out of the hotel car park and past the
obligatory Tuk Tuk lying on its side in flames..

Our chauffeur surprisingly drove in a nearly sensible

manner. Well, compared to most of the local traffic anyway.

In fact, we only had half a dozen of totally terrifying, near

death experiences with various lorries heading at high
speed down the Sukumvit road whilst on route to our
seaside destination.

He also spoke some English and told us that the American

Navy was due in Pattaya a day or two for a bit of rest and
recuperation.

Laughing our driver said “much drink-drink, fight fight and

boom boom”

Paul explained that these military “invasions” tend to

attract every old hooker for miles, prices can go up and
some bars can get a bit lively as the forces personnel down
too many beers and enjoy some shore leave.

Great – just what I wanted to hear.

Dodgy women, more expense and the chance of having my

head kicked in by Popeye the Sailor and his mates.

On the grounds of world safety, we might have to lock Flash

up in the hotel or risk re-starting the Vietnam War!

The trip took around a couple hours and as a first-time

visitor to Asia it was interesting seeing the countryside
outside the urban sprawl of the capital.

Both Mr. Gordon and myself popped a cassette in our new

Walkmans, listened to a few pirated tapes and enjoyed the
ride and the sight of the Thai countryside as it rushed by
our tinted car windows.

Paul snoozed during the journey and took the opportunity

to get a bit of shut eye having done the trip many times
before.

By mid-afternoon and after a pleasant and uneventful drive,

our trusty limo pulled up outside the hotel complex in the
Wongamat area of North Pattaya.
This was to be our home for the next three days and our
helpful driver risked permanent damage by giving our
cases to an army of porters. In appreciation for his good
work and getting the three of us to our destination alive
and breathing, we slipped him a few extra baht.

The gentleman in question after smartly saluting, started

the dusty journey back to Bangkok with a smile and wished
us “many good boom boom” as he drove off smiling.

After checking in at the main desk, we were taken to three

adjoining luxury double chalets in the grounds of the hotel.
These were not large, but enjoyed air conditioned, a mini
bar and had that most essential thing of all, a decent sized
double bed ready for some serious sexual manoeuvres.

It was like having your own private bungalow in a large

landscaped garden or “an upmarket wooden garden shed in
a tropical allotment” as Flash so crudely put it.

The great thing was that being self-contained and quiet,

there did not seem a problem in entertaining any “visitors”
if you felt the urge to enjoy company.

After throwing my cases on the floor, I decided to explore

the immediate surroundings straight away.

Various winding paths led around a beautiful garden area

with fragrant exotic flowers, huge butterflies, insects and
some decorative Buddhist shrines.

Best of all, they were numerous ornamental ponds well

stocked with tropical fish. I knew many of the varieties
which I had kept at home in the UK in heated tanks, but
here you had these species living outside year-round in a
natural environment.
This peaceful, beautiful oasis was really spectacular and I
was enjoying the quiet solitude, whilst sitting alone on an
ornate stone bench and just taking in the sounds and smells
of Thailand.

Unfortunately, the spell and my meditation was rudely

interrupted when the infamous Mr. Gordon shambled up
the path. He broke the silence by asking loudly, if I thought
that little girl with the big boobs who had smiled at us
behind the desk in the reception was up for a threesome if
the money was right?

That boy has no finer feelings, except between his legs and
for reasons that will be apparent later, he was obviously ill
at ease in the outdoor garden environment. Surprisingly, he
did not appear to be interested in admiring the aquarist’s
paradise of the various fish or spectacular wildlife on
display.

The mellow mood was now ruined and a nervous Flash

suggested it might be best to get outside a cool drink in the
hotel bar and wait for PM to join us there.

A few minutes later, the two of us were sitting in a couple

of comfortable rattan cane chairs on a veranda looking out
over the visa of North Pattaya.

We were both cuddling a large fresh pineapple juice after

being served by a pretty, ever smiling waitress who
amazingly escaped being groped by Flash on this rare
occasion.

The randy, little sod must be losing his touch, I thought,

when right on cue Paul made an entrance

.
CHAPTER SIX

JANUARY 2017
One thing seems to have changed for the better over the
years is the quality of the Bangkok- Pattaya coaches.
These days, most seem to have good air-con, reclining
seats, a working toilet and drinks and snacks served
inflight (or in journey, in this case).
Not only are they more comfortable to ride in than back in
the day, but there are often more suitable prospects around
to chat to (or up) during the trip.
Being the ever faithful girlfriend, many local Thai bar girls
have just off-loaded their latest farang love interest at
Bangkok airport. In floods of stage managed tears, she has
managed to liberate as much of his spare baht from the
victim’s wallet as humanly possible and is now heading
back to Pattaya to get a replacement financial friendly bed
mate sorted out - pronto.
It seems a shame to disappoint them!
So in 2017, I rarely use the relatively expensive chauffer
service from Bangers to Sin City.
The journey time has improved too with better roads and
freeways, back in the eighties we seemed to be driving on
dirt tracks …
Even so, Paul’s sage like advice on both hotel cabs and tuk
tuks still holds true in my view.
This includes particularly avoiding using key words such as
“massage” as you are likely to end up with getting a hard
sell and a mega tour of the capital – which, one way or
another, you will end up picking the tab for.
This mistake is for sex tourists with “please rip me off”
written across their foreheads large.
Even though more taxis use meters now, some drivers still
try not turn it on, so ask him to get it running or negotiate
a firm price for your destination in advance.
Although world famous Patpong in 2016, has arguably sunk
to third position behind Nana Plaza and Soi Cowboy, it is
still a great place for a night out. Although it is a safe
enough option for newbies to Thailand’s sex scene, one
thing to be aware of are the notorious upstairs speciality
shows.
You will be hassled by endless touts showing pictures and
saying cheap drink and no entrance charge etc. They will
offer everything from girls shooting darts from the lower
parts of their anatomies, to lesbian acts involving a hamster
and a greased melon.
Sounds fun, except maybe for the furry rodent involved….
But be warned, like their counterparts in London’s Soho,
some of these upstairs clip joints will give you an
outrageous bill for a few beers and a team of menacing
looking Thai bouncers will stand over until you pay, one
way or another.
This may even include escorting you to a convenient ATM,
to get the “cash due”.
If this happens to you, my advice is to smile and try to get
the price reduced a bit by polite negotiation.
Whatever occurs, don’t lose your temper and get into a
fracas which you are likely to lose big-time. If the worst
comes to the worst, personally I would pay up, make a note
of exactly which bar it is and report it to the Tourist Police.
They may or may not do much about it, but appears a
better option that getting a beating from a few local
sadistic kick boxers.
Best advice of all is do not go upstairs in Patpong, full stop.
These places are traps for mug punters – so don’t become
cannon fodder.
Another tip which Paul Martin showed us, was to normally
pay the check bin (usually a plastic container with the bill
in) after each round and always try and make sure you have
some small bills.
This stops you waiting around for change and most
importantly clears the amount owed each time you order a
load of drinks. Let them build up and it is really difficult to
keep tabs on how many beers you have got for your mates
and any girl’s “lady drinks” you are buying.
An unscrupulous bar owner can easily put a few extra
“bogus” ones in and you would be none the wiser – classic
scam for farangs who have had a few too many. Don’t be
one of them!
My encounter with Jeab was typical of some of the
experienced bar girls..
There is an old expat saying in Thailand, that Paul used to
repeat –
Question: “How do you tell if a bargirl is lying? Answer:
“Her lips are moving!”.
Question: “What if her lips are not moving?” Answer: “She
is thinking about her next lie!”
Maybe a bit harsh, but some of these Thai ladies of the
night are practised, smooth operators and will say what you
what to hear to try and relieve the unwary mark of
maximum cash.
The hunter becomes the hunted.
Many of these girls come from the rural poor North East
province of the country and may well have a child at back
home being looked after by family members.
One thing you can bet your house on, is that these street
smart operators know what really hits the spot with us guys
(or girls).
They sweetly look into your eyes and say they prefer
whatever nationality you are as a matter of course.
The same lie is peddled to Japanese or Middle Eastern
tourists, if they are the next punter from that part of the
world in the bar and so on” ad nauseam”.
When they leave you after putting a wad of folding drinking
vouchers in their handbags, many may head off to their
Thai husbands/boyfriends –it is just another day (night) at
the office to them.
I am not complaining about Jeab.
She was great between the sheets and we both got
something out of it (me a great blow job - her 1500 baht),
but that girl certainly knew the ropes.
Today, it is much easier to find “guest friendly” hotels and
avoid paying a “joining fee” which is a total waste of money.
Just pop the above phrase into your computer search
engine and take your pick of suitable venues.
Back in 1980, you had to rely on personal experience or
recommendations from fellow travellers.
Some things were better back in those heady days, but this
an area that has improved with age.
I have heard a few long-term Far East travellers and
writers state Pattaya was a fishing village back in the early
eighties, don’t believe them!
Yes, you could see it origins in those far-off days, but it was
a thriving little beach resort even then, following on after
its early years as an American R+R spot during the
Vietnam War.
Of all the places I first visted in the Land of Smiles thirty
odd years ago, Pattaya is the one that has changed the
most. It is really a city now, with no sign of the
development slowing down. Not only the size has grown,
the ethnic mix has changed too.
In 1980, it tended to be Brits, Germans, French, Americans
and Scandinavians, with some Middle East visitors. Today
vast numbers of Russians and Chinese have flooded to the
resort.
The moral is, don’t go to Sin City if you want a quiet time.
I read somewhere there are 60,000 girls working every
night in Pattaya.
Heaven knows how they come up with these figures, but
you certainly have a good choice of available bed mates for
a “pay to play” session. If you cannot find at least one
stunner with that amount of LBGs to choose from, I would
take up a different hobby….
CHAPTER SEVEN

FEBRUARY 1980

FLASH’S PERFECT DAY

After another gallon of healthy fruit juices for Flash and
myself and a few beers for Paul, we had the usual round
table discussions on what delights were on the agenda for
that evening.

The great thing about both these guys was they were
always chilled about what to do and up for just about
anything making them ideal travelling companions.

Nobody tried to boss the rest – perfect.

It was around five on a scorching hot afternoon, but with

things now cooling off a bit, The President suggested a
gentle stroll into town for a bite to eat and a sniff around
the Pattaya beer bars. Also, Flash felt that as we had been
on the road travelling to down Pattaya for a few hours, a
quick rub down could help tired muscles and ease a bit of
tension.

Just for medical reasons, you understand.

The good news from Paul was one of the largest down town
hotels boasted a decent sized massage parlour, so a
cunning plan was agreed comprising of a quick slither in
the soapy stuff straight after refreshing the inner man with
a few platefuls of the local cuisine.

Looking at the hotel waitress, I was definitely feeling a bit

of stiffness spreading above the upper leg area and Little
Jack being the cause of this condition seemed to agree that
it all sounded like a very civilised suggestion.
So after downing the contents of our glasses the three of us
sauntered back through the exotic garden and down the
dusty road, heading for another evening of sampling yet
more of the local highbrow culture (or total sexual
debauchery, as some of the sad PC brigade might call it).

Apparently, it should take about fifteen minutes on foot to

get from our base in North Pattaya and get inside the open
neon covered bars that were winking at us seductively from
the edge of town in the distance.

Our small team of intrepid travellers were all in good spirts

and had nearly reached our target destination, when
rounding a bend in the crater strewn highway of what was
laughingly called a road and there was the endearing sight
of two young Thai boys play fighting in the dust in front of
us.

The youngsters both smiled when they saw us three

farangs heading in their direction and after quickly and
nimbly ducking around the obligatory potholes, ran over to
greet us.

These little lads looked about six or seven years old and
spoke virtually no English, but kept saying “Khun
American”. I guess they thought we were an advance party
from Uncle Sam’s Navy, which was due to dock anytime
soon.

After looking us over and giggling, they started another

quick burst of pretend kick boxing and at this point the
Flashman made a monumental mistake.

As a joke he pretended to square up to one them, doing

what was bluntly, a piss poor Bruce Lee impression.

As the PM said at the time, our champion looked more like

Gipsy Rose Lee than the famous Kung Fu film star. You did
not need to cross his palm with silver to see he was about
to lose his crystal balls – big time.

The only martial art our old mate Graham looks fit for is a
short round of Origami.

In fact, paper folding might be too physical for this glowing

specimen of manhood. Let’s face it; if Flash has a black belt
it is busy holding his trousers up over that ample girth and
as he always tells anyone unfortunate enough to be made
to listen he is a lover, not a fighter.

Luckily, I cannot personally vouch for Flash’s performance

under the duvet (heaven forbid), but he certainly failed on
the last bit during the following few seconds.

Pattaya’s ginger answer to Jackie Chan thought he had it

sussed and put his hand on one of the young lad’s forehead,
laughing as his small assassin could not get within striking
distance. This worked briefly, but he then made the king-
sized error of losing concentration and looking over to us,
giggling fit to burst.

Never take your eye off the ball as the old saying goes,
sadly Mr. Gordon took his eye off both his.

You could see this was not going to end well.

In that split second of opportunity, our little grasshopper

struck with the speed of a Thai bar girl faced by a drunk
farang with his bulging wallet sticking out of his pocket.

The diminutive young fighter was free in that brief moment

and did a high roundhouse kick.

Now this was probably aimed at his redoubtable opponent’s

chest, but as he was three foot six and Flash was nearly
twice as tall, his small brown foot travelling at supersonic
speeds collided with our good pal’s wedding tackle with a
sickening thud.

They reckon you don’t hear the bullet that kills you and the
Flashman certainly did not see this coming in a blur of a
size two flip-flop.

Our favourite “strawberry blond” was entering a world of

pain.

You never see this in a karate movie I thought, as our hero

Mr. Gordon fell to his chubby freckled knees with a sharp
intake of breath. Lovingly clutching his meat and two veg,
our all action hero was making a sound like a dying
asthmatic swan crossed with an arthritic baboon on the
vinegar strokes.

I am not sure his newly learned Thai language skills helped

his loud comments, which were made in a very high voice.

As an example of the perfect sporting Englishman,

Flashman croaked something on the lines of “you stupid
little bastard. I will kick you up the arse so hard when I get
hold of you, my shoe will disappear up your freckle to the
third lace hole!!”

The poor young lad looked a bit worried at the sight of the
angry farang rolling around on the floor muttering assorted
strange unintelligible oaths.

I don’t think the little lad understood the exact English/Thai

translation, but seemed to be considering having it away on
his toes at high speed to avoid a big fat lawyer knocking
seven shades of bejesus out of him if he finally got to a
vertical position again.

Once Paul had wiped the tears of concern off his face and
could breathe unaided without oxygen, he slipped both the
micro fighter and his little pal a crisp 100 baht note each
after asking if they would like to give our top warrior a
return bout and did they have any attractive sisters?

The juvenile pair grinned, waied us and ran off up the road

in good spirits. A good move, as this was before the Kung
Fu Kid could stand up without crying.

After all, it is not every day you get a month’s pocket

money for kicking a stupid fat farang in the balls.

Just like The President and myself, Flash was also weeping
and having difficulty in speaking in a vaguely male voice. In
fact, he made the average ladyboy sound like Barry White.

Although, I am not sure young Graham saw the joke, as it

took the silly sod a good ten minutes before any visible
signs of recovery could be seen. But in the meantime, he
enjoyed a battery of much appreciated jokes about being a
landowner as he now had two acres and other such gems
from his best mates to lighten his mood.

Both of us, were touchingly worried about any possible

permanent damage to his undercarriage and his chances of
fathering future children.

Due to us having a fully paid up member of the walking

wounded in our company and as a special kindness to save
him the pain of long distance travel, we dived into the first
beer bar we came across to get outside of a few glasses of
the amber fluid.

Although one of our fellowship seemed to be having

surprisingly difficulty sitting on a bar stool and choose to
stand, his squeaky, soprano voice did eventually drop to
something approaching normal. It improved further, when
Paul organised one of the bar girls to sit next to him and do
an intimate personal audit of injuries sustained in the line
of duty.

She checked the remains of the accident, gently massaged

where it hurt and offering to kiss it better.

Well, this is Thailand!

We may have an excellent National Health Service back in

the UK, but you don’t get medical treatment like this even
if you have the best private medical insurance.

In fact, listening to Mr. Gordon telling his “nurse” that he

did not want to damage the sweet child and took the hit on
purpose to avoid upsetting the little chap was so sick
making, Paul and I decided to wander down the strip a bit
sharpest.

It was important to get out before we both suffered an

attack of terminal biliousness.

My first impressions of Pattaya at night was it looked like a

mini Las Vegas with a main drag running through the town,
but had a much more relaxed vibe than BK.

Plus, unlike the capital city, you could even walk in the road
sometimes without being an immediate road casualty.

The main threat to life, consisted of hired powerful

motorbikes, often ridden by Germans and Scandinavians
trying to do Easy Rider impressions, complete without
crash helmets and sporting dark glasses on the top of their
heads.

Peter Fonda they were not and some of these maniacs

made the Isle of Man TT races look like a safe option.

After a few drinks and nothing on the female front really

hitting the spot for any of us just yet, hunger struck and we
ended up grabbing a table in a great looking seafood
restaurant on wooden stilts which jutting out over the
ocean.

All three of us were starving, although Flash had to sit side

saddle on the bench seats and did seem to wriggle around a
lot for the duration of the meal.

For some reason, the lad kept putting his hand down the
front of his shorts to apparently do a swift stock check.

Well, that was his excuse and Paul helpfully told him he
could go very short-sighted doing this type of self-abuse in
public. But true to form, Flash ignored the warnings and
carried on making sure he still had a full quota of love spud
and with his hand in his pocket enjoyed a swift game of
“pocket billiards”.

In fact, I reckon it was a challenge for him counting up to

two without a calculator…

This meal was memorable for a variety of reasons and the

plan was to have a relaxing hour or two before getting back
to the business of getting a nocturnal companion to warm
our beds sorted.

Khun Carrothead immediately raised the tone of

conversation and treated the few customers around to his
wit and wisdom by making the point that only in a seafood
establishment, you would try and get crabs in Thailand.

Well, it was just the three of us quietly enjoying a simple

bite to eat, in a nearly deserted restaurant with no dodgy
ladies of the night or the drunk American military in sight –
I mean, what could go wrong?

After looking at what was on offer, we ended up sharing a

huge platter of mixed seafood and fruit, all beautifully
cooked and presented at a cost of just a modest fish and
chip supper back home.

It was a great evening and brilliant food, complete with the

newly recovered Flash explaining again that he was just
being the archetypal English Gentleman by not giving that
silly little kid a serious beating (if you believe that, you will
believe anything).

As usual, Paul was on great form as a raconteur, telling

tales of his many erotic adventures in Asia and then after
we had polishing off the banquet in front of us, the menu
magically reappeared.

For some strange and inexplicable reason, maybe because

everyone was pretty mellow at this stage of the day, all
three of us fancied finishing things off with a round of Irish
coffees.

After a swift exotic beverage and caffeine boost, the master

plan was then to hit the strip again in search of some local
talent.

Our friendly waiter looked a bit surprised and confused

when I tried to order three of the Emerald Isle’s best.

So we put our finger under the required drinks on the list

and told him again in our best pidgin English what we
wanted. He eventually went off smiling, if still appearing a
bit bemused.

Looking back, I reckon he had never made an Irish Coffee

before or even heard of it. But not wanting to lose face this
helpful chap spent a long time at the bar with his
colleagues, trying to work it out how they served this weird
farang drink in Dublin.
After a fairly long delay, our main man finally brought the
stuff over and proudly tried to light them at our table.

I am not sure what he actually put in the glasses.

It could have been diesel, petrol or napalm, but as soon as

the match got close they exploded like a firework on Fifth
of November.

The problem was the paper napkins placed immediately

underneath the glasses also caught fire, which was not
standard procedure.

Quickly our table was starting to look like a set from the
film “Blazing Inferno”.

Steve Macqueen was not around to save us and predictably

total panic ensured. Flash the Hero tried to make for the
door, but due to previous injuries to his nether regions
waddled off at the speed of a geriatric Thai snail.

Paul and I had a valiant go at putting out the blaze with our
remaining dregs of beer, but without success. Things must
have been desperate, if we were wasting the remains of our
last two bottles of Leo.

When it looked a certainty that the whole wooden

restaurant was going to disappear in smoke with all of us in
it, another waiter ran over with a large, rather ancient
looking fire extinguisher. It failed to work at first, but after
giving it a serious right-hander a dribble of foam finally
squirted out and put out the flames.

Having started, it then did the job too well.

Although disaster had been averted, the large appliance

would not turn off and really got into its stride. Soon the
whole place closely resembled a scene from a Christmas
card.
The foam went everywhere, included over all us. Wiping
the white stuff off our faces, we looked like we had spent a
busy month working in a local blow job bar.

So after such a narrow escape from ending up barbequed,

we all decided to give that last drink here a miss.

Quickly stuffing a very modest number of baht into the

cashier’s hand to both cover the bill and making a donation
to the Pattaya Fire Service, we escaped back into the strip
leaving the foam filled restaurant behind us looking like a
set from Ski Sunday.

Mr. Gordon did not stop coughing and complaining about

getting smoke inhalation until we entered the Sabai
Massage Parlour, which was thoughtfully situated just
down the road.

From where we were standing in the road, the place looked

less than inviting to be honest, but you can never judge a
book by its cover and the magic words “Soapy Massage –
Pretty Girls” flashing out in the Pattaya evening dark above
the small doorway.

This phrase cast its spell and predictably this was enough
of an inducement to make our horny, if slightly singed little
team check it out as a matter of urgency.

The place was a bit like a Thai version of Dr. Who’s Tardis
and was a lot bigger on the inside that it looked in the
street. Which as Paul wryly pointed out was the exact
opposite of Mr. Gordon’s posing pouches.

Fortunately, there was no sign of Cybermen or other

science fiction monsters and the fishbowl had a very decent
selection of suitable companions sitting in the obligatory
colourful evening dresses. As we were the only punters in
the house, the Mamasan was all over us like an ill-fitting
suit from a suspect Indian tailor near The Grace Hotel.

Drinks appeared by magic and then a little spinner caught

my eye who was sitting right at the back row – something
told me, this one might be a bit special.

She was wearing a long powder blue gown, complete with a

badge and the inscription 69. Talk about fate, even the
number sounded promising.

This tiny apparition of loveliness had much lighter skin

than many Thai girls that I had seen before in my limited
experience. Her hair was worn in a very long plait right
down to her bum and there was a cleavage on display that
you could lose a tuk tuk in.

Add a pretty face and a sensual smile and the 1500 baht for
full “special service” was out of my wallet and into the
manageress’s sticky hand before you could say Kup Kuhn
Khrap.

Just as the little darling put her arm through mine and
looked up smiling sweetly, the door behind us burst open
and a boat load of what sounded like the whole American
fleet poured in.

This rude intrusion caused Paul and Flash to make their

choices at ninety miles an hour, when a team of able
seamen (or maybe semen) arrived on the rampage.

These sailor boys may have been celibate on the briny for
heaven knows how long and in the rush to empty their
tanks, could have emptied the whole massage parlour tank
on the spot - if that makes sense.

So quick decisions and decisive action was required and

more money quickly passed hands from my two amigos.
Then our full team all headed down the corridor at an
impressive pace that could have won us a gold at the next
Olympic Games 100 metres to the background sound of
traditional Thai music, which was coupled with the sweet
smell of incense and fragrant soap.

This charming scene was being drowned out by loud

American voices in the lobby - it was all going off big time.

Surprisingly being no natural athlete, The Flashman caught

me up and proudly showed off that he had taken the two
LBGs. Both of the matching pair were virtually both
running along behind The Karate Kid.

Apparently, he felt as an ambassador for his company’s

charity, aimed at helping Thai girls with low morals, there
was a need to up the work rate.

In that cesspit that passes for his mind, this greediness was
justified. As everybody’s favourite Good Samaritan he felt
that maximum cash must be distributed to help the needy.

Plus, I reckon the silly sod wanted something to cheer

himself up after losing the fight (and nearly his love spuds)
earlier in his starring role in the new martial arts film,
“Enter the Pillock”.

So in “Flash Land” a brace of LBGs was in order to

undertake a full stock check of his crown jewels and
making sure they still fire on all cylinders.

I must admit, that considering he chose them in a blind

panic when Popeye, Barnacle Bill and all their naval mates
turned up, they were not bad at all and looked a load of fun.

Both girls giggled, wiggled and joked in Thai during our

short sprint along the “Passageway to Ecstasy”.
The only problem was that it turned out we two were
unfortunately put into adjoining rooms.

Great, so I would be treated to Mr. Gordon’s loud animal

grunts in stereo, but I was too smitten by my own potential
bed mate to really care about the forthcoming Flashman’s
sound track of passion.

My date introduced herself as Pepsi and sat me down on a

spacious bed, while spraying the water to warm things up
on the lilo on the floor before hosing it down.

She spoke quite a bit of English and said the girls were
worried about trouble from our USA military visitors, as
apparently last time the Navy was in town things got a bit
lively with numerous punch-ups and some collateral
damage in reception.

Apparently, it was more “fight, fight” than “boom, boom” in

her words.

I quickly moved into full bullshit mode and reassured my

beautiful potential bed mate not to worry about a few
drunken sailors on manoeuvres, we Brits would look after
her.

Pepsi smiled, carefully and sensually undressed me and

beckoned towards the bath.

As I got in and stood in the warm, comforting water she

slipped down her long blue dress and carefully hung it over
the chair with a flourish.

This young lady did not bother with underwear and was in
full commando mode.

Standing totally in the buff in front of me with no shoes on,

it was apparent that Pepsi was another vertically
challenged LBG, being no more than four foot six in height
soaking wet.

She may have been slightly shorter than the average

hobbit, but who gives a damn?

Good things come in small packages and with curves

everywhere and statuesque boobs that seemed to defy
gravity that were so big, I seriously doubt she see had seen
her exquisite small size two feet for years.

Khun Pespi was playful and could giggle for Thailand and
looked a handful in more ways than one, but interestingly
there was a total lack of any pubic hair on display.

She was a bald as a baboon’s bum down below.

This last issue seemed to embarrass the little darling, but I

quickly assured her it was really attractive and I preferred
things “sans bush” as they say in Germany or somewhere in
Europe.

She laughed and then returned the compliment by saying

all the right things about the size of Little Jack, who was at
this very moment sitting up in her tiny soft hands, growing
in stature by the minute as we carried on soaping (or
groping) each other intimately in the tub.

I could get used to this life.

After moving across the room and lying face down on the
warm mattress on the floor as politely instructed, I felt the
gentle sensation of young Pepsi pouring a mixture of hot
water and requisite portion of slippery soap gently all over
my back and lower regions. Relaxing in this warm haze and
giving the lilo the full benefit of my serious hard-on which
was growing after my little sweetheart started down below
with her large, erect nipples scratching up and down the
back of my legs and thighs.

Everything was well with the world and I was just imaging
how she would look flat on her back with her legs over my
shoulders, when there was the “mother” of all explosions
close by which sounded like a grenade launcher in action.

The room shook, I shook and Pepsi shook!

Screaming in a panic, she leapt off me moving quicker than

a jockey dismounting a Grand National Winner.

To try and protect the new love of my life, I tried to do a

runner at speed, while still sporting a king-sized stiffy.

This vain attempt at making a fast exit failed miserably, as

the hero of the hour managed to slip and land neatly on his
face in the suds cleverly swallowing a large mouthful of the
stuff at the same time.

Cool image or what?

This gunfire next to our love nest tended to put a

temporary brake on our fledgling relationship a bit. The
mood was also not helped by the romantic sight of me
quietly throwing-up in the corner, whilst trying desperately
to get rid of the strong taste of soap from my tonsils.

The other slight problem was that we were both likely to be

shot dead at any moment by some crazed Yankee sailor
with a grudge and a loaded .38. This concept of Dirty Harry
on the loose, surprisingly tended to put a downer on
getting my leg over for a few minutes.

I was used to Dirty Flash, but this was a bit more worrying.

A painful possible death in a hail of hot lead certainly made

my hard-on disappear quicker than a bar girl after you have
paid her for a blow job.

Then at that very moment the door was flung open with a
resounding crash.

Always being always the gentleman, I bravely dived for

cover under the bed, leaving Pepsi to confront the armed
madman alone.

Well, I hate the sight of blood, particularly when it is

mine….

Luckily, it was not a manic homicidal gun slinger, but just

the maid with a tray of the drinks I had ordered earlier. I
know the Thais have an inner calm from their Buddhist
faith, but she certainly did not look too frightened and was
smiling fit to burst as she spoke to my companion in rapid
Thai complete with a number of interesting hand
movements to illustrate the heated conversation.

Dragging myself shame faced out from my hiding place and

still spitting soap, I had forgotten that “yours truly” was
stark bollock naked.

Embarrassed, I pulled out a wad of baht from my new

leather “man bag” and quickly used it to help shield Little
Jack from prying eyes.

Paul was right, these rather effeminate things are useful,

even to us macho types.

Having almost stopped shaking by this point, I swiftly

handed over a load of folding drinking vouchers to cover
the cost of the refreshments, complete with a generous tip.

I hoped this blatant bribe would stop the waitress laughing

at my nakedness and avoid the real danger that the lady
might make some Bangkok version of a joke about “you
should get that boil lanced” or a similar jaw breaker to my
latest girlfriend before she even got the full benefit of my
small, but beautifully formed manhood.

Luckily, she did not even appear look down at Little Jack,
who true to form had let me down by shrinking to the size
of a small cocktail sausage in all the excitement.

The drinks attendant just waied me and left discreetly still

smiling, I guess they must get used to seeing some fairly
explicit sights in these rooms on a daily basis.

In the meantime, Pepsi was still recovering from a mild

bout of hysteria, but the bonus was that the fright had
made her not insubstantial boobs vibrate in a fascinating
manner.

They were still wobbling, when after a few minutes the girl
explained that my portly farang friend in the berth next
door, (described accurately by her as the chubby, greedy
one with red hair who had grabbed two girls), had
managed to make the rubber lilo explode under the
combined weight of his gleesome threesome.

Yes, it was that fat bastard Flash again, still managing to

cause chaos and having a negative effect on my love life.
He must have trodden on a black cat or done something
worse to it, to have this much bad luck in one day.

She said “both her two friends upset, as rubber beds are
much, much expensive”.

Ever gracious our pal had blamed them for the mishap and
was trying to explain his innocence in Thai to all and
sundry, but apparently nobody understood anything he was
saying.

No surprise there, me neither even when he tries talking in

English…...
Here we go again, he will be shouting “Pak Choi” or worse
anytime soon and it will all kick off again.

Looking at Mr. Gordon’s track record, the sensible strategy

might be to get into action a bit on the quick side. Time
could be of the essence here, before we are all ejected from
the establishment or shot by the USA Military.

Pepsi was a real delight and took off her shower cap off and
shook her locks, displaying a long plait reaching down to
her cute little bum.

That could be useful to hang onto during certain

manoeuvres I pondered, as we adjourned to the king-sized
bed following a second more successful attempt to
complete a soapy massage.

Luckily this time around, it was without an overweight

lawyer causing an explosion next door to rock the
foundations and give me a case of brewers droop from
fright.

Here was a girl that liked to drive, was really enthusiastic

and happened to be particularly good on top.

Lying underneath with those two mammoth globes in front

of my face and a pair of mega nipples both in easy sucking
distance was a perfect way to spend some time. I am all for
nature and a eco warrior in the making - you cannot beat
natural breast feeding in my book.

Lazy, maybe?

But why make an effort, when the delectable Pepsi was

happy to do all the heavy lifting?

She genuinely seemed to come more than once and was

certainly no clock watcher. In fact, with your hands full of a
slippery matching pair of norks, time seemed to stand still.
Having a small, smooth snatch was great and she certainly
got a double share of oral from me, but there was a
problem of size or to be more gynecologically accurate -
length.

Now I would like to say I am over endowed in the trouser

department, but even though Pepsi pointed at the Little
Jack and said “Chang” (which is Thai for elephant) I am
only average on a good day.

Many guys think it is the width that you need to watch, but
as long as you go steady most Asian girls will adjust to take
what you have on offer girth wise. A little help from a
lubricant can help to make things a bit easier, but if they
can give birth OK, nothing most of us have between our
legs is likely to cause them major problems in this area is
it?

No, in Pepsi’s case it was more the length that caused

difficulties. In certain positions, you are hitting the cervix
and this is painful for the little sweetheart.

Hence having her on top and controlling the amount and

tempo she liked, worked well and after a memorial bout, all
too quickly both of us were spent and lay in a tangled heap.

Talking of big tools, I suddenly remembered it was time to

collect Pattaya’s answer to the “Human Cannonball”.

So, putting off that evil moment of having to retrieve The

Ginger Whinger as long as possible, I gave my latest
girlfriend an over generous tip and told her that I would try
to be back to see her again tomorrow.

We both lay on the king-sized bed for a just few more

delicious few minutes, savouring that “post soapy”
afterglow.
Little Pepsi chatted non-stop and told me she was not from
the North-Eastern province like many of the other girls in
the Sabai, but came from Chang Mai.

This accounted for her light coloured and smooth skin,

which she said was more popular with Thai men than
Farangs. Westerners seem to like darker complexions,
which the locals think is “working class” and looked down
on.

I must admit to being smitten by Pepsi and really wanted to

see her again for a second portion.

So I was genuinely sad to walk the little darling back to

reception and was even mulling over trying to “bar fine”
her for the night. This was the first time I had felt the need
to go back over old ground on this trip, but I was sorely
tempted in more ways than one.

I must be in love!

So beware all you newbies, these Thai girls can snare the
unwary with a smile or a wiggle of those beautiful hips.

The cause of the recent mini-nuclear explosion was

appearing live in the lobby and in the middle of a heated
conversation with the Mamasan.

Flash was apparently trying to explain with the help of

pointing at the infamous phrase book, that the mattress
must have been defective and he was now deaf in one ear
and worse still did not even get time to empty his tank into
either of his pair of fulsome female companions.

Quite unreasonably to our freckled friend, his two

girlfriends had “buggered off” in his words (not sure this
translates exactly in Thai) after the unfortunate accident
occurred and neither girls surprisingly returned for a
portion of “hide the sausage” (or chipolata in Flash’s sad
case) after the incident of the exploding rubber mattress.

Talk about flogging a dead horse, there was no way he was

going to get a refund or avoid paying for the damage.
Luckily PM turned up just in time to mediate and sort the
situation out amicably.

In the end, an amount of 1000 baht passed hands to cover

the incident and we all wandered out into the strip in good
humour.

Well, two of did.

Paul gave Khun Graham a serious telling off for whinging.

As he said, besides having had a near terminal kick in the

crotch, almost being burn alive in a restaurant and then
blown-up in a massage parlour without getting laid, what
was there not to enjoy?

This is Thailand and you could be in a wet, cold London, so

be grateful and deal with it…

In fact, I reckon that is an improvement on Mr. Gordon’s

average day back home, at least the beer is cheaper here.

This is paradise, so stop complaining, was the good-natured

advice handed to our man of the moment.

To give The Flashman credit, even he tried to laugh when

we shouted in the one good ear that was not affected from
the recent soapy blast, that we were heading back to the
hotel for a nightcap. He limped along behind and as he
said, let’s face it, things could hardly get worse.

He cheered up considerably when PM said that “ he

thought the overhand right, which the lad had nearly
thrown at his miniature opponent earlier, had reminded
him of George “what’s his name”.

“Now what was his surname - Form….. something or other?

Paul said with a deadpan expression.

Mr. Gordon puffed up his not inconsiderable chest, over his

not inconsiderable stomach, walked neatly into his second
sucker punch of the night and said “The heavyweight
champion of the world boxer, George Foreman?”

Paul keeping a straight face muttered, “No, not George

Foreman - I know, George Formby” and walked off
humming “When I am cleaning windows”.

The Ginger Brawler’s mouth opened, but nothing came

out…….
CHAPTER SEVEN

JANUARY 2017
There were not many “baht buses” around Sex City, back in
eighties.
Of all the parts of Thailand I have visited regularly over the
last thirty years; Pattaya has changed the most and not
perhaps all for the best…
Some say it was just a sleepy little fishing village back in
those heady days - don’t you believe them !
It was a thriving bustling seaside resort even in 1980,
although you could see traces of where the old place used
to be.
Today, it is an ever-expanding metropolis and even the
street names have changed. There was no “Walking Street”
on my first vist and the place had a fun small town, laid
back atmosphere.
Although it boasted a handful of massage parlours and
small outside bars or beer gardens, there were relatively
few go go bars when compared with BK,but it had its own
relaxed seaside charm.
A bit like a mini Bognor Regis in the UK, but with
guaranteed sun and hot + cold running LBGs on tap..
The incident where the redoubtable Flashman got hit in the
nuts has an underlying moral. Try not to get into any form
of fracas in Thailand, even if your opponent is a
microscopic ninja or you may end up the worst for wear.
I have seen cute little LBGs hand out some serious
punishment to an over aggressive customer. Small they
may be, but kick boxing is a national pastime, so be
warned.
The PM used to tell us, start a fight with one Thai and you
end up battling the whole nation. They do not have our
English sense of fair play and are unlikely to fight by the
Marquis of Queensbury’s rules.
You may get the better of one, but he (or she) is likely to
come back with half a dozen mates and knock seven shades
of tripe out of you.
The other insight this chapter gives of Thai nature, was the
incompetent waiter nearly starting the great fire of Pattaya.
Looking back, all he wanted to do was to avoid losing face
by admitting he had not a clue how to produce some Irish
Coffees without nearly cooking us all in a blazing inferno.
What Flash and I did not understand on our first trip, was
that the Thai population smile for a variety of reasons.
We Westerners tend to do this if we are happy with life or
pleased to see somebody. It can be the same for the Thais,
but it can also mean they don’t know an answer and are
trying to be polite.
The most violent bar fight I ever saw in Asia, was in
Patpong, where a stupid, drunken South African guy
started verbally and physically abusing a bar girl. He was
shouting at the top of his voice and pushing her around.
This continued for quite a few minutes, in full view of her
friends and colleagues.
The whole time this tirade was going on, the little
sweetheart looked serene and smiled sweetly, whilst she
quietly grabbed a full bottle of beer off the bar and held it
behind her back.
The moment the guy turned away from the innocently
smiling little darling, she struck her “ex-boyfriend”
suddenly over the head with all her strength with a Singha
“cosh”.
The guy went down like he was poleaxed and she and her
friends then proceeded to set about his unconscious form
on the floor with whatever came to hand. Fists, feet, stiletto
shoes – the Farang involved was lucky there were no
knives, axes or guns lying around or they would have been
stitching him together in the Bangkok morgue.
Hell has no fury, like a pole dancer spurned!
I reckon if the girl involved had found a meat cleaver laying
around, the poor bastard would have been missing his most
important bits.
During and after the whole brief, brutal business, her sweet
endearing smile never wavered.
The same incident, also gave me an insight into how justice
can work or not in the kingdom.
After a swift phone call from the Mamasan, the Thai Police
turned up at the bar pretty sharpish. The Boys in Brown
chatted to a couple of the dancers and then helpfully kicked
the heap on the floor to see if there were signs of life. Then
to make the guy’s day perfect, bundled him into a squad
car and apparently took him down to the cells.
I asked one of the other girls who was sitting on my lap
after the incident, what the score was.
My latest companion laughed and said it was pretty obvious
that in a Thai v Westerner conflict in the Kingdom, the Thai
usually wins.
Plus, she said the Farang has money to pay the fine. Police
paperwork will say the idiot was drunk, caused disturbance
and fell off bar stool knocking his head on a bottle on the
way to the floor – shame.
So, don’t be taken in by the smile, it is what is behind it
that matters.
It might be a flying bottle!
CHAPTER EIGHT

FEBRUARY 1980

LOVE ALL OR BALLS TO YOU

Following the recent excitement of the exploding massage
parlour interlude, our intrepid team took a gentle stroll
back in the Wongamat direction.

After safely returning to base camp with no further life

threatening moments, all three of us downed a generous bit
of liquid cold refreshment in the bar, whilst being
unfortunately being subjected to Mr. Gordon’s crackpot
theory on why he appeared to be under attack from all
sides.

Paranoid or what?

In 1980 the troubles in Northern Ireland were at their

height, so in his view this series of events was terrorist
action that had been carried out by a splinter Irish
republican group based in Pattaya.

Flash thought the pocket-sized kid that had scored a direct

hit on his wedding tackle, might have had a slight Irish
accent and only pretended to not speak English. Mr Gordon
explained that the tiny warrior seemed to comprehend the
phrase “when my privates stop aching, you are dead meat,
my son” which our hero uttered between rolling around in
the dust and crying manfully in a high voice.

He then raised the question of why did the little bastard try
and run off so fast, if he did not understand the lingo?

The following slight problem of nearly getting fried alive,

started when we ordered an “Irish Coffee” and the
exploding mattress in the suds could have had a bit of
semtex under it which failed to explode fully.
Paul and I had both heard a few conspiracy theories in our
time, but out of a maximum ten for total stupidity - this one
rated an 11 plus!

Keeping a straight face was hard, but The Flashman was

enjoying having a captive audience and happily buying us
all free beer.

So we both kept drinking, nodding in agreement and trying

to stay awake as the lad kept getting the rounds in.

The nearest Mr. Gordon had been to The Emerald Isle was
pouring some free pints of Guinness down his neck last
March, after the two of us gate-crashed a St Patrick’s Day
party back home in a pub located in London’s Earls Court
area.

This unfortunate episode ended rather badly with the lad

chundering in a mini cab, whilst going home. Surprisingly,
the driver was not too impressed with a load of second-
hand kebab all over his seats and seemed a bit miffed, if I
remember correctly.

Even so, somehow I cannot see him topping the IRA’s hit
list.

Call me a cynic if you like. But maybe being a lilo busting,

fat bastard that had never heard of Thai Kick Boxing and
made the mistake of ordering strange alien drinks might
have had some effect on the outcome?

Anyway, following the twentieth different barmy theory

from Mr. Gordon of why he was a marked man, Flash rested
his case. So we all finally drank up and decided to hit the
sack.

Paul then helpfully wrote Flash’s room number on the tab

in the check bin and with the lad still chuntering on, we
wished each other good night and headed off to the “land of
nod”.

Unusually for the Bangkok Pussy Hounds, the whole team

turned in early that night and heading off to our chalets
and even more unusually, we all slept on our own.

It seemed a bit of a waste of a giant double bed.

But the plan was to get some much-needed rest in before

we resumed the campaign to get into as many Thai girl’s
knickers as humanely possible, which was due to continue
with a vengeance tomorrow.

My room was like a fridge, but after turning down the air
con to the lowest setting, I was deep in the dreamless the
second my head hit the pillow.

A night followed full of various wet dreams about the

luscious Pepsi, coupled with a much needed rest was
enough to recharge the batteries. So I sprang out of bed at
the crack of noon and wandered down for an early
breakfast.

On route and meandering through the winding small paths

outside in the spectacular tropical gardens that lead to
reception, I bumped into Paul who was also enjoying an
“early” morning outdoor stroll and was heading towards
the same destination.

On entering the cafeteria, both of us were suitably

impressed by the unusual sight of Flash who for the first
time ever was down in the coffee shop before us.

The target on top of every international hitman’s list was

already “out of his pit” at this early hour and looked almost
awake.
This unexpected apparition was a surprise, maybe he had
stayed put and not moved from last night?

But what was not so amazing was that the lad was already
trying and failing to get his cubby fingers up the
unfortunate waitress’s short skirt, in between demolishing
a mountain of croissants and black coffee.

The grinning Graham Gordon Esq was full of it and had

obviously made a miraculous recovery from the “terrorist”
action the day before.

Maybe “Flash the Jackal” had just not sobered up yet, but
he did seem to have developed a slight twitch whenever
there was a crash coming from the kitchen area.

The emotional and financial fall-out from being a victim of

an exploding soap covered mattress, whilst at the same
time being almost suffocated by two sweet Thai girls
wriggling around of top of his ample torso trying to escape
the carnage appeared to be still having deep psychological
effects on the poor boy.

Perhaps it did not help that he also missed the chance of

getting his leg over in the confusion and looked in need of
counselling or possibly an LBG sitting on his face.

Not a bad idea, it might stop him talking for a bit!

Paul politely enquired if he was still experiencing any ill

effects from having his meat and two veg after being given
a strike that a premiership footballer would have been
proud of?

The redoubtable Flashman replied in the negative and

loudly told the whole restaurant that he had given things a
manual workout himself last night into a bath towel to
check it all worked to full potential.
Good news, it all seemed to function perfectly even after a
severe kick in the penalty area.

Too much information.

Wouldn’t you hate to be the unfortunate chambermaid who

sees the sign “Please Clean My Room” hanging on his door
handle?

I made a mental note to give the unfortunate room girls an

extra tip. They are going to deserve it, having to prise the
lad’s sheets apart and shovel the piles of sticky used
Kleenex tissues up from the bedroom area.

No wonder he is getting short sighted and having to use

contact lens.

Paul felt a set of nocturnal boxing gloves may be needed

soon to keep the randy little sod in order and to curtail his
nocturnal habits of endless self-abuse that may have a
detrimental effect on his eye sight.

As PM pointed out whilst lighting up his first St. Moritz of

the day, that this behaviour is not natural. Here in Thailand,
you should have a Little Brown Girl to do this for you.

In our leader’s view, we Brits will get a bad name if this

gets out.

This is tantamount to taking other people’s jobs and if bar

girls have a trade union, we could in trouble with a work to
rule from the more militant massage parlours.

“Also” Paul said, “the unfortunate incidents of yesterday

were a bit like being thrown from a horse. The quicker
young Mr. Gordon gets back into the saddle so to speak, the
better. Which should help sort things out after his
frightening experiences”.
Grinning, as he demolished half of the breakfast buffet at
one gulp (the last time I saw a mouth like that was in “Jaws
the Movie”) Flash said he decided that the two of us
apprentices needed to be fitter, just to keep up this
punishing schedule of endless sexual gymnastics.

So he got a brilliant idea earlier.

This was a worrying development.

When Graham Gordon Esq; gets a brain wave, big trouble

is never far behind and his old pal Mr. Cock-Up may come
calling.

Anyway, our new personal trainer had apparently already

taken steps to get us both in top physical condition.

Whilst lecturing me on the principle that our bodies are

temples, the lad in question stuck rigidly to his athletic diet
of a pound of butter, white bread toast by the sacksful and
piles of strawberry jam. All of which all disappeared down
his throat in a blur.

Having been up at the crack of eleven o’ clock and jogged a

good twenty-five yards to reception without a rest, our own
in-house madman had proudly booked the two of us a
tennis court for later that day.

My helpful mate’s view was that we played the game

regularly at home, why not have a match here in the Land
of Smiles?

To put this in context, Flash and myself used to have a

weekly Summer “knock about” at home in the UK.

Mr. Gordon being a resident of the Royal Borough of

Kensington + Chelsea at that time, could book a posh local
authority court for a few quid.
The master strategy back in London, was to play as little
tennis as possible and put maximum effort into chatting up
any attractive girls around who sported big rackets and
preferably bigger tits.

This was not a great success on the female front.

But we usually followed it up with a few drinks in the local

wine bars and carried on chasing anything with a skirt,
which all in all, made for a good laugh.

Could we play tennis?

Well, I doubt Ilie Nastase was too worried.

Let’s face it; if we got the ball over the net, it was a result
and The Flashman was proud if he managed to serve
overarm.

Not knowing what to expect on our first Far East jaunt and
against Paul’s sage like advice, both of us had taken up
valuable suitcase space by packing a racket, balls and full
whites. The idea was that we were ready if the occasion
arose to show our sporting prowess in action.

Khun Flash, whilst in the process of getting outside yet

another giant croissant, looked unpleasantly smug.

He explained that when he went to get us a court, the

pretty girl on reception told him everything was booked all
today by the hotel’s many German guests.

In fact, being well organised our European friends had

block booked for most of the week. The lad was not
impressed.

Putting towels to reserve deck chairs is one thing, but this

behaviour is contrary to the founding principles of Common
Market membership.
So everybody’s favourite idiot had a brain wave and
proudly told the young lady in no uncertain terms, that I
played at Wimbledon and we would put on a special free
exhibition match.

The first part was not a complete lie, as I had a flat in SW

20 and we did knock a ball around in that locality. (OK you
are right; it is a blatant lie - but he is a lawyer!)

Apparently, our attractive receptionist was suitably

impressed.

So after re-checking the bookings and excitedly chatting in

rapid Thai to her equally captivating colleagues, the answer
surprisingly was “Yes, they did have space for one hour for
special guests”.

Flash can be almost charming and quite persuasive at

times, so the hotel centre court was ours at thirteen
hundred hours for a full sixty minutes of top tennis.

I was almost impressed for about a second and then Planet

Reality started to kick in, as Paul pointed out, that this was
the hottest time of day.

We had copped the lunchtime “death” spot, so no wonder

our friends from Frankfurt were not keen to be roasted in
the Thai sun and happily let the stupid Brits get sun stroke
instead.

Of course, Mr. Gordon was unphased by a little incidental,

possibly lethal problem like this.

“There was national pride at stake here” he said wiping a

pound of strawberry jam off his mouth with my serviette,
“so we must fly the flag and put on a good display”.

According to Khun Gordon, this was the biggest sporting

event since we beat the Germans in the 1966 World Cup.
Mr Diplomacy had even booked it under the name “Team
Spitfire” just to wind our European neighbours up even
more.

Plus, he reckoned there might be some“ shagable” ball girls

in attendance, who might give us both a quick “Grand
Slam” in the dressing rooms or maybe (un)dressing rooms
later.

After a leisurely breakfast, we could not put the hour of

reckoning off much longer.

So when the buffet was finally empty, it was time for the
two top athletes to reluctantly get ready for our
appearance on the Centre Court, Pattaya for the Wongamat
Open.

Flash and myself had decided to leave Paul to his own

devises for an hour or two and let the old rascal misbehave
as usual.

The PM solemnly shook both our hands and his head,

wishing us well with a wry smile on his face. The pair of us
then headed off to our rooms to change into our tennis gear
and mentally prepare for a few sets in the sweltering
midday sun.

The song “Mad Dogs and Englishmen” came to mind

It was pretty obvious to everybody (but Flash), that sixty

minutes playing in the Thai heat was going to be a bit more
demanding physically, than our usual relaxed match on a
mild June evening back at home.

So, I had a cunning plan.

I went straight to the bar and bought two mega family sized
bottles of orange squash to take care of our fluid intake.
OK, lemon barley would have been more traditional, but
this is not a big seller in the Land of Smiles. The master
strategy was to hydrate big time and wear a baseball cap,
cover up with sun cream, sport dark glasses and sweat
bands on wrists, head and anywhere else that might get a
bit damp…

Even with our low level of tennis ability, I reckon we were

going to sweat more than a night club dancer who finds she
has been bar fined by a drunk Flashman for a night of
passion!

Knocking on my opponent’s door, great minds think alike

and surprisingly the lad seemed to also have followed the
same route.

Mind you, he had gone a bit heavy-handed with the sun

block, sporting blue streaks on his nose and cheeks, looking
like a cross between an Aussie fast bowler and an ageing
ladyboy that had put her make-up on in the dark.

He was also struggling to get into a pair of over tight tennis

shorts.

“Reckon that bloody laundry in Bangkok shrunk these

bastards” he said through gritted teeth, talk about trying to
get a quart into a pint pot.

Finally lying on the bed, Flash managed to breath in

enough to fasten the belt and minced out of the room
walking more like Des O’ Connor than Jimmy Connors.

Finally, with preparations complete the two brave

gladiators strode through reception a few minutes before
the appointed hour. I did think about giving the traditional
Roman shout of “Those about to fry, salute you”, but
thought better of it.
Amazingly, there were a few almost admiring glances from
some of the local female talent staying there. So
embarrassingly, I reckoned the blatant “white lie” about my
Wimbledon exploits had done the rounds.

In fact, the whole thing almost felt like a good idea, just at
that particular moment in time. Particularly, when two
young and pretty blond Scandinavian girls with brown legs
up to their armpits asked for our autographs on a menu
stolen from the hotel restaurant….

Bearing in mind the little incident yesterday, when Flash

got a near fatal kick in the gonads, I was just wondering
how I could slip in a quick call of “new balls” that might
wind him up at a critical moment in the game as we walked
out into a mid-day furnace.

But at that point, all thoughts of psychological warfare and

gamesmanship were forgotten. The electric tinted hotel
doors opened and leaving the air con behind us, we limped
out into an atmosphere hotter than a tandoori oven on a
Saturday night in New Delhi.

In this part of South East Asia, there is hot, very hot and
you are joking. By lunchtime the temperature around here
was bordering on ridiculous.

If several our sadistic fellow western guests complete with

an army of local girlfriends, had not been lounging around
the court watching with keen anticipation, I reckon we
would have ditched the whole plan on the spot.

Going back inside to keep Paul company and getting

outside a cool drink (and maybe inside a hot girl) seemed a
much more attractive option to me than dying in an ocean
of sweat on the baseline.
We looked less like John Lloyd and John McEnroe and more
like Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy – another fine mess the
Flashman had got me into.

Well, no turning back now, so we started a warm up and

that in itself was pretty stupid.

Just being in out there trying to play in the sauna bath

called Thailand meant you certainly did not need to warm
up, believe me.

A cool down would have been preferable.

Now, both Flash and I normally avoid these trendy sport

head bands made popular by Jane Fonda for her “keep fit
work-out videos” like a dose of the clap in a brothel.

They may look OK on some top tennis ace, but we thought

them a bit pretentious and a touch effeminate for us ultra
masculine males.

This was the exception that makes the rule and we needed
to stop the sweat literally running down our faces.

So risking looking like a couple of Mexican bandits in a low

budget spaghetti western, we swallowed both our pride and
a pint of liquid and donned one each. (Kuhn Gordon’s was a
fetching shade of pink, which matched his eyes).

How did the game go?

Excruciatingly and slowly, might be the best way to

describe it.

I read somewhere, that the human mind can erase pain. For
example, if you ask a woman about childbirth, she may
have forgotten the agonies of labour and discomfort of
carrying a baby, but will only recall the thrill of holding her
new-born offspring.
Well, this was the same and it seemed to go on for nine
months too…

In fact, it was such a haze of unpleasantness that incredibly

I cannot even remember who won – I think we decided a
draw was the fairest result.

But the best thing was that it was so scorchingly hot, that
for once, Mr. Gordon did not have the breath to cheat.

He was struggling to bend down and pick up a ball, whilst

wearing his new ultra-tight tennis kit in the nether regions
and after the predictable ripping sounds the lad was
showing a rather an unfortunate amount of freckle covered
bum cleavage to all and sundry.

In the past, my ginger mate has always contested that

every one of his serves is in and mine always out. This time,
the lad did not argue due to overheating his tonsils and
losing his voice in the soaring temperatures.

We somehow managed to play the full hour, but the

difficulty was that however much orange squash we drank
in the breaks during changing ends, it just literally just ran
out of us both in perspiration.

No, let’s rephrase that in the search for accuracy, “a

torrent of sweat” might be a better description of the
torture being experienced in the name of national pride.

One of the main problems was gripping the racket securely.

Everything was as slippery as a massage girls crotch.in full

flow

On more than a few occasions, we both nearly decapitated

some of the watchers, trying valiantly to hit back a fast (for
us) return and losing hold of the racket, which then flew
through the air like a Frisbee on steroids.
Pattaya’s dynamic sporting duo of “Hop Along Cassidy and
The Sunburnt Kid” finally limped off court with both
contestants trying to appear nonchalant. This was a major
challenge with our faces the colour of beetroot and so wet
all over that we both looked like we had been swimming in
the Gulf of Siam.

Mr. Gordon in particular, was walking with a strange gait

caused by a problem in the over tight tennis kit department
and was desperately trying to avoid mooning at the guests
watching.

Some of our European friends politely clapped and a few

even gave us a cheer.

Flash could not resist milking the moment, waving and

bowing like a rock star and it was all I could do to stop him
offering lessons.

It was not a pretty sight from the back, as the seam of my

partner’s shorts appeared to have given up the ghost big
time and he was one of the rare people I have ever seen
with freckles covering all of his ample over white arse.

I have seen Dalmatians dogs with less spots.

I am not saying that his backside was large, but if he had

bent down at the Grand National they would have put a
saddle on him…

The lad was sure the audience recognised his vast sporting
talents. But nobody looked that deranged to me, so I reckon
it was more of a sympathy vote for us two poor idiots
providing the comedy hour rather than an indication of our
debatable tennis prowess.

No, the ripple of applause was just an appreciation by the

Germans of a good laugh at our expense - who says they
have not got a sense of humour?

Well, at least we survived and were both still standing

upright – just.

The two of us then spent the next half an hour in our

respective chalets, standing painfully in a freezing shower
before eventually managing to crawl off to re-join Paul in
the bar.

When we finally managed to wander in, the PM looked as

swarve as ever. He was resplendent in perfectly pressed
chinos, polished leather shoes and a light tropical shirt with
not a hair out of place.

Cool was not the word.

The President was sitting by a window overlooking the

beautiful tropical gardens, reading the Bangkok Post and
smoking his usual brand of long menthol cigarettes.

Looking up, our mentor tried unsuccessfully not to laugh

too much at the shattered remains of “Team Spitfire” who
were both slouched across a seat before him.

Finally, there was some feeble signs of recovery, after a

number of much appreciated cool drinks were downed at a
gulp.

These fresh natural Thai fruit juices are so good that both
of us chose the healthy option instead of a customary beer.
Flash and I must have drunk a gallon or two of vitamin C,
whilst reliving the recent Thai version of the Davis Cup in
vivid detail for the PM’s benefit.

Paul had a keen interest in sport generally, but felt that you
need to keep your energy for as many bouts of horizontal
folk dancing as possible when in Asia and not waste it
chasing a ball around in the midday sun.
After all, you can play cricket or golf back home in blighty,
so why waste valuable time when you are surrounded by
attractive totty?

To be honest, after this little episode, I felt he had a valid

point.

So I made a mental note to leave all sporting gear back in

London on all future trips and ignore the congenital idiot
quaffing a pint of mango juice in front of me, who was
nursing a near terminal case of sunburnt arse.

To lift our spirits after such an energetic session, PM

suggested that a special hand massage for us international
“sportsmen” might be in order.

That sudden unexpected bout of physical inactivity could

cause stiffness in places we don’t want when chasing
unlimited pussy in Pattaya, so this would be classed as a
medical essential in our learned leader’s view.

This age old, firm two hand rub-down was apparently an

ideal way to relieve aching muscles and strains.

Legend has it, that this ancient technique was based on a

Japanese Samurai method of relaxation for warriors (but
with the welcome addition of a special Thai happy ending).

The two of us had enjoyed a number of body-to-body, soapy

versions in the last few days, but had yet to try the full
traditional number.

To be honest, I was personally keen to go back for a second

round with the delectable Pepsi.

But Mr. Gordon was reluctant to return to scene of the

great lilo explosion so soon after his unpleasant, death
defying experience – plus, his bum hurt!
The whole recent business had bad memories for the lad
and things were still raw, in more ways than one.

Flash was sure his unpleasant time at the said previous

massage parlour had given him a nervous twitch and had a
negative effect both psychologically and on his wallet. The
shock of after having to unfairly pay for the damage
involved from the bursting his rubber mattress still
rankled.

In the crazy mind of The Flashman, our travelling

companion was still convinced he was the target of an
international terrorism plot, so we decided to change to a
different venue. This was done just to avoid a re-run of the
last cock-up or maybe cock “not-up”, in the Khun Gordon’s
sad case.

As usual, it was all sorted out amicably and when PM

recommended a session at the in-house massage parlour in
a famous five-star hotel at the other end of town and we all
happily agreed.

In my opinion, it is having an easy-going team like this that

makes an overseas trip so enjoyable. Take my advice and
pick you travelling companions with care, as one miserable
devil can easily ruin a sex mongers holiday.

As it was now late afternoon and none of us had had a sniff

of any female company since yesterday, the decision was
made to hit the road and make every attempt to get some
dirty water off our chest PDQ.

Everybody needed to get some action organised, just to

keep our averages up.

Heading down the dust road to town, I think all three of us

were relieved that yesterday’s pair of “Mini Ninjas” were
nowhere to be seen. Although our resident martial arts
expert, shadow boxed and showed us the moves that would
have defeated his young opponent.

Looking at him in action, it appears that Flash is one of the

few fighters who can get beaten up by his own shadow.

After a pleasant stroll, just a mere fifteen minutes later the

three of us were appearing live in downtown Pattaya and
even at this early hour the place was buzzing. So before we
sorted out our time on the sports treatment table, a couple
of small open air bars got the benefit of our company.

The predicted military presence was obvious and the place

was bursting with a number of USA naval personnel. This
backed up what Paul had already told us that the arrival of
these forces attracted large numbers of ladies of the night
of varying ages and looks.

Some appeared “farm fresh” from up country trying to get

a pay day, but others must have been in-line for a telegram
from the Queen on their next birthday. A few of the older
contingent had more make-up than Max Factor and unless
you were up for a “Grab a Granny” night, these ladies were
definitely worth a body swerve.

Wake up with one of those geriatrics in bed alongside you

in the morning and you could be forgiven in thinking that
The Curse of the Mummy’s Tomb was alive, well and living
in this area of the Bay of Siam.

I know some of these Navy lads may have been at sea for a
long time and it can be any port in a storm. But even Flash
reckoned you would need to be outside at least a dozen
Singhas, a couple of bottles of Mekong whiskey, plus have a
bag to put over her head before you had a crack at some of
the LBGs on display that night.
That gives you an idea how rough some of the available
female talent was…

The first small bar we stopped in for a drink at was virtually

empty of both customers and girls - the two could be
related.

We had a swift drink and chatted to the Mamasan, who said

all her best hostesses had gone home until the fleet had
sailed off, so we made the unanimous decision to hit the
road and continue our search further on.

Damn, these sailors.

It is going to end up a bag job or some solo hand work from

Mrs. Palm, if that story is repeated throughout the strip.

We meandered on carefully avoiding the already drunken

crowds of seamen, various tourists and ropey looking
barkers outside the bars, all trying to pull victims inside.

As we fought our way through the punters, the pavement in

front was suddenly blocked by a street vendor with a stall
full of stuffed toys and with a queue round the block
waiting to buy his goods.

Why was he doing such good business?

I mean, if you were a hot blooded male (or female) in one of

the world’s foremost sex capitals would you want to buy a
giant teddy bear at an inflated price and cuddle that at
night, when there was wall to wall easily available talent
every which way you looked?

Paul had seen it all before and explained that this was a
clever scam.

As we wandered past, there was a line of half the American

Forces, complete with a new temporary girlfriend on their
arms and all waiting to part with a wad of the folding green
stuff to purchase an overpriced big kids toy to impress the
little lady.

Thai girls seem to have a soft spot for stuff like this and are
very persuasive in getting you to hand over your hard
earned.

The bloke selling it must have been making a mint and

could not stop smiling as he pocketed the cash.

So to avoid the congestion, Paul took us off the main

thoroughfare opposite the vendor and down a small soi that
you would miss if you did not know it was there.

Apparently, he had been to a new watering hole called the

Fallen Angel Bar a few months previously when hitting the
town with a couple of his airline mates. It had then sported
a selection of very tidy LBGs on offer that night and
because it was well hidden and off the beaten track, he felt
it might not get the benefit of the full military contingent at
this early hour.

When we finally found the place it looked a pretty modest

dive on the outside, sporting only a small fluorescent sign
and no girls hustling on the door.

Stepping through the hanging beaded curtains covering the

doorway, it was quickly obvious that PM was right as usual.
We all had a brace of decent looking girls sitting on our
knees before we had even ordered a round and our
backsides had fully settled on the barstools.

Paul asked me to get him the customary beer.

Then after politely easing his two companions off his crotch

and patting their shapely backsides, he winked at me and
said in a whisper that he just needed to pop out to that
stuffed toy street stall and do a bit of business.

I was intrigued as to why he suddenly felt the over

powering need to have an expensive king-sized panda or
whatever.

The randy old rascal was up to something and the PM

moves in mystical ways sometimes, but I was sure all will
be revealed in the fullness of time, as the old saying goes.

Maybe the sly old fox is getting soft in his old age, but
somehow I doubt it., I felt a spoof coming on…

Putting these thoughts out of my head, I sat back to enjoy

the sensation of my two little sweeties wriggling around on
Little Jack. As I sipped a cool beer, the old fella stood up
straight in appreciation of the attention he was getting
from my new two best friends.

The girls and myself then all enjoyed the spectacle of

seeing The Flashman being dragged off to the pool table in
the corner like a lamb to the slaughter.

The mug punter fell for the old confidence trick and after
being badly beaten by his two female companions, had to
ring the bell in the bar to buy a round for everyone.

This was his forfeit for losing, but the sight of his two
companions bending over the table in short skirts to take a
“safety” shot made it almost worth the money that our
favourite lawyer had paid out.

Luck was on “Hurricane” Gordons side, as we were the

only ones in “The Fallen Angel” at that time. So, he was
spared having to spend a wad of baht funding the whole
USA Navy to a drink.
To be fair, he was as bad on the pool table as the tennis
court, so at least he is consistent on the sporting front.

By now Paul, had quietly returned and was grinning like

the proverbial Cheshire Cat, but fortunately our illustrious
leader did not seem to be carrying a pink elephant or
something similar.

Flash had not even noticed his brief departure and after
sitting back on the bar stool, Paul replaced the matching
the pair of waitresses back on his lap in their original
positions.

Leaning over PM winked at me, saying mission

accomplished and he would let me into the little secret
later.

It seemed that our pool hall hustler, the infamous Mr.

Gordon Esq; might be in for an another interesting night.
But in the meantime, my two female companions were fun
to say the least.

OK, their English was a bit rudimentary, but these girls let
their fingers do the talking and had hands inside my boxer
shorts before you could say the magic words “bar fine” or
“short time”.

It is interesting that if some girl had your old fella out in a

public bar back home, you might be a bit concerned that it
could end up as a gross indecency charge at the local
Magistrates Court, but not so in Thailand.

Our female companions suggested everybody took their

drinks and moved over to sit in the more private and
comfortable seats on the other darker side of the “loom”.

Limping over to the other side of the bar, whilst struggling

to keep my trousers up following my two hostesses having
undone my belt and zip and also to hang onto a bottle of
Chang in the other hand at the same time, it was hard to
look cool

But in a few seconds, I was sitting in a dimly lit corner

surrounded by an eager pair of LBGs.

After going over to the dark side quicker than Darth Vader
on steroids, the ladies continued where we all had left off
before by giving Little Jack a good airing.

Pretty soon, Paul and Flash were also in the same state of
partial undress on the next two sofas along.

The three of us still managed to have a basic conversation

with each other, whilst having our manhood stroked by a
wriggling brace of Thai womanhood that we had only met a
few minutes before.

Well, this is Thailand, but the team were then faced with a
slight dilemma.

All three of us then had to make the hard choice of deciding

which of the half dozen of the little sweethearts that were
busy going down on us, would get the pleasure of seeing
our hotel room ceilings that night.

The problem was that the toast of the Pattaya tennis

playing world (i.e. Flash and myself) had promised
ourselves a proper hand massage at the nearby luxury hotel
to help ease the results of knocking a ball over a net in a
temperature that could fry an egg on a pavement.

A tough decisions or what?

Do we stay and carry on tickling these young lady’s tonsils

or go for an erotic muscle rub-down and a swift leg over
around the corner?
When we tried to explain our need for physiotherapy it did
not go down well with our female companions. The girls did
not believe that we would come back for them, even when
we explained we were English and our word was our bond.

So, Paul craftily suggested that we paid our bar fines in

advance and booked a nocturnal friend each. Then he
would stay here as “hostage”, whilst Flash and myself went
to get our necessary sports treatment.

When suitably refreshed, the two of us could then collect

both him and our selected female “victims” before all
heading back to base to do the dirty deed.

This did not seem a very fair deal for our mentor with his
two apprentices having all the fun, but the PM said he had
sampled the delights of a full hand massage many times
before. So, although he was sad to miss it on this occasion,
the old fox was very happy to” mind the shop” in the
meantime and hopefully avoid any of Uncle Sam’s Navy
getting hold of our latest beddable girlfriends.

Paul had the tough job of looking after six young, sexy
nubile girls, but seemed up for it and said he would try to
keep them warm for us in the meantime.

That is the type of friend you need in a situation like this.

So with clear instructions of how to get to the five-star

hotel in question and not get lost in the Bermuda Triangle
that was the back streets of Pattaya, Flash and myself left
Paul with his trousers around his ankles and covered with
lipstick in places it did not belong.

We retraced our steps up the alleyway and for once it all

went to plan. Soon we were walking through the plush
hotel reception, past well-dressed guests and following
signs to an upmarket, in-house massage parlour based in
the basement of the said establishment.

I would have given this place six stars plus, as it was

definitely a really top end property - even the carpet came
up over our ankles

The best news was that there was not a trace of the ancient
mariner and his pals from the Uncle Sam’s sea going
contingent, just a number of smart looking businessmen
and farang holiday makers milling about. Some sporting a
mouth-watering selection of top class Thai totty on their
arms

The other good news was that when we strolled into the
large massage parlour reception, it was obvious that there
was a very decent selection on display in the haunted fish
tank.

The slight down side was it was twice the price of Pepsi’s
place yesterday, but at least a regular hand massage was a
cheaper option than the full soapy, so it did not cause too
much excessive strain on our wallets.

Making a final choice here was not easy with such a large
group of LBGs behind the glass and sitting under the lights,
but my beady eyes noticed number 59 who was watching
TV in the third row.

This girl looked a starter.

But as usual, as soon as I mentioned it to Mr. Gordon, he

said hands off as that one was top of his shopping list.

So to avoid an argument and giving The Flashman a kick in

the crotch for the second time in twenty-four hours, I
decided to defer to the randy little ginger haired sod and
ended up booking No.44.
This was no real hardship, as she was a pretty little thing
that was sitting in the front seats smiling sweetly and
displaying a plunging neckline. So I graciously let the lad
have first bash at the curvy Miss 59 just for the sake of a
quiet life.

With this amount of top drawer female talent about, there

is no point in arguing over who has what – there is plenty to
go around.

Paul had already warned us about the price.

So, after telling the manager we only wanted just a basic

hand massage and him predictably trying to sell us a more
expensive oil version, we eventually politely persuaded the
gentleman that we would not be sold up.

Even so, we both still ended up paying a hefty fifteen

hundred baht for the basic service.

Following a grumble about the cost, the brace of tennis

heroes both collected their girlfriends for an hour of totally
mindless sex and headed off arm-in-arm with our two
companions. After the short walk of shame down a plush
corridor, we were both ushered into some really well
appointed, spacious rooms.

I know you are there to admire the form of the masseuse

with her kit off not the furniture.

Let’s face it, if you want to do that, go to your local Habitat

or Laura Ashley store, but the surroundings do make the
experience more pleasurable and these places were
exceptionally clean and very comfortable.

Large colour TV, music, soft casual chairs, a mega bath and
a giant bed – perfect for recuperation from the Great
Pattaya Tennis Open and ideal for a few forehand
manoeuvres.

Now being an old campaigner after my few days out East, I

was well used to the standard format of my girl running a
bath, helping me undress. Then after dropping her
knickers, hopping into a large tub to wash me in places, I
did not know I had – job done.

Even the standard questions in broken English started to

sound very familiar. “What your name?”, “Where you come
from?” and “You been Pattaya before?”

Paul had explained to us when we first hit town that it is a

good idea to let the female opposition think you have been
to Thailand on a few previous trips. Otherwise if they know
you are a newbie, the price is likely to go up.

Everyone loves a novice mug punter and in this case things

ran true to form.

My new girlfriend’s name was Cat and she certainly had a

pussy to be proud of. I predictably explored this feature in
depth, as both of us enjoyed a pleasurable few minutes
washing each other and playing a game of underwater
“hide the soap in every crevice”.

I felt that the opportunity of giving this sexy feline a large

saucer of milk was on the cards pretty soon.

As often happens with Asian girls, they tend to look

younger than they are and I was surprised when Cat said
she had a pair of kittens (sorry children) at home in Udon
Thani and was thirty-five years old next week.

Blimey, I was young enough to be her toy boy.

“Happy Birthday” I whispered as I struggled to slide two

fingers in Cat’s tight snatch at the same time. Two kids and
she was as tight as a mouse’s ear down there, so heaven
knows what she like was before motherhood took its toll.

I was tempted to do the old risqué Max Miller music hall

joke about” taking the rough with the smooth” as she stood
over me in the bath and I buried my face in her soap
smelling crotch. But I reckoned it would take half an hour
to explain the comment to my companion and she would
probably not get it even then.

These intriguing thoughts were going through my mind, as

she helped me out of the warm water, gently (or maybe
genitally might be more apt) towelled me dry and laid me
on the spacious bed. Nude as the day she was born and
wearing only a smile and a discreet tattoo of a butterfly on
her shoulder, Cat wriggled alongside and quickly got me to
lie flat on my back.

Whilst reclining, I was sporting a serious stiffy which

tended to give my intentions away big time.

Luckily, I was not face down or it could have done serious

damage with Little Jack poking into the mattress and me
getting a bill for the damage like my good pal Graham
Gordon managed down the road.

It is hard to play the nonchalant cool dude, when an expert

like this girl has her warm hands around your manhood
which now resembles a mini flag pole and she asks you
sweetly if you would like her to kiss the old fella better.

Show me one straight guy that tells you that he would say
no and I will show you a fibber !

Cat absolutely epitomised the experienced pro, got me

going and then stopped quickly - much too quickly for my
liking. The little minx then proceeded to lick the inside of
my thighs, ending up with my feet.
At this point, I was groaning with intense pleasure and she
did the old massage girls trick of sucking each toe in turn.

Having sensitive feet this tickled a bit, but Cat made it feel
really felt great and I nearly cried out “Puss, Puss” a few
times, but managed to fortunately avoid any silly attempts
at humour.

My one worry was that the King of Prats, dear old Flash,
might cause a major explosion, fire, flood, hordes of locusts
or any other unwelcome calamity next door.

Well, hopefully at least not before I had emptied my tank

into the delightful feline lying on my bed with her legs
apart and an innocent look on her pretty face.

So far, so good.

Nothing untoward had originated at this point from the

Master of Disaster who was lurking worryingly close by.

But then things went downhill a touch, even without his

input.

You see the problem was that I had become accustomed to

the many delights of a soapy. It was a warm, sensual body-
to-body experience. You just laid back, thought of England
and enjoyed it.

This was ideal for lazy devils like myself. The girl involved
does most of the work and you just play a quick game of
“hide the sausage” at the end and then hand over the cash
– perfect.

This “full on” traditional hand massage was a very different

experience and you could not class this as erotic or
relaxing, it was a painful shock to the system - big time.
Cat professionally started by pulling and cracking each of
my toes in turn, not too bad, but then she started
massaging hard up my legs and thighs.

It is amazing just how strong these Thai girl’s hands are.

She then carefully avoided the really interesting area at the

top end, headed up by Little Jack.

My initial erection had disappeared like “Snow in Bangkok”

at this point, as my masseuse really started to give my
injured body an unexpected agonising full work-out.

After pummelling the front elevation, Cat got me to turn

over and the little sweetheart massaged and then walked
up and down on my already sore back.

Ouch, that hurt!

But as PM always says, never show fear to the locals when

you are out East…

After what felt like hours of endless, uncomfortable bone

breaking discomfort, she got me to sit up. The plan seems
to be to end on the top bit of my anatomy and after
massaging my shoulders, moved my head around and
suddenly twisted it hard.

Whether my latest girlfriend was trying to kill me, I don’t

know, but it took three excruciating goes to make my neck
click, as I was naturally resisting. You feel your spine will
get snapped in half, the first time this is done to your
unsuspecting body - believe me.

Thankfully, that was the end of the “House of Pain”

interlude and I lay back on the bed, pleased that I appeared
to be still just about in one piece and not totally crippled for
life. To be brutally honest, that was not the most pleasant
way to spend half an hour…
It felt like I had just experienced party time with the
Spanish Inquisition, who were trying out a new rack.
Talking of big racks, it was quite apt in this case, as my
chief Inquisitor had massive knockers.

The lady in question, was at that moment licking my neck

whilst gently caressing Little Jack, who then responded by
standing up and showing his appreciation of my attractive
torturer attentions.

My best friend was displaying no loyalty to his owner at all.

Cat cuddled up to me, whilst expertly and gently fondling

my balls and she sweetly inquired if I needed any more
special treatment for relief of that muscle tension. Stroking
the old fella, the lady pointed out in broken English that
these sports injuries can apparently take a lot of work to
repair.

We discussed what was on the menu and my companion

suggested her speciality of a full blow job, complete with
deep throat and swallow.

No spitting for this girl.

The deal swiftly agreed between Cat, Little Jack and myself,
was that I pay 500 baht for just a BJ, with no full sex after.
Cat was sweet, but business like and appeared to have
been around the block a few times on the negotiation front.

To be honest, as every sinew was still hurting from the

massage, I doubt that there were two shots left in me
anyway.

What with playing Flashman’s stupid hour of tennis in 90

odd degrees’ heat and then having every bit of my suffering
frame attacked by a sadistic, bone cracking Asian siren –
just a simple “gob job” was fine by me.
Anyway, I was putty in her capable hands (or mouth) and
did not even argue about the price tag.

So with the financials over, Miss 44 started by sucking both

my nipples and let her tongue drift down over my navel,
until it teasingly ended up at a hotspot in my crotch. Being
the ever consummate professional, the Cat took an ice cube
from some soft drinks on a table next to the bed, popped
one into her mouth, licked under my balls and then rimmed
me thoroughly.

For a bloke, this was as near to heaven as I reckon you can

get on this mortal coil, as her ice-cold tongue gave amazing
sensations in my nether regions and had me wriggling and
groaning in appreciation. The freezing touch seemed to
magnify everything Cat did and I was wriggling around
hoping she would keep the action going for as long as
humanly possible.

After repeating this sensual little manoeuvre again, Cat put

both my, by now, extra sensitive balls into her mouth and
very gently sucked. She did this whilst massaging my anal
zone with her forefinger, which disappeared inside slowly
and sensuously.

I have had girlfriends who have “tea bagged” me before.

It can feel great, but in my experience it is very easy to hurt

the old crown jewels, if the girl involved suck too hard and
get a bit over enthusiastic.

You can easily end up feeling a bit like Flash when he got
kicked in this delicate area by our little Thai boxing friend
and you pray your female partner does not get a sudden
attack of lock jaw at an inopportune moment.

This session was in a different class and lying back looking

at the mirrors that surrounded the bed, you could see an
oral expert at work.

No, Cat had it just right and then moved onto the underside
of the old fella and worked her tongue up and down the
shaft after popping another ice cube into her mouth and
paying full attention to the throbbing bell end.

The foreplay was then finished with the little darling

engulfing a further ice cube like a frozen lolly, then she
easily took the whole length of me down in one. Cat seemed
to have the ability to unhinge her jaws like a python and
gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “deep throat”.

To make it even more fun, the girl lay on her back on the
edge of the bed and encouraged me to stand in front of her
and do an impression of a circus sword swallowing act.
Little Jack was in so deep, that my pubic hair was brushing
her lips, but Cat did not even gag – amazing.

If there is ever an Olympic event for Blow Jobs, she should

get the gold, silver and bronze for Thailand.

My latest sexual favourite then proceeded to bring me off

without using her hands, it was all done by just suction and
the rippling effect around her tonsils.

My final climax was violent, as I seemed to cum and cum

forever.

Cat then innocently opened her mouth, put her tongue out
to show me what I had produced and swallowed the lot,
laughing and saying “thousands of babies”.

Linda Lovelace would have been proud of that

performance…

I just lay in a crumpled heap after being sucked dry by an

expert and had difficulty of returning back to Planet Earth
for some time.
When I finally showed signs of life returning, Cat carefully
led me back to the bath and washed me from top to bottom
and then dried all the important areas. This intimate
attention to detail ended with a final kiss on Little Jack’s
rather pink head, who managed to nearly defy gravity and
tried to stand up again - that boy does not know when he is
beaten.

This girl really took her time in pampering me, before

finally smiling sweetly and holding her soft little palm out.

I then did something seriously out of character and against

the rules of the Bangkok Pussy Hounds.

It can only be explained by my limited mental capabilities

having been still under the influence of having every drop
of my bodily fluids totally drained out which made me light
headed.

Even though the fee of 500 baht had been agreed for a BJ
in advance, I pushed 1500 worth of notes into her little
brown fingers and mumbled Kup Khun Khrap.

Well, I had just had the best and most enjoyable suck job in
my life, so work beyond the call of duty like this should be
well rewarded.

Cat looked at the wad of cash and said “no, you pay too
much” with a quizzical look on her face, but looked
genuinely thrilled when I explained that she deserved it.
My top girl of the moment then gave me a high wai and
kissed me passionately on the lips.

This was a bit of a worry thinking where her mouth had

been a few minutes earlier and she had not even had a swig
of mouthwash, but what can you do when some LBG
decides to French kiss you in appreciation?
It would be rude not to put your tongue down her throat.

I put these negative thoughts out of my mind, as No.44 took

my arm and gently escorted me back to the reception area.

Cat charmingly waied me again and after giving a radiant

smile and disappeared back to the tank at speed.

This all seemed to happen a bit on the quick side, but the
girl’s swift exit may have had something to do with seeing a
crumpled heap of something unpleasant nursing a Singha
beer and sprawled by the entrance.

This auburn headed apparition, was at an educated guess

all that currently remained of the illustrious Mr. Graham
Gordon himself.

You could hardly blame her for doing a runner; it was not a
pleasant sight.

Red faced, hair sticking up at a crazy angle and another

wet stain over the front of his jeans (best not to ask); Flash
“Vicious” looked like one of those Kings Road Punks on a
bad day that I thought we had left behind in London.

“That was ruddy painful, wasn’t it?” the apparition croaked,

as I sat down alongside the Ginger Whinger.

The next five minutes were taken up with a lengthy rant.

“The little cow nearly broke my frigging back, clicked about

every part of me that did not need clicking and left me
doing a Quasimodo impression – I may be ruined for life”
the happy little sunbeam shared with me after managing to
persuade me to buy him another beer, apparently needed
for purely medicinal purposes.

I thought it best to try and cheer Flash up, so I asked him

about the “Happy Ending”.
Even that failed to raise his spirits or anything else for that
matter by the sound of it.

“That silly tart nearly pulled the old fella off and charged
me 500 baht for the privilege”. He said, visibly winching at
the memory of the recent less than sensual hand job.

“I reckon The President set us up and I shall have a strict

word with that wily old bugger when I see him” muttered
Flash the Cheerful “there he is minding a load of LBGs and
nursing a cool drink in the bar, while we spend an hour
with some female Thai power lifters trying to cripple the
fuck out of us both. It is alright for some”.

“If I wanted to practise wrestling, we would go to a gym”

he stated neatly wiping the Singha foam off his mouth onto
his tee-shirt with practised ease.

Being ever the diplomat, I decided that now was not a good
time to let the Flashman know I had enjoyed the most
exciting and satisfying oral sex ever.

In fact, Cat was so good I had forgotten the bone breaking,

less than erotic, foreplay before the main event.

The two of us, finally found the strength to limp out

through the hotel luxury reception and stagger back into
the Pattaya night. Things had certainly livened up a bit
since we had left Paul in charge of our female companions,
with ever more of the American Navy appearing all over
the place in a drunken stupor.

I felt the safest option with Flash around was to get back to
the Fallen Angel Bar and speedily collect our girls. We
could then grab a bite to eat and head off to our hotel
rooms for a bit more action between the sheets and
cunningly avoid taking the risk of getting our heads kicked
in on the street, which might ruin our day.
After getting lost only about a dozen times, the dynamic
duo finally managed to locate the correct small soi and the
welcoming neon sign beckoned us inside.

I think we were both relieved to smell the overpowering

aroma of beer, tobacco and cheap scent, as we staggered
back through the curtain doorway and re-joined PM who
was happily sitting in the still empty bar, without a hint of
problems with the swarms of naval personal that appeared
to be everywhere in Pattaya.
CHAPTER EIGHT

JANUARY 2017
I doubt if many of you readers are daft enough to try and
play sports (the outside variety) in a tropical climate
,without being a bit more sensible than we were back in the
eighties – it was amazing we even used sunblock.
It was lucky we did not try this stunt on our second trip to
the Kingdom that year in August which was smack in the
rainy season, the humidity then was really crippling – so be
warned.
One thing that amazed me from my early vists to Thailand
and right up to today, is how many farangs are walking
around showing signs of really painful sunburn.
As an old Thai hand, Paul’s advice was avoid bearing your
skin to the elements. You are here to get your leg over as
many beautiful girls as possible, not to try and come home
bronzed.
You know what is like when the sun worship has been
overdone (not hard in a climate like this) and you are sore
and peeling all over.
Forgetting the potential long term health damage, this
condition can take weeks to get back to normal and that
ruins the main reason for the trip. It will not be a pleasure
to share a bath with a pair of stunning LBGs and have them
sliding all over you when even just getting touched is
agony.
The classic case is to fall asleep by the pool on your first
few days, when still suffering from jetlag and then wake up
looking like an underdone burger - red and sore. You have
just blown the main purpose of your trip in the first few
hours……
PM used to advise that if you want a tan either use a
sunbed at home or go to Spain or some other European
resort that is without beautiful, cheap and available LBGs
on offer everywhere you look. Vist the Mediterranean and
concentrate on coming home a nice brown colour, but in
Thailand you are here for another purpose.
Paul certainly practised what he preached, always going
home as white as he arrived.
In fact, probably lighter as he had spent most of the time
up to his neck being scrubbed in soapy water.
The funny thing for us Westerners to understand is that the
local girls love this colour.
As the old rogue explained to Flash and myself on our first
Asian jaunt. In Thailand, most locals want to be as pale
skinned as possible, hence all the products that can be
bought over the counter at the chemists to bleach skin. The
whiter you are, the more upmarket you are seen to be.
Many of the girls in bars and massage parlours are from
the North-East Province having darker completions and try
hard to lighten their natural skin colour with all sorts of
dodgy chemicals.
In some parts of the world, a tan is looked upon as
attractive and shows health and affluence, but in The Land
of Smiles, the reverse is true.
Pasty white is good!
Seeing that guy selling overpriced fluffy toys in Pattaya was
a classic piece of opportunism.
These are aimed at generous farangs with a little honey on
their arms, it can be difficult to say no under pressure just
as you are heading off for a few pleasurable hours in the
sack.
You tend to be influenced by your crutch rather than your
head in these circumstances, but try and avoid wasting
valuable cash on a stuffed teddy, when it is stuffed pussy
you are really after.
Over the intervening years, I have been in Pattaya many
times when there has been a military “invasion”. It can be
fine, but I think the principle of getting out on the prowl
early and tucked up with a nubile young girl before it all
really kicks off later, is still a good one.
My experience with Miss 44 at the Royal Orchid Massage
Parlour was interesting.
It must have been an exceptional oral session, as all these
years later, I can remember it all in full Technicolor detail
and it still gives Little Jack odd stirrings!
Paul had been told in his early trips by some ex-pats living
in the region, that a double number i.e. 22, 33, 44 etc.; can
indicate a girl with a speciality skill in the bonking
department.
I cannot guarantee this is always correct, as there has been
the odd double number in my time that has done a starfish
impression and disappointed, but there could be some truth
in the principle.
Maybe the owners of the naughty establishments award
these numbers to the best performers?
Anyway, I reckon you will have fun checking it out. You can
play a sort of Thai bingo, but just don’t shout “house” at the
wrong moment ….
There is big difference from a soapy or oil massage to the
regular traditional hand version which is much more hard-
core and physical.
I usually get a hand massage when I first hit town after a
long-haul flight as it seems worth the pain, just to ease the
muscles and get in half decent condition for a bash at the
fleshpots in Nana, Soi Cowboy and Patpong.
The older you get the more it seems to be a good
investment to loosen up.
For the rest of the trip, I personably usually wimp out and
settle for a sensual time in the suds or having a well-oiled
LBG slipping all over the old body. Although, a quick foot
massage for a few baht is a good option to revitalise things
and is a relaxing way to spend a bit of time between
chasing pussy.
CHAPTER 9

FEBRUARY 1980

OPERATION COBRA
Paul had virtually got our girls “gift wrapped” and ready for
action, when Flash and my good self finally hobbled back
into the Angel Bar.

PM was wisely sitting in the far corner, well away from

both the stage and speakers from which the DJ was
blasting out White Snake and other classic rock hits at
“head banging, ear melting” volume.

Our mentor seemed to be enjoying both the two LBGs on

his lap and the third with her arms around his shoulders,
who was enthusiastically licking his neck like a giant flake
bar in a 99 Ice Cream Cone advertisement.

The little darling that was standing alongside him was also
holding his drink and feeding the old rascal sips of beer,
whilst gently mopping his mouth with a paper napkin.

This gave Paul free rein to explore what all the members of
his attentive team of little helpers were wearing (or not)
under their very short skirts.

PM had made a final choice for us from the original half

dozen on offer and all these three lucky girls had changed
into their “civvies” and were ready for the off with their
new boyfriends i.e. us.

If Thailand is not paradise for guys, what is?

Flash’s eyes lit up when he saw that PM had as usual,

picked our nocturnal companions with customary skill. The
“Master of Disaster” even forgot to give him a bollacking
about the recent unpleasant bone crunching time that the
lad had experienced at the Royal Orchid and rushed over to
get his sticky fat fingers on a piece of the action.

To be honest, after the two physically demanding sessions

with the delectable Pepsi yesterday and now the delightful
Cat only a few short minutes earlier, I was in no hurry and
decided to let the lads chose first.

In this case, Little Jack would be happy with the leftovers,

so to speak.

Predictably, Mr. Gordon grabbed the girl with the biggest

fun bags and one of Paul’s companions had already got her
tongue down his throat. So by natural selection, the
smallest and youngest of the trio took my hand as we all
walked out and braved the inferno of a Pattaya night yet
again.

Having finally left the small soi and managed to get back
onto the main though fare without a mishap, we were then
battling our way through a mixture of hustling Thais,
drunken Farangs and Uncle Sam’s maritime best.

A food stop was next on the agenda, as all our team were
hungry including our three new girlfriends.

Well, show me a bar girl who ever refuses food, the big
question is how do they stay so slim? Answers on a
postcard ect.; ect.…

Paul, Flash and myself all favoured checking out a great

looking seafood restaurant, that we had passed on the way
down, which certainly looked a top spot for a bit of local
culinary delight.

The thought of sitting with our latest team of ladies of the

night, enjoying the warm sea breeze, whilst downing a few
ice colds and attacking some oversized lobsters seemed like
paradise to us.

What could be better, plenty of drink and great food with

an attractive LBG for afters?

Just for the record, I just hasten to add that this was NOT
the previous establishment that nearly incinerated us all
the day before in the infamous exploding “Irish Coffees”
fiasco.

But this idyllic plan was scuppered, as the female part of

our team had other strong ideas on the food front.

The girls said that it was “no good eat – very much baht”
and they were having none of it and instructed us to follow
them to a really great “no fallang place” that they all eat in
regularly and was only a short walk away.

Our trio of female gourmets led us down an endless maze

of criss-cross sois and finally into a small square, where
there were around half a dozen local vendors all plying
their trade. Most were cooking with just a few woks over
charcoal or bottled gas and surrounded by bottles and
plastic food containers full of various contents.

Each one seemed to specialise in one or two dishes and

there was that great smell of night-time Thailand – a
mixture of heat, spices, incense, smoke and hot women.
(OK, I am slightly exaggerating about the last bit!)

Now, as I have mentioned before, the PM was not a big fan

of foreign food.

He loved exotic girls, but basic English grub was top of his
eating wish list.

But even Paul thought the local cuisine on offer smelt really
good and we were quickly letting the female part of the
group, order a variety of culinary delights in rapid Thai.

Luckily, our guides sorted things out at speed and

thankfully before Mr. Gordon had found the “eating out”
section of his infamous guide and poisoned us all at a
stroke.

We ended up with piles of sticky chicken, rice, fish kebabs

and noodle dishes.

This amazing assortment of street food, plus a soft drinks

and fresh fruit for afters, came to a grand total of 350 baht
all in.

Where else could you sit at a table watching the nightlife

go by, munching on some brilliant tasting grub and have
your old fella stroked by a little sweetheart for a mere
seven quid for a party of six?

In fact, Flash was so impressed that he uncharacteristically

rushed to pay and being one of life’s gentlemen, snatched
the bag of peanuts off his new beloved. “These are
brilliant” the lad said, munching his way through nearly the
whole lot with relish at one go.

Giving us all the benefit of a serious belch that nearly blew

the paper tablecloth over the Gulf of Siam, he asked for
another portion and reckoned “they beat those KP ones, we
get back in the pub at home, but could do with a bit more
salt though” and then asked if they do pork scratchings.

At this point, each of the three Noi team seemed to be

curled up in an attack of serious hysterics and had their
hands in front of their faces.

When things had calmed down a bit, Mr. Gordon then

demolished a second large portion of his favourite special
“peanuts” with relish and wiped his mouth on my paper
napkin.

Paul’s companion who spoke the best English of the trio,

said it was unusual for a westerner to like the traditional
Thai snack of deep fried grasshoppers and complimented
the Flashman on his eclectic taste in food and obvious good
palate.

For a moment, the lad could not work out if he was being
spoofed, but went strangely quiet. His face displayed a
strange white, lumpy colour and our hero drank every can
of Coke and Fanta on the table, whilst apparently trying to
get the taste out of his mouth.

To be honest he looked a bit less than perky. But typically of

Mr. Gordon, the prat pretended he knew exactly what he
had been eating along.

Flash’s story was that he had allegedly accidentally bitten

on a raw chilli, which had caused the redoubtable Mr.
Gordon to have a raging thirst and the heat had made him
go a touch on the pale side.

Surprisingly, he turned down the kind offer from his new

busty friend of some curried frog, just to finish off his feast
on a high note.

After our top gastronome started to look like he might just

make the hotel without departing this life prematurely, we
decided to head up the road in the Wongamat direction.

Well, we did after Khun Flash had stopped to enjoy a quick

heave into some unfortunate motorbiker’s helmet, which
the rider had rashly left conveniently on a Honda parked
outside a nearby bar.
Whilst the charming spectacle of The Flashman crying “”
Ruth” into a local Hells Angel’s skid lid continued apace,
The President was in earnest conversation with the lad’s
new girlfriend Noi 2.

For the sake of clarity, I should really have explained to

readers that all three LBGs had the nickname “Noi” - so
call out that name and the whole room turned around.

To save unnecessary confusion, we christened PMs

companion Noi 1, Chunder Gordon’s top heavy companion
Noi 2 (well, she had a great pair) and mine surprisingly Noi
3 - not original, but it worked.

Anyway, there was a lot of laughing and giggling from both

PM and Noi 2.

Paul then winked at me and discreetly tapped the side of

his nose, as we set off on the last leg of our journey to our
hotel. This was after our mentor handed the girl something
which she quickly and quietly popped into her bag.

Knowing better than to get involved in whatever wind-up

was going down, I looked the other way and concentrated
on Noi. 3 who was holding my hand and looking up with
those big “come to bed, give me a large portion and a
handful of baht” eyes.

Walking through Pattaya at this time of night was certainly

an education for us first timers on the strip.

Even though we all had female companions both on our

arms and all over us like a rash, we were still getting
approached by an army of freelancers, who tried to entice
us to join them for “good time”.

Most of these ladies of the night got an earful in Thai from

the Noi trio and even the local ladyboys tried their luck
offering us a swift BJ on the beach, but we rigidly stuck to
our course of heading back to the Wongamat and tried to
avoid temptation.

To be honest, one katoey appeared worthy of closer

inspection and maybe an in-depth examination.

She (he?) looked stunning and proudly put out a tongue

that seemed to go on for ever, while demonstrating her oral
skills on a banana that she just happened to be eating at
the time.

This attractive ladyboy then told Paul that she still had a
complete set of working landing tackle and pulled up her
mini skirt to prove a point (or her point in this situation).

Without our current female companions in tow, I reckon

that one of us might have been tempted to stray over to the
dark side. Although she seemed better endowed in the
trouser department that any of us, which was a slight
worry.

Size does matter in my experience.

Managing to avoid any more confrontations with the whole

American Navy, numerous she-males plus assorted go-go
dancers on the pull, the six of us finally wandered into our
hotel reception and the Noi contingency handed in their
IDs whilst we picked up our keys.

The consensus was for a quick nightcap before getting

down to the main business in hand or whatever part of the
girl’s bodies we ended up enjoying at that time.

Noi 3 turned out to be a sweet little thing, who had

apparently just arrived in Pattaya and had never been with
a farang in her life. That line seems familiar, now where
have I heard it before? The answer is - everywhere…
After some quick liquid refreshment and a swift bit of
foreplay in the corner of the bar, we all headed off to our
own chalets. I politely wished my next door neighbour
Flash and his top heavy other half a good and fruitful night,
opened the door to my room and ushered Noi 3 into my den
of iniquity.

I quickly turned the air conditioning down, as it was cold as

a witch’s tit on Halloween (not that I have felt one, but you
get the idea) and adjusted the lights down to a romantic
level while little Noi was unsurprisingly busy showering.

The girl had said she was shy, but after the obligatory
appointment with the soap the young lady in question
walked out of the bathroom wearing just a small towel. The
little darling then casually dropped it to the floor and asked
“you like much?”

Do bears live in woods or does Flash have ginger pubes?

Little Jack liked her even more than me. The little sod
showed it by jumping to attention and poking his head
outside my silk counterfeit “Kelvin Klein’s” for a better look
at the goods on offer.

To be honest, if all things had been equal earlier, I would

have probably chosen the LBG that Mr. Gordon was
currently ploughing in the next-door chalet at this very
moment.

That girl could do a good impression of Chesty Morgan

from the infamous soft porn film “Deadly Weapons”.

But looking at little Noi.3 in the buff, she was like a small
exquisite Thai Doll complete with her pert breasts, large
erect brown nipples (told you it was chilly) and areolas
which seemed to cover a high percentage of her brace of
impressively firm mammary glands.
Add a few wisps of soft pubic hair, plus a tiny waist and Noi
the Third was built to be the perfect spinner.

Even though both Little Jack and his owner were itching to
give the bed springs a full workout, as is the custom, I also
had a turn in the bathroom.

It could be in the Guinness Book of Records for the

quickest shower in history of bathing.

Before I had even finished towelling the old torso, I was

legging it back to my petite playmate at top speed, who at
this moment was reclining under a sheet watching the TV
and playing with the bar girl’s best friend, “Lee-mote”.

After joining her on the bed, things started getting

interesting and I don’t mean in that Thai soap opera that
she was glued to.

I was just sucking on those delectable boobs, while she was

giving Little Jack a gentle five finger knuckle shuffle and
then with sickening predictably all hell broke loose next
door.

This had shades of deja vu from the great massage

mattress explosion of twenty-four hours before - it
appeared to be “Ground Hog Day” with a vengeance.

“Please not again”, I groaned out loud, as I rolled a rock-

hard nipple around my tongue and tried to ignore the
serious commotion outside.

There was loud shouting, furniture being turned over, doors

banging and shrieks sounding like someone being attacked
with a machete.

I know Khun Flash does tend to be a bit noisy on the job,

but this sounded like the poor bastard was being killed.
In seconds, No 3 was up and out of my passionate
embraces and quicker than you could say “get your
laughing gear round this”, she quickly threw open the
chalet door to behold a bizarre sight.

The Ginger Whinger (who else?) was running around the

garden outside, absolutely stark bollack naked and
shouting out the immortal words in my direction of “shit,
shit shit - there is a frigging black mamba on the loose in
the room. I am sodding off to get the security guard, el
frigging pronto– fucking hell it’s a big bastard” and other
assorted totally incoherent choice phrases to that effect.

Impressively all without the help of his infamous

indispensable Thai phrasebook.

With that articulate and well measured verbal outburst

over, the lad resplendent in his birthday suit and wearing
just an assortment of freckles, appeared to be bordering on
hysterical. Our hero sprinted off along the path towards
reception, followed at great speed by his current love
interest Noi 2 in hot pursuit who thoughtfully was carrying
a bath towel to apparently try and cover up his modesty
with.

I think she was a bit over optimistic there and would only
need a small flannel, but being a loyal friend and a sensitive
soul, I will avoid casting aspersions on the poor boy’s
naughty bits during these moments of obvious stress and
danger.

The lady was not exactly overdressed herself and was just
sporting just a brief tee-shirt which appeared to have been
put on back to front in a hurry and nearly came down to
her navel.

I was obvious to any spectators than that girl had some

serious form on her. Plus, she showed a good turn of speed
too, considering she was being hit in the face by a pair of
generous boobs wobbling all over the place as she ran at
full tilt through the garden.

The sight of a naked bar girl pursuing the vanishing

nocturnal spectacle of a sun burnt, carrot topped,
overweight fat bastard in full flight was one to savour by all
connoisseurs of the bizarre.

The Flashman seemed to miss the paved walkway in the

dark at one point in the grounds and stepped into an
ornamental pond with a satisfying splash.

After extracting his size 11 foot, he swore some more at the

top of his voice and headed off into the dark Pattaya night
at speed after frightening the life out of a shoal of Siamese
Fighting Fish and Guppies.

Still shouting that there was a killer snake on the loose at

the top of his voice and followed by his nearly nude female
companion running fast behind, my fellow countryman
thankfully disappeared into the gloom.

Unfortunately, at this very moment an ancient couple of

holidaymakers from Munich, whom I had chatted to earlier
in the day, just happened to be walking back to their room
after a quiet night out enjoying a meal in town.

With perfect timing, the apparition of a naked Flash (well

named!) ran past them in his birthday suit with his nasty on
full display and disappeared in a blur of ginger pubes and
loud obscenities.

If that was not bad enough for my friends from Bavaria,

this frightening sight was followed closely by his near
starkers Thai girlfriend waving a small piece of bathroom
linen.
Thankfully they both faded into the night-time gloom still
shrieking incoherent phrases about deadly reptiles.

The elderly German duo sadly shook their heads and

seemed to shrug it off as normal British behaviour abroad.

The old boy muttered to me something about “how did we

lose the war, we should demand a recount”.

I agreed and said “ Germany could win the next one against
the English on penalties” and they both laughed, smiled
and wisely headed for their room a bit sharpish before the
nude Phantom of the Opera returned for Act Two of the
drama.

This surreal moment started to make me wonder whether I

had woken up in a Monty Python sketch or if my drink had
been spiked with some type of mind altering drug in the
Fallen Angel Bar earlier.

To put things in perspective, I should explain one thing.

Those readers with good memories may remember in a

previous chapter, that I mentioned Mr. Gordon appeared a
bit twitchy in the garden of this very same hotel when we
first arrived in Pattaya?

It is a fundamental truth that in life, most of us are

frightened of something. I have known people terrified of
flying, go into a fit if they see a spider or faint if they are on
a high building.

Well, dear old Flash had a thing about snakes, big time.

It was only his love of all things pussy centric, that

persuaded him to come to the Far East in the first place.

He was alright in Bangkok after checking under his hotel

bed and toilet seat half a dozen times for anything reptilian.
But outside of the city in the countryside, the idea of
anything that crawled or slithered could be sharing a room
with him, gave him the cold sweats.

Thailand’s answer to David Attenborough was convinced a

venomous bite could be lurking around the next corner –
hence the slight over reaction.

My little sweetheart, No 3, was all for looking in his open

chalet for the wayward cobra. So being the brave macho
type, I pushed her in first and jumped well back.

Well, you cannot be too careful with the risk of getting a

potentially lethal nip in the genital area, that could easily
ruin my holiday.

A blow job from a pit viper was not my idea of a good time.

Anyway, being the great white hunter, I was doing the

dangerous part of waiting a good distance outside ready to
make a swift exit if required.

Whilst my native bearer had the easy part of just

confronting a deadly snake, which may have the avowed
ambition of sinking its dental ware into any handy bit of her
anatomy within reach.

But all was well, as she quickly came back holding a small
brightly coloured snake, which she shook at me laughing fit
to burst.

Being the brave, all action hero, I jumped a mile and nearly
had a major accident on the spot in my hastily put on jeans.
It may only be little one, but in these exotic climes who
know what deadly poison it had on board.

Coming from the rural Surin region, Noi 3; told me cobras

were common at home and came into houses and buildings
looking for rats to feed on. She regularly chased them out
with a broom, and the little darling said “ No ploblem, this
is the same, same, but different. It just cheap plastic toy”.

I decided that discretion was the better part of valour and

ushered both my girlfriend and our new artificial pet back
into my room and decided that it was my trouser snake that
was in urgent need of attention now. After swiftly double
locked the door as a precaution from a naked Mr. Gordon
making a social vist .

It was tempting to make some corny joke about her getting

on with sucking the poison out, but as usual, I felt British
humour might lose something in the translation.

The trouble is that this comic interlude was having a

seriously detrimental effect in the romantic stakes, as both
of us could not stop laughing fit to burst about the whole
episode.

This bout of unbridled hilarity was made worse; when

everybody’s least favourite Tarzan arrived back next door
complete with a bewildered security guard from the front
desk in tow.

The poor guy had not only had his night time sleep rudely
interrupted, but to make matters worse, he had to listen to
Flash trying to speak “fluent” Thai from a guidebook at the
top of his voice.

To Khun Gordon’s dismay, after a full search of the

premises, his uniformed friend could not find any sign of
the man-eating Anaconda that was apparently at large in
his bedroom.

It is hard to keep the necessary stiffness required when

nearly wetting yourself next door, listening to this
pantomime.
So in the end, Noi 3 and myself giggled ourselves to sleep
before any nookie could be completed.

Not a total disaster, as one of the nice things about having

an LBG on “long time” hire is she is waiting for you before
breakfast. So we finally managed to consummate our
relationship in the morning sunlight when Little Jack awoke
with a stiffy.

The Third Noi had a near perfect little body with that
smooth dark skin so liked by many westerners punters, but
not so popular with the Thai male population.

She tasted as good as she looked and made all the right
sounds. So much so, I nearly believed her story of not
having a farang before and being “farm fresh”.

She was a sweet girl and after some “lazy seconds” we

showered together and made our way across to the
cafeteria at around twelve, to see if the ginger snake
charmer had surfaced yet or was still doing a nude sprint
around the garden.

When we arrived in the cafeteria, we found Paul and Noi 1

sitting in the corner attempting to enjoy their breakfast and
trying to ignore Flash, who was in full flow and holding
them both spellbound with his tales of heroics in fighting
venomous reptiles.

He was managing all this whilst eating a full “Heart Attack”

English complete with extra toast, mushrooms, beans and
sausages for the really gluttonous Big White Hunter.

When we turned up, sadly PM and his female companion

both had to sit through a re-run of the full saga yet again.

Apparently, Mr. Gordon had just got down to some serious

horizontal dancing, when his partner moved the pillow and
a great snake attacked him.

Calm in the face of danger, Flash threw himself between

the viper and his beloved and managed to save them both
with that calm resolve that he was famous for. How PM
kept a straight face in the circumstances I don’t know, as
he was the architect of the evil scheme in the first place.

He told the whole restaurant, who by now were hearing the

full unabridged tale whether they liked it or not, that the
secret apparently is nerves of steel.

The trick is, you must not show apprehension or

nervousness to dangerous wild animals and apparently this
was a talent you were born with and it was obvious he had
it in spades.

They can smell fear a mile away, our carrot headed warrior
told the hushed room, whilst he was bravely emptying the
whole bottle of tomato sauce over his modest mountain of
food.

The newly crowned King of the Jungle, then swigged back a

gallon of black coffee and virtually took a bow to his
audience.

But the old fox managed it somehow and looked suitably

impressed with tale of heroics (mental note, never play Paul
at poker…)

There was no sign of the voluptuous Noi 2 and when I

asked Mr. Gordon where she was, he muttered something
about her being asked to leave the premises by the hotel
staff for running around the reception semi naked and
upsetting guests.

“Quite unreasonable, in a civilised society” PM

sympathetically said trying not to laugh.
According to the “Gospel of Flash”, unlike himself, Noi 2
panicked when faced by a deadly reptile and did a runner.

Well, it was good to know, that at least one of your team

can handle a crisis.

As we were booked on an air-conditioned coach heading

back to Bangkok and leaving at three that same afternoon,
Paul and myself decided to take our individual “Nois” back
to our rooms for another repeat performance to wile away
our last few hours and exchange a few bodily fluids in the
process.

Helpfully, we did check whether our hero wanted to share

one of our companions for some afternoon delight. But
Flash did not seem that keen to go back to his chalet or
anybody else’s for some strange reason.

Apparently, he had his suitcases packed and ready in

reception, so our champion decided to stay in the bar and
demolish a few Singhas.

I pity anyone unfortunate enough to have their ears bent by

our own “Rama of the Jungle” whilst trying to have a quiet
drink and getting the benefit of an unrequested sermon on
how to deal with an aggressive rattlesnake using only your
bare hands.

So it ended up a lazy day for all the team, but I think we all
enjoyed our downtime.

Noi 3 seemed a bit more experienced than she let on, but
was great fun in the sack and we spent an hour in the bath
trying various underwater positions and playing “hide the
soap”.

The hours went by all too quickly and she seemed very
happy with the standard 1500-baht fee and waved us all
goodbye, as the coach trundled off up the Sukumvit road on
the way from Sin City back to Bangers.

Paul was still quietly smiling at the snake spoof and I think
he was a bit embarrassed that it worked quite so well.

The President’s main regret was that we could not film the
edifying spectacle of Mr. Gordon nude with his new
girlfriend nearly in the same state, running in hysterics
around the pitch-black garden in the middle of the night
whilst being chased by a 40-baht plastic cobra.

He had only expected the lad to have a bit of a fright. Not

do the hundred yards dash nude, terrify half the hotel and
nearly start World War 3.

Paul and I carried on smirking like two naughty schoolboys

during the two-hour journey.

We both had to make some stupid inane joke every time we

collapsed in gales of laughter to avoid our travelling
companion putting two and two together and getting the
feeling that he had been set-up.

In the meantime, whilst relaxing as the scenery went

speeding by, we discussed why Thailand is the nearest
thing to paradise on earth.

Fortunately, The Flashman was very soon “resting his

eyelids” and became quickly unconscious and snored
loudly. Probably as the result of consuming a shed load of
beers that same afternoon, whilst the rest of the team were
otherwise engaged in the nookie stakes.

But who is complaining?

Mind you, the welcome development of Mr. Gordon heading

off to the “Land of Nod” certainly improved both Paul and
my quality of conversation on this return trip to Bangkok.
What he was dreaming about?

Take my advice, don’t go there!

 CHAPTER NINE
JANUARY 2017
If we were hitting Pattaya today I am sure we would be
using a baht bus rather than walking, as the place has
grown so much and has become virtually a city.
In 1980 Pattaya was a small fun resort, not the mega
metropolis is has now become.
One thing that has not changed over time is that it is still
full of girls, bars, girls, restaurants, girls and more girls….
Before my first vist to Asia, I avoided the street food sellers
anywhere like the plague. I had heard the usual scare
stories about instant salmonella, if you so much as touched
any of the local stuff. This line in bullshit was trotted out by
loads of “experts” which many had not been further east
than Essex.
In fact, although Paul had done loads of Thailand trips, he
also thought these vendors were a bit dodgy and initially
advised us to stick to the regular hotel eating places.
The “Noi” trio really changed our minds and educated all of
us on the benefits of this culinary area.
The golden rule is, if a street stand is popular with locals
and busy, it is probably cheap, tasty and safe.
Many of the stalls tend to specialise in one type of food. As
long as you know what you are eating, (unlike Flash, who
ended up with a main course of tandoori fried insects) and
accept they may have used more raw chilli to suit local
palates than you are used too – go for it and bon appetite!
Since the heady days of the eighties, I have had loads of
great meals street food at a fraction of the price of hotel
cafeterias or bought at the ubiquitous Starbucks and KFC,
which have sprung up like mushrooms since my early
forays.
My advice is give street cuisine a try.
You not only get top class grub, but it is a great place at
night to meet some really tasty freelancers into the
bargain….
We never told The Flashman the full truth about his close
brush with death, so the snake incident has stayed on my
conscience for all these years.
If your dearly beloved lets you read this Graham, sorry old
mate it was a joke - honest!
Flash can be thankful about one thing though.
I was walking through a toy department recently in one of
Bangkok’s mega department stores and there on sale was a
remote-controlled plastic cobra.
For under a thousand baht, this synthetic serpent was very
realistic and moved like the real thing.
Luckily for my travelling companion these were not
available back in 1980 or I reckon he would still be running
nude around Pattaya or would have dropped dead with a
heart attack by now.
The sad thing is that these days with good video facilities
on mobile phones, I might have been able to film the whole
saga and it could have trended on “You Tube” big time.
Interestingly just like Graham Gordon Esq; I used to believe
we were safe from anything that crawls or bites in the
depths of a big city like Bangkok.
Recently, I was told by a ladyboy in one of the clubs in the
Nana Plaza, that around the klongs (canals) in the capital
city there are numerous cobras hunting rodents and other
tasty meals.
So, I think I will give the floating market a miss in future
and stick to floating massage parlours….
For those of you that like “factoids” there are apparently
over sixty venomous snakes in the Kingdom, complete with
five different types of cobra.
Apparently, the most common way to get bitten is that
individual motorists driving home at night on country roads
after a few beers, stop and get out the vehicle at night to
enjoy a swift leak.
These reptiles do not appreciate getting a surprise “golden
shower” and a serious bite in the trouser department can
be on the cards.
So, my advice is watch out if you get taken short on the
highway or risk a painful toilet stop….
CHAPTER 10

FEBRUARY 1980

CLAP HANDS, HERE COMES

FLASH
I noticed it on the bus back from Pattaya when I went to
splash my boots in the on-board toilet, Little Jack had a
cold.

His nose needed wiping and to be blunt it felt like passing

razorblades when taking a leak.

The little rascal had been a bit on the sore side servicing
Noi 3 that same afternoon, but I had put this down to all
the excess friction in a number of recent rather tight places
that he had been exploring.

Let’s face it; the old fella had seen more action “spearing
the bearded clam” in the last few days than in the previous
year.

But there was a logistical problem.

If he had accidentally picked up a dose of something

unpleasant in action, the thought of Flash the infamous
“Beast of Bangkok”, finding out about my embarrassing
medical condition did not appeal at all.

Following his recent catalogue of problems this would be

manna from heaven for the fat ginger bastard, who would
then spend the rest of the trip extracting the urine out of
Little Jack’s owner at every conceivable opportunity.

My dear chubby “snake charmer” would delight in telling

every one of my potential female companions that I had a
terminal case of black death, bubonic plague, berry berry
or the dreaded galloping knob rot.

So, this delicate situation had to handled in a highly

confidential way and sorted without any security leaks (I
currently had enough of leaks of a different kind in my
boxer shorts already).

This little local difficulty apart, the two or so hours of the

return bus journey to Bangers passed quickly and
pleasantly. Paul, the accomplished master story teller was
great company and the Flashman is always at his
conversational best when in a beer induced coma and
slouched in the corner.

Eventually the coach rolled to a halt on the Sukumvit road

by Soi 4.

Preparing to get out in front of the Nana Hotel, we

fortunately managed to rouse the unconscious white hunter
in the corner with a well-aimed kick in the crotch.

Following the resulting, satisfying high pitched shriek from

our red headed mate, the three of us wandered towards the
Nana reception.

Paul and I dragging out our heavy cases and Flash

dragging his knuckles, we fought our way through a mixed
scrum of female talent that were freelancing outside.

Breathing a sigh of relief on entering the cool of reception,

our reservation was handled efficiently by a courteous, but
rather serious girl behind the desk.

She was certainly “no barrel of monkeys” and unusually did

not even crack her face when looking at my less than
flattering passport picture.
As Paul pointed out to howls of laughter from Khun Gordon,
that I bore more than a passing resemblance to Carlos the
Jackal in that particular mug shot.

Luckily, there appeared to be no ban on international hit

men around here and in no time we were all comfortably
ensconced in our rooms.

The furnishings were not in their first flush of youth

(though come to think of it, nor were we) but its crowning
glory was the biggest, firmest king sized bed that I had
seen in a long time.

No chance here of visting the floor in the middle of a hectic

romantic interlude by falling down a gap between two
single beds that we had risked in our previous BK hostelry.

In fact you could have played five-a-side football on these,

which triggered the usual spate of corny jokes about us all
scoring later and Flash getting another kick in the penalty
area etc.; which I will skip over to save all you readers
unnecessary suffering and us robbing too many Christmas
crackers.

Who cares if the carpet had seen a few gallons of spilt

bodily fluids and there were no sea views here? This was
not a family weekend at Bognor Regis and it looked
eminently suitable for our nefarious purposes.

The game plan was to meet down in the coffee shop around
seven, following a quick pit stop upstairs to clean up and
prepare for action.

Then some refreshment was on the agenda in the cafeteria,

before the team would head off to explore what the local
area could offer in the way of female excitement.
When we had stayed further down the Sukumvit Road a few
days earlier, I vaguely remembered seeing an amusing (at
the time) sign, close to the Grace Hotel stating “PDQ VD
Clinic” and decided to do a bit of quick investigation before
joining Paul and Flash for a bite to eat in around half an
hour.

So having a bit of time in hand before the rest of the “A”

team were due to reappear downstairs, the still sniffing
Little Jack and his big friend took their lives in their hands
and headed into the big outdoors by rushed over the busy
main road.

An interesting life threatening few minutes then occurred

with us both dodging wayward lorries, suicidal motorcycle
taxis and a squadron of old buses which were all belching
fumes in every direction and punching multiple holes in the
ozone layer.

Bangkok must have wiped out at least half a dozen

penguins in the time it took us to get to the other side.

PM told me once that we drive on the left in the UK, the

Americans use the right-hand side, but in Thailand they
drive in the shade.

That evening, I think you could add pavements!

Due to some fast foot work that Fred Astir would have been
proud of, which included a nimble body swerve that just
managed to save Little Jack and his owner from ending up
gracing the front bumper of a Tuk Tuk heading for Patpong
at speed, we made it.

After a few minutes of anxious searching, it was with some

relief that I spotted that nestling between a clothes shop
and a small chemist, was the PDQ Clinic in all its glory.
Sporting pirated polaroids, a baseball cap last worn in the
infamous Pattaya Open Tennis Final and trying to look
casual, I sauntered up and inspected the closed sign on the
door.

Apparently, it opened for business at 8.0am each morning.

Quickly a cunning plan was forming in my mind, as I made

a swift escape back to Base Camp Nana before hopefully
anyone saw me lurking in the shadows outside a clap clinic,
looking like an alcoholic waiting for an off licence to open.

Due to the usual strenuous late night party time activities,

plus there is often a hot LBG or two in their rooms to keep
the lads amused, the dynamic duo of President and Flash
rarely surfaced for breakfast much before noon.

So, the masterplan was to drag myself out of my

comfortable pit at “sparrows fart”.

Then go post-haste over to the PDQ medical centre for

social diseases just after eight and be back at the coffee
shop well before the rest of the troops came down and got
their morning nose bags on in the breakfast area – proper
job.

What could go wrong?

Well, there was just one tiny flaw in the scheme and that
was that the whole team were due to go on the town
tonight and organising some serious action for us all.

I could not pass on Little Jack’s nasty little aliment to any

pretty young LBG with a clear conscience, so I had to find a
way NOT to get laid later.

This was an unusual problem, as getting into a pretty girl’s

knickers was the main issue back home rather than trying
to avoid it.
Being chaste and virtuous was easier said than done in BK,
when you are surrounded by endless Go Go bars and
massage parlours with a long line of LBGs all available for
action 24/7.

Anyway, I had noticed the working Thai girls often gave the
old fella a loving squeeze to check for discharge before
getting down to serious business.

So, I would have to be tricky to avoid an embarrassing

incident and horror of horrors a security leak letting
Graham Gordon Esq get wind of my unfortunate small local
difficulty.

Even with my earlier fact finding detour over that life-

threatening racetrack called the Sukumvit Road, I was still
first down to the cafeteria that evening.

Quickly, I sat at an empty table in the corner and grabbed a

copy of the Bangkok Post.

After ordering a Prawn Red Thai Curry and a Singha from a

sweet little waitress who silently appeared by magic and
took my order with a smile, I discreetly looked around.

There were hordes of freelancers gathering everywhere, all

sitting in small groups chatting over coffee.

Circling like sharks sensing blood, some were smiling and

nodding in my direction and a few moved in closer for the
kill.

Unfortunately in this case, it may not be because of my

boyish good looks and animal magnetism, but possibly the
fact of being the only punter in the place might have had
something to do with my new found pulling power.

It was “early doors “and business is business to freelancers

on the game.
There was available pussy everywhere, but life can be cruel
at times. Here I was with no other farangs in sight and
surrounded by a mob of spinners, all keen to get into my
trousers and disappear upstairs to my room for untold
obscene sexual delights.

This was all on offer for the price of a modest round of

drinks back home in the UK, but due to injury Jack and I
were temporarily out of action and on the subs bench.

Being realistic, this army of LBGs were all currently off

limits, as I was likely to give any of them a bit more than a
handful of baht with my current delicate medical condition.

This must be how General Custer must have felt at his last
stand at Little Bighorn, when surrounded by hordes of
Sioux Indians all hunting and hungry for scalps.

You were outnumbered and there was danger everywhere

you looked.

In fact, last stand was quite apt as Little Jack had woken
up, sneezed and was going through his usual warm up
exercises.

This unwelcome activity was giving me a serious semi to

hide under the paper napkin, whilst munching through a
plate of Nana’s best cuisine.

On the sick list or not, the randy little sod was ready to
start playing a game of doctors and nurses again if called to
action.

Luckily, before Little J and his owner weakened and headed

off with a freelancer on each arm to give them both a bonus
they might not appreciate; the US Cavalry arrived in the
shape of Flash and The President.
The boys were on top form and raring to get stuck into
anything vaguely female, as long as it had a faint pulse and
sported a pair of decent knockers to hang off.

It was obvious that they both felt at home immediately in

our new favourite hotel, which certainly appeared to be a
top spot and suited our modest needs down to the ground.

Paul was impressed with the place, he put forward the

motion that we should make this our regular GHQ for all
future forays into Bangkok’s nightlife and it got a
unanimous vote of confidence from all the team with no
abstentions.

Now Flash deservedly gets a load of stick in this book, but

one thing that cannot be faulted is his ongoing positive
mental attitude.

I mean, who else do you know that could be kicked in the

balls, blown up on a lilo, poisoned by deep fried
grasshoppers and pursued by a deadly (plastic) snake and
still appeared to be having a great time with no
complaints?

No moaning from him, the indestructible Mr. Gordon still

had a big smile on his chubby freckled face.

So, after the usual refreshment break; we had a quick

board meeting to democratically decide what to do next.

One of the best feelings in life is to have the whole evening

of hitting the nightlife in BK in front of you, we were
spoilted for choice.

PM made the suggestion that we leave the current batch of

Nana freelancers on the “backburner” for now and head off
exploring in pursuit of something with a bit more quality
around the local area.
Predictably, Flash was already sniffing around one rather
top heavy victim who was sitting on the next table. She
displayed very decent set of fun bags and a superb chin to
rest a pair of bollacks on.

To be fair, her mates were not too shabby either.

Even so, he did not need too much persuading to agreed

that we should give the surrounding area the serious once
over.

After all, as the flame haired smoothy said, he could always

organise some business with the well-endowed lady in
question a bit later, if she was around on the night shift.

This plan suited me, as I did not want to raise suspicions

with my fellow whorists by making no obvious effort to get
my leg over with any ladies of the night and be seen to turn
down some of the coffee shops better talent on display.

Well, I could hardly show the lads a sick note, could I?

So, we signed the modest bill and headed back out into the
noise and heat of Soi 4.

After Pattaya, the pace seemed really hectic and as PM said

“Welcome to The City of Angels” where we were hit by the
smell of vehicle fumes, street food, incense, cheap scent
and a few aromas that defy description – terrific!

The Bangkok Pussy Hounds were back on the hunt and

home again.

Just a few minutes later, our intrepid trio wandered past a

small “down at heel” bar called The Furry Triangle which
was only a hundred yards staggering distance from the
Nana.
In this case, we had little choice about going inside and had
to follow Kuhn Graham down the steps who was being led
into bad ways.

The painful problem was that the lone barker outside had
grabbed our boy by the nuts in a vice like grip and hustled
him into the dive at speed.

To be honest our good companion made very little effort to

fight her off. He was too busy checking out if she displayed
any “enhanced” attributes hidden under those skin tight
short skirt.

It was a case of lawyer’s “due diligence” all over again.

As he shouted back to us “you cannot be too careful, those

ladybirds get everywhere” in a high voice that would have
not be out of place for a pre-pubescent altar boy singing “O
for the Wings of a Dove”.

The tone got even higher as the young lady who was
ushering us in, squeezed a bit harder to ensure the lad
followed meekly behind.

As the three of us staggered in and looked around inside it

was obvious that trade was slow.

Well, it was not slow, non-existent was more accurate. The

place was empty and virtually had tumbleweed blowing
through it.

No wonder the door-girl rugby tackled The Flashman,

desperate times call for desperate measures…

Well, it was nearly uninhabited to be accurate, as there was

just one huge western guy complete with a shock of long
blond hair and a beard you could lose a soi dog in. This
worrying apparition was attempting unsuccessfully to sit
upright on a bar stool and looked like a turtle that was
stranded on its back in the sand trying to reach the sea.

This boy was the worst for wear big time, but the obvious
lack of punters said it all.

I mean they must have been a bit desperate for paying

customers. Well, why else would you grab Graham “Flash”
Gordon by the crotch if you had a choice of anybody more
sensible on offer?

The rest of the contents of the bar consisted of a few, well-

worn ladies of the night, who appeared to have seen better
days (or years.). A few of them were playing pool and
another one was trying to serve this totally paralytic giant
pisshead, who was currently the sole source of income on
offer.

None of the talent on display looked that great even in this

dim light. On a scale of ten, the best might scrap a minus
one.

Without being too cruel, the venerable female staff were all
in the six pinter plus bracket. i.e. you would need a skinful
to consider giving them a portion.

PM laughed and reckoned they would need to pay us and in

fact looking around the big flaxen haired drunk was the
best looker in this dive.

Our newly found selectivity was a bit worrying. The three of

us had only been in South East Asia a week or so and had
already become choosy on our list of potential female bed
mates; an attack of taste was in danger of breaking out…

At this point, The Furry Triangle’s lone punter slowly raised

his shock of tangled blond locks from the counter and
managed to ring the bell over the bar at the third attempt.
This was followed by him promptly falling off his perch and
onto the floor in a dishevelled heap with a substantial
thump that felt like a small earthquake in action.

The girls all screamed and jumped up and down, causing

Flash to go into total panic mode.

Our hero immediately and predictably ran for the door

shouting “Shit, the place is going up, let’s get the fuck out
of here, el sodding pronto” and neatly went “base over
apex” falling over a low table in the dim light.

Even though there were no Irish coffees in sight, this “kick

bollack” panic from our pal may have been a delayed
reaction from the great fire of Pattaya.

So when the excitement had calmed down a bit, we finally

retrieved Mr. Gordon from outside on the pavement and
dragged him back inside the dive still protesting loudly that
he smelt smoke.

Paul patiently explained that ringing the bell in these bars

means you want to buy everyone a drink, it was not a re-
run of the previous production of “Blazing Inferno in Sex by
the Sea” which we had all been part of a day or two
previously.

Never one to miss out on a freebie, Flash quickly recovered

his composure and sat next to his new comatose best
friend, who by that time had been winched back nearly into
an upright position by half a dozen LBGs.

The generous giant then with a great effort, pulled a wad of

notes out of his back pocket and tossed a handful into the
check bin plastic beaker.

It is always difficult to talk to a drunk when you are sober,

so PM and myself moved down the bar a safe distance after
thanking the chap in question for his kindness, leaving
Graham Gordon to keep him entertained.

Within seconds, the two of us had a mature (for that read

ancient) playmate sitting on our laps and both our personal
senior citizens were enthusiastically starting to massage
both our crotches and egos.

Well, it was free drinks all round and if having an OAP

stroking your wedding tackle was the price you had to pay,
it was not a bad way to spend some time.

To be fair, what our brace of companions lacked in the

youth department was made up for in fun. The ladies grasp
of English was not bad and my new girlfriend told me she
was called Ping and was 35 years old.

Well, I am sure she was once, but that must have been
going back a bit and Paul’s companion looked about the
same vintage. I know the old saying about “many a good
tune being played on an old fiddle” but this pair of violins
had too many miles on the clock for us.

It was fast turning into a “Grab a Granny” Night.

Just liven things up a bit more, the bell rang again. There
was much excitement and squeals of delight from both the
girls and the Flashman, as more complimentary drinks
magically appeared.

At first, I thought our favourite Ginger Geezer had suddenly

developed a touch of uncharacteristic generosity and
started spending his money - wrong.

Mr. Gordon had kindly persuaded the friendly drunk to get

a few more beers and “lady drinks” in. Being the decent
bloke he was, Khun Flash even rang the bell for our fair
headed pal who could not reach it without risking falling
over again.

Our favourite freckled friend wandered over on his way to

the gents for a pit stop and filled us in on developments.

They say blonds have more fun and Big Eric was now his
new best buddy.

He was apparently Norwegian and had just completed a

lucrative one-year contract in the Saudi oil industry and
had more cash on him than the average ATM machine.

The deal that our legal eagle had struck was that if we
could get the legless Viking back safely to his hotel, then
Big E would pay any of our bar fines as a little “thank you”.

The good news was that the Norseman was also staying at
the Nana, so the deal should not inconvenience us too
much.

The other good news was that according to our

Scandinavian Oracle, there was a great massage parlour
called Amy’s just down the road, if we fancied it.

Apparently, he is well known in there and the soapies were

on Eric the Viking.

The Flashman went on with a wink, “if we were not too

keen on what was currently wriggling around on our knees,
do we want a free massage instead?”

Is the Pope a Catholic - stupid question or what?

Never being ones to look a gift horse (or an oil worker

clutching a wad of 1000 baht notes) in the mouth, Paul and
I thought this sounded like a cracking idea.
So after drinking up and apologising to our geriatric female
companions for leaving them without doing any business,
the team staggering back out into Soi 4 looking for this new
oasis of sexual pleasure and the chance of meeting both
Khun Amy and her team of willing workers.

Graham Gordon Esq was thoughtfully holding Eric nearly

upright and most importantly supporting his wallet. This
could end up being a record cheap night if all goes to plan,
as long as we could find the place to claim our freebies.

Now, anyone who has tried to get sense out of someone

with their beer googles on will know the problems of
getting any vaguely coherent answers.

Eric could not remember exactly where Amy’s was even

though he was apparently a regular, so we all wandered up
and down for about half an hour in the intense heat that is
Bangkok by night.

After this time, Flash was torn between dumping his

benefactor in the gutter hopefully before our friendly
Viking chucked up all over him or persevering with trying
to get a free massage for the team.

A difficult choice, but greed won.

At that moment, Khun Eric got the munchies, decided he

was a bit peckish and fancied getting outside a large
portion of street food.

Danger threatened, but we managed to talk him out of that

little culinary delight. To be honest, the team were all on
the point of throwing in the towel and giving up the search
for this illusive Eldorado of Massage Parlours.

By now, Mr Gordon had already dropped his new pal on the

street right opposite a small hotel called The Emerald Inn.
It was then that the PM’s eagle eyes spotted the very
welcome sight of a modest neon tube proclaiming “Amy’s
Sauna + Massage” which lit up the night next door.

This sign was like a welcome oasis in the dessert.

“We have found paradise, they know me in there” said our

sponsor from his position of lying flat on the deck. As he
said these fine words, a local soi dog lifted his leg and was
quietly urinating over his trousers, obviously thinking here
was a horizontal Sukumvit lamp post.

This was no Crufts winner and bore an uncanny

resemblance to Gnasher from the Beano comic.

“Don’t worry” young Eric said as his canine pal finished

having a leak, “I am a personal friend of the owner, she
loves me to bits”.

That ringing statement was good enough for us and we

dragged, pushed and cajoled him onto his feet and up the
steps. Mercifully ,the dangerous operation went without
our paralytic massive Norseman toppling backwards and
falling under a passing Tuk Tuk or worse still on top of any
of us.

If Eric’s bulk is anything to go by, it was amazing those

Viking long ships did not capsize without trace, but finally
the whole team staggered into Amy’s small reception in an
untidy heap. Luckily, minus our friendly mutt who was busy
outside having a fight with a local cat .

“Told you that flea bitten thing was coochie. Man’s best
friend? Don’t make me laugh” muttered Khun Gordon
whilst scratching all over in a demented manner and paying
particular attention to his crotch.
“Reckon I have visitors down in the pubic area - get out and
walk you lazy little bastards” our man said loudly whilst
looking inside his shorts, just as we burst into the lobby.

Well, I say we all dragged, pushed and cajoled, but to be

honest it was good old Flash who shoved the big lump up
the stairs virtually single handed.

This unedifying but amusing spectacle, looked like a bad

version of a conga line with only two overweight
participants involved. Paul pointed out with tears running
down his face, that the last time he had seen anything like
it was at a Sumo Wrestling bout in Tokyo, but without the
frantic itching.

At that point, a mature, smartly dressed and attractive Thai

lady greeted us with a wai and introduced herself as Amy,
the proprietor.

She was all smiles with Paul and myself, but then suddenly
looked less than delighted to see our new main man lurking
at the back of the team. At this point our favourite Viking
was asleep on Flash’s shoulder and quietly dribbling over
his shirt.

“Oh no, him again, bad, bad man” Amy said “he pee-pee in
plant pot yesterday, I think palm is dying” and went into
horticultural details of how human liquid waste is not good
news for tropical foliage.

After showing us the scorched leaves in some detail, Paul

immediately saw the danger of getting side-tracked into a
conversation on house plants and greenfly.

After all, this was not Thailand’s answer to “Gardeners

World”, so he apologised for our companion’s little accident
and assured Amy that Eric was harmless enough.
In fact, we would return him back to his hotel to avoid any
more danger of bad behaviour just as soon as he had paid
her for our massages. So, why not put the cost of a
replacement plant on his bill at the same time?

Amy seemed to like this suggestion and we then examined

what exotic flowers were on offer in the fish tank.

It was a small place, but the quality was good and most of
the dozen or so LDGs on display would fit the bill for an
hour or two’s fun in the suds. It was made even sweeter, as
a certain fair headed Nordic sponsor was bank rolling the
operation.

The three of us made a quick choice of companions and

woke Eric the Norseman up, who good as his word thrust a
pile of wonga in Amy’s open hand. She steered him away
from anything vaguely horticultural and particularly the
ornamental goldfish pond, which he seemed to have his
beady eye fixed on.

It was obvious that there was no way he was in a fit

condition to enjoy any of the sexual delights on offer, so it
was decided (by Paul and myself) that Mr. Gordon would
escort the legless Scandinavian raider safely back to his
room.

Flash was not well pleased.

For some reason, the prospect of him cuddling Eric the

Viking while the rest of us were enjoying Amy’s best was
not his idea of a good time.

But after a series of bribery and threats, the dynamic duo

of fat bastards headed off into the sunset and Paul and I
strolled off to a couple of VIP rooms. Both with our chosen
roommates hanging on both our arms and our every word.
When you make a swift choice in these circumstances, it
can go wrong in the cold light of day. But in this case, my
latest masseuse was a sweet little thing called Pim and
certainly had some impressive form on her.

Now there was just the one slight snag.

Little Jack’s cold was getting worse and I needed a plan of

action to avoid detection. So, I popped into the gents and
unloaded a few pints of second-hand Chang beer. It hurt
like hell, but that should wash the pipework clean long
enough to avoid any unfortunate leakage, when the
delightful Pim starts squeezing the him in the bath.

My little ruse worked well and there were no visible signs

of the galloping clap, when he went for a quick swim.

So after a very enjoyable thirty minutes in the slippery stuff

and a quick hose down, I responsibly negotiated just a
simple tug job for 500 baht. The delightful Pim, covered her
hands in oil and after a bit of attention, Little Jack was sick
into a towel.

So no harm done there, as long as they wash it on

maximum temperature with a bit of bleach.

Wandering back to reception, I was surprised to see Mr.

Gordon already relaxing there. His wet hair and smell of
prickly heat powder gave away the fact that the dirty little
sod had already done the deed.

How did he deliver the legless Eric back to his room at the
Nana and get back here in record time?

“All sorted” said The Flashman nonchalantly, “Dropped off

the pissed up unconscious bastard, just like I said I would”.

Paul after his recent physical exertions, was casually

relaxing on the adjoining seat.
After lighting the usual St Moritz, he questioned Mr.
Gordon on how the lad found such a turn of speed and
managed to get a sixteen-stone drunk back home so
quickly.

After some interrogation, the truth came to light.

Apparently the lazy prat had dumped our favourite

Norwegian in the reception of the next door Emerald Hotel
and not the Nana, to save valuable screwing time.

“Old Eric the Viking hums a bit, but has a heart of gold”
Khun Gordon shared with us and laughed as he said “but I
bet the fat sod has not seen his dick in years with that beer
gut in the way”

“The words pot, kettle and black come to mind”, PM said

taking a drag of his long menthol cigarette

Casually watching Amy and a couple of her girls walk

through reception all starting to scratch like crazy, “Don’t
worry” was Flash’s response, “Just getting our own back
for all that raping, burning and pillaging his mates carried
out in the past, anyway he will be OK when he sobers up
and wanders back to his lair…”

Not sure the Emerald Hotel front desk would agree, but it
is nice to know the age of chivalry is not yet dead, even if
the hotel plant pots are!
CHAPTER 10

JANUARY 2017
One of the things that has changed in Thailand is condoms
or back in 1980 the lack of them!
This was before the AIDS situation was widely publicised
and although I am sure a few married guys used rubbers, I
never met any in my time out there in the early eighties.
Most of us had a full check-up for the odd unpleasant social
disease when we got home, but in my personal experience
there were usually surprisingly few problems. Maybe we
were just lucky, but the biggest worry then was some of the
more drug-resistant strains of gonorrhoea like the infamous
“Bangkok Rose”.
This was apparently a hangover from the Vietnam War and
came about by American GIs taking antibiotics as a
preventative, but even this nasty condition was never a real
issue.
In fact, we were more worried about drinking the water.
I know on a later trip Paul developed hepatitis after a week
we spent together enjoying the nightlife in BK.
We eat the same food, screwed the same girls and drank
the same liquid refreshment all the trip. The only difference
was that unlike The President, I never took ice in my drinks
and did not turn yellow.
A coincidence? Maybe, but I still don’t trust local ice cubes
and take my juice (and if possible LBGs too) “au natural” -
old habits die hard.
Today in 2017, most girls have condoms and are used to
using them, but I reckon you are wise to take your own
trusted brand and avoid the local stuff.
It can ruin the romantic moment to say the least if the local
variety splits or is too tight, so be warned they can be
smaller. Being classed as XL can be good for the ego, but
bad on the enjoyment stakes if the wretched things will not
go on…
The massage parlours and bars that tend to service the
local market seem to be the exception, as many Thai men
who frequent these places seem to demand “bareback” sex
even with the risks involved.
Some of the freelancers will also offer unprotected sex at a
price, but it is a gamble that every Thailand “Partier” has to
decide for themselves.
Now, I thought long and hard (bad choice of words!!)
before including this next story.
I should also make it clear that I do not necessarily
condone this behaviour or advise any of you good readers
to try it, but for the sake of accuracy and honesty the
following really happened and perhaps should be recorded
for posterity.
Just for this one cautionary tale, let’s fast forward a few
years to 1989.
At this time, our hero, Graham Gordon Esq; (i.e. “The Beast
of Bangkok”) was engaged to the new love of his life back
in the UK, the darling Vanessa.
His fiancé was suspicious, devious and had put her little
size four foot down and managed to stop Flash seeing any
of his old mates, which included Paul and myself.
The two of them had become engaged recently and there
was no way this young lady would sanction any little trips
to Asia for her future husband, as she was convinced we
were a bad influence on her beloved’s moral compass.
At this time, PM and myself had organised a debauched
week of wine, women and song (except neither of us drank
or sang) in Manila, which was based around the girls in the
local bar scene.
So I was more than surprised, when the Flashman rang me
out of the blue for the dates and asked us to sort out his
hotel reservation as close to the red-light action as
possible.
Meeting up for a discrete drink to avoid detection by the
enemy, the crafty old lecher explained that he had told (the
soon to be) Mrs. Gordon that he had to attend a boring
week’s law conference in Dubai.
Unfortunately, it was a company rule that you could not
bring your other half, but by attending it would help him
reach senior partner status quicker.
The extra money after this future promotion, could be used
to secure her a dream home following their forthcoming
nuptials.
“Chez Flash” an upmarket love nest was on the cards.
Obviously, he was heartbroken at having to leave her for a
few days. But it was important for his career and a lonely
boring week in a hotel room in the Middle East, was a small
price to pay for long term domestic bliss.
Amazingly, bare faced greed won and the silly little cow
bought the story” hook, line and sinker”.
The Flashman had already got a secret forward ticket from
Dubai to Manila, so it was game-on in the LBG stakes.
I will draw a publicity black-out on what happened in the
Philippines (which is material for another “X” rated book)
but we certainly put it about a bit. We did not quite manage
to beat Imelda Marcos’s impressive number of pairs of
shoes with our tally of bar girls laid, but certainly all got
plenty of action on the nest.
Mr. Gordon took the sensible view that his dearest might
get a little bit irritated, if he gave a dose of the clap, as well
as the expensive present that he had bought quickly on the
company credit card in the Dubai duty free shop whilst in
transit to Manila.
So much as he hated them, condoms were a must or things
might get a bit difficult with the potential blushing bride
back in the UK.
The problem was that dear Vanessa being her usual nosey
self, was quite likely to go through his suitcase with a fine
toothcomb, whilst checking that her dear fiancé has enough
clean socks. The problem was that she might wonder why
there was a jumbo pack of Durex and a family sized tube of
KY jelly, nestling next to the business suits.
The only option was to buy supplies in the Philippines on
arrival.
This Flash did, but only one local brand was available and
the quality control was suspect to say the least. The lad was
luckily not too well endowed so they fitted OK, but most
had a tendency to come apart after a short time in action.
Not a good situation. So rather than cut back on his efforts
to give every bar girl in sight a severe seeing to, The
Ginger Whinger concocted an interesting strategy.
He put one condom on, smeared a bit of toothpaste on it
and then rolled a second over the top.
It worked like a dream.(or possibly a nightmare for the girl
involved)
When the top one came apart after a bit of hard use, his
partner of the moment got the full benefit of some fluoride
deep in her privates and as soon as the little darling started
getting very agitated and shouting fit to burst. Flash then
knew he had about five minutes left to empty his tank
before the second contraceptive fell to bits.
It gave a whole new meaning to the old advertising slogan
for toothpaste promoting an “oral ring of confidence”.
I am not recommending this method and my advice is don’t
try this at home!
Anyway, let’s get back to 1980.
CHAPTER 11

FEBRUARY 1980

DON’T WORRY, YOU WILL JUST

FEEL A SMALL PRICK!
After the session in the massage parlour, kindly sponsored
by our generous Scandinavian friend, we had a few more
beers and headed back to the Nana Hotel to check out the
nightclub.

Before hitting the disco, Paul and I did the decent thing and
tried to find Eric the Legless in the Emerald Hotel
reception next door where the poor drunken bugger had
been off-loaded by Flash.

Unfortunately, he had predictably disappeared without

trace and there was no sign of him in the Nana either.

He had given us his room number, but there was no reply

from the Viking lair

So, heaven knows where the Big Blond Norse Raider had
got to this time.

As Mr. Gordon pointed out, a legless man mountain like

that was hardly likely to be sexually assaulted or
kidnapped, so he will turn up sometime when the booze
wears off.

According to our resident font of concern and wisdom,

people traffickers don’t bother with fat bastards!

His underlying logic was good, but I still felt a bit guilty
about not making sure the rascal got home in one piece.
Flash obviously had no such qualms. In his book, worrying
about this little, minor problem was eating into good “hide
the sausage” time and that had to be avoided at any cost.

The Flashman’s all-time hero was the star of the current hit
TV series “Minder”, the redoubtable Arthur Daley. Our
good mate religiously followed the great man’s profound
maxims of “a friend in need, is a pest” or “never kick a man
when he is down, he might get up”.

The good news was that Soi 4 was really buzzing by the
time we returned to our new base of operations and it was
around eleven when the three of us finally wandered into
the Nana Disco.

Sadly, along with the DJ, we were the only customers in the
place and so the intrepid trio beat a hasty retreat back into
the reception area.

Leaving the lads discussing whether or not to have a crack

at a few freelancers in the hotel carpark, I popped into the
gents for a swift pit stop. Whilst taking a much-needed
leak, I got into conversation with an obviously experienced
ex-pat, who was also busy splashing his boots in the next
stall.

Apparently, the hotel nightclub only really livened up late

on when hordes of bar girls having finished a spell dancing
around silver poles, all arrived hungry for action and the
chance to earn a few baht inspecting hotel room ceilings
from a horizontal position.

“Don’t bother going in there early” my advisor said giving

his old fella a vigorous shake, “at one ‘o clock, the place is
wall to wall with available rumpo”.

Thanking him for the “heads up”, I wandered back to the

dynamic duo who by now were relaxing in a couple of easy
chairs near the entrance doors.
I passed on these pearls of wisdom and Paul suggested that
with our team all looked slightly the worse for wear and as
the witching hour of midnight had arrived, why not all have
an early night and hit the scene hard the following day?

The Flashman and myself reluctantly agreed with this

sensible decision and were just getting up to leave, when
an spectacular apparition of Asian beauty walked into the
lobby area and everything changed in a nano second.

By now, the three of us had been in Thailand for a few days

and had lost those initial “pussy blinkers” that many of us
get when we first arrive in the land of unlimited attractive
girls.

Surprisingly quickly, we had all become discerning,

selective and maybe a bit cynical too.

Well, Paul and I were anyway, but I was not so sure about
Flashman.

He would probably still give a portion to a Thai donkey if it

stood still, was cheap enough and swallowed.

But this particular young lady who stylishly swayed through

the lobby on precariously high heels, was something special
and a real game changer for me

She looked early to mid-twenties, stood a little above

standard height for an LBG and displayed a shock of long
shiny hair straight down her back which just caressed her
pert bum.

Add to that a drop dead gorgeous face and a figure to make

a page three girl jealous and you start to get the picture.

She was just about wearing a figure hugging tight, yellow

silk dress that ended a couple inches above her knees and
looked like it had been painted on. Complete with subtle
make-up and what looked like quality jewellery, this girl
oozed class - there was nothing tarty about her.

PM though she was Chinese Thai and on the scale out of

ten - he put this girl on fifteen!

High praise indeed from the old maestro himself.

I think the whole of the late night male population in the

Nana reception were struck dumb and just stood in awe, all
sporting both a silly grin and a semi stiffy. This group
arousal was induced by just looking at her walk (or in this
case wiggle) through the foyer.

The next bit grated - big time.

Miss Thailand was arm-in-arm with a ultra small, fat farang

guy who looked like he and his six mates had lost Snow
White.

She looked down adoringly on his spreading bald patch, as

though he was an Adonis and carefully avoided eye contact
with any of the ogling male population including us.

The centre of her universe was short, with an “comb over”

on top, wearing John Lennon glasses and looked like he had
got outside more KFCs than Colonel Saunders himself.

To complete the picture, he was dressed a bit worse than a

Bangkok bagman that was sleeping rough on a bench in
Lumphini Park.

The lucky little bastard collected his room key, while the
vision in sex appeal handed her ID over the counter and
politely waied the receptionist. In only a minute or so, they
had disappeared into the lift for what looked like a night of
ecstasy (Well, for the male part of the team at least).
To be honest, all three of us were totally and utterly gob
smacked.

Flash’s mouth was moving, but for once no words came out
which was probably the only up side of the whole situation.

The big question on all of our lips was, where did that
tubby, scruffy little git, get a stunner like that?

That incident really took the edge off us pulling a few

average looking freelancers outside and doing the dirty
deed for a few baht, so we all headed off for our respective
rooms in stunned silence – we knew when we were beaten.

Before we all parted to head off to the “Land of Nod”, PM

helpfully suggested The Flashman wore his boxing gloves
in bed that night to avoid unnecessary self-abuse caused by
thinking about what he could do to the girl in yellow.

The alluring fresh smell of her expensive perfume still hung

like a cloud in the lift which was noticeable over the normal
aroma of stale cigarette smoke, sweat and Essence of
Flash.

I have to admit to being seriously jealous of that unknown

little guy, but as Little Jack was on the temporary sick list,
maybe it was a good thing that the opportunity to dip my
wick again was not a starter that night.

Miss World had to be off the current agenda on medical

grounds, if nothing else.

Returning to my room, I booked an early morning call and

after an uneventful night deep in the dreamless rose at the
appointed hour early the next day.

Jumping into the bath with soap in hand, I pondered that it

comes to something when a bloke has to wash his own
privates in Bangers. But needs must and I managed a high-
speed dip in the water and then sprinted over to the clinic
in the unfamiliar early morning light, just before eight.

To be honest, I felt more than a bit self-conscious, but after

summoning up the courage to push the glass door open,
Little Jack and myself entered the medical emporium.

Luckily, a matching pair of attractive, smiling LBGs that

were sitting behind the big desk on the left-hand side of
large reception area which eased my initial concerns.

Well, they must have heard it all before and worse, I kept
telling myself. A case of galloping knob rot was routine for
these girls and they certainly looked friendly enough.

So walking up casually, summoned up my courage and

asked the prettiest one, if I could make an appointment for
a check-up.

She looked a bit non-pulsed and asked “what cheque up?

you want pay?”.

So, I tried again and this time the other half of the duo
inquired “where you want go?”.

Even with my early morning brain in neutral, it was

blindingly obvious that my renowned subtlety was not
cutting it. The language thing could be a problem here, so a
more direct approach appeared to be needed or forget
breakfast, I might not get back to the hotel until teatime.

Turning an attractive shade of bright pink, I immediately

explained in slow, loud pidgin English, that I wanted to go
and see the doctor. The quicker the better as my little fella
was leaking with a susceptive dose of the raving clap.

Both girls were still looking a bit confused, so I pointed to

my crotch, while doing a mime of what he had been up to
and with still no positive response, wondered whether I
should get Little Jack out and put him on the desk.

This was fast turning into the popular parlour game of

“Patpong Charades”.

Luckily, I avoided the scenario of a subsequent meeting

with the Bangkok Vice Squad and a possible incarnation in
the local Monkey House for gross indecency. As before
dropping my shorts and flashing my nasty, suddenly both
the delightful receptionists creased up laughing.

They both shrieked to each other in rapid unintelligible

Thai and the queue of customers building up behind me
seemed to also join in the amusement at my expense.

To be honest, I was not happy.

I had come in here as an honest fee paying customer to the

clinic, trying to sort out an unfortunate social disease and
did not welcome being ridiculed as a figure of fun for the
world to laugh at.

I could get the urine being extracted for free back in the
coffee shop over the road courtesy of Flash the Ginger
Whinger – thank you, very much.

Little Jack and myself both still had a bit of British pride
left.

Before I could get myself in anymore trouble, one of the

girls said “Ah, you need the Wee Dee clinic over there, this
travel agency, same, same but different”.

Looking around, I realised with a sinking feeling that the

whole place was split into two and the medical stuff was
over the other side with a separate reception desk, but
confusingly the two companies shared a common large
lobby area.
These girls were more used to looking at airplanes, rather
than my sore undercarriage and the unfortunate incident
was likely to be joke of the month in the local travel
industry.

Now turning a nice glowing bright red that was hotter than
the big fire of Irish coffees in Pattaya, I thanked them and
tried to nonchalantly saunter over to the lady in the white
coat in the far corner, whilst whistling.

In hindsight, this hospital uniform was a bit of clue on the

medical stakes.

To keep face, Khun Cool himself tried to pretend that

chatting to total strangers about my leaking todger was a
daily happening.

To be fair, the real lady in charge of appointments was most

helpful, she did not laugh out loud (too much) and within
minutes the reluctant patient was giving samples of blood
and urine.

Then Little Jack had the less than erotic experience of a

pretty nurse popping something with a strong resemblance
to a large cotton bud down his throat and twizzling it
round.

After this ordeal was thankfully over and my eyes had

stopped watering, in just a few short minutes later, I was
sitting in front of Dr. Wu.

She was a middle-aged, but very attractive Thai lady doctor

who was looking at my primary results when I walked in a
bit stiff legged, as I could still feel that cotton prop tickling
Little Jack’s tonsils.

The good doctor asked me politely to drop my shorts and

gave the old fella a gentle, but well-practised squeeze onto
a handy paper tissue and smiled at the result.

My female physician did not seem to notice or care, that

the little bastard had started to defy gravity and I was
suffering with an unfortunate semi, which was starting to
rise up in full view.

Embarrassing or what?

Apparently, it was likely that I had a mild case of NSU,

which is easily treated by a course of anti-biotics and can
be triggered by a number of causes that include spicy food,
too much alcohol or overdoing it in the naughty night time
activities.

Impressively, I ticked all the boxes on the list having been

doing the whole lot in spades since arriving in Land of
Smiles.

Dr. Wu told me not to worry, but I would need a broad-

spectrum injection to speed up a satisfactory fast cure, so
the current situation would not ruin the rest of my holiday.

It then turned into “Carry On Bangkok” as she then uttered

the immortal phrase of “Please bend over, you will just feel
a small prick”

I think I last heard that phrase, when it was uttered by a

ladyboy that had been thoughtfully sent up to my room by a
drunken Flash the day before.

Laughing at her own well-worn joke that would have not

been out of place when repeated by Sid James, she then
gave me the benefit of a mega injection into the left bum
cheek.

After I had nearly stopped screaming, the Doc smiled

sweetly and handed me a large tube of pills.
My medical guru reckoned it should be cleared up in a few
days. But to be safe, I needed to come back to her for the
results of the blood test tomorrow and horror of horrors, to
avoid full sex until the end of the course.

“Don’t worry”; she said with a wide smile as I was leaving

“nothing should fall off in meantime”.

These words were reassuring for both a slowly deflating

Little Jack and myself, but the ban of alcohol and nookie
until the end of an intense three-day period of pill taking
was a bit of a downer.

After paying the very modest bill in reception, I decided not

to try to chat up the two pretty girls on the travel agents
desk on the far side on the way out.

I know this is Bangkok. But they might think unreasonably,

the fact that I am both a congenital idiot and highly
contagious in the “Wee Dee” stakes could affect the chance
of organising a threesome and getting my end away.

Pity, as they were a couple of little scorchers, but there are

plenty more fish in the sea or massage girls in the suds, as
The President always tells us.

So to avoid attention, I self-consciously slunk out of the

doorway of the local academy of all things STD and into the
wall of heat and noise in the soi outside.

The plan was to “dice with death” by crossing the Sukumvit

road again as quickly as possible and try to get down to
breakfast before my two partners in crime dragged
themselves out of their respective pits.

Before I had completed a few yards from the medical

centre, I felt both my arms grabbed by a couple of girls who
were going the opposite way.
Asking “Where you go, hadsum man?”, they both offered to
go back to the Nana with me and one proudly told me she
“just have baby” and had milky tits.

“You want taste, mew good” the young lady inquired

sweetly?

Where else in the world could you come out of a clap clinic,
after getting your nasty out to show the innocent
receptionists of a travel agent by mistake and avoid getting
arrested for flashing.

Then have a pretty MILF doctor sort out your problems at a

nominal cost, before getting propositioned by a couple of
decent looking street girls?

All this action was within a few minutes.

I politely declined an early morning session at the LBG milk

bar, muttering some weak excuse about meeting some
friends and being too jet lagged for any “boom boom”.

I cannot deny that the thought of getting my sticky little

paws on the recent recruit to the ranks of motherhood was
tempting, stretchmark’s or not. But I reckoned that I should
follow the Doctor Wu’s’ advice and go a bit careful for a few
days.

Shame though, as we are always told to “Drinka Pinta

Milka Day” for health reasons and with my current medical
condition I could have done with a natural boost in calcium.

“Mai Pen Rai” or never mind, as the locals say.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JANUARY 2017
We all do some stupid things in our lives, but I reckon that
travel agency incident ranks pretty high on my list of major
“cock-ups”.
It must have been bad, as I still get embarrassed thinking
about it now, which is over 35 years on!
What was interesting was after returning from that first
trip to South East Asia in 1980, I responsibly headed off to
a London clinic, near Tottenham Court Road for a routine
STD check-up.
Which became a regular port of call, after all the following
vists to Asia over many years.
This was just to put my mind at rest and seemed a sensible
option.
After all, I had been dipping my wick in a number of Thai
and Filipino girls in the era when bareback action was the
norm.
Protected sex was not on the agenda for any of our team,
there was no “bagging up” on our watch in those far off
days.
Chatting to the UK VD doctor back in 1980, he was amazed
when he saw the empty pill bottle and the note listing my
medical treatment in Bangkok. “No wonder it cleared up so
quickly” he said and chuckled “Your Dr Wu gave you
enough drugs to treat a racehorse. I am amazed you
needed the plane to come home, you could have flown back
on your own” was his learned view.
He said that we could not afford to use this high level of
anti-biotics for a low-level infection on the NHS, but it
would knock out every bug known to mankind and probably
a few ones that were not.
This was my first contact with private health clinics in
Thailand.
If travellers can afford to pay, you can often get both
superb care and value. Which is probably why in 2016,
there is so much medical tourism to this part of the world.
One thing none of our team even thought about back “in
the day” was getting good travel health insurance. Looking
back, I shudder to think of the years I travelled throughout
the Far East on both business and holiday trips with no
cover at all.
My advice now, is to get a good policy from a well know
supplier including full repatriation and then if the worse
happens and you need to get home for treatment - it is
sorted.
It may not cover you if you get a dose, but for anything
more serious, it could be a life saver.
Health + Safety Sermon over……
CHAPTER TWELVE

FEBRUARY 1980

THE LADY IN YELLOW

There was no sign of the lads in the cafeteria, when I got
back to the Nana Hotel following my little medical sojourn
over the road.

Ordering an orange juice and taking the first of the mega

pills the delightful Dr Wu had given me, I ordered the usual
mid-morning Thai curry and indulged in a bit more people
watching to pass the time before the remaining two
Bangkok Pussy Hounds hopefully rocked up.

Looking around, the whole of the place was heaving with

farangs accompanied by a bevy of LBGs of differing quality
in the looks stakes.

Some of these guys must have had their Singha Goggles on

the night before big time and a few seem to have ended up
with a selection of local donkeys. I don’t even think The
Flashman would have slipped some of them a length for
free and that is saying something.

To be fair, a few of these guy’s current partners would pass

from reasonable to good back in London on a wet Monday
night in our local wine bars like The Boozy Rouge in
Chelsea.

The difference was the bar was set much higher here in BK,
but a number sexpats seemed to have come up short and
let standards slip.

Even so, there was maybe half a dozen decent bits of local
talent in amongst the mediocre stuff that I would not kick
out of bed.
I looked carefully for little stunner in the yellow dress that
the world drooled over last night in the reception, but she
was sadly nowhere to be seen and waves of envy swept
over me again.

What was that podgy little guy getting up to with her at this
very moment I wondered, as I munched on a spicy piece of
green coconut chicken. That thought made me go the same
colour as the food.

Who says life is fair?

Just as I was pondering on the meaning of universe, when

the remaining two members of the team materialised.

The good news was that both boys were on top form and
my subtle subterfuge of disguising my little medical
difficulty seemed to be working well so far.

As Paul pointed out over a large black coffee, we are due to

catch the great silver bird in sky and fly off for a session in
Manila in a couple of days, so we needed to manage our
remaining time in Thailand well.

As The President said “Don’t count your days in Bangkok,

make your days count.”

It was obvious that Flash would have liked to cancel the

next part of the trip and stayed right here in the Sukumvit
Road to carry on with his personal “fuck fest”.

Khun Gordon being renowned in his own mind as one of the

world’s great philanthropists, he could then continue with
his charity work of giving money to Thai girls with low
morals unhindered.

But our mentor, a veteran of numerous Far East whoring

trips, reckoned we would both like the Philippines.
Apparently, the action mainly revolves there around the
local bar scene there.

But in the PM’s view, although perhaps it does not have the
variety that Thailand offers, the female talent is pretty,
willing and relatively cheap.

In his view, the young Filipino ladies of the night will bend
over backwards to help you, so what was there not to like?

It was nearly lunchtime already and as the other two

wanted to do a bit more shopping for yet another batch of
cheap clothes and gifts to take home, we hatched a plan to
all meet around three in the reception of Amy’s Soapy
Massage Emporium.

This slippery beacon of all things good was conveniently

only just down the road. There after a cool drink later, if
anything female caught our eye we could enjoy what was
on offer conveniently almost next door to our hotel.

So, after the lads headed off, I meandered back to my room

still having reoccurring fantasies about the girl in yellow.

The cleaners had given everything a “once over” and after

drawing the curtains back and letting in some light, I
noticed a telephone message from reception that had been
pushed under my door.

My publishing contact, Ladawan had called and wanted to

meet up for lunch the following day and then show me
some of tourist stuff in the afternoon.

To be honest, this did not fill me with great enthusiasm - I

could do without it.

I had recently seen more than enough sights, including

looking at The Flashman over breakfast in technicolour
every morning without doing the visitor thing and taking
pictures of the Grand Palace ect.

But business is business, so I called the lady back and she

offered to pick me up from the Nana reception the next day
at noon and take me on a cultural trip of the capital.

My Thai lady friend sweetly inquired what I planned to do

this evening?

If I was bored and at a loose end, just let her know and we
could have dinner at her house. Being the perfect hostess,
Ladawan offered to also entertain my two friends as well, if
they were free to join us.

The thought of Flash throwing up over her teak floors or

trying to grope the maid did not appeal, so I made a polite
excuse and said that I would be getting my head down
tonight.

Which was basically true.

The naïve lady in question, missed the irony and obviously

thought I was getting into the dreamless for a few hours to
shake off the long plane trip – innocent or what?

I thanked her for her concern, said it was a date for the
next day and hung up.

After putting the phone down, I realised that the folding

stuff my wallet looked a bit on the thin side and needed
replenishing before our fast approaching vist to assorted
massage parlours and bars later that very day.

My passport and travellers cheques were stored hopefully

out of harm’s way in a hotel safe deposit box behind
reception, so I strolled down and took my place in the small
queue in front of the reception desk.
“The Fickle Finger of Fate” then took a hand.

I was just standing in line, minding my own business and

thinking how Little Jack had made a startling recovery from
his problems due to Dr. Wu giving me a mega strong dose
of medicine.

The thing about us Brits, is that we are never happier than

queuing for something, so I had a song on my lips as I
waited patiently.

The great improvement on the medical front was that there

was no more runny nose and sneezing in trouser
department, the little chap felt to be approaching top form.

Even so, another swift run over the road was due for the
final results of the blood test early next morning, so fingers
crossed that would be OK.

Still in the non-moving line, I decided to write a cleverly

coded note to remind me and leave it on the table next to
the bed as an “aide to memoir”.

This little subterfudge would impress MI6.

Top security is important, as you cannot be too careful with

something like Flash sniffing around – I would struggle to
live this one down if there was an information leak.

Being very anti-drugs in general and rarely even

swallowing an aspirin, but bored from waiting in the slow
moving queue, I looked carefully at the instructions on the
bottle of Dr. Wu’s magic pills.

Apparently, I was not supposed to drive, fly a plane or work

heavy machinery as the strong medicine might make the
user drowsy.
I was not planning to do any of the former, including using
a JCB digger, piloting a 747 or taking to the roads of
Bangkok, but luckily it said nothing about getting my leg
over - so that was OK then.

The snake of customers at hotel rush hour mirrored the

traffic outside and was not moving quickly.

In fact, it was not moving at all…..

Even though the hotel front desk staff tried hard to sort out
the usual chancers with no reservations trying to get a
room at a knock down rate and those awkward guests
querying their bills, nothing much was happening fast.

This was not good.

Being a proud Englishman, I can enjoy queuing with the

best of them back at home, but here in BK I was losing
critical soapy time.

To improve my fast deteriorating good mood even more, the

guy in front with a strong whining American accent decided
to turn around.

Looking about and with no other obvious victims within

earshot, he started giving me his unrequested opinions on
various topics non- stop.

Now those us that hail from the UK tend to avoid telling

total strangers our complete life story the moment you clap
eyes on them.

But you tend to find travellers from the States and

Australasia sadly sometimes have no such inhibitions and
you get the full chapter and verse like it or not,

In this particular case, it was not…..

This particular chap was giving it loud. Apparently, he was
from some small town I had never heard of in the Mid-West,
had been divorced three times, was 54 years old, worked
for a major bank and his name was Lee Dronett Junior – too
much information!

Khun Lee was well named and certainly droned on and on.

If you could bottle it, there was millions to be made as this

was the best cure for insomnia ever known. Forget
counting sheep, falling asleep was easy with my pal from
the US of A in full tedious flow.

To be honest, if we had not all been standing up the whole

queue could have been deep unconscious within a minute.

Whether I wanted to know or not, Lee the Boring was in

full flow telling me that he was on secondment in Singapore
where LBGs from the infamous “Floors of Whores” cost a
bomb.

So to avoid parting with unnecessary amounts of the

folding stuff, my new pal always graced “The Land of
Smiles” with his presence every month for some serious
“R+R.

Apparently, the only good thing about this godforsaken

country was the cheap, hot oriental chicks.

The droning noise continued unabated and then suddenly

just as my eyes were closing, something clicked in my the
back of what passes for my brain and I surfaced from my
self-induced coma.

The penny or should I say baht, finally dropped.

Not being one of life’s most observant individuals, I had not

recognised his miserable face immediately.
Then it clicked, the last time I had the pleasure of seeing
his thinning blond hair and beer belly the randy little sod
had Miss Thailand of the infamous skin tight yellow dress
all over him like a rash.

The Gods of Bonking appeared to have given me a golden

opportunity to get the information needed to secure an LBG
of exceptional quality, so who was I to look a guest horse
(or escort girl) in the mouth?

This might be my only chance to find out what bar or den of

iniquity Mr. Mogadon had found her in.

Who knows, she might have a couple of similar mates and

the whole team could be up to the peaches in top quality
rumpo, so here was a chance to earn some brownie points
big time with Flash and The President.

If the necessary info could be cunningly prised out of our

American friend, we might all get something similar
between the sheets. I mean the guy was checking out
apparently, so I am sure he would not mind us keeping his
ex-girlfriend warm, so to speak.

Flash always tells anybody female that the area between

their legs is a bit like pierced ears and you don’t use it
enough it may heal up.

Girls can end up looking like a Sindy Doll down there, so

Miss Thailand might appreciate our services in this area.
Particularly, when the little fat sod standing in front of me
had headed off in the direction of the airport.

Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan are always going on

about the Anglo-American “Special Relationship” so here is
a chance for one of our friends across the pond to prove it.
Not wanting to look too keen, I swung my room key on one
finger and casually enquired if it was his handsome form
that us boys had seen with some female in tow last night
whilst we were appearing live in this very foyer?

He nodded smugly and said that must have been Pandy, she
was the sort of quality he always goes for in Bangkok. Yes,
the girl was not too bad, but he had enjoyed even better in
the past.

I was gobsmacked.

If Randy Pandy was only a mid-field runner, what were the

best like for heaven’s sake?

The main man had apparently patted her on the bum and
sent the shapely lady off home straight after doing the dirty
deed late last evening. Young Lee apparently did not like to
wake up with his night time companion in his bed the next
morning.

Looking at him, I bet his female companions agreed with

this decision and were happy to avoid seeing his thinning
“comb over” next to them on the pillow when they woke up
from their slumbers on the damp patch.

According to Lee, these little Thai hookers beat the hell out
of the hardnosed American bitches he got back home
including all his former wives who are bleeding him dry for
alimony.

There is a saying that it is no good getting older, if you

don’t get craftier.

So I quietly slipped into the conversation what massage

parlours or beer gardens would an “expert” like him
recommend to a beginner like myself? I baited the trap by
mentioning that the man in question appeared to be an
experienced old hand with excellent taste in the Bangkok
pussystakes.

Flattery usually works in my view and beats The

Flashman’s subtle method of threatening to kick the crap
out of people who do not hand over the required info.

In our favourite American’s case, the ego had landed.

Even though he appeared a miserable swine, Lee gave a

wide smirk and said that he never went to any of those
types of places these days or took any freelancers from the
hotel coffee shops or streets.

As far as the oracle was concerned these were for gullible

tourists and the way he looked at me, he obviously
reckoned I fell neatly into that description.

“No” he said “if you want real quality son, go to one of the
exclusive top escort agencies”. My advisor reckoned that
many of the girls on their books are genuine model
material.

“It costs more dollars” he said, for the stunning Pandy

(apparently most of the talent at this agency use western
names) my new best pal had paid 3000 baht plus a tip, cab
fare and taken his date out to dinner too.

But as the smug little devil stated, “believe me kid, you get
what you pay for in this life and with an exclusive escort
you are not playing sloppy seconds like you are with some
rough bar girl who has already serviced half of the male
population of the city that particular day.”

Our innocent yellow vision of loveliness was what our

transatlantic friend described crudely as a “three-hole
trick”. That girl apparently did it all with a smile (and a
tube of lube) …..
The lovely Lee told me a name and address of the agency
that he normally used, but before I could write it down both
of us were at the desk and he was settling his bill and I was
cashing a batch of traveller’s cheques for a fistful of Thai
drinking vouchers.

By the time that was sorted out, the portly stud had
disappeared and I was heading off to our local soapy to
await the return of the dynamic duo.

Now my memory is not my strongest attribute, I

remembered it was called The Golden something or other
and was based around the New Petchbury Road, but the
finer details eluded me.

Wandering up the steps into Amy’s establishment, I was

still trying to remember what our American friend had said
it was called and was kicking myself for not having a pen
and paper to hand to scribble down the full address.

This could be an important opportunity missed in our

relentless quest for the finest Thai pussy..

Amy’s place was empty when I got there except for Mira,
the attractive and friendly assistant Mamasan. She said
there had been no sign of the other lads yet, but quickly got
me a large orange juice as prescribed by the delectable
Dr.Wu.

With many of her better girls were just arriving for their
afternoon and early evening shifts, I ordered myself a
second large refill of vitamin C, swallowed another of the
big pills from the clinic and then settled down to await my
team’s arrival.

Reclining on a sofa and watching the talent milling around,

I was still trying desperately to recall the full name and
address of Miss Thailand’s escort agency while relaxing in
the cool of the welcome air conditioning and enjoying the
sensual fragrance of a soapy massage parlour.

Try as I might, the full details still did not materialise and
the vision of the girl in yellow lying across my king-sized
bed seemed as far away as ever – don’t let anyone tell you
that life cannot be cruel…
CHAPTER TWELVE

JANUARY 2017
The saga of Miss Thailand in the yellow dress illustrates a
very important point..
She was a real stunner. Even against the local fierce
competition, this girl stood out (as Little Jack does when I
think of her even now..)
As I mentioned in the earlier chapter everyone to their
own, but it is amazing how often you see farangs with some
pretty rough looking LBGs in tow.
That may not be a political correct thing to say in 2017, but
it is true.
Sometimes, you need to call a spade a spade and some of
the female companions you see with western guys look
more like a shovel..
Most of us have an occasional failure of judgement in the
LBG stakes. Usually after too much of the electric soup or
in the early part of a trip when you are keen to “empty your
tank” as soon as possible.
It happens, but there are enough real stunners out there so
why not be a bit choosy? It can pay dividends to be a little
bit more selective – you are the customer funding the bill
after all.
Some Mamasans and Papasans will try to hustle you and
sell a below standard member of their staff. My advice for
what it is worth based on thirty plus years’ experience is to
smile, be pleasant, but politely and firmly refuse to do a
deal if you are not 100% satisfied with the goods.
If you are not happy with what is on offer in that bar or
massage parlour just move onto the next one. The girls in
Thailand are a bit like London buses, there will be a few
more along in a minute.
These days, I don’t see any shame in sleeping on your own
in Bangkok or anywhere else, if you do not find a bed mate
with that “WOW” factor. (well, occasionally anyway…)
In 1980, none of my circle of friends even considered escort
agencies.
Well, at least not before the chance encounter with our “All
American Hero”.
Even an old hand like Paul had not used them in those far-
off days. He always relied on go go bars, beers gardens,
massage parlours, plus freelancers found in places like the
hotel coffee shops, with pick-up joints or meat markets like
the Thermae making up the numbers.
One problem in the early eighties was finding where these
escort agencies were based. They did not usually advertise
in the local English speaking media and there was no
internet around then (how is that for a shock to our
younger readers?)
Today, if you put Thai Escort Agencies into a computer
search engine, you will find a selection complete with a list
of girls available.
There is probably an app too out there somewhere for your
smart phone.
As we pussy hounds get older, escorts do have advantages
and certainly score when you are going for quality over
quantity.
I will not recommend individual agencies here, but in my
experience the established ones do what they say on the
tin.
The girls on their books usually look like the pictures
posted on their websites and do not have excessive air
brushing.
They often list what specific services are available. Some
offer “A Levels” at additional cost, usually 1000 – 2000
baht, in addition to the basic fee of 5000 – 7000 baht for a
couple of hours’ quality time.
Not cheap I agree, but some escorts are really stunning
and arrive at your hotel room ready for action, complete
with a nurse’s outfit, schoolgirl uniform or whatever is your
personal preference.
Many will bring a selection of “toys” too, if that appeals.
The great thing is, there is no time and cash wasted
chasing various pieces of “Thai tail” all over town.
One added advantage for us more mature lads, is you can
avoid the ear-splitting noise of endless garage or grunge
music and the hustle of some bars. You are guaranteed to
get the girl you want, when you want her.
It is fun to be with a group of mates on a bar hunt, but
there are time us old boys like a quieter life!
By using established escort agencies, you also avoid bar
fines, buying endless lady drinks for coyote dancers and
taxis fares - so it might not be quite as expensive as it
seems at first glance.
In my experience, a number of the escorts on offer are only
part-time workers in the sex industry, having a full-time job
and may only turn a few tricks each week or even month.
So many are fresh and less jaded than some of the more
popular dancers and massage girls can be. Who to be blunt,
have seen more pricks than a second-hand dartboard.
Our good pal, Lee the Great American Oracle, was right on
this one.
Most upmarket escorts seem to have regular medical
check-ups, take hygiene seriously and are less likely to
indulge in unprotected sex with multiple partners, as some
of the freelancers may do if the price is right.
This next bit may illustrate, why these top end girls are
sometimes a better value option.
On a trip to Bangers some time back, I managed to
negotiate a few hours of fun with a particularly attractive
coyote dancer from a well-known spot in Soi Cowboy. I will
not mention the name of the infamous watering hole, no
name, no pack drill…
This was after spending a wad of cash on drinks that
evening bar hopping.
She was gorgeous, but was looking for the same sort of
money that an escort earns and knew her worth and would
not leave work until the bar closed. She was not going to
open those delightful long legs for less than her price – full
stop.
A great body, pretty face – yes, but she had been dancing
all night and was fairly knackered when we finally got down
to business, which is unlike an escort who usually appear at
your hotel rested and well up for the business in hand.
Fun definitely, but best value, I am not so sure.
This particular girl spent most of the evening on her phone
or flat on her back doing starfish impressions.
Most agencies charge in multiples of two hours, four hours,
all night.
Longer periods can be available after negotiating a special
price.
The girls are not supposed to do any deals direct with
clients, but some will, if they like you and enough cash is
available.
Bearing in mind, the agency takes a large cut of the 6000
baht or more on offer. In some cases, they get as much as
half of the escort’s fee.
Yes, they do take a few phone bookings, answer emails and
fund a website, but the LBG in question is really on the
sharp end, spending hours getting ploughed under some
old, fat farang.
So, it is not too surprising that some escorts are happy to
do a bit of discrete business on the side (or whatever
position you want!) and cut out the “middle man”.
There is the potential in some cases for a return session at
a better rate for both of you, if a deal is done to by-pass the
agency.
The delightful Mint (name changed to protect the lady in
question), who was one really exquisite escort I hired from
a well-known Bangkok agency for a few fun-filled hours a
couple of years ago.
During our session, the girl asked if I wanted a “travel
companion” when she found out I was off for a week to
Phuket and leaving the next day.
Having never been that far south before and always
wanting to go, Mint made the suggestion to accompany me
on my travels, just when the little darling was sitting on my
face.
So, it was a bit difficult to answer no or anything else for
that matter with your mouth buried in her Fur Burger”.
Finally coming up for air from what felt more like the
Bermuda Triangle, I said it sounded good but explained
that her current tariff of around 3000 baht an hour was a
bit too much for me to pay for a seven-day trip.
That sort of money would pay off the UK’s current financial
deficit and would need me to re-mortgage my house.
The girl in question said she was happy to go for no fee, if I
just paid the extra travel, hotel and food costs. As I had a
double room already, it just meant a cheap internal Thai
Airways ticket, a few inexpensive meals and maybe a
present or two.
So, there are deals on offer and yes, I did take her up on
it….
I did not see anything better anywhere in Patong and
having Mint was certainly good for the old ego having such
a young, nubile girl on my arm.
It was a lot of fun and I even managed to patronise a few
afternoon massage parlours, while my travelling companion
was resting her sumptuous curves and sleeping by the
hotel pool.
Well, old butterfly habits die hard!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

FEBRUARY 1980

GOING DOWN UNDER

I seriously thought about leaving this next bit out of the
book, but Bangkok Naked is an accurate journal on what
went on in the eighties, so I guess everything has to go in
“warts and all” ….

To put this little anecdote in perspective, most of us have

some episodes in our lives we are not proud of and this is
one of mine.

My only defence is I was young, silly and on strong

medicine from the clap clinic at the time.

Well anyway back to the story.

There I was, reclining quietly on a comfortable leather

settee enjoying being the only punter in the reception of
Amy’s Exotic Soapy Establishment on that hot afternoon.

I was just relaxing in the cool atmosphere and sipping a

large fresh juice and “chilling out” big time.

Life was good.

As the sole farang punter around, I pretended to read the

Bangkok Post and ignore the swarms of LBGs in various
stages of undress milling around me.

Between scanning this august journal, I was keeping an eye

cocked (if that is the right word) and discretely clocking the
various girls that were arriving for duty.

Casually flicking through the pages of the BKP with nobody

hassling me (for that, read Flashman) things were looking
up.
There was no sign of Mr. Graham Gordon to ruin the peace
and due to the miracles of modern medical science, my
constant companion Little Jack seemed to be well on the
road to recovery.

What could go wrong? I

Then I found out.

My mellow mood was rudely interrupted, when the street

door creaked open slowly. This was followed by the entry of
a petite, quite buxom western girl wearing jeans and a tight
tee-shirt who blinked in the dim light and then crept inside
hesitantly.

She had a rucksack slung across one shoulder, a mass of

short auburn curly hair and endearing freckles over her
round, friendly face.

Not exactly oozing hard core sex appeal, but certainly

carrying a great pair of fun bags which were jutting out in
front an impressive distance.

This young lady must have not seen her toes since puberty.

Back home, I would have been more than interested in

getting my sweaty little hands on her ample curves, but this
was Thailand and the rules of engagement are different
here.

But always the gentleman , although harbouring no

ambitions to get this lady into the sack, I still politely
smiled and nodded in her direction.

This was not meant to be an invitation for a cosy chat, but

before I could return to my reading and checking out the
“Runners and Riders” in the great “Massage Girl Form
Book 1980”, she inquired if I spoke English.
Not wishing to be diverted from the all-important task of
sorting out which of Amy’s best would have the pleasure of
meeting Little Jack for a game of “hide the chipolata”, I
reluctantly confirmed to her that I had a basic grasp of the
lingo in question.

Well, being from the UK was a small giveaway……

To be honest, I was intrigued by the lady’s presence, as in

my limited experience at that time, it was unusual to see
any western women in a place like this.

Maybe with the possible exception of a few more

adventurous farang couples, who fancy spicing up their
relationship with a “joint” massage and trying a gleesome
threesome.

So, I was surprised that this rather respectable looking girl

had turned up in this bastion of male depravity.

Then to make my day complete, I suffered a replay of my

earlier one-sided conversation in the Nana lobby with my
bosom American pal, Lee the Boring of “stunning girl in
yellow dress” fame.

This latest female parked her ample rear on Amy’s leather

sofa next to me without an invitation and after making
herself comfortable proceeded to give me her full life story
in both exciting Technicolor and minute detail.

If this trend carries on, Little Jack and myself are fast
turning into a Bangkok’s favourite agony aunt.

She introduced herself as Valma in a strong New Zealand

accent and rather formally shook hands, which seemed a
bit of a weird thing to do when sitting in a knocking shop.

Squeezing my fingers in a grip that felt like a rat trap, I

noticed her palms were sweaty and there seemed to be an
air of nervousness about her general demeanour.

In astrological terms, I am a Pisces and sensitive to

people’s moods. Unlike Flash, who was born under the sign
of the Ram which says it all. A smelly old goat, suits him
down to the ground, although in this particular case my
natural intuition was not needed.

Her shaking, bright red complexion and the spreading

damp patch on the upholstery sort of gave away that Khun
Valma was worried.

Apparently, after getting a good degree in Kiwi Land, she

had secured a year’s sabbatical teaching some UK
secondary school kids in Liverpool (or teenage delinquents,
as we call the little darlings…) and was enjoying a brief
stop-over in BK whilst travelling on-route to Heathrow.

In fact, this was her first day in The Land of Smiles or

anywhere else in South East Asia for that matter.

Sweet Valma had never even ventured outside of NZ before

and was amazed at the sights and sounds of Bangkok in full
flow. Surprisingly, it was nothing like Christchurch back
home.

The little innocent had only just checked into a hotel

situated in the back-packing area of Soi Sribumphen and
after the exhausting long haul flight now felt the urgent
need of a good massage to ease her aching muscles.

She quickly ran through her medical history and apparently

had been suffering with ongoing back pains since hurting
herself at netball in her early teens.

Which in Dr Jack’s view, may have had something to do

with carting those impressive pair of puppies around that
she had on display out front.
Happily, both were trying to escape from the confines of
her tee-shirt at that very moment.

But to avoid prolonging our little chat, I decided not to give

her the benefit of my medical expertise just now.

Fascinating as it was, this conversation was eating into my

precious “leg over” time and I needed to get down to
business pronto before too many randy customers turned
up and nobbled the best talent on offer.

“Tempus fugit” as they used to say in Ancient Rome, if I

remember my school day latin lessons correctly.

Understandably, the endless hours cramped up in an Air

New Zealand economy class seat had done Valma a power
of no good in the spine department. This problem was not
helped by the following spilt-arse terrifying ride in every
tourist’s favourite vehicle, a Tuk Tuk, which had brought
her to Sukumvit Road luckily without turning over too
often.

The young lady had then stumbled into this place by happy
accident, but the little darling was concerned.

So, being the renowned Knight in Shining Armour (or idiot

for short), I reluctantly enquired what the problem was and
could I help in anyway?

“Well” said Valma looking carefully around to ensure we

would not be overheard, she leant across to whisper in my
ear.

Try as I might, I was drawn to looking down her top by an

irresistible force which offered a tantalising view of her
impressive set of globes. and on inspecting New Zealand’s
best knockers at close quarters, it was noticeable they also
sported a full set of rather becoming freckles down there to
match the rest of her impressive chassis.

Predictably, Little Jack decided to stand to attention in

appreciation and further embarrass his owner, so I quickly
put the Bangkok Post over the offending bulge and feigned
interest in Vilma’s medical problems, whilst mulling over
whether she sported a ginger bush to match her auburn
locks.

The voluptuous little temptress then purred in a low voice

“I would like a full massage, but I don’t want the girl to, er,
well you know – er, touch me”.

Unfortunately, I didn’t know and tried to explain to her that

physical contact was a must.

Wriggling in my seat to ease the obvious sign of my arousal

that was lurking under the newspaper, I thought that
“yours truly” had attracted yet another individual who
should not be allowed out into the community.

This one must have escaped from a Kiwi Funny Farm.

In the last few days, I seem to have become a manic

magnet par excellence.

Now what I really needed to get rid of someone who is

obviously a sandwich sort of a picnic, was a suitable
diversion.

So where the hell is the Boy Flash when you really need
him?

This girl has huge knockers and is obviously not all there,
so she is right up his street (or maybe soi, in this case).

If the redoubtable Mr. Gordon was around, I could palm the

crazy, busty Valma off onto him and then do a runner with
one of Amy’s best. But the silly sod was still AWOL buying
male leather clutch bags or some other silly stuff.

“I know that” said my new New Zealand friend putting her

hand on my leg and giggling “but I don’t want them to
touch me, well, down below. I am not a dress lifter, if you
know what I mean”.

She moved closer and continued to whisper in my ear and

by now displaying even more of those delightful top
bollacks, complete with nipples poking through her tee-
shirt like a couple of chapel hat pegs. She looked up at me
with those big, trusting brown eyes and my little innocent
lisped into my shell like, “You look like you are a man of the
world, do you have any advice? I would die if there was any
funny business” said Khun Valma sweetly.

I definitely do not want any lesbo with wandering hands or

“Palm’s Disease” as we call it back in Auckland, trying to
get into my knickers - thank you. That is a boys only zone”.

As Valma got up close and personal, there was the strong

musky aroma of some hippy like scent, maybe patchouli oil
or something similar. Not sure exactly what is was called,
but it was the same sort of scent you get at a pop festival in
the sixties along with clouds of wacky baccy and mud.

I was not sure if that last comment that Mr. Jack Hughes
Esq; looked like he had been around the block a few times,
was a compliment or not.

But the girl in question was sitting ever closer and a

dastardly plan formed in my mind, as I felt her body heat
and scent waft over me in a horny haze.

I knew it was wrong, very wrong, but I was weak “and just
could not fight it.
This could be a real class one, jaw breaker of a spoof and
might be an amusing way to fill in the time until my two
companions finally decided to turn up, after their current
batch of retail therapy.

All that was needed was some smooth spiel for my naive
antipodean friend to believe and job done.

“Well” I told Valda, trying to keep a straight face and avoid

looking at her heaving “D” cups again “there are two types
of Thai massage on offer, hand or body”.

The gullible little traveller said she definitely needed a full

body massage.

It was not her hands that needed attention, but all the
other bits that had been cramped up in her less than
spacious 747 seat for heaven knows how long.

Apparently, there was less room in that cabin than up a bar

girl’s second locker.

To be honest, I was amazed she got into the economy seat

at all carrying those two mega cushions up front, that
seatbelt must have been a bit stretched…..

Trying to put out of my mind the random erotic thought of

Big V giving me a soapy tit wank in the suds, I patiently
explained that a body massage would cost her 1500 baht,
but it would be an experience she would never forget.

The honey trap was set and dear Valma quickly agreed.
Looking more relaxed, she suggested I sort out the
financial arrangements and in return would like to buy me
a large drink for my trouble.

Opening her bag, the dear girl pushed a wad of baht into
my hand, saying she did not understand this “funny
money”.
Part Two of my dastardly plan was ready to kick in, so I
cunningly suggested she took a swift leak before hitting the
warm water which can have a bad effect on your bladder.

Valma bought it big time, agreed she needed to “point

pussy at the porcelain” and then disappeared off to the
toilet at speed.

This fly was nearly in the web.

I had just popped another of the king-sized pills, supplied

courtesy of the good Dr. Wu, into my mouth and was
washing it down with the remains of my orange juice.

When with perfect timing, the assistant Mamasan the lovely

Mira, just happened to walk through reception.

Walked was not a word that did this girl justice, shimmered
might be a better description.

I gave her my most fetching smile and quickly explained

the situation before the imminent return of the intended
sacrificial victim.

Telling Mira that this Farang Lady was gay and only liked
girls, did she have anybody on the staff that could satisfy
her special needs, as the friendly Kiwi was really horny
after a long flight and needed a full service?

“No ploblem” said our assistant mamas an, “Tang just

arrive for work; she massage both men and women, but
prefer girls. She will make her happy, happy many times,
very good with tongue and also has large strap-on. Tang
knows how to use good for boom boom, cum cum ”

I quickly made a mental note to try and get Flashman a

session with Tang in the near future.
Being pegged by a mega plastic “King Dong” should make
his eyes water and shut him up for a bit….

I suggested to Mira that she said nothing about the

intimate details of the booking to the lady in question as
she liked to keep her sexuality quiet.

Just as I passed Valma’s hard earned into our manageress’s

outstretched little brown hands, an unpleasant thought
struck me.

Talk about “boom boom”.

When the balloon goes up and our dear little New Zealand
friend gets a bit upset with her unexpected trip to the
Island of Lesbos, it might not be too healthy for me to be
sitting in reception wetting myself with laughter.

Valma looked like the sort that could hold her own as an All
Blacks scrum half and I needed to avoid a terminal kick in
my crown jewels at all costs.

A blow like that, could ruin my nocturnal activities for days.

Thinking fast as decisive action was needed, I quickly got

Mira to book Number 12 for me at the same time.

This was a well-endowed girl in a red dress sitting at the

back of the tank watching and laughing at a Thai soap
opera on TV, whilst doing her knitting.

OK, that does not sound too promising.

But my beady little eyes had been on her for the last half an
hour and although she looked a bit older than my normal
target group, what she lacked in youth she definitely made
up for in the body department.
As long as she leaves her embroidery behind, it could be a
very pleasing hour or two with a different type of handcraft
on the cards.

Displaying curves like that, Miss Number 12 had Flashman

written all over her.

So, as a charitable act, I needed to save her from a fate

worse than death when the Beast of Bangkok turned up
clutching a couple of thousand baht notes in one hand and
a raging hard-on in the other.

“Good choice, Tilac” Mira said summoning Khun Twelve to

reception.

A minute later, little Valma reappeared red faced from

having had a leak and was introduced to the lovely Tang.

Her new companion sweetly waied her and then gently lead
the naïve Kiwi along like a New Zealand lamb to the
slaughter down to a VIP room at the end of the corridor.

Call me an old softy, but I do love a good romance….

As soon as the honeymoon couple had disappeared, I

quickly grabbed my latest playmate and then asked Mira, if
I could have a room next door?

I told her some rubbish, that my good female friend was a

bit nervous as this being her first girl-on-girl Thai massage
and I was sure she would feel better if I was close by to
give her moral support.

“Of course” said the ever helpful assistant Mamasan and

after I passed over a wad of the folding stuff for my session,
I was also ushered at speed into another one of Amy’s VIP
pleasure chambers. This one was adjoining my antipodean
friend’s room of surprise gay passion.
I had just sat on the bed admiring the female form in front
of me, when the door opened a few seconds later and
drinks for both Number 12 and myself were delivered
“compliments of your ladyfriend Khun Valma” the maid
said.

I was starting to feel really bad about what was about to

happen to the sweet unsuspecting girl, but it was too late
to change things now.

My only option was to sit (or lie) back and enjoy both the
ride plus the potential firework display just down the
corridor.

The blue touch-paper was smouldering and the clock

ticking on an explosive situation.

My latest companion’s name was Pear and told me she had

a young daughter and came from a small village in an area
called Udon Thani somewhere in the North-East Province.

As the hot water was running, Pear showed me pictures of

a pretty little toddler. Although to be honest, I was more
interested in removing her dress than admiring happy
family pics.

She did not get the whole family album out thank goodness,
so before long it was business as usual in Bangers. I was
immersed in the hot bath tub and quick as a robber’s dog,
No.12 swiftly got her kit off and slipped in alongside
caressing Little Jack in the water, who at the time was
trying to do the breast stroke.

Well, he would have if the randy little sod could have

reached them….

There was the odd stretch mark on her stomach and she
definitely had a few miles on the clock, but in the mammary
department Pear seemed to defy gravity.

Being one of life’s hard workers, I made a special effort to

soap both of her very ample globes thoroughly in the bath,
whilst the customary erotic cleaning of my pubic regions
was carried out by my attentive masseuse at the same time.

This predictably caused Little Jack to poke his head up out

of the suds for a better look around and a breath of air.

Pear’s slippery fingers then gently massaged under my

balls and down to the anal region. I leant back in the bath,
just letting the sensations wash over me with closed eyes.

Surprisingly, all was quiet next door, so maybe Valma found

she did like girls after all?

Pear finally lead me reluctantly out of the hot water and

after warming up the lilo, she expertly soaped up the
rubber mattress and pointed for me to lie face down.

Before I had even got comfortable, there was the exquisite

feeling of a pair of soapy fully erect nipples scratching their
way over my back.

They headed down over my bum, to the back of my legs and

soles of my feet and then back up the same route.

This slippery pair of outsize knockers seemed to be

everywhere at once. Here was a girl that really knew what
she was doing, gently and expertly teasing with all her
digits that seemed to slip into every crack and orifice on
offer at once.

All my nerve ends seemed to crave for her special

attention.

She tapped me on the shoulder and motioned for me to

turn over. Amazingly, there was still silence from my
neighbour down the corridor, so things were looking good.

To be honest, I had almost forgot about young Valma

getting her first experience of Tang’s infamous mega sized,
plastic friend, as soon as I got the full view of Pear’s pussy
tantalisingly that was only inches from my face.

The girl had effortlessly changed into a full 69 and had

managed to cunningly slide into a position that gently
rubbed my balls with those giant mammary glands – I
thought I had died and gone to heaven.

This was a whole new take on going “pear shaped”, this girl
was well named…

Just as I was relaxing and floating off into a bazoomer

induced stupor on cloud nine, a sudden caterwaul of noise
kicked off outside.

It included doors slamming, screaming, yelling and the

sound of raised loud Thai and Western voices.

There were footsteps running up and down the corridor

and you did not have to be Einstein to work out dear Little
Valma had got a bit more than she had bargained for from
her bi-sexual massaging partner-

Armageddon Thai style, had started large and it reminded

me of the infamous plastic snake incident that Flash had
recently enjoyed back in Pattaya, but this time, the din was
even worse.

Soaring above the melee was the unmistakable sound of a

hysterical female voice screaming that she did not order a
bull dyke with a dildo and would sue Amy’s place for sexual
assault.

In the face of imminent danger, I took the principled and

courageous route that I was famous for and decided the
safest course of action was to stay disguised, by being
covered in soap from head to toe.

Well, until the maelstrom that raged outside had hopefully

subsided anyway.

Pear had not such qualms and quickly looked out of the
door to see what the commotion was all about.

After pulling on a large towel and disappearing into the

corridor leaving a trail of suds behind, she spoke to a
colleague who was passing by and returned a minute or
two later sporting a large smile.

My latest girlfriend shared with me that “Big shout, funny

faring lady want money back – she tick tock. Tang upset as
she try to fuck she good”.

I shrugged and said there are some crazy people out there,
but let’s get back to the unfinished business in hand (or
Pear’s hands in this instance) and can she lock the door to
keep out anymore undesirables?

Talking of undesirables, the racket was still going on five

minutes later, when I heard the unmistakable dulcet tones
of Mr. Gordon lurking somewhere outside. It is amazing,
that this lad can smell a conflict from miles and always
times his entrance at the exact moment to helpfully throw
petrol on the fire.

Things had just gone a touch quieter five minutes later,

when there was a loud tap on our door.

The security was not too good, as before I could dive (or
slide) for cover, it opened and Paul’s welcome grinning face
appeared. He said. “Sorry to catch you in action old son,
but I have a message from your little female Kiwi mate with
the mega tits”.
I have to admit my heart sank, the last thing I needed was
Valma still here and on the warpath like a crazed Maori.
They say, hell has no fury like a woman scorned and I did
not fancy checking that old proverb out.

Well in this situation, instead of “scorned”, substitute

“goosed” by an amorous female masseuse. The unpleasant
thought of being attacked by the furious young lady in
question did not appeal.

In between laughing, The President continued saying “Dear

Valma is massively worried after her recent ordeal of being
attacked under the suds by the apparently bi-sexual Tang,
that this unfortunate incident would come as a shock to
you.

The young Kiwi is touchingly convinced that such a nice

guy as yourself with obvious high morals, did not realise
that this was a class “A” cat house and full of rampant
lesbians”.

“So, the good lady has asked me to try and warn you
before, in her words, one of the “Thai Tarts” gets their
wicked way with your virginal body and gives you an
unwanted portion”.

He grinned and said “looking at you two, it seems a bit late

for that now. So, to avoid any more cock-ups, I have just
booked the versatile Tang myself from Mira for the full
works – anyway, have fun children”.

With those words of wisdom, the presidential vist was over

and PM disappeared still grinning like the proverbial
Cheshire Cat.

While this conversation was going on, Pear was still

stroking my inner thighs with all her spectacular cleavage
on display. She then asked me the most stupid question of
all time, “you want much boom, boom?”

I reckon Little Jack, who was at that moment being expertly

rubbed within this girl’s warm slippery hands, would be up
for anything.

But as Dr Wu’s medical course has not yet been fully

completed a responsible attitude kicked-in as the lady ran
through the various sexual menu that was on offer.

Careful thought was given for a least a split second and I

inquired what the price would be for a hand job.

“Soapy tit wank, do good for only 500 baht, you like?” Pear
asked and gave the little fella another gentle and sensual
polish, while his owner was lying flat out on the lilo.

She inquired, whilst looking into my eyes “You want have

big fun?”

Did I try to negotiate a better deal and knock the price

down as Paul had taught me?

Did I heck – big fun here we come!

Nodding my instant agreement, the lady expertly lay on top

of me and squeezed Little Jack between her two slippery,
hot globes then slowly began to move up and down in the
foam, varying her speed and position.

Lying back and totally enveloped in the warm cocoon

mixture of hot suds and massive knockers, life does not get
much better that this for a bloke (or even some girls).

Again and again, Pear took me to the limit and teased me

by easing off at the last minute with a pretend look of
surprise on her angelic face, as I groaned in a mixture of
pain and pleasure.
She certainly was another massage girl that was more of a
cock, than clock watcher and the treatment went on for
what seemed like hours.

When she felt Little Jack and his owner had finally suffered
enough, No 12 let the old fella shoot his not inconsiderable
load all over her ample chest.

It splashed right up to her chin and probably to the room

cleaners dismay, a fair bit hit the wall too.

She gave a wide smile and said “Oh, big cum, many babies”
and in a very ladylike manner, scooped up my bodily fluids
on her fingers and popped the whole lot into her mouth and
swallowed it all with relish.

Pear then carefully and delicately cleaned us both up while

quietly singing a Thai pop song..

Heavens knows what the words meant, but if that ditty ever
gets into Eurovision it gets my vote. Although, if it was the
UK’s entry, it probably will still get “nil points” from our
European friends.

For some reason, if a guy nearly climaxes a few times

without finishing, the amount you produce eventually
seems to increase and that was certainly true in this case.

I read somewhere this is what male porn actors do.

Well, it works - just ask any of the bucket and mop team at
Amy’s Massage Parlour.

Feeling mellow after dressing, I pressed the agreed wad of

baht into Pear’s perfectly formed little hands and the two of
us headed back arm- in- arm into the reception area.

Paul was apparently still busy with the infamous Ning and
her giant rubber friend, but The Flashman was sprawled
across one of the sofas with a beer in one hand.

To pass the time, the prat was tapping on the decorative

fish tank glass and amusing himself by annoying some of
the colourful fish on display inside.

Khun Gordon can even manage to piss off a load of guppies

– this boy has made irritating into an art form. If this was
an Olympic sport, my old mate would be on the top of the
podium.

Noticing my female companion complete with her rather

large attributes out front approaching, the lad predictably
tried a charm offensive. Remembering his manners,
Bangkok’s answer to Mr. Darcy stood up quickly,
unfortunately knocking most of the contents of the bottle of
Chang neatly over his trousers.

This caused a fit of giggles from the both of us, as it looked

like he had suffered a rather embarrassing incident with
the world’s biggest case of premature ejaculation.

Pear said “your friend like me much, much, him get too
excited!” and laughed even more, as Mr. Smooth tried to
mop up the damage with one of Amy’s nearby best curtains.

The illustrious Flash got confused as I told him about my

STW in the suds and seemed to think the girl’s name was
Sophie Tit Wonk, which he reckoned it did not sound very
Thai.

It does make you wonder sometimes, if he was dropped on

his head as a baby.

I reckon, if we checked out the Chinese horoscope, I am

sure Flash must have been born in the “Year of the Pratt”.

My friendly masseuse waied us both, smiled and then

headed back behind the glass to finish knitting her woollen
scarf or whatever she was working on and to get ready to
offer the same service to the next lucky punter that chose
her number.

“Jeez, that had a pair on it. What was the strength with that
mad Aussie bint earlier?” Mr. Gordon inquired after
unsuccessfully trying to dry the large wet patch over his
crotch with a convenient expensive brocade silk cushion.

I decided to plead ignorance and told him I did not have a

clue what the problem was, but I think she was a Kiwi and
not from Australia.

“Same difference” he said. “Shit, she was having a serious

meltdown”.

“I tried to help her by explaining to Amy in Thai with the

aid of my phrase book” Flash went on “but that seemed to
make her even angrier and then Valma was banned her
from any visits in future. No great loss, but a decent pair of
top bollacks to hang onto though”

We then chatted and passed the time of day with the ever
affable assistant manageress Mira for half an hour or so,
until PM finally emerged from a room down the corridor.

Our mentor had the sexually versatile Pang in tow and was
sporting the standard look after a good soapy session i.e.
wet hair, red face and a satisfied expression on the face.

When the three of us were finally left alone, PM said the

two of us had missed a rare treat in not giving the
attractive Pang a portion. She may have liked girls, but her
long, muscular tongue was pretty good on the male
anatomy too and it reached places others did not.

Being tactful, I avoided asking if her two-foot king dong

had made a guest appearance, but our leader did seem to
be carefully sitting on the damp cushion recently used to
dry up Flash’s little mishap.

Apparently, she had gone through the full repertoire of her

impressive oral skills and spent considerable time rimming
Paul after a full “assisted” bath and cleaning everything
orifice in sight.

Perhaps to regain some kudos after the Valma debacle, she

had done most positions in the Karma Sutra and Kuhn Paul
reckoned she was well worth her fee.

The President’s kind suggestion was that I grab her next

time for a quick naughty session and then tip her well. This
would be in compensation for causing her to both lose both
face and a female client earlier.

The buck stops here, as both problems were unintentionally

caused by me setting up the innocent Valma. Little Jack was
all for it and seemed to be stirring at the thought of giving
the girl in question a full in-depth internal examination, so I
reluctantly agreed to shoulder my responsibilities.

Well, it is a tough job, but a gentleman has to do these

things however unpleasant and compensation must be paid
- it was a point of honour amongst the Bangkok Pussy
Hounds.

The big decision now, was what to do the rest of the

forthcoming evening.

The night life areas beckoned and PM suggested a special

meal over Patpong direction was a good choice to start
things off. He recommended a particular eating
establishment he had used before and the game plan was to
go back to change at the Nana and then head off to book a
table for later that very night.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

JANUARY 2017
I have to be honest and admit that since the incident at
Amy’s, I have sometimes felt serious pangs of guilt about
that particular spoof and still feel a bit embarrassed,
although it was a real jaw breaker at the time.
It certainly gave all the Bangkok Pussy Hounds a good
laugh.
It may not have been my finest moment, but I have to plead
diminished responsibility due to a bad case of “Thai Fever”.
It seemed funny back then, but heaven knows what the
poor girl who was at the sharp end thought as she got
suddenly fisted by Pang in the suds or got an unexpected
face full of female crutch.
My close encounters with various sexual companions of a
ladyboy persuasion since, have brought it home to me that
it can be a bit disconcerting when your latest love interest
is not exactly what you had anticipated with their kit off.
It is a bit unlikely, but if by any mischance she is reading
this - my sincere apologies, Khun Valma.
I hope you are now out of therapy, are no longer getting
nightmares and have not joined some strange religious cult
as a result of my daft practical joke.…
My advice for what it is worth, is that it is dangerous to
bring a Western girlfriend or wife to Thailand.
Besides the fact that they will then have first-hand
experience of what you can get up to in Asia.
Well, they can hardly miss the fact that shed loads of less
than handsome old farangs are giving some incredible
female talent a length on a regular basis!
Take it from me, your other half is not that silly.
If she looks around and sees armies of “pug ugly” ancient
western guys pulling something that would give Miss World
a run for her money, then it stands to reason that the lady’s
dearly beloved might be in with a chance of getting his leg
over something not too shabby too.
Also, the Memsahib tends not to compare too well in the
looks department with the readily available LBGs. For some
strange reason, this tends piss them off.
With respect, it can be like comparing a Derby winner with
a carthorse.
Sitting in the coffee shop in a number of different favourite
whoremongers’ hotels over the years, on many occasions I
have seen a young western couple wander in.
It is an interesting exercise in people watching as the
farang girl is often red with painful sunburn on her white
skin, looks way over weight compared to the average Thai
bar girl, maybe is currently suffering from too much raw
chilli in the food and is not always having a great time.
In my view, it was a big mistake by her other half bringing
her to the Land of Soapy Massages in the first place.
If your wife/girlfriend/partner wants to holiday in South
East Asia, why not take her to countries that are not at the
fore front of the sex trade like Sri Lanka or Malaysia?
In these places, it is not in your face like Pattaya in
Thailand or Angeles City in the Philippines and saves
potential domestic strife.
Plus, it improves your chance of getting away with a “golf”
or “fishing “holiday in the Land of Smiles with the lads in
future.
If your partner is broadminded and wants to widen her
same sex experience there are girls in Thailand like Pang
who will be happy to indulge her, but if she ends up
preferring the female gender to you in future don’t blame
me…….
It could backfire and be a dangerous strategy for us guys
who harbour lesbian fantasies about our nearest and
dearest.
Anyway, it was a memorable session at Amy’s place and
even after all this time, I can still remember it all in vivid
detail.
Pear was not the prettiest girl I had been with on my trips
or even that vist. But it has to be an ultimate male
experience to relax in warm soapy water and let some well-
endowed LBG do all the work with her bionic, natural tits.
You just get pampered to death and why not?
This is Thailand and anything goes – lie back, let her drive
and enjoy the journey, just don’t forget to give the cleaners
a few baht though after, they earn it!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

FEBRUARY 1980

LOOK MUM, NO HANDS!

After a swift “pit stop” back at Nana HQ, we all dived into a
cab and hit the road in yet another member of the oldest
and slowest taxi fleet that was nearly running in Bangkok.

For the sake of accuracy, I must clarify the word “running”.

This decrepit mechanical heap must have started life with a

chap holding a red flag who walked in front at five miles an
hour tops….

But that night there was little choice, as for some strange
reason there was a bit of a shortage of suitable vehicles
available.

Typical, when you are on a mission.

Normally you cannot walk six inches outside the Nana

Hotel without being beeped and accosted by hordes of
drivers for hire.

In fact, I am surprised some are not driving into the

reception to try and drum up extra business, but this
evening they seem to have all done a runner.

Bad news, just when we lads needed a swift lift to

downtown Patpong.

Our wrinkled, ancient driver matched the vintage of the car

and was happily chugging down the Sukhumi Road flat out
at one mile a week and to compound our misery, we ended
up in the mother and father of all traffic jams.

As usual, no meter was being used with the redundant unit

hanging upside down and swinging precariously by a single
wire.

So not only were we all fed up with sitting behind a Tuk

Tuk that was kicking out more pollution than a broken
Russian nuclear power plant, but our trusty pilot was losing
money by going nowhere fast.

Everybody in this vehicle was suffering…..

Our geriatric chauffeur finally snapped and giving us a big

toothless smile, touched his Buddhist amulet on his wrist
and swerved down a small soi, obviously taking a back
double only known to locals and the odd suicidal rally
driver.

When I say a small soi, read narrow footpath with an inch

on either side, we nearly had to breath in to get down this
restricted thoughfare.

This route was as tight as a Nun’s chuff.

There was just room for the decrepit taxi with one wheel on
each curb.

All went well for a few minutes, until we hurtled round a

blind corner flat out at a speed that a lawnmower could
beat in first gear and there in all its glory blocking the road
was a stationery young elephant.

The said creature was parked blocking the middle of the

four-foot-wide passage with his back to us.

This juvenile beast was contentedly munching something

that looked like a bunch of bananas and standing with a
crowd of local Thais chatting alongside its massive bulk.

Well, when I say juvenile, remember even a baby jumbo is

pretty big.
As a species, they don’t do small.

This humungous beast of burden had two large wicker

panniers over his back, full of what looked like the total
South East Asian vegetable crop for 1980.

The small group of shoppers were discussing the buying of

produce with their neighbours and feeding the immature
hefalump a selection of tasty vegetation at the same time.

It was a heart-warming sight for any animal lover, but we

were keen to check out the wildlife in the Safari Bar and
not inspect the backside of Jumbo Junior close up.

While all this was going on, what turned out to be his
handler was enjoying a leak against a house wall..

This is where everything all went a bit wrong.

Swearing in incomprehensible Thai, our own version of

Nikki Lauda decided to hit the horn, rather than what was
laughingly called the brakes on his pre- Boer War chariot.

Elephants are known to be a bit stubborn and to be fair in

such a narrow track, Fanta had nowhere to go anyway, so it
just continued with his leisurely snack.

At the last minute, our ancient racer finally pressed the

middle pedal in desperation which had slightly less effect
than dragging your foot along the floor.

In slow motion, our carriage smacked the poor animal

gently on the back of its legs with the front bumper.

The huge backside in front was not moved by our cab, but
the animal’s bowels obviously were.

Surprised and perhaps frightened by the unexpected close

encounter with a wayward ton of rusting metal, it
undertook a long and comprehensive dump on the bonnet.

Believe me, that brings a new meaning to the phrase “shit

storm” and the sight of it would have gladdened the heart
of any rose growers who were looking for some tons of free
fertiliser.

When the steam cleared finally, it was obvious this situation

did not amuse our driver who perhaps was not of a
horticultural bent.

The venerable chap changed into a Dr. Jekyll + Mr. Hyde

character, morphing from an amiable old bloke into a
homicidal maniac with a strong resemblance to Glad the
Impaler on steroids.

Jumping out of the vehicle at surprising speed for his

advancing years, which violent activity managed to make
the driver’s door fall off its hinges at a stroke, the old boy
then proceeded to grab the vegetable seller by the throat.

Our elderly elephant handler was still in mid flow and had
not finishing watering the stonework at this moment, when
the unfortunate bloke was thrown onto the road under his
four-legged friend by the force of the physical assault.

Meanwhile, Kuhn Chang Junior was still merrily eating and

doing his toilet totally un-phased by the furore which had
kicked off big-time under his immense frame.

Total chaos then ensued.

To matters worse, Flash tried to find the right Thai words

comprising of “Dear Sir, please remove this mega pile of
steaming elephant dung off my taxi, as we need to get our
leg over in Patpong as a matter of extreme urgency” or
something similar in his infamous phrase book.
Sadly, this endeavour enjoyed surprisingly little success, as
it did not seem to be an everyday sentence in Bangkok
conversation, which was a shame.

As Mr. Gordon frantically thumbed through the pages,

another ton of steaming fresh manure cascaded over the
windscreen knocking off the wipers and a radio aerial at a
stroke.

This situation was getting serious and we were losing

valuable screwing time.

Looking around, it was obvious that there was a notable

lack of any suitable LBGs hanging around this particular
back street mini market to try to keep our averages up.

Even so, Paul and I were laughing fit to burst at this stage,

both enjoying the cabaret and watching our driver rolling
around the gutter fighting the local elephant grocer. The
fun was enhanced by Graham Gordon Esq; still desperately
trying to find the right words to describe the situation and
failing miserably as usual.

You have to hand it to The Flashman, he was determined to

show off his grasp of the local lingo (or not in his particular
case…)

You could make this scenario up.

To be honest, I think the three of us would have got the hell

out of there and tried to walk to our destination if we had
known were the heck we were.

The thought of being lost for hours in this maze of tiny

Bangkok back streets did not appeal. Particularly with the
high temperature turning us all into grease blobs on the
pavement within a few minutes of any strenuous physical
excise.
Then suddenly to make our day perfect, the boys in brown
arrived with a squeal of tyres.

The two cops skidded to a halt in a police car, having

probably been called by some public-spirited locals who did
not appreciate the small riot containing a number of
fighting locals, an irritated juvenile elephant with galloping
incontinence and loads of loose vegetables blocking up
their front door.

The President, Flash and myself thought this was getting

even funnier.

It was becoming more like a sketch from Monty Python

every minute and we just needed the joke about not
expecting the Spanish Inquisition to complete the farce.

Well, we DID find it amusing, until one of the policemen in

question neatly stepped over tonight’s “top of the bill” big
fight between Geriatric Taxi Driver v Chang Powered Green
Grocer which looked like it was going to a close point’s
decision over the full ten rounds.

The Bangkok Old Bill carefully ignored the carnage all

around and made a direct beeline to us.

The older, apparently senior member of Thailand’s law

enforcement team in attendance, put his head through the
open cab window and speaking good English gave us a
polite smile asked us to please step outside.

Never ones to upset the constabulary (well these guys had

guns) we all meekly obliged.

Standing in a mush of various local veg and a large pool of

warm liquid, which was either the contents of the taxi
radiator or something worse from our four footed friend,
Thailand’s answer to The Sweeny explained the situation to
us.

Our friendly cop told us that apparently even though we

had not been driving, in Thai law we had “chartered” the
vehicle and therefore were indirectly responsible for the
accident and any damage to property.

Still smiling broadly, Khun Plod explained that

unfortunately there are serious penalties for dangerous
driving in the capital and we may have to accompany the
officers to the station to sort it out.

The bad news was that when we had given a full statement
in triplicate at GHQ, the three of us might then have to then
spend the night in the local police nick. That was if the
mountain of paperwork involved with such an incident
could not be completed quickly.

Anyway, our passports would be held until the case had

been resolved.

“We did have our passports with us, didn’t we?” the
laughing policeman enquired?

“As I am sure you gentlemen are aware, it is an offence not

to have it on your person for ID purposes when out and
about in the Kingdom at all times”, the long arm of the law
patiently explained to us with an inscrutable grin.

Apparently, if we did not have the required documentation

on our person, we could get refused an entry visa in future,
which basically would end our fledgling career as Trainee
Thai Pork Swordsmen – this was serious “Bad News Bears”
all round.

Of course, our passports were in the Nana Hotel safe

deposit with our other valuables, so it was clear that we
were in trouble on that score straight away. We had no ID
in our pockets, just a wad of baht, some tissues and an odd
tube of KY Jelly in case we got lucky…

Not a great option being locked up and sleeping on a bare

concrete floor at the Monkey House, complete with a cast
of Bangkok gangsters and an army of cockroaches in a
cramped cell for days.

If we got thrown into “stir” there was no chance of any

female companionship for heavens how long. and to make
matters worse , I had an important meeting in the morning
with the clap clinic - panic was setting in.

Mr. Gordon, predictably was showing signs of turning

bright red in the face that matched his hair and seemed to
be just about ready to explode.

I reckon our own Rumpole of the Bailey (or in his case,

Rumpo of the Bailey) was on the brink of forcibly explaining
to the law that they were talking total bollacks.

If he could find the correct words in his “Learn Thai in a

Day” book, I reckon Flash was about to inform the cops he
was a top UK Lawyer that would be contacting the British
Embassy and their superiors. So back off, if they knew what
was good for them.

Luckily at this point, Paul quickly stepped in.

PM apologised to the policemen for wasting their important

time in trying to sort out such a minor traffic incident.

He then inquired whether a small compensation payment to

cover the cost of the damaged vegetables would be possible
and might resolve the matter quickly, as we have an
important meeting to attend?
After a rapid conversation in Thai between the pair of local
Old Bill, the senior officer nodded.

Smiling broadly, said that if we were kind enough to pay a

nominal fine of say, 1000 baht, he was sure the whole
situation could be resolved on the spot with no further
problems and best of all no paperwork for any of us.

Paul then very discretely gave the necessary notes to the

senior officer who quickly pocketed the cash, winked and
shook hands with all of us. He then enquired where we
were heading before the unfortunate jumbo incident
happened?

To avoid possible embarrassment and confirm suspicions

that we were just another bunch of rampant sex tourists
going on the prowl in Patpong, PM told him a nearby hotel
to the infamous red light area.

This little subterfuge was not a great success as the head

cop fell about giggling saying, “Ah, you go Go Go bars,
much big lot pussy” to the amusement of his younger
colleague who joined in having a good chortle at our
expense.

“No problem” our new best friend said “we give you bad
boys lift, save you getting in trouble again, maybe another
Chang around next corner, ching, ching.”

We all laughed at his joke and even The Flashman looked

happy again.

The senior man then deftly stepped over the two

combatants and ignored them both, even though they were
still knocking “seven shades of tripe” out of each other on
the floor.
He kindly patted the trunk of the elephant as he passed,
who was continuing to munch everything in sight and
charmingly was still enjoying the odd mega red hot dump
on the damaged antique machine.

Bangkok’s version of Dirty Harry then politely opened the

squad car door for us to get in and said, “You want
handcuffs guys; maybe go kinky club later, ching, ching?”

The three of us still smiling, squeezed into the back seat

and our driver expertly reversed into a gateway smashing
the last of the intact vegetables which were scattered
everywhere. He turned the vehicle around and put the
flashing light on; leaving what looked like the remains of a
nuclear strike behind without a look in the rear-view
mirror.

Traffic jam, what traffic jam?

Our two law enforcers got us to our destination in no time,

siren wailing and headlights flashing. Even the usual
Kamakarsi Bangkok drivers moved out the way for lads in
brown in a fast moving squad car.

Red traffic lights meant nothing to these guys and we

arrived in both style and a cloud of tyre smoke that would
have done credit to the Indianapolis 500 race.

As Paul wryly pointed out, he had seen a few sex mongers

leave Patpong in a police vehicle, but we were the first to
arrive in one!

Pouring ourselves out of the sticky rear seat and into the
wall of heat, noise and smells that are Bangkok in the early
evening we thanked our security escorts. The lads in
uniform both saluted smartly and wished us good evening
with “much, boom boom”.
The senior officer in charge then gave us another wide
smile and his telephone number written on a page from his
notebook, just in case we needed assistance or a special lift
in future.

All transport services obviously available for a good price.

Then as quickly as they had arrived, our personal police

escort drove off at high speed maybe looking for a double-
parked elephant or similar and we were left standing at the
bottom of Patpong One.

Paul led us over the main road in a direction which was

worryingly away from the girlie bars and down a small soi
opposite.

We hunted diligently for the recommended restaurant, but

this place was really tucked away and it took a serious bit
of finding even with our native guide at the helm. Although
PM had been there some months before, we still drew a
blank after ten minutes of intensive searching.

In fact, Flash and I were on the brink of suggesting we give

the whole idea the elbow and grab a bit to eat at a local
street stand instead.

But The President was made of sterner stuff and the team
finally came across a doorway with a solitary bright neon
sign over it, blinking in the night air and proudly
proclaiming, “The Siam Y”.

What was a bit unusual was that it appeared that this

particular establishment served only traditional Thai
cuisine and our leader was normally only a fan of good
plain British grub.

Exotic girls were fine, but exotic food is not his preferred
option.
I felt there must be a “twist in the tail” somehow and
standing in reception, it was obvious that this was not your
regular eatery.

Paul explained although this little place was off the main

tourist track and mainly catered for Thai businessmen
entertaining clients and a few Japanese visitors, he had
really enjoyed his last vist.

Apparently, sometimes the level of communication at this

restaurant were a bit basic, but it was nothing a touch of
the infamous “Pidgin English” and some sign language
could not cure.

The fact that The Flashman would not need his phrase book
to make himself understood here was a relief to us all.

“The Siam Y” was certainly a smart place on the décor

front and was a bit like Dr. Who’s Tardis, being bigger on
the inside than it looked in the street.

Soon after we walked into the empty reception an efficient,

but friendly manageress in a smart evening dress magically
appeared from nowhere, asking us if we would like to book
a table?

Paul who seemed known to the staff and had obviously

been there before quickly asked what time we could get a
reservation for nine guests?

Both Flash and myself looked at each other in suprise, I

mean who were the other six people joining us?

I know Mr. Gordon is renowned for eating for Britain, but

that sounds a bit excessive even with his ability as the
trencherman “par excellence”.

Anyway, The President must have had a master plan and

the deal was agreed for eight o’ clock, which then gave us
an hour to kill.

This was no great hardship. If you have to spend sixty

minutes kicking your heels somewhere on this planet,
Patpong must be the least worst option.

After the initial restaurant business had been completed,

the lady in charge clapped her hands and about twenty
young smiling girls magically entered the area and formed
distinct two lines.

Each was pretty and sporting very tight and low cut white
tee-shirts, smart short pleated skirts, white socks and
polished blue leather shoes, which completed the rather
becoming outfits on display.

Some had their hair done in pigtails or bunches and they

reminded me of a load of six formers on a day out. But most
were probably quite a bit older than they looked in their
school type uniforms, as it is often hard to tell age with
Thai girls.

The whole “class” were split into two equal groups.

They either had the regular massage parlour red badges or

sported special pink plastic versions, all with a white
number on display which were clipped to thin revealing
tops over their left-hand boob.

PM said we all had to pick a couple each, who would be our

hostesses/waitresses during the meal and look after all our
culinary needs. Apparently, the pink versions also gave
special services.

It was tough to choose, as the whole group were all of

really good quality. But we all finally made our difficult
decision and the numbers were noted by the mamasan and
written alongside our names in reservation book.
As we left, all the girls sweetly waied us and looking at the
amount of soft brown legs and cleavage on display, this
looked like an interesting meal was on the cards.

One thing that was noticeable was that all the young ladies
in the line and the manageress, seemed to be wrinkling
their delightful noses up a bit during our meeting.

For older readers, think of that old American TV series,

“Bewitched”.

Paul commented on a strange pong, as we walked back out

in the street. Interestingly, it seemed to be the same odour
that was also noticeable in the police car a little earlier.

The Flashman looked a bit embarrassed and admitted it

may be down to him.

Inspecting the soles of some expensive trainers he was

wearing, Khun Flash admitted, “I think I may have trodden
in something”.

“Bloody elephants, you would think they could house train

the bastard things” the lad said hopping about nonchalantly
on one foot and trying to wipe the aromatic remains of a
Chang dump off his shoes onto the high curb, but sadly
with apparently little success.

Paul pointed out, that it might not enhance our chances of

later erotic pleasures to be smelling like a jumbo’s toilet.
Particularly, because we would have to follow Thai protocol
and leave our footwear outside our room at The Siam “Y”.

With Mr. Gordon’s Nike specials parked there; they might

drive any customers and more importantly our team of
LBGs out of the place big time and gasping for air.

Bearing in mind the usual gridlock traffic which we had just

battled through and with our table being booked in now a
mere forty-five minutes time, realistically heading back to
the Nana to do a swift change was not an option.

So, we had to come up with a better solution and quick. In

fact, an exercise in lateral thinking was called for.

Much to Flash’s dismay, The President and I voted that he

either go native and had to walk around barefoot all night
or splash the cash and buy some suitable footwear from the
many night time Patpong street stalls, that spring up every
evening around this part of Bangkok like nocturnal
mushrooms.

Eventually after some consternation and a long catalogue

of complaining, the lad managed to blag a counterfeit pair
from a shoe vendor for only a couple of hundred baht.
These amazingly, apparently felt more comfortable than his
original UK designer ones which were duly and hastily
binned.

Finally, we were all good to go.

The team voted to kill a bit more time by having a very

swift drink and watch a few girls dancing around the
customary chrome poles at the Zambezi Bar, which was
based just a bit further up the street.

When we got there the place was surprisingly nearly empty

for some reason, maybe because of the early hour.

But all was not lost, as before the three of us had managed
to park our backsides comfortably on the bar stools, a
female companion had put their rather shapelier derrières
on top of each of our laps.

The fun quarter of an hour passed all too quickly.

But even the offers of various sexual delights of a short-

time variety in the upstairs “looms” from our new
girlfriends, was not enough to persuade us to change our
plans and we kept to Paul’s tried and trusted system of
paying the “bin check” after each round.

This is a good discipline to avoid any unscrupulous bar staff

adding to your tally.

So after stuffing a final few baht into the plastic beaker to

cover the last lot of drinks and kissing our companions
good night, we headed off into the night, all busy wiping
bright coloured lipstick off various places others cannot
reach.

After all, we did not want to appear like a bunch of rampant

sex tourists on the make.

As usual, The Flashman unintentionally gave everybody a

good laugh with his stylish new trainers squeaking every
time he took a step. Nothing a pint of WD40 or a decent BJ
could not cure, PM said, as we all fought our way again
back through the touts, freelancers and punters that
clogged Patpong even at that early time of night.

Finding our chosen restaurant was a bit easier second time

around and after negotiating the narrow doorway into the
“Y”, the original Mamasan welcomed us back again.

The lady in charge quickly reappeared with our chosen six

companions and it appeared that we had ended up with a
mixture of badges. Paul and Flash’s girls all having red
ones and I had both a red and pink,

Being a trusting soul, I thought little of it at the time.

In some places, the numbers can show what services the

girls offer, but in the excitement, I had forgotten to ask The
President more details of why there are two colours?
Anyway, before this key question could be raised, the
Mamasan graciously ushered the three of us, complete with
the obligatory brace of attractive LBGs on each arm down a
short, dark corridor with thick carpet. There was just a
romantic background noise of “trainer squeak” emanating
from a certain pair of size elevens.

The lady then invited us all to remove our shoes outside a

large teak door, which mercifully stopped one member of
our team sounding like a choir of rusty bed springs at full
volume.

Thankfully to protect our sense of smell, the Beast of

Bangkok had jettisoned his previous pair perfumed by the
delightful essence of a jumbo dump. That pungent whiff
could have nullified the gallon of expensive “come to bed”
aftershave which the three of us had covered ourselves
with before leaving our hotel.

Our personal team of Thai Geishas escorted us into a large

circular room complete with no windows, white walls, low
lighting and a total lack of furniture except a large round
low rotating table in the centre.

The girls motioned we should sit on the thick padded floor

and with one little sweetheart in position on each side, we
got ourselves comfortable.

Flash predictably had an attack of the giggles and said it

looked like a Bangkok version of King Arthur’s Round
Table, but luckily none of us had pulled a dragon.

Laughing fit to burst at his own subtle wit, the lad pointed

out there seemed to be the possibility of some serious
sword swallowing later and the tears ran down his freckled
cheeks.
Our own answer to Galahad then fell about in total
hysterics.

The slight snag with the stand-up comedy routine was that
our hostess team completely missed the humour and must
have wondered which mental ward he had escaped from.

After the one-man comic routine had died down, it was

obvious by examining our six female companions sitting
cross-legged on the matting, that you could immediately
see the advantages of those short skirts.

They all wore tight, brief, almost see through white

knickers underneath with their modesty on subtle public
(or possibly pubic) display.

As Mr. Gordon rather coarsely pointed out, you could

nearly see what they all had for breakfast.

Fortunately again his “off colour” comments got a bit lost in

translation, but our charming group of dining companions
still smiled politely at his jokes and all continued to
massage both our crotches and egos.

Not necessarily in that order.

A young, charming serving girl appeared and after giving

us a high wai, asked what we would like to drink. She then
silently vanished and in a minute or two came back,
gracefully holding a clinking tray of bottles and glasses.

Bearing in mind my embarrassing medical condition and Dr

Wu’s warning, I was sticking with mango juice.

Trying to reach forward to pour myself a glassful and then

secretly pop another of my anti-biotic horse pills into my
mouth, one of my private hostesses stopped me in mid flow.
She gently grabbed my hand, redirecting it back between
her warm soft brown thighs.

Then my personal minder carefully lifted the drink to my

lips, whilst her companion held a paper napkin to my
mouth to gently mop up any spillage.

The spell was broken and the moment turned into a brief
attack of hilarity from our female companions. A certain
cretinous member of our team who will remain anonymous,
predictably again shouted out Pak Choi instead of Chok
Dee, whilst demolishing a beer held by his two pretty
attendants.

You would think that “Flash the Pratt” might have managed
by now learned to differentiate between “Chinese
Cabbage” and “Cheers”, but unfortunately that was a
forlorn hope in his case.

Mind you, this gaff certainly broke the ice and my Noi “red
badge” and Benz “pink badge” thought our friend very
funny, but a bit “tick tock”, which was probably spot on.

The meal continued for next hour or two with dishes

arriving at regular intervals and our group of hostesses
feeding the three of us. The girls made sure everyone
always had enough to drink, eat and we all kept our hands
warm by nestling between their soft warm brown legs or up
the skimpy tee shirts.

Paul was tucking into the ethnic food with gusto. It is

amazing that having an LBG sitting on your right hand (so
to speak) can give you an appetite for the exotic and I don’t
think missing out on his normal steak sandwich was a big
loss for our mentor in the circumstances.

The house rule was, we were allowed to handle the girls,

but not handle any food or drink – full stop.
The girls were all delightful company and it was a bit like
being a baby again, all we needed was a high chair and
some serious breast feeding and we had the lot.

My pink badge Benz was a real star and arguably the best
looker at the table, plus she was gently giving Little Jack a
full tug job under the table. Not too surprisingly, the little
fella was rising to the occasion and ready to fire both
barrels given the slightest provocation.

As the night progressed, The Flashman who had been

knocking back the Singhas like they were going out of
fashion, asked where the bathroom was? He had apparently
an urgent need to off-load a few gallons of excess amber
liquid and “drain the dragon”.

Both of his attractive companions smiled and then

gracefully escorted him to the “little boys” room.

Now, according to the “Gospel of Mr. Gordon”, who was

grinning fit to burst when he returned. The story was that
they both undid his trousers, held his todger and even gave
it a shake and wiped it tenderly afterwards when the
business in hand was attended to.

These girls were so attentive, I actually half believed him.

Although in his case, they might have needed a magnifying

glass and more than a couple of them to find it!

I think all three of the male contingent could get used to

pampering on this scale and following a number of local
tasty dishes our team of female geishas entertained us with
some party tricks undertaken during the sweet course.

These were not like the “in your face” upstairs pussy shows
over the road in Patpong, there was not a ping pong ball or
a string of razor blades in sight.
The improvised cabaret included mini exhibitions of Thai
dancing, including the girls folding their fingers back to the
music. This proved impossible for us clumsy farangs to
mimic, much to the amusement of all involved.

Our favourite part of this improvised cabaret was the

folding the napkins into erotic shapes which was like
something from a kid’s TV programme, but without getting
a Blue Peter Badge.

Boo, one of Paul’s hostesses, made hers into a pussy shape

which was harder than it looked (where have I heard that
phrase before?).

The room collapsed into peals of laughter, when all of us

lads tried and failed to reach anyway near the ladies level
of expertise – we did not even get close.

In fact, after five minutes of hard folding, Flash turned his

serviette into something that looked like, well – a serviette!

It was like hard core origami, but then Noi who was sitting
on my right hand (literally) folded my small towel into an
accurate model of a mega male sexual organ. She said
“kuwai yaay”, which according to Paul is a crude Thai word
for big penis.

Gales of laughter rang out, as the little sweetheart showed

us something more at home in a porn film with the whole
room dissolving into fits of giggles and commenting on a
big banana.

To be honest, if these apparitions of female Thai beauty

think that something of these proportions will be on offer
from any of us tonight, I think they are all likely to be on
the road to very bitter disappointment.
Then one half of my female team, the lovely Benz said “I
have better, same same but different, looky looky”. Quick as
a flash, the sweet girl pulled both her mini skirt up and the
tight little white cotton knickers aside, showing everyone
her (his?) male appendage in all its glory and sporting a
very respectable semi.

After collapsing in gales of mirth, it was obvious both my

dear team mates were in on the joke from the beginning.

Then with a stomach-churning feeling, I knew why The

Flashman had suggested earlier to a non-comprehending
waitress that “yours truly” should have a large helping of
spotted dick for pudding and I liked a big portion with lots
of custard.

Following this culinary suggestion, both Paul and Graham

had collapsed in giggles - the double-crossing rascals!

It had all then become too glaringly obvious why half the
“girls” had pink badges - I had invited a kathoey to dinner.

The worst thing was that my tongue had been down her
throat and happily tickling Benz’s tonsils only a few
minutes earlier. I certainly did not notice any obvious
undercarriage when my fingers did the walking up her
skirt, encouraged to get stuck in by my two “best mates”
sitting opposite.

She must have tucked or taped the offending item flat up

between her legs, when I was snogging the face off her.

Feeling myself going bright red and flustered, I was glad

then I did not get my hand fully into her underwear during
the meal or I might have choked on the food in surprise.

After that, I doubt I would have fancied those spiced

sausages that we had just been munching with relish.
Ladyboy or not, the lovely Benz was really sexy and a lot of
fun and we both had a great evening together. It was one of
the “stand out” nights for entertainment that we had
enjoyed on this trip to Bangers.

After licking my neck, she/he gently whispered to me that

she liked working with girls, so why not take both her and
Noi back to my “loom” for a fun packed night.

“You boom me, I boom you, we both boom together Noi.

Lots of yum yum, you enjoy much, many shots - me do big
cum”

I will not lie to you readers, it was a tempting prospect with

all those copious quantities of boom and yum on offer.

Plus, the other member of my team, Noi the sexy female

pixie, seemed well up for a double portion of “spotted dick”
too.

Gently stroking my inner thigh, she put her hot little tongue
in my ear whilst her partner in crime, Benz continued keep
raising her skirt to display her manhood which by now was
fully erect.

If I had not been technically “on the sick list” from the
clinic and the Flashman and Paul were not grinning at my
obvious embarrassment, I might just have given it a go.

Not quite sure about Benz giving me some boom boom, but
TIT!

To be honest if I had met Benz on my own, maybe I would

have taken the “lady” back to share my king-sized bed in
the Nana Hotel. Ladyboy or not, complete with the
delightful Noi, it could have been a memorable session
between the sheets.
It would definitely have been a fun threesome with that
dynamic duo in action.

The problem was that Mr. Gordon, the Beast of Bangkok,

would have never let me forget it and would have told
everyone who would listen back in the UK that I had turned
to the dark side.

Even though Benz had explained to me in broken English

that in her experience, most gay men normally prefer
masculine partners which are available in the bars around
the corner at “Boys Town” and not ladyboys.

Apparently, it is usually the curious “straight” customers or

occasionally adventurous western females that pay for
“her” services.

Although we could have bar fined all or some of our girls,

after a brief discussion we decided to go back to the Nana
disco and see what freelance talent was about.

So sadly, we thanked our bevy of delightful hostesses, then

settled up and gave them all a generous tip before heading
out to brave the dangers of the local cabs once more.

The bill was very reasonable, the food great, the company
brilliant and it gave a whole new meaning to the phrase
“Dining at the Y”.

The moral is to watch out for those different colour badges

or you may get a bit more than you originally bargained for.
The girls sporting pink badges have a full set of working
landing tackle, so unless you fancy a change be warned.

Flash “extracted the urine” out of me all the way back to

Soi 4 in the taxi, but it was like water off a duck’s back in
my case.
To be honest, I thought we may have been a bit hasty not
taking all six of them home to inspect our bedroom ceilings.
Between you and me, I was seriously considering going
back for my couple, just as soon my current little local
medical difficulties are fully sorted.

Mr. “Pak Choi” Gordon could laugh all he wanted, there

was ample time for me to even the score before we headed
off to Manila in a couple of days’ time.

I felt another plastic python moment coming on. What goes

around, comes around as the old saying goes.

After the usual battle with gridlocked traffic, we finally hit

the Nana Disco around eleven and it was certainly not
exactly heaving with talent at that time.

It consisted of two drunken Americans guys in their cups,

the DJ and us.

So the good news was, there was no problem getting a

table away from the speakers, the bad news was, I was less
than thrilled with any of my potential dancing/sleeping
partners on offer.

The President bought a round of drinks, but I declined an

invitation to hit the Therme and left my two companions to
carry on this evening’s pussy hunt without me, pleading a
headache and saying I needed an early night.

Predictably, The Flashman told me not to creep off to any

Ladyboy bars on the quiet or I might find sitting down
painful tomorrow. To gales of laughter, everyone’s least
favourite redhead said that if he saw my eyes watering at
breakfast, he would know where I had been and would buy
me an iced cushion
Although I pointed out the biggest prick I had seen all
evening was sitting in front of me, the insult went over his
thick ginger head as usual and he just carried on giggling.

The problem was I had an essential appointment with Dr.

Wu first thing in the morning, followed by a meeting with
my business contact the lovely Ladawan for lunch. This
meant an early start was on the cards, so reluctantly my
plan was not to get distracted by any sweet little darling
crawling in between my sheets that particular night.

It seemed sensible to get a few ZZZs in and making my

apologies and somewhat reluctantly, I bade the lads a
productive night and headed off through reception to the
empty lift waiting and wandered in.

Pressing the button for the second floor my nostrils were

assaulted by that alluring smell of cigar smoke, soap and
garlic and looking down on the floor there was an
abandoned skimpy pair of black female knickers lying in all
their splendour.

Maybe that was one punter would could not wait or

perhaps the elevator counted as “The Mile-High Club” -
who knows?

This is Bangkok the Whore Mongers Capital of the Known

World, so anything goes.

Forget this city’s famous, luxurious five star

establishments; this place is the business for a single guy
on the pull. I reckon, if a flock of sheep or the Dagenham
Girl Pipers came out of one of the rooms, nobody would
blink an eye around here.

All went well.

Well, it did, until I got out on my floor just a few seconds
later.

Still sporting a smile on my lips and a suitable bulge in my

crotch at the thought of the interesting sexual deviations
that were on offer in “The Siam Y”, I waited for the doors to
open.

To be honest, I was still tempted to head back there on the

quiet and give my favourite ladyboy and her mate a
workout.

Thinking about all that shed load of “boom boom and yum
yum” was having an uplifting effect in the trouser
department and after a few seconds I strolled out into the
second floor with Little Jack leading.

At that very moment the fickle finger of fate played me a

cruel hand.

Standing in front of me and right next to the snoozing

security guard asleep at his desk, were a couple of obvious
freelancers in all their full glory.

Both were obviously waiting to go back downstairs after

servicing some victim close by.

I recognised them as a pair of hookers that we had seen a

few times haunting the Nana car park outside. These two
ladies of the night looked suspiciously like the brace of
LBGs, that Flashman had unpleasantly christened Diesel
and Dumper.

Not sure they were the girl’s real names, but who cares?

As I limped out the lift sporting just a large grin, a pocket

full of baht and some obvious stiffness down below, the pair
looked me up and down.
Both gave me a big predatory smile, as they recognised
fresh meat and moved in swiftly for the kill.

To be honest, due to my clap clinic’s enforced evening of

soft drinks had given me a total lack of beer goggles.

So I quickly realised that this alluring brace of young Thai

womanhood, both now with their arms around my neck,
were perhaps not the most attractive girls we had clocked
on our evening out on the town.

In fact, they were not the best I had seen in the last two
minutes and could have come second in a “Miss Thailand”
contest to our friendly elephant, that we had all got up
close and personal with earlier.

These LBGs both seemed to have applied their copious

amounts of make-up with a shovel in the pitch dark and had
that well-worn look about the old boat race.

A bit reminiscent of Coco the Clown on a bad day - subtle

and understated these girls were not.

Mind you, good marks were due on the chassis front, they
both had some serious form on them.

Diesel and Dumper had obviously just finished a bit of

business with one of my neighbours and were still hot, wet
and up for more.

My first thoughts were that it could easily be one of these

good ladies that had accidentally lost part of their
underwear, which I had recently noticed lying on the lift
floor and had just got caught around my shoe.

I flicked the pair of soiled knickers back off the toe of my

recently purchased red leather boots, which stuck like
superglue to my latest Rock and Roll footwear.
By sheer good luck and effort, they ended back onto the
elevator floor with a flourish.

But before I could enquire if the abandoned used black

panties belonged to either of them, the doors closed behind
me cutting off my line of retreat and the taller member of
the team fluttered those “come to a Nana king-sized bed”
eyes in my direction.

She then pushed her impressive set of large knockers

upwards in a practised way, butting both puppies into my
chest and asked “where you go?”

Diesel was half wearing a tight red low-cut thin strapped

tee-shirt, which left reassuringly little to the imagination
and displayed acres of rolling cleavage and the odd few
tattoos and believe me, some of them were odd.

You could lose a taxi down there and maybe someone had -
I just hope the meter is not running…

Both her soft brown orbs seemed hell-bent on escaping the

confines of her plunging neckline and coming out to play.
Maybe the air-con in the last punter’s room had been on
the high setting, as things in nipple city were looking good
and standing proud like two sore thumbs on full alert.

The first lady’s partner in crime, who was resplendent in a

1960’s mini skirt that was modelled on a narrow belt
complete with impossibly high heels and an even lower top
with the words “Bangkok Baby” across her also ample
front, gently reached forward and stroked my crotch in a
casual manner.

I inhaled that beautiful aroma again, which was a sensual

mixture of cheap scent, prickly heat power, booze and some
other secret ingredient which might be best not to examine
too closely.
But then Little Jack took over.

It was noticeable, even in the dim light of the corridor, that

this paragon of Thai womanhood was displaying an
impressively large wet patch across her boobs - better not
to ask I thought, whilst I casually fondling some of the
goods on offer.

Well, it never hurts to do a bit of window shopping before

making an important buying decision

“’You want short time?” she innocently enquired. “we give

you good suck, suck, boom, boom or four hand massage
maak maak”.

I could feel my resolve for a decent night’s sleep alone

weakening by the second, just as Little Jack was
strengthening.

The randy little bastard was busy trying to escape from

being curled up asleep inside my fake Dior underpants
which had been purchased at a “knock down” price from a
local vendor at the night market a day or two before.

This was a situation when most guys think with that part of
their brains situated between their legs and I was no
exception.

Before you could say “how much discount for a two girl
blow job”, they were both appearing live in room number
233, stripped for action and giving the old fella a serious
oral polishing.

Dumper and Diesel took the ancient art of “Gnawing the

Nana” to a new level.

Bearing in mind my recent encounter at the “No Hands”

Restaurant just down the road with a certain attractive
Ladyboy complete with the full working tackle, I decided it
would be prudent to make a detailed gynaecological
internal examination of both my latest partner’s “lady
gardens”, which luckily were conveniently within easy
reach of my sweaty little hands.

As The President always says, it pays to be careful in this

part of the world.

Fortunately, even after my arm disappeared nearly up to

the elbow when doing a conscientious body cavity search
with of each girl in turn, I found no suspicious signs of any
male genitalia hiding in any nock or cranny.

The only problem was the near loss of my latest fake

Cartier watch from the night market, which came undone
in the extensive lady garden explorations. And it misted up
the glass big time That possible damage was a worry, which
could easily invalidate the worldwide guarantee.

But no, both these LBGs felt definitely female, reassuringly

moist and seemed ready for action.

Unfortunately, this happy wet situation may not have been

due to my renowned sex appeal which got these “Hi So”
pair of lovelies wetting their G-strings. But more likely the
result of some residue left behind from earlier activities
from any number of randy dudes, just a few doors down the
corridor from this particular abode.

Anyway, who cares and like a good boy I will wash my

hands before eating.

Do I detect some scepticism from you readers that these

girls were upmarket?

Well to prove it, Dumper even took her chewing gum out of
her mouth and stuck it on the headboard of the bed before
sucking me off and then popped it back in again before it
had even gone cold. This neat trick, gave a whole new spin
on the idea of recycling.

To make this session complete her “sister in lips” even

managed to give me a serious portion of “Yum Yum”, whilst
still sucking on a lit Marlborough cigarette – classy!

I have heard of the dangers of passive smoking, but this

seemed worth the possible health risk to get such an expert
gob job. As long as she did not decide to use any delicate
parts of me for an ashtray, I was happy as a dog with two
todgers.

D + D both satisfyingly swallowed everything with well-

practiced gusto, rather than spitting out the final product
and reminded me of the sound of a couple of fat cats would
make licking a saucer of cream.

If you could bottle this session, you would have discovered

the perfect cure for insomnia.

Having a brace of LBGs giving your old fella full attention,

whilst you happily juggle with a couple of pairs of giant fun
bags certainly beats the hell out of sleeping pills, counting
sheep or one of those late-night milk drinks that are
supposed to make you drowsy and avoid “night time
starvation”- whatever that is.

The charming Diesel and Dumper appeared really

experienced in getting farangs to the point of no return
quickly and I was no exception. With one deep throating,
whilst her partner licking my balls and running her tongue
around my nether regions, it was hard not to shoot your
load at the speed of sound.

After the happy ending complete with a really intense

orgasm and depositing a prison load in a pair of willing
mouths, they both seemed keen on dental hygiene and went
into the bathroom to brush their teeth.

I am not sure they flossed, but it was a nice touch to make

sure they service the next lucky punter that evening tasting
of spearmint, rather than me.

Thoughtful or what?

Only ten minutes after originally coming out the lift, I was
giving the two ladies four hundred baht each and patting
them both on the bum before gently ushering the BJ squad
out the door. All in all, it was not a bad way to end the day
before getting deep into the dreamless.

Only in the backstreets of Thailand would you manage to

get into trouble innocently walking a few yards from the
hotel elevator to your room. Sometimes it is hard to avoid
getting laid or attacked by a pair of wayward knickers in
this town.

But they say discretion is the better part of valour, so

maybe I will forget to tell the lads about my latest swift
session of oral delight.

For some strange reason, my travelling companions might

feel I was letting standards slip a tad.

For the life of me, I cannot understand that having a top

duo like that in my room licking my wedding tackle, is
dropping our high ideals. So, why do I think that I might be
in for a bit of stick from certain quarters?

Well, I vaguely remember that Flashman (that expert on top

quality totty) cruelly mentioning when we saw these
particular two ladies of the night in reception only the day
before that he thought they might easily make a few bob on
Halloween without needing costumes or special make-up.
If the sarcastic little sod found out we had been doing a
swift session of Trick or Treat on my bed, more wind-up
banter would certainly follow.

Mind you, I did decide on medical grounds to lose my

toothbrush and get a new replacement in the morning.

Best to be on the safe side, as it would be embarrassing to

be back over the road and seeing Dr Wu again and
explaining how I had caught a nasty social disease of the
gums…

With these strange dreams going around in my mind and

drained of all bodily fluids, I slept well that night.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

JANUARY 2017
I would say it was fairly unlikely that too many of the good
readers of this book are going to have a collision with a
wayward Fanta on your way for a night out on the town.
Talking to a Thai friend on a recent trip, she was telling me
it is technically illegal to bring elephants into the capital
anyway. Although, with their customary Buddhist “middle
way” philosophy it still goes on and the authorities
generally turn a blind eye, as the tourists like it and happily
feed the beasts bananas after handing over a bundle of
baht for the dubious privilege.
Even so, there is an important principle in that little tale.
In addition, to being careful where you walk around a
jumbo which is suffering from an upset stomach, it also
pays to be calm and courteous during contact with the
police authorities if you want a happy outcome.
In both cases, you can get s--t on from a great height if you
get it wrong!
I am sure the “Boys in Brown” were spinning us a line in
total bullshit (or to be more accurate, changshit….) about
whether “chartering a vehicle” makes you responsible in
local law for accidents or traffic misdemeanour - the whole
thing was debatable.
Being Asian “greenhorns”, Flash and myself would have
probably got into a major argument with the local law
enforcers over it. We may have then ended up in the local
nick or at best lost the whole night sorting out the
situation.
Which either way, is not a good outcome.
Paul, being a veteran of all things Thai, handled it with
aplomb.
By paying a modest amount of “tea money”, we got to
where we wanted to be quicker than the original cab would
have managed. In fact, the whole incident did not cost us
more than a twenty quid and a cheap pair of trainers.
Flash enjoyed the police car ride so much; he reckoned that
we should use it as a regular method of transport. Well, it
was certainly quicker that the other options on offer….
It may go against the grain with some visitors, but my
advice is to smile and pay up what is often a relatively
small amount of cash. This avoids wasting valuable time
and effort that would be better invested in other more
enjoyable pursuits.
Yes, you are being ripped off in a small way, but
backhanders seem a way of life out East and they can
certainly “oil the wheels”.
There was a case reported some time back, where a young
American tourist got into a furious argument with a Phuket
taxi driver over a cab fare and apparently he got fatally
stabbed over 50 baht.
This level of violence is unusual, but why risk getting into a
dangerous situation for a pound sterling or a couple of
dollars?
The comment from our friendly law officer about legally
needing to carry your passport at all times when out and
about as a visitor in the Kingdom is apparently technically
correct.
I not sure that many tourists fully comply and I still don’t
fancy having such a valuable document on my person whilst
out bar crawling in dodgy go go clubs, beer gardens and
massage parlours, so a Thai- type solution is needed.
To get around this problem, whilst trying to stay within the
rules, I pay a few extra baht for the hotel reception or a
local 7-11 shop to photocopy the original passports relevant
pages these days (including the current visa stamp) and
leave the original document back at base camp in the room
safe.
Carrying this duplicate around seems like a good
compromise to me and has worked so far.
It is a long time, since I have graced the doors of a “No
Hands” establishment; the last one I went to a few years
ago was full of Chinese businessmen.
Reading this chapter again, the memories came flooding
back and I have made a mental note to renew my
acquaintance with this fun way of dining on my next trip to
Bangers.
If you have a few mates who fancy a great way to spend a
couple of hours, give it a try and get pampered. (I would
like to put on record that I am not being sexist here, but in
my experience, I have not yet seen any Western women in
one of these establishments).
These days I might be a bit more circumspect about
grabbing some hotel freelancers by the lift in the middle of
the night and inviting them into my room without checking
they had lodged ID cards with reception.
There is a minor risk of getting robbed and with two girls
on the job, it would not have been too difficult to have a
wallet or other valuables disappear whilst I was otherwise
engaged trying to massage one of the duos tonsils with the
old fella.
In my defence, common sense is not that common when a
double session of Yum Yum is on offer and this was my first
trip.
It is no good getting older, if you don’t learn something.
These days most places have room safes to keep the
important stuff in, but back in 1980 in most of the hotels we
used that option was not available.
So, some things have improved over the years.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

FEBRUARY 1980

I NEVER PROMISED YOU A

ROSE GARDEN
Following a very good night’s sleep courtesy of Diesel and
Dumper’s impressive skills in the oral department, I
staggered out of my comfortable warm pit too early for
comfort.

My nocturnal resting place still enjoyed that seductive

aroma left by the recent vist by the Sukumvit BJ Squad, so I
reluctantly left my lair to answer both the strident tone of
the phone heralding my morning alarm call and the urgent
call of nature.

That is the trouble with these giant Nana beds.

The receiver was on the other side and in my comatose

state, it felt a long walk to hear the serious female voice of
the receptionist telling me it was seven o’ clock and time to
start my day.

Dragging my unwilling torso into a chilly shower quickly

brought me back to the land of the living with a jerk, as I
managed to hit the cold button by mistake and the family
jewels nearly shrank to equal Flashman’s size when he is
excited.

It was just as I was about to get out and pull on some clean
clothes in an attempt to get ready for my early appointment
with the medical team over the road that I suffered a nasty
shock.

In the steam and dim artificial light of the bathroom, I

thought Little Jack had been wounded in action and
appeared to be bleeding profusely.

This was a serious development.

Bangkok is not the sort of place to go out partying with a

piece of Elastoplast stuck on your male appendage, it
would knock your “street cred” big time.

So, it was with great relief that on closer inspection, the

claret rubbed off his head onto a handy paper handkerchief
lying close by. This bit of screwed up tissue had been
thoughtfully abandoned on the floor by the two young
ladies during the witching hour a few hours earlier.

This must have been dropped as they mopped up the sticky

damage that occurred after I had emptied my tank into
their oral orifices during the previous evening’s few
minutes of BJ delight.

I quickly realised that the two “deep throat” members had

left a neat circle of bright red lip gloss behind as a
souvenir. It was the proverbial “Lipstick on the Dipstick”
Bangkok style on the top of the old fella.

After a quick two handed rub with a bar of the Nana’s

special medicated soap, Little Jack looked as good as ever
and the best news was there was no more soreness when
taking a leak.

Those mega horse pills seemed to have done the trick

already.

Then unfortunately things headed downhill fast. My good

mood was reversed, when I was stupid enough to brush my
teeth before remembering who had been using my dental
equipment not long before.

Damn, I knew it was all going too well.

Hopefully a good swig of strong mouthwash and a hot Thai
curry for breakfast would zap any dodgy germs left behind
by the lovely duo, who to be blunt, had both appeared to
had seen more dickends than weekends.

I am not complaining about this slight hiccup on the

hygiene front.

In my view, Diesel + Dumper should get the Queens Award

to Industry for providing unlimited expert gob jobs to the
poor and needy i.e. Little Jack’s owner and half the male
population of Bangers.

Still feeling as rough as a ladyboys backside when the fleet

is in town, I finally shuffled down the corridor to the lift.

When the doors creaked opened, the first thing to greet me

was the sight of those abandoned black knickers still lying
in a lonely heap on the floor. The owner was yet to claim
her lost underwear, so maybe the lady involved had not
noticed they were missing or decided just to go
“commando”?

These are the imponderable questions, which along with

the meaning of life, trouble an amateur philosopher like
myself.

Finally arriving at the ground floor and getting the lingerie

off the toe of my boot yet again. I then said a fond farewell
to my favourite pair of well used panties and wandered into
the coffee shop at around eight, quickly grabbed the
nearest empty table to the door with my back to the wall.

Well - old habits die hard and this tactic is useful if a quick
exit is needed.

On this occasion it was not needed, as the place was almost

deserted with the notable exception of three obvious
freelancers seated just a few yards away.

This trio all looked the worse for wear and the way they
walked, you could be forgiven for thinking that maybe they
all still had it up them from last night’s sexual activities.

This gleesome threesome were giggling, smoking and

destroying with relish some large bowlfuls of a pungent
garlic smelling, clear soup.

No Rice Crispies or Shredded Wheat for these girls - even

their breakfast was hard core.

Otherwise, Little Jack and his owner were blissfully alone in

the cafeteria.

I was not sure whether this particular trio were left over
from the previous evening or just making an early start for
tonight’s activities. Either way, giving any of them a portion
was not on my current agenda at this particular moment in
time.

In regular hotels, this area would be full of guests getting

their nosebags on at this time of day, but the clientele at
the Nana was a bit different in their habits.

Their guests had often been at it “hammer and tongs” most

of the night and like vampires in a Hammer Horror film,
many seem to only come out after dark.

The majority were probably now upstairs nursing both a

hangover and an LBG under the sheets, so are unlikely to
up early and enjoying platefuls of bacon and eggs with
unlimited toast, at this ungodly hour.

True to form and to prove I was no lightweight to the

female posse chattering a few yards away, I ordered an
extra hot medicinal Red Chicken + Potato Thai curry,
Jasmine rice with optional orange juice from the sweet little
waitress, who like many others of her profession always
seemed to appear mysteriously at just the right time.

After taking my order with a wide smile, the young lady

glided off and disappeared silently probably secretly
relieved that Graham “Flash” Gordon had yet to surface
from his current wet dreams and ruin her day by trying to
proposition her or put his hand up her skirt.

One of the many areas that Asia really scores in my opinion

is the quality of service. Whether it is on board airlines or
in hotels and restaurants it is first class and here was no
exception.

Before having time to finish reading the front page of the

Bangkok Post and smile at the well-worn threesome on the
other side of the coffee shop, who were still demolishing
gallons of a pungent local liquid delicacy, my food arrived.

Munching through a very spicy and fortifying meal,

complete with a complimentary bowl of fresh fruit, I
decided to avoid further eye contact with the trio opposite
and head over the road as soon as possible.

It might be a smart move to get off, before these particular

sirens decided that as I was sadly currently the only game
in town to join me and distract Little Jack and his owner
with numerous offers of obscene acts and “short time” fun
upstairs.

There was a serious risk that the randy little sod currently
snoozing in the trouser department would manage to
persuade me that an hour in the sack with one or all of
them, was a brilliant plan.

I can withstand anything except temptation as the old

cliché goes, so a swift exit was called for.
Fighting back the carnal urge to see what was on offer a
few tables away, I swiftly signed the bill.

Diamond Jack Hughes Esq; then headed through the nearly

empty lobby and out into the Bangkok morning rush hour
to battle my way over the Sukumvit Road - this is a morning
rush hour that lasts all day.

It always surprises me in South East Asia that looking

outside through cool tinted glass and with the ultra-
efficient air conditioning in hotels and restaurants on full
blast, the moment when the reception doors finally open
and surprise you with a wall of heat and noise.

I was nearly shivering to death inside and boiled alive on

the pavement – welcome to Thailand.

Never mind or “Jai Pen Rai” as they say around here and it
only took five minutes to get to my destination, but even so
I was already sweating profusely. Mopping my face with a
Nana Hotel paper serviette, I managed to go straight to the
correct right-hand desk at the clinic this time round and
avoid any more embarrassing misunderstandings.

I would look an even bigger prat than normal, if I whipped

my todger out to show the girls on the travel agent side of
the building for the second time in a row.

They might get the unfounded idea; that I was some kind of
UK tourist looking for cheap sex – heaven forbid.

Following a few minutes pretending to read a glossy

magazine from the pile on the table in the calm of the
patient’s waiting area, a pretty little nurse appeared and
ushered me into a small examining room.

She politely asked me to drop my strides, sat me on a chair

and popped a metal probe (thoughtfully warmed
beforehand) into Little Jack’s mouth, gently twirled it
around and asked then if I could then give a small urine
sample in a flask on the table.

Unlike Flash’s experience in the “No Hands” Restaurant

last night, she sadly did not hold my manhood when I was
in full flow, but still you cannot win them all.

After a further short wait back to the reception area, whilst

still hiding behind a publication with the vain hope that
following my recent little indiscretion with the familiar
looking pair of LBGs behind the travel desk over the far
side did not recognise me.

Then I was politely taken into the delectable Dr. Wu’s

office.

The good Doctor waied me and gave me a beaming smile.

“Good news, Khun Jack, all your tests clear, you can go
back to go go bars, everything work well. Plenty of girls
now, no ploblem !”

Giving me a knowing wink, the lady then informed me that

nothing was likely to fall off in action between the sheets,
but it might be best to pace myself in future to avoid any
further medical emergencies or a major case of friction
burns to the nether regions.

We chatted like old friends for a few minutes and I must

admit to some embarrassing stirrings down below. Khun Dr
was a cut above the average massage girl by a country
mile, she was older and classier.

It was hard to work out an accurate age, maybe mid-

thirties? But, definitely a MILF and very attractive.

Dr. Wu, volunteered the fact she was Chinese Thai, no

longer married and had no boyfriend at present.
“When men find out what I do for job, looking and holding
many farang banana each day, most run a mile – quick,
quick” she said with a laugh “they even worry about
shaking hands with me”.

Just for a split second, I toyed with the crazy idea of asking
her out, but to be honest - I bottled it.

It would be embarrassing and bad for the ego, if she said

no thanks, which looked the likely outcome.

I mean, when two people’s eyes meet in a social disease

clinic over a sack of antibiotics, it’s hardly a classic Mills +
Boon romantic scenario is it?

So after thanking her very much for sorting out Little Jack’s
problem so quickly and squeezing her offered soft small
hand, I then paid a further modest bill in reception and
wandered back out into the street.

I left the place with a complete clean bill of health and a

semi, fast turning into a full stiffy from just thinking of what
that medical practioner would look like without her white
coat and giving me a full internal and external examination
on my large hotel bed over the road.

Dream on Jack ……

Maybe it was that attractive tight uniform that hit the spot
or the fact she was not easily available, but attracted to Dr.
Wu, I certainly was.

On my way back to the Nana Coffee Shop, within five

minutes, I was approached by three different independants
in the street.

Good God, it is only ten in the morning, does this city never
sleep?
One of them was quite beddable, complete with long shiny
hair, an hourglass figure and a beautiful smile.

But I felt it safer to avoid the risk of getting a dose of

something from a freelancer, within two minutes of leaving
the clap clinic.

I thought it would be a little embarrassing to be seeing the

delectable Dr. Wu again quite so soon, she might think I
was accident prone.

With amazing self-control, I politely turned some intriguing

propositions of untold sexual delights with a smile and was
soon back in the hotel cafeteria making my second live
appearance there that very same morning.

Paul was already half way through breakfast when I rocked

up, but mercifully there was no sign of the Ginger Beast of
Bangkok.

Between his standard fare of coffee and cigarettes, The

President gave me the update on the previous evening’s
action which I had missed out on having enjoyed an early
night.

Apparently, the dynamic duo did the rounds of the regular

Sukumvit flesh pots, hitting the Thermae, The Grace and
some of the small beer gardens, but finally ending up back
at the Nana Disco.

There was nothing that caught PM’s experienced and

rather discerning eye, but Mr. Gordon had headed upstairs
to his room with a dodgy waitress from one of bars down
the soi after downing a fair amount of the electric soup.

True to form, the tight devil picked her up late after she
finished work, to avoid paying a bar fine.
Paul suggested I hang around to have a laugh at what the
lad managed to end up with. “Well, that is if the little devil
dares to bring her down to breakfast in daylight “he said
ordering another large caffeine injection.

“How bad was she?” I enquired, leaning back and drinking

my second gallon of fresh fruit juice that day.

PM thought for a moment and said, between lighting a

menthol cigarette and drinking his coffee,

“Let’s put it this way old son, that girl was only a bit better
than those couple of old slappers haunting the cafeteria
over in the corner there. I mean, you would have to have a
serious judgement failure to let a pair of donkeys like that
anywhere near you - I would not poke them with yours!”

At this last comment and laughing like a drain, he pointing

to the far side of the room where a vaguely familiar pair of
LBGs (or maybe lips) had just sat down.

Hell, there was no mistaking the curvaceous forms of both

Diesel and Dumper, my erstwhile partners from nearly five
minutes of intense passion late last night. Both girls had
appeared in all their early morning glory, looking like they
had done more gobbling than the average Christmas
turkey.

Quickly agreeing that you would have to be desperate sicko

to give a couple like that a seeing too, I was just trying to
hide behind an unfortunately rather too small menu to try
and avoid detection, when Flash made his customary noisy
entrance.

You know the old saying of “talk of the devil and he

appears”?

Well, here was Old Lucifer bang on time.

The lad was solo and strangely there was no sign of his last
night’s (apparently less than impressive) conquest.

After collapsing in a seat next to me, Mr. Gordon was gently

quizzed by both of us on where his recent beloved had
gone.

Ordering what seemed like the whole Nana breakfast list,

everybody’s favourite Romeo said he had got a bit fed up
with her and sent the girl off clutching few baht some hours
earlier.

He could then get his much-needed beauty sleep alone and

did not like already used LBGs hanging around anyway, as
he might have to lie on the wet patch.

It was a simple matter of onwards and upwards.

The Flashman always hates to admit to ever being wrong,

even when he is guilty as hell.

This was a classic example and true to form, the lying little
sod still stuck to his story that she was an ex-Thai Beauty
Queen and did a great job in the sack. Even though Paul
mentioned that if that girl went double dating with the
Elephant Man, he would be the looker!

Ordering yet more food to boost his standard gigantic

breakfast and putting the kitchen on meltdown, Khun Flash
looked around the now rapidly filling up coffee shop for any
likely talent and then suddenly noticed my favourite couple.

The crafty devil saw a chance to change the current

humiliating subject. “God, you would have to be a really sad
fuck to dip your wick in one of those two donkeys” he
chortled, whilst at the same time destroying a pile of toast,
eggs, bacon and something revolting that looked like a
mega portion of Thai black pudding, complete with optional
brown sauce.

“Bugger me, that is the worse pair of Back Scuttling,

Sludge Gulpers I have seen since we arrived here in Pussy
Central” my good mate uttered in an ear-splitting theatrical
loud whisper.

Say what you like about the era of romance being over,
Graham Gordon Esq; could give Mr. Darcy from a Jane
Austin novel lessons in etiquette.

The lad has such a delicate turn of phrase as far as the fair
sex is concerned that I would not be surprised to see him
put his cloak over a muddy puddle to impress the ladies.

Now as far as “yours truly” was concerned, you don’t have

to be Einstein to work out this situation could easily get
embarrassing for Little Jack and his owner on a nuclear
scale.

I was still pretending to find the menu fascinating reading

and hoping against hope, that Diesel and Dumper would
not come over and sweetly enquire if I wanted another
quick session of deep throat at a knockdown price.

I tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, which is no

easy job with Flash sitting next to you giving it loud.

Thinking quickly, I mentioned that unfortunately my “Hi

So” business contact Ladawan was due to pick me up at
twelve. It was a shame to leave their excellent company,
but I better go and get ready - it would not do to be late.

Standing up to leave, after explaining to the rest of the

team that we leading advertising executives had critical
files to sort out before the top-level meetings, both my two
good mates were very supportive.
They both howled with laughter and nearly wet themselves
in the process.

Paul then put the boot in by saying they might have a bit
more fun with a two-girl soapy session at Amy’s, rather
than investing half a day discussing international
publishing opportunities with someone apparently old
enough to be a massage girl’s great grandmother.

Talk about rubbing salt into the wound, you get no

sympathy off these guys.

Apparently, their proposed hard day’s work included first

going over the road shopping, as Flash wanted to buy yet
more shoes from one of the many leather shops near the
Grace Hotel.

Yes, I know we are off to Manilla in a day or so, but how

much footwear does this bloke want? Is the lad trying to
compete with Imelda Marcos for heaven’s sake?

To make me even more envious, the dynamic duo then had

a quick naughty session lined up in the suds to follow.

According to them, this was a medical necessity and would

hopefully ease the tension of bending of credit cards in the
pursuit of even more ridiculously cheap, top class footwear.

So, after reluctantly wishing them good luck with their

bouts of both retail therapy and mindless, recreational sex,
I arranged to meet the lads back up at base around seven
for a last evening on the town, before we flew off the next
day to the Philippines.

As I quietly and discreetly started to make my escape, Paul

asked if we thought those two venerable gorgons in the
corner were waving at us?
I looked over and to my everlasting horror, one had her
long wiggling tongue out and the other seemed to be
smiling and gesticulating vigorously in our direction?

“No way” I said, shaking my head, “the gruesome twosome

maybe they are after one of those ancient farang punters
sitting over there though”.

As my two fellow Bangkok Pussy Hounds turned around to

look accusingly at a pair of Australian pensioners
innocently having a drink on a table conveniently situated
just behind us - quick as greased ferret, I was on the way
out of the coffee shop in a blur.

For once, The Flashman’s total lack of diplomatic skills

worked to my advantage.

With all the subtlety of a flying chainsaw, he enquired in a

stage whisper that echoed around the cafeteria, did that
pair of Australasian greybeards get an OAP discount for
porking the gruesome twosome, along with their free bus
passes and senior rail cards?

Then according to our very own oracle of all things LBG,

The Flashman shared loudly with the other guests eating
breakfast, that dirty old bastards like that should have been
enjoying a Saga Holiday at their age and playing bingo or
dominos.

Old coffin dodgers on a Thai pussy hunt was just not

natural as Mr. Gordon so sensitively put it for the benefit of
every customer in the Nana Coffee Shop to hear.

I had to move fast, as our ginger pal would have loved my

little oral secret to became public knowledge and it was
imperative to get out alive in one piece before the likely
riot kicked off – speed was top of the agenda.
To be fair, my favourite BJ Squad did look a touch rougher
in the harsh daylight than I remembered from the haze of
last evenings little escapade in the pitch dark.

I know you don’t look at the mantelpiece when you stoke

the fire, but what was I thinking of letting that pair get
naked on my bed? Maybe that was a slight judgement
failure, as Paul would say.

Leaving the growing rift in Anglo-Australian relations

behind and after escaping thankfully back unscathed to my
room, I was relieved to see that the maids had already
cleaned up the remains of the previous night’s little
session.

I swiftly got a few papers together in my newly purchased

genuine Thai crocodile skin briefcase and tried to look the
part of an ad man on a cultural break for Ladawan’s
benefit, if nobody elses.

This seemed a sound strategy, rather than turning up for

lunch appearing like a shagged out pussy hound on the
pull.

Being ever the poseur and looking in the mirror, I thought

that piece of luggage looked better in my hand than
attached to the man-eating reptile who had so generously
donated it.

So, after checking for any stray love-bites on my neck, I

swiftly changing into the more business like look of smart
short sleeved Lacoste polo shirt, very lightweight
Timberland Chinos and Bally shoes, complete with ultra-
thin Hugo Boss pure silk socks.

All this pirated stuff was bought for a very modest amount
of wonga around the Sukumvit Road, but if I say it myself,
it looked pretty good on.
I was just splashing on a large handful of some “knock off”
Aramis aftershave a few minutes before noon, when the
room phone rang. It was Ladawan who was apparently in
reception and ready to go.

Unlike many Thais in the commercial world who have a

more flexible view on time than many westerners, this
particular lady was really punctual.

Heading downstairs at speed, I could hardly help noticing

that still the erstwhile piece of intimate female apparel had
showed no sign of having moved from its pride of place on
the lift floor.

It lay in a sad, crumpled heap.

Arriving at the ground level to meet my lunch date, the one

thing that really worried me was running into Flash. The
infamous Beast of Bangkok could well be haunting and
polluting the reception area with his uncouth and
unwelcome presence.

It would not have enhanced my professional image with my

new business associate, having him rushing up and asking
to borrow another tube of KY Jelly, king size vibrator or
whatever the deprived individual wanted for an afternoon
of carnal pleasures at Amy’s emporium down the road.

Even worse, the risk of bumping into the infamous Diesel +

Dumper on the pull was ever present.

If everybody’s beloved “Blow-Jobs-R-Us” kindly offered a

quick repeat session of giving Little Jack another severe
polish, this might take a bit of explaining away to my
female colleague who thinks I am on a hard working
commercial vist to her capital city.
Let’s not forget I am meeting a middle aged and very
respectable Thai business woman, so I had to try and
appear a sensible UK Advertising Executive on an overseas
trip.

Difficult yes, but impossible no.

A tough call, but I reckon I was up to it.

So using all the stalking skills I learnt as a kid in the boy

scouts, I crept into position cunningly concealed behind a
large ornament and doing a passable impression of
Inspector Closou from the Pink Panther Films.

I carefully undertook a full reconnaissance of the lobby and

had an in-depth check for both any unexplained stains in
the trouser department and any unexplained stains on
humanity i.e. Graham Gordon Esq.

To my great relief, there were no sign of either to cause me

further embarrassment and then Ladawan suddenly
appeared at my side in reception. She was dressed both
expensively and immaculately, as you would expect from a
successful lady who owned three companies.

She was prettier than I remember at our initial meeting in

London and smiled broadly while waiing me. I tried to
return the greeting, but looked a bit like a young bird
attempting to fly with my elbows sticking out and nearly
knocked over a nearby china statue.

My host was too good mannered to laugh at my clumsy

attempts at Thai protocol or the fact I had nearly poked a
hotel guest innocently standing next to me with a fatal blow
to the face.

We both exchanged the usual pleasantries about my flight

and the weather, but it was then I noticed that the lady kept
looking down intently down at my feet. To be honest, I
thought she was admiring my new Gucci “slip on” copies,
bought courtesy of the local night bazaar which were
having their first trip out today.

These major fashion statements resplendent in dark blue

suede, certainly looked to be what any top ad agency
director would wear to impress an important client, Charles
Saatchi would have been proud.

I reckon this latest footwear was as cool as a polar bear’s

wedding tackle….

Glancing down to check for scuff marks, there winking at

me was the highly embarrassing sight of a familiar looking
pair of well used bar girl’s knickers clinging stubbornly to
the right pointed toe.

Trying to hold a polite conversation about a temple that I

had seen down the road, I made numerous valiant attempts
to scrape the offending item off my foot and hopping
around on one leg at the same time was difficult to say the
least.

Mugged and viciously attacked by a pair of wayward frilly

panties and looking like some ageing punk “pogoing” at a
Sex Pistols concert, I finally managed to propel the used
piece of intimate female apparel into a convenient plant pot
with a drop kick that any premiership striker would have
been proud of.

After that neat pirouette, I muttered something about the

laundry being a bit suspect and that the offending item
must have been dropped by one of the hotel staff.

The plan then was to act relaxed and try to sound like
finding a set of very used undies with more skid marks than
Brands Hatch sticking to your foot, was an everyday
occurrence.

Getting rid of this unwanted bit of lingerie with a russet

gusset was as hard as shaking off Flash when you had your
wallet out and were about to buy a round.

I am not sure Ladawan fully believed me and looked a little

non-plussed as she ushered me towards her new black
BMW saloon parked outside, but did not question me on
exactly where the rogue item of underwear had come from.

The doorman who had been guarding her expensive

vehicle, jumped to attention as my host slipped the minder
a sizeable tip. The lady then fired up the engine and we
sped off into the sea of vehicles that is Sukumvit Road at
any time of day or night.

Turning the car’s air con to maximum, Ladawan suggested

we go for an early lunch before she showed me around the
City of Angels.

To be honest, the sights I would have preferred to have

seen would have been the soapy rear end of one of the local
massage parlour’s best girls sitting on my face and framed
by a sea of warm suds.

But business is business, so I tried to put those dark

thoughts out of my mind before Little Jack woke up and
embarrassed me further.

As Paul always said, in Thailand the girls bend over

backwards to help you and that is definitely the sort of
culture I enjoy, but it looks like this type of pleasure is
unfortunately off the menu until a bit later tonight.

Driving effortless through the usual near stationary

Bangkok traffic, she chatted about individuals we both
knew in the travel industry and told me we were heading to
a popular restaurant in one of the large downtown
departmental stores.

Apparently, they served authentic Thai food mainly for the

ethnic market, so it would give me a chance to try some
real local dishes.

Ladawan knew I was keen on Asian cooking, which we had

discussed when we had met on the Thailand Tourist Board
stand at the World Travel Market in London last year and
felt it would be interesting for me to see the what non-
farangs really eat.

She laughed while admitting that with two live-in maids her
own time in the home kitchen was virtually nil these days.

I think the lady in question thought it a bit eccentric for me

to cook my own meals in England.

But I did mention that it would cost a bit more than the
going rate in Bangers to have full time domestic help back
in blighty in these straitened days of an eighties economic
downturn.

After parking in a large underground car park, we made

our way up to the rooftop restaurant and were ushered by a
pretty waitress to a reserved table with amazing panoramic
views of the city in all directions.

Looking around, I realised that Bangkok was larger than I

thought, but then again since arriving I had only visited the
fleshpots of Sukumvit and Patpong and spent more time
inspecting bedroom ceilings than contemplating the
impressive skyline.

Looking over the cityscape in the Nana Hotel direction, I

could just imagine my two companions heading for Amy’s
to enjoy an afternoon of slippery pleasure.

Even so, I tried to put this thought of my mind, as turning

green before the meal even started might have been a bit
embarrassing.

I had certainly drawn the short straw here, no nookie and

having to talk endless business – this was not what I had
come to the land of unlimited pussy for.

While Ladawan ordered a selection of dishes and chatted

about various publishing topics in her excellent, if slightly
transatlantic English, I secretly scanned the room.

It was packed with some classy young Thai girls, mostly in

small female groups obviously having an early lunch.

PM had warned me before that these places are often full

of LBGs taking an hour or so off from local offices and
shops to grab a Pad Thai or whatever with their girlfriends.

He said that virtually every Thai female he had met (and

that must have been plenty over the years) seemed to love
food and it was amazing they normally seemed to stay so
slim.

Shares in Weight Watchers would not be a good investment

around here.

Being the only westerner in the restaurant, a few flashed a

polite smile in my direction and made eye contact. Paul had
briefed me at breakfast that some may engage in the odd
bit of “action” if they like you and are perhaps short of cash
that month.

So there is the possibility of a romp between the sheets in

this situation, but the snag is that this is not an ideal spot
to pick them up being in full view of their friends and
colleagues.
A better strategy he felt was to frequent some of the
popular nightclubs based in the five star hotels in town,
where you can be more discreet. As there is a definite
stigma for legitimately employed pretty Thai girls to be
seen with a farang.

Respectable secretaries and shop assistants do not want to

appear as hookers.

There is a strict class system in Thailand with dancing

around a chrome pole and doing naughties with westerners
being near the bottom.

Talking of bottoms, Ladawan had a great arse and with this

erotic thought going around in my head, I happily munched
my way through a delicious collection of noodle and rice
dishes which just seemed to keep on endlessly coming to
our table.

I tried unsuccessfully not to laugh, when Ladawan told me

about a blunder she had made last month.

Paul always impressed on us that “Face” was very

important to the Thai people and I did not want my lunch
companion to be embarrassed, but it was hard to hold back
a giggle.

Apparently, a young male Swedish friend of hers, who was

also in the travel trade, had recently visited Bangkok for
the first time.

When they met for a drink at the airport just after the
gentleman’s plane touched down, he mentioned that before
leaving home, the poor chap had pulled some shoulder
muscles playing a game of squash after a long lay-off from
the game.
“Did Ladawan know where he could get a good sports
massage to ease the pain, which had got worse after a long
flight?” our Scandinavian friend inquired.

The lady in question seemed naively unaware that many of

the establishments advertising these types of services in BK
may also give male customers “happy endings” as part of
the package.

So with an enduring total lack of worldliness, Ladawan

suggested he used one with a large neon sign proclaiming
“Naked Teen Girl Massage” which was conveniently
situated right opposite his own hotel.

Thinking locals know best, our trusting Swede followed her

well-meaning instructions, but when they met up a few
hours later, complained forcefully that the female masseuse
had tried to rape him!

I attempted to look shocked and surprised and assured

Ladawan that this lack of morals amongst massage girls in
BK was very unusual, whilst all the time thinking what a
plonker that guy was.

The clue is in the name.

If you go into a place with a red sign over the door and pick
a scantily clad girl who strips off before giving you a very
intimate soaping around the crown jewels, it is not TOO
surprising to find out that there are a few other things on
the menu besides just a gentle back rub.

Not wishing to appear callous, but that bloke sounds like he

matches The Flashman for having a brain (amongst other
things…) the size of a caterpillar’s arsehole.

Guys like him who whinge on about LBGs trying to sell

sexual favours for cash, give all us farang whoremongers a
bad name. Come on, would it really have been such a
problem to have laid back and just enjoyed the ride for the
sake of international relations?

Even so, I did not want my lunch companion to think Old

Diamond Jack Hughes was sex tourist, so I nodded
sympathetically at this apparent unwarranted attack on her
friend’s chastity. Ladawan asked if I had experienced the
same outrage?

I said no, this terrible assault on his person must have been
an isolated case.

Whilst we were making polite, if a bit boring business chat,

I was still eyeing the talent in the restaurant and
exchanging smiles with various Thai girls who appeared to
be on their lunch break rather than on the game.

Most returned the compliment and whispered behind their

hands to their friends and giggled in a flirtatious way.

Well, I say making eye contact.

But in my attempt to look cool, I had kept my Ray Ban

pirated black sunglasses on all the time. I must have looked
like a dodgy cross between Stevie Wonder and Roy
Orbison.

This attempt at looking like a failed rock star proved to be a

near fatal mistake, when I did not notice a whole small
chilli lurking in a tasty prawn dish and I bit hard on the
offending article.

Now, I had dedicated much of my culinary life to eating

Indian cuisine and knew my way around the regular menus
by avoiding the mega hot stuff like vindaloos and
banglaphalls with no problem at all.
I love spicy food and eat it almost daily back home, but on
that fateful day I found out the hard way that Thai food is
different.

Whereas a dish from India is usually consistent in spiciness

or heat, a Bangkok chef will pop a few small whole birds
eye chillies in perhaps to fool the unwary (OK for unwary in
this situation, read me…)

Having restricted my vision by trying to look like an extra

from the sixties film, Easy Rider, I did not see the tiny
nuclear device hiding behind a green bean which then
ended up in my mouth as a ticking time bomb.

Many of you will have seen the launch on television of a

NASA space rocket. Well this was a similar spectacle, but
hotter and noisier.

One minute I am suavely chatting to Ladawan and the next,

something violent exploded under my tongue, my voice
disappeared and a wave of intense fire engulfed my throat
with no warning at all.

Forget what happened to the ancient Roman population in

Pompey; just imagine Mount Vesuvius erupting in your
mouth.

Looking a total prat of the first order, in both desperation

and indescribable agony, I drank everything cool and wet in
front of me, plus a chap’s pint of lager from the next table.

Still gasping for air, I then grabbed a large jug of water

from a couple quietly enjoying a bite to eat on the other
side of the dining room and still spluttered in pain quaffed
the lot in a gulp.

Eventually after what felt like a lifetime, the pain started to

recede to a level of just unbearable and I was left with a
red face, sweat pouring down my boyish looks and my
“knock off” Polaroid’s steamed up, plus a near terminal
attack of hiccups.

I did not have to speak fluent Thai to understand the

various groups of attractive girls watching the fire eating
spectacle were all having a good laugh at the farang nearly
choking to death.

Jack Hughes had become the lunchtime cabaret..

Ladalan being the perfect hostess, asked if I was OK and I

nodded my head and slowly began to breathe unaided
again, so she beckoned the waiter over and paid the bill
including the drink I had pinched from the next-door diner.

Polite as always, she thought that I may have had

something go down the wrong way and ushered me back to
her waiting car.

Call me negative if you like, but I reckon my chances of

pulling any of the local talent seemed to have taken a bit of
a knock.

Most of them were still wetting their knickers at my

exhibition of stupidity as we left the scene of the crime.

The sight of a red faced, sweating and sputtering

Englishman did not do much in the potential “leg over”
stakes –it was not a cool look.

Still, this is Thailand and one thing is for sure there are
plenty more fish in the sea and LBGs on the beach.

So, I sat in the passenger seat of the BMW swigging a

bottle of water and waiting for my scorched vocal chords to
stop smouldering.
Again, Ladawan negotiated the city traffic like a seasoned
rally driver and we drove out of town apparently heading
for a place called The Rose Garden.

My first thoughts were that this might be an afternoon

massage parlour or short time hotel, but Ladawan
explained that it was a popular tourist attraction which
gives visitors a “snap shot” of Thai culture and life.

A sort of local version of a sex free Disneyland for

westerners.

I pretended to be impressed, but the image of Paul and

Flash being “up to the peaches” in a bevy of little brown
girls at Amy’s palace of pleasure tended to take the gloss
off this particular sightseeing trip.

To be honest, it was a very professionally run place and in a

couple of hours we were exposed to a mixture of stuff
including some elephants at work(no taxis allowed), a mock
cock fight (before you ask, with poultry..), a snake farm
with cobras (glad I left my new briefcase in the car) and
Thai dancing (fully dressed).

The latter was a bit of a disappointment, as the previous

version I had seen in Patpong had all the girls topless
which I call more artistic.

In this version, the dancers were all covered up head to

foot in traditional clothing and not a bare nipple in sight!

Unfortunately, Ladawan was not keen on going for a ride

around the park on the Rose Gardens resident fleet of
Jumbos, which came complete with elephant driver.

That looked fun, but after our recent close encounter off

the Sukumvit Road, I decided not to stand behind the
beasts, just in case of accidents.
Being knocked out by a mega dump hurtling from above
from above courtesy of Mr. Chang might make any travel
insurance claim a bit difficult

We demolished a delicious Thai coconut milk ice cream

each, which was particularly welcome to help cool my still
tingling throat and then my gracious host chauffeured me
back to the hotel.

Now, it is a bit embarrassing to admit this.

When we first met on a cold Winter’s day at the Earls Court

Exhibition Hall in London, I had not noticed that this lady
had some serious form on her.

Well, it was the World Travel Market in December and after

flying in from a tropical climate; my host was then
understandably muffled up in a large fur coat, leather boots
and probably three sets of thermal underwear.

Having ditched the Eskimo gear and now wearing just a

thin silk dress that clung to all the curves, it was obvious
that my favourite colleague had a five-star chassis. This
garment was tight enough to show she was a lady, but not
tight enough to make her look like a bar girl.

Enjoying some subtle sideways looks at Ladawan’s brown,

smooth legs discreetly on display as she drove her BMW
through the rush hour made me think, forget The Rose
Garden, I would quite like a few hours enjoying some
horizontal Thai dancing and culture with the lady in
question across my hotel’s king-sized bed.

Along with the delectable Dr. Wu, that is two MILFs I have
fancied in one day whilst at large in a city full of available
young girls - the heat must be getting to me.
The road trip back to our bonking GHQ in Sukumvit Road
took some time, as the Bangkok traffic had nearly reached
gridlock again - no change there then.

Sitting in yet another line of smoke belching cars, Ladawan

enquired if the Nana was comfortable? Being in the travel
industry she was interested to get my professional opinion
on hotels in the city.

She mentioned, it was only a three star and had a slightly

suspect reputation in some quarters - hence the question.

Bearing in mind, Ladawan appeared to have lead a

sheltered life; care was required with my answer.

Thinking of my two girl BJ last night, the lost pair of the

well-used knickers abandoned in the lift which got super
glued to my shoe and the fact that this place was a
whoremonger’s wet dream, a little economy with the facts
was needed.

Unlike Flash, I am nothing if not considerate and assured

my esteemed business colleague that the rooms were large
(i.e. the bed was big enough to entertain half the hookers in
the city) the food in the coffee shop was excellent (i.e. the
cafeteria had a good selection of freelancers) and it was
very good value (i.e. no joining fee when taking “guests” to
entertain you).

She seemed suitably impressed, but hopefully the lady

involved would not recommend the place to her
Scandinavian friend or he might not enjoy yet another
unwarranted assault on his virginity.

We finally pulled up outside the Nana at nearly 7.30 and

after I had thanked Ladawan profusely for all her kind
hospitality, she lent forward and kissed me goodbye on the
lips.
The lady lingered and the heady smell of her expensive
cologne coupled with the warmth of her body close up sent
Little Jack into doing instant tent impressions inside the
crotch of my now overstretched chinos.

I headed inside bent double to try and avoid detection,

moving as fast as politely possible and looking like the
Hunchback of Notre Dame with a raging stiffy.

The plan was to quickly find my two companions in crime

and make up for lost time by sorting out some evening
action a bit sharpish.

It had been hard all afternoon (bad choice of words) trying

to make intelligent conversation about magazine
publishing, when the spectre of losing valuable time in
getting hold of some more the local talent haunts you.

Although apart from frying my tonsils and the frustration

for not having the chance to get inside Ladawan’s
expensive Janet Reger silk undies, it had been a fun day.

But I needed to get busy and make up for lost screwing

time without delay.

Reassuringly The President was on duty in the Nana coffee

shop and talking to a small group of regular freelancers of
varying quality.

No change there then.

Looking across in the direction of the lift, I could hardly

miss seeing The Flashman who appeared to have just got
out, urgently trying to shake a pair of second-hand black
frilly knickers off his right foot.

Normal service was resumed……

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JANUARY 2017
These days I use the departmental stores restaurants at
lunchtime occasionally and there are still the hordes of
pretty local working girls who eat there on their lunch
break.
This is not like making a move on a great looking LBG in a
late night pick-up spot or beer garden.
Most of these young ladies are not involved full time in the
sex industry and the problem of being seen talking to a
farang in front of her business colleagues or friends is still
an inhibiting factor.
Sometimes, they will make very discreet contact when
going to the bathroom or going over to pay the bill, but it is
a bit frustrating.
Unlike back home in the west, a number of these
“respectable” girls will do a bit of “play for pay” to boost
their income occasionally, but making initial contact in that
environment can be difficult.
Mind you, a few years ago I was having a swift bowl of
noodles in the cafeteria of a large Bangkok departmental
store and one little honey kept giving me the eye, from the
other side of the room for a good half an hour at least.
The girl in question was with three other young Thai
females and it looked like a lost cause.
But she unobtrusively dropped her name and mobile
number written on her napkin on my table as she passed
with her mates, all heading back off to work.
An international spy would have been proud of that move,
Marta Hari had nothing on this girl.
To be honest we had a few dates on that trip, but I think the
young lady was a bit more experienced in picking up
westerners to supplement her salary at a local bank than
the little sweetheart admitted, but there are no complaints
here.
The incidence of eating an explosive super-hot chilli, when I
had that original lunch with Ladawan is something that has
painfully repeated itself over the years.
Authentic Thai cuisine can conceal an eye-watering,
searing surprise – be warned all you who think they can
handle seriously spicy food. It is not good for the image to
be trying to quench the heat by drinking the contents of the
fire bucket, whilst pouring sweat and looking like you have
enjoyed a week in a sauna.
Now here is a small tip.
If you are in Land of Smiles and the “enemy” left back in
home is of a suspicious nature, the great thing about The
Rose Garden and similar tourist friendly destinations is that
in just a short time, you can obtain an album full of
snapshots of Thai “culture” in action.
How does this help to pacify your wife/girlfriend/partner?
Well being a devious little devil, in just an hour of digital
photography you can take loads of twee visitor type
pictures of all things Thai ready to go back to show the in-
laws and assorted neighbours.
Your travel documentary can cover everything from cobra
farming to traditional dancing, temples and maybe buy a
few gifts at the tourist shop at the same time.
This little scam means you are then free to get on with the
main business in hand of getting up close and personal with
as many great looking girls (or ladyboys) as humanly
possible during the precious time you have available.
Back in 1980 it was easier to shield your other half from
the realities of what really goes on when you hit the town.
There was no Internet to look at with” You Tube” showing
farangs behaving badly or TV Documentaries on the red-
light areas of South East Asia.
Modern technology can be curse for the randy visitor.
The Land of Smiles was still rated as an “exotic”
destination way back then and many experienced travellers
had not even been there in the eighties.
This is unlike the situation in 2016, when a month getting
off your head in Koh Samui seems a rite of passage for
every uni-student passing their degree in “Media Studies”
or whatever.
So, in my opinion a good batch of cheesy shots and selfies
emailed back from tourist attractions like the Rose Garden
is an excellent investment in making “her indoors” back at
home think you have an interest above your trouser
department.
Just don’t leave any incriminating explicit shots on your
digital camera or phone when you return.
You would not be the first ……
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

FEBRUARY 1980

SHORT BACK AND SIDES, SIR?

After sitting down and ordering a much-needed pint of
coffee following my “cultural” day, I got the usual third
degree from Khun Gordon.

Bangkok’s answer to a Peeping Tom (or Ginger Tom, in his

case) had seen my date when the two of us said a tender
goodbye in her car outside, just a few minutes before.

According to “The Wonderful World of Flash” the boy was

convinced that I had been enjoying some “afternoon
delight” between those soft brown thighs.

His twisted view was that the dear lady was walking
although “she still had it up her from earlier” and felt that
Ladawan looked like she went off like a tin of bad fish.

It was obvious from these cultivated words of wisdom that

the lad was even more full of himself than usual, if that was
possible…..

Apparently, my two best mates had spent a very pleasant

afternoon at our favourite knocking shop down the soi after
completing a bit more retail therapy over the road.

“The girls at Amy’s place, think I look like a Greek God” Mr.
Gordon said between gulping mouthfuls of a mammoth
plate of Thai noodles, complete with his usual optional
extra fried rice for the terminally greedy.

To say I was surprised was an understatement.

OK, he could pass for a dodgy Turkish Kebab in poor light.

But a Greek God?
Never….

Surely, these girls must have soap or something worse in

their eyes. I would recommend a swift trip to the local
Sukumvit opticians for any deranged myopic females
involved that really thought my red headed fat pal was a
male page three pin-up.

“If you don’t believe me, ask the PM” the lad said stuffing
three giant whole spring rolls in his mouth at once. If he
ever gets fed up with soliciting for a living, I reckon he
could easily get a job in the lead role of “Jaws 6 – Return of
the Great White Shark”.

To the soundtrack of munching and the odd ear splitting

belch, Paul confirmed this amazing fact and with a sly wink
in my direction said “Yes, they call him Pompey, down the
road”.

Now I got good marks at school for history.

In fact, besides wanking which I enjoyed a straight “A”

grade, it was my next best subject and I was particularly
interested in Ancient Rome.

Well, when I could concentrate on the curriculum anyway.

The trouble was that I, along with my most of my other

hormone overcharged male teenage school mates, spent
too much time in each lesson trying to look up the fairly
short skirt (well, it was the fashion in the sixties.) of the
attractive young supply female teacher.

This was achieved with the aid of a strategically placed

mirror on the floor and if my memory serves me correctly, it
was a trick we had learned in the science lab,

This activity tended to hinder academic learning a bit and

to be honest we knew more about the colour of Miss
Bennett’s knickers than life in Tudor England.

The poor girl was straight out of training college and

lectured us on this particular subject with great
enthusiasm.

It was amazing that “Miss” did not give up the academic

life and run away from a classroom full of oversexed
adolescent boys, rather than try bravely to impart some
knowledge of the 100 Years War into our randy little minds.

But some of this good teacher’s work had stuck and now
here was a golden opportunity to really piss Graham
Gordon Esq off big time.

Exhibiting my in-depth knowledge of this subject, I pointed

out that if my memory had not got damaged by recent
assault of gallons of Singha beer and an army of delectable
Thai girls, Pompey was a Roman General and rival to Julius
Caesar, not an ancient Greek.

“Roman, Greek, Ancient Briton who sodding cares? It is

still a result” the Flashman said now trying to get outside
half of Paul’s signature dish of a steak sandwich which our
leader had kindly donated to Bangkok’s answer to Mr.
Blobby.

“I reckon a sexual freebie or two could be on the cards in

that area, just watch and weep” said Pompey Gordon as he
managed to also down what was left of my Thai sticky
chicken with practised ease and gave a swallow that would
not disgrace Diesel and Dumper.

“Well, it would be a shame to waste it” he said with a

heartfelt burp, as another course of the Nana’s finest
cuisine disappeared down his infamous curry tunnel
without trace.
The newly crowned “Adonis of Sukumvit” mentioned that as
it was our last night in the City of Angels (or City of Bar
Girls?) for a few days, an important decision had been
made on which establishments we gave the benefit of our
custom to this very evening.

Before the “A” team headed off to Manila on the morrow, it

had been decided in my recent afternoon absence that we
would make a final foray to see Amy and her girls. These
guys were becoming fixtures down the road and could end
up wearing plastic number badges and getting a season
ticket, if this carries on.

Paul suggested we had a few quiet drinks first, then head

down Patpong for our last Thai evening meal on this leg of
the trip. This nourishment was sorely needed, as Flash was
still looking a bit on the hungry side and was pursuing his
“Asian Famine Relief” campaign with a vengeance.

The strategy was following feeding the “inner man”, we

would all end the night with a final swift soapy session at
the big “A”. That is, if nothing better turns up to keep us
amused on our travels in the meantime.

The game plan was to end on a high note and to be fair,

Amy’s place has never failed to produce the goods for us so
far on this trip.

Just as we were about to leave for a swift pit stop in our

rooms, the ever immaculate PM mentioned that maybe we
both lacked a bit of attention in the grooming stakes.

To rectify the problem, he suggested that we accompany

him to a hairdressing shop near the Zambezi bar in
Patpong One. Here, Flash and I could enjoy a clean-up and
some much needed beauty treatment before the night’s
action kicked off in earnest.
To be honest, nether Flash or myself were keen to trust our
treasured coffered locks to some downtown Thai barber,
but PM insisted it was a great place to start the night’s
entertainment with a wet shave, shampoo and relaxing foot
massage.

It was just a bit of pampering, so there was no need to

worry about any wayward scissors getting near our
precious “barnets”.

Flash still had doubts, but knowing Paul well he felt if our
mentor said it was good, then it was.

We all agreed to meet in the Nana reception area around

eight and then head off for a final evening of debauchery
and mindless sex.

The thought of a bit more female company certainly

sounded good to me.

Leaving the lift faster than the average Mamasan pockets a

bar fine, just in case the delectable BJ duo of Diesel and
Dumper were still lurking in the shadows looking for their
next punter, I dived into my room and locked the door
behind me with a bang.

You cannot be too careful in this town, otherwise some LBG

will have got into your boxers with the speed of light and
before you know it the job is done.

Looking down to make sure that the infamous abandoned

bar girl’s panties had not re-attached themselves to my
foot, I noticed a telephone message obviously taken by
reception that had been pushed under the door.

The yellow piece of paper lay on a large multi coloured

stain on the carpet, which was probably a trophy from
some previous exchange of bodily fluids - if only that piece
of Axminster could talk!

Picking up the folded piece of stationery, it was a charming

note from my business colleague Ladawan. She said how
much she had enjoyed our afternoon together at the Rose
Garden and that hopefully I was better and had now fully
recovered from my nasty choking fit at lunchtime.

Thinking again about my spiritual welfare, the good lady

suggested when I was next back in Bangkok in a few days,
perhaps I would like to do a trip around the capital’s top
temples with her?

Apparently, there was a very special one, well off the

beaten track up country from central Bangers and not
normally visited by farangs. At this particular Wat they
meditate standing up, which is unusual.

Perhaps with my interest in Buddhism and the spiritual side

of Thailand, I would like to accompany her there?

It is hard to find and Ladawan had not been before, but

luckily one of her maids comes from that region and has
volunteered to guide us to it.

It goes without saying, that there is nothing I would relish

more than being bitten to death by an army of mosquitoes,
attacked by the odd deadly poisonous snake and all while
getting hopelessly lost and staggering about in a tropical
swamp conveniently in the middle of nowhere and looking
for yet another temple.

With all this fun and spiritual solace on offer, I felt sorry for
my two fellow travel mates who would miss out on the trek
and had to kill time by being bored to death servicing every
massage and bar girl in sight.
All this endless shagging, rather than suffering endless
privations upcountry like me was hard on Paul and Flash,
but they would just have to make the best of it.

Yes, Ladawan’s proposed expedition certainly sounded

sorely tempting, but sadly due to pressure of work, I will
have to pass on that delight. It would fortunately have to
wait until sometime in the future - a long way in the future!

There was much more pressing business to get stuck into in

the next few remaining precious days in the Thai capital I
thought, wandering into the bathroom and sliding into the
foaming hot water whilst meditating on these worldlier
issues.

My limited mental abilities were cogitating about why we

all kept diving into the hotel bath or shower at every
opportunity, when we were likely to be getting washed in
every nook and cranny by a LBG or two in the next few
minutes.

It was one of life’s great mysteries and wasted a lot of the

world’s precious energy resources, but not having time to
ponder on this conundrum further, I changed into clean
clothes and joined the intrepid duo that had just
reassembled in the Nana reception at the appointed hour.

The whole team were washed, shaved and smelling of

about a gallon of pungent aftershave a piece.

Looking at the acres of white skin on display from our crew,

the moral here is don’t expect to go home from a trip like
this with a sun tan.

Pink and wrinkly due to an excess of hot water and soap is

more likely, which it is a badge of honour amongst the
Bangkok Pussy Hounds and shows a commendable
commitment to the important business in hand.
A word to the wise.

Be very suspicious of anyone returning from a trip out East

sporting a bronzed look. In my book, they have not been
holding their end up, so to speak, and may well have been
slacking on the job.

After being given the usual role of negotiating a cab fare

down to Patpong, I finally got a semi sensible price from
one of the local taxi mafia. Then we all invested the next
twenty minutes of our life, which we will not get back,
inspecting the rear end of every vehicle on the Sukumvit
Road – the world’s biggest car park.

This driver spent most of the curb crawling trip trying to

sell us sexual delights with his sister, mother, father and
family dog and rarely looking where he was going.

Luckily, the route was totally elephant free this time

around, as I don’t think any of us fancied another
Heffalump collision.

Khun Gordon, the infamous Sukumvit Adonis, tried to

persuade the rest of us that we should give our pal the
Laughing Policeman and his mate a call and then get
through the current grid-lock reclining in a squad car at
speed of warp factor ten.

The only tiny problem was that the Ginger Whinger had
cleverly managed to lose the vital bit of paper with the
“boys in brown’s” contact number on, so that kicked his
brilliant idea into touch.

It is embarrassing to admit it, but the hard sell we were

suffering from our current chauffeur was really down to
me.
In my hurry to get to the fleshpots, I made the fundamental
mistake of mentioning the magic words “Patpong” when
sorting out the fare, which was not a great move and broke
our own rules of engagements regarding cabs in Bangers.

Still, after a load of grief and endless ear bashing from our
driver, who was trying to persuade us to go to some
overpriced clip joint, we finally rolled up in the red- light
area.

Delighted to be back in our spiritual home the three of us

literally bailed out and quickly bunged the pilot a handful of
baht, before heading off at nearly a run into the standard
searing heat, noise and pollution of Thai’s capital city.

Paul led the way up Patpong One and down a narrow soi to
a place with the legend “Cappuccino” lighting up the night
outside.

Flash and myself both looked worried, thinking the great

man had suffered a touch of sun stroke and taken us to a
coffee bar by mistake.

Our view changed quickly on entering the said emporium,

as it did look like our leader had it right after all and this
really was a top spot to get a swift trim.

The whole place was staffed only by girls in smart, short

white uniforms and without a single cup of frothy Latte in
sight.

Now, if you suffer from a naughty nurse fantasy this could

be the place for you, as they did appear like extras from the
set of a new TV series of “Erotic Bangkok Hospital”.

Although to be totally honest, some did look a bit more

mature than normal dancer around the Patpong area, but
MILF material they definitely were and eminently beddable
overall.

I would guess the average age was mid-thirties upwards, so

most must have had a few haircuts on the clock.

Even so, they looked a damn sight more attractive than

your average male barber back in London, so I was not
whinging.

It is just that you become a bit picky in the LBG stakes

when you have been in town for a few days. Heaven knows
how choosy you would get, if you lived here full time….

PM, knew the score and having been to the place a few
times before, quickly sorted out a “special beauty
treatment” for the three of us.

The downside was our favourite Redheaded Pussy Magnet

got the most attention with all the girls admiring his
flowing ginger locks, even though he tried to convince them
he was a “strawberry blond”.

It was a case of Pompey strikes again and I was starting to

get jealous.

After paying a very reasonable 400 hundred baht each, we

were all taken to our personal hairdressing chairs and each
had our own personal lady hair stylist to help us on with
our obligatory gowns.

For privacy, curtains were carefully drawn around each

cubicle and my hair was soon being gently washed by my
individual hairdresser, who in broken English told me her
name was Joon.

To be honest, by local standards she was not a stunner, but

Little Jack seemed to appreciate her sensual touch. Joon’s
firm fingers gave me a full head massage and an
uncomfortable erection.

Bangkok’s answer to Sweeny Todd, then pressed her very

adequate boobs harder against my face, whilst giving a
masterclass in shampooing and avoiding split ends.

Talking of split ends, the little fella down below gave a few
twitches and I think he was preparing himself for action
and perhaps giving her a bigger tip than normal.

The thought crossed my mind that it was a pity this was

just a respectable hair salon and not a massage parlour, as
the beauty consultant continued to rub my scalp with
scented lotion and continue to push her pair of warm soft
globes into my face.

This activity was followed by hot towels and a full shave

with a cut-throat razor.

Seeing how sharp that implement was, I made a mental

note to give a suitably generous gratuity before leaving.

It could be dangerous to be thought of as a “Cheap Charlie”

around here, ending up with only one ear or being minus a
nose was not a good look…

I just hope Khun Gordon does not do his signature trick of

putting his hand up his beautician’s skirt at the wrong
moment or there could be blood on the carpet.

Before my hair stylist had finished giving me the full close

shave treatment, a young girl appeared who introduced
herself as Joon’s youngest daughter, Lek.

After carefully removing my shoes and socks, Joon Junior

cleaned my feet with scented wet wipes and after cutting
my toenails, started to gently rub my toes with moisturising
cream.
This was at the same time as her Mum was applying some
cool after shave lotion to the top end.

Having a four-hand massage by a family team was a

brilliant way to relax; Paul was spot on again. I could get
used to having a daily grooming session like this and it was
luxury not having to shave myself.

The two ladies even carefully trimmed my eyebrows and

gently cut any stray hairs in my ears and up my nose.

I reckon Little Jack was getting wracked off with not

getting any attention at this point, but with another trip to
Amy’s Emporium was on the cards for later, the randy little
sod will just have to wait to get some dirty water off his
chest.

After my feet were gently washed, lubricated and wiped

clear of the liberal amount of balm that had been applied,
my hair was carefully dried.

Then Lek started to give my tootsies a pedicure with an

emery board, while her mother did the same for my hands,
after also rubbing a number of different creams into the
fingers to soften the skin.

Lying back in comfort with the sound of some traditional

Thai music in the background, the smell of incense wafting
around and being pampered by the pair of them, I nearly
dozed off.

I was lying prostrate on something a bit different to your

average barbers or dentist’s chair at home. It had more
padding on both the two individual legs rests, who pointed
straight out and their special use was about to become
evident.
Drifting away to almost another planet, my gentle innocent
slumbers were suddenly interrupted rudely by the
sensation of my lower garments being carefully and slowly
pulled down.

I should have known better than to be surprised in

Thailand, but before I could react, the delightful feeling of
Little Jack getting some exquisite double oral attention
started.

Licking off any pre-cum, it seemed that both mother and

daughter were giving me a full “keeping it in the family”
blow job and it did not take too long for the inevitable to
happen and I deposited a prison load in one of their willing
mouths.

To be honest, I could not see which one got the full benefit,
as both my attentive hairdressers were wriggling around
under the gown that I was still wearing at the time. One
had my old fella tickling her tonsils, while the other was
licking my balls, just don’t ask me which was doing what.

But a Gob Job is a Gob Job and just lying there with two
female attendants sucking as if their lives depended on it
felt great.

It was beauty treatment Bangkok style and it certainly

made my dandruff disappear.

Looking down under the curtain, I could see what appeared

to be Flash’s size 11 flat feet, curled up in the next door
booth. By the noise coming out from that direction, the
Greek God was also on the final vinegar strokes.

In fact, there was a load of groaning and grunting from

both my two neighbouring cubicles which sounded like a
couple of amorous hippopotami in the throes of ecstasy, but
it was more likely the sound of my two companions making
an oral deposit.

While the next door background humping noise continued

and drowned out the strains of soothing Thai music, my
brace of top stylists cleaned me thoroughly in the nether
regions with a handful of yet more perfumed wet tissues
and even helped me get dressed before I left the private
booth.

I was very impressed with the level of personal hair care on

offer here.

Forget all those medicated shampoo TV commercials back

home telling you about the dangers of a dry scalp, in my
book these girls were the business at sorting out your
follicles.

Still nervously eyeing the open razor hanging up on a

leather strap, I pushing a tip of couple of hundred baht into
both their soft small hands.

There is no doubt that a quick trim at my local stylist in the

UK will seem a bit tame after enjoying the full Cappuccino
treatment.

Within a minute or so, the other two curtains were pulled

back and The President and Flash appeared from their own
private areas. Both of the guys were scarlet in the face,
grinning and showed signs of being suitably happy with the
memorable treatment received.

PM had also braved a trim and the old fox looked even
more dapper than ever, but unfortunately the same could
not be said of Mr. Gordon.

Predictably, Flash shambled into the reception area with

his red hair standing up like a frightened punk on Saturday
night. He was still doing up his belt and proudly displaying
a large suspicious wet mark, right down one leg.

I decided not to comment on the unfortunate rising damp

problem in the lad’s jeans, as our team of top beauticians
all waied us goodbye. In fact, Khun Gordon seems to see
these stains as a badge of honour.

So, after thanking our hairdressers again, we headed back

into the night feeling mellow and on the prowl for yet more
carnal delights.

As the three of us wandered past the many bars littering

this part of Patpong, Paul smiled and apologised that he
must have mistakenly ordered us all a “blow job” rather
than a “blow dry” from the ladies in Cappuccino.

Our leader pointed out that this unfortunate

miscommunication was due to the language problems
caused by not having The Flashman’s infamous phrase
book to hand.

“Hopefully” he enquired “the results were not too

unpleasant?”

He did not really need to ask, as both Mr. Gordon and

myself were floating on Cloud Nine. You don’t need a perm
in that place to make your hair curl!

Dodging the numerous swarms of touts, armies of

freelancers, dozens of food stalls and hordes of drunken ex-
pats, we headed through a car park and into the back door
of a well-known local dive.

This was a matter of urgency, as Flash was showing signs

of malnutrition after his exertions further down the soi and
needed some serious sustenance to replace the gallons of
bodily fluids lost in the barber’s chair and down his leg.
All this full-on action in the trouser department, certainly
gives you an appetite …

So we all unanimously decided that a quick vist to the ex-

pat’s favourite watering hole, The Kangaroo Bar was called
for.

Walking into the cool air conditioned atmosphere, it was a

world away from where we had just been. The quiet and
calm in the Kangaroo with no noise or girls hustling, made
it hard to believe you were only yards away from the
maelstrom that is nocturnal Patpong.

It might be strange thing to say, particularly if you are

currently suffering a lack of available totty back home.

But occasionally just sitting quietly, recharging batteries

with no LBGs trying their hands on your old fella, is a
welcome relief in this part of the world.

We ordered beers all round and three portions of that

traditional exotic Thai dish of sausage and mash, complete
with gravy and peas.

Flash made sure he got extra bangers on his and destroyed

the whole plateful in record time. I was surprised he did
not go for more than just a mere couple of family sized
apple crumbles for “afters” - the lad must be off his food.

But as Paul pointed out wryly, Greek Gods like him have to
keep to a strict “seafood” diet. Flash certainly did see food
and eat it, but did not get the joke and tried to persuade us
all that he was just a modest trencherman with a slim
figure.

After chilling out and enjoying the usual banter for an hour
or so, about which hairdresser gave the best blow job (as
you do), we had managed to all eat and drink our fill.
So after settling the modest tab, our intrepid threesome
waddled through the multi storey and back into Patpong
again.

We had decided to take the chatty Australian barman’s

suggestion of a beer just over the road in a brightly lit
place called “Kittys”.

It was in easy staggering distance and conveniently

situated a few yards past the famous Kings Castle Go Go
bar.

Walking in, it was noticeable immediately that in this place

you could play a game of “spot the punter” and struggle to
find one.

It looked like farangs were an endangered species around

here for some reason. But “Kittys” was well named, as it
seemed to have a good selection of pussy on display.

Where ever you looked, there were topless girls just

wearing tiny G-string bikini bottoms, gyrating around
chrome poles and smiling in our direction.

As Paul so succinctly put it, this was a “nipple fest, par

excellence”.

Because there was a major lack of customers at that time of

night, we were treated like visting royalty by a rather bossy
mamasan, who turned out to be Kitty herself.

In less time than it takes to say “three bottles of Singha”,

we were sitting on bar stools engaging with a number of
her best looking girls (correction for engaging, read
groping….)

I noticed she kept looking down at the still wet patch

displayed in all its glory on the front of Flash’s Levis, which
was still visible from his recent encounter with his brace of
personal hairstylists.

But stain or no stain ,the manageress helpfully made sure

that we were never lonely by sending over endless numbers
of assorted LBGs.

If hustling ever becomes an Olympic Sport, this lady would

get the gold for Thailand.

Kitty must have thought we were prime “barfine fodder”

and continually put the hard word on us that “short time
looms upstairs for quick boom boom – cheap, cheap”.

Flash, always the comic, managed to rack her off by saying

if she said “cheap cheap” many more times, he would buy
her a packet of bird seed.

I think the joke lost something in translation, even when he

kept calling the manageress “Budgie”, although Paul and I
got a laugh out of it.

I took this as a cue to vist the little boys room, as I needed

to point Little Jack at the porcelain and off load some
serious amount of excess liquid. That Thai beer really goes
through you.

Now, in my defence, it was very dark in this bar and seeing

what looked like a sign picturing a bloke, I pushed open the
door and went in.

Much to my embarrassment, there were two girls in there

and both in a state of partial undress. So apologising
profusely for my error, I beat a hasty retreat and legged it
into what I hoped was the Gents next door.

Thinking I had initially wandered into the ladies loo in the

gloom by mistake, it then got worse.
Going inside the second door, there were half a dozen LBGs
all unclothed and enjoying a smoke and a drink.

The naked female contingent inside seemed a bit surprised

to see a bloke approaching, who was unzipping his chinos
and trying to extract his old fella.

So to the sound of some shrieking and laughter, both Little

Jack and myself made a fast exit back into the bar feeling
like a Patpong Flasher caught with his strides around his
ankles.

My two good amigos, who had been watching this fiasco

with a ringside view along with the mamasan, were all
nearly falling off their bar stools with uncontrolled mirth.

After the manageress regained some of the power of

speech, she explained in pidgin English, that I was right the
first-time round.

Apparently, the two scantily attired young ladies in there

were “Male Cloakroom Attendants”, but the place next door
was the real “Ladies”.

As there were few women customers in a knocking shop

like Kittys, the dancers used it as a changing area and rest
room.

No wonder these girls were surprised to see a male

member make a guest appearance, so to speak.

Quite what the two “attendants” did in the men’s

washroom, I was not too sure. But according to our ever
helpful management she told us “don’t worry, they were
ladyboys”.

Luckily, the urge to have a leak had disappeared with all

the embarrassment by then.
So I made the decision to not appear an even bigger prize
pillock by going back for a second try at straining the
potatoes with a matching pair of kathoeys in close
attendance.

This seemed a good time to drink up, pay up and head up in

the Sukumvit direction, to yet again sample the many
varied delights of Amy’s Turkish Bath and Massage Parlour.

Kitty did the normal trick of trying to pressure us into

taking a handful of her staff “short time” to “loom” upstairs
or “long time” at our hotel.

But our trio was resolute and upstanding in our original

decision, so the three of us finally stumbled back into the
Bangkok night alone.

After I had that much overdue leak and watered the plants
behind The Rose Hotel, we swiftly got a cab.

The standard bartering over, Paul, Flash and myself poured

ourselves into the usual dusty, battered vehicle and hit the
road to our operational headquarters back in Soi 4.

The ever rash Mr. Gordon had tried to persuade us to grab

three motorcycle taxis to save precious screwing time, but
this got the thumbs down from both PM and myself.

It might be the fastest way through the city’s endless

gridlock, but it would be helpful to get back to Amy’s place
with all our bits still attached and not just end up another
Thai road statistic.

Anyway, Paul was concerned the wind on a bike might ruin

his new hairstyle!

It is alright watching the local bargirls going to work on

various motorcycles, many sitting side saddle and doing
their make-up, which is one thing.
But having an overweight farang solicitor with multiple
stains down his trouser leg, hanging on to a pint sized rider
for grim life on a small motorbike in what amounts to
Thailand’s answer to The British Grand Prix, is another.

It was pretty obvious that Graham Gordon had more in

common with Mr. Sheen, than Barry Sheen, so common
sense finally prevailed.

We grabbed the first taxi that came along and after jumping
in and trying to get comfortable, Flash and myself managed
to slide into a black hole in the back seat and get wedged –
that was one big hole in the car upholstery to lose a FB like
him.

The three of us collapsed in fits of giggles at the state of

our vehicle, but by Bangkok traffic standards we did OK
timewise.

Our transport, rolled up in front of our trusty hotel and

dumped us outside ready for action in under half an hour.

Just as well it was a quick trip, as after extracting myself

from the Bermuda Triangle in the back, I rushed into the
reception to have a second jettisoning of a few gallons of
second-hand fluid.

This little task was urgent after my slight problems in

Kitty’s unisex toilets earlier.

When I say taking a leak in reception, I should clarify that I

am talking about using the hotel facilities, not giving the
front desk a golden shower.

If it had been The Flashman bursting to go, it may well

have been a different story.

Let’s face it; if that lad is taken short every potted plant
and soi dog in the vicinity needs to worry.
As this was our last night in Bangkok for a few days, we all
enjoyed leisurely strolling down the road to our regular
watering hole. It felt good, taking in the atmosphere and
checking out the army of freelancers and ladyboys.

But we avoided the temptation on offer and were soon all

heading up the familiar steps into Amy’s Sauna and
Massage.

Walking into that oasis of calm and cool and thankfully

leaving the wall of noise and smells that assault your
senses in Sukumvit behind us, we three intrepid pork
swordsmen prepared for yet another session of intimate
Thai culture and hitting some of LBG between the legs like
a plate of wet porridge.

Everyone seemed pleased to see us and the assistant

manageress, the ever delectable Mira, waied us and
ushered the team to recline on some comfortable sofas.

The regular beers appeared by magic and to my surprise,

when some of the girls standing about reception saw the
apparition of Mr. Gordon’s plump figure wobble in, they
squealed at the top of their voices “Swadee Ka, Khun
Pompoy” with great enthusiasm.

Flash was loving this rapturous female attention and puffed

himself up smiling and took a low bow. The boy was
enjoying the moment for all it was worth and when he
shouted “Hail Pompey”, everyone fell about laughing.

Paul was grinning ear to ear and nudged me, saying “See,
told you the lad looks like a famous Roman General”.

This was insufferable.

It was bad enough putting up with The Flashman’s view

that he was Buddha’s gift to Bangkok womanhood, without
the all the female population making the mistake of
agreeing with him.

The only positive point was that our own Adonis was so
thrilled to be admired by a bevy of attractive girls, he was
struck down with an unusual attack of generosity.

Not only did the conceited chubby little sod buy us all free
drinks, but he decided there was a few bob left in his
“charity fund” from his company (kindly donated for the
saving of wayward Asian girls with low morals) to buy all
three of us one more session in the suds before we left BK.

“Very kind, Flash old chap” said PM as he carefully studied

the form on display both in and out of the fish tank.

As he was “holding the folding”, the Greek God was first to

choose and predictably went for Number 87, who was so
busty that girl was taller lying down than standing up. I
doubt she had seen her toes since puberty.

Looking closer at the lad’s latest companion, as this

particular lady emerged from inside the depths of the
display area, it was apparent that Khun Eighty-Seven
appeared to have a slightly dodgy skin and was wearing a
thick layer of make up to cover the blemishes.

But I doubt Mr. Gordon would be looking at her

complexion, when he was hanging off those mega norks.

Off went the happy couple to the echo of much laughter

and the sound of “Pompoy” ringing around reception from
Mira and the female team. This noisy cheering was to the
evident surprise of a couple of Japanese guys who had just
walked in the door and must have thought they had
stumbled into a local lunatic asylum by mistake.
I admitted to Paul, that I was very impressed that a
member of our trio had this magnetic effect on the local
ladies, but I was jealous to be honest and suffering from an
attack of the green-eyed syndrome.

How does the fat prat do it? I wondered out loud.

PM grinned and lent over to let me into a little secret.

“Things in Asia are not always what they seem, old son.
Flash thinks they are calling him Pompey, a famous
historical figure. Sadly, the girls are shouting Pompoy,
which in Thai means Fat Bastard”.

Paul took a large sip of his free glass of Chang beer and
said “Best to let him think he is an irresistible to the female
sex, we have both got a free leg over from it and the boy is
happy in his ignorance. It is a win, win or maybe a boom,
boom situation – let’s just lie back and enjoy it!”

Making the difficult decision on who would get the latest

benefit of Little Jack’s attention, I enjoyed the irony of the
situation.

That levelled the score after Flash gave me a hard time

over my little mistake with a ladyboy at the “No Hands”
restaurant, who says there is no God?

While Fatso was getting “up to the peaches” next door with
Khun Mega Tits, Paul chose a sweet little thing that was
vertically challenged and stood all of four foot six, soaking
wet. I had not noticed her before, but she looked like a
small Asian doll - definitely prime spinning material.

As usual, PM had chosen well and proved again to be a

shrewd and experienced judge of the LBG’s formbook.

As it was our last night in Bangers before the Philippines

flight the following day, I was in a slight quandary and
wanting to end on a winner, I took my time in spending
Flash’s charity donation.

Number 19 in the front row, certainly had the body, but I

was drawn to a pretty girl with a double number, sitting
chatting at the back. 44 had fantastic long, shiny hair and a
smile that gave you an immediate semi.

It was almost a toss of a coin, but on impulse I went for the

latter.

Everyone’s favourite assistant mamasan, Mira,

congratulated me on my shrewd selection and said “new
girl, you like yum yum, she good”.

Not great grammar, but I got the message and when Kuhn
Forty-Four walked out to greet me in bright light of the
reception area, I was impressed.

I was even more impressed that no money changed hands.

Say what you like about Flash, but the Greek God had
turned up trumps here and had already squared the bill,
bless his little ginger locks...

My selected girl was tall, slim and her skin was much
lighter than normal.

Even Paul nodded his approval and gave her a charming

smile when passing by with his pocket-sized partner in tow
heading off to do the dirty deed.

The lovely No 44 put her arm through mine and I was soon
taking the walk of shame down the familiar short corridor
to our room. Complete the heady aroma of incense and the
sound of traditional Thai music in the background.

She told me her name was Mod, which apparently means

ant in Thai and came from Chang Rai way up in the north
of the country.

Apparently, she has only been in Bangkok for two weeks.

I got the usual questions of “What your name?”, “Where

you come from?”, “Where you stay?” as Mod carefully
helped me get naked. This girl had an extensive grasp of
conversational English and could talk for Thailand, so
hopefully her oral skills would also extend to working her
tonsils around Little Jack a bit later on.

Talking of that randy little devil, when the lady in question

gently eased down my latest “rip off” designer silk briefs,
she seemed suitably impressed that he was standing to
attention like a sun dial.

“Big kuwai and I am only a leettle girl” the little darling

said in faltering English, “I no boom boom farang before,
you like me kiss he?”.

She said this whilst giving the little fella a gentle rub and
then in a very lady like manner proceeded to gently lick any
pre-cum off the bell end and gave the flag pole a swift
polish too.

Did I like?

Do bears live in wooded parts of the country?

That has to be the daftest question ever, but I forgave her

as my total manhood gently disappeared into her mouth
followed by a loud slurping noise. Even then, she was still
trying to talk whilst giving me the full benefit of a welcome
portion of deep throat.

This girl could make a good living as a ventriloquist, if she

ever gave up massaging horny westerners
We had not even got to the suds bit yet and Mod still had
her clothes on, but I was getting a full gob job – this was
shaping up to be a memorable last evening in BK.

The bath was full of steaming fragrant water, so leaving me

with a king-sized hard-on, my masseuse stood up and
quickly removed her dress. She just had a brief pair of pink
panties on underneath and these soon joined our clothes on
the back of a nearby chair.

Mod had a great body.

Ultra slim, soft skinned with medium size matching pair of

very firm breasts which defied gravity and they came
complete with a pair of very lickable rosebud nipples.

The only three things she lacked was a large amounts of

pubic hair, excess weight and any shyness about being
“bollack naked” in front of a stranger who could not keep
his sweaty mitts off her assets.

Without a blush, the girl squeezed into the tub and started
soaping both of us with unbridled enthusiasm.

My companion took her time exploring and getting into

every one of my crevices and giggled as I gently sucked
both her firm knockers in turn, this pair seemed to defy
Newton’s Law of Gravity.

“I like much” Mod groaned “you make me happy, cum

soon”.

This was a result.

We had not got into the full soapy routine yet, but my girl
was getting moist already.

Mod reminded me of a taller version of the lovely Pepsi,

who I had enjoyed back in Pattaya, as she gracefully bent
down to turn on the shower head to douse the lilo on the
floor with warm liquid and display her intimate charms to
the world at the same time.

Now both of us being veterans of the exotic delights of a

full soapy, Little Jack and myself were into action quicker
than a robber’s dog in a butchers shop.

Both of us were lying face down on the familiar warm

rubber in a split second.

The lovely Mod mounted me like a Grand National jockey

and slithered around on top, whilst soaping all three of us
at the same time.

This girl was really athletic, changing positions frequently

and easily. Whatever she said about not having screwed a
farang before, I reckon she was either telling porkies or
was the world’s quickest learner.

Some massage girls just go through the motions, but Mod

really seemed to be getting off on it big-time.

If she was faking it, this girl deserved an Oscar.

Flipping me over, the lady moved into a 69 position and

rubbed my pubic region between her modest, but firm,
slippery globes. There seemed no weight at all, as the girl
moved effortlessly over my soapy torso. This is where the
Asian female fraternity really score, they seem born agile
compared to many western women who often tend to lack
that inborn grace.

To be honest, I would not fancy rolling about in a gallon of

soap with some of the oversized specimens of womanhood
that Flash and I had tried to chat up back home. These
donkeys haunted places like the Loose Box Wine Bar in
Knightsbridge and other expensive pick-up joints and to be
honest are not even in the same league as Thailand’s best.

In football terms, it was like comparing a Premiership side

with a bottom team from the Sunday League.

Get a hefty London Sloane type on top in suds and

suffocation was a serious risk with these overweight and
over the top western girls doing whale impressions on you.

Talking of Moby Dick, after turning around and without a

moment’s hesitation, Mod stroked my growing erection (I
will refrain at this point from making any corny “whale of a
time jokes!”).

Then without a word of negotiation or discussion, she

decided he was better in than out and straddled Little Jack
and carefully pushing down on him with a groan.

Soap is not the best lubrication, but bit by bit, L J slide part
way into the warm slippy tunnel which felt like hot honey.
This girl was seriously tight and he was still only just over
half way to paradise at this stage.

Now I am not going to make any outlandish claims about

the size of my wedding tackle, but the phrase “mouse’s
ear” comes to mind…. She was TIGHT with a capital T.

“I big cum” Mod said, as she moved up and down on the

couple of inches that had managed to squeeze inside and
gave a loud squeak. Feeling the strong sensation of her
sugar walls tense and ripple, I decided to take some control
or this could all be over before it really got started.

So, gently turning the girl over in the suds with her
underneath in the basic missionary position, Little Jack
carefully thrust and gently tried to get himself fully inside
any orifice on offer.
You needed superhuman patience for this job.

She cried out loudly, came another time and we again had
to hold off further advances for a bit. Mod’s long legs were
now tight around my back and time seemed to stand still,
as we started moving cautiously for the third attempt.

It was hard not to finish there and then, but by using all my
self-control and thinking of something unpleasant (this was
the rare time that the thought of Flash’s face in the
morning was useful), I managed with amazing self-control
to avoid an embarrassment of being a bit too quick on the
trigger.

Talk about multi orgasmic, this girl could write the book on
it.

Every time I managed a few short thrusts, she came big

time and by the moment I had finally got the whole package
inside, her shower cap had long come adrift and we were
both covered in soap from head to foot with my partner in
crime screaming the place down.

If Mod gets any louder, they will hear her back home in
Chang Rai.

We did not even make it to the comfort of Amy’s king sized

bed in the corner of the room.

The end came when during another massive organism from

Mod, her pussy walls tightened hard, rippled down my
shaft yet again and at this point Little Jack decided enough
was enough.

The little fella was then violently sick just as my new

favourite Thai girlfriend cried out “I love you, marry me?”
in good English.
I did not enquire where she had learnt that little phrase,
but it was a good tactic for both boosting her tip and the
punter’s ego.

The two of us lay on the warm, wet mattress on the floor,

entangled in a cum covered heap and both totally spent.

Well, the truth is Little Jack and I were, but I reckon Mod
would have up for another round if it was on offer.

She had staying power big time.

I don’t know what the Thai word is for nympho, but it

should be this girl’s middle name.

To be honest, now that the initial attack of lust had

subsided the little fella was more than a bit on the sore side
and hurt like hell.

When he finally got reluctantly coaxed out from his

favourite hiding place and back into the daylight, Little Jack
was redder than a bar girl’s lipstick.

Still, that is the price you pay for spending quality time
with a hot little number and immersed in more soap than
the average chemist has in their stock room - battle scars
come with the territory.

Mod took the next five minutes showering the mess off the
floor and lilo, but most importantly making urgent repairs
to her hair and make-up.

The first cardinal rule of massage girls is, don’t get your
beautiful locks messed up and she had failed on this count
in spades. This was caused mainly by losing the all-
important plastic shower cap, whist in mid-orgasm a dozen
times in a row.
She undertook a quick expert repair job and swiftly got her
dress back on at high speed, after I zipped the back up.

The little darling looked great, except perhaps for being a

bit red in the face, but all told my latest partner in crime
now looked ready for the next fortunate customer to dip his
wick into.

She would have certainly been top of my “to screw” list, if I

had been choosing from the fish tank outside again that
evening.

One of the great things about Amy’s place is that there are
no strict rules on time.

Some other massage parlours ring when your allotted span

is up and try and charge extra if you want to overrun, but
not here.

In fact, after I pushed a 500 baht note into her bag, Mod
gently French kissed me. She gently gave the old fella a
last loving squeeze for a few minutes and then we slowly
wandered leisurely back arm in arm into the reception
area.

Romantic or what?

The President had not yet returned, but the infamous

Flashman was ensconced on a sofa happily shouting out
“Pompey” to any girl rash enough to walk past who all
replied “Swadee Ka, Khun Pompoy” or similar.

This roughly translated means “Hello Mr Blobby”, but the

lad was happy in his ignorance and was loving his new role
of Adonis of the Massage Parlours.

Mod did a Thai traditional hom kiss and sniffed both my

cheeks, then smiled and took her leave after whispering
“you come, see me again tomorrow, big boom boom and
yum yum?”

I nodded, but did not have the heart to explain to her that
we were off to Manila the next day and no time for a repeat
fixture.

What bummer.

If I was in town for a bit longer, I would have definitely

have risked Little Jack going the same colour as a tomato
and bar fined Mod to take her to the Nana Hotel for a full
day or two, complete with a giant size tube of lube.

This would have been a session to savour, but Murphy’s

Law struck and we had a travel schedule to keep.

Mind you, if the last hour or so was anything to go by, my

little friend down below and his owner might not last a
whole night in one piece.

I had heard the girls from Chang Mai were beautiful, but
did not realise that nymphomania was a local hobby and
tightness a regional custom.

A future whoring trip heading to the North of the country

for the Bangkok Pussy Hounds sounded a good option

“Not bad Kid” said the Flashman watching her shapely

derriere disappear out of reception, “Pity she has not got a
bit more up top” he said giving me the benefit of his
unasked for advice. “Still Thailand’s favourite Greek Sex
God has struck again. Mine had a giant pair of bazoomers
and was all over me like a rash” Mr. Gordon muttered.

Before I could point out that there was more to life than
just some mega mammary glands, Paul returned with not
one, but a couple of girls - the randy old devil had struck
again!
Both his small, but beautifully formed companions giggled
and said hello to Khun Pompoy, who grinned like the
proverbial Cheshire Cat.

He had still had not realised that he had become the butt of
an ongoing LBG joke and they were all suggesting the lad
enrolled on a crash diet, rather than an hour in the sack.

But as our sponsor was in such a good mood and kept

insisting the drinks were on him, it seemed sensible for us
to carry on with the subterfuge.

Paul had decided that as this was our last night in Bangers
for a bit, it was a good reason to get a brace of massage
girls in whilst stocks last.

Apparently his original “pocket rocket” had a good friend

left in the tank and as Flash was picking up the tab, he
kindly added her to the team.

As PM always says, a spare is useful and as they were both

so petite, it only counted as one full sized LBG really.

After every one of the our female company had finally

departed and said good night to us all including Mr. Blobby,
we each gave a blow by blow (pretty apt!) account of our
recent action in the suds.

It appeared that all three of us had enjoyed an excellent

evening.

So, The President and I thanked our patron and all round
good bloke Mr “Pompoy” Gordon, who waved it away as a
trifle in his new mood of philanthropy.

Our favourite Assistant Mamasan, the delectable Myra,

then brought us all some beers on the house after we told
her that the team was off to the airport tomorrow morning.
Amy’s had become our operational base for many of our
lecherous days and nights in The City of Angels and it felt
comfortable.

It was not the most glamorous massage parlour in town or

had the most female talent on its books, but it had become
a home from home.

If they had launched a loyalty card, we would have filled it

up fast.

As it was a quiet night on the punters front and we were in

no rush to leave, Myra chatted for twenty minutes or so
while we all demolishing a few more ice colds on the house.

Mod was back on display in the tank by now, looking her

normal seductive self.

I was still tempted to bar fine her then and there, but with
the old fella looking like a red traffic light and every bodily
fluid sucked out of me, I made the sensible decision to pass.

My libido was flagging a bit at this stage and as Paul

always said, these trips are a marathon not a sprint, so it
pays to pace yourself.

That seemed good advice as the three of us said our sad

goodbyes until next time and thanked the lovely Myra for
the drinks. We then slowly meandered along in a mellow
mood back to the Nana Hotel enjoying both the company
and the evening.

There were freelancers all over the place, but after

checking out the hotel disco which had not really got going
yet, we all took the solo route and headed back to our
rooms alone in readiness to hit the Manila bars the
following evening.
Getting in the lift, there on the floor in all its glory, was an
abandoned black bra.

After the finding the infamous matching knickers in that

same lift just a day or two before, it raises the question
“what the f—k is going on”?

Is a lingerie model using the lobby to get changed in? A

rampant monger on the loose, who cannot wait to get his
girlfriend back to his room? A ladyboy who wanted to show
off her new boob job?

I don’t know, but if this situation carries on we will have

more female underwear than a lingerie department before
we check out in the morning.

Flash had to pick the garment up of course, sniff it and

being an expert in all things tit wise, swore it was a “C”
cup.

Then the stirring little sod carefully hung it on the door

handle of the room next to him with an evil grin.

“They are a right snooty young American couple in there”

said Mr. Adonis. “The female part of the duo was loudly
telling her newlywed husband this morning that this hotel
was full of street walkers and he was a dickhead to have
booked her into such a den of iniquity for their dream
honeymoon”.

Smirking, Flash reckoned she would go ballistic to find

used underwear hanging up on their door knob – game on!

Then obviously feeling suitably fulfilled and satisfied to be

ruining both that couple’s holiday and possibly future
relationship; The Ginger Whinger lurched off to his pit,
whistling the wedding march out of tune.

Light the blue touch paper and retire was his motto.
I opened my door and thankfully laid down across on my
king-size mattress in a pleasant haze, both savouring the
dark of a Bangkok night and reliving my recent time with
Mod.

The faint smell her perfume was still on me and I could still
feel the touch of those sensuous fingers around Little Jack.

Outside the window, the haze of a hundred neon tubes lit

up the blackness of the city. Forget New York, this place
does not even shut its eyes, let alone sleep.

On this holiday, everything felt frozen in time.

We seemed to have been in Thailand forever and I was

starting to even forget some of the girl’s names that I had
been with. It had become just a pleasurable sexual blur.

As an “aide memoir”, luckily I had a shed full of pictures on

my brand-new Olympus XA camera to hopefully remind me
of what we got up to when they get developed back home.

The problem in various massage parlours is that the lens

keeps steaming up at certain inappropriate times and I may
well need to buy more film, if my average score keeps
going up at this rate.

Must make a mental note to raise this shortcoming with Mr.

Olympus when I return to base.

It is alright for David Bailey and his mates to sing this

cameras praises in an advertising campaign, but I would
like to see him get some top pictures slithering about in a
foot of suds.

I thought again about ringing Amy’s to try and bar fine Mod
for my last night, but decided to stay in the giant bed alone.
Which was just as well as being totally wrecked, I must
have become unconscious before my head had fully hit the
pillow.

Then in what felt like seconds, I was rudely awakened by a

persistent loud knocking on the door. Surely, I could not
have overslept and the maids were trying to clean my room
already?

Cursing and dragging my protesting body from under the

single sheet in the pitch dark, I looked through the spy hole
in the door and there was my worst nightmare of Flash in
just a towel, trying to gain entry.

My first thoughts were that I hope he has not found a snake

in his room again and wants to share the bed with “yours
truly” - not a good option. I would prefer the pit viper as a
nocturnal companion, at least it does not snore and stick
your sheets together.

This scenario was familiar from the little local plastic

reptile difficulty we had experienced in Pattaya a few days
before. Let’s face it, if a cobra was silly enough to bite him
my concerns would be with the health of the snake.

Plus, if he needs snake venom sucked out, go and pester

Diesel and Dumper and leave me in peace.

Against my better judgement, I finally gave in before the

racket woke the whole hotel up and reluctantly opened the
door, whereby a jubilant Mr. Gordon burst into my room
with a whoop of glee.

“You never guess what” he babbled excitedly, as I rubbed

my eyes and tried to focus, “That stuck-up Yankee cow just
came back and found that bra I put on their door knob.
It was the one that some slapper had left in the lift and the
snooty bitch went absolutely tick tock and has run
downstairs with it in her hands to give the reception some
serious grief about the country’s lack of morals”

“I love it when a plan comes together” Flash chortled “Do

you want to come down to watch? This should be worth
seeing” he said, trying to pull down the small towel up to
cover up his modesty at the same time.

I politely declined and ushered Khun Blobby out of my

private sleeping area with the point of my foot and just
hoped he was not going to make another guest appearance
in a hotel lobby resplendent in only a large handkerchief.

The fright of seeing that awesome spectacle again, so soon

after the Wongamat fiasco was enough for me - I still get
panic attacks and night time sweats even now thinking
about it.

I know with his new persona of a famous Roman General,

“Old Pompoy” fancies himself in a toga, but the sight of the
lad in just a skimpy tea towel could panic the guests
downstairs big time.

I finally dozed off again dreaming about the frightening

spectacle of Flash running around half naked and being
chased down the Soi 4 by some newlyweds from the USA
clutching a tart’s long lost underwear and a boa constrictor.

This was our last evening in the capital for a time and as
usual, you could not write the script!

Feeling like I had not been to bed at all, I dragged myself

up at some ungodly hour the following morning and quickly
packed.
After showering, shaving, and giving Little Jack a swift
check, I took my cases down for safekeeping in reception.
The plan was to collect them before our departure to the
Philippines later.

After paying the modest bill, I retrieved my travellers

cheques and passport out of the safety deposit box. I then
said a fond cheerio to The Nana Hotel and Thailand, but I
knew in my heart that I would be back very soon.

It was more like” au vour” than good bye.

The young lady behind the counter handed me a telephone

message taken from my female business contact, the
delightful Ladawan, who must have called when I was still
in a sex induced coma upstairs.

It wished me a good remaining trip in South East Asia and

looked forward to seeing me again on my future return to
her country and hoped we can enjoy some more of its many
attractions together then.

If the session the night before with Mod was anything to go

by, I was certainly getting close to the locals, if not the
culture…

I found the remaining two members of that well know

international company, “Whore Mongers Unlimited” in the
cafeteria, both munching away with their nosebags on and
already packed for the flight.

We all had a swift debrief about last night’s little adventure,

whilst taking some much-needed caffeine injections on
board.

Mr. Gordon kept us both laughing with a detailed account

of the fighting American honeymooning couple next door
and the case of the mystery bra.
Apparently, the female half of the duo had by now already
headed back to the airport in high dudgeon to catch the
next flight back to the states and find a top divorce lawyer.

Khun Blobby, famous for his life coaching skills, had

already kindly comforted her distraught newlywed husband
and advised him to “ditch the bitch” and “go through as
many Thai girls as humanly possible”.

His sage advice included the gems that “there is no point in

wasting the trip with this much available pussy around and
his ex was an ugly old donkey anyway, so the honeymoon
trip was still looking good in the nookie stakes”.

“Fill your boots while you have the chance to put it about a
bit” our top agony aunt (or maybe uncle?) sensitively
suggested “you had a close escape there from that gorgon,
old son” was The Flashman’s diplomatic view.

Maybe our lad is wasted in commercial law and a whole

new career is beckoning in sorting out marital problems?

As Paul pointed out, having these high level diplomatic

skills are a special gift, god given to only a few …

Then as our flight time approached, we sadly grabbed our

luggage and all headed off to the airport in another hotel
executive air conditioned car. We all felt the need of a bit of
extra luxury to end this section of our Far East adventure
on a high note.

Fortunately, as good old Flash still had a few baht left over
from his “Help Save Fallen Thai Girls” fund, he kindly
invested this in the necessary private transport to Don
Muang.

It was nice to know the charity money was reaching the

target group.
I can honestly say every penny given by his illustrious law
firm; “Grabbit and Run Partners” has ended up in the
handbags of the young female group we are trying to help
in the red-light areas.

Bye bye Bangers - Manila here we come!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

JANUARY 2017
The team headed off to Manila and Cebu to continue our
Asian Sexual Olympics that continued for another week. I
will diplomatically draw a veil over this period, but it will
not surprise readers to know that Flash behaved in a totally
depraved way (no changes there then) and we all had a
great time (no changes there either).
The scene in the Philippines was different from Thailand.
In my view, perhaps not as well or professionally organised
as in the Land of Smiles with the prime action tending to
revolve around mainly a thriving bar scene, so there was
less variety on offer.
Even so, the girls were pretty, the price low and it was
certainly great fun.
Paul had an old friend from Sydney, who owned a bar in the
nightlife district in Manila and his team of LBGs spoke
English with an Aussie accent, we certainly enjoyed their
company in our hotel rooms.
Maybe I will write an account of our time in the Philippines
sometime in the future, if you readers want it and I dare!
But for now, Mr. Gordon and myself were lounging back in
our reclining seats enjoying the Business Class section of a
Thai Airways flight on route back to Heathrow.
PM had a sub-load ticket with a different airline, so we
parted company at the airport earlier with the plan to have
a serious de-brief back in London within the next couple of
weeks.
Being a pre-digital age in 1980, this will be after getting all
our many pictures developed to remind us of our various
love interests in full colour…..
Flash and myself were like a couple of giggling school kids
on the flight home with both of us on a massive high. We
agreed it was by far the best holiday we had ever been on
and kept reliving every minute of it.
I dread to think what our fellow passengers sitting close by
thought, who were trying to do work or relax, when being
assaulted by endless loud tales of mindless sex and total
depravity.
Surprisingly, Mr. Gordon’s version did not seem completely
rooted in reality and could have come from a Star Trek
parallel universe situation.
After all the fighting of dangerous venomous serpents,
eating the hottest curry without getting a sweat on and
being classed as a Greek God, it was amazing The
Flashman had the strength to also bed most of the
attractive female population of South East Asia.!
The pretty Thai air hostesses on our return trip kept our
food and drink flowing. Sitting in business class, it was so
quiet and peaceful things appeared as if by magic, our
glasses were filled before we had noticed that they had
become empty.
Being pampered all the way home, was a great end to the
best few weeks of our lives. But one thing we both agreed
on, was that we had to get back soon…
Instead of catching up on much needed sleep, we chattered
and laughed for a high percentage of the long flight.
In fact, we only finally fell asleep listening to our pirated
Thai tapes on our Sony Walkmans a couple of hours before
landing in the UK.
Talk about jet lagged, the two of us were like the walking
dead. The average zombie was more full of life than us, as
we disembarked from the trusty DC10 onto the freezing
cold Heathrow tarmac.
Tired, unkempt, scruffy and basically shagged out, we
managed to retrieve our bags from the carousal, after
staggering through Heathrow passport control.
We both then learnt another valuable lesson that day.
If you do not want to get a hard time from the authorities,
try and look reasonably smart.
It is no fun after flying for over 12 hours to have some
stroppy “jobs worth” pull your luggage apart and give you
the full treatment.
Our ever helpful customs officer welcomed us back home to
blighty by emptying everything out from both our suitcases,
squeezed our tubes of toothpaste and even asked us what
the tennis rackets were for!
Luckily, he took one look at Flash and decided not to do a
full body cavity search, even if my travelling companion
had a striking resemblance to a Columbian drug baron
having a bad hair day.
To be fair, we did make the average terrorist or major
hitman look a picture of sartorial elegance.
I have seen bag men look more stylish than young Mr.
Graham Gordon after that many hours flying and drinking.
No wonder Paul always looks immaculate when travelling,
it can reduce the hassle a bit.
After we put the mountain of stuff back in our cases and
waved goodbye to the unsmiling official, we then both
headed home from the airport enjoying a wet cold February
day in London, dreaming of what we had left behind.
So endith the first lesson!
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE PM’s TWENTY POINT
SURVIVAL GUIDE 1980 – 2017
As I mentioned at the start, that this was never meant to be
a guide book to Thailand.
It is just a humble compilation of anecdotes from my own
first trips back in 1980 to the Land of Smiles and certainly
not a comprehensive plan of “How to be a Sex Tourist in
Five Easy Lessons”.
Even so, my very good friend and travelling mentor Paul
Martin, gave us some suggested guidelines back in the day
which I reckon are still relevant in 2017.
Feel free to ignore them, but I reckon these few “words of
wisdom” may help some new visitors get a bit more out of
their initial Far East jaunt and perhaps help keep them out
of unnecessary trouble.
OK, I have updated things a bit, but most are the originals
which have stood the test of time.
When you read the following list, you will see that many
look blindingly obvious.
But as the famous saying goes, “common sense is not so
common these days” …
 PM’s 20 Golden Rules.
1 Drugs. Keep well clear – full stop. Thailand has VERY
strict policy on illegal substances, hard or soft and you can
be in mega trouble if you are caught. What has changed
since the 1980s is that the police now routinely raid clubs
and bars and urine test customers. If anything dodgy shows
up in your bodily fluids, you are in strife - big time. I have
heard it said that you can buy your way out of any problems
in Thailand, but I would not rely on it. The only safe course
of action is to steer clear and not take the chance. A few
years behind bars in the infamous “Bangkok Hilton” is not
recommended as an extension to your holiday.

2 Alcohol. Many of us like a drink or two, but getting

totally out of your face on Singha Beer or Mekong Whiskey
is dangerous anywhere and that includes Thailand. Over
the years, most of us regular visitors have lost track of the
times we have seen some pissed up farang, face down on a
bar with his wallet sticking out of the back pocket – crazy
or what? If you are going out with a group of mates and
want to hit the amber fluid really hard, maybe have one
dedicated non-drinking member to watch out for the rest?
A bit like the sober designated driver to avoid problems
with getting breathalysed back home. The principle is the
same, one of the team needs to be “compus mentus”.

3 Ice. On the subject of drinks, my advice is to avoid ice. It

may be OK if you are sipping a gin sling in the Oriental
Hotel Bar, but in the backstreet dives some of us tend to
frequent it can be an unnecessary risk. Freezing does not
kill all bacteria and the question is, what water has been
used? I remember seeing a load of ice lying on straw being
shipped on boats on the Bangkok waterways, maybe that
was frozen river water, who knows? Paul and I were
together in Bangkok in the mid-eighties and on that trip the
two of us eat the same food, slept with the same girls and
drank the same drinks. PM was on route to a business
meeting down under and was taken really ill on the flight
over there after turning a nasty yellow colour. Luckily, the
Qantas Air Steward was on the ball and they got him
straight into a local hospital, as soon as they landed in
Australia. He had a nasty case of Hepatitis, but I was clear
of any health problems. A coincidence? Maybe, but the only
difference I could find was that Paul always had ice in his
drinks and I never did, so for what it is worth, I would give
the cold stuff a miss. Even if you ask for no ice, sometimes
the bartender still puts in a lump that would sink the
Titanic in your glass. To avoid problems, this can mean
drinking out of the bottle, asking for a clean glass or
chucking it into the plant pot. Your choice!

4 Clothes. I know I have mentioned dress before, but you

really need not only VERY lightweight clothing, but it can
pay dividends to look reasonably smart. In relaxed beach
resorts like Pattaya and Phuket, tee shirts, shorts and flip
flops may be fine for a drink in a beer bar or even a night
on the town, but something a bit more stylist can be
advantageous when attempting to bar fine a Bangkok
Coyote Dancer or trying to get an upgrade on your airline
ticket. The Thais are very image conscious, so it helps not
look like you have been sleeping rough on the beach for a
month and looking good may limit hassle from the
authorities too.

5. Joining Fee. If you are aiming to enjoy some female (or

male) company in Thailand and who with a pulse does not?
Do check your hotel does not operate a “guest” fee system.
Some do have a policy to charge you for using their
facilities for a touch of horizontal dancing and will bill you
for any temporary “guests”. Ask before you make a booking
and go elsewhere if they want to make a “nookie” toll. One
thing we never did on those early trips, was to use the
many “short time” hotels on offer. The thinking then was as
we were paying for our own rooms, it seemed sensible to
use them to the full. But these days, I often avoid taking
freelancers or even legit bar girls to my room. There is the
obvious security risk, plus it can also be awkward to get rid
of your partner before breakfast the following morning, so
an hour or two of passion in a venue close to the bars has
advantages. The only exception is if I decide to splash the
cash and get a top escort, they would probably would not
go to some backstreet knocking shop anyway. I will not
recommend any particular short term establishments, as
things constantly change, but there are a number around
Nana Plaza and Soi Cowboy - the girls know where to go.
Some are clean and cheap and cost around 400 -500 baht,
which in some cases includes a complimentary condom !

6. Partners. One of the most important of PM’s golden

rules, was NEVER take your other half on a trip to the
Kingdom. You will hate it and she will see first-hand what
goes on and it will often wreck your chances of a solo
venture in future. On this subject, there are a few good
alibis you can use to cover your tracks for an
unaccompanied vist these days. If you are trying to
organise a pussy hunt and do not want “her (or him!)
indoors” to get suspicious, golf holidays are a popular
choice for those in a relationship and who enjoy this sport,
with some superb courses available. Many visiting “golfers”
leave their clubs at the airport, but for those who do really
want to play, all is not lost on the nookie stakes. As in some
places, you can take the attractive female caddy back to
your hotel after the game, for a swift “hole in one” … These
days there are other options with some spectacular sport
available. Freshwater angling has become really popular
and regularly features on prime-time UK TV. Clever Thai
businessmen have imported and bred some mammoth
species of fish such as red tailed catfish from the Amazon
and they offer fantastic fishing. Not a bad scam, as most
wives and girlfriends would not relish a couple of weeks in
up-country rural Thailand suffering the “depredations” of
an angling trip, so it is excellent cover for enjoying other
activities. What the other half may not realise, is there is
some world class stillwater and river fishing less than an
hour from central Bangkok. So even if you get the rods out,
valuable time is not wasted and you are available for other
pursuits. This is probably the only moment you would go to
Thailand and hope to catch something!

7. Face. I must admit that before I first ventured out East, I

thought this was an overblown figment of Western
imagination. Paul explained that this is not so and most
Thais put great store by keeping face and looking good in
front of their peers. If you put someone in a difficult
position, it can have serious negative ramifications. An
example is if you barfine a girl a few times and then decide
to play the field and take one her mates out of the same
club. Although there is nothing to stop you doing this, after
all you are the customer, it makes your original “girlfriend”
look bad and may not win you many friends and can cause
major friction. Might be best to use discretion and hit
another bar if you decide that a change of partner is called
for.

8. Temper. I know I have touched on this before, but

however angry you are about something, I would advise
you bite your lip and take a deep breath before having a
rant. Never shout or show anger with Thais, this does not
go down well and really is not worth it – this is usually
counterproductive and will often not get the results you
want. Paul always reckoned firm, friendly and quiet, is the
best policy (coupled with a smile). The Thais love somebody
who says “Jai Pen Rai” (never mind) and this is particularly
true if you are arguing about a few baht on an overcharged
drink or similar, it is not worth getting into a major
confrontation about a couple of pounds or dollars. Also, if
the police get involved, as a non-local you will usually be on
the losing end of the dispute anyway. You can see this on
the roads. If you are the obvious innocent party that gets
involved in a minor traffic accident (not hard on the race
track in BK) the local “Boys in Brown” will probably fine
you instead of the other guy. The pragmatic reason is that
you are more likely to have money to pay than a Thai.

Unfair? Yes, but Thailand works to different rules than back

home.

9. Passport. Talking of the local law enforcement team,

you are required by law to carry your passport with you at
all times. Obviously this is a risk and if you lose it, there is
hassle and cost getting a temporary one from your local
embassy. As mentioned before, Paul advised us to get a
photocopy done at our hotel complete with the current visa
stamp and carry that, but leave the original document back
in the safe deposit. Sound advice, I would say and even
more relevant today, as there seems to be more police
checks of visitors in the city.

10. Hygiene. One thing that was true then and is true
today, is that most Thai girls are very clean and expect you
to be the same. This has not changed over the thirty-five
years since I first landed in the Kingdom and it pays
dividends to up your personal freshness levels. It goes
without saying that in the searingly hot and often humid
tropical climate of South East Asia, you will not increase
your attractiveness to the opposite sex by being a stranger
to soap and water! Even so, it is amazing how often you see
a farang stinking of stale sweat and body odour trying to
get off with a stunning dancer in some go go bar. Plenty of
deodorant, mouth wash and shampoo will pay dividends
believe me. You may not look like Brad Pitt, but you can at
least smell like him with enough aftershave splashed on all
over…

11. Rip Offs. As in anywhere else in the world, there are a

number of con tricks for the unwary. For example, I would
advise avoiding any of the upstairs bars in Patpong. These
employ an army of touts who show you pictures of “extreme
pussy” or sex shows and will tell you no cover charge. In
some cases your bill for a few drinks will be astronomical
and you could be marched off to a local ATM machine by a
few Thai large bouncers, if you try and refuse to pay up by
pleading no cash. Other scams include being approached
by a pleasant English speaking Thai, who tries to persuade
you that where you are going is closed and he knows a
better place. Another favourite error is to mention the
magic words of “girls”, “massage” or “sex” to a taxi driver
and then being then taken on a tour of the whole of the city
by your chauffeur, who surprise, surprise is on commission
from various massage parlours. One way or another, the
farang pays!

12. Money. One way to avoid a few potential problems is to

keep a number of small denomination bills ready. If you
then pay the “bin check” in clubs and bars after every
round, this avoids extras being slipped onto your bill at the
end and also having to wait around for change after paying
by having the exact money ready. It also helps in
negotiating with that sexy little massage girl who is asking
for an inflated amount for her favours. One good way to
close the negotiations is to take out what you think is a fair
price and let her see the hard cash in your hand. But it is
difficult to persuade the young lady that all you have is 500
baht and do a deal, but then pull out a 1000 baht note and
then ask her for change - which Flash the Prat did on that
first trip! One small word of caution. All Thai banknotes
have a picture of the King on them and the country has
great respect for the monarchy. Paul told us on our first
trip, not to conceal money in our shoe (in theory, quite a
good hiding place) as the sole of the foot is looked on as the
dirtiest part of the body and this would be a gross insult.
This was good advice, as there was a famous case of a
westerner stamping on a 100 baht note that he had
dropped on the pavement to stop it blowing away and
promptly getting arrested by a couple of policemen
standing close by for the offence of insulting the Royal
Family and ending up in stir. So be warned…

13. Condoms. Although few of us used condoms back in

the heady days of 1980, (a number of your bar girl’s Thai
boyfriends or husbands, don’t even today) many of us feel
the need to bag up in 2016 for sensible health reasons. You
can buy supplies in Thailand, but I think it is good to stock
up with a preferred brand from your home country. Just
don’t do like a mate of mine did and spent six months
persuading his wife that a lad’s golfing trip to the Land of
Smiles was just the innocent break he needed to improve
his handicap in January, whilst she went off skiing. The
prize idiot then bought a truckful of Durex, but had a bit of
a job explaining his mass purchase of said items to his good
lady (who was on the pill,) when she checked that he had
enough clean pants in his suitcase suitable for a fortnight
on the fairway and the contents of Boots the Chemist fell
out onto the floor!

14. Lingo. The girls love it when a farang tries to speak

some Thai, so a bit of work here can repay you in spades. If
you learn a handful of words like “Hello”, “Thank you” and
“Sorry” these can go a long way to improve your image
with the local female talent. Lingaphone and other
companies produce some fairly inexpensive basic CDs and
books, which give you a little flavour of the local lingo. Be
careful though, if your friendly bar or massage girl teaches
you a few choice phrases. The Flashman spent years
proudly telling everybody that would listen that “I enjoy
sexual relations with water buffalos” which was a phrase he
learnt from a certain dancer in the Zambezi Bar in Patpong
that he pissed off big time by not bar fining her. He thought
it meant “I come from England” and wondered why there
were shrieks of laughter when he told girls his nationality.
Calling someone a water buffalo is one of the worse insults
you can do in the Land of Smiles, but in his case the young
lady in question was probably right. Don’t forget the
principle of “if a bar girl’s lips are moving, she is lying.”

15. Health Cover. One thing that never occurred to any of

the old team back in 1980 was having even basic health
cover insurance. That was a pretty stupid oversight, as
although Thailand has some superb medical facilities there
is no national health system, so you need to be able to pay.
These days, I get the best cover I can from one of the
leading suppliers and carry details with me. Then If the
worst happens and I suffer a heart attack (heaven forbid!)
when on the job with some delightful LBG, I will hopefully
get the necessary treatment.

16. Motorbikes/Jet Skis. One area of activity that you may

need your medical insurance cover for sooner rather than
later, is if you hire a local motor bike or jet ski. Besides the
old scam of making you pay for “damage” you did not do
(this con was going on back in 1980 and still is - some mug
punters never learn.) the casualty rate in motorcycle
accidents in Thailand is high. Although it may seem an
attractive prospect to be cruising around Pattaya with a
powerful machine between your legs, your Ray Bans on and
that attractive Thai girlfriend on the back with her arms
around you, it is not difficult to end up a traffic statistic.
Not a great thought, I would advise you give the Easy Rider
look a miss on both financial and safety grounds. Your
survival rate in the Isle of Man TT races would be higher
than on these roads.

17. Cash Reserves. It is sensible to have some funds in

reserve when you are that far from home. An additional
credit card or cash stowed in the hotel safe is a sensible
insurance policy just in case the worst happens and it can.
Regarding regular donations of your hard-earned funds,
many westerners get emotionally involved with bar and
massage girls and end up sponsoring them with a monthly
baht donation sent over when they go back home. Paul
always advised us to avoid this situation like the plague. He
had seen too many incidents of innocents thinking that
their holiday girlfriend will give up hooking and get a
“proper” job, if they front up some regular wads of drinking
vouchers. Sadly, most LBGs just take the money and either
send it home, give it to their Thai boyfriends/husbands or
gamble/drink it away and carry on still earning money lying
on their backs under an army of old farangs. For what it is
worth, I would strongly advise not sending cash over when
you are thousands of miles away, however plausible the
sales pitch from your “tilac” appears. Remember the old
saying, “while the cat is away, the mice will play”? Although
in this case, it is the pussy that will be playing away.

18. Trust. If you agree a price, pay the full amount. I have
seen a number of avoidable incidents with visitors trying to
renege on a deal for “services” with a massage or bar girl.
Don’t get into a bust-up over a hundred baht or whatever. If
you agree a deal, honour it or risk all sorts of problems.

19. Timing. If you want the best choice, don’t turn up at

your local bar or massage parlour at one in the morning
and expect to get the pick the local talent. Earlier can pay
large dividends, as the selection is usually better and the
girls fresher as they may not have just serviced a coachload
of randy tourists. Obvious – yes, but many pussy hounds do
rock up near closing time and wonder why the young ladies
on offer are either thin on the ground or looking a bit on
the knackered side.

20. Respect. Perhaps Paul’s final word of advice is one of

the most important, which is to respect the Thai people and
their culture. For example, if the rule is that you cannot
enter a temple wearing your beach shorts, then you need to
change into something more acceptable. Watching some of
the UK Thailand documentaries on TV recently, it is hardly
surprising that some of the locals have a low view of
farangs on holiday; you are in their country, so you should
play by local rules. PM always said the best policy is to
avoid talking about politics, the Thai Royal Family or
religion. Just smile, speak slow English and you will get on
fine – that is still a good rule in my book.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A 2017 “TAKE” ON THE PM’S 20 POINT SURVIVAL GUIDE

The slight problem with some of the above “words of
wisdom” is that they are easy to write on a cold, wet
winter’s day back at home, but the harder to stick to in the
heat of a go go bar or massage parlour when surrounded by
beautiful young ladies (or ladyboys) of the night.
Things are definitely a bit more complicated, when some
delightful LBG is both displaying a great pair of fun bags
and innocently looking deep into your eyes, whilst
wriggling around on your lap. She is whispering words of
lust in your ear and just to matters worse; the randy little
minx is giving your wedding tackle a gentle, sensual
massage.
This is the time when most blokes do their thinking below
the waist line.
The bar girls of Bangkok have a saying “when falangs come
Thailand, they leave brains at airport” and in many cases
this is pretty accurate.
Many of us regular visitors over the years, have seen an
otherwise apparently sane westerner, fall hopelessly in love
with the first Thai bar or massage girl he meets. This is all
on the first day of the trip and the guy is often instantly and
totally besotted.
This may happen almost before the wheels have stopped
turning on his plane – crazy or what?
The President used to say one of the main dangers in red
light top spots like Thailand and the Philippines is you can
start to believe your own press releases.
As with so many things, the old fox was right.
It is easy to begin to think you really are a “babe magnet”
and totally irresistible to all the female sex when at large in
the Kingdom of Siam.
So, let’s take a reality check.
Now there is no easy way to say this, but if you are fifty
plus, short, balding with an ever expanding beer belly and
no taste in clothes, just arriving in Koh Samui or Krabi has
not made you into an instant dead ringer for the latest boy
band or male teen heart throb.
You may be pursued by a bevy of great looking young local
talent and feel like an ageing rock star getting laid on tour.
But sadly, you are still the same overweight middle-aged
guy that set out from the USA, England or where ever just
a few days before.
We should all try to remember that this is basically a
financial transaction, first, second and last - it adheres to
the ancient rule of “no money, no honey”.
So please let’s not confuse “pay for play” with romance.
Most girls are more interested in what is hidden in your
wallet, than what is lurking in your trousers!
Back home, if you were searching for a long-term romance
most guys would probably not look in a brothel or massage
parlour for a life partner, so why do so many farangs do
exactly this in the Far East?
It must be the “deposited brains at the airport” syndrome
at work again.
PM’s excellent advice back in the early eighties to all of us
newcomers was to take it for what it is, enjoy it while you
have the chance, but take a tip from the Thais and live each
day as it comes.
I would reckon that philosophy is as sound today as ever
and it would save a number of both dented egos and bank
balances, if a few more of us followed that simple
philosophy.
Yes, it might be bad for the self-esteem of some of visitors
to realise that the hard facts of life are that hookers hook
and it is all a fantasy game.
Basically, it may be a good idea to play by the PM’s well
tested rules and just remember you are in a male (or
female) paradise, so don’t get emotionally involved and you
will have the time of your life.
To be honest, I was star struck by Thailand and Asia on my
first trip there back in the mists of times of 1980. It was
exotic, as well as erotic and still is.
It has a great climate, fantastic food and gives exceptional
value for money.
Plus, there are unlimited go go dancers and massage girls
all very willing to spread their soft brown legs at every
opportunity for the price of a few rounds of drinks back
home– what is there not to like?
As a twenty something back in the day, the only thing that
bothered me at that time was seeing guys old enough to be
some of their temporary “girlfriends” grandfathers (let
alone fathers) sporting a bevy of LBGs all over them like a
rash.
As a young guy, I could not help thinking then that we rich
(by local standards) western guys could be exploiting young
girls often from poor, rural backgrounds. It was a thought
which kept niggling at the back of my mind during that
initial foray in South East Asia.
I remember discussing this concern with Paul, one morning
over a coffee in the Nana cafeteria during our first vist.
As you can imagine, Flash was not included in the
conversation. Besides it being too early in the day for him
to surface from his pit, the Ginger Whinger suffered no
such scruples.
Well to be fair, being a lawyer by trade he was well used to
screwing people for money!
To this day, I remember PM’s well-reasoned response.
Our mentor smiled and asked if I remembered Lek, who we
had all been chatting to in a well-known Patpong bar the
night before?
I certainly did. The lady in question was a little older than
the average dancer in Kings Castle, but had a body to die
for and was grade one, wet dream material.
Her English was excellent and the only reason none of our
team barfined her that particular evening was there was
only one of her and we had decided to head back to a beer
bar in Sukumvit together and try and organise three girls
as a “take away” and go back to the Nana Hotel with one
each.
Having already enjoyed this particular lady’s sexual favours
on a previous vist, Paul explained it was common
knowledge at the last count, that she had currently seven
major overseas sponsors and was on a recruitment drive to
add to her already impressive tally.
The present list comprised of a couple of English guys, one
American serviceman, a German banker, two Australian
businessmen and one Japanese tourist, all blissfully
unaware of each other’s existence.
Lek’s roll call of bedmates, rivalled a cross section of the
United Nations - nobody could accuse this girl of racism.
This multinational group of love sick mug punters each
innocently thought they were Lek’s only Bangkok
boyfriend. She had fed each “investor” the same line and
everyone swallowed the bait quicker than an LBG in a
blowjob bar.
The lady in question turned on the charm and told each of
her “tilac of the moment” that if he could transfer over
regular money to her bank account each month, the lovely
Lek would then give up making a living opening her
shapely legs for hard cash.
So, instead of being used as a human inflatable doll and
spending her time lying under a series of overweight and
over age westerners, Lek could train as a hairdresser. Then
when qualified, the lady could then open a beauty salon in
BK and live happily ever after.
Having spent quality time enjoying her well-honed sexual
skills, each of her numerous lovers could not stand the
thought that while they were out of the country, their
“girlfriend” would have been servicing an endless stream of
sex tourists to make ends meet.
All of the “Magnicent Seven” were currently sending
regular funds to keep her off the game and on the straight
and narrow. The cashiers in the Western Union office must
have known this girl by her first name, as she was in there
virtually every day and always picking up handfuls of
overseas wonga.
Lek was raking it in by local standards and the irony was
that she still was happily turning tricks nightly in a go go
bar to boost her considerable income even further.
According to PM, she had bought two houses up country all
ready and was now negotiating to take over a night club.
The only slight problem was that if more than one of her
long list of benefactor surprised her by turning up in town
unannounced at the same time.
This clash caused a slight complication with her numerous
international love interests.
But don’t worry, the resourceful young lady had a “Plan B”
ready.
if it got too crowded on the sponsor front for a week or two,
she would quickly take time off from screwing anything
with both cash and a dick in Patpong. She would then
tearfully tell her “only boyfriend” that an emergency trip
home was needed to nurse the family water buffalo, ancient
auntie or whatever crisis sounded like it might prise her
loved one’s wallets open further and then she would
discreetly disappear.
This little fib worked on two levels, the lovely Lek got out
before two of the Golden Geese (or maybe Golden Tits?)
collided.
Plus, she often also got an extra financial contribution to
help with her “family crisis” too – clever or what?
As PM succinctly pointed out, in a situation like this which
is not uncommon in this part of Asia, who was exploiting
whom?
The more I thought about it, the more I realised it is
dangerous in Thailand to make judgements; many things
are often not what they seem on the surface.
In 2016, the employment level is now high in the country,
so there is perhaps less financial pressure currently on
young girls to take the route of screwing tourists, rather
than the other work options.
Back in the eighties in the rural poor provinces,
opportunities were often limited to subsistence farming and
a few other very low paid jobs for many LBGs with minimal
education.
I hate to upset the PC brigade, but in my opinion most of
the Thai girls I have met in recent times have chosen this
career as a lucrative and easy option, rather taking office,
factory or retail jobs.
Maybe, The Flashman was right all along and these were
not whoreing trips at all, but charitable missions.
Well, certainly we donated wads of baht that were given
directly to the needy target group with no cash creamed off
for expensive overheads, unlike some of the big
international charities.
Forget Band Aid, we lads were in the vanguard of fund
raising back in the early eighties and certainly generous in
handing over the cash.
All of our team willingly donated generously to the “Help
the Thai Massage Girls Fund” –so it goes to show that the
age of the philanthropic giver is alive and well and living in
Sukumvit Road.
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WHAT HAS REALLY CHANGED
FROM 1980 TO 2017?
Reading a few of the excellent current forums on the
internet in 2017, you could be excused for thinking the
country has “gone to the dogs” with some long-term expat
residents and visitors complaining “things are not what
they used to be”.

Of course, some things have changed for the worse since

The President, Flash and myself hit the suds big time in
1980, but other things have definitely improved over the
intervening years.

The infrastructure has moved forward in Bangkok and

Thailand over the last thirty-five years and it now boasts a
large world class international airport, the skytrain,
smarter metered taxis and an increasing number of superb
five star hotels.

Interestingly for UK travellers, the exchange rate of around

50 baht to the pound has generally stayed pretty constant
over this time.

As I write this it has dropped post Brexit, but what goes

around, comes around and it is likely to hopefully improve
in the future.

So, before this ends up sounding like one of those boring

travel logs, let’s cut to the chase and compare the red-light
action.
One criticism that crops up regularly, is that the local sex
industry is more money driven these days.

I reckon this is true to some extent and often the bar girls
seem to expect the punters to buy more relatively
expensive “lady” drinks now than on my early trips.

Most times in the eighties, you were not hustled to keep

forking out your hard earned for an endless stream of little
glasses of cola or whatever.

The bar scene has also moved on with many LBGs keen to
do mainly “short time” rather than an all-night session.

This is often down to financial considerations. You do not

have to be a mathematical expert to work out that three or
four quickies an evening, earns more in bar fines and fees
for services provided than one punter humping them for
twelve hours solid.

It come down to what is cost effective business.

Another bone of contention is the infamous use of Coyote

Dancers in bars. Back in the day, if an LBG was hanging off
a chrome pole in Patpong, she was probably “bar finable”.

OK, if the lady in question thought you were totally

repulsive (think Flashman with a few too many bottles of
Singha in him) she could disappear or politely decline,
saying another punter had first option on her that night.

But overall, most of the talent was basically up for grabs. If

you had the money, you got the honey.

This is not always accurate in 2017 with a number of bars

in Patpong, Nana Plaza and Soi Cowboy having a mix of
regular dancers and Coyotes.
To make matters even more confusing in the “getting your
leg over” stakes, a few also add a handful of Ladyboys into
the mix too.

Even if you manage to avoid any companions with a full

complement of landing tackle, you can end up buying
drinks for a Coyote. She may then politely refuse your
offers to bar fine her later– which is pretty frustrating.

The best Coyotes earn enough dancing and do not have to

spend every night flat on her pretty back under an
overweight, over age and over the hill farang.

Some bars are reputed to be currently hiring post-op

ladyboys, so you can end up with a bloke after having his
bits removed, so beware.

But this is Thailand and there is always plenty more fish in

the sea.

What was there more of in the Eighties?

Well, pubic hair for one thing.

These days, a high percentage of the girls seem to sport a

Brazilian or similar. Personally, I would say this is a good
thing, although I do miss the sensual soft scratch of a full
bush down my back during a soapy.

Just call me an old, sentimental fool.

What did we not have back in the day?

There were none of the ubiquitous MacDonald’s, KFC or

Starbucks around BK then. I think the unfamiliarity of the
place to visitors, gave it a much more exotic feel.

You certainly felt like being a long way from home in those
distant heady times.
Compared with today, both Soi Cowboy and Nana Plaza
were just a twinkle in some bar owner’s eye back in 1980.

Yes, both had a few drinking places and around the Nana
Hotel area there were a handful of massage parlours and
beer bars, but it was very low key compared to the current
action, which is now on an industrial scale.

I never heard the term “Soi Cowboy” mentioned in my early

forays to BK’s naughty areas in 1980

Few, if any of the girls dancing around chrome poles then

had tattoos, dyed hair and sported cosmetic teeth braces
(what are they all about?)

But, the biggest change for the worse, in my opinion is the

Aids/HIV situation. It was much more carefree back in 1980
and no one I knew used condoms.

Of course, it is a sensible precaution today to bag up, but

for some of us old hands who enjoyed endless “bareback”
action back then, we mourn the good old times.

Many of the old guard had a STD check-up back at home

after a trip, but in my experience most seemed to emerge
unscathed with very few cases of “Galloping Knob Rot” to
report – happy days.

If you did get a dose back in the eighties, a swift trip to the
delightful Dr. Wu and a sackful of antibiotics seemed to sort
it out quickly.

Although a few strains of bugs such as the infamous

“Bangkok Rose” were resistant to some drugs, in my
experience infections were not normally a major issue.

On the plus side, we now have Viagra available over the

chemist’s counters, which is a useful insurance policy today
for sorting out an attack of the dreaded “brewers droop”.
Maybe, it was good that the little blue pills were not around
in the eighties or Paul, Flash and rest of the team might
have won the Queens Award for Industry, if chemical help
like that had been available.

There could have been the serious risk of the old fella
coming off in their hands from over use…

The Internet and mobile phones, complete with apps has

made booking hotels and finding escort agencies and bars
easier that is for sure.

But this is a “two-edged sword” as some of the local girls

seem to spend half their time talking on them and I would
not be surprised to see my latest girlfriend of the moment
having a chat to her mates or texting them whilst in action
between the sheets - it may just be a matter of time.

A passion killer or what?

If you like taking the more explicit holiday snaps, today’s

digital cameras are a great invention. Back in the eighties,
we carried our small cameras like the Olympus XAs, plus
loads and loads of 35 mm film.

This photographic extravaganza cost a fortune to get all

that stuff processed back in the UK and there were a lot of
bad shots binned and wasted. These days you can produce
better pictures on the average mobile phone and have
instant results for no cost – bargain!

Plus, we have the advantage of not having to hunt to find a

broad-minded laboratory willing to print a batch of your
“X” rated stuff in 2017.

Personally, I do miss the sport of endless fare negotiation

with the local cabbies, but having a working meter does
make life a bit simpler and gives us all less hassle.
I would say that the same vibe is still around Bangkok
which is good, but it is certainly a much more modern city
these days than when Flash and I first visted the country
during the last century.

Does that thought make me feel old or what?

I mentioned an escort agency earlier in this book and back

in 1980 these were a novelty and only local or visitors
really in the know, used them in my experience.

Today, they have sprung up like mushrooms all over BK and

into the provinces and there is even a co-operative, run by
the girls for the girls.

On first glance, they do appear expensive. Prices range

from 4000 to 7000 baht for a couple of hours of ecstasy in
your hotel room, but looking a bit closer there are
advantages.

The great thing is most have a good selection of beautiful

employees, some model quality. You not only pick your
companion (LBG or Ladyboy) from accurate pictures in the
comfort of your home and then book over the internet with
a click of the mouse.

But the great thing is they publish a shopping guide of

what special services the individual ladies will provide.

If you are at that age or stage in life of wanting to go for

quality over quantity, I would recommend giving the
reputable ones a try.

Of course the bars are still great fun, particularly if you are
with a bunch of mates. But when you tot up just how much
you can spend chasing chrome pole dancers, the agencies
are maybe better value than they look on first glance.
Although they were around in 1980 none of my team used
the short-term hotels. The thinking was we had paid for
somewhere to stay, so why waste a few more baht on
another bed in a different place?

At the time it looked a sound philosophy, but these days I

would strongly consider getting a temporary room if with a
freelancer for a quick session.

It makes sense on a security basis and avoids problems in

getting rid of your latest bed companion a bit quickish, if
you want to hit the town again that night or just need to get
a bit of peace.

Most of the better pole dancers seem to demand around

3000 baht or more for a quick bit of action in 2016, add to
that a bar fine, loads of drinks all over town, taxi fares and
maybe a short time hotel too.

Totting it all up, top escorts giving you two hours of their
undivided time for 5000 – 6000 of the folding stuff, may not
such a bad deal after all.

In those initial vists, we never went to the upmarket hotel

late night discos.

These days they can be patronised by a number of good

looking local LBGs.

Some of whom do a spot of nocturnal horizontal dancing for

some additional money on the side (or their backs, in this
case) or if they like the look of you, a freebie might be on
the cards.

Again, I will not try and give individual recommendations of

places to go, as this is a risky area.

Places change and what is good today may sometimes go

downhill tomorrow, but they can be a very happy hunting
ground for the young (and not so young) farang on the pull.

One thing to remember is in some of these places the girls

have to be initially approached by yourself. This is unlike
the beer bars and clubs where the dancers are often
aggressively all over the punters like an ill-fitting suit from
a Sukumvit tailor.

If you see a possible suitable candidate for a portion

smiling at you, just go over and ask her if she wants a drink
and bingo you could easily be on a promise.

It is sensible to sort out the financials before you leave the

place though, as a few of these part-time ladies may ask for
a silly amount of money and if not agreed in advance things
could get ugly after the dirty deed is done or when they get
back to your room.
 CHAPTER NINETEEN
A HAPPY ENDING
To be honest, I never planned to write these modest
anecdotes, having always followed the wise doctrine of
“What happens in Thailand, stays in Thailand”.
It hurts me to say it, but that great font of all wisdom the
notorious deep thinker and philosopher Flashman, may
have had it right, when he used to say, “Everybody has one
book in them and for most of us, that is the best place for it
to stay!”
Cruel, but true….
I may have spent most of my working life in advertising and
magazine publishing, but producing books always seemed
hard work to me.
It was Paul’s unexpected and very sad passing a few years
ago that inspired me to finally put pen to paper or maybe
fingers on the PC fingerboard is a more accurate
description in these hi-tech times.
For a long-term old Bangkok Pussy Hound and elder
statesman these days, it was fun just reliving and sharing
these uncomplicated great days in the Far East during the
eighties.
In fact, I am not sure exactly what category this “literary
gem” should be put into? Maybe Asian Erotic Humour or
Sexual Travel Misadventures?
I don’t know if these classifications even exist?
Well if not, they do now…..
Having read and enjoyed a shed load of e-books on
Thailand over the last few years, one thing spoils some of
them for me is the really poor proof reading and editing.
So sincere apologies, if you find any grammatical blunders
or spelling mistakes in this book, but believe me I have
tried really hard to avoid TOO many annoying errors.
Sadly, any editorial “cock-ups” are all mine and the buck
stops here.
My only weak excuse is perhaps that too many Singha
beers and massage girls over the last 36 years or so may
have had a bad effect on my already limited mental powers.
Anyway ,hopefully some of you readers have enjoyed these
tales from the eighties and perhaps a few newcomers might
even avoid a few potential problems by getting a “heads
up” from the suggested PM’s Survival Plan.
If so, that makes the whole project really worth all the
effort.
One favour, if a few of you good readers could find the time
to give Bangkok Naked an honest review, that certainly
would help in making all the late nights producing this
book worthwhile.
I know it is a pain, but a few minutes of your time would be
very much appreciated, as being a totally independent
publishing venture; independent reviews make a huge
difference.
The link should be after the end of the book.
Lastly, if anybody out there is” tut tutting” and thinking
that the contents are not politically correct in these current
enlightened times, I make no apologies.
This is an accurate record of how it was back then and all
the characters, tales and adventure in Bangkok Naked
really happened.
So, if the contents are a bit too “laddish” for some – tough!
This is how it was in the heady days of 1980 and I am not in
the business of airbrushing history.
I like to think both the girls/ladyboys involved and
ourselves had a good time and I would personally not
change anything. (Well, maybe I might have avoided that
particularly depraved BJ session from the infamous team of
Diesel and Dumper. Then again it was fun, the lights were
off and who’s counting anyway?)
The bad news for any puritans reading this collection of
tales, is that Paul, Flash and myself made two more major
trips that same year and to make matters even worse, our
numbers were boosted by the addition of yet more totally
debauched members of the UK travel/advertising industry.
Amazingly, the Thai authorities let Mr. Gordon back into the
country again to continue his on-going campaign of
screwing anything that had enough breath to mist up a
mirror.
The worrying thing is the randy little ginger devil acted
even more outrageously on his next vists to the kingdom.
So for those with a delicate disposition be warned, things
get even worse in future!
My original plan was to produce just this one humble
volume of our eighties experiences. But due to space
restrictions this has scheme has grown “organically” and a
follow-up book “Bangkok Nude” is currently underway to
be published late in 2017 and will record later exploits of
that first year.
A taste of the next volume is published in Chapter 20, but
in the meantime whether you are regular visitor or first
timer, please savour your time in Thailand.
It is a beautiful country - so enjoy yourselves, treat the
locals with respect and don’t forget to smell the suds along
the way!
Diamond Jack
3rd October 2016
 BANGKOK NUDE
AUGUST 1980
Tiny Tim’s Dirty Little Secret
Following our initial shagging marathon in Winter 1980,
our original master plan was to return to Thailand at the
end of that same year for a repeat fixture.

As Paul headed up his firm’s London sales office and was

virtually his own boss, the canny old fox could take time off
whenever he fancied it. The original Christmas timing
worked for both the other two members of the Bangkok
Pussy Hounds too, as both Flash and my own companies
shut-down for a few of weeks over the festive period.

That was all well and good, but problem was that none of
us wanted to wait that long for some more “in your face”
LBG action.

We had all tasted forbidden fruit and needed another large

portion of it, the sooner the better.

This was becoming a medical necessity to ward off the

likely numerous nocturnal vists from Mrs Palm and her
team of delectable daughters during the intervening
months before the original planned December departure.

So, a quicker trip was sorely needed to avoid the strong

chance of us all suffering short sightedness as a result of
too many five finger shuffles under the duvet.

Khun Gordon was predictably well up for an earlier return

to the “Land of Suds” and somehow the cunning little sod
had wangled an extra fortnight off in the August to
continue his “Asian Charitable Works”, but I had a small
local difficulty which was in the near human form of my
section head, Tiny Tim Hargreaves.

The large publishing company who paid my wages at that

particular time, unfortunately had a strict rule in place.

Officially, I was owed six weeks holiday a year plus extra

time due “in lieu” due to my regular travelling for business
meetings at weekends. The problem was that the dictat
handed down from the suits on the tenth floor, clearly
stated that employees were not allowed to enjoy more than
a single two-week consecutive vacation in one calendar
year. The remaining amount of leisure time, should only be
taken in a maximum of seven day batches.

This was crystal clear and found on page 7 (subsection

10a/3b) in that font of all wisdom, the infamous advertising
staff handbook.

There was no higher authority in all publishing land, but a

glimmer of hope beckoned for those of us who have been
endowed with a devious nature and who is more devious
than The Flashman?

He cast his practised lawyer’s eye over the detailed text

and found a possible gem hidden in the small print. It
outlined “if there were exceptional circumstances i.e. a
death in the family or serious illness, your section head
could sanction additional time off at his or her personal
discretion”.

In a momentary attack of near generosity, everybodies

favourite carrot head only charged me “mates rates”. He
settled on a bar fine for some unfortunate dancer in the
Zambezi bar in Patpong on our next vist, as payment from
me for his legal expertise.
The Ginger Whinger could have come up trumps here, but
stakes were high, as if I could not get around this obstacle I
was stuffed. It was no good to me going for only seven brief
days. Flying long haul to Bangkok and then back to the UK
within a week was crazy.

The ticket costs are the same and I would just about be
getting into the swing of the action and have fought off the
worst effects of jet lag, before I was back on the plane
heading home again. Reluctantly leaving the other two
members of the team enjoying my share of unlimited Thai
nookie.

Not a good result.

Plus, if I was AWOL for the Summer offensive my two

travelling companions would have the bragging rights big
time. Sorting this sad state of affairs out to my advantage
would take shed loads of guile, plus a mixture of charm,
blackmail and good old threats….

I decided that as I already had a working lunch scheduled

with my darling publishing director tomorrow to catch up
on the current state of advertising revenue after my recent
absence in the nookie capitals of the world. It could be a
good time to broach the subject of his favourite employee,
Jack Hughes Esq; disappearing in an easterly direction
again in just a few months’ time.

That is, if I could con the little knob head with some
inflated revenue stats.

Now my Publishing Director, the illustrious Tim

Hargreaves, was the epitamy of the hardnosed advertising
business man “par-excellence”. This boy was ruthless in the
extreme; I doubt he would cross the road to piss on you if
you were on fire.
In fact, Tim was an 18-carat bastard through and through
and those were his most endearing qualities - he made
Machiavellian look like a social worker.

Small but deadly, standing on tip toe at five foot two in his
expensive patient leather elevator shoes. They say good
things come in small packages, but there is always an
exception to any rule and I would be looking at it across the
office in the morning.

Was he sensitive about being vertically challenged?

Do bears sleep in woods?

Being a Grade “A” bullshitter, Tiny Tim told every attractive

female member of the staff with a straight face that if our
dicks grew out of the top of bloke’s heads, we would all be
the same height.

It took me a bit of time to work it out, but I think the

smarmy little bastard was trying to sell the idea that all
short guys had big todgers. Our Timbo certainly was a big
todger, but the good news was that he had a small chink in
his armour known only to a select few.

When I say a select few, I mean just me.

This weakness was female, wore sexy designer clothes,

high heels, silk stockings and reputably had the morals of
the proverbial “bunny on heat”. I am not sure rabbits come
into season, but you get my drift…

Unbeknown to his superiors (in his warped self-important

view, he did not have any to worry about anyway),
colleagues and most importantly his good wife, randy
Timothy had been dipping his little wick into this lady for
some time.
Conveniently, she held a top position in large American
international company who surprisingly were one of our top
clients. Talk about mixing business with pleasure. I just
happened to be the one in our organisation who knew his
dirty little secret.

Don’t ask how, but in our “hire and fire” industry, it pays to
have a bit of life insurance.

So, while both of us poured a cup of fresh coffee the

following day in his lair at the appointed meeting time of
high noon, we faced each other like two wild west
gunslingers from that scene in the graveyard at the end of
The Good, Bad and the Ugly. Very apt but which was which?

You do the maths, but here is a clue, TH qualifies for the

last two categories…

Then with all the subtlety of a flying chainsaw, I inquired

about his female friend’s health. Personally, I did not give a
monkey’s toss about her well-being, but this ploy was just
to put a marker down and remind the diminutive Tim that I
had him by the short and curlies (horrible thought!).

It is important to understand that the publishing and

advertising world is a fast food industry - you are fast or
you are food and I did not want to get eaten.

I had recently read a book by one of those canine

phycologists who reckoned to show a dominant alfa male
dog who is boss, you need to stroke the dog’s throat. It
subtly gives the signal that you know where his lethal area
is. So metaphorically speaking, I did the same to my own
little Bullmastiff or perhaps a Jack Russell that humps the
vicar’s leg when he comes to tea might be more accurate in
Mr. Hargreaves’s case.
Tim seemed unphased by the loaded question about his
current “Female Fuck Buddy of the Month”, but his beady
little eyes narrowed a millimetre, as he destroyed a whole
sandwich at one gulp and poured himself a modest portion
of white wine to fill an empty pint glass.

The first to blink was going to lose this little battle of wills.

There then followed the standard token amount of small

talk about my recent jaunt to the Land of Smiles. The
problem was that my company big cheese seemed to think
that I had spent the whole time screwing my little brains
out, even though I tried to play up the culture and potential
business angle.

He then took great delight in warning me not to risk

spreading STD’s to his staff by using other people’s mugs in
the kitchen area and I should get some money from petty
cash and buy some extra potent bleach to kill the germs –
the cheeky sod.

These mid-day meetings were by their nature normally

short, so it was now time to “shit or get off the pot” and
play my ace card.

Nonchalantly, I pushed my monthly figures across his large,

polished, but as usual totally empty desk.

Not surprisingly, they looked good at first glance. More

executive time that morning had been invested in carefully
and lovingly “massaging” them, than I would have spent
doing the same with a pair of spectacular soapy fun bags at
the Darling Massage Parlour in downtown BK. Due to my
criminally hard work and downright animal cunning, the
numbers appeared considerably better than they really
were.
The problem was that when it came to falsifying stuff, Tiny
Tim was the grand master and could sniff out a “wrong un”
a mile off – so the atmosphere was tense.

To my relief, the esteemed Director looked suitably

impressed with the substantial increase of advertising
revenue over the last quarter which beat my 1980 targets
by a country mile. (Oh dear, I seem to have forgotten to
include a few recent major cancellations – must be jet lag!!

TH then appeared to nearly smile, but that might have just

been wind.

Taking the bait as quickly as he had swallowed the last

remaining sausage roll, which I had fancied a few seconds
ago before it disappeared without trace. The greedy little
prat, complete with his mouth full of pastry, then muttered
something about “increased moving annual totals”,
“improved market share” and a random selection of some
other pieces of totally unintelligible Anglo-American
business bullshit.

Tiny Tim must have learnt these meaningless phrases

during one of those numerous management courses that he
kept on signing up for.

Call me cynical, but I suspect his keenest for these endless

academic sorties might have something to do with him
being put into a five-star hotel on generous expenses and
the strange coincidence that his industry mistress (or Mia
Noi, as they say in Thailand) was in the room next door.

The good lady during these high-level seminars was

probably lying nude on the king-sized bed with her ankles
around her pretty little ears, wearing just Chanel No 5 and
a generous application of Aqua Glide lube.
With the masterclass in advertising industry jargon now
thankfully over, the main man leant back in his senior
grade executive chair with his little legs not even touching
the floor - I have seen taller jockeys. He was not called
“Nick Nack” from the James Bond Film for nothing by his
adoring ad team, but only when he was safely out of ear
shot, you understand.

He carefully avoided knocking over his status giving

company rubber plant and hooked his thumbs through a
resplendent pair of red braces. For some reason, all
publishing directors all seem to wear both these and pin
stripe suits – belts are apparently for wimps. Being
ambitious, I made a mental note to get a similar outfit made
up by the Indian tailors off the Sukumvit Road on my next
trip to Bangkok. Just to help advance my advertising career,
you understand. Well, if you can’t beat them, join them, I
say. Although knowing Tim, he would probably think I was
taking the piss if I turned up as a “mini me” …

Smelling blood, I moved swiftly in for the kill.

I reckoned my chances of getting those two consecutive

weeks off in our busiest time was somewhere between
“Slim and No Way”. The problem was that Slim may have
left town - but if you don’t ask, you don’t get in life.

The odds were slightly worse than finding a virgin in a

Pattaya Massage Parlour, but I gave it my best sales pitch

.I explained with a straight face, that I knew it was against

the company rules in theory, but another little break in the
summertime would recharge my batteries and help me
increase the magazine’s income even further. Under his
renowned leadership, the magazine could surely cope
without “yours truly” for just those few extra days with him
at the helm?
After all, in the advertising world, rules are there to be
broken - didn’t he wisely say that himself on a regular basis
at our team meetings? In addition, Paul Martin who was a
regular advertiser in our travel publication would be
gracing us with his presence, so there was a work
dimension to this further little visit to eastern climes.

In fact, it was not fun at all, I was entertaining an important

client at my own expense. (If my beloved publishing
director goes for that, the silly bugger will believe
anything…) Mr.T. Hargreaves Esq; still leaning back, spun
round to look out the window at the panoramic landscape
of South London and put his size 6 feet on the desk, whilst
blowing a blue plume of cigar residue into the already
polluted atmosphere of his office. His room was now
becoming a dead ringer for a Victorian smog that Sherlock
Holmes would have felt at home in.

Except for my near terminal coughing, there was a long

silence, as a large smoke ring casually drifted towards the
ceiling and I drifted towards an acute case of secondary
nicotine poisoning.

“You have a bloody cheek Jack” he finally hissed. “OK, I will

think about it, but a word of advice, don’t hold your breath.
Now piss off fast and get that feature list sorted with that
dozy editorial department of ours this afternoon”.

This was a subtle signal that a tactical withdrawal was now

needed. Being my own man and afraid of nothing, I showed
him you cannot push Jack Hughes around. Then a second
later reality kicked in with a vengeance and I bottled it big
time, retreating at top speed faster than a greased ferret
up the proverbial drainpipe.

Leaving his office in a blur of panic, I had the biggest

sinking feeling since the Titanic.
My chances of joining Paul and Flash in August were not
looking good and it could be two more weeks of romantic
candle-lit dinners with Ms. Palm and her family; whilst
those pair of randy buggers were up to the peaches in
everything female in Bangkok and surrounding districts.

Little Jack could come off in my hands with over use, if this

trip goes tits up.

Who said life is fair?

So, I was surprised when Tim’s curvatious secretary, the

delightful Deborah, called me early the following morning
straight after I had staggered into the office at some
ungodly early hour to ring our Singapore office. - this time
difference is a real killer.

With a voice as smooth as a Patpong bar girl’s bum, she

said Tim demanded the pleasure of my company in the
main meeting room – NOW or preferably sooner!

This meant there was no chance of grabbing my first

double expresso of the morning and did not look like good
news.

You normally got summoned to the board room for a

bollacking at that time of day, but after grabbing a pad and
pen to try and look faintly business like, I quickly tip toed
into the lion’s den.

The big cat himself was missing and true to form my

sadistic pint sized director kept me waiting there alone for
a full ten minutes (standard softening up procedure) until
finally bursting in with a characteristic theatrical entrance.

He growled “Now this meeting never happened you little

bastard, OK?” and back heeled the door tight shut with a
resounding bang.
Charming as ever I thought, but nodded in agreement and
smiled sweetly through both gritted teeth and clenched
buttocks. Wracking what passes as a brain at this early
hour of the day and wondering what I could have done to
upset my department head this time, I tried to look cool.

Maybe he had realised the figures yesterday were bogus or

finally twigged those large receipts I had been putting
through for expensive client lunches at “Look Back in
Anger” were a spoof. It was not a top end restaurant, but a
trendy men’s clothes shop in Chelsea, which could be the
reason that Mr .J. Hughes Esq was the best dressed bloke
on the magazine?

But no, Tim did not seem interested in my ever-expanding

wardrobe or revenue projections.

He then gracefully asked when I wanted to sod off back to

Thailand and after telling him timidly that August would be
good, I expected a flat “no” or worse.

“Perfect” Mr. Hargreaves purred like a kitten.

“Right, this is the deal – it is a quid pro quo” he said,

showing that his grasp of Latin was better than his estuary
English, whilst lighting a breakfast cigar and pouring a cup
of pure caffeine without offering me one. As usual, this guy
was all heart.

“I will sign your frigging dodgy holiday form, but you need
to do something for me” Tim thundered.

To be honest, I would have got under the board room table

and given him a blow job at that moment if my illustrious
leader would authorise this trip.

“On your agenda, besides endless screwing to keep you and

your bunch of pox ridden pals amused, there is an
international travel trade conference in Bangkok on August
14th and 15th”. The arrangement is that you go and keep
an eye on that dim bloody editor of ours. The silly old
bastard is likely to get pissed and cock things up big time if
he does not have a minder”.

“It is being held at the Oriental” Mr Hargreaves stated

“which is the nearest thing to a six-star hotel in existence,
so hopefully the doormen will not think you are a bagman
and kick you out on your arse”. He went on.

“There are some mega important Pan-Asian advertisers

attending, so you need to be at the seminar for both days
and do some serious networking for the UK end”.

Casually blowing yet another toxic blue cloud of smoke in

my direction, he warmed to his task of trying to kill me with
an overdose of passive smoking and continued “I don’t trust
the local Hong Kong office to do us any favours, so it is
down to you to watch our backs”.

“So Jacko, it works like this, you pay your own airfare and
hotels” he continued, “but I will organise an upgrade to
business class for both you and that half-witted plonker
carrot head, you are travelling with. That is totally gratis
and you can claim generous expenses for any entertaining
during the seminar. Don’t worry about spending the
publications hard earned on the top guys, do what you have
to do to keep them happy”.

“Drink, food, girls or boys - just make sure these big

honchos are onside”. Mr Hargreaves then gave his
trademark crimson braces another tweak and said “Just
bring back the receipts and I will sign them off, but try not
to have knocking shops on all of them and as they go to
accounts. The middle-aged ladies there don’t seem to
appreciate them stuck together with bodily fluids like a bill
plasters bucket, for some strange reason”.

“The rest of your time, you can go and chase Asian totty
until it drops off. So that is the arrangement Jack - your
call”.

With that, T. Hargreaves Esq; leant back further and took

his patient leather elevator shoes off the boardroom table
with a flourish. “So what do you think then, my little pal –
Summer in a Thai Massage Parlour or stay here in beautiful
South-East London with it pissing down and me kicking
your backside? This surely must be a no brainer even for
you?” Tim said.

A tough call and I gave it careful thought for a nano

second, before agreeing on the spot. Then my little legs got
out of the room as fast as possible before he really thought
it through and changed his mind or I had to hand out any
oral sexual favours– result!

I hit the phones to my two other co-conspirators as soon as

I got back to my desk and let my travelling companions
know the good news and was already planning another
major client “lunch” at a certain Kings Road boutique – I
will need some lightweight gear for this next little foray to
paradise.

By midday I had sorted out another Thai Airways ticket for

Flash and myself from a bucket shop found in the back of
Time Out Magazine and got our section telex operator to
sort out hotel reservations. It looked like The Bangkok
Pussy Hounds were back in business big time, against the
odds.

Did I feel guilty using company time and half the

secretarial staff for my personal travel arrangements?
No way, Jose.

I was doing work on this trip - well for a few hours, anyway.

Do you remember when you were a kid waiting for

December 25th and that the build-up for the big day
seemed to go on for ever? Well, Christmas was nothing
compared to this little jaunt and it was the slowest few
months ever until August finally arrived. Back in those
long-lost school days, the run-up to the festive season I was
only a wait for a new air rifle or train set. But this time, two
weeks of unlimited erotic delights beckoned and time
dragged.

To help ease our frustration, Paul, Flash and myself met up

regularly during the long lead-in and discussed our plans
for the next LBG offensive, whilst lovingly pawed over our
erotic photos from the last offensive.

I had recently found a professional laboratory in the West

Midlands, that was happy to develop the pics in glorious
Kodakcolour. They did not seem to mind that there were
loads of Asian girls in various states of undress, which was
great. Just seeing these explicit images brought back
memories and a slight stiffness for all members of the
Bangkok Pussy Hounds and it certainly helped the team
through the tedium of that interminable Winter and Spring
of 1980.

PM had a projector in his Piccadilly office and our slides

got the benefit of a cinema size images, which made all of
the team even more home sick for the Sukumvit Road.

Our regular “get togethers” got even more exciting, when

Paul had a business meeting in Australia during May and
managed to swing a couple of days’ stopover in Bangkok on
the outward journey and the same in Manila coming back -
the lucky devil.
So more new, juicy pics followed.

In addition, we had a mouth-watering update from The

President on the latest gossip on the various new go go
bars and established places of disrepute, no details were
spared however intimate.

Paul told us that the sexy Mira, our favourite Assistant

Mamasan of Amy’s Sauna and Massage Parlour fame, had
sent us both her love. Apparently, the young lady in
question, had just recruited a number of new little
sweethearts to separate us from our wads of baht and was
looking forward to seeing us all back in action in the suds
in only a few weeks’ time.

Both Flash and myself went green with envy when we

heard PMs lurid stories from his recent solo trip at our
regular briefing sessions - but eventually August finally
arrived.

Bangkok Nude was nearly here and paradise was finally

again within touching distance, I could almost smell the
soapys…..
BANGKOK NUDE
CHAPTER TWO

AUGUST 1980

“LIGHTING NEVER STRIKES

TWICE”

The final date had been set to allow for my couple of days
“work” in the middle of the trip at the Pan - Asian Travel
Trade Convention and I finally had the sad task of saying
goodbye to my dear Publishing Director.

The beloved company Gruppen Fuher, Herr Hargreaves,

helpfully threatened me with cutting my balls off and
wearing them as a bow tie, if I failed to fulfil my agreed
business obligations and let the Hong Kong or Singapore
offices screw us big time…..

Told you that Tim was renowned for his exemplary staff
relations and caring motivational skills.

Lovingly clutching my shiny new company Amex card, Mr.

Gordon and myself were soon ensconced deep in
comfortable business class seats on TG 913 and flying out
of Heathrow on the Thursday trip to tropical paradise.

We were on that plane faster than a robber’s dog leaving a

butchers’ shop.

As usual, the redoubtable PM was travelling sub-load on a

different carrier and route, but the plan was to all met up
at our operational base the excellent Nana Hotel as soon as
possible after our arrival.

Paul trusted us on our second trip to get a cab to the

Sukumvit Road in one piece without his supervision.
In hindsight, The President’s touching faith might be
stretched a bit on this occasion, as the outward flight for
The Flashman and myself was not totally uneventful to say
the least.

With the infamous Beast of Bangkok alongside me, but

fortunately engaged in reading the inflight magazine, (or
perhaps looking at the pictures in his case) and pulling the
petals off the orchid he had been given by a stewardess, I
got chatting to a very attractive young brunette travelling
alone and was sitting on the other side of the isle.

Apparently, her boyfriend worked for a leading large

London international advertising agency, but was currently
enjoying a twelve-month secondment to their Malaysian
branch.

Touchingly missing his girlfriend, he had suggested that the

two of them met up and have a vacation together on the
romantic island of Koh Samui.

She introduced herself as Caroline Black and confided in

me that although she was looking forward to a couple of
weeks of sun, sea and sex with her beloved, this girl was
unfortunately a very nervous flyer.

Caroline had even gone on a course run by British Airways

and paid for by her other half, to try and control her
irrational fear of crashing out of the sky, but that had
terrified the young lady even more.

Acting the cool, seasoned traveller and thinking there

might be a faint chance of a leg over here, if I play my
cards right, I suggested that she should shut her eyes, relax
and just chill.

“After all,” I said confidently, “there is nothing to worry

about in these big modern jets, it is statistically safer than
walking”.

The words “Famous Last Words” came to mind later.

“You hardly know you are moving in a DC 10” I waffled on,

“In no time, you will be landing safely at Don Muang
Airport. Just have a stiff drink, lie back comfortably and
enjoy the ride - I will look after you”.

The young lady in question gave me a wide smile and

seemed suitably impressed with my “man of the world”
persona and sweetly said she felt in safe hands.

You can fool some of the people, some of the time.

As soon as she had swallowed a handful of Valium or

similar “happy” pills, the wheels were off the ground and
“The Thai Nookie Express” was airborne with no dramas to
report.

Following the two of us downing of a few large Jack Daniels

and a surprisingly good meal for airline food, our newly
formed relationship seemed to be going rather well.

We were flirting away to the romantic soundtrack of loud

snores from Flash, who was totally comatose in the
adjoining seat with his not inconsiderable mouth wide
open.

Ms. Black then confided in me that she was worried about

her fiancé’s love life.

“Poor David, must have been so lonely in the Far East with
no female company for six weeks, as he enjoys a very high
sex drive” Caroline said without a hint of embarrassment.

Too much information.

The JD was loosening her tongue big time, but maybe
another stiff drink might loosen it a bit more in a different
direction?

I ordered another round of drinks from the charming air

stewardess and nodded in agreement.

“Dream on, Miss Naive” I thought “the jammy little sod has
probably been putting it about like Flynn in South East Asia
since leaving her obvious charms”.

The flight’s only slight hitch was that Thai Airways decided
to perhaps unwisely, show one of those comedy spoof films
with Leslie Nielson based around a plane out of control.
This was not going down too well with both my pair of
fretful companions, either of whom could have written the
book “Fear of Flying”.

Strangely for someone hoping to pass his private pilot

licence exams in the next few months, The Flashman was
surprisingly apprehensive of being flown by someone else.

This dread was second only to my pal’s inane terror of all

things snake like and reptilian (this was highlighted in the
first book in the series “Bangkok Naked”).

So, for some reason, I was the only one laughing at the on-
screen entertainment in our row of seats.

When the delightful Caroline tottered off on her impossibly

stylish stiletto heels to point pussy at the porcelain for
about the fiftieth time in an hour, Flash who by now had
become vaguely conscious, watched her shapely rear
disappear into the distance.

Always the optimist in the nookie stakes, the lad leant over
and in a loud voice stated that “I reckon you might
persuade her to join the “Mile High Club” – if you got a few
more leg-openers down her”.

The Ginger Oracle then muttered knowingly “That one is a

nine out of ten and begging for it”.

“No chance” I told him “Little Jack is not coming out to play
until he smells that soapy water”.

Ms Black was certainly a looker and had curves in

abundance, but Little Jack had other quarry in mind for the
next two weeks and trying to get into my female
passenger’s knickers was not on the current agenda
(although a quick BJ under the inflight blanket might not
count).

“We Bangkok Pussy Hounds, have our standards” I

stuttered to Khun Flash, even though I felt a major stirring
from the old fella in his lair down below as the delightful
Caroline approached from her vist to the little girl’s room,
which kind of gave the game away.

But my slight chance of 35,000 feet “gob job” went out the
window and the real problems started, as we approached
Delhi for the standard refuelling and crew change stop.

Our trusty big silver bird in sky, flew into the “Mother and
Father” of all monsoon electrical storms.

We went around for a good ten minutes in an Ariel traffic

jam. It must have been like the M1 at rush hour up there
with so many airliners all circling and waiting to land in the
very rough conditions.

Then our DC10 got hit by a minor lightning strike and to

make things even more interesting, the power surge put
the cabin lights out for a few seconds.
The high-pitched screaming which mainly originated from
Mr. Gordon was bad enough, but I then endured the painful
experience of both Flash and my new female travelling
companion panicking on each side of me and grabbing a
handful of my wedding tackle in a terrified arm lock.

I did not mind the delightful Caroline copping a feel, even

though in this emergency she did seem to lack that gentle
sensual touch.

But I objected to Mr. Gordon hanging on to my privates like

a parachute rip-cord – he might start enjoying it!

The final approach was bumpy, but we finally touched down

in the torrential rain to the background of yet more
shrieking from the seat next door (I found out later, that
this was an exceptionally heavy monsoon for South East
Asia even at this wet time of year).

The hysteria had just died down after we were back on

terra firma, but the real difficulty happened as the pilot
turned off the main runway and slightly misjudged it in the
downpour and cut the corner.

The heavy DC 10’s inside undercarriage wheel went over

the curb into the thick, glutinous mud from endless days of
a mega heavy downpour and promptly sank. My heart sank
with it, as our opportunity of getting some LBG into action
in the suds before sundown had also gone non-op.

This minor error had apparently damaged the landing gear

and both my two close companions went into yet another
hissy fit, until we slowly lurched to a stop.

Looking at the front of the cabin, you could see the horizon
had tilted which was a bit spooky.
Flash, always the knight in shining armour, showed his
natural courage by trying to get to the emergency exit first
by ruthlessly elbowing everyone else out of the way.
Obviously, this act of unselfish bravery followed his
standard doctrine of women and children last.

Unfortunately, Mr. Gordon’s great escape bid was foiled by

forgetting to undo his release buckle properly.

He looked like a stranded turtle whilst wriggling around

and eventually after the swearing at the “bastard thing”
had stopped from my red headed companion, all of us on
board finally got safely off the plane in an orderly fashion.

Fortunately, this was done calmly, without having to use the

emergency shute or life jackets.

Although it was unlucky for me that I had a hyper

ventilating 15 stone Ginge gripping my arm for grim life,
instead of the curvaceous Caroline.

Watching her disembark down the steps, I could not help

but notice again that girl certainly had some exceptional
form on her.

Her chassis was endowed with a set of built-in buoyancy

aids. Which bearing in mind the inclement weather could
have been useful to hang onto if the monsoon water got any
deeper, if only I could persuade her to ditch that “cross
your heart” bra.

Khun Gordon, who is a world specialist in this area

reckoned 38 D and who was I to argue? He is an expert in
big tits, he looks at one every morning when he shaves.

They say more than a handful is a waste and Ms. Black

certainly had plenty to spare.
To cut a long story short, the bad news was that all of us
tired passengers from the flight were abandoned in the
transit lounge of Delhi Airport with no information from
anyone.

The original flight crew had quietly disappeared off to their

hotel and with them our hopes of getting “up to the
peaches” as soon as we hit The City of Angels early the
next day.

The transit area in those far-off days was pretty basic and
bleak, being just a concrete room with benches.

High Tec, it was not, with an ancient black + white TV

screen on the wall showing flights leaving on a board held
by a wobbling hand in front of the camera.

It would have been funny, if we were not losing valuable

bonking time.

Spending my hard won holiday in a small uncomfortable

room in an Indian airport with The Flashman moaning at
full volume in my ear was not my plan for erotic bliss.

Time dragged on and nobody told us anything.

Our only form of refreshment being some cans of Coke or

Seven Up bought from a battered drinks machine in the
corner.

As Mr. Gordon so succulently put it, there was naff all

chance of us organising a “Seven Up” with Snow White or
the lovely Ms.C. Black in Bangkok, when you were stuck in
this hell hole.

This was the first time I had visted Delhi Airport and it
appeared that normal procedure was that everybody with a
ticket ran at the boarding gate when any flight came on the
screen.
There was regular uproar, as a couple of smart looking
burly Sikh security guards checked the paperwork and
turned back any passengers that we not booked on that
particular departure.

Organised chaos or what?

The highlight was the curvaceous Caroline falling asleep on

my other shoulder with her ample boobs pressing against
my arm.

Although the potential romantic mood was broken by my

crimson haired travelling companion regularly dropping his
empty Fanta can on the floor and trying to look up the poor
girl’s skirt and see what colour knickers she was wearing
(for those readers interested, they were skimpy red lace
apparently…).

Then after a few uncomfortable hours which felt like days,

we were told that an incoming Lufthansa Flight would be
taking us onto Bangers and we would get into town late in
the afternoon.

It was very welcome news, so we all breathed a deep sigh

of relief after finally getting on board the 747.

The problem was nobody seemed to know where our

luggage from TG913 was and both Flash and myself felt
that we had all seen the last of our cherished cases.

Not a great result turning up in Thailand with just the

clothes you are standing up in and a flight bag.

Having been in this sorry situation before, the thought of

having to battle with the airline involved to get
compensation was not a pleasant one.

Plus in my case, I had some important business stuff

packed in my luggage, which was essential for my couple of
days’ work at the Bangkok travel conference.

If that lot had gone missing my dearly loved Publishing

Director, who makes Genghis Khan look like the Mother
Teresa, would go ballistic.

Tiny Tim Hargreaves will never believe the airline lost the
paperwork and my chances of getting additional time off
for future for trips to “hide the sausage” will look bleak.

He is like a megalomaniac James Bond villain and does not

tolerate failure.

Plus, this delay had wasted invaluable time in the slippery

stuff, so I was not a happy bunny …

In stark contrast, Mr. Gordon was so pleased to be finally

getting a ride to the Land of Smiles that he threatened to
kiss the cabin crew.

Luckily for everyone involved, when he saw we had three,

rather camp male air stewards in business class, he
decided a stiff handshake was a better option.

Lufthansa took off with only one major mishap. They

unfortunately put the lovely Caroline in a different part of
the cabin.

So I was stuck with just The Flashman, who thankfully was

not trying to squeeze my love spuds in fright again and
appeared to have finally got over his previous bout of
terror.

To pass the time, everybodies favourite numpty thought it

would be really funny on a German Airline to whistle the
Dam Busters March. Not a great idea and this noise was
painful to any poor sods in earshot.

Flash is only person I know that can even talk out of tune.
Fortunately for music lovers everywhere, this unwelcome
melodic (?) interlude was interrupted by a very attractive
and expensively dressed young Thai girl clutching a pen
and paper who came over to talk to us.

I had noticed this apparition of classy oriental beauty

boarding at Heathrow into the first-class section - she
looked “Hi So” with a vengeance.

At that time, Flash Gordon Esq; (that world renowned font

of all female knowledge) saw the young lady in question
and had dug me in the ribs.

He said in his usual loud voice that it was a pity she had not
been wearing a number badge, as he would have been in
like Flynn and given her a few baht, plus a king-sized
portion in the cargo bay.

My carrot headed mate really fancied his chance of joining

the Ten Feet High Club (as he felt safer when the plane was
still on the tarmac) with a candidate who could have won
the Miss Thailand competition.

Unsurprisingly, I told the silly sod to dream on.

You either have class or you don’t and you could see that
this particular girl had it in spades.

The young lady in question, gracefully squatted down on

her shapely haunches by our seats to have a chat. All the
time pretending not to notice my travelling companion, who
was predictably cricking his neck by trying to try to get a
better look at her ample cleavage.

Introducing herself with her long unpronounceable official

Thai name, she giggled and said don’t worry everyone
called her Pear.
Her English was word perfect and when I congratulated
her on it, she smiled and said it should be good. She went
to Evendine, a smart finishing school in the Malvern Hills
deep in rural Worcestershire.

“I like your bitter beer very much” Pear said and licked her
lips.

Apparently, her father was a senior executive in finance

department in Thai Airways Head Office in Bangkok and
she was very angry about the way we had been treated in
Delhi.

“Would you gentlemen be kind enough to sign this

petition?” Pear asked with a look that woke Little Jack up
from his slumbers down below in my pirated boxers.

The randy little sod was dozing in my new Kelvin Klein’s

and probably hoping there would not be any more dramas
to cause a repeat of the “smash and grab” from a certain
adjacent freckle faced passenger next door.

But when he had heard Pear’s dulcet tones, the little fella
must have thought he had woken up back at Naked Teen
Girl Massage Emporium in downtown BK.

Pear would be sending this missive to the Chairman and

the more passengers that supported it the better – it
seemed somebody at the carrier’s GHQ would get a rocket.

Looking into her beautiful eyes, I could hardly refuse.

So I listed both Mr. Gordon and my own details as it was no

good asking for an autograph from him, the lad still busy on
a mission to get a visual sighting of her nipples.

Flash was panting with his tongue almost lying on the

ground.
The delightful Pear politely mentioned that my friend
seemed to have a problem with his bent posture. Hopefully,
it was not caused by that rough landing in India?” she
inquired innocently.

They must learn these diplomatic skills at expensive girl’s

private schools, even when faced with a fat pervert in
action nothing phases them.

After showing concern for Flash’s health, the little darling

thanked and politely waied us both before moving on to get
more support down the aisle.

Watching her glide around the cabin, I could not help

thinking that she must have been top male juvenile fantasy
material when attending a leading UK public school.

The young local lads in that part of the Midlands, must

have all got repetitive strain injuries watching that fine
example of Thai womanhood in her tight schoolgirl’s outfit.

Besides the renowned tea shops and world famous Morgan

Sport Car Factory, Pear should have been Malvern’s leading
tourist attraction.

The rest of the flight passed without incident and mercifully

with no more musical interludes from the tone deaf Flash.

In fact, we both fell asleep with me dreaming of the

beautiful Pear gracing my king-sized bed at the Nana Hotel.
What Mr. Gordon was fantasising about in the “Land of
Nod” I mercifully have no idea, but it is probably better not
to know.

A few sleepy hours later and our Lufthansa 747 thankfully

touched down smoothly and then finally taxied to a halt in
the Bangkok’s International Airport with no further minor
calamities to report.
After disembarking and wishing the attractive Caroline a
good holiday, both Flash and myself felt totally knackered
as we staggered through immigration and into the baggage
hall.

Whilst breathing in the much anticipated first sights, smells

and sounds of Thailand, there by some miracle, we saw our
“lost” suitcases by a stationery luggage carousal just sitting
there alone in all their splendour – amazing.

We both thanked Buddha for our good fortune and headed

off to get a ride downtown.

We had telexed reception before leaving the UK and booked

a lift to our hotel in the Nana’s own air conditioned minibus
to help keep the costs down on this trip and avoid the
inflated prices of a private car.

The theory was to invest the maximum funds in our sterling

work of unselfishly helping fallen girls from South East Asia
and to put a bit less into various cabbie’s pockets.

We were so dedicated to the charitable cause, that neither

of us would rest until all our hard earned was safely
deposited into as many of the young ladies’ hands as
humanly possible.

The problem was that with the flight delay making us so

late getting in, we thought there is no way the hotel bus
would be there and had mentally prepared ourselves for
some more serious bartering with the local taxi mafia to get
a ride downtown.

A hassle with a Thai cab driver trying to rip you off is just

what you need after a delayed long-haul flight following
what felt like a month in a concrete New Dehli’s transit
area.
All we wanted was a speedy trip to the Sukumvit Road for
an appointment to indulge in some in-depth internal
examinations of a few LBGs.

You don’t need to be taken to a variety of rip-off jewellers,

clothes shops, sex shows and the like by some driver on
commission.

When you’re hot, you’re hot!

We must have walked under a black cat or crossed a Thai

Gypsy’s palm with silver because luck was with us for once.

Just as we just hit the heat and humidity outside the

airport, there was the welcome sight of a guy from our
hotel holding a piece of card with our names on.

Mis-spelt, yes, but who cares?

The efficient Nana team must have checked the flight

arrival times and rescheduled the pick-up, due to the delay.

Anyway, I think “Khun Gray Mam Cordon” suits him, it has

a certain ring to it and is certainly better than Mr. Graham
Gordon.

Our main man speedily loaded the recently lost and found
luggage in the back and we all joined the race with the
other passengers heading for the delights of downtown
Bangers.

Saying the traffic was heavy is a bit like complaining that it

rains sometimes in England.

Grid lock comes with the territory, but we rolled up in Soi 4

eventually and checked in eight hours late all in one piece
and ready for action.
I even recognised the girl on the front desk from the last
vist and worryingly she seemed to remember us too.

Not sure that being accompanied by “Khun Gray Mam

Cordon” is always a good thing, as it can make you as
popular as the proverbial fart in a phone box, but she
forced a smile when the Ginger Tourist shambled up.

Flash looked like a bad cross between the Honey Monster

from the TV breakfast cereal ads and the Abdominal
Snowman with freckles. I doubt they see many Yetis around
here, but the good news was that this unpleasant
apparition did clear a path in reception.

Just as we collected our keys, the very welcome sight of

Paul Martin appeared in the lobby complete with a
matching pair of sweet little LBGs, with one on each arm.

Our leader always has good taste in members of the

opposite sex and rarely fails to get hold of a stunner or two
and he was certainly keeping the standards up here.

After some quick pleasantries about our traumatic journey

coming over, PM introduced Lek and Noi (must be the
fiftieth ones we had met in the Land of Smiles all with those
same names) and then politely escorted both girls to the
door.

The President then said his fond goodbyes to his small

harem before the attractive brace disappeared out into the
busy traffic.

“As you guys were enjoying the many erotic pleasures of

the Delhi Transit Lounge, I thought it best to fly the flag for
the old country and support our “Help a Bar Girl in Need of
Funds”. Those two have been in my room all afternoon”
Paul explained with a wink.
“I did wonder whether you two might like to borrow them
when you both got in to help shake off jetlag, but looking at
the walking wounded in front of me, I think maybe a bit of
down time is needed first” our mentor laughed.

The plan was quickly agreed for us to head upstairs and

dump our cases, clean up, shake off the travel dust and get
an hour or two of shut eye.

Then all meet up in the nerve centre of operation called “If

it moves, give it one” i.e. the Nana Cafeteria for the
uninitiated.

Flash and myself had felt like death warmed up a few

minutes earlier, which was the result of trying to sleep
sitting upright on a hard bench during our unscheduled
Indian stop.

We hurt in places that did not know we had, but seeing our
leader’s couple of female companions from last night, gave
both of us a new lease (or lust) for life.

There was work to be done, stiff upper lip, we were British

after all…

Well, Little Jack had got a second wind anyway.

But as far as hard core, mindless sex was concerned, Mr.

Gordon still looked like he only had one shot left in him and
that was holding the poor bastard together!

………………………………………………………………………………
………………………………………………………………………………
………………………………………………………….

TO BE CONTINUED.
 “BANGKOK NUDE”
PUBLISHING DATE LATE 2017