M. Maharlika[1]

[1] This is a true story told to M. Maharlika, who has tried to remain faithful to the report she received from Professor John McClean.  


“Ladies and gentlemen, British Airlines welcomes you to Bangkok, Thailand. The local time is 8:30 p.m. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisles clear until we are parked at the gate. The Captain will then turn off the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign, indicating it is safe to stand. Please use caution when opening the overhead compartments and removing items, since articles may have shifted during flight,” the FA announced as we landed at Suvarnabhumi airport.

I felt the excitement as I walk towards the airport exit. This place is a haven for me since I live in a windswept rainy place that might be compared to a deep freezer (I live on Rhum in the Western Isles, Scotland). I’ve been to Bangkok a few times, but it always feels like my first time here, especially as I haven’t been here for a few months since last time. But still, I can’t wait to experience the best in this place.

As I reached the loading area, I received a message from the hotel that the car would arrive in a few minutes.

“Taxi, Sir?” A local taxi driver kindly offered me a ride.

“No, thank you. I’ve already booked a car – it will be arriving soon,” I humbly declined the driver’s offer.

“Okay, Sir,” the taxi driver said, and then made the same offer to some tourists nearby.

I looked around the area and saw a lot of people arriving and departing. I was amazed, the place is really a blast. I’m one hundred percent sure that I’ll enjoy my stay here.

After a few minutes of waiting, the car from the hotel arrived. I was going to stay in Hua Hin, at Citin Loft Hotel, a 4-star hotel. Hua Hin is a seaside resort on the Gulf of Thailand and the area is also known for its beautiful beach. I’ve been here before, but I can’t wait to roam around the place some more, as I really love to jog or walk along the beach, shop in the markets, eat in the restaurants, drink in the bars, and everything else.

“What time will we arrive at the hotel?” I asked the driver of the car.

“Sir?” The driver didn’t seem to understand me.

“Do you speak English?” I asked him.

“Yes, sir,” he quickly replied.

“I was asking how long till we get to the hotel?” I asked again.

“Ah okay, sir. Three ’our – if no twaffic,” he answered cheerfully.

“Alright. I’ll just take a rest on the seat,” I replied. Fortunately, the car was a large comfortable saloon, a Toyota Camry, so I was able to stretch out on the back seat and nod off; I was woken up at regular intervals though due to the uneven Thai highway, which was punctuated by cracks and bumps. After the slightly arduous journey, we finally arrived at the hotel.

“Welcome to the Citin Loft Hotel! Enjoy your stay!” The attractive girl behind the front desk cheerfully announced, as I arrived at the hotel. After receiving my key card, a bellboy led the way to the elevator with my luggage on a trolley.

“Room number sir”? The bellboy asked as we approached the elevator.

“Yes. Room 706,” I replied.

“This way, sir,” the bellboy said, as we got out of the elevator on the seventh floor.

The Thai people are always nice and respectful, constantly smiling and bowing their heads making a wai[1] – it’s very welcoming for me as a foreigner visiting here.

After fixing my things inside the room, I ordered some food and then planned to rest, as it was quite late. It had been a very long day for me, 14 hours travel by air from London to Bangkok, and then three hours in the hotel car – so I was pretty exhausted. But still, I can’t wait for tomorrow to come and roam around the places that I’m planning to visit.

I lay down on the bed, and sent a text message to my Thai girlfriend:

“Just arrived. Maybe we can see each other tomorrow whenever you’re free?”

(Message sent) (One message received)

“Ok. 2morrow – I see u.”

“Miss you. Meet in Soi 80 at 5 p.m.” (Message sent) (One message received)

“Okay :-).”

One of the reasons why I’m here is because of Ploy Chai, a Thai beauty. the girl-woman I was talking to on the phone. I put my phone down on the bedside table after reading the last message, and started eating the Khao phat[2], hoping it wouldn’t taste like its pronunciation.

Let me quickly introduce myself. The reader is perhaps under the illusion that this is a work of fiction. Well I’m sorry to disappoint her. This is a true story – or rather one episode in the travels and research of Professor John McClean. As you can see from my name, I am of Celtic origin and not tainted by German blood like one of my cousins (who has relations on Rhum, where I live). Albeit, there is no such thing as a pure race of Scots, as they are tainted by many races, such as the Norse and the Spanish amongst others – but that’s another story.

I would preferably like to wander around incognito while whoring and drinking, but my idiosyncratic appearance prevents this – my female acquaintances, even if I haven’t seen them for months and years, always recognize me at 100 paces. Obviously, the girls want to recognise me, not because of my stud-like qualities, but because I always remunerate them generously. In other words, the girls and women can spot me at 100 paces – my tall lanky frame, and large-eyed disdainful expression

Without going into a lengthy description of my appearance, let’s just say I resemble a British comedian called John Cleese, famous for his role as Mr. Fawlty. John Cleese is famous for his “silly walk”, which he demonstrated in the episode “The Germans”. I am fortunate because I was born with a “silly walk”, and didn’t have to learn it (also making me more easily recognizable at 100 paces). I also wear a John Cleese like moustache. I am happy with my so-called “funny-man” appearance – after all, women are attracted to funny rich men! (I’m not so rich, but the girls think I am)

Ploy and I had been together for three years already. I met her the first time I came to Hua Hin. She was working in one of the bars in Soi 80 – where we were going to meet tomorrow. After we had a few meet ups, I offered to help her so she could stop working in the bar as a bargirl[3], and maybe start a small business instead. I paid for everything, supported her financially and also her family. I was really attracted to her the first time I saw her and that attraction grew fonder, so I was willing to give her a lot for her to be happy with me.

The first time I saw Ploy, she was busy running in and out of Bar 80 chasing a small white poodle that was in danger of being run down by scooters and tuk tuks[4]  that intermittently zoomed down the street. Her long ebony black hair flashed from side to side across her petite back; even in such unrehearsed movements – her hips tightly clad in short shorts of denim gyrated in the pronounced fashion of bargirls. Her face is iconically beautiful – pronounced high Isaan cheekbones, and heavily mascaraed Cleopatra eyes. As mentioned, I was also staying at Citin Loft on this first meeting, which is just a stone’s throw from Soi 80. I met her by chance in the street, being bored staying in the hotel room. When I passed Bar 80, Ploy went into ‘bargirl mode’: “Welkum, handsome man”! I was immediately captivated by her manner and beauty. She chaperoned me to a bar stool where I ordered a gin tonic, and she immediately started to massage my neck, while I was sipping the exquisitely strong gin tonic. “Rikki” Ploy shouted, and the white poodle comically bounded out on to the narrow street again. Ploy took a break from massaging my neck and ran out after the dog. My mind managed to focus again after Ploy left off massaging my neck. I became aware of another alluring visage behind the bar – who had actually served me the gin and tonic. She was more diminutive than Ploy, but had the same inviting smile – she was perhaps even prettier – although slightly older – both “girls” were rather “women” in their 30s – but had retained the beauty of youth.  The woman behind the bar counter had features that were almost Indian-like . My attention as mentioned was now focused on this other beauty – but she was limited in her verbal response compared to Ploy. Her name was Noi. She was the manager of the bar, and Ploy’s “sister”[5] (actually her cousin).


I woke up late the next morning. In fact, it was already 12 noon when I got up. I checked my phone and saw Ploy had called me a few times and sent me some messages.

(Four calls missed) (Six messages received)

“Good morning, dear.”

“R u ’wake? Werking?”

“We meet 5 p.m. ok?”

“U busy?”

I quickly dialled her number when I read her messages. She answered on the second ring.

“Hello, dear?” Ploy began, her deep but angelic voice brightened up my day, like she usually does.

“Hi! I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls immediately, because I just woke up,” I explained.

“Ok – I wurry u not reply,” she sweetly replied. making me smile.

“Thank you. We’ll meet at 5 p.m. ok?”

“Ok – I get ready. I want see u,” she said happily.

“Me too,” I replied.  

“See u,” she just said.

“Yeah. See you so–.” I didn’t finish my sentence, because she ended the call suddenly.

She often did that, and I didn’t know if she was busy or what. Sometimes I feel that she has less and less affection towards me every single time we meet. But I choose to think positively, because there’s no room for doubt with the girl that I truly adore. ~  

I’m already walking along Soi 80 at 4 p.m., and we chose to meet at Jimmy’s reggae bar. I ordered a San Mig beer – I wanted to have some red wine – but Jimmy’s bar didn’t cater to such “special” tastes. I sat drinking my San Mig waiting for my Asian Thai-beauty, my own Suzie Wong – just as Richard Mason had sipped a San Mig a half-a-century before waiting for his Chinese girl in Kowloon, Hong Kong.

“Here your beer sir. Enjoy!” The guy said smiling, who was working in Jimmy’s bar – Jimmy was in Sweden looking after his well-endowed young Swedish wife, and their kid.

“Thank you,” I said.

I had almost finished my beer, when I saw Ploy walking along Soi 80, swaying her hips, and smiling at her friends in the various bars. It felt like the first time I saw her. She looked gorgeous with her little black dress that hugged her petite body perfectly. She walked along the street getting near the bar, and I noticed how the men in the bar on the other side of the street ogled her with expressions of disbelief.

I was sitting outside the bar, perched on a bar stool – I waved my hand and she saw me straight away. As soon as she saw me, she gave me that same sexy and sweet smile she always reserved for me.

“Hi, handsome,” she greeted,

“Wow! You look sexy, darling,” I said half-serious and half in earnest.

“Thank U,” she said.

She sat on the vacant bar stool next to me, and waved to the bartender, and asked for a “Mai Tai.”

“Did you eat already?” I asked.

“It ok – we eat later,” she said, sitting on the bar stool next to me.

I don’t know why I felt so uneasy. Maybe her presence really intimidated me to the core. I’d been travelling around Asia for years, and met and had carnal knowledge of all kinds of female beauties, but only she could make me feel like this. Specially now, with her short sexy black dress showing the pale skin of her skinny legs, and her pert young girl breasts. My blood was already raging for Pete’s sake! Her long silky hair was ruffled and she looked at me with her beautiful sleepy brown eyes. There was an immediate movement in my pants, which comically reminded me of the Blackadder quote, “Am I glad to see you or did I just put a canoe in my pocket?”

“U ok? Why u not talk?” She asked when she noticed my sudden silence.

“Yes, I’m okay. What about you?” I said; she touched my hand and I felt an electric shock – how could I still feel like this after knowing her for so long, I wondered.

“Why?” She asked, a bit confused.

“Nothing. Anyway how’s your shop doing in the market?” I asked.

“Ok – but no tourist – so I close shop. I work Bar 80 now, she answered in a mute tone.

“Why? I thought the shop would be okay? What about the money I sent you?” I asked, not so happy about what she was telling me.

“My babies need things.” She answered still avoiding my gaze.

Ploy had two daughters in the Ubon Ratchathani region that lived with Ploy’s mother on a small farm in the Isaan countryside. She called them her “babies”, although they were both 15 years old and going to school. In fact, one daughter wasn’t a “daughter” at all, but a niece, the daughter of her brother who had died in a motorbike accident.  

“But I thought I sent you some money for them too, right? And why are you just telling me this now?” I asked, confused.

I thought I had sent her more than enough for her “kids” and her mother, so she wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. I was also paying her rent for a small house in Soi 80.  

“Grandma sick – go hospit’l,” she said quietly. I could see she didn’t want to talk about the topic much. Or rather, I didn’t want to talk about the topic, because any talk about problems and money had an inevitable outcome – more problems and more money.

“Okay, okay. Next time tell me what’s happening.” I just said, because I thought she could find better things to do.

“Ok,” she said smiling.

“What’s it like in the Bar 80 now?” I asked.

“Same ’fore – more girl now,” she answered in a low voice.


“Shop no good – no sell. Sister Bar 80 – she need help,” Ploy continued.

“So what you do there?” I asked.  

“Serve dwink,” she said.

“Okay. But you don’t need to work there, I can always give you a little extra,” I said to her.

“I werk bar cause promise Noi,” she said.

I didn’t have any choice but to accept the fact she was working in a girly-bar again. I didn’t like the idea she would be catering to a lot of pre-historic, fat, bald men wanting massages with “happy endings”. These men, although decrepit, were also naive enough to believe that on arriving in Thailand they were magically transformed into God’s gift to women, some kind of Casanova.

It was perhaps naive of me to worry about her making a fool of me, by having other boyfriends; her girlfriends would be aware of this “double play” – that is having several farang[6] boyfriends at the same time – as this is “normal” practice among bargirls. Thus, they try to schedule their boyfriend visits in such a way that they don’t all turn up at the same time. But why should I worry about her “making a fool of me” when all farang men were “fools”. In this context, “in-the-know” expatriates know that “You can take the girl out of the bar, but you can’t take the bar out of the girl…..”[i] For the “naive” farang in Thailand, there are plenty expatriate blogs and webpages offering their advice on this topic.[7]

“Okay. But I hope you can get your shop going again,” I said.

“Tank you darrling,” she said with a smile. 

We had a few drinks that made us tipsy. Partly drunk, I was thinking that I couldn’t wait to get her back to the hotel room so I could fuck her blind.  

“We go Chang Bar – I want meet fwend,” she half commanded me. Ploy wasn’t like a lot of other Thai girls, because she liked to take control – other girls would often say, “It’s up to you.”

“Oh my God, I tired,” I said, starting to talk “Thai English” by leaving out the modal auxiliaries.

“Cum we go!” She commanded.

“Ok – but not too long okay? We go back hotel soon, so we fuck, ok?” I said.

She more or less ignored this last frank suggestion of mine, and said, “We go.”

Although Ploy was very beautiful, and attracted the attention of other farang, she wasn’t the kind of sexy doll that stopped men in their tracks. Such a girl was my Filipina girlfriend Fatima. When walking next to me down Mabini Street, Malate, strutting along in her high heels, her braless breasts pointing straight ahead, and hips swinging to and fro – the Chinese, Japanese and Korean tourists couldn’t control their gazes, and just stared silently wide-eyed. The Filipina men were so threatened by her strutting sexuality that they sometimes made lewd comments, which I fortunately didn’t understand, but could infer from their ridiculing-cheeky expressions. 

We ended up at the Chang Bar. “Chang” means elephant in Thai – which is obviously culturally important to the Buddhist Thais. Chang is also the brand name of one of the best-selling Thai beers. Thai beer is quite good, and similar to Northern European lager (pils) rather than hoppy flat British beer. Other Thai brands are Singha and Leo amongst others. I have a sneaking suspicion that the Thais have stolen the “elephant” idea from the Danish Carlsberg, who use the elephant motif on their labels.

The Chang Bar was hardly a bar at all – if there were 15 people there it was already pretty crowded. It was squeezed in between the Bangkok to Surat Thani railway line and the busy Prapokklao Road. The plywood wall of the latrine in the bar was all that separated the bar from the locomotives that rumbled by two or three yards away several times a day. On the other side of the open-front bar the drinking guests were only a yard or two away from the busy, noisy road that spewed fumes into the bar. But the bar guests were usually oblivious of these little points while they sat there being charmed by the very attractive, vivacious and intelligent manageress, Plūk.      

Meeting her “fwend”, usually meant that I was the sucker who paid for the evening’s entertainment; in other words, not just “fwends”, but the owners of the bar who were also her/my “fwends”, and anybody else – that is, “hangers-on”.

Ploy got a bit upset, because I touched the inner thigh of the bar owner, Plūk – who is very sexy and flirty – I blamed it on the booze. Sometimes I wish I had a girlfriend like Plūk, because she’s a “normal” girl with sexual interests. But she goes through farang boyfriends like there’s no tomorrow – in fact, she specializes in Norwegians, and is now quite fluent in Norwegian.

The Thai “street” girls are “street smart” – so they may not know what is the population of their own country or that of Norway – or the GNP per inhabitant of Norway. However, they instinctively know through experience that the GNP per inhabitant of Norway is one of the highest in the world, and that the Norwegian state pays its retirees roughly $3000 per month, which is nearly 4 times higher than the average Thai salary of $800.[8] Thus, this explains the attraction of decrepit Norwegian men to young Thai women. It’s what we can call a function of the global capitalist market – supply and demand and so on. Thus, international corporations not only screw workers in the East due to low labour costs, but the retirees from the richer nations are also able to screw Thai girls, and dip their wicks in low-cost Thai girls. These old men can thus thank the global capitalist system for the fact that they still have a highly functional sex life. Capitalism God be praised! 

After ringing the bell[9] several times (I was getting drunk), and buying drinks and snacks (from mobile street vendors) for all and sundry, I decided to just pay the bill and get Ploy back to the hotel room.

After paying, I called her name, but she seemed oblivious of the surroundings. I grabbed her arm and pulled her in the direction of the street. She looked a bit drunk, but I was a bit drunk too. Before paying the bill, I had gone to the latrine at the back of the bar, which is less than one square yard; you had to flush using a bucket. The geckos running around the walls kept you amused. I had deposited a large amount of the powerful aphrodisiac, the Sudanese blister beetle powder, in a secret pocket sewn into my shorts. At my age (I was no longer 21), I needed to take a quadruple dose of the blister beetle powder to counter the effects of alcohol. Poor old Shakespeare – he was unaware of the aphrodisiac effects of African insects, when he said, “What three things does drink make a man do? Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes. It provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.” Well he was right when he said it provokes lechery. Thus, I had the best of two worlds – the drink turned me into a Sadeian pervert, and the blister beetle powder turned me into a cruise-control stallion.  

“We’re leaving now,” I said to her.

But she just nodded. We managed to get a tuk tuk[10] that was passing by. Once inside the tuk tuk, Ploy started grabbing my manhood and didn’t care about the driver’s presence – so she must have been pretty drunk, as she was normally much more reserved, and disliked any public show of affection, or even worse, sexual flirting.

When we got back to the hotel, her cock-grabbing seemed to have fizzled out. She said (like a well-rehearsed bargirl) “you take shower.”

I think she wanted to go to sleep now, and had figured if I took the shower first, then I would fall asleep by the time she emerged from the shower.

To pre-empt this tactic I said, “you take shower first.” I thought all these months, all these payments, all this entertaining her friends, at least I was going to fuck her one way or the other.

I emerged from the shower – and to tell you the truth I was pretty fed up and didn’t feel like fucking her. But I took the James Bond attitude – after all I had to do my duty for “Queen and country!” Of course, which country are we talking about – certainly not the fucked-up Eton boys’ England.

As mentioned, I wasn’t really in the mood. But decided to make myself in the mood. I went down on her pussy, licking it and applying my small, white and gold vibrator which provoked some high-pitched squeals from Ploy. I felt her orgasming – the vibrator was pretty effective! 8-inch-long John had become half-interested, and was reasonably hard – so I took the opportunity to insert it in her – my God, it was a trial fucking these old contrary girlfriends I thought – even when you “loved them”. I didn’t want to cum inside her – my God – heaven forbid the thought of her getting pregnant – so I proceeded to jack-off on her 14-year old pubescent breasts – which she didn’t like, because my ejaculation was peculiarly strong reaching her face and eyes.    


We just collapsed and fell asleep. I’m perhaps the laziest person in the world and always wake up late. Ploy is the perfect girl for me – she must be the only human being in the world that wakes up later than me. But the blister beetle powder was now working at quadruple strength when I woke up because it lasts 24 hours, whereas the cock-killing alcohol wears off after 8 hours. So I had an enormous “morning wood” as they say. But Ploy was in a coma, so I didn’t have the heart to wake her.

Ploy finally woke up and said she was going to meet her daughters at the beach. She said she would send me a text message later. “We go restaurant later ok,” she said just before she left.


The beach is only a 15 minute walk from Citin Loft hotel. You just have to cross the Phet Kasem Road – a heavily-trafficked 4-lane road – so you do so at your own risk. Hua Hin beach is quite an attractive beach and stretches about four kilometres from the centre of town – not far from the Hilton Hotel – up to Wat Khao Takiap; Wat Khao Takiap is a Buddhist temple on “Chopsticks Hill” (Khao Takiap) about 4 kilometres south of Hua Hin Town centre. It straddles a 272-metre tall hill that juts out into the Gulf of Thailand and is visible from the northern end of Hua Hin beach. Sometimes when I’m feeling extra fit, I run the 4 kilometre length of the beach and back again, plodding along through the sand – trying to remain close to the hard-packed sand near the water’s edge. You have to go jogging when the tide is out though, because the sea covers part of the beach when the tide is in. Running along the beach reminds you why you should be a little cautious about swimming in the sea here, because the 4 kilometre run will provide ample evidence of nasty looking stranded jellyfish. I’ve never seen anyone swimming properly there – just some Asians sometimes paddling around near the water’s edge and taking selfies. Although there are kite surfers there – but they use wet suits. Ploy and her family like going to the beach – not that they do much when they are there – perhaps it is because they come from the land-locked Ubon Ratchathani that they like going to the beach.  

I went to the beach first on my own; Ploy said she would join me later. When I arrived at the beach – it was nice and refreshing – a cool ocean breeze blowing landwards from the Gulf of Thailand.

I was only wearing bathing shorts, a light summer shirt and running in my Asics Kayanos – so I decided to do a 30-minute run along the beach, as it wasn’t too hot with the sea breeze.

As I reached the end of the beach near Khao Takiap, I saw various stalls selling refreshments and trinkets. It was just what I needed – some fresh coconut juice – I bought one with ice. As I was walking along sipping my drink, I saw a small but interesting looking souvenir gift stall. I don’t know why but my feet seemed to lead me towards the stall. Maybe I can buy something for Ploy and her family, I thought.

“Can I help you,” the girl at the stall asked me.

“You have a lot of nice things here,” I said complimenting the wares she was offering, which made her smile shyly.

I was looking at the various trinkets and picking out some things I thought I might buy. It was then I thought I saw a familiar figure in a beach store about 100 yards further down. Well “familiar figure” is hardly the right expression – I thought I saw Ploy – but perhaps my eyesight and imagination were playing tricks on me. I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so my imagination often determined what I thought I was seeing. The Ploy of my “imagination” was gaily walking arm in arm with a blonde man. So it obviously couldn’t be her because she said she was going to meet her daughters at the beach later. I’m obviously being paranoid I thought to myself – why on earth would Ploy be here holding arms with some blonde guy? That’s impossible. She wouldn’t lie to me, or fool me either. She’s too smart to do that. However, by the time I had bought the trinkets – when I looked up again the girl I thought was Ploy had vanished from sight. I decided to just try and erase the negative thoughts that were running through my mind, even though I still wasn’t convinced it wasn’t her. I needed to be sure, I thought. I had forgotten to take my phone with me, so now I wouldn’t even be able to message her so we could meet here later. I decided to go back to the hotel and take things from there.


I went back to the hotel and had a catnap. It was later now, so it was too late to meet Ploy at the beach with her daughters, which we had agreed on. I had called her, but she didn’t answer the phone. I decided to go to Bar 80 and wait for her there. I thought I could surprise her, as we hadn’t agreed to meet there. This wasn’t always a good idea, because you never know what bargirls could be up to – but it was still early in the evening – so it was unlikely she was into any serious business at that time.


“Walking the gauntlet” along Soi 80

“Walking the gauntlet” is a phrase you can apply to walking along the various “walking streets” of Thailand and other south-east Asian countries. Historically, to “run the gauntlet” is to take part in a form of punishment in which the guilty soldier is forced to run between two rows of soldiers, who strike out and attack him. Obviously, the girls along the walking streets of Thailand do not attack men with sticks, but they attack them verbally, demanding that they pay them for fucking them (of course there is no obligation to fuck, but an obligation to spend money, but the invitation to fuck is wide open, and will incur extra expense).

This represents a true liberation of women. In a patriarchal society, men make the rules, and “hunt” women. In the “walking streets”, the roles are reversed however. The women are the hunters. Of course, they are not hunting for sex, but for money. The men are on the whole stupid farang who imagine they are “the hunters”. This is more a case of the spider and the fly. The fly perhaps imagines he is hunting something, until he ends up in the web of the spider.

“Welkum,” said the spider to the fly.

(Jump right ahead and you’re dead)

“Jump right ahead in my web, you handsome man.”

Many men, especially the younger ones, find it very intimidating to have sexy young women demanding to have sexual intercourse with them. These shy young men thus “run the gauntlet” – that is, they walk more quickly than is the norm trying to avoid the invitations of the hundreds of women. Soi 80 is maybe about 500 yards long – and stretches between Prapokklao Road and Phet Kasem Road. But there are perhaps about 50 bars, and each of them with a bevy of girls outside in the middle of the street offering their wares – “Welkum handsome man – where U going,” and so on. But the Hua Hin girls are much more laid back than their sisters in the Walking Street in Pattaya, or the girls of Soi Cowboy in Bangkok who will often make a lunge at you and grab your arm trying to coax you inside the bar.

The purpose of this long interjection was to prepare the reader for John’s “walk” along the said Soi 80. John looked at himself as a dyed-in-the-wool debauchee and cad, so he pretended to be not intimidated by all the offers he received while walking along Soi 80.

It was quite early, but there were still a number of girls trying to sell their wares.

For the uninformed, girls selling themselves for the entertainment of foreigners (farang) is as normal and accepted in Thailand as selling anything else on the street, such as fruit and snacks. It doesn’t have the same stigma as it does in Western countries. So these girls and women don’t feel “ashamed” in the Victorian sense, although they would obviously rather be doing something else if they had the opportunity; but then girls working 100 hours a week in a Chinese factory in Asia for a pittance would rather be doing something else as well if they had the chance. Perhaps the girls in Soi 80 would like to be working girls in a factory instead of working girls in a bar, but it’s difficult to get a job in a Chinese sweat shop, as there is a shortage of such slave-contracts; some have worked in factories but been laid-off – now they are just laid instead. In other words, this kind of living (working in a “walking street”) is very common here – it’s just like “a walk in the park” for these girls. And this is how I met Ploy, as I mentioned, because she worked as a bargirl in Bar 80.   

As I was walking along the street, I saw some girls from the Hut Bar walking towards me.

“Welkum sir – handsome man,” a plumpish girl in a mini-skirt said. I obviously knew what she’s offering.

Soi 80 is what you might term a secondary or tertiary market. If you want to find those girls who demand a high price in the market, then maybe you should go to the best go-go bars in Bangkok, in Nana Plaza near Sukhumvit, or Crazy Horse in Soi 23 near Asok – or the various in-demand places in Pattaya and Phuket. The clients in Soi 80 were often the less well-to-do senior citizens of Europe, and the girls were often as not – not so much “girls”, but plumpish women in their late twenties and early thirties – in other words, not the crème de la crème. Thus, in a sober state, John found few of these women attractive. So “walking the gauntlet” was hardly a problem. But this didn’t mean that you couldn’t still be “polite” – so John tried to respond to their invitations with a smile and a nod – but it wasn’t a good idea to be too “polite” as this may be understood as an affirmative answer to their offer.   

“WelKUM sir?” Said another girl as I walked past the Europa Bar.

As I neared the Tivoli Bar one of the girls looked like she had made up her mind I was going to visit her bar, almost blocking my progress along the narrow street.

“Hi handsome man – welkum!”

I thought I recognized her as one of Ploy’s friends so I asked, “Have you seen Ploy?”

“Ploy? You one of customer at her bar?” She asked while giving me a smile with a mischievous glint to it.

“Yes. I’m her boyfriend,” I said, which made her emit a quiet giggle, accompanied by an impish grin.

“Why?” I asked her, curious to know what she seemed to be implying.

“Cause you say you Ploy boyfriend,” she replied.

“What’s wrong with that?” I asked a bit irritated.

“She know you cum now? She asked.

I didn’t want to talk to her anymore, but my curiosity got the better of me – ‘curiosity killed the cat’ as they say – it’s perhaps never a good idea to be too “curious” about the goings-on of your Thai bargirl girlfriend. ‘What you don’t know can’t hurt you’, and so on – that is, all the old the wise old sayings about not sticking your nose into other people’s business, especially where “love” is concerned. 

“What do you mean ‘does she know I’m coming now’ – what do you mean? She’s my girlfriend and I’m visiting her, and that’s why I’m here,” I said getting more irritated.

“Okay, if you say so. Ploy she have many fwend you know,” she said as a parting shot, as she made her way back to a group of girls sitting on the bar stools of the open-front bar while keying their cell phones or eating take-away noodles.

As I continued walking along Soi 80, I ruminated on what she meant by her last statement. Maybe she was just fed up because she had no customers today – or maybe she had a bone to pick with Ploy. In a street employing anything between 500 and 1000 bargirls it was to be expected there would be many intrigues and catfights. In fact, it seems Ploy had a reputation of being pretty much a wildcat amongst the girls, and the other girls were very wary of her claws – although I had never witnessed this in practice.

I finally ended up at Bar 80. I mentioned above that the street employed between 500 and 1000 bargirls at any one time. Well the thing is these 1000 girls are replaced at regular intervals. So the same bar may, or may not have, the same staff from year to year. Well I hadn’t been in Bar 80 for a quite a while now – so when I arrived there, I didn’t recognise any of the girls working there. The “boss”, Noi, – wasn’t there either.  

“Welkum sir! You want drink? A plumpish bargirl in her twenties with overdone make-up asked me.

“What drink you like sir?” She asked smiling.

I don’t normally drink before 9 pm, and now it was only early evening. But I couldn’t sit there drinking coke, so I said, “give me a San Mig.”

I don’t really like the San Mig light – they don’t always have the premium – but I had to remain faithful to Suzie Wong.

She went to the cooler to find a San Mig.

“Wait! – where is Ploy?”

“She said she’s working here now?” I asked

“Ploy?” She asked.

“Yes. She works here?” I asked again.

“Ploy? You mean sister boss Noi?” She asked.

“Yes, yes, Noi’s sister,” I said.

In actual fact Noi was more attractive and sexy than Ploy. But because Noi was the manager she didn’t want to fuck customers, unless they were of special interest to her sexually or financially.

She had had one such customer before, a rich Australian in his late seventies. He gave her large sums of money, and bought her a new Japanese SUV, which she drove around Hua Hin as if she was royalty. They were going to have their honeymoon in Hong Kong, but some days prior to the trip she gave him a back massage, which invalided him, so he ended up in hospital – but I digress – that is another story.

As I mentioned, she didn’t normally fuck the customers. When drunk on a previous occasion I considered this as some kind of challenge. I figured if I offered her enough she would say yes. Of course, after a few gin and tonics, I thought I was richer than Bill Gates, Steve Jobs (deceased), Donald Trump, Mark Zuckerberg, Paul McCartney and Queen Elizabeth put together, so I thought I had the God given right to fuck whomever I wanted to fuck. So challenging this absurd principle of virtue of hers I said I can make you an offer you can’t refuse – thus I was suddenly became Vito Corleone. “I’ll give you 10, 000 baht for ‘massage’,” I said.

I should perhaps explain an important detail here. I don’t have the time to go into a long architectural explanation of Soi 80. First of all – it’s very confusing for an Englishman (Scot) – because Soi 80 actually comprises two parallel streets. But for working class people in England it is not so difficult to understand as it is called back-to-backs. That is terraced houses that share walls on three of their four sides, with the front wall having the only door and windows. However, these houses in Soi 80 do not resemble the working class houses of Newcastle or other industrial cities in Northern England. In fact, I’m no cultural or architectural expert – all I can say is that these houses (like others in Thailand) have certain quasi Greek and Roman elements with pillars and statues and so on.

The point I was trying to make was that these houses are so ingeniously constructed that you would imagine that the architect had the phenomenon of the bargirl in mind when he designed them – because, they have an open front ground floor, and a first floor that usually includes one or two bedrooms and a shower. The open front facilitates the marketing of the wares; while the first floor facilitates the sale of the wares, that is, massage sessions for drunken, decrepit Western clients who want to find out if their cock is still working despite them being in their dotage and drunk.

I’m sorry about this long digression again – the point was that I some months previous I had offered Noi 10,000 baht for a massage when I was drunk one evening, while her “sister” Ploy sat there at the bar counter listening to these goings on. We (me and Noi) went upstairs and I fucked, sucked and fingered the life out of her taking into consideration my drunken state – in fact, it was a miracle I managed to fuck her at all.

After we fucked she ran around the bar screaming, “I fuck first time in one month.”

The ladyboy working in the bar – whose name I forget – thought this was highly amusing – and repeated many times in a high-pitched parrot-fashion voice, “FUCK FIRST TIME FOR ONE MONTH”.

So it was almost vaudeville or farcical entertainment.  

At the time, this left me thinking why the hell was I fucking Ploy who didn’t really want to be fucked, when her more sexy “sister” wanted to be fucked?  

‘But I had made my bed and now I had to lie in it!’ To tell you the truth I was in love with Ploy whatever that means.        

“I think Ploy is coming later,” the girl said.

“Okay. Thanks,” was my only response.

While waiting for Ploy, I started drinking a few more beers; she still hadn’t arrived. I had nothing better to do than to dwell on the latest revelations about Ploy. Her not answering the phone; her “double” walking arm-in-arm with a guy at the end of the beach; the fact that she had stopped working in the shop and started working in the bar again; the bargirl outside the Tivoli Bar who made insinuations about Ploy having other boyfriends. Under the influence of alcohol, and irritation at having to wait for Ploy, my mind wandered from giving Ploy the benefit of the doubt to figuring that she was holding me for a dupe. Was I just one in the thousand-mile long of stupid farang who had been duped by Thai girls. I liked to imagine that I was superior to the average stupid farang. Had I become a character in one of Stephff’s cartoons – or one of those witless farang described by S. Tsow in Thai Lite. While dwelling on these thoughts I saw Ploy coming.


I had already drunk about six bottles of beer by the time I saw Ploy entering the bar. My blood started quickly to boil when I saw that she was accompanied by a well-built blonde guy about ten years younger than me. He was holding her lightly on the shoulder that seemed obviously to denote some kind of affection, and they were both laughing as they approached.

I stood up and walk towards them and pulled Ploy away from the grasp of the guy.

“What the heck’s your problem, man?” The guy asked while pulling Ploy back.

“You’re my problem. That’s my girlfriend you were touching,” I said angrily and glanced at Ploy, who also seemed to be shocked.

“Girlfriend? Are you nuts? Ploy is my partner, dude. So stop holding her or you’ll be in trouble,” he said, looking very pissed.

“What’s he saying huh?” I asked Ploy and faced her. By now the people and staff in the bar had already started to notice the scene.

Ploy looked shocked, and just stood there speechless. It seems that she doesn’t know where to look.

“Is it true huh?” I asked angrily.

“Ploy? What’s going on?” The blonde guy asked.

“I essplain,” she just said, not sure who to talk to first. She was avoiding everybody’s glances.

“How long have you known her?” I asked the guy instead.

“She’s my girlfriend for almost 8 years,” he stated.

“And she’s my girlfriend for 3 years now,” I said angrily while looking at both of them.

“Is it true? Have you been fooling me with this guy?” The guy furiously asked her, and while she tried to give some half-assed explanation, he angrily marched out of the bar and down the street with Ploy running after him.

I was left alone in the bar with my beer.

“Sorry,” a voice came from behind me. I turned and saw it was Noi, the manager and Ploy’s cousin. I had been so wound up that I hadn’t noticed that she had come into the bar and was now behind the bar-counter. Obviously, Noi didn’t seem to think this was a world crisis as she had a smile plastered all over her face.

“You knew all along that Ploy was fooling me and obviously just milking money from me,” I angrily said to her.

“She big girl. She not listen me. She do same before,” she simply said.  

“I’m a real fool for believing all her sweet lies and empty promises,” I said feeling dejected and sorry for myself.  

“Don’t care. She not worth it,” she said while asking me if I wanted another drink.  

“I give her everything. How could I be so blind? I’ve seen the signs from the start, but I chose to trust her,” I said, continuing my ‘woe is me’ spiel.

“Just drink beer. Forget it,” she said waving to one of the bargirls that we wanted two drinks.

“Give me a gin and tonic – I’m fed up with the beer,” I said. Noi’s gin and tonics were vast improvements on anything James Bond ever happened to drink. Despite Bar 80 being only a small and poorly equipped bar, Noi made sure she had the proper ingredients for drinks, such as London Gin and lime. Her single gin and tonic was in reality at least a treble gin and tonic.

I felt pretty dejected about these latest Ploy revelations, so ignored the fact that I was already getting pretty drunk, and it wasn’t even late evening.

“She’s a very good actress, a great manipulator. Damn her! I wonder how many boyfriends she has and how many men have been fucking the hell out of her,” I said angrily to Noi, who was now on the other side of the bar-counter in front of me, as I was perched on a bar stool.

“Why you not choose me before. You be happy now,” she said. “I want be your girlfriend before,” she added.

“You’re all the same. Fuck foreigner for money,” I said crazily, because I was pretty drunk now.

She wasn’t offended by my crass words, but only started to laugh.

“I like jus have one man,” she said naughtily.

“Just one,” I smirked cynically.

“Where you stay now? You drunk already,” she asked.

I looked at Noi and wondered why I never ended up with her; she was more beautiful, sexier and naughtier than her cousin Ploy. She was very petite. Although in her mid-thirties, she looked no more than 24. She had an impish and inviting smile constantly fixed on her face. She was flirty and coquettish – erotic, girlish and feminine. I had fucked her once before – but that had almost been like a business arrangement – because I had challenged her principle of not fucking bar guests – so it was almost like we did it for a laugh – and it turned out to be the comical episode of that particular day. And now it seemed like such a long time ago.

I was now increasingly under the influence of the demon alcohol. As mentioned above, Willy Shakespeare noted that drink “provokes and unprovokes. It provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.” Translated into modern colloquial English this means you get horny when you drink, but your cock doesn’t work.

Getting back to me and Noi at the bar: the drink was at one point making me feel sorry for myself – but now this had transformed into me noticing how sexy Noi was. She was wearing a very tight black dress that revealed her erect girlish nipples through the scanty material.

“Don’t stare at me like that…..I’m so shy OK. You like my body dear?” Noi asked wearing an impish smile.

“What!” I said proclaiming innocence – although I had actually imagined sucking her small-girl nipples.

“You wanna try? Suck them?” She playfully asked.

Despite having consumed a ridiculous amount of alcohol, I felt some reaction in my cock at this obvious sexual offer. I had consumed a large dose of blister beetle powder in the morning in case me and Ploy ended up having sex after a drinking session. So it was the blister beetle that was responsible for the movement in my groin area.

“You want boom boom[11]?” Noi bluntly asked.

I didn’t reply, which she took as an affirmative.

“We go upstairs ok?” She said.

Walking upstairs she said, “You take shower first ok.”

We ended up on the bar’s “fucking bed” on the first floor. I lifted up Noi’s short tight black skirt, and too lazy to take off her red laced knickers, I pushed aside the material with my fingers, and inserted my tongue inside her shaven pussy, tasting that special woman’s taste – a little sour and pungent, but with the beginnings of her sexual release, which always reminded me of Carlsberg’s strong elephant beer.   

“Please eat my pussy – eat out my pussy,” she pleaded while spreading her legs even more.

“Aaaahh. Suck pussy lips please, oooh, I wait long time for this hmm,” she moaned louder.

I pulled off her red knickers so I could get better access to her pussy. I bent her legs back so her knees were almost touching her shoulders, while pressing her legs as far apart as possible. This strategy splayed her legs, so I could face-fuck her pussy, like Winnie the Pooh licking a honey pot. I wanted to eat it and taste it, unlike Winnie the Pooh who wasn’t going to eat it just taste it.

Her pussy wasn’t newly shaven, so it started to scratch my face. So, I got bored with sucking her pussy, and thanks to the blister beetle and the sucking of her pussy, my cock had now risen to its full 8 inches.  

“Wow, you’re so BIG. I never seen such a big size before. Aaahh. Fuck me now please, fuck me, put that big cock inside of me!” She screamed.

But instead of fucking her, I stuck my cock in her face. She looked a bit shocked. “Oh my!! It’s so huge, you’ll hurt pussy,” she said, looking so inviting.

“Suck it,” I demanded, sticking my cock far into her mouth so she gagged.

She sucked my cock, but before I came in her mouth, I pulled it out and plunged it into her wet pussy.   

“Oh – you cock very big,” she said.

On hearing this, I was inspired to shaft her as hard and far into her as possible. I lifted her legs and pressed her knees towards her chin, making her pussy much tighter. I lunged as hard as I could and her moans which initially signified pleasure began to denote pain. 

Getting bored with fucking her in this way, I took out my cock, and splayed her legs as far as they would go revealing the pink moist wound between her thighs, and continued to lick her pussy with delight.


The fucking session seemed to go on forever. My cock was doing well thanks to the African beetle. The alcohol, however, had brought forth an aggressive untypical aspect of my character. 

“Suck my cock bitch,” I said while feeling in a sadistic mood. I rammed my cock into her mouth so she gagged yet again, almost vomiting. I grabbed her hair at the roots by her neck, and twisted it, repeating again, “Suck bitch!”

“Suck it deeper, bitch,” I commanded while moving back and forth inside her mouth that almost made her choke.

“Hmmm, mmmmm. Slurp slurp slurp, mmmm,” were the sounds coming from Noi, as she expertly sucked my cock, which only a professional with 20 years’ experience could achieve. She had maybe sucked the cocks of thousands of men, so she knew what she was doing; she was a skilled artisan.

The feeling became too intense – I didn’t want to finish it now by coming in her mouth, so I ejected my cock from her mouth, and inserted it violently into her.

I pumped back and forth in her wet, tight little-girl pussy like there was no tomorrow.

“Aaahhh. It feels so good hmmm aahhh,” Noi loudly moaned.

“You want deeper, bitch?” I ruthlessly asked while pumping frantically.

“Yes. Ahhh, fuck my pussy harder mmm,” she pleaded.

We were fucking like crazy rabbits, when the door suddenly burst open, and Ploy was standing there, looking like she was witnessing a murder.

“What are you two fuckers doing huh?!” She angrily asked while walking threateningly towards us

Noi looked like she didn’t care about Ploy’s intrusion and slowly stood up from the bed wearing a mocking smile, and displaying her fully naked slim and pocket-sized body adorned by her tiny shaved pussy and her long straight black hair falling down her back to her cute pert ass.

“Why you surprise, Ploy? You expert,” Noi said sarcastically, as she didn’t even bother to get dressed, but just stood there naked, moving her hips in a provocative pose.

“You little ho?! You ho!!” Ploy screamed in a high-pitched voice and strutted towards her cousin and grabbed her hair and yanked it as hard as she could.

I got up and pulled on my briefs quickly, and tried to stop the cat fight, but Ploy lost her balance and fell heavily.

She got up quickly and sticking her face in mine said in a rage, “Wot u du?!”  

“What are you doing here, Ploy?” I calmly asked even though I felt far from calm.

“I want talk you. It misunderstanding,” she said starting to cry. Perhaps she was trying a tactic to make me pity her, I thought.

“I don’t need to hear your lies anymore. I know that you’ve been fooling me, but I chose to be blind, because I’m so stupid;” I angrily said to her.

“Pleeze listen me. I not liar,” she pleaded

“Stop pretend, sister,” Noi said.

“Wot u say?! You fuck him huh?!” Ploy angry replied to Noi.

U care? Everyone know u ho all man,” Noi said mockingly.

“Wot u say?!” Ploy said grabbing her cousin’s hair again.

Noi let out a squeal. I tried pulling them apart again.

“U hurt me?!” Noi angrily shouted.

Noi started to put her clothes back on. She then started to push Ploy, saying, “U get outta here ho!”

Ploy stumbled downstairs, and Noi followed her still pushing her cousin in the direction of the street.

“I werking here – u can’t push me out on street,” Ploy bravely answered.

“U not werk here more. Go away! Not come back!” Noi said angrily, pushing Ploy out of the bar

“Now u big trouble – u treat me bad – I get u for this,” Ploy said threatening her cousin as she walked off down Soi 80 like an angry and scolded cat.

I was in shock after witnessing the whole scene. I can’t believe that I’ve managed to get into this absurd situation. I’m supposed to be a respectable professor, and have ended up in some kind of could-be-violent farce with Soi 80 working girls. I’ve been a fool.

I started heading back to my hotel and trying to forget as quickly as possible the events of the evening. I needed some kind of break.

When I got back to my hotel room, I collapsed on the bed, as I felt drained due to the over-consumption of alcohol and the events of the day. I tried to erase all the bad things floating through my mind. 


It was almost 12 noon when I woke up the next day. My phone keeps ringing and I saw Ploy’s name register on the screen. I decline the call, and then saw a lot of messages from her too.

(27 messages received)

“Pleeze answer.”

“I sorry.”

“Forgive me.”

“Pleeze answer.”

“Help me please.”

“Noi kick me out bar. Help me.”

“Pleeze talk me.”

I read some of her messages and couldn’t help but still feel sympathetic towards her. But I needed a break from all this.  

She fooled me, because I was easy to fool. I lowered my guard, but just got bullshit back in return. But we were both to blame. I’ve been too blue-eyed about the whole thing.  

I should have taken more time to try to get to know the “real” her. But that just isn’t me. I’m basically like a mad boar rooting for truffles.

I don’t blame Ploy for everything, but I have to try and move on. With this in mind, I sent her the following message in my Thai English, so she would understand better.

“I sorry. I finish now. It best. It not good you and me. I hope you can be ok. Take care.”

(Message sent)

I’m not even sure if I would understand this message. But I couldn’t send a long complicated message in idiomatic English. I wasn’t even sure if I believed what I was writing. But at least I tried to pretend it was true for the moment. To try and add some emphasis to my final message I turned off my phone, and checked out of the hotel, so she couldn’t track me down there. I quickly ordered a hotel car to take me to Bangkok. I didn’t want to dwell on this sad “love affair”, and wanted to console myself with the multitude of young girls and women of all nationalities who specialised in providing such a service along Sukhumvit and numerous other localities in Bangkok. So many in fact, that you could live to you were 1000 years old, yet never have tasted all the sweet fruits on this tree. Samuel Johnson had said that when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life, “Why, Sir, you find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.[12] I won’t contest Johnson’s assertion – but just point out that he never visited Bangkok! I went to take a shower with the perhaps naive thought, “This is a new day for me”.

[1] The Thai greeting referred to as the wai consists of a slight bow, with the palms pressed together in a prayer-like fashion.

[2] Pronounced “COW-pat”.

[3] A girl who works in a bar, typically in Southeast Asia and catering to male clients, and who may provide personal entertainment or other services.

[4]  A three-wheeled motor vehicle used as a taxi in Thailand.

[5] The Thai word “ป้า” is used to refer to a good female friend. In English, it translates to “sister”. But this doesn’t mean a real sister, it’s just how Thai people refer to intimate female friends.

[6] Farang: (among Thais) a European or other foreigner.



[9] “Ringing the bell” in a bar. In South-East Asia there is a custom that if you ring the bell in a bar then you have to buy everyone in the bar a drink.

[10]  A three-wheeled motor vehicle used as a taxi in Thailand.

[11] Slang term for fucking.

[12] Samuel Johnson, 20 September 1777. Quoted in The Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D. (1791) by James Boswell.


Published by babblingstories

Creative punk

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