What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my blog.
As I write this, I’m on a 22nd floor balcony overlooking the Gulf of Thailand in the greatest beach town on Earth: Pattaya. It’s that time of year when my little brother comes to visit from the US for a mini sex odyssey, and while he rampages, I play chaperone-slash-translator for his illicit pursuits. As for me, I released all my PPCs (Ptown Pussy Contacts) back into the wild during Covid, so I have no prospects and little energy to trawl up new ones. Thus, I content my self with wine, Cuban cigars, ocean views, and fine meals, not unlike the celibate life I’d undertake back in Cali, were I living there now.
As per the last half a dozen visits, I’m staying at View Talay 6, this time in a 2-bedroom with a huge balcony to accommodate my huge brother, who is built like a World War 2 tank. I’ve just sent him to the massage place downstairs to have two Thai chicks walk on his back.
The previous night, finding a big-assed gal for my brother to nail was as easy as walking across the street to the new beer bar complex called Myth Night. He took her back to the condo and I walked over to Shooters on Soi 7, a joint that—back in the day—was a haven for hot harlots and pulchritudinous pussy. Today it’s a sad shadow of its former self. Back when the place was rife with hotties, a beer cost 90b. Ironically, now that the joint is a pile of shit, the beers are 145. What would you call that? Reverse osmosis of awesome. Reverse awesomosis, for short, copyright BKK7. I turned away three brides of Frankenstein before necking my overpriced SML and hitting the eject button outta there.
The following day, we hit up Soi 6 at 15.00 for a hot, afternoon-delight session. My bro found a chunky monkey at our first stop so while he got his swerve on I popped over to—Foxy or Roxy, I can’t remember—where I thankfully was ignored by the staff for the length of half a beer. Then I pulled up a chair in Mama’s Kitchen for a salad and a glass of Ricard. I finished up just as my sibling did and we met on the soi. He was an exhausted, sweaty, jetlagged mess so we returned to the condo and turned in early.
The next night, we hit Tree Town, so my bro could get his hands on the kind of woman he craves—chunky, middle-aged lasses on the downslope of their lives—and see how things are going in that relatively new area of Ptown. Tree Town was a source of particular good luck for my brother the previous year, so his expectations were high. He found a portly 40something within seconds, but wasn’t satisfied with taking the first girl he met—a move that this experienced monger would normally support, but my sib has a knack for shooting himself in the foot when it comes to shmoozing with women. I encouraged him to not look a gift cow in the mouth and stay with her but he insisted we look for someone better. We did a lap around TT and just before circling back to girl 1, he found someone else. A young spherical gal with a pretty face who took a liking to him immediately. They took off back to our condo while I trudged over to Myth Night to wait for them to finish bumping uglies.
I sank into a chair at LekLekLek bar and ordered a black ruskie, confounding the staff. “You want one shot of vodka, and one shot of Kahlua……in the same glass?” They looked at me like I was a witch. A 30something chunker insinuated herself at my table, begging me to barfine her. She kept flashing her awful tits as if that would convince me. Nothing makes you appreciate your Bangkok harem of hot 20 year olds like a pair of shitty Ptown mammaries. I barely escaped with my dignity. The black ruskie was 300 baht. They charged me separately for the two shots. Come to think of it, that bar did the same exact thing to me on my last visit. From there I stumbled to the next-door bar and was pounced upon by a boney ladyboy who made me long for Miss shitty-old-tits.
On night 4, I was on my own. My little bro had an afternoon delight gal over and then stayed in for the evening. I hit Walking Street, heading straight to XS where security searched my man-satchel for the first time ever. I guess crime ain’t just on the rise in the West. The girls onstage were constantly in motion, and I don’t mean the Skytrain Shuffle. The continually rotate positions so the ogler never tires of looking at the same pair of tits It’s what we in the monger game call a gogo good idea. I gave those hard-working gals my full attention while they writhed in pretend sexual ecstasy, their tits awash in the cool glow of neon.
Unlike previous visits, the place wasn’t already rammed at half 8. ‘Twas about half-full. It’s a promising sign for an old punter who hates foreigners and crowds. I’m sure bar owners aren’t happy with the post-Songkran slowdown but I for one am euphoric. From XS I sped to Pin-Up, and I know it’s the same organization but—how do I put this—Pin-Up definitely has hotter girls in greater abundance. Actually, let me restate: the XS girls are more buxom. Lots of big hips and big fake funbags. Pin-up has ‘em too, but there’s also a contingent of the kind of hotskinnies that make Seven’s wang stop dozing for a minute.
A girl I used to bang from The 6—Som—is a Pin-Up all-star. But she’s not nearly as hot now as when I had her. It’s a strange thing, hanging around the redlight long enough to see the girls age out. Generic sex tourists get a girl once—a blink of an eye in the larger scheme of life. A brief flicker of debauchery, frozen forever in that sod’s memory, taking on mythical status as the years go by. But Seven’s experience is different. This pudgy poon pugilist gets to watch innumerable smoking hot young tarts slowly turn gross over time. Thank Buddha there’s always a new crop of up-and-comers to take their place.
After leaving Pin-Up, I was in the weeds. There are no other gogos on WS where gangs of hotties are guaranteed to be found. Used to be you’d never go wrong in Sapphire, Dollhouse, or Electric Blue. The latter two are gone, and Sapphire is a parody of itself. And so I flew blindly into a new joint called Candy Girls. They had two 8-girl rotations and the first one had 3 hotskinnies. A hostess named Praew came to siphon a drink off me and chat about Isaan. After a while I looked up, noticed I was the only customer in the joint, and beat a hasty retreat. For some reason, Iron Club had been popping up in my X feed frequently, so I obeyed the algorithm and went to check it out. Rota 1 was a gang of chunksters with their tits out. Rota 2 had one perfest 10 and a pushing-thirty 9, plus a handful of 8s walking around. Overall, I’d give the dancers a thumbs-up, but the bass was so loud I could feel the fillings in my teeth shaking loose. Before I could bail, a chubby, long-haired, middle-aged farang, who is clearly a local because I saw him on Soi 6 the previous night hobnobbing with all the bar owners sauntered in and promptly knocked a Nipon’s beer into his lap. He had enough class to buy the dude and his wingman a beer, so that’s worth a mention. At the next rotation I counted three more 10s. I’ll be honest, I was astonished (‘honestonished’ for short, copyright BKK7) at how many fit girls could be found in Iron Club.
Afterward, there was no other choice but Fahrenheit, where back in 2010 I found two of the hottest pieces of tail I’d ever laid eyes on. Today I’ve a friend there who used to work at King’s Castle in Patpong. I searched the whole place for her but couldn’t find her. Still, there were lots of hungry looks from other dancers, some of whom were quite fetching. One spectacular topless wonder took a liking to Seven from the stage. Just thinking about banging her made my back hurt.
One major pro of the pros and cons of Ptown is anonymity. In Patpong, I’m easy to spot, and people by the dozens shout at me. But down at the beach, I’m just another douchebag tourist. The Fahrenheit boss stood right next to me, not recognizing me, while some silly cunt chatted him up. “I know you, mate…the hair. I remember your hair” followed up with a fist bump. Meanwhile the monger with 1.3 million looks per month on his social media quietly sipped his beer in peace. People ask why I wear the Guy Fawkes mask. This is why.
Ptown is the monger equivalent of an old folks’ home. The majority of locals have one foot already in the grave. They limp into the gogo looking like they might keel over at any moment. And when I think about it, where else would a dude want to spend his last moments? Imagine lying on the floor of a gogo, your heart beating its last few, as half-naked Thai chicks lean down with looks of concern, their tits dangling inches from your face, as you shuffle off this mortal coil. Damn, what a way to go. Little did I realize when I wrote those words whilst sitting in Fahrenheit that there’s an even older old folks’ hometown just five minutes away. More on that later.
On night five, we were on The 6 by 20.00 and my bro shorttimed a chunky monkey at 20.10. Once again, I managed to be in Ptown at the same time as the US military. A decade ago, that would’ve meant a deserted Soi 6 as half the girls would be getting simultaneously plowed by horny grunts. In Biden’s military, such displays of brazen heterosexuality are frowned upon. The most they can do now is walk around and gawk, so the soi was crawling with baby-faced tattooed buzzcuts with backpacks and backward baseball caps. They stared in wild wonder at the spectacle. The dudes reveled in the attention of girls grabbing at them as they passed.
While my bro banged a bovine, I skipped down to the newly-monikered Bender Bar (named after the cartoon character from Futurama, not the old British term for homosexual) where my buddy Jersey Dan manages. Veeda—a longtime Soi 6 staple and resident minge maven—works next door at Illuzion. She sported a new blonde hairdo, cut to her shoulders. I said hi to her and she looked at me like I’d just arrived from Mars. “You not remember me?” I asked. It’s fun to ask a harlot that question and watch her flip back through the mental slideshow in her head of all the dudes she shorttimed. After a few moments of embarrassed confusion, I let her off the hook, saying, “Mai pben rai, I still like you” before popping over to see Dan, who was engaged in deep conversation with another bar owner. I told him I’d be back and returned to the top of the soi to retrieve my brother. He was still hammering away so I stopped for a drink at Sexy in the City where a beautiful 32-year-old with a lower body destroyed by childbirth entertained me for the length of a SML. She was delightful, both for her sweet disposition and her lovely face. I struggled to keep my eyes from venturing past her tits to the post-baby disaster below. Then my brother appeared, sweating and panting, and we doubled-back to Bender to watch the US army pace up and down the soi a dozen times.
So, because I got it in my head that I might retire to Jomtien someday, I booked use a couple of rooms at View Talay 1 for a few days. Within hours of arriving, I’d already reserved rooms back in Pattaya starting the following night. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what a boring town. It’s what I imagine Thailand Hell to be like. If you die on the floor of a Walking Street gogo, you wake up in fucking Jomtien. And Holy Lord, I thought the dudes in Ptown were old. JT is a collection of creaky old koots on life support. My brother and I are middle-aged and we were the youngest guys there.
On our first and last night in Jomtien, we ventured over to Rhom Pho beer bar complex and straight to Pizzeria Oregano, a clear favorite among locals judging by the crowd. I resisted all the fantastic-looking authentic Italian fare and got the four seasons pie, which was delicious. Then my brother and I set about the depressing task of walking the two sois that make up Rhom Pho—bar after empty bar, with maybe one sad-looking worn-out old crone mewling “Weh-caaaaaaaam” as passersby. But seeing as my brother likes a 40-something slab o’ pork, he found an old-n-chubby in due course and trucked her back to VT1, which meant my night as chaperone was finished and I could retire to bed. The one thing I liked about the accommodation was, it had the same décor and smell of the cheap-ass hotels I used to stay in back in Ao Nang when I first came to TLOS.
The following day we retreated back to Central Pattaya, hoping never to return to Jomtien again, and were on Soi Lengkee for dinner by 19.45. My bro decided to take a night off from pounding strange, so I was able to get into a gogo or three—a scene he usually detests but he humored me for one night. Lady Love reserves a whopping and retarded half of its venue as VIP seating, so when we rolled in at 20.30 there was no place to sit. And by that I mean, there were tons of places to sit but we couldn’t, so we bailed to Kink just in time for an 8-gal lesbian show, whereupon my sib leveled up his monger status. He’d never seen one before, and so watched in rapped amazement. When the show ended, the entire stage rose up like an elevator and disappeared into the ceiling, taking the girls with it for an epic gogo leap forward in entertainment.
From there we went to Las Vegas where my brother’s worst nightmare happened. A skinny girl attached herself to him and pushed for a barfine, putting him in the extremely rare position of an American dude turning a girl down for sex. Mid-rotation, the place stopped to sing happy birthday to one of the barmaids, who broke down in tears at the sight of a cake and candles.
After Vegas we hit Top Gun before heading home. Every girl in there but one was my bro’s ideal size—chunks of funk. He had a great time flirting with the chicks onstage while I idly smoked a mini-Cuban.
Watching my brother thrash through vagine in Ptown, I had an epiphany. I’m done banging strangers. As my harem protested my beachward sojourn, whining that I’d be fucking everything that moves, little did they know how loyal by default I am. Not that I want to be—what would you call being faithful to a harem? Polynogamous?—but I just can’t work up the gumption to pound strange anymore.
Last week, I received bad news. Word filtered down that Michael Messner—my friend and the former owner of XXX Lounge, Black Pagoda, and The Patpong Museum—was sentenced to 50 years for human trafficking after a raid on one of his Phuket bars turned up three underage girls turning shorttime tricks—something he would’ve had no idea about. I think of his beautiful family, who will be devastated by this horrific turn. I think about the gogos I love that will never reopen. And I think about how easily an innocent man can be railroaded and slowkilled in a country where “justice” is an ambiguous term. Michael may be guilty of many things, but human trafficking is not one of them. It serves as a harsh reminder for every foreigner living in Thailand that none of us is safe. At any moment, your entire life can be flushed down the toilet for no reason at all.
In other news, my website has a Members Only section now. For $1 a month, you can get access to exclusive galleries and videos. I’ll add new stuff every week. Scroll up and click “Members Only Content” to get at it. Speaking of content, I’ve thrown in a few more pics from my Ptown odyssey below, in leu of making a YouTube slideshow. There simply weren’t enough photos to make it happen, sorry-not-sorry.
And that’s all the monger that’s fit to ponder for now, friends. Sorry for all the typos. I didn’t proofread. Check back next Sunday for another summary of this redlight life. In the meantime, you can read more Bangkok-related stuff on my Substack: https://bangkokseven.substack.com/
Slideshows from previous blogs going back several years can be found at https://www.youtube.com/c/BangkokSeven
Follow me on Twitter/X @BangkokSeven for daily pics from the redlight, along with these other profiles that’re chock full of photos of hotties.
@bar_thigh
@BangkokNightli2
and until next time fellow BK Bukowskis and Bathshebas, keep your balls (or tits) warm, your beer cold, and cheers to another week above ground in the greatest country on Earth: Thailand.
Thai chick-related posters and prints on canvas can be purchased at
https://www.etsy.com/shop/ThailandNights
Pro Tip Post-Script: Don’t steal my photos. Last week, some fucking cunt on Facebook stole two of mine and posted them to his shitty page. I reported both of them, and the fucker got locked out of FB. He then had to email me and plead to withdraw the copyright claim so he could get his page back. Which I did, because I’m not a dick, even though it was just deserts for stealing my work. I think he eventually did get his page back, but let this be a lesson to all content thieves: #FAFO
