What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession. Today marks one week in Pattaya for this wobbly whoremonger and his rotund little brother. At time of posting, we’re one third of the way through our dabaudyssey (debauched odyssey, copyright BKK7) and so far, it’s been eye-opening. Ptown has seen some changes since I was last here in the spring of 2024, and not all of them are good. Here’s the rundown from sabbath to sabbath…
Our Ptown adventure began in the early morning in Silom. Jetlag had me up at 4 am so I worked a bit, then packed, then took a walk to Foodland in the Pong. Patpong has a mystical appeal just after sunrise. You can almost hear the echoes of drunk gogo dancers who clocked out just an hour or two before. Each morning, the redlight gets a rinse. A water truck runs the length of Soi 1, spraying down the raunch and rank like a hooker giving her minge a spray with the bum gun after a shortime barfine. Then the sun dries up the puddles and old Patpong is ready for another party.
A telltale sign of high season are the clusters of farang joggers who, although they’ve come for an exotic holiday experience, still gotta get that smartwatch a’beepin.’ They zig and zag through Thai pedestrians with a look of annoyance, as though the chicken vendor is the one who doesn’t belong there and the cunt foreigner isn’t a barely tolerable guest in the country.
One last surprise before leaving BKK was a frantic message from concubine number 3 who promised to give the quickest and best BJ if she could come over before I left town. I agreed, and she delivered. Then it was a two-hour ride to the beach followed by a nap and then a survey of Soi 6. The new-tourist-to-seasoned-monger ratio was about 10 to 1. Every few meters some wet behind the ears douche was doing something foolish, though most just paced back and forth down the soi, afraid to commit to a girl, bar, or beer. More than one stupid farang couple dragged a toddler through the melee, proving again that society is getting progressively more brain-dead. The regulars—and there are a lot on the 6—blended in seamlessly with the raucous activity like camouflaged reptiles in a dangerous biosphere.
There was a remarkable uptick in fitter girls on The 6. I surmised that they might’ve come out of hibernation for high season, and in short, I was more than a little excited. After six weeks in the bereft-of-good-pussy that is the United States, I was anxious to get my swerve on with one or three PYTs.
The bars have upped their beer prices since my April visit. They’re 130b now. ‘Twas a chilly 73 degrees (32c) and accordingly most of the clunge kitties were wrapped up in pashminas, making it harder to gauge weight and thigh-gap status. And having got a late start, meaning many of the hottest chickies would’ve already been barfined, I opted to push on to the glitzy gogos of walking street where my mojo is stronger and the girls are on the whole are skinnier.
The baht bus ride was the coolest and breeziest I’d ever experienced. There are far to many brewhouses and craft beer bars on the beach road now. Though I suppose they work as flytraps for many cunt tourists so I remind my previous statement.
Here’s something new–clubs that cater to one race or phylum. Nashua is exclusively for Indians and Sun’s is advertised as “for Asians only.” Not that they’d kick out a farang but the prejudice is in the subtext.
My first stop was Sapphire for old time’s sake. A barmaid recognized me from preCovid days as the guy who reads palms. She came over for one and that was followed by a dozen other staff. The caliber of dancer has slipped from mostly 9s in the mid 20teens to mostly 6s today. 90b Tiger drafts made the fortunetelling work and lack of hot ass easier to take. After one beer I slipped up the soi to check on the old Electric Blue and Dollhouse locations. The latter is still empty and up for sale. The former is a new bar called Barco, with two hostesses and no customers.
Then it was on to Pin-Up for the hotskinnies. Officially I’m hunting for a 3-week companion to keep me occupied during this brother-inspired visit. Unofficially I’m testing how hard it would be to gather a harem when I eventually move here—a future that is as inevitable as it is daunting. Based on 10 seconds in Pin-Up, I have nothing to worry about. As I sat there typing this, a fist was thrust into my peripheral by a lone sex tourist. A thin, bespectacled lad with a fluffy 80s hairdo who looked as though he’d never ventured beyond the border of his tiny Bavarian mountain town. That made three noobs in two days who tried to make a wingman of Seven (throwback to last week’s post).
I made the blunder of slipping into Tantra, where I paid 150b for a soda water. There were two customers and six shabby-looking gals onstage. The Sino tourist across from me had a Thai companion who wouldn’t stop making eyes at me. It’s possible we knew each other in a past shorttime life. She looked vaguely familiar.
Then I stupidly swung by XS. I say “stupidly” because it was so crowded I couldn’t make heads or tails of the tail in there. The only open seat was nigh the stage so all my eyes took in were closeups of minge and buttcheeks. Then as if by instinct I wandered into Bliss and found a dancer that fit the mold of a Seven girl perfectly. I had her over for a drink and she was a perfect potential conc, except for the bar’s no-giving-out-Line rule. Stupid cunting Pattays bars. In Bangkok, the dancers have agency over themselves. If they want to give out their Line, no slave master will be leering over their shoulder. Not so in Ptown. It’s the fucking 3rd Reich of redlights here. When I asked the girl for her Line, she immediately called over a tomboy barmaid who chastised me for trying to get it. Then the dancer’s demeanor changed to nasty, and she beat a hasty retreat away from me. I’m sure if I lived here and had the same celebrity status I enjoy in Patpong, I’d be able to score a few contacts, but what a headache. Why would a local ever bother entering a Pattaya gogo bar? Especially now that the Walking Street barfine is an anus-puckering 2,500 to 3,000? Are their pussies made of solid gold? It put a sour taste in my mouth for WS. Not that I’d evade it for the next two weeks, but I left with more of a Soi 6ish disposition.
The next day I hit The 6 at 15.00 for some daydrinking. Most of the bars were open and roaring, but a few seemed slow to wake up. The lights were low, the music off, the girls putting on makeup. I swung into one and sat down. No one took my order so I walked to the till. The mamasan shouted “FOUR!” and yet, she wasn’t holding a golf club. “We open at four,” she said. Then she blurted, “No alcohol. You can order Coke or water or Red Bull.” So some bars have to follow certain rules while others don’t, apparently. How very Thai police. Then a regular sat down and was immediately served a bottle of Singha, so I don’t fucking know.
As I hodgepodged my way down the soi, I stopped to have idle conversations with random girls about the food they were eating and how cold it is when I was suddenly scooped into a bar by two hotskinnies. One was more fetching than the other, and so I devoted my attention to her. They were both 20, both from Bangkok (BKK transplants are an increasing trend here these days)
Just as I was about to bail I found a perfect little filly and bought her a drink. We got to chatting and I asked her about the barfine. She said it was 2500. I asked what her shorttime fee was. She said 3,000. I was stunned. And look, I know the oldttimers always winge about high prices. When I first mongered and an hour of boomboom on The 6 was 1,000, and there was always some gray haired coot yelling about how back in the 1970s it was 300. And I know inflation is a real thing. But if I do the math in my head, that means shorttime prices tripled since May 2024. Then I went around and inquired at a few other bars. It took some sussing out to realize that “barfine” means something different in Ptown than it does in BKK. Here at the beach, it means “taking a girl overnight.” To my great relief, a shorttime bang is between 1k and 2k depending on the girl and the venue, and the use of a S/T room is 400b. I determined then and there to take advantage of that bargain in the near future.
Shooters on Soi 7 looked not terrible on opening at 7 pm. Quality girls never stay long in the same place, so it’s forgivable that Shooters—a joint that was famous for having a gang of 10s a decade ago—have only a few 8s today. It’s the same on The 6. Bars that used to be a bastion of beauties look shabby these days, whereas joints I’dve never considered visiting (looking at you, Saigon Girl) now have trios and quartets of superhotties. At Shooters, the girls are even hungrier than the girls on The 6. It’s worth a visit, at least for the moment.
One evening my brother and I made our way through LK Metro, where he found himself a massive mama with an ample ass and a beer gut to match. She was hammered, and went after my sib like a fly to shit. But he wasn’t properly Viagra dosed, so he promised to come back the next day to nail her. Then we popped into Las Vegas, because even though my bro doesn’t really enjoy gogos, I wanted to see if a galpal I’d met there the previous year and then disappeared for 2024 had come back to work. She was MIA, and while there were a handful of very toned and fake-titted lasses in there, none of them could hold a candle to the girl in question, and so I left unsatisfied.
Tree Town reminds me of a dusty sleepy old west town. I half expect to see biwlegged cowboy hat topped dudes dueling gunfighting in the middle of the soi. The girls are ragged. When the world explodes in nuclear war, the post-apocalyptic aftermath of every redlight will look just like tree town.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. My sib found a rollypolly gal to cajole with and got her Line. Then we pushed to LK where his barfine from the day before corralled him in for a drink. Her equally hefty friend pressed hard for a drink while the working-class British locals scowled. I paid as fast as I could but got wedged in by an old codger in an orange Hawaiian shirt. Pulling my bro out of there was like pulling a molar from a fat, resisting molar.
Then as we passed by Las Vegas a second time, I spotted my long-lost girl standing outside. I walked up, grabbed her titty and it was like no time had passed. She even remembered my name. Lord, but Thai girls are a wonder. I said “I sent you a Line.” She said she lost her phone. So I decided I must keep chasing this particular dragon and went inside to buy her a drink and try to get her new contact info, which she gave readily after a whiskey and Coke. We had a lovely chat while my bro played with her friend’s dirty pillows, and then we were off to Kink.
Every time I come to LK, I visit this gogo. Not because it’s good, but because I met a girl in there once who had the best body I’d ever laid hands on, and I can’t resist checking to see if she’s there. She never is, and their current roster is comprised of 6s and 7s. Then it was on to Lady Love, and they came through with a bevy of babes. There were no open seats at 21.00, and the clientele are 99% territorial regulars who don’t take kindly to strangers.
On our way home we passed through Myth Night, a beer bar complex I’d written off as having only fatties, old ladies and katoeys. It turns out they’ve currently got more than a few hotskinnies. When it first sprang up, Myth Night seemed poised to suck ass as an ancillary bar area with no promise of hot liaisons. But it has come into its own, attracting a variety of chickies, some of whom are fuckable.
The following day we set out for LK again in the afternoon so my bro could bang the heifer he’d found the night before. We emerged from View Talay into a humid, cloudy day and had a semi-steamy walk through Myth Night and Tree Town. The beer bars were clearing the sleep out their eyes, and random gals mopped floors and wiped barstools in preparation for the night’s unseemly activities. When we arrived at the bovine’s bar they were having a staff meeting so we tried to slip into a quiet corner to wait it out. My sib’s gal lumbered over to take our drink order. Then a drunk Englishman started up a fight with a drinking companion who’d evidently accused him of not repaying his debts. They reminded me of one of two kinds of Brit I encountered when living there. Granted, I stayed in Essex, so the following must be taken with a particular grain of salt, but whilst in Colchester I found English blokes to be either 1—lovely, ingratiating folk who were glad to meet a visitor and showed genuine interest in making a Yank feel welcome and 2—deeply insecure cunts with a chip on their shoulder and a deep-seeded sense of inadequacy that manifested as aggression. I don’t need to tell you which type were in that beer bar. The row was loud enough to pause the staff meeting, whereupon I spotted the bars only hotskinny. She was disheveled and not in uniform. I assumed she was off the clock, having been plowed like a row of corn the night before. After my lil’ bro took his big ole lady upstairs, I popped across the soi for a cigar. Having never spent an afternoon on LK, it was interesting to see the ilk that chose to spend their days (and in many cases, their last days) sipping beer with their mates on a soi that was only 1/3 open. The majority of working beer bar ladies were either pushing middle age, pushing 70 kilos, or both. It’s hardly a worthy hunting ground. Then again, the dudes all seemed to be Aussie and British pensioners with one flip flop firmly planted in the grave. I came away with a renewed appreciation for being a couple decades back from that life, knowing I’d be there eventually.
My sib and I rolled into the weekend with take-away grub from the Tops Market in Central. He got ribs, mac and cheese, and spinach au gratin. I got brisket, mac, and steamed veg. We washed it down with a hearty shiraz and then smoked a Cuban while watching the sunset from his condo’s balcony. Then we set out for some mischief in Myth Night…
The sib found his fave gal from the previous night while I struck out in search of young hotskinnies. I found the fist a few steps from bro’s girl’s bar. Her name was kae and she showed just enough interest in me to occupy me for one cocktail. After that, I had the exact same experience in three other bars before collecting my brother and heading homeward. Every time I spoke to a chick, when I told them I was staying View Talay they all ask which floor, as though the floor somehow indicated a level of status. Which I’m cool with, as long as a piece of ass will consent to come over. Having said that, I didn’t hand out my Line to anyone. Instead, I resolved to wait and find a girl on The 6.
Speaking of, as the days blurred together last week, my evenings became an assemblage of bar-hopping on The 6, meeting and re-meeting the same handful of hotties several times. On one of those occasions, I let a petite tattooed blonde talk me into going upstairs, thinking that kind of naked encounter was what I was missing all the time I was in LA. It turns out, I really only miss my harem. No amount of Ptown perversity can serve as a salve for the yen for which I yearn, which means no menagerie of Soi 6 copulation will compensate (copupensation for short, copyright BKK7).
In other news, at the View Talay 6—my go-to place to stay in Ptown for the past year—the high-season curse is turned up to 11. My floor is packed to the gills with 1—Middle-Eastern men who are incapable of talking at each other in a normal volume, 2—families with toddlers who run up and down the halls screaming, and 3—sloshed GenZers that stumble to their rooms at 3 am every morning whilst hollering and cackling like ghouls. It would be a nightmare scenario if not for the fact that I spent the previous six weeks in the hellscape of America. Compared to that, fuckwit tourists are merely a faint annoyance. One positive of the ole Talay is the smell in th room. It’s that familiar aroma of…I don’t know what. Is it a cleanser everyone uses? an industrial laundry detergent? whatever it is, it’s the same smell as the condo I used to rent in south Pattaya in the early 20teens. ‘Twas a studio down near the far end of Walking Street, and I nailed so many hot whores in it, it was like a fiend’s fantasy of hot sexy sex and dirty dreams that a normie in the West could only dream of. So every time I come back to the View Talay condo, my olfactory senses bombard me with perverse memories only the truly debauched could endure.
Thus ended our first week in Ptown. We’ve got two more, so there’s no telling how lude the next couple of posts will be.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is a spycam video I took in 2017 of one of my fave gogos. It’s a beautiful slice of redlight life, preserved for posterity now that the times have changed so drastically.
The link is here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-post-gogo-spycam-video/
but only if you become a Member. The price is $1 per month, and new content is added weekly. I’m too dumb to figure out how to link the weekly posts to a single button on my website, so I post the links on my social every Friday, and provide a summary of all posts at the end of each month. Sorry for the inconvenience.
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-centric 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
My buddy Jack and I host a growing Facebook community with lots of nightlife-related content at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/thaiagogo
and I’ve got a small but robust group of pervs posting photos daily at a group called Super Hot Asians here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/374120690195407
Follow me on Twitter/X @BangkokSeven for daily monger material, along with these other profiles that’re chock full of photos of hotties:
@superhotthais
@BangkokNightli2
If you’re feeling generous, you can leave a tip on any of the above X profiles. All proceeds will go to creating more redlight content for you.
Thai chick-related artwork can be purchased at https://www.etsy.com/shop/ThailandNights
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.
Pro Tip Post-Script: Pattaya is best enjoyed when you can get a nap in during the early afternoon. I know it’s not a great tip, but it’s all I’ve got after such a relaxing week.
