What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession.
At time of posting, I’m in a taxi on my way back to Bangkok, with my brother in tow, who still can’t shake the cough that had him laid up in bed for the entire last half of his Pattaya sex tour. And for this entire last half of the week, I barely hit The 6, or Walking Street, or LK Metro. I was just Ptowned-out. But it wasn’t a total loss. I managed to squeeze some fun from the remainder of the holiday, like drops of lime juice into a bottle of San Miguel.
On Sunday a couple of blonde tourists got the condo next to mine, and they brought their 5 year-old son with them. To Pattaya. At night, they’d go out partying and leave him alone in the room whereupon he alternated crying and kicking the wall until they returned in the wee morning hours.
Monday marked day 1 of shore leave for the US Navy in Ptown, so I headed to The 6 to watch the show. One Pattaya Facebook page lamented that all the girls would be barfined and every restaurant packed with peak physical specimens, thanks to the invasion of the American servicemen. Not so.
The past few years have seen a marked decline in the masculinity and prowess of the US sailor. More than half of them were indeed strapping young men who could rescue you from any natural or man-made disaster. The other 40% were scrawny, broccoli-haired pussies wearing backpacks bigger than them and looking like children who got separated from their parents at Disneyland. These GenZ tits couldn’t fight their way out of a wet paper bag, let alone have the stones to barfine a Soi 6 girl. In fact, at first it was very apparent that most of the troops were avoiding the soi. They swarmed the mall like ants. They marched up and down the Second Road like it was basic training. The few I did spot on The 6 were too scared to enter a bar. The last time I was down here at the same time as the Navy, the woke vibe was really strong. Every group of dudes had at least one female in the mix, as if to monitor their behavior for toxic masculinity or patriarchal microaggressions. This time, though, feminist chaperones were unnecessary. The demure males exuded a wave of estrogen that made the hair on my arm stand up. I commented as much on X, and someone replied that they might’ve been instructed not to partake in any redlight-related activities. I’d bet a thousand dollars that that’s true. But it was more than that.
Some of the older officers made a good showing. It was obvious they’d been coming here since before The West turned into a giant gaping vagina. The young recruits on the other hand seemed ignorant as to how to even approach a woman, and it occurred to me that they probably don’t even know how intercourse works. God knows they don’t teach it in school anymore. They’re too busy assigning books on how to transition. Speaking of, it was very hard to discern which of the GenZ troops were male and which were female. Or neither or both.
Every so often, a lone sailor would slip stealthily up the soi, clearly on a mission to hit some strange sans the prying eyes of shipmates who’d shame him later for his misogyny. I’m not gonna lie, I found it amusing watching the epic failure of the testosterone-free genderless blobs that make up the new Navy fail at navigating The 6. It was less funny watching them barely avoid being run over, and karate chopping their way out of a girl’s embrace as she tried to pull him into her bar.
Hey, Yankee fucks: if you don’t want girls in lingerie to grab onto you, DONT WALK DOWN SOI 6. There are dozens of other streets you can visit. You chose to go there. The cunt in this scenario is YOU. You’d think a Navy man’s mother would’ve taught him better. Then again, if your mum used to be your dad, and she probably was, it’s understandable.
And I’ve more to say on the subject. Listen Ernesto, you’re not good-looking. You know it, I know it, every chick you ever met knows it. So when a tiny Thai girl shows you some attention and takes a moment to physically touch you—a thing you’ve been deprived of all your life—your reaction should not be to get angry. If a Thai child taps your leg and tries to sell you mints for 60 cents, buy them. Don’t knock his hand away. Again I feel like asking why your mom didn’t teach you better but I already know it’s because she’s a cunt, just like you.
Now, I don’t want to paint the whole of the Navy in a bad light. Most of them were fit, healthy, and well-mannered both in and out of the redlight zones.
While on The 6 I went to have a drink with one of the only two Ptown girls I’ve nailed on this trip. For the entirety of the holiday, I’ve worn a trucker hat, mostly out of laziness and not wanting to bother combing my hair. I took it off when I went upstairs with the girl and she said, “Whoa. You handsome. Why you wear muok?” I think she expected me to be bald. Now whenever I go see her she makes me doff the hat and tells all her friends, “See? Handsome.” I wouldn’t go that far but I appreciate the sentiment.
As I baht-bussesd away I spotted a couple sailors asking for dirty massage on 6/1. The girl at the shop jumped up and down for joy at the prospect of touching someone young and good-looking for a change. On the same ride, a Russian clam tried paying for the songtaew with a 500b bill. People are retarded the world over.
On Tuesday I played the part of a Pattaya retiree and sat in a Beach Road beer bar near soi 8 for a 12 pm SML. As I continued to observe my fellow Americans on shore leave, I had culture shock of my own culture. The US is vast, wide, and diverse, though the sailors mainly represented the middle part of the country. From cornhuskers to tarheels to buckeyes to bobcats, these rubes cover the stretch of what dandies refer to as flyover states, plus a large contingent from California’s south and inland empire. I had to remind myself that for many of these dudes, it’s their first foray off the farm. And how does a Hoosier pack for such a trip? By the look of some of them, the answer is “hilariously.” Outfits ranged from crab fishing to Ibiza clubbing. The Cali set all dressed like rappers. I would’ve loved to have a 5-minute conversation with one of ‘em, just to get an idea of what went through their head as they traversed Soi 6, wandered Walking Street, had a massage, hit up i-Bar. Either by habit or fear of change, they clustered together in various Starbucks, trying to look “New York cool” but barely pulling off normalcy. One poor shlub carried around a skateboard like he was going to find some sick rails to shred. Swap the board for some massage oil, buddy. A fascinating overlap was the wide-eyed newbs’ first taste of Ptown vs the contingent of retired vets who knew they’d end up here after their first shore leave. The latter stared at the former, remembering that initial realization all those decades ago. The former scrutinized the latter, not realizing they were looking at themselves in a futuremirror.
That evening my brother finally felt well enough to go out for a bit. We hit Toscana on the Beach Road and enjoyed the entertainment provided by our Navy brethren. Some passed by in small groups, shouting in Spanish, “wehh, ayyy, ehhhh! No mames, heyyyy!” Other more distinguished gents took a table next to us and had a quiet meal. One dedicated enlisted man jogged by, shirtless and in short shorts.
After dinner my bro went to bed and I scooted to Walking Street to see what the Navy did with all that visual stimuli. At first I spotted only one trio of black dudes. They gravitated to the dunking booth and threw balls at a target to get girls wet. Weird flex but understandable. I couldn’t resist Pin-Up and swung in for a happy hour draft and an eyeful of spectacu-tits. PU reminds me of my first few years in country where every bar you entered, be it in Ptown, Phuket, Samui or Bangkok, had a majority of girls that were hot. Fatties and uglies were rare. That’s still the case in PU, XS, Chick, and Opium. Thank Buddha for those bars.
After exiting PU I spotted 3 sailors–2 pasty white dudes and a clam–paying 500b apiece to see a sex show. I can’t judge because I don’t know what it’s like spending months at sea on a giant floating factory. Maybe a sex show is just what they need, clam included.
Then I fitted to XS where the girls are less petite than at PU. Not that they’re fat. They’re just bigger. Taller, bustier, and with wider hips. At least, that’s what I saw in the first rotation. There are at least triple the number of chicks in XS compared to PU, but for some reason the finny (fit skinny) girls have gravitated to PU.
The following morning I re-noondrank at the same Beach Road bar, in the same seat in fact. With my sib still stuck in bed I had to find ways to kill time, and a cold SML on a hot winter afternoon is an easy choice. There’s something about the lime combined with the coolness of the beer as it sooths ones insides, pushing the heat back to the ends of your ears as the alcohol flattens the edges of one’s brain like fingers in play-dough, followed by a minute of staring out at the sea, then doing it all again. It’s a small pleasure, but a pleasure nonetheless. And isn’t that all there is to life? Small moments of pleasure on a long line of oblivion like the dotted lines of a highway at night. Jesus, I’m so bored with Pattaya I’m starting to wax philosophical.
Just then, my headphones played Bono’s cover of Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen and I was transported back in time to when it was released. ‘Twas the mid-1990s and I was trapped in the kegel grip of a certain young whore in Los Angeles. Back then I tried to wrangle the wild ones into monogamy—a hopeless endeavor if there ever was one—and this song would play whilst I pursued her by night through the canyon roads of Simi valley in my Mustang Cobra GT. She was slippery as an eel, that one. But when you caught her, the sexual reward was pure euphoria. Unfortunately, the juice was never worth the squeeze. That didn’t change till I made the move to TLOS.
Speaking of, I was beginning to wonder if I’d died and gone to hell, which for me is being stuck in Ptown daydrinking and not getting laid for eternity, when a blessing dropped into my lap out of the blue. My number 2 concubine messaged to say she was coming to Pattaya for her friend’s birthday and do I want a quickie while she’s in town. Great googlie-mooglie, friends. I nearly wept with joy. She showed up at sundown, stayed for an hour, serviced me twice, and then disappeared. That short encounter practically saved my life.
Day 3 of the US Navy shore leave was just a repeat of the previous day: clusters of mustachioed dudes in backpacks and backward baseball caps holding a Starbucks and walking swiftly to parts unknown (I assume back to the Hard Rock). That evening the sib wanted to get out for a bit so we went for Slice pizza on Soi 6. For once, I didn’t have my earbuds in, and the cacophony of idiotic music overlapping up and down the alley was an affront to human decency. One of my two conquests spotted us and ran over to join us for pizza. It was a bit awkward because she kept asking me to take her upstairs again and I wasn’t feeling it. So I told her I’d come back the following day and nail her to the wall and she seemed OK with that plan.
Then I dropped my bro at the condo and slipped over to LK to hang with my galpal in Las Vegas, and afterward check out some of the gogos I’d previously overlooked for good reason. The first was Crystal Club, where the birds onstage were less than hot. The TVs showed footage from the bar in 2015, which coincidentally was the last time I went in there. The chicks on the monitor were much, much hotter. I broke my own rule and left before the rotation. Then I hit Showgirls, which should be called Shitshowgirls. I spotted one reasonable-looking lady in there. 95b happy hour vodka though, so there’s that.
And since I was on a roll of hitting gross LK gogos I swung into Cheetahs for flabby ass and 80b SMLs. In a weird twist on the night, every crappy gogo I entered had a contingent of US Navy there with their mustaches and baseball caps. I wondered why they chose to go to bars with not-hot chicks. Was it deliberate? A form of self-flagellation? Who knows.
The following evening I went back to The 6 to renail that girl as promised. I didn’t know how to tell her “No” so, up we went. This time, as last time, once my panting and grunting had ended, which took all of 10 minutes, she bade me goodbye and curled up on the bed to nap for the remaining 50 minutes of our shorttime. In fact I got the feeling the only reason she banged me the second time was so she could get some shut-eye afterward. I pushed on down the soi and got wrangled by Kungking, another temporary friend, who insisted I buy her a drink. And since I’m playing the long game with her, I obliged.
Not having to chauffeur my brother around on this trip due to him being sick most of the time, I’ve been afforded the chance to do stuff I’d never normally do. Example: after leaving The 6 I walked along the beach. Then I found a lounge chair on which to sit and simply watch the sun go down like a regular tourist. I’m not gonna lie, it was nice.
On our last night,my lil bro realized he hadn’t been to Walking Street, so I took him over there. The muay thai exhibition ring that was torn down during Covid has reopened closer to the entrance to WS. They coaxed us in thanks to my brothers love for combat sport. Immediately we were ripped off. The dude outside said 100b per person, then once we sat down it changed to 200b per person. Then I bought 2 Leos for 160b with a 500b bill. They said they’d bring my change but never did. The scam is strong with the fake Ptown muay thai stadium.
Then the sib wanted to see Russian girls so we hit Monro. Out of 25 girls, two were hot, and the hotter of the pair didn’t dance or talk to customers. She just hung on the boss’ arm the whole time. Then we slipped into Fahrenheit where only one girl was big enough for my bro and where I finally ran into my galpal from that bar. “Where have you been?” I asked her. “I’m here every night,” she replied. I dry humped her for a bit and then bailed to Windmill, where my sib got to ogle all the chunky rump a man could want. Then he got Burger King take-away and I grabbed a bag of indica gummies.
And so this weird trip has come to a sputtering, hiccupping end with no crescendo or climax to mark it. My weary brother will be on a plane in a few hours and I’ll go back to life as normal, if less ordinary. I can’t wait to return to a mundane life of Silom restaurants, Patpong by night, and concubines galore. I miss my harem.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is a collection of photos sent to me by one of Patpong’s most notorious gogo dancers. The link is here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-gogo-dancer-retrospective/
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: If you have a friend or family member out to visit you in TLOS, and they come down with something, take them to the hospital immediately. Sure, it’s probably just a cold. But in this post-Covid era of paranoia, you want to rule out something more serious. After all, your sheltered chum/relative probably hasn’t been exposed to many foreign germs, and if they don’t kick it by the time they leave, and have to go coughing through the airport, it raises a lot of unwanted red flags. Just get ‘em checked out. Trust me on this one.
