What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession.
On Sunday I’d intended to stay in, but the power cut out in my building, and it was too hot to wait it out, so down to the street I plunged and straight to the Pong for a couple mini cigars and a b ruskie. The tourist traffic was another sweaty clusterfuck and ranged from vanilla to weirdo. I actually saw a dude with a mullet and goatee combo like some kind of comic book villain. He had big gaudy lightning tattoos on both arms and took himself very seriously, sauntering into K1 like he was doing the girls a favor. The Cheap Charlie who brings his outside beer into the gogos was also on hand. It was a regular dork convention. He’s always lurking nearby, like a dingleberry that won’t fall off your asshole, but thankfully he only goes after low-hanging fruit. I only ever see him sitting with 5s and 6s.
Inside K1 there were two new best friend 10s. They were so hot I choked on my vodka. Then I clocked four new 9s. It was a cornucopia of coquettish clams. After two cocktails and a lot of leering, I popped out to the terrace for the mini-Cuban. At the table next to me were two big-boned Transylvanian-looking brunettes. They sipped mugs of Singha and watched the crowd with that sense of accomplishment only an eatpraylove woman can feel, for having had the stones to get on the plane. Meanwhile, half a dozen Europlump bovines took seats in the beer garden where they could stare into the gogo with the kind of morbid curiosity that all fat farang gash feel when they see a hot dancer onstage. They loathe and envy her at the same time, because all Western women long to be alluring. They crave the sense of being desired. And let me tell you, reader. From my vantage point, I saw not a single desirable one among them.
Then Offy came out and dragged me back inside, and a minute later the two vampires came in and found seats, rounding out their Thailand adventure in good form. Just then, in walked a local monger who’s been a pilar of Patpong much longer than I have. We always say hello to each other as though we’re longtime friends, but I only ever see him in the gogo. “Its good to see you,” I said. He gave me a hug and shouted “We’re still alive!” It was both an exclamation of surprise and an exhortation. A sense of wonder that we still breathe, and a challenge to keep up this redlight life as long as time will allow. And Lord have mercy, if that isn’t a call to action, I don’t know what is. A moment later, a noob regular who is trying his hardest to establish himself as a pongmonger wandered by, looking lost and lonely. He will never be a true local. He simply lacks the mojo. And nomojo is fine if you’re a tourist, but to be a BK Bukowski, you can’t have even a shred of douchedom. And this schmuck was doused in a douche river like Achilles in the Styx.
In Old2, now New3, the girl I buy drinks for was otherwise distracted by a doughy farang with a Midwestern haircut. It freed me up to make lusty expressions at a newhotskinny onstsge. From there I skipped to New2 to flirt with the gold-digger in there who tries to rinse me on every visit. It’s going to take some LA-style negging to get her to fall in line. I didn’t see her, so after one drink I meandered to K Corner to find a gang of newhotties, all while the New2 gal relentlessly messaged me to come back to her. I’ve got to play high school games with her because she’s aware that she is hot. It makes taming her more of a challenge, but my instincts tell me it’ll be worth it in the long run. She’s got a body like a roller coaster, and this old fun fanatic wants to take a ride.
At midweek, I got a wild butt hair and decided to check out Lusty Lady, a lone gogo way over in enemy territory. By that I mean Soi 11, a neighborhood I loathe due to the gross overabundance of tourist trash, hiso Thais, and stuck-up farang locals. In short, there’s not a single redeemable demographic on that awful street. But curiosity got the best of me, so over I taxi’d. When I arrived and de-motorbiked, I walked away from Sukhumvit, weeding through throngs of idiots, and caught sight of all the things I hate about Bangkok. Whites dressed in linen reclined against wicker chairs in a hoity-toity joint called Zanzibar. I nearly threw up in my mouth as I passed. At the moment a huge swath of the left side of the soi is razed and walled off. I assume a new interactive space will go there, in the vein of Park Silom and Bangkok One. I kept having to step around crowds of frat guys blocking the sidewalk. An African dude offered me cocaine. Old people in Pattaya tank tops lumbered here and there. It was a nightmare.
I was peckish, but the last thing I wanted was Western pub food, so I passed up one after another of those bland bars chock full of caucidiots (Caucasian idiots). I also have no interest in Middle-Eastern or east Asian fare, which are abundant in the neighborhood. Then I spotted a taco joint called Molino. It’s a cozy little place with friendly, English fluent staff (I suppose all Soi 11 staff have to be). I ordered in Thai. The waitress repeated back my order in English. The house margarita was strong enough to make the hair on my arm stand up. The server brought me a complimentary mini quesadilla with a spicy peanut salsa. For a second, I wondered what people with nut allergies do when they come to Thailand. I suppose they die. The mini-dilla was delicious, and the salsa was spicy enough to make my lips hum for a good five minutes afterward. As an LA native, I know a hand-made in-house tortilla when I taste one.
I ordered three tacos. First: fish. When I was at uni, and for probably a decade after, my friends and I would take a biannual surfing trip to Baja California, so fish tacos helped shape my self-actualization. Now, whenever I find a good one, it’s like a long-lost puzzle piece falling into place. Molino’s was fantastic. The fish was fat, moist, crispy, and delicious with accoutrements that can only be described as perfect. Taco 2 was a fusion: chicken larb. The meat was light, fluffy, crunchy, and delicious. I didn’t detect much in the way of larb flavor, which was fine by me, as I’m not a huge fan. I just wanted to try something new. There was again a lingering heat that warmed my mouth long after I’d polished off the taco. Number 3, carnitas—my favorite. It came piled high with onions and I worried I wouldn’t taste anything else. It was unwarranted. The shredded pork was juicy, succulent, carnal, and salacious. There were no bells or whistles. The chef just let the meat speak for itself. Each bite was like a sinner’s sly peek into heaven. And that’s how the other tacos felt as well. The combination of ingredients harmonized like a small symphony, creating a perfect taste experience from start to empty plate. A dude sat at the table next to me and tried to make conversation. I pretended not to hear him and quickly paid. VAT plus service charge. Ridiculous. I fucking hate the touristy areas of this town.
On my way to Lusty, I was shocked at the number of freelancers along the soi, and how aggressive they were. I was also surprised to see that a few of them were 8s and 9s. “Who would brazenly grab up a piece of street meat in this busy vanilla tourist area?” I was asking myself, just as a large American with big sweat stains under his arms did just that.
Lust Lady is not a gogo bar. It’s a regular bar with one girl dancing under a purple spotlight around a pole on the bar. It reminds me of something you might see on Koh Tao or some deep southern Phuket beach. Drinks are 5 to 10 baht higher than Patpong prices. I had a Magners (280b) and bolted. I feel like if God designed a personal Hell for Bangkok redlight mongers, it’d be something along the lines of Lusty Lady. This joint is for vanilla tourists who don’t have the balls to hit up a real redlight.
I’d briefly considered checking out Hillary 3, but one glance inside changed my mind. The ladies were all 3s and 4s, and the dudes looked like the saddest collection of losers this side of the Mississippi. Instead I sat on the terrace outside Hillary 11 to smoke a Backwoods and people-watch. I didn’t see a single good looking farang on the entire soi. This is a street for douchebags. Everyone here is a mutant. I spotted one tan-skinned 8 who wasn’t farang or Thai. She knew she was the hottest thing for a mile in every direction. She was so far up her own ass she barely made it up the street. One short effeminate dude emerged from the Holiday Inn with a hot Thai on his arm. And apart from a couple of pretty freelancers that’s all she wrote for beautiful people. Suddenly I started to miss the Pong, where any given King’s gogo has a team of ridiculously hot chicks in lingerie, and I made a mental note to never come back to this shitty part of town. The tourists and Thonglor expats can have it. It sucks.
As the weekend loomed, I popped out for a burger at The Shack (full evaluation to come on my Substack). Then as if by instinct, my feet took me t’Pong, where I finished smoking the Liga 9 I’d started at the burger place. Sitting on the K1 terrace, a staffer suddenly shuffled over and told me to hide my stogie because the police were coming. I slipped the cigar under the vinyl tablecloth while three barbacks stood around me. ‘Twas news to me after smoking here for nearly 2 decades that it apparently breaks some retarded rule. You can get high as a kite but you can’t smoke tobacco. The people who make the laws in this country are bonkers.
The opening lineup in K1 was six superhot newbies and a transfer from New2 who is also incredibly hot, plus four chubsters. Something I’ve realized in my old age, though, is that superhotness is no longer enough to make me want to smash. Call it chemistry or pheromones, or je ne sais quoi but there’s an extra element that’ll put a girl over the line separating unfuckable from fuckable. My harem all have it. Only one of the six hotties onstage at that moment had it.
I was the first customer in, but over the next four minutes, two old Americans and 30 Nipons flooded the place. This was at 19.45. Suddenly a girl ran over, bowed on one knee, wai’d and said “Sevennn!” It was a girl from the New3 that I met one night and then ignored for a week. She sat down and asked when she could come to my room. I swear, women the world over are all the same. Show interest once, and then ignore them, and they go positively crazy. To them, you’re a fish that jumped in the boat and then fin-flipped back into the sea. From that moment on, it’s a Captain Ahab situation, and your wang is the white whale. Or in my case, a medium-sized manatee.
A habit I’ve picked up in k1 is to not wait for a barmaid to pick up my bin and just going to pay it myself. This is out of equal parts impatience and convenience. A new staffer ran over and blocked the register, trying to take my money. Everyone around her stopped her and said in Thai, “That’s Seven, he can do what he wants.” God bless the King’s staff.
After a brief run through K Corner and New2 I flopped over to Virgin and oh my stars, was Soi 2 ever a clusterfuck. They’re still filming a movie in the Pong, and the area from ada Bing to French Kiss was a mad frenzy of Thai and tourist lookieloos and the film crew, who did their best to make do. They’d planted extras in front of every gogo—young Thai gals in cowboy outfits. I assume the shot would be taken from a moving vehicle so nobody would be shown in great detail. It called back memories of my movie extra days. In my 30s I was in several films, TV shows and commercials. But I quit after a year because it literally felt like The Devil was on every set, mingling with everyone. It permeated the air. If Satan had a flavor, you could taste it in your mouth on a movie set like a lingering fart.
On Friday my buddy Jack Nites messaged from Las Vegas, the new gogo on Soi Nana that’s not in the actual Plaza. He said it was pretty good. They had sexy girls and Beer Lao for 165b. I knew I’d have to get over there eventually but not that night. Instead, I stayed in with my number one concubine. We ate CBD gummies, watched Passengers, and managed to bang twice. The night was all planned out by her, and I think it was meant as a thank-you for getting her chocolates for her and her sisters for Valentine’s Day.
On Saturday a 3rd string conc came over at noon. After that I ordered a pizza and took a long nap, with crazy dreams. Then I meant to go check out Las Vegas, but in the end I just didn’t feel like it. And something I decided when I moved here to pursue a life of lone debauchery is, I won’t do anything I don’t feel like doing. My entire young life back in the US consisted of mostly doing things other people wanted me to do, that I had no interest in doing. My dad told me that that was life for a man–doing things he doesn’t want to do for the sake of others’ happiness. It’s one of the many reasons I opted out family life. You already have to work for a living, and most people end up in a job they hate. I lucked into a profession that’s at least ridiculously easy. And in Thailand, the only other obligations are visa-related. So for a man trying to do the least number of things he doesn’t want to do, Thailand is a pretty good option. Also, quality of life boils down to it pros and cons. In the US, there are fare more cons than pros. In TLOS, as you know, it’s the opposite. All of that is to say, though, that I try to avoid doing shit I don’t feel like doing. So I Ponged instead. I got a half-full watermelon shake from the food court and in K1 poured my vodka soda into it. A gogo dancer squealed with delight and quizzed me about the flavor. I told her it’s delicious. I hung out for two rotations and bailed just as Offy arrived. She pitched a fit that I was already leaving, but Seven wasn’t gonna do anything he didn’t wanna do on the night, so I bailed next door to New3 where my latest regular girls and soon-to-be-conc enjoyed my company—and by that I mean I gently massaged her minge—for the length of one cocktail. She’s easily the hottest dancer in there, and so while we canoodled, two scummy-looking farang came in separately and fixed their gaze on us, ostensibly waiting their turn for a go at her. 10 years ago I would’ve stayed and cockblocked them the entire night, but this old monger doesn’t claim working girls anymore. Nothing good comes of that. If you’re going to hold on to a Thai gogo dancer, it must be with a loose grip. You have to be ready to let them go for the flimsiest of reasons. It does no good to hang on. This is true of all women, but it’s especially true in the redlight. Maybe that’s why I like my harem so much. They’re all off the pole.
In New2 a Japerican (Japanese American) who was clearly new to the redlight came and sat in front of me. He was downright gleeful at the sight of lingerie-clad dancing girls, who turned up the flirt to 11 for him, and that made him downright giddy. He pulled out two $100 bills and handed them to a server, who thought at first he was gifting the money to him. After some confusing hand gestures, the server left with the cash and returned with Thai baht. Talk about service. But by then the rotation happened, and the dude went searching through the bar for the girls from the previous rota who’d flirted with him. I remember when I was a noob, and redlighting was that much trouble. A seasoned monger is a Zen master. He sits, meditative, in the eye of the storm. Chaos rains down around him, but he rests in power, letting the universe bring and take the clunge as it wills. Speaking of, the superhot gold-digger in there whom I’ve decided to break like a wild horse spotted me from the stage. I met her gaze and smiled, she shied away and hid behind her cohorts. Just to get her mind going, I put a hundy in the knickers of the other dancer who has the same name, with a plan to ignore her until she begs to come to my apartment.
K Corner was a madhouse as usual. I fixated on a girl in a bikini and thigh high leather boots with small tits and sixpack abs. It’s shocking how many young Thai women just naturally have the physique of a 1980s Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. In the way that Humbert-Humbert got locked into 12-year-olds in that famous book by Nabakov, I became obsessed with 80s and 90s supermodels at an early age. Your Stephanie Seymours, Heidi Klums, and Elle McPhersons. Anytime a gogo dancer’s body resembles one of those long-gone goddesses, I melt into my seat. Speaking of, as I sat there I got a Line message from the gold-digger in New2. She was very upset that I didn’t “choose her.” Then she said, “Come back to me my love. I miss you.” And look, I don’t enjoy manipulating these crazies, but I didn’t make the game. I’ve just mastered it
This week’s Members Only Gallery is a collection of artwork rendered from old Naked Ninja shoots—the pictures that eventually made up a portion of my one and only exhibition, Patpong Dangerous. It’s creative versions of gogo dancer’s back tattoos and other ninja-related nudes.
The link is here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-naked-ninja-random-rejects/
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: Along the recurring topic of this post, as Morrissey once crooned, “The more you ignore me, the closer I get.” That could be the theme song for young, hot Thai gogo dancers. It’s OK to show interest once, but if they don’t bite, the best thing you can do is show total indifference after that. This will plant a seed of befuddlement in the center of her gray matter, and out of that will grow the kind of sexual curiosity that only her own imagination could create.
