What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is what I found in my phone’s notepad at the end of the week…
It’s been a strange seven days. In the last week, a five-month drought of clunge has reversed in fortune, and I now have a stable stable of concubines in Ptown. The old BK harem are also still around, robust and randy as ever. It’s created a kind of sex bubble for me, where I’m totally comfortable and feel no sense of urgency to run out and land more trim. Between now and last Sunday, I hit the redlight only twice. The other five days were spent taking walks, entertaining lasses in my apartment, and watching TV. Could I have been more productive? Yes. Should I have been more productive? Absolutely. But it was nice to just relax, get shagged, and not have anything to worry about.
For the foreseeable, I’ve gathered four fillies into my Pattaya harem, and they are all delightful in their own unique way. When I was younger and experienced this kind of luck, I was always wary. Always waiting for it to blow up in my face. But since moving to TLOS, that hasn’t happened. It was almost as if the universe was telling me all along to get the fuck out of the US because what was really a lifetime streak of bad luck all but ended when I got here. I hope I’m not jinxing myself by saying, it’s been a dream come true from week one as a Thai expat.
The Ptowners are nothing like my Bangkok harem. For starters, two of those BK gals have been with me for 9 and 10 years respectively, and though the other two only got pulled in 5 years ago and 3 years ago, we’ve been on a friendly basis since the early 20teens. These Ptown slags are brand spanking new, though two have already found a routine. Gals 3 and 4 still aren’t 100% on board, and for that reason, I must continue to bait hooks. But they’ll probably accept harem life in due course. It’s just a matter of time.
While doom scrolling through Instagram, I got a lot of posts from lonely mid-50s Americans whining about their sad lives. I guess the algorithm assumes I must be one of them. It doesn’t know I found the glitch in the Matrix, the escape hatch from the rat’s maze, the ejector seat out of the dystopia of the West. And look, it wasn’t because I’m some kind of genius. I too was once a pathetic loser looking for love. From the age of 5 until around 40, all I wanted in life was monogamy. To have one woman love me wholly, forever. Every sad attempt ended in disaster, though, and just before I relocated to Paradise, while driving PCH with my then girlfriend and the last farang I’d ever waste time and money on, I remember telling her that I wished there was a system where a handful of people could pledge themselves to each other in lieu of real love. “Something like…” I recall saying, “a harem.” So even though I was figuring out that I’d never find a wife to live out my days with like my mum and dad had. I knew deep down it wasn’t in the cards. Still, I kept trying, even into my first few years in TLOS. It wasn’t until the team of harlots at Patpong embraced me as a part-time benefactor and sex Olympics partner, and regularly rotated in and out of my bed for a decade, that the restlessness in my spirit found quietude. Then, when I moved to the beach, those first months of floundering brought me right back to that familiar state of worry, only this time it was worry that I wouldn’t be able to replicate that glorious team of Bangkok concubines that so enriched the worn-out sinews of my soul, even as they drained every drop from my balls. And then, last week, I achieved it. The brass ring was clenched. The puzzle pieces fell into place. Now, all that’s left to do is eat, drink, watch sunsets, and get screwed regularly by one set of nubile 20-year-olds or other, depending on where I am at the mo. If this isn’t the quintessential definition of “living the dream” gents, I don’t know what is. Monogamy might be out of reach for this lethargic lothario, but the alternative is almost as good. I won’t die surrounded by a devoted family, but I just might have six or eight longtime concs and possibly a few illegitimate offspring when I shuffle off this monger’s coil, and that’s just fine with me.
But I digress. Here are the ins and outs of my two days of Ptown mongering from last week:
Early on I had the daunting task of checking all the baited lines I had in the water on Soi 6. After a week away, the girls were in a variety of moods ranging from horny to angry. Meena was with a customer. She saw me walk by and sent a message, “I’m coming to your room tomorrow. ” But I’d already scheduled a different slag so I told her to wait. Then I stopped to drink with Da, when suddenly another girl, Fay, grabbed me. “Seven! You forgot me.” It was awkward, as I already had a finger in Da’s cooch. I didn’t remember Fay but she sure as shit remembered me. And the rules of the Thailand redlight are, whoever got got first gets precedent, so Fay refused to leave. She just kept asking for a drink, so I hundytipped her and said I didn’t remember her. After she left I checked my list of previous names and bars and sure enough, I’d had a drunken chat with her merely two weeks before. I felt bad, but not bad enough to abandon Da.
Soda was railing a customer upstairs when I passed, but later as I circled back, I caught her just as she returned from her shorttime ugly-bump. I knew because she was going around doing that whore’s good-luck ritual with the other girls where she makes vagines of her hands and the girls stuck their middle fingers in, hoping some of that sex tourist body fluid somehow would catch fire for their future barfine efforts. I sat with her and asked if her gash hurt. She feigned ignorance and insisted she didn’t just shag some shmuck upstairs. I dropped the topic because she seemed really awkwardly put-out about it.
Nadear had the night off, but I sent her a Line saying I was trying to find her. She read it but didn’t respond, which means I must reapply bait to her hook.
Grace was MIA. Of these new fishes, Nadear and Grace are the hottest, so not getting to work my wiles with them on the night felt like a bit of a fail. Thank God Soi 6 is so rife with fetching clams that disappointment can’t but last a short while.
Sofia was upstairs getting railed, or had stopped working all together. I couldn’t get a straight answer from her cohorts.
Beem didn’t want a drink so I put a hundy in her bra and patted her ass for a few minutes before moving on. I found a new hotskinny named Aum and as I walked her in for a drink, Meena who was in the bar next door gave me a stare-down that would kill a small animal. I sent her a message to wait five minutes, hurried up my session with Aum without asking for her Line, and then quickly slid into a seat next to Meena, where I stayed for a good 30 minutes just playing with her naughty bits while she struggled not to get too horned-up.
And that was all she wrote for a night on The 6. The two gals I was most excited for, even more than Grace and Nadear—May and Woonsen—both 19, both spectacular—have departed their bars and left no forwarding address, and aren’t returning Line messages. Ah, well. Sometimes that’s just the way the mango mangles.
For the second and only other time I went out last week, stop number one was at 7-11 to pay my phone bill, but the rocket scientists in there couldn’t figure out how. This is the one at the top of Soi 6. I don’t know why the chicks in there seem dumber than average but all of ’em are the same level of stupid. Then I hit Meena’s bar for a drink. She has one of the best asses on The 6. I could sit in there and rub it like a genie’s lamp for hours. A fat ginger bearded Yank came in, got a girl, ordered drinks, and within two minutes had his tongue in her mouth. I guess I can remember when a kiss held importance, but Thailand beat that sentiment out of me in the first year. Culturally—and expats already know this—kissing just ain’t a big deal in this country. I remember my first and only Thai girlfriend liked to kiss, but it’s something of a red flag here. It means she’s already had too much “foreign contact,” if you know what I mean.
Speaking of too much contact, I tried to make it past Soda’s bar without going in, because she’s always just finishing a shorttime tryst or about to have one, but she and all her friends shouted me down and I couldn’t get away. In the end, I didn’t mind. She’s maybe a 7 or 7.5 but her personality puts her up to an 8. She alternately sweet and mean. She’ll run her hand up my shorts to massage my balls and then yank my leg hairs. She’ll force-feed me her vape and then rub my shoulders. It’s a yin and yang of pleasure and pain with her and I’d expect nothing less from a 21-year-old.
Nadear, who I’d missed on my last three Soi 6 visits, was back, and just being next to her magnificent body gave me butterflies. But when I bit her elbow, which I’m apt to do after a few cocktails, it did something to her funnybone and then she was cross with me. I tried to placate her with a Chupa-Chup, but it wasn’t enough. In the end I just bailed, hoping the next time I saw her she wouldn’t remember the elbow incident. Sweet Bar has a new owner, and along with him a new crop of minge. Among them is one sex bomb, one petite cutie, and a load of chunkers. It’s the normal formula (normula for short, copyright BKK7) for beer bars these days. I remember when it was the opposite. When a fat gal was out of the ordinary. Alas, those days are gone forever.
A Thai dude with two baskets, one of crickets and one of larvae, walked The 6 and just cleaned up. The number of chicks buying bugs to snack on made the hair on my neck stand up. Imagine being that farang I mentioned earlier who couldn’t wait to french kiss his tubby bar girl and wondering, “Now what in the fuck is that flavor I’m detecting?” and waking up in the middle of the night to pick legs out of his teeth. Ay caramba.
I think the most hilarious thing in the Thailand redlight scene is the short, dumpy farang with an inflated sense of self, derived from just a day in country. I love an ugly sex tourist who’s humble, appreciative, shy around bar girls, and just counting his lucky stars he found this place. They’re the cream of the tourist crop. But for every one of him, there are five butt-ugly dudes who mistakenly think they’re pimps after getting cat-called a few times on the soi. They turn their noses up at 7s. They act bored when girls fawn over them. The attitude is “Yeah girl, I know you want this.” And look, I get it. This is after decades of living in mom’s basement, going to the club and wondering why no slag will approach. In their mind, they’re a catch. And five minutes on Soi 6 artificially confirms those delusions. I watched hobbits regard the fillies at Playpen as though they were god’s gift to those clams. The flipside of that coin is the muscle-bound tattooed bearded cunt, who finally feels validated for a decade of life in the gym. He doesn’t realize that the girls are just as excited to see the skinny beta male. Whoever is willing to pay the barfine is king, buck-o.
Mild, who has a Thai boyfriend and who puts out a “don’t fuck me” vibe, still works on The 6, so I haven’t made a move yet. I’m content to buy her drinks and enjoy her company. Plus, the so-called unavailable ones make for the best satisfaction once you break ‘em down and get them into bed. It’s even more fulfilling if they make the first move. I’m strategizing with her. It will take time.
From there I walked the Beach Road to Walking Street. There was plenty of time as it was just after 19.00. Halfway there, a late 40s short chubby Thai lady approached, pointing at my knee and saying something I couldn’t hear because my earbuds were in. She got closer, still pointing, and I popped out a bud to find out what she was saying. Then she grabbed my hand and said, “Where you go” in her sultriest voice. Ah, a geriatric freelancer. I laughed and said in Thai, “I’m not a tourist.” She smiled and let me go.
I swung into Windmill because they’re already open at that time and because a follower on X said it was a good place to go. I’d been before of course, and never saw anything to get excited about. But the beer is cheap and they open early. Imagine my surprise when I spied a 9 dancing with nude abandon on a side stage. She was the only thing worth writing about. From there I had a mini Liga and b ruskie at the outdoor bar across from Atmos. It’s the best spot to sit and watch the dancers coming to work. The amount of hot gash that passes by there in a 15-minute window is nothing short of astounding. More than once, I spied a familiar face. Would that they’d look my way for even a second. I might pilfer a Line ID or two before they got swallowed up by the gogo.
Streaming has become a retarded problem in Pattaya, and not just on Soi 6. Yeah, there’s an everpresence of asswipe Nipons, Koreans, and Sinos every 20 meters walking the gauntlet with a phone on a selfie stick. But the beach is even worse. I’d guesstimate that from 11.00 to 2 am there are no less than a hundred cunts live steaming on the beach. It’s goddam ridiculous.
The first time I barfined a Thai girl back in 2010, I was nervous. Since then I hadn’t felt that feeling…until I walked into Pin-Up and spotted a half-Thai, half-farang lass that blew the absolute doors off my brain. She was stupidly stunning, in that the longer you looked at her, the harder it was to think. I slipped a hundy in her bikini and said, “You’re not Thai.” “I’m half,” she replied. “Can you speak English?” I asked in Thai. “No, my dad left before I was born. I’ve lived my whole life with my mom here in Thailand.” I knew I couldn’t get her Line, and actually briefly considered dropping the 5k it would take to get her out the gogo. In the end, I bailed without saying goodbye, because that hot piece must get run through on a nightly basis, and also my dance card is already full.
Atmos has merged their three stages into a three-sided trapezoid. I hadn’t been in in almost a month, and recognized only one gal. Chick was also rife with newhotclunge. I spotted seven fuckables, two of which were 9s.
I hate when dudes are too serious in the gogo. I get it—that’s the kind of attitude you need in a strip club in the West. Otherwise, the girls see you as easy pickings. You need to act aloof. You have to scrutinize the clams like you’re bidding at an auction, otherwise they get overconfident. But Thai girls don’t do that. You’re in Pattaya, bro. The girls have their tits out. It’s a vulnerable situation for them. You don’t have to act like you’re about to shoot up the place. In fact, it’s a ridiculous scene. She’s naked. And dancing. You’re drinking a cocktail. It’s absurd. You won’t hurt your rep if you show a little levity. Jesus.
XS was a clunge circus and by that I mean, if there was a circus for adult men where, instead of elephants, tigers, and clowns, they had three rings of superhot sexbots, it would look like that gogo. The staff struggled to find me a seat, but when they did, I looked up at the stage and standing not two feet from me was a brown sugar-colored vixen with a spider tattoo and a beautiful face, with the kind of skinnybod that makes Seven’s heart go pitter-pat. She locked eyes with me and we exchanged a moment. Then I slipped a hundy in her bra. After her rotation she disappeared into the sea of women milling about and I lost track of her. One minute later, she was suddenly sat beside me. It was another sad case of no-Line heartbreak, but I thought I’d try to have some fun anyway. I began playing with her minge, which typically doesn’t go over well with gogo dancers, but she wasn’t fazed. She actually seemed to like it. Her friend came with her to pilfer an extra ladydrink. I tipped her to go away, but she stayed anyway. After pulling out all my go-to flirts, my companion seemed properly horned-up. Again, I didn’t pull the trigger on a barfine. For one thing, I was smashed by that point. For another, the cheek of these gogos to charge such obscene fees makes me automatically averse to complying.
It turns out there’s a direct correlation between my nighttime mongering and sleep pattern. When I don’t hit the redlight, I end up either scrolling through Instagram till 2 am or just staring at the ceiling remembering all my life’s past mistakes. Only the brief, alcohol-soaked company of a series of hot, bikini-clad Thai fuckmachines helps ease me into slumber. It’s an expensive sleep remedy. Maybe I should just go back to using CBD gummies. Then again, nothing can replace the therapeutic influence of one’s fingers treading lightly along the outline of a hottie’s gash. That is what calms the beast within.
By the time Saturday rolled around, every tryst and every drunken flirtation I’d had with the various goddesses of Ptown drove a point home. I’ve been extremely lucky when it comes to landing hotties. I’d like to say it’s down to my looks, or Casanova-like charm. But in truth I’m just a dumb fucker who’s randomly fallen into the crotches of fabulous women both in Bangkok and Pattaya. If a man were to pay too much attention to the news, as I often do, he could get caught up in all of the globalist, New-World-Order, end-of-the-world chicanery going on and let it get him down. And from time to time, I do. But the truth is, anyone fortunate enough to’ve escaped that insanity and made it here—even if the end for all of us is inevitable—has won the game of Life. We’ve won, fellow mongers. We did it right. We turned a dream into our day-to-day. We turned what most people call the holiday of a lifetime into our regular lives. We are the champions, my friends. And if you’re not—if you’re reading this from some cold corner of the UK or shitty suburb in the US, what’re you waiting for? It’s past time to make it happen.
For any old Members who miss my photo albums, or for anyone wanting an eyeful of redlight content, it’s been brought to my attention that the link to Members Only Content on my homepage is broken. Bear with me while I try to fix it, though fair warning—I’m internet retarded, so it might take a while.
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/ and I promise to post new stuff over there soon.
Slideshows from previous blogs and the redlight scene 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.
And until next time fellow beach 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: I’m sure this will apply to no one, but if you read my negative review of A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms and didn’t watch it for that reason, I was wrong. It got exponentially better after Episode one and just kept improving after that. Go on and check it out. Also, Monarch: Legacy of Monsters Season 2 has started. It’s not good, but Anna Sawai is in it, and It’s worth watching just for her. She’s the most beautiful woman on television.
