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…
Not a lot happened, actually. I didn’t walk the Beach Road much, thanks to an attack of arthritis in my foot, and I barely got out to the redlights again…I think I’m experiencing—not burnout, but boredom. But here’s what I was able to eke out of Ptown since the last post…
Midweek I headed t’6 to rub elbows with hot-assed drinking buddies. While looking for Pang in her bar, a new girl who didn’t know I’d already been claimed shot her shot, and I acquiesced because she had a dragon tattoo down her side. I’m a sucker for side tatts, especially if they’re dragons. I think I conc’d up four in the past 15 years. Subconsciously I think girls who’d put a dragon across their ribcage and over a shoulder are nastier in the sack. In fact, they were the most loving, go figure. She was a fine drinking companion, but sparks failed to fly and I beat it after one vodka. Then Sujita dragged me into her bar. She really wants to shorttime but I’m more interested in her friend Bam-Bam, who wasn’t there on the night.
Walking the gauntlet, I passed a solo American dude carrying a skateboard. He was shirtless, with tattoos on his back and stomach. He kept trying to balance the board on one hand, like it was a feature of his identity. Like the girls might be impressed with his—and I’m serious—skateboard. This is common among Americans. They all desperately want to stand out, to be unique. The problem is, there’s nothing a lot about the average Yank that would make them disticnt or interesting. Those that do, do because they have some talent, or are very good-looking, or have lots of money. But the rest of the unwashed, boring horde have to manufacture an aura for themselves. And in the absence of brains, it’s typically something stupid like tattoos, or a skateboard. This is because inexplicably, all Americans think they’re special. You can thank reality TV for making stars of the likes of the Kardashians, and sit-coms like Friends and Seinfeld. These shows gave Americans the false impression that their mundane, useless lives are all worthy of a Netflix series. It’s also why Americans talk too loudly in public. That’s what happened in every coffee shop scene in Friends, and Seinfeld, and How I Met Your Mother. The extras were all quiet as churches mice, meanwhile the main characters talked at the top of their lungs. Americans think that all TV is real life, and so they think that’s how everyone is supposed to behave in a bar.
Then I went to Mild’s bar. She’s the one with the Thai boyfriend who doesn’t barfine, so of course I want to land her like Ahab wanted that white whale. Two Indian dudes came in and got the nipon treatment, which is to say, the mamasan had all the girls line up in front of them so they could each pick one out. After several uncomfortable moments, they sent the girls away. This, mind you, is a popular joint with the Japanese set. While there, six nipons sat around me buying shots five at a time, multiple times. I barely fit in buying one drink for Mild and then leaving. I’m not sure what the goal was for the Punjabs but if it was to look cheap and inexperienced, they succeeded.
Then I went to find Mingkwan. Her friends all said she was in the toilet. I of course assumed she was getting shagged. But then she appeared, and I rejoiced at the thought of spending 20 minutes rubbing her minge. But as I walked up to get her, an old, bald, fat, drunk farang grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap, all while gripping another girl like she was a piece of driftwood after a shipwreck. So I bailed to Walking Street by way of the long footpath down the Beach Road. By chance I ran into Apple, the freelancer who only fucks Indian dudes. “Seven, why has it been so long since I saw you?” I wanted to say, “Well you’re not going to blow me so why keep wasting time on you?” but instead I said, “You don’t like me or miss me.” She blushed, I hundy-tipped her and walked on.
My first stop was Pin-Up. The girl i used to tip on the reg spotted me and smiled, but I had my sights set on two new smoke shows. One was MIA but the other twisted and turned onstage like a snake with fake tits. She was magnetic. Mesmerizing. A natural seductress without a single physical flaw. In my youth, I would’ve pursued her relentlessly, bedded her ferociously, and eventually lost her to someone more handsome. Today, I just watch her and then leave.
Then I hit XS, looking for Natti. She’s proved impossible to find after our first chance meeting two weeks ago, but I now recognize two recurring hotties that I bump into on every visit. Isn’t that a Thailand problem. I will forego the 9s who present themselves without effort in favor of the 9.5 whom I’ll likely never see again.
In chick I checked for my old Patpong pal but didn’t see her either. A gal I see every time though is a hot piece who looks shockingly like my old number 1 BK conc. She’s shy when I tip her but I can tell she wants more to happen between us. I’m going to leave it to her to find a workaround for the “No Line” policy.
Then I slid into Iron Club because 1—they had happy hour SMLs for 95b and 2—they posted a photo of a superhottie on X. She was nowhere to be seen, but in her place was a herd of bovines that would make any dairy farmer green with envy.
Then I parked at Frog Bar, across from Dragon Agogo so I could smoke a mini Liga. They had the nerve to charge 320b for a white Russian that was 90% milk, and when I spat out a piece of tobacco the mamasan nearly threw me out. Imagine, Pattaya Walking Street, the scuzziest town in all of Asia, and the bar’s like “Hey, don’t spit.” Jesus what a parody.
I happened into Shark just as a “show” was starting. It consisted of two chunkers spinning on poles. The regular rota is a circus of hot nudity, so interrupting that with those two sows is like stopping in the middle of sex to dip your balls in ice water. After that, I called it a night and Bolted home.
On Friday I wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, but feeling like I needed more blog fodder for the five of you who read these posts, and because the US military are back on Ptown for Operation Cobra Gold and I wanted to see how the troops behaved in the redlight. I’ve been here to witness around 10 of these shore-leave weekends, and it’s been different every time. For many years, it was gangs of physically intimidating men raising hell in every bar. Then came the LGBTQification of the army, and dudes stopped barfining and instead acted like eunuchs. They brought their female colleagues with them to the redlight, didn’t drink, and didn’t fraternize. Then Trump got back in office. Last year, the troops were two completely contrasting groups—beefed-up skullcrushers and skinny, broccoli haired betas. This time, I saw barely any of the latter. It was mostly tough motherfuckers with a handful of older, more seasoned blokes, who I’m assuming were officers. Also, females traversed the gauntlet in pairs and threes. They seemed to enjoy themselves, but for Seven, seeing white clams in the beer bar feels like what a cat must feel when it’s petted from tail to head.
I found Beem without a customer and gagging for a drink and so swung in to hang with her for a bit. She complained loudly about the cold, as it had drizzled for about an hour and when that happens the Thais all get chilly. I mentioned the US military and that launched her into a tirade about how they walk The 6 back and forth ten times but don’t go in the bars because they have no money. I was flabbergasted. You’d think if they were trapped on a ship for several months out of the year they’d have plenty saved up to burn on a vacation in Pattaya. She said, “No. No money. Everybody no money.”
Beem is always fun to drink with because she has a good sense of humor and constantly cracks jokes. Plus, she massages my balls the entire time I’m sat there. I shorttimed her once but wasn’t impressed with her skills. It hasn’t stopped her from asking for another go every time I see her.
Whilst searching in vain for Linda, a hot piece who disappeared from The 6 some weeks ago, I happened upon a tiny little thing named Korya, 22 from Isaan. She was new to the scene, though, and afraid of farang. I joked with her, made her laugh, and then got out of there. She was getable, but it would’ve been a slog and I’m too old for that now.
Friday was also the goddam Holi Festival, so getting from Soi 6 to Walking Street was a chore. If you’re one of those locals who reviles the Indian population in Ptown, it’s the worst weekend of the year.
Once again I was too early for anyplace except Windmill so i stopped for a draft beer. A Nipon had a girl over and they had an entire conversation in Thai, every word of which I understood. It was something of an out-of-body experience.
A crusty old local shuffled in, sat down next to a naked pole dancer and proceeded to rub her ass. She didn’t react or respond, seemingly put out by his paws g. He immediately got up and moved to another nude kitty and started rubbing her ass. …
The Nipon to farang ratio in XS was 99 to 1. One of ‘em sat down next to me with a disposable camera. The security guard was utterly befuddled (utterfuddled for short). He kept turning it over in his hands, trying to figure out how it worked. Eventually the dude just put it in his pocket and that seemed to satisfy the staff.
In Chick, there are half a dozen 10s just casually mixed in with everyone else as though no one realizes they’re head and shoulders above the rest. They all take turns trying to get my attention, but I only have eyes for the one who looks like a less-hot version of my number 1 BKK conc.
In Pattaya I have not yet achieved the level of fame and worship that I had in Patpong, and I suppose I never will. But I have reached a level of boss recognition that makes me uncomfortable. They all wave, or come over to shake hands—stuff that normal humans do as a matter of course that I, as an anti-social weirdo, can’t stand. But I go through the motions anyway so as not to ruffle anyone’s feathers.
Shark is the Lollapalooza of tits on Walking Street. It’s the Titsapalooza. It’s a pornographic carnival for the randy barfly. I spotted half a dozen 9s that would curl a monger’s toes. And so this has become the routine. I hit all the same gogo’s in the same sequence on a night, see the same girls, tickle the same minges. Perhaps this is the start of a hamster wheel of harlots and booze upon which I’ll run until my death. If that’s the case, I’m not complaining. There are worse ways to wile away one’s days.
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: If you’re a problem drinker like me—and by that I mean, if I’m not drinking, it’s a problem—you might’ve tried the new Thai booze in cans in 7-11. It says “white spirits” on the label, but one’s strawberry flavor and one’s lemon. Anyway, I’ve discovered there’s a 3rd flavor—pineapple—that as far as I can tell is only available at Friendship Market. It’s blue in color and is delicious. And if you add a shot of vodka over ice, you’ve got yourself a sturdy, tropical cocktail worth tipping your hat at.
