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…
I have to say, the past seven days have been a mixed bag, with love and loathing overlapping like the braid in a viking’s beard. I’ve got my brother here on a sex holiday, and playing host-slash-pimp-slash-babysitter has me wound up tight. Even so, I managed to hit a few beer bars and gogos.
At the start of the week, jetlag had me up at 5 am each morning and out for a walk before 7. Here’s what I saw….three drunk farang in a Beach Road bar still carrying on from the night before, slurring and swaying in a cloud of beer breath while their Thai host looked on with delight…an old man taking a very husky LB home, both crammed on the back of a motaxi that threatened to tip over…lots of farang and a surprising number of Thais out exercising…a tour group of Thuslims (Thai Muslims) taking selfies on the beach…a handful of old pensioners sat with the chubby freelancers on the Reach Road. They’re too old (or maybe too poor) for sex but they can pilfer a bit of free female company while the gals wait in vain for real customers.
As I passed through Myth Night with my bro one evening, a random lady shouted “Seven!” She was there with a dude, which made it awkward. “She told me all about you,” he said. I had no clue who she was or how she knew me, which made it even more awkward. I smiled, shook hands, and moved on. Later, the same thing happened on Soi 6. Someone yelled “Seven!” from inside a bar. It turned out to be a mamasan from Patpong who came to Pattaya seeking better pay. It’s always unnerving when an unseen person shouts my name in a redlight. I never know if it’ll be a happy reunion or a confrontation. I’m not what you’d call a heartbreaker. But there’s always a chance that a gal who once was on the gravy train and is no longer will take offense at being cast aside. And in the small world of the TLOS nightlife scene, there’s a chance one of those hussies might be around any random corner.
One night my brother was too tired to go out, so I slid over to LK for a wee drink. Three idiot tourists almost got killed on Buakhao in the space of 5 minutes. They don’t look out for traffic at all. I secretly wished they’d get squished. It’s what they deserve. Lady Love’s aircon must’ve been on the fritz because it was hot as balls in there. I necked my vodka and prepared to bail. I couldn’t stand it. Then I noticed a 10 in the waiting rota and suddenly I wasn’t so warm. Queen Club should change their name to Chunky Monkeys Plus Two 7s. I gave up after that and went home. It was an unremarkable night, despite these remarks.
The next day consisted of me running errands for my brother followed by another trip to Myth Night to shorttime the chunker he met the day before. Once they bailed, I scooted to The 6 to quell the constant messaging by various hoes to come visit them. In LA it’s known not to try to drive anywhere between 16.00 and 19.00 due to traffic. Ptown now has its own gridlock zone. It’s on the Second Road from Central to Soi 6 between the hours of 17.00 and 21.00. The new crosswalk lights plus construction plus the new resorts over there make for a hellish Baht Bus ride.
Pang shouted to me from 50 yards off, which would be embarrassing if it didn’t happen literally everywhere I go. We had a catch-up and then I rolled past J—a tattooed black cat of a slut whom I’d banged once, long ago, and now hang with out of pure pornographic admiration. Then I doubled back with no plan. Typically, I hop from bar to bar containing girls I already know, like islands in a stream, shout-out to Dolly and Kenny. But there’s something sinister and liberating about flying blind on The 6. I found a filly right away who had the look of a baby deer lost in the woods. She wasn’t pretty in the conventional sense, but she seemed the type to take bedroom direction the way a monger would give it, if you know what I mean. That kind of willful aquiessence is irresistible to a true pimp. Her name was Army, and I forgot the name of her bar but luckily managed to typer her Line info into my phone. I told her I didn’t barfine, so if she needed rent money she’d have to come over on her own. She seemed OK with that. Meenah (not to be confused with Mina) pestered me for weeks to visit, and when I rocked up to her bar she wasn’t there. “Day off” said one of her friends. It turned out she was sick with allergies and hadn’t been to work in days. Anwar was on the clock, so I pestered her naughty bits for a while before bailing back home. She’s like putty in my hands. I can practically make her come just by fiddling with her in the bar. She acts like she hates it but her smile tells the real story. It’s remarkable how small soi 6 feels to a local. To the untrained eye it’s a menagerie of bars with hundreds of girls. In truth, it’s three small clusters of bars with varying popularity. Now that I’m a familiar face, girls take turns trying to coax me in for a drink. No one grabs me or treats me like a common tourist, which I appreciate. Some give attitude, like they’re against the idea of regulars. I understand it. The noobs and rubes are easier to manipulate. Other gals see the value in a repeat customer. It boils down to what kind of play the girl wants to make—authenticity or moneygrubbing.
Buakhao is becoming my favorite street in Ptown. When I lived in Silom, Patpong always reminded me of the town of mutants on Mars in the Schwarzenegger version of Total Recall. But compared to Buakhao, The Pong is Beverly Hills. The wackos, harlots, hustlers and rustlers that populate the soi are an eclectic bunch of characters. I feel like I blend into the background of such colorful cats like a random gecko on a back wall. Only two chicks know my name on that street, thank fuck, and there’s always something to do, somewhere new to eat, some previously unvisited bar.
One night, after my bro called one of his chicks, I ventured out alone per my routine just to have a few happy hour cocktails on Walking Street. Two young blonde tourists walked together on the beach road taking selfie in cocktail dresses. What the fuck are those idiots doing in Pattaya? White girls in Ptown are like having a 3rd arm.
Stop 1 was Chick where rota one featured four fetching femmes in black satin hot pants and halter tops. A butterface whom I’d previously tipped merely for having a sixpack kept glancing in my direction. I smiled and turned away unassumingly. But the girl I wanted to tip stood next to her so every time I looked at her, sixpack perked up. In the end, no one got a hundy. ‘Twas a redlight tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.
For who shall get the hundy? Seven asked. The lady with the tiny tits and bum? Foresworn, the other intervened, alas. And no one was afforded Seven’s sum.
That’s right, mofos, I can shit out an iambic quatrain with zero effort. Rota two was comprised of too-fats and too-skinnies plus one 10. I’ve never seen that before. It was hot as balls in Pin-Up. This happens a lot in high season. The temp dips below 80 Fahrenheit and the Thais turn down the aircon. It’s total madness.
The plastic surgery epidemic is turning every gogo dancer into identical clones. The chin-lips-nose are all the same, like they came together in a box of Mrs Potato Head parts. It’s destroying the natural beauty of the women here, and it’s a goddam travesty. I only made it through two of three rotas in there, and my usual possiconc wasn’t on the clock so it didn’t matter. Plus, too many people were eyeballing me in there. I know that as a regular I’ll garner some attention from girls and staff, but it rubs me the wrong way when tourists gawk. Most take no notice, but I think a lot of solo dudes sometimes try to watch what other mongers do, because they’re at a loss for how to behave. Or they’re looking for a wingman to latch onto. And I get it….I just don’t like it.
Half the gals in Atmos resemble the Thai version of the fembots from the Austin Powers movies. I instinctively want to thrust my pelvis at them like Mike Myers did in those films.
I popped into Shark for a 105b drink, and look…I like the lineup in there, but the place smalls funny. I’m not faulting them. Fucking King’s Castle and Glamour smelled bad for over a decade thanks to leaky pipes in the walls. But it was distracting. I got a gin tonic— unusual for this old monger—and the blue glow of the liquid reminded me of tourists at Amy 69 in Ao Nang who thought they were being drugged because they didn’t know blacklight makes tonic water glow blue.
Suddenly my mp3 player spat out Way Down in a Hole by Tom Waits, which reminded me of one winter when I house-sat on Koh Samui so a couple of British teachers could go home for Christmans, and binge-watched The Wire while sharing a bed with the most remarkable blonde Thai who sported a tiger tattoo on her shoulder blade. Her skin tasted of salt and cinnamon. Being balls-deep in her was like touching God. And now that I’ve said it, I can think of two dozen Thai miracles whose nether regions offered the same sensational result. Death and resuscitation. A mini big bang and the key to redemption. The thrum of revelation and the righteous act of completion. I was baptized in it first while in Krabi, then again on Samui. Then in Bang Tao, then in Patong, and then on Soi Cowboy. After that I dug in in Patpong and bathed in the glow of Thai ladyvagine for 12 years. And now I’m in Pattaya, where the magic is…to say the least…diminished. I hold out hope that it can be mined here, like a vein of ore deep in the crust of this crusty city. But my energy to seek it has waned, if I’m honest. The four ladies that made up my Bangkok harem, whom I abandoned out of boredom last year, still make time for me once a month when I pop up there. Maybe I can be content with them and give up on finding a comparable crew of concs here. And maybe that ain’t even bad news. I can’t decide how to feel. When I left for LA in December I had two possible concs in my sights—both were gals who claimed they didn’t barfine or bang customers—in other words, my ideal target. On returning in January, one has disappeared and the other got scooped-up by a local. That’s what I get for visiting family at Christmas. The moral of the story is, never do anything out of selflessness. It always ends with a kick in the balls.
On Friday my bro wanted to check out Soi 6 so I chaperoned him through the gauntlet. He kept saying “Holy shit!” over and over, as he’s a chubby-chaser and The 6 is nothing if not rife with chubs. The dude’s literally in hog heaven. He pulled up next to a behemoth and I had a drink with a gal in (name omitted) Bar. She kept pushing for a 5-tequila set. I told her “no” like 5 times. Then the cashier kept my 10b change after the checkbin. What cuntery. After that I went to visit May, 19 from Buriram. It was her birthday so I brought her some knick-knacks I’d picked up while in the US. She asked why I hadn’t shorttimed her yet. I didn’t know how to say that being young and cute, she was basically the bar’s bicycle and I didn’t want to ride what every other dude already had, so I just said, “I don’t know.” Then it was a crazy kaleidoscope of vodka, asses, and bars with my brother acting like a kid in a fat candy store until he was too drunk to stand.
In a reversal of fortune from earlier in the week, after dropping my sib back at his hotel I wandered past the bar where one of my pre-holiday targets had been and disappeared, and goddam if she wasn’t there, just looking ridiculously hot and like she hadn’t gone missing for weeks. I stood across the street, giving her a disappointed look. She noticed me and beckoned me over. In under five minutes, she’d agreed to come to my room in a day or two, and just like that, I had the start of a new harem. She’s absolutely beautiful. I can’t wait to tie her to the bedpost. And so this week was a whirlwind of emotions, from loss to boredom to listlessness to acquiescence to pornographic joy. It goes to show you, you never know what kind of mood menagerie Pattaya will throw at you.
In random redlight news, Walking Street’s second-newest gogo, Jisoo, was the latest to close. I had high hopes for them but in this economy and lowkey high season, those side-street bars are pretty much doomed. Only the stalwarts like Windmill and Electric Blue will survive.
In other news, if you’re a lover of Game of Thrones Seasons 1 to 6 like I am, then you’ve been waiting for something good from George RR Martin since 2016. So you might’ve been excited last week, as I was, for Episode 1 of “A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.” And if you’re like me, your excitement waned as, minute by minute, the show got more bland and boring, and as each new character was introduced and turned out to be less-interesting than the one before, you likely lost all hope by the time the credits rolled. What a legacy for GRRM. He’ll go down in history as the writer who lost his talent midway through creating his magnum opus. More like “oh, piss,” am I right? Zing!
In contrast, Fallout Season 2 is an epic tale of poetic sublimity. What started out as a fun game consol-related romp has turned into a full-blown allegory on the roots of power vs individualism and the value of familial love in the face of human annihilation. Plus the writing and acting are as good as it gets in current year.
In other other news, I had over a thousand posts in my FB feed from Minnesota businesses last week announcing they’d be closed on the 23rd to protest ICE in their community. Now, why would a Pattaya redlight monger get a thousand posts about ICE protests in a Midwestern US state? More importantly, why didn’t any of these blue-haired fucks care when Obama deported 12 million illegals and Biden deported 5 million? For the record, Orange Man has deported a total of 600k so far. It’s almost as if this is all staged, and the cunts blocking cops from arresting illegal alien child rapists are just demons with nose rings who don’t actually give a fuck about deportations at all, and Facebook wants the propaganda all up in my algorithm.
And while we’re on the topic of crap being injected into my feed, last week I started getting posts from Pattaya Unfiltered and My Thailand. Judging by the bad writing and overall pessimism of both pages, one might assume they’re the same person, but I think it’s actually two separate and equally unhappy farang. The former is nonsensical drivel. The latter is a hate screed against every type of expat. And I understand that sentiment. I had a year or two where I winged about all the fucking retards here. But then I remembered that life is short, and the more you focus on the bad, the more your life will be taken up with it. Plus, there’s a lot more to love about Thailand than there is to moan about. It doesn’t meant I won’t moan from time to time…I just won’t create an entire Facebook page dedicated to it. That’s fucking retarded.
In other other other news, my ThaiFriendly has been completely taken over by uglies. I get 10 to 20 messages per day from the grossest women in Pattaya. Not a single one ranks above a 5. Ah well, at least my in-person hottie come-ons are starting to hit. I’m just hoping for one or two sweet pieces of ass to tide me over between monthly trips to bang my BK concs. As the French say, what-the-fuck-ever.
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: This is for Ptown locals… All week, the cops have been sat at the corner of South Pattaya Road and The Second Road handing out tickets to helmetless farang, so traffic has quadrupled on Buakhao up to Soi 13 while everyone avoids that juncture. I swear to God, if there’s a way Thais can shoot themselves in the tourism foot, they’ll do it.
