What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession. With each day that passes, the more the masses of stupid, sweaty, rude, stupid tourists increase in the City of Angels (that’s Bangkok, for the uneducated). I can’t imagine how bad it’ll be in a month’s time. And yet, Thailand is blissfully set apart from the hellscape of the rest of the globe. North Korea and China have pledged troops to Russia for the coming global conflict. Putin has stated that they are at war with the US, which is on track to tear itself apart over the election of Trump, with half the country accusing the other half of being nazis. But as long as it doesn’t come to nuclear war, we can sit quietly in a Bangkok gogo and pretend none of that craziness is happening. The end looms large, but we’re safe in our redlight bubble.
The end of the year also looms. If I were staying in BKK, I’d be making reservations for all the great holiday buffets and Christmas dinners around town. Instead, I’m heading back to Cali for December, so at time of posting, my Bangkok year has already ended. To compensate, the rest of this month’s weeklies will be throwbacks and reviews of past TLOS x-mas do’s. Today, though, is another record of redlight happenings since last Sunday.
I came out at midweek purely out of hunger, and tried to eat at Derby king. They’d hired four more servers and still couldn’t stay on top of things. I sat waiting for 5 minutes for one person to take my order while half a dozen girls ran around like headless chickens. Then I noticed 11 customers who were all waiting for their food and remember that DK’s kitchen is manned by a solitary 80something lady, and bailed. I picked up pad thai from the food court and went to sit outside K1. The beer garden overflowed with families, couples, hippies, and retirees from all corners of the Earth. I also saw a solo faram (farang clam) in a cocktail dress trying to live her best life but only succeeding in looking lonely, lost and gripped with despair. There were very few mongers as far as I could tell, and lots of curious chicken shits not brave enough to enter a gogo. Bored boyfriends sat waiting for their rotund partners to finish gnawing on kebabs, the inner monologue sleeping to ask why in the fuck they brought fat sand to the beach. In Patpong, the redlight is an open secret. In fact it’s possible for an oblivious person to walk the whole of Soi 1 and not notice it. And the vast majority of foreign cattle won’t partake. And so to most, the gogo is a mystery. They get a glance through the doorway and must construct the rest in their imagination. In high season onPong, the gogo is an escape from the unwashed throngs. And sure, inside you find a whole other kind of dirty horde. The horny horde. But they’re actually not as obnoxious as the typical vanilla tourist. Those cunts just plain suck.
At the table next to me, a skinny Frenchman with a pencil mustache was on a date with the K1 girl he’d barfined the night before. Nothing says romance like bringing the girl back to the scene of the crime for d4inks and meat on a stick. Of course, the girl doesn’t mind. She gets to see her friends and receive a fee for her trouble.
At the beer garden table nearest me, a tall pale couple split one chicken kebab. They maybe got three bites each. No drinks. I assumed they were in BKK on their last night of vacay and had already blew their budget in Phi Phi and Phuket.
Then I stepped inside King’s, checkbin in hand, and found a seat. The bin confused the fuck out of the barmaid, even though I do this all the time, and I had to explain I’d downed a Chivas outside. Then a longtime galpal came to sit with the nipon tourists next to me. While she flirted with him, she reached back to fondle my balls out of eyeshot. She’s one of my fave gals on the Pong, despite never having nailed her. When she got her start in Thigh Bar back in 2014 she was an absolute sex goddess, on top of being beautiful. But back then I had an 11-minge harem and couldn’t possibly take on another. When thigh bar closed she moved to K1 and we hung out and drank all through the late 20teens, plus the Covid lockdown. In that time, she bulked up in all the wrong places, to the point I couldn’t respect myself if I banged her now. But she’s a sweetheart and so our platonic tete-a-tete continues. At one point she rested her head on my shoulder, to the chagrin of her Japustomer (Japanese customer). I think she was trying to make him jealous, as he had two girls over and seemed to be ignoring her. I dutifully smacked her ass and went back to watching the stage.
After finishing my drink I got up to pay the bin and a girl with caramel-colored hair grabbed at me. I didn’t recognize her so I evaded her reach and walked to the cashier. Then on my way out I passed by her again and was shocked to realize it was Offy. She’d dyed her hair, and it made her look like a completely different person. We had a laugh about it and then I bailed.
In New2 (King’s Castle 2 if you don’t regularly read my posts) the girl I’m trying to harem up was still MIA. It’s just as well. I’m going to the US for a month, and that’s terrible timing for recruiting concs. So I sipped my vodka and dreamed of other gogos. And that’s the privilege of a Bangkok pimp daddy—to be surrounded by clunge in one bar whilst yearning for the gash in another one. My friends in the US would kill themselves if they knew this is the extent of my problems.
in K Corner I counted no less than 20 new girls, an indicator that the King’s group are killing it. Gogo dancers are fickle, and they flit to whatever bar is doing best. Every dude in K Corner who was sat with a girl got the 2-drinks at a time treatment. And look, I’m glad there are sex tourists with that kind of cash to blow on a shorttime lay. I’m equally glad that regulars like me are exempt from that scam.
As I made my way to Virgin, I spotted the solo faram in the cocktail dress from earlier. She patrolled around soi 2 like a freelancer. In fact, it’s not entirely impossible that she was in fact crawling for dick. Desperate dick, because she was a shit show from head to heels.
At the weekend, the begpackers were back on Silom Road. I haven’t seen that class of dirtbag since before Covid. Actually I think I spied one last winter. Like spotting a solo grizzly bear that came out of hibernation too soon. I thought about telling the Patpong police, but they won’t do anything unless there’s a kickback, and the scum selling fabric bracelets are in no position to pay a fine.
A perk of getting a terrace seat early is watching the gogo dancers all coming to work. New girls streamed into K1 like lambs to an auction. The number of tourists who’re overly excited at the sight of a gogo is astounding to me. Do they not Google the night market before coming? Or is it a lingering aftereffect of the lockdowns? Young men in their prime trapped in basements across America, and tiny country flats in the towns and hamlets of the UK. Still, you’d think they never saw 30 young chicks dancing in lingerie before. About once a minute someone tries to take a photo of it, and the staff have to jump in front of the door. It’s kind of fun to watch. A nipon returned from a fresh shorttime in the strand hotel, trailing his piece of ass and carrying her shoes. Both seemed elated by the transaction. He padded her bank account, and she drained his spunk depository.
The ping pong sho2s were as popular as I’ve ever seen them—even the weird 3rd tier ones. It was like the whole of touristdom had come to Bangkok in the same week to blow their load.
New2 was again too busy and frazzled to take my drink order. I counted five 9s and three 8s on site. The gal I want to harem-up was there but it’s too close to my month away in the USA to start anything so I just flirted with her—enough to get her chasing the hook, with the intent to catch her upon my return. She wasn’t having it. After noticing my ogling, she shouted at me from the stage to buy her 2 drinks. I said, I’m not a tourist. She said OK just one. Next thing I knew she was getting my Line while massaging my junk. We chatted, and she turned the charm up to 11. Before I knew it, the shark had me buying her a 2nd drink like a wet-behind-the-ears noob. She said she’d be waiting for me when I return to Bangkok. I couldn’t tell if she was serious or just playing me like a goddam fiddle.
There was nowhere to sit in K Corner so I moved on and fitted to a packed Virgin. Yok already had a customer, which freed me up to chat with Nat and leer at the triplets. An old farang couple sat in a corner looking dour. The woman was shrouded in silent rage. The man sat motionless, his eyes fixed on the stage. Every few minutes the clam would look around the room at the customers bouncing bikini-clad girls on their laps, groping tits and getting their groins massaged, and her visible disgust nearly cracked the mirrors. Which is fantastic. It’s a scientific fact that every entitled femiwat (feminist twat) that gets a does of the Bangkok redlight sets their movement back just a tad. The more cunts who see the patriarchy in Thailand, the better.
Over the past month in the gogos, I’ve been given so many whiskey sodas by mistake that I actually developed a taste for them. I ordered one in Virgin, and I don’t know if their brands are better or the shape of the tumbler is superior, but their well drinks taste better than every other gogo I go to. I’ve no explanation for it, and I’m too lazy to compare the bottles in every gogo. Maybe it’s psychological. I’ll never know.
I was about to call it a night when out on Soi 2 I ran into an old friend—another Patpong bigwig and favorite customer of gogo dancers. He insisted I return to Virgin for one drink so we settled into a booth with 2 girls and he filled me in on his latest escapades. And then he shocked me by saying, “Hey do you remember that Nat and Yok went to jail with us?” I’d completely forgotten that, back during the Covid madness, Nat and Yok had joined a few other girls and a handful of guys to livestream from a shut-down gogo bar. The cops got wind of it, and took us all to jail, despite no laws being broken. They put all the females in one cell and the dudes in another–I guess that’s why I didn’t remember these two lasses had come along with us. That, and I blocked the whole experience from my mind after being released.
Saturday I was out with Jack Nites on a Patpong gogophoto run. Everybody and their mom asked what we were doing, and by that I mean tourists and girls new to the bar. I explained to the girls that Jack does all their social media. I told the tourists I don’t speak English. Whenever I’m in the bars with Jack, the dynamic is totally different. If I’m alone, everyone is very respectful and allow, loke I’m some kind of bigwig (I know I’m anything but). When I’m with Jack, it’s a frenzy. People fall over themselves to buy us drinks. The girls who want a photo get downright raunchy. I get groped and propositioned more on a night out with black and his camera than I do on my own. I guess it’s the power of association with power, combined with the familiarity that comes with being a regular. Suddenly I’m not just Seven. I’m Seven who knows the guy that has pics they can post to their Instagram.
Everywhere we went in Patpong, it was packed. For a minute I was actually glad I’d be in Cali for the brunt of high season. After half a dozen free drinks I parted ways with Jack and ventured to Virgin alone. And there I found a stage with several hotskinnies—mostly friends and familiar faces—swaying sexily like a set of sensual serpents. I shunned a couple of come-ons but made mental notes of who was interested, possibly to bait a hook early in 2025. I stayed for the length of two cocktails, enjoying the view and relaxing in the warmth of gogo minge like a Christmas miracle before stumbling home.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is a photo album of R-rated photos sent to me by Pui over the past couple of years, many of which are of her topless or fully in the buff. The link can be found here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-puis-nughty-pics/
but only if you become a Member. The price tag 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:
@bar_thigh
@BangkokNightli2
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: In 2024, there’s no reason to be haggling over the price of transport in Bangkok. Last week I saw an angry farang bickering over 100 baht with a tuktuk driver while his hot mid30s hiso Thai gf cringed with embarrassment. Tuktuks are for tourists and rainy soi cowboy runs. They’re not cheap or efficient. If you’re going to bellyache about a hundy, then fucking put Bolt or Grab on your phone and travel that way.
