What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession. Hopefully you’re not paying attention to the news, and your expat dream life is unperturbed by the rest of the planet’s slow slide into destruction. If that’s you, let me rain on your parade a bit.
Last week, we edged closer to the end of the world. An Ai robot in China went berserk and tried to kill its creator, ensuring we can look forward to the future outlined in the Terminator movie series, and Pakistan and India—countries with nuclear weapons—are officially at war. These are just reminders to live while you can, because the sword of Damocles that’s been hanging over our heads for decades is poised to fall.
It’s been a roller coaster of a month for this intrepid poon hound, what with my number 1 conc going missing and me mere seconds away from committing to moving to Ptown, only to be cudgeled back by same said conc’s tears. I spent all last week resenting her for using my sense of faithful polygamy as a manipulation tool to freeze me in place. Now I’m back to yearning for Pattaya again. I’m in a shit-or-get-off-the-pot scenario that I can’t seem to work my way out of, and it’s got me in a rutt.
Thus far, Patpong hasn’t got the memo that’s it’s low season. Last week, the night market was crammed with vanilla tourists, families, romantic couples, dudes in their best outfits, and lookie loos. It’s true that foot traffic had dipped in the gogos, but is that what constitutes low season? The redlight? One demographic still going strong there is the sino set. Contrary to many reports in the Bangkok Post, the Chinese are still filling up the gogo bars. I mean is that website a pile of dog shit or what?
A gogo that always does well, even in low season, is King’s Castle 1. Within 20 minutes of opening, they were at capacity. A local farang dirtbag walked in with a 7-11 beer, spotted a former barfine, and shamelessly molested her with too-long hugs, planting unwanted kisses and stroking her hair like she was a border collie. Then he left without buying her a drink to do the same to girls in New2 and King’s 3. In the list of pros and cons of life in Thailand, there are remarkably few cons. One of them is the abundance of scumbag expats. In fact, somewhere in my hard drive I’ve research notes from a time when I tried to catalogue all the different kinds of dirtball in Bangkok. Let me try to find it…….ah yeah, here it is:
“Recently I accidentally read two articles from different “Bangkok nightlife” websites, each of which tried to wittily describe the various types of annoying farang in the gogo bar. I think both narrowed the stereotypes (narreotypes, copyright BKK7) to 10. I submit to you, the internet reader, that there are far less than 10. There are, in fact, only five. And one of them is the smug Bangkok nightlife blogger. But before skewering my so-called peers and myself in the process, let’s break down the other three:
- The backpacker. This asshat has just spent a week speeding through the southern islands, slowing just long enough to hit the full moon party and lay on the beach for half an hour, and now he’s got one night in Bangkok before catching the red-eye back to his sad normal life. He tells himself he’s going to the red-light to look down on all the sleaze bags, but really he’s just desperate to get an eyeful of skin, and possibly work up the courage to pull the trigger on that quick bang he’s been dreaming about throughout the entire trip.
- The moron. This guy gets everything wrong from soup to nuts, because he’s just too stupid to do it any other way. He hasn’t done any research, he thinks Thailand operates under the same culture and customs of his home country, and he’s basically just winging it. He doesn’t know how to behave, so he commits one or more of the following faux pas: getting onstage, leaving before the rotation, trying to act tough, overtipping, overpaying, falling in love, treating a barfine like a grocery store transaction, not wearing a condom, being rude to the girls, using Western pickup lines, trying to pull a dancer for free.
- The aging expat. I suppose I fall into this category. We piss off all the sex tourists because we monopolize the time and attention of the girls in every gogo. We freely grab boobs and asses and take pictures with the girls—all things a visitor would shy away from in fear of getting thumped. I remember being a young(ish) whippersnapper and breaking my cherry in the gogo, and seeing the old guys and burning with envy. Why is she all over him? He’s old! It didn’t cross my mind at the time that the girls probably prefer older men because they typically have more cash, are nicer, and don’t bang as hard for as long. They also know the score. They don’t get jealous or argue, or create problems. They’re just happy to be alive. Contrast that with the youngsters who walk in with warrior faces, serious about the business of getting laid, masking their insecurity with haughtiness, and you understand why the smiling, mellow old fart gets more attention. Hmm. I guess idiot number 3 isn’t the aging sexpat after all, but the too-serious whoremonger. Turns out the old dudes rock!
- The cheap pervert. This dude came to TLOS as a last resort, because he couldn’t get laid in his home country. He got a job as an English teacher, but he’s not qualified so the pay is really low—too low in fact to afford going to the redlight. But he goes anyway, and hangs around the gogos nursing a store-bought beer that he hid in his pocket, chatting up the girls like he’s a millionaire. He’s textbook ugly—short, bald, greasy, bad fashion sense—and he creeps everyone out just by being there. He has no self-awareness—or maybe he does know he’s a dirtball, but it’s not enough to keep him from leaving the house. The lure of the redlight is just too much for his perverted sensibilities. And so off to Patpong he crawls, like a Kafkian cockroach.
- The smug nightlife blogger. Oh wait, maybe this is my category. This guy thinks he’s the shit because he’s been going to these bars forever. Everyone knows his name and what he drinks, and the girls drop everything to flirt with him when he walks in. He condescends to everyone else, rolling his eyes and scoffing at every tourist’s slightest mistake, and quickly writes it down to reference it later in a blog. He believes he’s important, instead of what he really is—a big annoying fish in a very small pond. When he looks in the mirror, he sees Hemingway. In reality, he’s more like Toby McGuire in that cringy dance scene from Spiderman 3. He presumes to judge everyone else in the gogo, and while he might not be wrong, what’s the point of that anyway? It’s just a means to compensate for his own self-loathing. Shit, am I getting too personal here? I don’t wanna give away all my secrets.
To be clear, not every dude in the gogo falls into one of these tropes. A lot of red-light customers are fine upstanding people. These are just the idiots.”
I think that list hold up. I’d maybe add a couple more, but I’m not in the mood to do it now.
In K Corner I spotted a newhottie clocking in and was set to wait for her, but my plans were failed by a trio of nipons who lumbered in and sat next to me. The wreaking odor of pickled-garlic halitosis coming off them was so strong, it made my eyes water. Plus the hottie got snapped up by a different Japanese guy before she could even step onstage, so I necked my vodka and bailed.
In King’s 2 a new 6 locked onto Seven like a laser, making fuck-me eyes from the stage and refusing to take my deliberate averting looks as a hint. It took the intervention of a galpal to break the spell. She came and sat on my lap, massaging my balls through her legs like a true professional.
Midway through the week, I did something I rarely do, and that’s go out on the streets of Silom during lunch hour. This neighborhood is known for being a gay bastion, for Patpong, and for being the “Wall Street” of Bangkok. The corporate banking buildings empty out at noon, with tens of thousands of Thais hustling streetward for a bowl of noodles and fish balls. Walking through the side sois of Silom at midday is crazy and thrilling. The food and coffee choices are mind-boggling, and the crowds pushing past each other borders on total chaos. It’s a scene like the ones you see in the popular travel shows about TLOS, and if not for the sweltering heat, it’d be a real treat to wander through the food stalls sampling the fare. The best thing about the scene is, I’m the only farang in sight. Which is good, because the shops and food carts here are for Thais. The owners don’t speak English, and I enjoy watching the odd tourist trying and failing to order food and bev from these places. As it happens, I passed by one of Bangkok’s most popular noodle carts—Kuay Teow Khae on Soi Convent—at 10 past noon, and in the queue of 30 people was a muscular ginger farang perusing the laminated menu, which was 100% in Thai, looking confounded, frozen in place, unable to make a decision about what to order. I laughed in his face as I passed by.
As the weekend loomed I made a trip to Gs German for a glass of dunkel and beer-braised bratwurst. Guido mentioned he planned to permanently relocate to Jomtien and open a restaurant sometime in the next year, so if you’re a fan of Gs you better get your fix in before he departs. For me, it’s yet another incentive to move to Ptown. G was quite chatty. He mentioned hosting the wife of a mutual farang friend who’s been in a Thai prison for the past two years, doing time for a crime he didn’t commit. She mentioned that his appeal hearing hit a snag, which to all of us who know him is a heartbreak. Of all the foreigners in Thailand who deserve to be in prison, he’s not even on the list. But that’s the way the cookie crumbles sometimes when you choose to live in a country with corruptible people in positions of power. Then again, that pretty much describes every country. Still, I hate to see people get punished when they don’t deserve it.
Then I wandered Pongward, hoping to smoke my last Liga Privada on the K1 terrace. It was early—just before 19.00—but the low season downturn was finally evident. On Sunday when I last ponged, there were a hundred people in the food court. On the night, there were ten. I know it’s a terrible omen for business owners but goddam if it doesn’t get my rod hard, knowing the cunting tourists are gone.
Every night in Patpong there’s a social media jackass trying to film his next viral post. On the night, three nipons went round trying different snacks in the food court. They were loud and obnoxious, bordering on disrespectful. The one on camera wore a full military snow suit, I guess the joke being that it’s hot as balls here. I prayed that Buddha would kill him with heat stroke.
My Liga lit up perfectly, after four months of humidor TLC, and was pure pleasure from start to butt. As I sat there pondering the ridiculous nature of my dreamlike existence, I witnessed three fat blAfrican women get conned into hitting up a ping pong show and waited patiently to witness their exit, when they would be inexorably scarred for life. I wasn’t disappointed. They hobbled away looking shellshocked. A moment later, two dipshit white girls in cutoffs and tank tops sat down in the beer garden. They looked wilted, as though their eat-pray-love holiday was near its end and all they got from it was dysentery. A K1 gogo dancer came to sit with me for the length of a cigarette. She mentioned she’d started a second job for low season working reception at a hotel part time. I told her she should work at a ping pong show as they pay more. She said she couldn’t abide anything going into her cooch except for penis. I couldn’t argue with that.
When I first moved to BKK I had one of those shit English teacher jobs. Even though the school had prestige—it’s where the queen regent went—I was only paid around 40k per month. I lived in a shitbox Thai-style apartment, and only hit the Pong once a week. I’d save up so when I mongered I had enough to properly tip the girls and bar staff, and buy a drink in every bar. These days, the youngsters do it differently. They redlight nightly, tip no one, buy one beer and carry it from bar to bar, and generally make a bad name for all farang.
There were a lot of gays in the Night Market. On Patpong Soi 1, there are two kinds of gays—those that are walking from one destination to another neither of which are on Soi 1, and those who don’t realize they’re on the wrong Soi. All things gay are on Soi 2. And of course, all are welcome in the redlight, but I’m of the age where, when I see gays in public, I’m still shocked. I was raised in the era of “don’t ask don’t tell” both in the military and out. And to be fair, it ain’t normal. The dictionary defines “normal” as the usual, average, or typical state or condition. Since the world is 96-98% straight, that would make gayness abnormal, and trans cunts even more so. And I’m of the ilk who says be whatever you want as long as you don’t fuck with my world. And for the most part, Thailand trans and gays do do that. And look, there’s nothing wrong with being abnormal. I’m extremely abnormal. But don’t try to tell me you’re normal when you’re not. Being out of the ordinary is something to be proud of. Stop trying to fit in, and don’t sell me the horseshit that you’re just as apple pie as my grandparents were, cuz you ain’t. Embrace the fact that you’re weird. No offense. And if you are offended, jump up your own ass.
In K3 I made acquaintance with a new tallskinny with a fierce game face. I decided to melt that cold exterior with a hundy in her undies which immediately earned the envy of the other dancers in her rota. I have to be careful in that bar not to pit the girls against each other.
As per usual, K Corner had 60 girls, at least a third of which were hotskinnies. The Corner is a throwback to Bangkok’s redlight heyday, when the roster of clunge inspired tears of joy from every monger. Nothing in Nana or Cowboy compares to the grand spectacle offered at King’s Corner. Nobody even comes close. And you can take my word for it because I’m not paid by anyone to say that. I’m not Bob the Knob aka Dave the Rave who only talks up the bars that pay him (and by the way, he’s lying 99% of the time). With Seven, you get the straight info.
Speaking of The Knob, in a segment I call “This Week in Stupid,” Bob took a photo of a closed Virgin on Friday, claiming there weren’t enough girls on the night. That’s funny, because a bar he works for in Patpong regularly closes for the same reason. I wonder why he never reports it.
The truth about Soi 2 is, I don’t see straight gogos lasting there much longer. Without the powerhouses of Black Pagoda, XXX Lounge, and The Strip, there just isn’t enough foot traffic. Plus the gays really want to take over the whole street. In time, every girl gogo will be replaced by something gay.
As you know, it pissed down on Saturday night, and so I went out of my way to Pong, knowing that 1–tourist traffic would be way down and 2–I was interested to know if the gogos got the memo about a new rule allowing alcohol on Sunday despite the Buddhist holiday, which the staff confirmed. So if you’re reading this at time of posting, you can’t buy a beer at 7-11 but you can monger tonight.
It’s amazing what a few hours of rain can do to the sweltering Bangkok heat. I lounged on the k3 terrace for a Chivas and backwoods, watching the smattering of damp shoppers make their way through the puddles and vendors like kids lost in a mall. K1 had only two chunksters onstage–the one downside to rain in the redlight. Gogo dancers don’t like to travel when it’s raining.
K Corner had 19 chunks and two hotskinnies. I really like that gogo because no one bothers me there. I can relax, breathe, and find my center while sipping a vodka in peace. Only one mamasan occasionally hits me up for dinner money. It’s the least amount of harassment I get in the pong. There are a couple of girls in there who auditioned for my harem but they didn’t make the cut. Even they don’t bug me. It’s an oasis.
In New2, I was the only customer–for about a minute. Then, and I kid you not, 20 nipons raided the joint. There were only four gals onstsge so things were sure to hit a breaking point. I didn’t intend to stick around for the aftermath. I just wanted an eyeful of the two chickies in there who rev my engine. They weren’t in the first rota so I had to wait. All the while, the nipons leader negotiated with the mamasan while the dancers tried and failed to mask their excitement at what was shaping up to be a huge payday. Sure enough, the dudes swept the stage of all but one lonesome chunkster. The situation was so dire, they pulled 6 chicks from the corner to pop over and fill the empty stage. I realized I didn’t have the patience to wait for the next rotation so I necked my cocktail and bailed to K1 where the rota was up from two girls to three.
In other news, I lost a concubine last week. My number 4, who I wrangled from Electric Blue back in the day and who’d stayed with me for 10 years, got herself a jealous Thai bf and abruptly blocked me. Ain’t it just like a woman to turn her back on 10 years instantly, at the prospect of an upgrade? A smart conc would keep my Line for when he leaves her, like three such currently dormant harlots in my contacts list. One day soon, they will each pick up with Seven where they left off.
And in the clunge version of “When God closes a door He opens a window,” as the aforementioned conc made her unceremonious exit, a hot piece of ass found me on Thaifriendly. My profile says “I have no heart, but I have a bank account. I’m seeking a longterm FWB whom I can be loyal to for several years” and after rejecting 20 gross middle-aged crones, I got a message from a 19-year-old who wants someone to pay her rent. It’s a match made in pussy purgatory.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is Part 4 of my “Hottest Honeys of Patpong” Series. The link is here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-patpongs-hottest-honeys-2010-2019-part-4/
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 put the links on my social every Friday. 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.
I’ve started to sell my artwork in digital download bundles, so if you fancy some gogo dancer-related pictures, mostly nude Thai chicks photoshopped as paintings, you can get ‘em on the cheap at my Etsy shop: https://www.etsy.com/shop/ThailandNights
Right now I have two bundles of five pictures each (as shown below) for under $10 US apiece.
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: For anyone trying to maintain a harem in Thailand, the key is to never rest on one’s laurels. You must always be on the lookout for a new conc, because you never know when your current roster will go their own way.
