What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession.
Hopefully, you’re a seasoned expat living your best life in TLOS, and you don’t pay attention to what’s going on in the West. If that’s you, congratulations. Also, spoiler alert, it’s not going well over there. Yes, they’re on the verge of World War 3 and also global totalitarianism, but that’s not the worst of it. In short, farang chicks be crazy.
In my Youtube feed, I’m inundated with stories of entitled feminist brain-dead girlbosses pitching fits over 1—not enough hot guys to go around, 2—guys in general not talking to them at all and 3—divorcing their husbands to level up, only to discover points 1 and 2. I’ve spent the past week finding a renewed appreciation for my Thai concubines, who are the beautiful embodiment of the opposite of the new normal in the West: the farang skank (farank for short, copyright BKK7). My love and appreciation for the harem has been revived, what with their amiable, fun-loving sexy selves brightening my day-to-day like rays of sexy sunshine. And I’m not diminishing the experience of any guy who found a bad apple in Thailand. I know they’re not all perfect. They’re women, after all. But as a whoremaster-slash-pimp daddy, I’ve been able to hone my harem like a professional baseball team. I make trades. I fire chicks. I move ‘em down to the minors and back again if they act right. It’s a well-oiled machine, at this point. And last week, in between entertaining concs at home, I got out to visit some past and future candidates in the redlight.
On a night of fat rain I slipped t’Pong for a wee krapow, whiskey, and a cigar. The K1 boss bought my Chivas, a thing he does from time to time. It’s nice to be acknowledged when you drop thousands of baht per month at a place. You’d think the Thais wouldn’t be keen to do it, but the King’s group is special. I posted a photo of their stage to FB last week and had two cunts leave negative comments. One said the drink prices were too high. In fact they’re midrange for Patpong and cheaper than most gogos on Soi Cowboy. The other said the staff were rude. As someone who gets wai’s, bows, free drinks, and everyone’s best effort at all times, I’m inclined to think that guy’s problem was bigger than staff treatment. Both were blocked instantly. Only I get to talk shit on my social media.
In King’s Corner I was tackled by a PYT and one-time fuck who acts like a long-lost lover every time she sees me. Maybe she’s only bucking for a second drink but either way it’s over the top. I endured her gentle molestation for the length of one vodka and then shifted to Virgin where Yok was just arriving. Either she’d had a barfine or she was coming to work two hours late. Two seats over, a short bald farang who’s made Patpong his go-to redlight for nearly a year now was in the middle of shorttiming a 5. He hasn’t figured out yet that, if you live here, you don’t need to barfine.
Before heading home I swung into Sunrise for nachos and a margarita. This joint has three kinds of customers: hiso Thais on their once-a-month hankering for ethnic food, worn-out expats like me after a taste of home, and weak-ass tourists in search of safe grub after only a week in country. An eight-person party of the latter rolled in, thankfully after I’d already ordered. They were in for a long wait, what with only one cook in the kitchen.
They were loud and obnoxious. When I see a collection of mouth breathers like that, knowing they don’t contribute anything to the world and only waste its resources, I get why terrorists blow people up.
At another table, a genteel white girl sat with a beta cuck male, sipping cans of Coke. The cuck ordered a bowl of torstilla soup. I kid you not, that was his supper. The moment I saw that, I became convinced his wedding tackle didn’t work, and that the pair were just platonic friends. The girl wanted an eatpraylove holiday but didn’t want to go alone, so she got this dickless wonder to tag along knowing there was no danger of penetration during the trip. The irony is, chicks who come to Thailand have zero chance of getting laid by a handsome foreigner. Their options are skinny fire dancers on Phi Phi or nothing.
On a wet Thursday evening I was up to the usual KCCH (K1 Cuban Chivas Heiney). The night market was around half as full as the previous week, confirming my theory that Bangkok’s low season is just the month of October. Normally, this time of year strikes me with dread at the anticipation of the mad throngs of sweating idiots poised to invade my peace come November. But not this year. This year, for the first time in a decade, I’ll be spending half of November and all of December in Los Angeles. Another perk of retirement is spending Christmas with mum.
As the rain let up, a horde of farang trampled into the food court like a pack of pachyderms with 15 iPhones all snapping photos of meat on a stick.
A gogo dancer approached with a wai and a smile. She was once one of the hottest dancers in XXX Lounge. After it closed, she moved over to Nana, but that night had come t’Pong in search of a new gogo to call home. She’s also a former concubine who I had to let go because she got too chubby. That was a year ago, and in the interim she’d slimmed back down, and to look at her now works a kind of hypnosis on a man’s loins. The vision of her is a fleshly incarnation of sex. I was about to re-recruit her when I remembered that she was a terrible lay. I think it’s probably the greatest tragedy of the redlight when a girl that gorgeous is a complete coital dud. A good bed partner will allow her body to fall into sync with yours, matching movement for motion, expounding the rhythm and passion of the act, creating a symbiosis that is part and parcel of love making. This poor lass does the exact opposite. When I zigged, she zagged. When she should’ve opened like a flower, she collapsed like a loose bundle of sticks. A body that should’ve responded to touch remained rigid as marble. The only appealing aspect was the look she got in her eyes. ‘Twas an expression both ecstatic and incredulous, as if she was thinking, “How dare you make me come.” In truth, it was the only reason I kept her around. That and the sheer profundity of her naked body, that seemed sculpted by Aphrodite herself. I also liked the little cat noises she makes mid-pounding. And that’s when I thought, oh fuck it, and got her Line again. I knew I’d regret bringing that poon pugilist back into rotation, but what can I say? When it comes to nailing 20-year-olds, I make bad decisions.
By 21.00 the night market was rammed, disproving my theory that October is low season. As I got up to leave, a Sino sat down with a freshly barfined sex cat. And for the readers information, there’s a difference in the redlight between a sex cat and a sex kitten. A sex kitten is a petite, often shy sweetheart of a whore who rarely goes with customers and who appreciates a benefactor who will train her up in the ways of intimacy. A sex cat is a seasoned beast of a femme who’s as likely to stick a finger in your bum as let you tie her to the bed. It’s important to spot the distinction so you know what you’re in for when you get her home.
New2 was sparsely manned by two rotations of six dancers each. I don’t know if it was due to the rain, the early hour, the day of the week, or slow business but none of my galpals were there so I necked my drink and bailed to K Corner. Two of my fave veterans were onstage–one a former Bada Bing girl who got fired for being too old but who still commands a measure of sexual potency, the other a K2 girl from back when it was next door to K1. She’s had a kid in the interim but kept her body in fuckable shape. These two aren’t “girls.” They’re proper women, with all the prowess that comes with that distinction. I spotted a newbie that bore a striking resemblance to Blake Lively. She was awkward and unsure of herself onstage, a telltale sign she was new to the redlight. But she smiled when we made eye contact, an indication to a seasoned monger that she has bedroom potential. 10 years ago I would’ve pulled her into the orbit of my harem. Today, the best I can do is exchange sultry looks. In contrast to New2, K Corner had three rotations of 15 girls each. It was a cornucopia of clunge. A plethora of pussy. A gaggle of gash. A menagerie of minge.
On my way to Virgin I passed by VirginX, a new gogo set to open any day now. They were testing the lighting and sound system so I popped in to check it out. It’s a badass venue. If they stock it with hot chicks, it’ll do well.
Virgin’s first rotation had a dozen new girls, no doubt in training for VirginX. As if to confirm the idea, three girls sat around the stage filling out job applications. The look of ‘em ranged from tall and lithe to tall and voluptuous. Yok came to sit with me. She said she’d be moving next door to the new gogo the following night. So VirginX would open on Friday? I thought. Hot damn. This turned out to be bad info, but I digress.
Post-Virgin, I really wanted to try one of the new beers at G’s. This time it was the Kloster Andechs Bergbock Hell (6.9%). The first sip transported me to a river cruise on the Neckar circa 1988. I was also reminded of a quiet lunch at a botanical gardens in Baden-Baden. Nostalgia swept over me like a veil.
On Friday I meant to hot soi cowboy like Macklemore hit the party, to say hi to Bee and others, but she messaged to say she had food poisoning and was staying home. So I Ponged instead, excited for the opening of ViirginX, which Yok had said would open on that night. It turned out to not, confirming the old saying, “Gogo dancers don’t know shit.” I asked around about the real opening date and got answers ranging from a week to a month.
K1 had two rotations of 30 and was an utter insane asylum. I didn’t recognize around 3/4 of the dancers, which means they’re pulling in girls from other gogos. I guess that’s why other bars’ managers regularly run through the King’s venues. They’re looking for the gals they lost. Offy sat down and wedged my hand into her cooter. She grabbed my wedding tackle and asked why I didn’t get hard. I didn’t have the heart to tell her a girl of her…erm…body mass index had no hope of making me excited so I just told her I was too old.
New2 was having a banger night when I waltzed in. The place was full up. I had to push an off-duty dancer out of her seat. As in K1, there were probably a dozen new faces. I wondered if this was a sign of something. Maybe a larger migration. Dancers tend to move in schools, herds, and packs. The only question was, where were they moving from?
Virgin was on fire. I lucked into a center front seat. Moments later, three fat Americans waddled in and squeezed into the spot next to me. A staffer offered to move me to a corner seat with no view of the stage. I said no. I got there first, dammit, plus I’m a regular. I ain’t moving.
Two bulked-out farang that resembled UFC fighters were getting their party on with Nat, formerly of Twister, and Nok, formerly of The Strip. I was glad to see them get some attention. Those girls are awesome.
In order to check whether the pandemonium I was seeing was taking place everywhere, I popped over to K Corner and sure enough, the stage overflowed with girls and customers crammed into every cranny. This kind of chaos is normal in Patpong but I rarely see it in the other redlights. The only other place I’ve experienced it is in Billboard Nana Plaza. Though the difference there is, most of the dancers are pushing middle-age, whereas the average age of a Patpong dancer is 21.
On Saturday I flitted to Cowboy to search for a trio of old galpals. Stop1 was The Dollhouse, because even though Dennis is no longer there, my history with that bar goes back further than his reign. In fact, I met my very first concubine there. She was the lynchpin that founded my first harem. Though back when I saw her at DH, she seemed out of reach and I barely spoke to her. It wasn’t until she moved to Electric Blue a year later that we fell into what turned out to be six amazing years, that only ended when her Thai bf knocked her up and she disappeared into the hills of Rayong.
A couple of familiar girls graced the stage. I didn’t recognize any of the others. Then I hit up Bad Beach and walked in just as a rotation was exiting the stage. A girl stepped down and shouted my name. Then I was accosted by two mamasans formerly of Patpong. It was all hugs and kisses and “Seven used to buy me somtam.” One side of what used to be Lighthouse seats is now a full -length bar, cutting the customer capacity by 50%. There were two rotations of eight girls each and most of them were topless. A former Pong dancer started shouted at me something about Black Pagoda but I couldn’t make out what she was trying to say. A barmaid pointed at her and said “Two drinks, OK?” I guess that two-drink thing is a fucking redlight epidemic. I said no-no-no, paid my bin and left.
In Rainbow I had a drink with Bee. She’s back on the pole just a few weeks after squeezing out a kid, carrying baby weight but shedding fast or so she says. I asked her if she missed Patpong. She said no. She explained that cowboy has more customers, and more importantly, a greater turnover of new customers every day. Patpong is rife with locals and regulars who like the girls they like, and are claimed by coworker friends and enemies alike. She said it’s easier to reel in a wide-eyed newbie. Ain’t that the truth.
After spending too much time in Rainbow I stepped out to take a photo of bad beach and fell into a conversation with a trio of cowboy2 dancers. They asked why I didn’t go in their bar. I explained I only visit bars where I have galpals. One said, “I’ll be your friend.” She was reasonably hot so I asked her about herself. Her name was Tawan, 22 years old from BKK, no kids. I threw out a line that always has the girls rolling in the aisles which I won’t share because I don’t want any of you sinister cunts stealing it. But then realizing I didn’t have the energy to break in a new conc, I wai’d her and bailed to Tilac of all places. Why Tilac, you ask? Well, it’s because a former XXX Lounge vixen has taken the pole there. She was MIA but when I walked in, a dude in a corner booth waved me over. It turned out to be an old work colleague from a job I had in Krabi 14 years ago. And get this: he said, “I messaged you three hours ago to see if you wanted to meet for a beer.” Messaged where? I asked. “Your old number.” But I lost that sim card a decade ago. Somehow, kismet put us in the same gogo bar mere hours after he’d tried to make contact. What’re the statistical chances? Nil, I say. Nil. We chatted about the old days, inflation in the West, and his family. It was nice to catch up, and to see how divergently our lives went, what with is Thai wife and offspring. He seemed happy, but did mention that his Mrs is trying to spend his entire life savings. One weekend just reaffirmed my faith in the choice to be a pimp daddy rather than an actual dad-slash-husband. And as the girl I was after never did come to work, I made haste t’Pong.
After a quick medmamuang in Derby King, I hopped to an empty table on the k1 terrace for the usual. By then it was half 11, ling after id usually be smoking on soi 1. The vibe on the soi was noticeably more frenetic. I suppose it’s the natural effect of a human collective that is growing more intoxicated as a group. The mood was simultaneously more jovial and chaotic, as though random strangers might break into hugs or punches and it was impossible to tell which.
Then I saw something unnerving.
Two drunk Thai goth girls came stumbling through the beer garden with a man in a backpack following closely behind. At first, they seemed to be together. Just three tourists, moseying through the pong. But then the drunker of the two gals waved at him as if to say goodbye. Yet he pursued them as they fell awkwardly into a table two down from mine. That’s when in noticed the dude was not dressed in goth attire. He wore a blue denim shirt and khakis. That’s when I started to wonder if, instead of being part of their clan, he wasn’t maybe just a random sex tourist who happened upon two drunk girls in the redlight and decided to latch on, hoping it would yield a possible wick dipping at some point later in the night. At one point, the drunker one made eye contact. I mouthed “are you OK?” She laughed and immediately turned away. At that point, I felt I’d done enough as a concerned citizen. If she wanted help, the door was swung open. If not, so be it. Then the girls got up and barreled in to k1. The dude remained outside. In the gogo, there were dozens of people they could ask for help if they needed it. A moment later, they came out and dragged the dude with them into the gogo. Jesus, I was ready to choke the poor guy out in the middle of the night market. I can’t say whether it was a misguided desire to protect women or my insatiable yearning to fuck someone up. Let’s go with the latter.
Something I love to see in the redlight is the random disabled sex tourist. The one-armed bloke, or the dude with MS, who’s come to TLOS for a chance to be touched by a woman. Maybe I’m naive but I choose to believe such encounters are more than transactional. Does the gal need the money? Sure. But I think that, in Thailand at least, something more is in play. Call it their Buddhist kindness, but I feel like a Thai girl taking a broken man into her embrace is as much a kindness as it is a money grab.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is a wild album of candid shots in the redlight. The link can be found here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-redlight-candids/
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: Previously I’ve described the wild success of the “grab ‘em by the pussy” technique, a move that never fails to reel in a pole kitty. There’s a milder, subtler version of this move that I’ve coined “the baby-maker warmer.” It’s where you gently place your hand against the area between her navel and mons pubis. Keep it there and smile while you talk to her. It’s like hypnotherapy for her ovaries. She’ll veritably wet herself. One caveat: it only works with skinny girls. A chubster is rendered immune by the layers of gut fat.
