What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession. Lord, I hate Songkran. And I know a lot of you longtime expats feel the same. The next few days are going to be a clusterfuck of dirty water and filthy assholes. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
In recent days, I began reaping the results of trawling the Bangkok online dating scene (throwback to last Sunday’s post), and Lord have mercy, was it ever a nightmare. I had two matches on Tinder, and in both cases sent them my Line. The first one who contacted me was a used-up skank whose initial message was a series of nude videos where she fingerbanged herself, among other atrocities. I’ll be posting them as a Members Only Gallery in the coming weeks. Then she proceeded to bombard me with entreaties for money. I had to block her. The second one said she’s looking for monogamy, so I blocked her without even responding. On ThaiFriendly, I’m very popular with women over 50 (years and kilos). The young hotties are nonchalant about responding, I suppose because they get a hundred messages per day. It’s a reminder that clunge-hunting in Patpong during the 20teens was a rare privilege. That batch of babes were unique—pretty, great in the sack, friendly, amiable, compliant, and most of all logical. In current year, that magical combo has seemingly ceased to exist. Gen Z are all about taking as much as possible while giving nothing in return. Over the past year, none of the girls I’ve talked to in the gogo were smart enough to recognize a gravy train or ascertain how it works. And so, I must come to grips with the fact that finding a harem of perfect new young hotties might not be feasible anymore. The golden age of Seven’s concubines may well be nearly over. Then what’ll I do? Move to Ptown, I guess, and start wandering the Beach Road for street meat.
On a steamy early weeknight I went for a wee Pong, stopping first at K1 to cool off and get some vodka on my veins. I’ve one harem target in there, and she scampered over to rub my junk and get one of my famous in-gogo minge massages. And that’s not a brag. A man who practices something every day for 10 years better be good at it. I currently hold a black belt in mingessage.
Then I popped to K3 via the side door to find the same trio of sex tourists that were in a few nights earlier (throwback to last week’s post). They regarded me with a pious air, as though their 3 days’ experience onpong somehow gave them clout. Little did they know they were looking down their noses at the Baron von Pong. The gal in there who rejected my conc-offer hasn’t stopped trying to get my attention back. I’m not sure if she sees the error of her ways or is just fishing for a ladydrink. Either way, she gets the stuff-arm from Seven. She grabbed at my crotch and I slapped her hand like an angry schoolmarm. Then she promptly left on a shorttime barfine. These bitchez be crazy. The dude who took her out was a clever cunt. He walked to the door, pointed at her, and she immediately scampered off to change. He must’ve been a repeat shorttimer who had no interest in buying drinks or sitting around in the gogo. All he wanted to do was smash. He was a short, nerdy looking Nipon in a baseball cap. If he had any sense, he’d get her Line and skip the barfine. But we can’t all be redlight experts. Still, I admired his approach. Ten minutes later, they returned with meat-on-a-stick. I guess they didn’t bang. They sat behind me in the gogo, and I had a lithe lass over for a soju. That’s when the aforementioned gal behind me began tapping on my shoulder, much to the vexation of the dude she was with. I ignored her, mostly out of respect for her customer, but goddam girl. You already turned me down. Of course I’m gonna go fishing for other newhotties in this pond. Stop trying to stick your finger in every bowl. But that’s women for you. Even if they don’t want you, they sure as shit don’t want anyone else to get you.
And the joint was, per usual, rife with new hot clunge. It was pandemonium inside the bar. I was the only non-Nipon (nonpon for short, copyright BKK7) in the joint. There was so much hot poontang it was nearly impossible to focus on one. I haven’t seen hotness quotas that high since Bangla Road circa 2011. The missy I’d bought the soju for scampered off to get her phone so we could exchange Lines but I’m not sure she’s the one I want in that gogo. There are at least three others who’re hotter. Still, it never hurts to put bait on multiple hooks.
One day last week I hiked over to Shenanigan’s for a late breakfast, and a couple of faranks (farang skanks) were out on the terrace tipping back pints. One of them sported yoga shorts and a sports bra—and that’s all. I wanted to punch her in the face. After a long nap, I had to return t’Pong to meet up with Jack Nites and check on my baited hooks. First though, I had to hit conc number 2, who’s really been putting in an effort lately. She’s a hold-over from XXX Lounge—off the pole now thanks to a demanding Thai boyfriend but not so devoted to skip riding Seven once a week for that new handbag money. She showed up at 19.00 and halfway through banging her I realized I’d forgotten to eat anything that day. It hit me as a wave of exhaustion at minute five and I had to roll over like a sick walrus while she mouth-massaged me over the finish line. So the first thing I did when I rolled out was grab a plate of krapow moo sap from the Patpong night market and settle in with a Chivas and honey backwoods. A family of Euroblondes sat in the beer garden munching on food from Derby king, the little white heads of half a dozen boys and girls bathed in the soft purple glow of the Super Pussy ping pong show sign.
A lot of girls were MIA, I assume because we’re leading up to Songkran and they’ve already gone back to Udon and Buriram. The stages were a little over half-full. In one bar I got grabbed by a lass who said, “Seven, you remember me?” I recognized her face but couldn’t remember her name, and she was not happy about it. She gripped my arm harder and refused to let go until I said her name. Fuckin’ hell, I had to reach back into the vodka-saturated folds of my gray matter for that one. I knew it was the same as another girl I was trying to nail. Drudging up that name was the hardest my mind has worked in years. When it bubbled to the surface like a drowning rat and I blurted it out, she released me and gently cupped my balls. Then she went and sat with a sex tourist. Damn these gogo chicks be crazy.
In King’s Corner, I sidled over to the bar to talk to an old galpal. In the space of a couple of minutes, two other clams—I assume friends of the former—gravitated to us like asteroids in low orbit. I didn’t know them but they were keen to hear every word spoken between my pretty friend and I. Whether they were there to cockblock me from her or get in on potential gravy train action, I couldn’t say. I just found the whole thing strange. The new King’s 3 was an utter madhouse. I don’t know what the girls in there are on, but whatever it is, it makes for a party. They’re superfun, over-the-top enthusiastic about shaking their asses and slinging back shots. As a matter of fact, I don’t know why I hit any other bars. This place reminds me of my days at The Strip—and before that Electric Blue—where the party was so hot, there was no need to go anywhere else.
At around half 10, another conc messaged to say she was coming over, so I had to bid farewell to Jack and hasten home to shower. Luckily, like Popeye’s can of pocket-spinach, I keep an emergency Kamag in my man satchel so I popped that sucker, worried that banging two clams in one day might be too much at my age. I’m happy to report that it all came out well. But it raises an important point. Never let anyone tell you the life of a Thailand expat is easy. Sometimes, you have to nail a chick in the afternoon, then go out drinking with your buddies, then go back home and bang yet another chick. It’s a nightmare.
On Friday night the anticipation of Songkran hung heavy in the air. I ponged, knowing it’d be my last chance to get out the house for several days. I’d already sticked the fridge with sandwiches and club soda, and the freezer was packed with vodka and chicken strips. I was ready to hunker down.
As I strolled down silom road, crews were still busy putting up barricades and constructing stages. This whole neighborhood shuts down for the water fight. For the next several days the streets will be jammed shoulder to shoulder with idiots and squirt guns. Speaking of, vendors skipped hawking their regular stuff and sold super soakers by the dozens. The clunge on the K1 stage was sparse. Most dancers had already hopped a bus back to Isaan. The two gals I pal with in there were MIA. I spotted only a couple familiars. All but one in the first rota leaned chunky. I’d rolled in at 19.40 after deciding to skip dinner, and was the sole punter for 15 minutes. On crew of Nipons came to the door, perused the stage, and bailed. I was relieved to see in that time around eight girls clock in and head backstage.
Songkran brings out a different breed of tourist. Earlier in the day at 7-11, four Americans in all black with backpacks and skateboards stuffed up the aisles and blocked the beer fridge like they owned the place. In the Night Market, trios and quartets of androgynous hippie douchebags meandered back and forth, not shopping but not eating or mongering either, I suspect for lack of money. K corner was unaffected by the holiday. Their stage was stuffed with hot minge. Plus some mediocre and unappealing minge. I counted five 8s and a 9 in the first rotation, and three fuckables in the second.
In New2 I arrived just as one of the girls I’m trying to reel in was punching her card. I smacked her on the ass and she about jumped out of her skin. When she saw it was me, though, she brightened up and blushed at the same time, then scampered off to the toilet to do her makeup. I determined to finish my drink before she returned. There were six gals already onstage. One of them was hot.
In kings 3 I bump3d into Simon–a local punter who’s been here longer than I, who gives me a bear hug every time we see each other. I asked what he would do for Songkran. He said he has a house in Pattaya where he planned to lock himself in for the duration. I told him I would do the same here in BK. Songkran really is a thorn in the side of old mongers. We hibernate from the 13th to 15th, praying the nonsense won’t extend longer than that. There were four girls onstage and they all looked like they wished they were in Buriram.
The Virgin stage was about half-full. I spotted one girl I’m trying to reel in so I slipped a hundy in her bra while fondling her minge. Per usual, I saw lots of faces that were new to the bar but not the redlight. The owner has bars all over BK and I think these girls flit between them whenever they get a yen for new surroundings. Yok and Nat were MIA so I necked my drink and bailed. And that’s all she wrote for this portly punter’s redlighting between now and Thursday. Yeah, I know BK doesn’t water fight at night. I’m boycotting the city out of pure hatred for this holiday.
In other news, the horrific Thailand-set “White Lotus” Season 3 is finally over. God, what a shitshow. Spoilers ahead: The morals of the story were: you can try to poison your family and there are no consequences, gay incest is cool, if you base an urge for revenge on a lie that destroyed your life, you’re going to die for it, killing someone gets you the hot girl and a promotion, and taking a bribe to protect a murderer will make you rich. Feckin’ hell. The only good thing about the show was the brief series of clips in BKK. The only likeable character—Walton Goggin’s girlfriend—an innocent, lovely person, is killed in the crossfire of a shootout. I wasted eight hours of my life on that trash.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is the first in a series of photo albums of Patpong’s hottest dancers between 2010 and 2019. The link is here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-patpongs-hottest-honeys-2010-to-2019-part-1/
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 post 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.
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: This isn’t so much a tip as it is a life choice. I know that I will inevitably move to Pattaya and live out the rest of my days there, which means I will die there. When that day comes, I don’t want a funeral and I don’t want to be buried in a cemetery. My last wish is to be cremated and then have my ashes dumped one spoonful at a time into the Mama noodles of every girl on Soi 6.
