What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession. My, my, my, but watching the planet self-destruct from the safety of TLOS got a bit wilder recently, didn’t it? Israel has attacked Iran. Western govts have begun evacuating diplomatic personnel from the entire Middle East, portending World War 3. Anti-Islamist protests have ignited in parts of Europe, including Ireland. Civil war has kicked off in The United States, with elements in the federal govt trying to expel illegal aliens from the country and the majority of state govts, 3-letter agencies, and half the citizenry defying that effort. According to a Craigslist ad posted last weekend, Soros-funded NGOs are paying rioters $6,000 per week, so there’s no end in sight for the violence. “Protests” have turned into mobs looting malls and stores, proving they don’t give a shit about illegals and are just there to steal and destroy. And when the military begins fighting hand-to-hand with people in the street, there’s a strong possibility that the nation itself will not survive. Watching the videos coming out of LA, and listening to what the cocksucking rioters are saying, it’s clear that the number one problem with the US is stupid fucking millennial and GenZ cunts who’ve never had their ass kicked. Never been punched in the face. Never been knocked out. It’s a serious problem. Personally, I hope the troops open fire on all of those cunts. Nothing would make me happier than seeing the streets run red with their blood, but that won’t happen. And since I’ve already planned a trip to LA to visit my mom and brother, I’m looking forward to sleeping with my gun under my pillow. The three weeks I spend in that hellhole will only be tolerable thanks to the assurance that, once it’s over, I’ll be hightailing it back to Thailand where for the time being, at least, war isn’t on the menu. The only real problem in TLOS at the moment (if you believe the Bangkok Post) is a Covid resurgence, and boy howdy does the Media want you to be scared of that. Personally, I am not. I’ll relocate to Ptown shortly after returning from the US, so I’ll be relying on the sea air to keep me healthy. Speaking of, I hopped down to the beach last week to check on my new digs. Here’s how the trip shook out…
Now that I’m on a retirement budget, I’m stuck traveling like a commoner. No more Grab taxis from my front door to the Beach Road. I have to schlep over to Ekkamai. But I don’t take the bus. Its 131b for a ticket now, and I always buy two seats so no one can sit next to me. The minivan is 150, so if I can get the front passenger seat (which is what I got this time), it makes the trip almost as painless as a taxi. The station was nearly empty. Gone were the long queues of dirty farang and Indians buying bus seats. In fact, there were only 2 busses in the whole station. Our van wasn’t full when it departed, and at the traffic light the driver rolled down the window and shouted “Pattaya! Koh Larn!” at every passerby.
We made four stops in the first hour. The seat was one of those shitty Toyota midget-sized ones. ‘Twas like a torture device for my back. To save satang, the driver skipped the toll roads and we were treated to inane traffic and crumbling asphalt, plus an extra hour in transit. When we stopped for petrol, the driver bought a toastie and a bag of crisps, then got back on the road and stuffed his face while using his knees to steer. Then he tried to drop everyone on Sukhumvit, miles from the beach. The passengers revolted and made him take us to Central Pattaya.
I’m staying at Natural Beach Hotel again, because it’s the cheapest price (450/night) for the best location and fewer undesirables. It’s mostly pensioners, plus the odd loud Indian crew. I was put up on the 4th floor despite no observable activity in the rest of the building. I threw down my stuff and Grab taxi’d to Mot’s Visa Service so she could do my 90-day check-in for me (I still don’t know how to do it myself).
Why do Indians always stop the baht bus to ask where they’re going? A circle. The answer is a circle. Soi 6 was hopping before sunset. For some reason, an improper number of Gen X couples and foursomes wandered the soi, the men a mixture of embarrassment and longing, the women a mixture of loathing and insecurity. It dawned on me that I hadn’t eaten all day so I grabbed two pre-prowl slices at Slice plus a Heiney. A girl in Passion chose me, and I allowed it because she was a tall dark skinny with a back tattoo. I put all my moves on her. It worked so well she went to the loo and returned sans knickers. Afterward, I was dragged into Wrath by a lively lass from Udon. She kept saying how much she liked my hair. “You have so much hair!” she said. “Most of the farang in Pattaya don’t have any.”
Then as often happens on The 6, I was wandering aimlessly when suddenly a gal shouted my name. I turned to look and it was Tan, formerly from a different bar, and the best BJ on the whole of the soi. She pushed through the crowd of fillies at the front of the bar like an angel appearing through a storm cloud, grabbed me by the wang and pulled me inside. And although I really wanted her to go down on me, I couldn’t muster the energy. She expressed her disappointment, confirming a lifelong suspicion that my wedding tackle is delicious, and I promised her I’d return the following day. She took my phone, put her Line in it, and said if I didn’t show up I’d be hearing about it.
I got to Walking Street too early. The only open gogos were the upstairs floors of Windmill and Electric Blue. I ventured into the latter and was accosted by a sweet but gross bovine. Across from me, a swarthy-looking dude had a chubster’s top off and was sucking her sad weird tits that sagged like two wet chihuahuas. Why some dudes go for flabby women with floppy tits, I’ll never understand.
Speaking of tits, Pin-up should just rename itself “tits overload.” It’s an oasis of eye candy in there. Too bad the girls are all out of reach, what with the absurdly high shorttime prices. In XS, the hungry eyes were too prevalent. I felt objectified. Too many desperate gals stared at my wallet pocket. I wanted to say “My eyes are up here, honey!” After that, I decided to call it an early night. If I’m honesty, it happens more often than I like these days. As I made my way out of WS, spotted a lone faram walking g up Soi Diamond in a clubbing gown sipping from a coconut. So her holiday was less eatpraylove and more strike out, quit early, diarrhea. Here’s something new: freelancers on the second road near Pattayasaisong 13. As an afterthought, I also noticed a lot more nipons in the Walking Street gogos at the mo. Maybe they’re as bored as I am with the BK venues.
The next day, I went to check out the condo I’m planning to move to in the coming months. It’s a 10-minute walk from the beach, and that’s all I really needed to know. Then I decided to do a mini-odyssey of the Beach Road brewhouses between soi 11 and 13, which I’ll dish about in an upcoming Substack. It took around 90 minutes, and then I found myself wandering past the pop-up cocktail bars in front of Ripley’s. I chose one at random and ordered a mojito for no logical reason that I can put my finger on. Sitting at a beachside bar sipping a cocktail as the sun goes down is how I foresee many if not most of my remaining evenings. When I finished the cocktail, it was dark. I decided to push on to LK despite my inebriation. ‘Twas too early for gogos, so I lumbered around looking for a beer bar to park my wrinkly old ass in, when suddenly I heard someone shout “Seven!” from a joint called Unreal Bar. It was my old buddy Jersey Dan, formerly of Electric Blue Patpong and half a dozen other Ptown bars. I pulled up a stool next to him for a chin wag. Then I hit Las Vegas, hoping an old galpal would be there. She wasn’t. I was the first customer in. The mamasan was giving one of those speeches where she tries to get the girls’ enthusiasm up. She stopped to acknowledge me. I wai’d everyone and sat down. The highlight of Vegas is, they do BOGO for all drinks at 140b.
Then I slid into Lady Love, because their social always features photos of hot girls. I spotted one 9 in the bunch. The bar is lousy with locals who think they’re hot shit because they live in Thailand and gogo all the time. What a joke. Far be it from me, though, to disparage losers who found a niche in country, but we’re not the same. I am a pimp daddy with LA pussykiller status who deigned to favor Thailand clunge with my aging 6 inches of splendor, but I refuse to rob the odd douchebag of his Thai fantasy. It’s a reminder, though, that no amount of time living in Ptown will convert me to one of those hunchbacked punters. I will not assimilate.
Then I swung into Champagne A-Gogo strictly for the sign outside that adverstised 75b SMLs. It was chubster town, and the checkbin read 99b. That rounded out my night thanks to all the afternoon beer guzzling.
On Friday afternoon I lurched out of my room into a warm rain shower and down to The 6 to get blown by my aforementioned galpal. She did a tremendous job per usual. After tiptoeing to the loo to shower off, I had to pass by another shorttiming farang who was waiting to have the room unlocked. I said, “How’s it going?” He didn’t reply. Instead he just bowed his head and stared at his shoes. I suppose that’s good etiquette. I was only wearing a towel, after all.
By the time I hit the soi again, the rain had stopped. I swung into Dankster’s corner baar for some moo daeng only to realize too late that it’s an Indian expat hangout. Eight of them split two big Leos and sat there chatting up the staff in Thai. I daresay there are more Indians than farang in this town. The couple that sat behind me had a son who was maybe 5 or 6. He wouldn’t–or couldn’t–stop spazzing out. Another new crazy phenomenon on and around The 6 was bees. Swarms upon swarms of bees. Crazy.
I was going to call an early night, but then I remembered I had a Cuban in my pocket, so I hopped to Serenotel’s rooftop bar to smoke it. The view was serene and spectacular per usual (serencular for short). There I watched the sea, lost in rapture, until the beach lights came on. Then I should’ve gone back to my room, but instead I hopped a baht bus back to Walking Street. ‘Twas too early for gogos so I went in search of a snack. Sensations is now Geisha, which means Sens Grill next door is shut. I foolishly got the urge for a bacon cheeseburger so I wandered way past a normal turnaround spot, passing kebab after kebab, until I found i-Diner, an offshoot of i-Bar. I got the mega burger (bacon and fried egg) for 259. It was just OK.
Whilst I was eating, a gal from Thaifriendly messaged, wanting to smash uglies. I wasn’t in the mood, having just blown my load on The 6, so I said I’d meet up with her later, knowing it wouldn’t happen. Chance meetings with girls you’ve only seen in photos can be a thorny prospect. If we do meet up, I’ll need to be randy enough to nail her even if she’s grosser than her pics. In the time it took to finish the burger, I spotted half a dozen Chinese tourists groups trapping up and down the soi, so i don’t know what the media is whining about. Yes, it’s low season. Did they think after the scamdemic that there’d never be one again? Fucking retarded.
Down the dark side alleys along WS are hair salons and noodle joints, located strategically to cater to those gogo dancers hurrying to work. I hit Pin-Up at 20.00 and 10 seconds, and there were already a dozen customers inside. My plan was to ogle all three rotations and bail but then a 20-year-old from Isaan chose me. Her name was Mint. I put the moves on her and had the poor gal eating out of my hand. I asked about the barfine. 1500 for the gogo plus 3 grand for the girl. Jesus, talk about an upsell. Then I checked out the new Geisha slash old Sensations. The first rota had three hotties in a mix of chunksters. 170b SMLs. Okeanus and KaBoom have shut. I like to think it’s due to their choice of PR person—none other than Bob the Knob, aka Dave the Rave, aka the biggest pile of shit in Thailand.
Then I popped in to Fahrenheit to say hi to my old friend who used to dance at King’s 1 in Patpong, arriving just in time for their good luck ritual where a naked girl walks around the stage twice dripping whiskey in all the girls’ hands. Weird, but fun to watch. They had 55b happy hour Tiger drafts and 230 ladydrinks. My galpal was definitely not the hottest clam in the joint. I’d put her about in the middle. One perk is, she always gets her tits out when she sits with me. We reminisced about Patpong and I played with her naughty bits before saying adieu and jumping over to Chick, strictly because they’re owned by the same group as Pin-Up and xs and I always forget that one. Imagine my surprise when I ran smack into Simon, expat extraordinaire and Patpong staple. He gave me a big hug and then shouted “Patpong! Patpong!” at all the hostesses while pointing at me. They had no idea what was going on. But it goes to show once again that Thailand really is a small world. 120b Tiger drafts and two dozen hotskinnies in Chick.
On my way home, I stopped at a ganja place on the second road. In the past, I could get a pack of 5 very mild dummies for 100b. This time, the lady said 400 for a tin of eight. “Are they good?” I asked. “Good,” she said. I popped ‘em open on the baht bus. They were really small so I thought I’d better eat two. By the time I got back to the room and crawled in bed, I was ripped. I was hallucinating as I dozed off. In the morning, I was still ripped. I checked out and headed to the bus station, totally off my head. I barely remember the bus ride. The only thing I do remember us, at the bus station, I was the only farang. Everyone else was either Thai or Indian. Maybe the media should be less concerned about the loss of Chinese tourism and worry more about what they’ll do if the old fart expat community dies.
In redlight-related news, the mighty Taitle, of Electric Blue fame and later Lust, the Strip, and Black Pagoda, who left the life shortly after the end of the scamdemic to pursue jobs in the non-sex sector, made her triumphant (well, she wouldn’t call it that) return to the pole, putting in one night at Virgin before quitting again. She told me she wasn’t ready to wear revealing clothing again after so long, and will try to get back into shape before giving another gogo a go.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is a slew of random candid photos from the redlight, between 2019 and 2022. The link is here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-random-redlight-candids-2019-2022/
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 several bundles of four to 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: I got nothin’ this week, reader. Sorry about that.
