What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and here are the notes I found in my phone at the end of the week…
It was the clunge of times, it was the cooze of times. In a wild turn of events, and a total reversal of last week’s bleak post, I wound up back in BKK to start the week, and out of curiosity, just to see who’d nibble at a bit of bait on a hook, I messaged three of four of my old harem to see if they’d be up for a shag, and bite my balls if they all didn’t say “Yes” (conc 4 was visiting her mum in Isaan). So I ended up hosting three familiar vajays in two and a half days. Now, it seems, this old lion has two prides—one in Ptown and one in BK. And so for the foreseeable, I’ll be coming back to Bangkok a couple weekends per month to serve the hot beef injection to that previous set of randy sexbombs. “In with the old AND in with the new” is my new motto. Anyway, here’s how the trip shook out…
The Pattaya Bus Station was a madhouse. I was lucky to only wait 30 minutes, as hordes of greasy tourists stormed the busses like ants swarming a hill. I purchased two tickets per usual, to ensure some drooling idiot can’t sit next to me. ‘Twas a smooth ride home (I think I’ll always consider BKK to be home, even if I live the next 10 years in Ptown). It’s always a nicer drive than going to Pattaya. There are fewer stops, and everyone seems spent, both physically and monetarily, so they’re mostly quiet and well-behaved.
After two months at the beach, landing back in Silom felt…pretty normal, save for the unfamiliarity of a hotel room. The last time I had to get a room here was back in 2012, and I stayed at Suk Soi 19 for its proximity to Soi Cowboy. God, how I loved that redlight back then. Now, of course, it’s shite. But in the 20teens it was a raging beacon of hedonism. Two things struck me as I rode the Skytrain from On Nut to Sala Daeng. First, BK is an awesome city. When you live there, you tend to forget. In my lifetime, only a few cities have struck me as great ones. My hometown of Los Angeles is not one of them. Berlin, London, Barcelona, and Bangkok are great cities. I’ve never been to New York, but I imagine it evokes the same sense of modernity and culture, though it’s not nearly as exotic as BK.
Second, it’s full of beautiful chicks. Pattaya has sexy girls, but by and large they’re not “beautiful” in the classic sense. Bangkok has a much larger contingent of beauties, and not just in the redlights. They pack the trains and the malls. They walk the parks and the markets. They’re friggin’ everywhere.
Silom was pretty much the same as always…lots of crappy tourists. I spotted a blafrican American with corn rows and pants sagging so his underwear was on full display. The Thais stared at him in disbelief. His half-white gf wore a wife beater and grimaced with incredulity that people didn’t get out of her way on the sidewalk. I’d forgotten to eat, and so had the Shenanigan’s roast dinner—lamb with a glass of red. Former conc number 1 was scheduled for 21.30 so I had time for a quick Pong beforehand. I got there early—19.45. By some weird kismet, that every afternoon Offy—I mean, Pim—my old galpal from so many drunken gogo nights of yore, messaged to say she missed me. I told her I was in town and so she busted her ass to get to King’s 1 by 20.00. Foot traffic was down around the Night Market, and there were only four chicks onstage when I arrived. It was wais all around. I spotted Ms. 5k—the lass who said she wouldn’t shorttime for less than. She had a gross paunch of fat around her belly. That closed the hotness window for yet another KFC casualty. In fact, I saw no skinnies at all—not onstage, and not waiting for the rotation. It was a sign that my decision to move to Ptown was sound. All of the Pin-Up cartel’s bars are better than what I saw in Patpong on the night.
Back in July, King’s 3 shut down for lack of customers. The management said they’d reopen in two months, but here we are nearly ten weeks later and it’s still not open. Sundays are famously slow in Patpong, so take this with a grain of salt, but business was visibly down since I was last there.
The barmaid in King’s 2 remembered my drink order, but none of the ladies onstage worked there two months ago. There were only four of them, and they all had hungry eyes, as I was the lone customer at 20.30. K2 suffered from the same chubbification as K1. I spied only two hotskinnies and they were pissing about backstage.
I don’t know what I expected when I went to King’s Corner. I guess I thought it’d defy the dire look of the rest of the Pong, and be teeming with gorgeous women in red lingerie thrusting their hips with salacious abandon like normal. No such luck. Five girls onstage, eight waiting, all chubbed. I didn’t even want to drink my cocktail, but I stayed out of respect. Incredibly, I had to go to Virgin to find more than four hotties in a rotation. Their lineup was a perfect bell curve of sizes: a few chubs, plus a large cluster of regular-sized dames, plus a few superhotties.
The ping pong show that replaced XXX Lounge is open. There’s no signage. It’s just a dark doorway with two stoic women perched outside. If one weren’t informed, one wouldn’t even know it’s a business.
Then former conc 1 messaged to say she was on her way, so I sped back to the hotel to wash my privates. This is the gal who helped make my decision to move, because in February I was already bored with the redlight scene, and her fantastic naked body was the only thing keeping me in Bangkok. When she had to take on extra hours at work and stopped coming over, that’s what finally tipped me toward changing locations. For seven months, we didn’t copulate or even see each other. Then two weeks ago, I messaged to ask how she was. She said she was in dire financial straits, and would I consider coming up a few times per month to destroy her pussy in exchange for rent money. I said I’d be happy to oblige. And that’s why I came to BK, friends, and while I’ll continue to pop up every so often, until something changes.
Our long-time-no-see session was epic. I haven’t railed anyone that long and hard since my early days in country. After it was over, she said it hurt, but in a good way. I told her it was her own fault for disappearing for seven months. She stuck around for a couple of hours, just holding onto me like she was trying not to wake up from a dream. I told her she had to call me “หำ เงิน” (ham ngun) from now on, since my wang and wallet were her two favorite things. And I know that term loosely translates to “silver dick,” but if I changed the order to “dick silver,” in English that sounds too close to Ron Swanson’s alter ego in “Parks & Recreation,” Duke Silver. She insisted she loved me, that in all her life, I was the only man who was sincere with her, that I’m the one person she can depend on. I nodded along. Sure, sure, honey. As long as you keep turning up and taking your clothes off, I’ll be Mr. Fuckin’ Sincerity.
The next day I made an appointment to host old conc number 2 in the evening and headed out around noon to find food. The Dusit Thani and their Parkside Mall finally opened, so I skipped down there to check the place out. The basement is a massive food court, open from 8 am. You no longer get a cash card from a lady at a kiosk. It’s all automated. You put bills in a machine and it spits out a QR code. Floors 1 to 7 are yet another crazy Bangkok mall. On the 5th floor is an exit to a terrace that takes you on a lovely walk called Dusit Central Park with amazing views of Lumphini. If one lived here, one could easily make it a daily morning walk. It wasn’t hard to spot the tourists. They were the only ones not wearing black in remembrance of the late Queen.
Old conc 2 was spectacular. I can’t tell you her name, because she’s famous in old Patpong circles. All I can say is, she’s keeping it tight, and putting in 100%, and if I were capable of love, I’d adore her. Once she left, I high-tailed it to Soi Cowboy to get an eyeful of its current state. There’s nothing like speeding through the breezy Bangkok night on the back of a Bolt bike, surrounded by crazed, drug-addled Thais driving like maniacs. It’s a visceral reminder that—for the moment, at least—you’re still alive.
Soi Cowboy was dead as a doornail on arrival. Dollhouse had three hot girls in one rotation—more than my last visit. For the first time in the 15 years I’ve been going there, Long Gun had a couple fit dancers in the rota. Don’t let their 200b beer prices fool you. They’ve a 40% happy hour discount. After one rotation, I stepped onto the terrace for a Honey Bourbon Backwoods and a gander at the foot traffic. The crowd picked up in the time between 20.30 and 21.00 but I daresay there were more people during this year’s “low” season. The local monger demographic is a cut above that of Ptown. They’re a tad snobbier, too. Bee wasn’t working in Rainbow and they had only two girls onstage so I slipped to
Baccara where the most fetching ladies on Soi Cowboy can currently be found. There are at least five in every rotation, including the upstairs. It probably helps that Shark is closed for remodeling. After that, I wanted to go to sleep, but I got a message from a friend who’s been tasked with opening a new gogo and needed intel. He asked me to go to Patpong and find out average salaries for girls, barmaids, and mamasans, plus barfines. So off I schlepped. The dude outside Radio City dragged me in for a drink. I don’t like to go there because the frogs own it, and we don’t get along, but he’s kind of a friend so I obliged him. Their sister bar Bada Bing is closed for a long-overdue renovation so Radio City is rammed with chicks from the Bing. I only saw one hotskinny, though, plus a plethora of 6s and 7s. After going round and quizzing a bunch of bar stafff, I got the info my friend requested, and then stuck around to chitchat with some of my old gogo galpals. First, though, I lounged on the K1 terrace with a b ruskie and a cigar.
Thai chicks don’t fake orgasms. It would never even cross their minds to do it. I say this because, that means I’ve had a decade and a half of honest feedback regarding my talent for killing the kitty. So as I sat there, casually observing the tourist trash in the Beer Garden, and two vanilla couples from some benign European locale were on hand, vaping like aristocrats, the only think I could think was, those dudes can’t make their girls sport a facial expression like they’re trying to lift a car off an infant, but this whoremaster can, because he’s cut his teeth in the redlight, baby. These lookieloos are dipping their toes in a world their simple minds and tiny gonads couldn’t even conceive.
The K1 roster on Monday was a sight better than Sunday’s, with a large contingent of sex machines on hand. It was a cornucopia of cooter. A gang of gash. A slew of slits. A cacophony of cooze. A mingling of minge. A flock of fuckables. A team of twat. An army of ass. A collective of clunge.
Speaking of, King’s Corner was also back to its superhot status, with more beauteous babes than you could shake a stick at. The 180-degree change in the quality of girls from Sunday to Monday was nothing short of astonishing. It was almost enough to make me wish I’d stayed in BK—almost. Knowing I’ll be back here on the regular maps out a future with the best of both worlds—the low prices, radical redlights and beach-bum life of Ptown and the glitz and glamour of Bangkok. If life were a video game, I’ve unlocked a new level of x-rated revelry. A tale of two cities and binary sets of vagine. God in Heaven, could life get any better?
The next morning before checkout, conc number 3 swung by for a quick BJ, rounding out my whirlwind old-harem reunion tour. On the journey back to Pattaya, two concs from down there messaged to say “Where the fuck are you? I want to come over.” My balls were empty, and the thought of getting up and ready for those hussies didn’t spark my interest at all.
Because I’m a glutton for punishment, I caught a van instead of the bus from Ekkamai back to Ptown. The driver had a lead foot for the gas and the brake, which was just awesome, and a fat Chinese cunt talked to some jagoff on speakerphone the entire trip. I hopped off at Sukhumvit and South Pattaya Road and Bolt-biked from there. Ptown was cloudy, windy, and crowded. I know there are more people in BK. Of course that’s the case. But Pattaya’s narrow streets and closed-in clusters of buildings make it seem more crowded than it is. I laid low for a couple of days, just relaxing and accepting BJs from Ptown concs and taking morning walks, anticipating the citywide Halloween party on the 31st.
Halloween was the most crowded night in Ptown this year barring Songkran. Traffic was horrific, and getting a Bolt bike nearly impossible. The 6 was a fun little party. Costumes ran the gamut from zombie nuns to vampire nuns to devil nuns. Ever single chick wore either black pleather or black lace, except one, who sported a pumpkin costume. There were even a few punters in masks and makeup. And yes, they looked like total douchebags. October 31st is the only day soi 6 girls actually want their photo taken. I had one drink with a galpal and then bailed.
Walking Street was quiet at 20.00 with clusters of tourists around points of interest eg a makeshift haunted house at the pizza joint and one of the street magicians dressed as Michael Jackson. By 20.15 it was a clusterfuck of unwashed masses.
The Thais don’t get the concept of trick-or-treat. I stopped into an outdoor bar for a white ruskie and the owner’s kids came over with pumpkin buckets. Luckily I had lollipops so I tried to hand them over but the kids tried to give me candy. They understand that kids get buckets, and candy is exchanged…just backwards from tradition. Speaking of kids, there were shit-tons on WS on the night, all dressed in costumes…except the Muslims. They seemed chagrined at the whole affair. ‘Twas hot and balmy. Most folks’ make-up was a runny mess by 20.30.
Pin-up’s girls were all decked out in black and orange, save for one rotation that dressed as witch-brides, with black veils, capes, and bikinis that gave me an instaboner. The Atmos dancers donned simple black lingerie. Tasteful. I sat down but no one took my drink order. A little barmaid ran off toward the back, so I thought maybe she already knew to bring over a vodka, but she inexplicably turned up with a glass of draft beer. Crazy. Fahrenheit was also low-key in black and orange, even though galpal Mina had sent me a photo of her covered in blood. I guess it was just a promo pic. Chick had 2 rotations, one in black pleather lingerie and short red devil horns, the other in red bikinis with long black Maleficent horns. So horny two ways.
I popped over to LK for literally one gogo: Las Vegas. They had two rotats of angels—one in white lace with white wings, the other the same but in black. ‘Twas a spectacle, I tell you what. It’s crazy how the right bit of fishnet or see-through material can turn a 5 into a 7. If one’s not careful on Hallow’s Eve, one might accidentally take home a mud turtle by mistake. Speaking of, there’s a lady in one of the LKs who I really want to conc up. Her body is a 10 and her face is a 5, hence she is the perfect fuck buddy, because when you’re railing her, anytime you get close to finishing all you have to do is glance at her ugly mug and you get an instant reset.
Heaven Above was a madhouse—so crowded I had to opt for a seat in Cleo’s Hideout. I got an Al Capone (Chivas, strawberry, and lemon). Jesus, Mary, and Joseph and the donkey they rode in on, friends, what a cocktail. A Ukrainian mofo struck up a conversation. He was in Chicago before TLOS and had to bail due to the rip-off prices. I felt his pain. The US is a giant money-suck. Anyone who lives there is a chump. I stepped onto the terrace to smoke a honey bourbon Backwoods and it was just pissing down. In fact, the sky split open and didn’t let up for hours, ruining the night and sending me scurrying home through lightning and downpour.
In other news, my Pattaya morning walks are an exercise in people-watching. Folks run the gamut from local farang to local Thais to folks on the job to curious tourists to wild homeless weirdos. Last week I spotted a tall balding farang in a black sleeveless t-shirt, black jeans, black socks, and no shoes, holding up his trousers with one hand and carrying an empty McNuggets box with the other. He seemed harmless, but the prevalence of transient farang in Ptown is alarming. The cops should really round them up and deport them.
The takeaway from this week is, I miss BK but not their redlights. I miss my old harem, but miraculously can now see them semi-often. I don’t love Ptown, but it has advantages: the beach, the sea air, the rip-roaring redlights, the cheaper prices.
There’s no Members Only Gallery this week, but I have good news for anyone who’s been waiting for me to set up a new paywall. I think (and I’m not certain because I’m a fucking retard) that I’ve finally succeeded in setting up a new Members Gateway. You can find it by clicking on the “Members Only Links So Far” link at the top of the homepage. The price has changed: it’s $16 USD for lifetime access to the entire photo a video archive–no subscriptions and no recurring payments. The one snag is, I don’t know if I set up the PayPal payment button so Members get all access, or just one gallery. If somebody signs up, can you email me and tell me if you have all-access or just access to one photo spread? If it’s the latter, I’ll contact the paywall gateway and try to fix it.
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 and the redlight scene 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 for under $10 US apiece.
And until next time fellow beach 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.
What Grinds My Gears This Week: Periodically I’m going to replace the Pro Tip Post Script with a winge. Here’s one: Why do Bolt motaxi drivers call you from half a kilometer away? What could I have to say? “Khun yu ti nai?” “At the pickup point.” “Pick up where, pick up?” “I don’t know, I’m next to a laundromat. Follow the map.” He can see from my name I’m farang, so what exactly is he hoping to glean? Hang up and come get me, ass douche.
