What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession.
Last week, the US Department of Defense quietly wrote up protocols for using the military against civilians on American soil, ostensibly anticipating a revolt after election day. And Biden even more quietly signed an executive order giving individual states permission to deny certifying electoral college votes, presumably to stop Trump from winning. I don’t know about you, but I’m glad I’m watching the fascism pendulum swing from 8,000 miles away. I only hope I can squeeze in my Christmas Cali visit before it all goes tits-up. In the meantime, I’m soothing my restless soul with trips to the gogo bars.
My redlight week began with a sausage and kraut dinner plus a pint of Oktoberfest (the former for my microbiome, the latter for my overactive cranial dome) at G’s followed by a meetup with Jack Nites for a 3 King’s photo shoot in the Pong. ‘Twas wall-to-wall tourists from early on, despite a lackadaisical but steady rain shower. K1 had a new employee–a gay manhostess who stood outside trying to coax passersby with his gay come-hither wiles. Crazily, it worked on a poor young solo Nipon whose polite demeanor prohibited him from telling the manseductress to fuck off. After foregoing several opportunities to escape, I surmised the youngster must be gay himself, and the two had found each other outside a ladygogo bar by some act of cosmic gay kismet. It’s not the strangest thing I’ve seen onPong, but it’s in the top 20. Eventually he did make his exit, but not before the Thaigay said, “Tomorrow you come back?” several times and transitioned to an awkward hug while the barmaids looked on, gobsmacked.
As the girls took the stage, and Indian dude walked into the gogo. Minutes later, he stepped out for a smoke, planting himself at my table. After 30 seconds he got up and walked off down the soi. Then a barmaid ran out with his checkbin but he’d already disappeared into the Night Market. That’s a cheapflex if there ever was one.
Over at New2, the majority of the dancers were first-timers. The number of girls giving me come-hither looks was ridiculous and I realized that this old lion in the gogo is the male equivalent of a cock-tease. I’m a boyfriend-tease. A bank account-tease. An escape the pole-tease. They gaze at me with hope in their eyes, as though I might rescue them from the life with something akin to love and/or family financial support. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Near midweek, I passed through Soi Cowboy, stopping for a quick slice of sausage pizza at Capone’s. On the walk over, I passed a dude whom I recognized as a Patpong regular. I quickly averted my eyeline and hurried on to the pizza window. Five minutes later, he came up behind me and ordered a slice. For a terrifying moment, I thought he’d strike up a convo, and so I buried my face in my phone screen as if I was reading some message of great import. A few minutes later, he got his food and bailed, to my profound relief.
I’ve never had real Chicago pizza, but while partying at The Palace (now called Avalon) in Hollywood in my 20s, there was a little Chicago style by-the-slice joint on the corner, and when the club closed, all the drunk, hungry dudes who didn’t score a chick lined up for a slice. Capone’s is a tad milder than the Chicago by-way-of-LA pie I remember, but it’s still quite satisfying.
From there, I skipped to Barcelona Gaudi for a glass of Verdejo, followed by Borsao Tinto–a remarkable blend of garnacha, syrah, and tempranillo. I didn’t order any food, and I think the owner was a bit worried about a scraggly farang sucking down wine on his patio, so he brought out a complimentary plate of bruschetta and fuet. And goddam if the sausage didn’t breathe new vibrant life into the flavor of the Borsao. It was miraculous. After Gaudi, I passed through Baccara, Rainbow, and Long Gun. The first two were per usual. Baccara had a lot of girls, mostly chubsters, all looking for that Nipon high roller. Rainbow had a few new tallskinnies.
I unlocked a cheat code for Long Gun. Pay for your drink and go sit on the terrace. All the fatties are doing a nude cattle roundup onstage, meanwhile every skinnikini (skinny in a bikini) is outside. I was the only dude out there with them, and got so much attention, if I was a newbie sex tourist Id’ve been on Cloud 9. After one beer at Long Gun, I exited Cowboy, passing by Venus A-Gogo, which had been closed for several weeks, I assumed because they ran themselves out of business by overcharging customers. But they were open again, and all the same faces from before they closed were back, as though nothing had happened. An extraordinarily beautiful girl outside recognized me and tried to pull me in. I said, “No. Your bar is too expensive,” before stuffing a hundy in her bra and hurrying to the mo’taxis.
Back in the Pong I hit up Virgin first, where Nat–who used to be a 10 when she danced at Twister but has since chubbed out–managed to drop a few pounds. So I made sure to let her know I noticed and gave her a thumbs-up for the effort. These hoes need all the encouragement they can get when it comes to losing weight.
In K1, the same douchebag from Capone’s was there, dancing with an off-duty gal in a dark corner. I shuddered at the thought that our lives followed such parallel routes. Although I doubt he has a harem like mine. Pimp-daddying isn’t a competition but if it was, I’d be winning. He spotted me and for a second he looked scared, like he thought I was following him. No dude, you’re just a squirrel trying to get a nut in my world, shoutout C+C Music Factory.
K Corner hosted around a hundred dancers in the middle of the week. It was a goddam circus. The gaggle of gals who I’d call friends in that gogo are a diverse group, ranging from chicks I used to bang to old chums from other bars to girls currently trying to get a spot in my harem. It creates a lot of pheromonal confusion. The girls I never got with always seem to give off an air of curiosity, or potential. Like they’re thinking, “Why didn’t he ever?” and “What if we did?” I like it, but not enough to try anything with those birds. That limbo state of wondering regret is a tasty emotional morsel (emotiorsel for short) that sates something in me just as it is. Similarly, the ones who had me once but no longer linger nearby with longing looks, as if to say “Why am I not in your roster anymore?’ They’re at once put out and horny. They’re putorny.
On Wednesday I had a quick Pong because of dead Thursday, meaning it was one of them booze-free Buddha days and I wanted to get a small swerve on beforehand. I struck out early. First, I pounded an Andechs Weissbier Dunkel at Gs at 19 00. This beer has a split personality, as it’s a wheat beer and a dark beer simultaneously. The flavor is just as enigmatic. It’s a whirlwind of dark, toasted bread, caramel, and cocoa, and might be the best beer I’ve ever tasted. But I only had one, and then ventured t’Pong.
Outside K1, I sat with a fat Montecristo cigar. A Thai lady came up to ask for a donation to some charity for orphans. We had a long conversation in Thai that for some reason captured the attention of four tourists in the beer garden who then proceeded to stare at me for 10 minutes like I was a monkey at the zoo. Although it could’ve been because after that, I started talking to myself out loud in French, as I’m trying to learn the language using audio lessons in between a Jeff Buckley bootleg on my headphones. After three drinks I was ready for bed, but I forced myself to hit Virgin first. Rota 1 had three girls I recognized. The rest were all new. Rota 2 had 100% new chicks. The regulars all turned up after 9 pm.
As you know, bkk got hit with a formidable deluge on Friday that lasted for hours. What this told me is, if I bothered to venture out, I’d only get as far as the pong. Luckily, a conc I see only rarely–maybe six times a year–rang to say she’d be by that evening for some naked exercise. I’m always delighted to see her, because she’s a 9 and objectively beautiful. It’s why I don’t hound her for more frequent attention. I know every dude in her life does it. Plus, she has a Thai bf who occupies most of her time.
What I like about her, besides her puchritude, is her tiny, muscular frame and how she folds herself lile a cat when she lays down next to me. Also her enthusiasm for giving head, and her tiny vagine and the involuntary cries she emits with every thrust. Though I’ve learned in my old age that some women respond better to a softer mount and a slow, burning grind if you catch my drift. This gal also makes pantomime motions with one hand how she wants me to maneuver my hips. I don’t think she realizes she does it. Watching her reach climax is a spiritual experience. Afterward, I ask her the same question put to all my concs post-coitis: “You want to go again?” This one always balks, claiming she’s spent. Which is fine, because I am also. I just say it to be funny.
After she showered and bailed, I schlepped out into the rain t’Pong. Stop 1 was Derby King for krapow moo sap. Then I spent an hour on the K1 terrace listening to French lessons on my mp3 player whilst sipping a double Chivas. Esqu vous comprone l’Angle? Oui, unh puu. Then I hit New2 (known locally as King’s Castle 2) and on entering ran smack into the femme who’s claimed me in there. I don’t mind. She’s good for a laugh, and she has a very sensitive minge, so I just look for openings to pet it and then watch her fall to pieces. It’s pretty entertaining.
Then I scampered over to Virgin where 75% of the pole kitties were new. It’s clear they’re hiring on a crew to eventually take over VirginX next door when it finally opens. Yok was MIA, which opened the door for other girls to take a crack at getting Seven’s attention. The one who resembles my first and only Thai girlfriend from Ao Nang always wins, especially because she wai’s and courtesy’s whenever she sees me. That’s an egg I’ll never deign to crack. For one, she’s got the old-lady mush, which is the squishy musculature that Thai gals get in their later 20s. I can’t do squishy. But she’s fun to watch. Then there’s the little blonde firecracker that all the dudes want to barfine. She’s been trying to get my attention for months but it’s obvious she’s too high maintenance. If I wanted a headcase in my bed, I’dve just stayed in the US. 10 years ago I would’ve nailed her anyway, because back then I didn’t have the strength to deny a hottie, even if she was a lunatic. But in my old age, I can’t fuck with that anymore. What’s the line from that Radiohead song…. “no alarms and no surprises, please.” That’s my motto for all current concubines.
Just like Friday, Saturday evening began with an aggressive downpour. I wanted to stay home, as for a redlight monger, enthusiasm for the gogo comes and goes in waves, and I’m bored of the life at the moment. But after accidentally napping from 14.00 to 16.00, I knew I wouldn’t fall asleep unless I got myself a belly full of booze. And so I was forced t’Pong. Again.
Then there was the small matter of ravenous hunger combined with a fridge that only had a bottle of ranch and half a packet of kamagra. I was so hungry I couldn’t think, so I just followed my feet and ended up at Gs again for sausage and kraut, plus one more Andechs….the joint was packed. I took up the only open table, feeling guilty for occupying space on such a busy night. For that reason I ate as fast as I could, then skipped to virgin to drop off a bag of lollipops. There amongst the regular tits and asses I spotted a newhotskinny that made my wang stand up and salute. She was Sevens ideal: tall, thigh gap, sixpack, brown sugar skin. She had no tits but I’m always ready to overlook that. Plus she had resting bitch face. There’s something about watching that expression transform when prodded in the vajay. From scorn to porn, I call it.
As I exited Virgin, it was yet again pissing down. But my chagrin turned to joy when I looked left and noticed the doors of VirginX were open and chicks were passing in and out the joint. Sure enough, in what will go down as one of the softest (or soggiest) opens ever, the place was open and serving with two rotations of 8. It has a stage in the center with a smaller one off to the side, however unlike a regular gogo, the place is packed with high top tables and lined with booths around the walls. One section is devoted to VIP style service, with plush leather couches. Because it’s previous incarnation was a nightclub, the sound system is primo, as is the lighting. Drink prices are the same as Virgin.
At first I was the only customer. But within minutes, a gang of farang had scooped up a VIP sofa, and several wet Nipons had taken tables around me. If I had to make a suggestion for improvement, it’d be to nix the smoke machine. Other than that, the place just needs to get broken in, like a catcher’s mitt. Then it’ll feel like a gogo home.
The owner is the same as Virgin, which is the same as Twister in Nana Plaza. The decor of all 3 is the same: black on black on black leather. Coincidentally, that was the style of one of two Mustang Cobra convertibles I owned back when I lived in LA (the other one was red). It got t-boned by an uninsured illegal alien. The only piece that survived the crash besides me was a miniature die-cast Darth Vader figurine that I’d glued to the dashboard.
Ironically during the years I owned both cars, and another when I drove a black convertible BMW 330i, I didn’t get laid once. Contrast that with the two Virgins’ all-black interiors, where clunge is flung from wall to wall.
The vibe was so good in VX (short for VirginX) that I stayed for two cocktails. Then I vaulted to K Corner where 30 girls I’d never seen before laid siege to the stage. After that, I sped to K1 where I lucked into a front seat. The place was a zoo. A gang of Nipons sat stageside, and one of them was prancing around onstage. He then proceeded to take all his clothes off, revealing the smallest pecker I’d ever seen. As per usual when the gogo is crazy busy, my drink order never arrived, so I sat there sobering up like a dolt. Luckily a very attentive barmaid noticed and went scampering off to find my cocktail. I’ll say this: after 22.00, King’s Castle 1 Patpong shits on every single other gogo in Bangkok. Nobody even comes close…except maybe King’s Corner.
I popped out for a quick Heiney on the terrace. The watch vendor in the night market had a new puppy that lay on a table trying to sleep and panting in the Bangkok heat. Three old farang clams approached, concerned in the way that modern parlance calls “Karens.” They stressed over the dog’s discomfort, and hovered like crones around the k9 for a few moments, trying to suss out what was in their power to change in the situation. Once they realized they had none, they shuffled on. The Night Market was utter pandemonium at 23.00 in late October. I don’t know if it’s a potential indicator of the tourist tidal wave to come, but I’m cowed by the number of cunts already filling the streets of Bangkok like roaches before a meteor strike.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is a photo album of a bunch of gogo dancers’ back ink. The link can be found here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-some-back-tattoos/
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: If you’re a proper redlight godfather, you’ll want to bring sweets to the gogo from time to time, to shower on the dancers and ingratiate yourself to the staff. The best source for this is Lazada, where you can buy in bulk for cheap. You’re welcome.
