What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession. The times, they are a’changin’ ain’t that right, reader? I don’t know about you, but I’ve calmly watched the recent World War 3-inducing antics by world leaders with placid interest while stoically checking my emergency food stash and shopping for a pistol. Not because I think the end is here—not yet, anyway. But I know the plan, and can see the steps the globalist stooges are following like a blueprint. Americans don’t want our govt sending soldiers to fight a war with Russia, which means a false flag is required to change their minds, just like every previous war. The Spanish American War required the sinking of The Maine. Then it happened again with World War 1 and the Lusitania, and again for World War 2 with Pearl Harbor. In Vietnam, it was The Gulf of Tonkin, and then of course, 9/11. You’d think people would’ve figured it out by now, but no. So I’m casually on the lookout for a dirty bomb, likely in Manhattan, that’ll be blamed on Putin. But since I’m tucked safely away here in Thailand, I’m not too fussed. War is inevitable at this point. We can only hope the trade winds don’t blow the nuclear cloud our way. In the meantime, I’m self-medicating with whiskey, vodka, beer, and my concubines.
Time has also changed the Bangkok gogo scene. When I was just a young, middle-aged pup back in the 2010s, Soi Cowboy was a revelation. Nana was a crazy party, and Patpong was a real-life redlight Blade Runner movie. Today, Cowboy is a bastion of overpriced chubsters, Nana is a boring corporate money-grab, and Patpong has been cut in half thanks to nearly a dozen closures, Covid-related and otherwise, that never reopened. To these old eyes, the Bangkok nightlife is barely recognizable. And more changes are just around the corner—hopefully for the better.
Thailand has given itself the go-ahead to build casinos in BKK, Chiang Mai, and Phuket. I for one am excited. Not for the gambling. I was born with bad luck. But a lot of other potentially cool stuff could come with the new venues, including superhot freelancers, more nightlife nooks and crannies to get lost in, and maybe better live music venues to Incentivize more bands to come here. I’m basing that whole fantasy on a lifetime of trips to Las Vegas. Who knows if it’ll come to fruition. We can only wait and hope. At any rate, here’s how this old monger’s week shook out…
One balmy evening last week I Ponged, starting with a cigar on the New3 terrace. As I’m out of Banana Backwoods I had to fall back on Honey flavor. My brother got me a 40-pack for Christmas so I’ll be on them for the foreseeable. I paired it with a Chivas-rocks and Heiny draft, and sat back to watch the riffraff. Middle-aged dudes with sweat stains under their tits lumbered in and out of the gogos. One solo sex seeker in black jeans and tucked-in short sleeve button down shirt paced the night market but couldn’t muster the nerve to hit a bar. Another one in all-black plus a pink fanny pack–what Brits call a bum bag–cruised the t-shirt vendors. A smarmy looking couple pulled up next to me, looked over, then asked the mamasan if they could smoke. She said of course but they must’ve thought I had a blunt because they sparked a joint. Soon the stench of weed ruined the taste of my smoke.
Afterward I slipped into K1 and immediately grabbed a girl as she passed by. She started out in New2 some months ago and had caught my eye back then, but I hadn’t the time to consider her. That night, it was like the universe practically pushed her into my lap. She turned out to be a superstar–an absolute sex dynamo. I put all the usual moves on her till she was giggling uncontrollably and rubbing my junk like it was a genie’s lamp. I sure made her first wish come true, which was to add her Line to my phone. As far as fishing for new clunge goes, that’s about as easy as it gets.
In K Corner, a sino came in with his timid girlfriend and he began plying her with drinks. After round four, he got a big breastfed topl4ss dancer down from the stage to sit between them. He insisted his lady squeeze the dancer’s boobs, and that broke the ice. After that the two gals got on swimmingly while the dude looked on with approval. Twenty minutes later, they barfined her and disappeared into the Night Market.
Then I went to New2 to play head games with the girl in there who’s dragging her feet regarding my harem proposal. She saw me walk in and take a corner spot at the far end of the bar. Across from me sat a gross American couple. The dude had long hair and a trucker hat. The femme looked haggard and drooping, like a week-old flower in a vase. I think she was high or on shrooms. A mamasan tried to help them pull the trigger on a shorttime threesome, which was a thing clearly on their minds. More him than her, though. Suddenly he called down a young statuesque girl from the stage. What ensued was the most uncomfortable encounter I’ve ever witnessed. This kind of kinky fraternizing is hardest on the gogo dancer. She has to show favor to the clam 2hilst knowing that the male is both benefactor and instigator. It’s a thin line to navigate. I watched them while my wayward almost concubine stole looks at me as nonchalantly as she was able, which is to say not at all.
Then I popped in to vi4gin to chat with yok and enjoy the vain attempts by other girls to earn my favor. After that I did what I swore I’d never do–go to vi4ginx–for two reasons. First, they have a new drink special: Leo/Singha/Chang for 99b before 23.00 and second, Yok assured me there were only three katoeys in the rota. In every dark corner of that bar, customers sat with clusters of girls. Half a dozen petite newbies put on the come-hither look from the stage. I spotted one whom I considered making a slave to my gravy train but decided against it for now.
Then for gits and shiggles I flitted round to New3 where I’ve recently cut off a girl who refused a harem invite. On entering, she shouted my name, leaped from the stage and tried to sit on my lap. I stuck my thumb in her ass and ushered her back to the pole. It’s a move I don’t use often anymore but this time it was warranted. From that point, I trained my attention on a different girl until my glass was empty. Then I called it a night and stumbled home.
So there’s a Thai dude who sits outside Foodland on Soi 2. He doesn’t have a job per se, but he tries to act as a tour guide for random lost-looking tourists. One night about a year ago, he hit me up for beer money. I gave him 50 baht, and from that day onward he’s asked me for money 3very time he sees me, which let’s face it is 6 days per week on average. I’m at the point where I hate giving him a hand-out but I don’t know how to cut him off without making an enemy of him in the Pong. One night last week he spotted me while occupying himself with some tourists and so missed his chance to panhandle. The next night, he made up for it by seeking me out on Soi 1 and following me into King’s. He even tried to sit with me, so I quickly pulled a gogo dancer onto my lap and that put him off, thank Buddha. And then he parked outside the bar to wait for me, so I slipped into New3 through the side door in order to evade him.
Speaking of hand-outs, at the bar outside k Corner is a lovely Viet gal working as a hostess. We go back to pre-Covid days, and every time I see her, I happily slip a hundy in her bra and then dry hump her as part of the long-standing ritual. When I saw her the other night, just as I finished thrusting my pelvis into her I looked up to see a vanilla tourist clam shooting rage daggers at me like she’d tear my cock off if she could. I smiled and grabbed my galpal’s tits, hoping to give the bitch a brain aneurism.
On yet another sweaty night onPong, I was enjoying a honey backwoods on the New3 terrace when I was gently accosted by an elderly Irishman smoking black cigarettes with gold filters. We had an interesting talk. He loves America, and since I’ve spent time in cork and Kerry, we both said what we like about our respective countries. For some God-knows-why reason, he loves The South—Tennesse, Arkansas, and Oklahoma. All I remember from those places was the humidity and the giant insects. Then the girl from New3 who blew me off last week came over to sit with me, which in the table-tennis game of seducing a reluctant gogo dancer meant the ball was back in my court. She tried to give me a dirty look but ended up looking like a grumpy chipmunk. She asked why I didn’t come to her bar, because the question she wanted to ask, “Why did you block my Line?” would be too direct. I pointed to my cigar as a way to say “I gotta sit out here if I want to smoke.” After a moment she returned to the bar. Five minutes later she came and sat at the table next to mine, watching to see if I took notice. I looked up, saw her, and then went back to staring at my phone. She immediately came over and took the chair next to mine, but she clearly didn’t know what to say and after a few minutes of silence, retreated again. She and I are now on a fateful track with two possible outcomes: either she’ll become a new conc or she’ll murder me. I wait for the result with indifference.
I now have three girls vying for my attention in K1, which is a good problem to have, but as an aging monger, it’s more tiring than it is fun. I started out having Offy as a fun distraction. Then I chose the gal I mentioned earlier for her hotbody advantage. Then out of nowhere a girl I’ve exchanged hellos with for months suddenly took a real interest. Call it pheromones or whatever. Maybe she’s ovulating. Anyway, Offy sat with me, unaware of the two watching us, massaging my junk while they stared with envy from the stage. And since I’ll never have Offy over to my place, she’s the perfect foil for encouraging jealousy in others. I let the two fillies stew a bit longer and then cartwheeled to New3 where on an earlier night I’d struck up a conversation on the terrace with a new girl with a farang’s name. The problem was, I was pretty inebriated during our exchange, and there are half a dozen newhotties in that bar now that all blur together in my memory. She could be any of them. The only way I’d be able to spot her from a distance is by her dance moves. So I sat there scrutinizing the stage, watching every hip swerve and ass bounce, trying to match a girl with my fuzzy recollection. After 30 minutes I gave up and pushed on to New2, where another whole can of gogo dancer worms waited, in the form of a hotskinny who wants to pump me for drinks but then not come over for a conc audition. We’re at the point where the drinks have dried up until she pulls the trigger on a visit to my apartment. It’s what we in The States call a Mexican stand-off. She came offstage, went to the locker room and messaged me “Do you want me to sit with you?” Fucking adorable. I gave her permission, and then proceeded to grope her in the way that always works with young fit honeys. When she begged for a second drink, I paid and bailed, but not before tweaking her ladybits one last time.
Then I found a seat on the New3 terrace and got downright contemplative. I thought to myself, what is it about Patpong and the handful of bars I frequent that sets them apart from all the others? And the answer is, a lot of things. First, Patpong in general is kinder to the expat. They treat repeat customers better than the bars Cowboy and Nana. Second, the girls are on the whole hotter and friendlier. Third, the girls I like I know on a first-name basis. When I Pong, I’m hanging out with friends, friends with benefits, and future harem girls. It’s a party. The alternative is that thing we all experienced when we first arrived in TLOS. The shorttime cold call. Oh, how I loathe the feeling of entering a gogo full of strangers, perusing the stage like it’s a butcher shop, and gambling on a decision that could go very right or very wrong, with no way to predict the outcome. I much prefer my current lifestyle, which is like hobbling out to a hothouse garden in my back yard, squeezing the tomatoes for ripeness, and either picking them or leaving them depending on the squeeze.
Now that I don’t work a day job, I spend nearly all my waking hours as the gogo alias known as Bangkok Seven. The real me is fading like an old Polaroid taped to a page in a photo album no one looks at anymore. The only time I’m reminded of that fellow is when my mom sends me a Line message or I get a Facebook comment from someone back home. In what has been a lifelong trend, I received one such message the other day from yet another ex-girlfriend asking to “rekindle” the semblance of a friendship. Of the 15 or so gf’s I had whilst living in Cali, all but two have tried to “rekindle.” And they all used that word, too. I fucking hate that word. So far, my answer has always been the same: silence. Because nothing cuts a clam to the quick so much as a nonresponse. The reverse of that is my harem, and the girls that have come and gone from it over the last decade and a half. My motto with them has been, “Hold on loosely.” Because any of them could up and disappear like a puff of smoke with no warning or explanation, and there’s no goddam ‘rekindling’ to speak of. I did have one who got knocked up, had her kid, got dumped by her Thai boyfriend, and came back twice for bedroom fun. But she since found a new partner and will likely never reappear at my door again. Two of them died—both were in motorbike crashes. Mostly they either find boyfriends or they get fat and I have to let them go. But there’s none of the kind of emotionally parasitic notions of reattachment like with clams in The West.
While we’re on the topic of people being annoying, one of my pet peeves is sex tourists who cuddle the girl they got down for a drink in the gogo. I understand the need for human contact, and the incel-urge to make a quick girlfriend of any lass who shows them attention, but dial it back for fucks sake.
As I finished my contemplation with a mini Cuban, a girl I’d never seen before sat down and started talking to me in English. “Are you drunk?” I replied in Thai. “Oh, why you can speak Thai?” I’ve lived here for 15 years. “Oh, why you come to the gogo?” I come here every night. “Are you alone or do you have a wife?” Alone. “You drunk?” Not yet, can I ask, do you work in King’s 1? “Yes but I don’t feel well, I’m going home.” OK. “Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand and I shook it. “Where you from?” I’m an alien from the moon, where are you from? “Isaan.” It was a weird way to round out the night, but you never know what will happen in the redlight. And that’s the overall motif for the world at large right now. Will we even be here tomorrow? Will the bird flu jump to humans and kill us all? Will Canada nuke the US as they threatened to do the other day? Will the Uyghurs bomb Bangkok again? You gotta live while you can.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is a second collection of close-up photos of the tits, asses, and fannies of gogo dancers in the redlight. The link is here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-redlight-backsides-bbs-and-crtches-part-2/
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, 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:
@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: A biolab in Athens, Georgia is currently trying to weaponize the bird flu so it can be passed on to humans. Not coincidentally, farms across the US have killed millions of chickens ostensibly to stamp out H5N1 and not to drive up the price of eggs and egg-related products. If you can avoid going to the US for the next few years, I’d recommend it. There’s going to be a civil war there, as well, so avoid, avoid, avoid.
