July 15 – A Prude in PatPong
I had heard about Bangkok’s infamous red light district many times. Mostly I had heard about the in-your-face sex offerings, and imagined sleazy men who couldn’t get laid at home coming here for the easy and exotic. I pictured doorway after doorway stationed with fourteen year-old girls in short skirts and too much makeup.
I also had been told that women weren’t the only things being sold. Men and animals would be readily available too. I wondered if a nice underused 30-something male was on the menu and a friend didn’t hesitate in saying that it was certainly possible…that anything was possible in PatPong.
I wasn’t sure that I wanted to see all that was possible on PatPong. R rated sex scenes in movies sometimes made me blush and I certainly wasn’t the type who enjoyed watching porn. At the same time, I knew that there was no way I was going to miss out on the hooker headquarters of the world. I was traveling with my friend Susan, a California soccer mom of two with an agenda to be comfortable. I seriously doubted that she had any desire to go there with me, so it would have to wait until after she left. Or would it?
On our last evening at The Oriental, Susan and I ran into one of our Travelers’ Tales contributors, Rolf Potts. Soon we were joined by another American, Tom Hansen, and Jim Hunter from Scotland. As the Oriental’s special guest cocktail party closed down, we moved our party to the Bamboo Bar and continued to swap stories and past travel adventures.
One round of drinks turned into a second and it was only natural that Jim’s “Slippery Nipple” lead to Rolf’s recount of his Tantric sex class, and then on to a suggested field trip to PatPong. Why wouldn’t it? When the boys had heard that we were PatPong virgins, they felt it was their responsibility as gentlemen to escort us to this not-to-be-missed Bangkok highlight. But who was really escorting who?
When our cab dropped us off, I looked up to see a big green sign over the length of the street as if we had just reached Main Street U.S.A. at Disneyland. But where were the naked women? All I could see was a street crowded with tables of souvenirs. It looked like a night market not the be all, end all of sex streets.
I paused a moment to take off my long sleeved sweater. Beneath it I was wearing a black strappy top that was more appropriate for the steamy humidity of Bangkok’s streets, even after midnight. Rolf raised his arms and started to dance in front of me as if we were going to start our own show.
More than one friend, on more than one occasion, had suggested that I could find “temp work” on PatPong if I were to run out of money. The fact that I spoke English would allow me to command a higher price. Hmmm…by Rolf’s reaction, maybe they were right. I wondered if I could up the price for my soft jiggling belly as well. Instead of charging Rolf a dollar, I mean 50 Baht, I ignored him and made my way under the big green sign.
We walked down the center aisle. Easily distracted by Thai silk purses, wooden place mats, and silver jewelry I momentarily forgot why we were there.
“Ping pong show! Ping pong show!” called a young Thai tout vying for our attention, but mostly our business.
“Ping pongs are so old,” said Rolf ending the shopping crawl and leading us down the right side of the street where we could see the sex bars.
I tentatively peeked in one of the doorways and saw about a half a dozen Asian women standing on a stage. Another six to eight women stood below them…altogether a double decker treatment of Frederick’s lingerie models. Or not, half the women were going topless.
I looked the other way, not wanting to stare. Ahead, Rolf and Susan were perusing a menu board. As I peered over their shoulders, I found that they were not looking at tropical drink options, but rather a show list to what was going on inside the bar in front of us. All I could see on the mounted sheet was pussy, pussy, pussy and many different non-human things this revered female body part could perform with.
Focus returned when I saw the word “fish” three quarters of the way down the page. I stopped reading when I saw the word “bird.” No way, a bird? Could they mean a live bird? What kind of bird could allow itself to be stuffed inside of a woman and then trained to fly out? What kind of double jointed avian creature…a canary? A finch? There’s no way these tiny Thai women – I don’t care how many years of Kegel exercise they’ve done – could fit a pigeon, let alone a seagull into their honey pot. I looked around, wheels spinning hard, had I seen or even heard any birds since I arrived in Thailand?
“A bird?” It was all I could say. Rolf was negotiating with the doorman. 100 Baht each for a beer and the shows.
“No way, a bird?” I was dumbfounded. Rolf said that Susan and I should wait outside while he and Jim went up to make sure the price didn’t triple once we were inside.
“I’ve got to see the bird show,” is all I could utter back. We weren’t listening to him and followed the boys up the stairs into the black room. The bird woman was somewhere inside and if I could last through all the other shows, I’d get to see her…meet her…and shake her hand. Well, I think I’d skip that last one with all due respect.
All the walls were black and the stage was empty. A fluorescent sign on the wall opposite ours, said no picture taking. Maybe that’s because after the bird show, a camera was going to drop out of the next woman and take a Polaroid of us surrounded by smooth Thai flesh.
We were the only ones in the audience except for an Asian man engulfed by four smiling Thai girls. One on each side, one rubbing his back, and another one just standing there ready to sub in at any moment.
A couple of naked girls got on stage and started to dance to Thai club music. Or at least that’s what I thought they were doing. They mostly hung out on the sides of the stage where the poles were, and bounced. Sort of. If that’s what you call it when you don’t have the upfront equipment to constitute any kind of up and down movement normally associated with bouncing.
So, what was this? It wasn’t a strip tease since they were already naked. It couldn’t be sexy since they were twig thin and didn’t have a voluptuous curve on their bodies. And their dance moves would make any white man with two left feet look like a hall of famer from Solid Gold. I must say, I was disappointed.
“Why are they so apathetic?” I asked to no one in particular at our table. I just couldn’t imagine the guys I knew being turned on by this. One of the boys mumbled back a response that gave no meaningful answer.
I could be more seductive than this doing a strip tease on one leg, even with my belly and boobs that only got made fun of in high school.
Then a girl came around and handed out long, tall, phallic-shaped, colored balloons. I took one and figured we’d wave it like a #1 sign whenever we saw something we liked. I’d save mine for the bird woman.
Obviously, I hadn’t read the menu. The girls on stage were suddenly accessorized with a six to eight inch pipe that they placed in their you-know-what to use as a cannon for launching their darts. Before I could look from one girl to the next, darts were flying off the stage and popping balloons hung up around them!
Realizing what was happening, I looked down at the green balloon in my hand, and then immediately at Rolf, our two time PatPong veteran. He was holding his balloon over his head. A girl on stage got into position to fire.
“Aaah!” I thrust my balloon into Rolf’s free hand and jumped as quickly as I could to the other side of the room. What if they missed? Dart in the eyeball? No thanks. But the truth was, I just didn’t want the frontal view of some strange woman’s private parts, let alone to look down a pipe and into her birth canal.
Good thing too, because her first dart didn’t have enough “oomph” to pop Rolf’s first balloon. However, that must’ve just been a warm up. From my view on the side, darts were whizzing toward my table with good speed. Susan got points from me for staying in her seat next to Jim, even if she didn’t take a balloon.
When all the balloons were popped, I came back to my chair in time for the basket passing. We threw in 20B and 100B notes. I have to admit, I was impressed. I don’t think I could throw a dart across the room with that kind of accuracy.
I stayed to watch show after show, open-eyed, while girls in their twenties took turns performing the unthinkable…drawing pictures of fisherman with an inserted marker, opening non-twist off capped bottles of water, extracting three feet of glow-in-the-dark plastic flower ropes that they draped around themselves or flung around to add some action to their dancing.
It was only when they brought out the razors that I turned away and nursed my beer. I refused to look, there was no way I was going to support that. Yes, a woman was actually extracting a dozen razors from her vagina. I turned around at the end when she took the razors and made a number of quick slices through a piece of paper. I was horrified. But the women kept coming up on stage to perform more shows.
I couldn’t take it all in. My eyes were glued to one woman, entranced, it was too hard to watch all three at the same time. The music had me too. I didn’t realize I was grooving until one of the girls came up and asked me to get up and dance.
“Thai dancing, Thai dancing!” she said to me with outstretched hands. There was no way I was getting up there. If I stood up to dance with her, it’d be about two seconds before they had me on stage with Ms. Tweety Bird.
“No, no,” I said mustering every bit of bashfulness in my body and trying to keep the rest of me from moving to the music. It was kind of hard to stay still, a part of me wanted to show these girls how to dance just a tiny bit better. Gyrations 101.
The girl left me alone and when I turned around another was telling Susan about her kids, and another was kneeling besides Rolf. She was in a robe, the performer with the most clothes on.
“Jen, did you just grab my leg?” Rolf asked smiling and sneaking his right arm into a protective position across his lap.
“What?” How could I talk to Rolf at a time like this, three women on stage were starting to light cigarettes.
“Jen, stop grabbing my leg,” Rolf said, “this girl here is telling me that was you who just touched my leg.”
All I could do was raise both of my hands to prove I was at least three feet away from his leg. My eyes couldn’t leave the three women lying down on the stage and inserting their lit cigarettes. What would the Cancer Society say about this? I wondered if the girls were getting a buzz…
“She’s my fiancé,” Rolf explained quite calmly to the giggling girl trying to get into his lap, “aren’t you, Jen?”
“We’re getting married,” he continued on. The “m” word perked me up. I looked at him, then at her, and nodded. He needed my help. I looked at my naked ring finger and put it in my lap before he said “Yes, really. August 16th.” Two smiling Thai girls came over to shake my hand and congratulate me.
I stopped to think about this. There were decent 30 year old men available in PatPong! I was in the middle of a very new and ingenious way to go about husband hunting. Going to grad school had always been my fall back plan for getting my M.R.S. degree, but escorting decent men to sex clubs in Bangkok could be much quicker and cost effective. After all, how many men have the courage to ask AND set a date?
But even a fun, decent man mentioning the “m” word couldn’t distract me from what was on stage. The girls weren’t just having a puff on these cigarettes, they were toking away! Half way through the cig, and generating some serious ash, smoke was steadily rising above them in bursting puffs. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. They smoked the cigarette all the way down without one flinch from a single singe in the pubic region.
Susan leaned over to me and said she was ready to go. She could smell a stench that I wasn’t picking up.
“What about the bird woman?” I asked. Of course, I was going to leave if Susan wanted to, but I really had to see that show. Rolf asked one of the girls before we agreed to leave.
“She’s got a headache tonight. No bird show,” replied the girl.
That figured. The fish girl had the same story. Or was it the same woman? I couldn’t understand. Besides, I wasn’t paying attention. The next girl on stage was blowing out a fake birthday cake with at least ten lit candles. How do they do that?! I was in awe.
What was next? I wanted to stay longer to find out. They could pass the basket again, I didn’t care. Maybe I wasn’t such a prude after all. Even if I ran away from the balloons and turned away for the razors. I had witnessed way more than I had expected, but far less than I had heard about. PatPong wasn’t all that, but it was still impressive in it’s own bizarre way. Still, I wasn’t about to try any of this at home. I’d play it safe and conduct my own private dance shows in front of the mirror or for my one, personal, hand selected lover.
Back to the Beginning
