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Fiery Jack

A Way Of Winning: Fiery Jack's December Sojourn In Bangkok

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A gallon of ale in the airport pub and onto the plane and up, up, and away: I'm on my way from misery to happiness today. :clown:

 

Touchdown. Taxi. Check In. Beer. :bang:

 

Across the noisy road, to the Plaza. Pig after truffles is me. Somebody recommended a bar on the left on the ground floor. I can't remember the name. So I go in all three bars on the left on the ground floor and have a beer in each, just to be on the safe side. That's 20 minutes taken care of. It's quiet, very quiet, but the few folks there all seem to be having fun. I am not hassled by anyone. So far, so good.

 

Seem to be quite a few white birds trotting about in pairs, studenty types just having a look. They're all gorgeous. If only. I must be getting old. Fuck it. it's 10PM. Rainbow. :tuxedo:

 

In Rainbow, among the usual phalanx of intense Japs all 'enjoying themselves' in a studious, sober, silent way they've probably conned up on in some manual or guidebook somewhere :grinyes: :grinyes: :grinyes: :grinyes:, there is a moderately famous British actor. He may be even He looks shifty, nervous. I don't know his name. He's a northerner. Little rat-faced dude. I think he was in Coronation Street, and he was in a drama called 'Prey' about a copper who gets framed for murdering his missus and goes on the run. He has one beer and fucks off looking sheepish. I have five beers and don't. :applause:

 

The mama-san (for I presume this striking bold creature to be such a venerable personage) comes up to me, a robust leather-faced lady of some 40 summers in a coat of many colours who sounds like she's been gargling gin and domestos since dawn, and smells a bit like it too. She looks like Michael Douglas playing Liberace, like she applied her make up with a shoe horn. She has noticeably huge breasts, and I'm half-trollied, so the game's afoot. :hubbahubba:

 

She greets me like a long lost sibling returning safe from war. She doesn't know my name, and I can't remember hers. She tells me she has a sore throat, in a pointedly melancholy gravel throated tone suggestive of someone who reckons a double scotch might ease the pain. I buy her a large scotch. It arrives and she downs it in one. My kind of woman. She asks if I fancy a takeaway tart for tonight. I tell her I'll shag her if she's game. :applause: She laughs like I've just told a show-stopping gag, slap me on the back and fucks off to talk to a purple-faved liverish old Jap sitting nearby.

 

I gaze at the stage. One topless bird sports her black thong atop nothing bar a fetching pair of chunky black battered-up biker boots. Looks like she just rode in on a Harley. Sadly, her face looks like she fell off the fucking thing a few times on the way here. Ah well, you take the rough with the smooth. :shhh:

 

 

Home alone. Almost. A very cute little angel-faced page-cut bottle-blonde in a red dress outside Nana car park asks me how I am as I brush past. For once, I am honest. I tell her I am sad and alone. Five minutes later, in my room, I realise she is a lot less attractive than when first I met her, and a hell of la lot older than I remember her being all those seconds before in the darkness. That's what time does, I suppose. She may well be thinking much the same about me. We shower and shag and it's amicable and lovely. She's cheerful and cuddly. This makes me happy, I realise. I could spend some time with this type of person, but of course I don't and I won't. She leaves once I've huffed and puffed and shot the paste. I can't remember how much she asked for or how much I gave her. I can't remember her name. Maybe I never even asked her. But I look for her after that every night in the area around Nana. She's never there. :shakehead

 

At breakfast two flamboyant nancified preening obvious shirtlifters :doah: approach my table: a table for four with hungover moi the sole current occupant. 'Mind if we sir here?' Well, there's loads of other spare seats, you fucking dipstick, but if you fucking must... Why do I attract these cunts? I spend the next ten listening to how lovely a batik shop in Rayong is. :susel:

 

Next night, in Rainbow again after a hard afternoon's boozing in Soi 7 Beergarden. The mama-san greets me like a long lost sibling returning safe from war. She doesn't know my name, and I can't remember hers. She tells me she has a sore throat... (see above). A yellow jerseyed dekserve takes some sheets of bog roll from a stash behind the stool I'm sitting on and blithely informs me she's going for a pee. I spend the next few minutes trying to work out whether that's sexy or not. :hmmm: And when she returns I spend the next few wondering whether she washed her hands or not. :surprised:

 

Home alone.

 

Relatively incident-free breakfast, bar the obligatory Drunken Scotsman sitting red-faced on his own sucking off a bottle of heineken with his eggs and bacon. Nana shampoo is good as ever. But the body foam has changed.

 

In Rainbow for the third night running after a hard afternoon guzzling tequila :drunk:, I look for M, the bird I shagged in my last Trip Report. I'd sort of forgotten about her, but now I am remembering. I rapidly realise I have no idea what she looks like, although I had sex with her four months ago. This will hamper my attempts to locate her, I surmise. I recall that she was young and tall, which narrows it down significantly, and pretty, which narrows it down even more. A brazen topless girl walks over and winks at me. I wonder if it is M. I stay stony faced, and she glides past me into the arms of a jap half my age. :closemouth: She isn't M, and she wasn't winking at me. :unsure:

 

Fuck it, I'll rattle up to Cowboy. What was I saying about how the mighty (i.e. me) are fallen? Long Gun. They're all naked when I arrive, but that's a cautionary note of criticism, rather than a recommendation, lads. :doah: Surrounded by stubbly shavers, one bird's still got a strip of pussy hair. Makes me think she's somehow cool and exotic. In here, and now. (I remember when shaven snatches were exotic: that's how old I am.) Thump thump thump: the sound of fat bare legs bouncing off the Perspex stage. How many cigarettes can a girl stub out in one lifetime?

 

The more a bird's prepared to take off, the more desperate she is: goes for clothes as well as prices, I suppose. :hum:

 

Dollhouse: plenty of pussy in here, all shaven. Plenty of blokes in here too, all losers. Present company included. :clown:

 

I walk home, past persistent prostitutes and persistently pissed punters. I like the feel of a drug deal. 20 Valium palmed. I'll be okay now. :wink: Wake up with a bagful of cheap souvenirish street-stall tat: presents for my girlfriend at home. Suddenly remember I was dumped by her six months ago. Must've forgotten that last night. :drunk:

 

Four similar days later, a Thai pop song on the taxi radio as I'm airport bound. The chorus seems to say, 'only ever, only ever...' I'm only ever this beguiled by here. :hug:

 

jack :help:

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Which is real life, and which is fantasy? Is "there" the real thing, and "here" is the fantasy excursion, or is "here" the real thing? Does the tail wag the dog? Is "home" the place that you spend nine dismal months per year, or is "home" where you spend three pleasant months per year?

 

Only the shadow knows......

 

"It's not my circus,. and these are not my monkeys."

 

Cheers!

SS

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Was kinda waiting to see the response to this. These reports of yours are probably my favorite reads on any thai forum anywhere. You have a talent writing - shame this doesn't reach a wider audience. Thank you for taking the time to put it down.

 

Curious about your fascination with the rainbow bars -- I'm usually falling asleep after a drink or two in those establishments.... and moving on. 5555

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Â¥Curious about your fascination with the rainbow bars -- I'm usually falling asleep after a drink or two in those establishments.... and moving on. 5555

 

I am curious about that too. I live in Japan, so perhaps I feel some sense of being 'at home' in there, for better or for worse. I dunno. Where would you recommend?

 

Also, I'm almost always roistering solo, and I know (where 'know' means when I nod at them they nod back) a few of the birds in there and they 'know' me well enough not to hassle me, at least until I'm blootered enough not to care. :drunk:

 

I'm over 50 now and I have I crossed a line somewhere. (I've crossed various lines in my life. We all have. Some we chose to cross, and some we just crossed without realising.) This particular line (traversed during my 40s, unchosen and unwittingly) was the one the previous side of which housed the land called Devil-May-Care where I felt wholly comfortable waltzing into any bar in any town in any country on my own. The side of that line I now live on is a trickier place, where I tend to feel awkward and self-conscious whooping it up solo, very (self-)conscious and wary of coming across like the sad old loser that I most certainly am: a risible mix of misplaced vanity and abject self-deception, but the way I roll these days, trivia fans. :relieved:

 

Put plainly, I like to know what I am getting into now; before the whole point was the radarless, mindless, mapless, reckless, empowering, intoxicating, exciting journey into the great unknown. :chili: So nowadays it's better the shithole I know than the one I do not, and thus my boots point towards Rainbow whene'er I enter the Plaza now. It's an age thing, of course, like most things are. I am hesitant now where I used to be a hedonist. :unsure:

 

This disabling hesitancy is, for me at least, one of the many side-splitting things that came as part of the general 'Becoming Middle Aged' bumper package of bad surprises and daily disappointments. Having said which, when I was young and wobbly, 90% of the decisions I blithely (and usually drunkenly) made on my own were disastrous ones, so maybe I'm better being cautious. Dull though, this 'adult' life, this looking so long before leaping. Duller than it was before. But less disaster prone, perhaps. And happier. :hug:

 

I apologize for being such a pussy. (Apologizing for everything is another part of the 'Becoming Middle Aged' package.) (As is not saying 'F*ck's sake!' very loudly every time a spellchecker changes a British 's' to an American 'z'.) :doah:

 

Anyway, I'll be back in BKK next month, on 'business' again. :drunk: Champing at the bit. :hubbahubba: In Rainbow, predictable as snow, I suppose. Unless you tell me different, lads. :applause:

 

jack :help:

 

Edited to add a bit more shite.

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You have a severe mechanism for keeping things down to earth -- battering yourself with criticism. But you do it with grace and humor. It's kind of a rare style one doesn't see often (I don't know him at all but I think Coss exhibits something similar at times). Making jokes at your own expense.

 

I'm about a decade or so behind you and at a place where it just crept under my skin that life is finite, it IS going to end. And it keeps nagging at me. Hence I find myself restless and taking trips for no other purpose than to shake up routine. Or something, fuck I don't know. Let me think about this a little...

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Deep Jack, very deep. You should write a book, the talent is there and there are at least a dozen guys I know who'd buy a copy. Age is in the eye of the beholder mate, or something like that. Whenever I walk into a bar in Thailand I am still 28 meeting jack for the first time, only this time without the 'tail.

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Excellent, as always. No - better. A couple of very nice ones in there.

 

So, like you, we are starting to get the feel of the Nana Hotel-NEP-Soi Cowboy loop -- time for Fiery Jack to venture farther afield, and into more varied joints? Push the boundaries, wake up under a bus stop bench, make it back in time for Nana breakfast?

 

Thanks for taking the time to put this stuff down. Thousands of years from now, when all that's left of our age is a thin sedimentary record of our plastic lives - well, the truly valuable stuff like these posts will be dead and gone and utterly forgotten. But for the moment, thanks for the entertainment...

 

YimSiam :surprised:

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Anyway, I'll be back in BKK next month, on 'business' again. :drunk: Champing at the bit. :hubbahubba: In Rainbow, predictable as snow, I suppose. Unless you tell me different, lads. :applause:

 

 

Permit me a little randomness. So fucking tired right now, slight hangover. Flight got in around 1030pm last night - guy at immigration actually gave me a hard time, saw all the stamps from when I was here on ED Visa and I think he was thinking I was a Visa Runner - just a mean old dude. He went through every single page of my passport before he stamped. Luggage slight delay - and then got bombed at the taxi queue - just a ton of arrivals for Songkran. But I was too tired to care haha.

 

This is a shite picture of the queue - but if you can make it out the line goes on for about hmmm, let's say FOREVER in one direction and then raps around to come back. I was just too damn exhausted from 2 days sans sleep to seek an alternate means.

 

taxi%2Bqueue.jpg

 

Finally check in to hotel and it's a little before 1am, considered sleeping -- god knows i needed to - even took an advil PM - alas, no effect. What's a poor man to do??? So I went out and hit Bangkok Beat then Climax - both were crowded but not capacity (like a couple years ago). Started hooking up with this girl in Climax but it was one of those things where she looked great from across the table but up close just too much perfume and make up, I don't know whatever - got the feeling she was one of the hawks from the biergarten in new clothes seeking new prey. so I plotted my escape, retreated along the lines of egress towards home feeling the effects of alcohol, exhaustion and a sleep aid taking their toll. and yet.... i ended up at HIllary 2. How the fuck did that happen???? :)

Hooked up with some cool ass chick there, and about two minutes ago I just made up a story that I had to go meet a friend because he lost his ATM blah blah blah, otherwise I don't think she was planning on leaving.

NOW I REALLY GOTTA GET SOME FUCKING SLEEP and then drag my tired ass out to get a SIM and a water pistol. This year at Songkran - I'm fighting back. DIE MOTHERFUCKERS! oh, sorry - i get a little emotional at songkran.

Point is we're all creatures of habit. At least you're here. Or were here.

Hey Flash some girl called me a kii beua last night and said i have the attention span of something i couldn't understand. I think she was irritated. :) But what is a kii beua?

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Kii Beua = You would get bored of her easily, that was her concern and she was probably correct, one of the few Thai phrases where kii doesn't mean shit. Now if she had said Na Beua that would have been an insult, that means a boring shit. She did not call you Kii Beua as such but the situation

 

Your 12 months on an ED Visa didn't teach you much did it :neener:

 

Joking asides, they don't teach street slang at language school, in fact not really street slang but just common daily talk. Beua is the correct version of Bored / Boring I prefer Seng as in Yet Mai Na Seng ... Fuck You, You Boring Shit, how to win friends and influence people, they get the message hehe!

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