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Of bad girls and babies

ranma500

By ranma500,
in Trip Reports

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  • 2 weeks later...
soongmak Newbie

soongmak

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Hi Ranma500,

 

 

 

excellent story. It just goes to show that quality of posts are more important than quantity! BTW, I didn't know that you were a filmdirector/writer/editor etc. Good thing too, as I am a movie buff and I would have surely nagged your head off that night when we met at woodstock and you and me ended up in the old Angelwitch bar smile.gif

 

When was it, maybe two years ago?

 

 

 

Cheers,

 

 

 

soongmak

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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  • 3 weeks later...
ranma500 Newbie

ranma500

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Follow Up.

 

 

 

After a couple of days I went back to the bar. I missed her. Or rather, I missed the girl she once had been.

 

 

 

It seemed hardly believable that in only three months she had changed so much. When I first met her, she had only worked in the bar for two weeks ? or so she said. She had previously been a cook in Pattaya. Indeed she showed me a picture of her in her white apron. Of course, all the girls claim to have only ever worked in the bar for a few weeks, when you ask them, but I believed her.

 

 

 

I remember when taking her to bed for the first time that I scarcely wanted to touch her. She seemed so shy, delicate and naïve that I felt like my advances would be a violation. So it was she who made the first move, and every move. She clung to me, and held me with an intensity and emotion that came from somewhere and something that I couldn?t begin to understand. In the morning, I paid her, but if this was prostitute sex, it was no less passionate than the love of a honeymoon couple.

 

 

 

There was a moment of shock when I first saw her naked, and I saw the vicious stretch marks around her belly, and that her breasts were somewhat like pillows from which too much of the stuffing had been removed. And I realised what having babies does to women in so many ways. How cruel of nature to add to the pain and sacrifice of childbirth by trying to make a woman unattractive as well.

 

 

 

But nothing so small could make Noi unattractive and the moment of shock passed. And I felt vaguely proud of myself that it didn?t bother me ? that I could look at her as a whole person and love her for every part of her, and in time that I would maybe love every imperfection.

 

 

 

In the quiet aftermath of love-making, as the sweat dried from our bodies, and we held each other close, and I could smell the cleanness of her skin and her hair, I found that I could speak Thai better than at any other time. And we talked. We talked about the fact that she had only had one other farang ?lover? (which I presumed to be different to a ?customer?). He was a teacher in Pattaya, and had shown her for the first time that sex could be good. Her Thai boyfriend ? the one who had got her pregnant and deserted her ? was not the same. She didn?t want to work in a bar. She wanted to run a small café in Nongkhai. She could cook well, and if she could save enough money from the barwork, she would go home. It was her dream. But of course it was only a dream. And sometimes she thought it was impossible.

 

 

 

Shortly afterwards on that previous trip, I became ill. Thailand for all its pleasures, does make me ill. Bargirls seem to constantly ?bpen wat? ? to have a cold ? and this doesn?t stop them going with customers. When these mildly irritating cold germs spot a fresh farang body to invade ?one with little defence against their pernicious Thai ways, they act just like the worst sort of bargirl, invade, take all they can from you, and only leave you when there is no more to take.

 

 

 

Noi rang me, but I barely had the effort to pick up the telephone. I told her I was sick, and she came over within an hour, bearing paracetamol, fruit, water, eggs and bacon, so she could demonstrate her breakfast cooking skills.

 

 

 

I told her that I was worried that she would catch my cold, but she said ?mai pen rai? ? ?never mind?, and lay next to me, seemingly unconcerned by my sweating, mucating, somewhat unattractive state, getting up only to fetch me food, water, or pills.

 

 

 

And she stayed like that until I was well enough to make love to her, and seemed to take this as a sign that I was on the mend, so then said goodbye. As a method of diagnosis, it was remarkably accurate.

 

 

 

I had known her only a few days, but she had shown me more care and consideration in my sick state than I can remember receiving from anyone for a long time.

 

 

 

And two days later I flew back to England.

 

 

 

There is something about the grey, barren drudgery of England that makes us sex-tourists remember our hours of happiness in the Land of Smiles with particular fondness. Even the most cynical, hard-hearted men soon start thinking about that lithe, brown-skinned smiling creature who slipped around their body and brought them to such heights of pleasure. At the time it may have been sex, but back home in the land of baked beans, pork pies and Cilla Black, it quickly becomes love.

 

 

 

And when that same poor girl sends the e-mail with the tragic news of her brother?s illness, the sister?s operation, the mother?s cataract, the floods in the village, and the death of the buffalo, Western Union is there to help.

 

 

 

Maybe I?ve just read too many bar-girl cries for help, or more likely it?s because I?ve assisted in the writing of more than a few, but I didn?t send money to Noi. Although in fact she never asked for any. Even if she had needed it, she had no mobile phone, no email address, and no means of contacting me.

 

 

 

But what I did do was send her some flowers. I didn?t know her address, and of course I didn?t even know her name. Since Thai girls always use their nickname, it is not uncommon for even their best friends to not know their real name. I was told that a girl in a bar recently became very ill and was taken to hospital, but when the girls wanted to visit her, they realised they had no way of finding her. Some of the bars keep records of employee?s names, but many keep none whatsoever.

 

 

 

So a bunch of flowers was dispatched to:

 

 

 

Noi

 

Waitress

 

Corner Table

 

Upper level

 

Bar Angelwitch

 

Second Floor

 

Nana Plaza

 

Soi Nana

 

Bangkok

 

 

 

I got an email from her. She had created herself a Hotmail address ? Noilovespaul@hotmail.com.

 

 

 

Hello Paul,

 

How are you, fine? I'm very well because I got beautyful flowers from my angle love. How are kind of you. Did you know how much I was surprise and happy when had some one knock my door and gave me a big bouque flower. When I saw your name on a card, I was very very happier. Thank you for everything that you did for me. First I though you forgot me and I miss you everyday but now you make me think about you more. I want to meet you again. Did you planed for come to Thailand again? I waiting for you. I wanna be with you, my dear. I want you come back to Bangkok soon, Could you do that for me? Please tell me everything about there? I want to know you more. Take care yourself.

 

 

 

All my love and Miss you so much,

 

 

 

The language was so unlike anything that she had said to me that I momentarily wondered if some other girl had received the flowers by mistake ? some girl with the same name ? after all there must have been at least three Nois working in that one bar.

 

 

 

But of course, she hadn?t written it. It was a ?200-baht special? custom-composed by the internet café staff.

 

 

 

One day I would like to write a computer program for the girls to use. They could just fill in the blanks?

 

 

 

Dearest ?????

 

 

 

How is life for you in ?????.. Very cold now or not. Here very hot every day. And how about your work? Good or not. I think you work to much.

 

 

 

I think of you everyday. Miss you too much. Not same before. Not want go with cutsomer now. Only want stay room you.

 

 

 

But now have problem to much. ????. sick ver much . Must send money to home. But how can do when not go cutsomer.

 

 

 

Not want aks you. Maybe you think bad girl same other laydies.

 

 

 

Etc etc.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With randomised sentences and automated grammar and spelling mistakes, the girls could save their 200 baht. Given the amount of such letters I have seen, I think this could add up to an enormous amount of money, possibly enough to reduce the poverty level in Issan province.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In any case, I looked forward to my next trip, I particularly looked forward to meeting Noi again, and I most desperately looked forward to the sex.

 

 

 

But as my trip to Chonburi eventually showed, things were different upon my return. Noi quite determinedly refused to have sex with me. She said she didn?t want to, and that it didn?t feel right. She couldn?t think of me as a customer. But what did she want to think of me as? ?Mai roo? ? ?I don?t know? was her only response.

 

 

 

I felt that I understood. Much as she didn?t want me to be just a ?customer?, I didn?t want her to be just a prostitute. But nevertheless, lying next to a beautiful naked girl, who is happy to hold you, but won?t allow you to touch her sexually, particularly after three months of England-imposed celibacy is tough. And indeed she was beautiful. More beautiful even than I had remembered her. In only three months her breasts seemed to have filled out, and her stretch marks had all but disappeared.

 

 

 

I have known bargirls who have given birth, and have taken only five weeks off work. They are dancing at their pole till the day they have to leave, and go back to it as soon as they can deposit baby with mother or sister. And their bodies are often remarkably unscathed by the process.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In only three months, she had already picked up many of the bargirl habits. She now had a mobile phone, checked her e-mails daily, and had developed a taste for ?Spy?, the quite horrible drink made from lemonade and wine that is too bad to be put to any other use. These were just a few of the classic signs of a good girl becoming a real, hardened bar-girl. And it made me sad. At this rate it would soon be tattoos, gambling and yaa ba. And then the dream of a little roadside café in Nongkhai would indeed be an impossible dream. I wondered if there was anything I could do to bring back the girl I had known three months previously. Or had she already gone too far.

 

 

 

Norm calls it the ?white knight syndrome? ? wanting to save the bargirls, to take them away from it all, and give them a better life. He says he has seen it a million times, and that it is inevitably a painful, futile and expensive mistake.

 

 

 

There are a million stories of guys who have discovered that their sweethearts already have a Thai husband, of guys who take them to their home country only to have them abscond within a week (this happens in 30% of cases of Thai girls marrying Americans), of undisclosed babies, of bank accounts emptied, etc. etc.

 

 

 

My favourite story is of the man who bought a piece of land and built a dream house on it for himself and his new Thai wife. Of course, under Thai law, as a foreigner he could own the house itself, but not the land. So the land was put in his wife?s name. Almost as soon as the house was completed, the wife announced that she was fed up with him, and that since the land was hers, he would have to leave. She was supported in this claim by her various relatives and the local village chief. So the husband had to leave, but not before he had got hold of a bulldozer and razed the house to the ground, leaving her with only the rubble.

 

 

 

The most clichéd phrase you will hear in Bangkok is that ?you can take the girl out of the bar, but you can?t take the bar out of the girl?. I hate this phrase, because it?s just not true. I have met bargirls who have left the scene, are completely happy to have left it, have made new lives for themselves, have found love, and will never go back. There are many such cases. This clichéd phrase is really only true about 95% of the time. So of course, I remain totally convinced that my bargirl girlfriend is one of the 5% exceptions. I am convinced every time in fact.

 

 

 

I returned to the bar. She seemed vaguely irritated by my presence, and said that I shouldn?t have come, that she was working, and that she didn?t want me to see her there. I suggested that I pay her bar-fine and then I wouldn?t have to see her there. She didn?t want this either. Then I would just be a ?kairk?, or customer. Okay, what if I just gave her the money, then she could pay her own barfine. This subtle distinction did not impress her.

 

 

 

I made the mistake of letting my frustration show. If I couldn?t see her because she was working, and I couldn?t take her out of work, then it seemed that the relationship was somewhat doomed to failure. If she was trying to say that she didn?t want to see me again, I wish she would at least be honest and say so.

 

 

 

She frowned and said simply, ?Why are you so serious? You think too much.?

 

 

 

We sat in silence amidst the loud pop music and flashing lights of the bar. I tried to lighten the tone.

 

 

 

?Was it fun to see your daughter??

 

 

 

She scowled and said, ?It?s not my daughter?. She walked away.

 

 

 

I reflected that perhaps she was right. Whilst biologically Gew was her daughter, Noi had effectively relinquished her role of mother. Gew was indeed not her daughter any more. I waited for Noi to return, but she had retreated to the other side of the bar, and was now talking to a tall American who was disturbingly good-looking, and was clearly besotted with her. I left.

 

In the Tilac bar a few nights later, an older woman shouted my name, ran over, and sat next to me. It turned out she was Cherie, the mamasang at Noi?s bar. She was visiting her old bar, where she had worked previously with Noi, before they had both swapped. (I tried to make this tally with Noi?s account of only having worked in the bar for a few weeks, but I couldn?t.)

 

 

 

Noi had told her all about me, and she was happy that Noi had found a good man. She told me that Noi was a good girl, who only worked hard to support her family, and that I should give her time. She had been let down so often by men before, it would take her a long time to trust me. Once, a man had invited her to his hotel to go swimming in the hotel pool. Noi and she had gone shopping for a bathing costume, and Noi had been terribly excited. But when she got to the hotel, the man was no longer staying there, and never called her again. Well, of course, if mamasangs were born in the West, they would either be talent agents or would have high-powered jobs in PR, and they are certainly no more trustworthy. They will happily tell you that the girl with eight men?s names tattooed on various parts of her anatomy is a good girl who has just arrived from her village.

 

 

 

I did not call Noi, and I did not visit her, in spite of the temptation.

 

 

 

She called me. She called me from Nongkhai. She had gone to visit her mother, and was about to get on the bus to come home. She missed me. She wanted to see me. She couldn?t wait. So could I pick her up at Mor Chit bus station in Bangkok, because she didn?t have any money for a taxi.

 

 

 

My decision to meet her almost cost me my life as the motorbike taxi driver seemed to be a devout Buddhist intent on proceeding as quickly as possible to his next incarnation. Swerving in and out of the traffic at an illegally high speed, he twice narrowly avoided catastrophe.

 

 

 

It took me a while to realise that there are in fact two bus stations at Mor Chit ? one for arrivals, one for departures. I was dropped at the wrong one, and by the time I had worked this out and got a taxi to the other bus station, Noi was already waiting for me. She rushed towards me, flung her arms around me, and demanded that I take her back to my apartment immediately. I rather churlishly asked her if this wouldn?t make me just her customer again, and violate her no-sex rule. She seemed delighted by this comment, grabbed me and kissed me.

 

 

 

I didn?t argue.

 

 

 

At my apartment, she took me into the bedroom, switched off the light and frantically undressed both herself and me.

 

 

 

In the back of my mind was a feeling that something wasn?t quite right, the feeling that there was something I was meant to remember but hadn?t, the feeling that somewhere there might be a gas stove left on, or an appointment forgotten, a feeling that I should stop just for a second and work out what it was ? what it was that wasn?t entirely 100% right. But stopping was out of the question, and soon whatever the doubt was had been swamped by other emotions and sensations.

 

 

 

And so it wasn?t till the morning, when daylight shone through the curtains that I noticed what I had failed to the night before ? that in the last week Noi?s stretch marks had clearly returned, and that her breasts had lost some of their shape.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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