Victimized!

Pattaya

It was not supposed to turn out like this. I was simply walking home after a shopping trip, anticipating an evening of pool at a local bar I’d come to like. You know, the kind where everybody knows your name. Suddenly, I heard that name being called.

“Monte! Monte!” It seemed to be coming from somewhere…above me? Yes indeed. Waving from the top floor balcony of the hotel above the cor-ner restaurant was my old drinking foe Lawt. I knew the girls from the bar where she worked had rooms there, but did not expect to run into any of them. Least of all her.

A quick glance around confirmed there was no place I could easily hide. The large tree next to the road did not afford enough cover. Same with the parked motorbike. There was a sewer grate that had partially slid off its foundation, but I did not like the symbolism. So I had to face the mu-sic. Turning up towards Lawt, I forced a smile, resisting the impulse to raise both arms in surrender. Yet she was happy to see me, a smile of her own breaking out on a dark face framed with that flowing black hair I like so much in women.

It is hard to make conversation with someone perched three floors above you. We swapped greetings, to which I added that I would stop by her bar that night. Just being friendly. It would be foolhardy to upset a woman whose balcony I have to walk under half a dozen times a day.

I showed up that evening later than usual, hoping that my admirer might already have a customer to keep her occupied. But of course not (and just where was the Viagra Brigade when I needed them?). Oh well, there are worse ways to spend an evening than having drinks with a Thai lady. In fact, when Lawt began complaining about the exhausting hours she was having to work (and the conditions are not that pleasant), I found myself actually feeling sorry for her. Almost impulsively, I made an offer.

“How about coming back to my apartment, and I’ll give you a massage?” Just a massage. I was a bit tired myself and in no mood for any special gymnastics.

“OK, but no boom-boom.” Meaning no sex. Looked like we were on the same page.

“No boom-boom,” I agreed, making it official.

It figured to be a normal evening featuring my trademark smoothness. I’d make sure she had a relatively clean towel — sans perfume from my last date — for her shower. Then maybe a slow dance or two before I put her out for the night with my magic hands. If all went well, I’d be fast asleep myself by 11:30.

But this woman confounded me. The shower, the music, and the rubdown all went like clockwork. Lawt seemed to be well on the way to slumber-land. I got into my side of the bed, laid back, and congratulated myself on being such a fine person. But when I glanced over, Lawt was lifting the covers, beckoning me closer. One thing led to another and before I knew it, sleep was the last thing on either of our minds.

Afterwards, however, I was annoyed. I had paid this lady to not have sex with me and dammit, should have gotten my money’s worth. The women over here do not appear to understand that when a horny, middle-aged man gets into bed with them and says “no”, he means it. Well, sort of.

At least I am not going to take this abuse lying down. From this day on-ward I will draw a line in the sheets, beyond which they will never again pass. And I highly resolve that my bruised self-image shall see new birth of confidence, and that this fine Thai city, of the dirty old men, by the dir-ty old men and for the dirty old men, shall not perish from the earth.

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