Streetwalker Profile: Paw the Pixie

I caught Paw on a good night. When I rang, she was with one of her reg-ular customers, a sixty-three-year-old Aussie. Living with his Thai wife somewhere out in the rural boondocks, he escapes down to Bangkok on occasion for a week or two of carousing. (I assume this is done with the little woman’s consent.) Paw will often spend the night with him at what-ever hotel he is staying at.

This time, the deed having been done and said customer soundly asleep, Paw was ready for a break in the action and was at my door within ten minutes. (Which was barely enough time for me to tidy the place up.) As she entered, she quickly discarded her high-heeled sandals, then began removing her clothes in the same casual manner a visitor would discard their overcoat. Since we usually do nothing beyond massages, cuddling and kissing, I’m considering suggesting in the future she save herself the effort of disrobing. 

Paw’s figure, which she obviously has no reticence in displaying, is elf-like, almost emaciated. It’s like one of Santa’s helpers decided to become a triathlete. She also has a beak for a nose, meaning she is not one of the in-demand ladies who congregate outside Nana Plaza in the middle of the night. I, however, appreciate her unflagging good spirits. Being a street-walker means standing around for hours on end waiting for a customer — who may prove to be a thoroughly miserable experience. Despite this, Paw is always cheerful and smiling as she regales me with her latest ad-ventures, her English being fairly good. (On the other hand, Thais can be reticent about displaying disappointment or sadness, so I could be getting the sanitized versions.) This is also one of my special friends whom I can easily get a laugh out of, something I enjoy almost as much as they do.

For this particular visit, she described her Aussie customer for the first time. The thought that she’s helping him cheat on his wife contained no moral revulsion. It’s simply a business transaction from her perspective, nothing more. There even was an element of fondness as she mentioned a couple of his foibles. 

When it came time to leave, Paw was trying to decide whether to return and sleep with the Aussie or go back out on the street, trolling for new prospects. She has said that I’m good luck; that on the nights when I call, she often has more customers. Glad to help out. Perhaps for that reason, she elected to do some more hunting, slipping into her tiny pair of jeans and performing strategic tugs on her blouse as she checked her makeup in the mirror. Exiting the apartment, she flashed me a bright goodbye smile.

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