a bit belated...but poshglasgow u most certainly have a way with words..have reread your posts several times and am still able to break out into a fit of giggles every time. As for falling in love...am afraid that Im more the total butterfly type..once I've had him I just want something new...will do seconds but maybe on the next visit.
Many thanks, Latin, for the kind words.
Yes! Me too. Teeeheehee.Originally Posted by latintopxxx
Forgive me, this sudden posting lark will not become a habit, but after a day during which I write for hours in front of a screen I find it incredibly relaxing to come off task and throw my mind six thousand miles over to Pattaya to re-live the past: if only for a few minutes.
Scotty, I’ve been visiting Thailand for nearly thirty years and would love to have seen the poodle on the motorcycle at least once (as the say in Edinburgh, “What a sight!”) I’m sorry I missed it but it must have been quite extraordinary. Mind you, when you see a whole family - including monkey - perched upon a single moped plodding along Sukhumvit I dare say few eyes would have turned at the sight of a poodle on a motorcycle (sounds like the title to the sequel of Paula Hawkins' ‘Girl on a Train’).
I’m still reeling from the disparaging remarks aimed at the gay clientele that I heard in that awful straight bar near the Cattery. The one thing of which I am sure is that the gay community possess a level of intelligence and social decorum that these Neanderthals can only dream of achieving. There is no doubt that in every evil, blasphemous, homophobic diatribe there is jealousy at the root of their dissatisfaction. Some of the most creative, successful, inspirational, charismatic people that ever walked this planet were/are gay; things haven’t changed. Even while listening to those clinging for dear life to the few brain cells that remain after years of thrashing around in the Sea of Singha, I was consoled by the thought that we are, in many quarters, a much-admired community. Yes, of course, we are occasionally let down by a few who embarrass themselves and others but on the whole we are a smart lot and we do attract a degree of jealousy.
I was sitting here in the south of England this evening reading the post of another member when my mind was suddenly transported back years ago to some of the shows that I recall in Pattaya and thinking – with a measure of nostalgia – about the ways in which they have been reeled in. I can still see quite vividly the young men pulling yards, nay furlongs, nay miles of coloured tape from their arses and wrapping them around the chrome poles upon which amazing nocturnal gymnastics were performed at some stage during the evening. There were guys squatting and laying a series of eggs, intact, onto plates; there was much sloshing of soap around the place; there was the drizzling of candle wax over flesh to the accompanying music of Officium, with its haunting saxophone motif creating a fourth dimension to the dimly lit proceedings.
I must share something with you. One evening, many years ago, in Throb, I was pulled, as many customers were in those days, onto the stage, and shoved on my back, in a mock attack. I was rolled around a little and then escorted back to my seat in the front row. After a while, I began to notice the most obnoxious smell. It wouldn’t go away. It followed me to the toilet and followed me back again. I looked around me and then slowly, surreptitiously, began to sniff at my armsand hands. I had only an hour beforehand showered in my room at the Ambiance and put on a fresh shirt. When I came in I smelt of Givenchy Gentlemen. On the way out I smelt like a Turkish Oil wrestler’s jockstrap. It couldn’t possibly be me. I am fastidiously clean and care very much about personal hygiene, but it was all pervading: a veritable assault upon the senses. What the fuck was it? Was I rotting from within? Was this God’s revenge for the excesses of the previous evening? I could stand it no more so I went back to my room and took off my shirt. It was the shirt! The shirt stank. To be precise, the back of the shirt stank, where I had been rolled about on the podium upon which thirty pairs of sweaty feet had danced, jumped, jived and stamped all evening. Foot sweat with, I have no doubt, a good measure of semi-dried jissum mixed into the equation, and the essence of the oily mop used to swab the podium after a cum show! That was exactly what it was: the smell of dirty feet, plus ingredients, and to this day when I’m sitting in a go-go bar watching the dancers in their bare feet I am transported back to that fateful night!
christianpfc (March 3rd, 2017), colmx (March 3rd, 2017), ggobob (March 7th, 2017), werner (March 6th, 2017)
Be careful as some on here might ask "would you still have that shirt by any chance and if so I'll give you £20 for it!" lol ( and no that's NOT an offer just to be clear ! :-)
christianpfc (March 3rd, 2017), colmx (March 3rd, 2017)
you missed out on the old show the guy pouring a bottle of Fanta up his ass... and then moments later emptying what appeared to be coke back into a coke bottle!
And of course the dart show... which my BF used to refer to as the fart show! And always wait outside until it was done!
I have never heard of Officium, even a google of the music doesn't sound familiar... I always thought that the mandatory music for gogo shows came from enigma!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2OpBBzHCSgI
Buffalo me die! Send Money!
Goodness, I had completely forgotten that this was common in most of the go-go bar shows in Bangkok as well. I don't recall any eggs, though! I trust they were hard-boiled and of the quail variety!
It was a hugely popular CD released in 1994 by the Norwegian saxophonist Jan Garbarek along with a quartet of classical singers, the Hilliard Ensemble. Hauntingly beautiful. It was almost as common for a while as John Williams' opening music for Star Wars which always introduced the start of go-go bar shows. It sometimes accompanied the slow sensuous soap bubble on naked bodies routine in the shows. Much classier in those days!!
Officium_CD.jpg
Awwww that brought me right back, I could almost smell the candle wax dripping on the guys chest and arms as that music played there ! :-)
The arse- trumpeting ladyboy in Thai Boys Bar was the most unfrogettable coup de theatre I've seen in Thailand. She squatted down, a kids' toy trumpet was laid next to her voluinous backside and...out it came. Not Dizzy Gillepsie, of course, but a painful squeaking sound. It was in F sharp major, I think.
This marvel then proceeded to shoot darts from her anus at ballooons. Her aim was surprisingly good. Fortunately so, since the bar was very busy. News had travelled fast that she was to perform.
F sharp major would be quite some feat on a toy trumpet probably tuned to C major!
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