Thread: I'm posting my stories on Stickman

Originally Posted by Simon43

I better get to work and write part 5.

Better get part 3 and 4 done first. Great stuff Simon.

So, no copy and paste for those of us that can't be arsed?

Originally Posted by Simon43

if they would like me to post the story on TD or not.

\
Go for it Simon. It's easier that way.
For us, anyway

Depends on whether you want to divert people from TD to Stickmans site for the clicks, which are supportive to him and his site.

Part 1:

https://www.stickmanbangkok.com/read...e-to-thailand/

Part 2:

https://www.stickmanbangkok.com/read...lness-strikes/

Part 3:

https://www.stickmanbangkok.com/read...me-to-bangkok/

Part 4:

https://www.stickmanbangkok.com/read...thers-and-pun/

Originally Posted by Cold Pizza

Simon,

Keep writing and sharing.

And don't answer too much to these......*cough*....members.

Notice how he gets a vastly different response to the one you get?

Draw any conclusions?

Originally Posted by DJ Pat

Somtamslaps style got rather tedious to be honest.

Tries too hard, over the top

I'm pleasantly surprised that the dog housing and Jailing default has not kicked in for links to other Thai expat sites.
Commendable moderating in this case.

Originally Posted by Thai3

Originally Posted by DJ Pat

Somtamslaps style got rather tedious to be honest.

Tries too hard, over the top

My split personalities don't do long stories.

They scream at each other, does me head in.

^
Not Terry.

Originally Posted by cyrille

^
Not Terry.

Certainly not despite all the similar vocab. This guy is a pom.

Where is Terry? Last I heard he was in Mongolia.

Simon says Leicester is a middle class town, bit of an exaggeration that unless you never left Stoneygate or Clary park. I was hoping of some MFI stories but no luck. Leicester is an utter shit hole now of course for the obvious reasons.

Originally Posted by Thai3

Leicester is an utter shit hole now of course for the obvious reasons.

Cheese no longer red?

Originally Posted by Simon43

Alas, the holiday home in Dunster, Somerset, (a 300 year old barn conversation)

The holiday house in France (a stone barn conversation in the Haute Pyrennee region)

Talking to buildings, eh?

Originally Posted by Simon43

"Stature" Simon, "stature". Twice or thrice you wrote "statue".

Well, thank God I'm not an English teacher

Oh fcuk!

Quite.

Originally Posted by Thai3

Leicester is an utter shit hole now of course for the obvious reasons.

You live there?

Originally Posted by Maanaam

Where is Terry? Last I heard he was in Mongolia.

AH! He's hired a stand in.

Originally Posted by Slick

Depends on whether you want to divert people from TD to Stickmans site for the clicks, which are supportive to him and his site.

I'm blocked from stickman and have issues with my VPN provider.
How hard could it be?

stickman is total shit.

Had a gander on the stick site.

Good yarns Simon

Originally Posted by Simon43

So, no copy and paste for those of us that can't be arsed?

Yes, never thought of that. If anyone is interested, I can start a new thread with the 4 parts of the true story that I've already sent to Stick.

I call upon the literary critics on this forum to advise if they would like me to post the story on TD or not.

Interesting story....

A Crazy Life – Part 1 (Prelude to Thailand)
Written by Simon43June 5th, 20177 min read
Many friends in South-East Asia have said to me over the years ‘You should write a book about your life and adventures’. And so, with spare time now available, I’ve decided to do just that. When you read my stories, please remember that they are not fiction, but all facts down to the very last detail, with no exaggerations of events.

In this first chapter, I need to provide some background details to my life before Thailand.

I am the youngest child of 3 brothers, raised in a middle-class, academic family, in a middle-class town somewhere in middle England. My two elder brothers were definitely more intelligent than me, obtaining Bachelor and then Doctorates from Cambridge University, and studying under the renowned Professor Hawking.


As for me, I flunked my A levels, and facing prolonged study to try to get an acceptable grade in French so I could enter university, I made a paradigm shift in my career aspirations, and signed up to a 3-year technician course in Electronics at Loughborough Technical College.

Actually, the choice was made easy for me. At that time, my local government authority gave a generous grant to vocational students. By joining the electronics course, I would have all my course fees paid, plus board and lodging, plus a reasonable weekly allowance.

There was another reason for my interest in this electronics course. Although I had intended to study French and Italian at university, a hobby that consumed my every available moment was pirate radio. Numerous pirate (unlicenced) radio stations exist to the present day, beaming out their particular genre of music across the airways of most cities in the UK, and similar stations exist in other countries.

Although only in my late teens, I was a well-established member of the local pirate radio station. I was a DJ, playing dub reggae music during my one-hour program, a music type that I still enjoy to this day. But my main role was as the technical engineer, responsible for building and operating the short wave and medium wave radio transmitters that our station used to transmit their signal across the city.

In the mid-‘70s, valve transmitters were the norm, requiring a power supply of up to 1,000 volts to generate the radio signal. My vocational study at the technical college provided me with the knowledge to build more reliable and powerful radio transmitters.

The improvement in our station’s signal using my transmitters did not go unnoticed by the Post Office authorities who were responsible for closing down any illegal radio stations. We would typically operate our transmitter from a rural area that lay close to the city. On many occasions, transmissions would be abruptly curtailed as the Post Office guys tracked us down by location -inding our radio signal. Then it was ‘everyman for himself’. I would grab the transmitter and run like hell!

As I was a healthy teenager, I could always outrun the Post Office staff. But my DJ friends were somewhat more ‘portly’ than me, and inevitably ended up being caught and subsequently summoned to court and fined for their misdemeanors.

My track record of never being caught came to an end one evening when the authorities knocked on the door of my parents’ house. A stern warning followed with threats of court action if I continued to build and operate my illegal radio transmitters. ‘Why don’t you get your radio ham licence? Then you can build and operate your transmitters legally’, suggested one of the Post Office guys.

And so it was that I took a trip down to London, sat the City & Guilds radio amateur licencing exam, and soon had a shiny new amateur call sign – G6JFY.

There was only one small problem about being a radio ham. I found the conversation on the amateur bands tediously boring. ‘Yes old man, this is G6 blah blah blah, I’m using an Icom IC2E with an extended J antenna. Your signal is 5 and 4………’

I had the ham licence, but the first time that I actually started to enjoy ham radio was when I moved to Thailand and got my Thai ham licence.

But I digress. Keen to build on my technical skills, I soon found myself involved with something much more exciting than land-based pirate radio – offshore pirate radio.

At that time, there were several ‘rust-bucket’ ships moored off the coast of England and Belgium. In the 60’s, there were some famous offshore radio stations operating from ships and the disused, war-time forts in the Thames Estuary. These stations closed down in 1967 when the Marine Offences Act was passed in the UK which outlawed the stations.

But in the 70’s, new pirate stations sprung up, such as Radio Caroline (which existed in the 60’s), as well as Radio North Sea International, Radio Atlantis and the popular Dutch station Radio Veronica.

Through my contacts with land-based pirate radio stations in London, (Radio Jackie), I landed a job in my college long vacation as the transmitter engineer and occasional DJ on a Belgian pirate station called Radio Delmare (radio of the sea). This station operated from what is known as a ‘hulk’, meaning that it was a boat without an engine, anchored about 20 km off the coast of Belgium.

After being ferried out to this vessel, I found that the radio station was operated by just 2 people, neither who had a clue about the radio transmitter on board, nor any knowledge of seamanship. Our hulk was anchored using a single steel cable, and there was no ship-to-shore radio, of course, no mobile phone in those days, no captain, nothing.

There was also a rather limited choice of food and drink on board. There were precisely 3 items ==> Heineken beer, white rice and peanut butter.

That was it!

My daily food intake (and that of the 2 Belgian crew), was to cook the white rice, pour peanut butter over it, and then wash it down with copious amounts of lukewarm Heineken beer.

The galley for eating was a small area next to the tiny radio studio. Behind the studio was the radio transmitter, a 1KW Marconi valve unit, with 9-inch tall valves that glowed like candles in the night. And behind the transmitter was the large diesel generator that powered everything on board.

One problem was that the generator vented its fumes inside the hulk. So I and my companions were continuously throwing up from the nauseating diesel fumes.

After a couple of months on board this ‘lunatic’ place to spend my college break, I was finally able to get back to solid ground in Belgium. Since the hulk had no ballast (a slight oversight by the crew), and therefore continuously bobbed about like a kid’s top, it took me some hours before I could actually walk after landing in Belgium.

I returned to college and successfully completed my Higher National Certificate course. Encouraged by this success, I moved to London and continued with further study, obtaining a Higher National Diploma in Radio Communications. I followed this up with a First Class Honours degree in Electronics & Communications, and finally completed my academic study with a Master’s degree in Microwave Communications from London University.

My 7 years of academic study had paid off, and I secured my first employment with British Telecom at a very decent salary (for that era) of 13,000 pounds a year. I was 26 years old.

Over the next few years, my career advanced rapidly. I soon changed from permanent employment to work as a freelance contractor, since not only was the pay much higher, it also allowed me to obtain a mortgage to buy my first house on the outskirts of London. I got married and settled down to a reasonably affluent lifestyle, enjoying several overseas holidays each year, ski-ing in the Pyrenee mountains in France, (where I had a holiday home), or horse-riding each weekend on Exmoor in the west of England, (where I had yet another holiday home).

Life was good, and I made the assumption that so many others in a similar position had made before me – that the money would just keep rolling in. I saved nothing, moving from contract job to contract job, working on highly-paid contracts in Belgium, France and Spain. Life was on a roll and there wasn’t much that could stop me – and I should add, my English wife, who relished in this free-spending lifestyle as much as I did.

Or so I thought. Something that I had never considered would creep up on me in the coming years and change my extravagant lifestyle completely, causing me to abandon my home, wife and well-paid career in the UK for the distant shores of Thailand.

Subsequent events in that country would see me reduced to abject poverty, relying on friends for food and lodging. Those events, I believe made me a stronger and better person, and eventually led me to my current life of teaching and volunteer work in some of the poorest areas of Myanmar.


In my part 1 submission, I recounted my high-spending lifestyle, the reward for my well-paid contract employment within the telecoms and satellite industries. I and my English wife (she didn’t work) followed this extravagant lifestyle for several years in the late 90’s, oblivious to save money for the ‘rainy day’ that would inevitably happen.

(Looking back on these years, I was obviously a total ‘plonker’ for not thinking about the future. It’s hard to do when you’re enjoying the ski holidays, trips to Vietnam, Thailand, Laos, The Seychelles, Kenya etc etc, plus driving the 2-seater sports car or 4-wheel drive Benz).


In the 90’s the mobile phone industry was in its infancy. Phones were bulky, with limited battery life, and internet access was either not available or expensive and unreliable. About the only non-voice, reliable means to communicate was by using SMS text messaging.

Browsing through a ‘top shelf’ adult magazine one day (as you did in those days before internet porn), I noticed many advertisements for adult telephone chat services, typically charged by the minute on a special, high-rate phone number. These services were legal in the UK and it was common knowledge that a) the services were run by gangsters and b) the services made a lot of money.

Each service would typically employ several dozen women in an office, whose job it was to ‘sex-chat’ with the male callers and basically ‘keep them talking’, since the men were being charged a high rate for every minute of the call.

I began to wonder if it would be possible to operate a similar chat service using SMS text messaging from a mobile phone. I went one step further and mused whether one could write an Artificial Intelligence (AI) software program that would understand the meaning of the conversation initiated by the caller, and respond in kind with a flirty (or downright ‘dirty’) text message reply, encouraging the end-user to reply back and thus generate more revenue for the service.

And so it was that in a small office in Rickmansworth, just outside London, that I sat down and began to write the code for this AI program. If such a program was successful, then it could be automated, able to handle many dozens of messages at a time, and thus provide a very low operating cost when compared to employing a room full of women. The revenue would be generated by charging the user an extortionate rate of 1 British pound (or more) per text message!

I worked for about 6 months, writing the operating software framework, and then populating a database with thousands of words and phrases, so that my AI ‘chat bot’ would be able to take on the persona of a real person.

The end result was ‘Natachata’, (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natachata) a sexy, rather naughty female chat-bot, who enjoyed ‘advanced’ sexual discussions with anyone who sent her a text message!

I placed an advertisement for my new text-chat service in the highly respected (!) ‘Daily Sport’ newspaper and waited to see if anyone would start to use the service. I didn’t have to wait long. The response was huge, with about 2,000 text messages every day. Simple maths showed that this text-chat service was earning me upwards of 30,000 pounds each month!!

Of course, it didn’t take long for the gangsters who ran the adult phone chat services to get wind of what I was doing. While they no doubt wanted to duplicate my service for themselves, my Natachata software application was too complex to easily copy. So it was that I entered into contracts with several of these gangsters, processing the text chat messages that they forwarded to me from their own service and sending back the text replies to be sent on to their customers. The gangsters were very happy and I made an extra commission from processing their text messages.

It was also an interesting test for my AI software, which proved itself capable of processing up to 30 text messages per second!

As a result of this work, I began to be drawn into further contact with these gangsters. Most of them were Cockneys from the east end of London, all happily married with kids, but all ‘enjoying’ the lifestyle that running adult services offered. I was entertained with fully-expensed trips to high-class, lap-dancing venues in Spain and the Netherlands, and found myself surrounded by beautiful Brazilian women who were eager to follow the instructions of the gangster boss when he told them ‘This posh teknical geeza is special – you gotta look afta him yea?’ On one memorable occasion, I arrived late in Madrid, was whisked to the lap-dancing club, where a stark-naked young woman immediately sat on my lap When I retired to bed in the adjacent hotel, 2 beautiful young Brazilian women were already waiting in my room to ‘take care of me because the boss had ordered them to make sure that I was happy!!’

What guy wouldn’t enjoy this lifestyle and treatment? I began to have doubts about my marriage. Truth be told, the relationship with my wife had never been close. She was a good friend, wife and mother, so long as the money was there.

Back to Natachata. The BBC ran an article (BBC NEWS | UK | Magazine | Has text-porn finally made computers 'human'?) about ‘chat-bots’ and declared that my AI application was the only one (at that time) that could pass the Turing Test, a test of whether an AI app could fool people into thinking that it was a real person.

As a result of the publicity, an offer was made to buy my one-man company and AI algorithms, (which could also be used for other, non-adult chat services), and to employ me as the Chief Technical Officer (CTO) of a new company that would develop applications for the growing, mobile phone industry. The offer was a cool 2 million US dollars and it took me about 0.1 seconds to make a decision to accept the offer.

The offer came in 2 parts. 1 million dollars cash (nice!) and the rest in shares in the parent company, but which I would not be allowed to sell for 2 years. I signed the papers and shocked my bank manager by depositing a cheque for 1 million dollars into my bank account the next day.

Prior to signing the CTO employment contract, I enquired about what project the company intended to pursue. The details worried me greatly – it was a high-risk strategy to develop the world’s first ‘smart phone’ for a US household name company. All eggs in one basket, it seemed to me. So I negotiated a clause in my employment contract that if I were made redundant within one year, then the company would be legally bound to pay me 12 months of salary as a redundancy payment. That would be 120,000 British pounds.

The company signed the contract, I started work and at the same time, I embarked on building a beautiful house for myself and my family, high in the Chiltern Hills, just outside London. Set in 5 acres of land, this house included every expensive convenience that you could imagine, including 2 acres of vineyard and paddocks for horses. My wife refused to accept a limit of 5,000 pounds to furnish the bathroom – she actually spent 20,000 pounds just on the frigging fittings! You can understand that the 1 million dollars was rapidly depleted, albeit transformed into a multi-million dollar house.

Still, everything seemed to be going well. I had a well-paid job and 1 million dollars in company shares. What could go wrong?

The office where I worked was in central London, close to Regent’s Park. It was actually in the basement of an ornate building. That basement had not been used for many years and, as it was a basement, had no windows or natural ventilation. It also had no heating or air-con, which meant that I and my staff had to wear thick sweaters and coats during the winter, and sweltered during the summer months.

A few months after I started working in this office, I developed a cough. That cough was a minor concern at first, but rather than recovering after a few days, the cough persisted and got worst. It was an involuntary cough, meaning that I would suddenly have a coughing fit in the face of my colleagues or boss! After a few months, I was almost unable to speak, coughing almost continually. I had to stuff my hand into my mouth whilst travelling on the London Underground, lest I cough in everyone’s face.

I’m normally a healthy guy and a non-smoker. So this cough was very worrying for me. X-rays indicated that my lungs were filling with fluid and I was getting short of breath. Pneumonia as the result of this illness was identified on several different occasions. The common causes of asthma or even TB were ruled out. What could be causing my illness?

Finally, after a battery of medical tests, the culprit was identified. I had Aspergillosis, which is basically an infection of fungal or mould spores in my lungs. Those spores were present in the cold, damp and unventilated environment of my basement office.

Although medication was available to reduce the symptoms, there was no ‘cure’. Once the spores enter your lungs, they remain there, causing debilitating symptoms and leaving one open to pneumonia infections. Some people could lead a normal life, whilst others might be seriously and continuously ill, with a weakened immune system. A serious pneumonia infection could lead to an early death.

I had some serious consultations with my doctor. ‘Was there anything that I could do to alleviate the effects of this illness?’. Yes there was, but it would require a complete change of environment. The doctor said that research had indicated that the best solution to minimise the effects of the illness was to live in a hot country with a humid atmosphere. So think something like Thailand or Malaysia……..

So there it was. My illness could not be cured. Medication could reduce the effects. But if I remained in the UK then I was likely to contract pneumonia again and again, each time weakening my lungs even more. The outlook was bleak, but there was a possible solution – Thailand.

Coincidentally, my employer ran into serious financial problems. As I had feared, the US customer pulled out of the deal. With all eggs in one basket, my employer had no option but to make me and my 30 staff redundant. As per my employment contract, I walked away with 120,000 pounds.

I sat down with my English wife and had a very serious discussion about my options. To this day, I don’t think she really understood how serious the situation was. I explained the options, and pointed out to her that financially we were in a good position to start a new life in a tropical country where the effects of my illness could be minimised.

She wouldn’t buy it. She had her friends in the UK and she wasn’t prepared to uproot to a strange country, just because her husband was seriously ill…….

And so it was that – sadly – we agreed to an amicable divorce. She would stay in the $1 million house that I had financed and I would leave the UK and seek my fortune in warmer climes. I would keep in touch with my children as much as possible.

Confident that I had the skills to earn a decent living in Thailand, I handed the house over to my wife and advised her to sell it and downsize to a smaller house in the same village. She did just this, selling up for 1 million British pounds, pocketing 500,000 pounds in her bank account and buying a smaller (but quite adequate) house in the same village for 500,000 pounds.

As for me, with a bag stuffed full of medication for my lungs, a face-mask over my mouth and little else. I booked a flight to Bangkok to start a new era in my troubled life.

In my part 2 submission, I explained how I got involved in the lucrative adult chat line industry, the ‘perks’ of that job, and how a serious illness forced me to leave the UK for the hot and humid climate of Thailand.

My plan was initially to make a few short visits to Thailand, to sound out if it seemed a reasonable place to live, if it was beneficial to alleviate my lung illness, and to see what sort of business opportunities might exist.

Since being made redundant, I had immediately returned to the world of mobile SMS text messaging. I had a small team of employees who marketed the various mobile applications that I developed. Business was good and I opened offices in Spain (https://econsultancy.com/nma-archive...panish-office/) and The Netherlands, and operated SMS services in about 10 different European countries.


(That news report about my Spanish office quotes me as saying that the location was good for sourcing multi-lingual staff. Of course, this is complete bollox. I located my Spanish office in the small town of Fuengirola because a) it was right next to the beach and b) there was a high-class whore-house with high class Brazilian whores in the town, which got a lot of my custom!)

Off topic, but I’ll recount a little story about that Fuengirola whorehouse. It was packed full of very pretty ladies from many different countries in South America, all who were willing to please a guy for a wad of money. When you went in to the main reception area, there was a small bar along one side where clients would sit, chat and survey the line of pretty ladies who would line up along the other 3 sides of the room.

Now one problem that I had was my eyesight. I have been very short-sighted since 5 years old and at that time I wore contact lenses which would steam up in the hot and humid atmosphere. (They would also steam up in the heat of sex, but that usually didn’t put me ‘off my stroke’).

So sitting in this reception area, I could see a bevy of long beautiful legs, firm asses and well-endowed breasts. But my ability to see facial features was not so good. I recall spotting the most gorgeous pair of legs atop a pert arse, with tits to die for. I chose the lady, beckoned her over, only to discover that her teeth stuck out like a rabbit! I consoled myself that I probably wouldn’t be staring at her face for the next hour.

Oh, no sign of any ladyboys in that whorehouse. If they were there, then they were damn good post-ops (or my bad eyesight let me down!).

So prior to my flight to Bangkok, I thought it prudent to arrange a female ‘companion’ to take care of me and act as a translator. After all, it seemed unlikely that I’d be meeting the Brazilian women at the lap-dancing club in Madrid again (more’s the pity).

So I had got chatting to a cute looking Thai lady on one of the dating websites (this was in 2002, so I think it was probably Friendfinder.com). She spoke good English, looked quite ‘fit’ and explained that she was Muslim, but not so serious about that). I said that I’d pop over to Bangkok for the weekend and could she please meet me at Don Meuang airport.

I don’t think she took my comment that I’d pop over for the weekend all that seriously. I flew to Bangkok on QANTAS Business Class on the Friday evening, coughing and spluttering throughout the flight.

I had only visited Thailand once before, with my English wife sometime in the 90’s. So it was great to feel the heat and humidity of Bangkok as the door of the plane opened on the Saturday afternoon. And of course the smell of Bangkok! I’m sure that’s a memory for many expats and tourists as they arrive in the City of Angels.

I made my way through immigration and customs and sought out my new friend. Sure enough, she was waiting for me, and seem very surprised that I had actually ‘just popped over for the weekend’. The first thought that struck me was ‘Jeez, your photo on that website must have been photoshopped, ‘cos you look as fat as a hippo!’. Still, looks are not everything and she seemed to have a nice personality and spoke very good English, (which should perhaps have been a warning sign, but I was still wet behind the ears).

We took a taxi into Bangkok and arrived at the Windsor Suites, where being the gentleman as I am, I had booked two adjacent rooms. However, this Muslim women had other ideas. Hardly had I entered my room before she literally threw herself on top of me (which considering her weight and my fairly small statue, knocked the wind out of me). I could say that she forced herself on me, but let’s call it 70% forced sex by her and 30% willing sex on my part.

Anyway, it was a nice welcome to Bangkok, and so it looked like we’d have an enjoyable weekend together.

We had arranged to fly down to Hat Yai the next day, where her family lived. In those years, the far southern provinces of Thailand had not yet erupted into violence – let’s say it was sort of simmering. So we flew down to Hat Yai and commandeered a taxi to drive to her family’s house.

Their home turned out to be a bamboo shack, hidden down a muddy track, far from any other civilisation. As we proceeded down this remote track, I began to feel uneasy. I had no idea where I was, didn’t speak the language, and this ample-bosomed women might get the urge to sexually assault me again.

My fears were unfounded. Her mother, who had a wrinkled face and looked to be about 120 years old, was friendly enough. She spoke no Thai, only the local Yawi language (a bit like Malaysian but written using Arabic characters). A meal was prepared for me – I recall that it might have been fish, or might have been rat or … or … who knows. My main concern was that I would go down with acute food poisoning, but I survived OK to tell this tale.

We hired a car the next day to visit Songkhla and the beaches. Whilst the scenery was all very nice, I was a little perturbed to find that my new companion spoke to herself. I don’t mean just a few words. I mean she had animated conversations with herself, including shouting loudly.

I realised that out of all the Thai women on that dating website, I had found the nutter.

I needed to get shot of this loony as quickly as I could. On our return to Bangkok on Monday morning we stayed at the Dusit Hotel in Silom. I had to break the news to her that I’d rather not see her again. Sensing that telling her ‘Because you’re a raving loony’ might not go down too well, I gave some weak excuse to fob her off. (Actually, looking back on these events, I should have just walked out of her life and got on with mine, but as I mentioned, I wasn’t yet used to illogical, crazy Thai women).

As soon as I told her that it was over, she went bat-shit crazy! I suppose she saw the chance of milking this walking ATM slipping away. She burst into tears, sank to the floor, grabbed my legs and started screaming like a banshee.

Jesus, what should I do? I decided the best option was to quickly leave the hotel, disappear into the crowded streets and lose her. So off I run down the hotel stairs, with this mad women chasing after me, screaming all the time!

I ran out in to the street in Sala Daeng and flagged down a taxi, threw open the door and jumped in. ‘Bai nai?’ asked the driver, as they do. I didn’t speak Thai in those early days, so all I could say was ‘go! Go!’ as the mad Muslim was trying to open the taxi door. We sped away and my last ever memory of her was standing in the middle of the road with tears pouring down her face, still wailing and screaming like a lunatic.

I reflected on these events as I flew back to England on Monday evening. (By the way, I drove around and around Silom for about 1 hour on Monday afternoon, before I dared to return to my hotel – happily the loony had disappeared).

(As an addendum to these events, I spotted her profile again on the website a few weeks later. She had changed her name and profile details, and now claimed to have a PhD in some obscure subject – total fantasy!).

I decided that if I were to find a more permanent and mentally-stable companion in Bangkok, I needed to scrutinise their dating profiles a lot more carefully.

But my weekend trip had been successful in 2 ways. The most important was that after just 2 days, my cough and general under-the-weather feeling had all but vanished, thanks to the heat and humidity. Even the pollution in Bangkok didn’t irritate my lungs. The second plus point was that although my trip had only lasted a couple of days, I liked what I saw (apart from the loony woman).

I hadn’t had enough time to investigate business opportunities. But an idea grew in my mind to launch my various SMS applications in Thailand, as well as other countries in South-East Asia. I could rent an office in Bangkok, liaise remotely with my offices in the UK, Spain and the Netherlands, and then fly back to the UK every couple of weeks. So hot Brazilian women when I visited Spain and likewise with an Asian twist when I visited Bangkok.

As I waited for my return flight back to Old Blighty, I decided that I needed to return to Bangkok as soon as possible for further investigation of my ideas

So I booked another flight to Bangkok for the following weekend…just 5 days later.

In my part 3 submission, I recounted my first experience with a Thai ‘companion’, who turned out to have a few screws loose! But apart from that, I enjoyed my short break in Bangkok, and decided to return a few days later to investigate the possibilities of running my business from Thailand.

I flew back to Bangkok just 5 days later. At that time, I was getting air miles for each flight that I booked. Doing weekly business-class commute flights between London and Bangkok resulted in a lot of air miles and a lot of expense. I was still in stupid ‘Hey I’m rich!” mode, and at that time in my life, I wouldn’t have considered flying “cattle class”.

Not knowing too much about the different areas of Bangkok, I settled on Sala Daeng and Silom Road as a location to base myself, both for living and for business. I rented a condo in Sala Daeng, (which seemed a very pleasant part of Bangkok, and close to good amenities), and then went looking for an office to rent.


I ended up in the Kasemkij Building. This is a fairly old tower block, about 9 floors high, located directly opposite CP Tower on Silom Road. Nowadays, there’s a McDonald’s restaurant in CP Tower and a large LED TV screen on the Kasemkij building.

I rented an office at the rear of the office block. This had the added benefit of having a direct view over Patpong. As I sat at my desk, I could look out of the window and see all the comings and goings of the bar girls and their customers.

Such was the level of activity at that time in Patpong that I actually got very little work done, and would spend hours looking out of the office window, oggling the gogo girls in their tight working clothes.

Of course, being single and with Patpong right on my doorstep, it didn’t take me long before I decided to venture out to explore further.

At that time in my life, despite my experiences with the whorehouses in Spain, I was still very naive about the goings-on within the Thai nightlife sector. I was soon to find myself on the other side of the bar from the customers (I’ll cover this in subsequent submissions).

Let me tell you about a funny incident that occurred to me, shortly after I moved into my new office. I was walking down Patpong and happened on The Star of Light bar. Now this particular bar is famous (infamous?) as one of the oldest blowjob bars in Bangkok. Such a genre of bar didn’t feature in my Spanish experiences, and I had no idea that this bar offered BJs.

As I wandered past the bar, I saw that the door was closed and guarded by a large Thai man. That intrigued me (you know the saying ‘curiosity killed the cat’?). So I motioned to the guy that I wanted to go into the bar. He opened the door, ushered me inside, and closed the door after me.

The Star of Light is a small bar. There was the bar itself, with bar stools of course. There was also a large sofa on the other side of the room, more like a Regency Chaise Longue. What startled me, apart from the fact that there were only 2 customers in the bar (including myself) was that the only other customer was totally stark naked, enormously obese, and lying full-length on the sofa whilst 2 Thai women performed oral sex on him!

He didn’t react at all to my presence, and nor did the 2 wenches who were servicing him. Business as usual, I suppose. I sat at the bar, ordered a drink, and was offered a BJ right there and then in the open bar.

I wasn’t quite ready to sip my beer ‘tackle-out’. So the bargirl offered to give me the BJ behind a small curtained-off area, at one end of the bar. We dutifully disappeared behind the curtain to do ‘the business’.

Behind the curtain was a very small area, just large enough for a rickety wooden chair. So I dropped my trousers, sat in the chair and the girl kneeled down, with most of her body actually outside of the curtained area, since the latter was so small.

She went to work in a most efficient manner. In fact, she was so good at her job that my toes were soon curling in the air and I leant back on the chair as I stretched my legs out – my 2 feet poking out through the curtains.

Well, all good things must come to an end, and this end was particularly memorable. In my final ecstasies, as I leant back on the decrepit chair’s 2 rear legs, the damn chair collapsed about me, causing the bar girl to almost bite my willy off! We both collapsed on the floor outside the curtained area, me narrowly avoiding getting the end of a broken chair leg up my jacksey, the girl falling backwards with a face covered in .. er .. semen.

And throughout all this commotion and hilarity, the naked guy having a BJ didn’t bat an eyelid…

Having endured this somewhat painful and embarrassing experience at The Star of Light, I decided to venture into a more mainstream bar. So I made my way to the end of the soi and ventured in to Pink Panther, ablaze with gaudy pink lights.

This was also a long-established bar. One of the regular events was a Thai boxing match. The gogo girls would clear the stage, a boxing ring with ropes would be set up, and then both Thai and western fighters would spar for a small pot of prize money.

It was all good entertainment, and this bar became my favorite watering hole, not only because of the boxing events, but also because of the pretty gogo dancers. I was about to meet a woman who would stay a friend with me to the current day.

Now I need to explain that I am not a well-built guy. Neither tall nor muscular, I can best be described as ‘wiry’, perhaps a typical Thai man’s body size. Because of this, I’m not all that keen to entertain gogo dancers who tower over me in statue. So I favour the shorter, cuter sort of girl (my lack of height preference also minimises the chances of encountering a post-off ladyboy LoL).

Whilst watching the gogo girls dancing in Pink Panther, my eyes fell on a diminutive girl, wearing the obligatory knee length boots with enormous high heels. Even with these 6-inch heels, she still looked tiny. But what stood her apart from the other dancers was that rather than looking bored, she was smiling all the time and dancing energetically. My head (yes the small one!), had to get to know her better.

I bar-fined her and we got chatting. Her name was Pun (name changed for confidentiality), and she was 24 years old. Actually, 24 was not much less than her height in inches without her boots on – she stood about 4 feet 9 inches in her bare feet and weighed no more than 34 kilos.

Boy, was she an interesting woman! She didn’t smoke and didn’t drink, played pool like a pro and was extremely headstrong and self-confident. Perhaps being so tiny had made her strong in character. Anyway, I found her a really interesting person and we got to know each other very well, both socially and carnally.

In the coming months, many times when I was working at my desk in Kasemkij, she would crawl under my desk and give me a BJ as I tapped away on my computer

We would go out for meals and share the bills – she never asked me for excessive amount of money, and always called out any Thai person who tried to double-charge me.

On occasions over the next few months, we would go on weekend trips to places like Samui or Phuket, staying at high-end hotels, just hanging out, not a weekend of continual sex.

I recall on one occasion, we stayed at the nearby Landmark Hotel for the weekend (since I didn’t want her to know exactly where I lived in Sala Daeng). Being the big spender as I still was, I booked no less than the Presidential Suite at the hotel. This cost about $3,000 USD a night, offered several en-suite bathrooms, Jacuzzi and no less than 2 dedicated hotel staff who stood outside the suite door all night, ready to do whatever I commanded, (which was actually nothing, since I was fast asleep with Pun in my arms).

Pun still worked at the bar, and was a popular girl, being bar-fined most evenings. I once asked her how many men she had screwed, (since I learnt from her that she started work in the bars at 16 years old). Her answer ran in to the thousands…

I didn’t love Pun, and so I felt no sadness or anger at her exploits. As she told me once, screwing men for money was all she knew – she had no formal education and no useful skills, other than a very tight c**t, a tiny body and a great personality.

One day, I got a very urgent phone call from Pun. Apparently, there had been a terrible road accident. Her baby sister had been killed and her mother was seriously ill in the local hospital in Petchaburi with head injuries. The doctors needed a cash-payment of 50,000 baht before they would operate to save her life. Could I lend her the money?

Of course (and having been living in Bangkok for some time now), I was aware of the ‘sick buffalo’ scams, and I wasn’t about to fall for a similar scam, even if the girl was a really good friend. So I politely declined the loan request.

Pun knew that I could easily spare the money. When I said no, she sadly accepted my response and put the phone down.

It was only a few years later that I learnt the awful truth. There HAD been a terrible road accident. Pun’s mother was sitting in the front passenger seat, cradling Pun’s baby sister. Of course, no seat belts. When the crash happened, both the baby girl and Pun’s mother had gone straight through the windscreen. The baby girl had died immediately when she impacted the road. Pun’s mother had landed on her head, suffering serious head injuries. She had been rushed to the local hospital where Pun had then called me to help with funds. Without my financial assistance, the doctors refused to operate and her mother subsequently died.

Who knows if my money would have meant the difference between life and death. Even today, many years later, the thought often crosses my mind and saddens me.

I lost contact with Pun after that event. But from time to time in the coming years, I would bump into her in Bangkok. She was always very happy to see me. On one occasion (to be covered in a subsequent submission on this website), I put some business her way. But our meetings were usually few and far between.

I did meet her by accident one evening in Nana. As we ventured out of Nana Plaza, hand-in-hand, to go to a restaurant, I was angrily accosted by 3 Scandinavian men. “It’s not right” they said to me. Huh? What are they talking about? “You, with this young girl”. Pun interjected and asked the 3 men exactly how old they thought that she was. “13, no more than 14 years old” was their reply. Pun had just turned 33 years old!

Where is she now in 2017? I know exactly where she is, and some seasoned bar-mongers and readers will also know, and will maybe know exactly who Pun really is.

Venture into one of the most popular gogo bars in Nana Plaza and you’ll see the usual line-up of 18 and 19-year-old dancers, covered in tats, smoking and drinking when not dancing, looking bored as hell as they shuffle about on stage. And then you’ll see Pun, now aged about 40 years old, still wearing the knee-high boots, still dancing like there’s no tomorrow, still smiling and having fun.

Just don’t try to beat her at pool – she’ll wipe the floor with you!

I was hoping of some MFI stories but no luck

Well, I did work for MFI in my teens, and also for a company called 'Lamberts', which was as close to 'Are You Being Served' as you can get. A few funny episodes - might add them here.

@Neverna, actually that's not me! (I checked my original copy). I think Stick uses a spell-checker/auto-correct and that changed my original words.

Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Just read the first two, interesting. I'll read the rest later.

Originally Posted by Simon43

I was hoping of some MFI stories but no luck

Well, I did work for MFI in my teens, and also for a company called 'Lamberts', which was as close to 'Are You Being Served' as you can get. A few funny episodes - might add them here.

@Neverna, actually that's not me! (I checked my original copy). I think Stick uses a spell-checker/auto-correct and that changed my original words.

Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I worked at Marshall and Snelgrove, worse than are you being served. Actually had a posh woman ask if she could get felt down here, we were in the basement. Lady Isobel Barnett used to come down nicking stuff, it was known about but nothing done. All those dept stores are gone now, Fenwicks just closed as well. worked at Harris of Granby corner as well owned by Nathan Harris whose dad was Lord mayor. There was an old 16th cent School building next to the shop, Nathan burned it down for a parking space, it's a shoe shop now.

Great stuff. Thanks for posting!