Confessions of a Red-Light Addict, Part 3: Nana as Methadone

It’s 7:40 on a Monday night. It’s pissing down rain. I’m having an argument with myself in the mirror…..”Yeah, I know I should hang around the house and watch Westworld…yes, I realize I haven’t ironed my shirt for work tomorrow….look, I don’t need you to tell me when to go out, I know when to go out….I know when to stay in!” Then I start singing David Bowie to myself as I hop in the shower, prepping to head to the Pong. The Bowie-singing-shower routine is not new to me at this point. I’ve Ponged every night for the past….three months? I lost count. I missed one night because of a cold. 89 out of 90 days must be some kind of record. If anybody cared about stuff like that. Which just about sums up my life. I’m the king of shit that doesn’t matter. I’m a master of the meaningless. A Monet of the mundane. A Mozart of meh. A prodigy of the preposterous.


….Quick dangerous motorbike taxi ride in the pouring rain to Silom. Why won’t he drive under the skytrain? Too logical? We nearly crash…..soon I’m on an identical motorbike heading home, a thousand baht down the drainpipe. For what? Two hours onPong with the same girls…..girls that I admittedly adore. And good booze, I have to say. The Thai guy who owns Kiss, Superstar, and Crown Royal told me he’s getting Belgian beers in at all his places. That’s a juicy piece of news. The Steakhouse Co. has new happy hour specials along with a new IPA every week for the foreseeable future, and new wines by the glass, including a Bordeaux and a Pinot—if I can’t afford their steak I can at least sit on the terrace with a cigar and suck down a few glasses. All right, so the trip wasn’t a total loss. But life is getting tedious. I’m stuck in a routine. Plus I’m constantly exhausted, working 50 hour weeks plus Ponging every night. I’m spent. Four of my harem all want to bang on the same day. I mean, does it look like I’m physically able to pull that off? I need a vacation from this life of booze, gogo dancers, and naked frolicking. It’s a Thailand problem. It can’t go on indefinitely. Can it? There’s got to be something more. Something new. Hang on, I forgot—there are two other red-lights in Bangkok! My sense of purpose renewed, I hit the pillow and dream of gogo’s to come…


…Nana is virtually the same as I remember it, from my last visit 4 long months ago. Much busier than the Pong. Louder, faster, brighter. I do my usual route, starting at Mandarin to check out the newest girls. They’re good at finding skinny ones. Then up to Billboard because they have the very best lineup and that spinning stage—not to mention the naked girls in the bubble bath. Then over to Butterflies, then Spanky’s, then Bangkok Bunnies. I’m not well-known in Nana, so in most places I pass for a tourist. This is both good and bad. Good because I’m not hit up for money everywhere, like I am in the Pong. Bad because I have no status here. But sometimes it’s good to just blend in and relax. I could almost reinvent myself in Nana. Take on a new nickname, pretend I don’t speak Thai…….the girls love wet-behind-the-ears punters. They’re easy prey.


In Bunnies, a girl approaches and says hello. She sits down next to me and gently places her hand on my junk, saying nothing, just smiling, with her head tilted slightly to one side. After a moment, she says (in Thai) she can feel that I have big balls. Not exactly a compliment. I pretend I don’t understand. Suddenly from across the club, a girl shouts “Seven!” and marches up to me. It’s a former member of my harem, formerly a dancer at the former Electric Blue. She asks in Thai why I stopped calling. I tell her in Thai that I lost my phone with her info in it. She reminds me we’re Facebook friends. I look over and the testicle masseuse has vanished. I pay my check bin and leave, and head back to Billboard to ogle the hotties, but the haze of drunkenness is taking hold. The rest of the night is a blur of breasts, smiles, tattoos and booze. Long hair and perfume, and lots of crotch grabbing. People raged when Trump said “grab ‘em by the pussy” but he was 100% correct. That move has never failed me.

The next day I go back to the Pong and one of my harem shows me a photo on her phone. It’s me in Nana with a girl on my lap. She says her sister sent it to her. So even in a different red-light, I’m not anonymous. She’s miffed but eventually gets over it. What can she say? I’m Seven. She knows what she signed up for.  I again patronize the same tired joints and again head home with a phone full of photos, but in the back of my mind, the afterglow of Nana is still prevalent. There’s triple the number of gogo bars and ten times more chicks than Patpong. It’s almost too much sensory input. After an hour, one’s brains start to scramble. But it’s further away from my apartment. I couldn’t get there as often as the Pong.  Maybe that’s what I need, though. Maybe if I committed to hitting Nana exclusively for the next few months, I could wean myself off the red-light…..or at least go less-frequently. I could maybe even acquire a harem of Nana girls and become a mini-celebrity in 4 or 5 bars there……maybe that could temper my Pong addiction. It’s a bit like using a new credit card to pay off an old one, but who’s to say it wouldn’t work? Has anyone tried before? Has anyone ever put in the time to find out if one RLD can help someone relieve their addition to a different RLD? This is a science worth pursuing. Think of what it would mean to mankind. It might even earn me a Nobel Prize. Given the significance of this research, how could I not do it?

OK I’ve talked myself into it. I’m going to try to recreate in Nana the same situation I have in the Pong, including Nana-wide fame, exclusive unspoken permission to take photos in bars, and a hottie on the hook at every chosen stop inside the Plaza. It’s going to require sacrificing money and time, but I’m willing and able. You’re welcome in advance, world. Stay tuned to see how it goes.

And in the meantime, follow me on Twitter @BangkokSeven for exclusive photos of the RLDs, and browse the archive on my Facebook page.

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