The things we do for love and money
As a girl living in Thailand, I often find myself amazed at what
people will do for money. A stroll down the upmarket and classy Soi
Bangla (note the sarcasm) is a prime example of this.
I'm never surprised at the ladies of the night who entertain the
more refined gentlemen visitors. But, for every refined gentlemen
visitor, there is a host of huge, sweaty cretins with a few wisps
of greasy hair scraped and flattened across their equally greasy
forehead.
Often their body odour, coupled with the stench coming from their
'Sex Instructor' vests stiff and crusty from a few days worth of
stale beer, sweat, and unidentifiable body fluids - actually masks
the stench coming from the piles of rubbish gathered on the nearby
street corners.
Sure, the Bangla ladies might get a bit of extra cash from these
men, who are just grateful that someone is actually willing to make
physical contact with them, but the small fortune the ladies would
have to spend on soap and disinfectant afterwards would counteract
any pay increase?
A friend who once worked in a small Thai village up north was told
by some local sex workers that these men are often the ones the
girls want. The theory goes that a drop dead gorgeous guy is likely
to have had a string of equally beautiful girlfriends who have
already spent all his money, whereas a less attractive gentleman,
such as described above, has probably never been loved so has never
spent money on presents, weekends away or other such
expenses.
Put simply: the bigger the waist, the fuller the wallet. Think
about that then, guys, when you next sit in a bar with a whole
hoard of women dripping off you.
After an interesting weekend a while back that involved an intimate
encounter with a - how shall I put it - well-known person, I found
myself wondering just how far I would be prepared to go for
money.
Phuket attracts many high profile visitors. Royalty from various
countries are seen here on their expensive yachts, sports
personalities often frequent the palatial villas they bought with
just a few days' earnings, celebrity chefs open upmarket
restaurants and television and movie stars bless the quieter
beaches.
Now, while you might live here and never meet any of these people,
as a sociable 20-something girl I guess it was only a matter of
time before I did. It was a good half hour of chatting before I
even realised who he was.
I thought people were just staring because he was a good looking
guy. In fact, he was so down to earth that even when he told me his
name, I might not have twigged had a friend not pointed it out to
me.
Despite who he was though, it really was just one of those nights
where you meet someone and have a great laugh together. By 3am,
both of the friends we were out with that night had made subtle
exits ¡V and I was invited back to his hotel.
This is the part where I could probably sell my story to some
trashy tabloid in exchange for thousands. Even though I had told
him I was a writer, it didn't put enough fear into him to stop him
from getting to know me intimately. He actually knows about this
column, but I promised the following morning that I would withhold
his identity.
So what's stopping me from telling all?
Well, he was nothing short of a gentleman the entire evening. He
didn't flaunt who he was, didn't assume or expect that anything
would happen between us because of it and, even when we got down to
business, it was more of a slow and personal thing than a fast and
furious, rip your-clothes-off ordeal.
To be fair though, it may have killed me if he¡¦d been anything but
delicate - basically he was just too damn 'nice' for me to turn him
in.
If it's not obvious what the big deal is, he's married. Morals are
a funny thing. He had enough to treat me with respect, but not
enough not to spend the night with me. I have enough not to rip
apart a marriage for a few moments of fame and a nice payoff, but
not enough not to sleep with him.
I suppose what it comes down to is this: if I was to capitalise on
the experience, I would be no better than the fine young ladies of
Patong. Above all else though, it made no odds to me who he was. I
didn't go back to his hotel because he was famous. I went because I
liked him.
So, as much as I would love to reveal who I was with that night, I
won't. As great as it would be to get published in an international
newspaper, for the time being I'm content to just be Miss Manolo,
sharing her experiences with the Phuket Post.