This poem was inspired by a girl in Rawhide bar (the old, unrenovated bar, which made up in girl-quality what it lacked in décor). I was on my way to the gents, and was just passing the end of the stage, when I found myself within inches of a butt-naked beauty waiting for her turn to mount the steps. She fulfilled my every fantasy – her body was nothing short of perfect, and she had that look about her that proclaimed ‘farm fresh’ – in other words, unsullied as yet by the bar scene.
I hurried back from the gents and moved my seat to the bar where I could gaze up at her with my eyes about six inches from her neatly-shaved pussy. I nodded, winked and gestured, but either she did not see me, or she was too shy to respond. Never mind – I determined that I would grab her as soon as she left the stage.
But another guy beat me to it! Obsessed as I was, I decided to sit behind them and see how it went. I was horrified to hear him speaking fluent Thai. I can speak a bit of basic Thai, but I was no match for that! The girl responded wonderfully, no doubt delighted to find a farang who could actually understand her.
Just then the waitress asked me if I wanted another drink, and by the time I looked again, they were gone. No problem, I thought, remembering the old dictum: You never miss your girl, only your turn. I decided I’d be back again the next day.
I was at the bar at 8.00 sharp with my eyes peeled for the girl. But a funny thing happened – that night the bar was awash with her clones: a new batch of farm-fresh beauties! I should have been delighted at so much choice, but strangely enough I was frustrated that I was unable to pick out my target of the night before – one of the problems being that naked girls don’t wear numbers!
I barfined one of them, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t the one. I tried several others over the next few weeks (that was hard work!) but somehow felt I had missed her. After a while I came to the conclusion that Mr-Perfect-Thai-Speaker had known he was onto a good thing and kept her.
That one incident kept me coming back to that bar for years – that is until the quality of the decoration went up in inverse proportion to the quality of the girls.
Here is the poem:
The one that got away’s the one
That brings me back – but she is gone,
Snapped up by some other man,
Or visiting family in Isaan,
Or not what I’d been counting on.
Pig-tailed, graceful as a swan,
Big-titted, fair to look upon,
She is the focus of my plan –
The one that got away.
She’s never there – and there is none
Whom I desire to make my own.
But daydreaming as I scan
The girls, I end as I began,
And just miss barfining her clone –
The one that got away.
© Bangkok Byron, 2011. All rights reserved.