Holiday in Thailand: Day One

DAY ONE

It’s fucking freezing in this hotel room. So hot last night that we turned the air conditioning up full blast, but feels more like a January morning in Slough now. Fucking mouth drier than a geriatric nun’s fanny as well.

I get up to grab a bottle of water from the mini bar, and then look at my watch. Fucking eleven o’clock already. We was so knackered from the flight that we konked out after a couple of beers last night. No danger of that tonight.

“Oi, Jimmy. Get up, you lazy fat bastard.”

Fucking fat cunt lying there like a beached whale.

“Come on, fat boy. It’s eleven o’clock. We should be out there making some moves.”

“Eleven o’clock?”

“That’s what I said.”

“At night?”

“What planet you on? Come on, let’s get showered, get some brekkie, and go and get shit-faced. I’ll wake the other lads up.”

I phone through to the other room and wake up Gaz and Robbo. They’re shocked that we’ve slept in as well. Fucking jet lag, man. It’s the first time we’ve been out of Europe, so it’s all new to us. Slough boys in Bangkok. Fucking love it.

Once we’re all cleaned up and kitted out in our T-shirts, shorts and sandals, we leave the hotel and find a queue of them mad tuk tuk things outside. A couple of drivers approach us straight away.

“Where you go, sir? Massa?”

Massa? Don’t know what he’s talking about.

“You want massa?”

“What the fuck is a massa?”

He pulls a flyer out of his pocket and shows me exactly what he’s on about. I’ve heard all about those bath and soapy massage places from my mate, Baz, who was here last year. He says it’s a must, but we’re more concerned with our stomachs than our dicks at this time.

“No mate. Not yet. We’re hungry. Can you take us somewhere that serves an English breakfast?

“You want massa?”

“No. Breakfast.”

“Bekkfa? You want eating bekkfa?”

“That’s right. English breakfast. Cup of tea, sausage, bacon, eggs, the works. Know what I’m talking about?”

The two drivers start talking to each other like it’s some big deal just finding us a place to go for breakfast. We think about walking away because it seems so fucking complicated.

“Okay, sir. We take you for the bekkfa.”

So why did they have to have a meeting about it first?

We get in two separate tuk tuks as they’re a bit on the small side for four bodies, especially with a fat bastard like Jimmy. It’s good to feel a bit of wind blowing to cool us off as the mad little three-wheeler batters through some busy roads. Seems like we’re passing by a fair number of restaurants and cafes, but maybe these guys know somewhere better.

After about twenty minutes, we pull up, but there doesn’t seem to be any restaurant. Just a fucking jeweller’s.

“Okay. You looking. Five minute. Okay?”

“What’s all this about then?” says Robbo. “I don’t want no fucking jewellery. I’m starving.”

The tuk tuk drivers try to usher us in, but we ain’t having it.

“Hungry. Must eat breakfast,” says Gaz, as he pats his belly.

“Okay. Bekkfa in five minute. Now, have a look, sir.”

“Does this cunt not get it, or what?” I say to the others.

“Not five minutes. Now!” says Robbo with a bit of menace.

Robbo can get well-pissed off in situations like this. He’s a big lad too, so this tuk tuk driver would be well-advised to back off.

The drivers have another consultation. Me and the lads look at each other, no one really knowing what we should do. We don’t know where we are.

“Let’s just go in, have a quick look, and get back in the tuk tuk. It’ll only take a couple of minutes,” suggests Jimmy.

“But these cunts are taking the piss,” snarls Robbo.

I can see Jimmy’s point and agree that it won’t hurt to go along with the little fuckers if it means less hassle.

“Fuck it, let’s just go in,” I say. “We don’t have to buy fuck all.”

We go in and get some cunt following us around, trying to give it the hard sell.

“This one very cheap, but quality is good. This one nice for lady. Maybe good for your girlfriend. This one…”

“Can someone shut that wanker up?” asks Robbo, and we all laugh.

As we’re leaving, the salesman becomes more desperate.

“You want something? I give you big discount. How much you pay? I give you big discount. Come on, how much you can pay?”

“I’ll give you something else, you cunt,” says Gaz, and we all laugh again before fucking off.

Outside, the tuk tuk drivers ask us why we haven’t bought anything.

“Why you no buy? No good,” the little cunt says, looking genuinely pissed off.

“I’m going to leather this cunt in a minute,” growls Robbo.

“Take it easy,” says Jimmy.

“Okay, take us to place for breakfast now,” I say as firmly as possible.

“You want massa?”

“Fuck this!”

Robbo lunges at the driver, but Jimmy gets in between the two of them quickly, and me and Gaz step in too.

“Just leave it. We’ll get another taxi,” says Gaz.

Robbo and the driver exchange obscenities as we walk out to the road and flag down a taxi.

“Fuck you, fucking English, fuck you.”

Robbo gives him the finger, and we start laughing about it. The holiday has had quite an interesting start.

We get in a red and blue taxi, but the driver hasn’t got a clue what we’re on about. He just screws up his face and says, “huh?” a few times, so we slam his door in his face. Twat.

The next one is a bit better and tells us he’ll take us somewhere for 300 baht. We know we should bargain and manage to get him down to 250. It’s just over three quid, isn’t it? Cheap as chips.

The taxi ride takes a while because we get stuck in traffic a few times. My watch says one o’clock, and we still haven’t eaten.

“Where the fuck is this cunt taking us?” I ask, not expecting an answer.

I tap the driver on the shoulder.

“Oi, where you going?”

He just smiles. It’s not a fucking answer, is it?

“Oi, answer the fucking question. Where you going?”

“No problem,” he says. “Five minute.”

We’ve heard that before.

About ten minutes later, he drops us off at the bottom of a street full of foreigners.

“So where’s this then?” Asks Gaz.

“Looks like it could be that Khao San Road place,” Jimmy replies. “I read about it in the Lonely Planet.”

If it’s full of foreigners, it must be full of foreign food, so we stop at the first decent looking café, check the menu, and see an English breakfast advertised for 100 baht.

“That’s not even a pound fifty,” Gaz says, and we all pile in.

The waitress gives us menus, but we don’t really need them.

“Four English breakfasts please, love.”

“Tea or coffee or orange juice?”

“Tea.”

“I’ll have a coffee,” says Jimmy.

“You want egg sa-camble or fly or boy?”

“What?”

“Egg sa-camble, fly or boy?”

We’ve no idea what she’s on about.

“Sorry, love, can you say that again.”

With an impatient huff, she points at the menu. Fucking scrambled, fried or boiled, was what she was trying to say. Working with only foreign customers, how the fuck does she get by speaking like that?

“Fried,” Robbo tells her.

“I’ll have boiled,” Jimmy says, trying to be different again.

“Sausage or bacon?”

“What do you mean sausage or bacon?”

“Which one? Sausage or bacon?”

“English breakfast has sausage and bacon, love.”

“Cannot. Must choose one.”

“Fuck this,” groans Robbo. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

That’s not a good idea. We’ve waited long enough.

“How much extra for sausage and bacon?”

“Cannot.”

“It’s okay, we’ll pay extra.”

“Cannot. Must choose one.”

Exasperated by this idiot and hunger, I smack my hand on the table.

“Look, just give us some fucking breakfast for fuck’s sake!”

The rest of the customers look round, and the waitress disappears into the kitchen.

“That was a bit much,” says Jimmy.

“Fair play, but what the fuck is wrong with these people?”

“It’s not her fault,” says Jimmy. “She doesn’t make the menu.”

“You’re so understanding, Jimmy, you fucking sap.”

“Leave it out, Dean,” says Robbo. “We want to wait until at least the second day of the holiday before we start having a go at each other.”

We all laugh, then get up and leave to continue our search for breakfast.

The next place we find, the deal is the same, and we have to choose between sausage and bacon. The fucking breakfast is limp, with one fucking rasher of bacon, weak tea, undercooked eggs, and barely toasted toast. We’re all still hungry by the time we get through it all, so order a couple of plates of chips and our first beers of the day.

Chang is the cheapest beer, so we go for that, and it’s fucking strong stuff. After a couple of large ones, I’m beginning to feel pissed already when I get up to go to the bog. There’s a couple of fit looking birds at one table. Look Scandinavian or something. Tall and blond. Fucking fit. There’s also a few strange looking geezers with dreadlocks and shit. Look like they haven’t had a bath in weeks.

We head to another bar, sit out in the sun, and take our tops off. It’s bloody roasting, but we should start getting a bit of colour about us.

“Four more Changs, please.”

“Large or small?”

What a fucking stupid question to ask four lads from Slough.

“Large, of course.”

Only 60 baht for those babies, which is less than a quid. Fucking love it.

We spend the rest of the afternoon, drinking Chang, talking shit, eyeing up the crumpet, and I’m feeling a bit mashed by six o’clock. Think the heat’s getting to me as well, but the lads would take the piss if I ordered a water. It doesn’t stop Jimmy, though. He says he’s trying to avoid dehydration, which makes sense, but you just don’t do it on holiday, especially on the first day.

He’s a great bloke, Jimmy, but he’s never completely been one of the lads. Always a shit bag when we were younger and nicking stuff from Asda, and he didn’t really get into drinking in the park until a couple of years after me, Gaz and Robbo. He always does his own thing, and that can be a bit annoying at times, but you’ve got to respect him for it as well. He’s not easily led like us others.

“We have to make a plan for the holiday,” Jimmy repeats for about the tenth time since we arrived. Me and the other two are happy to take one day at a time, but we also know that that could mean spending two weeks in the same bar, so we don’t knock Jimmy for it. He can lead, and we’ll follow.

“What kind of plan you thinking of?” I ask.

Jimmy pulls his Lonely Planet out of his satchel again and tells us there’s loads of things to do and see, like rafting, hiking, boat tours, and other shit. Robbo isn’t too impressed with what he says.

“I worked fucking hard and did loads of overtime to save for this trip, and I’m here to relax. I don’t give a shit about temples or any of that culture crap. I want a couple of days in Bangkok, and then I want to spend the rest of the time lying on a beach, going out on the piss, and getting my knob sucked.”

“At the same time?” asks Gaz.

“Preferably,” replies Robbo.

Jimmy mentions something about a tour in a place called Kanchanaburi which includes a bit of trekking in the jungle, some rafting, and some general sightseeing. I have to admit it sounds okay. We’ve got plenty of time to go to the beach later, so I’d be quite into doing something a bit different. Gaz looks doubtful, and Robbo shakes his head.

“Not for me, lads. You’re welcome to go there. I’ll see you on the beach when you’re finished.”

“I’m with Robbo on that. Not my kind of thing really,” says Gaz.

Jimmy looks at me a bit pleadingly, so I tell him I’ll have a think. It’s only the first day, isn’t it? We’ve got plenty of time.

We crawl on to another pub that’s a bit more lively, and has a fair number of tidy young birds, both Thai and European or Australian or whatever. They don’t have any Chang, so we order Singha, which is a bit more expensive. We also order a few plates of grub as we’re getting a bit peckish. Gaz is looking a bit the worse for wear as a result of fuck knows how many large Changs over the afternoon. The jet lag and the heat has to kick in as well, so the beer goes straight to the head. Gaz has always been the biggest lightweight, so he’s bound to show it first.

It’s about nine o’clock when me and Robbo decide to start sharking in this fancy place called the Silk Bar. There’s some well-tidy birds around, so we might as well give it a go with them before the whores. We leave Jimmy with Gaz, who has become a bit of liability. The soft cunt has lost the plot and started talking gibberish. Not the first time it’s happened, but possibly the first time it’s started this early in the evening.

Robbo stops at a table where there are about five young Thai birds, four of them well fit. Never really fancied Asian birds at home, but once you’re in their country, you sort of forget about them looking different, and they just become birds with smaller tits than English tarts, but with better bodies and better skin.

“Hello, ladies. Mind if we join you?”

The girls look a bit uncertain and intimidated. Robbo’s a big lad with a bit of an imposing look about him, with his shaved head and thick, tattooed forearms. He scares enough blokes, never mind birds.

“Do you speak English?” Robbo tries after no one answers.

The girls talk amongst themselves and start laughing a bit.

“Glad you find this funny, but does anyone want to answer the fucking question?”

One of the girls turns around to Robbo and lets him know what the score is.

“What you want?”

“I says, can we sit with you?”

“Why?”

This is winding Robbo up. I reckon I should step in.

“Because we’ve just arrived in Thailand, and we want to talk to the local people and that. Just being friendly, that’s all.” I tell them.

They start chatting amongst themselves again and start laughing.

“Fuck this,” says Robbo. “We’re wasting our time with these tarts.”

I agree, and we go back to our table to find Gaz sleeping, and Jimmy reading the Lonely Planet.

“Fuck trying to pull around here,” says Robbo. “Shouldn’t have bothered even trying to chat any tart up. Let’s hit the pussy bars and get down to business.”

That’s easier said than done because we’ve got to figure out what to do with sleeping beauty.

“What about Gaz?” Jimmy asks.

“We’ll dump him at the hotel and go out from there. It’s still early. No way I’m going home yet.”

Problem is, we’ve no idea where we are in relation to our hotel and the titty bars, so we’ll have to rely on taxi drivers again. Jimmy looks at his map of Bangkok and tells us that our hotel is in some place called Sukhumvit Road, and that the most famous place for the titty bars is Patpong Road, but I’m not really interested. He can sort it out with the taxi driver.

We make it back to the hotel after paying the driver 200 baht, and the area around us is looking a bit lively. The name of the hotel is Amari Boulevard, and it’s pretty smart for a bunch of Slough lads. The travel agent threw in three nights here as part of the package with the flights. The place is top notch compared to the crappy little self-catering units we’re used to in Torremelinos and Magaluf.

Gaz is awake again but talking gibberish and trying to convince us that he’s okay to go out. Not a chance. Not having him falling into people and getting us into fights. Not that we’re scared of a bit of fisticuffs, but this is the first night of the holiday, so we should really behave. We want a bit of loving tonight from the famous hookers of Bangkok.

We’re on our way back out, with Gaz happily sleeping again, when Robbo turns to Jimmy.

“Lose the fucking book, mate.”

“Why?”

“You look fucking ridiculous, that’s why. Can you not go anywhere without it? We’re going out on the piss, for fuck’s sake. Do you take a book down the pub back home?”

“I suppose not, but I don’t need it there.”

I have to side with Robbo on this one. Books do not belong in pubs in the evening.

“Come on, Jimmy. We’ll get by without it. We’ve got cards from the hotel if we get lost.”

Jimmy takes the book back to the room, and me and Jimmy get chatting to the doorman to see if he can get us a taxi.

“Do you know Patpong, mate?”

“Patpong, yes. You want taxi?”

“That’s right, mate. Is Patpong good?”

“Maybe for you, yes.”

Robbo butts in as usual.

“Lots of fit birds, mate? I want a blow job, a rimmer, the works, mate, the fucking works. I want the dirtiest bird in Bangkok.”

The doorman smiles politely, but the reception staff look less amused. Robbo’s getting a bit too loud, and he’s forgetting he’s in a decent hotel. Fuck it. Who cares what all the other cunts think?

There’s a taxi waiting for us when Jimmy gets back downstairs. He tells us we should take the skytrain because traffic might be bad, but we ask him how he became such a knowledge of the city as the result of an afternoon with his nose in a guidebook, and tell him to behave himself. The driver asks us for 200 baht when we get in, and we talk him down to 160. Can’t argue with just over two quid.

Jimmy’s words come back to haunt us, however, and we take about fucking half-an-hour just to go round in a fucking circle because of the one-way system. We’ve even got time to nip out to the 7-Eleven to get some beers to keep us going. The taxi driver tuts and sucks through his teeth a lot, which gets a bit fucking irritating after a while. Fair play to Jimmy. He doesn’t once tell us ‘I told you so,’ about the skytrain, even though he must be dying to.

When we finally get there, Patpong is a mad fucking street. It’s got a market all the way up, and it’s full of foreigners looking for fake watches and football shirts and shit. We can see signs for the knocking shops with names like Super Pussy’s and Pussy Galore, and, as we move further up, touts try to get us into their doors for shows involving darts and ping pong balls.

“Ping pong show, sir? No cover charge. Heineken, 100 baht.”

“This is what we came here for, lads,” says Robbo, rubbing his hands, and we pile up the stairs and into the bar.

There are more birds in bikinis than customers in the place, and they swarm around us when we get in. We’re sat beside the stage with a fit bird at each of our sides looking for our attention. On stage, a rough looking older tart is dropping eggs from her fanny into a cup. Fucking mad.

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” says Robbo.

A waitress comes up to us and asks for some money.

“200 baht.”

“What for?” I ask.

“The show,” she replies.

Fuck this. The geezer downstairs said no cover.

“No cover. Downstairs say no cover.”

“200 baht.”

“Dirty little bastard,” says Robbo. “I’m not fucking paying. Let’s go.”

“Why don’t we just pay it,” says Jimmy. “It’s only a few quid.”

“That’s not the fucking point, is it? I’m sick of these little cunts trying to rip us off already. I’m off.”

Me and Jimmy look at each other and shrug our shoulders. Robbo’s a right stubborn cunt when he’s got a strop on, so we know he’s not going to change his mind. Back on the street, more touts try and get us in with the ‘no cover’ charge claim, but we’re well wary now, so nip into one of the downstairs bars with birds in bikinis on stage, just kind of swaying slightly.

“What you like to drink, sir?” asks a barman.

“Three Changs,” I reply.

“Chang, no have. Only Singha or Heineken.”

“Three Singhas then. No cover charge, right?”

“No cover charge, sir. If you want talking to lady, you ask me.”

We sit with our beers while the birds on stage look around looking bored. Other birds come past and eye us up with some smiles and winks, and Robbo spots something he likes.

“She looks like a fucking goer. What number’s on her bikini, 22?”

I can’t really see anything that attractive. Half of the birds look a bit tall for Asians, and some of them are plain fucking ugly.

Jimmy looks increasingly uneasy, but that’s probably because he’s worrying about his bird.

“It’s alright, Jimmy. We won’t tell Sharon anything.”

“It’s not Sharon I’m worried about.”

“What then?”

“Don’t you think there’s something strange about these birds?”

I start to understand what he’s getting at and nod in agreement. At the same time, Robbo is asking the barman to drag number 22 off stage and introduce him.

“Robbo, mate, let’s finish up our drinks and get out of here.”

“What the fuck for?”

“These ain’t birds, mate.”

“Fuck off.”

“No joke. These are all them transsexual ladyboys we was talking about earlier.”

Robbo looks at me with a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

“Don’t worry, mate. I won’t mention anything about you wanting to talk to number 22 to anyone back home.”

I meant it sincerely, but Robbo reckons I’m taking the piss.

“Fuck off. I didn’t ask to talk to any cunt.”

He can’t fucking talk to me like that.

“You fucking did. You asked that barman.”

“Did I bollocks.”

“There’s no problems with my hearing, mate.”

We look at each other for a moment, both knowing the score, but neither of us wanting to back off. Fortunately, Jimmy steps in and lightens thing up.

“Enough, ladies. I’ve paid the bill, so let’s move on.”

It’s not the first time me and Robbo have had a disagreement, and it won’t be the last. We had our share of punch-ups as kids, and there’s always been a certain competitiveness between us because we’re not sure who would win in a fight. We know we’re at the top of the hierarchy, followed by Jimmy and Gaz, but it’s unclear who the leader is. Robbo’s louder and more forceful, but he knows I won’t take any shit off him, unlike Gaz and Jimmy. It’s been a few years since we last came to blows, and I was getting the better of it until it got broken up. I’m sure that’s been at the back of Robbo’s mind since. I don’t want any trouble between us, but if the cunt gets larey with me, I won’t back down.

We walk silently for a minute, looking for somewhere better and waiting till both me and Robbo have calmed down. Jimmy looks into a place and gives it the all clear.

“I think these are 100% female, lads.”

A big fat bird approaches us, takes us to table, and takes our drink order. No Chang again. She asks us if we would like company, and me and Robbo strongly agree. Jimmy will have to take a bird just to avoid sitting on his own.

The slag that sits on Robbo’s lap is well fit. Great body and mischievous glint in her eyes that tell me she’s a goer. Jimmy’s bird is alright too. Very young looking, right enough. I have to laugh when I see him not allowing her to sit on his knee. He’s going to have a hard time resisting this for two weeks. I’ve got a fifty quid bet with Gaz that says he doesn’t make it.

I draw the short straw. An older looking bird with pock-holed skin attempts to sit on my knee and hold my hand. She must be at least thirty-five, so she’ll have been round the block far too many times. Doubt I’ll be able to feel a thing if I dip my knob into her. Her walls will be so fucking far apart after years of service to the sex tourists of Bangkok. She asks me if I’ll buy her a drink. Jimmy and Robbo have already forked out for a refreshment for their whores, but I’m not having this. If I’m going to pay for a shag, I’m at least going to get myself a tidy looking bird.

I excuse myself and go to the bog. There are tarts doing their make up in the same bog and getting changed. Fuck me, I find it a bit of turn on to be in the same bog as a bunch of topless birds and feel my cock hardening as I piss. I have to get shot of that old tart and find a fit little nymph.

Back at our table, Robbo’s snogging his slag, with his hands groping her tits. Jimmy is chatting politely to his bird, sipping his beer and removing her hand when she attempts to grope his crotch. Unfortunately, the old tart I was lumbered with hasn’t taken the hint, and has a drink in front of her. When I sit down, she proposes a toast, but I’m more interested in checking who’s paying for her drink.

“I didn’t say you could have that.”

“He pay for me,” she says, pointing at Jimmy.

Jimmy shrugs his shoulders and says, “It’s only about a pound fifty.”

That’s not the fucking point. I want shot of this bird now, and call over the fat slag that sent her to me.

“Can I change girl? I want someone prettier and younger.”

She looks a bit surprised, and then whispers in my ear.

“This one give very good blow job.”

That don’t make no difference. I’m not paying for a woman who’s probably got AIDS and all sorts of diseases.

“I don’t care. I want to change.”

“Okay, sir. One moment please.”

She whispers to the old slapper, who then gives me the most evil stare as she gets up and walks away.

Robbo orders more beers, and my head’s getting very cloudy again. The trip back to the hotel gave us a bit of a break, but it has been one hell of a session, and it’s almost one in the morning. A skinny little bird who can’t be much older than

eighteen comes over and introduces herself.

“Hello, my name Joy. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Dean. Nice to meet you.”

“Can I sit down?”

“Yeah, of course.”

She’s not exactly a stunner, but a big improvement on fucking grandma.

We talk about this that, and I get her a drink. Slowly, she sheds inhibitions, gets in closer, and starts stroking my knob. This is so much better than trying to act cool and talk shit to a bird before you’re in. Joy tells me that she’s from the North East of Thailand, and that she has ten younger brothers and sisters that she has to take care of financially because her old man walked out, and her mum’s too sick to work. I don’t really want to listen to the sob story so start kissing her.

Jimmy tells me his bird is a really nice girl, and that she’s only doing this to save up to go to college. Says she wants to study for a degree in English. She’s certainly getting good practice. She’ll have the dirtiest mouth in the class, I tell Jimmy and start laughing, but he doesn’t seem to approve.

“Lighten up,” Jimbo, I tell him.

We call him Jimbo sometimes because it annoys him. It started at school, and he took a disliking to it from the start. That just made us call him it more.

The lights come on at about 1:45, and decisions have to be made.

“What we doing with these tarts then?” says Robbo.

“I’m up for taking mine back,” I say.

“To the hotel?” says Jimmy.

“No, to fucking England,” says Robbo.

“But, we’re sharing rooms. I don’t want to try and sleep while you’re doing the business, Deano.”

“Don’t worry, mate. It’s been a long day, so you’ll be out like a light.”

“What about the hotel? They might not let them in.”

“Just slip them 100 baht, and they’ll be fine,” I suggest.

“Why don’t you take yours anyway, Jimmy?” asks Robbo.

Jimmy knows that he’s going to get this kind of teasing for the whole holiday. He’s the only one of us with a proper steady bird. He’s been with Sharon for about five years now, and marriage is a certainty.

“You know why.”

“Come on, mate, she’ll never find out. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“Yeah, but I’ll know, and it doesn’t seem right.”

“You’re too uptight, mate,” I suggest. “A good shag from a professional will loosen you up nicely.”

“Forget it. I’m not taking her anywhere.”

Jimmy slips his slag a hundred baht tip and wishes her good luck in her studying ambitions, being totally sincere. He can be such a sap. Me and Robbo negotiate a price of fifteen hundred baht for the night with our tarts - after bringing them down from two thousand - grab them by the arses, and head out to get a taxi. There are queues of taxis on the main road, but the first one asks us for three hundred baht, so we tell him to fuck right off. We got here for one sixty for fuck’s sake. The next one asks for two hundred, and we talk him down to one eighty.

Jimmy starts moaning again in the taxi about not wanting to share a room with a moaning couple, so we agree that he can kip in with Gaz while me and Robbo do the business in the other room. It’s not something we haven’t done before. On one holiday in Greece, we even swapped over. Those were two right dirty fuckers, those women. They were both in their mid-thirties, and me and Robbo was only twenty at the time. Totally uninhibited, though. That’s the good thing about older women. No fucking hang ups like younger birds.

The doorman at the hotel raises an eyebrow when the five of us arrive. Before there’s any possible problem, I slip him a hundred baht, and he sees us into the lift. You can understand a posh hotel wanting to keep whores out to keep up standards, but it’s half two in the morning, and there’s no one about. We can’t be the only blokes who try and take their birds back. Might be more of a problem getting them out, however.

We wish Jimmy a pleasant sleep and tell him to meet us at the swimming pool at midday tomorrow, so we can all stick together. Can imagine tomorrow being pretty similar to today.

Me and Robbo get stuck in, but there’s no swapping this time.

© Paul Murphy. All rights reserved by the author.

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If you enjoyed this short story of Paul Murphy's you can easily purchase his book 'Experience Preferred But Not Required' here at Bangkok Books.com: http://www.thailandstories.com/article/book-previews/experience-preferred-but-not-required-by-paul-murphy-chapter-1.html