“And like all great adventures, this long one-month trip to Thailand has come to an end, and five days have already passed since my return to the Italian boot. So, to conclude the travel diary—but also to fight the usual ‘Thailanditis’ that hits everyone who leaves the Land of Smiles (which says a lot about what a great place it is to be)—I’ll update you on what happened in the last three days in Bangkok.
On the evening of September 3rd, my poor eye, with its lovely conjunctivitis, was already feeling much better, enough to allow me to drop by my favorite blowjob spot, which, as is well known, is 7-Heaven, where I went safely with my favorite girl, Tokyo, beautiful and skilled as always. After the liberating session, I returned to the Nana area to enjoy a mountain of chicken wings with spicy sauce and French fries soaked in cheese—a real boost to life. While I was there, I took a walk through Nana Plaza, but I didn’t feel inspired, so I went back to the street and decided to check out what Soi 4 had to offer, where the usual freelancers look for clients. On that street at night, there’s something for every taste: from the “Sciatthai” (a term I jokingly coined during a discussion among travelers to refer to those Thai girls that some call sloppy just because they don’t look like Zendaya or some random model) to Africans, ladyboys, and other Asians like Vietnamese, and so on—but still, I didn’t feel inspired.
I tried entering the usual Hillary 2, where I’ve had great encounters multiple times with girls, more or less professional and more or less young, but always pretty and friendly. I order a Singha, and although it’s not very crowded, there’s some movement, but mostly, on a stool near the bar, there’s a seat all alone, and at first glance, I don’t dislike it at all. I wait a moment to see if she’s really with someone; it seems she isn’t, so I approach discreetly, and she seems to welcome the company. One drink, a few words—her name is Joy. She speaks decent English, despite the usual Thai accent that’s sometimes hard to understand. I want to smoke, she does too, so we move to the side of the street and hang out there for a while, just messing around.
In a calm situation like this, I would normally aim to take her to a room when we’re both a bit “tipsy and heated,” but since I’m not in top form, I shorten the timing because she inspires me. Having already missed an opportunity the night before (
In the end, she left around 3 a.m., and I gave her 2,000 Baht. From the way she had settled on the bed, I imagine she would have gladly stayed until morning, and under normal circumstances, she would have been a welcome presence for a waking-up with a bang, but I absolutely needed to sleep peacefully because, although my eye had improved, it was starting to bother me again from fatigue. I said goodbye without thinking too much and fell asleep shortly after, dreaming of little sheep…
Unfortunately, September 4th marks the last 24-hour cycle I have at my disposal, since my return flight departs at 11 p.m. the following day. In the morning, I wake up finally rested and light as a feather. I take advantage of it to visit a couple of shopping malls, have breakfast, and spend a few hours between Central World, Siam Paragon, and MBK Center in the university area, which in the morning isn’t crowded with students. And although it’s a pleasure to see them swarm around (which is very reminiscent of the scenes in the Japanese anime I grew up with^^), the area is much calmer and more relaxing for shopping.
Later, after resting on a sun lounger by the pool on the fifth floor of the Hyde 13, I get a craving for pasta and, without hesitation, I go to try the four-cheese gnocchi at La Pala, under the Asok BTS station, which may not seem like it, but from Soi 13 it’s quite close—about a five-minute walk along the lively stretch of Sukhumvit Road that never sleeps and is never boring. The gnocchi are good; La Pala gets top marks across the board. I had been there before but only for the pizza; now it has become my favorite Italian restaurant. Wanting to share this deliciousness with someone, I decide to return to Duangporn Haven, that BJ bar on the opposite side of the Asok intersection, just a few dozen meters from the BTS station. Here I find the usual ten girls, many of whom are eating at the tables outside, including Kiki, who, as skilled and pretty as she is, wouldn’t look out of place in a more polished venue. Anyway, one of the girls who isn’t eating approaches me—a slightly rounder bun than my eyes would ideally admire, but honestly she has a nice mouth with two full lips and looks like she knows her business: “Blowjob?” she asks me. I glance around at Kiki eating and the other seated girls, then reply simply, “Who?” She flashes me an absurdly big smile and says, “ME!” For some reason, I feel inspired, say okay, and she leads me up the stairs. Worst case, 800 Baht to try her, and if I don’t like it, I’ll go elsewhere in half an hour…
She even has an easy name, though I don’t remember it (I’ll update if it comes back to me). She’s a chatty, friendly girl, and even though physically she’s not exactly my type, she has two nice, full, natural breasts. I ask her if she can take off her shirt, and she agrees. After the usual wash (which here happens at the classic sink, but being taller than the usual ones at “ball-height,” you have to step up on two wooden steps—I’d never want to go there drunk^^), she seats me on a small sofa and goes at my cock like a vacuum.
I’m amazed at how skilled she is and how enjoyable her full lips are—a masterful technique, soft and steady, yet at the same time powerful and enveloping. I actually last the whole time, but she only detaches a couple of times. In the end, when I can’t resist anymore, I thought she would suck my soul out—she spends at least two minutes on my royal member after it had really nothing left to give, a pleasant torture. I had to pull her off, holding her head with my hands while twisting on the sofa because I was about to lose it, but she, clearly amused, deliberately continued without restraint.
In the end, we both laughed—me because I had enjoyed it like a pig and couldn’t understand a thing anymore, her probably because it was amusing to see me like that. And she didn’t spit once. Honestly, one of the best blowjobs I’ve ever received; even if she were attractive, she’d instantly be on my personal podium, and that’s no small thing. While I’m dressing, she insists she wants to be fucked next time. I don’t know if it’s a marketing move or if, honestly, being cuter than her would actually please her, but there won’t be a next time, so I tell her “Ok,” just to make her happy^^.
Then I go downstairs, pay, give her the 200 Baht change, say goodbye, and go rest in preparation for the last night of madness in Bangkok.
In the evening there’s a birthday at the Orange Bar 11/1. I don’t know who the guest of honor is, but it doesn’t matter—it’s a party, and there will be some action. First, though, I planned to try that new Nuru Massage center opened in the same alley as
I chose the Full Service Package, 90 minutes in a room with a shower for 4000 Baht (the room with a jacuzzi costs an extra thousand, but in both cases, two shots are included), and then I picked the girl Mimi, a very cute little gnome who is undoubtedly worth the ticket price. The Nuru is done properly, with all the necessary equipment, including the Nuru stool, and the gel is high quality and well-prepared. Then Mimi proved to be a nimble little eel who knows how to move on the Nuru mat and a little tigress on the bed, so much so that after the first shot, thanks to her oral skills—and after having narrowly avoided going “raw” several times during the Nuru—I didn’t even feel the need to do the Sacra Pecora© test.
When we moved to the bed, I let her take almost full control; she knows how to move and handle the situation from start to finish. Let’s just say I happily let myself be “violated” by her warm and enveloping Asian pussy.
As for the location, it’s a rather sober and new environment but maybe a bit too “serious” for my taste; for what I like, I still prefer the Kokoro, especially since they added anime images on the walls of every room, and as for the girls, it’s hard to find anyone better than Aileen. Even if you average the lineups of both places, I’d say Hakumi loses in comparison, but everyone has their preferences, and this is just my personal opinion on the aesthetic level of the girls. As for service and attitude, I feel they are on par, and Hakumi is a step above Toro. The fact is that the side street of Soi 33, where a year ago there were only 7 Heaven and Princess, now hosts as many as four massage centers and a pink salon, in addition to various establishments at the end of the alley between bars and karaoke, but they are frequented almost exclusively by Japanese.
After the pleasant experience in the Phrom Phong area, I head back to my apartment on Soi 13 to freshen up and change clothes, then I arrive at Orange well after 11 PM. The girls are cheerful and busy here and there with the customers. I chat a bit with my resident friend working there and offer some drinks to the usual troublemakers who come by to greet me. Then I notice Miss Disney standing aside by the door, staring off into nothingness. I call her over and slowly try to break her composure; she’s one of the few who almost never loses her calm—or at least I’ve always seen her as very serene, almost reserved—and that’s why I’ve never paid her much attention. My friend confirms that she usually doesn’t go with clients, except for an Asian who seems to be her “official sponsor.” Yet, as the night goes on and the atmosphere gets livelier with alcohol and noise, it seems to me that there might be some room to maneuver with her—maybe not in the middle of the crowd, maybe without curious eyes watching—and certainly not in a single night. I can’t say for sure, but that was the impression I got. Too bad I have to leave tomorrow; it would have been an interesting challenge, and while she’s not the most beautiful girl around, she’s still very cute and has her own charm.
Anyway, aside from that, there are the usual cheerful little scenes, the rubbing and inevitable groping of random asses and breasts by those buzzing around looking for a drink. The atmosphere is lively, and I enjoy myself, but I already have other plans and want to leave around 1 AM.
Then two girls arrive with another traveler. One of them is clearly his companion, but the other is a wild devil who doesn’t stop dancing for a second, moving that athletic and very tempting body that honestly makes you want to bend her over a stool. Too bad her face doesn’t match her body; she’s not bad, but she’s not exactly beautiful either. Still, she smiles and flirts, clearly looking for company—or even better, clients.
While I watch her, I remember what my friend said: Thai girls basically have two types of faces: “Bigné” and “Calamaro.” It sounds like a joke, but these two are perfect examples of each category. My brain fixates on this silly but accurate observation, and I can’t stop laughing every time I glance at them. Meanwhile, a guy next to us is shamelessly hitting on the Bigné girl the whole time. I watch the scene casually for a while, until he clearly asks her if she wants to go somewhere else. At that moment, I catch her gaze again, and her expression seems to say, “Help me please!” – I can’t fully explain it, but it makes me understand she’d prefer if I were the one to make the offer. I can recognize these situations by now; even freelancers have their preferences and make them clear, if you pay attention.
The girl handles it diplomatically, letting him know “no, thanks.” Soon after, the guy—honestly quite unimpressive—leaves, defeated and disappointed. (He’d probably be better off trying other services where rejection is rare, unlike freelancers in bars who can afford to be selective, unlike massage centers, etc.)
I, on the other hand, have other plans. She intrigues me. I keep watching her from my stool as the Orange girls go back and forth, and she flirts here and there. After a while, she comes closer and continues dancing in front of me. A quick toast, a mischievous glance, another toast. I see her staring into my eyes, expecting something because I’ve shown clear interest even without speaking. I could tell her, “Let’s go somewhere, just you and me,” and I’m 100% sure she’d say yes immediately. But she’s not the one I want, and she’s not the one I want to spend my money on this time (never let anyone think they don’t have to give a tip to these cheerful girls for in-room service, even if sometimes they do it just because they feel like it, and even if they don’t mind doing it with you at that moment. It’s an unwritten rule. Of course, if it happens and she doesn’t say anything because nothing was agreed on beforehand, you can pretend nothing happened. But in certain environments, that’s how it works. Next time, be sure that if you want her again, she’ll ask for the proper compensation before coming with you. Of course, there are exceptions, but we can talk about those another time).). By now that I’m there, I want to confirm my theory before leaving, and it just so happens that one of the group photos of everyone present is about to be taken—and I end up right in the trajectory. So the “Bigné” comes over smiling and climbs onto a stool in front of me on her knees. I move to the next stool, she looks at me, laughs, and strikes a pose looking forward. I lean in and place my lips on her cheek to see what happens. She turns with a look that says, “Yes, you can,” and presses her lips to mine. Our tongues briefly meet, we part, and then, so as not to be watched too closely by the onlookers around us, we quickly compose ourselves. The photos are taken, we get off the stools, she smiles, and I let her pass in front of me, guiding her with a hand on her ass, then pretty much ignore her. It’s almost two in the morning and I have to—or rather, want—to go elsewhere. She and her friend leave shortly after with the companion of the other girl, who honestly is even prettier. After the last tragicomic little scene at the expense of the slightly uninteresting gnome at the Orange, now too drunk (but she’s not the only one, and the atmosphere is that of wild nights where everything and nothing happens), I pay my tab at the cashier and leave as well.
My missed opportunity from two days earlier is in another Orange bar. It’s my last night in Bangkok, and while I wouldn’t mind locking myself in my apartment with her until the next day, I still want to celebrate a bit more in the company of her colleague, who isn’t a great beauty but is cute, fun, and has two soft stress-cushions I could never stop holding. At the bar, there are still a couple of patrons and two other colleagues. The chosen girl is working the cash register, and one of her friends makes a point of saying that she had been waiting for me, but I hadn’t shown up. I play along to give them some satisfaction.
The girl with the soft cushions is sitting on a stool, goofing around alone in a hoodie like she has on other times, but underneath the hoodie there are no obstacles—another detail that makes her interesting entertainment. I offer her a drink, and she keeps me company in various ways. The other girl plants a quick kiss on my lips as soon as I approach; she definitely knows how to keep an interested client happy, she’s clever, it shows immediately just by looking into her eyes—another reason I like her more than I probably should. She’s average-looking, not exactly a GoGo-level knockout, and in pure aesthetics doesn’t compare with most of the girls I’ve met at massage parlors and such.
Yet she inspires me, and she’s vaguely stayed in my mind since the first time I saw her there over a year ago, in the company of another colleague with whom I had spent the night. I had also seen her there in December, but at the time I was more interested in others, including another of her colleagues in those few days. She always gave me the impression of being too serious to be fun—and by fun I mean both for partying and everything else, of course. But this time I ended up spending the whole night right there, and I realized I had been completely wrong. Better late than never, I’d say, though perhaps it would have been better if it had happened twenty days earlier—I would have had more time to enjoy her. But, as always, in certain cases you take what comes…
Meanwhile, another patron arrives, grabs a beer, and sits with the girls who aren’t serving me. Then both he and the others leave, leaving me alone with the playful girls and the bar’s all-purpose worker, who mostly wanders around minding her own business. We spend the night drinking and watching Thai cartoons on TV, and with no other customers around and most of the street’s bars practically closed, they let loose and act more freely than usual.
I invite my chosen girl to come over to the right side of the counter, and while the others gossip among themselves, we move to a spot with no cameras and get a little intimate. I can’t resist her marble-like little breasts—small, natural, but irresistible. She puts a hand on my crotch and her tongue in my mouth without hesitation. I unbutton my pants, and she takes me in hand directly because, by coincidence, I’m not wearing anything underneath. I slip my hand into her panties and can’t wait to get between her thighs; if I don’t hold back, I risk exploding right there while she’s already driving me crazy, but that wouldn’t be dignified.
With all the desire I feel at that moment, I say, “I want you here and now…” She responds, “In the morning, not now.” Unfortunately, she handles the accounts for everyone and manages the bar a bit, so technically she has to stay there until morning—but honestly, I’m fine with that. We straighten ourselves up, and I let her return to her work at the computer behind the counter. Meanwhile, I go back to my spot and keep “Gus” (this is her name)seated on my lap on the stool while my hands play inside her sweatshirt, feeling those soft stress-cushion breasts discreetly.
I don’t know how she can wear such a wintery, fur-lined sweatshirt—it must be cold for her—but she’s sensitive to the cold. And even though she isn’t the most beautiful of the bunch, she doesn’t mind a little attention and earning some drinks. At one point, her older colleague invites her to order another drink, and to my surprise, she tells her not to bother. I give her a kiss on the cheek because I like her reaction; she smiles, amused, and poses to get a few more. She’s definitely the most playful of the lot, at times almost like a kitten to cuddle. I don’t mind at all, and as far as I can tell, she doesn’t find me unpleasant either—in fact, she probably feels in friendly competition with the main girl for a good client. But that’s just my impression, and even though I consider myself quite “experienced” in these matters, I could be wrong.
Time passes playfully and sneakily, and even “Gus” decides to give my regal member a little massage while I’m fondling her soft stress-cushion breasts. Given the situation, in an instant, it’s ready to explode again. She giggles, amused, looks at me, and continues. We’re tucked away in a corner behind the counter, and thanks to her oversized sweatshirt, no one can clearly see what’s happening, even though it’s obvious. Meanwhile, we watch cartoons on TV… One of the funniest situations I’ve ever experienced, though by now, almost nothing surprises me anymore.
At some point, someone mentions food. I’m actually a bit hungry, so together with the sweatshirt-wearing girl, I start picking items from the menu of the restaurant that supplies the bar. I order some tasty treats and let the girls take whatever they want—of course, I’m paying. After all, it’s the last night, and I don’t care about a few extra thousand Baht; I want to take this memory with me in the best way possible, and a little less money in my pocket won’t ruin that joy.
Then, almost like magic, a girl arrives on foot from Soi 7/1 carrying a tray, followed closely by a young man with another tray—a mountain of food that takes up the entire bar counter. We eat, we drink—crab, oysters, a little soup, fried rice with fish, spicy chicken, and other delicious Thai “treats.” My hunger is satisfied, but the other, bigger desire is still very much alive.
The hour is late—so late that it’s almost early. The first light of morning begins to peek between the buildings. Then it’s time. I settle the bill for this slightly crazy, undeniably enjoyable part of the night. The girls scatter, I say goodbye to the cold-sensitive one as she leaves, and I wait for my chosen girl to finish her shift so her colleague can take over…
In the end, I got what I wanted, but it was already almost over. Keeping her with me until departure would have been a mistake, a big one. I like her a bit too much—not for her looks or any acrobatic skills in bed, but for that hard-to-explain yet easy-to-recognize feeling for those who know her. It’s simple to feel good with her, a kind of latent affinity between two lost souls who, like cats, try to enjoy the good things as much as possible without getting too attached, because the world is too big to fixate on a single detail for too long.
Anyway, it was beautiful, and that’s fine. She knows I have to leave, offers to stay and accompany me to the airport later, but I thank her for the “take care” and, knowing it would only complicate things, reluctantly let her go sleep elsewhere—the lesser of two evils, as they say. I rest for a couple of hours, eyes closed in my bed with her scent on the sheets, then use the remaining few hours to clear my head, heading out under a torrential downpour to my beloved go-to spot, 7 Heaven. There, I choose to be consoled by the girl YU, who isn’t on my “top list,” but proves so skilled that she wipes away every negative thought in that last intoxicating explosion between her soft lips.
Finally, I stop to eat my last Pad Thai at Krua Khun Puk, on the corner of Soi 11/1. I could also swing by the Orange Bar next door to say goodbye, but time is short, and I don’t want to fuel the wave of nostalgia that’s about to hit me. So I return to my apartment, and after a hot shower, I gather my things while taking one last farewell of the place that, for a month, had felt like a second home—with all the perks of being in Bangkok(I’ll go into more detail in a dedicated article, but for anyone looking for something similar, I recommend using Airbnb , which works really well)). While replying to messages from my last bedmate, who had already returned to work and was complaining about being sleepy, I got ready to leave the city at a leisurely pace. Despite having a four-hour buffer, I still risked missing my flight because, between the downpour and some accidents along the way, my Bolt taxi took over an hour and fifteen minutes just to loop around the block, almost reaching the end of Soi 15.
I began to doubt I would make it to the airport on time. Doing a quick calculation, and seeing that although the rain had stopped, the traffic wasn’t moving and the estimated time on the GPS kept increasing, I told the driver I would pay him regardless but would continue on foot. He happily accepted, helped me lift my luggage, and I ran toward the Asok BTS station, weaving through pedestrians and racing up the stairs like a madman with my backpack on one shoulder and another small bag in my hand (don’t say I’m not athletic, even approaching half a century of life^^).
From there, I made it quickly to Phaya Thai station and boarded the Airport Rail Link to the airport, stashing my bags in a locker. Finally, I collapsed, exhausted, into a corner surrounded by a dozen veiled muslim sciatthai girls who chattered endlessly among themselves. There was nothing left to do except hope that no further mishaps would come my way.
I arrived at Suvarnabhumi at 21:40. Boarding for my flight was scheduled to close at 22:40, with departure at 23:00. The elevator crawled like a Trenitalia regional train and stubbornly refused to take me to the lowest level. I climbed the airport floors like a salmon swimming upstream on the escalators and went to check in my luggage. Even though my backpack-suitcase would normally qualify as carry-on, this time I had two bags, so I had to check one.
It was 22:50. A family stood in front of me, and five minutes later it was my turn. I asked the staff member if there was any chance of reaching the gate on time, knowing I was already cutting it close—the flight was departing from a satellite gate, the farthest one, and I still had all the security checks ahead of me. Calmly, she checked her terminal and told me that the flight had been delayed by forty minutes.
Incredulous, I let out a relieved sigh, finished the check-in, and headed up the stairs toward security. I opened the Lufthansa app and saw that she had been right; in my rush to the airport, I hadn’t even noticed the alert messages. I felt a little foolish, but relieved nonetheless.
Strangely, the security checks took less than fifteen minutes, and I reached my gate with time to spare. I even had a moment to grab some fries at Burger King and use the restroom at leisure before finally boarding.
I was a wreck—very little sleep and not a single ounce of energy spared from the day before. The good news was that I was too focused on the discomfort to feel melancholy. In fact, during the flight I managed to sleep for about five hours from sheer exhaustion, right after dinner, despite being surrounded by the entire French women’s volleyball team, “Les Bleues.” Though defeated, they didn’t miss a chance to cheer themselves up, chatting animatedly and stretching right in front of me where the emergency exit was—usually my spot to stretch my legs and get comfortable. At least it gave me an amusing story to tell later.
The downside was that my other eye, probably stressed and fatigued, had started to redden and swell just like the one that had recently healed. Luckily, I had the right eye drops on hand, which helped limit the discomfort. I arrived in Munich with a mild sore throat and one bloodshot eye, but I laughed it off, though by then I couldn’t wait to get home.
The layover was short: about thirty minutes spent between the smoking lounge and the restroom to rinse my face. An hour later, after flying over the Alps, I landed in Tuscany—less than half an hour from home.
And so this adventure comes to an end, with its ups and downs, moments of pure relaxation, and the joy of enjoying my beloved “Sciatthai,” immersed in the energy of the Land of Smiles as much as possible.
Now I’m writing from my usual Redactor’s desk, after letting a few days pass: in the meantime, my sore throat has worsened, and between work and other commitments, I hadn’t found the time to organize my thoughts and put these lines on paper. In the next few days, however, I will start reviewing my notes to write the review sheets for the missing venues and update those of the places that have evolved since my last visit.
I apologize for being long-winded in recounting these last three days, but the “Thailandite” is making itself felt… and I have to find a way to fight it, right? ^^
Here I bid you farewell and wish you a safe journey wherever you decide to go.
Until next time dear fellow Travelers!
