Mongering after the Apocalypse – Part 1

I first noticed the spinner sitting at the corner table in Hungry Hippo’s small outdoor patio. I was going to order their Tuesday Special meatloaf dinner for takeout.

My plan was to return to my studio on Buakhao Road, and drink two beers while eating dinner and surfing my internet – my usual lockdown routine the past few months.

As soon as I saw her, I played it cool, and oh-so-casually sat at the table next to hers without looking at her. I knew from painful past experience that if I made one creepy move, it was all over.

Being an old, wrinkly-faced and reclusive sexpat with no “game” whatsoever, I had to be careful not to move too fast or act crudely, as I usually do with females.

She was plain looking, but her small skinny body excited me.  

She was drinking a glass of red wine. Odd for a Thai chick. Even more odd was her sitting alone at a cheap farang eatery.

Then I got an unexpected gift.

She stood up next to me and called for the waitress. Her seat cushion was apparently wet. So I got a good look at her body, clad in jeans shorts and sleeveless shirt.

She was very short. Her body wasn’t really curvy, more sticklike. She appeared to be in her late 20s.

The waitress just flipped the seat cushion, and the spinner sat back down. I pondered whether I should make a joking remark about the wet seat, but decided to keep silent.

It was to my advantage that Hungry Hippo takes a while to prepare your food. No need to rush, or act desperately.

She was so absorbed in her phone, I decided to risk taking her photo. I knew if she caught me, the game was over. There’s nothing more creepy for a chick than to notice a pervert secretly taking her photo, eh?

I oh-so-casually took out my phone and pretended to scroll idly, while getting off a couple quick shots. I exulted in secret glee at my successful mission.

Now, no matter what happened, I had a photographic record. Otherwise, what she looked like would rapidly fade from my aging and declining visual memory.

I waited a while more before finally making my move. I casually asked how her red wine tasted.

She replied it was OK, and then explained that she drinks red wine because she doesn’t like beer.

From there, the conversation proceeded smoothly. So far so good. She didn’t seem bothered by an old farang striking up a conversation. This was Pattaya, after all.

Some hotties rightly get annoyed by undesirable strangers hitting on them in public. Their icy rejection has often left me feeling humiliated and ashamed – especially when nearby onlookers are watching.

I found out the spinner was from Bangkok. She had been here for a week visiting a friend. She was unsure about staying another week, admitting she preferred Bangkok over Pattaya.

There were long periods of comfy silence between conversation, as we waited for our food. Like a usual Thai, most of the time she was engaged to her phone.

All the while, I was trying to figure out if she a hooker or not. I decided not to ask what kind of work she did in Bangkok, in case it led to an awkward answer.

Her food arrived first, an Indian curry dish. The spinner also ordered another glass of red wine.

I had tried Hungry Hippo’s curry before, and didn’t really care for it. I watched her take a few bites, and then stop eating to light a cigarette.

I saw her smile and wave vigorously to someone across the street. I looked out and didn’t see anyone. The only people she could have waved to were inside the tattoo shop across the street.

Eh? Was she a friend of the Tattoo artist? Maybe he was already fucking her. I looked at the tattoo on her arm.

“Nice tattoo you have,” I said.

“Thank you,” she replied. “I just got this one yesterday.” She lifted her left arm slightly to show me.

I leaned over to look at it. It was slightly reddish, like it was very recent. “Yeah, looks cool,” I said. “Where did you get that tattoo? From across the street?”

“Yes,” she said with a laugh.

Aha!

She then told me she never got any tattoos until she came to Pattaya. Seemingly on a whim, she got a small one on her upper chest a few days ago. It was an English phrase in small lettering. I don’t recall what it said.

She was so pleased with her first tattoo, she then got another one on her right arm. And then the following day, the latest one on her left arm.

She turned slightly toward me to show me her right arm tattoo. I deliberately reached my arm out to grasp her right arm lightly, on the pretext of closely examining the tattoo.

“Wow, nice tattoo,” I said.

I also noted that she didn’t flinch at all when I touched her. Excellent!

When the opportunity presents itself to touch a strange chick in a seemingly friendly way, her reaction is an indicator how likely you are to score.

So far so good. All I needed was the final step of the pickup: asking for her contact info.

My food finally arrived in a Styrofoam box inside a plastic bag.

After paying the waitress, I then asked the spinner oh-so-casually, “Say, would you like to meet sometime later? Maybe have a drink?”

She nodded her head eagerly and smiled. “Okay.”

Wow! I actually picked up a strange chick with my smooth “game!”

Unbelievable! Not bad, grandpa. Only in Pattaya!

Back in my homeland of Hawaii, I would be reviled as a disgusting filthy old man — for even speaking to a female nearly 40 years younger.

Thankfully, my hands didn’t shake in nervousness as I calmly opened up my LINE app on my phone, and handed it to her. She tapped in her ID.

She gave my phone back to me, and I looked at her LINE profile. Her username was “Little Duck.” I also noted the cute slogan under her name.

In her profile photo, she was in a bubble bathtub, her hair braided in pigtails. Soapsuds were covering her chest. The photo was more playful than erotic.  What mainly stood out was the goofy smile on her plain face.

I asked her with a laugh, “Your name is ‘Little Duck?’”

She laughed and pursed her lips with her fingers. “Yes, because I like to talk talk talk.”

“So what’s your Thai name – your nickname?” I asked.

“Feng,” she replied.

“What? Feng? How do you spell that?” I asked.

“G-E-N-G.”

Oh, “Geng!” I said.

Yeah, it always helps me to correctly pronounce a Thai name, once I know how it’s spelled.

I got up to leave.

I hesitated for a minute, unsure whether to pull off the ultimate smooth move – and pay for her dinner. But I was afraid it might end up being awkward, with calling the waitress over, etc.

I also was unsure what her reaction would be. She might even take offense, at my implying she’s the kind of woman who readily accepts money from strangers. Better to just play it safe.

“Well I’ll see you later. Good bye.” I said.

She smiled and waved bye.

As I was bicycling along Buakhao Road to my R-Con Residence studio only 5 minutes away, I started second-guessing myself in regret.

I should have at least given her 300 baht to pay for her wine. That would have cemented the likelihood of us meeting again.

Too late now.

Because of my agitation, I had lost my appetite back in my studio. I had to force myself to eat about half of the meatloaf, as I worried about my next move. My mental habit of negative projection of the future had emerged.

My peaceful monger existence was disturbed.

How much easier to just pay a masseuse at soi Honey to fuck. No complications or terrible surprises or dashed expectations.

This kind of pickup “game” is not easy for a warped loner me.

Oh well, tomorrow is another day.

To be continued