Originally published via Armageddon Safari:
(“Soi” being the local term for “alley,” which in reality is more like a side street off a bigger avenue with shops and things. The majority of seedy and/or gray market activity — the fun stuff — goes down in sois. At any rate, “soi” sounds way filthier and more fun than “alley.”)
True story:
The young massage lady who earns money on the side jacking people off told me recently that she thought I was a great person — specifically, that I had a jai dee (“good heart”) — because, despite her asking literally twenty times, I refused in all instances to allow her to jack me off for extra money when I had contracted her services merely for a massage, because my neck is fucked up.
As I explained to her, I am married, and thus am obliged by my contractual and moral obligations to not get jacked off by strange women, for money or for free.
After initially retorting with “mai pen rei,” by which she meant that it didn’t matter that I had a wife and that she should go ahead and jack me off anyway, once she realized it wasn’t happening, she told me she thought that was great and I had a jai dee.
Then, I tipped her above standard tipping rates because she had a compelling story about being from a poor village in Laos and needing money — some variation of “the family water buffalo that we need to harvest rice is sick and we need a new one” that I don’t remember the details of in this instance.
Usually, I opt for the massage grandmas who generally are more devoted to their craft, purer of heart, and less insistent that you let them jack you off.
But, sometimes, it’s the house grandma’s day off, and there are none to be found. Or, as sometimes is the case, a grandma out of left field will up and pop the question unexpectedly.
One in recent memory proposed an “erotic massage” translated from Thai via Google Translate, which I assumed is just a fancy and more expensive way of saying “jack-off” while saving face.
Asians love saving face.
The only venue one could ever totally let their guard down, where one could sure one would not be at risk of being propositioned for a handjob, would be one of the temples that offer traditional massages.
Some things are still sacrosanct.
In all cases, they wait until they have you on the table in a vulnerable position, a captive audience to start talking business. The jack-off is never mentioned upfront. It’s only on the table or the floor mattress that the hard-selling starts.
In the absence of a grandma to pick, one is forced to resort to the younger ones, who can be real cock-hounds. One can hardly blame them, as they are trying to scrape what they can out of the mud. It’s a jungle out there, and a lot of them send money they make back to their families in Isaan (the poor rice-growing region of Thailand) or Laos,
The conversations go like this, either in broken English or broken Thai, depending:
Masseuse: “You want?” while pointing to the cock. Or, if they don’t speak English, like this Laos girl yesterday, “ao mai?” (The only English words she knew were numbers and “típ,” on account of haranguing farang customers for tips.)
Me: “No, thank you.” Or, “mai ow, khrup.”
Masseuse: You so handsome.
Me: Thank you.
Masseuse: You want?
Me: Mai dai, khrup. (I can’t, thanks.)
Masseuse: But the water buffalo is sick.
