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BiggusDikkus

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BiggusDikkus last won the day on May 18 2019

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  1. No problem whatsoever, at least with the hotel staff, who will ignore you. There is, however, a long walk to the elevator bank, and there will be other guests' eyes on you and your new friend. There is also the matter of the W being ultra hip. Everyone dresses like they are fashion models. Most guys you meet on Soi 2 or 4 or even on Patpong will not look out of place — they also seem to be stepping out of fashion magazines when they change into their street clothes — but on one long walk to the elevators with several pairs of eyes on me and a Thai friend I had known for years made me wish I had dressed as well as everyone else. Also, if you are with someone from the Patpong area who is new to the scene, he might be overwhelmed by the luxe ambience of the W's lobby. That's quickly forgotten, however, once you get upstairs. One final note, the W attracts a lot of gay guests, and I always find that comforting. Have fun, you'll love it there!
  2. Thank you so much for that natural high. You just sent a rush of endorphins up my spine, into my shoulders and down my triceps. They've never reached so far before. They usually stop at the base of my neck, at that ridge really good masseurs know how to hit and how to keep coming back to. I read a lot of gay romance novels and while doing so often imagine myself authoring one. I do have some material to work with, as you might imagine. Shall I start with the latest? I'm in Pattaya, by the way. I think I've bitched and moaned on this site about how much I hate Pattaya (except during Songkran). I think I've reminded everybody how filthy Pattaya is, how it's a constant death match between all the diesel exhaust-spewing tourist buses and my lungs, and how its heyday was sometime when I was partying in DJ Station like it was (actually) 1999. So why did I come back? Because I'm a bit of an addict and can't stand the the thought that while I'm in Bangkok the twink of my dreams — he's super thin, barely 20, maybe a bit effeminate but with ridged abs that don't give way when you rap your knuckles against them — might be be an hour and a half away in Chonburi, half naked, on a stage flashing intoxicating smiles at some other old dude. And besides, Bangkok has become too expensive, and something happened to DJ Station around 2008: Cute young Thais stopped going there on weeknights, like they're actually taking their futures more seriously. So knowing there is little excitement in Bangkok until Friday, I have taken a Bolt taxi to Pattaya (thanks much for the tip about this new app, everyone). Cut to the chase (a full trip report that starts on Friday, Nov. 25, will get it's own thread. Hopefully I can upload some videos of that night). It's now Tuesday night, two nights after I made a go-go bar crawl through Boyz Town only to find … well I felt like I was walking through a dystopian version of Boyz Town. Tonight, Tuesday, is also one night after I headed to Jomtien, ran into an old friend and became dizzy with the reactor's worth of energy and good vibes that the Super Complex now generates. Jomtien has much more on-the-street excitement than Boyz Town ever did. OK, back from that tangent, tonight's also the night before I head back to Bangkok. I'm expecting to bar hop. A shot of tequila here, a shot of tequila down the soi, a shot of tequila around the corner and down the way from the sad, boarded up Penthouse Hotel. I start in the go-go bar on the same soi as Boyz Boyz Boyz, the first one on the left as you enter the soi from Second Road. I had actually poked my head in this bar on Sunday night. No customers in the seats and no one resembling a twink on stage. Pass. But this night, my last in Pattaya, isn't going to be about shopping for nonexistent twinks. It's about killing some time, going into a few bars, ordering a drink at each, having one of the guys on stage sit with me and forcing him to have a Google Translate conversation with me by buying him a drink. So I take my seat and … that twink who doesn't exist is staring at me. This is when I usually freeze up. But before I left my hotel I promised myself to channel my inner-Eddie. Eddie used to live in Tokyo, too. We kind of knew each other. We also ran into each other in Pattaya and Jomtien on a couple consecutive New Year's vacations. He was in his 60s at the time and had no compunction against approaching anyone who caught his eye. One day on Jomtien he walked up to one of the most darling teenagers you could possibly imagine. Eddie called him “Chicken Boy” because he was going up and down the beach selling chicken. With his mother. Eddie disregarded the parental presence, walked up the the kid (I'm sure he was of legal age) and gave Chicken Boy his deets. The next day on the beach the kid came by with his chicken and mother and couldn't stop smiling at Eddie. “Yeh,” Eddie explained, “he called my hotel. I had the receptionist translate. We arranged for him to come to my room this morning. He has a beautiful cut cock. I couldn't help wrapping my lips around it. He came in my mouth in a few seconds. He had never had sex before. Then he came in my mouth again a couple minutes later.” This memory going though my head, I immediately ask the twink who really, really does exist to come sit with me. I pay him a bribe of vodka and Coke, and we chat via Google Translate. Me: What's your name? Me: Nodding my head as though I understand what he says. Me: Where are you from? Barely legal boy with the great smile: Cambodia. Me: How long have you been in Thailand? Barely legal boy with the great smile: Two weeks. By this point both of us have an arm wrapped around the other, and barely legal boy gives a genuine impression that he's enjoying himself. I'm loving it. He has a perfectly chiseled body. Hard lats forming a V from his shoulders to his waist and rock-hard muscles running down either side of his spine. He uses his hand to encourage my hand to further explore his supple skin. It is at his point I feel the need to ask a stupid question: Me: Are you gay? OH MY FUCKING GOD! I CAN'T BELIVE I JUST ASKED THAT! He's so obviously gay! Barely legal boy with the great smile: No. What the fuck? He's not gay but he's physically encouraging me to caress his Adonis-like body? I'm still really happy to be with Barely Legal Boy, though I know nothing can happen between us. I'm a top, and gay-for-pay guys are never bottoms, right? I guess my original plan of quickly hopping from one bar to another is back on. But I still haven't finished my tequila, and and Barely Legal Boy has barely touched his cocktail. So I'm gonna stay right here with my right arm wrapped around a young man who's being extraordinarily kind to me. So … how do I keep the conversation going and my disappointment from showing? Is there a small-talk question I haven't gotten out of the way yet? Well, yeh, the obvious one. Me: How old are you? Barely legal boy with the great smile: 25. Me: I was gonna guess 17. Barely Legal Boy: (Smiles) Thank you, but it's true. You can ask my brother. He's right there. (Points to my left). I turn and look and my eyes can't believe it. There's an even younger man with a family resemblance but even better looking than Barely Legal Boy. Oh, and he also has a smile that makes me melt. Me: (How come two nights ago I thought Heaven was a dystopia?) Does your brother also drink vodka and Cokes? Barely legal boy obviously in cahoots with his younger brother: He does if I tell him to. Shall we call him over? Me: (Adjusting my crotch in the mistaken belief that I can hide my tremendous hard-on; fail miserably). Um, OK. Me: Your brother says he's 25. You look like you're 16. Brother who speaks good English and can converse without the help of a smartphone: No, he's 28, and I'm 26. Do you want to see my passport? Me: No, if you say your passport says you're 26, I believe you. Younger, cuter brother: I have a picture of my passport on my smartphone. Look. I look. Birth year listed as 1996. So what am I going to believe? his government-issued ID or my judgment based on the lack of lines anywhere on his face? I drop the subject as the brothers converse in Khmer. More drinking ensues. It turns out that the 26-year-old — the younger brother — is gay, has been in Pattaya for a year and recently recruited his straight brother. Yeh, I needed several seconds to allow this to compute, too. Now both of my arms arms are full. I never did make it to another Boyz Town bar. The younger brother agreed to return to my hotel with me if I take his older brother home tomorrow night. It's at this point in our bargaining session that I remember this thread — right here on this forum — and my pre-vacation promise to myself to ask a particular question. So I turn to the straight brother and ask: Are you a good kisser? He instantly smiles and pulls my head to his. He's gotten something to prove and doesn't care if his brother and coworkers are spectating. Yep, I'm convinced and try to pull away three times but Older Brother doesn't let me. Actually, maybe that endorphin rush was the result of the night I just had. Oh, and I'm also staying in Pattaya one more night.
  3. The immigration and customs officials are ready for the masses. I deplaned around 4pm on Thursday. While the airport wasn't nearly as busy as it had been in 2019 — while there weren't patterns of planes unloading passengers in the middle of the tarmac away from the terminals and then herding them onto buses — once inside, the arrivals areas were buzzing. After having seen an insane picture of the huge lines at customs earlier this month, I decided to book a Fast Track reservation through www.limousine.in.th so I could bypass any mess that might await me. As it turned out, I did not need this service as lines behind the plentiful customs desks were only three or so deep. What's more, the guide who was waiting for me as soon as I stepped foot into the airport, guided me past the first customs area to a second, which not only wasted several minutes but forced me to walk back almost the entire length of the baggage claim area once I zipped through customs. The customs and immigration procedures have been streamlined since 2019, and there is no need to even fill out customs and immigration forms during your flight. Customs only wants to see your passport. They will also record all 10 of your fingerprints and take a photo. I really hate this collecting and filing away of my biometric data for no reason other than I fly internationally. Anyway, if I saved anytime at all by going Fast Track, it was five minutes tops. So you might not need this service. And even if you do need the service to avoid long lines, its value is further diminished by the very long time it takes a plane's baggage to arrive at the designated carousel. By the time that happened, every singly passenger on my flight was already around the carousel. Not one bag made a second trip around, all being claimed on their first go-round. I regretted my purchase of this Fast Track insurance policy, especially as my suitcase was in the final batch. I didn't save anytime at all. In the future I will only book this service if I know my suitcase is going to receive a PRIORITY tag. Next up was immigration. Like I said, there is no form to fill out, you either walk through a green “nothing to declare” passage way or a red lane. In the green lane, passengers are randomly picked out and their bags given secondary scans. On this day, the randoms were all young women carrying large black bags of some kind. My second mission was to head to the basement floor to exchange some currency near the train entrance so I would have some spending money once I got to Silom. Super Rich has moved. It is now down a pretty good distance from the train's entrance, on the right side, along with Happy Rich and Kasikornbank. Super Rich also does not have the best exchange rates anymore. Today, Happy Rich and Kasikorn were offering 3,555 baht per $100 bill. Super Rich was offering B5 less, and the lines were equally short at each place. (I did check a small, unbranded forex booth on Surawong once I got into town, and it was offering B3,500 baht per $100. It was night, and the big forex shops were closed so maybe there will be better rates on Friday.) Now for my final mission at Swampy: leaving the place. I went back up a level, and the queues for the taxi were horrendous. I took a walk to the left as instructed by another poster on another thread to look for a second taxi stand with no lines, but there was none on this day. So I pulled out my phone and hailed a Grab SUV to my hotel for about B650, not bad! Grab drivers meet you on the second level (I thought the meeting place was the fourth level, so I had to hurry down two escalators, and look for my driver). The meeting place is also along the outer lanes, so you gotta cross those first lanes of traffic. They will tell you were to meet, like “Outside Exit 7.” Initially we couldn't find each other, so my driver called me and then we both started waving our hands high in the air so we could find each other. Had I been looking rather than waiting, it would have been easy to spot the SUV and license plate number. This Grab taxi option was extremely easy and receives the Biggus Diccus seal of approval. Download Grab, folks; it'll save you time. Now onto another matter I want to put out there. Tomorrow I'm meeting a friend of a friend to give him some cash as he's still in a tough spot. He was the best friend of Dave, who died during the pandemic. I don't owe anything to this guy, now into his 30s, but thought I would be doing right by Dave by helping out his best friend. The three of us did share some magical New Year's and Songkrans. I did try to transfer some money to him during the worst of the pandemic but instead TransferWise stole $500 from me. I'm still furious about that. After that experience I started saying no to requests for wiring more cash to Thailand. But now that I'm in his country I have no problem handing him what I would have given him had TransferWise not stolen it. Before I told him how much I was going to give him, he was sending me texts about how expensive it would for him be to fly down from his home in Chiang Mai and pay for a hotel. After I told him how much I was going to give him and he would be better off using a bus or train and staying with friends, he decided he'd hang around Bangkok for the weekend because he hasn't visited the city in a long while. He's gonna have hundreds of dollars so why not enjoy it? The problem is I know he's going to ask me to let him stay with me in my hotel, and to stay with me for my entire trip. He broached that subject once months ago and I brushed it off, giving him an indirect “no” that people in may Asian cultures are often adept at intuiting. Since last week, though, he has been texting me on Line, “How are you?” I reply, “I'm fine how are you?” He replies that he's fine too and I end the conversation by saying, “Well, I'll see you on Friday to give you that gift.” But that hasn't stopped him from texting me every couple days, “How are you?” I'm still fine, I say, just like two days ago when you last asked. See you sometime Friday. So tomorrow when he asks to join me for the rest of my vacation I'm ready with my answer: “This is why I've been ghosting you on Line. I knew you were going to ask that even though we both know what the answer is going to be, even though you know I will not change my mind no matter what you say, so let's pretend you didn't just ask that.” I'll pause for a couple beats, then change the topic of the conversation: “So how do you plan to spend your money?” Anyway, the thought of this possible confrontation — something that should be a happy occasion and reunion of sorts after three years — is keeping me from sleeping tonight. Good night, everyone.
  4. I've also been asked to put on kissing exhibitions in go-go bars, but neither occasion was as memorable as the one described above, though there was some hooting when we came up for air. The hoots plastered a big smile on my partner's face. I thought it was kind of fun.
  5. Yeh, I regret posting this. I had no right to cause paranoia. But to answer your question, it was sometime around 2019, at least from what I remember. Thailand felt it was being particularly hard hit because of its migrant labor situation.
  6. Oh, wow! Thank you. That certainly takes away a lot of stress.
  7. I'm getting ready for a flight tomorrow and just realized I have no idea what Thailand's arrival procedures are. I know that the government has fully opened the country to vaccinated tourists, but how do I prove I'm up to date with my jabs? Do I just bring my coupons along and show them to someone at the airport? Thanks for any help you might be able to give.
  8. OK, I'm convinced. But the last time I tried to download Insta, it went into my contacts list and notified everyone there that I now (then) had an account. Does anyone know if this is still the case?
  9. What a great suggestion! I'm definitely going to put this to use.
  10. I thought the clubs that stay open after closing time are allowed to do so because they pay off the police? Also, does anyone know what happened to that lawmaker's proposal to move closing time to 4am in certain nightlife districts?
  11. I hope your lungs turn out to be healthy; there was a tuberculosis scare in Pattaya before the pandemic, so it's a good thing you're having things looked at by a doctor.
  12. I don't know if anyone is taking anything too personally, but I can share a story that might show it works both ways. I once took a guy back to my hotel and was not very turned on by him. I lost my hard-on. It was embarrassing to me and I'm sure very insulting to him, but he still wanted some action and so pulled out his phone and started sharing some videos with me to help get me hard again. It was awkward but I thought since young people have grown up with smartphones and have lived their lives through their smartphones, maybe this is how many of them have sex. So we watched porn together while he caressed my cock until it stood erect again. He could have shown his disappointment when I lost my hard-on but instead came up with a solution, however awkward for me it may have been. And when I allowed myself to accept the situation, watching videos on his phone turned out to be a solution to better sex.
  13. It depends on whether you want an audience, which will definitely be riveted to your impromptu boylesque show. Allow me to reminisce. It was about 20 years ago, on a Monday night in DJ Station, and unlike any other night of the week, you could actually make your way through the entire club without having to push, squeeze or be turned into a turnstile. It was a thin crowd for DJ Station, and I remember wondering if I had made a mistake in going there. But right after I ordered a shot of tequila, I saw a cute 20-something coming down the stairs with a gaggle of friends. We locked eyes and flashed smiles. He came to me. We talked. We kind of shifted our bodies as though we were actually into the music we were trying to talk over. I quickly grew tired of shouting, figured we were both in DJ Station looking for exactly the same thing so invited him back to my hotel. He feigned a look of shock. I bought it. "I guess he doesn't want to leave his friends this early in the night," I thought, believing I had overplayed my hand. After a couple of beats, he replied with something that took me several seconds to understand: "I don't even know if you're a good kisser yet," he said, batting his eyelashes. As his friends and the rest of the club looked on, I wrapped my fingers around his head, gently rested my thumbs on his pretty cheeks, pulled his lips to mine and sent my tongue on a mission to win over his. I didn't give him time to catch his breath and he didn't seem to need any because his own tongue was answering every wick of my own. I can't tell you how long that kiss lasted. Thirty seconds? Five minutes? An entire DJ set? But when we drifted back to reality his friends were gone and I had passed his test. As you might imagine, back at my hotel he turned out to be a bossy bottom. But before we even got to intercourse, before we even got into the shower, he unzipped my pants and began worshiping my cock with his extraordinarily talented mouth. He brought me to the verge of climax several times before somehow divining how close to erupting I was and deciding to retest my kissing skills, my salty pre-cum residue on his tongue. The next time he made his way back to my raging hard-on, he didn't stop. I whispered, "If you don't stop that, I'm gonna cum in your mouth." He paused, looked concerned and again skipped a couple beats while measuring his rely: "Can you cum twice?" "Sure," I answered. "But it'll take a half hour or so -- or about the same time it'll take me to lick my cum off your tongue, then for both of us to shower." He gave me the cutest smile before going back to work, only wrapping his lips around my mushroom head and not much further down, lathering the most sensitive part of my cock with his saliva and sending endorphins throughout my body like I had just done a line of the most potent recreational drug known to mankind. I didn't last much longer, and when I began ejaculating, he began moaning louder than me, deep-throating every one of my 16 centimeters he had brought to throbbing anticipation. When we got out of the shower, that first ejaculation out of the way, our romp in the bed lasted two hours. He came three times before I came that promised second time in one of the most epic nights of sex in my life. So, um, yeh, the kissing test in public places works. In fact, if I'm ever asked in any bar to take someone back to my hotel, I might have to give the same reply. "But I don't even know if you are a good kisser yet."
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