I saw my first and only strip show in Bangkok.
On an office conference. From Femina. All those years ago.
Loss of innocence happened.
The lanes of Patpong were everything I'd heard they would be. There were endless rows of clubs, with men and women standing outside and enticing passers-by. Shocking passers-by in my case.
Men came up and asked, "Want boy? Very nice," with accompanying hand gestures. As I gawked at them, trying to form a sentence that would appropriately explain that while I was at the most popular sex street in the world, I was not looking for anything, my friend pulled me away with a 'no no, not interested'.
"Why are you having a conversation with them?" G was laughing.
"I was not! I was attempting to decline." I said, completely distracted by everything. There were peddlers selling sex toys and I could hardly believe some of the shapes and sizes of the various things on display. There was music blaring out of every other club and --
"Okay, can everybody else see a naked woman in a glass cage?" I stared as she shimmied up and down the sides and smiled seductively at us. I couldn't help it. I laughed. And it wasn't a flustered 'Oh my, there's a naked woman in a glass cage' laugh. It was a 'Um, lady, knock, knock, you know that we can see you, right?' laugh. It was a 'Sweetie, don't look now, but you're in a glass cage' laugh. She wasn't amused.
We were finally there. The club was named after a woman's body part that had nothing to do with a cute feline animal also of the same name. There were 15 of us, including U, who was heavily pregnant. With twins. The guys haggled with the staff for seating, rates, etc, and we took our seats in front of a poorly-lit square stage. I looked around our little group. Apart from U, who was already looking doubtful about her parenting skills given that her kids could technically say that their mum had taken them to their first strip show, we were a mixed group. There were two three girls who blushed at the mere mention of sex... and all that surrounds it, and in the media, these conversations came up often, so I knew that they indeed blushed often. And then there were others, me included, who had come out of pure curiosity. To see what the fuss was about. I was even interested in a story. Maybe I could talk to a few of these girls... get their story. I said so to P. She rolled her eyes.
"Sej, will you stop thinking about work?! We're on holiday!" she exclaimed.
"Er, P, we're here on an office conference." I grinned.
"Oh, yeah," she laughed sheepishly. "Forgot."
So okay, drinks served, seats adjusted, breathing exercises done (by U), and they were ready for us. I didn't know if we were ready for them, though.
Ten minutes later, I was shell shocked. It was the worst thing I had ever seen. Now, don't misunderstand me. I am not a prude, though I do think women having to take off their clothes and get jeered at for a living is appalling, but that is just one of the reasons I hated it. This was a horrible, horrible show. It was not erotic, it was not tasteful. If anything at all, it was downright sad.
A couple of women shuffled on to the stage, wearing a bit of this and a bit of that. They moved listlessly to the music. They looked bored out their brains. A couple of women at the back of the stage were actually talking. they were in the middle of a conversation. 'Hey what's up, nothing much, I saw a movie, went shopping... hey can you get my bra strap open... Ya, so shopped and then... wait let me just wave this in the air... ya so then we just hung out.' Like that. Most of them were old, and, forgive me for saying this, but it was a strip show... fat. Really.
But the worst was yet to come.
One of the women finally broke the hideous vacant moving-on-the-spot routine and came up to the front of the stage. She was wearing nothing at all. She sat down on her knees and proceeded to remove colourful strings of paper. From inside her. I recoiled in my seat. That was the mildest scene that night. The women proceeded to do acts (with the body part that the club was named after) that until now, I had thought physically and humanly impossible. Acts that involved pens, paper, writing, and (shudder) cola bottles. Our numbers dropped rapidly. P was the first casualty. I don't think she had ever seen a porn film in her life and here... She left almost immediately. U braved it for some time, her face alternating between disbelief and disgust. My threshold came after the cola bottle. When she brought the bottle close to herself for the first time, I shrank back in my seat with a 'Oh god, oh god, what is she going to do now?' Unfortunately, I found out immediately. That did it. Want to go," I whispered to V. "Want to go now."
A loud, opinionated discussion followed that night.
"Men like this?" I asked. I was over the shock of it now, and the dynamics were interesting.
P, next to me, shuddered. "Men are sick!" She looked accusingly at G and D and said again, "SICK!"
"Men don't like that!' said D, slightly frightened. "That was a really bad show! There are better ones. More sensual than sick." He looked around the group of disgusted women. "Really! I promise!"
That must be true. This show was more of a circus act than fodder for erotica. It was a freak show. But there were men in that audience who were enjoying it. I saw them. They were there. Perverts for whom even this portrayal of bored, disinterested, freak act was pleasurable. They look pretty normal... business suits, well-bred. They didn't look twisted in the least.
And that scared the hell out of me.
(First posted in itsastartwhat.blogspot.com in 2007 :))
On an office conference. From Femina. All those years ago.
Loss of innocence happened.
The lanes of Patpong were everything I'd heard they would be. There were endless rows of clubs, with men and women standing outside and enticing passers-by. Shocking passers-by in my case.
Men came up and asked, "Want boy? Very nice," with accompanying hand gestures. As I gawked at them, trying to form a sentence that would appropriately explain that while I was at the most popular sex street in the world, I was not looking for anything, my friend pulled me away with a 'no no, not interested'.
"Why are you having a conversation with them?" G was laughing.
"I was not! I was attempting to decline." I said, completely distracted by everything. There were peddlers selling sex toys and I could hardly believe some of the shapes and sizes of the various things on display. There was music blaring out of every other club and --
"Okay, can everybody else see a naked woman in a glass cage?" I stared as she shimmied up and down the sides and smiled seductively at us. I couldn't help it. I laughed. And it wasn't a flustered 'Oh my, there's a naked woman in a glass cage' laugh. It was a 'Um, lady, knock, knock, you know that we can see you, right?' laugh. It was a 'Sweetie, don't look now, but you're in a glass cage' laugh. She wasn't amused.
We were finally there. The club was named after a woman's body part that had nothing to do with a cute feline animal also of the same name. There were 15 of us, including U, who was heavily pregnant. With twins. The guys haggled with the staff for seating, rates, etc, and we took our seats in front of a poorly-lit square stage. I looked around our little group. Apart from U, who was already looking doubtful about her parenting skills given that her kids could technically say that their mum had taken them to their first strip show, we were a mixed group. There were two three girls who blushed at the mere mention of sex... and all that surrounds it, and in the media, these conversations came up often, so I knew that they indeed blushed often. And then there were others, me included, who had come out of pure curiosity. To see what the fuss was about. I was even interested in a story. Maybe I could talk to a few of these girls... get their story. I said so to P. She rolled her eyes.
"Sej, will you stop thinking about work?! We're on holiday!" she exclaimed.
"Er, P, we're here on an office conference." I grinned.
"Oh, yeah," she laughed sheepishly. "Forgot."
So okay, drinks served, seats adjusted, breathing exercises done (by U), and they were ready for us. I didn't know if we were ready for them, though.
Ten minutes later, I was shell shocked. It was the worst thing I had ever seen. Now, don't misunderstand me. I am not a prude, though I do think women having to take off their clothes and get jeered at for a living is appalling, but that is just one of the reasons I hated it. This was a horrible, horrible show. It was not erotic, it was not tasteful. If anything at all, it was downright sad.
A couple of women shuffled on to the stage, wearing a bit of this and a bit of that. They moved listlessly to the music. They looked bored out their brains. A couple of women at the back of the stage were actually talking. they were in the middle of a conversation. 'Hey what's up, nothing much, I saw a movie, went shopping... hey can you get my bra strap open... Ya, so shopped and then... wait let me just wave this in the air... ya so then we just hung out.' Like that. Most of them were old, and, forgive me for saying this, but it was a strip show... fat. Really.
But the worst was yet to come.
One of the women finally broke the hideous vacant moving-on-the-spot routine and came up to the front of the stage. She was wearing nothing at all. She sat down on her knees and proceeded to remove colourful strings of paper. From inside her. I recoiled in my seat. That was the mildest scene that night. The women proceeded to do acts (with the body part that the club was named after) that until now, I had thought physically and humanly impossible. Acts that involved pens, paper, writing, and (shudder) cola bottles. Our numbers dropped rapidly. P was the first casualty. I don't think she had ever seen a porn film in her life and here... She left almost immediately. U braved it for some time, her face alternating between disbelief and disgust. My threshold came after the cola bottle. When she brought the bottle close to herself for the first time, I shrank back in my seat with a 'Oh god, oh god, what is she going to do now?' Unfortunately, I found out immediately. That did it. Want to go," I whispered to V. "Want to go now."
A loud, opinionated discussion followed that night.
"Men like this?" I asked. I was over the shock of it now, and the dynamics were interesting.
P, next to me, shuddered. "Men are sick!" She looked accusingly at G and D and said again, "SICK!"
"Men don't like that!' said D, slightly frightened. "That was a really bad show! There are better ones. More sensual than sick." He looked around the group of disgusted women. "Really! I promise!"
That must be true. This show was more of a circus act than fodder for erotica. It was a freak show. But there were men in that audience who were enjoying it. I saw them. They were there. Perverts for whom even this portrayal of bored, disinterested, freak act was pleasurable. They look pretty normal... business suits, well-bred. They didn't look twisted in the least.
And that scared the hell out of me.
(First posted in itsastartwhat.blogspot.com in 2007 :))
1 comment:
Hahahahahahahah and to top it I'm sure some of those women were men
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