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In the first chapter of the erotic novel "The Bar Manager," the protagonist takes us on his first visit to Thailand. He learns about the country's customs and women. He becomes captivated by the vibrant life of a sex tourist and immerses himself in the world that lies behind this industry. In the first chapter we get to know how you feel when you just wanted to be away from home and find yourself in a touristic area in Thailand. The adventures you go through when you don't know that place and are not aware of the going-ons there.
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Seitenzahl: 93
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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Sex tourist
I never thought that I would become a sex tourist in my old age. I was now 52 and my wife had left me almost 10 years ago. Apart from a few insignificant love affairs, I hadn't experienced anything. I had thrown myself into my work and turned a small craft business into a construction company. I myself, or let's say my mental health, fell by the wayside. For 10 years I had driven to customers without ever turning on the radio, because all it took was the wrong song to remind me of what I had lost: my wife and, above all, my daughter. I loved luxury and could afford it. But no matter what I tried, I was no longer happy. I had long since withdrawn from the operational business of my company. In reality, I was just the grumpy old man who held the threads together like a spider. I had to get out of this world. So I decided to leave and spend the winter in Thailand. Beach and sea instead of icy snow seemed like a nice alternative and a chance to meet other tourists. Thailand was known for "men's holidays" and I secretly hoped to have female company again. And if I had to pay for it, then that was OK with me.
I researched where exactly I should go, because for me, at least at that time, sex was not the main focus. The sex industries’ hotspots of Pukket and Pataya just seemed cheap to me, like Mallorca in its prime, but that didn't bother me. I wanted to be on the beach, in the sun, sip cocktails and enjoy freshly squeezed smoothies. I wanted to beat the annual winter depression. I wanted to escape the family celebrations, which had long been more of a gauntlet for me.
I was naive - in retrospect - I specifically looked for places that the Thais themselves considered holiday destinations and came up with Patong. Patong is about 65 miles from Bangkok on the coast, on the peninsula where Pukket is located, but more than 15 miles from this hellhole. I wanted to go spontaneously, so I had to be prepared for higher prices and possibly unavailable rooms. I found a resort on the outskirts of the town, within walking distance of the beach, and immediately booked for 3 weeks. Since I was hiding from both, Christmas and New Year in those 3 weeks, the price was pretty steep. But I calmed myself down with the fact that the resort had everything: a pool, a restaurant with international cuisine, a spa area - if necessary, I could spend the 3 weeks in this resort with a good book and at least avoid the rod run by my brothers, who were both married, and my mother - my father had already died.
Off I went on a direct flight to Pukket. When I arrived in Pukket, we were not taken to the terminal building via a "trunk" as is usual at larger airports, but we had to get off on the taxiway and go into the terminal building ourselves via a closed-off path. I still remember that when I got out of the well-cooled plane, a heat wave hit me. It was only 29 degrees, but for me, around 40 degrees more than at home. The winter temperatures then hit me again in the reception building. The customs formalities were quickly completed. I had prepared well, after all, it was not my first time flying abroad.
I had booked a hotel transfer and prepared myself to spend an hour or two on the bus that would probably stop at every hotel on the peninsula. But I was wrong: at the exit from the customs department, an Asian man about 4 and a half feet tall was waiting for me, holding up a sign with my name on it (although tall was relative due to my height). I wondered if that was normal - after all, I had booked through a large travel company. But after my well-filled suitcase was stowed in the trunk of an almost new-looking SUV, we drove for about 30 minutes along the Patong highway. The journey was unspectacular, as my driver hardly spoke any English, so I didn't have the opportunity to ask for "insider tips". When I arrived at the resort, I carried my suitcase up the few steps to the reception desk. I was told, in perfect English, that everything I would spend at the resort could be written on the room, that my room would be in an annex building described as „the new Wing“, and that I should let them know if something was not to my satisfaction. But what happened next was new to me, because it was made clear to me that it was a "girls friendly" hotel, so I was allowed to receive guests, and they could stay overnight for free, but they would have to check in and out at reception with their ID. I had never received such a note in any hotel before!
The new wing was so new that it wasn't finished yet. My room had obviously been finished in record time so that I could book in. All the other rooms didn't even have doors and the workmen were busy installing showers. I didn't care - they were only there during the day and I was planning on being either at the beach or the pool in the sun. Since I was obviously the first person to move in, everything was up to date - a new flat screen TV and a clean shower that also provided a decent jet of water. From the admittedly somewhat dusty balcony I could see the beach and the sea. It was accessible on foot, but you had to plan on a medium-length walk to visit it.
My next item on the agenda was - and dear reader, it would also be your first destination when you arrive in Asia and are constantly sweating - I had to get some drinking water, meaning "bottled water". Which wouldn't really be a problem if I already had the local currency „Thai Baht“ of my own. At home I had researched that if possible you should not travel with European or American cash, but rather withdraw the Bahts from an ATM using a credit card. In Thailand it is unusual for fees to be charged, and you get the official rate. Free exchange shops often charge a high fee and you may get old, no longer valid notes. Exchanging cash, even directly at the banks, is not interesting. If you withdraw money with a credit card you get the better local exchange rate. I knew that there must be a shopping center or mall near the resort. So I asked at the reception how I could get there most easily. The answer satisfied me. After leaving the resort via the driveway, I was supposed to turn right and follow the main road for about half a mile. There was a side entrance to the mall at the back. The route became a hustle as the road was lined with small Thai shops on both sides and it was obvious that I was a new arrival. I was an interesting target customer. They didn't know that I didn't have any money. In the mall I quickly found an ATM from a large, international bank. Withdrawing money here seemed safe.
On the way back I took the street in front of the mall, a wide shopping street. I memorized where I would find a hairdresser, a massage parlor and a supermarket. Directly opposite the entrance to the resort I bought two large packs of water, one with large bottles for in the room and half-liter bottles for on the go. Both packs found their way into the refrigerator of my apartment.
It was getting late, I had a 12-hour flight behind me. It was time to go to sleep for today. The impressions of the Asian shopping streets had overwhelmed me. The next day the routine began, I would stick to that from now on until the end of my vacation, even if I didn't yet realize it. I got up around noon, did my morning toilet and headed off towards the beach. I deliberately did not use a tuk-tuk, the small three-wheeled taxis were available to hire everywhere for a few baht. I wanted to use the walk to the beach to immerse myself in the world of Asian retail. The beach was sandy, wide and overcrowded. Families could be seen everywhere in their small, sheltered bays. That was not my world at all. Following the beach I came to the entrance of a walking street, it was now evening and I had nothing better to do than to examine this street more closely. It was a mixture of bars, restaurants and music clubs. They even wanted to take me to a "ping pong" show. But since I was still a greenhorn in my eyes and wanted to stay true to my goal of not having to endure every tourist nap, I declined every request in this direction. Somehow I met an Englishman on the street who had already had a good drink and two people from Dresden who were looking for the right place to continue drinking. We let one of the scantily clad girls lead us into one of the bars right on the street and we drank two or three cocktails. However, the image of Walking Street had changed in the meantime: it was now fuller, you had to squeeze through the crowds of people (=men) and somehow the atmosphere seemed heated, not to say aggressive. So we changed bars, we specifically looked for a quieter place to talk, drink a little more and possibly make plans for the next few days. The two guys from Dresden had been here several times and had a few good tips that I didn't want to miss.
