Chapter 9: Bangkok to Singapore

Chapter 9: Bangkok to Singapore


I decided to taste one more sexual fruit before leaving Bangkok, and pay a visit to the massage parlour. Again, I believe a Bangkok massage parlour bears no relation to the Western version. Although I’ve never been to one, the reputation as I imagine it is something rather seedy, operating as a cover for prostitution, with little to do with massage. The Bangkok version was very different, and I’m really glad I went. I didn’t know what to expect, and was fairly nervous – not sure how the whole thing operated, how much I was expected to pay if, and when I should make a sexual proposition, etc. I was really surprised at the operation. When we went in a Thai lady greeted us. I offered her some money, she laughed and said, no, pay after the massage. Realising we had no experience of what was expected, she walked us through to a viewing area where we took a seat. There were a number of other people in this small auditorium, including women and children, some family groups. Graham and I were the only westerners. In front of us was a small stage, with about 30 girls, all well dressed, with a number badge on the dress, in both Thai and western numbers. They were all seated, smiling, looking out at the audience. They were a range of shapes, sizes and ages, but all were Thai, with the usual long black hair and brown eyes. . No 63 was there, and I decided to follow up on the Chief of Police’s advice. I told the lady who’d brought us in that I would like no. 63, and left Graham to make his own choice. He wasn’t enjoying the excursion as much as I was, having discovered that oriental girls weren’t really his thing. He preferred western women, long legs, big boobs and blonde hair. This had led to a funny situation the previous evening, in the Grace coffee shop, when we’d been sat at a table with about 10 girls, just enjoying the crack and a few beers. We were sat reasonably close to the door, where we enjoyed the entrance of newcomers, seeing their reaction to being swamped by girls as soon as they came in. On this occasion, an Englishman came in with his wife, a statuesque good looking blonde. We had never seen a western woman come in before, but it made no difference to the girls, who went through their ambush and escorted their quarry to the bar. Graham leapt off his seat, went up to the bar, and immediately started chatting up the pair, inviting them back to our table. In conversation, it turned out they had come there deliberately, and were both quite interested in sexual adventures. Graham brokered a deal with them, paying for 2 girls to go with the husband, while he took the wife to his room. A couple of hours later, a happy Graham returned with her, saying it was the best jump he’d had all week.


I was taken around the back of the stage, where I was introduced to no 63. She was around 30 years old, had the usual smattering of English, and was very polite and graceful. She took my hand and led me through to a medium sized room. This room contained a sunken tiled bath, a tiled area next to the bath with an inflatable airbed, plus a small chest of drawers containing lots of towels. On top of the drawers was a large selection of bottles. Another section of the room was portioned off, containing a small table with 4 chairs, a comfortable armchair, and a massage table. What was I supposed to do, I wondered, do I make the moves? I decided to just follow her lead. First we sat at the table, when she asked me, would I like something to eat, or drink? I was still nervous, and asked for a whiskey and ice, no food. She rang a bell, passed on the order plus some water for herself to a maid who appeared. She was very good at putting me at my ease. We sat chatting and drinking for about 20 minutes, and then she suggested that I undress, and take a bath. As I undressed, she took my clothes, put them on hangers, and hung them in a small curtained recess. She led me to the bath and ushered me down the steps, into warm scented, oily water. She undressed completely, and climbed down into the bath, which was probably big enough for 4 o5 people. For the next 10 minutes or so, she washed and cleaned me as thoroughly as I’ve ever been washed and cleaned, using different potions and soaps. She didn’t make any overtly sexual actions, but the whole thing was sufficiently erotic to induce arousal.


When she thought I was clean enough, she led me out of the bath to a small shower area, and rinsed me off. By this time, I was very relaxed and very aroused. Still, she took no notice of my arousal, just washed off all the soap and oils, and then dried me with a large towel. She asked would I like another drink? What I really wanted was to get stuck into her as soon as I could, but decided to have another whiskey, and prolong the experience. So, wrapped in towels, we sat back at the table probably for around 10 minutes. Whiskey finished, she led me back towards the bath area, and this time asked me to lie face down on the inflatable mattress. My arousal had subsided sufficiently to be able to lie face down comfortably, and now she started the massage. We were both naked. She straddled my back, and using some scented oil started to slowly massage my neck, from my shoulders right up into the scalp, not heavy pressure, but continuous, slow movement, which I found incredibly relaxing, and could now feel myself falling asleep. She had her left foot grounded, but was kneeling on her right leg, and with the hand massage, she was slowly pulling her undercarriage up and down my back, once again causing arousal. After a few minutes of this, she moved further down, and squatted on my backside, leaning forward to massage my shoulders, and after this she climbed off me to massage each finger, hand and arm, always working towards the heart, she said. With each arm done, she repeated the same performance on each leg, starting at my toes, and working slowly up the top of each leg, her massage gradually becoming deeper and stronger.


With each leg finished, she asked me to stand up, and she led me to the massage table, again asking me to lie face down. This time she gave my back a soft, gentle massage, from the bottom of my spine, up to the neck, feeling for anything that might be out of place, and sorting a couple of “cricks” out in the process. With that complete, she climbed on the table, then stood on my back, asking if that was all right, was there any pain anywhere? She massaged my spine with her toes – how she kept her balance on my oiled skin, I’ve no idea, but again, the whole process was deep, and slow. I guess she weighed around 6 – 7 stone, but it wasn’t painful at all.. With spine massage finished, she asked me to turn over. She repeated the whole process – neck, arms legs, and torso, still without any overtly sexual massage, although by this time, I was ready to burst. My whole body seemed to be centred in my cock, which was jumping around whenever she touched me. Finally, she took hold, and gave me an enquiring look. She took my strangled squeak and nod for assent. She climbed onto the table, straddled me, and slipped me into her. I started to move, but she stopped me, with her hand on my chest, squatting astride me. She rested for a few moments, in this position, and then, just using her internal muscles, began to massage my cock. I’d never experienced anything like it before, and after a few minutes of this, with no other movement on my or her part, brought me to climax, and herself also, with a small cry and shudder. Was it a real climax on her part, when I’d had no foreplay whatsoever with her? Frankly, I’d like to think so, but at that time I didn’t know, and didn’t care. It was the single most memorable sexual experience of my life. The whole thing lasted for 4 hours, and when I was ready to leave, and asked her how much was the charge, she told me 1,000 baht – about £20. I couldn’t believe it. I asked her if this money was for her, or the house. She said this was a standard charge, which went to the house, they paid her at the end of each week. I tried to give her another 1000 baht for herself – she was horrified, and refused it, saying it was far too much. She finally agreed to take a tip of 200 baht, and I left, to much bowing and thanks from no 63. I met up in the bar with Graham, who’d had a similar experience, but he’d reacted differently to me, shagging his girl at every opportunity, in the bath, on the mattress over the table, virtually every time she turned round. Now he couldn’t wait to get back to the Grace and see if the blonde was still there! At no time did I feel that this experience was tawdry, or seedy, and enjoyed the Thai outlook on sex, which had no overtones of guilt or western prostitution. Whether this is the same today, 40 years later, I don’t know. There has been a big western influx of tourists since then, and I suspect that will have brought a more cynical and money orientated view towards sex, which would be a real shame. For me it was a super experience that has stayed in my memory.


We left Bangkok the following day, for Singapore. We were both ready for work, and had done our homework, finding the addresses of all the registered diving companies. We landed at I think Paya Lebar airport, the international airport before Changi airport was opened, changed some US dollars for Singapore dollars, and took a taxi into Singapore city, to the YMCA where we’d booked cheap rooms. Out on the piss that night, we took another taxi the following day. I’ve forgotten the exact address, but we’d picked about 6 diving companies, and they all seemed to be located on the same circle in an Industrial Estate. We’d had printed copies of our CV’s –don’t forget this was before mobile phones, personal computers laptops and tablets – and duly did the rounds of the companies, never to get past the receptionist at any of them, except, would you believe it, Oceaneering. The Ops manager there was Keith M, a young good looking bloke who drove a white Rolls Royce. He had a strong diving background; he’d been injured in a diving accident with Oceaneering which resulted in a massive pay-off, which bought him his roller, and a job as ops manager. Keith happened to be walking through reception as we were talking to the receptionist, and invited us into his office. He had a chat with us about past work, and then said that we were welcome to move into the Oceaneering guesthouse, and as soon as suitable work was available, he would call us there and let us know. That was great on both counts, free accommodation, and in line for work. We agreed immediately, and moved out of the YMCA the same day.


We had the great pleasure of meeting the Oceaneering Amah, Mary, there, the old lady who kept the place reasonably clean despite whatever mess the divers left the place in, and who would also cook you up a bacon sandwich on demand. Even better than that, she had an encyclopaedic knowledge about the diving industry, she knew everybody of importance in the trade, and would give you an instant potted character assessment,- “He Big wanker, no tlust him.” Or “Good man, tlust him with your life, but NEVER lend him no dollah, ok, you hear me?” She knew every contract in the Far East, and who was on it. She knew the rotation, and pay scales. She knew every diver who came through the guesthouse door. She was worth a million dollah, and she lived in a broom closet in the Oceaneering guesthouse. In England, she’d have been the best ops manager any diver ever had; in Singapore she probably earned 10 dollars a day.


We were quite close to the Tanglin Road in central Singapore; Orchard Rd was the main drag, with a number of high-class hotels. Lee Kuan Yew was the benevolent dictator in charge of the place, and he was determined to drag Singapore kicking and screaming into the 21st century, away from its 2nd world war roots. Every sailor and soldier who served in the area from WW2 onward returned to UK with outlandish tales of Singapore – a young man’s Utopia, full of nubile beautiful women who could be bought for only half a crown for all night. They had exotic outlandish tales of what could be had, or done, constrained only by the limits of your imagination. Shortly after the war, sex pictures and “dirty books “ could be bought for only a few pence, and these prize items were brought back to the UK, passed on to Tommy Atkins younger brother, who would then pass then round his school mates, probably to be confiscated by a teacher at some point, who would then pass them round to his mates in the pub. A lot of the dirty books masqueraded under the names of famous tomes of English Literature, for instance “Wuthering Heights” or “A Tale of two Cities”. They were written by Chinese who then tried to translate into English, with the results being uniformly hilarious. The first one I ever read as a 14 year old in the bike shed at Rastrick Grammar School, started on the opening page as follows;

:Stob, stob”, she crid, “You are herbing me!”

So I reached for the Vaseline, and 5 minutes later, I was in Exeter.


We pondered all the possible meanings of sexual innuendo contained in this epic, anxiously anticipating our own baptisms into this forbidden, unknown world.


One of the most famous streets in the world, Bugis Street was in Singapore, famous for its beautiful transvestites. Many a drunken serviceman would take a stunning beauty back to a cheap hotel, only to find a toggle and two in her pants. This in the days when it was considered at the very least uncommon or downright outrageous, whereas now it’s a commonplace in every town in Britain.


Lee kuan Yew was determined to rid Singapore of its sleazy image, and even moved Bugis street to a different location, filling it with street food and performers to change the image. He also decided to get rid of every old building dating pre-war in the city centre, in order to build new high-class hotels and shopping malls. One of the last remaining old buildings was the favourite diver’s drinking den, the 492 club, opposite, I think, the Mandarin Hotel. It was the last  ‘old building” remaining on Orchard Rd, and occupied a prime piece of real estate. As such it was scheduled for demolition, with plans in place for some new large building. The club’s clientele resented this move to take away their hostelry, and organised a drink-in to forestall the wrecking ball. The session lasted 4 days and nights by all accounts, before the wrecking ball finally had its way, demolishing a legend.


After a few days, I had a phone call from Keith M. A relief supervisor was needed for a contract in Indonesia, I was to go up to the office and make arrangements for visa and travel.
© mick binns 2018