After a total of sixteen months in Bangkok, and at the request of an American girlfriend who was visiting, I agreed to go to a “ping-pong” show.
We had no idea which one to go to, so we were forced to depend on the kindness of a stranger — a man wearing a wig that looked like a turtle shell posing as hair who approached us as we were about to cross Surawong Road into red-light central. If the place he guided us to was the top of the line among ping-pong shows, things must have been pretty grim at the bottom. As soon as I took one glimpse at the drab decor, I wished we’d stayed at Hot Male, where several cute showboys had been making eyes at me. But you only live once.