Visa Run - Pattaya to Sihanoukville Read Free

girl. No doubt Jai had heard a little of what Pattaya was about on the Isaan grapevine before she came here, but it was plain she had not expected to see the various reasons for the female presence in Soi Six taking place in front of her at such glaringly close quarters. Suffice to say, it is very disconcerting for a girl fresh from the fields of Isaan—who thought she had been employed as a waitress—to watch women similar in age and background to her own mother removing the pants and underwear from an assortment of weird-looking farangs right there in the bar before they had even ordered a beer. It is hardly necessary to lower the tone of this narrative even further by explaining what happens next. Of course, the crunch came when Jai realised that instead of handing out trays of drinks and food she was also expected to do the same things that had shocked her so much on her arrival. The guileless Isaan girl had come to Pattaya to work in a restaurant and ended up on the menu herself.
    Enter Joe Bucket, Pattaya’s answer to Sir Galahad, and with a bit of the old charm and a generous measure of bullshit, Soi Six’s newest and prettiest arrival was soon easily convinced that catering to the desires of her knight in shining armour in room 419 of the Happy Home apartment block in Soi Buakhoa was infinitely preferable to facing the ravages of of Soi Six’s barmy army.
    As is often the case in Pattaya, a mere month later the previously terrified new girl had kept her sharp eyes and ears open and realised there are other opportunities available for a pretty Isaan girl besides the constant, public manipulation of drunken males’ sex organs in a seedy knocking-shop, or getting what’s left over from the beer money from a long-staying, keeniaw farang who was always out fishing or getting pissed at a bar with his mates. Before she wised up, Jai used to enjoy starting the mornings with a swim at the tiny pool that the Happy Home boasts. Unfortunately for me, so did a real bitch of an old bar-girl who was currently milking some poor first-timer for all his holiday money. Ten years ago, this excrement-stirring harridan had been the shy new girl herself, so of course—ever the gallant knight—I had rescued her as well. Unfortunately, when you live like Joe Bucket, nemesis is an unavoidable fact of life and now our paths had crossed again, my old flame was doing her very best to educate Jai every time I turned my back. The old bar-girl’s name was Poo and I thought this very appropriate, because the previous decade certainly had turned her into a right turd.
    “Don’t listen to that bullshitting old farang ,” I heard Poo telling Jai in Thai as I came up behind them one day and caught her explaining how it was about time I was presented with a proper bill. “His mouth is so sweet he has to keep taking the ants out from between his teeth.” Rhetoric like this is impossible to ignore and the copious amounts of verbal poisoning injected by the now extremely street-smart Poo soon did their job. My previously naive new girlfriend now knew the score. Poo had taught Jai that she was in Pattaya now, where every kiss, squeeze and thrust should be paid for in full.
    Thanks to the tuition of Poo, Jai was now aware that the good-hearted Englishman who had appeared in Soi Six on his metaphoric white charger and saved her from the legions of other farangs intent on impaling her on their weapons was perhaps more concerned with bargain-basement sex rates with a pretty new girl rather than a genuine desire to save an Isaan damsel in distress. Poo explained to Jai how it was customary for a farang to behave like the proverbial walking ATM machine, and also told her how she was really letting the side down in not sporting at least one item of gold jewelry by now. For some inexplicable Thai reason, the old bar-girl had made it her mission in life to coach Jai into perfecting the finer points of the game and she was training Jai with an intensity