The things we do for love and money
As a girl living in Thailand, I often find myself amazed at what people will do for money. A stroll down the upmarket and classy Soi Bangla (note the sarcasm) is a prime example of this.
I'm never surprised at the ladies of the night who entertain the more refined gentlemen visitors. But, for every refined gentlemen visitor, there is a host of huge, sweaty cretins with a few wisps of greasy hair scraped and flattened across their equally greasy forehead.
Often their body odour, coupled with the stench coming from their 'Sex Instructor' vests stiff and crusty from a few days worth of stale beer, sweat, and unidentifiable body fluids - actually masks the stench coming from the piles of rubbish gathered on the nearby street corners.
Sure, the Bangla ladies might get a bit of extra cash from these men, who are just grateful that someone is actually willing to make physical contact with them, but the small fortune the ladies would have to spend on soap and disinfectant afterwards would counteract any pay increase?
A friend who once worked in a small Thai village up north was told by some local sex workers that these men are often the ones the girls want. The theory goes that a drop dead gorgeous guy is likely to have had a string of equally beautiful girlfriends who have already spent all his money, whereas a less attractive gentleman, such as described above, has probably never been loved so has never spent money on presents, weekends away or other such expenses.
Put simply: the bigger the waist, the fuller the wallet. Think about that then, guys, when you next sit in a bar with a whole hoard of women dripping off you.
After an interesting weekend a while back that involved an intimate encounter with a - how shall I put it - well-known person, I found myself wondering just how far I would be prepared to go for money.
Phuket attracts many high profile visitors. Royalty from various countries are seen here on their expensive yachts, sports personalities often frequent the palatial villas they bought with just a few days' earnings, celebrity chefs open upmarket restaurants and television and movie stars bless the quieter beaches.
Now, while you might live here and never meet any of these people, as a sociable 20-something girl I guess it was only a matter of time before I did. It was a good half hour of chatting before I even realised who he was.
I thought people were just staring because he was a good looking guy. In fact, he was so down to earth that even when he told me his name, I might not have twigged had a friend not pointed it out to me.
Despite who he was though, it really was just one of those nights where you meet someone and have a great laugh together. By 3am, both of the friends we were out with that night had made subtle exits ¡V and I was invited back to his hotel.
This is the part where I could probably sell my story to some trashy tabloid in exchange for thousands. Even though I had told him I was a writer, it didn't put enough fear into him to stop him from getting to know me intimately. He actually knows about this column, but I promised the following morning that I would withhold his identity.
So what's stopping me from telling all?
Well, he was nothing short of a gentleman the entire evening. He didn't flaunt who he was, didn't assume or expect that anything would happen between us because of it and, even when we got down to business, it was more of a slow and personal thing than a fast and furious, rip your-clothes-off ordeal.
To be fair though, it may have killed me if he¡¦d been anything but delicate - basically he was just too damn 'nice' for me to turn him in.
If it's not obvious what the big deal is, he's married. Morals are a funny thing. He had enough to treat me with respect, but not enough not to spend the night with me. I have enough not to rip apart a marriage for a few moments of fame and a nice payoff, but not enough not to sleep with him.
I suppose what it comes down to is this: if I was to capitalise on the experience, I would be no better than the fine young ladies of Patong. Above all else though, it made no odds to me who he was. I didn't go back to his hotel because he was famous. I went because I liked him.
So, as much as I would love to reveal who I was with that night, I won't. As great as it would be to get published in an international newspaper, for the time being I'm content to just be Miss Manolo, sharing her experiences with the Phuket Post.