Talking to a Stripper

Soi Cowboy is a street in Bangkok that is known for its “go-go bars”, a mixture of strip clubs, bars, and brothels. Additionally, it’s famous for the “ladyboys” (trans-women) that work there. Like many curious tourists, I visited Soi Cowboy when I was in Thailand in early 2020. I was 20 years old. I had never been to a strip club before, let alone a red-light district.

…

The neon lights were bright. Shades of reds, pinks, blues, and greens lit up the street and the faces among it. The large and colorful storefront signs had happy-sounding names such as “Oasis”, “Spice Girls”, and “Five Star Boy”. It was dissonantly loud. Each bar blasted a top pop track; none could be heard well. The speakers crackled, unable to withstand maximum volume for long. People screamed to be heard in conversation.

The asphalt road teemed with “go-go girls”. They were young and no girl looked over her mid-twenties. They had almond eyes, lush and long straight black hair, and red-glossed lips. They wore very little. The small tops accentuated their large breasts, delicate torsos, and slim waists. Their high-cut shorts and stiletto heels brought attention to their smoothly-shaven legs.

They paraded near each go-go bar’s entrance. If you got too close, they would lightly touch you on the shoulder and whisper clumsy English in your ear, “Hey young man, do you want good time”, while a sweet-scented perfume wafted into your nose. With coquettish woos and suggestive gesticulations, they were fishing for men. And most men bit.

Although most solicitations came from the go-go girls, there were peddlers trying to sell something too. Smelling of booze and tobacco, they would say something like, “My friends, we have very good deals, happy hour all night. Do you like girls, boys, both? Drugs? Cocaine? My friends, what do you want. I can help you.” I chuckled to myself; everyone is a “friend” to a peddler.

I was glad I was not alone. It was funny watching my friend David playing coy with the go-go girls. And I liked walking arm in arm with my friend Janani, pretending she was my girlfriend when she was actually the perfect protection from the handsy working girls.

However, no amount of protection could save me from the ladyboys. As we walked down the street, one heavier-set ladyboy dressed in a fairy costume quickly advanced on me. With a wand in hand, he tapped my groin. “Poof!” he shouted and giggled. Seeing my stupefied and discomforted face, he flapped his chubby body away and disappeared (slowly). And I’ve been under his spell ever since.

Unsurprisingly, Soi Cowboy’s clientele was predominately male, many of whom were twice or thrice my age. Seeing the elderly and graying men with the young girls sickened me. I tried not to stare at these aged people, but I couldn’t refrain from projecting my thoughts on them:

That guy held a back-office job in New York City or Moscow. Boredom or his impotence with Western women evolved into an acute Asian fetish. Perhaps he had a daughter and a wife, but the bridges connecting them had long been burned by his negligence or arrogance. Alone, he turned to gluttony and lust as companions. But his appearance and self-centeredness turned off any respectable woman. Disgruntled and frustrated with the West, he flew to the East. He saw an online advert for Soi Cowboy and wanted to have an escapade, or rather sexscapade. Fueled by cheap liquor and the prospect of cheap love, he made a fool of himself with the go-go girls. Perhaps he had paid for a “tour escort”, a tour guide and prostitute. I felt bad for the girl around his arms.

I had to look away. Maybe it was an immature self-righteousness that enraged me. Why did I have the right to be here and not them? Perhaps I was the one with issues. Perhaps I was too drunk, or not drunk enough. I felt sullen and there was a pang of guilt within me that I didn’t want to acknowledge.

Before visiting Soi Cowboy, I thought red-light districts were dim and secretive places, like how old movies depicted them. I thought they were places of the shadows, ominous and uncertain. I thought sharply dressed gangsters owned them. I thought the women were draped in silk. I thought the lust would be hypnotic and relentless. But Soi Cowboy was like a trashy arcade for adults. There was no romance to be found here. The lights were too bright, the sounds too loud, and the children too naughty. And like an arcade, you pay to play.

Luckily, David and Janani were in a happier and less ruminative mood. They wanted to check out the ladyboy bar that stood in front of us. “For the experience!”, they exclaimed as we entered.

The room was tinted crimson, at the perfect balance between dim and dark. Cushioned red leather booths lined the walls. At the center, ladyboys danced on an elevated stage alongside mirror-polished stripping poles. With breast implants, high heels, hairless legs, and petite figures, they looked shockingly feminine (at longer distances). As I sipped my whiskey coke, staring at nearly naked transwomen twirl around poles, I had to agree: this was “an experience”.

Once both David and I became too uncomfortable with the ladyboys, we left for a normal bar. Inside, it looked like an amphitheater, with multiple rows of incrementally elevated seats facing towards the center. We sat near the back and ordered another round of drinks. I was becoming tipsier, and chattier. A dancer caught my eye.

Wearing high heels and tight red satin clothes, she was side-shuffling on stage. She was cute and had a kind face. We made eye contact, and I offered my best smile and waved her over.

She approached with nonchalance, with a natural swing to her gait. I moved a couple of seats away, wanting to be out of earshot from my friends. She sat down on my right side, close to touching my shoulder. We smiled at each other; she had imperfect but charming teeth. Beneath the smiles, it felt as if we were sizing each other up; myself wondering where this conversation would go and her wondering what type of customer I would be.

“Hey, my name is Jordan!”

“Hello, I’m S!”

“Which part of Thailand are you from?”

She named a Thai city that I could not pronounce or remember.

“Where’s that?”

“It’s east. It’s small. Where are you from?

“California. Los Angeles.”

She spoke English well. Now that we were sitting so close, I could see her large round dark eyes. Her skin was fair, about the same tone as mine. She had bangs, a haircut I always thought was hard to wear well. But she looked great and wore them confidently.

“Can you buy me a drink?”, S asked me.

“Sure, what do you want?”

“Tequila!”

In Soi Cowboy, a go-go girl receives a commission when someone buys her a drink. I nodded my approval, and she walked over to the bar to grab the order. When she came back, we clanked and cheered.

“How long have you been working here?”, I asked.

“Seven months.”

“Do you like it?”

“Mhm I like it. What do you do?”

“I am a student. I study at the University of Singapore”

“Wow! You look so young.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. Twenty-two?”

“I’m twenty”, I said proudly.

She looked somewhat shocked by my age. After all, she was talking to a kid.

“At school, what did you like studying?”, I inquired.

“Law. I wanted to be a lawyer.”

We chatted about her interest in law and then my future aspirations. Looking back, I’m sure that was the last thing she wanted to hear about. However, at that moment, she seemed genuinely interested in what I was saying. She was easy to talk to and had a sereneness about her. She spoke at an unhurried pace. Her voice was calm and genial, the pitch not too high like that of a little girl but just high enough to imply girlishness. She seemed like a kindred spirit.

Eventually, we started to talk about our families.

“Do you have any siblings? I have three brothers.”, I said.

“I have five siblings”, she said rather coolly.

“Five! Wow, that’s a lot! Do you send money back home, to your family?”, I nosily asked.

“Yes, at least twice a month.”

“Do other girls here have similar situations?”, I inquired deeper.

“Yes, most of them.”

She pointed to the stage, to the other dancers. She paused and stared blankly at them. Was she thinking about herself or them? I couldn’t tell. There was an awkward pause.

“Can you buy me another drink? Tequila?”, S politely asked me.

“Yeah… of course.”, I said fumblingly.

More small talk ensued but there were important questions that I still wanted to ask. I was drunk and I felt brazen.

“How much do you get when someone pays to sleep with you?”

“Six-thousand baht [$193.5]. The bar gets seven hundred [$22.6]”, she said as a matter of fact.

“And how many men have you been with during your time here?”

“I can’t tell you! You are not my boyfriend! I would stop working here if I had a boyfriend”, she said with a grin. She didn’t take offense to my rudeness. She offered a slight chuckle. I pressed harder.

“Would you date someone like me?”, I asked.

“Yeah but no. Would you take me to California? Get me a visa?”

“If I did, would you leave with me?”

“Yes.”

“You would leave Thailand behind, even your family?”, I asked emphatically.

“Yes, I would go”, she said firmly and swiftly. There was no hesitation. The “yes” was confident.

I felt like a total jerk, playing a game of chit-chat that was entertaining for me but perhaps painful for her. I dropped my head; I didn’t know how to respond. I stared at the rim of my beer bottle with empty eyes. Noticing my slump, S raised both of her hands and with each one, she pinched my cheeks and smiled. The pinch was a warm tug, like how a mother pulls at the fat flesh of her baby’s cheeks, adoring its cuteness. I looked up and was met with gentleness.

“How many people have asked you questions like this before?”

“Just you”, she replied as we looked eye to eye.

“In all seven months? I am the only person to ask?”

“Yes.”

I started to fantasize. I imagined S’s life in that rural and eastern part of Thailand, born to a father addicted to cheap booze and to gambling on Muay Thai fights, confident that his next big bet would solve all his problems. I saw her younger siblings and how they looked up to their big sister, the independent girl who moved to Bangkok. I saw how their eyes sparkled with pride when they received the cash S sent back home. But I saw the tears in their eyes when their dad took that money away to gamble on another fight. I saw the silent wails of S’ mother, too afraid to fight her husband. I saw S returning to her shawty apartment amid an early rising sun. When she finally sat down on her bed, I saw her sigh in pain and desperation, knowing that there were many more working nights to come.

Noticing that our conversation would produce neither more words nor money, S told me in a low and quiet voice, “We either need to go to the private rooms upstairs, or I have to go”.

“You should go”.

S and I spoke for an hour total. I rallied my friends and told them I was ready to leave. As I approached the exit door, I looked back to see her one last time. I wanted, so desperately, for there to be a moment in which we would share eye contact and nod in unison, acknowledging that for at least one hour, we each had a listener. But those types of moments belong to cinema. S was already engaged in another conversation, leaning into an overweight and middle-aged Asian man. She never glanced back. She was back to work.

Outside, I sat on the curb with my friends. Janani passed me a cigarette. It was Thursday morning at 2:33 AM, the night still young for Soi Cowboy.

…

I wonder, even today, if S told me the truth, and all of it. If physical seduction sells, then verbal consolation probably does too. But even if S’s story was fiction, then it was at least realistic fiction. Many Thai go-go girls and ladyboys support their families by the income of their sex work. S’s story, if not her own, likely has happened to someone else. Should I take everything I heard with a grain of salt? Maybe, but in this case, I would rather be a fool than a fact-checker.

Soi Cowboy grounded me, quite literally onto a concrete curb. I suppose it’s all too easy to romanticize what I have read in books or seen in films. In this red-light district, I felt dirty. And I certainly felt no desire.