Connie Lingus Advice Column

Dear Ms. Connie,

I am a long time resident of Bangkok. I have been working teaching English here since the early 1970’s. Needless to say I have seen a lot of changes in the Big Mango, not to speak of personal changes as well. I have been reading your column for several years, ever since Thai Guys came on the scene. Because I do not earn a fabulous salary from teaching my various private students and the few odd jobs I can muster, I do appreciate the availability of Thai Guys to keep me entertained and up-to-date at a very reasonable price, merely a glass of beer in a local Soi 4 establishment which offers cut rates after midnight. And their waiters don’t wear underwear. I cut down on my transportation expenses by riding a bicycle around town and of course the regular buses are still very cheap so I find I can get around and keep my self in som tam and still have money saved to escape for a wild weekend on the beach every so often. But my one problem is my raging libido. I seem to have everything under control except this primal urge to prowl the streets to look for the next delectable delight I can ravish. I particularly like the smells and mystique that washrooms provide and if some of your readers are interested I can provide a very interesting guide to a selection of “comfort rooms” scattered around the city. These assorted venues have produced amazing results for me. Sometimes my urges get the better of me. One of my favorite places to frequent happened to be in one of the schools I teach in. Not that I spend hours in the washroom with drool hanging from my lip, Heaven forbid! But I must admit that many of my students are just too splendiferous to ignore.

Anyway, two months ago, I happened in my favorite loo not far from the school I was teaching at near Victory Monument. That monument with its phallic like dimensions pointing to the skies, surrounded by the nation’s finest battling the French, has always been my favorite monument in Bangkok. And its walkways have produced some of the best trickey-poos I have had in the thirty years I ‘ve swung the ropes in Bang cocky-cock. Anyway on the day in question, the walkways were unusually empty of potential. Students were everywhere in the coffee shops below me sucking their frosty coca mochas but nary a nubbin was looking for little me up top and I was reaching a new level of horniness, a roar of the loins I had seldom experienced before. It must have been the humidity. After all it was April, and as T.S. Eliot observed, it is the cruelest month and she’d never been to Bangkok!

I was about to creep into a shady retreat off the elevated footpath when I spied one of my students, Boonlert, who had seen me hanging over the railing above. He moved into the bushes of a small triangle of littered greenery near the stairs down. I could see his dusky features in the shadows and he was still looking up at me furtively as I neared him in the bushes. Anyway, I followed Boonlert into a washroom that I was completely new to. This in itself surprised me since I thought I knew them all, especially those around the Victory Monument area. To make a long story short, did Boonlert squirt. I almost gagged on the produce of his enormous salty yogurt slinger. Once he did up his shorts he was out of there like a gecko after a fly. On exit from the cubicle, who should I find standing fixing “her” hair, but Mr. Itiporn, the art teacher and piccolo player from my school, who obviously had come for the same thing, but turned on me as if I was the filthiest thing that ever walked, which is only half right.

Needless to say, Mr. Itiporn had to open her big fat trap and blab on me to the head mistress who did not take to the news kindly and for some reason never inquired why Mr. Itiporn had this information in the first place. But I take a Buddhist attitude to such events and look for the positive. I was only glad to leave that job with her assurance that this “would go no further” as long as I did not make any effort to sue the school for wrongful dismissal. This has really not stopped me in my tracks. It is just the tragic price one has to pay for being creative and loving the allure of sex in dark smelly places. Anyway, Ms. Connie, what I really want to know from you goes perhaps to the very essence of what we are as human beings. Being a old dame of advanced years and wisdom, help me to know Ms. Connie whether any of this will ever change. Am I afflicted permanently with this curse of searching out sex in the blighted bogs of Bangkok. Will I ever be able to emerge from this addiction which usually hits around four in the afternoon, the desire to begin the prowl to the darkest lowest scum holes that this enormous city has to offer and have someone, as the actress said to the bishop, nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more, whack my still firm gluteus maximus with their giant licorice sticks? Please help me Ms. Connie. I am in my late forties now. Will this eternal vigil continue and will I be a permanent fixture of the tea room scene in Bangkok or do the loins cool, does the ardour subside and will I eventually slide into a relaxed less frantic acceptance of myself, able to repress this 4 0’clock demon which often draws me to situations which are fraught with danger and….oh I am getting excited again, abuse? Help, help Ms. Connie and let me rest in peace. Will this be the endless cycle of my life ---enthroned and dethroned from one cubicle of sin to another or is there hope?

Yours truly,

Savory Poundcake

Bangkapi

Dear Mr. Poundcake:

Ms. Connie is pleased to report some good news. There is light at the end of your very long torturous tunnel --- a wheelchair. Many of our kind are afflicted with your malady, a gland that produces testosterone like a Guernsey produces milk. As you may know if your inclinations are at all bovine, the Guernsey would not survive in nature. It has been produced from years of crossbreeding, to fill its enormous udder with enough milk to suckle an entire herd of calf-lings. But most cows, at least the ones Ms. Connie knows and plays bridge with, can only bear one or two at a time (although Bertha at the end of our soi has surprised every one with her self-created drop in center). Back to the Guernsey. The Guernsey has been created by men to produce milk at such a volume that it would not survive without some man to come running out in the morning and attach one of those sucking machines to each of its nipples and drain its enormous udder of the night’s production.

As for you Mr. Poundcake, you too would not survive in nature either. You need a constant supply of dirty schoolmen to empty your ever-filling udder. You are very much a sexual Guernsey, a product of long years of human evolution, which Ms. Connie cannot possibly explain in the short amount of time she has available before her nails dry and she is out searching for that washroom near Victory Monument, you described in your letter. We all need sex. And Ms. Connie is constantly advising her readers of the virtues of moderation with mixed results given certain of her friends who insist on grabbing anything erect which hovers overhead. Not to speak of their ear-splitting screams when they grip the right flesh flute.

Mr. Poundcake, we all need sex. Even Ms. Connie admits to this need although she prefers that close friends don’t think about her when she is actually “doing it”. Undoubtedly, sex is one of the greatest releasers of stress and life in the Big Mango can be stressful to say the least, especially around the late afternoon when the schools get out. The traffic is such a crush. One has to seek out dark cool places until the rush subsides so that is completely understood. A number of researchers have now determined that there is ample evidence to suggest that sex, at least the human variety has evolved as a way of dealing with stress. Researchers have discovered in species of life similar to you Mr. Poundmaker, algae, slugs and other forms of life that like dark smelly places, that sex seems to repair their DNA which has become damaged by the stress of everyday living.

When one thinks about it, and fortunately very few of us think, sex makes no sense at all. Really, why would anyone like you Mr. Poundcake, go to a stinky hole where people fart and puke and shit, in order to have sex. Some might even go so far as to call it madness. Or that other activity which really escapes Ms. Connie’s understanding totally, going to a gay sauna and shoving your plonker pole through a glory hole. It just doesn’t make any sense. But still some of us do it, now don’t we Mr. Poundmaker?

Wouldn’t it be easier, (if the end result of sex is to be procreation), to be able to reproduce without having sex at all. Let’s face it. Sex is a pain in the butt. We all do ridiculous things because of it, especially when we get so ga ga, we dye our hair, inject our cheeks with Botox, not to speak of our buttocks with implants. Look at Discovery Channel sometime and watch those silly mountain sheep pounding their horns into each other all for some big-assed ewes that look like they would rather be somewhere else having their hair done. And the time we spend!!! How much time do we waste crawling around dark theatres when we could be sampling a chilled Chabis and eating peeled grapes fed to us from the long fingers of a dew-eyed novice in the quiet of a temple garden.

No we are all victims, Mr. Poundmaker and you above all. Because let’s face it, we are just an aberrant offshoot from that weird species-specific urge to evolve. Not that too many of us getting blow jobs in washrooms are interested in passing our genes on to the next generation as efficiently as possible. We are sort of like the amoebas and other creatures that just divide and get it over with and therefore in a way we are the kings of evolution. A recent study of algae sex discovered the common Volvox algae can reproduce either way, sexually or asexually. Which reminds Ms. Connie of a few of her friends from Japan. When conditions are good, multicelled algae just divide and make new cell clusters every couple of days. But when conditions are bad, for example when the tearoom is overheated or the parents are stressed out, algae rush off to mate with the other sex. It seems that algae research has shown that stress provokes sexual sex between the sexes, male to female but when conditions are good, and when stress is low, the algae revert back to merely dividing asexually since they do not have to bother replenishing damaged DNA stress produces. Apparently this has shown that stress such as sudden rises in heat, produces oxidants in the algae, chemicals which can damage DNA. This causes normally asexual algae to seek out the opposite sex to replace the damaged DNA. The oxidants seem to activate a “sex inducer” gene which makes algae produce pheromones which are chemicals that attract a mate. Therefore Ms. Connie feels Mr. Poundmaker that your problem is too many oxidants. You are what we would call a homosexual with too many pheromones, or what biologists have now dubbed a “Pherohomo”. Ms. Connie would advise going to a good bookstore, finding a book which can outline for you the foods with low oxidant content in order to reduce your desire to search out those forbidden toilets of sin. And never forget, there will be a day when you are no longer cycling around Bangkok but will be in a wheelchair and very few tearooms are accessible. So if nothing else there is hope even in an intravenous drip.

All my best,

Ms. Connie