We met her at one of the quieter bars in Hua Hin, the closest beach city to Bangkok, where women of various ages hung around pool tables in miniskirts and spiky heels, waiting for their next client to choose them. With long, black, shiny hair and dark skin, Dao was older and friendlier than the other women. She was the only one who smiled at me, an American woman out of her element. Like my husband, who stood beside me, every other patron was male. I ordered a Singha beer and took quick sips, hoping for a buzz to calm my shaky hands.
My introduction to sex work as a customer started with strippers when I was in my twenties. I would have already done my research and most likely chosen our present bar or restaurant based on its proximity to live nude girls. This was my gift to him. Secretly, it was a gift to myself. Like strip clubs, pornography was a regular companion to my relationships. No new boyfriend ever seemed to mind my casual suggestion to supplement our sex life. And, just like strip clubs, I always managed to convince him that I was bestowing a gift.
It made me feel powerful. Flash-forward a decade and my husband and I were living in Bangkok, taking advantage of its low cost of living. Suddenly everywhere seemed to be in close proximity to live nude girls. Known for its lively street vendors which sell everything from dildos and Viagra to fresh coconuts and fried fish , its sacred shrines to Ganesha, its massage parlors, and endless bars, Bangkok can sometimes be too much for the senses.
Without even entering salacious-looking nightclubs or so-called massage parlors, I could feast on the mere sight of these women spilling out of the bars and keep myself entertained for days on the fantasies they inspired. Sometimes they held signs over their heads advertising free oral sex with a drink purchase. Other times they discreetly whispered to passersby about mythic Ping-Pong shows. But they never whispered to me.
I was just a woman walking down the wrong street. The handful of times I did enter, I usually only had enough courage to glance over price sheets or gaze at the women as they waited behind glass like lobsters in a tank, before heading back out. Once, I asked the madam if any of the women took female clients, and in a room of more than 20, only two stood up.
