Pattaya Pushover

By Bangkok Byron

The "Pattaya Flying Club" is a term given to farangs (white expats) who, for one reason or another, fall from a high building. What is surprising is that there are so many of them. Reasons include: farang runs out of money, farang has terminal illness, farang has broken up with girlfriend/wife, and more sinister: farang was pushed by jealous boyfriend/husband, scheming girlfriend/wife, a rival businessman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bui Doi Books
• Release date: Feb 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798224201716

Bangkok Byron

Bangkok Byron is famous (or should that be "infamous"?) for his numerous contributions to the Thailand forums. Bangkok Byron is, of course, a pen name (earned when he wrote his long narrative poem, Bangkok Don Juan, in the same verse form as Byron's Don Juan) to conceal his identity on account of his adventures (or should that be "misadventures"?) in the fleshpots of SE Asia.

Book preview

Chapter 1

THAT NIGHT, HE DREAMED he was back in Thailand in his regular Soi 6 beer bar, Terry’s Teens, with Tam in his arms and his best friend Terry, the boss, offering him a drink on the house. Tam was taking care of him as only a Thai girl could, stroking his thighs, kissing his cheek, and whispering sweet nothings about what she was going to kiss that night. Tam was Thai-girl perfect: slim enough to make a size zero model jealous, but with subtle curves in the right places; a doll-like face, seeming to be all cupid-bow mouth and black almond-shaped eyes, her button nose making every western girl’s look like Pinnochio’s. Her fine black hair had been gathered into two long pigtails that came almost to her waist, and Tom’s dream was already merging into the bedtime action, when he would take her doggy-style and pull on her pigtails like reins – no, that wasn’t right! (Funny how you can worry about getting an analogy correct in a dream!). Surely, if he was going to pull her pigtails like reins, he should ride her like a horse – a mare – and what a gallop it would be! Now, in his dream, he was riding that mare, pulling the reins while she neighed with ecstasy and he sprinted for the last fence. Then...bleep...bleep...bleep...

His phone jerked him into the bleak reality of a cold Doncaster night. Damn! He thought. Forgot to turn the thing off! – which was a pity, because that dream was the closest thing to sex (apart from xhamster.com) that he had experienced in a year. Nevertheless, it left him with a feeling of happiness, wiping away – if only for a moment – the bitterness of those last two years before they had finally split up.

The phone rang again. Tom rubbed his eyes and looked at the digital alarm clock: 3:05. It was the middle of the night – who would call at this time? Well, it could wait. Tom was about to turn off his phone, when a thought struck him. 3:05 in Donny is morning in Thailand – could it be Tam? He decided to answer it.

Hello?

Is that Tom?

Speaking. Who’s that?

Al.

Al was an old friend from Thailand.

You do realise it’s the middle of the night here.

I know. Sorry. Listen, I’ve got some bad news. Thought I should tell you soonest...

Well?

It’s Terry. He’s...what can I say? He’s dead!

Tom bit back the words, Dead drunk, you mean, as the realization hit him that this was serious. But it was still hard to believe. Dead? But he was only 50!

54.

What...how?

Fell from his apartment balcony – 9th floor.

Fell?

The police say there are no suspicious circumstances.

When?

Last night, about 2 AM.

Any witnesses?

His wife, Daeng.

Anybody else?

Not that I know of.

There was a short silence as Tom tried to make sense of what he had heard. It was broken by Al, who said, apologetically. I thought I ought to let you know.

Yes, thanks, replied Tom automatically.

The funeral is Wednesday.

Are you going?

I might. Show the flag and all that. He was a fellow Brit after all. What about you?

Ted did a quick mental calculation. It was possible to get there by Wednesday, but was it worth it? Terry had been a good friend – his best friend for while – but they had lost touch when he had made that agonizing final break with Thailand – and that was another thing. He didn’t really want to go there again – ever. He know how the place seduced you like a Venus flytrap – or perhaps mantrap would be a better word: you went in freely; then the sights, the scents, the sensations and the sex, wrapped you around with tentacles of desire until you were trapped, digested, and spat out.

He decided to send a wreath and leave it at that. Then, making sure his phone was turned off, and his computer shut down, he went back to bed, hoping to pull on those dream pigtails again.

HE WAS BACK IN THAILAND again, but there were no pigtails. Just Terry, falling, falling, falling, and an uncomfortable sensation that he was falling too. In his last nightmare, he was Terry, and he had a vivid impression of screaming as the ground rushed up to meet him. A split second before he hit, the alarm woke him up, leaving him dazed and unrefreshed. It was 7:00 and he had to be at work by 8:30.

Work was IT Support at Doncaster Council. Time was when Tom had been at the top of the IT food chain as a Project Manager for Research Machines. Then came the divorce, then Thailand, then the next divorce, and he