*Warning, you might not want to read this, ping pong shows are very disturbing but sadly one of the many things Bangkok is famous for*
“Do you want to see the ping pong show?” Wa asked.
Well, not really, but everyone tells me that if I am in Bangkok I have to see it. Have you been there?”
“No, I don’t want to go alone, but if you want to go, I’ll pay.”
A soft screech and a hard beep and the metro arrived. Patpong, maybe Bangkok’s most notorious red light district bustled with cheap women in expensive perfume. Bright lights arched over street shops, illuminating fake Louis Vuitton and Rolex as the sounds of techno music and live sex shows blared in the background.
We walked in unison. The street hawks, the annoying salesmen who usually bombard men with offers of whatever woman they had in stock, bounced off Wa’s force field. She lead and I followed as we approached a tout and negotiated. A Ping-Pong show, 10$ for the both of us.
Through creaking doors, up winding stairs and into a dim room. Red and black lights dangled, swaying under a slow moving fan. In the corner two men sat, drinking beers, chatting, getting blow jobs.
“Come, come. Come, come.” our guide beckoned.
We followed him to a seat by the stage. Paid, got a warm beer and waited for the show.
She came out, her white see-through gown and smile glowing under the black light. One leg in front of the other, soft clicks of her new high heels on the old floor. She lifted a hand full of glowing ping pong balls. “You want play ping pong show?”
“Good, good. Play” She handed me a paddle.
“What do I do with this?”
“You hit them back” Wa explained.
“What?” My mind reeled, I came to see a show now I was part of a performance.
As she strolled back to the stage her gown slid off. Her butt cheeks bouncing with each step. She turned, revealing herself and sat on the stage. She scooted back and opened up. In the dim light, we could only see the Ping-Pong balls. She took one. It disappeared.
I lifted my paddle and held my breath.
“Pop” a full moon rose through the air, soaring toward us. I threw my paddle forward, smacking it to the ground.
Another one rocketed. My wild hand thrusting the paddle out in defense. Deflected.
A third, a forth, a fifth. Each time my shaking hand wacked the balls away.
A sixth came. I swung. I missed. A thud, a soft wet kiss on Wa’s forehead.
“Ahh, disgusting” Wa shirked as I batted away another.
“You ready next show” the performer asked as a girl brought over a string of tied together razor blades.
The performer did several more performances…should I go on and tell you all she did in detail? They involve razor blades, coca-cola, a very long string of flags and cigarettes.
If you don’t like this kind of thing because you feel people shouldn’t treat women like toys, please consider that you can always go to a ping pong show where guys shoot ping pong balls at you.