What to do when you wake up beside a Dead Hooker.
It’s happened to all of us at one time, I suppose, stuck in a musty Bangkok sex club with numerous young girls all ogling at your overweight belly under a sweaty t-shirt, you feeling like the man you are, all three hundred pounds, the sex king of the street, or at least your table; yes, there may be other German types there looking for young boys, or various other sleazebags into sick things like underage youths, but you’re different – you could choose to go somewhere that the voluntary crowd goes, you know, down at the backpacker bar and hit on all of the middle aged European ladies crossing Thailand as some sort of spirit-of-grand-adventure, or whatever those types do with their divorce money, but you’re better than that. No, you want local talent, and your manly looks and incredibly suave grooming skills have all of the ladies slowly sauntering over in your direction after the madame of the room screamed at them to snap out of their bored narcoleptic catharsis brought on by a lack of uppers, downers, or the ether of the moment, and kick their macking skills back into gear. Of course, they don’t really need them – they just need to be there to fawn over you for awhile, until you drink too many five dollar rum and cokes and decide that taking one, two, or all of them back to an overpriced private room is the best course of action to complete your evening.
But you knew all of that. A southeast Asian sex tourist destination is filled with experts of the libidinal persuasion, and you’re likely one of them. There may be money involved, but it’s more of a comfort money – after all, these teenage girls really want your loving skills, are totally into you (why else would they have said so), and just love whatever new and exciting positions to which you may introduce them. Want to be a butt pirate? No problem! They will enjoy the glamour of you plundering the depths of their plumbing to discover what they ate last night – a hamburger, or a chocolate chip cookie, perhaps? Only you and her will know for sure. Of course you’re using protection. I, above all people, know you’re not that stupid.
But naturally, things will progress. You’ll land some of that spectacular Thai weed that the hippies are always going on about, you’ll score some more of that cheap rice wine, and sooner than later you might find yourself going a little flaccid. Hey, that’s fine – it happens to all of us. But since you’ve paid this girl for the whole night, why not do a little exploration? Indeed, she may be feeling a little frisky after having you for several hours already, and since you are the Man Machine she has dreamed of, you need to think of something to keep her occupied. Just like in those banned porn movies, fisting is a great way to bond with that special someone, or if they’re not present, that nine hundred baht special someone of the moment.
Mistakes can be made, however. Perhaps she feels unwell after such fun and you notice that a ring is missing from one of your fingers. You’re both trashed, and you pass out – it’s been fun, you leave her with cash in her cleavage, she says she needs to rest up before moving on. You pass out graciously. Light seeps through the misty windows into the stale humid air of your rented bungalow in the early morning and you fire up a cigarette, head to the bathroom to unload some digested beer and stare yourself down in the mirror. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that this girl, who should be long gone, is sitting motionless on your bed.
Yes, the dead hooker problem always throws a wrench into the early morning. You really just wanted to get out of here and onto the next chicken bus to Chang Why and onto bigger and better bongs, beefier hits to smash your consciousness upside the head with some skull-shattering buzzes that the drifters of old reminisce about in the old folk’s homes, the alcohol recovery farms, and the looney bins of the nation from whence you came. Not a bad way to go, really. But the problem is that your initial foray into the self-congratulatory sex tourism scene of the Bangkok underground is putting a wrench into your plans now that this nameless girl from the dark jungles and rice fields of the places where the lonely planeteering buses don’t go, has croaked from massive internal bleeding. Maybe she’s bled all over the sheets of your bed for the night, maybe she hasn’t. If you’re lucky, her death will be from some sort of drug she ingested last night and it will have been quick and clean and painless.
So the first mission of yours should be to snap out of your drunken funk and hung over self and get down to business. Quite likely, since you’re as smart as I expect you to be, you’ve left all of your real luggage at the other hotel on the opposite end of town and have no incriminating items scattered around this throwaway fleabag room. Maybe the madame is down the hall and you’re wondering if she will notice before you can get out into the needlework of the city, onboard a tuk-tuk to anywhere but here, screaming at the mad driver who knows that something has gone horribly wrong and he’ll get a rearry rearry big tip if he just guns it and gets your ass back to safety in the cleaner confines of Tourist Town, Thailand, before anyone notices. If this is your plan of action, and it’s not necessarily a bad one, I recommend you run a block or two away from the dead hooker’s residence and entrance so that the cabbie can’t trace you back to wherever the bad stuff happened. And of course, don’t tell your cabbie to drop you off at your hotel’s doorstep – he will have far, far, far too much information to incriminate you. If he passes by your hotel, just point a few more blocks past it, around a corner or two, then jump off, pay him good big nice tip, and be on your way. Maybe wander around for awhile. After all, some of these places like to send people out to follow their customers – you never know who is in with the cops, and tipping them off can be one way to squeeze even more cash out of a proud sex tourist. Make your return far less than obvious, and anything but conspicuous.
Of course, the other option is that the madame is watching your bedroom and you’re stuck in a bind. Perhaps they’ve had this happen before, you know, where the dirty western tourist kills one of their girls and they demand some sort of compensation. Luckily the law is on your side here – or rather, the law is against both of you. Negotiating a payment for the life of the girl, who they will likely measure at only a few hundred dollars since she will usually overdose on something poorly cut or just offs herself in her slave-like living conditions in between evenings cavorting with creepy fat Europeans after a year or so. Not a bad price to bail your ass out, really. Cheaper than some American jails, let me tell you, but that’s another story. In this way the bouncers get off your case, perhaps even get you a driver and a clean route out of the city while they watch your back. Dead hookers are bad for business. You’ll avoid the whole body-dumping detail that any self respecting ditch-dive southeast Asian brothel will have already mastered from years of trafficking young girls in and out of their disease ridden doors. All in all, it wasn’t a bad night, you could have done worse, and you could have done better, and you can move onward and upward to the next chapter of the planeteering guide that is helping you wind your way through this magical mystical wonderland of cheap drugs and shady sex. Just don’t tell the wife and kids back home – after all, technically you’re at a sheet metal conference in Little Rock, right?
Of course, the worst possible scenario is that you have no out and have no helpers. Your name may be on something – which brings us back to that ring. It will likely be worth it, in the long run, to put your hand back up there and retrieve it. Blood will be the least offensive of the bodily fluids present there; further, contraction often occurs after death, though if she was lucky enough to die in her sleep (rather than awake, and really, if that happened, count your stars you were too drunk to remember the previous evening) then all of the muscles down there should be a little bit easy to deal with. Wash off with running water, and be on your way. It’s best to make her up like she’s “just sleeping” and pay the bill, and move on – this will buy you valuable hours as you find a way out of the city. And of course the first plan of action with regards to the nearest tuk-tuk driver that you flag down in a fit of panic and madness applies here as well.
Naturally, all of this means that in a bawdy house of self congratulatory sex, remaining elusive with regards to your real name and proper location of existence are paramount. They’re role playing to an extent, and you should be too. But of course, the love machine that you are, you may be pressed into providing some deeper details of your life, and I would recommend refraining from this practice as it can only lead to trouble. After all, it’s the girl who is interesting, and learning about her life and turn-ons should be the focus of your evening. Remember – have some fun, but always plan your way out.