123Stodg

Scammer posting a phishing link.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, especially as I edge further into my 50s. We hear plenty about menopause for women, but I’ve started to wonder: Do men get something similar? And if so, what does it even look like? They don’t exactly have a “male menopause” section in health class, but I’ve started noticing some telltale signs that feel suspiciously close. For starters, there’s the energy shift. I’m not talking about feeling “old” exactly, but there’s definitely less spring in the step. Nights out don’t have the same appeal, and when I do stay out late, I pay for it in the morning. Then there’s the classic—less hair on my head, yet somehow more hair making itself known on my back, sprouting out of my ears, and, for some reason, setting up camp in my eyebrows. Honestly, what is nature thinking? And then there’s the mental side of it. I find myself in this strange mix of reflection and caution that wasn’t there before. I used to be a “let’s go!” kind of guy, always on the move, never looking back. Now I’m noticing I pause more, questioning things I used to take for granted, maybe even looking for a quieter life. Friends joke that I’m mellowing, and maybe I am. There’s a pull toward stability, but also a little voice that keeps saying, “Is this really it?” Almost like a midlife crisis but slower, and quieter somehow. The relationship side is different too. Friendships and romantic connections don’t feel the same. I’m less interested in being in the middle of a crowd, less eager to jump into the next social thing. And romance? Let’s just say, things have mellowed there too. Not that I mind a more even pace—life feels more stable than it used to, and in many ways that’s a relief. But there’s no denying that things just don’t work the way they used to, and it brings up its own questions. It’s all well and good to say age is just a number, but tell that to a body that doesn’t always cooperate. It used to feel like my body was just on my side. Now? It’s almost like I have to negotiate with it. Then there’s the hormone question. I’ve read that men’s testosterone levels start to decline after a certain age, not in a dramatic way, but gradually over the years. Could that be what’s behind this shift? Maybe it’s what makes me less quick to anger but also less quick to excitement. A mellowing out that seems more internal than situational. Is it testosterone winding down, or just my perspective changing as I get older? So here’s what I’m left wondering—and maybe some of you are, too: Is there a version of menopause for men, just by another name? Or is this just life’s way of evolving our priorities, shaping what we care about, even what we’re ready to leave behind? For men, there might not be a clear term like “menopause,” but something is undeniably shifting, slow enough to go unnoticed until one day you look back and realize you’re not the same guy you were. If anyone else has noticed the same, let me know. Do you think we have our own kind of “menopause”? Or is this just the next chapter in life’s little shifts, playing tricks on us by reshuffling the pieces one by one?

Thank you to everyone for the replies and reflections. It’s clear my post struck a chord with others who’ve had similar experiences—whether here in Thailand or elsewhere. Just to clarify, this was meant as an introspective look back at my relationships and the patterns that might have run through them. It’s not a story seeking pity or a call for advice. I’m no longer involved in any of these relationships, and I don’t plan to repeat anything like them again. These are simply observations on what I’ve experienced and learned, with the last of these relationships having ended about five years ago. I’m now quite content to stay single for the foreseeable future. I can honestly say I have no regrets. Each relationship brought something meaningful, or they wouldn’t have lasted five years or more. They were experiences I wouldn’t trade, each with its own quirks and complexities. And yes, infidelity was present on my end—and, perhaps, on theirs as well. After all, this is Thailand. But that doesn’t really change the core of it. What set these five relationships apart was that, despite everything, I genuinely cared for these women. My choice to look after them in ways that may have gone beyond the usual boyfriend role came from that place of connection, and the occasional outside flings didn’t change the depth of feeling I shared with each of them. In the end, these reflections are simply that—reminders of a past that’s both familiar and distant now, each memory adding its own thread to the larger tapestry.

After spending decades here in Thailand, I’ve had my share of long-term relationships with Thai women. Some worked in the nightlife scene; others had more conventional jobs. But in all cases, there was never any money involved. None of these relationships were a sex-for-money exchange. They grew from connection, curiosity, and a genuine desire to be with each other. And for a while, it was just that—simple, fun, even a bit idyllic. I moved in with some, stayed separate from others, but each felt like a real partnership. Yet over time, something subtle, almost unspoken, would shift. What began as a classic love story somehow evolved into something… well, different. One day you’re the boyfriend, sharing laughs and the occasional cultural misstep, and the next, you feel like a mix of partner, assistant, and on-call problem-solver—kind of like a boyfriend service. The funny thing was, nothing was ever asked of me directly. It was as if I’d been drafted into a new role without warning, a subtle shift I couldn’t pinpoint until I was already in too deep. In the beginning, I chalked it up to the honeymoon period ending—that natural point where real life seeps in, and the glow of new romance takes on a different light. But it became something I noticed time and time again. It was as if each relationship, regardless of her background, went through the same phases, with the same unspoken expectations rising to the surface. Don’t get me wrong; I never minded helping out—it often gave me satisfaction to help with the day-to-day things that were tough for them. And sure, it’s natural for any relationship to have moments of give-and-take, a balance that ebbs and flows. But somewhere along the line, that balance tipped, and suddenly I found myself playing a role I hadn’t realized I’d signed up for. It went beyond simple favors. It became expected that I’d be the reliable one, the steady fixture for life’s little demands. Over time, I began to feel less like a partner and more like a fixture in the background, always expected to be ready to step in when needed. What was surprising was how natural this shift felt—like it wasn’t questioned on either side. I never saw it as manipulation or something done consciously. Like something you just do for someone else when you care about their well being. It was more as if a script was unfolding that neither of us had written but both knew by heart. And I suppose I went along with it, partly out of affection, partly because it just seemed to happen so quietly. The strange part? It didn’t feel unfair, just… strangely inevitable. I’ve asked myself whether I’m somehow inviting this role, unintentionally giving off the vibe of someone who’s willing to take on those responsibilities. Maybe there’s some truth to that. Maybe, in the early days of dating, I’d unconsciously offer to help out a little more than necessary, thinking I was just being polite, caring and nice and crossing one of those cultural bridges. Or maybe it’s that in Thailand, with its unique balance of independence and family ties, stepping in for each other is just part of the dynamic. What strikes me now, looking back, is how universal this experience became across all the different relationships. All five of the relationships lasted at least five years each. And it didn’t matter if she’d come from a small rural town or had a Bangkok upbringing. It was like, once the honeymoon phase faded and things started becoming more comfortable, I became someone functional above and beyond being the romantic partner. I went from being the spontaneous boyfriend to the one you turn to for life’s little logistical issues, the one who helps smooth over the everyday hiccups. I guess, on some level, I thought this shift would happen in any long-term relationship, regardless of country or culture. But something about it here, in this setting, in Thailand, feels a bit more amplified. Maybe it’s the unspoken expectations or the social dynamics that add weight to the role. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s just one of those cross-cultural quirks—where what one person sees as practical, another sees as a kind of slow encroachment. Or maybe it’s simply part of the way things flow in a relationship where two worlds meet, not always understanding each other but somehow finding a rhythm. Does it perhaps gravitate back towards the concept that men are always supposed to be the providers and protectors in some way? So, I’m left with this strange feeling of being on both sides—grateful to be trusted, but wary of becoming a bit too indispensable. I can’t help but wonder if others have felt this too: the slow shift from lover to something else, not unwanted but undeniably different than just being a boyfriend in the conventional sense. Has anyone else found themselves in this in-between? Not exactly a life assistant, but not quite just a boyfriend either? And does that change the way you see the relationship with a Thai woman, knowing that while you’re still “together,” it’s taken on a flavor that’s, well, part romantic, part everyday care giver?

Right, let’s talk about something a bit personal and embarrassing that I never thought would be an issue, especially here in Thailand—public bathroom performance anxiety. With the tropical heat and spicy street food always in full force, staying hydrated is key, which, of course, means more trips to the bathroom. But needing to take a frequent slash isn’t the issue—that can be settled anywhere—it’s the unexpected sit-down part, once the chilis kick in, that can catch you with your pants down, literally. Here’s the problem: more often than not, I find myself frozen on the pot, stuck in a mental game of “let’s just get this over with.” Ironically, this mindset makes getting anything over with impossible when you’ve got your bung hanging over a mystery bowl—and a line of locals waiting outside, all needing to do the same thing, putting your nerves to the ultimate test. Picture this: I’m out at a bustling night market in Bangkok or a packed food court in Chiang Mai. It’s hot, crowded, and by the time I finally reach the restroom, there’s a line and zero privacy. People just a few feet away, noise from all corners—every part of it adds to the mental block. Once the thought’s there, it’s game over. My brain flips a switch, and suddenly it feels like everyone’s silently waiting for me to “perform” on cue. The pressure builds up, and before I know it, I’m walking out as if I didn’t even need to go. I’ve tried all the tricks in the book to stay calm, even taken up a little meditation to try “quieting the mind.” But seriously, when you’re stuck in a sweltering hot stall with a stranger in the next one over, meditation’s the last thing on your mind. Breathing exercises feel a bit ridiculous when you’re just trying not to act conspicuous, and frankly, I’ve had it with the strange looks from the locals who probably think I’m some foreign weirdo having an existential crisis in a public bathroom. Then there’s the food situation. Thai food is incredible, no doubt, but it’s also got a way of hitting back at the least convenient times. It only takes one round of som-tam or some fiery larb during a night out at a food market to find yourself in a bit of a bind. When that heat kicks in, there’s no time to casually scope out a comfortable crapper. It instantly becomes a game of bog roulette, and you just have to hope for the best. And that’s when the adventure really begins. Sometimes it’s just a squat toilet and a bucket, or maybe a Western toilet that’s doubling as a squat toilet—dirty footprints on the seat and all. The whole place is usually soaking wet. Not sure if it’s from the rinsing culture or a “cleanup gone wrong,” but everything from the floor to the seat is also covered in a bit of mystery water with some unknown bits sprinkled in. Meanwhile, you’re trying to find a dry place for your feet, your bag—anything you don’t want picking up a little extra “authenticity”, but it's not happening. Privacy? Forget it. A lot of times, there’s barely much of a secure door. Food courts, small local restaurants, and even some gas stations just have a stall with a flimsy plastic partition and a lock that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. Meanwhile, there’s always a line of patient locals outside, and though you can’t see them, you can feel them waiting with that passive aggressive unbothered, “whenever you’re ready” vibe. Nothing says “take your time” like a silent crowd, just waiting. Not to mention, with each second passing, it feels like they’re telepathically sensing every delay, turning it into a kind of performance—and one you feel you’re definitely failing. And then there’s always the guy in the stall next door, farting incessantly while breathing out heavy sighs—which definitely doesn’t add to the relaxation needed to drop a solid anchor. To cope, I’ve thought about planning bathroom stops before even thinking about a food market or a curry-heavy dinner. At this point, I’ve memorized a few of the malls and larger spots close to me that have a decent thunderbox setup, and I may try to start mapping my day around those places. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but if you’ve ever been in a food hall bathroom that’s seen better days, then you know what I mean. So yeah, anyone else dealing with this kind of keister stage fright? Or even better, has anyone cracked the code on handling the “spice meets squat” combo that keeps popping up? Would love some ideas that don’t involve cutting down on spicy Thai food or avoiding the amazing market eats altogether.

Thanks for the input, everyone. So far, it seems the top suggestions are either to find a ladyboy or get someone to, uh, “probe” my backside with their thumbs. Since I’m solidly heterosexual—and my backside policy is strictly a one-way exit-only portal—I’m not sure how helpful any of those ideas are. But hey, I’ll keep my hopes up that there’s still a good solution out there.

Well, let’s just cut to the chase—getting older isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There’s the inevitable grey hair, the mysterious aches and pains, and, let’s face it, some truly annoying changes on the “personal health” front. I’m talking about a certain lack of enthusiasm below the belt. Once you hit 50, it’s like a switch flips, and suddenly your body decides it’s gonna make things more difficult in the bedroom. For most of my life, I didn’t give a second thought to, let’s call it, “rising to the occasion.” But now? Let’s just say that even when I’m mentally ready, my body’s got other plans. I’ve tried every “natural” suggestion out there—believe me, I’ve done my research. Eating clean, quitting caffeine, working out regularly. They say “get more sleep,” but try telling that to the never-ending to-do list waiting every morning. I’ve loaded up on leafy greens, upped my water intake, and even swapped out some old habits for new, healthier ones. I’ve even gotten into meditation, trying to manage stress levels. But when it comes down to it, no matter how many vegetables I eat or how many squats I do, the problem persists. And let’s talk about supplements. I’ve probably spent a small fortune on everything from ginseng to maca root, L-arginine to zinc. If it’s sold as a “natural” performance booster, it’s probably sitting somewhere in my drawer right now. But here’s the reality: it’s just not working. I’ve tried powders, pills, smoothies, and shakes—anything that promised even a glimmer of hope. All I got was stack full of bottles and a lingering sense of defeat. Now, being in Thailand, let’s just say there’s no shortage of… commercial options. I’ve tried visiting a few of the top spots and, let’s be real, the experience is enough to leave anyone starry-eyed. Even had a go with a few young, eager hands-on assistants who are pretty dedicated to the “art” of service, and, yes, sometimes with more than one helping at a time. But here’s the thing—even with all that charm, dedication, and sheer effort in the mix, the results haven’t exactly changed much. Sure, it’s enjoyable and exciting, but my body just isn’t playing along the way it used to. If anything, it only adds to the frustration, knowing the mind’s all there, but the engine just won’t fire up like it once did. Of course, there’s always the pharmaceutical route. But the idea of taking potentially risky meds doesn’t sit well with me. We’ve all seen the lists of side effects, and they’re no joke: headaches, dizziness, stomach issues and other health risks in general. Not exactly the kind of excitement I’m looking to add to my day. And, let’s be real—once you start down that path, is there any going back? I don’t want to be dependent on a prescription just to function normally, let alone to feel more confident. So here I am, wondering if there’s some magic solution I haven’t stumbled across yet or if I just have to accept this as part of the new normal. It’s humbling, no doubt. And it’s frustrating beyond belief. But I’m also hoping there’s someone out there with some real advice—because, at this point, I’ll take any tips that don’t involve side effects or miracle powders. Hoping there are other people out there with wisdom who are on the same page.

Do you think suggesting earplugs to my wife might be a good idea? It could at least be a starting point to cut down on the noise until (hopefully) I can get this under control. Maybe then she wouldn’t get woken up by my nightly “episodes.” But honestly, I feel pretty embarrassed even bringing it up. I imagine she’d feel a bit awkward too. Part of me wonders if she’s already been venting about it to her family or friends… which, let’s face it, only adds to the embarrassment.

Just want to add a bit more context here. My better half is pretty shy and well-mannered, so while I know some couples eventually get comfortable enough to let loose around each other, that’s not really the case for us. If one of us has to, you know, let one go, we usually try to step away or head to the bathroom if possible. It’s just a little courtesy we’ve kept going with each other over the years. So, with this whole nighttime gas bombing situation, I can definitely understand why it might be pushing her patience a bit. Not only does she have to deal with the sound, but, yeah… the unfortunate smell. She hasn’t said anything about it yet as I mentioned (she’s way too polite for that), but I get the feeling if this keeps up, it could start causing some tension. Obviously, I’d rather not see that happen over something as uncontrollable and unintentional as this. Fingers crossed I find a solution soon!

Also, I don't drink alcohol, I don't smoke cigarettes, I don't drink any carbonated drinks, but I have been drinking a bit more coffee lately than I usually do. I wonder if maybe the additional coffee could be the cause of this serious gas problem I am having? The gas cramps can be really uncomfortable at times too!

Lately, I’ve been dealing with this strange and pretty embarrassing nighttime issue. For some reason, I keep waking myself up around 2 or 3 a.m. with, well… really loud and explosive sleep farts. It’s almost like my body waits until I’m completely out cold to let it rip, as if it’s got a mind of its own. I’ve tried cutting out dairy, beans, broccoli—pretty much everything that’s supposed to cause gas—but no luck. And the worst part? I share a bed with my missus, and I’m pretty sure she’s not happy about it. She hasn’t said anything (yet), but the look she gave me this morning was… well, let’s just say it spoke volumes. I know things like stress, age, maybe even anxiety can mess with your system, but this feels like a whole new level. Anyone else out there battling with the nocturnal “booty blues”? And should I be worried that maybe it's something more serious, or is this just what my nights are gonna be like from now on?

What do you think of Andrew Tate, the criminal human trafficker, money laundering fraudster and racketeering rapist? Well, seems Coffezilla is about to blast Tate in a Tate Bitcoin scam takedown video soon to appear on YouTube. And the Tates are pretty livid out about it. Totally unhinged to put it lightly. The Tates actually seem more upset with Coffeezilla than they do about their pending criminal court cases in Romania. Seems Coffeezilla has managed to push their panic buttons quite hard and successfully. If none of what I'm writing makes any sense to you then watch Coffeezilla's short YouTube video below and then watch Andrew Tate's short raging video on his Twitter linked below it: Bear in mind that Tate uses the N-word multiple times in his video. I'm surprised it hasn't been removed for violating terms of service on Twitter. But then again, Musk is all about free speech, isn't he?

How many judgmental posts have I read here on AN where one poster accuses another of being a sexpat, a monger, trying to get a leg over, etc. Really? All these people judging others from their glass houses. So petty. Who cares what other people do and what they come to Thailand for? You do you and forget the rest. When I first came here everyone was either a drunk, a shagger, a spook, a teacher, a backpacker, a property agent, a fugitive, an arms dealer, a movie producer or all of the above wrapped into one. Nobody cared what anyone else did. If you called someone in Bangkok a sexpat back in the eighties then they probably would have been flattered. It wasn't even a word! Then the place started to gentrify around Y2K, the morality police showed up in the form of Westerners that saw it fitting to start calling other foreigners names and attaching labels. Back then nobody even pretended to be in Thailand for the temples, the markets, the elephants, the culture, etc. Couldn't be arsed, nor did anyone have anything to hide. So now you got lots of desperados on AN that are tarring others with a dirty brush when they in fact might be doing even worse things themselves. Or maybe they are hoping to, but can't because they made the mistake of getting married too quickly. A sack of armchair critics who get a kick out of trolling others to see if they can trigger someone by calling them a sex tourist whenever anyone admits to enjoying the night life in Thailand. Give it all up already FFS. Don't be one of those minging geezers who can's stop himself from judging others for what they choose to do with their own bodies in the hub of nightlife.

If your cannabis oil has any cannabis flavor then most of that flavor is from the terps.

Fiction.