Right then bruv, picture this. I’m laid out flat on a massage bed off Second Road about five hours back, lights low, Cafe Del Mar music burbling away, eyes closed and hands crossed in front of me bits like a compliant hostage. I’ve done the full morning. Heat. Traffic. Noise. Brain fried. But I’ve just puffed through a proper fatty and all I want now is forty five minutes of silence, bliss, and a pair of strong hands undoing the damage life’s done to me shoulders.

 

Curtain drawn. World shut out. Livin' the dream.

 

Then I hear it.

 

A cough. A shuffle. The rustle of a towel next door.

 

Next thing I know, a voice comes drifting through the curtain gap where we can just see each other's peepers, like a ghost that missed its stop.

 

“Mate… can I ask you something.”

 

I don’t answer. I shut me eyes. Play dead. Everyone knows if you don’t respond quickly enough there’s still a chance they’ll leave you alone.

 

Nah, no such luck. He bangs on.

 

“Sorry mate, yeah. Just… bit of a weird one.”

 

And that’s how it starts. Always polite. Always apologetic. Like I’ve volunteered to be Thailand’s expat emotional support line.

 

He tells me he’s been here ten months. Met a girl early on. Not a bar one, like. A proper gal. Works a normal job at a tour company. Gentle. Kind. Makes him tom-yum on her days off. Talks about the future. Proper stuff.

 

I’m lying there thinking great, lovely, congratulations, please stop talking.

 

But no.

 

He says things have been getting serious. Really serious. Talking about moving in together. Getting a dog. Talking about family. So she takes him up country to meet her mum. Big step. Big emotions. He’s nervous. Wants to impress. Buys fruit and one of those neatly wrapped gift baskets with the little glass jars of chicken soup in them. That fancy tonic guff that everyone swears is good for longevity. Wears a shirt with buttons to cover his tats.

 

Then comes the moment.

 

They’re sat in the mum’s house. Plastic chairs. Fan wobbling in the corner. Mum’s smiling. Chatting away in his broken Thai. Girlfriend pops outside to answer a call from a mate.

 

And that’s when mum says it.

 

Not malicious. Not dramatic. Just casual. Like she’s commenting on the weather.

 

“My son very happy now.”

 

Silence.

 

The bloke says he laughed at first. Thought it was a translation thing. Maybe cultural. Maybe mum’s just old fashioned.

 

So he gently corrects her. Smiling. Polite.

 

“No, no, your daughter.”

 

And the mum looks confused.

 

“No,” she says. “My son. Before surgery.”

 

The geezer says his stomach dropped through the floor. Like missing a step in the dark. Like the massage table giving way under me arse.

 

He tells me he just sat there smiling while his brain did backflips. All the memories replaying at once. Every shower. Every angle. Every reach-around. Every moment that suddenly made a horrible kind of sense.

 

He says when she came back in the room he couldn’t even look at her. Just nodded. Smiled. Died quietly inside.

 

By now the massage has stopped. I’ve got an elbow in me spine and a stranger pouring his soul out through a polyester curtain.

 

He asks me, in a small voice, like I'm the sage who's got all the answers to the universe.

 

“Mate… what would you do.”

 

I don’t know what to say. I didn’t come here for this. I came here for knots and oil and maybe a light tickle under the hood if the stars aligned. Instead I’ve been handed the emotional equivalent of a three alarm fire.

 

So I say the only thing you can say.

 

“That’s rough, mate, but go with your heart.”

 

He sighs. Long one. Says he really loved her. Thought she was the one. Thought he’d finally cracked the code, instead he went full homo without even applyin'.

 

Then the curtain twitches. His masseuse comes back. Mine does too. The moment’s gone. Confession over. World resumes. Thank heavens. 

 

As I leave, he won’t look over at me. Only stares at the ceiling like a man who’s just watched his future evaporate between a coconut and a car crash.

 

And that’s Pattaya for you.

 

You book a massage for your shoulders and end up carrying someone else’s entire life story on your back instead. Lewie out.

32 minutes ago, Lewie London said:

Right then bruv, picture this. I’m laid out flat on a massage bed off Second Road about five hours back, lights low, Cafe Del Mar music burbling away, eyes closed and hands crossed in front of me bits like a compliant hostage. I’ve done the full morning. Heat. Traffic. Noise. Brain fried. But I’ve just puffed through a proper fatty and all I want now is forty five minutes of silence, bliss, and a pair of strong hands undoing the damage life’s done to me shoulders.

 

Curtain drawn. World shut out. Livin' the dream.

 

Then I hear it.

 

A cough. A shuffle. The rustle of a towel next door.

 

Next thing I know, a voice comes drifting through the curtain gap where we can just see each other's peepers, like a ghost that missed its stop.

 

“Mate… can I ask you something.”

 

I don’t answer. I shut me eyes. Play dead. Everyone knows if you don’t respond quickly enough there’s still a chance they’ll leave you alone.

 

Nah, no such luck. He bangs on.

 

“Sorry mate, yeah. Just… bit of a weird one.”

 

And that’s how it starts. Always polite. Always apologetic. Like I’ve volunteered to be Thailand’s expat emotional support line.

 

He tells me he’s been here ten months. Met a girl early on. Not a bar one, like. A proper gal. Works a normal job at a tour company. Gentle. Kind. Makes him tom-yum on her days off. Talks about the future. Proper stuff.

 

I’m lying there thinking great, lovely, congratulations, please stop talking.

 

But no.

 

He says things have been getting serious. Really serious. Talking about moving in together. Getting a dog. Talking about family. So she takes him up country to meet her mum. Big step. Big emotions. He’s nervous. Wants to impress. Buys fruit and one of those neatly wrapped gift baskets with the little glass jars of chicken soup in them. That fancy tonic guff that everyone swears is good for longevity. Wears a shirt with buttons to cover his tats.

 

Then comes the moment.

 

They’re sat in the mum’s house. Plastic chairs. Fan wobbling in the corner. Mum’s smiling. Chatting away in his broken Thai. Girlfriend pops outside to answer a call from a mate.

 

And that’s when mum says it.

 

Not malicious. Not dramatic. Just casual. Like she’s commenting on the weather.

 

“My son very happy now.”

 

Silence.

 

The bloke says he laughed at first. Thought it was a translation thing. Maybe cultural. Maybe mum’s just old fashioned.

 

So he gently corrects her. Smiling. Polite.

 

“No, no, your daughter.”

 

And the mum looks confused.

 

“No,” she says. “My son. Before surgery.”

 

The geezer says his stomach dropped through the floor. Like missing a step in the dark. Like the massage table giving way under me arse.

 

He tells me he just sat there smiling while his brain did backflips. All the memories replaying at once. Every shower. Every angle. Every reach-around. Every moment that suddenly made a horrible kind of sense.

 

He says when she came back in the room he couldn’t even look at her. Just nodded. Smiled. Died quietly inside.

 

By now the massage has stopped. I’ve got an elbow in me spine and a stranger pouring his soul out through a polyester curtain.

 

He asks me, in a small voice, like I'm the sage who's got all the answers to the universe.

 

“Mate… what would you do.”

 

I don’t know what to say. I didn’t come here for this. I came here for knots and oil and maybe a light tickle under the hood if the stars aligned. Instead I’ve been handed the emotional equivalent of a three alarm fire.

 

So I say the only thing you can say.

 

“That’s rough, mate, but go with your heart.”

 

He sighs. Long one. Says he really loved her. Thought she was the one. Thought he’d finally cracked the code, instead he went full homo without even applyin'.

 

Then the curtain twitches. His masseuse comes back. Mine does too. The moment’s gone. Confession over. World resumes. Thank heavens. 

 

As I leave, he won’t look over at me. Only stares at the ceiling like a man who’s just watched his future evaporate between a coconut and a car crash.

 

And that’s Pattaya for you.

 

You book a massage for your shoulders and end up carrying someone else’s entire life story on your back instead. Lewie out.

Good story. Which AI did you use?

Sad tale, Lewie, but well said. 👍

2 hours ago, FolkGuitar said:

Sad tale, Lewie, but well said. 👍

I wouldn't waste too many tears on Lewie's posts. I don't believe a word of any of them, though I find them entertaining and appreciate the effort.

At least you are trying.  All total BS ,but a funny read.

8 hours ago, FolkGuitar said:

Sad tale, Lewie, but well said. 👍

 

5 hours ago, HappyExpat57 said:

I wouldn't waste too many tears on Lewie's posts. I don't believe a word of any of them, though I find them entertaining and appreciate the effort.

Why is anyone still surprised that Lewie's posts are AI-generated?
He's been posting often, and always with the same engaging, fun style, giving us a chuckle or groan every time.
Keep it up, Lewie! Your stories make for a delightful read over breakfast!

Cool story, but seems like a rehash of the OPs post from earlier this year. Just in a different setting.

https://aseannow.com/topic/1367547-i-came-for-a-beer-not-your-bleedin’-lifes-proper-grim-story/#comment-19965986

14 hours ago, Lewie London said:

Right then bruv, picture this.

I stopped reading when I got to 'bruv'. 

39 minutes ago, ColeBOzbourne said:

I stopped reading when I got to 'bruv'. 

Instantly makes me think of "A Clockwork Orange."

I like the style. I like the imagery.   I don't think he uses AI.

Active imagination, but anyone having spent any real time in Thailand would know that conversation/comment from the Mother would never happen.

 

Entertaining though....lol...😀

Bob , you need to collate all of these tails into a book , should do well,

maybe even a film , Bob de Niro could play you ,that would be nice....

 

regards worgeordie

The dog they discussed together was a sausage dog by the sound of it 🤔