Archive for December, 2012

The Par Club, Chiang Rai

December 1, 2012

The round cocktail tables were at chest height, with a few high chairs dotted around. Most people stood. When the club was really busy this area in front of the stage would be cleared of furniture. Tonight was not a busy night. We had arrived around 1am and there were about six or seven groups in the place. The Par Club was a warehouse-sized venue comprising of one large area. In this way it was rather like an English ballroom – three or four steps ran around the perimeter of the large sunken dancefloor, with a long high stage at one end of the hall. 

Another small runway stage extended from the bar, right up to our table in the middle of the dancefloor. At the same height were a few podiums next to the runway and another few podiums in front of the stage. These were obviously made for dancing. There were no steps to help you up on to the podium, you had to haul yourself up there with as much grace as was possible under the circumstances. For me, this added another element of challenge to the drunken nightclub dancing performance. It was something of a standing start to the race. Throwing your body up on to the podium like a sea lion on to the shore, then uprighting your posture before launching into your moves, while everyone else watched. 

On our table was a half-drunk bottle of Absolut Vodka Raspberry. I looked at the bottle and thought about how slowly the contents were depleting. I was drunk enough to stare at one thing and afford it my undivided attention. The drunken attention meant a reduction in peripheral awareness. Like a panting dog I focused upon what was directly in front of me. At the same time, being less aware of what was going on around me. I was more prone to waves of emotion. This meant that I could look at a bottle of vodka, a bottle of vodka only, and have what felt like some kind of involved, emotional experience. I tuned out the music and the chatter and thought about stuff. 

The waiters kept buzzing round and keeping their hands busy. You drank quickly because they kept filling up your glass. Heavily flavoured vodka with Ice and Sprite. It was a bit sweet really. The three of us drank quickly, eager to talk and dance and watch and smile. 

Stage right, a big screen showed close circuit footage of two girls dancing on the runway stage. I stared at them for a long time. When they left the stage, I stared at them for a long time. There were little more than two thoughts in my mind. The first thought was ‘Is the one on the left the sexiest girl I have ever seen?’, and the second thought was ‘why are neither of them returning my eye contact?’

To tell you the truth, its difficult to describe why I thought she was the sexiest girl I have ever seen. It wasn’t that she was very beautiful, or had some unique look going on. It wasn’t the way she was dressed. It was more about the way she danced, and the attitude she projected.

 The two girls danced for a long time. Every 30 minutes or so they would climb down off the stage and take a drink at their table. They had a friend with them who was not dancing on the podium. She had a short haircut and dressed like a boy, in dark t-shirt and jeans. Like everyone else in the club, she was enjoying watching the dancing on stage. The big screen was not really necessary, as the audience were all stood in the vicinity of the runway stage anyway. During the night, there were also some short live sets by some singers. I did not find these very interesting. I found the big screen at stage right useful, as it broke up the focus of my staring. I alternated between watching the runway stage and watching the runway stage on screen.

 As the night continued, the dancing became more and more outrageously sexual. Although no clothes were removed, each time the girls got back on stage, they got a bit closer and a bit more flagrant. By the end of the night they were basically having sex with their clothes on.

It was difficult to tell if these girls were employed by the club as dancers. They were not dressed in any uniform or generic outfit, or even very glamorously. One wore a white shift dress with a black patent belt and heels. The one I was fixated on wore no shoes and some drab singlet top. Her hair was up in a clip. She did not need a sexy outfit. For, around her waist were a pair of cut off stonewash denim shorts that almost renewed my faith in God himself. This item of clothing was so perfectly matched to her figure, her movement, her attitude, this moment. Was it an accident, that had placed these shorts upon her? Or were they placed there by the Hand of The Almighty?

If you had seen these shorts, Reader, you yourself would have questioned their providence. I could not tell you if they had been cut by hand or manufactured thus, but there was a small element of fraying around their lower edges. They were cut at just the point where her buttocks met her legs, or a few millimetres above. Any higher than this and too much would have been revealed. Any lower and the effect would not have been as magical. So many pairs of eyes followed the shape of that bum in those shorts, as she moved around the stage.

The fit of the shorts was as perfect as the height of the cut-off. The seat of the shorts did not constrict or squeeze the buttocks, which were a little fuller than those often seen on a slim South-East Asian girl. However, the denim only broke contact with her skin at the point of the cut off, and therein, I would submit, creating the effect that should be the goal of all those brandishing a pair of scissors to a pair of denim jeans, with a view to creating a sexy pair of shorts. If the cut off hangs ever so slightly off the buttock, a tiny area of shadow is created, which excites the attention of the observer, eyes glued to this area as she moves, revealing and by turn not revealing, the point where her buttock meets her leg.

The fastening at the front was of buttons, and the fit here was actually tight and created a few creases in the denim.

She and her partner kept dancing, coolly and slowly. They never once smiled, and continued without engaging or even looking at anyone else in the room. I would venture that they were more than happy with the huge attention they were getting. Indeed the performance was so sexy that it seemed to mesmerise all of us, and the girls’ reaction to the many eyes lusting after them was nothing but to continue dancing, closer and closer. 

The spell was broken by a drunken couple, hoisting themselves clumsily on to the stage and proceeding to improvise a very physical dance. The woman straddled the man’s waist as he held her arms, and she hung backwards with her hair nearly touching the floor. By bending his knees he could carry some of her weight with his thighs as he moved his feet, and managed to spin her round in a rapid circle on the small runway stage. 

At a number of points the drunken, physical pair disrupted the sexy girl dancers, which they were not too happy about.

As he held the long-haired girl with the electric blue one-shouldered dress, and span her around the stage, the man thought to himself, ‘this is it, this is the reason why I’ve been going to the gym every day for the last month’. After a few minutes of this, the great spins interspersed with outbursts of pronounced hip-gyrating and Freddie Mercury-style punches in the hair, the man retired from the stage, sweating and exhausted.

I should have known better than to take to the stage with a ladyboy and try and throw her around like Ginger Rodgers. 

An over-excited young Thai guy came over to our table and introduced himself. He thought my dancing was brilliant and he was very very keen to meet my new friend, Cookie.

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