Requiem for Bygone Days in Lockhart Road Curtain Bars
I mourn the departure of these bars bitterly. Contra the assertions that the curtain bars were "ripoff joints" (the hell they were), over an extended period of decades, I found the Lockhart Road currtain bars to be incredible value and some of the most incredibly libertine experiences of my life. I have no idea how I will ever recapture those experiences.
I first came to Hong Kong in 1992 while I was in the US Navy. At that time those bars, although as always substantially more expensive than many other get-pussy opportunities in Hong Kong, on an absolute basis they remained cheap.
I first eturned to Hong Kong on a business trip in 2001 and found Lockhart Road a rollicking, heaving good time, but I was still unaware of its thinly-veiled depravity. (I was naive.) Since then I have returned to Hong Kong on business trips three to four times a year through November 2019, after which all travel stopped. Since those bars were primarily aimed at tourist trade and some local expats, three years of no tourists, no business travellers, no visiting US Navy port calls, it was inevitable we would lose the curtain bars.
Dear God, I miss them. Why? Why did I think they were great value? Drugs. Starting around 2010 I had settled into comfortable familiarity with Dragon Club, Rhine, and San Francisco and their ownership and management. Casual visitors may or may not have known, but nearly 100% of the Filipina, Thai, and occasional Viet girls in those three bars smoked crystal meth, perhaps out of boredom. I don't know if the mamasan supplied them in order to control the workforce. There was always at least one jankety water pipe with a few points of crystal hanging around in the bowl, stashed somewhere close at hand but out of the wa, so that random police inspectors could pretend not to notice them.
I was naive the first decade I'd been going to these bars, but somehow, someone cracked the code and supplied me with some drugs to go with the sex — but it was a revelation! From 2010, the minute I strolled in to these bars, someone would stuff the meth pipe in my face, whispering "Ice, ice, baby" as her coworker tugged down my pants.
For every HK$3000 I would spend, somehow a gram of something would drop on me and the girls with whom I was partying in the back of the bar, for us to gobble up and keep the party rolling. Waves of whores would wash over me for exactly HK$1000 per interval of 45-60 minutes over the course of about 12 hours starting after lunch. By dinnertime I would become an animal, my higher cognitive functioning overwhelmed by dopamine release. Dripping n sweat, and flailing away at a flaccid cock which, despite being out of order, demanded — and got! — continuous sucking, I would regularly barge out of the back of the bar stark naked, pulling on my flaming red, chapped cock, and announcing to bemused tourists and expats "More whores! And I sure did get them.
If ever we ran out of drugs back in the hotel room, the girls would make a quick phone call back to the bar, and one of those little old Chinese lady touts would roll in, grinning and pointing at me standing there stark naked, and then drop to their knees and suck my cock a few minutes. Unusual, but they were still women, after all, entitled to demonstrate that they still knew their way around a man's cock.
One crazed night at Rhine, I grabbed the hips of the late-30/early 40-ish bartender/manager Christine (Sweet Christine, how i miss you!) and declared I wanted to eat her pussy and suck her asshole. Well, she shimmied out of her jeans and let me chow down right there in the front of the house. On later visits, Christine and I started regularly fucking in the back of the bar to kick off the night's festivities. I never did fuck her ass (good gracious, how I wanted to) but I was able to direct some of those Thai girls to bury their tongues in civilian coworker Christine's anus for a few seconds each. Then sometimes at the end of the night, Christine would walk me over to the Ming Court and check me in. I have no idea if I paid for these rooms or if Rhine did. They must've had a deal.
Christine once, around 2015, shortly before she "went back to the mainland" (who can say if this was the real reason for her disappearance — did this lovely woman get sent to jail?) dragged me out of Rhine to deposit me on a mattress at the Ming Court, assembling a posse of eight Rhine girls (mostly Thais), one unidentified but cute Filiipina stranger, and herself in a circle around me as sweat coursed off my body, and all ten of them removed their clothing to piss on me. Apparently Christine paid everyone a nominal HK$100 each to give me this treatment; I don't know if it was my idea, whacked-out on the drugs, or hers. But on balance it wasn't horrible.
I found out that for some people, this is their fetish and a real turn-on, to slurp up piss dripping from a woman's bush (Christine's, of course) and taste its bitterness. Under the influence, there are women, ordinary women, who will demand that you jam your cock into their throat and commence pissing. I wonder if that was what Christine wanted but never vocalized.
Later on, I got a little more professional and disciplined about all this partying, and would just show up around 9:00, lay down HK$6000 and walk out with two gorgeous whores and two — later three — grams of whatever, "on the house". Around 1:00 a.m., additional girls, and sometimes s sheepish customer they'd just finished fucking, would drift over to get some free candy, and stick around to fuck for a nominal HK$1000 and orgasms from booty bumping and then we would party in my hotel room until 9:00 or 10:00 the next morning, hoovering up fat rails of complimentary cocaine, sucking down clouds of free meth from one of the waterpipes that mysteriously followed us over from the bar.
For almost 20 years, all of this depravity, a scant five-minute walk away from my business-trip hotel.would cost me between US$1000 and US$2000 per night. I could hardly have replaced these experiences at those price points anywhere else on Earth. And I have a network of familiar whores in Manila, Angeles City, Bangkok, and Phuket with whom I still keep in touch. They know exactly what I want and there are no awkward, probing conversations to determine whether one has picked up or taken out a star or a dud. Truly, for me, the curtain bars are the nights I can't remember and the friends I'll never forget.
They have taught me an important Pro Tip I would never have learned in the Navy under its prohibition regime: If you've got hard drugs in your pocket and casually let it be known to newbie strippers, TGI Fridays' waitresses or bartenders, college students, or professional women attending a business conference that you're holding — buddy you are imminently going to get fucked. After piquing their interest by mentioning your drugs and your plan to use them, you can blithely suggest to respectable women the most crassly outrageous, boundary-crossing sexual conduct imaginable, and if you're holding, they let you do it. Grab 'em by the pussy!
I'm headed to Angeles City next weekend, in fact, to meet up with the last brigade of Filipina whores I banged from the Dragon Club in 2019. I've been sprung from anticipation the last three weeks. But I am positive our forthcoming party will ultimately be a pale imitation of bygone days, due to the absence of those red curtains, Christine (the love of my life), those old-lady touts eager to demonstrate they could still suck a cock, bemused Australian-lawyer businessmen and their wives rolling their eyes at my unabashed public nudity and untrammeled id, the Ming Court desk girls quietly laughing as I roamed the halls all bollocky, trying to find an unlocked door through which to barge in and ask to watch the whore with whom I'd been playing on and off all evening fuck the next customer whose cock was hard and functional (this request would be accepted more than one would ever have expected), and of course the Hong Kong Police. God bless them all.
[ Last edited by RearAdmiral at 29-9-2023 23:26 ] | |
