Talkin' Shit About A Pretty Sunset

Most men aren't used to multiple women hitting on them full force, but when it happened to me in a barful of hookers last night, I felt like a woman fighting off skeezy NoVA guys at Tom Tom on 18th Street.

First off, it was not my choice to visit a bar crawling with ladies of the evening. I was whisked to the back-alley dive by my Thai associates for pool games and was overwhelmed with intense eye contact and blunt compliments from the opposite sex. Within one minute, the mama-san had assigned one of her girls to me. She made a few subtle gestures, and I was pounced upon. A young woman then began trying to massage my biceps and scratch my bald head. (No, in fact, they don't offer "sucky sucky".)

The unusual attention I got was downright creepy and I felt like a girl amongst players. I found myself doing what hundreds of women have done in bars everywhere: turned my back and played the "I don't see you" game.

The most disgusting part was watching the male human garbage who're there to satiate their disease-ridden vice. And it's not just what they're doing that's so revolting; more sickening is the extra swagger and gleam on their 50-something jowlish faces knowing that they can have sex with any woman in the place.

I went through the same emotions during my Cambodia visit in 2004: 1st, flattery; 2nd, shock; 3rd, awkwardness; 4th, annoyance; 5th, disgust; 6th, pity.

This hard man is humbled again.