The quarter slot porno parlors of Manhattan’s Times Square, Paris’ Rue St. Denis’ buxom putes beckoning eager schoolboys for a hallway education in the oral art, and Tokyo’s school girl tarts have been banished from the face of the Earth as an affront to the social order. Buoyed by these victories the forces of outraged righteousness have carried their crusade against deviant impiety to the far corners of the world, yet some cities resist this trend for resurrecting heaven in our lifetime by maintaining the honored tradition of the world’s oldest profession.

Bangkok and Pattaya are two leaders in the global resistance to do-gooders insisting everyone live like them. These rivals of promiscuity attract thousands of sex-starved men like moths seeking a fire to die with dignity and neither city disappoints their libidos although few visiting males ever try to distinguish which sexotropolis better appeases the urge to mate with a complete stranger, male or female.

When a friend of my late brother announced his arrival in Bangkok I decided to hold a contest for the naughtiest city in the world.

Bangkok versus Pattaya.

Money no object.

Pattaya’s delights are familiar as I live in the Last Babylon.

Soi 6 with its offerings of short-time lust, afternoons of eternal night at the Welkom Inn, the staggering plethora of female go go dancers on Walking Street. I didn’t need to revisit those haunts, since it’s high season and Pattaya is loaded with drunk lowlifes, who think they have inherited a slice of heaven and hell.

My wife and daughter were out of town.

Hearing about the arrival of Michael’s friend she said go have a good time. Even knowing that I wasn’t going to spend much time at temples or tours. So it was off to Bangkok on the bus.

118 baht one way to Ekamai Station, figuring my money would be better spent on fun rather than a 1000-baht taxi ride. Two sweaty hours later my choice seemed a little hasty and I jumped off the bus early to catch the Skytrain at On Nut.

Immediately the pale prettiness of the Bangkok girls was a change from sun-darkened nudity of the rice paddy exiles in Pattaya. Every girl prettier than the other and I felt like a serial stalker darting my eyes from side to side for a visual perusal of a potential victim. None bothered to meet my gaze and I got off at the Nana station without having creating too much of a stir to the females on the train.

I descended to Sukhumvit and walked down Soi 8 to the Promenade Hotel. (1200 baht/night), mentally assembling a list of dens of inequity; Kenny’s Bar near the Malaysia Hotel, Eden Lounge for a menage a trois, then Nana Plaza and Patpong for a night crawl.

Lifting my eyes I spotted the sign for Lalitas, an infamous lounge featuring dentist chairs and scantily clad girls (600 baht for a happy ending).

During check-in Michael’s friend called from the Swiss Lodge.

Jayme was going to a cultural show and we scheduled a rendezvous for 10:30. Plenty of time to follow the path of the devil.

My Bangkok trip was falling into place and I entered my room for a quick nap, since the previous night had involved whiskey drinking with thai friends. 30 minutes and I laid my head on the pillow.

My cellphone woke me. It was Alan Platt, who lives down Sukhumvit. “Are you in Bangkok?”

“Yes, what time is it?” The sky was strangely shedding light from day.

“Almost 6. You want to meet to eat?”

“Yes.” Two hours had passed without scratching the surface of sin. The girls at Kenny’s are old veterans and satisfaction at the Eden required an hour of total concentration. I blew them off, because solid nourishment was required for a night of wickedness.

“Meet you at Soi 11 Suk Spa.”

Alan and I had a nice meal with a big beer each after which he announced, “I have to go home early. I have an interview tomorrow afternoon with John Burkett”

“The guy who wrote BANGKOK 8 and BANGKOK TATTOO.” Both were insightful detective novels. Whores. Murder, Buddha enlightenment, and corruption worked for me.

“Yeah, wrangled it through my old agent.”

“Guess that means I go to Nana Plaza on my own.” It was only 8pm.

“No, I’ll join you for a drink. My little geek might be working. It was her birthday the other day.” We walked to Nana.

The sidewalks were crowded with holiday travelers and sex-hungry males from the West. The former were buying trinkets for friends and family, while the latter headed in the direction of Nana Plaza. Their souvenirs were going to be personal.

We crossed Sukhumvit and entered the maelstrom sucking the unsuspecting into Nana.

A fight was sprawling on the sidewalk between food vendors. Both farang wanted more punishment. Neither had scored blood. I had already two black eyes from a Boxing Day beating and shook my head, “What’s worth fighting about?”

“Probably football. My team is better than your team.” Alan was English, but not that kind of British. We wandered into the Plaza. It seemed smaller than I remembered from years before. Three floors of go-go bars surrounding a courtyard the size of an NBA basketball court.

“Why don’t we meet at the