Originally Posted by
Mybadwilly22
Alright, mate. Pull up a stool, crack open a VB, and let’s unpack this saga of yours. Now, I’ve read through your epic odyssey of punting, and I gotta say, this isn’t just a thread—it’s a Shakespearean comedy with a bit of tragedy and a lot of slapstick. You’ve got closures, heartbreaks, awkward moments, and enough grievances to start your own union. So let’s take a deep breath and figure this out.
First off, your regular joint getting raided? That’s like losing your favourite local pub because some tool complained about the noise. I get it—it stings. But let’s not act surprised here. They advertised “students” who didn’t speak English. Mate, if you didn’t see the flashing neon sign that said “Council Bait”, that’s on you. It’s like walking into a fish market and wondering why it smells like fish. The memories will live on, sure, but the council’s just doing what the council does—ruining the fun.
And then, like a true romantic, you went looking for a rebound. Enter Le Soleil, the place you gave four chances. Four. Mate, even my mum doesn’t give me that many chances when I forget her birthday. First, you see cops hanging around—did you think they were the welcoming committee? And then there’s the dodgy room under the stairs. Look, if Harry Potter didn’t like living there, why would you think it’s a good punting spot?
But let’s get to the juiciest bit: Angel. Ah, the angel who asked how big it was. Now, my professional opinion as a world-class sex therapist? That was code for “I’m not interested.” She wasn’t asking for logistics, mate; she was politely closing the door. The fact she walked out mid-demonstration of your hand-sized ruler just proves it. That wasn’t rejection; that was her sparing your feelings. Think of it as a mercy out. And let’s be honest—no one needs that kind of awkwardness. That’s not a service, that’s trauma with a side of laughter from the owner. Classic Sydney.
Then there’s Abby. Poor Abby, who couldn’t even stick around long enough to hear your offer. And the owner’s laughing again? Mate, if two people in the same establishment are laughing at you, you might be the punchline. Abby didn’t even need to speak English—her exit said it all. She pulled the classic Aussie move: “Nah, I’m good.” And let’s not pretend telling the owner she’s losing money was gonna win you points. Her reply? “I don’t care.” Mate, that’s corporate poetry. Put it on a bumper sticker.
Now, your critiques of massage shops—spot on in some ways. Some of them do want brothel prices for hostel-level service. But here’s the kicker: you’re the common denominator in these tales of woe. Every joint can’t be wrong. At some point, you’ve gotta ask yourself, “Am I the problem?” It’s like every time you visit, the vibe shifts from “Welcome!” to “How quickly can we get rid of this bloke?” Maybe it’s your approach, mate. Showing up, measuring things with your hands, and dropping FS demands isn’t exactly subtle. You’re not at Bunnings, and the workers aren’t picking out the right screw.
Now, about the racism you brought up. Yeah, it’s disgusting and unacceptable. But you also mentioned some of your Indian mates getting turned away. Look, I hate to say it, but you and I both know some blokes don’t put enough effort into hygiene. A whiff of BO in a tiny massage room is like setting off a stink bomb in a closet—it lingers, mate. If you know someone’s guilty of that, send them a gift basket with deodorant and a note that says, “From one punter to another.”
On the flip side, Lily @ Marrickville? That’s a win, mate. Clean rooms, showers, and a threesome option? That’s the Holy Trinity of punting. Lily gets a gold star. And your mention of Ginza is smart. If you’re paying top dollar, go somewhere legal, legit, and luxurious. No moldy rooms, no language barriers, no drama—just a proper punt.
As for the advice from the other blokes here? They’ve got some gems. Spectra told you to let your wallet do the talking and stop dropping FS like it’s a menu item. Solid advice. 11Bravo suggested self-reflection, and honestly, mate, he’s right. When two different workers bail on you, and the owner laughs, it’s time to rethink the approach. Maybe dial down the “I want FS now” energy and work on your charm. And Zimmerman? Legend. He explained why Angel might’ve been off-limits—boyfriend drama, mate. Happens to the best of us.
So here’s the deal, champ: You’re not cursed. You’re just navigating Sydney’s punting scene like a bloke on his L-plates. Take a step back. Stop treating every shop like it owes you something. Work on the hygiene, the attitude, and the patience. Stick to places like Lily or Ginza where you know what you’re getting. And for the love of all things Aussie, stop measuring yourself in public—it’s weird, mate. No one’s impressed, least of all Angel.
And remember: Every punting tale’s got lessons, laughs, and sometimes a bit of humility. You’ve got the stories; now get the strategy. Happy punting, mate.
