The best sex I ever had with a bar boi in Thailand was in Phuket. The worst sex I ever had with a bar boi in Thailand was in Phuket, too. Both were from the same bar, but on two different trips and, obviously, with two different outcomes. The non-satisfying experience came second. There’s truth in Thomas Wolfe’s observation “You Can’t Go Home Again”. But #2 suckered me in by exposing his ass and giving it a slap every time he took stage. Had to be a willing bottom, I assumed. And too early in my love affair with the Kingdom, I mistakenly thought his claim, “I do everything!” meant that he did. I know better now.
Back at the hotel, after separate showers, we hoped into bed naked. He didn’t kiss, wasn’t thrilled with touching, and remained flaccid. He didn’t want to smoke, bottoming was out of the question and when I asked what he did do, he suggested I could look at him while masturbating. That might have been an acceptable idea if he lost twenty pounds, spent a few months working out, and paid for some much needed cosmetic surgery. I decided a better idea was that he leave with 500 baht he hadn’t earned. He wasn’t happy, but neither was I. And he got the better end of the deal. But my first trip to Phuket had a happy ending. Several of them. And all thanks to a hot stud a ladyboy mamasan suggested to me.
I’d been to Bangkok already over a dozen times. I’d made my way up north to Chiang Mai on several trips, too. South, and Phuket seemed the next obvious destination, but I was living in Hawaii at the time and flying off to spend time under a palm tree when I could do the same five minutes from home didn’t have a large appeal. But Phuket’s Gay Pride celebration coincided with a trip I had planned to Thailand so I booked a flight on Bangkok Airways, picked out Siam Palm (a gay owned hotel), and headed off to the turquoise blue waters of the Andaman Sea.
I got in early in the day and had time to check out the beach: nice, beautiful water, hunky local guys all along the shore. I explored the town finding the main roads and numerous small outdoor cafes, restaurants, and bars to while away the hours in. Shopping options were pretty dismal, day excursions were offered on every corner; some of the outer islands looked like they’d be worth a visit. Patong Beach had the look and feel of a sleepy little town that had grown a bit too big for itself, but for a beachside resort town it satisfied.
My first night in town was the first official night of the Pride Celebration with a kick off party at the Paradise complex. The soi was alive, packed with shirtless bodies and stages set up in front of the main bars. There was no real need to go into any of the bars, there was plenty of entertainment outside: gogo dancers actually dancing, ladyboys dressed in their finest lined up in front of their bars with bus loads of Japanese tourists making their way slowly through the crowd, everyone on board snapping photos of all the boys who were girls. Sprinkled among the larger bars like My Way, Tangmo, and Uncle Charlie’s, smaller open air bars offered street-side seating, cheap beer, and a great place to rest and people watch. I spent the night partying with the crowd, never setting foot into one of the gogo clubs.
The next night, the night before the parade, the soi was just as packed but the outdoor shows not as spectacular. Except the ladyboys. Ladyboys are always spectacular. It’s their nature. I started off the night at My Way, and moved through a progression of bars not all that pleased with what I saw. Used to the gogo shows in Bangkok with lots of naked flesh, normally some hard cock, and occasionally some simulated sex acts (this was before the days of full on fuck shows which are routine in the Big Mango now), the gogo bars in Phuket were more of a cabaret. Lots of dance numbers, too many ladyboy acts, and not enough of just good old male meat. Evidently, nudity in Phuket was a no-no.
I’d left Uncle Charlie’s to last. All the bars had ladyboys, but Uncle’s seemed to specialize in them. Between shows there was always a large line of the girls in front of the club cashing in off straight touri wanting to take their photo. But I’d not yet spotted a guy that took my fancy elsewhere, it was still too early to head back to my hotel, so I gave Uncle’s a shot.
I don’t really care for mamasans. I’d already figured out they really are not there to help you but rather to get you to spend as much of your money in their bar as possible. And ladyboy mamasans just seemed even more aggressive. So after grabbing a seat, I wasn’t thrilled when I spotted one headed my way.
Most of the ladyboys at Uncle Charlie’s were beautiful, statuesque, big bosomed, long legged, sporting makeup worthy of a Hollywood movie star. The ladyboy mamasan that flopped down beside me shared none of those qualities. He was short, fat, dumpy, and would not fool a blind man into thinking he was a she. The dramatic flourish of his hand fan as he fell into the seat next to me did not bode well. I was expecting an overly campy screeching voice to echo that mamasan cry of, “You want boooooooy?”
But instead I got a far too dramatic, deep baritone, “These boys don’t know how to treat a lady!” And I laughed. Sam – a very unladyboy-like name he’d chosen for himself – was a realist. He knew how he compared with his soulmates and rather than try to compete, went the entire opposite way. His was a caricature of a ladyboy wannabe. On purpose. It wasn’t a failing campy ladyboy act, it was a parody of a drag queen who would never be a queen much less a princess. And he was hilarious.
I offered to buy Sam a drink, the first time I’d ever made that offer to a mamasan, and probably not a routine occurrence in Sam’s life either. But I could tell the regal flick of the fan to summons a waiter had been practiced, she pulled it off with elan. Sam’s English was amazingly good and we became fast friends, chatting away, ignoring the show, and sharing a few rounds of drinks before she remembered she had a job to do. The fan snapped closed with a decisive click and she declared, “You need a boy.”
Between show numbers, the boys were making their rotation on stage. Sam made a running commentary on the offerings using her fan to point to each as she summed up his pros and cons. The pros, to Sam, all had to do with size. But then what do you expect from a drag queen? She made several attempts at selecting a boy for me, using her hands to demonstrate how big each of her choices were. I’m not a size queen, if anything, the opposite. I told her I liked masculine guys. With muscle. Who would bottom. And then used my thumb and index finger to show her how small I liked them. She thought that was quite hilarious, but got the point that size wasn’t important to me, the other attributes were what mattered.
Surveying the line up, she made a satisfied grunt and used her fan to point to a guy at the far end of the line. He was tall for a Thai. With a slightly muscled swimmer’s build, his chest was a thing of beauty and he had the dark, dusky skin I’m attracted to. There was nothing effeminate about him, and he was handsome enough. But he had a dark scowl on his face that didn’t invite intimacy. He looked to be in his late twenties, which probably meant he was in his mid-thirties, and I figured he didn’t get much business as most visitors to Thailand seem to gravitate toward younger guys. I’d have passed him by because of the look on his face, but Sam wasn’t having any of it and signalled him to join us.
The off-putting scowl, evidently, was his ‘I’m a man’ face because when he sat down it was replaced with one of the most beautiful smiles I’d ever seen. His name was Tony. Well, his name started of as something in Thai that I couldn’t wrap my tongue around and after a few tries got replaced with Tony. His English was a bit limited, though he tried hard. Sam translated a lot for us and the three of us had an enjoyable evening drinking together. But business is business and soon enough Sam wanted to know if I was buying or not.
Tony had been affectionate during our time sitting together. But I figured as far as bottoming, that’d be a no-go. But that’s not a deal breaker for me. Kissing, however, is. So I asked Sam if Tony kissed. “Of course!” she exclaimed then unfurled her fan in front of my face and told Tony to kiss me.
Holy shit! Historically, the western style of kissing is not part of Thai culture. More familiar now, they try but it’s just hasn’t filtered through to their genes yet. I have no idea where Tony learned to kiss like that, but he could have made millions teaching his brethren his trick. I didn’t care what else he would or would not be willing to do. His skilled tongue was enough to close the deal. He went to change. Sam tallied up my bill, humorously telling me I should tip her big now or I’d just have to do so tomorrow, and we made plans to get together the next day for the parade.
Back in the hotel Tony and I talked for a while. His English improved a bit without a translator to rely upon and I kept my English to its most simple form so he could understand me. I hopped into the shower alone, having already learned Thai guys are not thrilled with the showering together idea, at least pre-sex. Half way through, Tony came in, naked, and stood at the basin using my razor to shave some non-existent stubble from his chin. I think he was just showing off his ass. It was a thing of beauty. And then he joined me in the shower, alternating between cleaning himself and playing with both of us. He dropped to his knees and smoked me for a bit, then patted my thigh and motioned me out. He had business to attend to.
We spent a long time in bed kissing, hugging, and then kissing some more. When he went down on me he proved to be as skilled at that as he was at kissing. Best yet, he actually seemed to be enjoying himself. He’d smoke me for a while, stop, get a very satisfied look on his face, look at me, and then go back to it. He sensed when I was getting close and stopped, stretching himself out on top of me and went back to kissing.
When he reached for the condom I was surprised. And thought I might have to explain I only top. But he ripped open the package and placed the rubber on me. There was no question of who would be on the bottom. And there was no hesitation on his part. He slipped me inside of himself, letting out the cutest little squeal, the noise alone enough to almost make me cum.
Tony was a tiger in bed. He was voracious in his appetite for being fucked and creative in thinking up new positions. I think he actually had more fun than I. It went on for far longer than you’d expect from a bar boy and after we’d both came and cleaned up he fell asleep next to me, his hand cradling my balls.
The next morning after breakfast we headed back to Uncle Charlie’s to help decorate the bar’s float for the parade. Sam was waiting and put her hand out when she saw me. Laughing, she said, “You need to tip me more.” She was joking. But she was right.
One of the larger bars in Patong Beach, Uncle Charlie’s float needed to be just right and we spent most of the morning adding more flowers, balloons, and glitter. According to Thais, at least the ladyboy variety, you can never have enough glitter. I was invited to join the staff and ride the float in the parade, but settled for escorting Sam, the short, fat, dumpy drag queen who made her royal presence known walking along behind the float in a dignified manner.
I spent the next five days with Tony, and most evenings with Sam, too. During the day Tony often disappeared for a few hours, other parts of his life needing attending to. One day he’d been gone for quite a while, it was time for dinner, he had not yet returned so I headed down to Paradise to eat. When he found me later that night he was quite upset, apologizing profusely, afraid I was mad at him. I kissed him, not the least bit concerned; Sam scolded him, Tony’s face looking like that of an unruly school kid getting a dressing down by the teacher.
During our time together, Tony managed to convey his life story to me. Though with bar boys you can never really be sure. He grew up on a nearby island, his parents were both dead, and his work at the bar supported him and his younger brother. His dream was to save enough money to become a tuk tuk driver, and whenever one of the newer machines drove buy his eyes would light up. His more immediate dream, however, was to own a cell phone.
I’d been paying Tony daily. 1,500 baht in those days. The first morning I handed him his tip he was confused and thought that I was paying him off and sending him away. We straightened that out and since I’d started that way I continued to tip him every morning. On our second to last day together, I took him cell phone shopping. (I know, I know . . . But seriously, for less than $200 I was going to make his day. He’d made my entire trip. It only seemed fair.)
Tony was like a kid in a candy store. And it wasn’t enough to visit a single phone store. We had to go to every place in Patong Beach. Once he had finally picked a model out, we then had to make more trips from store to store while he searched for the best price. I loved the seriousness of his shopping. I loved that it obviously meant so much to him. I loved that even though it was my money, he needed to find the best price. And I loved even more that after the purchase had been made, he pulled out the 1,500 baht I’d tipped him that morning and tried to give it back to me.
Unfortunately that trip came to an end. It was almost another year and a half before I made it back to Phuket again. Uncle Charlie’s had moved location to the end of the block. Neither Sam nor Tony worked there anymore. I made the unfortunate mistake of offing the worst lay of my life, but even that didn’t dampen my view of Phuket. I have no idea if Tony ever got to drive a tuk tuk, I hope he did and that only good things came his way. As for me, I met Noom, my bar boy friend and current love of my life, in Bangkok the following year. And that story continues. Just don’t tell him the best bar boy sex I ever had was with Tony the Tiger. And sorry, but I have to say it: He was Greeaaaat!
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