“I have public hairs bigger than his dick was!”
Helena spewing orange juice all over the table should have clued Chris in that a simple “Good Morning!” would have been a more appropriate greeting. I briefly considered suggesting that a bit of manscaping might be in order, but the look on Chris’ face told me he was not a happy camper. But evidently was a size queen. Chris had started his Thailand holiday swearing that the commercial sex scene was not part of his plan. He was too young and too not bad looking to pay for sex. And then proceeded to indulge in the procurement of a bar boy nightly while we were in Bangkok.
“Helena, you’ve got a bigger dick than that guy had!”
Dee, being more ladylike, managed to swallow instead of spit. And then immediately went into a coughing fit. The old lady having breakfast at the table across from us was not amused. And neither was Chris. On the first day of the trip he’d declared he did not like Asian guys. And our first night in Bangkok, after a visit to Tawan, that he didn’t like muscles either. But then managed to score a hot, muscled Thai bar boi every night he could.
We were in Phuket. The night before we’d been to My Way, our second visit to the bar. Chris had picked out the most muscular guy on stage. Not that there were many fitting that description. I’d briefly considered telling him that a bar boi who tucks his cell phone in the front of his shorts while on stage is not usually a good choice. One look at Chris’ face told me he was in lust. Any warning would have fallen on deaf ears. In any case, I was busy warning Helena not to trifle with the affections, or income, of the cute bar boi who’d attached himself to her. “I know, I know. We’re just talking!” she said, lapping up the attention she was getting from the young stud. “He thinks I’m hot!”
“Well, you’re just talking,” I told her. “He’s trying to score a customer and doesn’t know you’re a dyke.”
“No! He likes me!” she shot back, falling for the same line thousands of other visitors to Thailand’s gay gogo bars have countless times before. Though she may have been the first lesbian to do so. I turned to Dee, her partner, and said, “You’re gonna have to tip your bitch’s boi big time if she keeps him occupied all night.”
Dee rolled her eyes at Helena’s ego’s needs. A familiar refrain. And then went back to eyeballing Chris’ boi. I briefly considered telling Chris that a bar boi who keeps smiling over your shoulder and giving major eye to one of your dyke friends may not be a good choice for the night. But then figured since Chris was a bottom, the guy would probably perform just as well once cash was on the line thanks to the Thai gene pool.
Walking out of the club I checked with Helena to make sure she’d tipped her new friend who’d she’d wisely left behind. “It was sooo cute!” she sang. “I think he had tears in his eyes!”
And he no doubt did, Helena’s lack of addressing the question meaning she’d not tipped him much less booked his services for the night. I turned to Dee and told her to go back in and tip her partner’s friend.
“How much?” she asked.
“Helena’s money?” I checked, then getting an affirmative nod from her said, “Give him 1,000 baht.” Sure that was way too much. But a fine for ignorant behavior seemed appropriate. Besides, the two bar boys in our group, even the one officially on holiday, were closely following our exchange.
Walking back to the hotel, Chris dropped back for a moment and whispered, “He says he only does short time.” Uh, oh. I briefly considered telling Chris that a bar boi who is planning his escape before he even gets to your room didn’t promise much of a happy ending. But knowing how cheap Chris was, gave him a pro instead of the con, “Then you don’t have to tip him as much.”
That was cool with Chris.
The next morning at breakfast we found out Chris had had a short time, in more ways than one. “I’ve seen bigger dicks on a Chihuahua!” he complained loudly enough that the old woman sitting nearby decided breakfast was over. She was not thrilled with hearing how the little gay boy had been shortchanged the night before. My friend Noom giggled. Though the commercial sex scene is his life, even he realized Chris’ outburst was out of place.
“Do you know what that cost me per inch!”
Out of place or not, the girls were in hysterics. Only Chris with his love affair with the dollar would computate cost by size. But his outrage over coming up short begs the question – especially for a size queen – how do you know the boy you are buying for the night measures up to your standards?
I’d given Chris the lowdown on what is and isn’t acceptable behavior in a gogo bar. At least in Bangkok. That included a stern warning not to diddle the boys. Different areas of the country have different rules. In Pattaya, it’s not only acceptable, but encouraged. As long as you tip for the right to do so. But Chris had been schooled in Bangkok’s bars where grabbing a bar boy’s crotch is frowned upon. At least on Soi Twilight.
You can always wait for the big cock show, peruse the offerings, and pick out the guy displaying the size you like. Enough of the other acts have cock on display so that you can keep an eye out for one to your liking too. But what if the guy you like doesn’t show off on stage? That might be a hint in itself. Sure, he may just be shy, but it is more probable he is shy a few inches. Bar boys know their business, which is all about getting you to off them. If they have the goods, they will make sure you know it.
Diddling may be a no-no, but if a boy needs to close the sale it’s not unusual for him to initiate a bit of a feel. That’s usually accompanied by, “I lie you,” his cock hard to prove the attraction. And the truth of his statement. So do not be fooled. That erection is over visions of the baht soon to be his, not how much fun he’ll having getting you off. Grabbing your hand and cramming it into his crotch is an invitation to check out what he has to offer. Even then, look, touch, but don’t get carried away. An offer to taste is not part of the equation.
My bar boy friend Nut often complains about potential customers passing him up after seeing the goods. Though he blossoms into a thing of beauty, his is a grower, not a shower. He’d learned if it came down to a freebie feel, to first excuse himself for a moment and go work something up before retuning to display his full glory to his meal ticket for the night. Never underestimate the use of a torn condom as a cock ring. Always assume that raging hard on is thanks to a bit of latex around its base.
As with any other perverted little thoughts that are important to you, if size matters make sure you’ll be happy before leaving a bar with your new friend. An unhappy surprise back at your hotel is your fault, not his.
Next night at My Way, Shorty made a beeline for Chris as soon as we walked in the door. Helena’s friend made himself scarce. Helena wondered how she’d gone from hot to not in a single day. Chris wondered how he was going to get rid of the muscle hunk with no muscle where it counts so he could check out a new guy. I briefly considered telling him to try a ladyboy instead; they always seem to be hung like a horse. But Chris was intent on a night riding a guy oozing masculinity. As long as what he oozed from measured up.
He went with a boy whose bulge was in his shorts instead of his arms. Walking back to the hotel, the rest of us debated how many inches it’d take to make Chris a happy camper and ensure our breakfast the next morning wouldn’t be a series of tiny dick jokes. And I briefly considered how a brief glimpse of what is inside of a pair of briefs could mean a night of expectations not met.
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