In the beginning there was Future Boys. That’s where I met Noom, my bar boy friend and current love of my life. The bar is no longer there, it’s morphed into Ocean Boys. Fortunately Noom is still around and the only thing that has morphed is his body. It’s become bigger and more muscular as the years have gone by. But this post isn’t about now, it’s about then. I briefly touched on the night we met in a much earlier post, but have never gone into much detail about the beginning of our relationship. At least until now.

In those days, Future Boys was one of the more popular bars on the soi. By show time, the place was packed, overflowing, filled with customers and hot guys standing around in the underwear. Twilight was still anchoring the soi and still held the reputation for being the bar that offered the most sleaze. Future Boys was a close second. While other bars on Soi Twilight played coy offering nothing more than a quick glimpse of hard flesh, the show at Future Boys featured live sex acts and hard cocks galore. It was my kinda place.

Perhaps because they could allow their show to speak for them, the mamasans at Future Boy were never overbearing. They were also not ladyboys, so the testosterone levels were lower, and the aggressive and pushy attitude ladyboy mamasans are known for was not part of the ambiance at the bar. The boys working the stage were not aggressive either. They’d approach you to see if you were interested, but were quick to move on if you didn’t rise to the occasion. With a packed house, there was little reason to push for an off, business was too good to have to work for it.

I was at the beginning of one of my year end trips to the Kingdom. The second or third night of my trip, I was out for a good time, not necessarily to off a guy but rather just to party and have a good time. Not that offing someone wasn’t a possibility, that’s always on the table. I had loaded my wallet full of baht and planned on dropping a major chunk of it entertaining the boys while they entertained me.

I’d love to tell you that when I spotted Noom it was love at first sight. I’d love to tell you that when Noom spotted me, his face lit up knowing that the man of his dreams had just entered the bar. I’d love to tell you that when our eyes met it was like the rest of the world ceased to exist, that we both immediately recognized our soulmate and that the world’s greatest love story began. But that didn’t happen. I did notice him soon after entering the bar. It was hard not to. The boys were in rotation on the stage, and Noom was busy off stage posing, quite sure every eye in the house was on him. Any that belonged to someone not in love with twinks was.

Noom was masculinity personified. With a studied casualness he flexed his muscles as he moved about the bar, oozing sex appeal from every pour. I enjoyed the show he was putting on, and then immediately crossed him off my list of possibles for the night. Not that he wasn’t hot, but the attitude and cocky confidence did not bode well. A bar’s muscle stud is always in high demand. And seldom lives up to promises. Even those specifically made. Too wrapped up in himself, I doubt if he even noticed my entrance.

Sometimes I hit the soi for nothing more than a drink or two and the opportunity to feast on eye candy. Other times finding a guy to off for the night is my purpose; those are quick trips, brief visits to just as many bars as it takes to find the perfect body for the night. Occasionally, my visit is all about partying, spending the night in one of my favorite bars, throwing money around, and being attended to by a dozen guys all in search of a quick tip. Party nights can be pricey, but they are always worth every baht spent (though my wallet may disagree). On this night, it was party time, the night before New Year’s Eve and I was starting the celebration a day early.

I’d been in Bangkok two months before, had offed a few guys from Future Boy, and had established a rep as a customer with a good heart. ‘Good Heart’ is Thai for easy mark, someone with a fat bank account who is willing to share his good fortune. No big surprise then that I was enthusiastically greeted and soon surrounded by a bevy of boys. Regardless of age or looks (because cash is what really matters in a Thai gogo bar) there is nothing more enjoyable than a night spent watching hot guys have sex on stage while a handful of studs hover around you, attending to your every need. It’s even better when you’ve previously established yourself as a butterfly, then every guy at the bar knows he has an equal chance at snagging you as a customer. And the boys were all trying their damndest to win that prize.

Not that anyone of them was having much luck. A few hung around chatting, massaging various parts of my body, happy to be bought a few drinks and to have an excuse not to get up on stage for awhile. And there was a steady progression of guys who came up and introduced themselves in hopes of scoring a customer for the night. The hot ones got a drink and a few minutes of conversation, the fems and screeching queens got a rude brush-off. You have to be firm with the queens. Let one sneak under the radar and all the other fem boys in the bar come running. Noom was still busy posing. I checked his body out a few times when he was on stage during the rotation, and then went back to playing with the studs gathered around me.

The boys can get out of their turn standing on the stage in their underwear if they are sitting with a customer. Show time is a different story. They’ve already been slotted in for at least one of the acts and unless their off fee has already been paid they have no choice but to take part in the performance. While the gang around me dwindled in number when the show started up, the eye candy on stage made up for lack of personal attention.

This wasn’t decades ago, not that long ago at all, but in those days the shows were about sex, with a lot of teasing along the way. It wasn’t the acrobatic in your face fucking that has become the norm these days. The comedy acts, as they are today, were strictly for the Thai audience. And every show relied heavily on glamourous ladyboys lip syncing some love song of hurt and pain from the ‘70s. But there was a progression to the show. The first acts only showed the flesh you’d already seen during the boys’ rotation. Later, hard cocks would be glimpsed, usually hidden behind some gauzy fabric that did little to disguise what it purported to hide. Totally naked guys came next and then when the actual sexual acts started a hush would fall over the bar.

Theirs was always a languid approach, soft, dreamy. A lot of rubbing and caressing, occasionally a bit of oral sex. But then as the guys got harder, the tempo of the acts picked up and by the time they got to fucking the lights would go crazy shooting colors and patterns all over the bar while the chains hanging from the ceiling started clattering against the metal poles mounted on the stage, poles that no Thai bar boy has ever come close to learning how to properly work.

I was surprised Noom was in only one of the numbers, the traditional soap act with him hard but still in his underwear, slowly moving about the stage as he worked up a lather all over his body. He was quite serious about his performance, his forehead scrunched up, deep in concentration. That’s a familiar look of his that I’ve since then come to know well.

As the show played on, those guys who’d become part of my posse for the night, once finished with their duties on stage, slowly started refilling the seats around me. A few new guys came over and were either dismissed or invited to join the party. I never noticed Noom approach, I’m not sure where he even came from. But someone new started massaging my hand and when I looked over, there he sat in all his splendor.

He was sitting more on his back than his ass, a subservient position that with bar boys has less to do with cultural/social norms than with them knowing how damn appealing having a hot masculine muscle guy practically groveling at your feet can be. Noom flashed a smile at me. He has an incredible smile, one of those that is the equivalent of a full body hug. I couldn’t help but smile back. And then as a greeting, rather than the traditional sawadee kap, he said, “I go wit you?”

And I laughed. The hot muscle stud was taking his turn at bat and came out swinging for a grand slam.

Since then, Noom has frequently revisited our first night together, a trip down memory lane that is enjoyable for both of us. Since then, he’s told me that he had spent the night watching me turn one guy after another away. He’d also talked with some of the guys who had spent the night hanging around me and had been told that I wasn’t willing to off anyone, but was good for a drink and/or a tip if I liked you. Noom, in his overconfident approach to life, knew better. In his opinion, the fates had aligned and needed nothing more than his presence. To Noom, his opening query wasn’t a question but rather a statement of fact. To Noom, it was already a done deal.

Had I known that at the time, we could have dispensed with the next half hour or so. Instead of agreeing to the off, I bought him a drink. And he scooted closer, claiming the alpha dog spot next to me. Having already moved to the business part of the night, there was none of the typical bar boy patter of, “Where you from . . where you stay . . . how long you stay Bangkok?” Instead he let his smile do the talking, waiting patiently for me to realize the obvious answer was yes. I pulled my usual trick with bar boys of complementing him on his smile, his eyes, his hair. Bar boys are all vain. They love compliments. And though they spend their nights being ogled on stage, complementing something nonsexual like their smile gets you much further than mentioning what a nice cock they have. Noom’s vanity is in a whole different universe. He took time out from waiting for me to signal to the mamasan to add his off fee to my check bin and basked in the praise I heaped on instead.

My plans for the night, as well as my preconceived notions of Noom, quickly changed. Even with his down to business greeting, his overarching sweetness shined through. His ready smile and the twinkle in his eyes seemed a more honest mien than his strutting, muscle posing act from earlier in the evening did. The same amount of confidence was there, but instead of being off-putting, it was endearing. His confidence does not stem from arrogance as I had assumed, but rather from the pleasure he has with his world and everyone who enters it. Undoubtedly part of why our relationship has lasted as long as it has is that from our first interaction, the inner Noom was evident. He wasn’t just a gorgeous piece of meat for sale, but a person.

The meat part, however, came first.

I flirted with him a bit; he allowed me the time I required to adjust to the fact that he would become an integral part of my life. Thoughtful of him to not rush me. We chatted for a while, not easy to do when there is a stage of naked guys having sex a few feet in front of you. I checked out his body and made appropriate noises over his tattoos while an internal debate ensued: he was adorably sweet, but the aggressive approach was a turn-off. I loved his muscles, but hate tats. And then there was the whole studs are duds thing to consider too. In retrospect, all of that was a waste of time. Noom was right. I was his from the first hello. Even if that first hello was an offer to purchase him for the night.

Although offing him was a foregone conclusion by that time, I did make a halfhearted attempt at establishing just how much fun I was in for and asked about his sexual repetorie. And laughed at his obvious lie, “I do everyting.”

But the bar boy ‘I do everyting’ isn’t really a lie, they will do everything. At least everything that they are willing to do. Noom’s ‘I do eveyting’ meant, “I’ll do everyting necessary to rock your world.” And he did.

I signaled to the mamasan and Noom went to the dressing room to change into his street clothes before coming back out and reclaiming his spot next to me. Patronage established, Noom was in no hurry to leave the bar, content with allowing me to watch the rest of show. Still in the evening for the long haul, a steady stream of hopefuls continued to make their way over the difference being now I had no need of deciding who got a drink and who got sent on their way, Noom took over. He’d already determined where my tastes lay and began what he considers to be taking care of me.

When you leave a bar with your boy d jour, occasionally the boy will walk alongside you. More often he trails behind you a few steps. Noom swaggered off out in front, blazing a trail through the barkers and the customers who, as closing time approached, were making a mad dash to the nearest bar to grab whatever guy was left. At the mouth of the soi he hesitated, having not yet established which hotel I was staying at, and gave me a questioning look before heading off again once I’d pointed in the right direction.

I was staying at Tarntawan, having booked one of their super deluxe suites at a decent price for that time of the year. It was obvious my choice of boy for the night had some experience under his belt, he extracted his ID from his wallet by the time we got to the front desk and handled the guest check in with routine aplomb.

Riding up to the room in the elevator is often the first time you are truly alone with a boy you’ve offed. You are undoubtedly excited over the prospects of what is to come, he is undoubtedly a bit apprehensive over the same. Silence, or observing proper elevator etiquette, is not a good way to go. If it is my first time with a particular guy, I usually resort to an old standby. With a look of concern I use my forefinger to point to a ‘spot’ on his chest, then when he looks down run my finger up and hit his nose. Stupid. But it always gets a laugh and breaks the ice. I never got that chance with Noom. The doors shut and he immediately moved over and planted a big wet kiss on me.

Once in the room, Noom stripped down to his underwear before I could throw the key on the table. The TV went on, typical of all Thai bar boys, and Noom hopped in the shower coming back out a few minutes later naked, towelling himself off.

Awwwww, damn. Just when it was getting good!

But this post was about how we met, not what we did. That is not only a different tale, but one that deserves its own post. And the rest of that first off, which became an extended one, is worthy of telling too, so stay tuned . . .

[ Attempting to infuse Noom’s perspective into these tales is not always possible. In some, his words or actions speak for themselves. In many, the incident or event that forms the base of the tale is so innocuous that delving into his underlying thoughts or motives is hardly worth the effort. Besides, emailing a query as to why he did or said something would in most cases get nothing more than, “Because,” as a reply. Or possibly the old stand-by of, “Because I Thai.”

But Noom likes to talk about our first time together, often tieing it in with his insistence that while I once was a butterfly since I met him I no longer am. He’s added more details to the story of our meeting over the years, and has been more willing to talk about what was going through his head. Noom views himself as a businessman and his work in the bar as a ‘bidness.’ That may be a different take on the job than that held by the majority of bar boys. But it works for him, and possibly provides a glimpse of the inner workings of a Thai bar boy’s mind.

He is honest enough to admit he did not notice me when I entered the bar that night, but did soon take notice that a gaggle of his bar mates were picking up extra baht and drinks from one of the customers. Like most Thais, Noom likes baht, so he kept an eye on the goings-on while he trolled for a customer. He snickers these days about customers with a ‘big heart’ knowing that I realize that term is not completely complimentary, but still uses it in describing his initial interest in me. But he quickly adds that a major part of his deciding I might be a good customer to hook up with was that, “you smile a lot.”

I’ve mentioned in these tales before that Noom has converted from Buddhism to Hinduism (kinda, sorta) as part of his deal with the elephant god Ganesha. The big trunked guy’s part in their arrangement was to bring Noom new wealth and prosperity. He’d cut his deal not long before I entered his bar, and had been waiting for a sign from Ganesha. He thought the free-spending and amiable customer sitting across the bar might just be that sign. Noom considers our meeting to be an arranged marriage thanks to his gods.

He’d noticed I was busy turning fems away, and asked the other guys who spent some time with me what I said and why I hadn’t offed them. He asked around, found one of the guys I’d previously offed, and got even more information about me (probably much more than I’d be comfortable knowing about). By the time he made his approach, he’d already decided that us being together was a given. And scoffs at the idea that there was any question of whether or not I would off him.

His confidence, bordering on arrogance, that I perceived in his opening greeting, which was all about closing the sale, wasn’t. In his mind, he’d removed any doubt over the outcome before he approached me. And to this day credits Ganesha, and not my overactive libido, for our meeting. He may be onto something there.]

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