There are a lot of reasons why I love Thailand. The raucous hustle and bustle of Bangkok, the laid-back somnolence of Chiang Mai, and the scenic splendors of the southern islands all have their appeal and speak to my soul. The gloriously warm smiles of the Thai people, even though slightly dimmed over the last decade, are still among the most inviting in the world. The smorgasbord of delectable treats, from street cart food to royal Thai cuisine make my stomach growl over pleasant memories of epicurean bliss. That it is the only country in the world where I’ve woken smack dab in the middle of a tumble of arms, legs, and other naked body parts belonging to two hot studs – not once but twice – ain’t bad either. That neither of those threesomes resulted in an orgasm is so subtly ludicrous that only the French could truly appreciate it.

But wait. Let’s back up to the beginning. Or at least to a jumping off point that doesn’t involve the bluest balls on the planet earth . . .

With less than a week to go before Phil – the guy I met a year ago and with whom I’ve since spent almost every waking hour (not to mention a like number of sleeping hours and all that comes between) and I were scheduled to land in Bangkok and hook up with Noom – my bar boy friend and current love of my life – the anxiety levels were rising faster than a midget’s concerns during a heavy downpour. For me, the possibility of a rather nasty typhoon headed toward the kingdom, the possibility of rioting in the streets (yet again), and the possibility of unhappy yellow shirt supporters closing the airport down (yet again), all conspired to wreck havoc with what was supposed to be an idyllic holiday. Phil’s concerns were less about natural and political disasters and more about his and Noom’s first meeting. While normally a good part of my enjoyment in spending time with him is watching him take his clothes off, he’d suddenly taken to spending our time together putting clothes on. His holiday wardrobe, with an intent to dress to impress, was foremost in his mind.

As with Thailand, there are a lot of reasons why I love Phil. Among them is that he is not in the least bit stereotypically gay. He also carries himself with a quiet confidence that is appealing to the extreme. So the sudden vision of a blubbering ball of needs and insecurities, and non-stop whining over the fit of clothes that had always enhanced his perfectly molded body in the past was something new. And not a pretty sight.

“You look fine,” I reassured him after his tenth wardrobe change in a hour.
“You look handsome,” I offered, flashing back on the hideous fashion crimes generally committed by the local version of the travelling backpacker in Thailand.
“You look hot,” I proposed, ‘cuz the fact is he does.
“You look sexy,” I gushed, hoping that was enough of a compliment to keep him from trying yet another outfit on. And hoping even more it would keep him from putting any clothing on at all.

As encouraging and sympathetic to his plight as I was, Phil wasn’t buying it. “Clothes are cheap in Thailand, you can buy whatever you need there,” I tried, thinking avoidance and procrastination always make for a good pairing. You’d have thought I’d just suggested we go rape the Pope by the look he shot my way.

“Noom is gonna be more critical about how you look out of your clothes than in them anyway,” I tried, proving my IQ level is much lower than most people assume. Ignoring my less than helpful advice, he compressed his lips and put on a truculent expression. And then put on another combination of pants and shirt. Phil wasn’t taking any chances. He was determined to land in Bangkok dressed in such sartorial splendor that Noom’s only possible reaction would be to immediately concede the battle that was nonexistent in my mind and firmly entrenched in theirs. And Noom wasn’t any better.

When I’m not in Thailand Noom and I stay in touch mostly by email. And mostly about once a month. Seldom do our digital conversations have any other purpose than just that: staying in touch. They are about the weather. About how slow or good bidness is. With occasional forays into the health of our, now, mutual family. Suddenly, emails from Noom started popping up in my inbox daily. Suddenly, the almost unheard of event of a phone call from Noom became a daily occurrence.

Usually, Noom is no slouch in the confidence department himself. If anything, he’s an overachiever. So the sudden vision of a blubbering ball of needs and insecurities, and non-stop whining over how he’d compare with Phil was something new. And not a pretty sight.

You’ll do fine,” I reassured him after the tenth time he expressed his concerns.
“You hansum man,” I offered, flashing back on Noom’s usual enjoyment when I throw a standard bar boy phrase his way.
“He’ll think you’re hot,” I proposed, ‘cuz the fact is he is.
“You’re sexy,” I gushed, hoping that was enough of a compliment to ease his worried mind. And hoping even more it would ease him into a new phase of our relationship that – and please ignore all those pesky details as I did in my fantasy life – would result in a blissful bond of three like-minded souls, two of whose bodies provided me countless hours of pleasure even when I wasn’t with them.

As encouraging and sympathetic to his plight as I was, Noom wasn’t buying it. “You and Phil will get along fine, just wait until we get there,” I tried, thinking avoidance and procrastination always make for a good pairing. You’d have thought I’d just suggested we go rape the King by the daggers that came flying over the phone line. Noom too wasn’t leaving his chances to the fates. Knowing where his strengths laid, he’d begun a furious regime of hitting the weights and packing in protein. He was determined to be in such god-like shape when Phil and I landed in Bangkok that Phil’s only possible reaction would be to immediately concede the competition that was nonexistent in my mind and of epic proportions in theirs.

My original plan had been to fly over to Thailand first, talk with Noom to reassure him of our future together, and then have Phil join us once the waters had calmed. Phil pointed out the error of my ways and nixed that idea. And he was right. The relationship that might have caused relationship problems had already been leaked. And the resulting new state of affairs, an affair that now included a plus one, had already progressed beyond my control. Noom and Phil had become internet buddies. No doubt spurred on by an enjoyment of the interchange of a continued discussion of any one or more of my numerous faults and peccadillos.

No problemo. I don’t suck when it comes to an unhealthy level of confidence myself. My only concern in what had quickly become a three-way, was just who become the odd man out. That as of late rather than getting my monthly the-weather-is-good-bidnesss-is-bad email from Noom, Phil would casually mention he’d heard from him and that Noom said Hi did not bode well. The odd man out issue, evidently, had already been decided. Just how and when that meeting of the mines would occur had not.

For years Noom has wanted to meet me when I land at the airport. That’s a standard bar boy trick. Not that I believe the standard motivation was behind Noom’s desire. At least not any longer. But after spending almost an entire day travelling, even when most of that is seated where the flight crew begrudgingly concedes that you are human, all I want is a shower and a bed. To myself. For years Noom has wanted to meet me when I check into what will quickly become our hotel. That too is a standard bar boy trick. But 9 times out of 10 my need for a shower and sleep has still won out. This time around, being both smarter than the average bear and the average bar boy, Noom had no desire to hold his anxiously awaited face-off in the middle of a crowded airport. And Phil, likewise hedging his bets, had no desire to meet his competition until he’d cleaned up, rested, and donned whatever in the hell he’d finally determined to be his killer outfit. Upon careful reflection, having the two meet for the first time on Soi Twilight – which had always worked well when introducing friends and family to Noom in the past – might not have been the best idea.

I did know springing our arrival on Noom while he was standing naked on stage wouldn’t be the best way to go. But used to the ways of the soi, I’d forgotten just how enthralling that boulevard of less than salubrious entertainment can be to a first time visitor. Phil was amazed. Giddy with the gaiety of naked hunks sporting wood for all to enjoy. And completely wrapped up in the experience. As any first timer would be. Noom had evidently put the word out and knew of our arrival before we did. His carefully scripted grand entrance into Dick’s was ruined by Phil’s complete lack of interest; he’d been too busy enjoying the interplay between barkers and the unsuspecting and missed Noom’s approach. No problemo. Noom, who usually avoids PDAs like a Republican politician avoids unoccupied stalls in an airport’s mens room, greeted me with a warm hug. And a deep, wet kiss. Game on.

Not used to Bangkok’s humidity that sucks the life out of you and leaves you drenched in sweat as a thanks for your participation, Phil’s carefully selected outfit was slightly dampened from our short walk into the soi that had left him perspiring like a Muslim at passport control. Noom threw him a smile that would make a great white flee in terror, stuck out his hand and introduced himself with a pride filled proclamation that summed up all that mattered. “I Noom,” he uttered in the same tenor as if he’d said, “You have to put the seat down to piss, right?” Set, Noom.

Phil pulled his sticky shirt away from its love affair with his chest. And then realizing either his attempt at scoring points by the outfit he’d worn had been for naught, or just how damn good that shirt looked molded around his erect nipples, ignored his clothes and Noom’s outstretched hand with equal disdain. And hit the ball out of the park by enveloping Noom in a warm hug and planting a big sloppy kiss on Noom’s face that would have put a golden retriever to shame. It was an inspired move. Match, Phil.

The competition, at least for the moment, was forgotten. Noom’s normally gregarious and lovable self responded immediately to Phil’s welcoming embrace. Whose dick was bigger would have to wait. Noom made a halfhearted attempt at interesting Phil in offing a boy, a ploy I’m sure he’d carefully planned out but no longer felt the need to push. Phil immediately began complementing Noom on his physique, a ploy I’m sure he’d just spontaneously came up with. Noom, having spent far too much time around gay men, complimented Phil on his shirt. And the mutual admiration society bent their heads together, cracking each other up with bad jokes, and quickly becoming fast and furious friends while ignoring my very existence. Well, not totally. Someone had to deal with the waiter and Dick’s infamous total lack of service. But it’s nice to have a purpose in life.

With far more interest in each other than in the joys offered by the soi, the two decided it was time to head back to our hotel where they could better get to know each other without the cacophony of promised pleasures echoing from the barkers’ cries disturbing their conversation. I thought it polite that they let me know. Weaving our way through those who’d partied too hard and couldn’t remember how to get back to their hotel, we caught a taxi in front of the soi – the first time Noom and I had done so without him complaining about the fixed fare. I’m not sure he even noticed. And then at our hotel, with an insouciance that belied its meaning, Noom took the time to register into our room before we headed upwards to our fate.

With all of the pre-trip anxieties and concerns, what no one had thought of, considered, or determined was just what our sleeping arrangements would be. Well, okay, my mastabatory fantasies had carefully mapped out those possibilities. But without lube in hand it was a detail that had been left unexplored. Yes, the pleasurable potential of a three-way had rooted itself firmly in my mind, but as enticing of an idea as that was, it never stood the test of the light of the day that reality demanded. But Noom, pulling his usual act of stripping down to his underwear as he walked into the room, suggested differently.

Wearing minimal clothing and showing off a body that made that seem like a good idea, Noom made himself comfortable. And equally comfortable in what should not have been a comfortable situation, Phil began again complementing Noom on his body. In great detail. I’ve never been quite sure why – not that I have ever questioned it either – but for some unfathomable and lucky reason when Noom feels the need to show off his most recent accomplishments physique-wise, he also feels the need to do so completely naked. It’s an act I’m used to. And appreciative of. Suddenly confronted with the very essence of Noom, Phil didn’t bat an eye. Though he may have licked his lips. Noom posed. Phil admired. And I adjusted myself to allow for what had become some much needed room.

Equally unfathomable to me is Noom’s unbridled joy in drooling over photos of muscle-bound hunks on the internet, an activity we both enjoy but shouldn’t share since he’s supposed to be straight. Phil doesn’t qualify as muscle bound, but between his job and time spent in the gym his form is nothing to be ashamed of either. And he’s not. So returning a compliment with a compliment, it didn’t take much for Noom to convince Phil to slip off his shirt. And where a shirt goes, pants follow. Noom’s nudity didn’t surprise me. When Phil dispensed with his last piece of clothing to strike a pose, his did. And the question of just whose dick was bigger was quickly solved. Uh, that would be mine. ‘Cuz I was the only one in the room with an erection.

Just when I thought pulling a bottle of lube and a few condoms out might provide just the suggestion needed, Noom decided it was time for a shower. Phil and I both watched him plod off to the bathroom, enjoying the view.

“I like him,” Phil sighed.
(And, and, I thought.)
“I can see why you love him,” he said.
(And, and, I thought.)
“I’m glad we came to Bangkok.”
(And, and, I thought.)
“I’m going to go take a shower,” he said hearing the water turning off.
(Bastard, I thought. But only for a minute as the sight of their two naked bodies passing each other spurred other thoughts in my head.)

“I lie him,” Noom said.
(And, and, I thought.)
“He lub you same same me,” he said.
(And, and, I thought.)
“I happy he come Thailand.”
(And, and, I thought.)
“You need shower,” he said not waiting to hear the water turning off.

I’ve seen the Grand Canyon, and it’s an impressive sight. I’ve seen the pyramids of Egypt, and they are wondrous too. The beauty of Bora Bora surrounded by its motus and picture postcard turquoise blue waters is a vision that is difficult to beat. Coming out of the bathroom to see Noom and Phil buck ass naked in bed together put those famous sights to shame. And the space left between the two hunks promised there would be no odd man out. Unfortunately, at least for this part of this tale, it didn’t promise what I’d fantasized about either. Which is where we started this story. With a unsated grouping so subtly ludicrous that only the French could truly appreciate it. Or a fan of The Waltons. ‘Cuz our night ended with nothing more than a round of Good Night John-Boys.

On the plus side, what could have been a disastrous battle over affections never really got off the ground. And we still had a week to work out just who was who and whose what was what’s who. And if you are as disappointed as I was in the lack of an orgasm, or three, I can tell you it gets better. Which started the next morning with Noom, as is his wont, waking, shoving the bedding off his body to display what he’d worked up during the night, and then laying there to allow his appreciative audience its fill. Only this time his wasn’t a solo act. Phil followed suit. Which did answer the question of whose dick was bigger. But all I’ll tell you is that the winner in that bed that morning was me.

Related Posts You Might Enjoy: