spank the monkey

Inquiring minds want to know. What do Thai bar boys do to get off when they are off? Or does getting offed for a living mean you aren’t interested in getting off when you’re off? If having sex is work, do you take your job home with you? And is that something you can really ask a bar boy about?

Guess you can, or at least can try to ask if you know a boi well enough. There is a large gap between what is polite to ask about among Westeners and what is polite to talk about among Thais. Thais tend to be pretty open about the personal subjects we shun as polite talk in the west. But then Thai bar boys tend to also be pretty secretive about their industry. They really don’t like falang to know much about the ins and outs of the bar boy world. But this question was not so much about business as it was personal. And I was curious. So I gave it a shot. To find out about money shots. At least those where money was not involved.

Noom – my bar boy friend and current love of my life – and I were sitting on the patio at Dick’s Cafe watching bar boys hurry by, wide-eyed gay visitors graze through the street, and lost straight touri scurrying off when it dawned on them the soi they’d stumbled upon held bars filled with naked boys. Having already quickly cleared his plate, Noom was busy eating half of the dinner off of mine. If you are just joining this tale, Noom is straight. Whatever that means to a Thai. I’m not. That should be problematic relationship. But this is Thailand. So it’s not.

choke the chicken

We’ve been using each other for our respective needs long enough that I can get away with asking him questions others would not. That doesn’t always mean he’ll answer. But if I catch him in the right mood he can be down right chatty. Still, I thought I’d should lay out the logical progression behind my thinking.

“On average, how often do you book a customer?” I asked him.

“Bidness slow now.”

Huh. Factual or a bit of obfuscation? I tried again. “With high season and low season, over a year then, how often per week?”

“Maybe two, tree cutomer.”

Wow. I didn’t really expect him to let loose with that info. But that means more like four. Maybe even five. My boy’s hot.

“And you get one day off?”

I got a quick nod. And a look. He knows I know that. He also knew I was leading into something else.

“Maybe then you have three nights without a customer,” I said. “Um, do you get horny?”

“I horny wit you.”

slam the salami

Sweet. Liar. Way too obvious and we both laughed. Ah, the hell with it, I went for it.

“When you don’t have a customer and have a night off, do you masturbate?”

I got an incredulous look instead of an answer. One that called my sanity into question. Even when he doesn’t score a customer, if he’s working he’s spending several hours of the night erect. It’s part of the job, part of the show. But then he realized my question was a serious one. And not leading to something more.

“I too old.”

Right. Sorry, but I know better. That little puppy pulls stiifes like an 18 year-old. He sensed my doubt and explained.

“I save power for cutomer.”

Thoughtful of him.

“Bigger tip,” he explained.

Realistic of him. That’s the Noom I know and love. And remember. There was that time that I was sure I’d be billed for damage to the wall behind the headboard from his far-flying load. That was a projectile with intent. He must have not masturbated a lot that week.

“When younger, evry day. Fifty time evry day,” he laughed, fondly remembering the good old days. Wish I’d been visiting Thailand then.

beat the bishop

I remember those days too. I don’t know about the validity of the statement about youth being wasted on the young, but constant erections certainly are not. They’ve got both the time and energy to deal with that hard life. One of his bar mates, a tall, somewhat twinky twenty-something guy conveniently walked by right about then. Noom nodded toward him with his chin. “He young,” he said. “He always horny.”

“He lucky. He get cutomer evry night,” Noom went on. “Young boy now can do everyting.”

What’s this? A change in topic? But a good change nonetheless. “What do you mean?” I asked him, fairly certain what he had meant. But looking for clarification. And details.

I got yet another look in reply. For someone who makes their living having sex with strangers for money, Noom can be exceptionally timid about the subject. Especially when it comes to talking about that act.

“He do everyting,” he explained. Without explaining. “Now young boy all do everyting. Customer like.”

Shame I don’t care for the younger looking guys. It’d be a nice change to find the majority of boys at a bar willing to bottom.

“Well, you’re not that old. Maybe if you did everything you’d get more customers,” I suggested. And yes, ulterior motives were oozing from my every pore.

“I man,” Noom quickly asserted. Yeah. I know. We’ve reached an accommodation on that subject that neither of us is entirely satisfied with.


“I’ve never seen you masturbate on stage,” I commented, switching the subject back.

“I not,” he said. “ I cum, not good for cutomer.”

A valid point. I’d often thought that the chuck wow show closing the night at Tawan pretty well sealed the fate for the participants. Not much chance of getting offed when you just finished blowing your wad all over the stage. But then maybe they knew that, and having not scored a customer and an off, settle for a few baht awarded by the audience instead.

Noom is familiar with Tawan, home of the muscle studs. He knows the owner well and trains several of the guys. He could easily land a job at Tawan but has told me before he prefers being one of a bar’s sole muscle men rather than just one of many. For business, in his view, it’s better to be the big fish in the little pond. Especially when that big fish has big muscles.

I suggested maybe his bar should have a jack off contest like Tawan; a chance for the guys who did not land a customer that night to make a few extra baht. He considered it from the perspective that matters. His.

“Maybe tree hundred, five hundred baht,” he snorted over the potential winnings. “Not enough.”

My boy has standards. Especially when it comes to making money. Money shots need to involve some real cash, not pocket change.

The night was getting late, we had an early plane to catch. “Come on,” I told him getting up from our table. “Let’s go back to the hotel. You can show me how much power you have.”

He laughed.

And did.

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