Coming up with a suitably pun-ish play on words as a title for my I Fell in Love With A Bar Boy posts is usually not difficult. Dictated by the story being told, they tend to immediately spring to mind. Today’s tale started as a Bonus Shot post (it ended up a such too as you’ll soon discover), but a bit of backstory was required. That lead to thoughts of a more recent event. Which in turn lead to the post morphing into an I Fell in Love With A Bar Boy tale. And since all of the above had to do with Noom – my bar boy friend and current love of my life – and his brother (Upward Nod for those of you keeping score), a play on ‘brother’ seemed appropriate for its title.

No problemo. Except ‘Brothers Should Do It’ really doesn’t fit the tale. Even as a play on words it’s misleading. Especially since many of you are waiting for the next installment suggested by the last I Fell in Love With A Bar Boy post that began and ended with a threesome; for those of you of a certain age, ‘Brothers Should Do It’ immediately conjures up pleasant memories of a sexual nature – that was the title of a popular gay porn video back in the early 1980s. Popular because it stared one of the era’s hottest little hunks, Jon King.

Jon was the first porn star I considered selling my soul for the opportunity of nailing. I hadn’t fantasized about him for decades. So I’m not sure why the title of one of his videos sprang to mind as quickly as it did. But since it did I turned to Google for a trip down memory lane. Which ended up supplying the pix for this tale. Even if they didn’t fit the story well and kinda negated the use of the photo that started the whole thing off. But that’s what happens when creative juices meet juices of another kind. In my defense, I also turned to Google for a better title. Google’s predictive results can be useful at times. But not this time. The best it could do was to suggest ‘conflict’ off of a search starting with ‘brother’. And I thought that was only about my own brothers. But I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. Brothers have been doing their own brothers ever since Cain screwed Abel. It just wasn’t until Jon King came along that that conflict turned into brotherly love.

As long as I was on Google – and as long as I’m starting this post off with a four (make that five) paragraph long digression – I also checked to see what inspiration ‘is my brother’ would provide Google as a search phrase. Not that that has anything to do with his post either. But a search on just ‘is my’ alone brings up ‘is my boyfriend gay’ in the #5 spot. Huh. I don’t know that an internet search engine is the best place to turn to for relationship advice, but since you asked, yes. If you suspect the man you are madly in love with would prefer that you had a dick, he probably would. On the plus side, it’s probably a good thing you asked while he was still just a boyfriend. ‘Cuz ‘gay’ is Google’s #1 suggestion if your search is ‘is my husband.’ And I don’t think that’s what all the hoopla over gay marriage is about.

Brothers are a different story. No one seems interested in asking Google if their brother is gay. ‘Is my brother retarded’ and ‘is my brother a sociopath’ come in a the #1 and #2 spots. ‘Is my brother gay’, doesn’t make the list. Though ‘is my brother the father of my baby’ does. So I guess there are worse things than being gay. Or at least more popular. All of which still has nothing to do with this post. Other than that Noom’s brother, asked about or not, is gay. He’s also a mor phi. Which if you are not familiar with the term is a mystic/witch doctor/um, someone deeply in touch with the spirit world.

I’d never met Noom’s brother. But we’ve spoken a lot. If you can call listening to a bunch of Thai over the phone and then having Noom sum up what was said in three words talking. Often our conversations, even if they do last for 15 minutes or more, are nothing but an excuse to say hi to each other. Not as often but far more important are those where he’s felt the need to pass on some sage advice his gods and spirits have passed along on my behalf. Once when I was in town he called Noom to tell me of a set of numbers I needed to find on a lottery ticket. I didn’t. And, of course, those numbers came in. Noom was pissed. Not so much over the 300 baht I coulda won, but rather that I’d failed to listen to his brother. Being brothers, I’m sure there is conflict in their relationship. But being a mor phi, Noom places great faith in his brother’s counsel. Especially since it usually has to do with baht.

Noom also places great faith in his brother’s counsel when it comes to his and my relationship. That, I think, has more to do with his brother being gay than it does his being a mor phi. Usually when a Thai says someone is gay they mean effeminate, and probably a bottom. As opposed to being a ‘man’. And as opposed to being a ladyboy. Which has nothing to do with being gay. So I was a bit confused the first time Noom told me about his brother, since he said he was gay. Which he is not. In the Thai sense of the word. Though his younger and extremely cute boyfriend is. But Noom was stuck in trying to convey that his brother liked men and used the non-Thai use of gay as a fall back. On my most recent visit, he also decided to use his brother as a fall back in meeting Phil, my not a bar boy boyfriend and current other love of my life.

We’d already dealt with the Thai perspective on the word gay on our first night together when Noom pronounced that Phil was not gay. A call, on either side of the coin he is fond of making. Phil had been doing an admirable job of following Noom’s tinglish up to that point. Being told by his boyfriend’s bar boy friend that he wasn’t gay threw him for a loop. Until I explained. Which didn’t make a lot of sense when the next morning, after having been informed by Noom that we would be meeting Brudda Upward Nod – and after having woken up with two stiffies in bed next to mine – I tried to give Phil a crash course in who Brudda Upward Nod was.

“He’s Noom’s older brother, or one of them. And he’s gay,” I started the explanation with.

“Really?” All Phil had to go on was Noom’s persona. And there is nothing gay about Noom. Other than his making a living by having sex with other men.

“Well, no. He’s not gay. He’s gay.” I clarified nicely I thought. No problemo. No matter how you define it gay still boils down to the same body parts being involved. Just in a different position. “But that’s not important,” I continued smoothly. “On top of that he’s a mor phi.”

I figured with the confusion of what does and doesn’t constitute being gay in Noom’s world, explaining what a mor phi was without sounding religiously judgmental would be a chore. Westeners often refer to Thai beliefs as superstitions. Because spending your Sundays in church to partake of the blood and body of your dead, crucified god makes so much more sense. So it’s an easy error to make. And knowing how Noom feels about his brother’s powers, I didn’t want that a mistake for Phil to make.

I took much longer with my explanation of a mor phi than I did with explaining the finer points of being gay, all for naught. Phil is one generation removed from being a native Filipino. And while Filipinos tend to be Catholic rather than Buddhist, like Thais they also tend to allow for a greater spiritual world than the bible is willing to admit to. Explaining what a mor phi was didn’t take long. Nor was there any disbelief to suspend. Explaining why we were meeting one was a bit more problematic. Phil was attuned to Noom’s spiritual world. And the idea of meeting a powerful mystic who just happened to be on his possible rival for my affection’s side, in his opinion, didn’t bode well.

Being family, Noom often passes on photos of his brother. I pulled up several on my laptop of a religious event he’d held the previous summer to help in my explanation of what a mor phi was and does. One, which I’m particularly fond of, is – in my opinion – an extremely powerful shot. It also happens be the photograph that started, and now will end up being, the Bonus Shot that morphed into this tale. Knowing its backstory is part of why I think it is as powerful of an image as it is. Reading a bit of its backstory, maybe when I post it tomorrow, you’ll agree. Phil, on the other hand, didn’t need the backstory. And in his mind, that wasn’t a good thing.

Headed down to the lobby in the elevator to meet Brudda Upward Nod, the significance of his visit finally dawned on me. If it hadn’t, after a brief but friendly round of introductions and welcomes, his and Noom’s hour long conversation, replete with frequent not so furtive but still tenebrous glances at mostly Phil but occasionally at me too would have tipped me off to the game afoot. Fast and furious, I couldn’t follow much of their conversation, though I’ve become adept at translating Noom’s grunts so I wasn’t completely lost. And even Phil’s ears perked up at the, “He not gay,” reference in English that could have only been about one of us. Finally, matters settled or not, Noom got up and got the rest of us going with a, “We go.”

I’m not sure if it was his familiarity with what I consider the right excursion for a first time visitor to Bangkok’s first day or if it had more to do with his brother’s spirituality, but we headed up to Wat Pho by boat. Brudda Upward Nod was decked out in the same white robes I’d seen him wearing in photos when he was ‘at work’ minus the usual mor phi bling. Bling or not, the locals seemed to understand his standing and paid him the reverence due. As did the Buddha once we arrived at the wat when Noom and he gathered at his feet – with Noom a respectful foot behind – kneeling in deep conversation with their god. Phil tried his best to act oblivious to what was going on, while he tried to act equally as unconcerned. Brudda Nod wasn’t having it.

At some point during our visit Brudda Upward Nod took control of Phil, and possibly of his spiritual life too. There was a lot of applying gold leaf to various images going on. And a lot of incense being lit and candles being set aflame too. The massage which is normally a part of my tour of the wat didn’t happen. But Brudda Upward Nod’s substitution was almost as good. As we headed out, or so I thought, he pulled us into a small but crowded open-air chapel, borrowed the whisk a novice monk had been bestowing aquatic blessings on the crowd with, and after arranging us in front of him standing hand in hand, began doing what he does best. With Noom standing by grinning happily. I’m just glad there were no strings being tied around wrists involved.

That night we headed over to Soi Twilight, with Brudda Upward Nod monkish vestment-less, evidently having decided to go with his gay half instead of his mor phi half for the night. But that’s a tale to be told in a different post. As had quickly become our tradition, sleeping arrangements had not been discussed but when we got back to our hotel Noom pulled me aside, whispering, “He need room..” Which was probably a good thing. Having just survived a three-way that didn’t happen I don’t know if my psyche could have handled living through an orgy that didn’t happen too.

When it finally got late enough that going to bed was our only option, Noom gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and said, “I sleep wit brudda tonight.” Not quite ready to concede whatever it was he was conceding, he bid Phil a good night with an endearment I’d taught him, “Doan let bed bug bite.” The accompanying cackling said all that was needed to be said.

So maybe Brothers Should Do It really isn’t that bad of a title after all. I’m pretty sure Brudda Upward Nod provided a suggested ‘should’ on how Noom was to handle our affair. At least for that night. And as disappointing as not getting to take a stab at a three-way again was, it was still early in our trip. And having a night alone with Phil in Bangkok was a blessing in its own right.

Related Posts You Might Enjoy: