“I bet you a hundred baht you can’t light a match using only one hand,” the farang challenged So, passing over a book of matches as though the deal – if not the match – had already been struck. So snorted; there was nothing he couldn’t do when he put his mind to it. He looked at the closed book in his hand for a minute, then opened it as usual to pull a match out. The farang smacked his arm lightly, laughing. “No!” he smiled, “Only one hand.” He took the matches back from So, closed the book, and then handed it back again. With a slight smirk on his face.
So carefully considered the closed book of matches in his hand again planning his best course of action. Then moved it up against his chest to provide a base for opening its cover. The farang laughed again, pulled So’s hand away from his chest and admonished, “Hands only.” So placed the book on the table in front of him, managed to flick the cover open with one hand, and then began pulling, pushing, twisting, and pinching a single match trying to free it. It disintegrated before he could coax it out of the book.
He tried again. With the same result. Frustrated, he eyed the matchbook some more. “Impossible,” he muttered. Then with a knowing smile handed the matches back to the farang, offering his own version of the challenge. “I bet you 200 baht you can can light match only one hand.”
The farang laughed. Then asked him what he’d get if So lost the bet. So scowled; he never lost bets. And he wasn’t giving the farang anything even if he did. He pushed the matchbook into the farang’s hand to settle the matter.
With one hand the farang deftly thumbed the matchbook cover open, and then bent a match at its edge backwards. Flipping the matchbook over he struck the match by running it along the friction strip away from him with a quick flick of his thumb. Which not only lit the match but a satisfied gleam in the farang’s eye as well. “Looks like I owe you 200 baht,” he smiled, passing two one hundred baht bills over.
So took the money. Hesitantly. But the farang was still smiling so he slipped it into the waistband of his underwear. A bet is a bet. And baht is always baht. But the farang wasn’t done with him yet. “I bet you 2,000 baht you won’t come back to my hotel and spend the night with me,” he said softly, his needs and desires plainly evident in his eyes.
It took So a moment to work his way through the logic of that challenge, looking for the trick. There was none. “You lose again,” he laughed and nodded at the mamasan to tally the farang’s check bin while he scooted off to dress for the streets. That’s how he found himself stretched out in bed next to this strange man two nights later, the only one of the two still awake in the morning’s early hours, seemingly alone were it not for the soft susurration of the farang’s breathing. Comforted by the man’s closeness and the memory of the days they’d just spent together, So wrapped his body around the farang’s and nodded off back to sleep.
The bar had been slow the night they met, a small group of local gay boys who’d just come to watch and giggle, two expats who rarely if ever booked someone – and when they did always went for the younger looking boys – and a pair of tourists, a mountainous couple who looked like they’d left the third bear with a baby-sitter, were the only customers. Business during the middle of the week was always spotty. And then the farang walked in.
Of course So noticed him when he made his way into the bar, business was so slow everyone noticed when fresh meat arrived. He didn’t come to an abrupt halt, his eyes fixated on the almost naked boys on stage like a first-timer would. But he didn’t ignore the staff and head to where he wanted to sit like those who frequented Bangkok’s gay gogo bars often did either. Instead he acknowledged the boys on stage with a smile, greeted the captain in a friendly manner, and using quick hand gestures ordered a drink for himself and the mamasan almost before he sat down. So decided this one had potential. But thought he should wait. And watch. Just to be sure.
His barmates had noticed the farang’s willingness to spring for drinks too and not being quite as reticent several made a beeline for where the farang sat. What will be will be, So thought leaning against the club’s small bar as though it was a floor he was doing pushups on so that his muscles rippled in the light refracted by the mirror behind the bar. He used that mirror to keep a close eye on how the farang responded. This one was different. He didn’t melt as soon as a bar boy put his hands on him, didn’t flinch or panic from their onslaught. He remained friendly towards all, cracked a joke that the mamasan laughed at even though she probably didn’t understand it, but turned down all requests for a drink too. One by one the boys who’d approached him got the message and moved away only to be replaced by a second wave who similarly were quickly dispensed with. So decided the farang was just looking, not buying. And then walked to the stage to take his turn in the rotation, first adjusting himself for effect.
From the stage he had a better view of the man. So studied him as he slowly moved from spot to spot in what the bar called dancing and what So considered posing. He was of middle age, and seemingly comfortable with that fact. He had a hawk nose, a too prominent jaw; the leanness of his face was highlighted by the wild, wavy hair around it. And yet he was attractive. So decided his beauty was in the sum of his faults. Even his eyes were too deep-set, yet all the more visible for it. Maybe it was the tiny lines that came to life around his eyes, the little crinkling of flesh that came and went when he spoke. His eyes were very expressive, immediately warm. And the intelligence of the man was obvious. So was intrigued.
He watched the man watch the boys on stage, noted that he tended to give the boy directly in front of him his full attention for a minute, focusing on his face rather than on the bulge their skimpy underwear highlighted rather than hid. Occasionally his eyes traveled downward from a boy’s face, more often than not with a quick smile he focused his gaze elsewhere until the next boy took his spot. When it was So’s turn their eyes met and he was sure the man beamed an even wider smile than he had been displaying. His gaze seemed to linger on So even after he moved away. Maybe . . .
After his turn on stage was over there was still something that kept So from approaching the farang. Maybe it was a fear of rejection, the man had turned away almost a dozen of So’s barmates already. Including his brother Wit who rarely if ever struck out. So waited, ignoring the man. And then snuck a quick glance his way while pushing himself off the edge of the stage so that his muscles bulged with the effort of driving his weight. The farang had snuck a quick glance at So too. With a smile on his face So approached the man, slid into the booth next to him and said, “My name So.”
The farang responded by pulling out a book of matches and saying, “I bet you a hundred baht you can’t light a match using only one hand.”
A very gray Friday morning sat outside the window when So awoke again, the moist heat of the city already working overtime. He could hear noises from the street; the sound of a truck passing by was deafening. The light cord above the table across the room stirred with the vibration. Then the truck was gone. The familiar scent of a local brand of cigarettes mixing with the unfamiliarity of a stranger’s scent permeated the room. So squinted, looking through one half-opened eye at the still dozing farang, his forehead crinkling with contemplation as he felt himself growing hard, a trick he usually had to summons with effort to keep his customers happy. Why this farang? he wondered, momentarily confused by his body’s response.
At the bar So had considered him a one-time, long-time off. But the following morning neither had mentioned So leaving and instead they had spent the day together. The farang knew Bangkok, possibly better than So did and he’d tagged along while the farang had tended to business never feeling like a third wheel. The farang was attentive, friendly, and made So feel like he was supposed to be at his side. And he was generous too. They’d had lunch at CentralWorld, strolled through a few shops afterwards, and when So’s eyes hovered over a pricey shirt on display in one of the store’s windows rather than ask if he wanted one the farang asked him what size he wore and then made the purchase without further discussion. He’d bought So underwear, socks, and a pair of pants too; more as a concession to So still wearing his clothes from the night before than as gifts for the time they spent together. Later, when So tested him by eyeballing a display of cellphones, the farang laughed. And then turned right around and bought him some scented lotions they’d stopped to sniff-test at a small boutique.
That So would spend the next night with him again was never discussed either. The farang simply mentioned they’d stop in at his bar later to pay his off fee. And when they did, the farang’s entire focus remained on So despite their arrival coinciding with the bar’s big cock show. So had never known a farang to not rivet his entire attention on that display of cock on parade. It made him feel special. Like they were a couple. Like they were together. As meant to be. And when he excused himself so that he could send his wife Noi a text that he wouldn’t be home again that night – feeling a bit guilty over his absence and a bit relieved that he wasn’t there to further deal with the furor that Lek’s arrival had caused – the farang displayed none of the jealousy or possessiveness that multiple-off bookings usually did. He seemed confident in the two of them being together. So sighed. Maybe that was what he found so attractive about the man. Because there certainly was nothing special about his looks.
Last night after they’d returned from his bar, showered, and traded orgasms, So had taken a chance and told the farang how happy he was. He’d gotten one of the man’s satisfied, enigmatic smiles in response and then their conversation drifted into talking about the future. The farang told him that he came to Bangkok several times a year on business, and then made it clear without making it an issue that in the future when he did they would be together. So made no promises in return, wanted to believe the farang, but had heard that type of line many times before. And then never heard from his customer again. But this one was different. They were comfortable together. And So allowed himself to believe. Just a bit.
So sensed the farang waking, the pattern of his breathing changing the stillness of the room. He got up, used the toilet, hoping that was the reason for his hardness. It wasn’t. Scooping up a washcloth So returned to the bed; kneeling next to it he used the cloth on the farang’s cock. The washcloth was wet, warm and So felt the farang growing hard in his hands. He tossed the washcloth aside, climbed on the bed, his knees next to the man’s chest. He bent forward and took the farang in his mouth, his butt in the air, blocking the now awake farang’s view of the rest of the world.
The man’s right hand reached up and stroked So’s outside thigh. Then moved to his crotch and settled on So’s hard cock. Bending forward again, So lightly nibbled at the man’s stiffness, then swallowed the engorged tip, sucking hard. He moved his inside foot against the man, sliding it onto his chest; threw his leg over, straddling him, his butt still in the air, now squarely in front of the farang’s face. So wiggled his butt, sucking, working his tongue. His ass came down moving toward the man’s face. The farang flashed his right hand hard against his cheek, a sharp crack in the quiet room. And he laughed, happy with So’s efforts, content just to be with him, pleased with the spark that had kindled the fire of their friendship. A warm feeling spreading through his entire body, So laughed too,thinking maybe this would be The Farang.
|Related Posts You Might Enjoy:|