On one of our first outings together my bar boy friend and current love of my life, Noom, and I hit the weekend market. Because it was the weekend and I rarely miss a trip to Chatuchak when visiting Bangkok. What I don’t not miss is the pet section there. One stroll through the added humidity thanks to a few hundred fish tanks is enough to warn you to stay clear in the future. Not unlike your singular stop at one of Chatuchak’s public restrooms. And while I am just as susceptible to the cuteness of little puppies and kittens as anyone else, the preponderance of mangy soi dogs and starved cats on Bangkok’s streets serves as a reminder that domesticated animals in third world countries tend to lead short, and not exactly fulfilling lives. Chatuchak’s pet zone also has lots of mice and rats on display and since those too can be viewed nightly on Bangkok’s streets – even if they are better fed than the city’s stray cats and dogs – I don’t really see the point. Caged creatures, unless they are of the coyote boy variety, are just not my thing. Noom on the other hand has never met an animal he didn’t immediately fall in love with. And they love him right back.

I can’t tell you how many times we’ve been dining outdoors when some flea-bitten cat carrying the Buddha knows what diseases heads for Noom with lust in its heart. I always warn him not to touch that thing. He always ignores me, scoops it up, and gives it a major dose of love, ignoring the dose of whatever viral infection is most popular on that soi at the time being passed right back as thanks. That worries me. I keep expecting to awake some morning to find his temperature spiking, the bed drenched in sweat, and Noom suffering through a bout of delirium. And while when I do awake the bed is still often drenched in sweat, Noom is usually slumbering peacefully, his naked body and hard cock on display for my enjoyment. Then my temperature begins to spike. And I want to pet it. I guess, considering what he does for a living, passing along unconditional love to creatures who would repulse anyone else is par for the course. He probably just wishes some weren’t quite so hirsute.

That first visit to Chatuchak was also the first time Noom borrowed my wallet to make a purchase. He wanted to buy some fish food for the creature that lived in a tank back at his village home. No problemo. But Noom being Noom wasn’t satisfied with my involvement being strictly a financial one and had to lead us on a merry hunt for a relative of his pet fish so I’d know where that food was going. And since one of his talents is the ability of getting lost when changing his mind, that meant spending far too long amidst the fish tanks and accompanying humidity levels of the weekend market.

We finally located his prey, through the murky depths of a tank filled with stagnant water I came face to face with a swimming penis. I don’t know why everything leads back to what Noom does for a living, but it does. I don’t know why he thinks I’ll be fascinated by anything that looks like a penis either, but that too holds true. Obviously, we were meant to be together.

Noom was more excited than I normally am when I find a penis, and aping my usual response immediately bent down to plant a big wet one on the tank’s glass. The damn fish kissed him back. The boy is far too enamored with fish in my book. Self-identifying as straight regardless of the penis/vagina ratio in his life, I get his fascination with the human variety. At the dinner table, not so much. The gods created some creatures ugly to discourage people from eating them. They just forgot about Asians. And I don’t get why, if you love being served a specific species on a plate, you’d be equally fond of having one as a pet. It’s not like when someone says they love dogs that you have to decide if they mean on a leash or on a barbeque spit. Oh, wait.

But as with that penis/vagina ratio thingy, Noom tends to dismiss such paradoxes in his life. All that mattered was that fish’s obvious affection for him. “He like me,” Noom announced, thinking that wallet that had just bought food might be deep enough to buy some love too. The vendor, eyeballing us like a great white shark might examine a dog-paddling fat lady, was on Noom’s side. He wanted 9,500 baht for the ugly thing. That served as a lesson that my newest crush had expensive tastes. It also served as a lesson that Noom’s newest ATM account had a low daily withdrawal limit.

That trip to Chatuchak also inaugurated our reliance on Google to provide the English that Noom lacked. Not that it would be the Thai that my brain refuses to acknowledge. In either case, when Noom can’t come up with the English word for the subject at hand, we turn to Google Images. And after a series of not very helpful hints, usually a photo will come up for our Eureka moment. “Thailand penis head fish’ as a search phrase offers some enjoyable results. It also provided a photo of the Hua Luo Han, or Flower Horn fish, a grotesque gargoyle-like headed product of a Frankensteinian experiment out of Malaysia, which are quite popular among Thailand’s hi-so community for several reasons. One of which is that you can mutate your own fish via a range of food products that supposedly improves certain characteristics of your fish.

Since we’d just made that purchase, I had to ask. “What food we buy for?”

“It make him red,” Noom replied as though that was obviously a good thing. Huh. I considered showing him how easy it was to turn something red, but kept my pants buttoned instead. Then Google informed me the locals also believe that rubbing the creature’s hump – the tumor-like protuberance on its head that can also be further mutated with the right food – brings good luck. And my hand reached for my zipper once again.

But Wait! There’s more! The fish has a series of dark spots running along its flank that resemble Chinese calligraphy – four-digit numbers to be exact. An oft repeated claim is that an unnamed woman from an unidentified country won $1 million at the lottery by playing the numbers displayed on her fish. So Noom’s affection for the fish may have more to do with his love of money more than his love of animals. And as for that fish at the weekend market’s affection for Noom, the species is known to be exceedingly aggressive and belligerent. When they return a kiss they are not acting out of love, they are attacking. Not unlike an encounter with a ladyboy on Sukhumvit. That’s what happens when your identity comes from a laboratory and men in white coats.

So at first brush I wasn’t that surprised when discussing one of my family members I mentioned my brother owned a fighting cock and Noom’s attention levels spiked as mine tends to do when seeing his early morning member. I assumed it was my use of the word cock. And then figured it was his love of animals that was at work. But instead it was the Asian in him; in SE Asia cock fighting always means gambling. If there is one thing Noom loves more than animals, it’s baht. Throw in the opportunity of scoring a win against his most recent favorite farang and you’ve got an unbeatable combination. Noom is rather fond of eating too. And since a good cockfight usually means at least one of the competitors is gonna end up on the barbeque . . .

Considering the things the tourist board doesn’t seem to mind the kingdom being known for, you’d think cockfighting would get more press. In fact, since it would bring in tourist dollars, I’m surprised there aren’t a few cockfighting rings in Patpong. But then I guess the ladyboys have that venue already sewed up. But if you know the right Thai, not far from Patpong, down a dark soi or two, come Saturday night the cockfights are on. And if you know the right Thai, with his bloodlust raised to new levels, later than night flush with the evening’s winnings you can become a participant in your own version of cockfighting too.

Cockfights are not for the squeamish. Or for those who love animals. Or for those who don’t love rot-gut, home-brewed whiskey. Gambling and being surrounded by sweaty, brown skinned men – the type you’d not normally be willing to turn your back to – is part of the experience too. And when money changes hands and too much of it is ending up in your palm, things can get a bit dicey. But hey, you only live once. And that barbeque really hits the spot. The post fight show wasn’t bad either. It didn’t involve a barbeque, but lots of meat was devoured nonetheless.

But when you are dealing with a self-identified straight man, all things lead back to fish. And while the peaceful tranquility of a Buddhist wat is not a place you’d usually associate with the human variety (women being unclean and all that jazz) or a bloody fight to the death, when that self-identified straight man is Noom nothing should surprise you. Animals play an important role in local Buddhists’ religious life. You can earn merit by freeing caged sparrows. Or by buying food to feed fish. Just in case you didn’t know what a feeding frenzy was. Noom introduced me to a small wat buried down a sub-soi by the Royal Barges Museum where a large, rather lethargic community of turtles gathers. The merit making activity there evidently is to find a sturdy tree branch and aggressively poke at the turtles until they are pissed off enough to put a pit bull worthy jaw clench on the branch. Good fun. Or as Noom put it, “Good eat.”

Not quite as dinner related was the small collection of Siamese fighting fish we stumbled upon at Wat Thepthidaram, displayed next to each other in a variety of used liquor bottles by the monks’ quarters. I’m not sure if that collection was about national pride in a popular aquarium fish sold throughout the world, or a good excuse for having empty liquor bottles around the wat, but knowing how much Thais love their country I pointed them out to Noom providing the species’ English name for him and then adding, “From Thailand,” just in case he didn’t know that’s basically what Siamese means.

He knew. And then just in case I didn’t know what Siamese fighting fish were all about, promptly dumped one into its neighbor’s bottle and said, “Dey fight.” And then just as promptly claimed, “I get red,” while holding his palm out, ready for the largesse his love of animals would soon be bringing him. He lost. And there wasn’t enough left of the aquatic combatant to even serve as an appetizer. No problemo. I gave Noom a chance to win back his wager that night with another round of cockfighting.

Fortunately, since I’m not a fan of pussy even if Noom is, we’ve never had to delve into the world of Siamese cats. In fact, I can’t remember ever running across a member of that breed in Thailand. Unless it showed up on my dinner plate one night and I didn’t know it. But then I’ve never actually gone into Patpong’s infamous Super Pussy bar, so ya never know. But we did run into a clue that might make Noom’s penis/vagina ratio thingy make more sense on our first visit to Wat Rong Khun (the White Wat) just outside of Chiang Rai. There are fish there too (the aquatic variety). They’re white. ‘Cuz when you hit on a good theme there’s no good reason to not use it to death. But as much of an animal lover as Noom is, when playing tourist souvenirs are a bigger draw. So we spent as much time in the wat’s gift shop as we had checking out the temple.

The wat is the brainchild of a famous local artist, Chalermchai Kositpipat, and not surprisingly the gift shop is filled with lots of his work. I’m sure buying a piece of his art is considered a merit making activity. And as the gift shop is filled with lots of his work, the pathway leading into the wat is filled with lots of his anger, as he is usually on hand, bull horn to mouth, screaming at visitors to move it along. Noom had his heart set on using my wallet to buy a piece or two of Chalermchai’s artwork to have autographed. Since we’d established years earlier that Noom’s favorite ATM had a low daily withdrawal limit, he settled on a few postcards instead of the gold framed original oil painting he’d been eyeballing.

He selected a colorful painting of the Buddha for me. And then found a reproduction of the painting he really wanted for himself. It was the avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu in the form of a fish. Or what I would call a merman. With muscles. It seemed even when dealing with fish, Noom preferred a masculine version. So who knows. That postcard didn’t spike his blood pressure levels quite as much as our previous encounters with Thailand’s animal kingdom had, but we did enjoy another round of cockfighting back in our hotel room that night.

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