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…dancing with the devil in the city of angels…

~ Ramblings, Rumblings and Travel Tales: Bangkok and Beyond

…dancing with the devil in the city of angels…

Category Archives: Tales Of The Big Mango

The Boys In The Bar: 13. Soi Dogs And New Tricks

05 Friday Sep 2014

Posted by Bangkokbois in The Boys In The Bar

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Gay Bangkok

boys bar 13 1

The night fell like a fat man tripping over his shoelaces. An unexpected downpour earlier that evening had left Soi Twilight looking like a giant dog had slobbered all over it, and now the moist heat that had descended on the city was working overtime. So knew that meant a night of his bar being filled with farang customers who were not so much sweating as self-basting. The stultifying effects of facing another slow, mid-week night of work at Bangkok Bois had put him in a mood that he was having difficulty in trying to shake.

Passing the early crew of punters gathered on the patio of Dick’s Cafe didn’t help. They were a motley bunch decked out in polyester: garish, tropical prints boasting colors Mother Nature had never considered whose manufacturers’ likely customer base consisted solely of the mentally ill and blind people with cruel friends. Their eyes, bright and flat like a lizard’s, greedily followed his progress up the soi.

Some sat in pairs, most alone, the majority pounding back fruity rum-spiked tropical drinks like fuel. An old man sitting at the edge of the patio, a few strands of white hair flicked across his skull like seaweed on a rock, whose sartorial theme for the night was purples in disagreeing shades tried to catch So’s eye. His buttocks hanging over the edges of his chair, like balloons filled with water, reminded So that Songkran was coming soon. Maybe the holiday would help pick up his spirits.

boys bar 13 2

Lek wasn’t working tonight, the owner too cheap to spring for her act when the customer count promised to be low. That meant shorter shows, which was a good thing as far as So was concerned. Wit too had opted to take the night off. That meant So would have to spend more time on stage. Which wasn’t a good thing. So was torn between wanting to just cruise for the evening, take his base pay, and then go home, and booking a short-time off that he could dispense with quickly. He needed the money, as usual, but really didn’t want to be at the bar tonight; an empty house would suit his mood just fine.

So thought he could really use his friend’s inveterate gregariousness tonight, but lately Wit had been in a strange mood himself. Ever since he’d met Paul, Wit had bounced between being so giddy with happiness he couldn’t stop smiling to looking like his dog had just died. And then during the show last night, when So had slapped him with the neoprene tubing that the SM crowd adored, Wit had burst into tears. So knew he needed to talk with his friend, but his own mood hadn’t allowed him to delve into the problems of others lately; the fact was he missed The Farang. And that he did worried him too.

The two had been texting each other regularly since The Farang’s last visit. That didn’t help. It made So miss him even more. The occasional phone call had been better, but when his phone rang and The Farang’s picture came up on its screen if Noi was around she gave him a hard time about it.His wife being jealous over a customer was something new. And So didn’t want to deal with that either. Wit had pulled himself out of his own funk long enough to encourage So to ask The Farang for some money; Noi had chimed in on the suggestion too. So he had. And The Farang had wired him a few thousand baht with no questions asked. Noi was happy with the score; picking up the cash had just made So feel even more alone. He wished The Farang was in town now. And that they were snuggled together in bed at his hotel. Then he wouldn’t be sitting here trying to decide if approaching a customer tonight was worth it or not.

boys bar 13 3

With the first show of the night still an hour away, the bar was nearly empty. So had done his rotations on stage without attempting to catch the eye of any of the few customers there were. The early crowd tended to comprise the needy or desperate anyway. Just as he considered hiding out in the dressing room for a while, the mamasan floated over to tell him a customer was asking for So by number. He wanted to turn the customer down sight-unseen, but then thought maybe a little bit of luck would come his way, that the customer would be one of those who only wanted to look, who would finish himself off quickly. So followed the mamasan over to the customer’s table.

He was a short, tick-bodied man, his graying hair carefully coiffed to hide a receding hairline. He had a face that looked like it had been used to shunt trains, further marred by an expression of intense hostility that had, after years of steady visitation, been granted permanent residence, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips as he concentrated on So’s exposed chest. So barely had the time to sit next to the man before he made an almost surreptitious gesture with his hand, signaling the mamasan to tally his check bin. So thought, even hoped, that up close he hadn’t been to the man’s liking. But a quick nod of his head toward So instructed the mamasan to include an off fee in his tab. Still without exchanging a word, So went to dress in his street clothes.

The farang waited for So outside in front of the bar, his eyes surveying every bar boy who passed as though he still hadn’t made his selection for the night. When So joined him, the man headed off down the soi seemingly to care little whether So followed or not. He caught up to the man as they crossed Suriwong, then followed him as he turned down the small soi toward the Suriwongse Hotel. Good, So thought, a short-time off in a short-time hotel. He just hoped the man wouldn’t be as frugal with his tip as he was with his choice of accommodations. Inside, the man didn’t spare the front desk a passing glance as he made his way toward the elevators. Not good, thought So, he wasn’t just booking a short-time room, the man was staying at the hotel. His expectation of a generous tip diminished quickly.

boys bar 13 4

In the small, well-worn room, the man finally spoke. “Get on the bed,” he instructed as he hastily began removing his clothes. A quick wave of his hand, which seemed to be the man’s preferred form of communication, told So he should do the same. The man’s eyes never left him as So tugged his shirt over his head, and then pulled his underwear and pants off after first kicking his shoes to the floor. By the time So was naked, the man was erect and busy pumping his member. A looker, So thought, not bothering to get his own cock hard. The man didn’t seem to care either way.

The two watched each other in a silence punctuated only by the man’s sporadic grunts of what may have been pleasure, until he once again gave curt instruction to So. “Turn over,” he spluttered, his eyes widening slightly at the thought of the sight he’d soon see. So hesitated, momentarily concerned with both turning his back to this man as well as what doing so might mean. So was a man. When a customer demanded it, and with the help of a little blue pill, So would take the dominate position in anal sex. He never bottomed. But the man hadn’t moved from his spot, so So did as he’d asked, keeping one eye peeled over his shoulder. And then, thinking he might still manage to coax a decent tip from the farang, he spread his legs just a bit.

The man still didn’t move, seemingly content with taking care of his own needs and So turned his face away, not really needing, or wanting, to watch. From the sounds the farang was making alone So figured he’d know when the man came, and when he could get dressed and leave. His thoughts turned to his own discontentment with life. And then he tensed, feeling the weight of the farang on the bed. Just as So began to reposition himself into a safer posture, the farang pulled his legs out from under him, leaving So splayed across the bed with his ass in the air. And then he was on top of him.

boys bar 13 5

The heavier man’s weight crushed the breath from So’s body allowing him only the feeblest attempt at saying no. So coiled every muscle in his body, ready to force the man off; he felt the farang’s weight lift, and then felt his tongue begin its wet trail down So’s back. Still tensed, he waited. The danger appeared to have passed. And he wasn’t sure what the farang was up to. His muscles grew rigid again as he felt the man’s hands clinch his ass cheeks, separating them, allowing a descended trail for his tongue to follow. And when it did, So gasped.

So looked back over his shoulder, catching the reflection of the man’s hairy, drooping ass in the mirror above the dresser, a sight he nor anyone else really wanted to see. He turned back, scrunching his eyes shut. Whatever the man was doing tickled. It wasn’t unpleasurable, but at the same time it was worrisome. So couldn’t count the number of customers he’d been with since he started working on Soi Twilight, but this was the first who was doing that. And when he felt the tip of the man’s tongue begin to explore his asshole, he shuddered in distaste. Soi dogs said hello by sniffing each other’s butts. Humans didn’t. Not even farang.

The man paid little heed to So’s discomfort and So stifled a giggle at the thought that maybe when you had your nose buried in someone’s ass it was difficult to sense their mood. As strange as farang could be, this one appeared intent on exploring even stranger worlds. When he felt the man’s tongue poke inside of him though he’d had enough and So flipped over onto his back. Their new position didn’t deter the farang in the least bit. Except now he was bent over with his face pressed between Soi’s butt cheeks. Like a near-sighted gynecologist. So hoped he wouldn’t fart. And then thought that maybe if he did he’d get a bigger tip. He couldn’t wait to get home and tell Wit about this one. He was sure his friend had never experienced anything quite as strange.

boys bar 13 6

The farang continued with his efforts, all the while furiously pumping his cock. Everything the man did seemed to be spurred by anger. The room was hot and stifling; so rushed to get to what he’d paid for the farang hadn’t turned on the air-conditioner when they’d entered the room. And now he was dripping with sweat. So hoped there would be enough towels to dry himself when the man finally finished. His thoughts took him away from his concerns over the strange things the man was doing and he began to relax. The man’s tongue licking at his asshole even started to feel pleasurable. So felt his cock beginning to get hard. And when the man’s tongue dipped lightly into him again, So whimpered. It actually felt good. Enjoyable even. A slight frown scrunched its way between So’s eyebrows, he wasn’t sure that having someone doing what this man was should be something you liked. His cock, which had grown stiff, seemed to think it was.

A fleeting thought of doing the same to Noi crossed his mind. No, she would be shocked. And disgusted. He thought that it should bother him, or even disgust him too, that he would even think of doing so. Even with someone he loved. But right now, with his legs spread wide and this strange man’s tongue giving him more pleasure than he’d felt in weeks, the act itself didn’t seem to be all that repulsive. Although he thought a hot, soapy shower first might be the better way to go. Possibly because he’d been on So’s mind lately, The Farang popped into his head. And So giggled. The Farang might enjoy this. Maybe it was something all farang did. And if not, he was sure to delight in what then might be a new experience for him too.

Lost in his thoughts So had ceased paying attention to his customer, who, as strange as he was seemed harmless enough. The noises the man began to make as he started his climax focused So’s attention on him again. With his head still buried deep between So’s ass cheeks, his gasping and wheezing echoed across the room. And then, with a final thrust of his tongue, the man came. Not sure if he was supposed to, or whether or not it mattered, So began finishing himself off too. And then stopped when the man immediately began putting his clothes back on, paying no attention to So as if he’d already left.

boys bar 13 7

So got off the bed and started getting dressed himself. He smiled at the man, thinking that letting him know that So had appreciated what he’d done might be appreciated in itself. But the scowl on the man’s face never changed. So thought that maybe that was why the man preferred sex with his head planted in his partner’s ass. Looking like he had a permanent hate on the world couldn’t be good for his sex life. But then that was probably why he was in Bangkok, why he was hiring boys from the bars on Soi Twilight.

The farang went back to talking by gesture, a small swooping of a hand obviously signaling it was time for So to leave. At the door the man handed So his tip. 1,2000 baht. Which was at the low end of acceptable tips for a short-time off. So was going to ask the man for taxi money just to even the score, but quickly realized with this farang it would be a wasted effort. Besides, what he’d just learned was worth 300 baht. The Farang was in for a big surprise when he landed in Bangkok again in a few weeks. And at that thought the smile that had been absent earlier finally made its way to So’s face.

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The Boys In The Bar: 12. A Slave To Love

29 Friday Aug 2014

Posted by Bangkokbois in The Boys In The Bar

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Gay Bangkok

boys 12 1

There were no stars in the sky; the clouds had smothered the moon, and he could feel the weight of the sky itself pressing down on them as Wit and Paul made their way down Patpong 2 headed for Paul’s hotel. Wit’s nipples were raw and every brush of his shirt’s fabric against them caused a frisson of excitement at the thought of why, of what he’d just experienced, spiced by a degree of apprehension, even a modicum of fear. It didn’t help that he was still harder than Woody Allen at a Chinese orphanage.

He looked over at the man walking at his side, trying to make sense out of what he’d known and what he now knew of his companion. Paul was gentle. Educated. And a bit shy. Yet an hour earlier, when he fastened his ‘gift’ around Wit’s neck, his expression had immediately changed; what little benignity he had about him seemed to vanish into the murky darkness of the bar. When they hit Silom and its vendor stalls crowding the sidewalks, Wit was still preoccupied with his thoughts, he couldn’t even spare a passing glance for the heaps of merchandise on display. Although a fleeting thought briefly interrupted his contemplation, that it would be nice if Paul bought him a new T-shirt to replace the one he’d bought for Wit earlier that evening. The one he ripped from Wit’s chest back in the bar.

Their night had begun well enough, even if Paul had been anxious about getting them to his favorite place in Bangkok, a small club in a black building with the incongruous name of Bar Bar. Wit had been warmed by Paul’s familiarity with the club’s staff, a bit apprehensive of the noises floating through the main bar area from unseen rooms tucked further back in the club, and then a little of both when Paul told him he had a gift for him.

boys 12 2

The last gift Paul had given him, a spiked, leather cock ring – for Paul to wear – had not been what Wit had expected. Or hoped for. Considering the setting, this time around his vision of a chunky gold baht chain had dissipated almost as quickly as it had appeared. And Paul had not disappointed. It seemed his idea of a gift always meant leather and spikes. As many different smiles as Wit had mastered over his lifetime, he’d had a difficult time coming up with an appropriate one when Paul fastened what looked like a dog collar around his neck. And when he’d snapped a small silver chain onto it, and then leash in hand pulled Wit further into the dark room they’d just entered, Wit was glad Paul’s back was to him and that he couldn’t see Wit’s face. When Wit got a good look at the room, his attempts at coming up with the right smile immediately came to an abrupt stop.

The massive display of candles would have been a nice, romantic touch if not for their illuminating a wide selection of medieval torture devices. All of which Wit would have written off as just odd decor if not for the leather-clad, whip wielding Thai woman whose attention was focused on the exposed, and alarmingly red buttocks of a middle-aged farang splayed out over one of two room’s spanking benches. That was when Paul had ripped the front of Wit’s new T-shirt open. And when, with a devilish smirk on his face, he’d grabbed a candle out of the rack to drip hot wax on Wit’s chest. Wit had almost been too surprised to remember to act as if that was a new experience for him. Even if usually he was buck-ass naked and on stage when hot, melting wax flowed freely over his chest. He’d flinched, convincingly enough to widen the smile on Paul’s face.

The second area Paul led him into was more secluded and better lit. And Wit, although he’d soon been proved wrong, assumed this was the draw that made Bar Bar Paul’s playground of choice in Bangkok. It looked like a doctor’s office. Complete with an examining table. And Paul was, after all, a doctor back in his home country. An attached tile-lined shower stall, large enough to be considered a room itself, caught Wit’s attention. Wit’s exposed, and now rigid nipples caught Paul’s. And when his gentle caresses quickly turned into the sharp bite of too many teeth, Wit hoped the examination room decor included a stock of bandages. But instead of some comforting first-aid, Paul tore the rest of Wit’s shirt off, leaving him naked from the waist up.

boys 12 3

Wit barely had time to register that they’d moved into a new room before Paul grasped him by the nape of his neck and buried his tongue deep in Wit’s mouth. With a yank of the leash’s chain around his neck, Paul directed him to his knees. Wit caught a reflection of himself as he sank to the floor. The room’s walls were mirrored. And he looked pretty damn hot. Paul evidently thought so too. When he crammed Wit’s face into his crotch, Wit could feel Paul’s hard cock throbbing within the fabric. Not sure if he should, he reached up to free it from the confines of Paul’s jeans. Paul slapped his hand away, and said with a groan, “I haven’t given you permission yet.”

Wit looked up, hoping to catch some glimmer of direction in Paul’s face. There were several people staring down at him. The room’s ceiling was glass. And he and Paul were attracting quite a crowd. An even more appreciative crowd when Paul yanked him back to his feet and then just as quickly yanked his pants down to his knees exposing Wit’s throbbing cock to the spectators above. A hard slap to his ass brought Wit’s attention back to his partner. Another brought Wit back to his knees. And this time when he turned back to face Paul he got the permission he’d wanted. “Suck it,” Paul commanded as he freed his erect cock from his pants.

Wit felt a stranger’s hand on the back of his head. He turned and caught a quick glimpse of a bar girl wearing a dominatrix costume before she shoved his face back down on Paul’s erect member. And then felt the sting of her paddle on his ass. He moaned, partially in pleasure, partially in pain. Which only served to excite Paul further as he crammed his stiff cock deep into Wit’s throat, vigorously pumping again and again until with a low moan of pleasure himself he shot his full load into Wit’s mouth. A small dribble seeped from between Wit’s lips to pool amongst the hardened wax on his chest. Wit’s hand reached down to his engorged dick and he began furiously pumping, seeking release. But Paul dragged him back to his feet with the stern command, “Not yet. I haven’t said you could cum yet.” The dominatrix punctuated Paul’s words with another painful whack to Wit’s ass. He thought maybe this was when he was supposed to use his safe word, that invoking it would allow him the release his cock so desperately craved. But one look into Paul’s eyes told him that was not to be.

boys 12 4

With Wit’s private parts still exposed to anyone who cared to look, Paul led him up a short flight of stairs to a small, private room. The dominatrix followed. Chains hung from its walls. A low, wooden bench filled the expanse along one side of the room. A strange, scary wooden contraption that Wit didn’t want to guess as to its purpose dominated another. Paul shoved him down, face first, onto a small cushioned platform. And then, having yanked his own pants down to his knees, without warning immediately entered him. Wit whimpered in pain at the sudden attack, and then moaned in pleasure as Paul’s pre-cum provided lubrication for his powerful thrusts. Looking into the mirrored wall in front of him, Wit watched the dominatrix finish belting on a strap-on, and then felt Paul’s response as she moved in behind him. Paul’s movements picked up speed, the two’s combined efforts pushed Wit over the top, and the low guttural cries escaping from Paul’s lips culminated in Wit’s gushing orgasm. Paul’s second orgasm of the night quickly followed as the dominatrix forcefully entered him for the final time.

The two men flopped down next to each other on the cushioned platform, exhausted, trying to catch their breath as the bar girl quietly left the room. Wit hoped they’d be allowed to use that shower room he’d seen downstairs. The tattered remnants of his T-shirt wouldn’t be enough to clean up either one of them. When Paul’s chest finally stopped its heaving, he turned to Wit and once again spoke those words that Wit now dreaded hearing, “I have a gift for you.”

The small box he handed to Wit held a beautifully crafted silver dragon. It was strangely shaped, elongated, holding a small, white, chatoyant ball in its claws. Wit smiled, not sure of the meaning of its odd construction, but thinking that maybe he was finally getting a present from Paul that was an actual gift. But when Paul’s cock, amazingly, began stiffening again, the intention behind the gift became clear. Wit quickly paced the cover back on the box. And told Paul they both needed a shower.

boys 12 5

Downstairs as they prepared to leave Wit watched Paul pass a handful of baht to the bar girl who’d spent time with them. It looked like a lot. A lot more than Wit ever got tipped working as a bar boy. He wasn’t sure if it would be rude to ask how much, but then decided considering what he’d just gone through and the vivid red splotches still apparent on his ass cheeks when he’d showered, he didn’t have much to lose. Paul didn’t seem to mind the question. “We should have bought her a drink first,” Paul explained. “That’s 300 baht.”

“It’s 3,000 baht more for 90 minutes of a bar employee’s time,” he went on to explain, adding, “But if you want to take one back to your hotel that runs 4,000 baht.” Wit kept mum. He didn’t want Paul to think he was the least bit interested in offing anyone. Besides, he was trying to come to terms with the idea of a 4,000 baht bar fine. “And then there’s the tip,” Paul said. “That’s up to you, but I usually give 4 to 5,000 baht. Tonight I made it an even 10,000 since there were two of us.”

Paul misconstrued the look of pain on Wit’s face. And the old, gentle, shy, and caring Paul was back. “It doesn’t bother you that we just paid for sex, does it?” he asked. Wit answered with a quick shake of his head, not really listening to Paul’s words. He was trying to calculate what the monthly take for an employee at Bar Bar was. And wondering if they hired men too. He was still in a bit of shock as they made their way out the door. He still hurt a bit too. And was worried about his stiffening member as images of the last hour played through his head.

boys 12 6

When they got to the hotel, Paul was his normal gregarious and gracious self, greeting the staff and asking them how they were doing. In the elevator he embraced Wit in a warm hug. The Paul that had been in his element back at the club was no longer evident. Wit wasn’t sure which of the two versions of his friend and lover he preferred more. The combination of the two, he thought, might be the biggest attraction. But when the pair entered Paul’s room, Wit knew what to do if he wanted their relationship to continue and grow. And he did. Regardless of Paul’s strange taste in gifts. So as the door swung close behind them with a gentle click, Wit sank to his knees in front of Paul again. And the look Paul beamed down at him, he was sure, was one of love.

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The Boys In The Bar: 11. A Walk On The Wild Side

15 Friday Aug 2014

Posted by Bangkokbois in The Boys In The Bar

≈ 6 Comments

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Gay Bangkok

wild side 1

Paul was in town again and if not for a long-time booking that lasted longer than planned, Wit would have met him at the airport when he arrived. Instead he was hurrying along Patpong 1, headed for the Balcony Bar on Soi 4 where Paul waited for him. Wit would just as soon have stayed clear of Bangkok’s entire red light district; even Silom was too close to Soi Twilight where he worked. And the last thing Wit wanted to happen was for Paul to discover that he wasn’t the university student he claimed to be, but a gogo bar boy instead. But the Balcony seemed safe enough. The two had met at DJ Station and as yet Paul had not appeared to be the least bit interested in the city’s commercial sex scene. Not that that did much for Wit’s bank account, but he felt rich in love. And since Paul was a doctor, Wit figured the money angle would be taken care of once the two were officially a couple.

Wit’s heart soared when he spotted Paul seated at one of the small tables spread across the front of the Balcony. His eyes quickly swept across the other patrons, as well as those sitting across the narrow soi in front of the Telephone Pub. He didn’t spot any of his customers, let out a sigh of relief, and intended suggesting to Paul they move indoors where it was cool and air-conditioned. Just in case. But those worries flew from his mind as he neared his soon to be boyfriend. He moved in for a warm embrace and passionate kiss, but even here surrounded by gay men, Paul froze. Wit got a handshake instead. Pushing the point, he leaned in for a bro hug as a consolation prize and felt Paul’s stiffening member in the brief seconds the two of their bodies touched. Wit couldn’t think of a better greeting and wished they were back in Paul’s hotel room where they could take longer to reconnect.

Flustered by his body’s response, the evidence of which was still visible under the table, Paul was disinclined to move indoors as Wit suggested. He needed to cool down before parading past the cafe’s other patrons. Feeling like a sitting duck, that made Wit’s worries quickly resurface and he suggested the two head to Paul’s hotel room. As anxious as Paul’s body appeared, he was less so. “There’s some place I want to show you first,” he whispered into Wit’s ear as he paid his tab and led Wit back down the soi.

wild side 2

When they hit Silom, turning toward the Patpong night market, Paul slowed down and began browsing the booths set up along the sidewalk. Wit wasn’t interested in the tchotchkes the sidewalk vendors pushed off as handcrafted souvenirs. But there was a vendor selling sexy underwear. Maybe, he thought, he could get Paul to buy him a pair. That could help convince Paul the hotel would be a better destination than wherever he had in mind too. As he sorted through a pile of briefs looking for some that would look good on him and help convince Paul his hotel was the best destination, the good doctor made his own choice, pulling a black T-shirt off the rack. It was small, tight, and had large tears across the chest, a purposeful design that would look hot in any club.

“I like this one for you,” Paul said, holding it up against Wit’s chest. “And you’ll need something black for tonight anyway.”

Wit wasn’t sure why he needed a black shirt, if anything, it was Saturday and he should be wearing a purple one for good luck. But he knew he’d look good in it. And free clothes were free clothes. He slipped it on, struggling against its tight confines to get it pulled down over his chest. There was no mirror available to check himself out, but the look in Paul’s eyes spoke volumes. Paul’s hand moved toward his chest, Wit’s taught nipple peaking out from the black fabric too much of a lure to resist. When it alighted briefly, the feeling shot through Wit’s entire body. When Paul gave his tit a quick, not so gentle squeeze, he almost moaned aloud in pleasure.

wild side 3

Paul paid for their purchase and began strolling up Silom again, following the crowd at the snail’s pace that it emulated. Passing a table full of X-rated DVDs and sex toys, he slowed down again. Nodding toward a large neon pink vibrating dildo he joked that it would look good with Wit’s new shirt. Wit scoffed. The one thing his life was not short on was penis. And he had no need for a fake one regardless of how many speeds it moved in. A pair of handcuffs caught Paul’s eye. He picked them up, played with them for a minute, and then shot Wit a suggestive, yet questioning look. Wit had had the occasional customer into kink but it never did anything for him. He just chalked it up to the general strangeness of farang. Toys, in his opinion, just got in the way of the sex. And if Paul was too shy for a PDA on a soi filled with gay men, Wit doubted he’d be buying handcuffs in front of the passing crowd. He laughed, just in case Paul was serious, and then nudged his friend along.

When Paul turned to walk down Patpong 2, Wit’s worries took center stage again. That was a popular route through Patpong to Suriwong and Soi Twilight. He stopped to look at a display of bags and luggage, trying to come up with an excuse to lead them in a different direction. Paul stopped too, didn’t see any bags that were worth looking at closer, most were knock-offs of pricey designer labels. But a thick, black leather belt called to him. He looped it around his hand, a foot or two of the belt still hanging loose. Like a whip. And then shrugged and hung it back on the display. “Come on,” he urged Wit. “It’s just up here.”

Wit followed, dragging his feet. He considered telling Paul he needed to stop at Foodland; maybe he’d come up with a better excuse once inside the supermarket. Like that he was feeling ill. Because he was. But before he could put his plan to work, Paul pulled up short in front of a small dark club. One that Wit had never noticed before. The barker, a woman perched on a stool next to the door, did nothing to entice visitors into her club. She just sat there, dressed in black leather. With a knowing smirk on her face. Wit was just about to tell Paul that he may have made a mistake, this wasn’t a gay bar. He wasn’t sure what type of a bar it was in fact. Most bars told you what you’d find inside by their name. Like Super Pussy. And Bar Bar didn’t do that. But before he could open his mouth in warning, the barker did. “Paul!” she exclaimed, even managing to put a smile on her face. “It’s so good to see you again!”

wild side 4

Paul gave the woman a significant wai, the first time Wit had seen him make that gesture. And then pushed Wit inside in front of him. Just inside the door, he flashed a membership card at a leather-clad mamasan collecting cover-charges – 900 baht per head Wit noticed, stunned at how much the place got out of its customers . From the look on the mamasan’s face, showing his card had been an unnecessary gesture. She too greeted Paul like an old friend, “The Light Area is really hopping tonight,” she whispered as they passed. “They’ll be thrilled to have a real doctor in the house!” she added with a giggle.

As Wit’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the bar he expected to see a stage like at every gogo bar he knew of. There was none. But there was a large bar, so he thought this place must be like a disco, like DJ Station or G.O.D. instead. Even if there was no dance floor. But then spying an overweight farang, naked but for a leather jockstrap, tied up in a cage being playfully whipped by a gaggle of giggling Japanese tourists, he decided the bar wasn’t like DJ Station either. Not at all. He felt Paul’s hand on his ass. At least he hoped it was Paul’s hand. Fortunately it was, and Paul pushed him toward the bar where the bartender, decked out in a leather vest, greet Paul by name. He checked out Wit too, allowing his gaze to linger on his exposed nipple. “I see you brought a playmate with you tonight,” he said to Paul with a wink. And then added, “The usual?” as he reached for a glass.

Wit had heard about gay guys into the leather and SM scene. He even knew a few bar boys whose customers had asked them to spank them. But the closest he’d ever come to being with a customer who wanted something different like that was with a black man, an American who showed up on the soi a few times each year. But he’d met him at DJ Station. The man had bragged incessantly about how much sex he got for free, but then didn’t bat an eye when Wit told him he was a money boy. Wit hadn’t really been attracted to the man, but it was a slow night and he was curious. He’d heard black guys had large cocks. Which turned out to be nothing more than a rumor when they got back to the man’s hotel room. That one had wanted Wit to pee on him. Wit acted like he didn’t understand what the man wanted. He understood the request, but not why someone would want to be peed on. And then thought about faking a phone call about a sick friend that needed him immediately. But the man was satisfied with Wit fucking him. And then tipped him even more than most customers did. Although he stressed the money was a gift and not payment for sex. Wit didn’t care. It still spent the same. But leaving the man’s hotel room, he did stop to make sure the bills he’d been handed weren’t damp.

wild side 5

Paul, however, didn’t appear twilling to let Wit off the hook as easily. And while he’d avoided any sort of PDA before, as soon as their drinks arrived he bent over and started nibbling at Wit’s exposed nipple. A bit too hard as far as Wit was concerned. But his cock thought otherwise and began to stiffen in his pants. “I think,” Paul said when he came up for air, “you need to pick a safe word to use before we go any further.”

Wit didn’t have a clue about what Paul meant. He knew what words were. And knew what safe meant too. But together they made little sense. He smiled at Paul hoping he’d change the subject.

“You know what a safe word is?” Paul asked, obviously intent on finishing what he’d started. Wit didn’t, but didn’t want to admit that there was something he didn’t know either. Especially since it seemed important to Paul. He let his silence answer for him.

“A safe word is a word you use to mean no,” Paul explained. “It’s so you can say no, or stop, without really meaning it. But your safe word really does means no; it’s a special word to use instead of no. So that I’ll know you mean no”

wild side 6

That didn’t make a lot of sense to wit. He was Thai. And Thais had a few hundred ways of saying no without actually saying no. Thais hated saying no. But they certainly didn’t need a special word to use instead. You were supposed to know when a Thai meant no anyway. Without him saying so. And without some special code word either. But Paul thought he’d managed to get the concept across and told Wit he needed to pick a safe word. A word that meant no, but wasn’t no.

Wit thought about it for a minute. And then came up with the obvious answer. “Okay,” he told Paul. “I pick yes.” That was Wit’s favorite word for no anyway.

Paul chuckled. “I don’t think that’s a good safe word Wit,” he laughed. “Besides, I hope you’ll be saying yes a lot tonight,” he added. “Though that actually should be ‘Yes sir’.”

Wit thought about what other words he used to say no, but before he could come up with one Paul decided for him. “How about cream puff?” he laughed, pleased with the reference. And then didn’t wait for Wit’s agreement but got busy applying his tongue and teeth to Wit’s nipple again instead. This time when he came up for air he smiled at Wit knowingly, and then brushed the back of his hand against Wit’s crotch for confirmation. He nodded, mostly to himself, a congratulations at having made what he thought was the right call. And then reached into his back pocket.

wild side 7

“I brought a gift for you,” he said with a shy smile. Wit smiled back. He liked gifts. But then he remembered the last present Paul had given him. It was a leather cock ring, with spikes protruding around its circumference. For Paul to wear. A harbinger of what was to come although only now was that dawning on Wit. He thought maybe there might be a dance floor back farther in the club, that maybe a disco beat would take Paul’s mind away from his gift. But what he could see to the far side of the bar was a smaller, even darker room. With flashes of silver from chains hanging on its walls playing in the light of dozens of candles. Paul pushed them away from the bar, leading them into that darkness. “I think you’ll like your gift even better back there,” he said. Wit walked where Paul pushed him. And then bumped into a human-sized cage hanging suspended from the ceiling. He wasn’t sure he was going to like Paul’s gift. Or the path Paul was leading him down. But he did like Paul. A lot. So maybe it was time for him to explore the wild side.

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08 Friday Aug 2014

Posted by Bangkokbois in The Boys In The Bar

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Gay Thailand

boys in the bar 10 #1

Outside the bar rain was coming down in buckets. That didn’t bode well for business. Customers seemed to think they would melt if they got wet and an early evening rain almost guaranteed an off-less night for most of the boys working the bars on Soi Twilight. Not that this evening would have set any records anyway;it was the middle of the week when bidness tended to be slow. And as the bar boys showed up to work tonight, the manager informed everyone that the bar was scheduled to be raided by the boys in brown. And that meant the boys in underwear would not be having much of a happy ending to their night.

Lek was excited about the raid. It would be his first. And since he was old enough to work at the bar, had his ID card, and wasn’t a drug user, Wit had quickly clamed his initial fears. Being raided was just part of bar life. Even with all the tea money the owner paid out monthly, there were times when the police had to make it look like they were doing their job. And they made sure whichever bars would be raided knew about it in advance. Doing your job, or pretending to, was one thing. Actually having to work because some unsuspecting bar boys got caught up in the snare was asking a bit too much. So instead of quaking in fear over the visit from the authorities, the manager was busy re-shuffling the acts for the night’s shows so that they complied with the letter, if not the spirit, of Bangkok’s laws. That meant no nudity. Which, in turn meant even those customers who weren’t put off by the presence of police on the soi wouldn’t be as enticed to off a boy as usual. And that was before the heavens opened up. A few boys having heard about the planned raid, for one reason or another, decided taking the night off was in their best interest. They wouldn’t be missing much. Except for Lek’s inaugural performance as a diva. And divas really should play to a packed house.

Since Lek had begun performing his comedy act the bar’s business had been booming. Word of mouth passed swiftly among the local population and since most Thais enjoyed a good laugh, and the gay ones loved a bit of cock to go along with that chuckle, the house filled up during show times on weekends. Lek enjoyed the attention, but in his heart he wanted to take to the stage as the diva he was. So far the bar’s manager had refused.

boys in the bar 10 #2

Tonight, since Lek’s act involved a naked cock – Wit’s naked cock to be precise – the manager suggested he do a different act. Lek thought it was finally his chance to shine until the manager told him to do the ugly ladyboy with sagging water balloon breasts skit that all the bars eventually mixed into their routines. Lek had thought the first one he’d seen was funny. Grandma Nong, his mentor, dissuaded him from that opinion. Laughing at ladyboys was not okay. Laughing with them, like the audience did during Lek’s act, was. So it was his turn to refuse the manager. Which wasn’t an easy thing for a young Thai boy to do. For a diva, it took not much more than a flamboyant snap of the fingers. Suddenly faced with an angry ladyboy, the manager gave in, and with stars in his eyes Lek rushed over to his friend to share the good news.

“Wit! The boss says I can do my act tonight!”

“No! You can’t,” his friend and roommate informed him. Wit knew that Lek’s act wouldn’t fly during a raid. Even though it was humorous, a lot of that humor relied on naked male flesh. And since most of it was Wit’s naked male flesh, he knew better. Wit was happy for Lek’s success at the bar, but performing what amounted to a sex act – in fact a few of them – with his newest member of his family still bothered him a bit. Having the audience laugh when your erection made its appearance on stage didn’t make it any easier. So a night off wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“No not my comedy act! I get to sing! I’m going to do Don’t Cry For Me Argentina,” Lek corrected him. “I love Madonna,” he added needlessly.

boys in the bar 10 #3

Wit responded the same, “No you can’t.”

“But the manager said I could. He needs to fill the show and I’m the perfect answer,” Lek explained.

“No, I mean you can’t sing,” Wit shot back. ” I’ve heard you try. It sounds like a kitten being devoured by a hia.”

That hurt. Lek considered mentioning that someone’s cock didn’t always get as hard as it should during their act but took the high road instead. “I’m not going to sing, just mouth the words. It about how I move and look, not my voice.”

“Well you’d better not even hum a note or the only moving and looking that will be happening will be customers looking for the door and moving toward it as quickly as possible.”

Lek slapped Wit with his fan. Wit was getting tired of that damn fan. Ever since Grandma Nong had given it to him, Wit always seemed to have it at hand. And if he was serious about being a ladyboy he needed to do something about getting some tits, not acting as though an embroidered silk fan transformed him into the lady he wanted to be.

boys in the bar 10 #4

Lek had texted Grandma Nong, hoping the old woman would bring her a gown to wear and help him with his make-up. But Grandma Nong too acted as if she’d melt in the rain. And in truth, her make-up probably would and that would be much the same thing. Lek had to bribe one of the boys whose familiarity with yaba meant he couldn’t risk being at the bar during a police raid to take a tuk tuk to Grandma Nong’s place and pick up a gown for her. He was anxious about the boy getting back to the bar in time for the show. And a bit anxious too that the boys in brown had not yet shown up.

Usually when a raid was conducted the police arrived just after the bars opened. It was slow then. They could make the appearance someone higher up’s face required and then be gone before business really started up. But the boys in brown were not fans of getting drenched, so it looked like tonight they would arrive later. Which usually meant at the very end of the night. That way their business wouldn’t interrupt the bar’s business, or cash flow, still. But if his barmate didn’t hurry up and return, that could be smack dab in the middle of Lek’s turn on stage. And if that happened, the tears he planned on gushing for his number would become real ones. And ladyboys didn’t like getting drenched either.

Fortunately the little yaba addict appeared before the police did. And he had Grandma Nong in tow. At least Lek thought it might be Grandma Nong. He’d never seen the diminutive octogenarian not in drag before. And the quick finger to her lips said no one else should know they just had either. That she had braved the weather – and braved facing the world as a man – just to see Lek’s diva debut meant a lot. A hell of a lot. Grandma Nong as a man was quite a hideous sight. His face looked like a bad tattoo. Even if he wasn’t a ladyboy Lek thought he’d still benefit greatly from a liberal application of make-up before going out in public.

boys in the bar 10 #5

The house lights dimmed just as Lek put on the finishing touches to her own make-up. Wit and the other bar boys in the candle act took to the stage, their sheer silk scarves draped over white undershorts instead of their normally erect cocks. It just wasn’t the same. And when the customers realized it wasn’t going to get any better, several paid up their check bin and left. Lek was glad she was up next. Or there would be no one left to appreciate her fabulousness. With a spotlight causing the rhinestones in her tiara to shoot rainbows across the stage, she made an entrance worthy of Madonna herself (although Lek had shaved his armpits; emulating your heroine was one thing, allowing body hair to grow au natural was quite another). Lek wasn’t sure whether the audience applauded her entrance or not, in her head she heard the standing ovation. And with the first tear beginning to spill over and drip from her right eye, she lip synched the opening words, a chanteuse’s lament for the love of her people who didn’t love her back quite enough.

As Lek got to the line about having had to let it happen, about having had to change, her stage tears became real. She was no longer not-singing about some farang dictator’s gik; it was her life, her decision to move to Bangkok and become the person she always knew she was. It was her song, her words. And her audience was soon forgotten. By the time she began belting out the words, “So, I chose freedom,” she wasn’t lip synching any longer. Her voice rang out across the stage. Which normally would have been fine, the bar tended to keep its sound system at an eardrum shattering decibel level and no one would have heard her off-key warbling. But with the spotlights blinding her, Lek hadn’t noticed that just as she’d feared, the boys in brown had made their entrance during the middle of her act. The manager cut the music. The audience winced, thinking Lek’s voice was just a particularly nasty bout of feedback. And the next line of her ballad was trampled over by the noise of the bar’s customers reaction to the sudden presence of a squad of the local constabulary in their midst.

Grandma Nong breathed a sigh of relief.

boys in the bar 10 #6

The house lights came up, the spotlights on the stage dimmed, leaving Lek stranded on stage and unsure of what to do as she attempted to dry her tears, which began flowing even more freely when she realized her debut as a diva had just been ruined. She stared out at the audience, at her bar mates being hustled into a group by a few of the cops, looking for someone to help her, to tell her what to do. She spotted Grandma Nong, or the elderly man she was passing for, but the old ladyboy’s signals were about her mascara running and not about whether she should flee or finish her act. And Wit, who would have let her know what to do was busy looking worried about a pee test the police had begun administering that had not been part of the raid’s schedule.

Just as she was about to panic for real, Lek felt a presence next to her on the stage. Through teary eyes she saw a large brown blur approach. And then a gentle hand at her cheek, a smooth thumb brushing away her tears. As her vision cleared a handsome Thai in uniform appeared. No, a gorgeous young uniformed hunk, not just a handsome one. And he smiled at her as their eyes connected. Lek thought she might faint.

Lek felt his strong arms envelope her. And then in her ear he whispered in a lilting voice (and completely in key), “The answer was here all the time, I love you and hope you love me.” And as he helped her off the stage he followed up with what Lek thought was an even sweeter serenade. “My name is Khemkhaeng,” he told her. “And I hope we can become very good friends.”

boys in the bar 10 #7

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The Boys In The Bar: 09. What’s Love Got To Do With It?

01 Friday Aug 2014

Posted by Bangkokbois in The Boys In The Bar

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bois in the bar 09 #1

The Farang was back in Bangkok, and So wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing. He’d been excited when he received the email telling him he was arriving soon, more so than he would have expected. Good or bad, farang were farang and as customers not all that different from one and another. Some were nicer, more kind, more respectful than others, but in the end their farangness overshadowed their differences. They weren’t Thai, they didn’t think or act like Thais do. Farang were strange. Which didn’t help So make sense of why he was feeling so strangely about this one.

Several nights earlier at the bar, before The Farang showed up, Wit had noticed how anxious and excited So had been about The Farang’s arrival and had teased him about being in love. But regardless of how nice he was, regardless of how much So had enjoyed their time together on his previous visit, The Farang was a customer. And what’s love got to do with that? Maybe Wit, being gay, allowed his emotions to color his relationships with customers, but So wasn’t. So was straight. And married. Falling in love with a man . . . well, that just wasn’t possible. Having sex with one was tricky enough.

When he first started working at the bar, back in his late teens, that wasn’t a problem. In those days it seemed he was constantly in a state of arousal; it didn’t really matter that the person he was in bed with was a man, or old, or wouldn’t qualify as attractive in anyone’s book. Flesh was flesh and it was all about So’s flesh and his orgasm anyway. As the years passed those acts became more familiar, and therefore easier too. But So no longer got hard from just slipping out of his jeans. Now he had to coax his cock into an erect state. Where once just being naked was enough to get him hard, now he had to fantasize that he was doing something that his body wanted to do. With someone he wanted to do it with. More often than not, that meant thinking of his wife Noi; closing his eyes and letting the sex they’d had the night before replay in his mind usually did the trick. At least while his customer of the night was busy performing acts that didn’t require So to look him in the eyes.

bois in the bar 09 #2

The Farang awoke, rolled over, and noticed that something was playing on So’s mind, its movements replicated on his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked in a voice that barely made its way across the bed.

So looked at the face that had so quickly become familiar and a part of his life, thought of how he could explain – and then thinking better of it – smiled, settled himself back into The Farang’s arms, and whispered, “Nothing.” But something was wrong. Noi was suddenly on So’s mind. And the fact that now was the first time he’d thought of her over the last three days worried So.

When So had called her the night The Farang arrived to let her know he wouldn’t be home for a few days, he could tell she was torn between being happy about the income his multiple day off would bring them and the long expanse of nights she’d spend alone in their bed because of it. That she didn’t trust farang deepened her concerns. Noi was protective of her husband and knew how easily bar boys could fall for the lies visitors told them when spinning their fantasies of love and friendship. And she was a woman naturally resonant with worry.

bois in the bar 09 #3

In her typical way of not addressing what was bothering her directly, Noi had offered her warning instead through gossip, recounting for So the story she’d just read in the newspaper about a 30-year-old farang who’d been convicted of killing his Thai wife after she destroyed his prized collection of Star Wars toys. In his defense, the farang had told the court that he’d long put up with abusive treatment from his 28-year-old wife, but that the destruction of Darth Vader and company had sent him over the edge. And if that didn’t tell you how strange and dangerous farang could be, Noi didn’t know what did. But So felt safe snuggled deep within The Farang’s arms. Still, perhaps, it might be a good idea to check his luggage in the morning to make sure he didn’t have any Star Wars toys packed away.

Not that So was worry-free himself. He’d trusted in farang customers before, only to be disappointed, used, abused, and burned. He’d learned their promises were as believable as a politician’s. They just paid better. And when his heart had been hurt in the past, Noi had always been there to comfort him, ready to soothe his pain. But she was just as ready the next time to remind him of those farang who’d treated him badly in the past. So was more of an optimist. And he believed some things were best left buried in memories that stayed safely tucked away in the farthest recesses of his mind. He didn’t think every wound needed to be poked, prodded, and opened like Noi did. Not every wrong needed to be reexamined, or dragged kicking and screaming into the light. It was better to just let a disappointment or hurt heal, even if it didn’t heal quite right. Those emotional scars, he thought, could deepen you, could give a greater luster to your colors, a richer resonance to your view of the world. That is if they didn’t destroy you, if they didn’t burn away your optimism and spirit. And your capacity for dreams. So believed sometimes it was better to leave some things in the dark and remind yourself not to go stepping into shadows when you could just as easily avoid it.

So’s current worry wasn’t so much about the what, but rather the why anyway. Or maybe that was the how. Back before he’d met The Farang business had been slow, and money was tight. One Thursday night So had stopped at the Ganesha shrine in front of CentralWorld to ask the deity for some help. And not unmindful of the gods’ needs too, to make an offering to the god whose realm dealt with business success, money, and wealth. The next night The Farang walked into his bar. Which didn’t surprise So in the least, that’s the way the spiritual world worked. But while he’d been in the area he asked for a blessing from Trimurti at his shrine too, since it was only meters away from Ganesha’s. Just to cover his bases. Because Trimurti was a popular deity for those looking for success, prosperity and happiness too.

bois in the bar 09 #4

But timing can be everything and the Trimurti shrine, around 9:30 on Thursday nights, was known to be the place to go for those seeking happiness in romance. So had made an offering using nine red joss sticks, a couple of red candles, and nine red roses – 3 roses for each of the god’s heads as was custom. But he’d been thinking of Noi and the bit of a spat they’d had because of their financial problems. At the time he hadn’t really considered that the shrine was known to be especially successful in matching foreign mates with Thai partners. After meeting The Farang, he’d stopped back by the Ganesha shrine to make an offering of thanks. But now he was beginning to suspect he’d been giving credit to the wrong god. As most Thais knew, getting an assist from those gods you most often honored was not unusual. But like gods everywhere in the world, they tended to have a wicked sense of humor.

Whichever god was responsible, feeling The Farang’s arms wrapped around him So felt blessed. This one did seem different. And generous. Already he appeared to understand his duty in taking care of So. Already So’s financial situation had improved. And the blessing the gods had bestowed upon So was beginning to translate into money that would allow him to live the life he aspired to for his family. His and his wife’s future already looked brighter. A fleeting thought of Noi and he staying at such a fine hotel as this, their bodies cocooned together in bed, danced across his mind; So felt his cock stiffening at the thought, and then felt guilty as though that brief vision was a betrayal of the one whose arms encircled him. Feeling The Farang’s warmth radiating outward to encompass his entire being, So’s cock finished extending to its full length. One of his barmates claimed that he always got hard after eating a full meal. Maybe that was all this was, elation over having his immediate needs filled. If sex could be considered as a meal, then the two of them had certainly just had their fill.

So laughed, felt The Farang move in response, stirring just enough that his bare arm dropped down across So’s chest, his hand now resting just above So’s throbbing cock. He pressed his ass cheeks up against The Farang’s crotch, feeling safe, secure, and drifted back to sleep with the thought that he shouldn’t question what blessings the gods decided to bestow upon him. He should just be grateful for what he had. However it came packaged.

bois in the bar 09 #5

Noi awoke in the early dawn, the noises Lek was making, quite on purpose, stirring her from her slumber. She stretched, moved to reach out to So, and then remembered he was still with his farang customer. She groaned and pulled herself out of the bed, ready to get an early start on her day. She had made a bargain with Lek that if he took over running the food cart this morning he wouldn’t have to sell bags of her barbeque to the morning’s commuters. He’d jumped at the opportunity to avoid the work that he hated, but still couldn’t resist letting her know his displeasure over being forced to work two, almost three, jobs. But what he made at the bar wasn’t much. The owner paid him to perform his comedic ladyboy act, but Lek didn’t work as a bar boy. And booking customers was were the real money was at. Noi decided he could make all the ruckus he wanted; what mattered was that the baht kept flowing freely.

Working seven days a week didn’t give Noi much in the way of spare time. Usually it didn’t matter. Her job running Mama Khem’ s food cart kept her busy and tired her out enough that the evenings and nights she spent alone usually ended up devoted to a nap. But now with the extra money coming in from Lek selling her barbeque too, Noi had decided it was time to take the next step in her and So’s marriage. She wanted a child. Maybe a boy. Who would grown up to be as handsome as his father. So didn’t yet know they were trying to have a baby. And Noi wasn’t sure that she should tell him. He still needed to please his customers, but so far his efforts with her had not turned out as she’d hoped. She was afraid that he wasted too much of his power on those who booked him, draining him of the gift she needed him to give her. But if she mentioned it, he might not book as many offs. And they still needed the money bookings provided to survive. Noi had decided before she brought So in on her plan she’d try something else. And now she had the morning free to do so.

With the sun just beginning to drop hints of red and gold across the windows of the high rises lining the street, Noi caught a tuk tuk into Pratunam. The driver, a wizened old man who looked even older than Noi was feeling this morning, only had a vague idea of where her destination laid. He made a few wrong turns, stopped to ask directions that only seemed to confuse him further, and then finally pulled up at the wrong hotel. The security guard stationed at the entrance knew where she was headed though, and Noi decided to walk the rest of the way rather than find herself delivered to some other place she didn’t want to be. Her circuitous route took her to the back of the hotel instead of its entrance, but since that’s where she needed to go anyway it worked out just as well.

bois in the bar 09 #6

The Swissotel Nai Lert Park had changed names over the years; when Noi had first heard of the place it had been called The Hilton. Some farang Hollywood star, one Noi wasn’t familiar with, had killed himself there, involved in some weird sex act – supposedly with a ladyboy – that the women in her neighborhood had all giggled about but didn’t understand. Farang. What could you expect? Noi thought they may have changed the hotel’s name after that, possibly in an attempt to remove the bad luck his death would bring to the place. Not that it mattered. The hotel was just a landmark, where she was headed pre-dated its existence, under any of the names the building had been known as.

The fetid scent of the klong provided her the direction she needed to go, as she skirted the outer boundaries of the hotel’s swimming pool and parking lot. A small garden opened at the edge of the pavement, its walkway lined with gaily painted wood phalluses of every imaginable size and shape. A large ficus tree shaded the area; this was the home of the spirit Chao Mae Tuptim, and it was her shrine that Noi had come to visit and pray to.

Years before the hotel had been built on its grounds, the owner of the property, a businessman, found a spirit house floating in the klong and placed it on the bank of his land next to a large tree. A local woman came to pray at the shrine asking the gods for help to conceive. Chao Mae Tuptim, a tree spirit who resided in the tree next to the spirit house, heard her prayers and nine months later the woman gave birth to a healthy child. She was so pleased that she came back to the shrine and left a large wooden carving of a giant penis as thanks. Word spread of her good fortune and since then hundreds, if not thousands, of women had made the same pilgrimage; their successes evidenced by the growing number of lingam left as offerings. Some were small, some were painted in realistic hues, one was twice the height of Noi. And at the shrine she could sense the power of the spirit.

bois in the bar 09 #7

Not unlike her husband had a month earlier and just a few blocks away, Noi brought offerings of candles, incense sticks, and flowers; in this case lotus blossoms to symbolize birth and jasmine because that was a blossom that Chao Mae Tuptim was particularly fond of. She knelt, and then kowtowed before the shrine, beseeching the goddess for assistance. A feeling of calm entered her soul as she explained to the deity why she should intervene on her and So’s behalf. Noi pictured their future together as a family. She had not planned on staying at the shrine long, just long enough to give the spirit its rightful due, but now found it difficult to pull herself away. It was peaceful and quite here. Surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the city, the shrine was a small oasis of serenity, the shade of the tree Chao Mae Tuptim called home cooling the small garden, its branches providing a temporary perch for a flock of small birds busily twittering above her head.

Noi thought she might spend the afternoon here, and then got busy cleaning up the spirit house, straightening offerings left by others, and gathering the stubs of joss sticks that had burned out to discard later on her way home. Even at rest she had a difficult time in not making herself useful. She thought the goddess would approve of her efforts, but as she knelt again to point out the good deed she’d just done – gods may be all knowing but it never hurt to make sure they recognized your labors on their behalf – she heard someone nearing, a gradually approaching noise that soon turned into giggles, and then out-right laughter. A small group of farang appeared, all men, the kind who patronized the bar So worked at from the look of them. They ignored her, ignored the shrine, didn’t even seem to notice the spirit tree, and began taking photos of each other standing next to and climbing on the phallus offerings that surrounded them.

Noi finished her prayer. And then apologized on the farangs’ behalf. She’d rather have told them off, but lacked the English to do so. Besides, she was worried that one of them may in fact be a customer of her husband, and that the spirit may have recognized that fact. She lit another set of incense sticks, just in case, before leaving for home. Noi didn’t believe in coincidences when it came to the spiritual world, and as she made her way back out to the street decided the appearance of those farang may have been a sign from the goddess. Noi decided when So got home, though that may still be another few nights away, she’d tell him she wanted a baby. Even if that meant fewer bookings for him for a while. Because so far, their love for each other alone, hadn’t been enough to bring her the child she desired.

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18 Friday Jul 2014

Posted by Bangkokbois in The Boys In The Bar

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Gay Thailand

love story #1

Wit hated Air Asia. Not that he’d ever been on a plane, much less one of the low cost carrier’s. But he was familiar enough with their record to know the plane would be late. Again. He was already anxious as it was. Seeing ‘DELAYED’ flash at him from the Arrivals board wasn’t helping matters. Paul, aka The Doctor, was on that plane. And Wit could barely contain himself at the idea of seeing him again.

Wit was used to the departures area at Suvarnabhumi, seeing a farang customer off was kinda the holy grail for a bar boy. First, you actually knew he was gone. And second, a few well placed tears always meant the farang would empty his pockets of left over baht and hand them your way. After getting taxi money for your return trip back into town from him, of course. He had a few repeat customers who always showed up at his bar on their first night in town, but none he’d ever been able to convince to agree to him meeting them when they arrived. So waiting for a familiar face to make its way out of customs was an unusual experience. Meeting a man who was not a customer was too.

It’d been two weeks since he’d met Paul. They’d texted, emailed, and once even skyped during their separation. Paul had told Wit more about himself, giving Wit the chance to get to know him better. And in return Wit had told Paul those things about himself he thought Paul wanted to hear. Few of which were true. No problemo. Truth was over-rated; it was one of those things that arrived in its own time. Kinda like Paul’s plane.

love story #2

Paul’s planned visit was short, just for the weekend. Wit had managed to get the entire weekend off work, which only took a bit of begging and a few small lies. Paul intended on spending that time shopping – at least when they weren’t cuddled up in bed together. He’d been effusive talking about his favorite malls, those he wanted to visit again, the larger, fancier shopping extravaganzas that Wit only knew from the occasional day spent with a farang customer. So Wit too was excited over the prospect of emptying Paul’s wallet. Paul also wanted to spend time at Chatuchak – which Wit wasn’t as happy about. The Weekend Market was too hot, too crowded, too filled with knock-off goods for Wit’s taste. But Paul kept crowing about some damn mini cream puffs at the market that Wit just had to try. The only cream puff Wit was interested in was the one Paul kept tucked inside of his Calvin’s.

Finally the flight from Kuala Lumpur arrived, just minutes before the next scheduled one was supposed to. It didn’t take Paul long to make it through Immigration and Wit spotted him immediately when he walked out into the arrivals hall. He ran to Paul intending to give him a big hug and kiss; Paul body-blocked him with his carry-on. Love may be blind, but evidently Paul was worried his fellow passengers were not. Wit made a mental note that PDAs were a no-no with Paul. And then made another that the sight of Paul’s warm smile made his heart melt.

Standing in the queue to catch a taxi without being able to touch Paul was unbearable; the long, slow ride into town almost as bad with the only interaction between the two being the warmth coming off Paul’s body. Checking into the hotel seemed to have taken hours, that Paul registered Wit as a guest too a small bit of sunshine piercing the gloom of being so close and yet still so far away. The elevator took a life time to travel three floors. And when Paul started fumbling with the key at their room’s door Wit wanted to scream. But as soon as the door slammed shut behind them, Paul became as anxious as Wit, both only slowing things down long enough for Wit to perform his subservient act of kneeling down before him to remove Paul’s shoes and socks. Which, as it had the night they met, caused Paul’s cock to immediately spring to full attention. The rest of the night was a blur of sweat and flesh. Hours later, falling asleep wrapped in Paul’s arms, Wit felt as if he’d finally arrived.

love story #3

Early Saturday morning, they took the MRT to the Weekend Market, with Wit enjoying the last bit of air-conditioning he’d get for the next few hours. As soon as they ascended into the bustling marketplace, Paul rushed off leaving Wit to trail behind. Ah, the cream puffs, Wit thought. And then giggled at the sight of Paul’s muscular ass moving beneath his shorts. Two deliciously sweet chocolaty cream puffs, he thought, his cock beginning to stiffen before he decided walking through Chatuchak with an erection wasn’t the best of ideas and focused his attention elsewhere. Wit hurried to catch up; his phone rang. His customer from Thursday night. He let it go to voice mail rather than take a chance of Paul overhearing his conversation. But it reminded him that Paul was out spending money and he wasn’t busy earning the money he could. With Lek working at the bar now, his share of the rent had dropped. But he could tell dating Paul was going to be expensive. Wit knew the good things in life weren’t free. But wished a little bit of goodness would come into his without decimating his wallet. But he was in love. Tuesday’s customer went down as ‘Saturday with Paul’. The farang whose call he’d just ignored was ‘Sunday with Paul’. It was a good thing Paul was only in Bangkok for the weekend; Wit wasn’t sure he could book enough customers to cover an entire week.

It hadn’t been much, but so far Paul had picked up the tab for everything they’d done together. Wit had 50 baht earmarked for some cold fruit, a treat later for the two of them, an attempt to pay his share without actually doing so. He was worried about later when they hit Siam Paragon. He couldn’t even afford a snack at that mall and hoped Paul wouldn’t notice he wasn’t buying anything. But his story was that he was a university student. And surely someone still in school couldn’t be expected to have a lot of extra money to blow. Not that Wit had a clue as to the finances of someone in college. He wasn’t even quite sure where the nearest university was. That reminded him that he still needed to make it out to Khaosan Road to buy a fake student ID card. Just in case Paul ever asked to see it.

So far he’d been lucky. Not that far out of school himself, Paul had seemed eager to talk about Wit’s schooling when he’d offered up a lie about how much studying he had to do. Wit had grimaced – the only honest part of their conversation – and then claimed he didn’t want to think about school while he was enjoying the break from his studies. Paul had seemed to buy that. Maybe university students really didn’t like attending school. He’d have to find out. When Wit had told farang customers in the past that he was going to university and needed help with his tuition, they’d seldom if ever asked questions. Other than how much. It looked like having a relationship with Paul was going to be an education in itself. Wit hoped they’d find the damn cream puffs soon before he had to pee. Love or hate Chatuchak, the one thing everyone could agree on was that the market had the filthiest, foulest restrooms in Bangkok.

love story #4

Paul led the pair into the depths of the market, winding through cramped aisles filled with half the population of Bangkok, the ambient temperature skyrocketing the further in they went, the heat radiating from tin roofs already baking in the mid-morning sun combining with the packed, slow moving bodies of the crowd to create a barely survivable atmosphere.

Finally Paul managed to locate his cream puff stand. Wit had to admit the pastries were good. And when he reached up to wipe a small drool of whipped cream running down from the corner of Paul’s mouth, he didn’t balk at the intimacy of the gesture. Wit thought maybe he should have tried wiping that cream away with his tongue instead. Happy at the sweetness filling his mouth, Paul reverted to an earlier topic of conversation. One that wasn’t as sweet.

“You never did tell me what your major was,” Paul prompted.

It took Wit a minute to figure out what Paul was talking about. And then another to quell his rising panic when he did. He wasn’t quite sure what a major was, but knew from coaching from his barmates what the acceptable answer was. “Bidness,” he answered, half mumbling his reply into his dessert.

“Oh! A BA is good,” Paul allowed. “What area are you thinking of going into?”

Wit’s panic returned in full bloom. He hadn’t a clue how to answer that. Instead he fell back on the only area of bidness he knew and suggestively slid his pastry into and then out of his mouth. Allowing his own tongue to seductively catch the filling that dripped from his lips, he put words to that thought. “That area,” he whispered while eyeballing Paul’s crotch.

Paul turned a shade of red Wit didn’t think SE Asian’s were capable of, giggled, and then quickly changed the subject.

love story #5

Gucci, Armani, Prada . . . the stores Paul chose to browse through at Siam were a blur of designer statements as he led Wit from one mall to the next later that afternoon. Wit was astounded at Paul’s capacity for selecting clothing that cost more than Wit saw in an entire month. But Paul made it seem that it was the two of them doing the shopping, often asking for Wit’s opinion before making a purchase. Part of him wished Paul would buy him a fancy shirt or new pair of pants too, the other part of him relieved that since something for Wit never entered the conversation meant that he didn’t have to invent an excuse for not buying anything. He was just happy to be with Paul. And even happier they were shopping where it was air-conditioned again.

The only dilemma arose was when they stopped for a late lunch. Paul’s mind seemed to only drift away from shopping when food was present. He’d asked Wit what bar he wanted to go to that night. Wit almost chocked on the chicken leg he’d been chomping on as his mind raced through the options, trying to figure out how they could hit Soi Twilight without running into another bar boy Wit knew. Or a customer that knew Wit. Fortunately, before he had to come up with an answer Paul suggested they go to DJ Station, where they’d met. He’d meant a club, not a bar, much less a gogo bar. Wit thought it might be a good idea to suggest that they both could benefit from going on a diet to avoid being around food for the rest of the weekend.

Paul’s entire focus was on clothing, and expensive clothing at that. So Wit was surprised when Paul decided MBK should be part of their shopping excursion for the day. Even the brand names carried by Tokyu didn’t seem to be up to Paul’s level of interest. But it turned out he only wanted a new bag; he’d already bought so much his haul wouldn’t fit in the small carry-on he’d arrived with. And being who he was, Wit couldn’t help but to gaze wistfully at the displays of gold they walked past. Wit’s slowing pace as they passed the first gold shop didn’t register with Paul. At the second it did and he stopped, thinking that Wit might be intending to buy something. Wit thought a chunky gold necklace would make up for his loss in spending the day with Paul instead of taking that customer’s call. And boyfriends bought boyfriends jewelry. He just wasn’t sure how to put that suggestion into Paul’s mind. And then before Paul could come up with that idea on his own, as Wit hoped, he saw the clerk who he usually used to exchange the jewelry farang bought him back into baht headed their way. Wit grabbed Paul’s arm and led him away before the clerk could greet him by name. His real life was proving to be quite detrimental to the one he’d fantasized of for his doctor and him.

love story #6

Back at their hotel, Wit was on more familiar – and safer – ground. He needed a shower. When Paul embraced him after making sure the door was firmly shut, Wit decided Paul desperately need a shower too. A visit to Chatuchak tended to stay with you the entire day. After stripping down to his underwear, with a bit of help from Paul, he once again knelt before him to remove Paul’s footwear. And again, Paul’s cock hardened at the fantasy of a submissive, muscle-bound hunk eager to fulfill his every whim. Wit reached up, unbuckled Paul’s pants, and pulled them downward allowing his already glistening member to spring free. Shower or not, the sight of Paul’s throbbing hardness was more than Wit could stand. He leaned in to show Paul what he could do with the type of cream puff he preferred. Paul stopped him, lifted him back to his feet; Wit could feel the beat of Paul’s heart when their naked chests pressed together. “Wait,” Paul murmured.

Kicking off his pants and underwear as he crossed the room, Paul reached into his carry-on. He turned back to Wit, holding out a small box wrapped in shiny gold paper. “I brought you something,” he said shyly. Looking at Paul’s erect cock Wit thought, you certainly did. And then noticed the gift Paul held in his hand. Good things come in small packages, he reminded himself, even if only one of the two packages he was eyeballing qualified as being small. Vision of the gold on display he’d hurried them away from earlier filled Wit’s mind; the wrapped box was just the right size. Possibly a necklace. With luck, if the gods were smiling upon him, even a ring. Wit wasn’t used to unwrapping a gift in front of the giver; protecting both party’s face mattered more than the desire to see what the gift was. But since he’d already unwrapped one of them . . .

Paul moved back to stand in front of Wit again, placing his hand on Wit’s shoulder with just enough pressure to sink Wit back to his knees. Paul’s cock dripping pre-cum, even more excited than Wit, filled his vision. Holding the box in front of him, Paul lifted off the cover. A flash of metal caught Wit’s eye. But it was silver, not gold. A slight frown creased his forehead. Perplexed, he reached in and pulled his gift from the box. It wasn’t a ring either. At least not the kind Wit had hoped for.

love story #7

It took Wit a moment to identify what he now held in the palm of his hand. Not something he was used to, or of any need of himself, from times he spent with farang customers he finally decided it was a cock ring. Although those he’d seen before were usually solid metal hoops. This one was made of leather. With silver-toned spikes rising along its circumference. It was not what he expected. Paul’s already hard cock taking a sudden upswing proved Paul was more excited about the gift than Wit was. Still . . .

“Put it on me,” Paul whispered , his desire, his need, evident in his voice.

Wit was almost in tears as he reminded himself you should never look a gift horse in the mouth. But how he was supposed to fit his mouth over that was the real question. Paul’s balls tightened, drawing up closer to his erection when Wit fastened his gift around Paul’s member. He gave it a tug to finish the procedure, the low moan escaping Paul’s lips saying it all. Wit was disappointed, but a bit turned on too as he looked up to see the intense pleasure displayed on Paul’s face. Ah, what the hell, he thought. He could work with this. And then giggled at the thought that he hadn’t been the only one shying away from sharing who he really was as he got busy giving Paul the happy ending he wanted.

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11 Friday Jul 2014

Posted by Bangkokbois in The Boys In The Bar

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Gay GoGo Bars, Gay Thailand

lek 07 01

Lek’s feet hurt. Even after having switched from high heels to sneakers. He’d thought of going with a sensible pair of pumps instead, but where was the fabulousness in that? Not that there was anything fabulous about hawking bags of barbeque to early morning commuters stuck in Bangkok’s parking lot-like traffic. But his sister Noi was intent on satisfying her entrepreneurial itch and Lek just wasn’t strong enough to say no. The window of a car the color of city dust rolled down, a handful of baht popped out, and Lek passed over a baggie of grilled meat skewers while seriously considering it was time for a break. Or to start using his balls while he still had them.

The weather remained malignant, even as the sun slanting through the murk burned the last of the early morning gloom away. The pavement was barren, defying photosynthesis. Lek’s shadow was barely a splash underfoot. He loved this city, loved its sleaze and glamour; its old ramshackle hotels and spangled high rises, its sultry winds; its flagrant decay. But he loved it more at night when neon lights came out to play, when after hours of getting her ready he helped Grandma Nong into a taxi, when 80 baht later they alighted in front of a club, two ladyboys, one young, one well past her due date. That, Lek thought, was his job. And while it only brought in a hundred baht or so, it promised a future for him. Unlike Noi’s get-rich quick scheme.

Lek couldn’t blame her, Noi’s job brought in less than the other roommates’, even if hers was steady and fairly consistent and theirs was not. She worked hard manning Mama Khem’s food cart and received a paltry, unfair share of the profits considering it was Noi’s barbeque sauce that had turned the business around. But then no employee ever got rich; that was a privilege reserved for business owners. Which Noi now considered herself to be. Even though her business used Mama Khem’ s to survive without the old woman’s permission. Or knowledge. If Noi wasn’t family, Lek would get busy whispering some timely gossip to spread through the neighborhood putting an end to his torment. Instead he got busy trying to unload the last few bags of grilled meat.

lek 07 02

Three nights before, Lek had been helping Grandma Nong with her act at a gogo bar on Soi Twilight when he’d discovered the naked, erect hunk he’d been ogling on stage was his roommate Wit. He was shocked by the surprise. Both of them had been. But not as shocked when later, after Wit had made himself scarce, Noi’s husband So had walked out of the club’s dressing room; he worked there as a gogo boy too. Since Lek had arrived in town he’d noticed where Wit’s eyes tended to travel (truth be told he noticed everything about Wit) and assumed he was gay. He just hadn’t been expecting to find out that So too sold his body to men; there was nothing gay about So. But the lights and glamour of the bar had already worked their magic on Lek and he was more upset that So had an in that could mean a job for Lek performing on stage than he’d been about what So did to earn a living. That only added to Lek’s frustration. So had told him his boss didn’t hire ladyboys.

There were obviously gay boys working at the bar, quite a few even more fem than Lek. Both nights since then he’d raised the subject with So again, usually after the bar closed when they shared a taxi ride home. Lek thought it was more about So being uncomfortable having Lek at the club, especially when he was on stage, naked, and hard. But after a quick peak the first night, Lek kept his eyes elsewhere when So was performing; So’s act made him a little bit uncomfortable too. And a little hard. But as long as Lek was going to be there with Grandma Nong, he figured he might as well be working for himself. He’d try to convince So again tonight. Maybe if he promised to not wear make-up So would agree to get him a job as a gogo boy. Lek figured once he was working for the bar it wouldn’t be that difficult to move into being the club’s resident ladyboy act. Even if he did have to go with customers to prove his worth first. Anything had to be better than getting up at such an early hour to sell Noi’s cooking on the streets.

A vividly pink taxi slid to a temporary halt next to Lek, filled with farang passengers. Backpackers. Not a usual sight in this part of town. Lek caught the driver’s attention, gave him a free bag of barbeque and then smiled while he convinced his fare to purchase the remaining three bags left in Lek’s hands. Getting money out of farang was like shooting fish in a barrel. He checked while passing over his stock and wasn’t surprised to see the taxi’s meter wasn’t on. Probably headed to a tailor, a gem shop, or some super secret travel agent shop where the backpackers could buy bus tickets at unheard of prices. Too late now, Lek thought, he should have added another 10 baht to the price of his barbeque. Or not. Bringing back even greater profits wasn’t the way to convince Noi to let him off the hook and free his mornings up for himself. But at least for today he’d sold out of stock quickly and had an extra hour to enjoy. Lek headed back to their room to sneak in a quick nap.

lek 07 03

That night at the bar Lek decided the only way he was going to get So to help him land a job at the club was to make it too uncomfortable for him not to. Sitting at the edge of the stage attired in Grandma Nong’s finest, the perfect vision of pseudo-femininity, as soon as So’s naked form appeared on stage Lek stood up and faked a flamboyant swoon. The audience laughed. So scowled. Lek ‘recovered’ and began fanning himself like a bitch in heat, drawing a few more chuckles from the crowd. When Wit appeared naked on stage a minute later, Lek used his hands to pantomime Wit’s size, greatly exaggerating its length. And then began choking, an obvious reference the audience quickly picked up on with glee. Not surprisingly, Wit wasn’t bothered by the additional attention. But So’s scowl deepened with every laugh Lek coaxed from the crowd. Between the night’s two shows, Lek busied himself with selling Grandma Nong’s cigarettes and lighters, hauling in a surprising amount for once, an acknowledgment of the audience’s appreciation of his antics. But when the second show began, he went right back to putting pressure on So. Getting him angry might not have been the smartest move, but sharing his spotlight gave Lek a thrill beyond what he’d expected.

The silence in the taxi on their way home that night was deafening. Lek feigned a deep interest in the polish he’d applied to his fingernails. There were benefits, he thought, to being a man who wasn’t yet a lady. His testosterone levels told him to keep quiet instead of trying to fill the silence with a discussion about how So was feeling. Instead he let So stew in his discontent, accepting that once he’d worked it out in his own mind he’d speak up. Which it didn’t take So long to do.

“Why you want to do this?”

Rather than share the faulty logic that told him a job as a bar boy would lead to a starring role as a ladyboy on stage, Lek went with an excuse he knew would play well. “We need the money So,” he said. “I can make more working at the bar than I can with Grandma Nong or working for Noi.”

“But you work at bar you not be ladyboy.”

Damn, he thought, not the no ladyboy crap again! But he knew what was expected of him, what he needed to say. “I know. No make-up, no dress, no high heels.” And then with a twirl of his hand making the glittering polish on his nails twinkle in the light cast by the headlights of passing cars he added, despondently, “No fabulousness.”

So was taking their discussion more seriously. “You know that means going with farang,” he said.

That was part of the dream Lek had avoided allowing to seep into his consciousness. But seriously, how bad could that be? So did it and he didn’t even like men. Besides, Lek thought, with hunks like So and Wit on stage there wasn’t much of a chance he’d be offed often anyway. Rather than share his concerns over that aspect of the job, Lek allowed a nod to serve as his acknowledgement of So’s point.

So let out a long exasperated sigh. Noi wouldn’t be happy. But then Noi probably wouldn’t let Lek off the hook and would still demand he sell her barbeque even if he was working at the bar. That thought made him laugh; Lek wouldn’t last long working both jobs and Noi wouldn’t allow him the choice of which to give up when he decided the two were too much. “Okay, fine. I talk to boss,” he said, hoping that wasn’t a decision he’d live to regret.

Excited beyond belief, Lek almost peed himself. Then began humming the tune to Don’t Cry For Me Argentina. A quick look from So made him stop; a sly smile began spreading across his face. He was in. He was going to be a star.

lek 07 04

Two nights later, after spending both afternoons practicing the few acts he would take part in during the shows, Lek stepped onto the stage at Bangkok Bois for the first time. Not dressed in the long flowing gown he’d envisioned, but in the revealing shorts the bar used as its uniform instead. In Lek’s mind his appearance was greeted by a standing ovation. In reality, the small weekday crowd barely noticed. Worse, he could feel the eyes of the few that did judging him, scrutinizing every inch of his exposed flesh, zeroing in on what wasn’t exposed. It wasn’t the feeling of stardom he’d been expecting.

He let his eyes travel to the mirror on the back wall, catching a reflection of a young man uncomfortable with standing exposed on stage. Lek had expected to feel a bit nervous, he hadn’t considered the reality of being undressed in full view of a room full of strangers. Selling Noi’s barbeque on the streets suddenly didn’t seem all that bad. He wanted to flee , to get off the stage, to go hide in the dressing room. The thought that when the show began he wouldn’t even have his underwear to hide behind started to bring tears to his eyes.

The boys’ rotation on the stage didn’t end quick enough, and what seemed like hours later Lek was once again safely tucked away back stage. Catching a glimpse of Grandma Nong headed his way Lek felt even worse. The ancient ladyboy had not been happy about losing her helper, had been disappointed with Lek’s decision to go on stage as a man instead of as the woman his soul told him he was. After his brief stint on stage in his briefs, he was almost ready to beg for his old job back. Steeling himself, he watched her approach, waiting for her displeasure to be vocalized.

lek 07 05

“Attitude, my dear,” Grandma Nong said tapping him lightly on the shoulder with her fan. Sensing his misery, she offered Lek a sympathetic smile and reiterated her point. “I told you before, attitude is all that matters.” She looked down at the bulge in Lek’s underwear that almost wasn’t and muttered more to herself, “And that’s probably a good thing.”

Leaning in closely she whispered in Lek’s ear, “When we appear on stage they expect to see a man dressed as a woman. It’s the unexpected that pulls off that transformation, it’s attitude that defines who you are.” Snapping her fan closed, she handed it to Lek and reverted to her usual regal state. “Come. Now let’s get you ready for the show.”

Lek’s big moment was scheduled for the third act of the show. A minor, but pivotal part in the barely discernable plot, he was suppose to join Wit who’d already be on stage faking awaking from a deep slumber, his erect cock hidden by the silk scarves playing the role of bed sheets. Lek was supposed to pull the material away exposing him before Wit pulled Lek’s equally diaphanous covering off; the two would then engage in a bout of simulated sex the show’s choreographer mistakenly thought actually looked like the way two men have sex. Like most of the show, it was a flimsy excuse for nudity. During practice the two roommates couldn’t stop laughing. But Lek was secretly happy, and a bit relieved, that his first time on stage being naked would be with Wit. That he was being paid to fondle Wit’s hard cock helped relive the nervousness he expected to otherwise feel. But that was before Grandma Nong got involved.

lek 07 06

When the lights came up, as planned, Wit was laying center stage, his hardness easily discernable beneath the gauzy fabric covering his midsection, his eyelids half closed waiting for Lek’s appearance as he stretched lazily as though having just awoken. His eyes popped wide open when Lek walked onto the stage. Instead of the scant piece of silk he was supposed to be wearing he was decked out in a shimmering blue and green kimono, a jet-black geisha-style wig sporting a pair of chopsticks completed the assemble, his exaggerated mincing steps in wooden clogs already bringing a chuckle from the primarily local audience who usually required a ladyboy’s smile showing a blacked out tooth to know when an act was supposed to be funny. But then the Japanese were always good for a laugh to Thais.

Instead of exposing Wit’s cock as scripted, Lek kneeled next to him and playing the role of a Japanese tourist began chattering away about the beauty of the country and how large it was, the double entendres coming fast and furious, the laughter building from the audience almost drowning her words. Wit wasn’t sure that a room full of laughing men was a good thing when his erect penis was on display, but he let Lek go on with her act not knowing what else to do. When she pulled the chopsticks from her hair and used them to quite expertly pull his cock out while switching over to a patter about Thai food and how wonderful the mix of salty and sweet tastes incorporated in it were, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing too. And when she went down on him, muttering about how small the portions were served back home, his laughter quickly turned to moans of pleasure.

Wit’s reaction and the audience’s laughter egged Lek on, although the taste of Wit in his mouth almost made him forget where he was. Wiping a bit of pre-cum from the corner of his mouth as he brought his head back up inspired a line about sticky rice; the audience howled. He offered to ‘share’ his meal with an elderly farang sitting next to the stage, the crowd’s laughter reached a crescendo while the man considered taking Lek up on the offer. Lek finished off his patter with a complaint about the drudgery of pounding mochi back home, using her hand to illustrate the point and finishing off Wit at the same time. It was further than they were supposed to go. But Lek caught a glimpse of the manager laughing too. And even So, watching from backstage, had a slight smile on his face as he shook his head in disapproval.

lek 07 07

Back stage Grandma Nong’s smile was so wide Lek was afraid she might have a coronary. Several of his new barmates slapped him on the back as they headed naked for their turn on stage, a few repeating some of her funnier lines accompanied by chuckles of their own. Wit came over, cleaning his cum off his chest and graced Lek a glorious smile. Maybe, Lek thought, that blow job would lead to others off stage too. So’s disapproving head shake turned into a nod of approval. The bar’s manager pushed his way through the boys and told Lek her ‘act’ was now part of the show. Lek wanted to push him to allow her to perform her singing act too, but decided to wait. Because whether he realized it yet or not, a star had just been born.

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The Boys In The Bar: 06. A Bedtime Story

04 Friday Jul 2014

Posted by Bangkokbois in The Boys In The Bar

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Gay Bangkok, Gay GoGo Bars

wit 06 01

So looked down at his hard cock and laughed. That had been its normal state when he was in his teens. But then it had been raging hormones not the requirements of employment responsible for his stiffy. And back then he hadn’t needed a torn rubber acting as a cock ring to keep him erect either. With one more bar boy in front of him before he took the stage, he reached down and gave himself a good tug, Exposing himself on stage still embarrassed him some, but since it wasn’t his choice he’d make the best of it. Or at least make his cock look as large as possible.

Suddenly Wit – who was supposed to already be in front of the audience – came rushing over in a panic, pushing So back toward the dressing room. “It’s Lek!” he screamed. Which made no sense to So at all.

“What about Lek?”

“He’s here! He’s out there! In the audience!”

“Lek’s here? Now?”

“And looking beautiful too.”

So scowled at the thought of Wit being attracted to Lek. Wit returned his scowl; the only member of their household Wit had ever wanted was So. But the dumb bastard was too straight to notice. So peaked out over Wit’s naked shoulder, trying to spot Lek in the crowd. A familiar pair of eyes in an unfamiliar but beautifully made up face peaked back at him; So quickly turned away, moving into the shadows. “What in Buddha’s name is he doing here?” he asked Wit.

“She’s with Grandma Nong,” Wit told him. The ancient ladyboy under discussion passed by at the minute, trailing her hand along Wit’s naked ass as she headed for her turn on stage now that the candle act had gone up in flames. He flashed a smile at her. Wit appreciated being appreciated. Even during a crisis. “Now what are we going to do?” he asked So since he was always the one with the answers.

wit 06 02

“You are going to leave that poor boy alone,” Nong threw into their conversation. “She’s working with me and we need to earn my living.” That seemed to settle the matter. For now. So wondered if he could stay hidden in the dressing room for the remainder of the night.

Not at all pleased with the disruption they’d cause on stage, the captain came charging in their direction, only to be pulled up short by a customer. He listened, attempted to translate the request, looked to the spot Wit had just disappeared from, and planted a large and completely insincere smile on his face. A minute later he made it into the dressing room and informed Wit he had a customer.

Wit’s panic reasserted itself. Not wanting to be the one to deal with Lek’s sudden appearance at the bar, he stole a quick look out to where the captain had indicated his customer waited, hoping his table was no where near where Lek sat. He was in luck. At least until he recognized the farang who’d requested Wit join him. Wit groaned. Out of the fire and into the microwave oven, he thought. Wit had never been unlucky enough to land this farang as a customer before, but by reputation he was well known to the boys in the bar. In fact, most of the boys working on the soi knew of him. He was easy to spot. He looked just like the Colonel from KFC. And those forced by circumstances to spend time with him all agreed doing so was as enjoyable as the result of eating a spoiled piece of chicken.

The farang didn’t drink alcohol; he sipped on a glass of club soda all night instead. Wit had noticed those farang who’d done battle with the bottle in the past and lost often chose club soda as their preferred drink. It must be some kind of farang penance, Wit assumed. And this one was slow to buy boys a drink too. And then demanded they not order beer or a mixed drink when he did. As though his system would be contaminated from having a glass of booze anywhere near it. The cheap bastard tipped like he was in Pattaya too.

wit 06 03

None of which in itself would be enough to mark him as a dud, or even provide enough for the boys to gossip about. But there was something in his eyes, some little evil thing laying dormant within his soul, that betrayed the jovial expression he wore on his face like a mask, allowing a small glimpse of the meanness that ran through him like fat on marbled beef. And you couldn’t finish him off quickly with a masterful hand job either. ‘Cuz this one didn’t want sex. Or did, but was to dishonest with himself to admit it. Instead he played the role of an investigative reporter, a scribe, a Boswell to the bar boy’s Johnson. He wanted the boys he offed to tell him their life story. As if any of them would be willing to sell their lives as cheaply as they did their bodies.

Sometimes he brought along an elderly, gay Thai man as a companion, a translator to help him in his life’s work. That man repeated the lies the boys made up, looking guilty for doing so but not willing to side with the farang, probably out of his own sense of shame. The customer often took his victim to a farang-style restaurant, congratulating himself on being so generous when the fact was few boys enjoyed eating in those places. Not that sharing a meal with him anywhere would be enjoyable. He viewed himself as their savior for the night too, not realizing the unfortunate boy whose number had come up would much rather turn a quick trick, get paid, and get back to the bar instead of sitting across from the strange farang while he pontificated about the goodness in his heart. And then after grilling them for hours on how they lived, what they thought of their work, how they got started, and why they did it – the answers for which the boys competed with each other in making up the most outlandish stories – he’d pass them a paltry tip along with his business card, as though the boy was his client instead of the other way around. Wit had heard the only way to get a decent tip out of the man was by telling him you’d been raped. Or beaten. Or both. The man paid well for other’s misery. But then freaks always did.

The captain was no more pleased with Wit’s hesitation than he’d been with the disturbance on stage. And this time a tip was at stake. He pushed Wit forward, using his chin again to point to where Wit’s potential customer sat. It wasn’t Colonel Sanders and his death by kindness act. Beyond him, two tables away, his real customer waited: a balding, corpulent man with a series of flabby chins folding into a barrel chest. But a prize, all things considered. Wit said a quick thanks to the gods, and scuffled over to where his payday sat. The farang was enthralled with Wit’s beauty, in lust, and in love before Wit even told him his name. It only took Wit a minute to convince the man to take him dancing; what pleasures the farang had in mind didn’t matter; Wit needed a dance floor and a techno beat to wash away the reality of having Lek walk in on them at their bar. He helped the mamasan tally up the farang’s check bin, and then rushed him out the door leaving So to deal with Lek on his own.

wit 06 04

It was still early when they walked into DJ Station, even though Wit had adjusted his pace to match the farang’s whose feet moved massively, as if seeking the best purchase, like columns, like pillars of stone, as the two plodded their way slowly through the congested streets of Patpong. By the time they arrived, you’d have thought he’d just competed in the Bangkok Marathon instead of having walked a few mere blocks. Inside, Wit edged them toward the dance floor, beginning to feel the music and giving the farang a chance to prove he’d be a fun companion for the evening. Fat chance of that, With thought with a laugh at his play on words. And he was right. The farang just stood there, blinking. Like he’d just landed on a foreign planet. Wit turned in their script for drinks instead and then lead the man up to the third floor where he parked him for the evening, leaving his glass next to the farang’s to signal the money boys he was taken and to suggest to the farang Wit would soon return. Like when the club closed. Because for now the disco beat was working its siren song on Wit’s soul, and all he wanted to do was boogie.

On the dance floor, his eyes slipped closed while he let his body move into a rhythm of its own; Wit was happy. He pulled off his shirt, tucked it into the loop of his belt, and let himself go, knowing appreciative eyes would be following his every move. Wit danced with himself, for himself, and for the validation his inner self needed, seldom changing direction, only altering his speed of movement to match the music’s tempo as it changed. He was lost inside of himself, a place in which Wit enjoyed being, his mind wandered to nowhere, the beat of the music providing a focus on nothing. Until he sensed a strong presence, someone staring at him, Even more than usual. The farang? No, Wit knew from experience that man would still be upstairs, sitting, waiting, patiently, with some angst. He let his eye lids slide open a fraction. In front of him a hot, Asian man joined him in his dance. A hunk. He was gorgeous. Not Chinese, possibly from Singapore, Wit thought. Older than Wit, and quite debonair, an act he had difficulty pulling off since he danced like a wooden puppet that had lost its strings. Seeing Wit’s eyes open, he smiled. Then moved in closer, their crotches almost touching as he whispered into Wit’s ear, “Sawatdee kap! My name is Paul.”

What Wit heard, was, “I love you.” And he replied in kind, hoping it came out as, “My name Wit,” instead.

wit 06 05

The danced together, alone, occasionally finding themselves facing each other again, then trading smiles. Like old friends who’d just run across each other unexpectedly after years of being apart. Wit ran his hands up Paul’s chest, wishing he had his shirt off too, honing in on Paul’s nipples like a newborn kitten finding its mother’s teats nonetheless. Finally, when the tempo picked up again, exhausted, they moved off the dance floor together and then with a just a look of mutual agreement headed outside to catch some air.

“Where you from?” Wit asked, wincing slightly at how much that sounded like he was hitting on another farang customer.Paul didn’t seem to notice. In fact Paul didn’t seem to notice anything but Wit’s chest glistening in the lights of the alleyway. He managed to stutter out some semblance of an answer anyway.

“I live in Malacca. I’m here with my mom, visiting the relatives. She’s Thai.”

Wit bit his lip before he could ask, “Where you stay?” Although he desperately wanted to know. And even more desperately wanted to go there as quickly as possible. Paul took his silence for encouragement. Or just couldn’t work up the effort to keep himself from blabbering.

“We’re staying at the family house, but I booked a hotel room for the night . . .”

On their way to Paul’s hotel he filled the silence of the taxi cab with snippets of his life’s story. An ICU doctor in his early thirties who visited Bangkok every few months, usually spending his time in The City of Angels shopping. Wit heard ‘doctor’. And ‘shopping’. And with Paul’s confession that he flew in to Bangkok frequently, Wit heard ‘boyfriend’ too. And then heard what he didn’t want to hear.

“Sorry, but you’re not a money boy are you?”

Money was always on Wit’s mind. But that wasn’t the brain in control of things this night. He tried to look offended instead of panicked and stammered out, “No, I go university.”

wit 06 06

With no further details offered, Paul let the issue slide. Wit smiled to himself, happy to be dealing with another Asian who understood things without being told. Farang always wanted explanations. They never seemed to know when to let matters drop. He moved across the seat closer to Paul, snuggling under his arm, sensing the man’s dominant personality, that he was one who would enjoy having a submissive, muscle-bound hunk eager to fulfil his every whim. Wit knew he would be good at taking care of this man. If only he was given the chance.

In the hotel room, at first Wit wasn’t sure what to do. He stopped himself from turning on the television; that buffer worked well with farang customers but wasn’t what he wanted out of this night. With first-timers and the shy or inexperienced, Wit usually took the lead. Otherwise he’d be there the entire night even on a short-time off. The more experienced, and those whose desires demanded immediate attention, provided direction whether it was something Wit wanted to do or not. Paul was somewhere in between. Confident. And at ease. Not in a rush but still anxious over what the night promised. As many times as Wit had found himself in an unfamiliar room with an unfamiliar man, he lacked experience when it came to someone who was not a paying customer. But he knew men. He knew what each different type liked. And hoping he’d got it right, he sank to his knees to help slip off Paul’s shoes and socks. The sigh he heard from above his head said he’d made the call right.

Tugging his shirt off Wit felt Paul’s fall next to him. He looked up and into Paul’s eyes, noting his small love handles – a sure sign of wealth in Wit’s estimation – as his gaze traveled upward. Remaining on his knees he flexed the muscles in his shoulders and arms, putting on a show. Then reached out and began unbuckling Paul’s belt, feeling his erect cock straining against the fabric of his jeans. Wit’s cock too was demanding release as the sight of Paul’s nakedness filled his vision. Not that he missed noting that both Paul’s pants and underwear bore designer labels. When Paul’s hard cock popped free from his underwear, those visions of Gucci and Armani dissipated, the fullness of his manhood straining forward through a perfectly manscaped thatch of hair was all Wit could see.

wit 06 07

Two hours later, both exhausted again, Wit moved back up the bed to cuddle in Paul’s arms. As he began to drift into a light sleep his eyes flashed open, startled at the sudden memory of the forgotten farang he’d left waiting for him at DJ’s. He laughed to himself, thinking there was a good chance he could return tomorrow night to find the farang still waiting. And then felt a little bit guilty over missing out on his tip. Noi would scold him for returning home again without some cash, but then maybe the drama So and Lek brought home with them would occupy her mind instead. He hoped the farang wouldn’t come back to his bar and complain, decided if he did Wit would claim he’d gotten lost, had tried to find the man but couldn’t. But for now those concerns didn’t matter. For now the important thing was that Paul was returning in two weeks. For now the important thing was that Wit needed to learn how to say I love you in Malaysian before the two met up again.

Imagine that, Wit thought as his eyes closed again, a doctor in the family. And he snuggled in closer to Paul, his dreams filling out their future together.

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Sawatdee and welcome to the new and improved Bangkokbois Gay Thailand Blog! Okay, so it’s not necessarily improved, just hosted on a new site. And it’s not just about Thailand, though that still is the main focus. And it’s not all gay either, unless you’re not and then you’ll think it’s pretty damn gay I’m sure. All of the penis might tip you off. Which means if you are not of the required legal age to be looking at penis other than your own, you should leave. And go tell your parental units they suck at their job.

But it is a blog and one out of three ain’t bad. Besides, Bangkokbois Pretty Gay Mostly About Thailand Blog For People Of Legal Age is just too wordy. But so is Dancing With The Devil In The City Of Angels, which is really the title of this blog.

As cool of a title as that is, Google just ain’t sharp enough to figure out that means this blog is mostly about Thailand. And pretty damn gay to boot. The penis part even Google figured out. Which is a good thing. ‘Cuz Bangkokbois Pretty Gay Mostly About Thailand With Lots Of Penis Blog For People Of Legal Age, I think, was taken by someone else.

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