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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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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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.

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.

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!”

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.

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”

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.

“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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