PeterUK
June 12th, 2015, 14:51
(I've been sorting through some old papers of mine and came across this story which I posted on I think the pattayagay board about 8 or 9 years ago. Amazingly, I still found myself smiling as I reread it and am posting it now in the hope that it amuses readers here).
My friend Jeremy is a slut. I mean that in a kind and caring way. Charming, witty, clever, intermittently generous, but first and foremost heтАЩs a slut. We go back a long way. We met on Hampstead Heath if memory serves me correctly тАУ oh, itтАЩs all a bit cloudy now. Anyway, a firm friendship developed. We didnтАЩt see each other often тАУ he moved in far more glittering circles than me тАУ but I used to look forward to hearing him dish the dirt on assorted celebrities he knew. He would often have his latest companion, or should I say minion, with him тАУ male or female, he wasnтАЩt fussy. They would hang on his every word and look at him with adoring, puppy eyes. Oh, he has a way with him, does Jeremy, no doubt about that. Some would call him good looking, though I canтАЩt see it myself. HeтАЩs in his mid-forties now and has suffered the usual ravages of one who lives life in the fast lane.
I confess it was I who put the idea of a trip to Thailand into his head about five years ago. Did he enjoy it? Think bears and honey pots and you wonтАЩt be far wrong. HeтАЩs been back regularly since and I fear the effects on an already debauched character have not been kind. His routine when in Pattaya is to start each day with his legs in the air тАУ excuse the crudity тАУ with an overnight boy. No sooner has he sent him packing than heтАЩs sitting hunched over his laptop scouring the internet for likely lunchtime fuck buddies. Some of the lusty youths met in this fashion donтАЩt even require payment, he tells me, though I take such comments with a sizeable pinch of salt. In the afternoon, depending if itтАЩs one of his randy days, he might take a stroll along Jomtien beach trawling for his preferred lean-and-mean type. In the evening he hits the bars like everyone else, seeking the next overnighter. Am I being prudish in finding this lifestyle a trifle excessive?
HereтАЩs an example of what heтАЩs like. We were sitting at a table outside a bar in Boyztown having mid-afternoon coffees. I thought he wore the look of one manfully resigned to at least a couple of hours of abstinence. I was telling him the sad tale of a Thai waiter who had tried to kill himself because of a sexual identity crisis. тАШMm,тАЩ mused Jeremy, not very interested, тАШI frequently have sexual identity crises of my own in that I donтАЩt know the identity of the next person IтАЩm going to be having sex with.тАЩ He laughed at his own joke, as is his wont, and I allowed myself a chuckle. Typical Jeremy тАУ wit with a dash of callousness. Anyway, two street dogs appeared and started to play mummies and daddies in front of us. As one of them, eyes narrowed, thrust away vigorously, the other stared ahead with a look of total indifference, in a way replicated many times daily in Thailand and not just among the canine population. Jeremy grew agitated at the spectacle. тАШExcuse me,тАЩ he said, standing up abruptly. Then he was off into the bar to organise a quickie.
We went on a trip to Cambodia together a couple of years ago. His idea of absorbing the local culture was to have it off with our tour guide in the grounds of Angkor Wat. Well, I mean, itтАЩs embarrassing, isnтАЩt it? WeтАЩve discussed his lifestyle several times. At some point in the conversation two lines are guaranteed to occur. Me: тАШThereтАЩs more to life than sex, you know.тАЩ Him: тАШAre you sure youтАЩre feeling all right, darling?тАЩ
All this is by way of setting the scene. I trust I have conveyed JeremyтАЩs essential nature to you. I believe cockroaches would envy him his sex drive. So imagine my utter amazement when he turned up at my condo one morning not so long ago and announced that he was off the bone-rubbing altogether. He was celibate, maidenly. He was a nookey-free zone. What seismic event could possibly have caused such a transformation? I admit I glanced at his brow for signs of fever. He produced a well-thumbed paperback and thrust it triumphantly into my hands. Release Your Inner Angel it was called, by Dr Arnold Grossbag, Professor of Human Potential Studies at the University of Southern California. There followed a tedious account of how he had come by said paperback тАУ manifest destiny seemed to be the gist of it, though I barely listened. A torrent of New Age psychobabble poured out of him. By abjuring sex, apparently, he could circulate the life force more efficiently round the chakra points of the body, thereby creating a nice shiny aura that would be the envy of everybody. Something like that. His eyes gleamed with the missionary zeal of the newly converted. I made it quite clear to him, lest he should be seeking a fellow-disciple, that my only role in all this was going to be to smile cynically from the sidelines. He looked at me sadly, as one might upon a lost soul.
Was it really only two months that he was under GrossbagтАЩs spell? It seemed longer. All I heard from him was тАШGrossbag thisтАЩ and тАШGrossbag thatтАЩ. I formed the impression that Dr Grossbag must be a giant of a man in every way, physically, intellectually, spiritually. Every time I went round JeremyтАЩs condo there was further alarming evidence of his new obsession: pyramids, crystals, prayer beads, an array of pebbles and driftwood gathered from the beach at sunrise. HeтАЩd usually be sitting in the lotus position, chanting quietly to himself. HeтАЩd pretend not to notice me at first, then address me in a soft, silky, mock-humble voice. Oh, I saw through it all from the start. I know Jeremy too well. This was just another ego trip for him тАУ self-glamorisation by spiritual means. The worst of it was that he grew so humourless. If there was one thing about the old Jeremy it was that he was always good for a laugh. Now, when we were out and about, he was solemnity itself. In downtown Pattaya we passed a young man who was just his type. I jokingly tried to tempt him. I think the words I actually used were that the young man might тАШroger some sense back into you.тАЩ Jeremy didnтАЩt so much as smile. He merely upbraided me for using the language of sexual exploitation.
The end, when it came, was as sudden as the beginning. Jeremy had been telling me for a while that Dr Grossbag, impressed by JeremyтАЩs enthusiastic emails, was making a special trip to Pattaya to meet him. I was a little curious myself to see the famed guru in the flesh. One morning, as I approached JeremyтАЩs condo, I could hear the sound of loud music and shrieking voices from within. At the door a beaming, dressing-gowned Jeremy paused to let me appreciate the scene. On the emperor-sized bed, a wizened, bald, pale-skinned little man was propped up against the headboard while three naked, honey-hued Thai boys entwined themselves round him. He had a champagne glass in one hand and a dildo in the other. Dazed pleasure is probably the best way to describe the look on his prune-like face. тАШDr Grossbag, I presume?тАЩ I enquires of Jeremy. тАШYes,тАЩ he chortled.
He joined me in the corridor to explain what had happened. As soon as he had set eyes on Grossbag a couple of days previously, he had realised that he had made a terrible mistake. тАШI knew that nobody that insignificant and miserable-looking could possibly have anything of value to teach me,тАЩ said Jeremy, offended anew as he recalled the moment. тАШIn the same instant I understood something else тАУ that it was I who could bring enlightenment to him. Call it my road from Damascus moment if you like. A few quick phone calls and all was arranged. WeтАЩve been having a non-stop orgy here ever since.тАЩ
тАШAnd GrossbagтАж heтАЩs all in favour, is he?тАЩ I muttered, trying to take things in.
тАШYou just saw him, what do you think?тАЩ grinned Jeremy. тАШHe canтАЩt get over the fact that all these years heтАЩs been meditating on mystical blue lights when, in fact, all he wanted was a jolly good shag. HeтАЩs smart, IтАЩll give him that. HeтАЩs already produced an outline for his new book, provisionally entitled Release Your Inner Slut.' He roared with the old familiar laughter. тАШWonтАЩt you join us?тАЩ he asked, exuding goodwill.
I hesitated and peeped round the door. One of the young men was really quite dishy. тАШOh, all right then,тАЩ I said. тАШJust for a minute or two.тАЩ
My friend Jeremy is a slut. I mean that in a kind and caring way. Charming, witty, clever, intermittently generous, but first and foremost heтАЩs a slut. We go back a long way. We met on Hampstead Heath if memory serves me correctly тАУ oh, itтАЩs all a bit cloudy now. Anyway, a firm friendship developed. We didnтАЩt see each other often тАУ he moved in far more glittering circles than me тАУ but I used to look forward to hearing him dish the dirt on assorted celebrities he knew. He would often have his latest companion, or should I say minion, with him тАУ male or female, he wasnтАЩt fussy. They would hang on his every word and look at him with adoring, puppy eyes. Oh, he has a way with him, does Jeremy, no doubt about that. Some would call him good looking, though I canтАЩt see it myself. HeтАЩs in his mid-forties now and has suffered the usual ravages of one who lives life in the fast lane.
I confess it was I who put the idea of a trip to Thailand into his head about five years ago. Did he enjoy it? Think bears and honey pots and you wonтАЩt be far wrong. HeтАЩs been back regularly since and I fear the effects on an already debauched character have not been kind. His routine when in Pattaya is to start each day with his legs in the air тАУ excuse the crudity тАУ with an overnight boy. No sooner has he sent him packing than heтАЩs sitting hunched over his laptop scouring the internet for likely lunchtime fuck buddies. Some of the lusty youths met in this fashion donтАЩt even require payment, he tells me, though I take such comments with a sizeable pinch of salt. In the afternoon, depending if itтАЩs one of his randy days, he might take a stroll along Jomtien beach trawling for his preferred lean-and-mean type. In the evening he hits the bars like everyone else, seeking the next overnighter. Am I being prudish in finding this lifestyle a trifle excessive?
HereтАЩs an example of what heтАЩs like. We were sitting at a table outside a bar in Boyztown having mid-afternoon coffees. I thought he wore the look of one manfully resigned to at least a couple of hours of abstinence. I was telling him the sad tale of a Thai waiter who had tried to kill himself because of a sexual identity crisis. тАШMm,тАЩ mused Jeremy, not very interested, тАШI frequently have sexual identity crises of my own in that I donтАЩt know the identity of the next person IтАЩm going to be having sex with.тАЩ He laughed at his own joke, as is his wont, and I allowed myself a chuckle. Typical Jeremy тАУ wit with a dash of callousness. Anyway, two street dogs appeared and started to play mummies and daddies in front of us. As one of them, eyes narrowed, thrust away vigorously, the other stared ahead with a look of total indifference, in a way replicated many times daily in Thailand and not just among the canine population. Jeremy grew agitated at the spectacle. тАШExcuse me,тАЩ he said, standing up abruptly. Then he was off into the bar to organise a quickie.
We went on a trip to Cambodia together a couple of years ago. His idea of absorbing the local culture was to have it off with our tour guide in the grounds of Angkor Wat. Well, I mean, itтАЩs embarrassing, isnтАЩt it? WeтАЩve discussed his lifestyle several times. At some point in the conversation two lines are guaranteed to occur. Me: тАШThereтАЩs more to life than sex, you know.тАЩ Him: тАШAre you sure youтАЩre feeling all right, darling?тАЩ
All this is by way of setting the scene. I trust I have conveyed JeremyтАЩs essential nature to you. I believe cockroaches would envy him his sex drive. So imagine my utter amazement when he turned up at my condo one morning not so long ago and announced that he was off the bone-rubbing altogether. He was celibate, maidenly. He was a nookey-free zone. What seismic event could possibly have caused such a transformation? I admit I glanced at his brow for signs of fever. He produced a well-thumbed paperback and thrust it triumphantly into my hands. Release Your Inner Angel it was called, by Dr Arnold Grossbag, Professor of Human Potential Studies at the University of Southern California. There followed a tedious account of how he had come by said paperback тАУ manifest destiny seemed to be the gist of it, though I barely listened. A torrent of New Age psychobabble poured out of him. By abjuring sex, apparently, he could circulate the life force more efficiently round the chakra points of the body, thereby creating a nice shiny aura that would be the envy of everybody. Something like that. His eyes gleamed with the missionary zeal of the newly converted. I made it quite clear to him, lest he should be seeking a fellow-disciple, that my only role in all this was going to be to smile cynically from the sidelines. He looked at me sadly, as one might upon a lost soul.
Was it really only two months that he was under GrossbagтАЩs spell? It seemed longer. All I heard from him was тАШGrossbag thisтАЩ and тАШGrossbag thatтАЩ. I formed the impression that Dr Grossbag must be a giant of a man in every way, physically, intellectually, spiritually. Every time I went round JeremyтАЩs condo there was further alarming evidence of his new obsession: pyramids, crystals, prayer beads, an array of pebbles and driftwood gathered from the beach at sunrise. HeтАЩd usually be sitting in the lotus position, chanting quietly to himself. HeтАЩd pretend not to notice me at first, then address me in a soft, silky, mock-humble voice. Oh, I saw through it all from the start. I know Jeremy too well. This was just another ego trip for him тАУ self-glamorisation by spiritual means. The worst of it was that he grew so humourless. If there was one thing about the old Jeremy it was that he was always good for a laugh. Now, when we were out and about, he was solemnity itself. In downtown Pattaya we passed a young man who was just his type. I jokingly tried to tempt him. I think the words I actually used were that the young man might тАШroger some sense back into you.тАЩ Jeremy didnтАЩt so much as smile. He merely upbraided me for using the language of sexual exploitation.
The end, when it came, was as sudden as the beginning. Jeremy had been telling me for a while that Dr Grossbag, impressed by JeremyтАЩs enthusiastic emails, was making a special trip to Pattaya to meet him. I was a little curious myself to see the famed guru in the flesh. One morning, as I approached JeremyтАЩs condo, I could hear the sound of loud music and shrieking voices from within. At the door a beaming, dressing-gowned Jeremy paused to let me appreciate the scene. On the emperor-sized bed, a wizened, bald, pale-skinned little man was propped up against the headboard while three naked, honey-hued Thai boys entwined themselves round him. He had a champagne glass in one hand and a dildo in the other. Dazed pleasure is probably the best way to describe the look on his prune-like face. тАШDr Grossbag, I presume?тАЩ I enquires of Jeremy. тАШYes,тАЩ he chortled.
He joined me in the corridor to explain what had happened. As soon as he had set eyes on Grossbag a couple of days previously, he had realised that he had made a terrible mistake. тАШI knew that nobody that insignificant and miserable-looking could possibly have anything of value to teach me,тАЩ said Jeremy, offended anew as he recalled the moment. тАШIn the same instant I understood something else тАУ that it was I who could bring enlightenment to him. Call it my road from Damascus moment if you like. A few quick phone calls and all was arranged. WeтАЩve been having a non-stop orgy here ever since.тАЩ
тАШAnd GrossbagтАж heтАЩs all in favour, is he?тАЩ I muttered, trying to take things in.
тАШYou just saw him, what do you think?тАЩ grinned Jeremy. тАШHe canтАЩt get over the fact that all these years heтАЩs been meditating on mystical blue lights when, in fact, all he wanted was a jolly good shag. HeтАЩs smart, IтАЩll give him that. HeтАЩs already produced an outline for his new book, provisionally entitled Release Your Inner Slut.' He roared with the old familiar laughter. тАШWonтАЩt you join us?тАЩ he asked, exuding goodwill.
I hesitated and peeped round the door. One of the young men was really quite dishy. тАШOh, all right then,тАЩ I said. тАШJust for a minute or two.тАЩ