PeterUK
October 8th, 2007, 15:54
How many of us gay farangs in Thailand, against all the promptings of reason, have lost our hearts to a barboy at some time or other? I certainly have, more than once. About ten years ago I fell for a very sexy young man (IтАЩll call him Daeng) who worked at a small, tucked-away bar of fading charm in Bangkok. As I walked in he was gyrating away against a metal pole on the small stage, his expression languorous and trance-like. He was slim, full-lipped, light-skinned. A particular turn-on of mine, he had beautifully-defined pecs. A stunner. As the only customer I was able to indulge in the luxury of a few minutes of feigned consideration and then called him over. He was nineteen, rather gauche, no English, clearly a newcomer to the bar scene. Ah, my Daeng!
All I remember of that first тАШconversationтАЩ (in addition to his non-existent English, my Thai was very limited) is his reluctance to come with me to my hotel. He wanted what was no doubt for him the security of using an upstairs room тАУ not my style at all. The mamasan overruled him with a few sharp words. Back at my room, the sex was wonderful for me, despite his less-than-full participation тАУ the mere astonishing fact of being granted unfettered access to his private riches seemed enough. I knew as we parted that I would want to see him again, and again.
The relationship that developed between us was a rocky one, to put it mildly. Brief periods of contentment and moments of ecstatic happiness were heavily outweighed by the constant spirit-sapping drip-drip of argument, pretence, misunderstanding, frustration and anxiety. Somehow or other the relationship stuttered on through four trips over a three year period. Daeng was a sweet enough guy in many ways, but a bit more immature and certainly more fiery-tempered than the norm. He was not what I would generally call vain тАУ all the time he spent admiring himself in mirrors had a kind of innocent fascination to it тАУ but he knew his worth in terms of farang appeal all right and this made me readily expendable in his eyes. I, on the other hand, was besotted with him. A magical aura seemed to surround him, I suspected him of secret wisdom, his every gesture carried a profound significance. He was a superstar, his future was bound to be dazzling. My own happiness depended on him. They donтАЩt call it being тАШmadly in loveтАЩ for nothing.
Inevitably, the relationship, such as it was, came to an end. Between one trip and another the madness just left me. The pain finally exhausted itself. I picked up snippets of information about Daeng in the years that followed. I already knew of a couple of other farangs who were in love with him тАУ they had been my rivals тАУ and I subsequently heard of others. There were trips abroad, expensive gifts and large donations of money. I heard of more tantrums, more flare-ups (reassuring to know that he didnтАЩt reserve them just for me). I bumped into him on rare occasions in the company of the latest devotee. WeтАЩd smile knowingly, perhaps exchange a few words.
The last time was in Pattaya about three years ago. I was having a quiet drink at an outside table of a Sunee Plaza bar when he strolled past with a farang IтАЩd seen him with once before. He looked older, of course, fuller-framed. We smiled at each other. He came over and I gave him a peck on his extended cheek, saying nothing. He just muttered тАШyesтАЩ, an acknowledgement of his ever-present, if fading right to be worshipped and, I thought, a confirmation of the state of peace that now existed between us. The farang shot me a totally unnecessary jealous look. As Daeng walked away I felt mainly relief, relief that all the passion and turmoil had come down to this тАУ simple, unembittered friendship.
Recently, in the throes of another unhappy relationship (nothing remembered, nothing learned), I was in Bangkok one weekend and decided to look in at DaengтАЩs old bar to get any latest news of him. Curiosity was blended with an obscure notion that I might just find out something helpful to me in my present predicament. I entered the bar, which was seedier than ever, and glimpsed three or four skinny waifs in varying stages of physical and mental collapse round the walls, not a customer in sight, but most of my attention went to the street-clothed, bandanna-wearing figure seated with his back to me at the bar, now turning round. A second or two of silent mutual astonishment тАУ it was Daeng! He broke into a big grin and leaned forward to give me a hug and to bury his head in my stomach. We gushed out the barely-coherent platitudes predictable in such situations and then went and sat down together.
Over drinks he told me how the work had dried up in his village (no more enraptured benefactors then) and he had come back to the bar just a few days earlier to check up on old friends (and in the hope of a bit of business, presumably). I casually took in the work of time on his features as he spoke тАУ the still-quite-handsome but much-fleshier face, the slight paunch, the overall impression of looseness where once there had been tightness. He must be about twenty-nine now and in the normal world that would still be considered on the threshold of life, but in the crazy, unforgiving world of the gay sex industry I could see that he was clearly on the downslope of the hill, if not yet completely over it. I told him a bit about myself, how I lived full-time in Thailand now, in Jomtien. I made a little joke about his smoking habit. He used to smoke like a chimney. He said heтАЩd cut down now. He congratulated me on my much-improved Thai.
After a while the conversation faltered a bit. Our gazes started drifting to the TV screen flickering away on a high ledge. Several times we repeated our amazement at meeting again like this. We squeezed hands and chuckled. I caught little hints of the old temper flashing in his eyes, but mainly he seemed a much mellower character. I could imagine him drinking and joking with village cronies at some beat-up old bar. Formerly on a pedestal of my impossible expectations, he had become ordinary at last.
I recalled a fantasy I used to have when we were together and I was in the depths of misery. One day, I thought, you wonтАЩt be so attractive and then youтАЩll be only too glad of my affection. Sometimes the fantasy turned nasty and I would withhold my love on meeting him again; more often we went on to live happily ever after. Now, the fantasy brought to life as it were, I felt no sense of gloating triumph, thank God, but neither was I aware of any long-dormant lust stirring in my loins. And anyway, friendly though we had fortunately become, too many laceratingly bad things had happened in the past to make a resumption of the relationship at a sexual level possible. From DaengтАЩs body language I deduced that he was hoping it might be possible. Here was a guy to whom money had once come so easily, at the merest wiggle of his cute bum, now clearly in bad shape financially. He didnтАЩt look desperate, but he sure as hell looked chastened. The smiles, the kind words, the hand squeezes kept coming.
After half an hour or so I realised that I was getting bored. I fibbed to Daeng that I had business to attend to tonight but would try to pop back the following evening (knowing I wouldnтАЩt). I slipped him a generous tip which he received most gratefully. I leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek and then on the lips. The latter felt тАУ not entirely a pleasant sensation тАУ spongy and yielding, and I knew that proper kissing was on the menu now, if I wanted it. One of the many contentious issues between us had been his reluctance to kiss. Oh, Daeng тАУ years, years too late, my friend. Would things have worked out differently between us (still together perhaps?) if he had had the foresight to behave more considerately before? Who knows. Probably not. IтАЩm a boy-lover, after all. We stood up and he escorted me outside. We parted at the mouth of the short soi where the bar is located, residual ironic smiles on both our faces. I walked away feeling sad тАУ about life in general and the truncated existence I lead in particular. Without hesitation I headed for Soi Twilight.
All I remember of that first тАШconversationтАЩ (in addition to his non-existent English, my Thai was very limited) is his reluctance to come with me to my hotel. He wanted what was no doubt for him the security of using an upstairs room тАУ not my style at all. The mamasan overruled him with a few sharp words. Back at my room, the sex was wonderful for me, despite his less-than-full participation тАУ the mere astonishing fact of being granted unfettered access to his private riches seemed enough. I knew as we parted that I would want to see him again, and again.
The relationship that developed between us was a rocky one, to put it mildly. Brief periods of contentment and moments of ecstatic happiness were heavily outweighed by the constant spirit-sapping drip-drip of argument, pretence, misunderstanding, frustration and anxiety. Somehow or other the relationship stuttered on through four trips over a three year period. Daeng was a sweet enough guy in many ways, but a bit more immature and certainly more fiery-tempered than the norm. He was not what I would generally call vain тАУ all the time he spent admiring himself in mirrors had a kind of innocent fascination to it тАУ but he knew his worth in terms of farang appeal all right and this made me readily expendable in his eyes. I, on the other hand, was besotted with him. A magical aura seemed to surround him, I suspected him of secret wisdom, his every gesture carried a profound significance. He was a superstar, his future was bound to be dazzling. My own happiness depended on him. They donтАЩt call it being тАШmadly in loveтАЩ for nothing.
Inevitably, the relationship, such as it was, came to an end. Between one trip and another the madness just left me. The pain finally exhausted itself. I picked up snippets of information about Daeng in the years that followed. I already knew of a couple of other farangs who were in love with him тАУ they had been my rivals тАУ and I subsequently heard of others. There were trips abroad, expensive gifts and large donations of money. I heard of more tantrums, more flare-ups (reassuring to know that he didnтАЩt reserve them just for me). I bumped into him on rare occasions in the company of the latest devotee. WeтАЩd smile knowingly, perhaps exchange a few words.
The last time was in Pattaya about three years ago. I was having a quiet drink at an outside table of a Sunee Plaza bar when he strolled past with a farang IтАЩd seen him with once before. He looked older, of course, fuller-framed. We smiled at each other. He came over and I gave him a peck on his extended cheek, saying nothing. He just muttered тАШyesтАЩ, an acknowledgement of his ever-present, if fading right to be worshipped and, I thought, a confirmation of the state of peace that now existed between us. The farang shot me a totally unnecessary jealous look. As Daeng walked away I felt mainly relief, relief that all the passion and turmoil had come down to this тАУ simple, unembittered friendship.
Recently, in the throes of another unhappy relationship (nothing remembered, nothing learned), I was in Bangkok one weekend and decided to look in at DaengтАЩs old bar to get any latest news of him. Curiosity was blended with an obscure notion that I might just find out something helpful to me in my present predicament. I entered the bar, which was seedier than ever, and glimpsed three or four skinny waifs in varying stages of physical and mental collapse round the walls, not a customer in sight, but most of my attention went to the street-clothed, bandanna-wearing figure seated with his back to me at the bar, now turning round. A second or two of silent mutual astonishment тАУ it was Daeng! He broke into a big grin and leaned forward to give me a hug and to bury his head in my stomach. We gushed out the barely-coherent platitudes predictable in such situations and then went and sat down together.
Over drinks he told me how the work had dried up in his village (no more enraptured benefactors then) and he had come back to the bar just a few days earlier to check up on old friends (and in the hope of a bit of business, presumably). I casually took in the work of time on his features as he spoke тАУ the still-quite-handsome but much-fleshier face, the slight paunch, the overall impression of looseness where once there had been tightness. He must be about twenty-nine now and in the normal world that would still be considered on the threshold of life, but in the crazy, unforgiving world of the gay sex industry I could see that he was clearly on the downslope of the hill, if not yet completely over it. I told him a bit about myself, how I lived full-time in Thailand now, in Jomtien. I made a little joke about his smoking habit. He used to smoke like a chimney. He said heтАЩd cut down now. He congratulated me on my much-improved Thai.
After a while the conversation faltered a bit. Our gazes started drifting to the TV screen flickering away on a high ledge. Several times we repeated our amazement at meeting again like this. We squeezed hands and chuckled. I caught little hints of the old temper flashing in his eyes, but mainly he seemed a much mellower character. I could imagine him drinking and joking with village cronies at some beat-up old bar. Formerly on a pedestal of my impossible expectations, he had become ordinary at last.
I recalled a fantasy I used to have when we were together and I was in the depths of misery. One day, I thought, you wonтАЩt be so attractive and then youтАЩll be only too glad of my affection. Sometimes the fantasy turned nasty and I would withhold my love on meeting him again; more often we went on to live happily ever after. Now, the fantasy brought to life as it were, I felt no sense of gloating triumph, thank God, but neither was I aware of any long-dormant lust stirring in my loins. And anyway, friendly though we had fortunately become, too many laceratingly bad things had happened in the past to make a resumption of the relationship at a sexual level possible. From DaengтАЩs body language I deduced that he was hoping it might be possible. Here was a guy to whom money had once come so easily, at the merest wiggle of his cute bum, now clearly in bad shape financially. He didnтАЩt look desperate, but he sure as hell looked chastened. The smiles, the kind words, the hand squeezes kept coming.
After half an hour or so I realised that I was getting bored. I fibbed to Daeng that I had business to attend to tonight but would try to pop back the following evening (knowing I wouldnтАЩt). I slipped him a generous tip which he received most gratefully. I leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek and then on the lips. The latter felt тАУ not entirely a pleasant sensation тАУ spongy and yielding, and I knew that proper kissing was on the menu now, if I wanted it. One of the many contentious issues between us had been his reluctance to kiss. Oh, Daeng тАУ years, years too late, my friend. Would things have worked out differently between us (still together perhaps?) if he had had the foresight to behave more considerately before? Who knows. Probably not. IтАЩm a boy-lover, after all. We stood up and he escorted me outside. We parted at the mouth of the short soi where the bar is located, residual ironic smiles on both our faces. I walked away feeling sad тАУ about life in general and the truncated existence I lead in particular. Without hesitation I headed for Soi Twilight.