Bangkok Boy (9 page)

In the past I would’ve liked nothing better than to provoke a fight, now I’d become content to clown around and entertain friends by making fun of myself. The need to act macho in order to scare away my rivals became unnecessary because I didn’t consider them as rivals. Having come to view other men as friends and not competitors, I learned that it was possible and preferable for men to be civil to one another.

I thus became the life and soul of the party and people came to count on me for free beer and jokes. While I’d dispensed with my violent ways, some old traits remained, and I continued to gamble and drink heavily with friends after work. In other words, I still lived as if there was no tomorrow.

Although working in the gay scene had rescued me in a lot of ways, there were inherent dangers that, while I was aware of them, didn’t prevent me from sometimes recklessly dancing my way in and out of bars, beds, and bosoms in Bangkok.

CHAPTER 9

My two younger brothers, Choke and Chamnan, on hearing of my ‘success’ from my parents, decided to come and visit me. They’d spent their energies slaving away in a factory for a measly 200 baht a day. They were fascinated by the fact that I’d secured such a well-paid job, and hoped I could advise them as to how to find similar employment. Our parents had invested so much money in my education that there was simply nothing left for my two younger brothers in Sisaket. Without an education, there were very few options available to them, and the prospect of working in a ‘fancy hotel’ for a good salary was therefore very appealing.

‘I’m busy with my job. No spare time. I’m sorry, next time!’ were some of the lame excuses I gave to postpone my meeting with them. In reality, I was ashamed and terrified they’d discover what I actually did for a living. When my parents had visited, I was only able to keep up the façade of being a hotel worker with the help of Nit. But Choke and Chamman forced a meeting when they simply showed up unannounced at the room I shared with my co-worker, Ton. As it turned out, it was my parents who had innocently given them the address. I felt that the game was up and I could no longer hide my terrible secret.

My appearance on seeing them, coupled with the sight of my co-worker, meant that on being confronted, I had no choice but to confess. They listened in stunned silence, looking disgusted and disappointed as the ugly truth unfolded. Finally Choke—the older of the two, and former member of my gang in Sisaket—spoke up.

‘You have to be kidding,’ he spat. ‘I don’t believe it. You, of all people, a macho delinquent, are letting men stick their
charuat
(rockets) inside you? It’s impossible.’

I wasn’t denying this, however, which spoke volumes. My brothers’ respect seemed to dissolve before my eyes. My response was to become defensive, and I eventually responded by reproaching them for being naïve and judgemental. I jumped to my feet and began rummaging through my nightstand drawer. With a large wad of cash in hand, I began fanning my brothers with it, behaving like a proud lawyer who knew he’d just produced incontestable evidence that would surely win the case for him.

‘Look how much I easily make,’ I boasted. ‘It’s way better than working at your factory. Are you so stupid that you can’t see the opportunities that are out there?’

I pontificated with the conviction of a prophet who had discovered the key to life’s treasures.

‘If you can bear men kissing and fondling you then you can make huge amounts of money. You fly your kite for free anyway, right? Why not let someone else fly it for you? And what’s more, pay you for it?’

Just to hammer my point across, I dramatically whacked the fan of bank notes across their foreheads. As if magically enlightened, their disapproving expression transformed into looks of curiosity. The prospect of earning large amounts of ‘easy’ money captured their attention and began to intrigue them as it once did me. I enthusiastically boasted of the relative ease at which this money could be procured, then, in hushed tones, warned them that there were definitely unpleasant aspects to the job. Their smiles turned to frowns as the darker details came to light. But, just like a real professional, I finished my sales pitch on a high note.

‘Essentially all you have to do is dance in your underwear, flirt with gay men and wait to be bought. The only part which requires any real talent is pretending you enjoy their company, and feigning pleasure if need be. You’ll have to learn how to reciprocate affections in order to stay in demand though, and hopefully secure a long-term patron. The very least that would be expected of you is to give a helping hand to your client!’

I nonchalantly told my brothers that there was no risk of them getting pregnant, and therefore there would be no damage done to another human being. This, of course, was the same ‘truth’ my friends had used to persuade me to have sex with my teacher when I was a teenager. The moment these words escaped my lips, however, I suddenly realised that this logic had become a subconscious justification for all I’d been doing in the past years. A seed of misguided rationale had grown into a mighty tree that was now spreading its seed, giving rise to other young saplings.

My reasons for trying to persuade my brothers to become male prostitutes were two-fold. On the one hand, I genuinely felt sorry for them. I knew what it was like to try to make a life for oneself in the hustle and bustle of Bangkok. I also felt guilty for destroying their chances of success in life by robbing them of a decent education. I sincerely wanted Choke and Chamman to have a better life, but a career as a go-go boy was the only choice I had to offer. At least I didn’t recruit them for commission as some of the bar girls do with their own friends and family.

Once they’d agreed to make a go of it, it wasn’t hard to secure jobs for them—it was after all a seller’s market at the time. The bars were constantly seeking new talent, and only ever requested copies of a boy’s ID card and family registration papers at an interview. The
Mama-sans
would then give a candidate a quick once-over and decide on the spot whether to take him on or not.

Although Choke was 18, I’m not proud of the fact that Chamnan, my youngest sibling, had barely turned 16 when he joined my ranks. He was given a job at a bar that was notorious for its underage workers. After their stage debut, they recounted over rounds of beer how their legs were shaking like leaves as they tried to dance on stage; and how spasms of revulsion had run through their bodies as they slept with the men who had bought them, which was the most difficult part of all. Nonetheless, they were delighted at the money they made, which eased much of the nastiness they’d experienced. To my surprise, they even boasted how they’d commanded higher fees than I ever could on account of their youthfulness.

In the early days, my brothers often picked my brain on how to interact with customers. We quickly swapped afternoon shifts at the go-go bars in favour of night work. Adopting a similar work ethic, my brothers followed in my footsteps, soon gaining a reputation as being unreliable among bar owners.

Employers tended to use a reward system as an incentive to ensure their boys were not tardy. Dancers who turned up before 8pm received a 50-baht bonus while those who were late were fined an equal sum. Arriving late was a given for me, but I willingly forfeited the money. However, if a client bought me, I usually didn’t receive that night’s bonus anyway, so such petty rewards didn’t really inspire punctuality. Conversely, the fine didn’t bother me provided I met my target income for the night.

Even if a customer didn’t buy me I could easily earn commission by cajoling clients into buying drinks. If a
farang
bought me a glass of Coke for example, the bar would charge him 200 baht and I would receive half of this. On rare occasions when I was both on time and relatively sober, I’d exercise to maintain marketability. The bar provided the necessary equipment that ensured its employees looked after their physiques. The workout was followed by a quick meal before the curtains were raised at 8.30pm.

My brothers had clearly been cut from the same cloth. We all worked a night or two at a time, then squandered our earnings in the same space of time, which forced us back into the bars to earn more cash. They never hinted at the emotional transition they must have gone through; after that first night they never even mentioned any of the pain, fears, or worries that went hand in hand with being a straight sex worker satisfying gay punters. On the surface at least, they seemed happy with their new jobs.

Unlike some of the female sex workers in Patpong, we weren’t paid monthly. So we were free to move from bar to bar and this suited us down to the ground. We soon discovered that, as a team, our appeal was tripled, and before long we were making over one hundred thousand baht a month between us. This money poured through our hands like grains of sand, however, and it never occurred to us to try and repay any of our family’s debts, or to build a new house for our parents like many others who worked in the industry dutifully did. We’d lived quite comfortably as children, but as adults the thought of sharing some of our new-found wealth simply didn’t cross our minds.

The three of us were so similar in every respect that we were frequently mistaken for one another. Whenever one of us secured a client for the night, we’d ask him if he wanted the other two brothers as well. We could easily extract extra money from a client by creating a fantasy for him. On occasions when we were bought together we could make up to 10,000 baht in one go.

As the months passed, we managed to secure a long-term Australian sponsor named John who would become an integral part of our lives. I first met John at a go-go bar in Silom Soi 6. He was in his fifties, and seemed like a very friendly fellow. His friend Ron informed me that John was a former missionary—by that time nothing surprised me anymore. I quickly introduced John to my brothers who nicknamed him Santa or Papa John, on account of his kind nature. We enjoyed his company immensely and accompanied him on sightseeing tours such as Safari World, or to the ancient temples and ruins. We even brought him to visit our village.

During such trips, John would give me money to take care of the transportation costs and, in turn, I’d pack my pistol for protection in case thieves viewed the wealthy
farang
as an easy target. Of the three brothers, John was most fond of Choke, and he bought him a motor scooter as a token of his affections. His lavishness aroused the suspicion of our Sisaket neighbours, causing them to wonder just what role John played in our lives. When I think back on it, our poor parents must have had a lot to contend with after we returned to the city with John in tow.

After introducing my brothers to the love-for-money scene, I met a girl called Dao who was to become my first serious girlfriend. She worked as a traditional Thai dancer at an Isan-themed restaurant near Victory Monument. My roommate Ton and I went together one night to unwind. Dao instantly caught my eye as she danced in a beautiful costume that seductively revealed her midriff. Her shiny black hair was pulled up in a small bun and secured with a long, thin hairpin. She was undeniably sexy, but traditional at the same time, which I found quite comforting. The restaurant sold tickets for five baht a dance, with the girl of your choice, for the duration of a song. To improve my chances, I boldly purchased ten tickets and tipped her handsomely after each dance. Meanwhile, Ton was busy courting Dao’s friend Lawan, who was also a dancer, and over the next few days we invested much time and energy into winning their hearts.

One evening we invited them to sit with us. Neither of us had yet revealed our true professions and had pretended to be bellboys at upscale hotels. The two ladies began to open up to us: Dao told me that she was from Maha Sarakham, an inland province in the northeastern region of Thailand. She joked that when she first met me she thought I was a construction worker. She admitted that she’d been wary of me because of a scar on my right arm, which incidentally I got from a fight many years earlier. But money works wonders, and before long Dao began to overlook these apparent misconceptions. To prove my affections, I took out my wallet and flamboyantly counted out the princely sum of 1,000 baht, telling her it was a gift. She was overjoyed, and respectfully
wai
’d me by placing her hands and head on her chest, while profusely thanking me for my kindness. I was soon to discover, however, that Dao wasn’t nearly as naïve as I’d first believed. That same night, Ton and I took our respective partners back to our room in Petchburi Soi 5 and made love to them. After we’d had sex, Dao began to act aloof towards me. It was obvious that she didn’t like me as much as she’d led me to believe. The veil fell and I recognised Dao for what she really was—someone who was attracted to my money. I became suspicious that she might even be seeing other patrons, so long as the price was right. Rather than walk away from her though, I saw her as a challenge, and figured that if we stayed together long enough she might develop more genuine feelings for me.

So Ton and I asked our two lovers to move in with us. We didn’t have a lot to offer: our quarters were cramped and all that separated our beds was a flimsy curtain. Sometimes, while both couples were having sex, I’d raise the curtain slightly and sneak a peek at the other pair of lovers, hoping to glean ideas for enhancing my own sex life.

The thought of Dao going out with patrons, particularly other Thais, drove me crazy. So I asked her to give up her job at the restaurant. I assured her that I was more than capable of supporting her. I believed money was the source of all happiness and thought that if I showered her with enough of it she’d know how much I cared for her.

When I reflect on what a large role sex was playing in mine and Ton’s life at this stage, I am flabbergasted. We went to work to have sex with our clients only to come home and have more sex with our girlfriends. Yet we never grew bored of doing it. In fact, I took pride in my ability to climax several times a day. For the most part, I viewed sex with clients as work; only on occasion would I derive pleasure from it—if they were attractive and I believed we were compatible for example, but with Dao I felt fulfilled on many deeper levels.

During the early stages of our courtship, I was quite insecure and became obsessed with winning her over. I would buy her beautiful clothes and gifts to keep her interested, but also so that she could continue being a showpiece that bolstered my public image. It was important that others see how well I provided for her. I gave her money on a daily basis to remind her how much I loved her, and even let her manage my finances, as most Thai husbands allow their wives to do. Unfortunately, Dao spent money as quickly as I did and we usually had next to nothing in our savings account.

Ton and I were very much in love with our girlfriends and went to great lengths to maintain our charade of being successful hotel workers. Inevitably though, the girls would eventually discover we were men of ill repute. One night, Ton’s lover secretly followed us to our bar and, after discovering what we did there, had a huge blowout with him. Lawan rushed home to share the bad news with Dao. Thankfully, Dao responded more calmly. She quickly came to terms with this revelation and even assured me that she didn’t mind because all that mattered was that I’d been so kind to her. While Ton and Lawan angrily broke up, Dao decided to stay with me. I was relieved, yet there was a part of me which couldn’t help but wonder how she could possibly love a go-go boy. I came to the conclusion that it was because love is blind, and this was the reason she accepted me for what I was.