Rob's Story: Bango

So there is graduation, eventually, and my old boyfriend doing hard time and me looking over my shoulder to see if the pigs are looking for his old fuck-toy. I wasn't political, there should have been no reason for them to come after me, but they say you are only paranoid if they are not out to get you.

I laid low senior year, and interviewed well with the wire service for a job that would take me overseas and away from all this petty bullshit.

There wasn't much money in it, but that was fine with me. I was going to leave the Midwest behind, and all the wreckage of the anti-war movement and get completely immersed in the wreckage of the real thing, the proto-war. It seemed romantic, and I didn't have to carry a rifle to do it.

So next in the story is Asia, and a first assignment so far away from home that it did not seem possible to be on the same planet.

It was at the time of the bi-centennial in 1976, and visit of the Tall Ships that the first news of the plague began to spread. They called it Sarcosi's Carsoma- an odd and fatal sickness among Gay men, according to the cover of Time magazine- and then there was the growing awful dread of what was happening to our friends who had left campus and gone to the Big Cities.

I went to the Big City all right, but just to show a portfolio of my college journalism articles to a gruff man at the wire service, and go through the Human Resources department, sit for two weeks with some raffish men in cheap suits to learn the trade, and get issued a travel voucher for another world.

And so, I found myself at O'Hare with a ticket on Pan Am and got on a 707 Clipper and left it all behind. It was my first real job and I was set down with a fresh haircut, a modest paycheck and with the fleshpots of Bangkok at my feet. One night in that city can make a hard man humble, it is said. The cab ride into the chaos of the big city of low buildings on the canals- the klongs, they called them- was amazing. I directed the cabbie to the lodgings that had been arranged for me at The Nana Hotel, on Soi 4 off Sukumvit Road.

I put down my two bags in the little room- not bad, I thought- and got a pedicab to the Foreign Correspondents Club to register for my credentials and ask how I could file my daily copy. And then I went back to the hotel, got a cool Amarait beer and sat out in the humid sunlight by the pool. The water was about the temperature of my blood, and I began to soak in the idea that I really was there, in Asia, a world away from everything I knew.

Bangkok had done a thriving trade in the R&R business during the American war in Vietnam, and as a consequence the city had a thriving sex business, and activities and attractions that appealed to every taste. No kidding. Everything.

Girls, boys, girl boys, all sorts of things I wanted to experience. They had men who masquerade as women, with smooth skin and long lustrous hair. They are called katoys, and they are randy fellows who make a man feel great to be alive.

I found out one night late at the Grace Hotel Coffee Shop. Everyone wound up there in town after the other bars all closed down. It was where every prostitute went for a last trick of the night, and sometimes I was up early to cover a story, or be coming back from one.

The place looked like the bar scene from the original Star Wars movie. There was every kind of woman in the world there, elegant Chinese and wise Filipinas, sad Russians and every ethnic tribe of every country in South East Asia. Even some tribeswomen from the Hmong region in the highlands of Vietnam with frizzy wild hair, tiny things, and ferocious in a nice way, with aggressive little tits that jutted out like spears.

I have always liked women, in their way. I just don't love them. I like the way they look, and the things they can do. I have been accused of being a bit of a drama queen myself, but after the flirtation with radical politics in college, I had assumed the disguise of a Young Republican. Consequently, when I found out about the katoys of Bangkok I was smitten.

They were cute boys, as a rule, mostly local but some from out of the country. It did not take long to pick them out and they were everywhere on the streets. I was picky then, minding my business and filing my stories at the bureau, but I can only go without cock for so long.

There are thousands of katoys in Bangkok, and the breast implant and sex change thing was still new in town. The boy-girls had their own thing going at the Grace Hotel, and loved to get the straight men to ask them out. The first one I met was named Nok, who usually worked at a bar in Patpong Road watching the Western men come and go.

Nok was the first boy I took home from the Grace. He was a Thai with long dark hair and a sylph-like body. He had slim hips and pert little breasts with remarkably large puffy aureolae. The night I met her, she had closed down the Flying Machine and was sitting alone in the crowd at the Grace. She flicked back her long black hair and smiled encouragingly at me. I made a cocktail appear at her table. Nok looked up and blew me a crimson kiss. Later, consumed by booze and bravado, I wandered over and told her she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen.

It was a lie, of course, but we both knew it and she took me by the hand and we caught a pedal cab back to my hotel apartment at The Nana, whose motto was "Sleep With Us."

I knew- or hoped I knew- what I was getting into, and once I started I could not stop. As he undid the buttons on my shirt, he squirmed against me. His secret was well concealed as I reached down to feel his package. It felt like his cock was pulled back into the crack of his trim butt, and his balls pushed right back up into his body cavity. She resisted, not knowing that I wanted exactly what she had. She often fucked the straight men so well that they never knew she was a girl. She said delicately "It is my time of month," thinking it would put me off.

I said she didn't have them, and that I wanted what she did have.

He was not disconcerted, since obviously he had men who liked him just the way he was, but also knew that some would kill him if they realized they were fucking another man. When we drank a glass of wine she finally allowed as how she had been taking drugs to get smooth skins and little titlettes, and his little cock could only get so hard. He wanted me to fuck him on my bed, bare-back, with his legs thrown up in the air and a come-hither look that said fuck my brown rose-bud.

Unfortunately, that was what I had in mind. I wanted to feel a hard cock inside me, and we could have arrived at an impasse, but Nok was a trooper. We wound up sucking each other in compromise, his lips eager and mine able to work his cock into semi-hardness that in time rewarded me with a thin spurt of delicate jism.

We slept together late into the morning, nestled together with my hand around his little dick. We knew that there was little potential for this to be a long term relationship, but the street is a cold place and I liked him, even if his goal was to have cut off what I so fondly craved.

Over coffee in the morning, Nok said I should meet her friend Oy, who lived with Rick.

"You know," she said. "Man who own Rick's Number Best. Best steak house in Bangkok."

I told him I would, and asked why I should meet her friend.

"She know all katoy in town, all who own them and rent them, and what they all like. She match-maker lady. They find one just for you, nice girl who fuck you silly with hard boy cock. You buy me dinner soon?"

I told Nok I would, if it worked out that way, and she told me to go to Rick's at eight, when things started to cool off after the heat of the day. I got her in a pedicab and watched her disappear in the throng. Inscrutable Asia, I thought. All I want is a little scruting, but on my terms.

I sleep-walked through the heat of the day. There was a press conference about the Vietnamese incursion into Cambodia, and some idle copy to file back home that might make the inside of the morning paper that was just getting printed back home. I checked out early- I had a fabulous job for a young man. If I filed my copy on Chicago time, I was free to do what I liked. I went home and had a cold beer and a warm swim in the pool of the nearby Nana Hotel, a place that was friendly for just about anything you would like. I had a membership that entitled me to use the pool, and I used the dark little bar as a sort of auxiliary office.

I dried off as best I could at the pool and looked at the western men who were getting fired up for a night in Patpong. Bangkok wasn't as gay then as it is now, and I minded my own business at the Nana. I was looking forward to the evening. Something new, something a little exotic. Maybe something hard and eager. Sounded good to me.

Rick's Number One

I had heard of Rick's. He had the best Kobe beef in town, or at least meat that could pass for the Japanese version he claimed it was. He had been in town forever, or so the story at the Foreign Correspondent's Club went. He was ageless. He was a Hungarian, the legend went, and had come out to this town before the war. His homeland had been allied with the Nazis then, and of course the Nazis were good pals with Tojo and the militarists from Tokyo, so when the Japanese overran Southeast Asia he was not locked up with the other Westerners.

They said he was a hero, using his status as an allied national to get food and information to the westerners who were interned, and trying to help the prisoners in the death camps that were building the railway the Japanese were going to use to supply their forces in Burma and then invade India.

The Japanese finally got wise to Rick's activities, but the war drew to an end and he was still there, flush with cash and suddenly homeless as Hungary fell to the Red Army.

Rick was nothing if not agile, and went overnight from being a national socialist to a communist. He was a flexible sort of man. He stayed on in town after the war and the development of the big mud-brick city began. War surplus airplanes began to fly in, filled with all manner of goods, and wars raged next door as the French and the Americans in their turn were ejected from the region.

During those conflicts Bangkok was a tranquil refuge, filled with soldiers on R&R. They say that Rick poured a hefty glass of alcohol for the camouflage-clad men on break from the war, and if they were garrulous and their words were heard and reported back through the embassy pouch to the Russians, well, what was the harm?

A man has to take care of himself, doesn't he?

He still ran the restaurant in the old mansion that was gray with mold. The cab dropped me off just outside the gate. There was brown wall surrounding the compound and limited parking inside. The city was already crowded with little Japanese cars that had conquered the place much more efficiently than the Emperor's armies had.

The front door was open and I walked in past the reception desk and into the bar area that opened in an L-shape to the right. Lazy ceiling fans slowly stirred the humid air and candles flickered. Wide barstools fronted an old Colonial-era serving area, all rich teak, well oiled. Behind the bar was an attractive Thai woman in traditional dress.

"Sawadi, Poo-ying," I said politely, and she bowed, smiling, with her slim fingers pushed together against her forhead.

"Sawa-di, Kop" she replied. "What would you like?" Her English was perfect.

"Well, I am here to see a woman named Oy," I said. "But while I am waiting, I would love a gin and tonic. Bombay gin, Schweppes tonic. With lime, please."

She smiled and set about building my drink. She made it American style, with plenty of ice, but made a careful pour of the clear liquor and left the small bottle of tonic on the side. "Oy will be down presently. She is with Mr. Rick right now."

I nodded in thanks and poured a little tonic on the gin. It tasted wonderful.

I was in no hurry, and neither was the restaurant. It was early, and there were only a few diners at the tables in the back. The bar slowly filled with businessmen, eager for strong drink and rich beef. I looked over the hundreds of business cards that were tacked to the pillars on the bar. Everyone seemed to want to be part of Rick's legend in Bangkok, and I was no exception. I took a card from my wallet that identified my wire service and tacked it along with all the others. The value of the information slurred over drinks at the bar may not have been of interest to spies, but commercial affairs were becoming every bit as interesting as the information on troop movements had been.

There was talk that the Vietnamese and Khmers took their R&R here, at least the leadership. The troops in the war next door had nothing, but the generals always seemed to live pretty well.

Presently a gorgeous woman emerged from the back of the restaurant. She wore a pale blue jakgree-style two piece dress in watered silk. It was off the shoulder-style, with a beaded yokonnang, or folded front, and a one-piece wrap over her shoulder that trailed nearly to the floor. Her ears were adorned with long hanging gold and her neck was wreathed in gold and rubies. Her dark eyes glittered and she extended her hand to me.

"You must be Oy," I said, rising. I looked her up and down. She was an elegant lady and I could not tell if she had been born a woman or just grown into it. Before the plastic surgeons began to ply their trade here you would have known. Until around one hundred years ago, most common Thai women used to be naked from the waist up, especially when at home. They wore a long tube-skirt - pha sin - tied high above the waists below their breasts, and had a shawl which they could use for modesty.

In the late 19th century the influence of missionaries and modernization under King Chulalongkorn encouraged local women to wear blouses to cover their breasts. Only a missionary could come to this lovely land and want to cover things up. The blouses evolved into the delicate lace blouses the women wear today. Up north, they use silver belts are decoration, but that is a recent development since they would have been hidden by folds of cloth and used for support.

Men used to be naked except for a cloth wrapped around the loins that was either short or long. Short cloths would reveal more of the tattoos. Men used to like tattoos from the waist down to the knees. Men began to wear round necked shirts at the same time as women began to wear blouses. Fucking missionaries, I thought. They spoil all the fun.

Indigo cotton cloth known as moh hom came to be used for shirts and loose fitting trousers for working in the fields. I was wearing a pair myself, cut western style, that the tailor had run up for me. It was the only way to stay comfortable in the heat.

"Nok told me about your evening. She is nice girl. She like you."

"That is kind of you to say," I responded as she sidled onto the bar stool. I thought that she liked the content of my wallet better than she like me, but the fiction was pleasant.

The bartender was solicitous and brought a glass of white wine, delicately chilled so that beads of moisture condensed on the sides. Oy took a sip without acknowledging her. She did as much as own the place, I figured.

"But you have special interests."

"I don't think they are so special. They seem fairly natural to me."

Oy smiled. "Of course. I share them. But it is an interesting inversion, don't you agree? To want to be with a girl who is a boy who will treat you, a man, as a girl?"

"If you put it like that, I suppose you are right. But it does not have to be so complicated."

"No," she said. "That is remarkably zen-like. Sometimes what is, simply is, and needs no explanation. The godhead is neither woman nor man, but both simultaneously."

I thought that thought mixed the Buddhist ethos with Hinduism. But that is Thailand for you, a unique blend of East and South Asia. "It is unusual to have that freedom back home,: I said. "My lovers have always been strong men. Assertive. This is a change of pace."

"And a change of pace is what you shall have. I have a friend who might be what you are looking for, and we shall see how it works out. Perhaps you could call on her later. For now, would you care to join me for dinner?"

I told her I had no other plans, my groin rising with the possibilities that might wait later on. We finished our drinks and I followed her to the back of the restaurant, where there was a small alcove that provided privacy. We had a delicate shrimp appetizer following by the restaurant's signature beef. She did not attempt to finish hers.

I was just spearing the last bite of mine when a man appeared at the table, and swept in beside Oy.

"Hello," he said in a full rich voice. "I am Rick, and welcome to my house." Oy smiled possessively and patted his hand.

"Hi," I said. "I'm Rob. I'm with Brand-X of the wire services here in town."

"Yes," he said, and he smiled though his eyes remained focused on me. It felt odd, as if I was being studied. "I have heard about it." The Western community in Bangkok is not that large, though it is growing. He was a friendly sort of man, and he had a dozen tales to tell about the big brown city. I had heard some of them, but it was fascinating to hear it from the horse's mouth. I had another glass of red wine and we talked for an hour, until coffee appeared, laced with Hungarian brandy.

Oy bridged the stories with the tale of her own life, coming to the big city as a young man and becoming the mistress of the man who sold beef and collected secrets. Rick's shoulders were broad and strong, even if there was a slight thickening to his waist. He was a dashing figure. Too bad he was taken, I thought. This was a man who could take care of you. I figured he might be in his early fifties, still vigorous, a little gray at the temples, but oh those glittering bottomless eyes. He said he had to greet his guests. He swept away from the table.

I pulled a hundred bhat bill from my wallet and laid it on the table. "Oh, no," said Oy. "The dinner is complementary. If we manage to find something that makes you happy we can discuss money then. This was just to get to know you."

She looked at me with those deep dark eyes and pushed the bill back to me with a small folded piece of paper on top. "There is an address inside. It is near. You are expected at 11:00 pm."

I glanced at my Omega watch. It was time to go. I leaned across the table and kissed her on the cheek.

"I'll let you know how it went," I said. "But I must be going. Thank-you for the dinner. It was delectable."

"I'll be seeing you," she said. There was an air of complete serenity in that, and I think I might have blushed as I left the restaurant. Rick was occupied with a table of businessmen as I passed, but I swear I could feel his look on the back of my neck as fierce as coals.

Next: Part Two, Amazon

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