When I turned thirty, I decided to treat myself to a month in Thailand.
Bangkok is like Third World Asia on steroids. A wild clash of dusty streets jammed with taxis and tuk tuks that veer off into tranquil and immaculate temple compounds.
On scorching hot days I visited the Royal Palace, Wat Pho with its massive, reclining Buddha, and the ancient, stone monolith of Wat Arun on the other side of the Chao Phraya River.
When the sun went down, I headed to Patpong: one of the world's most famous red light districts. The real reason many tourists come to Bangkok.
I strolled through the night market, the air filled with the smell of incense and street food. Merchants sold cheap goods: watches, T-shirts, Buddha statuettes.
Flashy signs hung in the night sky above me. Names like "XXX," "Go-Go Girls," and "Pussy Emporium" were spelled out in neon; accompanied by posters of appropriately sexy women.
Men emerged from club entryways; what in Bangkok are called "ghost guides," to try and lure me in. "Come see the show, lots of sexy girls. Come in and have a drink, sir."
I looked to the ground and put on my stone face. "What kind of girls you like, sir? We have every kind of girl? What kind you want, sir?"
I caught glimpses of what was in these clubs. Petite Thai girls on a stage. They wore nothing but bras and panties, each one pinned with a little round circle and a number.
That, of course, was not what I was after.
I rounded a corner and crossed the street. In Patpong, all the "male clubs" are conveniently located in one alley.
Here, the signs featured fit, sexy men in place of women. They had names like "Adonis" and "Beefcake." I saw advertisements for "ladyboy shows" and "live sex shows."
I'd seen a little bit of both. The ladyboys were entertaining enough. Some of them silly and outrageous, others flawless specimens of feminine beauty. A few could have gotten the straightest of men hot under the collar, I figured.
The sex show I'd watched the day before featured nude guys on a stage wacking a miniature plastic bowling bowl with their erect penises, trying to knock over toy pins.
It ended with two Thai boys making their way around the club as a human wheelbarrow. The one in front walked on his hands with his legs wrapped around his partner. His partner held him up while simultaneously fucking him in the ass. They walked and fucked their way to every table, collecting tips.
Apparently, they wear a special kind of condom that pinches the base of the penis and allows them to stay hard for an especially long time.
Tonight, I was interested in more than shows. This was the kind of place where you go into a club and "rent" a man for the evening.
I had never paid for a guy before, but I was curious. This is what people come to Bangkok for. It is easier to do here than anywhere else in the world. When in Rome, right?
I ducked into a doorway beneath a sign flashing "Male Body Palace." Inside was a darkly lit club with black walls and an elevated, cube-shaped stage. Twenty or so Thai boys were lined up, on full display.
The club's madam appeared at my shoulder: a stylish ladyboy with his face made up and his hair in a long braid down his back.
He was not wearing women's clothes, but a man's suit with a red boutonniere. He put his hands together and bowed in traditional Thai fashion. "Welcome, my name is Lom, please sit down."
It was around ten o' clock and the club was mostly empty. A handful of overweight, middle-aged white men sat together on one of the black leather couches that ran the entirety of the room. They sipped drinks and chatted with each other. I went and sat on the opposite side.
A short waiter with neatly-combed hair and a handsome face approached me. "Hello, I am Chai, what can I get you to drink?"
They constantly pester you to spend money in these places. I ran up a pretty good bill the night before. But now, I genuinely did want to loosen up my nerves.
"Screwdriver, please," I said. The waiter bowed and went away.
Hot lights bore down on the fit, young Thai men on the glittering center stage. A group of five or so lined each of its four sides.
They were naked except for identical pairs of white briefs with a red elastic band. Like the women I'd spotted earlier, each one had a number pinned to his underwear.
A slow techno beat blared over the speakers. Some of the guys attempted to sway their hips and move sensually to the music. Most of them looked bored, hugging themselves or awkwardly scratching their forearms.
A few noticed me sitting alone and tried to get my attention. They grinned big, flipped their tongues and gestured to their bulges. I chuckled and looked away.
Thai men in general are physically attractive, with their slender features, hairless, defined chests and orange-brown skin that light simply worships. These guys were no exception.
Some had oiled themselves up, which accentuated their curves and gave an especially nice gleam to their bodies.
Chai the waiter came back and set my screwdriver down at the wheel-sized table in front of me. I sipped it, wanting the alcohol to go to my head.
"Which boy you like?" Asked Lom the madam, suddenly perched on the couch next to me. "You want to talk to a boy just tell me the number and you chat."
"Thank you," I said, rather annoyed. "I'm just looking." He got the message and went away.
Every ten minutes or so, the boys changed their positions on stage. The five standing in front walked single file to the right side, the ones on the right walked to the back and so on.
Far on the other end of the very long couch sat a group of ten other scantily-clad guys waiting to go on.
Occasionally, someone on stage got tired and traded places with a guy on the couch.
Lom came back and attempted to point men out to me. "He is very sexy, no? You want to chat with him? You see a boy you like, you can take him back to your hotel room, okay?"
I sipped my screwdriver, ignoring him. He gave up and tried to chat up the group of men on the other side.
The boys were all fine specimens, though
none of them specifically caught my attention. That is, until I noticed number fifty-three.
He was a head taller than most. He had thick, luxuriant black hair and a fair face with wide, shining black eyes. He was beaming radiantly out into the club like a Disney prince. He looked eager to make friends, eager to be chosen.
His pearly white teeth beautifully set off the dark tone of his skin.
He was sculpted and athletic with broad shoulders; arms and legs thick and well-proportioned.
My eyes moved up and down the contours of his body. He was elegantly muscled, his chest knotted and well-defined.
I watched his taut stomach with its deep, oval-shaped navel rise and fall. The muscles in his upper arms flexed as he hugged himself. I watched the way he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
He was both confident and vulnerable. His hair and skin shown seemingly from an inner glow as much as from the blaring lights overhead.
Lom's keen eye caught me watching him. "Number fifty-three, you like? Very sexy boy." I had to agree. I had just spied the impressive curve of his backside. It was so round and tight in that white speedo as to almost defy gravity.
"You want to chat, number fifty-three?" Lom pressed.
Number fifty-three's eyes suddenly met mine. His grin broadened and he bit his lip seductively.
Without giving myself time to think it over, I nodded. Lom stood up and got his attention. Number fifty-three made his way to the right and down the stairs, smiling broadly as he approached me.
"Good evening," he put his hands together and bowed. I bowed back. He came and sat down next to me in the place Lom had been.
"Drink for him?" Lom asked, the waiter at his side. I told number fifty-three to order whatever he wanted. He chose rum and coke, one of the more expensive things on the menu.
The alcohol was going to my head and I surveyed his bronzed, muscular body, offset nicely by those white briefs.
My body immediately began to awaken to his presence.
His arms were sleeved with black ink tattoos. They coiled around like snakes patterned in tear-shaped scales, or maybe flames of fire.
"I am Prasang," he said, grinning that champion smile.
"Jim," I said, giving him my firmest possible handshake. I watched his bicep ripple as he squeezed my hand.
Chai came with the rum and coke and another screwdriver for me. Prasang picked up his drink and sipped delicately through the straw.
I leaned in, feeling the heat from his body. "Were you having fun up there?" I smirked.
He smiled and shook his head. "Very boring."
"So what do you do when you're not showing off your hot body on a stage?" I boomed at him over the loud music.
He smiled, looking a bit embarrassed. "I am a university student. I do this to make money." I nodded my head, surprised, but appreciative of his honesty.
I complimented him on his English, though in my experience many Thais speak natural, flowing English.
He said he was twenty-four and had been doing this about three months now.
"You get a lot of business?" I asked, pinning him with my gaze.
"Yes, quite a bit," he looked cocky even as he blushed.
That wasn't terribly surprising. I could imagine him getting "chosen" more frequently than some of the other boys.
"I like your tattoos," I said. My head was swimming with alcohol and I felt ready to escalate things a bit.
"Thank you," he said politely.
"Can you flex your arm for me?"
He didn't understand the word "flex," so I mimicked it with my own arm. He made a fist. The big, firm lump of his muscle popped out.
I pushed against it. It was hard as a rock. "Impressive," I said, "you're a real muscle man." He laughed shyly and he thanked me again.
"Any tattoos back here?" I tapped him on the back, thoroughly turned on at the opportunity to explore his body.
