My backpack and I were traveling in Thailand in December, on our way back to the United States after a year-plus of living in east Asia. Everyone eventually wound up in Thailand lying on a beach for a week or more and that’s right where I was headed. But well before I arrived in Thailand, I had heard a lot about sex clubs and shows in Bangkok and I wondered if there was a gay scene there as well.
One morning at my guest house in Bangkok, I overheard some other folks commenting about the sex shows in town. Trying not to appear eager, I casually asked where these places were. They told me the clubs were along Patpong Road, and right after coffee I ran out to a bookstore to look up Patpong Road on a map. I also spotted the location of a particular place I saw in a magazine: the Soi Cowboy, on Sukhumvit Road, where they had “boy dancers.” Boy dancers sounded like it had potential.
That night I went out to find Patpong Road. I walked along the city streets, wondering how I was going to recognize a sex club, as I couldn’t read a word of Thai. Then I noticed a guy across the street waving me over. OK, let’s see what this is.
He smiled, ushered me inside a door, then up an escalator to a dark bar. The place was very smoky and across from me were two huge, brightly lit walls of glass behind which were sitting what must have been a hundred girls. When they saw me, the girls perked up, cooing and waving. I was a little freaked out as, not only was I not interested in girls, I had just been living where there was very little physical contact in public between the sexes, let alone a hundred scantily clad women cooing and waving. I had one drink and left―it was just too much even to look at.
After walking a bit more, I managed to find the Soi Cowboy on Sukhumvit Road which was crowded with other people also out for the evening. I walked toward the entrance, then right past it, but then turned back and quickly ducked in through the door, feeling like everyone on the street was looking at me and knew.
This bar too was dark and smoky, also long and narrow, stretching back from the door. To the left of the door was a little stage on which a Thai man (one of the “boys”?) was shimmying around, wearing only a little G-string, and lightly fingering his bulge and leering at the audience. The bar itself went down one side of the long room, and opposite was jumble of tables and booths covered in red plastic with a few other patrons. It was too dark to make out any faces.
I ordered a beer and sat down at the bar to watch the dancer who was now removing his G-string. A man with a photo book walked up to me and began to show me pictures of naked Thai men and asking which one I liked. They were all pretty much hairless and very young looking, and each picture had a corny little caption about how he just adored sucking or getting fucked. Photo Book smiled encouragingly at me but none of the guys in the pictures was interesting.
A feeling of disappointment was the last thing I expected, but I was definitely interested in men with beards and hairy chests. (The way I saw it was, if I were interested in a hairless body, I might as well find a woman.)
But I started to relax (the beer?) and wondered if maybe I were capable of (oh, please!) actually paying to have sex with one of these guys. But it was a moot concern, as I had only enough Baht (Thai money) with me for a few drinks, not nearly enough for the asking price of 400 Baht (about $15 then) for an hour in the back room.
With considerable frustration I left feeling annoyed and spent the next day wandering around Bangkok, half in a dream about the possibilities of the Soi Cowboy.
That evening I got cleaned up, stuffed 400 Baht in my pocket, and went out, this time bypassing the busy Patpong Road, except to stop at a nondescript beer garden to brace myself with a couple of pints.
By the time I got to the Soi Cowboy I had a good buzz going and sat down at the bar to watch another hairless dancer shimmy around in a circle. Photo Book saw me and came over to talk again about what I was looking for. The dancer was finishing with his shift and another dancer came on to take his place. As this also-boyish dancer stripped off his clothes, however, I was surprised to see sparse hair on his chest. I kept looking over at him, possibly in desperation, and asked Photo Book what about him, the one dancing now. Photo Book agreed, but it would be 400 Baht. I lied that I didn’t have that much money but did have 200 Baht.
Maybe I looked poor like all the other backpackers? Photo Book complained a bit, but we finally agreed that for half-price I could get sucked but would not fuck the guy (not a problem). So with that settled, Photo Book spoke to the dancer as he finished his act and pulled on his robe and brief, and brought him over to me.
There wasn’t much in the way of formal introductions. I followed Thai Dancer to the rear of the bar and behind a little curtain. There was one naked light bulb overhead and a mattress on the floor, but I hardly noticed how stark the room was. I just watched him. It was pretty clear that he spoke no English, and I didn’t attempt to ask his name. I wanted to do something, anything sexual with this man, and wondered how to begin. Take his robe off? Have him undress me? But before I had a chance to begin, he quickly yanked off his robe and dancer brief and laughing like a magic sprite, rolled naked across the mattress on the floor. Oscar nod, for sure.
I gamely undressed and sat down next to him, somewhat disappointed that I didn’t get to undress him, even just pull down his brief. He paused and pointed, carefully indicating the lump of wallet in my jeans, which I gratefully took as a warning to not let it or my pants out of my sight.
I laid down on the mattress next to Thai Dancer and he rubbed his hands across my crotch, making little noises of admiration, perhaps at the copious quantities of pre-cum I was eagerly leaking or perhaps because that was his job. (I’m a copious pre-cum leaker, did I say?) I ran my hands all over him, reveling in the feel of another man’s body that was mine to feel anyhow I wished. The first time I got to sweep my hands across a guy’s chest! The first time I got to cup a guy’s balls in my hands! Yes, and yes.
My partner tweaked the head of my erect dick, pulling out a long thread of pre-cum, or sucking on my dick and doing something with his mouth that felt incredible but I could not see how he did it. I kept this foreplay going, shifting into different positions after about forty-five tiring minutes of what now seems like strenuous acrobatics. But, hey, I was young, strong, and enthusiastic about my first trip to the amusement park.
Suddenly there was a loud rap on the wall next the curtain and a voice said that time was up. My partner seemed to know exactly what to do now and pushed me onto my back and settled his mouth onto my cock. He sucked up and down for a few moments, and that’s all it took for me to shoot my load into his mouth. I wondered if he were going to swallow it, or vomit, or what.
But Thai Dancer only grinned and then let my cum dribble out of his mouth onto my crotch. He jumped to his feet, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, and pulled me to my feet. He handed me a towel to clean myself off and we got dressed. I gave him a quick good-bye hug and walked back out into the bar, feeling very obvious like everyone in the bar was looking at me and knew. (This time they probably did.)
As soon as I sat down again at the bar, Photo Book came over to collect payment. I suddenly felt cheap and sadly, I broke a basic rule of barter: Once you settle on a price, you do not renegotiate. I complained that we were rushed, that I didn’t get a full hour and so I wanted to pay less, and blah blah blah. In all fairness, Photo Book argued that a deal was a deal. He even bought me a peace-offering brandy. I don’t recall whether I drank his brandy, but I think I ungraciously thumped the money on the bar and left. (Insert sad sigh.)
But it was the first time I actually had sex with a man.
That next week I spent lying on a (my first!) tropical beach on Goh Samed island, feeling foolish, self-indulgent, and lonely. And wishing I hadn’t done it―it’s not who I am!