Date: Sat, 28 Aug 2004 09:44:59 -0700 (PDT)
From: Robin Reed <any_mouse2003@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Guy Named Joe: Bangkok

A Guy Named Joe

Bangkok

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 the job that took me overseas.

There wasn't much money, but that was fine with me.
Leave the Midwest behind, and the wreckage of the
anti-war to experience the wreckage of the real thing.
Seemed romantic.

So next 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 this time of the bi-centennial and 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- and then there was the
growing awful dread of what was happening to our
friends.

I got on an airplane and left it all behind. My first
real job and I was set down with a fresh haircut, a
modest paycheck and the fleshpots of Bangkok. One
night in that city can make a hard man humble, it is
said. They had a thriving sex business there, and
things that appealed to every taste. They have men
there who masquerade as women, 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
remarkable aureola. 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 apartment off Soi 4 on Sukhamvit Road.

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 no man, but
both simultaneously."

I thought that 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. My lovers have always been strong men.
Assertive. This is a change of pace."

"Then 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 here 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," she said in her formal
school English.

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.

To Be continued: Amazon