Gay Boy Thailand

Monas Jakarta

I had lunch at another Indonesian cultural icon, Pizza Hut. I tried to determine if any of the male staff were straight but they all seemed to be screaming queens.

A few hours later I felt sick. I tried to ignore it but I only felt worse. I went to the bathroom and the pizza left me the way it had entered.

After splitting with the pizza I felt better. I brushed my teeth carefully, had a nap and went out and about again.

This evening there was activity at the park. Most of the boys looked like Rough Trade, possibly armed, certainly dangerous. But a few, in a lighter spot, looked interesting. I asked the taxi driver to let me out so I could investigate on foot.

I could swear I had seen two boys but now I only saw one. The other guy had vanished like he was swallowed by a hole in the ground.

When I came closer one boy was sitting with his back against a lamp post, smoking a cigarette. Smoking was popular in Jakarta.

The boy pointed to a hole in the ground.

The pavement consisted of concrete blocks and one of these blocks had been removed to reveal a cave-like room under the street. The other boy was down there. I don’t know what he was doing in this rabbit hole but he came back up and introduced himself. His name was Amir. Yes, he was available, he said. This was nice to know but he wasn’t my type.

I walked on. Three other lads were lurking by the road. One of them was my type.
- Hello, said the boy.
- Hello, I said. - Do you want to be my friend?
- Yes, said the boy. - Which one of us?
- You.

An older man appeared and asked me questions in English. Where was I from, what was my name and where did I stay? Did I work in Jakarta?

This was a common question in Jakarta. Few tourists came to the city, apparently.

The man looked at the address card I had brought from the hotel. Then he arranged for a taxi for my new friend Abdulla and I and asked for 5000 ruphia. I only had 3000 and gave him that.

- Is he your boss? I asked.
- My friend, said Abdulla.

We spoke in a mix of Indonesian, which I had discovered I could speak some words of thanks to my adventures in Malaysia, and English. Abdulla explained what the landmarks we drove past were. Monas, the national monument. The Grand Mosque. A museum.

Abdulla had been happy when I asked for his friendship but when we sat side by side in the taxi I felt he grew reluctant and distant. This was not going to work, or was it? It was too late to turn back, and he was too cute anyway.

—

The security guards and reception staff at the hotel took no notice of the Indonesian gentleman I brought back. Even in gay-friendly Thai hotels there is often a bit of unspoken tension, with the staff giving the boy disapproving looks or at least avoiding eye contact with him. Here there was no such thing. The hotel staff showed no reaction either way.

Abdulla showered and came back shirtless. Ten points for that. He had to be gay. He dressed gay. His face and body language was gay. He wore gay-ish accessories.

My room had two beds with a table between them. Abdulla made himself comfy in the other bed. I went to shower too.

OK, here we were, and in separate beds. Abdulla watched television. Nothing happened. I began to suspect Abdulla was one of the pretty but lazy queens. This sort of boy is difficult. They get everything easily because they are so good looking, but they are not eager to please. They can be spoiled and lazy, expecting something for nothing.

I had Abdulla strip to his underpants. His body was just as great as his face. Then I gave him a body massage. That’s right. I massaged him. He did nothing. At least he looked less bored when I massaged him.

I enjoyed getting a closer look at Abdulla. His skin tone was light for a Javanese and he had no scars, blemishes, moles or any other imperfections anywhere. Everything was smooth and well shaped. No wonder this guy had an easy life.
- I want to go home, said Abdulla after a while.
- Do you need money?
- Yes, said Abdulla.

We had not done anything Bill Clinton would remotely call sex or Ken Starr would have a grand jury count as DNA evidence but of course I had to pay the boy. I gave him a hundred thousand rupiah. Abdulla looked at me. I gave him another hundred thousand. Then he smiled with his perfect teeth.

Abdulla asked for my phone number. He said he would send me a text message the next day and come visit me with one of his friends who supposedly was eager to be my friend too. I never heard from any of them.

—

Was Abdulla worth it? I don’t regret meeting him. I engaged in a bit of pathetic beauty worship with this spoiled boy, but so what? He was pouty but not manipulative. He didn’t claim to love me or praise my youth and handsomeness. He didn’t steal and he didn’t act in any threatening manner. He didn’t try to make me happy either. He was just a lazy young man living off his stunning face and body while it lasted. Can’t blame him really, not as long as men were lining up for him.