The boy sat with the hustlers for a few minutes. Then he came back to my table but he looked like nothing special had happened. I tried not to let my suspicions show.
- So what did your friends say?
- Not say.
- You know them?
- Not know.
- Who are they?
- I don’t know.
- Why did you go over to speak to them?
- Because they are Thai people.
I was relieved. The boy had practiced country hospitality and joined the rent boys because he saw them as potential friends, not because he was one of them. He didn’t yet know that sitting down uninvited at other people’s tables was uncommon in Bangkok.
We went to the reception to use my safety deposit box. The evening manager, the short round headed fellow, looked at my date and said:
- And the boy?
- The boy is going home. Right?
- Yes, said the boy.
We took a taxi back to Chatuchack, where his family had rented a room in the buildings behind the market. I never saw their home as I wasn’t invited in. It probably wasn’t much to see.
The next step was a daytime visit to my hotel room. The boy came by bus. He brought pink heart-shaped candy from the 7-Eleven and finger fed me sweets while we watched television. The Irish singer Ronan Keating came on. This boy sure likes farang, I thought as I watched the boy eagerly watch the pop star.
We were side by side on the bedspread. The boy rubbed up against me. He read his little yellow Thai-English dictionary.
- What does gay mean, he asked.
- Gay is when a man kisses a man, I said. Like this.
I leaned over and gave him a short, dry kiss on the lips. The boy was taken aback and stared at the ceiling, avoiding looking at me. But he didn’t seem to mind what I had done.
None of us said anything for a while. I decided to push the issue a bit.
- I am gay, I said.
- Oh.
- What are you?
- I am lady.
- Lady?
- Yes.
- What do you like? Man or woman?
- Man.
Silence.
- What you like, said the boy.
- I like you.
- Why?
- You have a good heart.
- No have.
- I think so.
Tags: gay story, Thai boy
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