Gay Boy Thailand

The Village People

This is a report from last weekend. I spent Saturday night in the grip of Malaysian gay nightlife. My dazzling looks and charming personality made the boys chase me and I had to beat them off with sticks. This happens in every country I go to.

It started when I sat on a bench in a shopping centre. A young man in his late 20s came and sat down next to me. My gaydar said beep. The young man said hello.

His smooth way of starting a conversation made me think he was a moneyboy. After a while, when he touched my arm with his hand, I was sure of it. His touch felt wrong, forced. He had a bad breath and was hard to get rid off. When we were outside my hotel and he still didn’t leave I shook his hand and thanked him for his time. Then he left.

—

The pinoys in Little Manilla, the Filipino colony across the street, can’t seem to make up their mind. The day before one of them had tried to pimp some random boys I was talking to, including the fishmonger. Now one of the pinoy boys had agreed to visit me in my hotel room.

But the sight of him heading for the hotel with me had other Filipinos rush to the scene while giving disapproving comments. My friend lowered his shoulders and looked terribly guilty. When we entered the hotel lobby someone shouted “whore!” in the door after us.

My guest took a shower, tested the television channels and left. He didn’t touch me during the ten minutes he was in the room. I wondered if the moralising crowd were still outside the hotel to greet him.

What a finger-pointing bunch of hypocrites.

—

I went to a gay bar. It was past midnight and the music was thundering. The DJ played 80s hits.
- Your second time here? asked the manager.
- Yes, I said.
- You were here in November, said the manager.
- Are you the owner or the manager? I asked.
- You asked me that last time too, said the manger.
I pretended to slap my face.
- Only manager, said the manager.

Five minutes later I sat at a table when the manager came by.
- You look bored, said the manager.
- I was watching a cute boy dance. But he stopped now.
- Cute boy? You like boys? There I blew my chances!
- Some like boys and some like men, I said diplomatically.

The manager was nice but as a chubby Chinese almost my own age he didn’t qualify in the “boy” category. But he recovered quickly from this rejection. Actually he recovered too quickly. I had not expected a wailing scene a la Middle East funerals but he could have blinked. Or excused himself in the bathroom for a couple of minutes. Or at least looked heartbroken.

I had my sights on Fashion Boy. Why do I always fall for the feminine young ones, the ones with the makeup, the faghags and the latest in clothes and accessories? Yes, why? Why is the sky blue? Why is water wet?

I greeted Fashion Boy with a nod and a thumbs up. After a while he came over to me to pose and strut his butt at me. I appreciated this and introduced myself to him. But alas, I knew his type. He was one of those who wanted to be admired and nothing more. He surrounded himself with two faghags at all times. He talked to the faghags, danced with the faghags, and the faghags helped him with his makeup, which he ran to the bathroom every 20 minutes to adjust.

Fashion Boy was a serious young Chinese. His fashion outfit included a jacket with a hood, hip-hop style. The hood had to cover his hat, which was of plastic with stardust on it. It was hot wearing this and he lifted his shirt in front of a fan to cool himself and so I could get a better view. His body was perfect.

Fashion Boy discussed me with his faghags, who sent curious looks in my direction. At least they didn’t send me How Dare You, You Dirty Old Pig.

- Is this one a good boy? I asked the manager.
- Sometimes good, sometimes bad, said the manager and grinned.
Fashion Boy gave the manager a bitchy grimace in return.

I had to beat a “bumi” guy away. He was nice but too old. Do I look like I am into the 30+ group? Another Chinese tried his luck. He was younger but not my type. I had to reject him too.

A group of Malay boys did dance moves to “In The Navy”. They must have seen the original Village People video.
- Which one of them do you want? asked a man. - They don’t speak much English but I can hook them up with you.
- Only one? I asked.
The man translated this to the candidates, who shook their heads.
- If more than one they are too shy, said the man.

I bought drinks. The manager and I called each other “darling” and “dear”. I punched his behind. He grabbed my front.

Half a dozen ladyboys in outrageous outfits arrived.
- Do you want service? asked one of them.
- How much is service? I asked.
- 350 ringit.
- That’s a lot!
- How much you want to pay?
- Never mind, I was just wondering.

- See that blonde ladyboy? asked the manger.
- Yes?
- She was here a couple of times as a boy. This is the first time she is here as a girl.
- She is… umm… dramatic, I said.
- What do you call someone who doesn’t look good as a male and doesn’t look good as a female either? asked the manager.
- A complete disaster?

Disaster or not, the blonde went over to Fashion Boy and pressed her body against his. Then, in a movement of high drama, she leaned down and kissed the white table. She left a large print of pink lipstick.

I didn’t want to give Fashion Boy the pleasure of rejecting me, so I never asked him. I just said goodbye when I left. He waved. Darn youngsters, who do they think they are?

It was 4 am. One of Fashion Boy’s faghags sat outside on the stairs with one of the gay boy waiters. I said hello as I walked past them.
- F**k me! shouted the girl. She was a pretty Chinese girl, short and barely legal.
- Sorry? I asked.
- I want you to f**k me! said the girl.
- For free?
- Yes.
- Ah, well, I saw you dance in the club, up on the platform, I said.
I was distracted as one of the boys from the club, wearing a tight t-shirt, came by.
- I like your body, said the girl and looked down to the middle part of my body.
- I will go home now, I said.
- I can s**k you.
- Good night, I said.
- Bye, said the girl.
- Bye, I said.
- F**k me… shouted the girl again, but the gay boy put his hand over her mouth.

–

I saw my “friend” the moneyboy with the bad breath standing on a street corner in typical rent boy position. His face lit up when he saw me. I explained I was going to the 7-Eleven for snacks. He did not try to follow me.