Gay Boy Thailand

I am back in the Big City. I had my fill of relatives and country scenes.

When trying to find the car rental place to return the car I took a wrong turn and ended up on the road to suburbia. Ah, suburbia, my former home. I decided to go to my old street and look.

The guy that bought my apartment had kept my balcony plants. They were just as when I left four years ago, except more wild-growing.

I saw this when passing by in the car. Nothing about this place said “ring the doorbell and come in for a cup of tea”, neither with the neighbours nor with the new owner of my apartment.

Then the shopping centre and the bus stop. I saw a man walking his dog, I saw kids on bikes with regulation helmets, I saw a goth teenage girl with heavy makeup. Nothing had changed. It was if I still lived in suburbia. Yes, I could feel it. Due to a fluctuation in Einstein’s space-time I was now in a parallel universe where I had never moved to Thailand, and never met Chalerm, I was still living here, feeling miserable, my only entertainment ogling cute but unavailable boys in the neighbourhood.

Oh dread. Oh painful longing. How could I stand the suburb and the boredom for so long? It was like an endurance test in social, emotional and sexual deprivation.

I had my little projects though. I had a crush for several years on Mr. Teaser, the gay boy who thought that he could wear red fingernails and makeup and still everyone would think he was straight. And so they did - or at least they said so to his face.

I found Teaser to be incredibly cute the first time I saw him walk down the street. And I saw him again, and again, which proved that he lived nearby. Bliss was to sit next to him on the bus, with Mr. Teaser seemingly an indifferent youth who was listening to music on his player, looking out the window and taking no notice of me.

But he did notice me. He was an expert in using window reflections and his side vision to look without looking, to follow me without revealing himself. And when he sank into the bus seat, spreading his legs and his fashionable baggy pants, he might have done this to hide an erection.

2

I realised he was showing off. He was strutting, flirting, seducing. It was in his body language one day when I was right behind him when we both left the bus at the same time. Nobody else were around and I wish I had the courage to speak to him. But speak to him about what? Hello gorgeous, you are so cute I want to shag you right now if you don’t mind?

I watched his body. He had a white t-shirt, a tight one, it enhanced his body and made the bare skin on his arms and neck look good. I watched his movements. His hips were well-oiled. He walked with the grace and agility of a self-confident gay youth.

I followed him for a block but from a distance. I didn’t want to bother him or scare him. He went around a corner and was gone from the street. Where did he go?

I went home obsessing about him. What could I do? I called up a friend who shares my taste.

- Chat him up, said my friend on the phone.

- Chat him up about what?

- Anything.

- Maybe I should say I want to get to know him.

- No, you can’t say that. It’s too obvious. You must keep it vage. Remember, never say anything compromising. Don’t reveal your motives in a way someone else can quote or tell others about. Or do you want to be known as the Dirty Old Man of your neighbourhood?

- I could live with that if only I got laid.

- If you get a reputation they will all avoid you. Speak to him about something neutral. Smile. But don’t spill the beans.

- I am nervous. I can’t think of anything to say. And smiling is the last thing I will feel like doing. I will be a major jerk class A idiot trying to chat up a young pretty thing like him in public.

- Yes. But if you don’t you will never get anywhere. He is not going to take the initiative, is he?

I knew my friend was right. Mr. Teaser was not going to take any initiative. He would expect me to do the opening if he was interested, and I could not be sure if he was or not.

I tried to imagine the worst thing that could happen. OK. I speak to the pretty boy and make a complete fool of myself, stuttering, my face turning red, leaving him to think I am a weirdo sicko, and then he tells everyone else and avoids me for life. How about that? Yes, that could be a realistic worst case.

I noticed Mr. Teaser went to the city in the afternoon and came back at night. He was often on the last bus from town. It was summer holiday and few people on the bus. Once it was only the driver, Mr. Teaser and I on the bus. I kicked myself for not sitting down next to him, but it would have been unusual to do that in an empty bus. I knew Ihad to prepare better. I had to come up with a plan.

3

I would never sink as low as to be on the last bus from town just because I hoped a boy I had a crush on would be on it too. That would be pathetic. Go downtown and back just hoping to see him? What kind of desperate behaviour, worthy of a lovestruck teenage girl, would that be?

So of course I was on the last bus for a very good reason, an excellent reason it was, and completely unrelated to Mr. Teaser. And he was there too, sitting a couple of seats ahead of me. This was my moment. He saw me and he put on his headphones. I noticed his home decorated handbag. How gay.

The bus took off. I should walk over to him and sit down on the seat next to him. There were few others on the bus. Nobody would think it was unusual. Maybe they thought I knew the boy. I could be his teacher. Or (blush) his father. But I hesitated. What if one of his buddies came on and saw me sitting there with Mr. Teaser? That would be awkward. Better wait a bit. And wait some more.

With only three stops and two minutes left I finally got up and moved over to the boy.

- Is this seat taken? I asked.

What a stupid question. He didn’t reply, he just gave me a side glance and kept listening to the music.

I gave him the l the paper note I had prepared. It had my phone number on it. Mr. Teaser took the headphones out of his ears and said in an uneasy voice:

- What is this about?

- Just my number, I said. - Have you modelled before?

- Are you a photographer? asked the boy, more interested now.

- It is my hobby, I said. - I am looking for someone to model for me. You look like you could do it.

The boy was flattered. He asked if I knew his workplace, a cafe in the city. He was a waiter there. The place, I later learned, was a leftie-greenie alternative cafe where local radicals plotted world revolution and the downfall of capitalism.

The two minutes were up. My stop was before his and I said good night to the boy. He smiled and wished me a good night too.

I got off the bus in a good mood. I had broken the barrier and spoken to him. The sky had not fallen and now he had my phone number. When would he call?

But as I soon was to discover this was the best part. Next came trouble. Stupid, avoidable trouble that I still could do nothing about.

4

I waited a couple of days before getting on the midnight bus again. When I boarded it downtown the Teaser was there, cute as ever. He was with a group of friends so I repressed my urge to walk over to him. Instead I sat down two rows ahead of him, on the other side of the isle. It was far enough not to be noticable, yet close enough to watch what was going on.
I had brought my camera gear and a tripon on the bus. Not that I had been taking any pictures, I was just following up my conversation with the boy. Showing off a pro-looking camera would strenghten my case with him, I thought.

Teaser sat by himself, with his feet tucked up under him, looking in my direction while talking to others behind him. I could hear everything they said. Teaser lowered his voice and I understood he was talking about me. He and his friends lowered their voices only when they said something they thought I would pick up was about me. This was not enough. Dropping a word here and there, or asking a question quietly while the answer was spoken in a normal voice made it easy to fill in the gaps.

- See that guy over there, said Teaser.

- What about him, said the friend, a dark Latino-looking boy.

- Yesterday he asked me if I would model for him.

- Is he a photographer?

- Yes. See the gear he has?

- Why did he ask YOU? Is he a f… homo? asked the Latino in an angry voice.

- Uh? He didn’t say anything about that, replied the Teaser, taken by surprise.

- I would beat him until he said he wasn’t a f… homo, said the Latino.

- Why would you do that? said the Teaser, turning pale. He sounded shocked.

The boys stopped talking. A girl sitting across the isle sensed the tension and asked Teaser: - What is wrong?

Nobody said anything. The gay boy looked ill at ease.

I had not turned or in any way signalled that I followed their conversation. Filling in the missing silently spoken words like “homo” was easy. For a second I considered raising up, turning to them and saying “Yes, I am a f… homo. And so what?”

But I didn’t do that. Partly this event had taken me by surprise, unfolding at high speed just as I had only seconds left to my bus stop. Partly my concern was that I should not do anything to put Teaser, the obvious little queeny boy, in a worse position. So I pretended I had heard nothing and seen nothing as I got up and left the bus in front of the tense group of youths on the bus. I didn’t even look at them as I carried my camera gear out.

As the bus drove off I saw they had started taking again, with Teaser rising up in his seat while saying something to the girl.

I went home wondering how my plot could go so wrong so quickly.

5

Next time I saw the boy of my desire was a Saturday night. A crowd of people were waiting for the bus at night and he was in it. The bad news was that the Latino gay basher was there too.

I went near the boys, but not too near, and pretended to mind my own business. Teaser was aware I was there. He came closer, showing off, shaking his butt at me. Yes, he really did that. One should think fem gay boys attend classes in strutting, butt-posing and glancing over their shoulders as it is the same the world over, from Farangland to Thailand. I guess it is built into them.

I tried not to stare or drool too obviously. But a nasty look from the Latino boy told me that he had noticed how I admired his friend. The Latino said something into the ear of Teaser, and the two went up the street a little. Teaser led his Latino friend away as if he was a kindergarden teacher separating kids who would fight if they were together.

So Teaser was trying to keep everyone happy. I guessed the Latino had said something bad about me again, and Teaser’s response was to smooth things over. Teaser had obviously not come out with his friend. He had taken the Latino’s gay-hate talk without standing up to it.

The friendship between the beautiful gay Teaser and his crude Latino friend was mysterious. Teaser was intelligent and well-spoken. He was an intellectual in the making and loved to discuss things, often with an greenie-leftie angle. The Latino was not the brightest. Teaser was better off and seemed destined for higher education and a brainy or artistic career.

The two boys were so different that I guessed their friendship had lasted from childhood. They were neigbours and probably grew up together. They were of the same age and must have attended school together, being playmates. There was something caring in the way Teaser pulled his friend out of trouble, as if he knew all about the Latino’s attitudes and temper but valued his friend and chose to gently manage him instead of telling him to get lost.

I could imagine the two as kids, the Latino hard-hitting but ignorant, and Teaser a fragile but smart girlie boy who needed the protection of the Latino.

He is jealous, I thought. The Latino is jealous! There was more to his outbursts than plain old gay bashing. The intensity of it had another source as well. The Latino was possessive about his friend. I don’t think there was ever anything sexual between them. I can’t imagine that. But the roles the two played suggested the Latino saw Teaser as his quasi-girlfriend, as someone pretty and nice who was his.

Not that the Latino would ever admit such an aspect to his friendhip with Teaser, or even be capable of formulating this in his mind. But I saw it. Teaser and the Latino had a couple-like friendship going back a long time, and the Latino became agressive when I appeared on the scene.

How ironic. The macho homo-hating Latino had a friendship with Teaser with homo-erotic undertones.

There is nothing like denial to fuel someone’s hate. I had stepped on the Latino’s denial by accidendent. It was implied in his talk that he had no idea Teaser was gay. How could he never had suspected that? Anyone with half a gaydar, or with reasonable social intelligence, would at least wonder about a boy like Teaser. Just Teaser’s cute un-manly voice was enough to give him away when I listened in on his discussions with others in public.

A few days later, again on the bus, I was delighted to see Teaser sit alone near the back of the bus. I went over to sit next to him. But as I approached him a slight shift in his body language made me hesitate. I sensed he didn’t want me to join him. He said nothing and I said nothing. I really wanted to talk to him again. But something held me back, and as a compromise I sat down in the seat in front of him instead.

The reason for Teaser’s stay-away signals became clear half a minute later. The Latino boarded the bus and sat down in the seat Teaser had held for him.

This darn Latino. Why did he always show up at the worst possible moment? I was tired of him. Give me five minutes alone with Teaser, is that too much too ask?

The two boys were chatting behind me. I was in the seat directly in front of the Latino, slightly to the side of Teaser, who had the window seat. I looked discreetly at Teaser. He was extra good looking that day, having had his hair done. He wore light makeup. The makeup was not noticable as such but his skin imperfections were gone and his nose and cheekbones looked better. It was makeup well done.

I wanted to flirt with Teaser. He was irresistable. When I looked at him he looked back at me in the reflection from the bus window, supressing a smile. He had the glow of youth and that sunny self-confidence which comes from undeniable good looks.

I decided I would pretend the Latino wasn’t there.

6

I turned to look at Teaser. He did not make eye contact but looked straight ahead. I smiled at him. Again Teaser did not respond, but I could tell he liked to be admired. He lifted his head ever so little, as if to give me a better look, and all of him seemed to get a boost of self-confidence from my attention.

I turned and smiled at Teaser two more times during our 20 minute bus ride. I did not look at the Latino, who was giving off negative signals but who didn’t dare say anything now that I was so close.

That was all. A bit of smiling on the bus. But the next day the Latino wanted revenge.

The Latino was in the company of three other boys, again on the bus. I recognised the others as members of the same circle that Teaser belonged to. Teaser was not there. As usual I sat in front of them, within hearing range, and as usual they thought I was not capable of filling in the missing words when they whispered.

- Do you want to know who is gay? asked the Latino.

- Actually I am not very interested, said the boy who sat next to him, a guy with bleached hair and a goatee.

- That man over there, said the Latino, nodding in my direction.

- How do you know?

- He gave Teaser flirty smiles on the bus yesterday.

- Really?

- And he asked Teaser to model for him.

- Well, that might be a pickup trick, said the boy with the goatee.

The boys fell silent. The Latino had not succeeded in making a scandal by outing me. The others were neither shocked nor terribly curious about it. But there was something awkward about their silence. Something unspoken was in the air. I knew what it was.

So this man on the bus had been flirting with Teaser? the boys thought. Teaser, the guy with the red fingernails and all the female friends he kept hugging but not shagging?

This is what they thought but did not say. And this was the Latino boy’s blind spot. The others could see that a man trying to pick up Teaser was part of a logical chain of events, something that, when it happened, they could see had been coming for years. Teaser had grown up as a pretty sissy boy and his friends had made their guesses about what his sexual orientation might be. If Teaser was involved in a gay flirth they were not surprised.

Sure it was pickup trick. But it was also a serious offer. If I could not get Teaser in my bed getting him in front of a camera would also make my day. I had planned the location, a small park near where we both lived. He could pose in front of a wall with grafitti to look cool, and sit on a white bench under a tree to look sweet. I did not intend to bring him home. I would take the photos in public and give him copies later. Then, if he was interested in seeing me again, I could suggest he came to visit me.

This was the plan. It was a good plan I thought, but the Latino was trying to screw it up.

Teaser had my phone number and I waited for him to call. Someone called two or three times and hung up without speaking. I traced the number to an adress near Teaser’s bus stop. But I didn’t know his family name or exactly where he lived, so I could not be sure if it was him or not. I had to wait and see if he would contact me.

7

The boy never called. I waited and waited and hoped and hoped, but he never called. I was obsessed with him, making him the prince in my daydreams. But he never took any initiative, on the phone or when I saw him in person.

I wondered if I could have done something different or better. But I don’t know. I had to take my chances. One can only try and see what happens. Chatting him up was always a long shot, an enterprise with modest chances of success but with the risk of getting eggs all over my face.

The fuss with the Latino was impossible to predict. Or rather – I knew some kind of anti-gay reaction was possible, either from Teaser himself or from other people around him. I had hoped he would have the good sense to keep the first conversation we had to himself. But he was young and excitable and had to share the news. He had not seen my ulterior motives or the implications – which the Latino spotted right away.

But I kept running into Teaser. An understanding developed between us. He realised that I fancied him, and he didn’t mind. He realised that I was gay and that I understood that he was too. He trusted me not to say or do anything compromising in front of his friends, and I never did.

Teaser earned his nickname by continuing to flirt with me. He was a tease. For years we played this game, in particular on the bus. I was the admirer and he was the admired. Our speciality was crowd flirting. He looked in the corner of his eye to see if I was behind him, breathing down his neck in the line waiting to enter the bus. And when I was there he became more energetic and strutted and showed off a bit, always enjoying the attention even as he was talking to someone else. If I avoided him he would look around, wondering where I had gone. I was supposed to be two steps behind him as his private but secret cheerleader.

I never touched Teaser. After the initial trouble with the gay-bashing Latino I became extra careful. With other gay boys on the bus or in the neighbourhood, others that gave me flirty signals, I could “accidentally” touch their butts when walking past them, or bump into them from the side, or let my arm stroke theirs. They in turn could respond by putting their hands briefly on my leg, or by doing some other discreet but significant manoeuvre to indicate they appreciated the effort. This was harmless fun and something that cheered me up. But it did not happen often, and with Teaser never at all.

Should I have any regrets? Nothing came out of my campaign to seduce Teaser. I never dated him. I only spoke to him once more, again on the bus, at a time when the only available seat was next to him. He was friendly and we did some neutral chatting. He turned to check if any of his friends were listening from the back of the bus, but none of them were there. Even so, when I was about to leave I received a suspicious look from an older man who sat in front of me. It takes one to know one, so he was probably just envious I was talking to the boy.

The last time I saw Teaser was the week before I moved to Thailand. He was in a shopping centre, alone, going up an escalator. He had seemed to go through a personal crisis for a while. He was often in a bad mood. He started smoking and became thin. He grew his hair longer and messier.

Once I saw him and the Latino on a double date – with girls. A busty blonde, dressed like one of the radical people he spent time with in the cafe, kissed Teaser on the lips.

Was he not gay after all? Please. Maybe the girl was an alibi. Maybe he was still confused and hoping to be at least bisexual, as I did when I was his age, but I don’t think he could fool anyone for long.

The Teaser affair was a failure, but it was still a step forward for me. It was the first time I had used my gaydar to spot someone. Earlier I had relied on gay bars and other safe places. It was also the first time I had the courage to chat up a stranger in public with gay intentions. From that perspective it went well. Nobody formed a basher gang to beat me up. The Latino may have wanted to, but he received no support from others and he was too cowardly to confront me alone. Nobody called me names, at least not to my face. The rumour about my sexuality did not spread like wildfire in suburbia. Again the Latino may have wished it did, but the gossip died from lack of interest. Nobody cared. Nobody called me a dirty old man, and nobody made allegations that I was up to something illegal. And I wasn’t – Teaser was a couple of years above the age limit when I first spoke to him. He was legal and bonkable, but I was not his type. I guess I was too old for him. And Teaser was the sincere serious sort who was unlikely to go for a one-night stand just for the fun of it.

Teaser, the object of my advances, did not mind what I did. Actually I think getting cruised by a man was a step forward for him too, even if he wasn’t interested in me.

Where is he now? I haven’t seen him since I moved to Thailand. By coincidence I wrote the first four chapters of this story in Teaser’s old café in Farangland. Or rather, the café is gone and replaced by a modern apartment building, and I happened to stay in it earlier this month. Was this a sign from the gods that I should not forget Teaser? Hardly. It was a sign that the rads had rented space for their café in a cheap old building marked for demolition.

My guess is that Teaser has moved out of town, maybe even out of the country. He was international in his outlook and he wanted to save the planet. He wanted to do good. I imagine he is in the 3rd world somewhere, saving the rain forest by hugging one tree at a time.