Sleepless in Krung Thep
After two massages earlier in the day and a failed attempt at a nap, I ordered room service for dinner at the Tarntawan and then was off to Soi Twilight to down a couple of brandies to quell the rising discontent in my stomach. I love the Tarntawan for many reasons, but the food is definitely not one of them.
At 20:30 I approached HotMale. The guy standing out front said they don’t open until 9:00, but anyway I should go on up and look at the boys. Seems a good idea so I do. Some very beefy boys are practicing some dance. The electrician is doing things with the lighting. Some boys are lounging around. The mamasan and a waiter greet me and I get my nam soda. So far, the fully clothed electrician is the sexiest guy in sight.
Eventually the song from Star Wars, or whatever it is, blares forth and all the boys assemble on stage for roll call. Apparently it’s senior night at HotMale. I don’t mean to sound cruel, but I think a couple of those guys must be doing the gogo thing to supplement their pensions. There were a few interesting guys, especially if you’re into beef, but I began a futile search for the electrician. The only guy on stage who had some potential never made eye contact and seemed rather dejected by something. Not very encouraging. I wonder if electricians are offable.
Next to The Boys (of Bangkok). Not much caught my attention there, but there was one guy on the opposite side of the stage, with his back to me initially, who stood out. Slim, somewhat small is stature, brown, nice build but not overly muscular. Although he was a fair distance from me and I wasn’t pointedly staring at him, he seemed to pick up on my interest and when it was his turn to exit the stage, he didn’t. I generally like someone to make eye-contact so you can read his reactions & attitude and I like a bit of cockiness. He passed those tests and I waved him over. No hesitancy on his part.
I’ll call him Mr. J… Mr. J is an Isaan-ite, very affectionate, very masculine, no spring chicken but not ancient and when he got dressed in a dark knit crewneck pullover and black trousers, quite handsome. No blue jeans riding half-way down his butt or enormous belt buckles or exotic, gelled hairdo.
Back in the room he was naked by the time I closed the door and his very smokable appendage was already ¾ erect. He plunked down two condoms on the table and went off to the shower. Mr. J obviously believed in safe sex, which was comforting to know.
All went exceedingly well. Some guys can be quite sexy and others very affectionate, but the qualities don’t always coexist. Mr. J had them both.
After completing round one, I figured we’d have a drink, watch a little TV and then contemplate a repeat performance. Mr. J, however, felt no need for a half-time break and never lost momentum or his erection. Ah, youth.
It finally came time to call in a defibrillator for me and for Mr. J to do young & energetic night time things on his own. Of course, as is expected, he insisted that we exchange phone numbers, vowed, not for the first time, that he loved me and wanted to know when I’d be back. Then before departing he reminded me once again that he loved me. Kind thoughts even if relatively meaningless. I contemplated a quick visit to Tawan, but decided since it was past 11:00, I’d watch some TV and call it a day.
04:15 The bloody alarm went off. I tried jabbing randomly at the control panel, managing to turn off the A/C and turn on every light in the room in the process, but the alarm continued bleating until I got up, found my glasses and hit the correct button. I never remember to check that the damn alarm clock is switched off and inevitably someone has left it on… and invariably that someone set the alarm at an ungodly hour. I turned off the lights and eventually started to doze off. BUT …
05:15 mobile phone rings. Surprise, surprise, it’s Mr. J calling to check that he has the right number for my phone and to tell me he loves me. I toss & turn and once again start to doze off. BUT …
06:05 mobile rings. By an amazing coincidence, Mr. J has found himself in the neighborhood of my hotel and …
So I agree it would ne nice to see him again before leaving for Pattaya.
06:10 reception calls to announce that my friend, Mr. J, is here.
Moments later I open the door to two remarkably similar boys. Mr. J’s companion explains that Mr. J doesn’t speak English very well, so he’s come along to translate.
Whisper, whisper. “Mr. J says he loves you.” Well at last that’s finally been clarified. Mr. J and his translator take off their clothes, apparently to facilitate further communication, and I am presented with two brown, lean, smooth bodies with very smoke-able accoutrements. Despite having shot two impressive loads earlier and consuming some beer in the interim, Mr. J once again rises to the occasion and his translator, who turns out to be multi-talented, sets about smoking me … unbidden, but not unappreciated. Who needs sleep?
More assurances of everlasting love and Mr. J wants to know when I’ll come back to Bangkok. I say in Thai “baang-tii saam atit,” and the translator tells Mr. J, in English, “maybe three weeks.” What would one do without the luxury of real-time translation?
Finally the exit of two examples of why living in Thailand will never cease to amaze and delight. Somehow retiring to a trailer park in Sarasota, Florida would seem a trifle dull in comparison.
I then headed downstairs to deal with the dreaded Tarntawan breakfast. I swear they deep fry the bacon, amongst other horrors, but I figured you can’t go wrong with khao dtum gai and even they wouldn’t be able to make that greasy. Wrong again, on both counts.
Despite all that is continually available in Pattaya, a visit to Bangkok at least once a month is decidedly worthwhile …quite possibly therapeutic… and no two visits are quite the same.
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