Authors: Chai Pinit
I encountered one sexually uninhibited black woman whom I shall never forget. She was extremely beautiful, with dark smooth skin, almond eyes, and a tall, lean, muscular body. She wasn’t timid at all, and bought me and a gay co-worker for a night of fun and games. It was an orgiastic event that found us woven together in as many positions as can be imagined. Finally she pleasured my co-worker orally while I penetrated her from behind. Her plumbing was rather roomy though, and I was unable to satisfy her with my penis alone, so I masturbated her clitoris while simultaneously satisfying myself inside her. She was a constant stream of energy and excitement and came to a roaring climax, writhing and screaming uncontrollably, the likes of which I’d never seen in anyone before or since. The sheets were soaked with her juices and both us boys were exhausted.
When a white woman looked as if she might purchase me, I became particularly excited and had to remind myself not to appear too giddy in case I blew my chances. While making love, I liked assuring them of their beauty which always seemed to be appreciated. I often fantasised of having a child together and even told them as much; though this never went over as well as the comments on their good looks.
The funny thing is, we Thais used to consider Eurasian children to be
kaya songkhram
, or ‘war trash’—in other words, they were the leftovers from Western soldiers after they had pulled out of the Vietnam War. Over the years, attitudes have changed, and it’s now considered ‘fashionable’ to have a mixed child. Many
luk khruengs
, or ‘half-half children’, have succeeded in show business or modelling because of their exotic looks. Black-Thai children used to be subjected to great ridicule, especially if they didn’t know who their GI fathers were, but, a decade or so after the war, when they became teenagers, all that changed. The Sports Authority of Thailand began head-hunting these same children, grooming them to become sports stars because they had stronger bodies and greater stamina.
Sleeping with white women also served as a soothing balm to my fractured ego. I adored the fact that they took charge about what they wanted from me. Unlike female Thai clients, I found white women daring and uninhibited. I recently read a survey which claimed that 70% of Thai women have never had an orgasm. This statistic was attributed to the fact that Thai men are purportedly the world’s least satisfying lovers. I can’t help but wonder why these women didn’t go ahead and please themselves if their men were incapable of doing so. Or at the very least demonstrate to their lovers what they like in bed? In my opinion, they have no one to blame but themselves.
The boys take to the stage at 8.30pm, dancing for the first hour and a half before the sex shows begin. These shows include all sorts of complicated acrobatic moves—which involved our bouncing on top of one another while twisting and turning and penetrating each other. The performers are required to have great stamina and poise. In the past, go-go boys were required to reach orgasm and, moreover, to prove it; but this is no longer the case, although some bars still advertise ejaculation as a selling point to draw customers. On special occasions, the manager of go-go bars will host ladyboy or male beauty contests. These events always pull good crowds, especially amongst the bar boys themselves as well as among the gay and
kathoey
community.
From my own experience,
farang
bar owners are usually nicer to their boys than their Thai competitors. They don’t view their employees as mere machines to discard once broken down. A
farang
boss has been known to rent rooms for his boys after they became infected with HIV, in some cases even giving their wives and children allowances and covering medical expenses.
Over the past decade, a growing number of university students have turned to the sex industry to fund their studies. Some need money simply because their parents are unable to support them. Others turn to the sex industry because they feel pressured by peers to buy brand-name goods and expensive digital gadgets to earn face. Some women only sell themselves so they can purchase handbags and designer clothes in order to look attractive and hopefully get the attention of a long-term lover or patron.
One of the main reasons for male students’ selling their bodies is that they’ve incurred huge debts from gambling on European football matches. This kind of gambling is done through an agent called
a to
, meaning ‘a table’. The bets are placed over a mobile phone or on the Internet so that the police can’t track them. If the students lose, they’re obliged to cough up the money fast or else face the wrath of hired thugs who tend to balance the books in their own unique manner. Therefore, the easiest way of making quick money is simply by putting their family jewels up for sale. Most working boys in bars—be they straight, gay or
kathoey
—generally get along. There are some nasty fistfights in gay town from time to time, but the catfights amongst the girls of Patpong are more frequent. It’s hard to gauge what percentage of go-go boys in Soi Twilight are straight, gay, or bisexual. I know of one bar that claims to hire only straight men, yet I’ve seen many of the bar’s clients walking out with petite, gay boys.
In my experience, straight men seem to be bolder and less inhibited about taking their underwear off or fondling their privates on stage. Ironically, gay and
kathoey
go-go boys are more reserved in this regard. I’ve always identified myself as straight both inside and outside of the workplace. I’ve experienced rare moments of joy during my time working in the sex industry but mostly, it’s not exactly been fun. I don’t know how gay and
kathoey
co-workers feel about their job—nobody wants to admit that they hate their careers and thus that they’re living a lie. The one difference between me and my gay/
kathoey
counterparts is that they can be optimistic about the possibility of finding a long-term client or even developing a relationship beyond that of punter and prostitute.
Some bars divide their boys into two groups according to the perceived tastes of Western and Asian gay clients.
Farangs
generally go for well-built dark-skinned boys, while Asians prefer the slim and lighter-complexioned kind. However, there’s no single formula when it comes to the rules of attraction.
These days, there’s less stigma associated with being a sex worker than in the past. Success and wealth are highly regarded by family and friends, wherever the source of it may be. In rural areas, parents will brag about the amount of money their children send home each month. Competition amongst neighbouring families can be fierce.
These same parents prefer not to acknowledge that their sons and daughters sell their bodies to finance a new TV or motorcycle. They pretend their offspring work in nice offices or fancy restaurants. It’s as if money absolves one of all sins, wiping the slate clean of any indecencies committed in the acquisition of it. It’s hard to eradicate this type of thinking when poverty is widespread and wealth is the only means of garnering respect. Suddenly, neighbours are eager to socialise with the nouveau riche, being no longer considered destitute village vermin. Of course, not all villagers have such a mindset, but it is still the mindset that is most prevalent. I admire those who succeed in resisting this way of thinking though, and put the welfare of their children above any materialistic outlook. However, trading a child for wealth and benefits is something that’s not only carried out by the poor. Many marriages among the elite in high society are arranged on the premise that such unions would be good for the family name and/or future business success; in my opinion, it’s merely a higher and classier form of prostitution.
It is considered shameful to return to one’s village with no evidence suggesting one has gone from rags to riches. The first question on everyone’s lips is, ‘How much money do you make in Bangkok?’ If your answer is hundreds of thousand of baht per year you’ll be praised. If you divulge that you’re making next to nothing or worse yet, are unemployed, they’ll likely walk away uninterested. Some factory workers dread going home because fellow villagers expect them to throw lavish celebrations, showering them with gifts. Those who do return to their families during annual festivals often find themselves incurring debt while trying to maintain face with their greedy neighbours.
I’m not saying that selling one’s body is the worst career in the world—it’s my body after all and I’m free to do whatever I want with it. All workplaces have pros and cons, and dos and don’ts; the go-go bars are no exception.
Mama-sans
act as the middlemen: they greet clients at the door, escort them to their seats, sit with them, make small talk, and then help choose a boy who best fits their ‘spec’. I quickly learned that it was important to maintain good relationships with
Mama-sans
; otherwise they’ll recommend the boys they favour most over you. Worse yet, they may badmouth you, rendering you unsaleable. Working in the industry exposes one to copious amounts of alcohol, gambling, and drugs, and it is hard to resist these temptations. There are three golden rules that every go-go boy must abide by on a bar’s premises—no gambling; obedience to the boss; and no drug taking. Yet drugs are freely available and addiction is rife—with some boys even dying or losing their minds in the process. Sadly, many former go-go boys resort to small-time theft when they can’t sell themselves.
I strongly recommend that sex tourists not employ the services of streetwalkers, as the chances of being drugged and robbed, or worse, are considerably high. Downtown Bangkok is home to ladyboys who are famous for their snatch-and-run and undetectable pickpocket tactics.
Staying in this industry too long, however, can easily make one resent having to work for ‘clean’ money. Not that what we do doesn’t count as work—it certainly does—however, most go-go boys wouldn’t be able to tolerate a nine-to-five job with a boss constantly breathing down their necks, especially after living what they consider to be a free life. Like me, many go-go boys squander their money and before they know it, their lifestyle has chewed them up and spat them out. As you mature, even if you can master your money, you can’t find work very easily to earn it. A younger generation of go-go boys are nipping at your heels and taking first pick of the clients. The attractive, successful boys usually disappear from the soi pretty quickly – they usually secure a lifelong patron who buys them a house, or they start a business with their generous earnings. Some of my former co-workers became bar managers while others had real business acumen and ended up owning bars.
In my opinion, aging
farang
men forming relationships with younger Thai partners is a grey area. I don’t feel that one party is taking advantage of the other. The older partners are seeking a lover or companionship and the younger ones are desperate for money in order to better their lives. So all in all, both parties benefit from the relationship.
Sadly, there is a very dark side to sex work. A number of bar workers are HIV positive and yet they continue to work. Although bars usually require their dancers to undergo monthly health checks, many cases slip through undetected. You take a huge risk every time you sleep with a working boy or girl. Also, the age of those getting infected is constantly dropping. They might look young and healthy, but some may not even know they’re infected, while others do and yet choose to continue working. Many of my co-workers have died from AIDS, having once been good-looking men with muscular bodies; but the disease ravaged them and reduced them to emaciated, stinking cadavers. Many died alone, rejected by their families. These were the very same families the dancers had built houses or bought cars for, and fed and clothed for years.
I firmly believe there is nothing wrong with the sex-for-sale business if all parties involved are consenting. I’m very much in favour of decriminalising prostitution and offering participants protection by the law. If a male sex worker is raped or abused we have a harder time than our female counterparts in getting assistance from healthcare providers or the authorities. In fact, for the most part, we don’t even bother making a police report because we know it’ll be a waste of time and energy—not to mention completely humiliating.
CHAPTER 14
When the going got tough, Sao’s true colours came to light and I realised, much to my own detriment, that she was bad-tempered and ill-mannered. Her childhood was beset by poverty and abuse, which forced her as a teenager to work in Patpong. During the years she should’ve been completing secondary school, she sold her body and became a regular girl for a prominent businessman. She quickly took up drinking and drugs in the hope of numbing the ordeal of having her body pawed by strangers. She was especially fond of a drug known locally as
met mao
, or ‘drunken pill’. When under its spell she felt no pain, so she’d pick up a blade or shard of glass and slice open her wrists and arms. Her body still bears testament to the number of times she spent harming herself in these trance-like states. Together, Sao and I occasionally used
ya ba,
which we smoked for the high aphrodisiac effect before we had sex. Thankfully, I never took it on a regular basis.
Sao’s jealousy was overwrought, but I could have lived with this side of her personality—her hypocrisy disturbed me the most. She wasn’t one for practising what she preached. She forbade me to drink and gamble while she would drunkenly gallivant off into the night with her male companions.
‘You can’t handle drink like I can. You have a weak spine,’ she reasoned.
If Sao noticed that I so much as glanced at another woman she’d slap my face. One night a Japanese woman offered to buy me for 1,500 baht, but Sao wouldn’t hear of it. She obnoxiously hurled profanities at the poor woman, sending her running in tears. It was ironic that in the past I’d been the violent and abusive partner. The boomerang of my previous actions had returned to me in the form of the supposedly ‘fairer’ sex.
Sao openly flirted with my male acquaintances as if to humiliate me. I continually reminded her, ‘Marriage license or not, you are my woman and should treat me with the respect I deserve!’ When confronted, she laughed in my face, retorting, ‘These men are only good friends!’ Good friends indeed. What woman would sit in her male friend’s lap, pecking and hugging him in front of her boyfriend? Rumours trickled back that Sao was sleeping with other men behind my back. I was livid; I imagined her lovers laughing at me for being nothing more than putty in her hands.
I knew I was liable to hurt Sao if this continued—I needed to show her who was boss and if that meant resorting to violence then so be it. Luckily for her, fate intervened and Sao fell pregnant so I didn’t beat her. Despite the fact I wasn’t sure if the baby was mine, I was still happy. Given the fact I was trying my hand at ‘ghost guiding’—bringing customers to bars in exchange for commissions, I believed I was in a better position to raise a child. The only drawback was that the mother was violent and manipulative. I chose to ignore that fact, however, for I desperately wanted to raise a family to show I’d done something worthwhile with my life. I took great comfort in the prospect of my child taking care of me in my old age. I was terrified of dying alone and destitute, and believed this child would provide security and a chance to make amends for the life of the child I’d already taken, as well as the son I’d lost.
While I was happy, Sao found pregnancy very difficult. She became even more unstable, and dramatically flew off the handle at the slightest provocation. She threatened that if I ever touched alcohol she’d throw herself under a bus. While I stayed sober, she smoked and drank her way through the pregnancy. I worried that the baby might be born handicapped.
The birth of my second son was a much more sedate affair than that involving Chuan. I didn’t book a VIP room as I had neither the money nor the inclination to do so. Instead, Sao shared her room with several other new mothers. She treated what should’ve been a joyous event with an attitude that bordered on scorn. Our son Phot was born on 24 October 2006, without the fanfare he so deserved.
Ever the opportunist, Sao paraded Phot around her old workplaces in Patpong, collecting thousands of baht in gifts from her acquaintances. Sao wasn’t naturally inclined to be motherly, but certainly played the game to her advantage. In a way I was relieved she was no longer pregnant and I didn’t have to tread so softly. As soon as she was released from hospital, I went out to celebrate and heartily succumbed to the temptations of alcohol. But my behaviour was akin to a teenager rebelling against his strict mother. I reasoned that she’d be too busy minding the baby to have time to pounce on me for drinking.
I wasn’t surprised when Sao informed me that a female restaurant/pub owner was interested in adopting our newborn. Phot was an attractive, pleasant baby who liked to wave his arms around in the air, jabbing his little balled-up fists at invisible targets. All who saw him remarked that he was surely a boxer in the making. I was convinced he was the reincarnation of my departed father—a pugilist to the core.
Wanting the baby desperately, the restaurateur badgered Sao for an answer. Sao asked if I wanted to give Phot a better life and I replied yes, but not by abandoning him for others to rear. I closed the matter, telling her it wasn’t open for discussion.
One evening Sao went to visit friends. When she returned several hours later to find me drinking she became enraged. I tried to explain that I was a good provider in general and I deserved a treat on occasion—a well-worn excuse by now. There was no reasoning with Sao; she took Phot in her arms and stormed out.
I thought she was being a drama queen and would be back before long, but I didn’t lay eyes on her for several weeks. My acquaintances divulged that she was telling people I was an irresponsible drunkard and she wanted nothing to do with me.
When I finally met her she matter-of-factly informed me, ‘I’ve given Phot to the restaurateur. Your signature is needed on the adoption papers. They’re waiting for you at a horse ranch in Khorat. Please go.’
It turned out, however, that Phot hadn’t been adopted by the female restaurateur after all; she had instead brokered the deal for her brother and his wife. It later came to light that Sao had already given away two other children before Phot: a daughter she had with a Thai-African man and another son. Both were adopted by two bar owners in Pattaya. I suspected Sao made a substantial profit by selling our son to the wealthy ranch owners.
I was distraught over the loss of yet another child. Sao tried to offer comfort by assuring me, ‘We did Phot a favour by giving him to a rich family. I want to go back to work—both of us will make lots of money since we are free of this burden.’
It disgusted me that she hadn’t formed a bond with our baby and I began to wonder if she was actually capable of forming real relationships with anyone. She was a selfish, independent party girl and I had no idea what went on in her head. She was in her mid thirties when she gave birth to Phot, and yet she didn’t realise her days of carefree partying were numbered. She lived for the moment, and it never occurred to her that there might come a time when she would need children to look after her.
I decided I’d had enough of Sao. I yelled, ‘Burden? You destroyed my chance at having a family! I’ll never forgive you! How could you not factor in my feelings when you decided to SELL Phot behind my back?’
Deep down I knew that his adoptive family could offer him a better life, but it bothered me that she didn’t have his best interests at heart. She’d given him away only for the money.
She couldn’t persuade me to go to Khorat to sign the papers. I didn’t want my son to think I didn’t care for him, so I refused to put my name to anything. In the end my hands were tied and there was little I could do to get Phot back. Had I shown up at the adoptive parents’ house demanding the return of my son the ‘influential’ couple could have used force to make me more agreeable. How could I, a poor sex worker, ever win a battle against such rich and powerful people? Yes they could offer him a good life; but the fact is they practically stole my son and his own mother had been their main accomplice. So at four months old my precious Phot exited my life.
Sao stayed in contact with the adoptive parents but I’ve often wondered if her motives for remaining friends with them are sincere or if she is secretly plotting to blackmail them in the future. Anything is possible with Sao.
My HIV-positive friend Suthin took pity on me when he heard about Sao and Phot, and offered me a room in his apartment until I found alternative accommodation. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to break up with Sao because it’d leave me homeless. But I had no desire to make things right between us again either. I took Suthin up on his offer and bought myself some time. I decided I’d stay in his apartment until I’d calmed down and could think clearly. The rent was generously paid for by a
farang
who owned two boy bars in Bangkok. Suthin had once worked for him and been his top boy before he fell ill. The apartment had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a kitchen/living area, so there was enough room for me to join his family. Suthin’s three young children were under the age of six and his wife, Wilai, was pregnant as well.
When I moved in, the disease had begun to exact its toll and Suthin was no longer able to work. Before his
farang
boss came to his rescue, he’d worked as a security guard in a department store but found it too physically demanding and was forced to quit. I’ve no idea if his pregnant wife or any of the kids had contracted the disease.
I tried to pay my way and ease their load by buying food for them. A week after I moved in, Suthin happened to bump into Nuan. He sang my praises to her, telling her how well I was doing working as a part-time hustler and guide. He said I was making thousands of baht a night which was a wild exaggeration. These earnings ranged from 800 to 1,000 baht on average, and this was depending on how much I drank. Suthin told Nuan I’d taken a new lover and, exaggerating yet again, told her I loved Sao so much I was willing to even wash her underwear. Suthin was obviously trying to win Nuan back for me, and he certainly knew how to play her as apparently she was visibly upset by the news. He also took the liberty of arranging a reunion for us the following day.
I was nervous, but soon realised that I needn’t have been because the second I saw Nuan she threw her arms around me and it was as if we’d never been apart. We slept together later that night and with that I got my family back.
Nuan confided that she hadn’t been able to bear Chuan repeatedly begging her to take him to visit me. He couldn’t understand why we were no longer together and Nuan was overcome with guilt at having taken her son away from his father.
I promised Nuan this time around things would be better. My work had always been a bone of contention between us but I assured her that she’d no longer have to lie to our son about my job. I was trying to leave prostitution behind by establishing myself as a guide in Patpong.
Nuan and Chuan moved into the apartment with Suthin’s family and although I was overjoyed to have my family back, I still hadn’t fully let go of Sao. I was travelling back and forth between Suthin’s apartment and Sao’s, servicing both women. Sao fluctuated between begging and threatening me, to make me leave Nuan. She began calling Nuan daily, screaming profanely at her down the phone in attempts to drive her away. Nuan, on the other hand, completely understood I wanted a second wife since she’d been the one to abandon me four years earlier. I found myself at a very confusing juncture; I didn’t know whom to choose. I drank in order to postpone the decision-making, and my guide work suffered as a result. My friends advised me to choose Nuan over Sao as she was both the nicer person and a good mother to my child. They argued that I had no future with Sao, especially since Phot was out of the picture. Nuan finally won and I was hers alone.
At first I tried to hide from Nuan that I was drinking again. Within a month of reuniting I’d become careless and was returning home drunk regularly. I expected Nuan to admonish me, but strangely enough she said nothing. Instead, Suthin and Wilai took it upon themselves to gang up on me. They reproved me by calling me the nastiest names imaginable, especially when I returned home with no money. Conversely, when I returned loaded with cash and food they’d sing my praises. I’d clearly become nothing more than a cash cow to them. The disrespect and blatant insincerity they displayed had the positive side effect of drawing my family closer together. Nuan became irate when Wilai spoke ill of me in front of Chuan. She’d nicknamed the unappreciative couple ‘the leeches’, and felt that since I was feeding the entire household I deserved more respect. I was earning some money, but when it was divided amongst eight and an unborn, there wasn’t much left over. I was under great pressure to make ends meet and having to contend with their criticisms didn’t make matters any easier.
Nuan and I discussed the possibility of finding our own room but I was hesitant about leaving Suthin because of the kindness he’d shown when I needed help. One evening, Nuan came to see me at work carrying several bags, with Chuan dragging more behind her. She looked very upset. I’d called her earlier and asked her to bring me a change of clothing before I started work. She told me what had happened. Wilai walked into our room while Nuan was packing the clothes for me.
‘So you’re leaving us now. What good timing!’ she said.
‘Chai needs a change of clothing. You’d do the same for Suthin . . .’ she paused and then said, ‘It might not hurt you if just for once you people showed Chai some gratitude.’
‘Don’t act so high and mighty. We’ll pay you both back when we’re good and ready.’
‘I doubt you leeches could ever repay us, even in your next life. When was the last time your dying husband even left the house? And what can you do, you helpless waddling sow!’
With that, Nuan packed up all of our belongings and stormed out of the apartment.
Throughout Nuan’s story, Chuan nodded his head in agreement; he seemed proud of his mother for having stood up to Wilai. I was just relieved that we didn’t have to go back to that stifling, depressing atmosphere ever again.
You are probably expecting me to tell you that Nuan, Chuan and I all lived happily ever after; but I am afraid that, as with Lin, this was not the case. I continued to drink heavily and the majority of my money went towards feeding my addiction. Drunken guides weren’t much in demand in Patpong so our income quickly evaporated. Money once again had become the main source of conflict between us. Nuan and I began to fight constantly.