I Hate Phuket

Tags

Phuket, Scams, Stupid Tourist Tricks

Phuket Dangerous.

Hey, finally a post the sexpats who spend their lives on the gay Thai message boards will enjoy! Or at least a post title they’ll like. The actual article, not so much.

What is with the all the hate for Phuket? From posts on the boards you’d think it was some crime infested sleazy little beachside town filled with the world’s lowest of lowlifes. But that’s Pattaya. And the boys who love boys love Pattaya. Bring up Phuket though and the rancor ratchets up to levels that surpass the Christian god’s opinion of Sodom and Gomorrah. On the message board, Phuket comes off sounding like Calcutta on steroids. You’d think Syria would be a safer spot to vacation listening to these folk.

I’m not sure why Phuket has become Thailand’s whipping boy. Maybe it was using those typhoon relief funds to build beach volleyball courts on Patong Beach. Whatever it was that Thailand’s best known southern beach resort area did, the gods were not amused. And they’ve taken it out on the rationality of gay Thailand forum posters. I haven’t seen such passion for hatred since LMTU and Beachball courted each other.

According to online reports, gangs of waves frequently terrorize tourists in Phuket.

Posters over at SGT froth at the mouth the most whenever Phuket is mentioned, but Jabba The Butt’s band of merry men sharpen their claws just as quickly. On both forums they trash Phuket but mean Patong Beach. Not that pesky little facts should ever get in the way of a good hissy fit. Anything and everything about Pattaya and Pedo Plaza meanwhile gets excused and defended. Not that a little bias ever hurt a good hissy fit either.

Kjun12 – or Kunt12 as BrisbaneGuy has aptly nicknamed him – seems to be the leader of the pack when it comes to vilifying Phuket. Just try to find any on-line Thailand forum where he hasn’t posted about how dangerous Phuket is. And he backs his claims up with facts too. A German tourist was beaten by a tuk tuk driver when the tourist refused to pay 200 baht for his ride. And a local woman had her purse and cell phone stolen. Yup, that’s a crime wave that screams for someone to fire up the Bat Signal.

Fountainspew chimes in condemning local authorities for failing to post warnings on the beaches about jellyfish, citing Hawaii’s practice of closing beaches when jellyfish appear while ignoring the fact that you don’t see barefoot construction workers using bamboo scaffolding in the Aloha State either. In his warning Fountainspew does however move to the positive and recommends all visitors pack a vial of vinegar when visiting the beach to use on jellyfish stings. Not that Fountainspew would need to exercise that precaution because peeing on a sting is just as effective and with him there surely would be no shortage of volunteers for that job. Even Beachball – forgetting to check his notes that says Phuket is his favorite destination in Thailand – can’t help but jump on the bandwagon with the startling news that even Thais visiting Patong Beach can fall victim to scams. The horror!

Danger Will Robinson!
Ladyboys in Thailand have dicks!

Outside of the gay forum world there are plenty of Chicken Littles posting of Phuket’s dangers too. Virtualtourist.com alone has 180 entries. Which includes warnings about dastardly criminals preying on tourists such as: wild monkeys bite, rip tides are dangerous, the tropical sun can burn you, elephant camps mistreat their animals, and ladyboys are really men. In fact, the majority of warnings about the dangers of Phuket are about beach safety and road safety. And those threads that actually deal with crime, invariably started by Kunt12, all quickly dissolve into a general bitchfest about how dangerous the entire country has become. Because the rest of the world is such a safe place these days. Nevertheless, Phuket is the place that some just love to hate.

Phuket gets called the crime capital of Asia and the most dangerous place in Thailand. When its naysayers bother to provide specifics, they are always incidents that also happen throughout Thailand. And throughout the world. One site I visited that was exceptionally vehement with its warnings about Phuket, like most, relied on broad generalizations rather than specifics and – after throwing in the road and beach safety thingy for good measure – provided a handy list of suggestions to keep you safe when visiting Phuket.

The author first spoke of “crazy Thai men” who drive on the wrong side of the street, how life is cheap in Thailand and the death of a tourist doesn’t mean anything to Thais (adding how common it is to see a photograph in the newspaper of “Thai men pointing at the dead tourist with big smiles or smirks on their faces”) and about how Thais “have developed a hatred for foreigners in general,” just to show how unbiased he was. Then, he posted his #1 warning:

Damage to jet skis in Thailand can be costly. So can damage to bar boys.

“If you are staying in a high rise building, then make sure that you don’t get drunk on the balconies, as the railings on these buildings are not very high and it is easy to fall off them. It is also a good idea to not stay in one of these buildings if you are mentally unstable, as there are far too many people who leap to their deaths whilst on holidays. There are numerous reports of guys who come to Thailand and fall in love with bar girls and then they run out of money on their holiday and the fantastic times come to an end so they jump to their death.

If you are mentally unwell and you are staying in a high rise building and plan on getting drunk, then this could be a recipe for disaster, as the extra depression of knowing that you are leaving Thailand and being drunk could make you do that crazy thing that too many tourists seem to do. There is also rumors of foreigners getting thrown off buildings and there is no way to check to see if this is true or not, as the police often don’t even bother showing up at the scene of the falls anymore in Pattaya.”

Yup, the biggest danger to tourists in Phuket are the flying farang of Pattaya. Those high-rise buildings should all be hauled off to the Bangkok Hilton. Which surely is located somewhere around Phuket.

Yes, when you arrange transpo into Patong Beach from the airport if you are foolish enough to take one of the mini-vans they will stop to ‘shuffle’ passenger loads at their office where you can buy overpriced day tour packages. Or in Bangkok you can hop into a taxi at the airport and pay a fixed fee for your ride into town in what is supposed to be a metered taxi.

Ever wonder why the locals in some areas just aren’t that friendly?

Yes, there’s a good chance if you rent a jet ski in Phuket when you return it you’ll be forced to pay for ‘damages’ that magically appeared during your rental period. Or you can avoid that Phuket scam by instead returning it in Pattaya. Where you’ll be forced to pay for ‘damages’ that magically appeared during your rental period.

Yes, tuk tuk prices are fixed in Patong Beach and fares are grossly inflated. Or you can catch a taxi in Patpong at night, or at any one of Bangkok’s popular touri restaurants, or when it is raining, where the drivers have all fixed the fare to a standard grossly overinflated price.

Yes, the drunk Aussies on Walking Street are an unruly bunch that may scare timid queens. Oh wait, that’s Walking Street in Pattaya.

Yes, if you rent a scooter or bicycle in Phuket and keep your valuable in the basket mounted to the handlebars someone may rip you off. Or you can ride a songtaew in Pattaya where a gang of pickpockets will do that trick for you.

Yes, the tuk tuks are controlled by the mafia in Phuket. As they are in Bangkok. Along with the taxis.

Yes you can get mugged in Phuket wandering around dark streets late at night. And fans of Pattaya all know how safe it is to take a stroll along Beach Road late at night by yourself.

Water safety is a personal responsibility.

Yes, it is true the locals in Patong Beach are less friendly and you’ll seldom run across the famous smiles Thailand is known for when visiting there. But that is also true of Khaosan Road in Bangkok. Nor are the locals around Kuta as friendly as those outside of the heavily touristed areas of Bali. Whodathunk dealing with drunk, obnoxious, cheap-ass tourists all day would have an effect on the attitude of locals?

Yes, Paradise Complex is a shadow of its former self with bars closing so fast and furious it’d make your head spin. If your head was not already doing 360s from all the closures in Pattaya. And Phuket at least manages to scrape together an annual Gay Pride celebration.

Yes, it’s a shame Phuket does not have a Grand Palace to be closed, or touristy photo ops set up at Wat Arun to use to exhort money out of unsuspecting touri, or small gay-run restaurants where it seems every customer gets ill, or tall enough condos to provide a high enough mount for flying farang to leap from, or a beachfront avenue filled with ugly street walkers, or one-day tailors offering four suits for 1,000 baht, or large jewelry stores filled with overpriced shoddy merchandise, or upstairs bars where you’ll be charged 1,000 baht for a drink, or blocks full of Nigerian drug dealers battling for victims with Nigerian whores, or $60 visits to fake hilltribe villages where you can buy crafts made in Vietnam at five times the price they’re offered at back in town, or . . . Yup, Phuket is dangerous and filled with scams.

The biggest danger in visiting Phuket is that you’ll fall in love with its tropical beauty.

The one complaint Phuket haters can stand behind is the high cost of vacationing there. But then if you showed visitors pictures of the beaches around Phuket alongside those you’ll find in Pattaya and ask which would be a more expensive holiday destination, the answers would be unanimous.

Phuket is one of Southeast Asia’s premier vacation spots, with an average of over 3 million visitors each year. Most have an enjoyable, trouble-free vacation. Taking a bit of responsibility for your own personal safety is key. As it is when visiting anywhere on the planet. I hate to break it to you, but Phuket is a safe holiday destination. As long as you are aware of potential scams, don’t get into altercations with locals or drunk farang, know how to enjoy the beach safely, and be as aware of your surroundings as you would be in any other heavily touristed city in the world. Then your biggest danger would be finding that Kunt12 is holidaying in Phuket at the same time as you are.

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Tony The Tiger

25 Uses For A Dead Elephant

Tags

Phuket, Stupid Tourist Tricks

Oh stop. I really wasn’t gonna go there.
Okay one, but don’t ask for more:
#1. As a menswear mannequin in Pattaya.

A story about Thailand came over my news feed last week, which doesn’t happen often. America’s media doesn’t cover events in small SE Asian countries much. Not unless a high body count is involved. It’s not that we are not interested, don’t care, or are xenophobic, but rather we just got used to that reporting paradigm during the Vietnam War. It’s how we kept score.

But elephants are a different story. Elephants are an endangered species. People there are tons of. When there’s an elephant news story that involves a body count it tugs at everyone’s heart strings. Because elephants are cute. At least that’s what everyone says. I don’t think people who consider elephants cute have ever actually seen one up close and personal. They smell, have bad dental hygiene, and are covered in a sparse pelt of pubic hair. But then I can’t explain Ron Jeremy’s career either, so what do I know.

Stupid Touri Trick #526: Allowing a 7 ton wild animal to ‘hug’ you.

Elephants are not cute and cuddly like puppies are. Nor, like puppies, are elephants all about unconditional love. In fact, according to Time Magazine in partnership with CNN, world-wide it’s estimated that elephants kill over 500 people a year. Great white sharks only score 4. Elephants do not make good household pets. Elephants do however make good beasts of burden. But they move slowly. Which fits well with the Thai work ethic: so thumbs up, good match.

When there were more elephants in the world, they used them as mounts in war in India. Put a calvary riding horses up against one of elephants and you know who is gonna win. But not just any old elephants were chosen for battle. Indians used bull elephants for war, selecting those that were in musth, a state of violent, destructive frenzy occurring during the rutting season in male elephants accompanied by the exudation of an oily substance from glands between the eyes and mouth. (So there’s your word for the day: musth. Feel free to use it next time you are in Pattaya.) The only problem with using enraged and engorged bull elephants for the calvary was that the beasts tended to kill just as many Indians as they did whomever it was the Indians were fighting. But then that’s that body count thingy again. And so was this news story from the Associated Press that popped onto my computer screen:

BANGKOK (AP) — A new taste for eating elephant meat — everything from trunks to sex organs — has emerged in Thailand and could pose a new threat to the survival of the species.

Wildlife officials told The Associated Press that they were alerted to the practice after finding two elephants slaughtered last month in a national park in western Thailand.

“The poachers took away the elephants’ sex organs and trunks … for human consumption,” Damrong Phidet, director-general of Thailand’s wildlife agency, said in a telephone interview. Some meat was to be consumed without cooking, like “elephant sashimi,” he said.

Poachers typically just remove tusks, which are most commonly found on Asian male elephants and fetch thousands of dollars on the black market. A market for elephant meat, however, could lead to killing of the wider elephant population, Damrong said.

I’ve never understood what black guys see in this.

I’ve watched locals in Thailand eat some pretty disgusting things. And they are not in the least bit shy about telling you what that gross stuff they are chewing on is. Elephant for a snack, however, was a new idea for me. And even though the story came from the AP and not Fox News, I had my doubts. Sounded like some gullible reporter getting his leg pulled by a Thai with a sense of humor. Who undoubtedly made a few baht off of the ‘scoop.’

A day later, the Phuket Gazette responded to the article which got picked up world-wide and even made it into Time magazine. Part of the AP report centered the problem in Phuket, a popular beachside resort destination, where according to their source elephant meat was being ordered by restaurants. Phuket Governor Tri Augkaradacha said he had never heard of elephant being eaten on Phuket and that an investigation failed to substantiate the claim.

I was ready to call bullshit on the original AP article, but then since the same official has denied the existence of jet ski scams, the world of Mafia controlled fixed-price tuk tuks, and airport transpo vans that take you to day-trip concessionaires instead of your hotel, it seems there may in fact be some truth to the story.

The AP named a Phuket-based brother and sister as suspects in the elephant meat caper. They run a law consulting firm in Phuket and own a rubber plantation near a national park in the next province. Both were shocked to find they’d been identified as the masterminds behind the elephant meat scandal. Local authorities were as surprised even though they had been investigating the dead elephant problem – that does not exist – and had stopped the brother and searched his car for traces of elephant meat – which does not exist. The suspect, who hasn’t a clue as to how this rumor started, reported the police had found no evidence of nonexistent dead elephants in his Suzuki Vitari during a search of the vehicle on January 7th. One has to wonder how much it cost the alleged poacher to have the police not find anything in his car.

So lesson learned: do not believe everything you read in the newspaper. Or everything you are told by the authorities in Thailand.

Roadkill in Africa only lasts as long as it takes to bring a pot of water to boil.

As in the human world, it’s much better being an Asian elephant than an African elephant. In Africa, elephant roadkill means the entire village will be fed. I know. Shocking. Horrifying. A dead elephant being cut up for dinner incites rage in all of you us. A village full of malnourished children with extended bellies, not so much. But then elephants are cute. Starving children don’t bring on the same warm fuzzies. If it helps, don’t think of it as elephants being killed for food, but rather the locals’ dedication to going green.

The idea of chowing down on some Dumbo gumbo however is repulsive to most Thais. The elephant is their nation’s symbol and Thais love elephants. So much so that the Bangkok Post reported last week that 2012 is stacking up to be a banner year for elephants in Thailand. Custom officials report large-scale tusk smuggling has reached a record high already this year, with at least 2,500 dead elephants used for ivory.

Like prostitution in Thailand, poaching elephants is banned, and trafficking or possessing poached animal parts also is illegal. But elephant tusks are sought in the illegal ivory trade and the quest for ivory remains the top reason poachers kill elephants in Thailand. And of course, you will never ever see ivory for sale everywhere you look in Thailand.

The absence of a too small swimsuit should tell you it’s an elephant, not an expat walking down the road in front of you.

Soraida Salwala, the founder of Friends of the Asian Elephant foundation, said a full grown pair of tusks could be sold from 1 million to 2 million baht, while the estimated value of an elephant’s penis is more than 30,000 baht. In Pattaya, it’s under-age elephant penis that is the draw and according to rumors can be found in Sunee Plaza for as little as 10,000 baht. Regardless of age, size, or end-use, a dead elephant is worth more than a live elephant in Thailand.

Thailand has fewer than 3,000 wild elephants and about 4,000 domesticated elephants, according to the National Parks Wildlife and Plant Conservation Department. Domesticated elephants are considered to be commercial animals under the Beast of Burden Act 1939. The owner has the right to trade and use the animal at will. Owners of elephants register them and are issued a license, much like a drivers license since the Act was established in the time elephants were still a means of transportation in Thailand. Elephant rights activists claim this outdated form of ownership fails to protect the animals and allows elephants to be sold to those who will abuse and mistreat them.

The Thai Animal Guardians Association (AGA) reports sales of domesticated elephants cause these smart and sentimental animals considerable stress and difficulty in adjusting from one new owner to the next. Many trainers who walk elephant through the streets of Bangkok – which is also illegal so you certainly will never see elephants on every other corner in Patpong – are neither the original or real owners – just keepers. These keepers have no emotional ties to the elephants, tend to mistreat the animals and cannot control them during an emergency. Unfortunately the AGA also claims, in an attempt to further pull heart strings, that many elephants in Thailand are fed beer and amphetamines for the entertainment of tourists. Right. Over stating your point is never a good idea; we all know a Thai is not gonna waste his yaba supply on an elephant.

But it’s the interaction and bonding between the giant pachyderms and humans that is responsible for the world’s love affair with elephants. Elephants share many human traits, are known for their intelligence, societal customs and behavior, and long memories. Like humans, who are typically right or left handed, elephants are usually right or left tusked. And they display varied personality traits like humans too. Elephants, through testing, have been proven to possess self-awareness (one of Beachlover’s goals for 2012).

Like humans, elephants possess self awareness. Like humans, elephants form communities. They also kill over 500 people each year, much like humans’ inner city youth.

Before they became valuable for jewelry making, household decorations, food, and aphrodisiacs, tradition in Thailand was for a boy to be assigned to a baby elephant at birth to act as its trainer and companion for life; an obvious and close bond developed between the two. It’s not unusual for elephants to have this type of relationship with humans. The following story I found on the internet perfectly exemplifies the elephant/human dynamic:

In 1986, Dan Harrison was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from Northwestern University. On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air. The elephant seemed distressed, so Dan approached it very carefully. He got down on one knee and inspected the elephant’s foot and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gently as he could, Dan worked the wood out with his hunting knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot.

The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments. Dan stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away. Dan never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.

Twenty years later, Dan was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Dan and his son Dan Jr. were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Dan, lifted its front foot off the ground, and then put it down.
The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man.

Remembering the encounter in 1986, Dan couldn’t help wondering if this was the same elephant. Dan summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Dan’s legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.

It probably wasn’t the same elephant.

[No elephants were harmed in the making of this post. Oh, wait. That one in Zimbabwe didn’t fare too well. Never mind.]

Gay Thailand

Tags

Chiang Mai, Gay Bangkok, Gay Thailand, Phuket

From Chiang Mai in the north to Phuket in the south, there’s a gay Thailand that will appeal to every taste.

Gay Thailand. Those two words conjure up an immediate mental picture in the mind of every gay man who has ever visited the Land of Smiles. It might be your favorite gay gogo bar, pub, area, boy, all – or none – of the above. But your picture of gay Thailand and my picture of gay Thailand may well be different. That’s one of the things that makes Thailand such a great place for gay men to visit. It offers something for everybody. There’s a gay Thailand for every taste, every desire, every interest, and every budget.

Bangkok alone offers dozens of versions of gay Thailand. Some gay visitors only delve into the community by passing evenings at one of the pubs on Soi 4. Some don’t even go that far, their version of gay Thailand is a once in a lifetime visit to a foreign locale where they can be intimate in public with their partner (within reason) with no concern of receiving so much as a scowl. Some visitors cruise the shopping malls for a date. Others cruise the same establishments for a quick anonymous tryst in the restroom. There are aficionados of the numerous saunas and spas, those who only visit massage parlors that offer a happy ending, and others who spend every night in one of the gay gogo bars on Soi Twilight. Gogo bar fans on a tighter budget or who enjoy an extra dose of sleaze with their sleaze head for the anything goes bars that are spaced along the soi where the infamous muscle lover’s bar, Tawan squats. And then there are the suck cinemas and familiar street corners where non-professional professional companions hang out waiting for a date. Not to mention the areas along Sukhumvit where you are guaranteed the lady you pick up won’t be. It’s no wonder ‘gay Thailand’ invokes such different visions amongst gay men. There is something for every gay man in Thailand.

The men of Thailand are as different from each other as the gay experience in Thailand is. From lissome young lads with skin whiter than a winter in Minneapolis, to dark dusky men who, with the right accent, could be easily confused for one of Sukhumvit’s Nigerian flesh peddlers, in Thailand there is a vast smorgasbord of available guys. Even visitors who swear they don’t like rice easily succumb to temptation. Thais, generally, are the least Asian looking Asians on the planet. Unless you are really into Asians, because they’ll qualify there too. Young or old, skinny, fat, or muscle bound, Thai guys come in all shapes and sizes. And rarely will you find a more friendly group of men. Nowhere will you find a group of men so willing to play their expected role in whatever fantasy is coursing through your mind.

Thailand’s natural beauty is its attraction to many gay men.

Within hours of landing in Thailand, you can find the perfect guy. One who will be your date, or your friend, a companion to see the country’s sites with, or a fuck buddy to spend the late night hours with. Regardless of your age, looks, or income level, you can find a guy with whom you can fall in love, or a guy who will rock your world sexually. A partner for a quickie or one to spend your entire holiday with are equally on the menu. For a gay visitor in Thailand, you will find exactly what you seek. And that’s before you even begin to consider where in Thailand you plan on spending your time.

Most international visitors to the kingdom land in Bangkok. Some never leave Thailand’s capital city. Others head almost immediately to where their vision of gay Thailand lays. While it is possible to discover your gay Thailand in the less tourist regions of the country, most gay men holiday either in Bangkok, Pattaya, Phuket, or Chiang Mai. Each is unique, each has something different to offer, and each tends to fit gay travellers’ expectations to a T.

Bangkok is the cosmopolitan center of Thailand and offers the largest variety of accommodations and experiences for gay men. You could easily visit Bangkok a dozen times and walk away with a different vision of gay Thailand on each. There are clubs and discos, both gay and mixed, pubs, bars, coffee shops, and restaurants all geared toward the gay visitor. Bangkok’s saunas run the gamut from those situated for tourists to those on the outskirts of town frequented predominately by locals. Massage shops abound, and gay gogo bars await, clustered together to make a night out prowling the bar world a breeze. But for some, Bangkok sets too hectic of a pace. And for many, the city’s gay establishments, not to mention its men, are just too expensive. You can set your own pace, and you can do Bangkok on a dime. But most gay visitors looking for a more casual atmosphere and a lower cost of living head for one of the other gay areas of Thailand.

From gay owned guest houses to five star hotels, Thailand has the perfect accommodation for every budget.

Pattaya, Thailand’s version of Sin City, is the closest to Bangkok and can be reached by public transportation if you really want to go cheap. While there are some attractions and Buddhist temples in and around Pattaya, it exists for one primary reason: Sex. Pattaya has no five star resorts. Its infrastructure is almost nonexistence. And it’s waters are heavily polluted. Rip-offs and scams are common. No one seems to care. The gay Thailand envisioned by Pattaya aficionados is all about naked flesh. And young naked flesh seems to be the most popular dream.

In Bangkok, your vision of gay Thailand can easily not include the commercial sex scene. In Pattaya, it’s required by law. No one goes to Pattaya for the beautiful views, or the pristine beaches and turquoise blue waters. No one goes to Pattaya because they love Thailand’s wats or to spend their days at museums. Pattaya has none of that. What it does have is hundreds, if not thousands, of available men everywhere you look. And for a price, they are all willing to make your fondest dreams come true. On a budget.

For the sex tourist, Pattaya is pure heaven. You don’t have to go looking for sex in Pattaya, it will find you. And it’ll cost you a fraction of the price an orgasm will run you anywhere else in Thailand. You don’t even need to ever enter a bar. Guys will proposition you on the beach, on the streets, and at your hotel. It’s no wonder that for many visitors, gay Thailand means Pattaya. But Pattaya is not just about sex. It’s also a smaller town with a laid-back feel where you can easily make friends with expats and visitors who share a common interest with you. Which is of course, sex.

To some gay visitors Thailand is all about the food.

Like Bangkok, there are numerous massage shops that cater to gay men in Pattaya. Saunas, not so much. Pattaya has more pubs and restaurants geared toward the gay visitor than Bangkok does. And though I’ve never tallied them up, there also appears to be more gogo bars in Pattaya too. The bars are spread around town in small groupings, areas that are well known to gay visitors to Thailand and each has its own distinct blend of entertainment. An odd paradox, there is less nudity and sex acts to be found in Pattaya’s bars. Bangkok’s Soi Twilight puts on shows with full, hard, nudity that surpasses even your wildest flights of imagination. Not so in Pattaya. But what you will find is a large numbers of bars that not only allow, but encourage, sampling of the staff on site. And in most cases you need not even leave your bar stool. Sex sells in Pattaya. Sleaze is the icing on the cake. And it’s always heavily discounted and on sale.

As a beach town, unless your idea of a day at the beach means a day spent diddling boys while you bake in the sun, Pattaya does not cut it. Those who yearn for the postcard picture beaches of Thailand instead head south. If your vision of gay Thailand is one of white sandy beaches set off by myriad shades of tropical blue water, then Phuket is where you will head. And for gay visitors that means Patong Beach.

Patong is not a gay destination like Pattaya is. The community in Patong is smaller and primarily centered around the Paradise complex where you’ll find a smattering of gay guest houses, small bars and cafes, and gogo bars. And lots of ladyboys. There are tons of ladyboys in Bangkok and Pattaya too, but nowhere else in Thailand do they congregate as the girls do in Phuket. They are legion in Patong.

Many gay travellers enjoy Thailand’s gay nightlife.

The live sex acts of the performers in Bangkok and the customers in Pattaya have not made their way down south. Shows at Patong’s gay gogo bars are more of a cabaret act in nature, and always includes more ladyboys than you ever imagined existed. In fact, most shows only use their boys to break up the ladyboy acts. But that seems fitting for Phuket. Few gay men go to Patong just for sex. Instead, they spend their day at the beach and break up their tropical holiday with an occasional boy. You can not compare Phuket’s beaches, and outlying islands, with Pattaya’s seaside offerings. It’s a case of comparing apples to moldy, overripe oranges. That have already been bitten into by a dozen other guys that day. Oooops, I guess that really was more about the differences between the two destinations’ boys.

But when it comes to costs, you can compare the two and, at least for the thrifty, Pattaya comes out the winner. The commercial sex scene in Phuket is not cheap. Nothing in Phuket is. And if you haven’t already paid enough, there are numerous scams you can fall prey to to make sure you have done your part to support the town’s economy. A night of sin in Phuket will cost you just as much as it will in the pricier areas of Bangkok. If not more.

If Bangkok is too hectic, Pattaya too sleazy, and Phuket too expensive and doesn’t offer much to do other than beach related activities, then Chiang Mai might be the perfect gay Thailand for you. Thailand’s second largest city still has a small town feeling while offering a wide variety of activities and attractions for you to while away your days enjoying. It’s almost as if someone took all of the other areas of Thailand’s bad points and turned them into positive points in Chiang Mai. This cool, sleepy little town in the north has it all. Whatever your vision of gay Thailand is, you can find it in Chiang Mai.

Thailand’s beautiful beaches draw many gay travellers.

Unlike Pattaya, Chiang Mai is not just about sex. Unlike Bangkok, Chiang Mai is not about running crazy trying to squeeze in an overwhelming schedule of places to go and sites to see. And unlike Phuket, Chiang Mai is not hard on your wallet, nor is the opportunity to participate in a scam a daily occurrence. Chiang Mai allows you to fulfill your vision of gay Thailand more than any of the other gay destinations within the country. Its only drawback for the gay tourist is that its commercial sex scene is a bit too spread out. Even those areas where you’ll find a cluster of bars, saunas, and other establishments catering to the gay visitor, are not convenient to the other areas of town. In Chiang Mai, you actually have to go looking to find a place, or a boy, for the night.

Chiang Mai offers a wide variety of accommodations for gay visitors, from swanky five star resorts to small, cozy, and friendly gay owned and operated guest houses. You can eat cheap or splurge, spend hundreds daily on day tours and activities, or drop not a dime touring the hundreds of wats and cultural sites within the city. There are designer boutiques in Chiang Mai with prices to rival those you’ll find at Gucci or Armani, and night markets where, with a bit of bartering, you can spend less than half what you’d pay for the same merchandise in Bangkok (or a third of what it’d cost in Phuket). Chiang Mai fits every budget and meets everyone’s vision of what gay Thailand means.

Thailand is a great destination for any gay man. Regardless of what it is you are coming to Thailand to find. From its big cities to its small towns, Thailand warmly welcomes its gay visitors. Just remember when you mention a trip to Thailand to another gay man, his vision of gay Thailand might be something completely different than yours.

Gay Of The Week: Jeremy Renner

Tags

Gay Thailand, Movies & Television, Phuket, That's Gay

The hunky, and no longer gay, Jeremy Renner.

Having just posted a humongous article about all of the hot closeted celebrities who will be coming out this year, it may be a bit soon to be revisiting the topic. But then I didn’t mention Jeremy Renner in that post. Because he’s already out. Or was. Seems since his star has grown brighter, the closet door swallowed Jeremy once again. But since there is a recent tie-in with Thailand, not to mention his recently released ambiguously gay duo flick with Tom Cruise, it seemed a good time to give you some background on why Google’s predictive results adds ‘gay’ to his name when you type it in the search box.

First though, in case you missed it, Jeremy was visiting Phuket this week and one of his posse was attacked at a local bar with an axe. Last Wednesday morning, Jeremy and his entourage, including the 31 year-old hottie GM of Sri Panwa Resort, Wan Vorasit Issara, were bouncing from bar to bar in Phuket Town when things turned ugly about 4:30 a.m during their visit to the Rachada Pub. According to reports, Vorasit dropped a glass on the floor, which was the cause of a bloody brawl; six bar employees jumped Renner and his posse. Vorasit was stabbed in the stomach with a knife and slashed in the neck with a homemade battleaxe fashioned from a motorcycle brake disc. A patron in the bar maintains that Vorasit was drunk and arguing with the bar staff before being attacked.

Initial reports said that Renner had suffered injuries during the brawl, however Vorasit set that record straight in an interview from his hospital room; “We pushed Jeremy to safety as soon as the fight broke out.”

Phuket’s new police chief held a press conference to show off the six bar employees who attacked Renner’s posse and are now being held on attempted murder charges.

The six staff members involved in the attack were arrested and charged with attempted murder while the venue, which was open after official closing time, has been closed for the next sixty days pending further investigations. Rachada Pub owner Sawat Prueksakij, has reportedly apologized personally to Vorasit, vowing to assist police in their investigation. “We have had some conflicts before, and we have a strict policy of ensuring that people entering the pub are of legal age and are not carrying weapons, but we have never had staff harming patrons,” he said during an interview.

Maj Gen Chonasit, Phuket’s new police chief, held a press conference, typically Thai, to offer the world’s media visuals of the arrested pub employees and the weapons used in the attack. During the press conference, one of the suspects began to offer his version of the events that led up to the fight. He was quickly silenced by Chonasit.

Jeremy can afford to stay at the pricey Sri Panwa Resort in Phuket, but can’t afford a girlfriend.

Renner, the former diehard theater actor who made the transition to the big screen in the late ’90s, had been in the Philippines filming the latest instalment of the Bourne film franchise before flying to Thailand for a brief holiday at the swanky Sri Panwa Resort, perched high atop Cape Panwa, where a one bedroom villa goes for just over $1,000 a night. The resort’s acclaimed amenities include Baba Nest which was voted the third best beach bar in the world by CNNgo in 2011. Perhaps its lack of ladyboys was the reason Renner and his gang headed into Phuket Town for their tour of dive bars.

Ya gotta feel sorry for Jeremy, new to the Kingdom and with those odd, long, weird Thai place names, he mistook the Rachada Pub in Phuket Town for the smattering of gay clubs in the Ratchada area in Bangkok. Jeremy was out for a night of fun with a Thai bar boy and found Phuket’s unique brand of hospitality instead.

“Jeremy who?” was the question on everyone’s lips when he was nominated for an Oscar for The Hurt Locker, quickly followed by, “Oh, the gay guy” when it turned out the former makeup artist had brought his mother to the Academy Awards. The excruciatingly long, um, hug, he gave to ‘maybe not straight’ co-star Anthony Mackie upon hearing their movie named as the winner might have had something to do with that too. Granted, it was not quite the statement that Angelina Jolie made during her Oscar win when she slipped her brother some tongue, but then when you are getting your freak on with Billy Bob Thorton a bit of incest seems tame in comparison. Which is why I’ve paid no attention to rumors that Brad Pitt is gay; only a straight man would go where Billy Bob Thorton’s cock has been before.

Renner’s acting career got its start with his lead role in the film Dahmer, a fictionalized retelling of the life of the serial killer who also was not gay.

A year later, more media-savvy and at the Academy awards again, up again for Best Supporting Actor, Renner, who once again brought his mom as his date, didn’t win and didn’t get to go gay on one of his co-stars. But did take time out on the red carpet to share a quiet moment and a long embrace with Kevin Spacey. Who everyone knows is also not gay.

The 40 year old never married actor, ignoring the existence of his um, ‘partner’ of five years with whom he lives recently gave an interview to Details magazine stating that prior to hitting the big time he was too broke to date women, and now that he is a box office draw, he’s too busy to date women. That’s the problem with gay guys trying to justify never being seen in the company of fish. They don’t get the straight guy mind-set. Too broke? Too busy? Sorry J, to straight guys it’s all about the pussy.

Back when Jeremy was the only one who thought he might be straight, a former acting coach said in an interview, “I have never had the pleasure of meeting Jeremy’s boyfriend, but the fact that Jeremy is gay has never been a primary concern.”

Renner, who is not gay, gets a tad bit excited when Channing Tatum, who is also not gay, replies, “Sure I’ll go back to your room with you Jeremy.”

The rumors about Jeremy’s preference for men started soon after his first appearance at the Academy Awards when an investigative reporter happened upon an article published the year before announcing the sale of a Hollywood home by Renner and Kristoffer Winters, a fellow actor who had a small part in The Hurt Locker. Turned out Winters plays a much bigger role in Renner’s life. And heart. But now that Renner is trying to close the barn door after the horse got out, Winters has moved from ‘boyfriend’ to ‘business partner’ to ‘brother.’ Huh. Maybe Angelina’s love for her brother had more of an impact than originally assumed.

As for those vile rumors that Jeremy and Tom Cruise were busy diddling each other while filming their recently released movie: bullshit. Both are obviously true bottoms and that makes that coupling a Mission Impossible. Sure, Tom bought some motorcycles and took Jeremy out for a romantic bike ride through Prague during the filming of the movie. And no one should read anything into Jeremy’s constant gushing about how charming and handsome Tom is. Instead we should all wish Jeremy the best of luck with his new found heterosexuality and hope that his fondest wishes do come true. The most likely to be the one most recently expressed when during a interview to promote Mission: Impossible: Ghost Protocol, Renner said, ‘When I grow up, I want to be just like Tom Cruise.’

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Bonus Shot: Phi Phi Don

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Photography, Phuket

Postcard Perfect

The front side of Phi Phi Don is a bustling port filled with tour boats and the businesses that survive off touri dollars. The back is side is less commercial, but just as bustling, this time with sun worshipers cooling off in the small bay’s tropical waters. Easy to ignore the crowds, though. Just look over their heads. There are few beachside views in the world that get better than this.

 

I Fell In Love With A Bar Boy: The Buddy System

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Gay Thailand, Phuket, Transportation

The Picture Postcard Perfect Phi Phi Islands

I don’t know what it is about being on holiday that results in travellers becoming oblivious to potential dangers and risks. It seems that most touri’s minds go blank in regard to safety issues. I guess their brain decides it too will take a week or two off. That so many fall victim to scams, suffer injuries, or worse, is no surprise. Darwinism seems to prefer working its magic amongst those on vacation.

I can’t exclude myself from that group completely. I too throw caution to the wind and engage in activities I’d never consider back home. It’s not that I’m not aware of the risks, just that on holiday I don’t have an overriding concern about potential danger. I turn a blind eye to risky activities much like a kid huddling under his bed covers: if the monsters can’t see you then you are safe.

So I’ve played with tigers and lions, on more than one occasion, trusting that the baht I paid to do so guaranteed that enough sedatives had been administered to make it a safe experience. I’ve ridden through Bangkok’s notorious traffic, perched helmet-less on the back of a motorscooter, trusting that the gods would finger some other idiot for that day’s traffic fatality quota. But I don’t completely ignore the potential for danger and harm. I do make some concession to safety. Especially when it involves friends. Travelling with a friend, or a group of friends, should be even more safe than travelling alone; you have one or more other people to watch your back. At least you’d think so.

Some safety precautions are so ingrained that I don’t even consciously think about them. They just are. Preparing for a trip with a group of friends who’d never been to Thailand forced me to carefully consider safety issues, on their behalf. For some issues, rather than explain, I negated the concern by sending everyone a pre-trip goodie box.

We were all taking separate flights into the Kingdom. I’d included a pen – not a safety related item but rather because I’ve seen half of the passengers on a plane looking around for a pen to complete their immigration card as though that such would be needed was an unexpected turn of events. More of a safety matter, I sent Chris a condom his box. Extra small. To me, a good bitch slap takes precedence over safety, but is a bonus when you can combine the two.

I also sent along a small pen light to all three travellers. Just in case. If a problem occurs on a flight, a flashlight comes in handy. Once at your destination, in the middle of an emergency at your hotel or even during a simple power outage, again, a flashlight can be a life saver. Three people, three flashlights. None made it on board a plane, none made it to Thailand. Only one of the pens did. That should have clued me in on what to expect for the rest of the trip.

When we checked into our first hotel I explained the basic layout of the property to everyone, pointed out where the main road was in relation to the lobby, and noted should evacuation be necessary our meeting spot would be the 7/11 across the street with the fall-back being every corner beyond until you hit a safe one. Running around looking for friends who may or may not have survived a hotel fire just adds to the panic. It’s not like I handed out emergency preparedness maps. But Helena summed up the group’s feeling, “You are kidding, right?”

A good bit of advice for all travellers at all times.

Noted. Dummies abroad. So I revamped my emergency plan to a helpful tip: 7/11 was the closest place to buy beer. Oh, and it was a good meeting spot too.

Fine. Die if you want to. My major concern anyway would be the safety of my bar boy friend and current love of my life, Noom. And since he was always with me, there was no need for announcing designated meeting spots. I considered mentioning the need to locate the closest emergency exit from their hotel rooms, but figured either stupidity or karma would take care of that matter regardless.

I’ve always assumed everyone checking into a hotel notes the emergency exit locations. Guess the number of fatalities when a hotel does catch fire should have clued me into what a non-concern it is to the average traveller. Those people really shouldn’t breed anyway.

Ditto for large bars and discos that catch flame. Lots of dead, every time. It takes but a few seconds when entering a large disco to note alternative exits. That’d be secondary ones ‘cuz the herd is gonna all head to the primary exit, bottled up and soon to be roasted. No other exits? A window will do. And it never hurts to scope out the crowd for the elderly or frail; they are easy to climb over on your way to safety. (Also an excellent technique for airline safety.)

I’d previously handled this one with Noom after watching him on our first visit to the humongous New Year Countdown in front of Central World in Bangkok. Noom can get lost walking through a door. In a crowd, especially a huge one primarily made up of his fellow nationals, his mind melts into the Thai collective consciousness and he follows blindly like a lemming headed over a cliff. He’s aware of this. And agrees that while he usually is responsible for looking after me, in a crowd I take the lead.

We’ve established that if I ever give him a direction followed with a sternly stated, “Now,” he is to move. Not question, Just do. Crowd survival is a lot like a heavy SM session. You need a safe word. One that is quickly understood to mean, “Stop. Now. I’m serious.” Ignoring that need in either situation can really ruin your night.

Even though the hotel evacuation plan was a nonstarter, our first night at a disco I tried again with the girls – which if you have not figured out by now always includes Chris – explaining the need to listen for that ‘Now’. Helena rolled her eyes. Understandable. Helena’s natural inclination is not to be told what to do. There would be a 5050 chance of her following my advice in an emergency. Just like there’d be a 50/50 chance of me muttering, “I told you,” so while gazing down at her battered, dead body.

The ‘Q’ evidently suffered damage during the last tsunami.

By the time we hit Phuket, I’d given up. Call it karma call it fate, whichever you prefer I decided to abandon the girls to theirs. And it wasn’t a big surprise on passing a misspelled tsunami warning sign that I found out the rest of the gang hadn’t a clue what it meant when the ocean suddenly decided to play outgoing tide in one fell swoop.

“Wait, you don’t know that if you are at the beach and the water suddenly recedes you need to run like hell?”

“No! Who would know that?” Helena shot back obviously being one of those who instead would decide it was a fortuitous event and head out to play in the tide pools. (And let’s ignore that she lives a half a block from the beach back home while we are at it.)

“Well, now you know. Um, you do realize that a tsunami hit this beach just two years ago though, don’t you?”

“Really!? How cool is that!”

Okay, so Helena was earmarked to become flotsam and jetsam. My boy, who’d been following our conversation was busy eyeballing escape routes to higher ground.

In Thailand this is a decoration, not a flotation device.

Despite a general contempt toward fate, we all survived our first day and night in Patong Beach, and managed to score deeply discounted tickets for a trip to the Phi Phi islands. The night before we’d been out late, partying our asses off at My Way, and everyone would prove to be a bit hung over for the next day’s trip. Feeling slightly queasy did not bode well for a two hour boat ride. But I have a cast-iron constitution. And Noom had only downed a single shot of tequila the previous night. So any concern about spending the morning hugging the rail belonged to the rest of the group. That means it wasn’t a potential for concern, but rather the potential for a great photo op.

Having lived for many years in Hawaii I was well aware of the odd phenomenon wherein touri head out to play in the surf while leaving all of their expensive valuables back on the beach. Usually all gathered and contained in a nice bag to make it a hassle-free experience to whoever decides to steal their stuff. Once we made it out to Maya Bay where The Beach was filmed and where our boat stopped to allow passengers a half hour of swimming dodging tour boats in the crystalline turquoise waters off shore, the boat version of this stupid touri trick appeared. Everyone on board had expensive cameras and wallets full of cash. Which they quickly abandoned on deck so they could jump in the cooling waters.

Seemed to me the smart money would be to take turns, someone stays on board while the others go play; the safe bet would be the buddy system both in and out of the water. I volunteered to take the first shift. Mostly because I had my eye on a new telephoto lens for my camera. The girls decided to put up with my nonsense, the expected eye rolling avoided because Noom, used to stripping down to nada on stage nightly, decided that was the perfect time to change from his board shorts into his skimpy bathing suit.

While standing exposed on the top deck in the middle of a few hundred touri. But then, hell, if I had a body like that I’d show it off, too. The girls stared. Chris turned red and got hard. The rest of the boat took a moment out to enjoy the scenery too. Numerous cameras clicked. And then everyone got busy piling down the gangway and jumping into the water.

Helena and Dee take on a tour boat at Maya Bay

The added benefit of an on-board guard was having someone available to take pictures.. Helena and Dee were easy to spot. My eye was immediately drawn to a medium size tour boat chugging by, its hull painted a vivid yellow. Directly in its path the girls floated oblivious to the behemoth headed their way, busy trying to catch my eye by waving their hands wanting a photo of their – what looked to be possibly last – time together.

Spotting Chris and Noom was not as easy. I didn’t see them on my first scan of the waters below. Second time around I looked for a blinding flash of white: Chris had not exposed his body to sunlight in at least a decade. When he’d pulled his shirt off on-board everyone squinted at the glare and quickly slipped on their sunglasses. So I zeroed in on Chris fairly quickly. He was a mile off starboard, cocooned in his own little world, as oblivious as the girls had been. But facing a much smaller foe.

Noom? I saw Chris, but no one nearby who could come close to being my boy. His skin color was not easy to pick out of the crowd, the muscles were. Huh. Maybe he decided to group with the girls, realizing Chris was a bit boring. I went to the other side of the boat to look for the girls again, a bit of panic setting in.

I found the dykes still floating and turning a nice shade of red. But no Noom. Shit. Sure. I’d not taken the time to explain my boy swims like a dead buffalo. Hell, for all I knew they all lacked basic swimming skills. But common sense dictates when you enter the ocean you use the buddy system. I’d forgot that my gang had shown an affinity for not using sense, the common version or any other kind.

Pretty Boy meets Pretty Small extends to boat size, too.

“Where’s Noom?” I yelled down to them.

They replied with big double handed waves hoping for another shot of them frolicking in the water. “Bitches,” I thought. “I hope that damn boat backs up and takes another stab at running your asses over.”

I tried again. “Where’s Noom?”

Helena, being true to herself, flipped me off. Okay, so I had that coming on general principle. And didn’t care because they’d failed to pack sun screen and I knew the tropic rays would take care of payback for me.

This was not good. Noom was nowhere to be found. Normally, I’m not one to panic. But it was getting to that point. I was doubling back from one side of the boat to the other, trying to spot him, ready to dive in and pull his body from the depths if needed. Noom was standing on the ladder leading up to the deck, his head peaking above foot level watching me dance across the boat. When I finally spotted him on board, I was relieved. And pissed.

“Where in the hell where you?”

“I jump in get water in mouth,” he explained, concerned over my outrage but not understanding why. He looked like a drowned puppy. Getting a mouthful of salt water as a welcome to the ocean had not been in his plans. Our trip to the Phi Phi Islands had been his idea, his desire, the sole purpose of our trip to Phuket. His longing had been satisfied in a 30 second dousing.

Noom, wet, safely back on board, and tucked into his board shorts once again.

Chris, now a pretty shade of scarlet, climbed back on board, his face marred from a too tight swim mask. He took over guard duty while Noom and I went back in for a swim. This time around Noom decided to climb down the boarding ladder rather than opt for another mouthful of salt. And enjoyed his second swim a lot more than the first.

My anger at Noom quickly dissipated. But I was still pissed at the girls for abandoning my boy in the ocean. We headed back to Phi Phi Don for a buffet lunch featuring spaghetti . . . how the tour operator came up with pasta as a tropical Asian treat for lunch is beyond me. With another hour to kill, we played on the beach of the beautiful bay, the sky and sea a holiday-brochure cerulean blue set off by small, colorfully painted boats flying streamers of rainbow hues on their prow, an offering to the gods of the sea and protection from the dangers of the ocean. Especially for those who ignore the buddy system. Noom and I abandoned the girls to wallow in the surf, and moved off to the far end of the beach, finding a tranquil spot to rest and enjoy our holiday.

Separated, we lost sight of the girls and it was soon time to re-board for the long haul back to Phuket. There were many boats leaving around same time, you had to climb through one get to the next. A single Thai, clipboard in hand, stood dock-side trying to count colored badges as the mass of touri pushed its way on board their respective boats. Noom and I boarded, grabbing chairs mid-deck, not willing to pussy out and be seated indoors, but smart enough not to be exposed to more sun on the ride home. When the boat sounded its horn signalling it was about to push off from the dock, it was Noom’s turn to panic. The girls were nowhere to be seen.

“Where Delinda?” he cried, resorting to one of his confabulations that tied the two girls’ names together.

“Fuck ‘em,” I thought. “They abandoned my boy, they can find there own way home.”

Payback is a bitch . . . mahalos to the gods for the assist.

I’d love to tell you that just rewards were well served, that the girls were stranded on a tourist island in the middle of the Adaman Sea. But no, like touri on holiday the world over, they’d ignored everything except themselves and their enjoyment of the day. They were already on board, seated on the top deck watching Chris’ skin invent a new shade of red. They hadn’t seen us board either, but were unconcerned, assuming that by ignoring the possibility of being separated, everything would work out. It did.

We all lived to tell the tale. And the only one of us to have any negative thoughts about the trip was the one who bothered to concern himself with the question of safety. Maybe ignorance is bliss. Maybe the gods do favor the young and the foolish. And maybe next time, I’ll leave the damn dykes at home.

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Pretty Boy Meets Pretty Small

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Gay GoGo Bars, Gay Thailand, Offs, Phuket

“I have public hairs bigger than his dick was!”

Helena spewing orange juice all over the table should have clued Chris in that a simple “Good Morning!” would have been a more appropriate greeting. I briefly considered suggesting that a bit of manscaping might be in order, but the look on Chris’ face told me he was not a happy camper. But evidently was a size queen. Chris had started his Thailand holiday swearing that the commercial sex scene was not part of his plan. He was too young and too not bad looking to pay for sex. And then proceeded to indulge in the procurement of a bar boy nightly while we were in Bangkok.

“Helena, you’ve got a bigger dick than that guy had!”

Dee, being more ladylike, managed to swallow instead of spit. And then immediately went into a coughing fit. The old lady having breakfast at the table across from us was not amused. And neither was Chris. On the first day of the trip he’d declared he did not like Asian guys. And our first night in Bangkok, after a visit to Tawan, that he didn’t like muscles either. But then managed to score a hot, muscled Thai bar boi every night he could.

We were in Phuket. The night before we’d been to My Way, our second visit to the bar. Chris had picked out the most muscular guy on stage. Not that there were many fitting that description. I’d briefly considered telling him that a bar boi who tucks his cell phone in the front of his shorts while on stage is not usually a good choice. One look at Chris’ face told me he was in lust. Any warning would have fallen on deaf ears. In any case, I was busy warning Helena not to trifle with the affections, or income, of the cute bar boi who’d attached himself to her. “I know, I know. We’re just talking!” she said, lapping up the attention she was getting from the young stud. “He thinks I’m hot!”

“Well, you’re just talking,” I told her. “He’s trying to score a customer and doesn’t know you’re a dyke.”

“No! He likes me!” she shot back, falling for the same line thousands of other visitors to Thailand’s gay gogo bars have countless times before. Though she may have been the first lesbian to do so. I turned to Dee, her partner, and said, “You’re gonna have to tip your bitch’s boi big time if she keeps him occupied all night.”

Dee rolled her eyes at Helena’s ego’s needs. A familiar refrain. And then went back to eyeballing Chris’ boi. I briefly considered telling Chris that a bar boi who keeps smiling over your shoulder and giving major eye to one of your dyke friends may not be a good choice for the night. But then figured since Chris was a bottom, the guy would probably perform just as well once cash was on the line thanks to the Thai gene pool.

Walking out of the club I checked with Helena to make sure she’d tipped her new friend who’d she’d wisely left behind. “It was sooo cute!” she sang. “I think he had tears in his eyes!”

And he no doubt did, Helena’s lack of addressing the question meaning she’d not tipped him much less booked his services for the night. I turned to Dee and told her to go back in and tip her partner’s friend.

“How much?” she asked.

“Helena’s money?” I checked, then getting an affirmative nod from her said, “Give him 1,000 baht.” Sure that was way too much. But a fine for ignorant behavior seemed appropriate. Besides, the two bar boys in our group, even the one officially on holiday, were closely following our exchange.

Walking back to the hotel, Chris dropped back for a moment and whispered, “He says he only does short time.” Uh, oh. I briefly considered telling Chris that a bar boi who is planning his escape before he even gets to your room didn’t promise much of a happy ending. But knowing how cheap Chris was, gave him a pro instead of the con, “Then you don’t have to tip him as much.”

That was cool with Chris.

The next morning at breakfast we found out Chris had had a short time, in more ways than one. “I’ve seen bigger dicks on a Chihuahua!” he complained loudly enough that the old woman sitting nearby decided breakfast was over. She was not thrilled with hearing how the little gay boy had been shortchanged the night before. My friend Noom giggled. Though the commercial sex scene is his life, even he realized Chris’ outburst was out of place.

“Do you know what that cost me per inch!”

Out of place or not, the girls were in hysterics. Only Chris with his love affair with the dollar would computate cost by size. But his outrage over coming up short begs the question – especially for a size queen – how do you know the boy you are buying for the night measures up to your standards?

I’d given Chris the lowdown on what is and isn’t acceptable behavior in a gogo bar. At least in Bangkok. That included a stern warning not to diddle the boys. Different areas of the country have different rules. In Pattaya, it’s not only acceptable, but encouraged. As long as you tip for the right to do so. But Chris had been schooled in Bangkok’s bars where grabbing a bar boy’s crotch is frowned upon. At least on Soi Twilight.

You can always wait for the big cock show, peruse the offerings, and pick out the guy displaying the size you like. Enough of the other acts have cock on display so that you can keep an eye out for one to your liking too. But what if the guy you like doesn’t show off on stage? That might be a hint in itself. Sure, he may just be shy, but it is more probable he is shy a few inches. Bar boys know their business, which is all about getting you to off them. If they have the goods, they will make sure you know it.

Diddling may be a no-no, but if a boy needs to close the sale it’s not unusual for him to initiate a bit of a feel. That’s usually accompanied by, “I lie you,” his cock hard to prove the attraction. And the truth of his statement. So do not be fooled. That erection is over visions of the baht soon to be his, not how much fun he’ll having getting you off. Grabbing your hand and cramming it into his crotch is an invitation to check out what he has to offer. Even then, look, touch, but don’t get carried away. An offer to taste is not part of the equation.

My bar boy friend Nut often complains about potential customers passing him up after seeing the goods. Though he blossoms into a thing of beauty, his is a grower, not a shower. He’d learned if it came down to a freebie feel, to first excuse himself for a moment and go work something up before retuning to display his full glory to his meal ticket for the night. Never underestimate the use of a torn condom as a cock ring. Always assume that raging hard on is thanks to a bit of latex around its base.

As with any other perverted little thoughts that are important to you, if size matters make sure you’ll be happy before leaving a bar with your new friend. An unhappy surprise back at your hotel is your fault, not his.

Next night at My Way, Shorty made a beeline for Chris as soon as we walked in the door. Helena’s friend made himself scarce. Helena wondered how she’d gone from hot to not in a single day. Chris wondered how he was going to get rid of the muscle hunk with no muscle where it counts so he could check out a new guy. I briefly considered telling him to try a ladyboy instead; they always seem to be hung like a horse. But Chris was intent on a night riding a guy oozing masculinity. As long as what he oozed from measured up.

He went with a boy whose bulge was in his shorts instead of his arms. Walking back to the hotel, the rest of us debated how many inches it’d take to make Chris a happy camper and ensure our breakfast the next morning wouldn’t be a series of tiny dick jokes. And I briefly considered how a brief glimpse of what is inside of a pair of briefs could mean a night of expectations not met.

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Gay GoGo Bars, Gay Thailand, Phuket, Scams, Transportation

It’s not easy being a Thai bar boy and having to spend over two weeks with a group of Americans who do not speak your language, are unfamiliar with your customs, and eat weird food at odd hours. It’s not easy being a Thai bar boy and being away from your friends for more than two weeks, not having other Thais to talk with, and not having other Thais to just be Thai with. It’s not easy being a Thai bar boy and travelling with a group of Americans, trying to keep their personalities straight while trying to take care of their vastly different needs and trying to keep everyone happy. It’s not easy being a straight Thai bar boy when your ‘friend’ is gay, two of his friends are lesbians, another one an obviously gay boy, and yet all four enjoy being intimate with you. If you are a Thai bar boy and are lucky, your ‘friend’ isn’t a complete moron, realizes your predicament, and after more than two weeks of major stress tells you, “That’s it. As soon as we land in Phuket, you are officially on vacation.”

Noom, my bar boy friend and current love of my life, didn’t really believe me about the vacation, or wasn’t sure what I meant. But got a bit of a clue when we landed in Phuket and I picked up his suitcase and carried it outside for him. The switch in roles, after a momentary bit of confusion, brought on a big smile. It had been his idea to come to Phuket, he had a Grand Desire to see the Phi Phi Islands, and all of a sudden it seemed he was going to do so. While on an actual holiday.

The rest of the gang had not been forewarned, my decision to give Noom the week off being a spur of the moment one in reaction to the precarious state of his mental and physical well-being; having worked hard at ‘taking care’ of not one but four farang at once had left the boy a wreck, a shell of his normal self. He needed a vacation. And I didn’t think he’d last long enough to wait until we returned to Bangkok. Not knowing there was a change in the status quo, outside the terminal the gang turned to Noom with an expectant look, waiting for him to arrange transportation to the hotel. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, crossed his feet, then his arms, smiled, and said, “Nooo. I on holiday!”

I do believe I’d created a monster.

There was just a bit too much glee, a bit too much smug self satisfaction in the look in his eyes as he made his grand pronouncement. The girls thought he was just being cute. And so began a waiting game with neither side making a move toward doing diddly about getting into town. Helena figured out theirs would be the loosing team first, and turned to me for help. I’ve learned quite a bit of Thai on my numerous trips to the Kingdom. Of much more use and importance, I’ve learned that smile they use. The one that says “I love you dearly but I’m not about to budge”. I flashed my Thai smile at her and then translated with a thumb jabbed in Noom’s direction, shrugging my shoulders as if to say it was out of my hands, I said, “I’m with him.”

For the first time on their trip the newbie visitors to Thailand were faced with having to resort to their own skills in sorting out and choosing a transpo option into town. And damn if they didn’t fail. Miserably. Out of all the possibilities for getting to Patong Beach, they believed the lie that the shuttle bus would be a private ride, booked our seats and then sat, packed into a mini van’s tight quarters with no a/c running while the tour bus operator waited to shanghai enough other guests to fill its seats. Noom rolled his eyes. I laughed and immediately blamed him for picking such crappy tour guides.

Of course the ‘shuttle bus’ into Patong Beach isn’t just a slow ride during which you get to play the role of a sardine. There’s also the potential for money to be made (if you are Thai. Money to be spent if a farang). The bus always has to make a stop at the office, supposedly to rearrange passenger loads, which provides touri ample time to peruse a plethora of day trip tour options and book as many as your heart’s desire. At prices twice what you’d pay once you get into town. The girls went crazy picking the things they wanted to do. The tour staff went crazy thrilled with the stupid farang about to blow a wad on overpriced trips. Neither took Noom into consideration. A bad move on both their parts. Frankennoom made the call: “Nooo! I on holiday. I pick.” And settled the matter by getting back into the van. It may have not been his money at stake, but he knew it’d be partially mine. And my money is his money; he wasn’t about to let the girls waste more of it just so they could participate in a scam in Phuket. Besides, when it comes to scams in Phuket there are plenty of opportunities. No reason to fall for the first one that comes your way.

Vacationing Noom was a big difference from Working Noom. And I loved watching him embrace his new role. When we got to the hotel and were safe in our room, instead of his normal routine, which is all about taking care of my needs, he found the free tea bags (free working its magic as well on Vacationing Noom as it has always on Working Noom), made himself a steaming cup, pulled up a chair on the patio and kicking his feet up on the railing settled back for a comfortable rest. And the start of his tropical holiday.

We’d all agreed to meet by the pool a bit later to talk over tour options, the girls being loaded down with brochures they’d picked up at the ‘bus terminal.’ I headed down early, deciding I’d better take a few minutes to explain the new arrangement to the group before their new travelling companion joined the party.

Everyone agreed a boat trip to the Phi Phi islands was a must-do. Good thing because to Noom it was the only reason we were in Phuket. When he joined us we were all busy pouring over brochures weighing the different options against the different costs and even though he’d not be able to make heads or tails out of the infinite details he joined right in. As badly worded as most English brochures in Thailand are, whoever wrote these had the soul of a lawyer. It took careful reading to see that, for example, while all tours went to Maya Bay where The Beach was filmed, some actually landed, others dropped you off shore to swim in the lagoon, while others motored by, your Maya Bay experience being a quick photo op of the farang who’d booked passage on better tours. Besides price, the major difference between the half dozen different tour operators was fast boat/slow boat, half day/full day, and which minor stops along the way you’d prefer.

The girls thought they’d’ made their decision and checked with me for agreement, still too new to the idea that Noom was now an official touri. Beginning to enjoy his new found status almost as much as Noom did, I passed the buck, “Don’t ask me,” I told them. “Noom’s making that call.” Normally a Thai hates to make a decision of any kind. Especially without knowing what everyone else wants. But my dark skinned muscle hunk version of Frankenstein had no such qualms. But did take to his new role responsibly, slowing going back through each brochure, carefully assigning each to a specific pile he started on the table (I’m sure I’ve previously mentioned his positioning/OCD thingy) before finally pulling the winner out with a clear and decisive, “ Dis one.”

Bartering for purchases in Thailand is routine. Everyone knows you need to haggle over the price at any market. What you may not realize is published pricing on day tours can be bartered too. To be honest, I did not. Never even considered the possibility. But my boy knew better and feeling it part of his job as a touri got us an incredible deal on our tickets. The 1,500 baht tour ended up being a 700 baht boat ride and we made it a point the next day once on board with what seemed like half the island of vacationers to loudly discuss what a great deal the tour was for only 300 baht. Ruining someone else’s vacation is a sure fire way of increasing the enjoyment of yours. But that was fun yet to come. It was getting late and getting time to decide what we’d do that evening.

Mr. I’m On Holiday had plans of his own and with no choice in the matter we followed Noom to the beach for the sunset. The difference was subtle: instead of deciding, telling, and following we were down to just following as Noom went wild on holiday picking the beach, where we would eat for dinner, which shops we’d stop at to peruse, and which matching beach towels we’d buy for the following day’s outing. He was having the time of his life. But there was still something missing. Or something still there. The damn farang.

The poor boy was still surrounded by farang and was still trying to follow their conversations, several going simultaneously, peppered with slang that was new to him and made little sense. The poor boy was still surrounded by farang and their odd customs, strange behavior, and just which one was he supposed to be walking arm and arm with down the street? The poor boy was still surrounded by farang. Period. His soul yearned for the company of a fellow Thai. So it was no surprise when he led us to Paradise Complex and into My Way that he immediately went into ‘thank Buddha here are some Thais’ mode and settled in, cackling away in delight, deep in a conversation with one of the bar’s ladyboys. Noom was in his element, surrounded by Thais, taking up residence in a gay gogo bar. His normal nighttime activity. Noom was a happy camper. And on holiday.

The girls were happy too. They’d had fun in the gay gogo bars in Bangkok, but being lesbians weren’t all that thrilled with all the peni on display. My Way, and the bars in Patong Beach in general, are not the meat markets of Bangkok. They are more of a cabaret in nature, drag queens galore, some studly guys too, but at least they kept their shorts on. And the show’s numbers were musical extravaganzas, not guy on guy sex acts.

Chis was not as happy. Used to Bangkok’s bars, and a nightly dose of male flesh – including an up close and personal experience back in his hotel room – he’d been missing his fun during our time in Chiang Mai. He’d been looking forward to hitting a gogo bar again. But at My Way, not a nipple or ball was in sight. But Chris is a good guy and tends to go with the flow, so he channeled the lesbian within himself and joined in with the girls for party time.

The staff at My Way are used to old gay guys who come in, sit quietly, drool, and stare at the hot young men on stage. They are also used to straight couples or groups on vacation who come in, titter, and stare at the glamourous ladyboys. What they are not used to is two and a half dykes determined to party their asses off. The girls got rowdy. And loved the show. And showed their love, yelling, clapping, and throwing baht around. The ladyboys returned the love, thankful to finally have an audience that appreciated their fabulousness. The girls were sung to, hugged, and showered with attention. Their enjoyment was infectious and even a few of the breeders got into the mood. A few of the grumpy, drooling old men slunk away. And Noom decided as much as he’d desired some Thai time, there was too much fun to be had and joined in on the party.

The place was hopping and the bar’s owner appreciated our contribution to the night’s festivities, sending over a free round of tequila shots. Noom does not normally drink alcohol, but like with all Thais ‘free’ is magical and free drinks at a gogo bar was something unheard of in his world. He knocked his shot back like a pro. And why not? Noom was on holiday.

We closed the bar down that night and then stumbled back to our hotel, everyone trying to not think about how early we had to be up the next morning for our trip to the Phi Phi Islands. Back in our room and in bed, Noom snuggled up to me and I decided to treat him to a true Thai holiday. “Where you from?” I asked him.

He looked at me, a questioning eyebrow raised.

“Where you stay?” I asked and he giggled, catching on.

By the time I got to, “How long you stay Phuket?” he’d fallen off the bed in laughter.

He got up, grabbed my wallet off the desk, threw it on my chest, and trying to mimic countless customers he’d dealt with in the past said, “How much long time?” and snorting with laughter dove on top of me.

I earned a good tip that night. And Noom enjoyed what thousands of touri experience with a bar boy when on holiday in Thailand.

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Tony the Tiger

Tags

Gay GoGo Bars, Gay Thailand, Ladyboys, Offs, Phuket

The best sex I ever had with a bar boi in Thailand was in Phuket. The worst sex I ever had with a bar boi in Thailand was in Phuket, too. Both were from the same bar, but on two different trips and, obviously, with two different outcomes. The non-satisfying experience came second. There’s truth in Thomas Wolfe’s observation “You Can’t Go Home Again”. But #2 suckered me in by exposing his ass and giving it a slap every time he took stage. Had to be a willing bottom, I assumed. And too early in my love affair with the Kingdom, I mistakenly thought his claim, “I do everything!” meant that he did. I know better now.

Back at the hotel, after separate showers, we hoped into bed naked. He didn’t kiss, wasn’t thrilled with touching, and remained flaccid. He didn’t want to smoke, bottoming was out of the question and when I asked what he did do, he suggested I could look at him while masturbating. That might have been an acceptable idea if he lost twenty pounds, spent a few months working out, and paid for some much needed cosmetic surgery. I decided a better idea was that he leave with 500 baht he hadn’t earned. He wasn’t happy, but neither was I. And he got the better end of the deal. But my first trip to Phuket had a happy ending. Several of them. And all thanks to a hot stud a ladyboy mamasan suggested to me.

I’d been to Bangkok already over a dozen times. I’d made my way up north to Chiang Mai on several trips, too. South, and Phuket seemed the next obvious destination, but I was living in Hawaii at the time and flying off to spend time under a palm tree when I could do the same five minutes from home didn’t have a large appeal. But Phuket’s Gay Pride celebration coincided with a trip I had planned to Thailand so I booked a flight on Bangkok Airways, picked out Siam Palm (a gay owned hotel), and headed off to the turquoise blue waters of the Andaman Sea.

I got in early in the day and had time to check out the beach: nice, beautiful water, hunky local guys all along the shore. I explored the town finding the main roads and numerous small outdoor cafes, restaurants, and bars to while away the hours in. Shopping options were pretty dismal, day excursions were offered on every corner; some of the outer islands looked like they’d be worth a visit. Patong Beach had the look and feel of a sleepy little town that had grown a bit too big for itself, but for a beachside resort town it satisfied.

My first night in town was the first official night of the Pride Celebration with a kick off party at the Paradise complex. The soi was alive, packed with shirtless bodies and stages set up in front of the main bars. There was no real need to go into any of the bars, there was plenty of entertainment outside: gogo dancers actually dancing, ladyboys dressed in their finest lined up in front of their bars with bus loads of Japanese tourists making their way slowly through the crowd, everyone on board snapping photos of all the boys who were girls. Sprinkled among the larger bars like My Way, Tangmo, and Uncle Charlie’s, smaller open air bars offered street-side seating, cheap beer, and a great place to rest and people watch. I spent the night partying with the crowd, never setting foot into one of the gogo clubs.

The next night, the night before the parade, the soi was just as packed but the outdoor shows not as spectacular. Except the ladyboys. Ladyboys are always spectacular. It’s their nature. I started off the night at My Way, and moved through a progression of bars not all that pleased with what I saw. Used to the gogo shows in Bangkok with lots of naked flesh, normally some hard cock, and occasionally some simulated sex acts (this was before the days of full on fuck shows which are routine in the Big Mango now), the gogo bars in Phuket were more of a cabaret. Lots of dance numbers, too many ladyboy acts, and not enough of just good old male meat. Evidently, nudity in Phuket was a no-no.

I’d left Uncle Charlie’s to last. All the bars had ladyboys, but Uncle’s seemed to specialize in them. Between shows there was always a large line of the girls in front of the club cashing in off straight touri wanting to take their photo. But I’d not yet spotted a guy that took my fancy elsewhere, it was still too early to head back to my hotel, so I gave Uncle’s a shot.

I don’t really care for mamasans. I’d already figured out they really are not there to help you but rather to get you to spend as much of your money in their bar as possible. And ladyboy mamasans just seemed even more aggressive. So after grabbing a seat, I wasn’t thrilled when I spotted one headed my way.

Most of the ladyboys at Uncle Charlie’s were beautiful, statuesque, big bosomed, long legged, sporting makeup worthy of a Hollywood movie star. The ladyboy mamasan that flopped down beside me shared none of those qualities. He was short, fat, dumpy, and would not fool a blind man into thinking he was a she. The dramatic flourish of his hand fan as he fell into the seat next to me did not bode well. I was expecting an overly campy screeching voice to echo that mamasan cry of, “You want boooooooy?”

But instead I got a far too dramatic, deep baritone, “These boys don’t know how to treat a lady!” And I laughed. Sam – a very unladyboy-like name he’d chosen for himself – was a realist. He knew how he compared with his soulmates and rather than try to compete, went the entire opposite way. His was a caricature of a ladyboy wannabe. On purpose. It wasn’t a failing campy ladyboy act, it was a parody of a drag queen who would never be a queen much less a princess. And he was hilarious.

I offered to buy Sam a drink, the first time I’d ever made that offer to a mamasan, and probably not a routine occurrence in Sam’s life either. But I could tell the regal flick of the fan to summons a waiter had been practiced, she pulled it off with elan. Sam’s English was amazingly good and we became fast friends, chatting away, ignoring the show, and sharing a few rounds of drinks before she remembered she had a job to do. The fan snapped closed with a decisive click and she declared, “You need a boy.”

Between show numbers, the boys were making their rotation on stage. Sam made a running commentary on the offerings using her fan to point to each as she summed up his pros and cons. The pros, to Sam, all had to do with size. But then what do you expect from a drag queen? She made several attempts at selecting a boy for me, using her hands to demonstrate how big each of her choices were. I’m not a size queen, if anything, the opposite. I told her I liked masculine guys. With muscle. Who would bottom. And then used my thumb and index finger to show her how small I liked them. She thought that was quite hilarious, but got the point that size wasn’t important to me, the other attributes were what mattered.

Surveying the line up, she made a satisfied grunt and used her fan to point to a guy at the far end of the line. He was tall for a Thai. With a slightly muscled swimmer’s build, his chest was a thing of beauty and he had the dark, dusky skin I’m attracted to. There was nothing effeminate about him, and he was handsome enough. But he had a dark scowl on his face that didn’t invite intimacy. He looked to be in his late twenties, which probably meant he was in his mid-thirties, and I figured he didn’t get much business as most visitors to Thailand seem to gravitate toward younger guys. I’d have passed him by because of the look on his face, but Sam wasn’t having any of it and signalled him to join us.

The off-putting scowl, evidently, was his ‘I’m a man’ face because when he sat down it was replaced with one of the most beautiful smiles I’d ever seen. His name was Tony. Well, his name started of as something in Thai that I couldn’t wrap my tongue around and after a few tries got replaced with Tony. His English was a bit limited, though he tried hard. Sam translated a lot for us and the three of us had an enjoyable evening drinking together. But business is business and soon enough Sam wanted to know if I was buying or not.

Tony had been affectionate during our time sitting together. But I figured as far as bottoming, that’d be a no-go. But that’s not a deal breaker for me. Kissing, however, is. So I asked Sam if Tony kissed. “Of course!” she exclaimed then unfurled her fan in front of my face and told Tony to kiss me.

Holy shit! Historically, the western style of kissing is not part of Thai culture. More familiar now, they try but it’s just hasn’t filtered through to their genes yet. I have no idea where Tony learned to kiss like that, but he could have made millions teaching his brethren his trick. I didn’t care what else he would or would not be willing to do. His skilled tongue was enough to close the deal. He went to change. Sam tallied up my bill, humorously telling me I should tip her big now or I’d just have to do so tomorrow, and we made plans to get together the next day for the parade.

Back in the hotel Tony and I talked for a while. His English improved a bit without a translator to rely upon and I kept my English to its most simple form so he could understand me. I hopped into the shower alone, having already learned Thai guys are not thrilled with the showering together idea, at least pre-sex. Half way through, Tony came in, naked, and stood at the basin using my razor to shave some non-existent stubble from his chin. I think he was just showing off his ass. It was a thing of beauty. And then he joined me in the shower, alternating between cleaning himself and playing with both of us. He dropped to his knees and smoked me for a bit, then patted my thigh and motioned me out. He had business to attend to.

We spent a long time in bed kissing, hugging, and then kissing some more. When he went down on me he proved to be as skilled at that as he was at kissing. Best yet, he actually seemed to be enjoying himself. He’d smoke me for a while, stop, get a very satisfied look on his face, look at me, and then go back to it. He sensed when I was getting close and stopped, stretching himself out on top of me and went back to kissing.

When he reached for the condom I was surprised. And thought I might have to explain I only top. But he ripped open the package and placed the rubber on me. There was no question of who would be on the bottom. And there was no hesitation on his part. He slipped me inside of himself, letting out the cutest little squeal, the noise alone enough to almost make me cum.

Tony was a tiger in bed. He was voracious in his appetite for being fucked and creative in thinking up new positions. I think he actually had more fun than I. It went on for far longer than you’d expect from a bar boy and after we’d both came and cleaned up he fell asleep next to me, his hand cradling my balls.

The next morning after breakfast we headed back to Uncle Charlie’s to help decorate the bar’s float for the parade. Sam was waiting and put her hand out when she saw me. Laughing, she said, “You need to tip me more.” She was joking. But she was right.

One of the larger bars in Patong Beach, Uncle Charlie’s float needed to be just right and we spent most of the morning adding more flowers, balloons, and glitter. According to Thais, at least the ladyboy variety, you can never have enough glitter. I was invited to join the staff and ride the float in the parade, but settled for escorting Sam, the short, fat, dumpy drag queen who made her royal presence known walking along behind the float in a dignified manner.

I spent the next five days with Tony, and most evenings with Sam, too. During the day Tony often disappeared for a few hours, other parts of his life needing attending to. One day he’d been gone for quite a while, it was time for dinner, he had not yet returned so I headed down to Paradise to eat. When he found me later that night he was quite upset, apologizing profusely, afraid I was mad at him. I kissed him, not the least bit concerned; Sam scolded him, Tony’s face looking like that of an unruly school kid getting a dressing down by the teacher.

During our time together, Tony managed to convey his life story to me. Though with bar boys you can never really be sure. He grew up on a nearby island, his parents were both dead, and his work at the bar supported him and his younger brother. His dream was to save enough money to become a tuk tuk driver, and whenever one of the newer machines drove buy his eyes would light up. His more immediate dream, however, was to own a cell phone.

I’d been paying Tony daily. 1,500 baht in those days. The first morning I handed him his tip he was confused and thought that I was paying him off and sending him away. We straightened that out and since I’d started that way I continued to tip him every morning. On our second to last day together, I took him cell phone shopping. (I know, I know . . . But seriously, for less than $200 I was going to make his day. He’d made my entire trip. It only seemed fair.)

Tony was like a kid in a candy store. And it wasn’t enough to visit a single phone store. We had to go to every place in Patong Beach. Once he had finally picked a model out, we then had to make more trips from store to store while he searched for the best price. I loved the seriousness of his shopping. I loved that it obviously meant so much to him. I loved that even though it was my money, he needed to find the best price. And I loved even more that after the purchase had been made, he pulled out the 1,500 baht I’d tipped him that morning and tried to give it back to me.

Unfortunately that trip came to an end. It was almost another year and a half before I made it back to Phuket again. Uncle Charlie’s had moved location to the end of the block. Neither Sam nor Tony worked there anymore. I made the unfortunate mistake of offing the worst lay of my life, but even that didn’t dampen my view of Phuket. I have no idea if Tony ever got to drive a tuk tuk, I hope he did and that only good things came his way. As for me, I met Noom, my bar boy friend and current love of my life, in Bangkok the following year. And that story continues. Just don’t tell him the best bar boy sex I ever had was with Tony the Tiger. And sorry, but I have to say it: He was Greeaaaat!

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