A Gay Little Interlude

Upon my arrival at my hostel in Bangkok (after 3 hours of haggling with a tour agency, being lost, and exploring the King's Birthday Festival), I met two guys in my hostel who were on their way out as I came in. I assumed (incorrectly, as you've already surmised) that I'd never see them again. I also thought one seemed kinda gay.

My hostel was in Silom, which is apparently very close to both the red light district and the gay ghetto. A night market only a block from my hostel sells live tasers, elaborate bongs, and Hello Kitty paraphenalia. But tucked off in a side street were three gay pubs. They seem like any other pub, except virtually all the clientele was male and eyeing me leerily. I nearly beat a hasty retreat before I found the two putitivie gay boys from my hostel strolling up the street. It didn't take much to cajole them into sharing a beer and stories with me.

The one I first picked as gay was French (and New Caledonian at that) so its kind of a wash. The other was British, so same problem. Both had traveled together for the past two weeks, and were ambiguous as to whether they were sexually involved. Both were leaving Bangkok in the morning, the French for Cambodia (naturally) and the British for Chiang Mai (and much appreciative for my suggestion of Freedom Bar). I never learned, or more specifically remembered, either of their names. The Frenchman was very oversexed and touchy - admitting openly that he lived for sex - but it was hard to pin anything he did or said as having significance. The Brit was simply aloof as all good Brits were. Both were more interested in their text message conversations than interacting with each other or me.

Meanwhile I was eyeing the surroundings; the bar scene here was surprisingly non-cruisey. But I naturally noticed the tall blonde European wandering around alone. I tried to call him over, but he settled on taking a drink at the bar next to ours. Rather than calling it a loss, I jumped out of my seat, strolled up to his table, and struck up a conversation.

I'd love to tell you that we hit it off swimmingly, and went off to make tender sweet love somewhere quiet. Well, we did hit it off well, but the Swede turned out to be a lost straight boy. Before I learned this, the Brit came over to muscle in on my conversation. Suddenly the Brit was engaged. He was interested, talkative, leaning in and touching the Swede at all the appropriate moments. I was slightly angry for this obvious intrusion and intent to steal. However, I figured out the Swede's real sexuality before the Brit did, and kept the joke to myself for as long as possible.

Myself, the Brit, the Swede, the Frenchman, and the Frenchman's Fuckbuddy who'd come to visit all sat around and drank ourselves stupid. I spent around 500 baht in alcohol, less than 10 dollars but not insignificant in Thailand. Before long, we decided to kick off to GOD, a beautifully blasphemously named gay dance club. The Swede made his farewell, and now it was an awkward foursome.

Upon arrival, the heady cover charge included a few free drinks. The Frenchman and his Fuck went off somewhere, and I and the Brit were left alone. As the two of us drank more, we became closer. We talked into each other's ears. We brushed our lips on each other. Our hands roamed. Our necks, hot and vulnerable, were there for the kissing.

I'd like to say I went for it. Maybe I wouldn't. But what happened was I went to the bathroom, and by the time I returned shortly after they were all gone. An early sleep for an early rise. I was left alone in the club. Like I've found in South America, gay clubs are universally the same. I've found myself feeling most alone when surrounded by mostly-naked grinding and pashing men. One or two tried for a kiss, and I leaned away disinterested. I found myself on the top level, on the edge of the railing, staring down at the pulsating fleshmass. I took a step back and walked downstairs and outside before I could even conceive of anything else.

I returned to the hostel, and as I walked up the stairs I came across the one shower running after 3am. I paused outside for a minute, and my hesitence was rewarded by seeing the French's Fuck walk out naked. He opened his room door, which revealed the Frenchman buttnaked as well. Both were extremely fit and sexy, and the French Fuck had a prominent erection. He noticed me, greeted me slightly sheepishly, and went to bed. I was amused, but not aroused.

How seriously had I considered sleeping with the Brit, who's name I can't remember, and who's defining feature in my mind is his shameless attempt to steal the guy I was flirting with? In reality, I'm glad I didn't. I've been haunted lately by a face; its more annoying than anything else, but I find he creeps up in my mind when I least expect or desire it. I probably wouldn't have enjoyed the Brit with that Sydney face on my mind. Much like my escapades with illegal drugs and unwelcome accostings by hookers, these thoughts will colour in the shadows of my trip with charcoal.

Update: The next night, I went gay clubbing with a friend of mine who's currently living in Bangkok. We went to to a different club, but regardless of where you are in the world you know its always the same. Sure, I got hit on by a few people, but at the end of the night it was him that pulled and not me. And frankly, I was happy with that. Happy to be the wingman, and happy to sleep in my bed alone.

The leftover marijuana was lying in the garbage can next to my bed while I slept.