by Jay J Carr
Tod knew what he wanted. It was going to be the opposite of ‘gay-for-pay’. He headed towards the Soi with the girlie bars on it. He knew he should have gone back to the hotel but his legs were walking and he was making his way down the road, to the place that Hurtle had pointed out.
The market had the most unusual collection of goods, fake watches, bootlegged DVD's, underwear and then some pretty interesting T-shirts. Under a tarpaulin there were three long rows each with a little table, lights and electricity.
He felt safer walking down the middle row so that he could scout out the area and also make sure that no one recognized him from the television. In this aspect he had been lucky, as so far he was able to stay pretty much incognito. The network had limited viewership in this part of the world.
He had made his way half way up when he saw a man showing pictures of the ‘Pussy Palace’ to a passerby. Two Australian men looked at the pictures that had been shoved into their face. "Come Mister, good girl –ping-pong show." The Australian's were not impressed and walked off. Tod moved closer looking interested but as Murphy would have it when you want to be approached you are not. The tout then turned and walked over to two Japanese men who were clearly interested in what the ‘Pussy Palace’ had to offer. With lightning speed they were ushered up the staircase.
Tod played out the options in his head. He could either go in and look around and leave; or, go in look around and watch the ping-pong show; or, he could just go back to the hotel. The latter was the most sensible. Tomorrow was going to be a long day of live reporting, where he would connect with the anchors on air to explain what was known to date. The logic was overridden by base human desire. He carried on walking up the stairs. Before he knew it, he was sitting inside the ‘Pussy Palace’ with a drink in his hand and a fat woman shouting, "Choose the girl. She give you good time."
When he woke up the next morning, he tried to put the pieces together of the night before. Was it a dream? The throbbing hangover quickly eliminated that idea. If he recalled correctly, he entered the bar and a drink of some kind was served, then women, lots of women had surrounded him. A really young girl with a petit frame, jet-black hair and perky tits that he like so much, was dancing in front of him and even in his inebriated state he felt horny. He had shouted out her little red number on her panties to this big fat and really unattractive woman who ran the place. The rest of the time was not something he wanted to remember. The bar where they drank as he groped her. The room hired by the hour and him taking advantage of a girl that could easily be his daughter, in a rough manner because he could. He did remember that he had acted like a demon and a pig. He had been physically unpleasant. He closed his eyes.
Tod violently hit his hand against the headboard. "Damnit," he said aloud. What the hell was he thinking?
He couldn't remember if he had been wearing a condom? How much he had paid the girl? What he had said? His mouth was dry inside and tasted vile. What was he was going to do today? How could he look good for the camera? Damn, damn, damn. He slowly got up and made his way to the bathroom.
That Place-
3.
There are many touts and pundits vying for his attention as he enters the Soi. This irritates him, as does the hot and humid evening. One man grabs his hand and he gets a fright.
“Don’t,” he hears himself whisper, but the man is equally shocked as he looks at him apologetically, bows his head while raising his hands in the salutary gesture.
“Sorry Mister. Not mean make you scary,” he says, with a goofy smile.
He carries on walking, not making eye contact, dodging the offers that are forced on him left and right. At least this way there are no expectations. He wants to try somewhere new tonight and with a determined walk heads to the bar Xcellent-Boys.
“Welcome Mister,” the ladyboy gushes. She has more make up on than most women wear in a lifetime. It is thickly layered clearly masking the truth below.
He raises his hands in greeting to her. The bar has a different layout out to others he has been to. There is a stage and it is a full circle. The patrons sit all the way around it. This makes him uncomfortable, as he does not like to look at other customers and now has no choice.
The show has started and he is squashed into a chair. On the stage a drag queen/ladyboy, he doesn’t know if the breasts are real or not, lip-synchs to the latest hit. She misses each pronounced syllable, which makes her look like she is eating rather than singing. His eyes acclimatize to the dark and he looks around the bar. It is really full and there are many Japanese and Korean patrons.
The show continues with one act after the next but he does not watch it. His mind is pre-occupied with the volume of work that he has to do. When he focuses back, the show has finished and the stage is filled with ‘boys’.
He knows he should go back and work but he also wants to have some fun. As the ‘boys’ walk around, he looks over them and is not overly excited about what is on offer. At the end of the row he sees a young ‘boy’, youthful charm and completely shy, not even making eye contact with potential customers. The ‘boy’ does not change positions but remains hidden at the back of the stage.
“You want boy?” The painted apparition asks him, seeing he is looking at the stage.
“Yes,” he hears himself say. “Number 97.”
“Good choice, Mister. New boy, very young.”
The last few words stick and he cautiously asks, “He is legal, right?”
“Just turned 18.”
“Oh, okay then.”
“I will tell him to change.” It is final and the exchange has begun.
He hesitates and turns to call her back but she has disappeared into the chaos.
The activity continues around him; other customers are busy selecting ‘boys’ and making idle talk with the Mama-sans.
The young ‘boy’ makes his way through the bar towards him. He is small in size, short and looks like an adolescent up close and not like an adult. “Hi, my name Tee.” It is robotic.
“Hi. Nice to meet you,” he says. The ‘boy’ does not ask for his name.
“Nice meet you,” the ‘boy’ responds.
“And you.”
“We go?”
“Yes.” He stands up and pulls out his wallet to pay his check.
The Mama-san is nowhere to be found. This irritates him and the ‘boy’ is standing next to him waiting for further instructions. He feels awkward, as they have not said anymore. Taking the ‘boy’ back to his hotel is not a good idea. The hotel has different rules to others. There are signs all over the lobby that say ‘no additional guests’, otherwise a ‘joining fee’ will be charged. He should have thought this through a little more.
The Mama-san re-appears and he signs to her that he wants to pay. She saunters over with a naughty smile on her face. He hurriedly hands over the bills, which he has extracted from his wallet and makes a hasty exit with the ‘boy’ in tow.
When they are back in the Soi, he considers his options and then points towards the hotel that offers ‘short-time’ rooms. The ‘boy’ is confused but follows. They enter the hotel and the receptionist asks for the ‘boy’s’ identity card, which he hands over. The receptionist looks at the card longer than normal and then back at the ‘boy’. The ‘boy’ is quiet. The receptionist asks him something in Thai and he responds.
“Sorry, is there a problem?” he asks, the embarrassment increasing. Maybe this is an out for him. Could it be a fake identity card?
“No, Mister. That will be …” Before he has finished the money is on the counter.
The bellboy escorts them to a room and then quickly retreats.
He is rough again. He forces his penis into the ‘boy’ without any lubrication. So hard that the ‘boy’ winces and groans in pain and not pleasure.
After sex, he lies on the bed and touches the ‘boy’, tracing his fingers over the small nipples and stomach.
“Are you really 18? You look so much younger.”
/> “No,” the ‘boy’ says.
He laughs at the ‘boy’ but he is not smiling. He doesn’t understand and looks at the young face looking back at him. “How old are you?”
The ‘boy’ smiles shyly and looks away.
“No really, just out of interest, how old are you?”
The ‘boy’ smiles and says “I,” pointing at himself, “15. You my first customer.”
It is obvious. He knew that the ‘boy’ was underage but chose to listen to the Mama-san. The confirmation was in the conversation with the hotel receptionist, but hearing it from the ‘boy’ directly has a different effect. Sex with a minor. Being horny over being responsible.
He looks at the ‘boy’ and says, “Sorry.”
The ‘boy’ smiles back.
“You,” he says, pointing at him. “Not good work in bar. Too young.”
“Money … need money.”
The plans of visiting a new bar every night during his trip and utilizing the services of as many ‘boys’ as possible is stalled. In his mind he hears, “15,15,15,15…”
New Jersey-
4.
The morning events have shaken him. He does not feel like eating but then forces himself to have breakfast; otherwise he is going to be hungry for the whole day. He swallows the croissant down with a cup of coffee. The cellphone rings and he knows it is Susan calling.
“Hi, Susan …”
“Hi,” and then briskly and un-Susan like. “You need to look at the television news channels now.”
“What?”
“Its’ about you. They are saying that there are some allegations about you that have surfaced.”
“Like what?”
“You need to just watch … Call me once you have.”
She hangs up and anxiety takes over. This really has to stop. He switches the television on, changes the channel until he finds a news channel and listens carefully. The story about the women trained as executors is being shown again and it looks pretty normal to him. He watches for a bit longer and then hears:
And in our developing stories, Barry Cunningham, this year’s winner of the Peace Prize, is being implicated in a sex scandal. This story and more after the short break.
His stomach sinks and the coffee and croissant come dangerously close to being ejected. What are they saying about him? Where did these allegations come from? Thinking about the press and the experience to date, he knows they will manipulate a story to make it more dramatic. He watches in morbid fascination as his face is beamed around the world once again. Susan will have to get on it.
Barry Cunningham, this year’s winner of the prestigious Peace Prize has been implicated in a sex scandal. A source in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia has indicated that Cunningham may have used male prostitutes on his visit to the city. Over to our correspondent Amy Chan.
Hello Rosemary, a source close to BTN has confirmed that Barry Cunningham used the services of an infamous ‘sex for sale’ agency on his many visits to the city. Cunningham was identified as a customer after the prize announcement. We cannot confirm more than this but as soon as we have more on the developing story we will let you know.
He will have to be quick he thinks as he dials Susan’s number.
“I just saw it.”
“What should we do?”
“Well it’s not true.” There is doubt in his voice.
“What you do in your personal life has nothing to do with anyone else.”
“Susan, I went to Kuala Lumpur twenty years ago. I was presenting at a conference and I met someone … I … um … But it wasn’t like that.”
There is silence on the other side of the phone.
“I have only been there once.”
The silence is replaced by, “Okay. What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know.” He hopes that she will manage this one too.
“Well I need some guidance. Do I mention that you met someone, or not?”
“Um …”
“Leave it to me. I will make a plan. I sometimes worry that when people try to defend themselves that’s when it becomes more obvious.”
“I agree …”
“I will do a quick press release. I am becoming good at these.” The humor or sarcasm is lost within the conversation.
“Thanks.”
He knows what this means - they are coming back. Whether he likes it or not, the vultures will be stalking him again and they will congregate outside. He goes back into the kitchen and quickly closes the curtains, not before seeing that there are already three reporters standing on the other side of the road.
The beep of the sms cuts through the air. He thinks it’s Susan but it’s Charles:
we need to talk. i am on my way home
It is not long before he hears the gate open and the keys in the lock.
There is no greeting. They both sit down at the kitchen table. Charles is the first one to speak.
“So is it true?”
How much does he know? “What?”
“Oh please! Don’t fucking pretend you don’t know!”
If only he knew the truth. “You mean the allegations?”
“Yes, the fucking allegations. I have to hear them from a colleague and not even you. I look like the fucking idiot in the office. There is even that silence that comes when others have been talking about you. It happened in our office as everyone went quiet and looked at me.” Does he even understand about space being violated?
I am in this position that I did not choose. “Sorry.”
“I asked you if they are true?”
Of course they are true. “We agreed we could have an open relationship.”
“Yes, we did but that did not include fucking a prostitute.”
Didn’t it. “What difference does it make?”
“So you’re admitting you did?”
Can’t you see what I am admitting to? “I said we had an open relationship.”
“Fucking hookers was not part of the deal.”
They are not hookers, they are people. “We never defined what was and what was not included.”
“For fuck’s sake I am going to seriously lose my cool.”
So tell me what’s new. The silence is sickly and the casualties are lying all over the room.
“And I asked what difference does it make? We are all prostitutes - some for money, some for power, some for sex.”
This time there is no response.
He continues, “What is the difference if you find it in a bar, or find it on the street, the aim is to have sex? That is what we agreed on, as long as it was safe and didn’t develop into a relationship.”
While he is speaking the chair scrapes back and before he is finished the kitchen door slams. He hears the thunderous footsteps down the passage. Keys are collected and the front door slams. There is silence once more.
Another beep. He doesn’t want to look at it. Another beep and another one. He is about to switch off the phone when he sees that they are from Susan. What has she done, he wonders? It reads:
see attached press release.
He opens the document but struggles to read it:
Professor Cunningham notes the allegations made against him. He does not wish to engage in a prolonged explanation but wishes to share the following information. Professor Cunningham presented a paper on ‘Dignity in the face of government oppression’ in Malaysia twenty years ago. This was the first and only trip he made to the country. The allegations therefore are questionable. He requests that you respect his privacy.
Bangkok-
5.
It was later in the day when he realised how bad it was. The audio link played an interview with the British NGO that dealt with sex workers, which was linked to the Cunningham story.
He heard, "What is worrying is that many of the sex workers are in fact stuck in situations of dire poverty and they see this as the only way to escape it. Those that prey on them, in effect, reduce them to commodities knowing this."
She cleared her throat and this sounded thunderous in the earpiece, " … and they are left trapped and victims of the sex industry."
Tod wanted to speak to her directly and say that she was wrong, that he was actually the victim and that he had not meant to exploit the girl. He felt his cheeks burning red and he felt bad, really bad. He had used someone for sex and paid for it. Something he had used his moral compass to judge others on and yet he now fitted the same category.
It wasn’t only that he had used the girl for sex and paid for it, it was that he had treated her like meat. Tod was not one for sentiment but he knew he had crossed the line.
What made it worse was what he was covering and how throughout the day he had to talk about the sex industry in Thailand. He was Cunningham too.
That Place-
6.
Addiction - is the only way to explain it. Severe addiction. Not to a substance or a drink but to the body. He finds every opportunity to return to it. This is his fourth visit in the year and he still wonders how he can make another one without causing suspicion.
He no longer looks for younger ‘boys’; the last experience had left him feeling immense guilt. Only older ‘boys’ in their late twenties still called ‘boys’, were his choice. Regardless of the decision that either young or old ‘boys’ made - the older ones had a bit more life experience and could possibly understand the consequences of their choice. Bullshit, he thinks! Again part of him is moralizing over this, as if there are levels of morality. They did it because … money, and as a participant he was fueling it by paying for sex.
For some variety he heads to the seaside town of Pattaya, which has its own reputation for three ‘boy’ bar areas all over town. This interests him. The bars are different here, not as sophisticated as Bangkok. This is part of the appeal.
The first night he wanders around the street looking at what is on offer. There is so much, his head spins. A sign flashing muscled torsos beckons him in. Muscles, buffed and pumped are on display as well as big bulges in their underwear too. He looks in lust at the stage imagining how the night could end.
