by Chai Pinit
The nightclub Sao and I worked in was near Rama IV intersection. I suspected the bar owner had a special deal with several tour guides because there was never any shortage of customers. Sao and I agreed that we were okay with each other soliciting for sex. It was only work so there was no need to be jealous. Our chief concern was making money, especially now that we were older.
The nightclub we worked in made a fortune charging each patron 1,000 baht per drink. The tour guide, on the other hand, earned a whopping 10,000 baht for every group of tourists they brought with them. It seemed there was never a shortage of money in the club, so it was a good place for us to work.
My relationship with Sao was fine and I believed my life held a degree of security. Just when things were looking up though, Sao got into a fight with the manager which heralded the end of our employment. She’d been taken by a client several days in a row, earning the nightclub 6,000 baht in bar fines, of which she received only 600 baht. She felt she deserved a larger percentage but the management disagreed. She quit, and I was left with little alternative but to follow—without her I didn’t have an act.
The struggle to make a living after that never ceased. We both tried to sell our bodies whenever and wherever we could. We even tried to entice customers into bars and then request a commission from the management. The bar world had changed dramatically over the years and Sao and I were floundering and out of touch in many ways.
Nowadays, male sex workers in the Silom area punch their cards before 8pm if they want to collect a 100-baht bonus. The other staff, such as doormen, waiters, cashiers, DJs and bartenders, must show up before 6pm in order to clean the bar and make sure everything’s in order for the night ahead. The dancers change into work underwear, and the gay and kathoey boys apply make-up to pretty themselves up. Each boy is assigned a number tag which is clipped on the front of their underwear so that clients can easily identify who they’d like to buy. A rotation system ensures fresh faces are constantly taking to the stage: with each change of song a new boy steps up to replace a fellow exiting. The go-go boys dance, strut, and prance, trying to catch the eye of a client. It’s a merry-go-round of boys for sale. The boys’ crotch area happens to be located exactly at the audience’s eye level —a shrewd feature worked into the design of the stage and seating area.
The foreign female clients are the ultimate trophies—they guarantee pleasure, money, and face amongst our crew of dancers who are often jealous when anyone else bags a whitey. The one perk I’ve had from sex work is the opportunity to sleep with women from many backgrounds: Korean, Japanese, Chinese, Indian, white, and black—you name it, I’ve done it! Having so many multicultural notches on my bedpost is a macho reward indeed.
I encountered one sexually uninhibited black woman whom I shall never forget. She was extremely beautiful, with dark smooth skin, almond eyes, and a tall, lean, muscular body. She wasn’t timid at all, and bought me and a gay co-worker for a night of fun and games. It was an orgiastic event that found us woven together in as many positions as can be imagined. Finally she pleasured my co-worker orally while I penetrated her from behind. Her plumbing was rather roomy though, and I was unable to satisfy her with my penis alone, so I masturbated her clitoris while simultaneously satisfying myself inside her. She was a constant stream of energy and excitement and came to a roaring climax, writhing and screaming uncontrollably, the likes of which I’d never seen in anyone before or since. The sheets were soaked with her juices and both us boys were exhausted.
When a white woman looked as if she might purchase me, I became particularly excited and had to remind myself not to appear too giddy in case I blew my chances. While making love, I liked assuring them of their beauty which always seemed to be appreciated. I often fantasised of having a child together and even told them as much; though this never went over as well as the comments on their good looks.
The funny thing is, we Thais used to consider Eurasian children to be kaya songkhram, or ‘war trash’—in other words, they were the leftovers from Western soldiers after they had pulled out of the Vietnam War. Over the years, attitudes have changed, and it’s now considered ‘fashionable’ to have a mixed child. Many luk khruengs, or ‘half-half children’, have succeeded in show business or modelling because of their exotic looks. Black-Thai children used to be subjected to great ridicule, especially if they didn’t know who their GI fathers were, but, a decade or so after the war, when they became teenagers, all that changed. The Sports Authority of Thailand began head-hunting these same children, grooming them to become sports stars because they had stronger bodies and greater stamina.
Sleeping with white women also served as a soothing balm to my fractured ego. I adored the fact that they took charge about what they wanted from me. Unlike female Thai clients, I found white women daring and uninhibited. I recently read a survey which claimed that 70% of Thai women have never had an orgasm. This statistic was attributed to the fact that Thai men are purportedly the world’s least satisfying lovers. I can’t help but wonder why these women didn’t go ahead and please themselves if their men were incapable of doing so. Or at the very least demonstrate to their lovers what they like in bed? In my opinion, they have no one to blame but themselves.
The boys take to the stage at 8.30pm, dancing for the first hour and a half before the sex shows begin. These shows include all sorts of complicated acrobatic moves—which involved our bouncing on top of one another while twisting and turning and penetrating each other. The performers are required to have great stamina and poise. In the past, go-go boys were required to reach orgasm and, moreover, to prove it; but this is no longer the case, although some bars still advertise ejaculation as a selling point to draw customers. On special occasions, the manager of go-go bars will host ladyboy or male beauty contests. These events always pull good crowds, especially amongst the bar boys themselves as well as among the gay and kathoey community.
From my own experience, farang bar owners are usually nicer to their boys than their Thai competitors. They don’t view their employees as mere machines to discard once broken down. A farang boss has been known to rent rooms for his boys after they became infected with HIV, in some cases even giving their wives and children allowances and covering medical expenses.
Over the past decade, a growing number of university students have turned to the sex industry to fund their studies. Some need money simply because their parents are unable to support them. Others turn to the sex industry because they feel pressured by peers to buy brand-name goods and expensive digital gadgets to earn face. Some women only sell themselves so they can purchase handbags and designer clothes in order to look attractive and hopefully get the attention of a long-term lover or patron.
One of the main reasons for male students’ selling their bodies is that they’ve incurred huge debts from gambling on European football matches. This kind of gambling is done through an agent called a to, meaning ‘a table’. The bets are placed over a mobile phone or on the Internet so that the police can’t track them. If the students lose, they’re obliged to cough up the money fast or else face the wrath of hired thugs who tend to balance the books in their own unique manner. Therefore, the easiest way of making quick money is simply by putting their family jewels up for sale. Most working boys in bars—be they straight, gay or kathoey—generally get along. There are some nasty fistfights in gay town from time to time, but the catfights amongst the girls of Patpong are more frequent. It’s hard to gauge what percentage of go-go boys in Soi Twilight are straight, gay, or bisexual. I know of one bar that claims to hire only straight men, yet I’ve seen many of the bar’s clients walking out with petite, gay boys.
In my experience, straight men seem to be bolder and less inhibited about taking their underwear off or fondling their privates on stage. Ironically, gay and kathoey go-go boys are more reserved in this regard. I’ve always identified myself as straight both inside and outside of the work
place. I’ve experienced rare moments of joy during my time working in the sex industry but mostly, it’s not exactly been fun. I don’t know how gay and kathoey co-workers feel about their job—nobody wants to admit that they hate their careers and thus that they’re living a lie. The one difference between me and my gay/kathoey counterparts is that they can be optimistic about the possibility of finding a long-term client or even developing a relationship beyond that of punter and prostitute.
Some bars divide their boys into two groups according to the perceived tastes of Western and Asian gay clients. Farangs generally go for well-built dark-skinned boys, while Asians prefer the slim and lighter-complexioned kind. However, there’s no single formula when it comes to the rules of attraction.
These days, there’s less stigma associated with being a sex worker than in the past. Success and wealth are highly regarded by family and friends, wherever the source of it may be. In rural areas, parents will brag about the amount of money their children send home each month. Competition amongst neighbouring families can be fierce.
These same parents prefer not to acknowledge that their sons and daughters sell their bodies to finance a new TV or motorcycle. They pretend their offspring work in nice offices or fancy restaurants. It’s as if money absolves one of all sins, wiping the slate clean of any indecencies committed in the acquisition of it. It’s hard to eradicate this type of thinking when poverty is widespread and wealth is the only means of garnering respect. Suddenly, neighbours are eager to socialise with the nouveau riche, being no longer considered destitute village vermin. Of course, not all villagers have such a mindset, but it is still the mindset that is most prevalent. I admire those who succeed in resisting this way of thinking though, and put the welfare of their children above any materialistic outlook. However, trading a child for wealth and benefits is something that’s not only carried out by the poor. Many marriages among the elite in high society are arranged on the premise that such unions would be good for the family name and/or future business success; in my opinion, it’s merely a higher and classier form of prostitution.
It is considered shameful to return to one’s village with no evidence suggesting one has gone from rags to riches. The first question on everyone’s lips is, ‘How much money do you make in Bangkok?’ If your answer is hundreds of thousand of baht per year you’ll be praised. If you divulge that you’re making next to nothing or worse yet, are unemployed, they’ll likely walk away uninterested. Some factory workers dread going home because fellow villagers expect them to throw lavish celebrations, showering them with gifts. Those who do return to their families during annual festivals often find themselves incurring debt while trying to maintain face with their greedy neighbours.
I’m not saying that selling one’s body is the worst career in the world—it’s my body after all and I’m free to do whatever I want with it. All workplaces have pros and cons, and dos and don’ts; the go-go bars are no exception.
Mama-sans act as the middlemen: they greet clients at the door, escort them to their seats, sit with them, make small talk, and then help choose a boy who best fits their ‘spec’. I quickly learned that it was important to maintain good relationships with Mama-sans; otherwise they’ll recommend the boys they favour most over you. Worse yet, they may badmouth you, rendering you unsaleable. Working in the industry exposes one to copious amounts of alcohol, gambling, and drugs, and it is hard to resist these temptations. There are three golden rules that every go-go boy must abide by on a bar’s premises—no gambling; obedience to the boss; and no drug taking. Yet drugs are freely available and addiction is rife—with some boys even dying or losing their minds in the process. Sadly, many former go-go boys resort to small-time theft when they can’t sell themselves.
I strongly recommend that sex tourists not employ the services of streetwalkers, as the chances of being drugged and robbed, or worse, are considerably high. Downtown Bangkok is home to ladyboys who are famous for their snatch-and-run and undetectable pickpocket tactics.
Staying in this industry too long, however, can easily make one resent having to work for ‘clean’ money. Not that what we do doesn’t count as work—it certainly does—however, most go-go boys wouldn’t be able to tolerate a nine-to-five job with a boss constantly breathing down their necks, especially after living what they consider to be a free life. Like me, many go-go boys squander their money and before they know it, their lifestyle has chewed them up and spat them out. As you mature, even if you can master your money, you can’t find work very easily to earn it. A younger generation of go-go boys are nipping at your heels and taking first pick of the clients. The attractive, successful boys usually disappear from the soi pretty quickly – they usually secure a lifelong patron who buys them a house, or they start a business with their generous earnings. Some of my former co-workers became bar managers while others had real business acumen and ended up owning bars.
In my opinion, aging farang men forming relationships with younger Thai partners is a grey area. I don’t feel that one party is taking advantage of the other. The older partners are seeking a lover or companionship and the younger ones are desperate for money in order to better their lives. So all in all, both parties benefit from the relationship.
Sadly, there is a very dark side to sex work. A number of bar workers are HIV positive and yet they continue to work. Although bars usually require their dancers to undergo monthly health checks, many cases slip through undetected. You take a huge risk every time you sleep with a working boy or girl. Also, the age of those getting infected is constantly dropping. They might look young and healthy, but some may not even know they’re infected, while others do and yet choose to continue working. Many of my co-workers have died from AIDS, having once been good-looking men with muscular bodies; but the disease ravaged them and reduced them to emaciated, stinking cadavers. Many died alone, rejected by their families. These were the very same families the dancers had built houses or bought cars for, and fed and clothed for years.
I firmly believe there is nothing wrong with the sex-for-sale business if all parties involved are consenting. I’m very much in favour of decriminalising prostitution and offering participants protection by the law. If a male sex worker is raped or abused we have a harder time than our female counterparts in getting assistance from healthcare providers or the authorities. In fact, for the most part, we don’t even bother making a police report because we know it’ll be a waste of time and energy—not to mention completely humiliating.
CHAPTER 14
When the going got tough, Sao’s true colours came to light and I realised, much to my own detriment, that she was bad-tempered and ill-mannered. Her childhood was beset by poverty and abuse, which forced her as a teenager to work in Patpong. During the years she should’ve been completing secondary school, she sold her body and became a regular girl for a prominent businessman. She quickly took up drinking and drugs in the hope of numbing the ordeal of having her body pawed by strangers. She was especially fond of a drug known locally as met mao, or ‘drunken pill’. When under its spell she felt no pain, so she’d pick up a blade or shard of glass and slice open her wrists and arms. Her body still bears testament to the number of times she spent harming herself in these trance-like states. Together, Sao and I occasionally used ya ba, which we smoked for the high aphrodisiac effect before we had sex. Thankfully, I never took it on a regular basis.
Sao’s jealousy was overwrought, but I could have lived with this side of her personality—her hypocrisy disturbed me the most. She wasn’t one for practising what she preached. She forbade me to drink and gamble while she would drunkenly gallivant off into the night with her male companions.
‘You can’t handle drink like I can. You have a weak spine,’ she reasoned.
If Sao noticed that I so much as glanced at another woman she’d slap my face. One night a Japanese woman offered to buy me for 1,500 baht, but Sao
wouldn’t hear of it. She obnoxiously hurled profanities at the poor woman, sending her running in tears. It was ironic that in the past I’d been the violent and abusive partner. The boomerang of my previous actions had returned to me in the form of the supposedly ‘fairer’ sex.
Sao openly flirted with my male acquaintances as if to humiliate me. I continually reminded her, ‘Marriage license or not, you are my woman and should treat me with the respect I deserve!’ When confronted, she laughed in my face, retorting, ‘These men are only good friends!’ Good friends indeed. What woman would sit in her male friend’s lap, pecking and hugging him in front of her boyfriend? Rumours trickled back that Sao was sleeping with other men behind my back. I was livid; I imagined her lovers laughing at me for being nothing more than putty in her hands.
I knew I was liable to hurt Sao if this continued—I needed to show her who was boss and if that meant resorting to violence then so be it. Luckily for her, fate intervened and Sao fell pregnant so I didn’t beat her. Despite the fact I wasn’t sure if the baby was mine, I was still happy. Given the fact I was trying my hand at ‘ghost guiding’—bringing customers to bars in exchange for commissions, I believed I was in a better position to raise a child. The only drawback was that the mother was violent and manipulative. I chose to ignore that fact, however, for I desperately wanted to raise a family to show I’d done something worthwhile with my life. I took great comfort in the prospect of my child taking care of me in my old age. I was terrified of dying alone and destitute, and believed this child would provide security and a chance to make amends for the life of the child I’d already taken, as well as the son I’d lost.
While I was happy, Sao found pregnancy very difficult. She became even more unstable, and dramatically flew off the handle at the slightest provocation. She threatened that if I ever touched alcohol she’d throw herself under a bus. While I stayed sober, she smoked and drank her way through the pregnancy. I worried that the baby might be born handicapped.