Bali Bule Hunter

by Michael Powers

  Budi glanced at Greg to see if he was still listening. “Sure you wanna hear this?”

  “Positive,” Greg nodded, certain Budi could help him find Uncle Ted.

  “I was a moneyboy for about six months, working for a daddy named Yogi. He owns a Net cafe and massage parlor. I was one of his most popular boys, so he treated me well. In your money, he charged a hundred dollars a night or twenty dollars an hour and kept half. That’s good money on Bali, considering the average wage is about two-hundred dollars a month. I worked about fifteen nights a month. I asked Yogi to set me up with as many Americans as possible. That way I could practice my English and pick up the correct pronunciation and usage. Many times I stayed longer with a client if he was willing to chat with me, especially if I thought he had something interesting to say. I was obsessed with learning how to speak American English so I could move to your country.”

  “Very clever,” Greg complimented Budi. “Given lemons, you made lemonade.”

  Greg’s reference to lemons puzzled Budi. Before he could ask what the expression meant, Greg apologized for the interruption, encouraging Budi to continue his story.

  “I had it easy compared to some of the boys I worked with. Many of them were sold to Yogi by their parents. He paid roughly three hundred dollars to the parents in exchange for a six-month contract. Each boy got food, clothing, and a tiny room. Mostly from Borneo or Sumatra, they turned at least ten tricks a night. For all that risk and effort, each boy earned about ten dollars a night, usually sending half to his family. I had the choice of using a condom, but most of the guys didn’t. Yogi beat or fired any boy who refused a client request.

  “After six months, I could barely stand to look at myself in a mirror. I showered after every client, but sometimes I couldn’t get that clean feeling back. There were always scratches on my back or legs where they clawed me like animals. Just as one bruise cleared up, some guy would give me a new one in a different spot. It became more difficult to get it up, especially when I wasn’t attracted to the fat, smelly, wrinkled guys Yogi set me up with. I knew my days as a moneyboy were numbered, so I had to find some other way to make a living.

  “I used to sneak into the five-star hotel gardens and borrow some of their prize orchids in the early morning hours when no one would see me. I tried different arrangements to brighten up the small room I rented. When I ran out of space, I put the arrangements on my balcony. My neighbors began asking where they could buy flower arrangements like mine. I told them I had a secret source, but would be happy to buy some for them. Pretty soon, I was providing fresh flower arrangements for the whole neighborhood. I had to find a more reliable flower source, so I struck a deal with some farmers. They supplied me with fresh flowers at low prices, and I opened a small shop. The day my new shop opened, I told Yogi I wouldn’t be working for him again. He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t try to stop me. The flowershop did well. Balinese Hindus like to put small boxes of flower petals by their shrines and sacred places each morning, so I had steady group of clients.

  “I read the most successful people find a way to get paid doing what they enjoy, so I applied that to my life. I really enjoy making people look good. Since I was twelve, I’ve been cutting my friends’ hair. I used the profits from the flower business to open a full service salon and spa. It took a lot of time, money, and effort. When the first one was successful, I opened another. The only thing missing in my life right now is a guy like you,” Budi grinned.

  Greg didn’t respond to Budi’s last remark. He didn’t want to offend Budi or give him false hope. Changing the subject, he said, “I saw something last night maybe you can explain to me. Two guys left the dance floor at Last Call and had sex on the beach. The younger one was Indonesian and the older was white. After they finished, the young one rubbed mud all over himself, then rinsed off in the ocean. What was that all about?”

  Budi chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose that seemed strange. The boy you saw was probably Muslim and they’re fanatics about washing after sex. They figure wet sand is as good as scrubbing with soap and it’s free! They also believe salt water kills germs. Maybe it does. I don't know. A Muslim friend told me his religion frowns on semen touching the body any more than a few seconds. That obsession with cleanliness makes them very safe moneyboys, along with the fact they’re all circumcised. I heard on the news last week local health officials estimate there are five thousand moneyboys on Bali, and almost half are HIV positive. Over eighty percent of the HIV positives are uncircumcised, which means they’re probably Hindu, Chinese, or Christian. A Muslim moneyboy is your safest bet these days.”

  “Good to know,” Greg smiled, impressed with Budi’s practical knowledge. “I’m glad we met. How can I tell if someone is a moneyboy, a gay man attracted to me, or just another friendly Balinese?”

  “The friendly Balinese looks at your face, the gay man looks at your crotch, and the moneyboy looks at your wallet,” Budi chuckled. “Don’t put your wallet in your crotch or your mouth, and you’ll be able to tell the difference just fine!”

  Relieved Budi seem to have recovered, Greg grinned at his host. “You should have your own comedy show. Any other differences?”

  “Packaging and conversation are the big differences,” Budi explained. “Moneyboys want to be noticed, so they dress for attention. They wear seductive clothing, exposing lots of flesh. Look for bright tank tops, tight shorts, and colorful, flimsy sandals. They also like to color their hair, and wear things that sparkle and shine. Anyway, a few minutes of conversation and you’ll know if someone is a moneyboy. He’ll tell you how desperately he needs money, and try to get some kind of financial commitment. That’s the key.”

  Greg pulled a computer printout of Uncle Ted and Donny from his pocket and handed it to Budi. “Do you recognize either of them?”

  Budi studied the photos carefully before commenting. “Your uncle is a handsome man. Are these pictures recent?”

  Greg nodded. “I took that picture of Ted a couple months ago when I made a website for him. He’s sixty-four.”

  “He looks great for his age, Greg. Thick silver hair, cool matching mustache, and no big belly. Sporty dresser. Not many wrinkles around his eyes. Deep tan. He looks very healthy. Does he exercise a lot?”

  “Yeah, he’s always been very athletic.” Greg recalled summer afternoons on his uncle’s private tennis court, followed by a dip in Ted’s pool. “He swims, plays tennis, goes mountain biking, belongs to a volleyball league. The hair is real, but I think he’s had some work on his face. You’re right, though. He looks good for his age.”

  “I would’ve noticed him,” Budi assured Greg, “but I don’t recall seeing him or the boy in this photo. Is there anything unusual about your uncle? A tattoo or ugly scar? Maybe a distinctive walk or speaking style? Something he wears? Maybe jewelry or a hat?”

  Greg shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think so. He hates tattoos and piercings. I don’t recall any scars or other distinctive marks. He wears a watch and ring, but nothing unique. He’s tall, lean, and tan with silver hair and mustache. He has a deep, masculine voice. I don’t know what else to tell you. I can see now the advantage of having some trademark characteristic. Maybe I should get something to help identify me if I ever go missing!”

  “I can tattoo my name on your forehead,” Budi offered playfully.

  Greg chuckled. “I was thinking of a distinctive hat or ring. Not sure I’m ready to permanently alter my body yet.”

  “There are a limited number of gay places on this island, and I can take you to all of them in the next few days,” Budi offered. “We’ll ask bouncers, waiters, receptionists, bartenders, and other people I know if they’ve seen your uncle or his boyfriend.”

  “I appreciate that,” Greg grinned nervously. “I felt so awkward at Patar and Rainbow last night. First time in a gay bar outside my own country. Not my finest hour.”

  Budi smiled coyly at Greg, tugging his left earlobe. “Is there someone special back home?�
��

  “Sort of,” Greg replied, looking away. “My roommate Jaya.”

  Budi sat upright. “Asian?”

  Greg nodded. “He’s from Sumatra, but he spent a year on Bali. We studied together at UCLA, and now we’re roommates.”

  “Roommates who sleep in the same bed or different beds?” Budi asked.

  “Different beds,” Greg admitted. “It’s complicated.”

  Intrigued that Greg had feelings for an Indonesian, Budi had to know more. Maybe he still had a chance with Greg. “How complicated? Like making a nuclear power plant?” Budi teased.

  “Not that complicated,” Greg grinned, enjoying Budi’s playful nature. “Jaya and I had sex when we first met, but he’s engaged to marry a woman from his village. When he’s been in the States long enough, he’ll become a citizen, then marry her, and she’ll join him. Then they’ll bring both their families over. He claims he must honor a commitment his family made long ago, so he can’t have a relationship with a man. We can only be friends. I know he has feelings for me. I’m hoping with enough time, he’ll realize his marriage to a woman will never work. Then we can be together.”

  Budi didn’t have the heart to tell Greg how little chance there was for that to happen. “Indonesian parents hold their children in a vise grip and they’re not likely to let go,” Budi warned. Opening the afghan to display his muscular brown body, Budi grinned, “On the other hand, I’m totally available. No family ties keeping me here. Once you’ve had me, you’ll never go back to Jaya.”

  “Tempting as your offer is,” Greg smiled, “can we focus on finding my uncle for now?”

  “Of course,” Budi agreed quickly, confident he still had a chance with Greg.

  Greg shifted uneasily in his chair. “Can we ask around without drawing a lot of attention to ourselves? I don’t want to embarrass my uncle if he’s just having a good time. I also don’t want to scare anyone who knows something, but might be afraid to tell us.”

  Budi nodded. “Got it. We need to be discreet. I think it’d be best if we introduce you as my new American boyfriend to keep all the horny Bali boys away. Most of them won’t hit on you if they think you’re already taken. We’ll say you’re here to meet your uncle, and you’ve temporarily lost track of him. We won’t arouse any suspicion that way, okay?”

  Greg nodded amiably. “Fine, as long as we don’t lose sight of the fact we’re pretending.”

  Budi eyed Greg steadily, scratching his chin with his little finger. “Got it.”

  The more Greg looked at Budi, the more his eyebrows fascinated him, so he asked if they were naturally v-shaped. Budi scowled at the suggestion he did something to alter his brows. They stood next to each other in front of a mirror so they could compare eyebrows.

  “See how mine go straight across and yours kind of arch up in the middle?” Greg asked.

  Budi saw the difference for the first time. He grabbed a picture of himself with all the employees at his salons and studied the men. All the Javanese men in the photo had the same v-shaped brow.

  “You think it’s ugly?” Budi asked quietly.

  “No!” Greg insisted. “It’s just different. Jaya is the only other Indonesian I know, so I couldn’t help comparing the two of you. You have some very distinct features, and I was only wondering if they are typical of all Indonesians. Now when I see men with arched brows, I’ll know they’re probably from Java.”

  “Then you’ll think of me, and want to have sex, right?” Budi smiled hopefully.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what will happen!” Greg laughed, enjoying Budi more with each wisecrack. “Sorry to make such a big deal about the eyebrow thing. So, where do we start looking for Uncle Ted, Budi?”

  “Since your uncle worked out regularly, we may find him at Iron Man gym in Legian. It’s popular with the gay crowd. Better equipped than the best hotel gyms and the views are superior, if you know what I mean. Then, we’ll tour the gay beaches and cafes. There’s a couple gay-friendly restaurants we can check, and have supper when you get hungry. Then we’ll hit the bars and other night spots again. Tomorrow we can visit massage parlors and private places like the clothing-optional gay bed-and-breakfast.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Greg agreed. “Sure you have time for all this?”

  Budi wiggled his cell phone between thumb and forefinger. “If my staff need me, they’ll call. It’ll be nice to hit all my old haunts. It’s been a while since I made the rounds!” Budi was genuinely looking forward to giving Greg the Bali gay tour.

  Budi dropped the afghan and headed for his bedroom. “I’ll put some clothes on and we can run over there now.......unless.......” Budi turned back to Greg, displaying his naked body seductively.

  “Unless?” Greg repeated.

  “Unless you’ve changed your mind about a quick roll on my mattress. One for the road maybe?”

  Greg smiled. “If we have sex now, you’ll have nothing to look forward to later.”

  Budi nodded. “Good point. Sometimes postponed pleasures are the best!”

  Greg rose and headed for the balcony to gaze at the ocean. A few minutes later, Budi joined him, wearing fresh jeans and a muscle shirt. “Like the view, Greg?”

  “Reminds me of home. I have an ocean view, but mine isn’t as close to the beach as yours.”

  “I rented this apartment because of the view,” Budi admitted. “I sit out here every morning drinking my hot tea.”

  Greg chuckled. “How can you drink hot tea in this humidity? I lost half my body weight sweating while I drank coffee at Made’s!”

  “I love the smell of fresh bule sweat in the morning! I’d be happy to lick you dry next time, Greg.”

  “I’ll give you points for persistence,” Greg chuckled. “What exactly does bule mean anyway?”

  “Now I get to be the teacher,” Budi giggled, delighted to turn the tables on Greg. “Bule is our word for white foreigner.”

  “I thought maybe that was it,” Greg murmured. “Budi, do you know anyone who drives a silver Toyota like the one across from your building?”

  Glancing down, Budi shook his head. “Why?”

  “I’m certain that car was parked across from Made’s cafe and followed us here. Thought maybe they’re friends of yours.”

  “Remember the license number when we pass them,” Budi suggested. “I’ll have my assistant check the registry. Anything else bothering you?”

  Greg gazed at Budi for a moment, impressed by the young Indonesian’s candor and perception. None of his questions had offended Budi, so Greg ventured one more. “Donny e-mailed my uncle a video of himself masturbating. It was a very high quality video.....good lighting, well-furnished room with a pool in the background. It didn’t look like something shot with a cheap webcam in a sleazy rented room. How does a guy like Donny manage that?”

  Slightly disappointed, Budi hoped Greg was having second thoughts about an affair with him. “There’s a place in Ubud that makes X-rated videos of the cutest moneyboys. I mean the really talented boys the daddies use to pull in the big money. Most clients want to see what they’re getting before they agree to meet, and a naked pic isn’t good enough anymore. Some of the boys will give them a webcam peek in a Net cafe, but that’s risky, and the quality isn’t very good. Daddies will pay to have a two-minute video clip professionally produced if they think the boy is worth it. That way, they can use it over and over. The place in Ubud is a private villa. I understand it’s very lavish, so that’s probably where Donny’s video was shot.”

  “Did you make a video when you were in the biz?”

  Budi smiled coyly. “Are you asking cuz you wanna see it?”

  Greg realized he’d have to choose his words very carefully so he didn’t mislead Budi. “No, I’m just wondering if you know where in Ubud the videos are made.”

  Budi shook his head. “No, I never made one. Technology and expectations have changed a lot since I quit. I would never have done it anyway. I’m not shy and I love my body, but I
didn’t want to leave a permanent record of my moneyboy career. All I know about the place in Ubud is a man and woman are involved. It’s in a fancy neighborhood, but I don’t know where.”

  Moments later Budi and Greg roared by the silver Toyota and Greg memorized the license plate.

  Chapter 3

  Budi parked in the lot adjacent to Iron Man gym. Noticing several new Mercedes and BMWs, Greg remarked, “Looks like all the high rollers are here today.”

  “High rollers?” Budi echoed, seizing the opportunity to enhance his vocabulary with another idiom.

  “Means someone who gambles for large amounts of money. It assumes the person is rich, or at least pretending to be rich.”

  “Ahhhh,” Budi cooed knowingly. “We have many people like that. Good phrase. I need to use it three times soon or I’ll forget it.”

  Greg cocked his head toward Budi. “Does that really work?”

  Budi held the front door of the gym open for Greg. “It works, my friend. One of my clients taught me English that way.”

  Inside the gym, Budi handed his membership card to the male receptionist. Heri, the slender young Indonesian, gushed as if greeting an international celebrity. Budi leaned over the counter and kissed Heri’s cheek. “Good to see you, cutie. Anyone worth knowing here today?”

  “Many,” Heri nodded gravely, brown eyes growing large. “New bule from Amsterdam with Jakarta boy. Famous opera singer. Couple Japan guy from Toyota. Even some boy you know,” Heri giggled.

  “Heri, this is my boyfriend, Greg,” Budi announced casually, as if for the thousandth time. “We’re wondering if his uncle has been in. American......silver hair.....mid-sixties......triple t type.”

  Greg wondered if Budi had slipped in a Bahasa term, but decided to be certain. “What does triple t mean?”