In Thailand, the Minister for Social Order has attempted to impose those same confused Western values on his own, previously non-judgemental nation. In tourist areas, Thailand’s economy simultaneously slumped. Beach resorts minus Thailand’s once special fun in the sun, are cheaper and easier to get to in Mediterranean resorts. No honey, no money. Politicians both West and East, do like to shoot their people in the foot. In Thailand’s recent case, in another area of the anatomy as well!
27
Life Sucks
The hotel Rupert took the lad to was expensive enough to ensure privacy - due to the weekly gratuity paid by the management to the police. It was not on the package-tour roster, so family guests from the West would not be around to complain should a farang be seen entering his room with a non-legal boy or girl.
Despite his youth and in opposition to the mammasan’s advice he was new to the game, the young boy could not get his clothes off fast enough. Whether for comfort, affection or just sex, he snuggled down in bed and clasped Rupert in his arms. Instantly the kid grew a hard-on, his small penis larger than before.
“I think you’re like I used to be,” Rupert said as he gave the child a sweetie (candy) which he’d purchased from a stall near the hotel. “I was gay for as long as I can remember. How old are you?”
“ Sip sam or sip si, thirteen or fourteen,” the brown skinned child replied.
“You look younger,” Rupert said as he pulled the covers to one side and manipulated the young lad’s penis between his fingers. Thicker than the kid’s dick, Rupert’s chubby fingers pulled the kids foreskin back until he gasped in pain. Visibly increasing in size - now as large or small as a popsicle (lolly) dependant upon how you looked at it and Rupert was currently looking at it - the ageing, ex-public school British queen was in his element manipulating the boy’s Asian-sized penis.
“You haven’t washed your willy properly,” Rupert said with the tone of a very strict grandmother, as he peered at the young boy’s stiff little sexual organ. “Right, I’m going to spank you very hard on your bare bottom for being so naughty,” Rupert said as he turned the child over and whacked him hard on his exposed buttocks.
Sobbing, the child did not understand what he had done wrong.
“Pain first, pleasure after,” Rupert said, noting that the spanking had not removed the youngster’s juvenilesized hard-on.
“Nom, milk for you?” Rupert asked.
The kid nodded.
“Good, then we’ll nom together.”
Needing no second bidding, the young boy slid down in bed and wrapped his mouth around Rupert’s flaccid penis. Rupert did the same on the boy.
“Fuck the Minister for Social Order,” Rupert said to himself, between genteel sucks. “I know a senior officer in the local police force anyway. He’s bent and also gay, so nothing will happen to me. Cash is king, or queen in this respect. Oh, I made a joke. Anyway, there’s always Cambodia. Gracious, this boy is so sweet.”
Yes, life in Pattaya could still suck, if you had the inclination and the cash.
28
Back To Bangkok
Rather than take one of the ever deteriorating, blue airconditioned coaches to Bangkok, Steven hired a taxi for his return journey to Thailand’s capital city.
Despite the many new expressways, central Bangkok was jam packed with traffic, delaying the start of the second meeting with James Chang. To be late would have been regarded as an insult in China or Japan, but people were less judgemental in Thailand.
As before, the small Thai man was perched high on a leather swivel chair.
“A pleasure to see you again, Major Hunt. Can I offer you some refreshment?” Field Marshal James Chang enquired.
Steven politely declined.
Neatly contained in folders on his desk, James Chang thumbed through some official looking papers.
“You are aware from our last meeting, that the proposed mission concerns the drugs trade. For reasons of security, you were not accurately advised what our plans were or your role in them.”
29
Class System
As the former field marshal spoke, Steven’s left-brain listened as his right-brain drifted back to the meeting with Montgomery-Fairfax a week before.
After the Arab debacle, where Steven had been handed the blame and asked to resign his commission, family connections ensured that Rupert merely got transferred sideways to Whitehall - the elite branch of the British civil service. Unlike Steven, Rupert was left with an influential and well-paid position.
Rupert Montgomery-Fairfax, whose pretentious, double-barrelled appellation was so typical of the ruling classes in Britain, as was their strangulated-vowels manner of speech - all quite purposefully contrived to separate them by name and tone from the rest of the population - was, in most people’s eyes, a chinless wonder of the first order.
English public schools in Rupert’s day operated a system whereby senior boys and prefects had autonomy over juniors. This included the right to thrash. Like many of his class, Rupert had been a bully as a child, and had enjoyed caning the bare buttocks of younger pupils [*]. He had also enjoyed being on the receiving end.
For the uninitiated, public school actually means private school in England, as large fees or family connections were required to obtain entry. This verbal deception was devised to make it appear that the higher institutions of learning were open to all, whereas they were reserved almost exclusively for the rich and/or wellconnected.
This system explained why so many ex-public school cabinet ministers and civil servants once stuttered. It wasn’t just the regular and often severe thrashings received from around the age of seven at the hands of Montgomery-Fairfax and his ilk, but the mental cruelty of the grillings beforehand; the questions which had to be answered before the decision whether a thrashing would be forthcoming or not; plus the long wait till after prep for the execution of their physical abuse. For many, this refined form of torture resulted in lifelong stuttering, as the young would-be recipient was forced to go through the subtle, sadistic, uniquely British rituals.
But it was not just life long stuttering that afflicted the victims of this refined form of ‘education’ at the hands of sadistically inclined masters and older pupils. For others, homosexuality became desirable at a very early age, when junior boys discovered that sucking up to and sucking off seniors with thrashing rights in their single-sex boarding schools, was decidedly preferable to severe and regular beatings.
For a minority, beatings given or received eventually took on a perverse pleasure, whence they became lifelong adherents of sadomasochistic sexual practises. It is not for nothing that erotic flagellation is referred to by the French as Le Vice Anglaise.
Montgomery-Fairfax had been his usual supercilious self. Accustomed to giving orders as of natural right, descended as he was from a long line of the British ruling classes, Rupert would never get out of the habit of talking down to people and making everything he said sound like some sort of royal command. But Rupert was no longer a senior officer in the elite corps of the British armed forces, where he had been ensconced under false pretences due to family connections. He was now just a civil servant, albeit an influential one. But he no longer had authority over Steven.
Montgomery-Fairfax had started off the meeting. “Sorry about the lunch, no time Major Hunt.”
“Still saving the pennies,” Steven had replied. “But let’s not be so formal, I’m a consultant in the security business so you can call me Steven. You don’t have to call me Major, either. Neither of us is serving in the armed forces any longer, so let’s dispense with the formality and pretention. Hope that’s OK, Wupert old chap.”
Steven had purposely called Montgomery-Fairfax by his Christian name; had deliberately affected his inability to pronounce the letter ‘r’; had added an ‘old chap’ at the end of his statement; and had rather enjoyed getting up the nose of the arrogant ex-public schoolboy who was still living in the colonial past.
Like Queen Victoria, Montgomery-Fairfax was not amused. Such informality from a person Rupert regarded as just an ex-grammar school upstart, was not on.
“I don’t think so, Hunt. Must keep to protocol and procedures, old boy. But I will follow your advice and not call you Major.”
Rupert had remained composed under fire.
“No wonder we won all those hand to hand battles,” Steven had thought. “If our leaders had also possessed intelligence instead of just arrogance and insensitivity, Britain would probably still be ruling half the world.”
“What is your availability, Hunt?” Rupert had asked.
Steven had sensed Montgomery-Fairfax needed his services badly, but logic alone suggested that someone who appeared to dislike Steven and his class as much as Rupert did, would only have made contact if there had been some special skill Steven possessed, which Rupert wanted. So Steven had played hard to get.
“Actually, I’ve got too much work on at the moment. The ex-SAS label is an effective marketing ploy in the security business. Not really available right now, old boy.” Steven had again mimicked Rupert’s affected manner of speech.
Rupert had feigned perusal of a small stack of papers, unaware that if things got any worse, Steven would soon be sleeping in a cardboard box at Waterloo station. His confidently delivered advice had been sheer, unadulterated bullshit.
First disorientate your opponent. Steven had instinctively followed SAS combat principles, and in the psychological battle with his former commanding officer, had won the first round.
Looking up from his desk, Rupert attempted to maintain his arrogant, order-giving persona.
“Well old boy, perhaps you’d cancel whatever you have on your books and pass it over to a colleague. We will make it worth your while. I know you working class chappies place a lot of importance on money. No offence intended, merely stating the obvious.”
“You really can be insufferably arrogant, Rupert. I had a better education at my grammar school than you did at your fee-paying public school. I worked in the day and studied at night to become an officer in the armed forces, rather than gain my position via the back door using family connections. I guess I’m working class in that respect, but I won’t let you get to me using your transparently obvious ploys relating to class warfare. Sorry Rupert, you just lost.”
If he had expressed his current feelings visually, Rupert’s jaw would have just dropped to the floor like in a Tom and Jerry cartoon.
Ascertaining Rupert’s momentary mood, Steven took advantage of the situation. “It would be a bit inconvenient dumping clients, old chap. May never get them back again,” he had replied, continuing to subtly satirise the arrogant, archaic manner of speech which Montgomery-Fairfax employed.
Rupert had then made an attempt on Steven’s patriotism.
“Mr. Hunt, this is a project of great importance to Her Majesty’s government and the governments of our allies. Your idiosyncratic experience in specialised services and undercover work, plus your unarmed combat and weaponry skills, could be of considerable assistance to your country.”
“Patriotism, the last refuge of the scoundrel, as Oscar Wilde once said, quoting Samuel Johnson,” Steven replied. “Hope the literary side of your education wasn’t neglected at public school.”
Losing his air of superiority after Steven’s doubleexpose of the inferiority of his public school education, Rupert’s demeanour now expressed boredom.
“Patriotism. That’s a cheap shot when your lot trade it for cash every day of the week, selling arms to countries you know will potentially use them against us or their own people, then avoiding tax by directing the profits into your offshore family trusts. You call that patriotism? I’ve learned a lot from you in the past, Wupert old thing.”
“Was that a yes or a no?” Rupert enquired.
The two men continued to trade insults within a relatively polite framework that foreigners would never understand. The equivalent conversation between two Italians would have come to blows by now, or become the foundation of a thousand-year vendetta.
“It is my duty to advise that your mission, should you decide to accept it, is potentially dangerous. It would involve working in South East Asia, where you carried out field work during the latter part of the Vietnam War.”
Steven cut in. “Since communism is no longer a threat in South East Asia or anywhere else, I assume it must have something to do with the drugs trade.”
“How perceptive of you,” Montgomery-Fairfax had remarked, a bored expression on his chubby face.
Steven’s reply had been curt. “The answer is no. That is, unless the fee reflects what will clearly be adverse if not downright dangerous working conditions. Perhaps you’d cut the preamble and tell me how much you’re offering?”
Steven had looked at his watch. “I have a meeting soon, so I can’t really spare you any more time.”
The remark established dominance and Rupert now had to close the deal or lose command of the situation, should Steven cut him short and leave for an appointment which, in reality, he did not have!
“I dislike talking about money. It’s half a million pounds,” Rupert had advised.
“Almost a million dollars,” Steven had remarked, trying not to show any enthusiasm. I’ve never thought of you as a generous person even when the money wasn’t your own. That’s the kind of commission some of your friends in the city make during a three-minute currency exchange transaction sitting safely behind a desk with a phone in their hand.”
Steven had let Rupert stew for a few moments.
“South East Asia. All that heat, humidity and people with guns no doubt. Nothing but inconvenience, disruption, aggravation and danger. I think you’ll have to put the fee up to two million American, otherwise it won’t be worth my while. I can make that in the next eighteen months sitting behind my desk in dear old Blighty, all without risking a hair on my head.”
Rupert had appeared tense as his former subordinate looked at his watch for the second time.
Unbeknown to those outside of his close personal circle, Rupert’s usual method of tension relief was to dress in a French maid’s outfit. Wearing a low cut corsette which didn’t exactly go with the wispy grey hairs on his chest, ultra short miniskirt, spiky high heels, sheer black nylons, suspender belt and crotchless knickers, was Rupert’s idea of chic - for a date with himself.
Rupert hadn’t tried putting a plastic bag over his head to heighten the pleasure of a bit of home-alone masturbation - the manner in which a Conservative Party MP had managed to kill himself, nude apart from ladies underwear of course, much to the amusement of the British media - but Rupert did like to indulge in a regular session of sadomasochistic sex with friends and acquaintances. Dressed as a French maid, of course. Albeit, an ugly one.
Poor Rupert’s sexuality had been driven down a perverse path at public school, and only the pleasure of a spanking on his bare buttocks with a riding crop or the swagger stick he had retained from his army career, could really turn him on. Spilling the drinks he was serving his dominant gay partner; failing to clean the kitchen properly; or some other purposely contrived misdemeanour, incurred the wrath of his partner. Inevitably, Rupert would be bent over and the amply proportioned cheeks of his flabby bottom would be thoroughly whacked. The swagger stick he had retained from his army career - which was regularly used to show him he could not be a naughty girl without severe punishment - would then be inserted into his anus. The combination of pain and humiliation would make him ejaculate through his crotchless knickers. As further humiliation, he would be forced to lick it up. This was why Rupert’s friends in government and the media knew him as Phyllis. [**]
Steven silently speculated whether his former commanding officer had utilised the full extent of Whitehall’s documentary sources to check out his recent past, as Rupert again perused what was obviously Steven’s service dossier. If so, he would be aware from his supposedly confidential Inland Revenue file that he had suffer
ed two very hard years and was completely broke.
Montgomery-Fairfax leaned back in his chair, an uncertain look on his face. Steven had relieved the expublic school chump’s anxiety.
“But there is the boredom factor. Perhaps I could be persuaded. Business lunch routines can get a bit tedious,” he had said with a serious expression. “Perhaps a challenge might be of interest. Boredom has always been something I find difficult to handle.”
Relief had reflected across Rupert’s podgy face and all without benefit of some perverse sexual act with a rough trade rent boy or a sadistically inclined colleague from Whitehall.
Steven realised his former commanding officer had obviously not changed since their service in the SAS, and was just as incompetent. Fortunately for Steven, Rupert had failed to do his homework concerning Steven’s Inland Revenue taxation file.
“I’ll have to check with the department of course. Can’t authorise that kind of increase myself. However, as I’ve been delegated to head the mission it should be no more than a formality. So I can advise you unofficially, your counterproposal will be accepted.”
“Not so fast. Anything in the small print I should know about?” Steven had asked.
“Ten percent of the fee will be paid as an advance. Payment will be in the form of a bank draft via an offshore company. Don’t want anything traced back to Her Majesty’s government. There will be no written contract for the same reason. You’ll have to sign for the advance as an overseas trade representative. The advance will have to cover your expenses.”
“Are you sure Her Majesty’s government can afford it? Only ten percent advance and I have to pay my own expenses. If I don’t come out alive, you’ll have lost hardly anything.” Irony coloured Steven’s words.
Rupert had said nothing, but his mildly florid complexion, gained from a lifelong abuse of alcohol, flushed to a brighter than normal hue. Albeit, outside of the cloistered realms of parliament and the British civil service where the majority were either eccentric or completely fucking weird - Rupert was far from normal.
Sleepless in Bangkok Page 9