By now the ferry man and his family were old friends, and greeted Steven and Gunn with considerable joy. Buddha had smiled on them by bringing a farang traveller to their small business yet again. Steven even knew the names of some of the Siamese cats. But he had always liked pussies. To verify the logical nature of South East Asian people, the Thai word for cat was miaow.
Driving onto the ferry for the third time in as many days, Steven and Gunn were taken across the river to the Lao side of the Golden Triangle. In anticipation of a tip, as with Steven’s last visit, a bunch of kids rushed to lay planks on the mud so that Steven could drive the jeep ashore. Again, Steven handed each of them a hundred baht each, making them rich in local terms.
Standing near the jeep drinking coconut juice which one of the ferryman’s wives had expertly cut open with a large machete - Gunn spoke to the ferryman in the local dialect. She translated for Steven as she did so.
“The ferryman and his wives have invited us to stay over. They say it’s too dangerous to travel through the jungle at night.”
“Tell them we’re grateful but have urgent business. Say our friend Rupert has had an accident and we’re taking medical supplies to him. That way they won’t lose face,” Steven advised.
The ferryman and his family looked worried as they heard Gunn’s translation.
“I can see on their faces they are concerned,” Steven said. “Probably the only genuine friends Rupert has. If only he knew.”
The ferryman spoke further to Gunn and she laughed. He grinned broadly as Gunn translated for Steven.
“He wants to know why all farangs have big money? He said if he went to live in the West, would he have big money too?”
“Explain that it’s just like here. To get big money you have to work hard or get lucky and win the lottery. Tell him his two wives and many fine children, food to eat, a roof over his head, his ferry business, the beauty of his surroundings and the fact that everyone respects him, makes him a rich man already.”
Gunn translated and every member of the ferryman’s family applauded, Steven’s words providing the ferryman with big face.
“I think there is a good man lurking beneath Mr. Steven Hunt’s chauvinistic bullshit,” Gunn said, quietly.
Steven half smiled. “Enough about me, tell Khun Ferryman he’s been so helpful he has just started to get rich himself. Say that in this little bundle of money is a thousand baht for each of his children, two thousand baht for each wife, and five thousand for him. There’s an extra five hundred for some Mekong whisky. But when he’s drunk, please ask him not to beat his wives, even if they deserve it.”
The Ferryman looked proud and his family squealed with delight as Gunn translated and handed over the cash Steven gave her.
“You are a chauvinist but I think I’m going to cry,” Gunn said.
“So there is a real woman beneath all of that womens’ rights bullshit,” Steven replied.
Anxious not to call Kronsky’s bluff - regarding his promise to operate on Rupert without an anaesthetic if they were not back in time with $50,000 - Steven and Gunn prepared to leave. Shouting their goodbyes, they continued on their second illegal journey deep into the Golden Triangle.
[*] The Mekong River and its tributaries run for thousands of miles. Starting in Tibet, snaking its way through China, Burma, Laos, Thailand, Vietnam and Cambodia, it was impossible to police effectively. Just a few official crossing points existed where customs, immigration and visa checks were made. The rest was open sesame for anyone wishing to traffic in human or inanimate cargo. You just took a small boat, an elephant, an all-terrain vehicle or a makeshift ferry, and you crossed. If caught, you paid the police, customs or immigration officials an ‘unofficial fine’. All three at times. This option might not be on offer for a farang, but if it could be arranged the price would be higher.
69
Off-Limits
“If we do come across any security forces and they give us a problem for being in an off-limits location, they will hopefully think I’m just another stupid farang being led astray by a Thai bar-girl after my money. If that doesn’t work, or if it does and they remain suspicious, you can negotiate the amount of tea money. It was a good idea to send a Thai whore with me. The field marshal’s plan was clever in that respect.”
Gunn did not bite. There were more important things to think about than personal conflict.
“She didn’t bite,” Steven thought, and he was glad. He needed a man with a cool head to focus on the task ahead, not an emotional woman. Gunn appeared to straddle both genders.
As dusk fell, Steven drove the jeep into a gap in the undergrowth. Taking care not to park too close to the overhanging foliage, he hoped to avoid having a tree snake slithering down onto the vehicle at night. A green pit viper would be an unwelcome sleeping companion.
“I have to sleep,” Steven said. “If we chance it travelling in the dark, we’re liable to break an axle or fall into a hole or something. Either that or we’ll drive off the track and hit a tree. We can’t risk it.”
“Maybe we should have stayed the night with ferry man and his ladies,” Gunn remarked.
“It was better to cross when officials in the vicinity had packed up work for the day. You know how the cops and civil servants are in Asia. They don’t do much at the best of times, and shove off as soon as they can technically get away with it.” Steven’s reply accurately targeted South East Asian attitudes to nonsanook activities - such as work.
Gunn wound up the roof of the jeep and unpacked some food. Supping on a flask of orange juice, sandwiches and chocolate bars courtesy of the hotel, plus a can of locally grown tropical fruit from a box they’d purchased in Chiang Mai, the couple replenished their energy.
“Farang men treat young Thai girls like their daughters. Thai girls act like our mothers. Paradoxical, but it seems to work much of the time. Cop khun mah krap, thanks a lot for the food,” Steven said.
“Mai belai kah, never mind,” Gunn replied.
“It’ll get cold tonight, so perhaps it would be better if we stayed close together on the back seat of the jeep. What do you think?” Steven asked.
Steven looked at his young companion, the ambiguities of their relationship making him uncertain how she would react. “I’m not trying to chat you up, just hoping to keep warm. We might as well try and make this business as least unpleasant as possible.”
A degree of unease coloured Gunn’s expression. “What chat you up mean? Not talk too much or sleep badly I think.”
“Not quite,” Steven replied, deciding against any attempt to bridge the linguistic and cultural gap right there and then.
Cosily snuggling up to each other in the back seat of the jeep, the couple did their best to keep warm in the cold night air.
“Farang think too much. Accept what life offers and be grateful,” Gunn said as she placed her arm around Steven.
As he relaxed in the warmth of Gunn’s close company, Steven drove his mind around an amalgam of potentially adverse scenarios.
“We’re on the wrong side of the river to get another visit from our toothy Thai guide. The one who kidnapped Rupert. That’s all we’d need.”
“Think sparkle tooth learn lesson from us on any side of river,” Gunn replied.
“From you,” Steven replied. “You taught him the lesson. Where did you learn to fight like that?”
Steven answered his own question. “Don’t tell me, it’s another long story.”
Inscrutable as ever, Gunn changed the subject. “Think you not bad man like pretend. Think underneath you know right from wrong. Steven Hunt not just work for money alone.”
Using the same inscrutable tactics as his partner, this time Steven changed the subject.
“This could be very romantic in different circumstances, the soft light of the tropical moon and a beautiful young girl in the jungle.”
“Except for small-time kidnappers behind and bigtime bandits wanting to torture your friend ahead. Tha
t and lucky to get out alive because of things we must do for world.” Gunn completely destroyed the romantic tenor of the moment.
“I did say in other circumstances,” Steven replied, dryly.
The crickets, frogs and insects kept up a continuous background of chirps and croaks. Despite the background noise, Steven and Gunn curled up around each other and slept like babes in their hard day’s night.
70
What An Asshole
Formerly home and torture chamber to Britons held captive by Japanese troops during World War Two, the door of Rupert’s small prison flew open.
Startled by the shaft of sunlight that pierced through the gloom, Rupert sat up from where he had been lying on a dirty mattress stretched out on the floor. Rubbing his eyes, he attempted to focus on the large shape above.
“Is this a no smoking zone?” [*] Kronsky asked, satirising the plight of his ageing gay prisoner with a joke about giving head.
Kronsky laughed before becoming more menacing.
“Your friends have let you down. Time now for you to pay for their disloyalty.”
Kronsky’s voice confirmed Rupert’s worst fears, and he trembled. Instinctively placing his hands over his private parts, remembering what Kronsky had forecast if Steven and Gunn did not return with the money for the heroin they were supposed to be purchasing from the warlord, his position did not seem too bright.
“But surely they have another day left. I know they’ll return.”
“I say when the time is up,” Kronsky said, relishing the power he wielded.” If I say it’s now, it’s now.”
“Please Mr. Kronsky, leave it until tonight. I’m sure it’s just a slight delay,” Rupert pleaded.
Kronsky sat down on a small footstool, the only piece of furniture in the small, gloomy enclosure.
“So what have you got that will persuade me not to cut you up right now?” Kronsky asked.
Rupert thought hard. He liked a bit of violence in a sexual context, but not for real with knives and guns and things.
“I can get you some money, but not until I get back to Chiang Mai. I’ll arrange an electronic transfer from my home country,” Rupert advised.
“Stupid faggot,” Kronsky snarled. “I have more money than you will ever see even if you are related to Lord Asshole and Lady Fuck. And if you think I’d let you go back to Chiang Mai and sit and wait for money to arrive from the Queen or someone, you must be out of your mind. I think you’re taking me for a cunt.”
“No Mr. Kronsky, I respect you very much.”
“Well what then?”
“I don’t understand,” Rupert replied, uncertain where the conversation was heading.
Kronsky grew impatient and raised his voice. “What are you going to give me for not cutting you up right now?”
Rupert wondered if his luck had changed. Was Kronsky really asking him for a sexual favour or two?
“I could give you some relief, make you relax if you would like,” Rupert suggested.
“Do you mean with this?” Kronsky asked as he unzipped the fly of his green combat trousers and pulled out his extremely large and erect penis.
Rupert almost fainted at the sight.
“Never seen one this big?” Kronsky asked, proud in more senses than one.
Rupert shuffled the few paces required to reach Kronsky’s sexual organ, and taking it into his mouth, did his duty.
Enjoying the process, Kronsky grabbed the back of Rupert’s head and forced his dick even further into his mouth, almost choking Rupert in the process.
“That’s the way, suck my sweet Slavic semen. Go baby go,” Kronksy shouted as he forced Rupert to give him a deep blow job.
Approaching orgasm, Kronsky cuffed Rupert around the head as if he were a jockey riding a horse. As the moment arrived, Kronksy pulled his dick from Rupert’s mouth and shot his load over Rupert’s face.
“This is the way women have sex with me, and a few men too if I come across one that needs taking down a peg or two.”
Rupert slumped to the floor. It had been wonderful being abused by Kronsky and he relished the almost salty flavour of Slavic semen, which dripped down his face and into his mouth. It took him back to public school when he was forced to do the same for older boys in the toilets after prep. Only difference was that he was not under threat of a thrashing on his bare ass from a senior, should he fail to oblige. If Kronksy had offered that extra element of fear, Rupert’s day would have been complete.
Kronsky stared at Rupert, his instincts suggesting that something was not quite right. Rupert was not as terrified as others he had abused in this way. The thought annoyed and intrigued Kronsky at the same time, and instead of leaving as originally intended, he zipped his fly and stared at Rupert, attempting to get to the bottom of the mystery.
Rupert met Kronsky’s gaze with an almost affectionate smile.
“You faggots get to me sometimes,” Kronsky said, less friendly than when he had forced Rupert to suck his dick.
Rupert sensed the atmosphere had changed and trembled slightly, giving Kronsky at least a part of the satisfaction he required.
Needing further sexual stimulation, Kronsky grabbed Rupert in a neck lock and forced him face down on the dirty mattress.
Rupert immediately thought his luck had changed and went limp and feminine. Hoping Kronsky was an all-the-way closet queen who might anally abuse him rather than sever something from his body, Rupert hoped for the best.
“Are you ready for it, faggot?” Kronsky asked.
“Do anything you want but please don’t cut me,” Rupert whimpered.
“You think I fuck your fat faggot ass, Englishman?” Kronsky said as he jammed his knee into the small of Rupert’s back, forcing the ageing queen’s face into the dirty mattress.
“You want me to be gentle with you?” Kronsky laughed, sadistically.
Rupert was unable to reply as he struggled for air, his mouth and nose eating the soiled cloth of the foul smelling bedding.
Kronsky looked down at Rupert, his knee still jammed into the British civil servant’s lumbar region. “Reputation with native people very important. Lose face if not do what promise. Face very important in the East. When they see me hurt farang, much worry what I do to them if cross me. Know for certain I very bad person to fuck with.”
Kronsky’s dissertation was simple and to the point, his anticipated violence little more than a cultural-comebusiness decision to avert future problems by executing high profile examples of his willingness to commit atrocities on others. That and he enjoyed giving pain. By this simple and direct method, he had obtained and retained power and influence in his small kingdom.
Continuing to kneel heavily on the petrified queen’s kidneys, Kronsky clutched Rupert’s wrists between his large left hand.
Hearing Kronsky unsheathe his Rambo-like combat knife with his free hand, Rupert’s demeanour transformed from pleasantly limp and sexually expectant, to rigid with fear.
“So I must hurt you English, as promised. Remove something from your body without an anaesthetic,” Kronsky calmly said, like a surgeon counselling a patient concerning a painful procedure which he was about to carry out.
In between gulping for air, Rupert forced his mouth sideways from the filthy mattress and started to sob.
“Inside you always wanted to be a woman, so maybe I help. Save you five thousand dollars for operation to make government queen into katoi (transsexual) proper,” Kronsky said, enjoying the fear his words engendered in his terrified victim.
Further savouring the mental aspect of his cruelty as he clasped Rupert’s wrists in a vicelike lock, Kronsky dropped his knife to the floor and ripped the back of Rupert’s safari suit trousers down to his knees.
Rupert’s podgy ass imperceptibly quivered as fear reached down to his butt-end.
Picking his knife up again, Kronsky ran the blade along the inside of Rupert’s thighs, stopping at his rectum.
“I think you have many things inside yo
ur faggot ass before,” Kronsky said, holding the sharp point of his combat knife so it touched the opening of Rupert’s anus.
“Don’t cut me, Mr. Kronsky. Please don’t,” Rupert managed to gulp, the side of his face pressed hard on the dirty mattress as Kronsky’s great weight kept him pinned down.
Content in the warm feeling his victim’s terror communicated, Kronsky slowly traced the point of his blade down from Rupert’s ass, stopping when the knife made contact with the soft flesh of Rupert’s nuts.
“Here they are, the symbol of your masculinity.” Kronsky roared with laughter as Rupert shook with fear.
Peering at the white and feminine ass of the homosexual civil servant representing Her Majesty the Queen in the jungles of no- man’s-land, Kronsky got another hard-on.
“Your ass like a woman,” Kronsky quietly said as he dropped his knife on the dirty wooden floor and unzipped the fly of his jungle green combat trousers for the second time.
“My dick’s like a rod, look at it. I don’t know where I get the energy,” Kronsky proclaimed. “I can fuck two women at the same time. But faggots, I hate them. I never fuck faggots.”
Kronsky paused. “But you’re a special case and I’m going to hurt you so much, you’ll never forget it. I’m going to go up your ass so deep, it’ll feel like my dick is coming out of your throat.
The sight of Rupert’s crown jewels and his exposed ass spurred Kronksy into action, and he ripped Rupert’s safari suit trousers down to his ankles.
Gasping in pain as Kronksy carried out his promise to force his dick so far up Rupert’s ass it would come out of his throat, Rupert felt his own boyishly small penis grow hard.
“This good for you, English? My dick big enough? It make you want to cum as much as me?” Kronsky asked as his huge member penetrated Rupert’s much abused anus. With Kronsky’s rhythmic thrustings growing ever more urgent, a mix of pain and erotic pleasure transmitted through the gay man’s nervous system.
Sleepless in Bangkok Page 21