Today, I’m going to tell you something I never thought I’d tell anyone. When it happened, I was far from home, traveling on my own. I don’t remember the name of anyone who was there and I’m sure they don’t remember mine. Or my face. Or my body.
But, last week I told someone about it. And she called it hilarious and said it belonged in a movie script. So then I told someone else, just to test the waters. And she laughed too, and said she wasn’t so easily shocked. And in telling it, I understood some things about it that didn’t occur to me at the time. A wider view on my own motivations but also a little insight about a certain pocket of society in a certain place at a certain time.
So, since my list is comfortingly small, I’ll tell you what happened. And you can either laugh or be shocked or something else. But hopefully, you’ll also learn something and gain a little perspective on this big wide world of ours.
I was in Thailand. It wasn’t Bangkok and it wasn’t Koh-anywhere, it was some almost-tourist town on the mainland, like Kanchanaburi or somewhere. I’d probably spent the day visiting the River Kwai or an elephant orphanage and in the balmy evening I lost my way and wandered into some dimly-lit bar for a rest. It was open to the street where minivans and motorbikes streamed by, growling a continuous background noise over the top of some clangy music track. It smelled ripe, like a banana that’s been left out in the sun too long in a puddle of beer.
I ordered a Chang or a Singha; I can’t remember now, but Thai beers are all good. As my butt lowered onto the bar stool, an inviting yelp caused my head to turn. A guy wearing a button down shirt with rolled up sleeves was waving me over. I wasn’t opposed to company, so I took up his offer, looking him and his friend over. They both appeared middle-aged by the faint creases on their smiling faces, and their thick black hair was kept free of gravity’s pull by some generously applied shiny goop. Sitting at a third chair was a girl who looked around my age (twenty-something). She was petite and wore a permanent smile under her bob-cut hair.
The guys began asking me questions, gleefully trying to figure out how I’d found myself amongst them in this backwater bar with no other white people in sight.
“Where you from?”
“How long you here?”
“What your name?”
“You like Thailand?”
They asked all the normal questions, jabbering to each other after every answer. I pretended to understand, and soon we were laughing like old friends.
When the barman deposited a second round on the table, I turned my attention to the girl. She wore a pale blue shirt with the two lower sides tied in a knot, exposing a flat midriff that disappeared under a loose black skirt. She hadn’t said much to me, but laughed at every joke the guys made, and spoke quietly to the one sitting closest to her from time to time.
“And what do you do? What is your job?” I said when I finally caught her eyes, speaking as broadly and slowly as I could.
She laughed again and looked at the first guy, whose pot belly was pressing against the buttons of his shirt.
“She work here,” he said, bringing his glass to his lips and leaning back.
I looked around. Half the tables were inside and the others spread out on the pavement. There was a lone worker, who emerged from behind his bar to deliver orders and collect empties on a well-balanced tray. His hair was thinning and sweat glistened on his forehead and he chatted easily with the customers. A dirty dish cloth hung off the side of his faded jeans that sat loosely under a tank top that may have once been white.
Then I noticed a few more girls in clothing that suited the temperature. They were scattered around the room, talking to small groups of guys, or amongst themselves. The penny dropped.
I let my head fall to one side and looked at her again. Her eyes hovered between the floor and the two guys’ faces. I took a sip of beer as a kernel of an idea formed in my mind.
“Ah, so cool!” I said.
My head said: This might be a good opportunity to try something new and a bit crazy.
Unfortunately, no matter how much beer I’d drunk and how much I said the things in different ways, I couldn’t explain my intention.
My thinking was this - life is all about experiences. I don’t think I’m gay but I like thinking about women, and this might be a good chance to safely try it out. I believe good sex is a teachable skill and if I can have it with people who know what they’re doing, I will - to enjoy myself but also to learn a thing or two. She’s cute and I’m horny, and it’s probably relatively cheap. No one knows me here and I can do whatever the fuck I want and never tell anyone. Ever.
I must have said something like “Can I pay you to sleep with me?”
But she wasn’t in conversation with me. The men were. And the idea must have been so foreign to them, that what they understood was: “Would you like to pay to sleep with me?”
There was laughter and many words and rubbing of upper arms that turned into arms around shoulders.
Before I knew it, a transaction was occurring. From what I could gather, it went like this:
The two guys called the bar guy over, as if they were going to order another beer
He smiled and raised his eyebrows at me and said some words of his own
They handed over some cash, which he put into the pack around his waist
The girl and I followed the men out into the thick, tropical night
She sat on the back of one of the guys’ motorbikes and indicated with her eyes that I should do the same (seemed that we were colleagues now, and I could have a little attention)
I got on the bike and held the metal handle behind me
We rode through palm-lined streets for about 15 minutes
We ended up at a nondescript apartment block and he showed me upstairs
Part of my mind was jumping up and down like a circus monkey, screaming that it was all a misunderstanding. This wasn’t the plan. I had no interest in sleeping with this greasy, pot-bellied man in his grubby apartment.
But the ever-polite, ever-curious other part of me was shrugging. Well, this is still new and interesting. Let’s see where it goes.
Best not to make a fuss.
He didn’t show me to a bedroom. He threw a foam mat onto the floor of the living room and instructed me to sit on it before disappearing into a tiny kitchen adjacent. I sank to my knees and sat back and looked around, reminding myself to breathe. There was a bookshelf and a couple of chairs and the soft light was provided by an orange bulb dangling from the ceiling with a black wire shade. One corner held a dusty pot plant. He returned with a steaming teapot and two glasses.
I accepted the clear cylinder of over-sweetened yellow water and took a sip. I gripped it tightly, despite the warmth being too much in the humid air, taking sip after sip and letting minutes go by. Eventually, the glass was empty and he took it from my clammy fingers and replaced it on a small round table in the corner before turning and looking down at me.
“Clothes off.” He might have said it or maybe there were some actions, but I understood just fine.
I don’t really remember the details, just that it all felt very cold and transactional. He gave orders and I followed them. He did what he wanted and my only concern was that he should use protection. He had no interest in whether I enjoyed myself or not, but he wasn’t cruel or violent. I was in my body but also out of it, observing the scene with anthropological interest.
Afterwards, he watched me get dressed and we went back downstairs and hopped on the bike. I still held on behind, rather than putting my arms around him.
Maybe we had more fun than the girl and her guy because they were already back. Or maybe we had more tea. Or maybe my guy just lived further away.
The bar man came over with a round of beers and handed a wad of cash to her and one to me. I assume there was a percentage missing. I looked down at my hard-earned fee. It was equivalent to around $20, as I recall. Before long, she had moved on to another table and I said goodbye and wandered back the way I’d come, on my own.
The weird thing is that at the time, I kind of thought of the pimp as serving some protective function to the women working out of his establishment. It’s only all these years later, when I finally let this story out of the vault, that it occurred to me that the service he was providing was to the men. They paid him and not the workers directly. It was a guarantee that the service would be provided to their satisfaction. Otherwise, we wouldn’t get paid. No big deal to me, I could easily have walked away and lived without my 500 baht, but to them, this was their livelihood, and I imagine that many of them were supporting families.
I had a secret little adventure, was a bit daring, and then carried on to the next destination on my list.
She could very well still be working out of that bar today. Night after night, opening her legs to randoms and regulars, needing to provide enough value to get the promised fee and get home safe.
What does this story make you think?
Have you ever done something a little crazy because of a misunderstanding?
What’s a new insight you’ve had when talking about something that happened years ago?
If you liked this story, please let me know by caressing the little heart there. If it’s a bit much, you can let me know in a comment or by reply email.
Tell your tales…I am reminded of my own memories…
The afternoon I went to see a Mexican guy from my school. I had just turned twenty. Studying in Guadalajara.
No way to reach him to coordinate. I’d figure it out and have an adventure!
Turned out he wasn’t there - he’d left his tiny rented room and gone home for the weekend.
I stayed for a while…to talk and laugh and learn with little neighbors playing on the street.
Then it got dark. Fast. Not like Alaska, where it can take hours for the sun to set when the weather is warm.
The neighborhood swirled and the energy of the night shifted. Suddenly everything felt uncertain.
Then, by some flowing consensus, the little ones (three? six? five? years old) circled around me, chatting and laughing and tugging gently at my hands. They danced me down the street to a public bus stop and waited in a ring - between me and all the men who had appeared - until I was safely on board.
It might have been a very different adventure.