Where The Wild Boys Live

“Oh!” my friend said, surprised. “I forget VCD! You OK wait? I get.”

Last evening I’d spent a couple of hours visiting in a Thai go-go boy club with some of the guys who could communicate well enough in English for me to understand them on more than a “where you from” level and had become somewhat charmed (as many do) with one in particular named Pom. Although Pom was obviously straight -- despite his self rating of “50-50” -- and relatively new to the club life, his “mentor” friend Pui was as gay as a goose and just flamboyant enough to be entertaining without being annoying. We’d laughed and chatted for a couple of hours.

By 10:30 though I was ready to get away from the smoke in the club, so since Pui was content to set his sights on another farang who had just plopped his sweaty bulk onto a plastic seat nearby I asked Pom if he wanted to join me for a foot massage at a nearby shop I’d had recommended to me that morning. Although I got what I imagine will soon be a well-practiced but for now a not-quite-convincing pout he understood it wasn’t going to be a night’s wages, but I’d pay his off fee, massage and tip -- and he was fine with that. He’d previously shared that he hadn’t had an off in a week, so anything was better than nothing and he agreed it’d be a nice change. Besides, he allowed, I was “goofy” (where did he hear that?) and I made him laugh, so what the hell, sure, let’s go. I called for the check bin, tipped Pui for his time and off we went. It was the best foot massage I’ve ever had, but that’s another story. Pom was pleased with his, also. I walked him back to his club and said good night, him asking if I’d come see him again the next night. I fibbed slightly and said I thought I might have other plans, although I had none.

Tonight I’d succumbed to the siren call of familiarity and returned to see Pom and Pui for a couple of reasons: first, I’d already established the superficial rapport with them that many of us fool ourselves into think of as “caring friendship” on the guy’s part, and that’s often enough for holiday acquaintances, if we’re wise. I’m not as adventurous as some when on a limited schedule and would rather not risk an evening trying a new place when there’s a known quantity more than likely already hoping I’ll make good on my assurance to come back and watch them shuffling around on a small stage, silently cursing the aircon needed to keep farangs in the club. Secondly, the two of these guys together were a hoot. Pom was handsome and affectionately chummy without being pushy (so far) and Pui was a show unto himself as well as a great go-between translator who was willing to help me learn more of Pom’s interesting story.

As it turned out they’d been off someplace together that afternoon and Pom had bought a couple of gay VCDs from a vendor. Pui was much more interested in them than Pom was, but maybe Pom was curious, I don’t know. Maybe he was more “50-50” than I was giving him credit for, despite what I’d learned the night before about his girlfriend back in his home village. “Nothing wrong with doing research for work,” I told him, but it didn’t translate well through Pui, unfortunately.

The bottom line was they had no VCD player where they lived, and they wanted to know if they could come to my hotel room and watch them there. After giving it some thought I decided it would be safe enough to try, so after settling accounts at the club we headed out into the warm Thai night air, had a bite to eat and were getting ready to catch the baht bus to my room when suddenly Pom remembered that the VCDs were back in the room he and Pui shared with 10 other guys.

While learning their stories I knew they lived in an upstairs room provided by the owner of the club, but I had no idea there were quite so many in the same room. “Just how a big a room is this?” I asked Pui, and he said “oh, not so big, but good enough for us.” For some reason I thought of a cramped, poorly-ventilated room rather like you’d expect to see in some documentary of sweat shop workers, so I asked more about it. “It clean, and don’t pay much,” Pom allowed and Pui said “but way high, too many stair!” He feigned an exhausted look, and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead as though he were wiping sweat off. “Careful,” I thought to myself “if you catch your hand on one of those gelled spikes you’re going to puncture yourself.”

“OK?” Pom asked again “You OK wait I get?” Pui offered to wait with me.

I thought for a moment and then asked “How about if I come with you and see your ‘loom?’ Is that possible? Would you get in trouble with the boss if I did that?” Pom and Pui exchanged glances; Pom not quite sure what I was asking and the cogs in Pui’s head whirring audibly. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” I said coyly, feeling clever to be using the double-entendre; but that only necessitated wasting a few minutes explaining it to a puzzled Pui, who then of course tried to explain it to Pom, and in the end it was just a piss into the wind. Vernacular humor rarely translates well.

They spoke back and forth in Thai for a couple of minutes, alternately looking at me and back between themselves. I think Pom -- as the new kid -- didn’t want to make waves with the boss, but again it was more obvious by his tone that Pui wanted to see the movies, dammit, and was ready to push the issue. “OK, OK,” Pui said, pulling on my hand and leading me back toward the club area “you want we try.”

Near the club itself we stopped at a small alley between a couple of businesses where the guys seemed pleased to find a short, stocky woman they said was the person in charge. They spoke to her in Thai, Pui as animated as I’d seen him all evening, pouring out the charm to the woman who looked over at me with a scowl, as if I were several government inspectors rolled into one. I did my best to look like just another wilted, sweaty tourist (not much of an effort, if truth be known) and finally Pui won out. The Boss Lady jerked her head off in the direction of the alley and I followed the three of them down about 20 feet and around a corner, Pom smiling over his shoulder somewhat sheepishly at me, and Pui dancing and skipping along, as happy as a child who’d just won a “cake before dinner” argument with his mother.

“Cooking area for boys,” said Pui dramatically, making a sweeping motion with his hand like a tour guide toward a covered kitchen spot, much like I’d seen in so many country homes. Simple, but efficient. “This is where you eat?” I asked, just making conversation to stall while I looked around and tried to discreetly take out my camera. “Sometime we cook here, share,” he explained. I was ready to take a picture, but the others were ready to get moving.

“Come on, we go in here,” called Pui, and I saw Boss Lady holding an unmarked door open for me, giving me a mildly impatient look. Pom was already inside, just heading through a storage-type room and nearing the foot of a staircase. I followed into the nearly dark entryway behind Boss Lady and Pui.

Up the first flight to the second floor I expected to see their room, but there was none. It looked as though the second floor had once been a part of the club below in a previous business incarnation, but I didn’t have time to ask, as the rest were already heading up another flight; Boss Lady just ahead, looking back to check on me as though I was maybe thinking of stealing the mop leaning in a plastic bucket in the corner. It was still nearly dark, and I steadied myself with the railing, pulling myself along while trying to see as much as I could.

At the third level there was even more of a finished but now unused area, although it was slightly better lit. It looked somewhat like a hotel’s housekeeping station on one side, and there were a few rooms along the hall. “Short time room,” said Boss Lady, somewhat proudly pointing to a small, dimly-lit room with the requisite small table, bowl of condoms and tube of KY on a nightstand next to a decent-enough looking bed. “For customer,” she added, as if I might have thought it was for delivery people to take a short break after dropping off six cases of Chang. “Two hundred baht, one hour.” “Very nice,” I allowed, trying to be gracious but in reality already a bit winded by the stairs. I mopped my face and neck with a handkerchief and hoped we were near the living quarters, too.

“Come on,” called Pui, already half a flight of stairs above us. “Good God,” I called back to him “do you live on the roof?” Receiving no answer, I followed Boss Lady up to the fourth floor. There, down a short hall, a door stood open to a well-lit room; a gentle breeze refreshing the stale air of the landing. I slipped off my shoes, adding to a few others outside the door and crowded gently past the Boss Lady in the doorway to enter the room.

The seven-foot ceiling seemed a bit low for someone of my height, but it certainly wasn’t a problem for the guys. The large dark green and red tiles that covered the floor were both clean and swept dust-free. Indeed, other than a bit of wear on the white painted walls from some previous occupants the quarters were neat and tidy; not at all what you’d expect from nearly a dozen college-aged men all sharing what was really just a large dorm room. The two big windows overlooking the street below were covered with tablecloths but those didn’t do much to keep the sounds of the clubs below or nearby from serenading us with their incessant thumping.

There were a number of small “wardrobes” along one wall: each about five feet tall with a tubular metal frame covered with a plastic covering, each with a front panel that could be zipped closed for privacy, although all were open but Pom’s. About three feet wide they were just deep enough to allow a hangar to hang on the bar across the inside, and all had an interior top shelf to keep a few personal belongings. Some had framed photos of family inside, some had small hampers for laundry on the bottom, some had towels hanging to dry. There was a large plastic basket of bananas and fruit on top of one and a generous selection of partial bottles of soda, all sporting a decorative straw; Fanta Strawberry seemingly a favorite.

“Sleep here,” said Pom, proudly standing on his bed. Feigning disgust as he gestured across the room he said “Pui sleep over there with other lady boy!” Pui laughed and jumped to sit crossed-legged on his bed, smiling coyly. Again doing his tour guide routine Pui suddenly jumped up again and began to point to each of the thin mattresses around the room (some no more than a thick moving pad, some regular “western” twin mattresses) and recite the names of each boy who occupied them, doing a running commentary about each that I couldn’t keep up with but one that had Pom laughing like crazy. The Boss just frowned as though they were misbehaving students, but it didn’t seem to faze Pui a bit. I watched with great amusement while also looking around the room, feeling somewhat privileged to be seeing what one tourist in a hundred thousand ever see.

A few of the boys had pictures taped to the wall above the head of their beds. Much as you’d expect a couple were what I’m fairly certain were “the folks back home,” a couple were studio photos of the boy and a girl, a couple were of the boy and another boy and one was of a caucasion (or as you'd say in Thai "farang") man in his late 50s. I pointed to the photo and asked Pui “is this a gay boy’s bed?” “No, but the farang good to him and he like him too much,” he replied, matter-of-factly. I decided to press a bit and asked him “You mean he likes the farang or the money?” “Sure money!” Pui laughed that bright laugh of his, his face lighting up “but he really like farang, also.” “But he’s not gay?” I asked. “No, but he really like him too much, same same falang, it good.” I decided to quit while I was ahead and didn’t ask any more about it.

As I had expected there were several small individual alters with flowers, incense and foodstuffs in addition to a larger one above one of the wardrobes. The faint smell of incense lingered in the room, in addition to a hint of exhaust from the streets four floors below.

Pui again resumed his commentary on their roommates but Boss Lady said something to him in a somewhat curt tone that made him stop short and say “OK, we go now.” Pom retrieved the VCDs from under his mattress and came over to me, taking my hand as though I wasn’t going to be able to find my way out of the room alone. Back down the stairs we went, Boss Lady leading the way this time, probably ready to dispense with me and get back out on her rounds. My foot slipped off one of the first tiled stairs and I grabbed the rail to steady myself. “Careful,” laughed Pui “no room for you get well here!” and I took it easier the rest of the way down.

Outside in the alley again Boss Lady looked at me and asked “OK?” “Yes, kup koon krap – thank you very much.” She stood looking at me and suddenly I got the hint. Reaching into my shirt pocket I pulled out a 50 baht note and handed it to her, thanking her again. She smiled, folded the note into quarters and slipped it into her pocket. She said something to the guys and they laughed and also thanked her as she walked out of the alley ahead of us. The other workers in the alley stared at me wide-eyed, as though I’d just beamed down from another planet. I smiled and followed after Pom and Pui who were already ten feet ahead of me, chattering and laughing on our way to catch the baht bus.