whatever was asked of me, no matter how dirty or insane I thought it was. If the price was right then I wasn’t going to run the risk of offending them with a refusal. Besides, the customer is always right, right?
Despite the multitude of perverse acts I participated in, I generally found farang men civil and reasonably respectful, unlike some of their Thai counterparts, who made no bones of openly criticising my services to their friends. Farangs didn’t treat me as a lesser being just because I was a go-go boy; furthermore, I could freely express myself with them and so sought them out over Thais. When passing farang clients on the street, I’d wave, greeting them enthusiastically and they would always respond cheerily. I never felt the need to be shy or reserved around them, and they often hugged and kissed me as if we’d known each other all our lives.
They were also generous. If I told them I was low on cash they’d give me a few hundred baht, without expecting anything in return. In my eyes, the fact that they dressed well, behaved like gentlemen, and had bottomless wallets, made them seem like higher beings. I couldn’t understand why they were attracted to me. Why didn’t they want to be with beautiful women? Why me? Were they crazy being attracted to people of the same sex? They should have been rearing families and leading traditional lives.
I therefore came to see my body as an asset—something to be capitalised on, and did whatever I thought necessary to make it more attractive. I bought expensive clothing and accessories and only drank and smoked high-priced brands to further enhance my image. For a while I exercised regularly and ate health food to boost my stamina. Clients often wined and dined me at fancy restaurants and I happily soaked up the opulence. I would have had to save for months to afford one night in a five-star hotel in my former days; but now I stayed in them regularly.
My income was substantial at this point so I didn’t see the need to curtail my spending. I also ignored my financial responsibility towards my parents; although, when my guilt grew too large to ignore, I’d send a token gift to them. I started to spend money faster than I received it. A night of partying would see every last satang spent. So, until I could secure another client, my meals would consist of cheap instant noodles.
I had learned to reciprocate my clients’ ‘affections’ by giving handjobs and by kissing and nibbling their bodies, but I soon realised that if I wanted to remain in demand I’d have to be willing to do more. I reasoned that if the tables were turned, I wouldn’t be very happy if I bought a girl who was selective about what she did or didn’t do in bed. So I believed I had little choice but to perform fellatio and engage in anal sex. I’d previously feared that such acts would turn me gay; however, if compensated with enough beer and money, I could get through almost anything. I can’t recall in detail the first time I performed oral sex on a man because I was drunk; however, strangely enough, I will never forget the meal I had after it. After business was finished, I went out with co-workers as usual; but my mood changed the second I began eating. Whatever I put in my mouth reminded me of the smelly piece of meat I put there earlier. I then remembered how revolting I found it, gasping for breath, while his organ pushed in and out of my mouth. When it was finally over, I ran to the bathroom and rinsed my mouth thoroughly, yet I couldn’t get rid of either the aftertaste or the mental impression of what had transpired. Alcohol was the only thing I found that helped to erase part of the revulsion, so I ordered more beer. I never let anyone ejaculate in my mouth again. In future, when I sensed a client was about to climax, I’d use my hands to finish him off.
Most of my straight co-workers—and yes there were quite a few of them—detested receiving anal sex. Although they never
Despite the multitude of perverse acts I participated in, I generally found farang men civil and reasonably respectful, unlike some of their Thai counterparts, who made no bones of openly criticising my services to their friends. Farangs didn’t treat me as a lesser being just because I was a go-go boy; furthermore, I could freely express myself with them and so sought them out over Thais. When passing farang clients on the street, I’d wave, greeting them enthusiastically and they would always respond cheerily. I never felt the need to be shy or reserved around them, and they often hugged and kissed me as if we’d known each other all our lives.
They were also generous. If I told them I was low on cash they’d give me a few hundred baht, without expecting anything in return. In my eyes, the fact that they dressed well, behaved like gentlemen, and had bottomless wallets, made them seem like higher beings. I couldn’t understand why they were attracted to me. Why didn’t they want to be with beautiful women? Why me? Were they crazy being attracted to people of the same sex? They should have been rearing families and leading traditional lives.
I therefore came to see my body as an asset—something to be capitalised on, and did whatever I thought necessary to make it more attractive. I bought expensive clothing and accessories and only drank and smoked high-priced brands to further enhance my image. For a while I exercised regularly and ate health food to boost my stamina. Clients often wined and dined me at fancy restaurants and I happily soaked up the opulence. I would have had to save for months to afford one night in a five-star hotel in my former days; but now I stayed in them regularly.
My income was substantial at this point so I didn’t see the need to curtail my spending. I also ignored my financial responsibility towards my parents; although, when my guilt grew too large to ignore, I’d send a token gift to them. I started to spend money faster than I received it. A night of partying would see every last satang spent. So, until I could secure another client, my meals would consist of cheap instant noodles.
I had learned to reciprocate my clients’ ‘affections’ by giving handjobs and by kissing and nibbling their bodies, but I soon realised that if I wanted to remain in demand I’d have to be willing to do more. I reasoned that if the tables were turned, I wouldn’t be very happy if I bought a girl who was selective about what she did or didn’t do in bed. So I believed I had little choice but to perform fellatio and engage in anal sex. I’d previously feared that such acts would turn me gay; however, if compensated with enough beer and money, I could get through almost anything. I can’t recall in detail the first time I performed oral sex on a man because I was drunk; however, strangely enough, I will never forget the meal I had after it. After business was finished, I went out with co-workers as usual; but my mood changed the second I began eating. Whatever I put in my mouth reminded me of the smelly piece of meat I put there earlier. I then remembered how revolting I found it, gasping for breath, while his organ pushed in and out of my mouth. When it was finally over, I ran to the bathroom and rinsed my mouth thoroughly, yet I couldn’t get rid of either the aftertaste or the mental impression of what had transpired. Alcohol was the only thing I found that helped to erase part of the revulsion, so I ordered more beer. I never let anyone ejaculate in my mouth again. In future, when I sensed a client was about to climax, I’d use my hands to finish him off.
Most of my straight co-workers—and yes there were quite a few of them—detested receiving anal sex. Although they never
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