This Is Your Daughter

This weekend I returned to Pattaya, sober and fully loaded.


World AIDS day brought out the cuter side of disease here in Asia. The students were given pamphlets that never would have seen the light of day in any American elementary school. I thought they were disturbingly adorable and was in utter dismay about not being able to read. Mummy Penis at the bottom has me wondering what the Thai next to him could possibly say!



There are many stories from this weekend but only one worth writing about here.
I bought a boy in Pattaya.
But I guess the real question is, "who hasnt bought a boy in Pattaya?"


The story begins with the decision to go and see a drag show. There was super campy show or Vegas style glitter and feathers type show. Feeling glamorous ourselves (in our dirty clothes and backpacks) we chose the later and ended up at Boyz Boyz Boyz. A cozy place in the heart of Boys Town.
Now Pattaya is a gross city, as I have said before, with many MANY places that one should avoid. Being a resident of Pattaya and a business owner there, Chris knew exactly where to go, where to avoid and what the deal was with everything. I highly recommend seeking out someone like this if you ever plan on going to Pattaya and you dont want to end up with herpes or your brains on a sidewalk.




The bar is small by American standards. There is a kidney bean shaped stage in the center and it is surrounded 360 by two tiers of plush couches, where we sit. Very Elizabethian.



There are probably a dozen men on stage, but unlike their female counterparts in the go-go bars (who gyrate wildly in hot pants to pulsating techno music), they simply shift around awkwardly in their white briefs. There is a small button with a number pinned to their waistband. As the music plays, they slowly rotate around the stage. More lively ones might dance a little or make flirty eyes with potential customers - but for the most part, they just stand there. Chris calls this "the meat market".

OBVIOUSLY someone was going to bring up the idea of buying one of these boys. Im fairly sure it was me. Questions are flying out of my head: "if I buy them, do I have to take them home?" "how much is it?" "what do they expect me to do?" "can I return him if I dont like him?" etc. Luckily, someone was there with all the answers.

Corinne and I begin conspiring. We laughed and screamed and giggled. "Should we? Should we really?" It felt like such a huge committment to say definitively "yes, I want to buy a prostitute." There were so many questions, so many conflicted emotions...

Then the lights did that flickering thing they do 5 minutes before a show begins and I just blurted out "We have to buy one now before the show starts!" And that was it. We were buying a boy.

So Corinne and I start looking at all our choices since we've decided to share one. We pick out #97 who was dancing and flexing and kind of looked like a jerk - because at least he looked alive. The buying process went like this. Humiliating!

C: "That one!"
W: "Which one?"
K: "That one over there!"
C: "Have him come dance over here so we can get a better look at him."
W: "Certainly. (waiter goes away for a moment) Is this better?"
K: "Yes. (pause to examine dude on stage/talk under the table) OK, we will take him"
W: "OK."

He leaves the stage. Once he is gone, the reality sinks in, I turn to Corinne "dude, we just bought a boy! What the hell do we do with him?" I am mortified. How come no one else around me is mortified? Didnt they just witness Katherine Stransky, the pillar of Roman Catholic virtue, buying a prostitute at Pattaya's premier gay go-go bar? It's almost too much. Almost.

Our boy comes out and sits down between us. He speaks minimal English and after five minutes we figure out that his name is possibly Mook. Alright Mook, so what do we do now? I know that we are supposed to buy him a drink so he orders a beer and holds Corinne's hand. The show starts and it becomes increasingly obvious that he is merely there to do whatever the hell we want him to do. He holds our hands, tells us we are pretty, holds our drinks, says the Thai word for things I point at, etc. Its awesome! Except I cant get over the whole I bought him thing. If I had wanted him to be giving me a lap dance and sucking on my toes, he probably would have done that, too. But the actual interactions with him are, ironically, G-rated. Corinne tried to get him to say something dirty but he didnt understand what she was asking.

His job is to indulge this fantasy, this illusion of closeness, inside a club with a drag show so every once in awhile Id look over and he would be like...trying to stare into my eyes or something. HILARIOUS! I could not look at this guys face! Id burst out laughing. Corinne said she had the same problem. So there was no face looking.
*there are more pix of him in my photo album, ruth*

I was sitting at the end of the couch so I had guys coming up to me, trying to flirt and break our threesome up - get me to buy a dude of my own. It was like the waitress trying to sell you another entre when all you want is an extra plate. Jeez.
And at the end of the show we gave him his tip, said thank you and cut him loose. Then we ate the best Pad Thai ever.

Sitting there in the dark and anonymous boy bar, I began to understand that I was participating in something very different. I've been to strip clubs in the US, as Im sure much of my readership has, but this was like a whole new level of sexual anthropolgy. I began to understand that the sex industry in Pattaya isnt necessarily about fucking. It seems to be first and foremost about fun, which most things in Thailand are. This wasnt the same seedy, pitiful strip club full of miserable people and hopeless, persecuted performers. This was a constructed fantasy of friendship and love that was completely based on the power of money and sex. There are probably hundreds of books written about the misery of foreigners who lose their hearts and wallets to a Thai prostitute and the saying goes "never fall in love in Pattaya". Obviously the allure of the industry is based on something more substantial than just doin' it with something besides your hand.