“We met on a train to Chiang Mai. I probably don’t have to tell you why I was going to Chiang Mai? I was twenty-seven and sick to death of the bar scene in Bangkok. The boys had mostly stopped dying of AIDS by then, but there was no romance left. The clients were mostly just pigs, white pigs. Gay white men on the rampage in Southeast Asia are not always the considerate type. I took the train up to Chiang Mai because the scene up there was supposed to be different. Everyone was so stoned on opium and heroin, so they said, you didn’t really have to work at all. That’s what I was, a bum boy, a creature without self-respect, a poor, skinny, ladylike thing with a dick, one of the world’s lost, just dirt in the road. How could you be anything else, being half black and brought up here? Thais are the most racist people on earth, they despise Negroes. They even look down on pure-blooded Thais if they have dark skin. And look-I’m pretty brown.
“Being that kind of gay, I’d pampered myself and spent everything I had on a first-class ticket in a sleeper that was supposed to be all my own. I’m enjoying a cigarette and contemplating suicide for the thousandth time that year when the door opens and there he was, a magnificent black giant who I would never have taken for a soldier by the way he dressed and moved, except for one of those big round green bags soldiers carry. He looked about forty, which has always been my favorite age in a man, and of course, being black, how could I not make that connection to the father I’ve never met? Super fit. I thought: What a wonderful country America must be, that someone so black can grow up brimming with self-respect, nonchalant, with a sense of belonging, even amongst all those white people. Of course I gave him my most seductive smile, not expecting any result. He smiled back, though, said sorry for disturbing me, he’d booked the compartment next door. I said: ‘That’s okay, love, anytime.’ Just like a whore. I thought that would be it, because he looked so straight, you know? Usually when you talk like that to a straight guy, it turns him off, even disgusts him. He gave me this big smile, though, and asked if he could sit down for a moment. My little heart starts on the big thump-thump-thump.”
An inhalation. “I won’t bore you with the gory details of Chiang Mai. God knows why a man like him was going there at all, except that it’s on the tourist circuit. God knows why he’s with me. He never admitted that I was his first, you know, but I can tell this is not really a gay. Let’s be honest about this, there are all different shades, and men who love sex usually experiment at some stage in their lives. I think he was like that. I think he’d had women all his life and was at that stage of wondering if it’s worth it, you know? Maybe that special something missing could be supplied by a man? I thought, Fair enough, I’m having the time of my life staying in a good hotel with the man of my dreams, when it ends I’ll have nothing but wonderful memories, something to carry me forward into the next disaster. I can see he’s not comfortable with me socially. To tell the truth, we never leave the room together. He would go out for a meal or a drink, I would go out separately. Socially, he’s very very uptight. He’s a marine, after all. He’s going through quite a thing, but to my surprise he didn’t dump me after the first night.
“Then, after five days, he gives me my marching orders. I say: ‘Of course, darling, it’s been wonderful for me, just wonderful, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. And by the way, can you help me out with ten thousand baht, I’m a little short of the readies?’ We made that sordid little trip to the bank machine together, he hands me the cash in a dark alley and we walk off into our separate futures-or so I thought.
“Two days later, he came looking for me. He’d searched every gay bar in the town, and found me in the end, drowning my sorrows. That’s when I knew something totally appalling was happening to this beautiful man. This giant stood there with tears in his eyes, looking at me across the floor. Of course, I would have done anything for him. Anything at all. If he’d said, Take this knife and cut your throat, I would have done it. You might say that it was a first for me too: love.”
“But he never got used to you being a man?”
“No. Well, put it the other way: he never got used to him being queer. He held himself together for the first few weeks, but I could see it coming. I wondered what he was going to do with my poor body when he really started to break apart. Someone like me sees it all the time, it’s a professional hazard: the middle-aged man who cannot admit what he is turning into, what he’s doing. I wondered if he would have a fit and kill me with those magnificent muscles of his, not that I cared. It was as good a way to go as any. What for him was something squalid and nasty was the high point of my life. He was good to me, when he remembered what a generous-spirited American he was. And I simply adored him. He liked to smoke ganja and I would get some for him. Then the drinking started. I don’t think he drank much before he met me, but soon he could get through a bottle of Mekong in an hour. It’s like the song says: hate myself for loving you.” A sigh. “I think he really did love me, at the beginning. I think I was a kind of liberation, in a way. After all, he’d been chasing pussy all his life and not gotten anything out of it. At least I understood him. I had testosterone of my own in those days, I knew how a man thinks. I’ve sort of lost that now. He never did beat me, though. Not once. Even his sex wasn’t particularly-you know-over the top. He dominated, of course, but it was more like an emperor expecting to be worshiped than a sadist demanding obedience. I hoped that things would work out. After all, he kept talking about retirement, and he wanted to retire in Bangkok, so I thought, Why not come out? What have you got to lose? Spend the rest of your life in love and freedom. With me. I would have looked after him. My god, would I have looked after him. But of course, it never works out that way, does it? There’s always something drags us down, just when we think we’re being saved.”
“Was he into jade at that time?”
“Oh the jade, the jade. Yes, he was into it. I think one of his retirement dreams had been to go into the gems trade. I think when he was in Yemen and all those other dreadful places, he fantasized about coming to Thailand and exporting gems and jade to the States. Perhaps making his own designs. My god, that’s almost like me fantasizing about becoming a marine. I’m not an expert, but in my little opinion you don’t get near the gems trade out here unless you’re Chinese, or very well connected to the Chinese. I wasn’t going to tell him that, of course. I helped him, with a sense of foreboding I must say.”
“You helped him?”
“He needed an interpreter. He was talking to all sorts of people, including tribespeople from up in the hills and including my own people, the Karen. So I was very useful. I translated into Thai and into Karen and back again into English. I had this bar-boy English at that time, nothing like as good as I speak it now. I have him to thank for that.
“We even got as far as buying a couple of lumps of jade and having them worked into little trinkets by some craftsmen in Chinatown. I had to tell him in the end they were laughing at us. The jade he’d bought was third rate, and his designs were sort of-well, not exactly world class. That penis on the web page was the best thing he did. He modeled it after his own, of course. Even I started wondering where his head was, that he thought starting a web page with a whacking great cock on it was going to change his life. Funnily enough, I think that web page was his way of coming out, his way of finally telling the world what he was: a beautiful, perfectly formed cock.