It was the thought of sex with Terry that caused Cody to have an erection while having the massage in Bangkok. In a panic, he jerked upright from the mattress, surprising the masseur, who quickly apologised for his strength. Embarrassing as it was, the erection did not wilt, and when he lay back on the mattress, the cause of his erratic behaviour became apparent to the masseur. The man chuckled to himself and resumed where he had left off. Cody gave him a large tip later when paying. “So generous, he must be really good,” Ai Ling said as they were leaving the massage parlour. Cody gave a blank smile and nodded.
The next day, they visited the temples in the morning; to escape the heat in the afternoon, they headed to Siam Square, navigating the busy alleyways and seeking out hole-in-the-wall restaurants for meals and coffee. At one point, Ai Ling slipped her hand into Cody’s and he held it, unquestioningly. They did not talk about what the gesture meant—out of modesty on her part and deliberate obtuseness on his. It meant nothing to Cody, just an expression of friendship, and he left it at that.
In the evening, they went to Chinatown and ate seafood in a restaurant that was highly recommended in the guidebook: black pepper crab with vermicelli, chilli-fried squid and barbecued tiger prawns. Done with their dinner, they took a taxi back to Silom, alighting at Patpong. The streets were ablaze with noise and neon; the touts, coming out of the woodwork and armed with dog-eared laminated lists of sex shows, were badgering the tourists in loud, beseeching voices, sometimes even tugging them forcibly towards the clubs. Ai Ling and Cody were approached by a young woman in a leopard print mini-dress who waved and rattled off a list of sex acts, pulling Cody’s arm playfully. Ai Ling walked faster and dragged him away. “So aggressive,” Ai Ling said with a growl. They made their way through the brightly-lit stalls selling 50-baht T-shirts and knockoff handbags, purses and watches. At a pirated-VCD stall, they stopped to scan the titles and eventually bought five VCDs for only 200 baht. After drinking some coconuts at a roadside stall, they decided to call it a night.
At the hotel, Ai Ling complained about an upset stomach, and disappeared for long stretches in the toilet. They tried to trace it back to something she had eaten, but Cody had eaten everything that she had. After taking two charcoal pills, she decided to sleep it off while he scanned the television channels with the volume muted. When she woke up later, she was feeling better but worn out. They lay on their separate beds and watched Police Story 2 starring Jackie Chan; during the commercials, Cody would get up to walk around the room or peek out the window, feeling the itch of restlessness. Ai Ling, sensing his agitated state, suggested that perhaps he should go out and do something, rather than stay cooped up in the hotel room with her.
“Just go, don’t worry about me. I just need to rest,” Ai Ling said.
“I’ll go out for a short while and then come back.”
“Just go and enjoy yourself. Don’t worry, I’m okay. Switch off the lights before you go.”
Stepping out of the hotel, Cody took the printout out of his pocket and orientated himself to the streets indicated on the map with his actual location. He had solicited information from acquaintances he got to know at the parties at Rascals: the best go-go shows, the most outrageous theme nights, and the types of men available at different establishments. He had kept the printout in the inner pocket of his backpack, afraid Ai Ling would see it. He did not think he’d be able to visit any of these places since Ai Ling was with him all the time; now her sudden illness left him free to do what he had planned to do secretly without her, and the elation he felt was complicated by a nagging guilt.
At the entrance leading into Boys’ Town, Cody paused to look at the colour-saturated clutter of signboards advertising a variety of shows and services, arrows pointing to what was hidden behind the half-closed doors and heavy velvet curtains. A tout approached and brandished a folded, laminated cardboard. “Sir, you want cute boys? You want see fucking shows? I have. Come with me.” Cody moved away from him and stepped into Boys’ Town.
Keeping a moderate pace, staying in the middle of the lane, not daring to venture too close to any establishment, he caught glimpses of neon-lit flesh. A few of the dancers caught his stares and returned them with virile smiles. He looked away, conscious that his movements had become slow, deliberate and heavy-limbed. The patrons sitting at the tables outside the bars, mostly middle-aged and Caucasian, turned to survey the moving crowd, their hawk-like eyes moving in succession from person to person. A short, strongly-built man wearing a white tank top and a tattoo in Thai script that wrapped around his biceps came up to Cody and shouted into his ear: “We have show now, you want see? Only two-hundred baht, one drink. Muscular men, you like?”
Numbing his nerves, Cody made his way into the club, pushing past the curtain and entering the smoky room. Any sense of order or clarity had dissolved in his head; all he could feel were the pure, dark urges of his physical self. He followed the tattooed man and sat where he indicated. A series of stares came his way, some lingering longer than others, but Cody sat stonily still, unable or perhaps unwilling to acknowledge or reciprocate these looks. Up on the raised podium, oiled-up muscled men in swim trunks labelled with number tags were swinging their hips lazily in a pantomime of seduction. Loud, thumping dance music pounded through the club as repeating patterns of strobe lights wallpapered the lurid interior. Along the perimeter of the podium were three staggered rows of benches, filled with a mixed audience of locals and foreigners. Not daring to let his eyes stay too long on anyone, Cody glanced from one dancer to another, taking everything in but registering nothing.
An announcement came on during a break in the music, and the dancers left the podium single file. The stage lights dimmed for a second, and in the next instant, three men of similar build appeared on the podium, naked, each nursing an erection. Cody held his breath, his insides seizing up, throbbing with an acute, inexplicable ache. One of the men bent over, holding his ass up in the spotlight for a moment, before another man stood behind him and penetrated him slowly, while the third man stuck his dick into the man’s mouth.
Over the next twenty minutes, the acts varied only slightly with a change of men and positions, each performing their roles in a parody of lust and exaggerated pleasure. Cody’s drink, a Singha beer, came halfway during the show; he took a single sip that left a bitter, corrosive taste in his mouth. When the show ended, he stumbled to his feet and made his way to the exit as if fleeing from a fire or a crime that he had unknowingly committed.
Bursting out of the club, with the night air cooling his heated face, he made ghost tracks back to the hotel, trying to slow the pounding of his heart. The hotel room was dark when he entered; a voice rose from the darkness.
“Cody? Is that you?” Ai Ling said.
“Yes.”
“Back so early?”
“Yes, it was too crowded out there.”
“I must have fallen asleep immediately after you left.” Ai Ling’s voice was groggy, sticky with drowsiness.
“How are you feeling?” Cody asked.
“I think I’m okay now. My stomach’s not hurting anymore.”
“Good. Do you want a drink or something?”
“No, I’m not thirsty.”
“Think I’ll shower now. Go to sleep, if you’re tired.”
“I think I’ve slept enough. What did you do just now?”
“Nothing much. Just walked around and checked out the street stalls.”