Chaweng gay scene
So, while I was in Chaweng after writing the last post, I found the Samui Institute for Thai Culinary Arts, where I can learn to cook Thai food while I’m here, not sure what days to go, as it all looks so good. They teach different menus seven days a week, both lunch and dinner menus (with dinner, it costs more, but you make your own curry paste from scratch).
But as I returned from the cooking school, I realized I was at a hotel familiar only because I remember one of the gay bars saying they were across the street from that hotel. So, I went down the side street, and found it easily enough.
And it was basically deserted. There was one gay couple at one of maybe four or five tables, no one at the bar but the two bartenders, no one at any of the four Internet terminals, and there were two tables out front. The tables out front were filled with about four to five Thai prostitutes, who all said hi and smiled as I entered.
I went to the bar, ordered a soda, and planned to leave right after. Then, one of the Thai boys said something in Thai to the bartenders, who left the bar, and he came around and we did the usual, where you from, how you like Thailand, etc., etc.
His name was Dae (I think, pronounced Day), and he was mid-20s, effeminate, and Thai. Queeny Asian works for me, always has, and if we were in SF, I would be interested in him. If, you know, he wasn’t a prostitute and all.
I ended up looking at the Internet terminals, and I hear, “You very very hot,” and I think, OK, here we go. But when I turn to him, he is holding out a napkin, as I was sweating due to the humidity that swept in after the rain ended. I wipe my forehead, and he tells me that I should get a massage.
“You need boy to give massage, not like girls out there.” He scrunches up his nose and gestures out to the main street on Chaweng, where most massages are given by women. He tells me he has been on Koh Samui only a month, and that he just took a month-long Thai massage class in Bangkok before that.
He says “We go upstairs, boy give you massage (he gestures to himself), and then after massage, happy-happy-happy.” The happyhappyhappy was almost sung, in descending notes, and he smiled widely.
I told him I was too tired for a massage, and that I needed to go home now. I said that if he gave me a massage I would be asleep long before happy.
He pulled in tighter and said that he could go home with me, give me a massage in my bungalow, happyhappyhappy, then he could spend the night, then more happy in morning.
I told him no, but that I would see him later, as I would be taking cooking classes around the corner.
I won’t, of course, but I didn’t want to just say no and be rude to someone who wanted to make me happy.
