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09-18-2002
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| Illustration courtesy of AK |
BANGKOK
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Here we are, in another girly bar. Same,
same, every night. On our way in, the katoey were merciless. Three of
them, lounging up against the wall outside the bar.
"Ooooh,"
and, "Big Boy," they said, grabbing at Gary's arms and crotch.
"Show us, huh?" One pointed at my tits. "Real?" Then
to Gary, "Squeezem. Look," and she pulls one fake tit out of
her chintzy leopard print halter, grabs his arm roughly and makes as if
to press it there.
Gary withdraws his arm, slows, smiles, exchanges a
few whispered words. The katoey giggle and slap Gary's butt as he walks
by. "Bye-bye." They wave to me mockingly. I didn't even want
to come tonight. But Gary won 2,500 baht playing horses and insisted.
There's always a reason, and his eyes light up so when I say okay. How
can I be jealous of katoey? |
Singha beers. Itchy strobes. House music. A
horseshoe-shaped stage. More slender girl-women, this time in cowgirl outfits.
Sequined silver vests and cowboy hats, tooled boots and white leather G-strings.
Walker is transfixed, doesn't notice me fidgeting. I told Walker I didn't feel
like coming tonight � how many girly bars do we have to go to?
In the corner is
a widescreen TV showing one scene continuously. At first I don't know what it is
� think it's some psychedelic lava lamp effect, a throbbing pulse of pinks and
blacks, sea anemones locked in mortal combat, an animated Rauschenberg, a mouth
undergoing invasive surgery � but then I see it is an extreme close-up of a
four-foot-high black cock sluicing in and out of a five-foot-high pink pussy.
I look around, embarrassed, but no one is paying
any attention to me, and I realize I have never really watched porn, let alone
hung out in girly bars night after night. The movement is mesmeric and I have to
steady myself from swaying with my hand on the back bar. Again I look at Walker,
to anchor my vision, but he too has not moved � it is as if everything is
moving repetitively or else has stopped moving altogether.
The bar is undulous and wavery, with frozen
parts. I realize I am soaking and it reminds me of the sensation I sometimes
have when I am bleeding, that all my innards are slip-sliding down and will
flush out along with the blood, leaving me gutless.
It is only with great
concentration that I can tear my gaze away from the screen and join Walker in
viewing the stage. We are now one gaze, Walker and I, swallowing up each and
every girl � and I, for the first time, am his partner. Look, touch, take.
There is always more and there is never enough and all is molten. Oceanic. I
think I'm getting it.
With one look now I can pierce through the veil
of manner, see desire. Everyone is want. What did the Buddhist tract say?
"One must look correctly to be able to penetrate, otherwise one will see
nothing." But was it meaning this? I can't remember.
�
| A particular girl captures my attention.
Instead of cowboy boots, she's wearing Doc Martens, and looks more
Samoan than Thai. She is built, and attacks the pole with muscularity,
climbing to the top then slowly twirling back down head first, her
legs snaked around the gleaming pole, then pow, into a split, wham,
into a back handspring, all meaty shimmer and steel-toed boots. |
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Now the girls openly eye me while the men
hunched around the stage shoot me homicidal looks. It is the first time I've
noticed the men hating me. Walker nudges my side.
"The girls don't like men
� all those ugly, drunken tourists, hitters, losers. They're into women."
He is so enjoying this. A nothing guy with red
crew cut and close-set eyes actually spits in my direction.
"These men want to kill me," I say.
It's not only a revelation, it's a turn-on. I am powerful. Electric rays snake
out from my fingertips and into the watery reality strobing around me.
Four Singha bottles later, not the Samoan but
another girl, Suki, is grinding her soft ass up against my groin. I find myself
placing my hands on her bare hips, guiding her, the fringe of her vest swaying
at my fingers, the dimple of those hips softly indented and cool to the touch.
She is the only girl wearing high heels � scuffed white numbers like you'd wear
to a wedding and toss afterward. I want to hold Suki, keep the gnarly men away,
give her a sack of American silver dollars to match her outfit.
Buzzing and ultra sensitive, I feel something
shift in the air. Walker, on my left, also leaning against the back bar, has
placed his hand on Suki's hip and she freezes. He slips his hand up onto her arm
and I can feel the hairs rise there. She's mine, I want to tell him. Don't
touch. But instead, I gently push her toward the bar so he can't see. She turns
toward me, her black bangs swinging.�
"Buy me a drink," she says shyly,
pointedly ignoring Walker.
But it is Walker who goes to the bar, gets her a
drink, some blue-colored confection.
While he is gone, I reach up and lightly
brush my fingers against her tit. She's so flat. How the fuck old is she? I
can't tell anyone's age at all in Thailand. She could be thirty; she could be
thirteen.�
They turn on the lights and the house shifts to
slow-dance-goodnight-get-the-fuck-out sap.
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"Let's go," I say to Walker.
I
want to escape from the harshly unpleasant glare. I've had enough. But
he hangs back. Suki has moved away, stands in a cluster with some of the
other girls who now, in the blinding light, look incredibly young, all
carrying school satchels with bionic bright flower stickers on the
flaps.
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"Walker," I say.
What is he waiting
for? He is a different man at night, in these bars, more wired and distant. It
makes me panicky, afraid I'll lose him. We move slowly toward the door, but
Walker stops at the cluster, says something to Suki, who looks away. The other
girls giggle. Walker rejoins me.
"I asked her to maybe come out and have a
bite to eat with us or something."�
"Walker, it's 3 a.m. I'm tired."�
Suki looks uncertain, catches my eye. When she
does, her eyes turn dead. In their reflection, I see a hoary-scaled reptile
shedding his pink-fleshed humanoid daywear. The blush suffuses my face, but she
has already turned her back to me and together with the other young girls, en
masse, the many-legged, many-armed, flower-satcheled young cowgirls melt away.
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