“No choice, I’m afraid,” the manager of DJ Station said. I turned and looked at him. He did seem to look concerned and I saw a little sweat beading along his hairline. Amnot was usually cool and ready for anything. A lot could happen at DJ Station. “Dusit Thanat is out front with some businessmen and he wants you to come sit with them for a while. They like the way you dance and wanted to meet you. He said he could arrange that.”
“Who the fuck is Dusit Thanat?” I asked.
“You don’t want to know all that Dusit Thanat is in Bangkok. He’s said he can bring you out to the table and neither one of us wants to see what happens when he can’t deliver. He said to give you this.”
Amnot was extending a hand stuffed with a wad of high-denomination Thai baht bills.
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” I asked. I smiled. “Give me a couple of minutes to pull some clothes on and then show me where this table is.” All I was wearing was silky red bikini briefs.
“You’re just fine the way you are,” Amnot said, now all smiles. “But be really careful with this guy, Doug. You don’t want him to want too much from you.” The smile has been erased from Amnot’s face as quickly as it had painted itself there.
I could tell which one Dusit Thanat was as we approached the table. He had a Thai name. The three men at the table were middle-aged Japanese businessmen types–two slender and bespectacled and one shorter, younger, and heavy, all in expensive suits. All of them let their tongues hang out as I approached their table. I was dressed to be ogled–which meant I was just wearing the red silky bikini briefs.
The Thai was dressed expensively too. There were Thai bodyguard types at the adjacent tables on either side. I got the distinct impression they were there for Dusit Thanat, who I would have assumed was a Class A thug, even if Amnot hadn’t alerted me to that on the way to the table. He also was a solid-looking hunk. There was a class of underworld chieftains in Bangkok who did as they liked and got away with whatever it was. Amnot had clearly signaled that Dusit Thanat was one of those.
Just what I needed. A connection with yet another drug trade crime lord.
I was seated across from Dusit Thanat, who drilled me with his eyes as the Japanese businessmen, who spoke impeccable English, which the Thai didn’t speak at all, talked about me to each other, the two sitting on each side of me touching me here and there–wherever they wanted. I didn’t mind them assessing me, though, as everything they said was complimentary. I didn’t have any trouble understanding that I was supposed to impress the Japanese businessmen. I’d been paid enough up front not to argue with that. When one placed a hand on my basket and traced my shaft through the material, I dutifully turned my face to him and gave him a smile. If they’d been to the last show, they’d seen what was inside the pouch there, although they hadn’t been permitted to touch it.
I wasn’t too worried. The Japanese businessmen, although nothing to arouse me sexually, appeared to be very easy to handle when it came down to sex. It was Dusit Thanat himself who both sexually aroused me and scared the shit out of me as he sat at the table, observing the Japanese businessmen appreciating what he had brought to the table in me for their enjoyment. It was Dusit who I was unsure of handling. I had visions of being bound and spread-eagled, with him using me hard sexually.
They let me go in time to prepare for my next show–the last of mine that night–but Dusit Thanat’s thugs were there, at the stage door, with the back door of a long, black Mercedes limousine open to greet me after I’d finished my set and gotten dressed. I passed the money Amnot had given me, plus what he came back with at the end of my last set, on to Panos, whose eyes went really big when he saw how much it was.
“You’ve hit the jackpot tonight,” he said.
“Or the end of the road,” I said. I told him what the setup looked like it was going to be.
“You do like to run along the edge, don’t you?” he asked.
“From what Amnot told me, I don’t really have a choice. The rules don’t seem to be all that different here than they were back in Chicago. If I don’t get back, you can keep the money,” I said. “10 percent just for holding it for me if I can hobble home.”
“Hobble home?” he asked.
“There are four of them,” I said. I didn’t have to explain further.
By trusting him with the stash, I think I left Panos happier with that than when I fucked him.
I got fucked in the back of the limousine as we drove down Silom Road toward the Chao Phraya River. I sat on the cock of one of the slimmer Japanese businessmen in the center of the bench seat at the very back of the limo. I was stripped down. He wasn’t. I was bent over, hands on the floor of the vehicle while he opened me up with his long, sensuous fingers and then his tongue. He pulled me back into his lap and onto the cock, and helped me to rise and fall on it while Dusit Thanat and the other two Japanese businessmen sat in the rear-facing seats and watched me being fucked with slitted eyes. I easily understood that if we got into a traffic jam, I’d be gang banged back here. The two thugs were up front.
Bangkok traffic moves slowly and is tightly packed on the streets at all hours of the day and night. The windows of the limo were tinted and it was late in the night. I could see out, where the three-wheel samlor taxis and the motorcyclists were right up against the windows, but even though those in and on the vehicles looked into the windows of the limo, I knew they couldn’t see me. They would have had a definite change in expression if they could.
The Japanese man was long, but not thick. He knew what he was doing, though. He palmed my pecs and thrumbed my nubs while I bobbed up and down on his shaft. The other two Japanese businessmen talked while we drove down the road and the third businessman drove me, and it was clear the three of them were talking about me–my body and how well I was taking the fuck–but now they were conversing in Japanese. Somehow, although I went to a perfectly good college, Japanese hadn’t been on my course schedule. Throughout, Dusit Thanat sat, stoically, watching me with dead-fish eyes, and said nothing. He was holding himself aloft, exhibiting that what the Japanese were doing with me was elementary stuff–that when and if he had me, I would suffer.
The fuck was finished and I’d redressed in the slacks and T-shirt I’d come out in by the time we’d reached the entrance of the five-star high-rise Shangri-la Hotel on the banks of the Chao Phraya River. A twelfth-floor suite had already been booked and the door was opened for us by a young European guy–probably German or Danish–who was covered by a blue silk hotel robe and nothing else. The second impression I got from him was that he was sex on a stick and must be someone’s boy toy by how saucy he was acting. My first impression, however, was that he’d been through hell. He looked beat up–cuts and welts all over his body, much of which I could see, and he had a black eye, a cut lower lip, and a bruised chin. There was bruising around his throat too, as if he’d been choked to within an inch of his life.