Still, he acted happy to see us, especially Dusit Thani, who drew the young man to his side, placing a hand on his opposite hip, while the Japanese businessman, starting to pull off their clothes, guided me to the bedroom beyond. The two bodyguards stayed with Dusit Thanat and the European youth in the living room, which opened into the bedroom through a double door.
While the businessmen were stripping in the bedroom, one of the bodyguards delivered packets of cocaine to the bedroom. The Japanese men imbibed, engaging in recreational imbibing in a round-robin fashion–two trying out the drugs, which I took to be some sort of sampling for bulk buying–and one fucking me on the bed. When one finished with me on the bed, he went to the table where the lines of cocaine were set up, and another of the businessmen came up on the bed, manipulated me into the position he wanted, mounted me, and fucked me.
I could see into the other room, where Dusit Thanat was sitting on a sofa and the European youth was in his lap, facing him, and bouncing up and down on the Thai’s cock. The young man’s back was crisscrossed with angry red welts.
Later, I lay on the bed, tired and exhausted, splayed on my back, while the men did whatever deal they were doing in the other room. The European youth came through, went into the bathroom, and took a shower. He smiled wanly at me in passing.
We left the Japanese businessmen in the hotel suite. The European youth was left there too, naked, on his back, on the bed. The businessmen’s entertainment wasn’t over. Two of the Japanese men were climbing up on the bed, moving into a position where they could double the European guy.
I assumed Dusit Thanat would let me off at the DJ Station or my hotel, The Babylon Bangkok, although I wouldn’t have been wild about him knowing where I was staying, or that I would be left to get back to the hotel on my own. He didn’t however. We were driven back across town, beyond Lumphini Park, to the Sukhumvit Road area and then down a back soi–street–to the banks of one of the main canals that laced through the city, once the primary paths of transportation that gave Bangkok the name of the Venice of the East.
We drove into a walled compound of a series of traditional Thai-style teak pavilions raised on columns to keep the living areas above the perpetual flooding from the canals.
It took nearly an hour to get to the compound from the Shangri-la. Once again I sat in the center of the bench seat at the very back of the limo, with Dusit Thanat sitting, facing me, and looking thuggish and stoic. The two bodyguards were in the front seat. I assumed the drug lord would fuck me while we were driving, but he didn’t. I was getting the idea that maybe he wasn’t going to do that–that I was maybe just a whore he hired to help him sell his drugs in bulk to Japanese marks.
But I was wrong. He did want to fuck me. And he did fuck me.
He took me to his bedroom in one of the interlinked teak pavilions on thick wooden stilts, pushed me down on a massive bed, stripped me of my trousers and T-shirt, slapped my legs open, knelt and ate my ass out, and then came down between my thighs, pinning me to the bed, mounted me, and fucked me with a huge cock–vigorously, hard, deep, brutally, athletically, and into and beyond the dawn.
He manipulated me into whatever position he wanted, and like a good little well-paid whore–one who was scared spitless of this thug–I docilely went into whatever configuration turned him on and gave him what he signaled he wanted. Did he ask me what I wanted at any time? No, indeed he did not. Thailand was a man’s world in that sense, and Dusit Thanat clearly was The Man. Somewhat to my surprise, he didn’t torture me. He slapped me around a bit, but he didn’t reach the level of taking that I thought he might and that it looked like he did with the young man he fucked at the hotel.
At least he wasn’t violent that first time.
* * * *
Nothing was said about taking me back to my hotel. I didn’t have another show to do for the next two days, but I didn’t think Dusit Thanat knew that. Neither did I get the impression that he cared whether or not I had a schedule of my own. He didn’t do much talking at all. He did do fucking, though–and he did it well. He was maybe in his forties, but he worked his body hard. He worked my body hard too. There was no question I was going to give him what he wanted. He wanted me to lay back, open my legs in a V and provide something warm and spongy for him to stroke his cock in, and that’s what I gave him. Whenever I wasn’t fast enough to provide what he wanted, he slapped me around. I learned to figure out what he wanted quickly.
The violence in his fucking progressed as he moved from one fuck to the next.
I did feel a bit like a prisoner in the compound, like if I’d made a sudden move toward the driveway gate, which was guarded, that there would be a roving guard to stop me, but they hadn’t taken my cellphone. I called the troupe manager, Tony Scarlotti, to report that I was still alive–if stiff and sore–although I didn’t have the least notion where I was. I wasn’t familiar enough with Bangkok to know where we had driven from the Silom area.
“All taken care of,” Tony said as if all I cared about was money and my stage performances. “You’re covered in fees for the next two days.”
“I don’t know where I am.”
“And we don’t want to know where you are either,” the manager said. “This is all being handled through Amnot at the DJ Station, and he says we don’t really want to know what the arrangement is. I believe him. I think you should too.”
“Terrific,” I said. I looked up to see that Dusit Thanat was standing in the doorway into his bedroom. He was naked and in erection, and his body was hard, muscular… magnificent. As I clicked the cellphone off, he was on me in a flash, slapping me down onto my knees, putting me on all fours, crouching over he, mounting me, and grasping the hair on the back of my head and arching me painfully back while he thrust inside me and fucked me hard. He was a brutal top, but so far, although he’d slapped me a few times, he hadn’t beaten me like I’d seen the European youth from the previous night had been beaten and whipped. Maybe it wasn’t Dusit Thanat who had done that to the young man, I thought.
But I was to find that it was, indeed, Dusit Thanat, who had done that. And I couldn’t find my cellphone again after that toss in the hay.
“Go, clean up,” he said after he’d finished with me. “We go to see the kickboxing now.”
It was the most he’d said to me since we’d met.
* * * *
Thai kickboxing is a blood sport. They had an arena for it on Rama IV road not far from my hotel, the Babylon Bangkok. I contemplated trying to break away from the arena and get to the hotel all the time Dusit Thanat and I were ringside watching a series of Thai boxer pairs enter the ring, which we were just out of the splatter area of, donate blood, and only one boxer stumble out of at the end of a match. It was more of a gladiatorial event where it looked like anything was accepted to ensure survival. That the ever-present bodyguards were stationed at either end of the row we were in prevented my escape. Perhaps I should have tried harder.