AN ORIENTAL CHRISTMAS

by Ray M.

Christmas had lost its meaning. Let's face it when you are alone all those artificial festivities on your TV screens, repeated year after year, lose whatever attraction they may have once held. And so it was that I decided to spend Christmas in Bangkok. Christmas Eve found me ogling those handsome go-g- boys in the 'Barbierry' bar. Exactly on 11pm the lights dimmed and the sound system crashed out the opening chords of 'Also sprach Zarathustra'. When my eyes adjusted to the lighting I saw two young men masturbating and after a while the bigger lad began to slide on a condom. Suddenly I no longer wanted to be a spectator.

Minutes later I was in a taxi heading back towards my hotel. To avoid a difficult U-turn I and the driver drop me off on the other side of the dual carriage way opposite the hotel. Hurrying across the foot bride I had to pass a young beggar in his late twenties reaching out his tin can towards me. I found a small coin for him and as I hurried on he called after me "Thank you, sir, a Merry Christmas." I was so astounded that I retraced my steps and attempted to hand him a 500 Baht note. This was less than what I would have spend had I remained in the bar. It was then that I saw his right arm stopped in a hideous stump at the elbow.

Confused, I reached down to place the note in his tin. He grinned and reaching out a filthy foot clasped the note between his toes then quite adroitly transferred it into his tin. My eyes misted over and impulsively I hauled him to his feet and beckoned him to follow. One of the bazaars remained opened on the corner by the entrance to my hotel. Within minutes his tattered rags were cast off and he was admiring his new appearance in a full length mirror. The shop owner looked on askance as my new friend hugged me and planted an affectionate kiss on my cheek.

I ushered him into the lobby of the hotel. There was a magnificent Xmas tree aglow with myriads of shimmering fairy lights towering high into the atrium. At its base were gaudily wrapped parcels. Nearby was Santa's grotto, and all around were figures of Snow White and her seven dwarfs. Lek, for that was his name, stared in disbelief. "What is this?" he whispered. Realising that any attempt to explain would be impossible I simply replied "Farang Christmas." "Ah yes", he said, knowingly and walked around taking it all in.

I took him up to my room and ran a bath for him throwing in a sachet of perfumed foaming essence. Hauling him away from the TV I indicated he should undress and climb into the bath. I left him alone and shortly heard him called out. Lek was standing naked except for a towel across his body. His eyes were troubled and he beckoned for me to assist him into the bath. I felt ashamed realising that he had in all probability has never seen a bath before. I stopped over the side of the bath and indicated that he should place his good arm around my neck and lower himself into the foam covered steaming water.

After almost 30 minutes he again called out and when I returned to the bathroom he was standing naked afraid to climb out. The room was almost full of steam through which the ceiling light strained to illuminate his body. He had a semi erection and as my eyes pierced the steam I could see he was ashamed. I hastily covered him with a towel and levering him from the bath assisted him in drying himself. As I did so I was away that he was fully erect. He leaned forward, kissed me and said "Tonight I can find lady for fuck-fuck". I looked at him and laughed. The tension was gone and Lek joined me in my laughter. He quickly arrayed himself in his new found finery. I sensed he was impatient to leave and with a heavy heart escorted him back to the hotel entrance after pressing a bundle of notes into his good hand. The smartly dressed doorman held the door ajar for Lek to leave. Lek pressed a note into his hand, grinned up at me and was gone.

Back in my room I poured myself a large whisky and took it out into the balcony. Behind me, the sound system was giving out 'Silent Night'. Below me and far away to the horizon the lights of Bangkok twinkled away. Somewhere, out there, Lek was negotiating the price of his 'Fuck-Fuck'. Several whiskies later I turned off the sound console, whispered "Merry Christmas, sir", and slept.

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