Sund-Gays

I don’t even know where to start.

Sunday I went to a gay bar.  Must be one of the more popular ones because when I went in there, it was extra gay.  And the party was going off way too hard for a Sunday.

When I got there I had to call my Thai friend to come meet me at the entrance because I didn’t wanna be walking through the crowd on my own.  I’m not a gayophobic, but when you are a man with a big ass, you are targeted.  That’s just how it is.  Yes ladies, I know how you feel.

My Thai friend introduced me to her Thai friends, who were attempting to squeeze no less than twelve people at one time, into a four person booth.  There were bodies everywhere.  And that includes above us, since the booth was sandwiched between two elevated strip poles, which as you can guess, played home to a rotating circus of shirtless studs with dollar bills jammed into their tiny thongs.

Minus one or two girls, everyone at the booth was a gay Thai boy.  And wherever you have a gay Thai boy party, you know who can’t be far behind?

That’s right: lady boys.

I put lady boys in a separate category from the gay guys, because, although they are both born men, and both prey on men, they are almost a whole another creature entirely.

(*gets sued by Anti-Gay League Warriors*)

Whoa, just kidding!  Jesus.  They aren’t creatures, they are people too.  (Wink wink)

Now, the lady boys were all dressed extremely femininely, what I know as asymptomatic of any lady boy (the overcompensation).  One of them had me fooled though, because the boobs were so good.  But I realized when she grabbed my cock non-chalantly and starting analyzing it, that she was actually a man in a woman’s dress.  Natural women don’t behave like that.

But when she grabbed my dinger, she said “dek“, the Thai word for “small”.  There was a small crowd gathered around us, and I had to stand up for myself.

I immediately contested the dek by yelling “yai”, the Thai word for “large”.  Since you know, my ding-a-ling totally isn’t dek.   

And then she would grab it again to “re-evaluate”, call me dek, and then I would scream yai.  This repeated for much longer than it should have, as people looked on as a lady boy grabbed my jimmy johnson shamelessly.

And then it hit me; she knew my ding-a-ling wasn’t small, but she just wanted to get me defensive so I would keep letting her touch it in an attempt to make her change her stance on the size of my wee-wee.

That’s when I slapped her hand away.  A firm smack.  Like harder than you’d hit a women, but softer than you’d punch a guy.  You know.  Because lady boys exist in the nether region between genders.

I expected more smacking to take place when a fight between two gay guys started to break out right behind me.

I was slow to realize shit was going down because the place was so damn loud and I only got sprayed a a teeny bit when a drink got tossed on the guy behind me.  And he was big, so he blocked most of the spray from reaching me.

But when I turned around I saw the fight brewing, I was excited.  Everyone in the vicinity starting clearing a big open area and I just, well, I didn’t go anywhere.  I stayed standing where I was.  I didn’t want to risk spilling my drink running away, and if somehow I got entangled in the fight, I would participate.  But really, I just wanted to see a gay fight up close.

There were some naughty words exchanged, and a lot of flexing, but in the end, it didn’t come to (effeminate) blows.

On a couple of occasions the animalistic urges of the party-goers on the ground overcame the guys on the strip poles, and they reached into their thongs, pulled out all of the dollar bills wedged in there, and threw all of the money in the air.

So with cash raining from the sky, a sea of near-fights and raging testosterone, guys kissing me on the cheeks, the booth of Thai people stacking people like a Jenga tower, and heavy pulsating techno music, there was a SHIT load of stimuli coming at me from all directions.  And remember that I walked into this place sober.

I had to drink myself silly just to exist here.  I had to drink until this place was normal.

Now, as you could probably discern by this point in the story, I don’t normally go to gay bars.  In fact, this was the first gay bar I’ve been to since moving to LA.  But I’m in an experimental phase in my life right now, so I’m gonna try anything and everything.

And that’s why I went home with a guy that night.

…

Ew NO!  Not like that.  That “guy” was my Uber driver.  He didn’t come in the house or anything.

I did invite people from the bar back with me, who did come into my house.

Girls.

Two of them!

Japanese girls!

Twice the chances of getting lucky.

Of course, on par with all of my actions as of late, I did not get lucky.  In fact, listen to this: when we walked in the door, the first girl passed out on my couch in fetal position within 30 seconds of being in the house.

The other one seemed more lively and I figure that, “hey, let’s see where this one goes.”  She expressed her desire to eat and I went to work in the kitchen, frying up the absolute best thing you could eat after a night of heavy drinking: turkey bacon.

As I cooked, I noticed she had been in the bathroom for an awfully long time.  I knocked on the door and heard a low incoherent mumbling when I asked her if she was okay.  I asked if she wanted water, and she moaned an affirmative response.  I put the water on the floor of the bathroom for her, without being able to see what was going on in there.  From the effort I had to give to crack the door open, it seemed like she was laying on the floor.

When I finished with the bacon, I waited a few minutes, and then I started to eat the bacon myself, reminded myself of who the bacon was for, and then went and knocked on the door again.

Whimpering.

I told her to drink the water and went back to waiting outside.

At some point I decided, “fuck it, I need to eat this bacon.”  And I did.

Then I realized that, since she is hogging the bathroom, I would have to pee elsewhere.  I peed in the sink (as you do in this kind of situation).

The only thing prohibiting me from going to bed was brushing my teeth, and accessing my toothbrush in the bathroom.

This time I knocked and then slowly pushed my way into the bathroom.  Sure enough, there she was, passed out with her head on the toilet bowl (and the toilet seat up).

So yeah I didn’t get any physical pleasure that night, but I did get something better than sex from the girls:

A thank you note, from each of the girls, written in Japanese, and emblazoned with drawings of little animal things.  Each of the girls did their own animal drawing too.  Which seems like the most Japanese thing to do, but the fact that they each drew an animal made me question: did they coordinate their animal doodles together?  Or is this just their calling signs, to draw their spirit animal on thank you letters?

Don’t worry, I took photos: