One of my favourite restaurants back in east London was “Les trois Garcons.” I was lucky enough to eat there several times, and I often wonder what it was that made me love it so much. Was it the richness of the food, the opulence of the design (I’ve always had a soft spot for stuffed animals wearing tiaras) or the slightly too cool for school staff? No. it was the fact that you sit in the uber-camp lounge of a big gay 3 way. You’re basically the filling in the physical manifestation of their spit roast.
It isn’t the fantasy of a perpetual daisy chain that enthralled me; I betray my working class roots here, but it’s the peculiarities of the day-to-day life that I still find fascinating. How does it work? Do they nag in stereo? Will their collective mid-life crisis result in an ever-expanding wardrobe of inappropriately tight disco wear? Perhaps a 3 way would be more stable than a less conventional twosome, who knows? Perhaps I was looking for answers to my own inability to connect in a relationship?
I recently met 3 men in Bangkok who had been in a relationship for over a year.
They were from Moscow and they were painfully trendy and undeniably cute. They wore skimpy white shorts and tight T-shirts. For some reason they had all decided to wear matching Mr Spock/elf ears – which contrived to make them appear all the more fabulous. They swaggered through the club, seemingly oblivious to all the attention, in a way that only beautiful men in their twenties can; consumed with the solemnities of their love.
I got talking to Alex (the one with the glasses) who spoke English, he told me the history of their relationship and I was – how can I say – both fascinated and horrified. It was just so full on, heightened no doubt by the fact that they were all high. DJ station had closed, and while Alex recounted their passionately mental love story, the cleaning lady waddled past, moping up stale homo-piss from the toilet floor beneath our feet.
- “Sawadeeeee KaaaaAAAAAAAAAaaaAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
She made it last 6 seconds, I counted.
On our way to GOD, Alex asked me if I had ever had a relationship with more than one man. I told him I hadn’t had a serious relationship with anyone. I was not going to compete with the bonkers tale of his oh so fashionably experimental love affair; so, what was I meant to say? I just told the truth…
The week before meeting Alex and his fiances – yes, they planned on getting married somewhere – I had gone into the office on a Saturday to do some preparation. My secretary was slopping around the office, wearing his pink, furry slippers and playing computer games.
I was busy photocopying documents, generally doing his job, the office phone rang and he answered:
- “Hellllaaaaaaaawwwww – krap, – s’wadeeee kraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhp – Awwww jing Lor! – Loooor – AwwwwwwwWWWWwwwww – Jing Lor – UUUuuurgh – chai – UUUrgh – chai – ChaaaAAAAAAAi…. Krap – Krap – ‘Wadeeeeee KraAAAaAAaaAAAaaaaaaaap”
He sniffed, hung up, and shoved a piece of fried pork in his mouth:
- “Who was that?” I asked,
- ” She – not – say… She – Want – talk – with – you… I tell – him – you busy.”
- ” Remind me again which university you graduated from with a first in business English? Was it a “he” or a “she” who called?”
- ” It man – call – I tell – heem – you – call – back.”
- ” But, I am here!”
- “CHAAaaAaaaaaai. Yes – YES – You – vely – busy man. I tell him – call – back. It – one of you – boyfriend – from – Babylon.”
If you are ever in Bangkok and you want to be the big gay filling in a real spit roast – and who doesn’t? – then I can strongly recommend that you take a trip to Babylon sauna In Bangkok’s rich Sathon district. It’s a great place to play and experiment with all kinds of weird and wonderful group stuff. I’m not sure why, but it has such a bad reputation among the Thai boys, they’ve all been of course, but emphatically deny it.
It is the only place on earth, I can think of, where you can get felt up by a wealthy CEO from Hong Kong to the sound of Gustav Holtz’s “Uranus;” which, by all accounts, makes it the very definition of “GAY.”
My secretary had this to say:
- “Sauna – not – good – If – you – go – sauna – Bhudda – say – it – sin.”
The fact that he spends all day conning gifts out of deluded lovers, makes me question his grip on Buddhist morality:
- ” What’s wrong with going to a sauna if you are a single man?”
- ” Sauna – for – BAD – people – ghost – NOT – LIKE – men – go sauna.”
- ” Chaaaaaaaiiiiiii Mister – *sniff* – Ghost.”
- “What? Like Patrik Swayze? Or Casper? I saw you at Babylon, remember, you were kissing a gormless man from Belgium.”
- “HE – NOT – FROM – BELGIUM – HE – FROM – DANELAND! “
- “So, you have been to Babylon then.”
- “NooooooOOOOOOoo – I – not – go – Babylon! – Bad – men – go – Babylon!”
- “So, what happened? Tell me, did the ghosts take your boyfriend from “Daneland?””
- “It – true – It – True! – My – boyfriend – from – Daneland – he – go – in – sauna – I – not – see – him again – Ghost – take him.”
- “I suppose you’re right, the prospect that he just fucked off with somebody else is completely implausible. “
- ” Chai – Chai – Krap – He – go – in – dark – room – SNIFF – ghost – take – him – *SNIFF* – that – last – I – see – heem… Now – I – have – new – boyfriend – he – not – from – Daneland – he – from – Germanland – he – vely – rich – man – he – buy – me – ipad2 – he – not….”
It’s at this point in every conversation with my secretary that I have to leave the building. Every day, without fail, he will piss all over my hopes for the future of our species. Seriously, somebody tell me how he functions? He’s TWENTIE – FUCKING – NINE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARrrrGHHHHHHHHhhhhh!
Needless to say, all this talk of saunas had made me horny as fuck.
I’m not sure how it happened, was it the snatched glances? The surreptitious whistles as I walked past? But as I strolled, smiling, through the dark rooms of Babylon, I noticed I was being hunted by a man. He was younger than me and very cute. I knew he was a top, Thai guys tend to make this distinction tediously obvious, and I knew he was hungry.
Like all good prey I made a show of aloofness, seemingly unaware of my fate.
Luckily the designers of Babylon are much more familiar with the rules of the hunt than “Le trois garcons.” Perhaps, at heart, we’re all old beasts who want to wear tiaras and get stuffed. The man who was hunting me was skilled in the art, almost like he foresaw all of my twists and turns, and before I knew it, I was downstairs in a cubicle with his boyfriend. His boyfriend was Smiley and pretty and slender. They were both in their twenties with good bodies.
The hunter was horny, he removed his towel the second that he locked the door. His cock was thick and quite long, so he was probably used to local Thai queens complementing him. The three of us were naked in a cubicle peppered with glory-holes. The top pulled out condoms and lube, a little too eager perhaps, but too many men in their twenties need to feel the justification of physical penetration. The sophistication of mental stimulation eludes them. Perhaps they lack the subtleties of seduction? Or maybe he was just building up to his major play…
- “you suck me he finger you ass!”
The thing with being locked in a dirty fuck cubicle with two horny Thai guys, is that you suddenly realise that 2 is company, but 3 is definitely allowed – they were so generous! There were so many possibilities here if, like me, you’re not afraid of getting your hands dirty. The trouble with a top who has taken Viagra is that he can be too keen. He begins fucking me from behind while I suck the slender man.
The limited space means you can get supported in some really interesting positions. Use the 3 dimensions wisely, maybe utilise some of those ridiculous Bikram yoga positions you’ve been trying to forget.
Here’s one of my favourite athletic moments:
BETTER BUMMING TIPS:
- Start on the floor doggy style. Rim the slim guy and play with his balls,like your suckling a ripe peach.
- Large top fucks you and as you relax and begin bucking back onto his cock, he turns on top of you, while he’s still inside you. Your head should now be between his legs with his knees on the back of your shoulder blades. His cock is rock hard inside you, but bent down, away from his body. Be warned this probably isn’t advisable if you happen to have a weak bladder or prostate problems, check with your GP just in case.
- He puts his hands above his head on the floor either side of your feet. He pushes back onto his feet, which are wedged between the cubicle walls and the low ceiling. If you’re doing it right, he should now resemble a sky diving accident.
- Lift yourself up and support him by pushing your hands against the walls then push back onto his cock. You should feel his cock pressing forward. Easy does it.
- Smiley, slender guy can slide in under you, and assume a position rather like a yoga “downward dog.” If he’s an experienced bottom he can slide backwards onto your cock.
- You and the top really need to use your arms to steady everyone and get the rhythm right. You’ll have to work it for a while to get the right pace – particularly if he’s high or on Viagra.
- Once you start getting into the swing of things; you, and the boys, are free to start exploring all the bell ends that appear in the glory holes.
It’s truly a ridiculous sensation, but great fun. It’s like being in a weird old fairground attraction. I kept expecting some greasy carny bloke to pop his head under the door and demand money. I’m beginning to find that sex IS ridiculous if you’re doing it right; it should be fun and frivolous; laughed at and sweated over.
When I was younger, I would attach some otherness to the intimacy – I would never really let go, I assumed that sex should be a meeting of heart and mind and body.
I was foolish to believe that, perhaps one day, I would meet these 3 faces in a coupling with a companion. Thinking about it, I assumed that all of this would be found in the arms of a significant other, someone who would be – dare I say it – “mine.” Well, love is for the young, but decadent threesomes are for lucky old queens. That’s life.
Needless to say, after I had recounted this revelation to Alex, the Russian; I distinctly remember witnessing his jaw drop. He said:
- ” You probably need to find some balance in your life.”
I spent an afternoon getting fucked up the arse by a rock-hard speed freak, while bumming his boyfriend into next week – do you realise just how much balance that takes?
I could see that Alex was a little disturbed by my revelation, I also had the sneaking suspicion that he was pissed off because I was not in awe of his, oh so political, relationship.
There followed a high energy 30 minutes of shouting in Russian, leavings and retributions. It was all high drama. One of his boyfriends was jealous of him speaking to me, he stormed off back to their hotel room. Shortly after, the other one left to talk with him, and of course Alex felt left out – yada yada yada – shortly after, with gracious apologies, they left me dancing alone. I never did get to ask them why so many Russians are into the idea of human trafficking these days, or why so many Russian whores OD in Pattaya, I guess I’ll never know.
Perhaps he was shocked by my frankness. I could see he thought that I was belittling their relationship. That was not my intention. I have my threesome too! Three is a magic number. I have my friend in London who is rational to the point of absolute lunacy, and I have my secretary here who thinks that the BTS runs on “magic – fire – light.” If I need sex, then I can fuck a random.
Does that sound like a life lacking in balance to you?
Thinking about it, perhaps I shouldn’t have equated my afternoon in a filthy fuck-hole sliding around with two athletic studs, to his pretentious love life. Oh Well… Horses for courses as we say in England, horses for courses.