Encounters with Em

The Story of eM

When I first walked into a certain club in Patpong, the beautiful dancers, music, arrangement of the club and other two-legged accoutrements wandering around dazzled me. I was so struck by what I saw I didn't even notice who was seating me on a corner loveseat. The short, golden-skinned young man bounced back to the stage to sit with his friends. As he turned to sit, I could see his face and my mind kicked into gear.

"Hey," I said to my friend at the next sofa, "isn't that Em?" (I have changed the name). The kid (hey, anyone under 30 is a kid. He was about 22-23) was now looking my way and talking animatedly to his neighbor.

"Yes," my buddy said, "I do believe it is!" Before I could do anything, Em had leaped up, run over and flopped down beside me. It was indeed the "boy" I had encountered on my two previous trips to Thailand. A boy for whom I had special memories.

Almost two years ago, I visited Bangkok for the first time in over 30 years. We arrived late at night and after tossing our bags into our room at the Siam Intercontinental, we squired a cab to take us to Patpong. The driver drove around and around, trying to find an open club. Finally, he left Patpong and dropped us down an alley in the middle of nowhere. He waited, while we went inside a club. It was sleaze-city and soon we were back outside. Back to the hotel, I suggested, but the driver persevered and soon dropped us off at Soi Twilight in front of another club just before 2 a.m. We hauled our weary bodies up a flight of stairs and I entered my first Go-Go Bar.

The place was fairly spacious, but at that hour it was empty of customers. We were ushered to seats near the stage where four or five men danced desultorily. Tired and discouraged, I could see no one who interested me. I turned to the longhaired captain seated beside me, hand on my knee and said, "I don't want to ever see anyone who is even remotely under 18, but do you have any boys who look younger than these? They all look over 27 or 28!" When he told me they had already gone for the night, I said I wasn't interested in anyone else and he moved off.

I was flagging and wanting to leave when I heard a high-pitched giggle from some boys coming down from the change rooms. Apparently, they hadn't all left. The captain moved quickly and moments later this young man with the meter-long smile was cuddling at my side. Em and I spent a lot of time together that week--much of it just talking. I learned a lot about him, his family, where he lived, and the trade he was in. (I had checked his ID card that first evening and he was 18 1/2.) Sometimes pensive, sometimes laughing he struggled with his English, as my Thai at the time was totally non-existent.

As any aficionado of Patpong or Pattaya will tell you, some of these boys are so genuine they get under your skin. You may leave Thailand physically, but special friendships remain in your mind. I felt that way, and back home often thought of Em, mostly hoping he was well and safe.

I returned in January 1999 and he was no longer working at the same bar. I asked after him and scoured clubs but never found him. It would have been nice, I thought, to run into him again; Em had been my introduction to Patpong. I hoped he was well.

Literally at the 11^th hour on the last night, I had stopped in at a small club a few blocks from the Montien Hotel, where I was staying. It was a cramped bandbox of a place, but I thought I'd have a last beer. Silhouetted in front of the stage lights, I saw a lithe body swaying to the music. He wasn't dancing on stage, but was fully clothed and just gyrating near a group of his friends. I said to the owner, "Is that boy's name Em?" Sure enough.

Em didn't remember me, I don't think, though he said he vaguely did. We spent time together that evening, but he seemed strained and wan. This time after I left, I didn't just think of him, I worried about him.

So, now here I was again, sitting with him in a brand spanking new club, spawned from the small bar he was at last January. He was vibrant and cheerful--and he remembered me this time for sure! We talked in both English and in the Thai that I am learning about the new club.. Yes, Em said in his much-improved second language, he is living in the bar. "I was on the fourth floor in the old club, now I am on the third," he told me proudly. His status had improved! I commented he looked good and had gained weight. "Two kilos," Em agreed.

During the week he admitted that he had been "having problems" in January, but all was OK now. I could see that. He was a happy young man, now 21 years old, with lots of friends and a good work place.

Each night, we would sit in the club, Em and I and usually two or three others, listening to the music. When it came his turn, Em would leap away and scamper to the stage where he danced with his two best friends. They had choreographed routines and their steps and movements entertained everyone. Em was in his element, Em was safe and I look forward to seeing him again soon.

UPDATE: January 2001. Em hasn't worked for about a year. He was tossed out of the club. The club, too, is gone. It got nailed in a big police raid. It has re-opened as a mere shadow of itself in a slightly different location. The boys are unhappy and the family atmosphere is gone.

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Last updated: January 8, 2001.