Excerpt Note: At this point in Alphabet City, I’m traveling the world for Condé Nast Traveler and have been sent on my first trip to Asia. After an embarrassing episode in Singapore, I’m ready for a wild time in Thailand.
The embarrassment only got worse on the next stop in my Asian immersion—Bangkok, the capital of sin. As was my norm, I had done mounds of advance research about gay spots and knew I wanted to journey to Babylon—a combo restaurant, bar, live entertainment venue, swimming pool, massage parlor, gay sex sauna, and more. Why should straights have all the fun in Pat Pong? After a full day of meetings, I returned to my gorgeous suite at the famed Oriental Hotel that once again came with a butler catering to my every whim. With the siren song of homo hedonism beckoning me, I stripped off my suit and tugged on a tank top ready for a wild night.
As I gently closed the door to my room, trying to sneak out of the hotel, my private butler magically appeared.
“Mr. Buchmeyer, like to use the house car tonight?”
“Um, no, that’s fine, I’ll just take a taxi.”
“But Mr. Buchmeyer, general manager say take good care of you. Insist you use hotel car and driver.”
“Really, that’s okay. So generous. But a taxi is fine.”
“Mr. Buchmeyer, no problem. Will call down and arrange car. Where you going?”
I was stuck. He stared, waiting.
“Just some club, I think it’s called, let’s see, um, Babylon.”
I tried desperately to hide my shame. A wide grin came across his face.
“Mr. Buchmeyer going to Babylon! Crazy time at Babylon!”
As the elevator doors unfolded, the concierge yelled across the lobby.
“Mr. Buchmeyer, car is waiting to take you to Babylon! Right this way! Have fun at Babylon! Crazy place!”
I slinked through the lobby, and outside the bellboy shouted.
“This way, Mr. Buchmeyer, car to Babylon right here. You enjoy!”
The white stretch Mercedes limousine was conspicuous enough, but it was the shouting of my destination that mortified me. The driver greeted me.
“I hear Mr. Buchmeyer going to Babylon. Amazing place. You have much fun. I wait for you outside whenever you want to come home.”
“Really, I can just get them to call me a taxi.”
“No, general manager say must wait for Mr. Buchmeyer. No problem. Who knows? Mr. Buchmeyer may enjoy Babylon all night.”
As the stretch limo pulled up in front of an enormous complex made to look like a French colonial plantation, the driver smiled.
“Babylon makes dreams come true!”
Inside, the labyrinth of gay sexual pleasure was a dream all right—like a porn movie imagined by Fellini. The famous shows in Pat Pong featuring women doing imaginative things with pingpong balls in their vagina couldn’t hold a candle to a Thai guy in a Viet Nam war sketch.
“G.I. Joe ice cold Coke bottle make me feel good. Like real thing!”
Repulsed, fascinated, and horny, I couldn’t stop watching as the bottle magically disappeared into his ass. Ouch.
After many hours and several “massages” later, the Mercedes whisked me back to the opulent Oriental Hotel. Shame once again overcame me as I shuffled through the lobby at sunrise, and my private butler greeted me.
“I can see Mr. Buchmeyer enjoy Babylon. A lot.”
My first meeting of the day was breakfast with the general manager of the hotel, an impeccably dressed German gentleman. He sipped his hot tea, examining my tired but dewy face glowing with satisfaction.
“You know, Mr. Buchmeyer, in a hotel, we watch your every move. Especially a VIP guest such as yourself from an important travel magazine.”
I choked on my coffee.
“Not to worry, Mr. Buchmeyer. This is Bangkok. We’ve seen it all. Many times. If you weren’t indulging, we would be worried. Now, for that hangover, perhaps you’d prefer an ice cold bottle of Coke?”