I lead a rather privileged life. I am a middle aged tall white North American/European (take your pick) professional. I don’t wait in lines to come across border, I scoot thru the special queue. I stay in nice hotels at low corporate rate. I have nice clothes. I have a nice ex-pat apartment. I am at the top of the food pyramid. And I like cock. Can you hear me roar?
But my life isn’t typical. I’m sitting across from the gorgeous 27 year old Vietnamese guy in a bar. A former model, he has an absolute ripped body. But I’m not noticing that. I’m noticing his big smile and friendly outlook on life. He’s hitting on me of all people. I look about the room, you talking to me. I said are you talking t-ooo me? WTF is this guy doing hammering some older white guy. Yes, I’m adorable, but I’m not ripped, I’m cute in my own sort of way. He tells me his story as we’re chatting.
Actually I drag the story out of him, I like to know people, know how they tick. I get personal real quick. I’m like a doctor who you’re seeing for a physical (sic). Somehow people trust me. My Saigon friend is visiting Hong Kong. He likes white guys and unfortunately Saigon doesn’t have many available. He comes from a family of 9 children, his mother and father are now deceased. His entire family keeps him at distance due to his sexuality. He works 5 1/2 days a week as a office worker at a car dealer making relatively little money. He rides a bicycle to work. He saves his money so he can travel.
My Vietnamese friend doesn’t have too many gay friends. He noted most end up wanted to have sex with him (and I can see why OMG, lord give me strength). He’s had 2 boyfriends, all long distant. One became a monk. His sex life is meager and consists mainly of Internet porn. He wants a boyfriend, someone to care for and to care for him. He offers he can cook. He offers he is loyal to his partner. He admits he likes to dance and gets drunk. He’s here in Hong Kong to have a good time, enjoy life.
I am struck by the simplicity of his desires, his openness in talking with me. He is looking for a path out of the weeds. I’m thinking he would be happy with me. The memory of what he’s been thru likely won’t leave him quickly. His needs are basic. Safety, someone he can care for, someone who will care for him, someone who will make him happier than he is today.
He’s not worried about what label clothes he has. Whether the fitness center cardio machine was out of service today. How Sally in the office said something that “hurt” his feeling. He’s got basic needs, core ones, and they’re his first priority. I am quite taken by this. Yes it’s flattering he’s hitting on me (very obviously even a mule like me can hear this train). But I’m really taken by his sincerity and recognize how full of shit I can be at time.
I pay my bar tab, then decide to pay his. I leave but think I may not be paying it forward enough and return to stuff some money into his pocket. “Have dinner on me”. I’m a softie.