Moment Of Truth

Shyness was a constant, and co-mingled with his intelligence. Together they guided him around and over the lake of life. Having been taught he would have to earn a living, Bobby pursued a career in bookkeeping, learning the rudiments by enrolling in classes that introduced him to the ins and outs, the ups and downs of accounting, the subject he had singled out, and that prepared him to compete in the work force, which helped him land a job he kept for forty years. He didn’t mind fading into the background, or being tucked away within the bowels of the company’s headquarters—an out-of-sight, out-of-mind, low profiled position; it didn’t prevent him from doing a superlative job in handling the books. And for his efforts, he received raise after raise conferred upon him by the appreciative hierarchy. The discipline he accrued never missed a beat and extended to his attitude about keeping fit. Steady appearances in the firm’s state-of-the-art gymnasium kept his body from turning to fat, and his mind from atrophying. And avoiding the spotlight permitted him to live as the gay man he was born to be. His private life was nobody’s business but his own.

However, the day arrived when Bobby reached the age of retirement. Anticipating management’s inclination to throw a party, he petitioned the front office to forget it. He quietly emptied his desk, stuffed the memories into a briefcase, said his goodbyes to coworkers, and departed. Later that day, he packed a suitcase, closed the cottage he had occupied – water and electricity would be discontinued in the morning – entered a cab, was driven to the airport, and boarded a plane that flew him to San Francisco, Tokyo, and on to Bangkok. Deplaning, he hailed a cab that drove him to the Pinnacle Hotel.

Registering, Bobby then retired to his room, showered and laid down to rest, anxiously adjusting to the time difference. The following evening, he visited Dick’s bar and restaurant, ate dinner, and then crossed soi Twilight and entered a cabaret, the name of which he missed. He asked for a seat beside the stage and waited for the show to begin. The lights dimmed, the cast of male actors entered center-stage, and posed. All of the boys were pleasing to the eyes, especially one named Lek who possessed a fabulously proportioned body built to impress. Their eyes met and Lek left the group, choosing to sit beside the object of his attention, and began petting the anatomical parts of Bobby’s body that he knew would draw reaction. Having read in a tour guide about ‘the Thai hands-on approach to life,’ Bobby went with the flow, learned the nickname of his admirer and gave Lek ‘carte blanche.’

Lek allowed his hands to do the stalking. Adeptly he found Bobby’s sensitive spots, exploiting his discoveries with a lot of lip kissing and finger touching, while not missing all the other body parts. There was no stopping the boy named Lek.
“Where you live?”
“America.”
“How long you been in Thailand?”
“Two days.”
“How long you stay?”
“Depends upon whom I meet.”
“You like me?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You want to make love after show?”
“I’m giving that serious thought.”
“Where we go?”
“To my hotel.”
“I can’t leave.”
“I pay your bar fine.”
“I like that.”
“But first we talk.”
“Okay.”
“What’s your age?”
“Nineteen.”
“The truth?”
“You leave me?”
“No, if you’re nineteen. Show me.”
“Okay. Later.”
Bobby agreed to wait. After all, bikini briefs weren’t designed to hold driver licenses, nor any other ID. So the petting continued, but the time arrived when the show ended and Lek left Bobby’s side, saying he’d return with his ID. There was a pause of nearly thirty minutes before Lek reappeared. His reentry was greeted enthusiastically, Bobby was raring to leave with the stud in tow; the boy who had captured his interest, seized his adoration. He was eager to begin making love until the cows came home. But Lek announced he was unable to locate his driver’s license, and couldn’t find any other document proving he was nineteen.
In the attempt to ameliorate the disappointing news, Lek asked, “Why it matters?”
“It matters, because, Thailand has vowed to punish and/or deport all pedophiles.”
Lek grimaced and shrugged; “Nobody find out.”
Bobby appraised Lek’s head, arms, chest, stomach, buns, legs, saying, “I’ve fallen in love with you.”
“I love you,” Lek replied.
“Never thought this would happen.”
“Me too.”
“But in all good conscience, I can’t pursue a sexual friendship without proof of your age. I don’t rob cradles.”
“I don’t tell,” Lek repeated.
“Then you are underage?”
“But I don’t tell.”
Bobby Helmsley audibly sighed, kissed Lek upon his forehead, wished him, well, said ‘Goodbye,’ turned and left the premises without looking back, heart broken, but knowing he was doing the right thing.