A Taste of Bangkok

A small puddle of water gathered on the cracked leather couch of the dimly lit, red-hued room. As my eyes adjusted, slender silhouettes of half naked bodies appeared on stage, moving out of rhythm to the rapid tunes. Detached, disinterested, the dancers stared over the sparse crowd.
It was not sexual desire but a cultural curiosity that had brought me off the neon streets of the bustling Patpong night market and up a dark staircase to the crimson glow of this red light show. Glancing awkwardly around, I noticed that my friend and I were the only women in the audience not with a man. But it was women running this show. Sleek and exposed to old and clothed, ladies commanded the stage and the stern negotiations of payment before one was allowed to leave.
The main madam, whose mysterious kegel tricks had brought us here, took to the stage, talent source fully exposed. Whistles were blown, cigarettes inhaled, spiked metal darts precariously burst balloons and the infamous ping-pong balls flew. Her show over, the woman left the stage wearing the same look of misery she had taken to it. But the show that caught my eye began as four young men took a seat across the stage.
A small dancer adorned in black undies advanced into the intimate space of one of the men. Putting his hand to her breast and reaching into his pants, she quickly left him with an aroused grin, and ran over to her fellow ladies lounging in the shadows. Whispering into the darkness, a low murmur of giggles emerged as the lady turned back to the man, yanking her bottoms to her knees. The low snicker exploded into laughter as back and forth she swung the obvious signature of her xy genes.
As if a stick of dynamite ignited beneath him, the bloke sprang up, scuttling in mid-air to get as far away from the lady boy as possible. His companions joined in the laughter at their friend's sexual dismay, until the dancer returned with her friends. Surrounding the booth, they began to dance, fondling and enticing the young men until all of their masculinity and sexual self-doubt propelled them into a panicked flight, paying whatever was asked to get out.
As the ladies tickled and teased the fleeing boys out, a laugh escaped my mouth. This was the only enjoyment any of the dancers had shown all night. What had those men expected upon entering the red room? This was Bangkok after all, where gender takes on a fluidity more transparent than the polluted Chao Phraya that runs throughout.