Date: Wed, 1 Sep 2004 18:53:38 -0700 (PDT)
From: Robin Reed <any_mouse2003@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Guy named Joe: Year of Living Dangerously (Encounters)

The usual disclaimers apply. Don't read it if is
illegal where you are, rights are reserved, comments
welcome, you know why you are
here....Any_mouse2003@yahoo.com

A guy named Joe

A Year of Living Dangerously

1976 was the year I lived dangerously. I was with the
wire service in Bangkok, and though a little wiser,
still young. The Khmer Rouge had taken over next door,
and renamed Cambodia a thing called Kampuchea. The
head of state was a portly little fellow named Pol
Pot. He was a first class asshole, it was widely
known, and had taken his model for the new Kampuchea
from the French Revolution, and proclaimed the months
of his conquest as Year 0.

He introduced something they called agrarian
communism. The capital was resettled to the
countryside or killed. Phnom Penh shrunk from over
300,000 inhabitants to around 20,000. Those who were
suspected of having collaborated with the Americans
were executed; the regime went xenophobe. It regarded
anyone capable of speaking a foreign language a
collaborator or counterrevolutionary. We in Thailand
watched thousands of refugees cross the border escape
starvation and death.

There were stories every day, even if the editors back
home did not care. The troops were not coming back to
save anyone. There would be interest when the
magnitude of the horror became apparent, but it was
not when I was there, when it was happening.
Vietnamese intervention in Kampuchea resulted in a
continued flow of refugees into Thailand, as well as
guerrilla fighters. Granted they were facing out,
rather than in, but it was put on the spike back home.

Southeast Asia was so fifteen-minutes ago.

But it suited me at the time.

I was blue for three days after the night with Amazon.
My physical woes were mostly mended and I was horny
again. And I blush to say that the memory of that
incredible cock still floated through my mind at
times.

But to love a cock that big would take some work, and
some gentleness, to make it right for both lovers, and
all I saw in Amazon was unresolved anger. Anger at
himself, anger at everyone around him. I decided it
might be amphetamines. I actually forgave him for the
way he treated me. He had more demons than I did. And
if he didn't turn the cheek the way I wanted, well, I
was OK and was the wiser for it.

Speed was everywhere it town. It had become popular
during the war, and it was cheap. Mellowed the buzz
from the Thai Sticks and the alcohol and let a man
thrust hard all night. My butt still felt raw from it.

So in the process of forgiving my enormous tormentor,
I also decided that the contrast of artificial boobs
and the rampant cock was something I couldn't resolve.
Noy on the other hand was soft, soft skin and soft
cock. But her eyes still glittered. Hang with the
whores and you hang with the whores, I decided. Then
the note appeared below my door.

It was on a heavy linen note-card. The words were few,
and simple. "I am sorry." It was signed "Oy" in
delicate calligraphy. I put it down. I was confused
and I did not want to think about it. The nice thing
about being young is that the libido always comes
back.

I was jerking off the third night after the rape. I
thought of that giant cock, of course, but I thought
about my oldest fantasy. Joe. Joe with the soft sweet
eyes, gentle, but I imagined him taut with desire,
hard as a rock, spurting over my belly, spurting
everywhere. Then melting together.

Funny. I had not seen him since senior year. I
wondered, as I drifted off, what had happened to him.

It had been an interesting few months since arriving
in Bangkok to report the news. There was plenty of it,
and not one seemed to care.

It was comfortable in Bangkok. Thailand had been a
vital base for America in the Vietnam War. Thais
always supported the winner. That is why the Japanese
did not dethrone the King. So Thailand hosted dozens
of US bases in the war. But to the west it was
different. In 1964 Cambodia received military aid from
China; the country severed ties with South Vietnam in
1963. The Viet Minh ran supply lines on the Cambodian
side down the Ho Chi Minh trail.

I learned my history because it was my job. In 1967,
the communist Khmer Rouge began guerilla warfare
against the Cambodian government.

On Feb. 23rd of 190, Tricky Dick approved the 'secret
bombing' of Cambodia; on April 30th, he announced that
US troops were sent into Cambodia. Just before, on
March 18th 1970, General Lon Nol staged a coup,
sending Prince Nordodom Sihanouk to a well-heeled
exile in the Peopl's Republic of China.

>From 1970 to 1973, Cambodia was a sideshow of the real
war. In 1975 the Rouge was in, and it was the only
war.

Three nights after I got raped I read the note from Oy
and decided I needed to get out again. I could not let
this thing eat at me any more. I ventured out for a
drink after I filed copy for the stateside market.
There were disturbing reports coming out of Kampuchea.
I had learned to say the name and write it with a
straight face. The Khmer Rouge were absolutely
unchallenged. There had been an awful sucking vacuum
as the US pulled out. Now there was nothing to stop
anything. The cops were gone.

This particular story was about refugees who had fled
across the Thai Border. I thought I might have to go
up there and get an exclusive by-line. On the way home
I decided to stop at the Trocadaro Hotel. The hotel
had been popular with the R&R crowd, recharging from
the war, and it had been on hard times since the bulk
of the troops pulled out in 1973 and now, three years
later, it was on hard times. It was trying to
re-invent itself as a tourist place. It was as
resolutely a hetero place as any in town, and I if I
did any mental cruising, I wanted it to be with men
who were comfortable as men.

I was approaching the bar in the humid darkness. Just
as I was about to ask for a cold Amarit beer I heard
an all too familiar chanting from the bar to my left.
It couldn't be. Amazon was out in the afternoon, and
she had apparently been here for some time.

She was a mean drunk. She was yelling at a tourist
with a plump face and blonde hair. Amazon had
apparently decided she had found a German. It wasn't
hard. The Germans were here in a mob, and the Thais
loved them because they were a replacement for the
soldiers who were not coming back. So what if they
were pigs. It doesn't mean they aren't nice people,
right?

Amazon had a bar girl on either side of him and he
looked like he might have been awake since he raped
me. It looked like he was getting ready to hit the
German, and he had no idea just how strong Amazon was.


The bartender was a middle-aged Thai who had stopped
polishing glasses and turned his attention to the
commotion. I should have turned and left, but I'm much
smarter now than I was then. I didn't want those poor
little girls to get hurt in his rage. I figured I had
hurt enough for everyone, the German included. I
walked down the bar to get the girls away from him.

Now, he was tall and he had a good reach, even if a
lot of it was hair and heels. Just as she was rearing
back to let a fist fly at the German on his right, I
yelled out "Hi, Amazon! Let me buy you a beer. I
forced myself in between the German and the girls on
bar stools. It took him a couple of seconds to
recognize me and then I got a big wicked smile. He was
really high. While this was going on, rather than
gratitude the bar girl behind me apparently had been
counting on the German for some serious Bhat if he
went down, and wanted revenge for the almost punch and
tried to smack Amazon on the back of the head with her
pocketbook. I managed to lean out fast enough to
prevent it.

But here was another lesson in life. The other girl
joined in and succeeded in whacking her on the Afro,
spilling the beer in her hand.

Things went downhill real fast then when Amazon
elbowed the bar girl on his left in the face. The two
of them and the German ran out of the bar crying and
screaming in Thai. Amazon was fixated on the door
where the girls left and I thought it was over. I
started to sidle out of the place and put it behind me
when the Mamma San came in started screaming at
Amazon. It was delicious, watching the little woman
yelling upward at her. I should have left right then,
but then I saw that she was carrying a large big black
fan-shaped pocketbook. She was going to hit Amazon
with it and that was not going to go down well.

In less than a second, Amazon turned and delivered a
left hook straight to her chops and she fell back on
her rather hefty butt with a very surprised look on
her face which turned sudden to tears as she got up
and fled out of the bar entrance behind her. Amazon's
face screwed up in surprise. He must have been really
gone. Instead of freaking out, he slumped down onto
one of the barstools.  Now it is time to go, I
thought, and started to walk out and then there was a
screaming Thai guy from behind us. Turning around I
saw a very Mak-mak Mo-ho Thai in a white shirt, black
pants and pointed plastic shoes about eight feet away.
But what is really drawing my attention was the .38
jammed in his belt.

I think he got out about two sentences before jerking
the gun from his belt, but it may have been three. He
stood with his legs apart, the gun cocked, holding it
two-handed and shaking like hell.

I stepped off the bar stool and stood in front of
Amazon. High and drunk or not he did not deserve to
die for whacking a bar girl and this guy did not want
to shoot me. I was counting on it. While this is
happening all at once - suddenly there is a man
standing next to me, shoulder to shoulder, blocking
the Thai from having a clean shot at Amazon. He had
wiry dark hair and a powerful physique.

I knew him. It was Rick. His katoy mistress Oy had got
me into this. He was wearing one of those long formal
au dai shirts and was a bit taller than me. I was
pleased not to stand there alone. Neither one of us
spoke a word to the Thai who then screamed a couple of
more sentences and ran out of the bar.

That was it. We took Amazon under the arms and those
tits stood up erect even if he couldn't. We put him in
a pedicab, and Rick gave some instructions in Thai I
could not hear and a fist-full of bhat.

The cab pulled away into traffic and I saw the corona
of Amazon's afro slump on the seat.

"Thank-you for your assistance," He said. "It is
curious that you intervened, after what happened."

"What is curious is that I am here, and you are here
and she was here. What does that mean. You knew? Are
you following me?"

"Yes and no. Oy told me she was here and out of
control. She asked me to take care of it for her, but
unfortunately I was detained at the restaurant or this
would not have happened. And as to his treatment of
you, Oy was informed when he cooled down the next day.
He was quite contrite. He realized he had an
opportunity to strike up a relationship with a
handsome westerner that could have accommodated his
time here and he threw it away." He fished in his
shirt pocket for a maroon package trimmed in gold.
Dunhills, of course. He lit one and exhaled a blue
cloud that mingled with the fumes of the buses. "For
what it is worth, this is probably a result of remorse
as much as anything."

Handsome, I thought? "He is fucked up, big time. He
needs help," I said. "I hoped I would never see him
again. Not ever." Handsome? Maybe that accounted for
the vibe I felt when I left the restaurant. It seemed
like an eternity ago. Three days and a night.

"I don't blame you. Perhaps I can buy you a drink as a
small token of my regret. The Oriental is probably a
good antidote to this place."

I was impressed. The Oriental had been the best hotel
in town for over a century, treating guest and
semi-conquerer with great luxury and dignity. I had
been to a reception there the month before. The place
was British Empire at its zenith. The accommodations
and public rooms were supposed to be sumptuous. The
sps was reputed to be one of the most beautiful in the
world. Dignitaries and distinguished travelers have
all followed the Chao Phya river through the heart of
the brown ciry to The Oriental.

Now I was going there in a cab, with a restaurateur
who served a good steak, and was maybe a spy. And not
one of ours. His hair above his brow was crisp, and
the gaze of his dark eyes frank.

Like I said, a year of living dangerously.

Copyright 2004 any_mouse2003@yahoo.com