[Continued from "Smooth as Silk (Part 3)."]

The Ex returned from his trip to the Northeast early.  He was severely sunburned and clearly sick.  He told me he and Jesús had rented scooters so they could take a day trip, but that his scooter broke down so he couldn’t go faster than 20mph most of the trip back, hence the sunburn.  I’m still not convinced the sick wasn’t just too much damn alcohol and Xanax.

There are pictures from their trip.  Jesús looks gorgeous, and the Ex looks wan.  Jesús was beautiful when we met him.  He was about 6′2″; with slightly long, silky, black hair; and paradoxically small, delicate hands.  He was thin, and although I never saw him sans shirt my suspicions that he had a nice body were later affirmed by a girlfriend.  And that charm.  That summer he was on fucking fire.  He fucked so many chicks and did so many drugs and went on so many adventures.  I think he went to the emergency room twice, both times because he took too much of a drug or drugs.  His behavior that summer, combined with subsequent seriously depressive behavior, convinced me Jesús was bipolar, a condition to which he would never admit or seek treatment.  He died two years ago this month (2007 was a truly shitty year).

I felt guilty about the night with Mickey and the Thai boys and confessed to the Ex almost immediately.  He was upset but said he could understand and that it was ok.  I can’t recall if I told him at this time about the guys back in San Francisco.  I know I didn’t mention that I gave any blow jobs, though of course I had at that point sucked three non-spousal cocks.

We continued to go out drinking, popping pills, dancing, and eating.  Jesús and the Ex graduated from Xanax to Rohipnol around this time.  I opted not to.  Also around this time a friend from law school, Maggie, decided on a whim to come visit.  She joined the ranks of us alcohol-and-Xanax-induced zombies wandering around the streets of Bangkok.

The soundtrack was the live version of “Let’s Get Loud” by Jennifer Lopez.  Every time we walked in any Watsons the video was playing, on repeat.  Loudly, as I suppose is appropriate.  We were in Watsons a lot; it was very well air-conditioned, and it was fun to see the various beauty products sold there.  Skin bleaching creams were all the rage since pale skin meant someone was high class enough not to have to work outside in the unrelenting sun.  More times than I can count (and not just because I was zoned out on Xanax all the time) I was told how lucky I was to be so pale.

Somewhere in this haze I paid for sex for the first time.  Mickey had paid the boys before, and in my mind that meant it didn’t “count.”  Also, he paid them to be with him, after I left, not with me.  I felt like I was a bonus since I was a girl.

The young, cute boy from the night with Mickey, who was apparently Chinese, not Thai, had become a favorite of mine.  I faintly remember fucking him in my own hotel room and handing him 1000 Baht (the exchange rate at the time was 40 Baht = $1 US) as he left.  He never asked for money, which helped me with that feeling that I was doing him a favor by fucking him, and by giving him money.

I was working in a law office with Michael during the day.  I turned out to be the token white woman in the office so I went to meetings and just stood there looking white and womanly.  It wasn’t a terrible gig.  Other than meetings, I hung out at the office a lot, and checked my email.  (It was 2000 so accessing the internet wasn’t nearly as easy as it is now.)  It was from the law firm’s office that I read the email from Dean that informed me that Jason had died.

I was completely shocked.  Jason and I had become very close quite quickly.  Apparently he had crashed into road construction equipment while driving at night somewhere in the Northwest US after having visited his brother in Washington.  To cope, I did more drinking, Xanax-ing, dancing, etc.

I took everyone who would go to the go-go bar to which Mickey had introduced me.  I was a regular at that point.  The boys I’d been with the night with Mickey, and subsequently, always greeted me and then chatted with me at my table.  Their friends joined them.  I felt popular.  The boys were so fucking cute.  And young.

It was one of these nights that we all went out together, but I took my leave to go to the go-go bar, that I decided, in an alcohol-and-Xanax haze, that I wanted to fuck two of the boys.  I thought it would be disrespectful to do so in the room I shared with the Ex, but didn’t seem to have a problem with parading the boys in front of the Ex when I asked Maggie for her hotel room key so I could fuck them there.

The Ex was even more zonked out than I was and just kind of stared.  I got Maggie’s room key, and the two boys and I made our way to her room.  The three of us were in various states of undress having a whole lot of fun in Maggie’s room when there was a loud knock at the door.

At first I suspected it was hotel staff come to tell me I was not allowed to have prostitutes in the room so I told the boys to be quiet and went to the door.  It was the Ex.  I told him to go away.  He insisted on coming in.  I opened the door with the chain lock still on so I could peek through the opening.  I again told the Ex to come back later.

Those chain locks–not so strong.  The Ex pushed the door open, breaking the lock.  The edge of the door hit my right brow bone and I was pushed back.  The Ex burst into the room.  The boys gathered their clothes and ran out of the room.

My eye really hurt.  I looked in the mirror and I was bleeding.  A lot.  I’m sure the alcohol in my system didn’t help, but I could not stop the bleeding.  In the mean time the Ex kept saying he just wanted to talk to me.  I was angry that he had scared my cute little bar boys.

I told the Ex to leave.  The country.  I didn’t see him again until I returned to the US two weeks later.

I went to the hospital because I could not get the bleeding to stop.  The ER was not crowded at all.  The staff all spoke English very well.  The vertical cut just above my right eyebrow was stitched up and I was given some medication.  I went back some time later to have the stitches removed.  Total cost:  About $20 US.

Since I was alone I proceeded to do whatever the fuck I wanted.  I recall walking on Convent Road one night thinking trash bags piled up for collection were stray dogs.  Yeah, I was a mess, though to be fair, there were a lot of stray dogs around town.  I knew almost immediately that I was lucky for not getting raped or some other horrible thing considering my inability to discern reality from hallucination based on my overconsumption of Xanax and alcohol.

More than once I woke up in my hotel room with absolutely no clue as to how I found my way there.  One morning there was an issue of my room, Jesús’s and Maggie’s room (by this time they had become an item), and who was in whose bed in the morning and what happened the night before.  None of us remembered a fucking thing, but I am almost positive I never fooled around with Jesús in any way, in Thailand or later in the US.

At the go-go bar I had met a boy who was neither a go-go boy nor a bar boy; he was sort of a manager/bouncer.  We started spending all our time together:  He shared my hotel room with me; we went out to eat together; etc.  I paid for everything but I didn’t pay for his time.  He had freckles and the softest skin and didn’t freak out too much when I cried while we fucked.

I learned that one of Jason’s last acts was to mail my August rent check.  When I returned home I would have trouble accessing my apartment since my subtenant had given him her set of keys and I had no extras.  Let that be a lesson, kids:  always keep extra sets of your house keys because you never know who’ll die.

The Ex and I returned to San Francisco where we worked on being normal again after the debauchery that was Bangkok.  We celebrated our one-year anniversary in the shitty studio apartment watching the video tape of our tacky Las Vegas wedding.  The tape broke on first viewing.  Which maybe should have been a sign.  But we didn’t break up until he caught me cheating in 2007.

I swear.  True story.

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