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If the kitchen of Kasem's family in the upcountry jungle of Thailand hadn't burnt to the ground, I possibly never would have found out what the special Bangkok sports massage was all about. Kasem was my masseur at a fancy Bangkok gym, which was open for "men only" a couple of nights a week and which was a major pickup place for prime cuts of male meat. Of course, when I'd started going to the gym, I hadn't known it was "that sort of place," and I'd never experienced a male-male coupling before—although I'd certainly given it some serious thought. With my male model and minor TV and movie "the handsome young stud" role background, I apparently qualified as prime cut, and it wasn't long before I was humping with—and being humped by—the best-endowed of them.

It also wasn't long before I heard about the special Bangkok sports massage that a lot of the guys were getting from their masseurs. But after a couple of months at the gym, with a massage after each workout, my own masseur, Kasem, hadn't shown the least bit of intention of introducing me to any such special massage. I don't want to leave the impression that he didn't give a really good sports massage, though. I never could quite figure out how such a short, thin—almost boyish and shy—Thai man, who I was told was well into his twenties, could have such strong hands and masterful technique. But then, I quickly learned that, with the Thai, looks were deceiving. They could look like they were weak and starving, but they'd show out to be able to manhandle grand pianos up three flights of stairs in a solo effort. ...

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