(extracts with 220 photos)
All text and photos © to the author, Rakit
Grateful acknowledgement to Jock McCock for comments, humour and companionship
Part 2: Home to the Penh
Day 3: Arrival
Rakit headed to the airport early to standby for the first flight to Phnom Penh. The previous day he’d been told that all flights were booked solid for 3 days and he wasn’t hopeful. The thought of a 5-hour bus journey loomed like a dark thunderclouds. But he scored, walked on air into the plane and an hour or so later checked into Flamingos, a new hotel just off Street 51 (Phnom Penh’s “strip”) with the Walkabout, Shanghai and Heart of Darkness all within a 1 minute walk. The hotel had three grades of room ($20-$30) and after inspection; Rakit took the cheapest at a discounted price of $16. The rooftop bar area was a nice touch, with great views of the whole city. He was home.
McCock, or rather Mr McCock as he laughingly insisted Rakit call him if abbreviating his full name, arrived a while later, having flown in from Bangkok. The Walkabout, Shanghai, Howie’s and Sharkeys followed rapidly, McCock determined to drink his way through the jetlag. Eventually, back at the Walkabout, things were hotting up on the babe front. Rakit took a fancy to one who was quiet, compliant, brought drinks as needed and hung out whilst he and McCock were amused by an eloquent but sexually suspect Australian version of William Burroughs and his sweet and obliging Khmer “bodyguard”. “William” started to take a shine to McCock, who discretely asked Rakit to protect his drink against Mickey Finns while he hit the bog - after all, this was Cambodia. Bill the night barman, nicknamed “The Rash” came in. He’d lost weight and the “Grandpa Munster look” and it turned out he’d retired and now just drank there all night without getting paid. “I’ve cut down my drinking from 5 bottles of wine a day to 2”, he told Rakit, who regretted not making his retirement do. A taxi-girl passed and The Rash stage-whispered “great head!!” She turned, gave him the finger and an evil look. “She loves me” The Rash smiled, totally convinced. An obvious sex-tourist, dressed in the classic wide baggy shorts and tee-shirt soaked with the sweat pouring from his head, neck, chest and back was cruising the taxi-girls, who baulked at his wandering, chubby fingers. Rakit said “Hi Buddy” to him and was answered in a lizard-like, creepily strained harsh whisper that reeked of excessive smoking, throat infection and evil intent. Contextually it sounded perfect, synergising all the darkness, suffering and potential evil one might encounter in the Penh. Enter “The Sweat”.
Rakit bailed with his taxi-girl. Back at the hotel he watched her shower and became increasingly uncomfortable with the obsessive, contorted way she washed herself in preparation, as if she was wracked with some dreaded memories, twisting and convulsing as she lathered her body in a squat position. There was something not quite right about the angle of her head, the spaced look in her eyes and the way they rolled as her head moved. Then Rakit spotted a “necklace” of 3-inch long reddish bruises dangling from her neck and whilst her body was golden brown, her face was stark white and she was ranting just a little too much about being sick and needing a doctor. Rakit’s better nature and strong sense of self-preservation prevailed. This bird was scarcely in touch with reality, never mind of solid enough mind to screw a total stranger without further damage. Rakit didn’t want this on his conscience, so he told her no boom-boom and gestured her to get dressed. She burst into tears, pleading “me good girl, Mr no angry me”. Rakit wasn’t angry. He told her no problem, lobbed her $20, told her to see a doctor and hit the Heart to meet McCock. “Not a good fucking start in the Penh”, he thought, self-assured that he’d soon change that.
Photo: Cambodia F 07
The vodka redbulls were flowing. McCock told Rakit that William the suspect Aussie had said he was looking for a heroin mule. When the “generous offer” was rebuffed, William dwindled, seeking the sucker he desperately needed. No doubt he’d find one - this was Cambodia and almost every cunt you could easily meet was on the run or had their angle. Outside the Heart, “The Head” a bodiless beggar who they knew from previous trip was reciting his usual “hello, have a nice night” and extending his cap. He seemed bigger and stronger than before and the boys offered him $2 for a photo. He almost snatched their hands off. Something entrepreneurial must have clicked, because from that moment on, his repertoire changed to “hello, have a nice night, want photo?”
The boys headed for Martinis. Maybe the adrenalin buzz from the first visit had worn off but the gash seemed to be of far lower quality and consisted, in the main, of the long-chinned, blazing-eyed skanky skeleton type. Only one stood out - short, but curvaceous and very sexy to a drunken Rakit who bought her a drink and sealed the deal. She then had to suffer the boys drunken ranting for another 3 hours. Rakit split with her, leaving McCock to his customary last-minute trawling for a short-time blowjob whore. Interestingly, Rakit had never seen any of McCock’s gash as he scored very late, alone and kept them for very short time and yumyum only. Only once had Rakit known McCock to spend the night with a bird and it was rumoured that in this instance he had reduced the short time rate because of the favour he did her as she had nowhere else to sleep. Compassion, especially where money was concerned, was not one of McCock’s strong points.
Although not the best looker, Rakit’s taxi-girl was immense in bed with a fabulous thick hairy bush and nipples that were over an inch long. But no yumyum, as can be the case with Khmers. She was cuddly enough to keep all night, but this being Cambodia, he paid her off and hit the sack thinking that the Penh was not what it was on his last trip. The Viets were gone and Rakit was determined to find out where. Sleep descended like welcome black velvet.
Photo: Cambodia G 08
Day 4: Blast from the Past
Rakit awoke far too late for breakfast and McCock wasn’t answering his phone, so he headed for a Chinese steamed fish joint on Monivong where he paid $6 for steamed fish and green onions in soy, seafood noodles, steamed rice and a coke, followed by pawpaw and washed down with green tea. He was always satisfied by these places and reckoned they were by far the best value eateries in the Penh. He always stuck to the less lavish ones and checked the price before ordering as costs rose dramatically if you paid for the exclusivity of the rarer types of fish. The one opposite Big Luck Hotel and the one 2 doors down towards Central Market were always solid performers. On the last trip, even the McDonald’s-loving philistinic McCock was starting to see the light.
The Walkabout beckoned and in trotted a blast from the past – Chocita from Rakit’s last trip. The deal was sealed, they played pool, had a few more beers once McCock arrived, then he decided to take her shopping for a new tee-shirt as she was still wearing the one from last time. But as the markets were closing they ended up in shops near Central Market close to the Cyrcee Club (a blowjob bar one notch up from Sophie’s; i.e. they had private areas), which Rakit checked out as Chocita browsed clothes. The generous Rakit tossed in a pair of jeans and one happy whore later, they headed for the hotel. She was delighted. The business done, he arranged to see her later in Martinis. After all, there was quite a bit of drinking to be done.
Photo: Cambodia H 09 10 11 12
McCock was in Shanghai with the 2 top quality gash from the last trip. Then they heard gunfire in the street and went out to see a Khmer-Khmer shootout up by Howie’s. Barangs ran for their life, Khmers sat passively, watching. One guy’s gun jammed and he scarpered, the other shooting after him, then into the air in a show of power and victory. No sooner had he emptied the magazine than the other guy came running back, firing a new or unjammed gun at his enemy, who took off down the street towards the Walkabout, seeking cover behind moto drivers, passing cars and cyclos. Bullets whizzed and ricocheted off walls and the road. Rakit and McCock ducked back into Shanghai to catch another drink, relatively unperturbed; after all, this was Cambodia. Rakit decided he wasn’t getting sucked in too far by the prima donnas, but suggested over a few $3 ladydrinks and some pool that “his one” would join him for lunch and a photosession the next day. Her vanity did not allow her to decline. Rakit also passed on taking them dancing in favour of finding Chocita, a safe bet, in Martinis. McCock declared curiosity and headed off with them. “Sucker”, thought Rakit as they left him and headed for a Riverside dance joint and he mounted a moto for the 2000 riel ride to Martinis.
Everybody ended up back in the Heart, which was really kicking with it being Saturday night. McCock, sick to the stomach of subsidising the prima donnas, had decided to dump them at the door when, despite being dressed in better gear than McCock and possessing a brand new scooter, they pled poverty when faced with a $3 entrance fee. Rakit wished he’d caught that on camera as these gash were not used to being refused and hoped it hadn’t jeopardised the flattery photoshoot date he’d made for the next afternoon. The drink flowed far too quickly, the crack was great and almost too soon it was 5am and the boys were back in the Walkabout with another gaggle of taxi-girls. Chocita had split, leaving some of her stuff in Rakit’s room. “Maybe even taxi-girls need attention sometime”, thought Rakit, balancing miff against the exciting prospect of a fresh piece of ass, his third in 24 hours. Burroughs arrived with another beautiful boy, this time Irish and clearly yet one more nothing-to-lose casualty of western life. William had either found his mule or his bitch, or both. By this time, under influence of firewater, Rakit was calling the bent junkie “William” and he was responding, albeit with caution. McCock later told him that William had quietly asked if Rakit was dangerous. The boys roared with laughter at this, as McCock’s own first encounter with Rakit led to him telling a couple of seriously fucked-up ex-pats in the Walkabout “you want to have seen the crazy fucker I met last night”. In sobriety, McCock quickly came to realise that Rakit’s automatic self-defence mechanism in dangerous situations was to adopt an air of non-confrontational intimidation, thereby discouraging potential hassle from starting. After some reflection, Rakit understood how a 15-stone 6 footer, out of his head on morphine and vodka redbulls and riding a 250cc motorbike at 2am in Phnom Penh might give just that impression. When Rakit gave a different name when introduced to the serious fuck-ups, he told McCock in an aside that “there’s no way I want those cunts in my life in any way, shape or form”. Something clicked in McCock and a mutual respect and trust developed between them from that point on, which lasted the rest of the vacation, continued back in their respective home countries and was now in force back in the Penh.
The boys joked that if they were stranded in Cambo with no cash, William’s junk would be target number one and McCock would be the sexual bait albeit at his age, they’d have to hope William would bite at the thought of a rentman, rather than a rentboy. The Sweat was again cruising the chicks, pawing anything that moved and professing undying love in his classic, rasping Penh voice. He couldn’t play pool worth a shit, looked like an arranged-marriagee’s nightmare but even so, dollar speak loudly in the Penh and the Sweat could score as well as anyone.
Rakit negotiated, to the tiniest detail, the performance, actions and cost penalties for non-delivery of a double-blowjob from 2 birds, but by now it was more laughter than anything else, the whores loving the banter and the drink as refreshing respites from the darkness that drove them to the Walkabout. At 6.30am Rakit split with one, leaving McCock in his favourite hunting environment and thinking “now the Rash has retired, maybe McCock’s found his niche in life?” He wasn’t so sure however that McCock, being partial to any description of gash, could live up The Rash’s boast of not being with a white woman for 15 years. Rakit’s taxi-girl was tidy, showered up well and he liked her body. Four hours later harsh reality hammered home and she jumped up and dashed to the bathroom, leaving a single red spot where her sweet ass had been. One more paid and out the door, Rakit nursed a sore head, a developing cold and cursed the drink, then remembered the planned photoshoot with the prima donna for that afternoon. He smiled, twinged in the right place and fell into a fitful sleep.
Photo: Cambodia I 13 14 15 16
