Thank God for Publicists.  PR professionals enjoyed Even Jesus Had a Publicist enough to catapult that post’s popularity ahead of the two sex-related stories One Night in Bangkok and Hello, Meat Grindr.  Until then, I was beginning to think that only the most prurient details of my life might be enticing to readers.

As a relative newbie to the blogosphere, I wasn’t aware of how much global traffic would be driven to a relatively innocent story about a gay bathhouse in Bangkok.  Hopefully, the readers from Taiwan, Bangladesh, Mumbai, Russia and the Middle East who found Alphabet City by googling “Bangkok massage” enjoyed some of the tamer episodes.

It’s not just the Internet where sex seems to be a connector.  Live sex tales seem to be popular as well as I discovered on Thursday night when I headed back to one of The Moth’s storytelling nights.  Having learned from my disappointing experience in Like Moths to a Flame, this time my friend Shannon and I stood in line outside SoHo’s Housing Works Bookstore & Café starting at 6pm for doors that opened at 7pm.  Theme of the night was “Lost”—and I don’t mean the TV show.  The host of the night, author Dan Kennedy, began the show by saying, “I don’t know why we bother to give the night a theme, because somehow you will turn it into a story about sex.”

And 4 out of 5 storytellers agreed—the first ones up all related their tales to something sexual.  First up was a guy who lusted after his friend’s girlfriend, followed by the guy who last week nearly caused a riot outside Nuyorican Poets Café with his vigilante storytelling.  He spun a tale of unrequited love/sex in the aisles of a Virginia Food Lion.  Then there was a zany story of a religious cult leader deflowering the storyteller when she was 14.  Although intriguing, her tale was much longer than required 5 minutes and at one point included the line “to make a long story short…”  Isn’t that generally the point of time limits and editing?  And I’m still not sure what to make of the nut case whose story included a long riff on the power of being a virus in the Matrix (originality?), and a ski trip to Aspen with a cougar girlfriend whom he volunteers to have sex with an actor/author with whom I was not familiar.  He ended with a lecture about how friends hold you back.  In this case, I wish they had.

While the night was odd, I’m glad I went because now I have a clear strategy.  The next Moth StorySlam theme is “Nerve,” and I was thinking about telling the Whoopi Goldberg Oscar story—I had the “nerve” to pick it up.  But now I’m rethinking.  Maybe a story with a little bit of a sexual angle—like the time I had the nerve to make a pass at Gloria Estefan’s husband while escorting Teri Hatcher to VH-1’s Divas Live.  CLICK HERE to enjoy this excerpt from Alphabet City’s Episode 6: Sex in the City and let me know what you think.

NOTE: My Virgin Queen post last week was one of the most well-read on this blog to date—and in it I referenced a trip to a Thai bath house/massage parlor detailed in Alphabet City’s Episode 13: Babylon.  Some of you were disappointed that the link didn’t provide the full story and asked that I share it.  So here it is below.  At this point in my memoir, I’m traveling the world for Condé Nast Traveler and have been sent on my first trip to Asia.  After an embarrassing episode in Singapore, I’m ready for a wild time in Thailand.

The embarrassment only got worse on the next stop in my Asian immersion—Bangkok, the capital of sin.  As was my norm, I had done mounds of advance research about gay spots and knew I wanted to journey to Babylon—a combo restaurant, bar, live entertainment venue, swimming pool, massage parlor, gay sex sauna, and more.  Why should straights have all the fun in Pat Pong?  After a full day of meetings, I returned to my gorgeous suite at the famed Oriental Hotel that once again came with a butler catering to my every whim.  With the siren song of homo hedonism beckoning me, I stripped off my suit and tugged on a tank top ready for a wild night.

As I gently closed the door to my room, trying to sneak out of the hotel, my private butler magically appeared.

“Mr. Buchmeyer, like to use the house car tonight?”

“Um, no, that’s fine, I’ll just take a taxi.”

“But Mr. Buchmeyer, general manager say take good care of you.  Insist you use hotel car and driver.”

“Really, that’s okay.  So generous.  But a taxi is fine.”

“Mr. Buchmeyer, no problem.  Will call down and arrange car.  Where you going?”

I was stuck.  He stared, waiting.

“Just some club, I think it’s called, let’s see, um, Babylon.”

I tried desperately to hide my shame.  A wide grin came across his face.

“Mr. Buchmeyer going to Babylon!  Crazy time at Babylon!”

As the elevator doors unfolded, the concierge yelled across the lobby.

“Mr. Buchmeyer, car is waiting to take you to Babylon!  Right this way!  Have fun at Babylon!  Crazy place!”

I slinked through the lobby, and outside the bellboy shouted.

“This way, Mr. Buchmeyer, car to Babylon right here.  You enjoy!”

The white stretch Mercedes limousine was conspicuous enough, but it was the shouting of my destination that mortified me.  The driver greeted me.

“I hear Mr. Buchmeyer going to Babylon.  Amazing place.  You have much fun.  I wait for you outside whenever you want to come home.”

“Really, I can just get them to call me a taxi.”

“No, general manager say must wait for Mr. Buchmeyer. No problem. Who knows?  Mr. Buchmeyer may enjoy Babylon all night.”

As the stretch limo pulled up in front of an enormous complex made to look like a French colonial plantation, the driver smiled.

“Babylon makes dreams come true!”

Inside, the labyrinth of gay sexual pleasure was a dream all right—like a porn movie imagined by Fellini.  The famous shows in Pat Pong featuring women doing imaginative things with pingpong balls in their vagina couldn’t hold a candle to a Thai guy in a Viet Nam war sketch.

“G.I. Joe ice cold Coke bottle make me feel good.  Like real thing!”

Repulsed, fascinated, and horny, I couldn’t stop watching as the bottle magically disappeared into his ass.  Ouch.

After many hours and several “massages” later, the Mercedes whisked me back to the opulent Oriental Hotel.  Shame once again overcame me as I shuffled through the lobby at sunrise, and my private butler greeted me.

“I can see Mr. Buchmeyer enjoy Babylon.  A lot.”

My first meeting of the day was breakfast with the general manager of the hotel, an impeccably dressed German gentleman.  He sipped his hot tea, examining my tired but dewy face glowing with satisfaction.

“You know, Mr. Buchmeyer, in a hotel, we watch your every move.  Especially a VIP guest such as yourself from an important travel magazine.”

I choked on my coffee.

“Not to worry, Mr. Buchmeyer.  This is Bangkok.  We’ve seen it all.  Many times.  If you weren’t indulging, we would be worried.  Now, for that hangover, perhaps you’d prefer an ice cold bottle of Coke?”