I've written about the Little Brother before, but as a bit player. This time I want to place him at the centre of the column. I met him last year shortly after I arrived in Thailand. He was 24, from the North East, good-looking in a wide-eyed innocent way, spending 10 hours a day 6 days a week working in a restaurant. His English was poor and my Thai was non-existent and with dictionaries in hand we would struggle to understand each other. We had almost nothing in common, but he was quiet and friendly and enjoyed each other's company. He fell in love with me, and though I was flattered, I did not reciprocate - in life I want my partner to be my equal in many ways that he could never be - but the affection we felt for each other was strong enough that we began to call each other brother.

Like many other young men in Bangkok, he was desperately poor – earning 6,000 baht (£90 / $150) a month, out of which he had to pay 2,000 baht rent. That left 4,000. Sometimes he would send his parents 1,000 or more baht, leaving him with no more than 100 baht (£1.50 / $2.50) a day for travel, clothing and of course food. You can survive on such a sum in Bangkok, but only on subsistence level; the luxuries that the rest of us take for granted, such as television and holidays are something you will never have. 

There are various options of course. Get a skill - but that costs money and he had already had to give up a vocational course that he could not afford. Go back to the province where you grew up and live with your parents on even life less money. Take up drug-dealing or crime. Or prostitution, formally in the go-go bars where customers pay for an hour or more of your time, or informally hanging around the parks or bars in Silom. 

Not that it would have mattered if he did. I have no problem with sex work as long as both partners enter the contract with eyes open. It’s a more honest way of making a living than many others. Unfortunately some clients and pimps and bar owners exploit the young women and men who have few other options in life. And of course some young women, men and transgenders are more interested in taking the money than in giving the service they advertise. And on both sides of the counter there are people who confuse sex with emotion. But to sell yourself you need a certain kind of personality – a brashness, a liking for sex irrespective of your partner’s attractiveness and a willingness to flatter or even lie – and the LB had none of these qualities. It was a lover he wanted, not a bank account.

It took time for me to trust the LB. I’m suspicious by nature and assume that the people I meet, no matter how honest they appear, are as likely to lie as tell the truth. And like many Thais, the LB tends to be secretive and unwilling to talk about himself. But as the months passed and I got to know him and compared him with others of his generation, it became clear that he was what he seemed – a young man from the country with few skills, hoping to improve himself and not quite knowing how. In the words of my mother who met him in February, a gentle, simple soul.

I knew the stories, of course, of wallets left open and becoming suddenly lighter, of innocent-sounding stories of financial difficulties, of strong hints of poverty and "isn't that shirt nice?" I waited for such events but they never occurred. Instead, I learnt that if the LB said he would do something he would do it, if we were to meet at a certain time, he would always be there, if I gave him money to go shopping, he gave me the change and the receipt unasked. I had friends twice his age who were less reliable. This was someone I knew I could trust.

Of course the fact I had more money than he did was part of my attraction – I paid for us both in restaurants and cinemas and paid his rent when he was out of work – but he never asked for money, was embarrassed when I gave him some, always thanked me when I did and suggested, when he knew my bank account was low, that we should stay in rather than go out, and watch television rather than a film.

As for sex – it stopped at my request when I made it clear that I was not going to spend my life with him. After that he came over twice a week; sometimes to cook and sometimes to go out together to a film or a karaoke bar. As regular readers know, it’s not my favourite form of activity, but he has a good voice and enjoys singing and I can boost my ego by reading the Thai on the screen. At the end of the evening we collapse into bed. He’s usually asleep within five minutes while I read the New Yorker or struggle, for the umpteenth time, to remember the vocabulary in Thai for Beginners.

It was his 25th birthday at the beginning of April. He went home and, after the traditional ceremony in his parents’ house, became a monk – a ritual that only rural Thai men now seem to perform. He first asked me to be there, then decided that he didn’t want his family to know he had a farang friend. They would pressure him to ask me for money – something that he didn’t want to do. So I wished him well; he returned a month later, half ashamed of his still short hair, happy and proud of the photos that showed him shaven-headed, yellow-robed and surrounded by family and neighbours.

To become a monk – something he did more for his parents than for himself, although he admitted enjoying the experience - he had had to leave the restaurant. Back in Bangkok he was jobless. I encouraged him to find part-time work that would give him time to take a course in some skill, that would improve his earning potential. He tried 7-Eleven, Tesco Lotus and every range of shop along Rama IV and Sukhumvit Roads, getting interviews in chains as disparate as opticians and sports clothing. But there are thousands of jobless young people in the city and nothing came his way. He began to get downhearted and talked of going home.

In the meantime I had helped him to set up a profile on gaydar (a dating site, for the uninformed among you). It was ideal for someone who could offer and receive affection but who did not like the bars in Silom where potential mates could be found. So he went online with pictures that were pensive and erotic and the messages began to flow. The first week he received 20 messages, but too shy or uncertain, he replied to none. Gradually and with my help – he was mostly online in my apartment at times when I was glad to push the computer aside – he learned to respond to those that interested him and click No Thanks to the rest.

His English is poor and he has little to offer except enthusiasm. But to some that is an attractive combination and to them he gave his Hotmail address. And so correspondence began with half a dozen men. Often they would proclaim their love and affection, and he – never the first to initiate such emotion - would reply in kind. I did not see all the e-mails, but he would sometimes ask my opinion of someone’s face or their letter. Always sceptical, I was torn between wanting to protect him and reluctance to malign men that I had never met. I pointed out those who only wanted sex and tried to be diplomatic about those who seemed too good – or too naive – to be true.  If he asked me what to write, I would return the question: “what do you think? do you like him? do you want to meet him?” and leave him to make his own decision.

He met some men he had corresponded with, but often he canceled at the last moment. That irritated me, because it was like condemning people before meeting them, but I accepted it as part of his basically shy personality. He told me a little about those he did meet, a USAmerican and an Austrian and others whose nationality he did not remember, mostly farang, but also at least one Thai. Some obviously met him and decided that there was no spark between them; others were more interested but in his eyes they were too old or he didn’t quite trust them . 

Others wrote from abroad, claiming they would be in Bangkok on a certain date. One - Barrie from Spain - hearing of his problems in finding work, claimed to send him 1,000 baht (£15); neither I nor the LB were surprised when the money never arrived. Then there was Kevin Roberts, a Brit whose e-mails became more and more romantic and who offered him 30,000 baht (£450 / $750) if the LB would spend a month as his companion and guide when he came to Thailand for a month. The LB showed me the letter and asked me if it was true; my first thought was the man was a fool if having read the LB’s e-mails he thought he would be a good translator.

I told the LB that Roberts was probably willing to give him 30,000 baht if he fell in love with him, but if they met and did not like each other, the promise would be worth no more than the cyberspace it was written on. Or Roberts would spend the month with him and then find an excuse not to pay. Or, to give him the benefit of the doubt, Roberts could have been a lonely individual genuinely looking for comfort; it would not be the first time that money was offered for companionship - until our grandparents' day it was the foundation for most middle-class marriages. And so the LB wrote back non-committedly. He explained - several times - that he was afraid they might not like each other. Roberts reassured him. The LB pointed out that he might not be free because he was looking for work; several times Roberts mentioned a friend called Edward who had a restaurant in Bangkok and who would try to help him. Not sure what to believe, but excited at the thought that someone might be coming halfway round the world just to see him. the LB looked forward to meeting him.

And so on 16th June, carrying a large sign with Roberts' name that I had made for him, he set off for the airport. At 4.30, 90 minutes after the plane had landed, he called to say there was no sign of the man who had wooed him and that he had not answered the Thai phone number he (Roberts) had given him. I was disappointed but not surprised and suggested he come home soon. If there was a problem and Roberts was genuine, he would telephone.

Of course, dear reader, you have guessed that not only did "Kevin Roberts" not telephone, but he did not even exist. He was not registered at the hotel where he had said he would stay and the phone number he had given was answered by a woman who spoke neither English nor Thai. The LB, depressed at the thought that someone who had said he had loved him (read the e-mails here) did not exist, did the best thing in such circumstances: got drunk on two Bacardi Breezers while watching a DVD, went to bed and fell into a deep sleep. The next day, he cursed "Roberts" a couple of times then put him out of his mind.

I, meanwhile, was curious. I sent "Roberts" an e-mail which was as pompous as I was irritated, demanding an explanation for his behaviour. The response was less reasoned than emotional, as the following extract shows (emphasis and colour as in the original, which you can read here):

"I have a feeling I know your adoptive brother better than you, he is a thief  'did you know that'???, he also likes to extract money and play on the emotions of older men as well,  I guess you enabled him to do that by teaching him the rudiments of Computers when setting him up with an E mail address,   what for??  Well he thought  MONEY MONEY MONEY.  £, $,  bahts,  any currency actually.

"It was his [LB]'s greed that took him to BKK Airport, and nothing else,  Read those E mails again, he is a prostitute, nothing more, nothing less."

It went on a similar vein (you can read the whole correspondence by clicking on the link above), and ended (emphasis as in the original):

"I loathe the name Kevin,  that's why I chose it.   I shall doubtless see him again soon.

"One wonders if you are actually deluded????   but only you can seriously answer that question.

"George  Fred  Mathew  Edward   David  John  Peter   ?????? =   Take your pick."

I assumed that "Roberts" was someone familiar with Thailand who had been on the receiving end of Thai deception in the past and who was taking his revenge on a stranger he had met on the internet. The correspondence continued for a couple of days. I repeated brief requests for information and received similarly unfocused replies rejoicing in the hurt that he had caused the LB (the hurt had lasted approximately 24 hours). I gave him the opportunity to apologise and donate 30,000 baht to the Thai Red Cross. I was not surprised to receive what was becoming a familiar litany, similar to a child thumbing his nose and going "nyah nyah nyah".

But I am, if nothing else, a fair man, and if someone makes accusations, no matter how ludicrous, the evidence should be looked at. First the suggestion that the LB was only interested in MONEY, MONEY, MONEY. The reality is that "Roberts" mentioned money in one e-mail and hinted at other presents a couple of times, but in the vast majority  of his e-mails, love and affection was the dominant message. And when the LB told him again and again that he needed to find work. "Roberts" repeatedly reassured him that this friend Edward would help him. In other words, the accusation of prostitution was based on the LB responding to offers of affection and help.

More than once I asked "Roberts" for his name - I did not get it - and for facts - I did not get these either. Instead the allegations got more colourful in every sense of the word: "Why not ask your adoptive brother to tell you what he does when he enters Internets cafes,  similar to a cat that sits around the House all day and turns into the veritable Tiger when let out, he preys on farangs, something you allowed him to do when you set him up with those E mail accounts". I laughed at that one, the image was so incongruous, as I did when I was accused of being a "PIMP". ("Roberts" didn't seem to understand that to be a pimp, I would actually have to receive money from the LB.)

"Roberts" had one card that he tried to play - the 1,000 baht from "Barrie" that never arrived was supposed to be proof of the LB's greed. I doubt the money was sent, but if it was, it landed, in the hands not of the LB but of one of the office managers or several hundred tenants who share his building… Meanwhile, real evidence of the LB's purported dishonesty and perfidy, like "Roberts"' real name, never came.

It is theoretically possible that "Roberts" was right. I do not spend my days following the LB and out of my sight he might, Clark Kent-like, transform into a "veritable Tiger", but if he does, he is an actor on a par with the best. And so the LB could be as rapacious as "Roberts" suggests, but by the same logic, my elderly mother probably spends her days wandering the streets of Edinburgh pickpocketing from tourists and my Ex in London finances a cocaine habit through pornographic videos. Common sense – not to mention justice – tells me that if I have to choose between nine months' evidence of my own eyes and ears – or half a dozen anonymous e-mails from someone who takes delight in hurting strangers, I know which I believe.

I tried other means of giving "Roberts" the benefit of the doubt. I shared the correspondence with friends, some of whom know the LB. Their reactions varied from mild amusement - why should "Roberts" waste so much time on being petty? - to outrage that someone could be such a <insert French accent> "bitch". But even they could be biased – after all, they are my friends. So, dear reader (and I know from past comments that not all of you will be sympathetic), I leave it to you to judge. Read the correspondence and you decide who to praise and who to blame. 

I suspect, however, that most of you will react in the same as I did. We accept that there are some bastards in this world and on the internet – Thai or farang, young or old - and move on. They're one of the inconveniences in life like a missed plane or stolen phone. Be grateful we don't come across them too often. And some good came out of it; the LB learned not to trust people without good reason and I got a column out of the incident.

Since then, the LB has found himself a part-time job in the same restaurant chain he worked for before. His gaydar profile is still there and he continues to meet people - although he has a habit of asking to see the passports of those he is suspicious of. After all, he has nothing to hide or be ashamed of, and neither do the honest people he meets. It's only “Roberts”, it seems, who is ashamed of both his real and fake names.

If you can bothered, read the "Kevin Roberts" letters here.

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