Hong kong gay bathhouse

Saunas in Hong Kong are worlds unto themselves. What the former British colony lacks in lgbtq+ bars and clubs, it makes up for in cozy, apartment-sized bathhouses, where young patrons spot sweet refuge from homes crowded with nosey family members.

Hong Kong’s saunas are intimate and personal, with packed bars where towel-clad patrons sit and chat and bond and get sloshed — when they aren’t ducking into ubiquitous karaoke rooms to warble local Canto-pop tunes. No one walks around naked, and grimy business is reserved for the anonymity of the dim rooms.

It was at one of these establishments that I met Edward, floating down a hallway with a express happiness planted on his face. He was young, and he clearly liked me. He was what I learned the locals referred to as a “potato queen,” meaning a Chinese guy who was into Westerners. After being rejected by many Hong Kongers who weren’t attracted to gweilos, Edward was a welcome relief to my bruised ego. He spoke nice English and we exchanged phone numbers, and he made a concerted strive to come out and visit me at my flat.

I lived out in the New Territories, away from the hustle and bustle of the town proper, in