The A – Z of Bali Fuckboys
The paradise island is another smoggy Eden haven away from city pollution. The spiritual island is a hub for “woke” people. The magical island is a reference to its naughty activities. The tucked away gem of a horny island bubble is indeed Bali. Ladies (and gents), here’s your guide to the 26 fuckboys who do the most for that holiday rush and complain about post-holiday blues.
Inspired by Helen Meriel Thomas’ The A to Z of Fuckboys on VICE UK.
After landing and lightly unpacking, you scout the “flashpacker” hostel and wind up in a game with gin involved, gazing into a set of eyes with irises like swirling kaleidoscopes. You, horny individuals, didn’t just run across the pool area after the beguiling four-minute challenge so as to shag. No, fate brought you to the bathroom. You’re hungry. He shows you his favourite warung (a small family-owned restaurant). Once he thinks you think he’s cultured and have grown an affinity for the bastard, you’re back on the moped, aimed for his favourite burger joint. Never mind you’re vegan; he’ll recommend the jackfruit burger and kimchi fries. He, himself, does sambal (chilli sauce) all the time, but not kimchi. No, thanks. I’m not going vegan, sweetie. They’re only chips.
B: Bali Know-All
If you’re around for much longer, I’ll tell you what to see. I’ve been here for ages. He pet names his one night stands “my love,” the mantra that makes knickers come off, or so he thinks. His mum, back in Liverpool, is paying for his villa. Even his only love can’t stand him.
C: Canggu Boy
Quit my wanker banker job on a drunken night out and went on a life-changing backpacking adventure for nine months. His Hinge profile shows him in the Lotus position. Scroll up again. He’s holding a surfboard. His bimonthly visa runs to Changi Airport (in Singapore), wearing board shorts, are the only times he leaves Canggu. Like the Bali Know-All, he’s an island hermit without the bragging, only musing, over helmetless moped convoys with mates and other near-death memories. Once I ended up in the rice paddies. Passersby mistook him for a lying scarecrow. You’re holding a surfboard in your profile picture, you say. I was holding it for my mate.
D: Digital Nomad
Expensive co-working space membership. Sunrise surfs – it gives him profound calmness. Thrifted cap, coordinates and bum bag. Happy hour at 5PM. Avid cool-bar goer.
When he’s run out of pre-party mates to ring, he doesn’t mind reading a book… while waiting for his Tinder match. The guy likes lists. Flag emojis. Positions. Ratings. You’ll be kept on file too. Don’t mistake him for a stiff lovemaker. He’s the quintessential love machine. You only need to ask and he’ll make you come. Otherwise he’ll still sort you out, but not till your climax — only his.
The lousy communicator in relationships is an intellectual interlocutor, which is a projection of his adequately-long-but-skinny-dick complex. And he’s Hawaiian. The classic fuckboy, also known as “Big” El, cares fuck all about making you come. He mops up his semen off your breasts and orders your Grab (like Uber), knowing that ride-sharing apps are banned, and this may incommode you.
He would like to be vegan… Would like… To be… He’s an animal rights activist at heart, who only tackles his own frugality by pushing free hostel breakfast into his Kleenex and hiding the stash under his pillow. Till he meets a local family who will feed him or fishermen to go fishing with, he’s starving. Instead of shagging, buy him dinner and move on.
G: Gap Year German
I don’t know what to study. The Gap Year German is only 18, but an adult nonetheless.
H: Hostel Owner
He’s wide like a fat tree. Is his chest nearly popping out of his oversized singlet? Okay, he’s not fat… As a matter of fact, his light blue eyes, which are accentuated by his deep golden tan, paired with his velvety German accent are quite… angelic. His delightful vibe tells you that he’ll give it to you. All. Night. Long. His fully-stocked fridge means shag, pee, snack, repeat. It’s not as though you have to be anywhere the next morning.
It gets problematic when his torso is looking rather short in Missionary. He seemed taller before. You don’t let such thoughts ruin the bliss, not until the next morning when your girlfriends hear all about it, and you sweat about it.
He may ask you to ever so lightly chew on his cock. He was fixating on you as you were chewing gum the other day. No wonder why a hostel guest guffawed at his remark. You didn’t fully understand his accent. He’s a weirdo, but very, very fit.
You’d think straw-hat-wearing, no-shirt Jack is Scandinavian, but then you jump at his mighty thick Aussie accent. Are you okay? he asks. You first laid eyes on him when he was riding his slow, cacophonous and smoke-emitting Vespa. He’s the village’s linguistic genius; fluent in Indonesian and nearly as advanced in Balinese. And he’s looking to take the perfect Balinese babe in matrimony. If you’re Indonesian-Western, you’re on his radar too. He doesn’t discriminate. This would only mean no language barrier and no reason for him to condescendingly speak slower when spewing his simple-guy-simple-life sayings.
If you’re in a colder country, like me, Jack is average Joe. Chrissakes, another Joseph. Though a killer, Joe in Netflix’s You is a good example of the fuckboy.
The Kinkster is a sushi chef who’s here to pursue his prospects of materialising a sushi empire in Canggu, a village that is already swarmed with western businesses. His suitcase has a section dedicated to his knives and BDSM complex. He isn’t really an addict, but certainly not vanilla.
L: Local Lad
A local guy hinged you with his cousin, a surf instructor during the day and guitar player and arak (homebrewed wine) chugger after dusk. He takes life very lightly, including his wife and new-born in Dalung (bordering Canggu). He’s with you now, his new flame, before you have to leave the country. The filters are making you, lovebirds, look very happy within #travel of Instagram.
M: Motocross Rider
He waits for his cue to make you wholeheartedly hop on the back of his dirt bike. His kos-kosan (room) has a stained mattress on the floor. He’s a half-blood prince; half Indonesian, half Dutch; half sweet, half dick; entitled. You didn’t want to shag such a seemingly cool potential brother, but he swore he’d blow your mind. You fucking believed him. Now he’s falling asleep to a YouTube video on how to pop a wheelie and a documentary on men who fuck goats. He likes to think of his Deus (motorcycle) replica, which strongly reminds you of Thomas the Tank Engine, as your public vibrator. Vroom vroom. Get out. He ain’t no brother.
Post-sex, you discover that he says nomadic a lot, which makes you want to box his ear.
O: Older Dude
All those years of shagging and hot mannerisms are ample proof of a hot bedfellow. He’s a widower, who loves his deceased Indonesian wife deeply. Your naughty thoughts arose and lingered throughout some mesmerising eye contact. Then you backtracked. He’s the same age as your dad and he was only really going on about his restaurant’s longevity. You may want to maintain a platonic relationship with your only father figure in this foreign country.
P: Pennyboard Rider
He belongs in Kuta (Bali’s shithole), which is where he travelled to initially. He’s not some skater who failed to bring his board to the land of a big skate scene and beat himself up for being so stupid. No, he’s a pennyboarder. Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now audiobook and Bob Ross’ YouTube videos aren’t arbitrary affinities. Clearly he’s got ASMR. When not binging on human voices, he’s pennyboarding down the road while birds are chirping his name at the crack of dawn. At a party, people are trying to enjoy their deep chats and bloody bongs and he keeps going on about his stupid pennyboard. He’s penniless and goes to the laundrette a considerable amount less, even though it costs less than a dollar.
The local lads, who have thoroughly abused the hostel’s ping pong table, also have a habit of gossiping in Balinese, as it’s their native tongue and super cryptic to long-term stayers as opposed to Indonesian. They downgraded Mr Professional, a brilliant surfer, to Q-Tip, and not after Q-Tip in A Tribe Called Quest. Amid bitchy glance casting, the mister was sitting around the same table munching on his nasi bungkus (rice and sides wrapped in takeaway paper). Men, like Jack, like to advance their monolingual brains for given reasons and to impress women. Q-Tip fucked up on this front. He doesn’t have the self-esteem to learn a new language, but he deserves some credit: he kept lying to women about being green to the point of refusing to dole out his money to single-use companies himself. Do you happen to have any Q-tips lying about? He burdens the whole hostel, including you. Hey, you! the receptionist shouts. Clean your fucking ears in the bathroom for once.
The bald man across the dance floor is wearing white Adidas trousers with red stripes, a tight black singlet and dead black Oakley sunglasses, looking like a merged baby Stewie in Family Guy and generic Grand Theft Auto character.
He unapologetically utilises his tantalising smile and blue eyes whilst walking towards you with his longboard under his arm. No one’s behind you. He’s smiling at you. Fuck, he’s hot. You’re by the board rack on the beach, haggling. You goin’ out there? he asks. As he said “out” in his Aussie accent, your body started to tingle. Er, you dither, and grip your board a little tighter. Three days later, you’re bonding over vegan banoffee cake. Your phone is in the drawer. He’s also currently phoneless. Both of you sunset surf every day without planning to. In fact, your relationship is rather silent. After a session during which he pushed you into the waves, he locked your head between his kneecaps and pushed his balls down your mouth in a bamboo homestay hut on a steep gravel hill. The beach is swarmed with Robert Augusts (from the classic The Endless Summer by Bruce Brown). You can have your ’60s-adjacent noserider anytime.
T: Tribal Tattoo Twat
He’s tackier than Kuta, but anything’s allowed in paradise.
U: Ubud Guy
Ubud’s verdant vibe attracts hasty backpackers with bucket lists to cross off as well as serious yogis and art admirers. You don’t know much about this guy beyond the fact that his dreadlocks are reddening and swelling up your face. You get out of the position. The two of you smoke ganja beyond midnight. He coincidentally spits on your face and utters indistinct remarks, eerily unaware. Say again. He says the same nonsense, but slower.
V: Van Life
The anti-shampoo hippie, who showers in the sea with his Rottweiler, is learning how to effortlessly manoeuvre his lovers through the gap, which leads to the back of his van, and onto the bed in one movement. Getting coupled up with a new sweetheart, who would put his newly-installed kitchen into use, is number 37 on his bucket list. Wifely and offspring matters start at 40.
Scratch that covering letter his host was never fooled by in the first place. Whether it’s volunteering at a permagarden or party hostel, free accommodation and food are the workawayer’s main interests. He can’t shag you in bed without getting booted, and there’s nothing worse than being a homeless nomad. Have you ever tried hammock sex? Maybe a blowjob is in order.
The rebel’s activist name is XR Cone Snail (he started smoking at 10 and grew into a slow one), XR Black Mamba (you know…) or XR Mosquito (the mozzies love him).
Your yoga instructor is on a spiritual journey… of learning the ropes of autofellatio. But if you, tantric bedroom partners, ever get serious, he’d pause his journey. He loves his mum, so making you (and every other girl the Spanish casanova dances flamenco with) feel special is important to him.
Z: Zen Buddhist
The buddhists condoned the miserable English man’s past as a sex addict. For the first time in his life, he lived an abundant breatharian’s life at a Kyoto temple. No wonder he’s looking so skinny.
And now Bali is having an effect on the sexually repressed man.
Cover by Marvin Meyer