Bangkok Summer Seduction

For his part, Sri was an architect by trade and specialized in designing sets for the Bangkok Opera and national theater. He also was a poet—of some renown, Marie interjected—which, she said, was the context in which the two had met. She had hosted book signings for him and carried his books in the bookstore.

I was being naturally brought into the conversation without being expected to follow it too deeply—Marie acknowledged that I wouldn't be at my sharpest after the plane ride. I told them of my own life, studies, and interests in bits and pieces of conversation without being given the third degree. I didn't mention Kwame. I didn't mention my interest in men at all, which had come as a revelation to me since the last time I had seen my mother. I most certainly didn't mention having been enrolled in the mile-high club between San Francisco and Tokyo.

Marie was mildly affectionate and matter of fact. If I had thought we'd have a "Why did you abandon me, Mother?" confrontation either then or later, her demeanor and the obvious limits she was setting guaranteed the futility of that. It wouldn't satisfy me any more now than it did when I first was brought back to Bangkok to see her—by a father who seemed to accept the situation amicably—when I was barely ten.

For his part, Sri was free and easy and flattering in the extreme toward whatever I talked of myself, my interests, and my ambitions—within the limits I'd set of how much I wanted to reveal.

This all was shattered, though, when my mother casually asked me if I had a boyfriend in San Francisco. When I gave her a shocked look, she just smiled and said, "Surely you knew your father would tell me about that before sending you to a hedonist, devil-may-care city like Bangkok."

I mumbled that I didn't really want to talk about that now, not looking at Sri, but hoping my mother would get the message that it wasn't something to be discussed in the presence of someone I'd just met. Marie, typically, was unfazed. Shortly after that, she went off, while Sri and I were having coffee, to powder her nose. It wasn't until months later that I wondered if that visit to the ladies room was orchestrated beforehand.

She was barely out of sight when Sri turned to me and in a low, smooth voice—he spoke with the hint of a British accent—said, "As you may have gathered, your mother and I have an arrangement. I hope that won't be a strain for you while you are visiting here, or that it will affect a relationship between you and me."

"No, I don't see that it affects me in any way," I answered. And there would be no way it should, considering how loose the ties between my parents had been for years, even though, to my knowledge, they never had divorced—and that my father now had a male lover. "I came to grips with Marie's lifestyle many years ago."

"You should also know that I've been married before and . . ." and this was where I was floored by what he wanted to convey to me ". . . and that I am bisexual. I have had as many male partners as female. Marie knows this, of course. I hope that you will realize that Thailand is an open-minded country in this regard. I would like to establish a 'no secrets' understanding between us from the beginning. And if you'd like, I could make some introductions for you with—"

"No, thank you," I said, blushing. "I think I can make my own way."

"I'm sure you can. You are a beautiful young man. May I surmise that you do have a boyfriend in San Francisco—that you have had male lovers?"

"Yes," I murmured, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here.

"And that they cover you? I only ask so that there will be no misunderstandings here. I am very fond of Marie, and I think it best that everything be in the open while you are here. I think that is in your best interest too. I assure you that Marie isn't shocked by your preferences. Nor am I."

"Yes, I prefer to bottom. When I do it. I don't really do it all that frequently." If I could have blushed more deeply, I would have done so from that lie. Until recently, it was true, but since Kwame had come into my life, I'd fucked like a bunny. And I could see that, by her nature, Marie wouldn't be shocked. If it didn't shock her that the man she was still married to had a male lover not much older than I was, why would anything I did along those lines be shocking to her? I almost wished she did show enough interest in me to be shocked.

"Well, If you need to know the best—and safest—places to . . . cruise here, feel free to ask. I would cover the financial customs, but I don't think you will have to be paying for it. I can help inform your interests—help guide you to what you would like; that's why I mentioned I am a bisexual. I assure you that, in Bangkok, almost anything is perfectly acceptable. I feel I should advise you, also, to be very careful here in Bangkok. We are not immune to the scourge of sexually transmitted disease. I trust you have brought an initial supply of condoms. They are openly sold here, but it will probably take you a bit of time to determine where they are sold."

"I, ummm . . ."

"Here are a few. I wouldn't want you not to be prepared." He took a handful of condom packets out of the pocket of his very expensive, custom tailored suit—which somehow seemed incongruous to me—and pushed them under the rim of my dinner plate. I involuntarily scanned the area around us. I a restaurant like this, the service would be ever vigilant. Two male waiters were standing close by. They surely saw what Sri did, but their faces were stoic, like they were statues in a niche.

What else could I say other than "Thank you" and move the packets to my pocket as surreptitiously as possible? The sooner we got past this friendly advice, the better. I could hardly tell him that I liked being fucked by black men—he was quite dusky of skin color himself and might take that wrong—or that, most recently, I had liked being fucked by a black bull on a commercial airliner high over the Pacific Ocean.

I could well understand that Sri, as a wealthy and refined M.R., could engage in any lifestyle he wanted to in Thailand. But I had to admit to myself that I was completely taken by surprise that he would think that I would need to be having—or welcome having—such a discussion—within a couple of hours of having set my foot on the soil of the country. But perhaps he could be so free about it because he was Thai and of the royal class and because Bangkok society was as open about such matters as he said it was.

And perhaps he was covering this with me because Marie was concerned about what I could fall into in Bangkok and she'd asked Sri to discuss this with me. If so, that was more concern from her than I had ever hoped to receive. I could see that I might get it wrong or get into trouble with it here, if Bangkok was as open, freewheeling, and loose as Sri had described.

It was a week after Sri had transported us from the airport to a lunch at the Oriental Hotel and then to my mother's flat on the fifteenth floor of an Apartment on Soi Sarasin, in the embassy district, that overlooked Lumpini Park on one side and the Royal Bangkok Sports Club on the other, that I next saw him. And it wasn't in some elegant setting.

It was late in the morning—neither Marie nor I were early risers and there was a store manager who opened the bookstore in the morning—indeed, I wasn't really needed there to help at all, although I did put in some time there for the pay. I had become accustomed to bringing morning coffee, cigarettes, and the English-language Bangkok Post to her on a tray that had been prepared by the maid, at 10:00 in the morning. When I did so on this particular morning, I could hear her shower running as I approached the door and, as usual, I planned to leave the tray on her nightstand and go for my own shower—I was just wearing my sleep shorts and padding around barefoot.

I came up short at her bedroom door, though. Sri was sitting on the side of the bed, facing me, and engrossed in strapping on a wrist watch. Thus far that was the only thing he was wearing. His body was as elegant in nakedness as it was clothed. He was berry brown, trim, although muscular across the chest and biceps and in the thighs, and his body was hairless other than the curly black thatch at his groin from which an inordinately long cock drooped toward the floor.

I must have made a noise at the door—possibly a jangle of the porcelain cup on its saucer as I found myself trembling—because he looked up at me and smiled. It wasn't in any way an embarrassed smile. It wasn't a disinterested smile either. Before I gathered my wits about me enough to turn and continue on down the hall, there was time for his cock to discernibly start to go hard.

I was embarrassed, though, knowing that mine was as well.

I kept to my room until I was sure that Sri had left the flat. Marie, of course, showed no sign of knowing I had seen Sri in her room—or any sense that she would care if I did. She didn't even remark on the lack of a tea tray that morning.

When I came back into the living area as Marie was still getting dressed to go to the bookstore, I saw that there was a book on a side table, by a lounge chair Marie liked to sit in to do her reading. I hadn't remembered seeing it there the previous evening. I sat down on the chair, picked the book up, and looked at the cover. Poems by Mom Rajawongse Krit Srihipan. Of course I opened the book and started to read. The poetry was good, the imagery both evocative and startling. I could well believe Sri was a bisexual—and a sensualist. I didn't want to think of my mother's lover in those terms, but now I couldn't avoid it.

Chapter Three: Déjà Vu

"Do you recommend that book?"

I turned and almost fell off the library ladder I was standing on to shelve a new French novel that had come in. I immediately recognized the speaker, even though it had been a month since I'd taken that memorable plane ride from San Francisco to Tokyo.

"I could," I said as I turned, facing him, on the ladder. "I've read it." His face was at the same level as my crotch and the possibilities of that had me going hard. I also felt a tightness in my breath. I'd like to be able to say I hadn't thought about the black hunk since that flight, but, in fact, I'd done so several times.

"So, you can read French?" He was looking amused. He was also looking very good. In all white: shorts, cotton pullover shirt, socks, tennis shoes. He looked like he was on his way to play tennis, which maybe he was. He wouldn't be on his way back from it. This was Bangkok. He'd be soaked in his sweat if he'd even played a set.

"Yes. My mother's half French," I answered.

"Ah, so maybe that's what you were whispering in. I figured it was some foreign language."

I didn't have to ask what he meant about me murmuring in a foreign language. I'm sure I was out of my mind and not paying attention to what I was saying when he was covering me on those seats in the plane after he'd taken his hand off my mouth.

"I'm surprised to see you here," he said. He was pulling in close to me, his mouth just inches from my crotch. Smiling up at me; knowing the effect he was having on me.

"I work here—through this summer before going back for college. My mother owns this bookstore."

"I mean here in Bangkok. You didn't say you were headed to Bangkok. My understanding was that you were going to Tokyo."

"I did stop in Tokyo for a couple of days, and I said more than you did at the time, as I recall," I answered. "I'd said something about the American Embassy Bangkok emblem on your shirt. If you'd answered, I probably would have said I was headed here too."

"I'm with the Marine Guard at the embassy, up on Wireless. Corporal Collins. Ty to my friends. I think we know each other well enough to count ourselves as friends."

I would have guessed something like the Marine Guard. Built like a fire hydrant. In such good shape that he had to be some sort of military. The Marines fit. "Acquaintances, at least," I answered. "if not exactly friends. I think what we did was more like rutting dogs than a friendly exchange."

"You seemed to like it."

"Yes, I did. It was just what I needed at the time."

"Because you were already missing that black bull who was pawing you at the airport?"

"Yes, something like that."

"He as big as I am?"

Ah, male vanity setting in. "You are quite big enough," I said. "My name is Julien." I pronounced it French style. "Julien Kalimoka. And, as I've already said, I work here. But I go to Stanford. I'll be back there in the fall."

"What shit kinda name is Kalimoka?"

"Hawaiian. My dad's Hawaiian. My mother is half French and half Vietnamese."

"Which makes you all good lay," he said, with a grin. "You gonna be in Bangkok much longer, I'd like to do you again. You liked it good enough for me to do you so I can lay you out better than in the plane and do you longer?"

"What a quaint way of putting it; you make me sound like a slab of meat with a hole in it," I said, trying to put as much sarcasm in my delivery as possible. But then I added, "But I'd like that, yes." And I wasn't lying about that; I'd like that just fine. I'd been in Bangkok a month and hadn't built up the nerve to go cruising myself—or taking Sri up on his offer to help.

"Maybe meet some of my friends. Do some good riding? Try some variety."

He wasn't going to stop being bald about it. I don't know why I found that arousing, but I did. All so matter of fact. "That might be possible," I answered. I found myself trembling. He had been the last one to fuck me and that was a month ago. I'd been all sorts of crazy—especially because of the times I'd encountered Sri walking around naked in my mother's flat, not being the least reticent about showing himself off to me—and having told me he was bi—he or Marie making sure I read some of his poems. I'd taken many a cold shower in the last few weeks.

"Look, you make it sound so crass—like I'm a needy rent-boy or something. I'm not."

"I know you're not, but I also can see that it turns you on, talking like that. I can see that you're hard for it. I'm off to tennis now," Ty said, totally unabashed. "At the Thai Military Academy up where Sathon runs into Wireless. The embassy is up there on Wireless too."

"Yes, I know where the embassy is," I answered. We weren't more than eight blocks from the embassy now—five blocks down Sathon from the military academy.

"But maybe you'd be interested in going to a swim party with me at the house of the head of JUSMAG on Saturday. A lot of freewheel cocking going on there."

The U.S. Joint Military Assistance Group compound was just three blocks up from where we were at the bookstore. I'd seen many a squared-away American solider go in and out of that compound too.

I sighed. He wasn't going to stop taking me for granted—and taking me for easy. But what could I say? I'd let a perfect stranger fuck me on a commercial airplane flight. "Yes, I'd like that," I answered. Then I nearly fell off the ladder as, after he looked around, he came in close and nuzzled his cheek on my crotch.

He laughed. "Already hard for me."

"You know I am," I whispered.

"Pick you up here at 1:00 p.m. on Saturday. We can walk from here. Wear a sexy swim suit. Don't plan on wearing it long."

* * * *

I noticed three things when Ty walked me two blocks in on a cul-de-sac off Sathon between compound walls to the house he said was that of the chief of JUSMAG. The residence was in a small compound itself, which included a rambling stucco house embracing a large stone terrace, good-sized kidney-shaped swimming pool, and two monstrous-looking SUVs that looked like they were armored sitting in front of a double garage.

The first thing I noticed was that this was an all-male pool party. That didn't really surprise me much; Ty had pretty much told me what kind of party to expect here. The second thing was that these men were already in full group fuck when Ty guided me into the gate with an arm possessively around my shoulders. The third was that those present were loosely divided into three groups: There were the built military guys, probably mostly Americans from JUSMAG and the embassy Marine guards, but also maybe some from other European and UN military contingents in the country; there were the Thai rent-boys contracted to serve them, which included a fair number of transvestites; and there were what seemed to be the Thai protectors of this activity—Thai military officers and politicians, generally of an older age, both fucking the Thai rent-boys and being fucked by and in the pool by Western soldier hunks.

Among the latter category, to my surprise, I saw Sri over in a corner of the patio, covering a small Thai with a woman's face, hair, and tits but a man's small cock, stretched full length on the transvestite on a pool bed and fucking him/her in long strokes. I probably shouldn't have been that surprised. I'd seen a Mercedes just like his parked out on Sathon near the entrance of the street running back to this compound. The chauffeur was leaning into the fender of the car, but was turned away from me so that I didn't identify him as Sri's driver.

I barely had time to take in all of the sex that was happening in and around the pool before Ty said, "Let's go into the house and change into our suits."

We only made it as far as a bedroom hallway near the back of the house, before Ty grabbed me, shoved me up against the wall, pulled my T-shirt over my head, and took my mouth in a kiss.

"Before anyone else here gets to you," I heard him mutter as we came up for air, and he was unbuckling and unzipping my shorts and pushing the shorts and the briefs underneath down to the floor. His kiss moved down my throat and onto my nipples as one of his hands worked my cock and the other one released his so that he could work them together with that hand. Then he was pushing me on my knees between him and the wall, and I was sucking his cock. Big, black, throbbing.

He pulled me up by my hair and possessed my mouth again with his, his hands busy cupping and squeezing my buttocks and getting fingers from both hands inside me. I panted and groaned. Singles and couples passed us in the hallway and did no more than stop briefly to watch, smack their lips, and whistle before moving on with whatever hedonist activity they were involved in. A few voiced a "New meat, Ty?" or a "Can you sign me for his card later, Ty?" or an ominous "Want to do him together later, Ty?" but moving on in their turn when Ty no more than growled at them without pausing in working my body and opening my passage to his specifications.

"Climb my hips. Open up," Ty growled and, separating my butt cheeks with his hands and pushing me up the wall by my buttocks, he set his bulb at my entrance. At his repeated command, I lifted my legs, with my knees hooked on his hips, dug my fingernails into his biceps, buried my face in the hollow of his neck, and held on for dear life, as he skewered me and began to pump.

"Way to go; give it to him hard," a voice called out as someone passed us in the hall.

Ty gave it to me hard.

"Sweet piece. Work him hard," came from another passing voice.

Ty worked my ass hard. Harder than Kwame ever had. Harder than any man ever had.

I had come up his belly and had felt him jerk and come in his condom too, but he was still pumping me, when the door to a bedroom beside where Ty was moving my body up and down the wall with the strength of his cock opened, and a bald-headed black bull giant emerged, turning in the opening of the door toward us, and paused.

He must have been six seven or eight, with a massive, footballer's body. All well-defined muscle, veins running just below the surface of chocolate-brown skin because there was no fat on him. Solid, not trim, but perfectly, massively proportioned. Rugby-player thighs. The face handsome, features cut, demeanor commanding, self-assured. A bullet head on a thick neck. He was wearing a black Speedo with a bulging crotch. Even at a possible forty in age, he was a god to take a bottom's breath away—or make him faint in anticipation.