“I would wager that you’ve been in Thailand for two months and you haven’t been to a massage parlor yet.”

Sri was sitting across from me at an outdoor café next to a large pond filled with carp and covered with water lilies. We had been talking about gardens. Sri had really indulged my interest in landscape design, telling me that its concepts were very close to his own work in architecture and stage set design. He seemed to revel in the shared interest. We had grown close in the four weeks since he’d brought me home, staggering but humming, from the JUSMAG major’s pool party. He had said nothing to my mother--as far as I could tell--of my escapade, and I hadn’t told her about seeing him fucking the Thai transvestite either. It wasn’t a shared secret we talked about, but I’m sure it was as much there, just under the surface, with Sri as it was with me.

The café we were sitting in was in the middle of Chiang Mai, Thailand’s northern capital and resort area, where many of the wealthy and expatriates retreated to find a slightly less hot and sultry clime during the summer. It also was popular during the winter, I was told, when it was actually balmy here.

Sri had a modernized Thai-style house in a resort compound just to the east of the town. I was to find that he had designed and financed the entire area around a golf course, the houses having been snapped up in a country where a round of golf on a private course near Bangkok could cost in the thousands of dollars. He had designed the landscaping himself, and I honestly could tell him that he could be a professional at that. I was flattered when he asked me how it could be improved--and then told me he would implement my suggestions when I told him what I thought.

“Perhaps Marie will lend you to me for some of my projects when you come next summer.”

I hadn’t thought about coming back the next summer. It was something to think about, though.

It had been his idea for us to come up here for a long weekend. My mother was on a buying trip to Australia. With a smile, Sri had said taking the fast trip north could be our secret. I increasingly was feeling bound to him by the secrets we shared--and I was surprised to find that to be a pleasant feeling--as pleasant as being with him, occasionally feeling the touch of his long, elegant fingers on a forearm, the slight pressure of his hand on the small of my back when he was guiding me into a restaurant. The brilliant smile he gave me when I joined him at the café table.

I knew he fucked men. He’d told me so on the first day I had arrived in Bangkok. I’d seen him do it at the major’s pool party, fucking a Thai transvestite. I’d seen him fucking the chauffeur, Lek, the previous night, when I’d gotten up to take a pee and passed the open door to his bedroom. He had the driver flat out on his belly and was covering him close, stretched out on top of him, only Sri’s pelvis moving, up and down, in long strokes.

Increasingly, especially as free as he was with his naked body when he visited my mother in her flat, I thought about being with him myself. This had been accentuated in the week before we’d come to Chiang Mai. I’d seen him, still asleep and sprawled across my mother’s bed one morning--it was always mornings when I saw him in my mother’s room, and I never knew when he would be there. He was naked, of course, but on that morning, his impossibly long cock was flopped up over his belly. I felt my breath clutching as I saw, for the first time, that he had a string of gold bead piercings going up the underside of his cock.

I couldn’t help myself from wondering how that would feel inside an anal passage.

“No, I haven’t been in a massage parlor,” I answered. “Of course I’ve heard of their services. But I just can’t see myself with some Thai prostitute.”

“You mean a woman Thai prostitute, don’t you?” Sri asked, moving a hand across the surface of the table, where I had my arm laying. He touched the underside of my forearm with the tips of his fingers, and I felt a shudder go up my spine.

“Of course. A woman.”

“They have men masseurs at some of the higher class establishments,” he said, his eyes gazing into mine. “There’s such a massage parlor here in Chiang Mai. I really don’t think you should leave Thailand without having that experience. Let me give you a session with a full-body masseur as a gift. It could be our secret. If you didn’t find it to your liking or didn’t want to carry through with it, it would just be something we kept to ourselves, between us.”

Always the secrets just between the two of us, drawing us together in a pact of shared secrets.

First, but not foremost, the masseur was an expert in giving a sports massage. It had been a really arousing experience even before I was lying on a massage table on my back, beginning to relax after a vigorous body massage workout on my front--the relaxing being just a different form of tension, as the masseur was leaning over the table and sucking my cock.

All three of us were naked. Sri had come into the massage cubicle with us and was sitting off to the side, watching the expert total massage, and playing with his cock.

When we’d entered the parlor, the hostesses meeting us had bowed and scraped to Sri, opened their eyes in awe at whatever sum exchanged hands, and then looked at me and giggled as he explained the services sought. We were led through a couple of rooms where there was a walkway down the middle with glassed-in sections on either side. These sections contained graduated platforms covered in red velvet. Lounging on the platforms, in various forms of undress and sexy lingerie, were a large selection of women--all available for a total massage, I was told. The next, smaller room, featured transvestites. The last room, men. Men of all ages and body styles, although even the heavier men were mostly muscle. They came in all skin colors too--not just Thai, but also Filipinos, Chinese, and even a mix of Westerners.

Sri put an arm around my shoulder as we looked over the men and whispered, “I’ll bet you can see yourself serving a stint behind that window.”

I didn’t answer, but I think my intake of breath and shudder was answer enough for him.

“Take a course in massage therapy while you are in school this year, and when you come back next summer, I could arrange that for you. I’ll bet you could earn all you needed for the remainder of your college. You’d be a favorite. I’m sure you’ve thought of servicing multiple men for money. Not something you could easily do in San Francisco, I’ll bet, but here the experience could be arranged, if only for an evening.”

It wasn’t just the thought of that possibility that aroused me but also his mention again of coming back the next summer. I hadn’t considered that until he’d mentioned it that morning. But I certainly should consider it. Not the offer to serve even a few days in a massage parlor like this, of course. That would be going too far on a fetish for men I was developing. I certainly wouldn’t consider that--although even then I knew I would think of it late at night when I was alone in my bed--and masturbating to my fantasies.

I laughed--a bit nervously. “I think you’re pulling my leg about being able to arrange that.”

“Not a bit of it,” Sri said. “See that young man lying over there, with his legs open, his torso propped up on his elbows, and blowing kisses our way. He’s Italian. Small like you, much your coloring. He says his name is Tony. He was traveling the world and his money gave out here in Thailand. I got him this job. I visit him regularly when I’m in Chiang Mai. Perhaps you’d like to watch him give me a massage, so you will know something of what you will experience.”

I did watch Sri fuck the young Italian on a massage table before I went to my session. Small like I was, Sri had said; coloring similar to mine. Sri was clearly enjoying himself. I couldn’t help but imagine myself in the position of Tony, who seemed to be enjoying himself too.

“So, do you want a massage yourself now? Do you see one you’d like to give you a massage?” he asked when we returned to the viewing room, his mouth close enough to my ear that I could feel his lips brush my lobes.

I nodded.

“The heavier one? the darker one?--I have gathered that you like black men--the one with the well-filled loin cloth?”

Again I nodded. Sri turned to the attendant, and the choice was settled.

I had been tense, on my back on the table, initially, and the big brute had pounded the tension out of me. When I was mellow from the working of his hands everywhere else on my chest, arms, and legs, he began to finger my balls, lacing his fingers in them and distending them until I moaned, and work my cock with his lubricated hands. I came almost immediately in a grand arc up and back down on my belly. But the masseur just wiped that off with a cloth without making any sign of being disturbed. That marked the start of the sucking of my balls and then the move to deep-throat my cock. He took one of my hands and moved it between his thighs at the side of the table, where I found that he’d lost the loin cloth but gained a mammoth erection. I latched onto it, as I assumed he wanted me to do.

Shortly after that he was standing at the head the table, having pulled my head over the edge, where my head arched back and at a good angle for me, in turn, to deep-throat his shaft, while he leaned over me, working my nipples with his hands, and took my cock in his mouth again.

My second ejaculation. His first, creaming my face, which he wiped away in one deft swipe.

He had me turn on my belly, and he worked my back, buttocks, and leg muscles hard. I sensed him come around to the front, take my head in both of his hands, and thrust his cock up into my mouth cavity again. While I gave him head, he was busy stretching my arms down the sides of the head of the table and binding my wrists there.

A triangular silk pillow was wedged under my belly and the hefty masseur was coming up on the table, eating out my ass until I was writhing under his attentions, and then mounting my hips, thrusting inside me with his massive cock, and fucking me to another ejaculation. I had my face turned toward Sri all the time the masseur was pounding my ass--and Sri was watching me intently while he was beating his shaft. I don’t think that it was my imagination that Sri was trying for and achieving a mutual ejaculation when I exploded for the third time.

I never felt closer to him sexually, never wanted him more than at that moment. I had no idea how this want for him had sneaked up on me, but it had. I ached to have Sri inside me.

The masseur left me there, with Sri sitting over at the side, his cock dripping with cum, while I slowly regained my regular breathing.

Sri scooted his chair over to where he was sitting by my head. He leaned his face down to mine, my cheek plastered to the vinyl of the table top, and whispered, “Did you enjoy that?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “But . . .”

“Will you come into my bed now?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He took my lips in a tender kiss and when he released them, I whispered, “Are you going to fuck me here, now?” And then I added a “Please,” so he understood that I was completely open to him. God, after that monster cock that had just been inside me, I was literally completely open to him.

“Later. Properly,” he answered. He kissed me again, and again I pressed him, “Fuck me, please.”

“Oh, I will have you, Julien,” he answered. “I have invested too much in having you not to possess you fully.”

* * * *

“Yes, like that.”

I was leaning over Sri amid the pillows on the platform in the Thai-style dining room of his Chiang Mai house. His chauffeur, Lek, who also provided the housekeeping services at times like this--and who, I’d discovered, writhed under him as demanded at other times--had cleared the bamboo and palm-woven tray away that had served as our dining table. Sri had delighted in telling me of the aphrodisiac qualities of the dishes as we’d eaten them--the use of ginseng and of crushed velvet deer antler, and, for desert, the smelly but invigorating fruit of the durian.

“But do they really do anything?” I asked.

“Just the thought of them does something,” he responded. And, indeed, I felt flushed when we were finished eating and my cock was stiff as a board. So was Sri’s. “Please, judge for yourself if they help.”

I tentatively reached over for his cock as he took mine in a hand. I shivered at not only the length and hardness of it, but also at the feel of those gold beads running up the underside. He leaned into me and took my mouth in a kiss, but then, when I thought we were going to go further, he released my cock and took another bite of durian.

We’d eaten in silk sarongs tied around our waists and reaching down to our ankles, with our chests bare, Sri now taking time to run his sensuous fingers over the line of my torso, setting me afire as none of his special foods did.

Sri’s sarong was untied, open, his body fully open to me. I was taking his cock deep in my mouth, both of us listening for the clicking of the gold beads on the underside of his shaft as they clicked over my teeth. I was fighting hard not to gag. He was thrusting deeper in my mouth than I was accustomed to and holding me there, completely taking him, until I could barely take any more before releasing me.

My wrists were bound behind my back. He’d asked me, “Do you mind? I wish to have you entirely under my control.”

No, I didn’t mind. I’d learned with the major that it gave me an added thrill--a feeling of helplessness, the erasing of all guilt as, bound and helpless, my passage was invaded and forced to open to his throbbing cock. As with the major, a slight feeling of helplessness in Sri’s control heightened my arousal, made me moan deeper.

As I deep-throated his cock, his sensuous fingers traveled down my spine and into my crevice, pulling the silk sarong away from my body until the knot gave and the material fell away on either side. His fingers entered me and searched for--and found--my prostate. I begin to move my hips as a second finger entered me.

He fucked me first, intimately, our chests plastered together as he sat cross-legged, in yoga style, and I sat in his lap, taking the long cock to the hilt, my legs encircling and squeezing his narrow waist. His hands cupped my buttocks, pulling me, rhythmically into his groin, giving me the cock deep, releasing, pulling, releasing. His lips moved from my mouth, down my neck, as I arched back, groaning at the ferocity with which he attacked my nipples with his teeth. My own hips went into motion and, with a cry, I jerked and shot my wad up his belly. He fucked on until I was writhing in his lap, filling me with his flow.

He’d had a medicine for that too--to protect us, he said. It was the first time I had been filled, deep by a man. And it was a glorious feeling of being fully possessed and taken.

Later, on the bed, I got the full benefit of the golden beads, as I lay on my belly and he stretched over me, reversed, his legs encasing my sides and his fists gripping my ankles. Pistoning down inside me, so that the beads on the underside of his cock were sliding across, caressing, punishing my prostate until I could bear it no more, released my seed, and lay, moaning as he continued to his own filling climax.

“I want you to move into my house when we return to Bangkok,” he whispered in my ear in the dark of the night as we both rested after--and before--fuckings.

“But--” I started to say. He put fingers on my mouth then and continued, “The arrangement with Marie has nearly run its course. We both realize and accept that. She’s a remarkable woman. And good at business. I will leave her happy and in good financial condition. She will understand.”

I didn’t quite know how to answer this. For some reason it made me sad--that she would not only willingly lose him for money but also give me over to him so easily. But, despite the sadness, I had to admit that Sri was right. My mother would adjust. She always had. And I couldn’t claim that she held me close. And, in fact, she did subsequently adjust without comment or the least show of disappointment or jealousy, which, I admit, set a little sour with me.

“I want you to move into my house in Bangkok,” Sir repeated.

“Yes,” I said.

“I should warn. I will want to possess you day and night.”

“Yes,” I answered.

Sri was true to his word on the possession aspect. Save for the times I worked at the bookstore, he kept me on my back, with my legs open to him, and he showed me a wide variety of exotic positions in which two--or three--men could fuck, as he soon was including Lek, the chauffeur, in our sexual calisthenics. My visits to the major off Sathon road also fell off. I couldn’t physically accommodate two such demanding and athletic lovers at the same time. I had, I think, as my father suggested, found my level of sexual satiation with Sri, a satiation that, to my surprise, was far more hedonist than I’d imagined it could be.

* * * *

Sri discreetly stood off to the side at the entrance of security at the airport as I was departing in August. We had already covered our good-byes, he and I. The soreness of my anal canal reminded me how intense that parting had been.

Marie was standing in front of me, picking at my clothes. She wasn’t letting me be comfortable. At her nagging, I was wearing linen trousers and a silk shirt. I did, however, have shorts and a T in my carryon. I would get more comfortable when I was settled in business class and the plane was turning over Cambodia and Vietnam.

“It was good having you here this summer, Julien,” she said.

I felt guilty. “There’s something I need to apologize for,” I murmured. “I don’t want to leave without doing that.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Julien,” she said. “It went just as we planned. The summer was just the way it should be. I hope it means you will be coming back next summer.”

“Just the way ‘we’ planned?” I said, confused. “What plan? Who is we?”

“Your father and me . . . and Sri, of course.”

“I don’t understand, mother.”

She gave me a sharp look. I had called her “mother.” She had almost beaten into me in my early life that I was to call her Marie, not mother. I had come to understand that it wasn’t because we were both adults now--it was because she didn’t want to be anyone’s mother. Not even mine.

“Was my summer programmed, Marie? All of it? Was this some sort of coming of age in the lifestyle I was drifting to thing? All three of you were involved?”

“I think the summer was good for you, yes,” she answered.

“Sri? You were with Sri when I got here.”

“Sri is good for you. He was good for me temporarily, but that wasn’t necessary to the plan. You needed someone like Sri.”

“Was it all my need, Marie? Is it all a sham with Sri?”

“No, I don’t want you to think that. He bailed the bookstore out. You were part of the payment for that. But it wasn’t a sacrifice. You needed a man like Sri to bring you to full blossom.”

“And my father? He was complicit in this?”

“Yes. He knew where you were turning. He wanted to make it a smooth transition.”

“Starting when, Marie?” I had a sudden premonition.

“Starting with the Nigerian student. Continuing with the young Marine guard on the plane. Yes, we recruited him to do that. He was happy to do it. And Sri. He knew from the beginning, he wanted it from the beginning. It was you he wanted all along.”

She sensed the droop in my shoulders, my inability to look her in the eye.

“It’s done now, son,” she said. “And it went with a minimum of fuss and worry. Can you say you are sorry?”

Not only couldn’t I say I was sorry, but I also had latched onto that word “son.” She’d rarely used that word on me through life. I couldn’t deny what had been done for me this summer. How it had freed me.

“And Sri?” I asked, turning and looking at him, standing away from us. Sri was intently looking at me too. I knew from the look in his eye what the answer was to my question, but my mother answered it anyway.

“Sri says he will be here when you arrive next summer--it you come back to us. He even will make a life here for you if you want. And someone will need to take over the bookstore someday. Will you be coming back next summer?”

Of course I would.

- Fini -



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