Extreme Gay Thailand, 1978

The Thai rent-boy gasped and bunched up the sheeting on the small bed in the Yù Fǎ Lè Sī Gōng—Jade Phallus Palace—male brothel in Chiang Mai in his small hands and in his mouth as well, as the tall, Chinese man with tattoos of green and red dragons encircling his right forearm and blazing forth on his left pectoral grasped the young man’s slim hips, positioned the bulb of his long, snake-like cock at the youth’s hole, and drove up deep, deep, deep inside him. The rent-boy didn’t look Thai. He was blond, with blue eyes. He wasn’t an albino, either. He was the result of a one-night fuck of his bar hostess mother in a Patpong bar in Bangkok by a virile Caucasian sailor from nowhere known.

Somdet had been picked for his blond Caucasian looks, paid for for the night by an elegantly clad, handsome Chinese-ethnic man of nearly fifty and of patrician bearing—tall and slim and lean and hard-bodied. The man had requested a Caucasian-looking, small, boyish-looking male, who was fresh and narrow hipped to, as he said, “be put through all of the paces.” He had paid a premium price. He was a valued client of the house.

From experience, the house master knew the rent-boy would be out of commission for a while after this session, if, indeed, he ever returned to service. Krit Thanawat, one of northwestern Thailand’s richer residents, who dabbled as a professor of drama at Chiang Mai University, was well known at the Yù Fǎ Lè Sī Gōng for his sexual tastes—for the extremes to which they could go. The house master gave him Somdet, barely eighteen, recently arrived from Soi Cowboy in Bangkok, relatively fresh. Certainly small and slim hipped. He was premium quality, but Krit had paid the price for whatever transpired.

“I have such a one,” the house master said. “But I don’t know. He is fresh and small bodied.”

“Such a one? One with narrow hips?”

“Yes.”

“And perhaps a small hole?”

“Yes, which is why, for you, that might not—”

“That would be perfect,” Krit said, with a smile.

“He may not be able—”

“I will make him able to open to it fully. I’ll pay a premium price, of course.”

“Very good.” Very good indeed, the house master thought.

Krit wasn’t thick but he was godawful long, and he used a thick dildo for the initial stretching. He was crouched over Somdet, who was bent over the side of the bed, standing on the floor by the bed—but not for long. Krit was athletic and inventive—and cruelly demanding when he didn’t have to be less so in seducing his prey.

It took several minutes to bottom in the young man. Somdet sobbed and groaned as Krit hovered over him, grasped his hips to hold him in place, and relentlessly snaked up deep inside him. When he had gotten inside the young man to the hilt, he grasped Somdet’s legs and fully extended them out to the side. Then he stepped up onto the bed, forcing Somdet to reach for the surface of the bed with his fists. Thus upended, the small rent-boy had all he could contend with to stay in place, although Krit’s strong hand grips on his thighs held him secure.

Krit fucked the young rent-boy deep in long, slow slides with his long, long cock.

When Krit came, they weren’t finished—not by a long shot. He lowered the young man’s quaking and moaning body to the surface of the bed and sat beside him, running his hands over the young man’s body—gliding and fondling, squeezing and prodding. He cupped the young man’s tailbone and inserted a thumb in the youth’s ass.

“Chai, chai. Mi phet samphan chan ik khrang—Yes, yes. Fuck me again,” the rent-boy whispered in his obligatory comment to a client. He was frightened out of his wits, but he also was highly aroused by this master. Somdet wasn’t in this profession only because it was the best way for a unique young man like him to make his way, but also because he liked being mastered and having a man’s cock inside him. He was being paid an astronomically high price for this session. Now, if only he could survive it . . .

“Khun mi kwamk hit—You have no idea,” Krit answered. The Chinese man pulled two red silk scarves from a bag he had brought with him and placed them beside Somdet on the bed.

“Dueng khaen khong khun paik hang lang khong khun—Pull your arms to behind your back,” he said. “I’m going to bind your wrists.” Looking slightly frightened, Somdet did as directed, and Krit bound his wrists together with one of the red scarves. He gagged the young man’s mouth with the other one.

“Non lang bon tiang—Lie back on the bed, please.” Krit said in a calm voice. Whimpering, Somdet did as directed. He shuddered as the Chinese man moved his hand over his belly, hips, cock, and balls, and ran his fingers through Somdet’s closely-trimmed pubic hair. Somdet heard him voice a quiet, “Very nice,” and sigh. “Spread your legs, please. Bend your left leg and put your foot flat on the bed. Raise your right leg and put your ankle on my left shoulder. Yes, like that. This pillow goes under your lower back, like this. Now we begin.”

Begin what? Somdet wondered. Hadn’t they already begun? The man already had fucked him deep. He watched in trembling trepidation as Krit took a dark green jade bowl out of his bag and placed it on the bed beside them. Next came a small flask, and Krit poured a generous amount of scented oil in the bowl and, as he returned the flask of oil to the bag, pulled out a huge dark green jade dildo, very thick of circumference and a good foot long—longer and thicker than the rubber one he’d used to open the young man up initially. The phallus was laced with natural veining in black that ran along and pushed up from the surface of the dildo. The bulb was oversized, both in length and girth. Somdet gasped and groaned and arched his back after the older Chinese man oiled up both of his hands, making a great ceremony of doing so and covering the hands and fingers completely, took the young man’s cock in his left hand, and started to open up Somdet’s passage with the fingers of the right hand.

“You may react vocally as you wish,” Krit said. “After I have opened you up more fully with the jade cock, I will take you with my fist. Sometimes screaming will help you take the fist. Your screams will be muffled by the scarf, but feel free to tell me how much you want my fist. As you know, no one will come in to disturb us.”

Somdet’s eyes opened wide when Krit made a fist in front of his face. The young man groaned and instinctively made to roll away from his position. The fist opened up, though, and Krit slapped him twice across the face, first in one direction and then the other.

“Lie back and take it,” Krit demanded, making a first in front of the frightened youth’s face again.

With a whimper, Somdet lay back on the bed. He was panting hard, trembling, rocking his body slightly, and groaning deep when the oiled, oversized bulb of the dildo breached his sphincter, and he was already doing some muffled little screaming when the jade phallus was all inside him and moving in circular motions, twisting slowly and moving in and out, screwing inside him, screwing him.

“Can you feel the raised veins on the jade surface?” Krit leaned over and murmured. There was little question, as hard as the young man was whimpering and trying to writhe in Krit’s strong grasp, that he could.

Krit loosened his grip on the young man’s cock, making a sheath of his fingers for Somdet to fuck up into as the rent-boy’s pelvis rocked with the movement of the jade phallus inside him. The dildo was replaced with Krit’s oiled right hand.

“Stop writhing. It will go worse for you if you don’t just lie back, relax, and open to the hand.” He raised and showed the hand, fingers bunched together, oil dripping off the wrist, in front of Somdet’s wide eyes.

“This is going inside you,” Krit murmured. “This will make love to you.”

Somdet moaned and tried to look away, but his eyes kept coming back to the raised hand. The hand descended, and the young Thai cried out through the gag, arched his back, and writhed in Krit’s embrace as the hand pressed inside him. He did as best he could, panting and trying to go limp as Krit worked his fingers in, pausing for some time when his knuckles pressed at the sphincter muscle to give Somdet as much an opportunity to open to him as possible. As he paused, Krit stroked the young man’s prostate with the tip of a finger until, crying out to the ceiling as Krit stroked the young man’s oiled cock with his other hand, Somdet came a gusher—and again and again.

At this point, Krit often ceased with the hand insertion, gauging what the man he was taking could manage. Where he went from here also was dictated by whether or not Krit was cultivating the man for some relationship in life or other future purpose Krit had for the man. Somdet, however, as unique and delectable a he was, was just a night’s pleasure in a male whore house.

At the height of Somdet’s last ejaculation, Krit breached the sphincter with his knuckles, and, with one swift motion, buried his hand up to the wrist. Somdet screamed through his gag and his body shuddered and pulled back, trying to escape the fist. But the fist was buried and moved with him. He was skewered. The hand started a slow pump. Somdet collapsed under Krit, gasping and fighting for breath and against the pain-pleasure of the taking. Krit, a lustful smile on his face, pumped on, fist fully inserted, fucking the slight Thai’s channel with it.

“Phon khlai lae phon khlai—Relax, relax, take it,” Krit murmured as he hovered over the young man, his left hand now pressing on Somdet’s brow, his fingers stroking the youth’s scalp, his right hand moving in and out, in and out of Somdet’s channel, bringing the knuckles out to the sphincter and then pressing back into burying the wrist. Krit was a tall, slim man with long, slim fingers and narrow across the knuckles and a thin wrist for a man, so Somdet was able to take what another, beefier man might have ruined him in the taking. If and when a client with a beer can cock paid money for Somdet, the small, slender Thai might have been taxed almost as much. A man’s fingers inside the passage can be much more of a challenge than just a thick shaft is, however, and Krit’s fingers were in motion. He certainly knew where the prostate was and what to do there for maximum effect.

The longer Krit fisted him, the more Somdet was able to handle him. Eventually, he just lay there, legs spread as wide as possible, pelvis elevated to give the hand as much access as possible, a wide-eyed gaze turned on his oppressor, and panting hard. It was the point at which Somdet had adjusted to the assault that Krit began to lose interest in doing it. He undid the scarf gag with his left hand, his right still moving slightly inside Somdet. Somdet just lay there, stretched out, completely docile, fully cowed, every sensation in his body focused on the hand inside him. Krit pulled the young man’s buttocks onto his lap, with Somdet’s torso streaming down to the bed. One of the youth’s legs was trapped behind Krit’s back, his heel hooked on Krit’s shoulder from behind. Somdet was completely at Krit’s mercy.

“Kruna prot—Please, please,” the young man murmured in a nearly spent voice. It wasn’t clear whether he was begging for mercy or reveling in the exotic form of the fuck—the sensation of Krit stroking his prostate. But the response he gave Krit renewed the man’s lust for fisting. He continued moving his hand inside the young man’s passage, flexing it, worrying the prostate, and challenging and punishing the passage walls, coaxing them to stretch for him. The young man’s moans were deep and he was sobbing—and leaking cum. Krit pushed and punched, rocking the youth’s body. There was no indecision on Krit’s part on whether to use this young man or not; he’d paid good money for anything he wanted from this rent-boy. He wanted it all. Somdet was nothing to him in future expectations. He was expendable to the pleasures of this single night.

The young man arched his head back, moaning and whimpering. Krit covered the young man’s mouth with his and went into a deep kiss, as he pulled his hand out of the young man’s ass, moved his body to between Somdet’s spread thighs onto his knees, positioned his cock at the now-gaping hole, thrust inside deep, and fucked the rent-boy hard and fast. The young man moved his hips with the fuck and when Krit tensed, shuddered, and jerked, Somdet took the flow of cum deep inside him, let out long sigh, and collapsed under Krit, and cried out, “Chi. Chi!—Yes, yes,” with whatever had led up to this being worth this breeding.

Somdet zoned out. When he came fully back into consciousness, his thighs were resting on Krit’s thighs. His body was facing away from Krit, who was kneeling, his torso raised. Somdet’s legs were streaming over Krit’s hips and behind them. The young man’s wrists were no longer bound. They didn’t need to be. He was completely in the control of the master. His torso was bowed out in front of the Chinese man’s chest. Krit was gripping Somdet’s wrists, pulling the young man’s arms back hard, and was pulling the youth’s passage on and off his long, long cock. Now the cock wasn’t just long. Krit had also had a cock cage in his bag that thickened the shaft significantly and had nobs on it to punish the young man’s passage walls. This time Somdet was not gagged and he was able to weakly scream out his pain and passion as he liked. The slide of the shaft was aided by the slickness of the cum previously deposited in the channel. There was more to be deposited there.

Somdet’s cries reverberated through the halls of the brothel, entertaining all other clients within hearing in the establishment and raising them to new levels of arousal in pursuit of their own pleasures. Some rent-boy somewhere was being used to the maximum.

Krit fucked the exhausted rent-boy through the night, getting more than his money’s worth of pleasure and release. That first time wasn’t the last that the young man was taxed with the jade phallus and the fist or the cock cage with the nobs.

Somdet did not rise to see Krit out of the room in the hour before dawn, which the rent-boys were supposed to do—with their hand out to receive a tip. Krit had left a sizable tip, a month’s salary for the young man, on the table by the door. Somdet just lay, stretched out on the bed, one leg and one arm dangling over the side, his eyes open but glazed over, both his mouth and his hole gaping open. He was breathing, panting low, and moaning and whimpering, but otherwise not fully there at the moment. Krit sat on the side of the bed and leaned over and kissed the young man on the lips, giving him a benevolent smile. He moved a hand to the youth’s groin and ran his finger into the hole. Somdet wearily and weakly rocked his hips on the finger.

The young man murmured “Mi phet samphan chan ik khrang—Fuck me again,” as was his training and duty, but it was questionable whether he would have survived if Krit took him up on the offer. His legs were spread and turned out. It would be days before he could close them again. It would be months before he forgot the glorious cruelty of the hand moving in his passage.

After Krit had left, the house manager came to the room, took one look at Somdet, and called for a doctor.

* * * *

Krit Thanawat, rich resident of the northern cultural capital of Chiang Mai and professor of drama at Chiang Mai University, had arrived early at Doctor Blackmore’s sprawling Thai-style home next to the Jim Thompson house on Soi Kasam San 2 on the banks of the Saensap Khlong. The afternoon party was being held for the remaining production members there for the filming of the movie The Deer Hunter. The Chinese-ethnic Thai gentleman, nearing fifty, was tall, handsome, slim, and elegantly dressed in a glimmering white Jim Thompson silk short-sleeved sado shirt and traditional Thai harem pants in a white-on-black northwest hill tribe design. On Krit the traditional Thai dress was distinctive and quite elegant indeed. For Krit, the traditional Thai pants were quite functional, as well, as one release of a knot at the waist and the front leg panels swung open at the crotch. Krit could quickly unsheathe himself for action. And Krit was ever “up” for action. No one who didn’t know him intimately, though, would have guessed that. He was the epitome of an upper-class Thai gentleman.

Appreciative of the Thai traditional arts, Krit was wandering in one of the wings off the main house, the polished teak house consisting of a series of pavilions and wooden terraces being floated on platforms a story off the ground to allow for the frequent flooding from the adjacent canal, or khlong, one of many that laced their way through Bangkok and made the city the Venice of the East. Having reached the far end of one of the wings, he came upon an open door and, hearing the voices of young men, thick, as he was well aware, with sexual taking, he looked into the room from the doorway.

There were three young men in their late teens or very early twenties, lined up next to each other on a large bed. All were naked. All had beautiful bodies of a tantalizing variety. They were all on their backs, reclining against pillows that raised their torsos. The young man in middle, a striking, small and slim Caucasian blond, had both of his hands engaged in stroking the cocks of the young man on each side of him. In turn, the young men on his flanks were sharing in masturbating the blond, the hand of one overlaying the hand of the other in gripping the blond’s cock. The impression their sport gave was that they would take each other to orgasm in this manner—that they all were submissives and none were going to take on the role of top.

All were moaning and undulating their bodies in place indicating that all three were close to orgasm.

The young man to the blond’s left, who Krit knew, was the mixed Thai-American son of Doctor Blackmore. Blackmore was a renowned surgeon but also, through his stunningly beautiful wife, Suket, published a major national English-language newspaper in Thailand. Blackmore was a major donor to the arts of all varieties in the country. His son, nineteen-year-old Brad Blackmore, a drama major at Columbia University in New York, was as stunning in his own way as his mother was, which was lucky for him. Although commanding and charismatic, Brad’s father, Burt Blackmore was big and heavy, glowering, and thuggishly, but attractingly, ugly. There was an animal magnetism about him that, in addition to his wealth and commanding presence, invariably got him whatever he wanted. Krit knew young Brad to be a submissive, as he had fisted and fucked him the summer before when Brad had taken a summer drama course in Chiang Mai before leaving for his first year at Columbia.

The young man had taken the fist well, lying back, pelvis raised to the fist with legs bent and feet flat on the bed and Brad looking dreamily into Krit’s eyes and panting heavily—and then coming prodigiously as Krit stroked the young man’s prostate with his thumb. Then, when Krit rolled over on top of him, Brad Blackmore had taken the cock well too.

The third young man was a contrast to the other two, who were on the small and slim side. He was a robust redhead, his rampant pubic bush—in contrast to the closely trimmed pubes of the other two youths—a flaming strawberry color. He was taller and of a more hulky frame than the other two—not fat, just larger and more robust looking.

It was the blond in the center who drew Krit’s attention and arousal, though, and the Chinese gentleman stepped into the frame of the door, wanting to be seen. Brad did see him, and smiled, nudging the blond beside him with his bicep and nodding toward the door. The blond turned his head toward Krit and cast a dreamy look on him. The young man had milky blue eyes and a beautiful smile. The redhead was lost in his own world, his head arched back, enjoying the blond’s pull on his cock and his shared stroking of the blond’s shaft as well.

Krit inserted a hand in the folds of his harem pants and produced a cock nearly a foot long, snake-like, not thick, but arrestingly long, and smiled at the blond as, elegantly dressed in traditional Thai silks, he watched the young men working each other and stroked his own cock. The blond gasped at the sight of what the tall Chinese man had between his thighs. His eyes slitted and he licked his lips in arousal. Brad stared too, in appreciation, but as he had had the snake-like shaft inside him already, not to mention the slender, long-fingered hand that Krit was stroking himself with, his reaction wasn’t as pronounced as the blond’s initial one had been.

The Chinese man didn’t stay around for any releases. Having established his presence and his preference, he deftly made his cock disappear again in the folds of his harem pants and, giving a smile and a slight bow, quietly withdrew. A few seconds later, as Brad Blackmore was whispering in the blond’s ear, the blond tensed, jerked, and shot an arc of cum up onto his flat belly.

Krit wandered down another wing of the sprawling structure and paused at yet another door into a bedroom, drawn again by the sounds of sex, although of a different nature than he’d heard from the three nineteen-year-olds, knowing now that he had seen Brad that the other two were classmates of Brad’s at Columbia and were the trio that this party was honoring.

This was a more substantial bedroom than the other one had been. It was draped in silks, Jim Thompson premium silks, Krit was sure. The Jim Thompson of the revival of the Thai silk industry of the 1950s fame had lived in the neighboring house on the khlong, which was now a museum. Thompson was an American who was rumored to be a U.S. spy in addition to a silk manufacturer and who disappeared mysteriously on a nature trail in the 1960s in the Genting Highlands of Malaysia. His silk company was still considered to provide the highest-premium silk goods.

The party’s hostess, Suket Blackmore, partially dressed in a stunning silk dress of a vibrant rainbow of colors, was sitting at the foot of the bed. Black bull stud Major Mike LeBeau, of JUSMAG, the Joint U.S. Military Assistant Group, a military unit contingent connected with the American embassy, was standing in front of her, spiffily dressed in formal Army blues. Suket’s bodice, buttoning down the front, was unbuttoned and flared, and The Major—as all called LeBeau in addition to sometimes referring to him dimensionally as Ten-Two, was leaning over, working her ample breasts with his beefy hands. His cock was jutting out from his fly and Suket had a hand wrapped around its base and was sucking it. The Major’s jet-black shaft surpassed Krit’s in that it not only had length, but it had great girth as well, thus the nickname of Ten (length) Two (circumference).

The two were not alone in the bedroom. Sitting off to the side with his own cock out and stroking it, was the other black man in the city who rivaled The Major in muscularity and dimensions. Cowboy was a bisexual American, who had been a professional basketball player in the States, and had been caught shaving points for money, and who, after a short stint with the U.S. Air Force in upcountry Thailand, had taken his illicitly gained betting money and brought it here to Bangkok to open sex bars of all preferences. He now had his own street of such establishments named Soi Cowboy, farther out along the Sukhumvit main drag heading east out of the city.

Once again, not being shy or out of his element, Krit drew into the frame of the door. He didn’t unleash himself, but stood there and watched, his presence being marked by warm smiles from both The Major and Cowboy, both of whom he had played with before. The delicate-looking and diminutive Suket Blackmore was too engaged with a monster cock to mark his presence. Unlike The Major and Cowboy, though, Krit wasn’t bisexual, so there was nothing but social friendship between him and the Thai beauty.

As he watched, his mind went to fantasizing about this small, Thai beauty taking the massive cocks of the two black hunks either separately or in consort. And then his fantasies were fulfilled.

Not long after Krit arrived, The Major reached down and gently took Suket by the waist and turned her, bent over the bed on her belly. She didn’t resist. He brushed the hem of her long, Thai silk skirt up to her waist, revealing she was naked underneath. He towered over her in both height and bulk. Reaching his hands around her and palming her breasts, he entered her cunt in a long, slow slide with his gigantic jet-black cock in a maneuver that would have seemed to be impossible given the relative size of what he had to insert and what she had to receive, but her cunt stretched and took him inside her. Once saddled, he slow pumped her. He reached under her with a hand and worked her clit with his fingers. She placed a hand over his hand and moaned for him.

Krit went into the room and sat in a chair and watched. After a short while, The Major motioned to Cowboy, who approached, holding an equally long and thick jet-black cock, and Cowboy took over the fuck. As The Major withdrew and went to the adjoining bathroom to tidy himself up, Cowboy, outfitted only in his signature ten-gallon hat and finely tooled cowboy boots, turned Suket on the bed onto her back.

He lifted and separated her long, shapely legs, and she sighed as he kissed down her inner thighs to the quick of her. His pink tongue, as thick as many men’s cock lapped at her folds and clit, while she slowly undulated under him, worked her tits with her hands, moaned, and whispered, “Chı̀ chı̀ s̄ı̀ kị̀ k̄hxng khuṇ nı c̄hạn khāwbxy. Pheṣ̄ s̄ạmphạnṭh̒ c̄hạn Khuṇ s̄tạ́d dả—Yes, yes, put it in me, Cowboy. Fuck me, you black stud.”

She arched her back and gave little yipping sounds, running her hands through the short, kinky black hair of his head, as he gave her clit and cunt close attention with his mouth. Again, the tableau was of a big, black bear hovering over a delicate flower.

“Txn nī̂. Txn nī̂. Cheī̀y xê y!—Now. Now. Fuck me now!” she cried out, clutching at his shoulder blades with her lethally long enameled fingernails, coaxing him up to cover her. It was Suket who grasped the massive erection and put it into position. No longer the delicate flower, she screamed “Cheī̀y xê y—Fuck!” and then “Xụ!—Shit!” as Cowboy, larger than The Major had been, stuffed himself inside her writhing body.

Then he was hunched over her, fucking her cunt with more vigor than The Major had with a cock that more than equaled The Major’s and Krit’s in length, but surpassed Krit’s in girth. Before they climaxed, Krit rose and left the room. He didn’t want to be late for the party. And he definitely wanted to meet that blond classmate of Brad Blackmore’s.

* * * *

The holding of the Blackmore party to mark the Saigon scenes of the movie The Deer Hunter, being filmed at an abandoned U.S. military commissary on Bangkok’s Khlong Toei commercial waterfront in the early summer of 1978, was belated. Burt Blackmore, who had championed the use of Bangkok for the film, had only recently returned to Thailand from a business trip to the States, and before he could celebrate the filming most of the actors and production crew had already moved on. But Blackmore had arranged for his son, Brad, and Brad’s classmates at Columbia University, Matthew Morris and Sam Nadler, all three of them having completed their first year in the drama program there, to work on the film in Bangkok for extra college credits. This party was in their honor—and, of course, to highlight Blackmore’s own key role in bringing film projects to Thailand. He couldn’t let everyone get away before he took a public bow.

Blackmore was a surgeon at the national hospital who operated only on high-profile cases for very rich and well-placed people in Thailand, with an added high-publicity dollop of mercy cases. His real love—or the one he could publicly acknowledge—was the newspaper he published in fact, although nominally, his wife, Suket, published it. A foreigner couldn’t own and operate something as important as a major English-language newspaper in Thailand in his own name. In addition to the newspaper, Blackmore publicly supported the arts—fine art, writing, plays, concerts, and films—and covertly delved into the city’s hedonist underworld. He owned both female and male fetish brothels for the very wealthy.

The party at the Blackmore mansion that day represented both of Blackmore’s worlds.

When the surgeon’s son, Brad Blackmore, introduced Matthew Morris and Sam Nadler to Krit Thanawat out on one of the wooden terraces as the party got under way, Matthew had more than the tall, distinguished-looking Chinese man’s long cock to think about in an arousing way. His attention went to Krit’s exposed right arm, where the tattoo of a green dragon, with red highlights encircled his forearm. The incongruity of such a sensual tattoo against the elegant, traditional dress of the patrician-looking older man both intrigued and aroused Matthew. That Krit focused in on him during the introductions, even though Sam and Brad were standing there also, had an effect on Matthew as well. Krit already had had both his cock and fist in Brad and he wasn’t really interested in Sam’s body type, but Matthew didn’t know that. He only knew that the intriguing, handsome, and confident ethnic Chinese man was showing interest in him—and that Krit had already registered himself as a gay man by exposing himself to Matthew in an upstairs bedroom—with a godawful long cock. Matthew shuddered at the thought of how far up inside him that cock could reach.

Would the man be cruel? He looked so elegant. Would he be rough? Matthew had little doubt he would find out.

Seeing Matthew looking at his tattoo, Krit smiled and said, “Do you like the tattoo? I have a larger one inked elsewhere. Perhaps . . .” But he went no further. He didn’t have to.

A chill ran up Matthew’s spine. “Yes, I like it,” he answered.

“I understand you go to Columbia University, with Brad,” Krit said, speaking directly to Matthew as if his two classmates weren’t even there. “You major in drama, I understand. I teach drama at Chiang Mai University. I received my doctorate in drama at Columbia University. There is an affinity between us, it seems. I would like to talk to you about drama . . . and other matters. Perhaps over our meal here.”

“Yes, I would like that,” Matthew managed to say. He shivered again. He was looking down upon his own forearm, which Krit was touching and stroking with long, sensuous fingers.

Krit leaned forward and murmured, “I will possess you and perform acts deep inside you that will make you cry. You will become my sex slave. Does that scare you or does make you go hard in anticipation of what we will do together?”

Matthew gulped. So much for the question of whether he would be cruel. He certainly was direct and sure of himself.

“Both . . . I little . . . I guess,” he managed to say, looking down at the tightening grip Krit was applying to his arm. He felt the pain, but he also felt the arousal.

And then Krit laughed and moved away from them and toward the group of military men, the various interest groups having sectioned themselves off during the cocktail hour, and Krit having common interests with these particular military men, who were in a different vein of combat than armed warfare.

“You want him, don’t you?” Brad said to Matthew when Krit had drifted off. Sam was being engaged in conversation by their host, Burt Blackmore, who was working the room, a large man, both in size and in presence, even in a group of arresting personages such as the newspaper baron and surgeon had gathered here.

“He’s fascinating,” Matthew said.

“He’s also as dangerous as that dragon on his arm. The other tattoo he speaks of is also of a dragon. It covers his left pec, and it’s mesmerizing.”

“You know that because . . . ?” Matthew said.

“You know why I know that. And it’s the reason I can tell you to beware of him. He’s dangerous and in a more frightful league that either of us are in. Just take my word for it.”

Matthew wanted to ask for clarification on that, but Burt Blackmore had reached him and was gripping his arm in the same place Krit had been doing. But the large, boisterous man was evoking entirely different sensations in Matthew. Where Krit’s touch had started light and sensual and only moved to the tight when he was baldly talking of sex, Burt’s grip was strong from the start, with a beefy hand, and possessive, controlling. Brad had warned Matthew off being alone with his father just as he’d warned Matthew about Krit Thanawat. Matthew got the message that the American newspaper baron was as dangerous as the Chinese-Thai drama professor was.

In his own way, he was just as arousing to Matthew as Krit was. Matthew was in his “try anything” stage of couplings with other men.

A couple drifted into the grouping, who, Matthew had been told, were from the American embassy’s cultural center, although he recognized the man from later in the evenings on The Deer Hunter set. He’d been doing some sort of script clean-up overnight, Matthew remembered. His name was Tim Temple and he and Matthew could be brothers, Matthew thought—both blond and blue-eyed, boyish looking, trim builds and slim hips. Both good looking. The woman he was with, Matthew learned, was Tim’s boss at the cultural center, Judy Taylor. She looked like a dyke to Matthew.

Matthew was pretty sure Temple was gay. Rumors went around on The Deer Hunter set of the actor, Craig Culver, and him doing the deed in the script editors’ trailer at night.

As Matthew and Brad engaged in chitchat with the two from the embassy, Burt turned his attention to Sam Nadler. Matthew was just as glad that the big, somewhat threatening man had redirected his attention. The director of the orphanage Matthew had lived in to the end of high school and before going off to Columbia on a scholarship had been overpowering like this—and demanding. Matthew’s eighteenth birthday present from that man was to have his virginity pulled out of him on the man’s desk in his office. Matthew had been leaning in that direction but hadn’t planned on being deflowered by the director of an orphanage. He had thought of saving himself for a business titan, like Burt Blackmore, or a sensual master of the fuck, which Krit Thanawat had the promise of being.

Burt guided the three young men and the couple from the embassy over to the group of The Deer Hunter production people they’d been working with the last few weeks. The remnants of the actors and production crew were scant. Most had returned to Hollywood or on to their next assignments. Premier among those still in Bangkok and at the party was Deric Washburn, who had written the screenplay and was one of the named producers for the movie. The principal actor there was Vince Burnett, who had supporting role billing in The Deer Hunter, but who, rumor had it, might find his scenes dropped to the cutting room floor because he could be seen in the film footage as older than his role was or that his past status as a heart-throb second-banana justified putting him in the movie. He was older now than when he was a box office draw and was, perhaps, a little pudgier than the camera could adjust for. He was still a handsome man, but not the man he’d been in roles two decades earlier. With him, he’d brought a Thai drama student, Intorn, he’d picked up in Chiang Mai on a recent, U.S. embassy cultural center-sponsored trip he’d made there.

Matthew vaguely recalled having been told that the embassy guy, Tim Temple, had been on that trip as well. When Matthew had first seen Temple, he’d been interested in the man who looked so much like himself, but he’d been told Temple was a submissive, like him, so there hadn’t been a reason to pursue that interest.

A couple of the other actors in the movie were there too, including Joe D’Amoto, who had portrayed a macho sergeant in the movie; Gary Jones, cast as a hospital orderly; and Paul Cummings, who played a young soldier. A chief cameraman, the Frenchman, Jacques Boyier, filled out the production people Brad, Matthew, and Sam had served as interns for. All three had served Jacques, who was a foxy, hands-on sort with a swarthy look, sexually as well. They knew that Paul Cummings was a submissive as they were. The jury was out on Joe D’Amoto. He mostly stood around looking combative.

In addition, there were several Thai, including both men and women, there in the group who had worked various aspects of the production and had been engaged temporarily here in Bangkok. They would remain here, hoping that another movie production would come to town. The James Bond film, Man with the Golden Gun, had been filmed in Bangkok four years earlier, with some of these same locals helping with it, but four years was too long between movie productions for them to make a living out of international films. Locally made films were almost universally slapstick, depicting Farangs—Western foreigners—as bumpkins, and were extremely low budget.

The nearby group of military friends of Blackmore’s that Krit had joined included The Major and Cowboy, but it also included an U.S. Army lieutenant, Ben Singleton, from JUSMAG, who lived with other single soldiers of the contingent in a compound off Sathorn Road near the Khlong Toei waterfront; Colonel Magnus Amundsen, a Norwegian UN contingent military officer, in Bangkok to protect the interests of various UN offices in the city during the unrest in Southeast Asia; and a Thai Air Force colonel, Samui Timruang, deputy commandant of the Thai Military Academy, the grounds of which adjoined those of the U.S. Embassy on Witthayu Road. It was Samui who organized a Saturday-morning tennis gathering at the military academy courts for Thai generals and young men from various diplomatic organizations who were willing to cap off tennis by being fucked on Saturday afternoon by fit, randy, and demanding Thai generals.

When their hostess, the gorgeous and brilliantly dressed Suket Blackmore, joined the group, her husband started mixing the guests up. He took Sam and the actor Paul Cummings over to the military group. Soon thereafter, Tim Temple also peeled off and went over there and stood very close to The Major. It was evident to anyone who knew gay signaling that they were a couple. That didn’t surprise Matthew, who had already been informed that Tim was a submissive, just as he was. There were other visible pairings in the group. Suket Blackmore and Judy Taylor were putting their heads together, Joe D’Amato was putting moves on the Thai drama student Vince Burnett had brought, impressing the young man with tips and secrets on movie making, and Burnett, in turn, was making up to Brad Blackmore. Deric Washburn and the actor Gary Jones were working the local hires, giving final compliments and thanks for the work they’d done on The Deer Hunter production.

Matthew’s eyes had followed Temple as the young man moved to the other group and, not being able to help himself, Matthew looked over at Krit in the military group. He shuddered again upon finding that Krit was looking at him, as were all of the others in the military grouping—and they all had “could eat you alive” expressions on their faces. Seeing that Matthew had looked at him and discernibly trembled, Krit smiled, said something to the men on either side of him, and came over to the movie group. As a drama professor, that was a natural change of groups, but when he got there, he gently maneuvered Matthew so that they were standing in front of a pillar overlooking the khlong.

Matthew let out a bit of a gasp when he felt Krit’s hand, with its long, sensuous fingers, palm his lower back as he leaned the young man into the pillar with the pressure of Krit’s thigh on his. He did what he could to maintain conversations with the others around him while most of his attention now went to that hand and the thigh. Krit obviously could feel the young man trembling. He ran his fingers under Matthew’s waistband in back and then, when Matthew made no move to stop him or move away, the hand went lower. Krit had the tip of his index finger running into the young man’s buttocks crack and onto Matthew’s rim. It didn’t just rest there; it pulsed, which was driving the young man wild.

Matthew felt his knees get rubbery, but he managed to stand. At a lull in the conversation, he turned his face to Krit’s and gave him a look of surrender. They both knew Krit could fuck Matthew if he wanted to. The tip of the finger invaded the channel, but it remained only for a moment before Krit withdrew his hand. The seduction had been completed.

The gong rang to announce that the buffet table had been prepared. Tables of eight had been set out both on a terrace and in a large dining room in an open-sided pavilion overlooking the terrace. Guests found their own food and places to sit. Krit guided Matthew through the buffet line and then to the most distant, and least-occupied, table on the terrace.

“Is this your first visit to Thailand?” Krit asked when they were sitting side by side, facing out toward the khlong rather than toward the other diners.

“It’s my first trip anywhere, certainly anywhere outside of the States,” Matthew said, “and when I went to New York on a scholarship to Columbia last September that was my first trip anywhere at all outside of Chicago.”

“Your family is from Chicago?”

“I don’t know where my family is from. I was raised an orphan, going from one foster family in Chicago to another until I hit high school age and then it was just in an orphanage for older boys—one place so we could get our high school in one school.”

“And after that you managed to get into Columbia? Columbia’s an expensive school.”

“There are scholarships for kids like me,” Matthew answered. “And I had very good grades.”

“The scholarship covers everything?”

“Most everything. I do some modeling on the side. Taking theater arts helped me there. They have programs.”

“I can see how you’d be in demand for that—for modeling. Do you work for anyone in particular in Bangkok?”

“John Fowler on Sukhumvit Road. He designs trending clothes in cotton.”

“Ah, yes, I know John well. Very well,” Krit repeated, giving Matthew a meaningful look to establish that he knew Fowler was a mainstay of the gay community in the city. “You’re a very handsome young man,” he then said. “And you do some escorting too?”

“Not in any official way,” Matthew said, speaking carefully to indicate he wasn’t ready to go there. Krit caught that and changed direction.

“And you wanted to be in movies, so you concentrated in drama at Columbia?”

“Yeah, don’t all kids want to be in the movies?”

“Certainly ones as beautiful as you are,” Krit said, and he touched Matthew’s forearm with his fingers.

“Beautiful, not handsome?” Matthew said.

“Beautiful because of role I surmise you take with a man. Am I not right? And, yes, you have an enticing androgenous aura about you. A man who was with you could imagine he was with a woman—a beautiful woman. Am I not right? You’ve never been with a man who treated you like a woman?”

Not answering that, Matthew looked at Krit’s arm, focusing on the green and red dragon design encircling it. He made no effort to move his arm away. Krit stroked the arm with his fingers and they both felt Matthew shudder.

“You do like the tattoo, don’t you?” Krit murmured.

“Very much. It fascinates me.”

“I have one on my chest too—much more intricate,” Krit said.

“Brad told me.”

“Did Brad tell you that I had bedded him?”

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you I could be a demanding, cruel lover?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever felt the sting of a whip. No, no, you don’t have to answer that. Tell me, though. Do you want to see the dragon on my chest?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll have to let me bed you to see it. You do take cock, don’t you? You do make most of your money in New York going with men, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have your own guest room in this house?”

“Yes.”

“Are you finished with your meal?”

“Yes.”

As they moved through the pavilions on their way to Matthew’s room, they caught a glimpse of the actor Joe D’Amato and the Thai drama student, Intorn, in a corner of a terrace. D’Amato had the much smaller Intorn backed up to a pillar. The Thai’s legs were off the ground, his knees hooked on the actor’s hips. Intorn was naked, small, brown, and nubile. D’Amato’s shirt was off, revealing a muscular hirsute torso. His trousers were on but flared apart in front. He had one hand buried in the back of the Thai’s jet-black head hair, arching the smaller man’s head back. The other hand was pressed into the pillar behind Intorn’s back. D’Amato’s face was buried in Intorn’s throat and his hips were rhythmically moving, fucking up into the small Thai’s passage.

As they passed, Krit laughed. He whispered, “I taught Intorn well. Are you ready for it?”

Matthew had another “yes” in him before they got to his room. Before they got there, Krit stopped in a dimly lit corridor, pulled Matthew to him, putting him in the same position D’Amato had Intorn in. Matthew raised his legs, hooking them on Krit’s hips.

“You’d let me fuck you right here in the hallway, wouldn’t you?” Krit said.

Matthew voiced his one last “yes” before they entered his bedroom.

Krit laughed, moved back from the wall, letting Matthew’s legs descend back to the floor. “In the bedroom is fine. We can engage in more Kama Sutra copulation positions there.”

Matthew didn’t ask Krit what that was. He just meekly ushered the man into his bedroom.

* * * *

Matthew was on his knees on the floor at the foot of the bed, his torso arched back over the bed because Krit was pressed into his body, crouched over him, several inches of his cock—with much more to spare—in the young man’s throat. Matthew gagged and gurgled as the cock moved in and out. Krit was gripping Matthew’s wrists, forcing the young man’s arms straight out from his body in a cruciform position, fully controlling—subduing—the young man. Once he’d gotten his cock in Matthew’s throat, Krit changed the grip on the young man’s wrists. The Chinese top held one of Matthew’s hands on the dragon tattoo on Krit’s chest and the other one over the young man’s head, pressing it to the mattress. Matthew was pinned to the bed, gagging from long cock wedge in his throat, moving in and out, in and out.

They had started as soon as they both were naked with Matthew tracing the tattoo with his fingers in awe of the design and the sensuality of Krit’s trim, yet muscular, hard body and his godawful long cock. Krit had let the youth kiss and lick the tattooed pec for a few minutes, but then he pulled Matthew close, possessively, buried his lips in the crook of the young man’s throat, and then forced Matthew to his knees with his back arching onto the bed. To complete the total domination of the young man, Krit grasped Matthew’s wrists and fed his cock into the young man’s mouth through yielding lips.

Feeling that Matthew was fully subdued, Krit pulled his cock out, turned Matthew onto his stomach at the foot of the bed and, still controlling the young man with a firm grasp of his wrists, went down on his knees behind Matthew, buried his face between the young man’s buttocks cheeks, and started to eat his ass out. Matthew squirmed and moaned and gave out exclamations of “Yes, yes. Open me. Fuck me.”

After a bit, Krit rose up over Matthew, still controlling the young man’s wrists, covered him, mounted him from behind, and slowly gave him the full length of the cock—just to let the young man know what he had.

Matthew cried out, “Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. I’ve never . . . Oh, shit. Oh, FUCK!” Krit didn’t finish him there, though. He continued giving him the full length of the shaft, letting Matthew get the measure of him. He pulled Matthew up onto the bed, both of them on their sides, Krit behind Matthew, and the Chinese top gave Matthew half of the cock in a shallow fuck, holding the young man close and kissing him all over as he worked the young man into a slow, sensual release.

“That was—” Matthew started to say. His torso was twisted around to Krit, whose cock was still half inside Matthew, and the young man was tracing the chest tattoo again with his fingers. He obviously had taken pleasure from the slow, sensual fuck.

“That can be the end of it or we can do something more interesting now,” Krit murmured. He wouldn’t have bothered to ask if he couldn’t see what Matthew’s answer would be. It was obvious that the young man was besotted with him. Krit leaned over the side of the bed and pulled two red silk scarves out of the pocket of his harem pants. He lifted them up for Matthew to see. “We could—”

“Yes,” Matthew answered in a low, hoarse, lust-clogged voice, as Krit started to wind one of the scarves around the young man’s wrists.

Krit fucked Matthew bent over in front of him, with Krit sitting at the foot of the bed. Matthew’s wrists were tied to his ankles, his feet were on the floor, and Krit held the young man’s slim hips between his hands, gave him three-quarters of the cock, and rocked him back and forth on Krit’s pelvis. He barebacked the young man, the horrors of the AIDS epidemic not to surface in Thailand for another five years.

Krit was a virile, fast reloader. He fucked Matthew a third time. Matthew was on his back on the bed, his arms pulled above his head, his wrists tied together and to the headboard with one of the red silk scarves. The other one was tied around his head, gagging his mouth. Krit had been sitting beside Matthew on the bed, stroking the young man’s cock off and fingering his hole with the other hand when he went into the last fuck.

“Open your legs to me, please,” he said, and Matthew dutifully spread his thighs as Krit moved between them on his knees. “Place your ankles on my shoulders,” he said, and Matthew complied. Krit raised up on his knees, cupped and spread Matthew’s butt cheeks, and lifted the young man’s hips off the surface of the bed, rolling Matthew back onto his shoulder blades.

Matthew gave a muffled cry as Krit thrust cruelly inside him. This time he didn’t give Matthew half or three-quarters of the cock. This time he gave Krit all of the cock, pulled back, gave him all of the cock again, and then again and again, fucking him faster and harder, going deep each time. He reached down and grasped Matthew’s balls in one hand and rolled and squeezed them as he gave the young man the shaft.

Matthew writhed under him, trying to cry out through the gag, panting hard and groaning deeply.

“Relax. Go with it. Ride it with me,” Krit commanded. He continued the fast and furious fuck, distending the young man’s ball sac and rolling it in his grip, until Matthew collapsed, fully subdued. Krit slowed down. He still went in deep, but they were setting up a rhythm. Matthew was with him, rocking back and forth with him, taking the cock deep, managing it now, his moans showing more pleasure than pain. Krit grasped the young man’s cock and coordinated his stroking of it with the rhythm of the fuck. Matthew came a gusher and relaxed back onto the bed, taking the cock deep until Krit had released as well. Krit let go of his hold on the young man’s balls and was rewarded with a long sigh.

Later, Matthew’s arms still bound over his head, but with the gag gone, the youth was now able to verbalize how much pleasure Krit was giving him in bending over his groin and making love to Matthew’s cock with his mouth, lips, and teeth, expertly pulling yet another ejaculation out of the young man.

Later Krit stretched out beside Matthew’s body, his fingers playing with one of Matthew’s nipples, his mouth kissing Matthew’s body wherever he could reach.

“There’s a one-act play festival up at the university in Chiang Mai the week after next. Many of the play are being done in English.” He let that sink in for a full minute before continuing. “I would like you to come up to Chiang Mai for a week.”

“Yes.”

“I will pay your way. And I will arrange for your attendance to get some credits at Columbia toward graduation. I have a doctorate from there. I can make arrangements.”

“Yes.”

“I will fuck you every night.”

“Yes.”

“I will do other things to you.”

“Yes, whatever you want.”

“You are sure? Whatever I want?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will ask you again. Have you ever had a taste of the whip?”

“No, no I haven’t,” Matthew said, his voice tremulous.

“And yet you say I can use you any way I want.”

“Yes.”

Krit laughed. “Good. Open your legs to me again. Spread your thighs. Bend your legs, place your feet on the bed, and push your pelvis up. Such slim hips. Great pleasure in moving between them. We must find something thicker when you come to Chiang Mai to test those slim hips.”

Matthew spread and raised his legs again, and Krit briefly teased his open hole with one and then two and three fingers. Matthew was huffing. “You aren’t going to—?”

“You said yes to anything,” Krit murmured. “But no, not here, not in Bangkok, not in Burt’s house.” He extracted his fingers, rolled over on top of Matthew, and hovering over the young man, between his spread legs, placed a hand on Matthew’s brow, ran his fingers into the young man’s curly blond hair to press the head to the mattress, looked down in Matthew’s eyes, and smiled as Matthew gasped at the long deep sinking in of the man’s hard cock, all the way to the hilt. He immediately started to pump.

“No, not here, not now. But in Chiang Mai,” Krit murmured. “In Chiang Mai I will have you totally, in my house, totally under my control, with no one to save you. The whip. The fist. Anything a wish to have in the moment.”

Matthew moaned deeply, but it wasn’t clear whether it was from what Krit was doing now or what Krit had murmured he would do with Matthew in Chiang Mai.

TO BE CONTINUED