Pursuing Douglas Ames

July, 1948

It was seven years, following the end of the war, before I, now a member of parliament from Devon, was able to return to Burma. I had written Douglas Ames several times during that period but had never received an answer from him.

I hadn’t been able to forget that last night I’d spent in his arms, let alone what he’d done to me—what we’d done together—earlier in my life. Since our last time together was one in which it was just the two of us and he appeared to have enjoyed it, I had been toying over the years about the possibility of the two of us being together permanently.

During the war, in which there was much else to hold my attention, I had resisted the fetish that had gripped him and me for a couple of periods in my life. I did go with men, but now as a submissive and very privately. My exotic English-Burmese mix still made me attractive to aggressive men, and it helped me to continue to appear much younger than I was. I had joined a club in London that offered me some of the same pleasures that the Japanese general, Nakamura, had paced me through that night in The Strand Hotel in Rangoon. I had never forgotten that night either.

In the summer of 1948, I came to Southeast Asia with a parliamentary delegation to survey the aftermath of the war and the collapse of the British presence in the region and stayed on for a bit longer in Burma after the delegation’s work was done.

I stayed at The Strand Hotel for a night before flying up country to Pagan and, serendipitously, was assigned to the room where Nakamura had ravished me seven years previously. I got no sleep that night. The memories of that time in Burma flooded in too strongly.

The next morning I took the early flight on the same Boeing 247 I previously had flown in to Pagan. Despite the Japanese occupation during the war in Asia, the country seemed unchanged from when I’d been there in 1941. Perhaps it had been difficult to devastate a country that had been so primitive—and devastate by the neglect of time—already. The village and temple area were just as I’d left them—indeed just as they had been since the thirteenth century. Douglas Ames’s cottage was still there, as, I could see as I walked to it, were the young temple attendants, lithe and berry brown of bodies, narrow of hips, dressed only in sarongs at their waists and with welcoming, willing smiles on their faces. They were, of course, different young men than the ones who had been here in 1941. The war had been hard on young men in Burma. I was hard and rubbing myself, old memories flooding in, before I reached Ames’s cottage.

Douglas wasn’t at the cottage, though. Soe Pyne, looking healthy and wealthy was. Maung Wai, Thaik Nu, and Mya Khywa had been replaced by younger, just as arousing, versions—all eighteen of age, I was sure. I held off on asking about the Burmese youths I’d known before. One didn’t ask many questions about how people in Southeast Asia had fared under Japanese occupation.

“Douglas was gone when I returned to Mandalay,” Soe Pyne told me, as we sat out on the terrace of the cottage and the houseboys served us. The one named Mhint Kahn was of particular interest to me, and I, I could tell, was of particular interest to him. Soe Pyne couldn’t help but notice. “Do you want to fuck him?” he asked.

I had prior concerns though and just smiled and asked the question uppermost in my mind. “You never heard from Douglas again?”

“I did ask around, of course. The most I could get out of anyone in Mandalay was that the day we left, Douglas left right after us. Maung Wai says, though, that Douglas never returned to the bungalow from the café.”

“Nakamura?”

“To my knowledge he didn’t follow Douglas from the café. Rumor had it that Douglas had his own escape plan and may have gone into Laos. We may never know, but there are some paintings signed by him that are showing up in Saigon and Bangkok that were not in the collection he had here. What I am sure of, though, is that wherever Douglas is, there also are easy-lay eighteen-year-olds.” Soe Pyne gave a little laugh.

“Is there more to this? You don’t suspect Nakamura did something to Douglas?”

“No, I don’t. I know what Nakamura did in Mandalay. It wasn’t you he was following, or at least not just you. He was following me too. Nakamura was taking the very long view. He wanted to turn. I turned him and both of his men.”

“Turned them?”

“Yes. He worked for me through the war, as a double agent here. He was able to retain the loyalty of his two men because he was fucking them both. But he wanted to fuck the eighteen-year-old Burmese lads Douglas had recruited as well. I had no trouble controlling and running him through the war by giving him such access. To the extent he was following you up to Mandalay, it was in the belief that you were working with British intelligence. He was quite happy to know that I was. What he wanted was a connection that would help him defect.”

“I see,” I said. I turned back to reviewing the artwork on the walls. “The collection here seems dissipated,” I said. I’d taken the tour of the house and noticed more than half of what had been here before was missing.

“One has to live,” Soe Pyne said, with an inscrutable smile.

“And I see that someone is living quite well here,” I said, answering smile with smile, showing that it didn’t matter to me, that I wouldn’t make waves. “The one prominently displayed over the master bed . . .”

“The one of you with Mya Khywa, yes,” he said. “Do you want it? You may take it with you if you like. It is one of the better ones of his private collection, I think.”

“It would be madness for me to take it back to England,” I said. “I couldn’t risk displaying it anywhere. But I certainly would rather that it didn’t show up in the market. The same with the two sketches on the walls there that were of me at eighteen.”

“Ah, yes,” Soe Pyne said. “You were a beautiful, and very distinctive, young man at eighteen. You are just as beautiful now. But you’re asking me about the artwork of you. Certainly. As you wish. They can stay right where they are. I enjoy seeing them.”

“You are sleeping in Douglas’s bed now?”

“Certainly. And enjoying the artwork in the bed chamber. I enjoy seeing you nude, in erection, and coupling. I imagine mounting you myself or working your body as I heard the Japanese general doing at The Strand Hotel—and that I then couldn’t resist doing to a lesser extent that night. I’ll never forget mounting and riding you that night. Did he fist you that night? It sounded like he was doing that.”

“Yes,” I answered.

“And you have that in your list of capabilities?”

“Yes.”

“And desires.”

I just smiled. He gave me a wry smile in return.

“Does it upset you that I reveal my interest—I might say my obsession?”

I didn’t know what to say about that. I knew Soe Pyne fucked the houseboys. Until now I had no idea he was this attracted to me sexually as well. I thought about whether I objected to that and found that I didn’t.

“No, not at all,” I said. “You aren’t upsetting me. And, yes, he fisted me briefly . . . just briefly. I think he was planning to return to that.”

“And you regret that he didn’t?”

Again, I let a little smile and silence be my answer.

“That night in The Strand Hotel, when the Japanese man—Nakamura—was using you. My impression was that you rather enjoyed it, that you were aroused by it—all of what he did.”

“Yes, I was,” I admitted it. “I belong to a club in London that . . . well, I’ll just say I have had extensive experiences in my life. I like to cover older teenagers—eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds—although I can’t really indulge much of that in England, but as a submissive, with a man . . . well.” I didn’t complete that thought, but I could see Soe Pyne’s eyes gleaming.

“Including fisting? Do they engage in fisting at this club?”

“Yes.” Thinking about having sex with Soe Pyne, perhaps demanding sex, reminded me that he had asked a question I hadn’t answered. “And as for your earlier question,” I now said, “yes, I would very much like to fuck Mhint Khan.”

And so I did that night. But beyond that, Soe Pyne and I fucked eighteen-year-old Mhint Khan together. We shared him—fully—not just holding the young man between us and fondling and fucking him in succession, but also fucking him together, both of us inside him, fucking each other as much as we were fucking him. He exhibited extraordinary resilience in being able to take two cocks together.

And then, later in the night, Mhint Khan no longer was there and I was on my back, legs spread, arms bound above my head, heels rubbing Soe Pyne’s calves, as he lay between my thighs, arms encircling my waist, raising my pelvis to him, and face nuzzled into my throat, teeth biting me there, as he worked up to being a bit abusive, slapped me around a bit until I begged for the cock, and then penetrated me, and sank deep inside me and pistoned vigorously. Deeper and deeper he went into my soft core and I opened and yielded to him there and gave him everything. And, after he’d freed my wrists and repositioned our bodies, everything included the fist as well.

“Please, you know what I want,” he whispered in my ear.

“Do it,” I answered. And then I watched him pull the black leather gloves on and grease them up, and I rode the man’s pulsating fist.

Soe Pyne wasn’t a large man, and his hands weren’t large either. It wasn’t difficult to take the fist. I spread and bent my legs, pressing my feet into the mattress and raising my hips. He was stretched out beside me, an arm round my torso, holding me close to him, while, with a greased gloved hand, he slowly pressed in with his bunched fingers. I panted hard as he went in up to his wrist and flexed his fingers, guided by my moans and groans, and settled into a slow fuck with his hand, with me rocking against it. I stroked myself off with one hand and reached over with the other, grasped his erection and worked his cock in the same rhythm he was thrusting with his hand and I was stroking with mine. We came almost together. We both enjoyed it, but I’m sure he enjoyed it more.

* * * *

“Will you go back to Rangoon directly,” Soe Pyne asked me the next morning over breakfast on the terrace. Mhint Khan, serving us, was dragging and moving gingerly, but he was smiling and purring.

“Yes, by this afternoon’s plane,” I answered.

“I would like to go with you. There’s something I would like to show you in Rangoon this evening—not far from The Strand. I assume that’s where you will be staying.”

“Yes, of course. But I’ll have to book yet. I hope they have a room available.”

“I will stay there too. I can get a room—or two, if you prefer.” He gave me a pointed look. He was changed this morning. Before, he’d been differential to me. I had been Douglas Ames’s guest, and he had been Ames’s factotum. It was different now, and he was different. He had fucked me and I’d been submissive to him. He was clearly in control now, and I had slipped into the role of being his submissive. The man had fisted me and I not only let him, I even begged for it and lay there, totally open and vulnerable to him as he did it. And I slept there, in his embrace, at his beck and call, afterward.

“One room will be sufficient,” I said.

“And one bed.”

“Yes, one bed.”

What Soe Pyne wanted to show me was a men’s club, a very special men’s club, tucked away off a narrow alley only about three blocks from The Strand. As we entered, a familiar-looking Japanese man, with military bearing, his back ramrod straight, guided us inside. Walking toward us, holding a hand whip at his side and flicking it against his thigh, was an older Japanese man, also of military bearing, tall, gaunt, a saber slash wound descending from an earlobe to the corner of his mouth, making him look intriguing and dangerous.

His hands were encased in black leather gloves.

Heido Nakamura, the Japanese general and/or importer-exporter, who, Soe Pyne now whispered to me, The British resettled here in Rangoon, held out his gloved hand to me. I trembled at the gesture.

“Mr. Trumble, isn’t it?” he asked. “Come with me. I have a very special room waiting for you.”

“May I come too and share him?” Soe Pyne asked. “I brought him back to you.”

“Yes, of course,” Nakamura said, flashing a rather sneery smile. “We had special equipment for that. I do enjoy working young men with you.”

Trembling and already going hard, I put my hand in his and accompanied him down the stone steps into the bowels of the club. Soe Pyne followed close behind, his hand cupping one of my buttocks cheeks. His hand now too was encased in black leather.

End