Anson and Jorge in Bali Ch. 05
Join Anson and Jorge in the sultry paradise of Bali as their passionate journey unfolds in Chapter 5. Dive into a tale of desire, exploration, and the intoxicating allure of love. Discover how their connection deepens against the backdrop of breathtaking landscapes and unforgettable moments. Don’t miss out on this steamy adventure!
Anson and Jorge in Asia, Ch. 05
Bali
This is the fifth in a series of fictional stories (all published on Literotica and beginning with “Anson” in the titles). I’m skipping the recap in this one. If you haven’t read the first four episodes, I recommend you do so—at least one of the latter. All characters engaged in sexual activities are over 18. In an earlier chapter, the protagonists were tested clean and determined to go exclusive—so there is no discussion of wrappers. This chapter is entirely in the voice of Anson. AI was not used in the creation of this story. © 2023, all rights reserved. Brunosden
From Hong Kong, we flew to Bali, a half day trip on Cathay Pacific, one of my favorite airlines. We had booked two hotels: one for a week, the second for a few days. Both were Four Seasons branded and world-renowned.
The first on the water consisted of walled villas (each suite a full villa), perched on a hillside overlooking the sea, with a private plunge pool and a full time butler. It was only a few miles from the airport. We arrived mid-afternoon to one of the most exotic and luxurious spots in all of Asia.
Bali was unique and a place of contradictions. Nominally, a part of Indonesia, one of the largest Muslim archipelago nations in the world, which was very conservative, it was a large island and predominantly Hindu—the only such place in East Asia. And it housed extremes—inexpensive beach resorts, populated by young vacationers (mainly Australian) with a no-holds-barred drunken (hetero) orgy promised to everyone–on demand. And then there were the super-luxe resorts. It was filled with bars, dance clubs, fine restaurants and cheap eateries. Then there were the ashrams—hundreds of them, catering to mystics, yoga-aficionados, vegans, soul-seekers, and philosophers. Intense spiritual Hindus were hosts to hedonists of every size, shape and worth.
Our hotel at Jimbaran Bay was at the very top. Breakfasts and lunches to order were served in the villas by spectacularly beautiful young (definitely twink-looking to a Westerner) Balinese boys, dressed in diaphanous silk sarongs which left their thin chests bare, all appearing to be dancers and pan-sexuals. Massages with fragrant oils and mesmerizing incense were on the bill every day. The lotus petals in the plunge pool were changed several times a day, as were the incense sticks in the sand-filled joss pots. Then there were the happy hours with exotic dancers followed by an international Asian cuisine at one of the restaurants. It was very easy to imagine that upon arrival, one was entering the portals of paradise—as it had been for hundreds of years.
Jorge and I arrived and changed immediately into the “uniform of the resort”—a colorful flowered silk sarong enhanced by a necklace of fragrant tropical flowers over bare tanned chests. Within the walls of the villa, guests were expected to be and normally were naked. So were most of the staff. By prior arrangement, gay couples (and there were many—there were absolutely NO sexual taboos for guests in Bali) were allotted “special” butlers, with various responsibilities, including “assistance” in coupling—adding a finger or two, a mouth, or even a colorfully wrapped penis to the act. The guest is always right.
Our butler stowed the luggage, mostly unopened, except for bath essentials. He was a young boy, deeply tanned so his natural skin had turned a chestnut color, lightly muscled like a dancer, and unusually for us, with deep red lipstick. We wondered his age—he looked about 14, but assumed that employment at this resort would follow international protocols.
After a brief introduction to the offerings—and the mechanics of the villa (there weren’t many), our butler deftly unknotted our sarongs and pointed us to the outdoor shower and plunge pool. “Every guest is asked to soak upon arrival to wash the world away and inhale the exotic aromas of paradise. Welcome, esteemed guests, to Four Seasons Jimbaran—and paradise. If you wish, I can then do your massages—or I can call a colleague and we can do you both at the same time.” With the latter comment, he cast his widening eyes down at our chubbing erections and smiled again. “It would be my pleasure to help in any way possible.” Then he handed us small clay bowls containing fragrant body wash liquids.
He pointed to the ancient stone table. Artfully arranged were drug paraphernalia and what was obviously marijuana rolled in yellow-orange papers. “Everything here is included. I am totally at your disposal for your stay here. Some guests choose never to leave their villas. Outside the gate are my station and my pallet. I or a colleague will be there at all times. You have only to open the gate.”
I looked over at Jorge. He whispered, “I thought they knew how to do this in Bangkok. But, this is another world.”
The young boy heard and added, “Oh, this is far better than Bangkok—we of my caste are trained in the sensual arts from birth. We exist for your pleasure. We are not “for sale”—we are part of the service and the experience. That is Bali.”
“Thank you, Made (pronounced, MA-DAY, second son, in Hindi, the son normally given over to be trained in the “pleasure arts” in Bali in his caste). I think we will use the pool now. Then we will go the lodge for the happy hour and the dancing exhibition. Please make a reservation for dinner at the Indonesian specialty restaurant.”
“That restaurant is closed tonight, sir. But, I and a colleague will serve you the same food here in the villa. I shall leave a menu and you may order when I arrive to escort you to the happy hour festivities.”
“Fine. We will use the athletic facilities early tomorrow and we would like massages thereafter—perhaps two of you. I would like to experience your “special services” massage.”
“It shall be as you wish. I shall return in one hour unless you ring the bell by the gate. Dress throughout the resort, except here, is the sarong. A fresh, clean one will be delivered to you with breakfast each day. I wish you good afternoon, Mr. Powell, Mr. Perez. If I may be so bold, I am honored to be assigned to such handsome and gifted men.” With that he placed his hands together in a prayerful position and bowed three times as he backed away, not turning from us until he reached the gate.
As the gate closed, Jorge stepped to the shower, hanging his flower lei on the iron hook. “Wow. This place is in another world. How do you manage only to book only a week? I could stay forever. I think it’s going to help me forget the hospital. Maybe the world.”
“Even perfect pleasure begins to pall after a time. We can talk about that. But somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be the case with you!” Jorge was already totally erect and ready to play. I stepped into the shower, joined my lei with his, and drew him into me, our cocks dueling and poking into our abs. Then I took him with me into the warm pool, pushing aside the fragrant petals as we submerged. We floated in the warm, scented water, arms on the rough stone edge, drugged by the incense and floral aromas—and distracted by the casual stroking of each other’s cock. At one point I looked over and realized our cocks, lofting so high over the surface, resembled the long pink-red stamen in some of the tropical flowers. We fit right in, so to speak.