A few minutes later, he instructed, “Now will your phallus to erection. Any images you bring to mind are acceptable.” It didn’t take long until I was erect, although not rigid. Jorge was sitting nearby, nude and staring at me. He then oiled Jorge’s anus and brought Jorge over me to straddle my hips. “Place his phallus at your entrance—but do not use your hands. Try to lower yourself onto him—again no hands. Keep them at your sides on the ground for balance for the present time.”
As Jorge positioned, my cock stiffened and it wasn’t long before he was impaled—and he himself was rigid. “This is the active mode, so Anson you may raise your hips to penetrate and you Jorge may rise on your thighs and ride down. But, then, you must stop. No further friction of phallus and anal chute. And absolutely no hands. Neither of you should touch the other in any way—except of course at the point of anal union. Jorge, try to resist the urge to squeeze. Think about the sensations you are giving and receiving. Breathe deeply. Look into each other’s eyes. You, Anson are transferring your erotic energy to Jorge. You should visualize the energy emitting from the head of his phallus. It is transferring back to your eyes. Then circling back through your chest, hardening your nipples, before it recirculates up through your phallus.”
This was too easy. Jorge’s anal muscles knew what to do. He didn’t need hands. And I knew I could bring him off by stroking his prostate, slowly and deliberately. Within a few minutes, both of us experienced long and satisfying climaxes. They were obviously different from the rough taking we normally enjoyed. And they weren’t simultaneous. But I had enjoyed consciously using my cock alone to bring Jorge to orgasm. But was it as good as one where I used everything I had to maximize his pleasure? What otherwise is the point?
“I am amazed gentlemen. I think you cheated a bit with anal muscle contractions and prostate stimulation. You have practiced this before, no? You are already accomplished at joint-active. Let’s rest and refresh ourselves and we will proceed to the second lesson where you will attempt to achieve orgasm without touching each other at all.” He pulled us apart and then using a thin perfumed and oiled cloth, began to cleanse our shafts, balls, abs and asses, lingering, I thought, a little too long for the required task. He was clearly enjoying this part of the lesson as his own phallus began to rise. It wasn’t very impressive. I wondered how he would ever use it to bring another to orgasm.
At lunch, I pulled Jorge aside. “This is incredibly boring. I think it may even be phony. I really don’t need this. I don’t have any interest in this kind of antiseptic, ethereal sex, especially taught by a supercilious, ugly bastard who probably doesn’t have much opportunity to use his equipment. Why should we deny ourselves any technique which enhances our pleasure? Maybe we can come back when we’re old men. Maybe when we can’t anymore, we’ll understand how important it is to enjoy trying. But, for me right now, I prefer the down and dirty, no-holds-barred sessions we have.”
“Oh, thank you. My feelings exactly. I agree with you. I think this is overpriced bullshit. I’m with you. Vamanos.”
I announced we were going for a walk. The passivity of the morning was too much for us. We left, and a block away, took a taxi to a lively restaurant in Ubud—not vegan—and then returned to the hotel. Then, to demonstrate our commitment to “real sex,” we worked out hard and went back to the villa for a long “dirty session” of make-out and sex.
“This is our version of hands free sex,” I said as I shot my arms out to the side and dropped my head into his lap and sucked his moist, smelly cock into my mouth. Then without touching each other, Jorge straddled me, pushed his ass into my face, as I licked his shaft and nuts. Both of us lifted our arms above our heads. Then he lifted his legs and trapped my head into his crotch—as I pulled my thighs together to capture his. Cocks and balls, dripping and aromatic, were readily available for pleasuring. “See Dad, no hands!”
We erupted into laughter and then turned to the task of emptying each other of our essence. Once again, we were in a trance—not one induced by incense, but by the aroma of testosterone that was rising from our bodies.
“I think we should give a course in this. We’ll call it the fourth method of no-hands orgasm!”
The rest of our time in Ubud was great. We hiked, shot photos, dined on exotic Hindi dishes, worked out, enjoyed daily massages (without happy endings—except in the confines of our villa)—and screwed, morning, noon and night. By the end we really were sated, but we were in love and lust. We had had two difficult discussions, and found that our feelings and opinions were in tune. I had learned something about Jorge’s income situation—which was a surprise. We were of different chronological ages, but fully in tune sexually and physically. We weren’t financial equals—but neither of us was poor. And of course, his body was a never-ending delight to look at, to caress, to stroke, and to fuck.
On the next to last night, my owner’s rep engineer called with great news. The contractors had actually met their respective schedules, hoping for the early completion bonus. Furniture deliveries would begin in a week. (Fortunately, I had specified the outfitting of “my” room to be perfect for entertaining the many guests I had been expecting in my bed—so even with Jorge moving in, no adjustments were required. Sandra had required closets upon closets—so that wouldn’t be an issue. And, it would be ready when we arrived home—in less than two weeks.
Tomorrow we would leave for Shanghai—then it would be Beijing and Taipei (by way of Seoul and on a separate ticket as we weren’t sure how the Chinese immigration authorities would deal with a multi-city itinerary that contained a visit to Taiwan). So we had one last night in this capital of the senses.
We were ready to celebrate our commitment and Jorge’s decision to move into my condo. Over the course of over a month, we had tried most permutations. But, tonight, Jorge wanted plain vanilla—missionary, presumably with me on top. After we shared a bottle of the bubbly in the pool and before a dinner (which would be served in the villa), we showered and oiled ourselves. I had agreed to his request, but I wanted to begin with wrestling on the bed—at least by our rules: first to cum, loses and then must bottom for the other. (Always before when we had tried this, it had been a photo finish, so we had to take a mulligan or maybe two.)
We started on our sides, facing each other, cocks dueling as our lips met, hands and arms around our upper bodies. We devoured each other. I joked that this was the first position in the Balinese style of Greco-Roman. I rolled my thigh and leg over him boosted myself on top, spreading my legs to stabilize. His hands reached down and grabbed my cheeks, pulled them apart and thrust two fingers inside while gripping my taint with his thumbs. He knew my sensitivity and was looking for a quick win. So I quickly scooted up, kneed his upper arms and immobilized his hands. Unfortunately, that move was not to my advantage—he may have been pinned, but my dickhead was between his lips. He opened and sucked and my first pre-cum leaked out. So I eased back, but that unbalanced me.