A gay story: Anson and Jorge in Singapore Ch. 03 Anson and Jorge in Asia, Ch. 03
Next stops: Singapore and Bangkok
This is the third in a series of fictional stories. There is a little recap at the beginning since these stories were not originally written as chapters in a series. All characters engaged in sexual activities are over 18. In an earlier chapter, the guys were tested, found clean, and agreed to be exclusive. Thus there is no mention of wrappers. AI was not used in the creation of this story. © 2023, all rights reserved. Brunosden
Anson and Jorge took the bullet train to Narita Airport (via Tokyo), spent the night at an airport hotel and took the early morning Singapore Air flight to Singapore. The first stop on their Asian tour was over—a dozen plus days of discovery (many of those days of “discovery” within the confines of their hotel suite) in Tokyo and Kyoto.
Arrival at the international airport in Singapore was typically uneventful and efficient. A hotel car and driver were waiting at the exit and about a half hour later, they checked into the Four Seasons Hotel, just off Orchard Road. It was already mid afternoon, and they had eaten on the plane. So, after they settled in, they dressed immediately for a workout.
Modern Singapore had developed several new hotel districts—on the “entertainment” (gambling) island created with fill in the sea which surrounded the island nation and near the new vertical botanical garden—both just outside the city center. It was a typical Singapore move: Singapore was both intensely commercial and socially conservative. Gambling, drinking and dancing were all taboo for “good” Singaporeans—but the elite did not want to lose out on the enormous profits from these “sins”—particularly if the “sinners” were foreign. So they built an artificial island and connected it with a toll bridge and an aerial cable car. Singaporeans were discouraged from visiting—except of course to work or to visit the Disney-style theme park on one side of the new island. Then additional tourist attractions and hotels were built outside the city to diversify the traffic.
Anson had been to Singapore many times on business and preferred the commercial hotels downtown. He thought the small Four Seasons was the nicest and very convenient. It had taken most of a day to do the transfers. The trains and airports were crowded, and it was very hot.
Anson and Jorge had been together now for over three weeks. Anson had decided to travel after his wife’s death—and years of forced celibacy during her long illness. He had also decided he wanted a companion—a male “fuck-buddy”—a pleasure he had denied himself during his long marriage and his wife’s long illness. He had “interviewed” several candidates and picked Jorge. They had spent about a week together in San Francisco and another week plus in Japan.
Anson was a lawyer—a partner litigator in a major San Francisco firm from which he was on sabbatical. He was athletic, in shape, and looked much younger than his actual age (50-ish). He was about 6-2; had an athlete’s build (tennis, sailing and gym); dark curly hair with just a touch of grey on the sides. All of the guys he had interviewed (second interviews all involved tests for sexual “compatibility”) were shocked at the size of his “endowment” when he took them to bed. He had warned in his e-post, but no one believes that kind of information, particularly on internet dating sites, even the screened elite ones.
Jorge was younger, a veteran Army medic who had gone back to university to become a Nurse Practitioner and Physicians’ Assistant. He was starting a long leave of absence—in an attempt to recharge after years of superhuman effort in the COVID wing of a major hospital.
Jorge had been one of the four “finalists” in Anson’s unusual online search for a “travel companion with benefits”. His muscular, gym-rat, dusky good looks and compassionate personality had won Anson’s approval–as well as his lust. He was also a dream in bed: a power bottom. At the time, since Anson was a confirmed top, the impressive length and girth of Jorge’s uncut penis didn’t seem to matter so much as Jorge’s active and sensuous receptivity to Anson’s hunger. But that would change. They were traveling together for about two months—at Anson’s expense, while Anson’s condo in San Francisco was being remodeled.
Anson and Jorge were now very comfortable with each other. Jorge had moved from tentative, almost submissive sub to a willing and contributing partner in pleasure. Anson had taken Jorge in every possible way, really enjoying Jorge’s sensuous body language. And, on the last evening in Kyoto, much to Jorge’s surprise, Anson had insisted that Jorge top him and take his anal cherry.
Singapore was not on the original itinerary that Anson had proposed to his potential companions, mainly because Singapore was probably the least Asian of all the major cities in East Asia. It was very Western; very conservative—almost puritanical with respect to sexual morality; but it did have several not-to-be-missed attractions, including the world’s only night zoo, the world’s largest aviary, and the world’s tallest botanical garden. And the Pan-Asian cuisine was well known. Anson had been there many times. He had several Singaporean clients including one for whom he had handled high-tech litigation. When one client had heard from one of his partners that Anson was planning an Asian holiday, he had insisted that he be given an opportunity to show him a non-tourist Singapore. So changes in the itinerary were made.
Because of the expected conservative social environment (at least on the public face), Anson had broken his “two can travel as cheaply as one” rule and had not booked a suite—but rather two adjoining rooms. They were nominally colleagues traveling for pleasure, but not obviously attached or sexually involved. The Assistant Manager, who had pretended he remembered Anson from previous trips, took them to the two rooms. He settled them in and briefly introduced the mechanical devices. Minutes later luggage was delivered. By prior agreement, they changed into gym gear. While Jorge had been careful to engage in daily gym time in Japan, Anson had let a few days slip by. Both needed a workout.
The gym was well-equipped, spotless, and not terribly crowded in the late afternoon. Anson noticed that it had been set up in his favorite style: a stretch area, then a large open semi-circle containing a “circuit” with free weights at the end. Anson particularly liked the discipline of the circuit: exercise stations with quickly reset pre-flagged weights (light, medium and heavy). Participants moved around the circuit, three minutes at each, one-half minute to re-position, every third circuit aerobic. Movement was “controlled” by rock music. There were 18 stations in all (try for 3 reps of 10 each at each station, but move on anyway when the music stops). There were also two “cut-outs” that would add 4 stations each—one for arm development; the other for adding depth to 6 or 8-pac cuts). Speed and reps were more important than weights. The view out the windows onto the pool deck was a nice touch. It was like a tough game of musical chairs. Both guys entered the circuit, and emerged about an hour later, tired and dripping from the high humidity, despite the AC, but with that very pleasant after-glow of a good workout.
They elevator-ed back to their rooms. Each went to the door of one of the rooms, hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign, and securely locked it. The double doors adjoining their two rooms were then opened.
[From this point, the story shifts to Anson’s POV, and is told in the first person.]
Jorge messed up the bed in “his” room, placed his toiletries in “his” bath, stripped, and was carrying towels into my bath. I followed close behind, once again salivating at Jorge’s dusky muscular beauty, particular his small tight butt that always revved me up. His glutes moved nicely beneath the smooth mounds with deep hand-hold hip indentations. He was pumped, cut and sweaty. His black hair drooped over his forehead, almost covering his sexy dark eyes. The sultry look was definitely porn quality.
I had grown to love those ass cheeks and the tunnel of pleasure between them. In fact everything about him turns me on: his physique, his tanned square face, his skin color and texture, his thick cock, his thick dark curly hair, his musky aroma, and his tight, talented chute. But this dark Adonis package held one of the most caring and attractive personalities that I had ever encountered. He was a saint: compassionate, receptive, understanding, almost intuitive in his responses to my needs.
But, I wasn’t looking for a saint right then. I was looking for a down and dirty guy that I could wallow with in pleasure and get off big time. And here he was just before me.
Before Jorge got to the bath door, my arm reached out, I wrapped around his waist, and pulled him hard into my gut and already rigid erection. My second hand reached around and fisted Jorge’s cock—a nice 8 inch handle—to stop him. Jorge turned his head and our lips met. “Don’t you want to shower first? I’m all hot and sweaty and feel a little dirty.”
“Not this afternoon, babe. You are exactly what I want right now. I want to revel in your musky aroma. And I want to feel your pumped muscles—particularly the one in my fist right now. Come over to the bed with me. I want to taste that dick and lick those balls before we remove all the good stuff. You’ve already got me so turned on and hard as a rock.”
Visibly surprised (I had previously always been so “clean” when we coupled), but obviously very interested, Jorge moved to the bed, pulled away the white duvet, and sat on the edge, looking up into my hungry eyes. I knelt between his legs, forcing his thighs apart. My head bent to the task. While this is not the first time that I had taken Jorge into my mouth, it was the first time that I had moved into Jorge, knelt between his thighs in a submissive pose, with obvious intent to suckle and blow him. Always before, it had been part of the total package in bed after we had showered. Jorge was now ripe with musk and moist from the humidity and exertion. His dark heavy balls hung low while his shaft was lifted in response. His thighs and guns were pumped and his sweaty 8-pac was cut deeply. I sucked the cock inside, used my tongue to push down the hood, and took about six inches, washing it with my tongue, stroking up and down. It tasted of the best of a man, the nectar of the gods. Then I pushed him back onto the bed and raised his thighs. I attacked his taint and rim and my tongue dug deeply into his anus. My hands stroked his swollen sweaty muscles. He was already panting with readiness and exuding musk. I simply couldn’t get enough of him.
But I wasn’t yet getting the treasure that I wanted. I needed to drown in Jorge. I wanted to fill my lungs and my mouth with his musk, sweat, old cum and precum. I wanted to consume him. I wanted him dirty and natural. This was the jungle and I was a scent-directed predator.
So I stood and pushed Jorge back onto the bed. He scooted up to the pillow, v-ed his legs, and I straddled his chest, pushing my ass toward his face. I wanted to take this guy with all of his maleness. I bent down, licked his sweaty balls, and took the cock inside again—but this time, as he deepened inside, my nose was buried in the swollen, moist balls. My tongue could even feel the hot turmoil inside, roiling in readiness for the upcoming journey. I was tantalized and drawn deep into his center. Every sense was involved: smell, taste, touch, sight. My hands reached around and pulled Jorge up hard into my face. He raised his thighs, folded them over me, and tightened around my head, pulling my mouth and nose into him. The heat and the aromas were intense. I could breathe only him. I was hypnotized, no drugged, by it all. He was a human dispenser of male aphrodisia!
His move had also pushed me back into his face. Then I felt Jorge pulling my ass down and his tongue licking my head, then my shaft, then my balls and finally my taint. Hands pushed aside my thighs, massaged my cheeks and pulled them apart. Then a saliva-coated finger was inserted and wiggled its way to my nut. The teasing shock hit and traveled up my spine. I stiffened and began to leak as Jorge captured the delicious fluid on his tongue as he milked my prostate. He was eating with a passion, also intoxicated by my exertions. We were literally surfing in our sweat.
I reached around and inserted my saliva-lubed index finger inside his anus, touching and poking the prostate, pulling him hard into me. We were so tightly coiled together, wrapped into the tightest yin-yang, that we were like one hot pulsing organ at the throes of self-fertilization.
Neither of us could handle so much intense stimulation without certain results. Jorge started—he was on his way to an orgasm. I could feel the spunk climbing up his cock as it trembled on my tongue and swelled in my cheeks; then I felt the spasms. I reached to the push hard on the taint to halt the ejaculation and enhance Jorge’s pleasure. But I was too late. The moment of truth had arrived. Jorge bucked up and began to shoot his seed between my waiting lips. So I instantly switched tactics and started to pump the shaft and massage the balls to speed his flow and drain him. Taste and feel replaced smell as my operative senses. I was soon overflowing with his delicious toffee cream. I was reveling in the Jorge-the-animal, the man—not an antiseptic, perfumed bed partner.
At that moment, I graduated from “intellectual” sex for pleasure to down-and-dirty pleasure of real man on man sex. I was definitely gay to my very core with this sexy guy. I was definitely into this man. He had bewitched me. I thought that I owned him, but actually at that moment, he owned me.
It was too much for me. My enormous cock swelled and the hood drew back as the bulb pushed forward, positioning for the shots. I was totally filling his mouth with my size—I would splurge down his throat unless I withdrew a little. Jorge knew what was happening—although the intensity of his own explosion had distracted him from what I was about to do to him. He plunged two fingers in and began to scrape my prostate with curled fingers, pushing my fluid out. I felt the beginnings of the irreversible: a deep anal orgasm. My whole body tensed. My legs stretched toward the pillows, splayed out around Jorge’s head; my chest collapsed into Jorge’s; and my hips pulled back my cock a little from his mouth. Then I exploded like a capped two-hundred year old volcano. Jorge captured most of the white hot lava between smiling lips until I too overflowed down his cheeks and covered his face and neck with my cum.
I rested above him, sucking on his softening dick and inhaling his aroma. My head rested on his thighs, intoxicated by his manly scents. I was on an incredible high. Then, exhausted by the effort, I rolled off. Jorge rose, flipped and took me into his arms. I grabbed his cock and pulled it between my thighs and pulled our chests and hips together. I didn’t want to end the connection. No one moved. We were both spent, but still drugged by the intense male musk that floated around us, the tastes on our lips and tongues, and the touch of ultra-sensitive spent equipment. We were wet and dirty and pumped and totally empty. Our faces met and I licked my spunk from his face like a mongrel dog licking cream from a bowl. Eyes closed and the sleep of delirium overcame us.
Perhaps a half hour later, the bedside phone began to ring. It awakened both of us—although in the post-coitus drugged state, we weren’t even sure what the ringing meant. It went silent. A minute or so later, it started again. This time I realized what it was and reached over to pick up the receiver. It was my client. He was inviting me to a day on the water on his yacht the next day. Was I available?
“Sure. We haven’t made any specific plans yet for the few days we are here. By the way, I am here with a friend, a young medic whom I met shortly after Sandra died.”
“I know the company sent a memorial, but I’ve not had a chance to offer my own sincere condolences. I’m really sorry to hear of your loss, Anson. I’m sorry we never had a chance to meet her.”
“Thank you, Tao. I appreciate your thoughts. Would it be acceptable if my friend joined us?”
“Please, any friend of yours is welcome. This is not for business. It’ll just be a pleasant day on the water. It’ll be hot. Casual, of course. Unfortunately, this is Singapore—so no winds—the yacht is a motorcraft. I hope that won’t disappoint you. If it’s okay with you, my driver will be at your hotel at 8:30 tomorrow. We’ll probably finish with cocktails around 6. There is a small plunge pool on board, and we will be visiting a quite nice beach. So bring trunks. We’ll take care of everything else.”
“Thank you very much, Tao. I look forward to it. Incidentally, my friend’s name is Jorge Perez. I’ll invite him when we meet later for dinner.”
“I understand you’re at the Four Seasons. Before you leave Singapore, be sure to try the pan-Asian buffet at the Hyatt down the street. I think it’s called ‘The Straits Café.’ The Indonesian and Malay specialties are probably the best in the city.”
“Thanks. I think we’re going to Raffles tonight—at least for drinks. I understand they have restored the old porches.”
“I think you’ll enjoy it. The tidbits are wonderful. See you tomorrow.”
I turned to Jorge, who had posed his magnificent body on the bed. “I presume you heard. We’re going boating tomorrow.”
“Sounds great. But, I must smell like a San Francisco bath house before the cleanup crew comes in. I definitely need a shower now. That was one of the hottest times I’ve ever had with you Anson. I think I’m beginning to get into your head. Aren’t I? You’re starting to appreciate the earthy sensuality of my people and what it means to be a hot Latino lover. Are you sure you don’t want an instant replay? I think I could handle another round.”
“I’ll join you in the shower. Let’s not gild the lily, or attempt to re-taste the sublime. That was a blow I will remember for a long time. And, I promise, we will do it again. I’m hooked on this little guy.” With those words, I stroked his dick, cupped his balls and rose from the bed.
********
Later (by now close to seven) we decided that dinner would be drinks and light fare at Raffles–one of the few remaining colonial-era hotels. It was built by the British and used by the Japanese as a headquarters during the war after they took the island from the British. It had fallen into disrepair until Singapore’s re-emergence as a key city in the post-colonial world in Southeast Asia. It was grand and “muscular” (as British Imperial hotels tended to be) and beautiful—maybe even a little stuffy. The famous Singapore Sling (the drink, not the sex toy!) had been invented in the Bar and countless gin and tonics had been mixed in those rooms. Dress at Raffles after six was “formal Singapore”—which meant white slacks or shorts, white button up shirts, typically worn outside, and shoes (not sneakers or sandals). No tees, no jeans.
Over drinks we enjoyed a few hours of nostalgic reminiscing on one of the grand portico terraces which had been glassed and air-conditioned, owing to Singapore’s year round tropical climate. Jorge seemed, more than usual, ready to talk about his past. I went quiet and listened. He told one story after another about his extended family, its experiences in creating a life in San Francisco (mostly difficult), his military service and a number of Medivac missions he had flown in the Iraq and Afghan wars. It had brought him to despair on many occasions, but caused him ultimately to pursue a career in health care. He admitted to a macho, free-wheeling (mostly hetero) sex life in the barrio and a partial conversion to homo-top experiences in the Army. Then he had come back to school and the work at the hospital.
“Where else could I work and reliably expect to be relieving pain, helping to heal, maybe even saving a life—every day. Over the last few years, I know I’ve changed. I used to be a Latino macho bully, almost always angry, mostly hetero, but occasionally taking a femboy. The horrors of those wars softened me. Now I like to think I’ve picked up some manners and definitely some empathy. The epidemic taught me the value of life. That’s also when I came to realize that I was at least bi, probably gay. Some in my family know it. Normally, Latino guys don’t do gay—at least not ‘out gay’. But, they have been tolerant and they are coming around.”
Boy, did he understand himself. And wasn’t I lucky to have found him after the self-transformation?
Finally the taxi brought us the few blocks back to our hotel. The rooms had been straightened and the beds turned down. As before, Jorge entered his room, messed the bedding and dropped his clothes on the settee. He prepared in “his bath.” I had already opened the connecting door. Jorge entered as I emerged nude from my bath.
“I’m a little beat, Jorge. Do you mind if we just spoon tonight?”
“I don’t mind, but somehow, I’m assuming that after a few minutes of rest, you’ll be in my ass. At least, I hope so. That’s okay too.”
“We’ll have an early morning tomorrow. I’m going to pre-order room service for two in this room to be served at 7:30. That’ll give us time to prepare to be picked up.”
Jorge was indeed prophetic. I spooned him for about fifteen minutes, but sleep was elusive. My dick hardened between his legs and my left hand began to stroke his cock. When I was with him, my cock always seemed ready to play. His ass was like a magnet to my steely dick. We were at the edge of sleep, but somehow I just couldn’t keep my hands from his body—or my dick from his crack. He pushed back into my gut and threw one leg forward as I stroked him to hardness. He reached to the nightstand and handed me the tube. Soon I was massaging his rim with the cool lube and inserted a finger. He moaned in pleasure and pushed into me again. Why was I so lucky to have such a willing and hot partner in my bed?
I played for a few minutes; then I pushed Jorge forward halfway onto his belly and entered from the side. My cock slipped right in and penetrated to his core. By now, the sheath was familiar territory that it had explored before: tight, moist, hot and soft. It crawled up to his love nut and poked it a few times. Jorge sighed in pleasure and extended his arms to the headboard in submission. I reached over, sucked on his throat. Then I took his lips in mine. I drove in and bottomed, filling Jorge as I always did. Jorge pushed back and squeezed his ass muscles as I began the hip-driven pounding that he loved. His ass was alive in welcome, tensing and relaxing in massage. Both of us quickly heated and began to breathe deeply. “I’m pulling into the station, Jorge.” With these words, I bent down and sucked on Jorge’s ear lobe and then dropped to his neck. I raised my hand to Jorge’s mouth and he sucked my fingers in. He turned and our lips met again as I completed my possession, shooting enormous wads of white creamy spunk into Jorge’s gut. Jorge followed within seconds, filling my fist with his hot cum.
I rolled back, and this time Jorge became the big spoon, pulling up the summer duvet. This was a tendency he had exhibited during the “interviews” and I loved it. After taking him, he responded by cuddling me. “You are full of surprises, Anson. This afternoon was very special. I never would have guessed it of you. And tonight was an ambush, expected, but always a nice surprise.”
“Anytime, lover.”
Our next conscious realization was the wake-up call, set for only 15 minutes before the breakfast trolley would roll in.
Jorge got up, kissed me awake, and went to his room to shower, closing the door between the rooms as he left. Breakfast was served, English style with lots of silver and white linen and wonderful dark Indonesian coffee. And both of us were ready for the day on the water well before the pickup time.
As expected, the day was hot and even being on the water (near the Equator) made little difference. While we were moving, the apparent breeze was nice and the occasional spray misters on deck were welcome. Lin Tao was a perfect host. He and I had done many deals and fought many battles together over the years. But he had lied—as I knew would be the case. There was a bit of business to discuss. There are no free lunches (or yacht trips) in Asia.
Tao’s company had signed contracts to acquire a medium sized Silicon Valley company with a very promising library of developing software. But a few days before closing, another suitor, this time a US subsidiary of a Chinese company had made a play—apparently offering more money and better terms. But there was a contract. (My firm had negotiated it before my leave of absence had begun.) Tao wondered whether it was worth suing. “If they sell to us after a lawsuit, I’m not sure that the talent that created the software would be available to service and improve it. The contract called for extended employment contracts for all the key people—but Tao knew that in this industry, enforcement was nearly impossible. “I don’t think a higher offer will work at this point.”
I knew the contract would have a breakup fee—which some always argued was the sole remedy for breach. It wasn’t.
The story took only a few minutes to convey. Then Tao looked at me, “What do you recommend? I know you’re on leave for another month, but I’m sure you have colleagues at the firm who could handle this if you think it’s worth pursuing.”
“I haven’t studied the purchase agreement.” I looked at Jorge. “Do you mind if I take a few hours from our vacation tomorrow?”
“Of course, not. We’ve got an early tennis match. Then, I’m happy to spend the day at the hotel pool and in the gym. Take all the time you need.”
“Does that work for you Tao? Say around 10:30. I presume you’ve got all the materials. Can we meet at your offices?”
“I’ll send the car at 10:30. Sorry to interrupt your holiday Jorge.”
“I haven’t packed a suit—so it’ll be Singapore whites.”
“Not a problem. I’ll call my general counsel now and have the materials prepared.”
“Thank you, Anson. Now, let’s have lunch. We’re going to do it inside since it’s so hot out here.”
Over lunch Tao made polite inquiries about Jorge, his background and how he had met me. By the end, Tao had guessed the score. And he didn’t care. I realized this when he opened up about his own son who had a secret friend, so he completely understood. That was a remarkable admission from a Singaporean of Chinese ancestry. The rest of the afternoon was pleasant—spent mostly in the plunge pool as the yacht circled many of the offshore islands—almost all of which were uninhabited, but populated by hundreds of exotic sea birds, one even a refuge for colorful parrots. We were back at the hotel before sundown.
We decided to walk over to The Straits Café where we did have terrific spicy Indonesian cuisine. Then it was back to the hotel for a night of exciting, athletic sex—including another chance for Jorge to take my ass. I was getting to like his firm, but gentle technique. And I loved having his beefy cock inside, pounding my love nut. We were becoming recip lovers.
The next morning, we had reserved an early tennis court—before breakfast, to capitalize on the early morning temperatures. We decided to clean up in our rooms. So I ordered continental after the match. He was improving and it took seven sets before I prevailed.
As I dressed for business, Jorge appeared in tight sky blue spandex Aussie-bum trunks that hid absolutely nothing (in fact there was a built in “cod-piece” that held his treasure front and center) and showcased his dusky abs and thighs. His curly treasure trail even provided a map. I whistled as he entered. “I do need to take this meeting. Cover that up. I don’t have time, and you’ll scandalize the pool guests. This is Singapore, for god’s sake. Save it for me. I’m not sharing. And I’d rather not have to bail you out. I’ll be back in time to resume our late afternoon pre-cocktail games.”
The driver took me to one of the glass towers on Orchard Road and pulled into the air-conditioned garage. “They are waiting for you on 21.” He pointed to the elevator lobby.
Tao must have been called by the driver as he met me at the lobby. “Welcome Anson. It’s been a long time since you have been in our offices. Let me take you the conference room. All the papers are there. The GC’s assistant will be there to handle any questions. You’ll find coffee and other snacks in there. Shall we plan to meet in about an hour?”
“Perfect. I’m mostly going to be making sure this contract follows our standard. And then, I’d like to review the other suitor’s offer and materials—to the extent you have any information about them. Since the target is listed, I’m assuming much is already known.”
The contract was as I had expected. The purchase price was just shy of $200 million, all cash. The break-up was 10%–not payable if US or Singaporean regulatory authorities refused to approve the deal within six months. Otherwise typical breach of contract damages would exist. I learned that the approvals had already been informally given with written confirmations due any day. The board had prepared draft notices to shareholders recommending acceptance.
The Chinese competitor’s bid was not known—but obviously it was more than $200 million, presumably including a reimbursement of the breakup fee. The bidder was big. It had vast facilities in China and owned many US companies, worth billions. More than once, it had been the target of Justice Department inquiries over potential violations of US inbound investment regulations in sensitive areas and human rights violations in China. It was far from clean; in fact, it was a notorious raider with ties, of course, to the Party.
Tao joined me with his General Counsel about an hour later.
“Everything is as I expected. Bottom line: I recommend you sue—both the US target and the interfering Chinese over-bidder. Don’t plan on ultimately taking the company—it would likely be a Pyrrhic victory anyway.”
“Instead, let’s make you some money and protect your reputation. The contracts are solid. The courts in Silicon Valley are getting stronger and stronger in protecting contracts like this one. Too many young entrepreneurs think contracts have no value—throwing them out when a better deal appears. My advice: sue and ask for a fortune; breach of contract and violation of confidentiality agreements against the target and tortious interference with contract against the new suitor. Let’s get some financial gurus to testify that the target is worth far more than the $200 million purchase price to you because of synergies with your other operations. I’m guessing we can ask for a half billion. We threaten to bring Justice into the fray. We seek a temporary restraining order to prevent them from closing—or disclosing any technical materials to the Chinese. Potential future competitors for companies need to understand that you don’t roll over. You fight and you win. And you royally screw anyone who takes you too lightly.”
“Then be prepared to let the company go—it won’t be much more than a shell by then anyway. Look for their best competitor in the meantime, and have your HR people look at their best staff who will be fleeing the sinking ship.”
“I’d be happy to provide the details, but I think it is pretty clear. I’ll call one of my partners tonight when they get into the office and get the ball rolling. I’m guessing we will be asking for $300 to 500 hundred million in damages from the Chinese. By the time we get to trial, I’ll be back in San Francisco—but my partners are quite capable of handling this. You’ll get a nice big payment—and you’ll effectively control the technology for nothing.”
As I finished, Tao was beaming. “I wasn’t wrong in consulting you. Thank you. What you recommend is what we’ll do, of course. Now please get back to your holiday. Could I arrange a special Chinese banquet at a private club tonight or tomorrow?”
“I’d appreciate that. Either night works. We leave for Bangkok on Thursday. I’ll have my office prepare a bill for these services.” (Legal advice from a vacationing American lawyer is definitely not free.)
“My assistant will confirm this afternoon. My driver will take you back to the hotel now if you wish.”
A few minutes later, I joined Jorge poolside where we ordered a light lunch—anticipating a banquet that night. I noted quite a few poolside loungers following his body, clad only in the sky blue trunks, as he rose and joined me at the umbrella-ed table. He was easily the best piece of candy on the deck.
In the afternoon, we visited the vertical botanical garden and experienced the rain forest in the middle of the city. It was an engineering marvel and a real tourist attraction. And it was just enough to occupy our time until the pre-cocktail hour.
Returning to the hotel, we learned the banquet would be the next night. So, I asked the concierge to find us a top Japanese sushi house for that night. Then Jorge and I hung the signs, donned the short robes the hotel provided, and relaxed together on the sofa facing the hotel gardens and an office tower across the small park. I had expected this might be a bit messy, so I had pulled a spare sheet and covered the sofa before we sat.
I could tell that Jorge was up for something different—and maybe a bit rough. He had spent the day by the pool and from what I had seen, there was plenty of muscular Asian lifeguard ass on display. I’m guessing one or more of them may have hit on him. He is exotic, handsome, and is obviously packing. He hadn’t said anything, but I could see the hunger in his eyes. He must really be amped. Maybe he even felt a little guilty—and I could use that to my benefit.
I pulled his head down to my lap. He knew what to do. At the same time, my own hand started massaging his ass. He groaned and lifted it from the sofa, offering himself to my fingers. I lubed them with saliva and started the familiar saw, swirling and probing. When I hit his prostate, he jolted and attempted (again unsuccessfully) to deep throat. But, he was getting into the swing. I could feel his lips and tongue working my rock hard cock as his fingers fondled my balls. I increased to three, then four and started a relentless push-pull as my thumb pressed hard on his taint. Then I’d reach under and stifle his incipient orgasm with a tight grip around the base of his shaft.
We didn’t make it to the bed. I lifted him from my lap, captured his lips with mine, and pushed him into the sofa, bent over the back, his ass offered up for use. Then I leaned in, dropped the robe, lubed and penetrated with one long thrust. He gasped and groaned, perhaps in a little pain, but surely a lot of pleasure. My chest soon was plastered to his back as my thighs pumped my dick into his ass, punching his swollen nut with each stroke. I reached around and grabbed his dick with one hand, cupping the other hand under the head. He was dripping pre-cum and I knew he was close. So I gripped the base tightly to keep him edged, speeded up, stiffened my legs, and blasted. He moaned in the pain of denial. I felt him try to push back hard into me, and so I relented. I moved one hand to massage and squeeze his balls as he filled my other fist with his cum. I dropped into him until my breathing slowed. Then, I pulled back. His head turned and he shot me a dark smile. Then, he motioned to the windows. I realized that we had left the drapes open—our asses had been pumping on display for the office tower across the street. I even detected the flash of a quickly drawn blind at one of the windows. I hope they enjoyed the X-rated performance. I certainly did.
I relaxed on his back for a few minutes before I drew my fist up and sucked, then passed it to him to lick the rest. Then we both collapsed on the sofa—chest to chest, with him on top. He was smiling, his dark hair was falling into his eyes, and he looked like one of the most sensuous creatures that I have ever seen. He was a dark, sexy animal, staring into my soul, sated, but ready to pounce and consume me, capturing all of me within his sturdy arms and legs. He looked hard into me. “Anson, I think I’m in love. You are by far the best thing that has ever happened to me. I hope this doesn’t destroy what we have.” Then he dropped down and took my lips as his tongue filled me and I felt his cock hardening again on my gut.
It would be the Sing branch of Nobu for dinner–one of the most sought after tables anywhere—creative and delicious. We consumed an enormous quantity of the warm vintage sake along with the sushi, sashimi and artfully-crafted rolls—and as a consequence, we had the Nobu driver deliver us back to the hotel. It would be an early—and quiet–night. I didn’t think I could perform with so much alcohol in my system. Jorge spooned me into his gut, and we were both soon dead to the world, as I pondered his earlier declaration.
Tomorrow would include tennis and another relaxing day by the pool. Maybe a trip to the aviary. The banquet was scheduled for six—at the dining room which had been created in the old Customs House. There would be the traditional 21 dishes of an imperial banquet and of course classical Chinese dance for entertainment. If we were lucky, Tao might even be able to contract with the dragon dancers on such short notice. I hoped so. It would be a treat for Jorge. Perhaps for the first time, I noted that I was becoming protective of his experience, doing things to please him—I wanted him to remember this time in Asia for a long time and I wanted his experience level to get closer to my own. My affection was clearly building. And I was beginning to think about the future, no our future.
We arrived at the Customs House, were draped in ceremonial silk robes and ushered into the large common room. I noted that the familiar dragon pillars had been set in the midst of the horseshoe-shaped table. Dragon pillars are thick columns, around 12″ around—about a dozen of them, ranging in height from 3 feet to 5 feet, in a rough figure-eight formation. We were greeted by our host and all of us were led by the 7-person dragon into the high-ceilinged room. The lead was a giant and beautiful, but fierce dragon head, glistening with small mirrors and feathers sewn onto brightly colored silk—the rest, like an undulating prehistoric caterpillar, was of silk, held aloft on poles by seven young men. The lead jumped onto one of the columns and then proceeded to the next as the man behind him followed. Within a minute the dragon was perched on seven column tops and moving to a drum cadence, undulating up and down, moving with precision in jumps from one column to the next. It was an amazingly athletic and practiced dance. The motions were perfect. After circuiting the columns several times, the lead dismounted and the dragon disappeared into another room. Shortly seven young men re-appeared, with muscular bare chests, their loins covered only in revealing black Speedos. They smiled, bowed three times, and accepted our applause.
We were led to silk cushions and the banquet continued. The food was delicious and exotic—but mostly we didn’t ask the ingredients! Then there was classical dance and the famous pentatonic chorus serenade. The entire evening was magic—even to us Westerners who didn’t understand the full significance of it all. At the end, Tao approached, gifted us with silk-wrapped boxes of exotic sweets, and led us to the waiting limo for the return to the hotel. “My limo will take you Changi tomorrow if you tell the driver the time of departure. Thank you for your valued advice, and friendship, Anson. It has been a pleasure to meet you Jorge.” Looking at Jorge, he added, “Take good care of this man. He is a gem.”
*********
The transfer to Bangkok was uneventful and took only the morning. We were soon ensconced in a giant suite at the Shangri-la on the Chao Phraya River—in a new space, a remodeled ancient building, the club within the hotel—with its own pool and all-inclusive restaurants and cocktail lounges and a massive spa, all river-side. In four hours we had moved from Puritan Singapore to (arguably) the most exotic and sensuous spot in Asia.
Everyone loves Bangkok. The people are smiling and loving. The sights are exotic. The main roads are rivers or canals. And there are almost no rules about dress and sensuality. It is clearly in the running to be the Vegas of Asia—but with lots of water.
At check in, we had made spa appointments and arranged for several touristy trips on the river and in the Imperial sector.
The concierge, who was probably gay (judging by the way he dressed and by the way he scanned our bodies and our baskets) handed us a map with the purported “safe” sexual attractions in the world famous quarters. He obviously guessed that we were gay (he knew the suite had only one king bed) as he had circled a few in Soi Twilight. “There are many scams—the most frequent being straight guys who promise, but after they’re paid, refuse to bottom and may not even take you by mouth.” He pointed to two: “These may work for you. They are clean and safe—but if I were you, I’d restrict myself to the go-go bars—and those in Soi Cowboy that, while mostly hetero, have the nicest bodies, male and female, and the least chance that the drink will be spiked. Go enjoy the sights and get yourselves aroused. If you must indulge, condoms are absolutely essential. Then come back here and enjoy each other. I can provide “room service” if you want a third or a fourth. In fact, I’m off duty for the next two nights.” He handed me a card brushing long manicured fingers over my arm as he did so, emphasizing the offer
Shortly, we were in the room. It was large and sensuous, draped in gold and red silks, with an enormous canopied bed in an alcove, elevated slightly to permit views. “I’ve never experienced a welcome like that. I had the feeling we were checking into a non-com, unofficial military R&R facility, designed to please the guys who had been posted to sterile Muslim outposts. Wow, that guy was something else. Do you think we are so obvious that a concierge pegs us as gay after just a couple of minutes? I didn’t think we were. But, I think I’m going to like this city.”
“I think maybe he guessed since we have a room with only one bed. And I only have to look at you to know you’d be any rich guy’s play toy.”
“Well, on that note, I think it’s time to play, sir.”
Jorge started to remove my shirt. “I’m sure glad that we are packing our own entertainment with us.” He leaned in and took my nipples between his lips and teeth and squeezed as he cupped my fabric covered equipment. He was hot and his testosterone was inflaming the room. His jeans were exhibiting a nice basket. I knew he had it in him to be a little dangerous. I think I was about to experience it. I think I had opened Pandora’s box in Singapore with the earthy bit. “Get naked, Anson. I want you now on that bed.” As my pants fell to the floor, he drew me into a hard bear hug, lifted me and threw me on the bed.
So Jorge was putting on his macho barrio dom. I was curious to see what that meant. We were in Bangkok after all. He had me in the center of the silky bed, on my back, staring at his hungry dark look. This was going to be good, I could tell. He started with a deliberate slow posturing, more gym than dance floor, as he dropped his clothes, popping his muscles, and sweating up. He traced his pecs, pinched the nipples, and rippled his fingers over his abs. Then, he stroked his dark cock to maximum size, placed a finger at the tip and transferred a bit of cum to my lips. Then, somewhat crudely, he began a slow buck and grind, pulling on his dick, taking his finger tips to his lips, smiling and sucking them in. He didn’t need a pole—or a thong to be stuffed with paper currency. I reached up for him. I was in heat. He was sex on a chopstick. I wanted him, now!
“Oh no, Anson. Not yet. First drink this,” as he handed me a tumbler of scotch on the rocks. As I was drinking, he opened the paper sack from his duffel and stretched a double cock ring onto me—one under the balls and a smaller one at the base of the penis. They were tight, very tight and would definitely stall ejaculation. Then he did the same to himself—causing his cock to bulge to incredible stiffness over those nice big ball sacs. “These are gonna make it last, boy. You’re going to scream for relief. Now, I want you on your belly—after you bind your eyes with this scarf. I’m your Bangkok butt boy. You are mine. These cheeks are mine. I’m going to take you to a special place. You won’t forget this experience, I guarantee it.” Then he whacked me a few times.
This was a new Jorge. I finished the scotch, grabbed the scarf, tied it on, and trusting Jorge completely, lay belly down spread-eagled on the king, tensed for the worst—or more likely the best.
He covered me instantly and drew my limbs in with his own, nestling his cock in my cleft, sliding in my sweat and his pre-cum. He nibbled on my earlobe then bit into my shoulder—I’m sure leaving his mark. Then he shuffled down, pulled me up on all fours and batted my thighs apart. Separating my ass muscles, he jabbed his tongue inside. It was hot and moist and I gasped and tried to squirm—but couldn’t. He had me completely under his control. His hands were on my hips, his fingers touching my balls. I was his. “No, papi. This is my game. Just accept and enjoy. I’m certainly going to.” I looked up and stared at a golden smiling Buddha in the painting over our bed. He was apparently enjoying the proceedings. I guess so was I!
“Do your worst, Jorge. For tonight, I am anything you want me to be.”
“At first, I thought I would take you hard, like a rent-bitch in the barrio. But, after yesterday, I have another idea.” He replaced his tongue with lubed fingers, and after he had opened me, he slid his enormous lubed cock slowly, but deep into my ass. He bottomed and his heavy hot balls slapped into mine. He froze. “This is going to be very Zen. I’m going to see how long I can edge you with my dick before I pop. And you won’t cum unless I let you, understood? Once again, welcome to B-a-n-g-k-o-k.” (He stretched those words out broadly, telling me that he was indeed “banging” me with his big macho “cock”.)
Over the next few minutes, while he ever so slowly moved inside me, he whispered lurid barrio Spanish (mostly sarcastic understatements) into my ears: mio chicito (my little boy), papi puto (hunky whore), huevos caldos (hot balls), gran polla (big dicked guy), peppered with the internationally known four letter encouragements in American. You get the idea. He was reliving his experiences in the barrio, mouthing words to express his growing arousal and what he was doing to me. Fortunately my time in the Mission District had taught me more of these phrases than I needed in polite Latino circles. He wasn’t putting me down; he was whispering erotic endearments, rooted in his rincon, demonstrating that he was so macho that he could take anyone, including the most desirable guy, even one with a bigger cock. He was the man, the dom, the big dick. He was in charge.
Jorge continued stroking my shaft with depth and deliberate slowness as one hand fisted my cock tightly and the other was wrapped around my balls, pulling them toward the mattress. He was raising my temperature and my arousal slowly. He was going to edge forever at this pace. He was going to make me forget my name—or why we were even here. It was all about exquisite pleasure, delivered by a skilled lover. Concentrate on the point of pleasure. Forget the world. Forget about the future.
I think it lasted a half hour, but it seemed like an eternity. Often he would just stop, buried deeply inside, and all I could feel was the blood twitching his dick and his heartbeat pressed into my back. He was dripping with sweat and I was nearly catatonic with aroused pleasure. I was indeed totally his. He needed to release me—or find a straight jacket. I was beyond a normal man’s endurance. My cock was bigger and harder than it had ever been. My balls were bursting they were so full. Finally he plunged deep, nipped my neck with his hot lips, and whispered, “I’m going to make you cum now, Anson. I’m ready.”
He pulled out, slammed back in and grabbed my pole and began to stroke hard. I instantly exploded as he drew back and scraped my love-nut, then plunged deeply one last time. The rings slowed the release and sent tingling shocks into my belly extending and deepening the orgasm. He wrapped me in his strong arms, and keeping his fat plug in place, pulled me into his lap, bottoming more deeply than he had ever before, and gripped me in a lovers’ embrace. I turned and he took my lips as he possessively scooped my balls and urged them to give the rest up.
At that moment, I knew I had found the best fuck buddy I had ever experienced—and maybe a life partner, assuming he didn’t finish me off with a heart attack before the trip was over! I wondered whether he had felt the same. I think so.
Later in the week, after days of tourism, and a day at the beach, we did visit the red light district, and for the first time, we walked down the brightly lit nighttime streets hand in hand. Tourists and Thais stared at us with hungry eyes. We were hunks, commando in flimsy tight silk pants that showcased our big Western dicks and over-shirts, worn unbuttoned over skin-tight silk muscle tees. We promised everything, staring often into each other’s eyes. We had a few drinks (taking the suggestion of the concierge, we only drank beers and asked that the cold bottles be opened at the table). We saw a few pole dance shows—with beautiful girls and boys–and people-watched the exotic sex-crazed antics of that world. Neither of us was tempted. We had our own experiences to remember, and others to anticipate in our few days more in Bangkok.
In this very sensuous city, I had discovered the raw, maleness of Jorge which he covered so well with his manners and compassion. And I had experienced the practiced Zen of a master lover. He was really two men: a dedicated, compassionate care-giver and a totally macho bull. He was a taker and a receiver. I was getting two for the price of one—both of him were invading my soul, displacing pain, doubt, and emptiness. I liked both. I was convinced. I would be asking him to move into the condo with me upon our return. Now, it was only to find the right time. We were just over half-way through our time in Asia together.
Our sensuous experience in Bangkok was nearing an end. Jorge had definitely come out of his tentative shell. He was not my sub; he was my friend and my lover. It was time for Bali by way of Hong Kong. But that’s for another story or two. BD