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Harmony and Dissonance

by Habu


“Are you sure this is the address?” Lars Krieger asked, as the hotel car stopped in front of a massive, carved-wood, two-panel door in an otherwise blank concrete wall on Bangkok’s Soi 51 Sukhumvit. The road was narrow, almost an alley, it seemed, to the young German engineer, with one, long stuccoed wall running down its full length on each side with doors like this and wider garage doors at distant intervals.

The driver merely nodded his head vigorously and smiled a silly smile.

The door was opened by a slim, young Thai man, who was bare-chested and wearing a cotton sarong around his waist that reached down nearly to bare feet. Lars never ceased to be amazed that Thai servants of the wealthy and titled continued to dress in this traditional style, which was highly provocative, at least to a Westerner like him. As the hotel car driver was doing, the servant was showing a silly grin. Lars had been in Bangkok long enough—nearly two weeks—to know that this was a sign of slight nervousness in a Thai.

If it was any consolation, he thought, he felt as out of place here as they were thinking him to be.

“I am Khun Krieger,” Lars said. “I was given this address to meet Mom Rajawongse Amnad Pramoj for consultations. Is this the residence of Mom Rajawongse Krit Thanawat?” It was a mouthful, but Lars had no idea how to address these Thai royals. He only knew that they were touchy that way until they told you otherwise. He was on a first-name basis—and more—with Amnad, the architect he was working with in Bangkok to construct sets for a royal command performance of Verdi’s Rigoletto. But he didn’t know how he should address him in public. Amnad had explained that a Mom Rajawongse was “just the son of a son of a king,” which had still sounded impressive until Amnad had smiled and said that his grandfather, King Chulalongkhon, had sired more than a hundred children. “MRs have fallen on Thailand like raindrops in a monsoon,” Amnad had said.

But so far Lars had found the few MRs Amnad had introduced him to to be filthy rich and to be treated like gods by the general populous.

“Khunchai Amnad and Khunchai Krit are within,” the servant said in a soft voice, as he lowered his eyes and gave Lars a wai, which was a hand palm-to-palm greeting of respect, accompanied by a bowing of the head. Ah, “khun” is good enough for me, but an MR gets to be called “khunchai,” Lars thought. How much of this would he have to learn—and use—for the short time he would be in Thailand.

Also, the lower the bow, Lars had gathered, the greater the respect. The servant was bowing a bit from the waist, so Lars assumed he was being given a great deal of respect—even if he was only a “khun.” The sidelong glance he got from the young man indicated hints of interests of another sort—like maybe the respect was more for Lars’ physique, rugged good looks, and blond curls than for his possible station in life.

Lars knew he looked good and squared away, although he was somewhat uncomfortable in the traditional long-sleeved creamy silk Siamese-style shirt he was wearing over black tux trousers. Amnad had invited him here to consult over an early dinner with Krit Thanawat on a sound shell and backdrops for a concert for the royal family and their summer court in their seaside palace at Hua Hin, the royal enclave on the Bight of Bangkok, to the southwest of the capital.

Lars had quietly been wrangling for an introduction to Krit, and he’d thus been willing to have this formal Thai wear whipped up on short notice. He normally was a shorts and T-shirt sort of man who worked hands-on in primitive conditions—and his muscular physique reflected that—but he was here on a favor owned to someone he couldn’t say no to. Connecting with Krit was key to accomplishing that favor.

Once inside the compound, Lars felt he had been transported back to modern-day Europe. They entered a covered passageway with a square of lawn on the right, a burbling fountain in the middle, and flower beds in a riot of colors around the periphery. The house, obviously large, ran around from the left of the loggia to two stories of modern stucco and large expanses of tinted glass facing him. Beyond the grassed area to the right was a large parking pad now accommodating two Mercedes sedans and a BMW sports car. Both Mercedes were yellow, which Lars had already learned was a car color reserved for royalty in Thailand, so he assumed that both MRs he was here to visit were present.

The automobiles were facing into a three-car garage with another story on top of it. Tucked behind the garage was a circular swimming pool surrounded by a stone patio. And the compound was unearthly quiet, save for the soft gurgling of the fountain. He felt like he had been transported a thousand miles from the noisy, dirty, and bustling Thai capital, but, in fact, he was in the middle of the city’s sprawl out toward the east.

As they drew nearer a set of carved wooden doors at the end of the passageway, the quiet floated away on the wings of a lovely, lilting soprano voice, singing in, to Lars’ great surprise, what sounded like Polish.

The music, underscored by an intricate piano accompaniment, grew louder as they entered the house. The servant led Lars down a passageway to the left, opened a door in a blank wall to the left, and he found himself in a sound booth facing a wall of glass. Beyond the glass, in a large music room set up as a TV studio and concert room combination, he could see a young, extremely handsome Thai man sitting and playing at an ebony black grand piano, with its lid lifted. The young man was dressed casually in Western style, in black trousers; a billowing white cotton shirt, open half way down his chest; and sandals on bare feet. The piano he was playing sat on a semicircular stage raised a couple of steps above the ground floor, which supported three tiered semicircular rows of substantial, matched dining room chairs curving around the stage. Standing in the curve of the piano was a beautiful young Thai woman, dressed in a creamy-white sarong. She was the one who was supplying the lilting soprano music in the incongruous language.

Recording was in progress—both audio and via TV cameras. Two Thai men in T-shirts, showing the face of some composer or other in black ink who Lars nearly recognized, and short sarongs around their waists, were operating the cameras beyond the glass wall in the music room. Two sound technicians were sitting inside the sound booth at a console set against and facing the glass wall. They were similarly dressed and were giving their full concentration to the performance in the music room.

Amnad Pramoj, a tall, lithe, berry-brown Thai in this late thirties and elegantly dressed in traditional Siamese-style formal wear as Lars was, was standing behind the sound technicians and watching the performance.

Lars entered the room to stand at Amnad’s side as the door gently closed behind him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Amnad whispered without turning, but obviously being aware that Lars was at his side.

“Yes, they are,” Lars answered.

Amnad turned his head toward Lars, raised his eyebrows, and gave Lars a little smile. “I was referring to the music. Chopin’s 16 Polnische Lieder.”

Ah, that’s the composer depicted on the T-shirts, Lars thought. He’d been around Heinrich enough that he should have recognized that right off the bat.

“I was referring to that as well as the couple themselves.” And to all of the other people in the two rooms, Lars thought, including Amnad himself. These people had surrounded themselves with beautiful people.

“Yes, they are a handsome couple,” Amnad said. “The toast of the city. Perfection itself. It was a celebrated marriage. Both MRs. The style magazines can’t get enough of them. Story after story about their fairytale marriage. They broadcast a weekly television show from here, you know—Krit playing and Somsri singing. It makes young woman sigh all over the city.”

“Formidable,” Lars whispered. It was his assignment to do something about that.

“What was that?”

“She’s singing in Polish, isn’t she?” Lars said, purposely not answering the question asked. “The harmonies are wonderful—even an unrefined engineer such as me can tell that. But a Thai singing in Polish? That seems incongruous. Or isn’t it Polish?”

“Yes, it’s Polish. Chopin was Polish, although the French have tried to grab him. And I’d hardly say you were unrefined,” Amnad said, reaching out and touching the sleeve of Lar’s silk jacket-shirt in a gesture meant not to be seen by anyone else in the dimly lit sound booth. He didn’t pull his hand back, but left it there, rubbing the rich silk fabric between his fingers.“They are producing a video to send to the palace. The project I’m trying to interest you in at the Hua Hin palace is a Chopin concert. This is to give the palace staff an indication of what the program will be.”

“Chopin wrote songs? I thought he was strictly piano.”

“Yes, he wrote this collection of sixteen songs, and one other. But you seem to know something of Chopin. So, you needn’t try to tell me that you aren’t a man of refinement. He wrote this ensemble from works by Polish poets set to Polish folk tunes—although one of the songs is Lithuanian.”

“And the concert is all Chopin? And Krit will be playing in the concert? Will be there beforehand as we construct the set?”

“Yes, He’ll be playing in the concert, and he will be there in Hua Hin with us a few days before the court arrives for the concert so that we can coordinate the performance sound. Krit is president of the Bangkok Chopin Society, and the royal family is entertaining the Polish ambassador in Hua Hin. He was asked to whip something of Chopin’s up for them. In addition to accompanying Somsri, Krit will be playing Chopin etudes.”

Of course then, Lars thought. If he and Krit would be in Hua Hin for a few days together, then he most certainly would help with this project.

“And you? You’ll be there? And you are a better pianist even than Krit. I have now heard both of you play. Will you be playing as well?”

Amnad turned his face to Lars and smiled in recognition of the compliment. “Yes, I will play Chopin sonatas—the C minor, opus 4, and the B minor, opus 58.”

“I would like to hear you play those.”

“This evening, perhaps, after the dinner with Krit and Somsri?” Amnad was trembling. The hand that had been toying with the silk of Lars’ shirt was now gripping Lar’s arm above the elbow.

“Yes, I would like that.”

Amnad moved the hand to the small of Lars’ back and started to say something else, but the recording session had ended, and Krit was standing from the piano and motioning Amnad and Lars to join them.

The introductions were pleasant, with Lars waiing and bowing low and Somsri gathering his palmed hands in hers and, with a lilting laugh and a winning smile, telling him that there was no need for such formality. That both of them had largely been raised in European boarding schools, where no one paid a bit of attention to anyone’s comparative pedigree.

Yeah, I’ll just bet no one in those schools treated you like a princess, Princess, Lars thought.

Beautiful people themselves, both Krit and Somsri warmed immediately to the handsome, muscular German who had made the effort to wear traditional Siamese formal wear.

The dinner, served in a large dining room, at one end of a table that would accommodate twenty and swarming with beautiful and attentive Thai servants, was convivial.

Somsri couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the German and was enjoying teasing and flirting with him. Krit also was thoroughly enjoying himself up to the point when they were talking about possible mutual acquaintances in Europe and Lars mentioned that he had become involved in the engineering aspects of stage design through his good friend, Heinrich Heller, conductor of the Cologne Symphony.

As soon as he said that, Amnad said, still looking at Lars, “Why that was the conductor who mentored Krit as a concert pianist, isn’t that right . . . ?” He had turned to Krit and hadn’t finished the sentence, because an expression something between distaste and fear had floated across Krit’s face.

“Krit, are you all right?” Amnad asked.

“Yes, yes,” Krit said, changing his expression back to something congenially handsome—but perhaps a bit forced. “I think perhaps that this shrimp has gone bad.”

He was suddenly inundated by an army of concerned servants, who whisked his plate away and told him another plate of food would be coming out immediately. He waved them away, though, and reached for the wine decanter. From then on to the end of the meal, he was only half in the conversation, although as charming when he was engaged as ever. He reached for the wine decanter appreciably more than he had been doing earlier in the meal.

With that one little glitch, dinner was declared a success by all. Lars agreed to accompany Amnad to Hua Hin to help construct the sound shell and backdrops for the royal concert, and Somsri saw Amnad and Lars to the side of one of the Mercedes sedans in the autocourt, holding Lars’ hand and smiling at him coyly perhaps a tad longer than was necessary.

It was dusk in the music room of Amnad’s Thai-style house on the banks of the San Saep Klong—klong being the Thai word for canal—behind what was now the Siam Paragon shopping mall but what had once been one of the central-city royal palace grounds, the Sra Pathum Palace. Amnad’s house, a series of teak rooms set on a continuous platform supported by teak tree trunks, was all that was left of the original palace, which had been where his father, a prince, had lived in near poverty before selling off most of the forty-three acres between the house compound and Ploenchit Road for what was then the Siam Intercontinental Hotel grounds, a financial transaction that had made him—and, eventually, Amnad—very wealthy.

Amnad was seated at a Petrof grand piano, now dressed in a silk sarong wrapped at his waist and bare-chested, and finishing up the Sonata in B minor, opus 58. Listening to him with an amused expression on his face and a nearly empty brandy snifter was Lars, sitting cross-legged and naked on a nearby raised platform covered with a silk coverlet and a smattering of Jim Thompson silk pillows.

They had already fucked once.

“That was very nice,” Lars said when Amnad’s hands came off the keys. “And you know what would be very nice after that?”

Without answering the question, Amnad rose from the piano and walked over to the platform. Lars reached out and undid the knot of the sarong at Amnad’s waist, watching it fall in folds around the lithe Thai architect’s feet; encircled Amnad’s waist with his muscular arms; and pulled the trembling body to him, opening his lips and closing them over the bulb of Amnad’s erect cock.

They fucked once more, sitting on the platform, facing each other, Amnad’s legs straddling Lars’ hips, his torso arched back, and Lars’ arms encasing his waist, slowly pulling Amnad’s passage forward and back on his cock.

Amnad moaned softly at the thickness and length of the young, virile German, as the cock slowly moved in and out, to great depth.

How could he say he wasn’t refined, Amnad, thought. Amnad had never met a Westerner before who could perform the Yin and Yang male Kama Sutra position like this or would have the patience to fuck him slowly to full fulfillment—repeatedly. And he’d met no man whatsoever who was as perfectly formed and horse hung as Lars was.

It was well shy of midnight when Lars left Amnad’s compound, and he was in the mood for more, so much more. And something quite different. All of this refinement had left him keyed up.

He let Amnad send him back to his hotel in the Mercedes, begging off spending the night, saying that he needed his sleep and couldn’t have slept with Amnad in the bed with him—that Amnad was too enticing. As it was, they had fucked twice, the second time in the Butterfly position, with Amnad suspended above him like a crab and doing all of the work—Amnad vocally appreciative that Lars knew it was the Butterfly position.

The chauffeur didn’t go directly back to the hotel. He stopped in the lane between the palace compound walls and the loading docks of the shopping mall and climbed into the backseat and sat on Lars’ cock, as he had already done twice since meeting Lars’ arriving plane after a long, and tension-filled flight. But even his wasn’t enough to calm Lars’ nerves tonight.

After he returned to the hotel, Lars went to his room and changed into a tight short-sleeved cotton shirt, open almost to the navel, and jeans and caught a taxi to Soi Cowboy, where he entered a bar and picked out a lovely and curvy young Thai, who said that, yes, “she’d” love to go to the Thai boxing stadium with him near Lumphini Park. Cockatoo was what was known as a Ladyboy bar, the “girls” being what the Thai called katoeys, better known in English as transvestites.

Lars knew exactly what kind of bar he’d gone to and what kind of hostess he’d picked up. The katoeys of Thailand were the more exquisitely beautiful of any who could be found in the world. He still was jittery and tense from a day of behaving. He wanted to let loose.

They first went to Lumphini Stadium, where he watched, licking his lips and slitting his eyes, as two young Thai boxers in skimpy shorts beat each other to a pulp in a no-holds-bar kick boxing match. The katoey sat beside him, snuggled up to him and rubbed Lars’ cock through the tight material of the jeans. As the katoey got the measure of Lars, the German whispered in his ear what was going to happen after the boxing match, which made the transvestite moan.

In the nearby Boss Place hotel, where “anything goes for as short a time as you want,” Lars rough-fucked the katoey hard and fast after pushing “her” onto the bed on her back, pulling her skirt up around her waist, ripping her panties away, and thrusting strongly and deeply inside her.

With visions of the vicious blood sport he had just indulged in watching coursing through his brain, Lars had his hands around her throat and was coordinating squeezes with thrusts of the cock, while the katoey gasped for breath, eyes bugged out, but, when able, squealed for more of the long, thick cock.

* * * *

The king’s Hua Hin summer palace was a surprise to Lars Krieger. The engineer in him was fascinated, as he followed Amnad Pramoj from one parallel building complex to another, followed by small, but strong, male servants lugging their suitcases. Walking through the palace was like peeling an onion of history.

The first bank of buildings from the auto park was a string of painted teak pavilions, with shining orange, red, yellow, and green roof tiles set like snakes’ scales, on a long platform raised off the ground one story by pillars. Behind this, connected by a covered corridor, was a early nineteenth-century style rambling two-story wooden building that was austere in appearance, a marked contrast to the ceremonial buildings in front of it. It appeared to have been built quickly and cheaply to accommodate the maximum number of rooms for the cost. When seeing this, Lars thought back on being told about the large number of children Amnad’s grandfather had fathered by multiple wives. Beyond this, though, against the shore of a shallow cove off the Bight of Bangkok, perched a modern steel and glass building Lars was to find housed an entertainment complex, including the small concert hall he was to be helping Amnad to prepare for the Chopin performances.

Walking to the curved floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the concert hall that overlooked a cove, with crystal-clear water over gleaming white-sand, Lars saw that the complex didn’t stop at the water’s edge. The luggage bearers passed him by, though a door out onto a deck, and then down a pier out into the water bearing platform pads on pillars along its sides.

“Those are the guest huts,” Amnad said, as he sidled up to Lars. “I’m sorry to say that we are in separate rooms. Propriety and all that. But we can find time for each other.”

“Good,” Lars answered, purposely being unclear on what was good. He wanted Amnad to think that it was good that they would have opportunities to fuck, but what he actually thought was good was that they were in separate huts. He was here to do more than construct a sound shell around the stage for the Chopin concert. Having his own room would help him complete the assignment Heinrich Heller had entrusted to him.

Lars and Amnad were the first to arrive. The concert wasn’t for ten more days. Krit and Somsri Thanawat wouldn’t arrive to start practicing for nearly a week, and stage construction was to be finished by then. The king’s family and guests wouldn’t filter in until the day of the concert. Other than the servants, those preparing for the concert would have the complex all to themselves.

Lars’ bit would be the first to be completed—the sound shell. Amnad would ensure it was effective by practicing his sonatas both in front of the raw shell when it was completed and then after he had transformed it into a dreamy backdrop reminiscent of Chopin’s time—something that would evoke Chopin’s world to the Thai royal family. It didn’t have to be faithful to Chopin’s environment. This was Amnad’s specialty in his stage work—creating “realistic” fantasy backdrops for operas.

This was a specialty that Lars was here to create as well—to create a fantasy to serve the purpose for which he was sent—to bring dissonance to harmony without those involved being aware of what was happening in the greater scheme of things.

When Amnad was satisfied with the balance of art and acoustics, Krit and Somsri arrived. For the five days before that, Amnad and Lars went to their separate huts on the platforms over the shallow waters of the cove only for one to steal into the hut of the other in the middle of the night to fuck in the various refined positions of the male Kama Sutra, an activity that kept Amnad enthralled with Lars, but one that didn’t completely satisfy Lars. Male servants had quickly made themselves available to the hulking, muscular Farang, Western foreigner, and Lars had no lack of small, berry-brown men available to fuck roughly in his own bed or in various other locations around the palace compound after leaving Amnad.

Amnad had said that, if Lars had pressing business, he could return to Bangkok once assurances were reached that the sound shell was complete—but that he was welcome to stay on for the concert. He probably wouldn’t be introduced to the king, though, of course. The Thai architect was delighted when Lars said he was happy to stay on.

Amnad no doubt thought the reason Lars was staying was because of him—he had no illusions that it was the music that held Lars. But Lars knew that he would stay because of his mission—because of Krit Thanawat and what he wanted from Krit.

So, as Amnad worked in the concert hall with the curved glass wall overlooking the shallow cove and the line of sleeping huts along a raised pier jutting out into the water, Lars remained nearby in case further work was needed on the basic sound shell, which it wasn’t. He had done an expert job from the beginning. Growing bored with sitting in the concert hall and feeling the siren call of the nearly transparent water of the cove and the shifting pristine-white sands underneath, Lars moved to the deck beyond the glass wall during the days, changing into swimming trunks, taking in the rays, and occasionally stealing away to fuck one of the willing berry-brown, small-bodied male servants there permanently to serve whoever was in residence and satisfy whatever needs they had.

It was here, sunning himself on a bright-colored mat set in a section of the decking, that he was to become aware that Krit and Somsri Thanawat had arrived. He learned it first in the sounds of piano music coming from the concert hall that were of a different strain and touch from Amnad’s slender, sensual fingers. Krit was practicing the Chopin etudes. And not long after that, the awareness came as well, as Lars noticed that Somsri, in a red bathing suit, was swimming in the cove beyond the edge of the sun deck he was lying on.

Sensing that she was watching him as she swam, Lars struck several poses that could both be construed as natural and would show off his musculature to the best advantage. He did not discount the possible importance of this diminutive Thai beauty, with the enchanting soprano voice, to the mission that he had to perform.

Lars stayed long enough to be sure that Somsri was swimming to see and be seen—with them being the only ones out in the sun on the cove. Then he stood and stretched, and, not looking at her—giving the impression he wasn’t even aware she was there at all—he reached down and rearranged his package inside his swimming trunks, conveying the impression he was so well-endowed he had to have it “just so,” which wasn’t far off the truth. Having done that, he languidly walked around the curve of the glass wall on the external deck and then over to the pier and down that to his hut on a separate platform.

Having rounded the corner of that, he waited for a half minute and then peeked around to the corner to see if Somsri was still in the water. He smiled to himself when he saw that she wasn’t. She’d pulled herself up onto the deck curving around the back of the concert hall and was drying herself off. She had been swimming just for him.

Lars wasn’t sure how he’d use the knowledge that Somsri was taken with him—or whether he needed to use that information—and he didn’t usually do women, but he was happy that the option was there. And Somsri Thanawat certainly was a sexy little thing. If he had to do her, he’d have to be careful not to break her.

Dinner that evening was in a cavernous, high-ceilinged hall on the ground floor of the palace’s middle wing. It only appeared to be the ground floor, though. Like all of the other buildings in the complex, in fact most buildings in coastal Thailand, the first floor was raised and rested on a platform. This was because coastal Thailand was at or below sea level and just the tide coming in could flood a building sitting anywhere near the shore. In the case of the drab wooden rectangle that was the middle wing, though, the open area under the first floor was skirted with wood latticing to make it appear to be an interior space, and this was where the small boats the royal family used for excursions on the water were kept.

With only four people at the end of a table that easily would seat fifty, eating under wavering candlelight in a drafty hall, the dinner conversation seemed to echo. This didn’t bother Somsri, Amnad, and Lars, though, who discussed this and that and not much of anything significant in a convivial mood in which both Somsri and Amnad hung on every word Lars uttered. Although polite, Krit remained a bit aloof, entering the conversation only when it dabbled with classical music or travel in Europe. Even then, he remained a little distant and avoided looking at Lars or querying Lars about anything. Somsri and Amnad were both looking at Lars and vying for his attention enough that neither seemed to be aware that Krit was maintaining a barrier between himself and the German engineer.

But Lars noticed.

“Krit,” Somsri turned to her husband and said after the remains of the mangos and sticky rice desert had been swept away by the padding legion of barefooted male servants with rustling Thai silk sarongs knotted around their waists, “I should like to practice the lieder this evening if you will accompany me.”

“I have practiced the etudes enough today that I fear my knuckles are swollen, but—”

“Perhaps Amnad could accompany Somsri then,” Lars interjected. He had been looking for just such an opening to be alone with Krit. Although Krit had studiously been trying to avoid looking at Lars for days, he had not been thus guarded before Lars had mentioned knowing the Cologne Symphony conductor, Heinrich Heller, and Lars, ever watchful, knew that Krit still gave him interested looks when he thought he wasn’t being seen to do so.

And Lars well knew there was foundation for Krit to be interested in him. That, in fact, Krit had trouble maintaining control around certain kinds of men—men very much like Lars was. That’s why Lars was here.

“Yes, that would be fine with—” Somsri started.

“No, that’s OK, I’ll—” Krit broke in.

“That actually would work well,” Amnad said. “I haven’t practiced today, and playing the lieder for Somsri would warm me up for running through the sonatas.”

“Well, that settles it then,” Lars said jovially. “Krit and I can stay on here for a bit to have our brandy. Right, Krit?”

Krit’s expression reflected that it was anything but all right, but he acquiesced with a shrug. Still, he watched his wife and architect friend leave like they were going to close a prison door on him in their wake.

When they were gone and Lars had poured brandy in snifters for both he and Krit, he gave Krit an intense gaze as he handed him a snifter and said, “You can hear Amnad doing scales to warm to the piano, Krit. They are safely away in the concert hall. You can look at me now.”

Krit sheepishly turned his handsome face to Lars, his long eyelashes fluttering.

“Heinrich wants you to return to him, Krit. I have felt that you knew why I was here from the moment I said that Heinrich was my friend—that I worked with him.”

Krit didn’t respond.

“So, you know why I’m here. Why it was someone like me who Heinrich sent to bring you back.”

“Yes, I know that’s why you’re here,” Krit now said in a small voice. “And I know why he sent someone like you. But, as you can see, I can’t go back now. I’m a married man, with a calling here in Thailand. You know I can’t—”

“I’m going to come over there and kiss you now—and embrace you,” Lars said in a low voice.

“Yes,” Krit answered in not much more than a whisper.

“And we’re going to find someplace very private.”

“Yes,” Krit murmured softly.

“And I’m going to fuck you.”

“Yes.”

They fucked in one of the small, outrigger-style boats stored underneath the building. Krit lay on his back in the hull of the boat, his arms and legs slung over the gunwales on either side, his neck propped at the bow where the tongue of the boat jutted out. Lars knelt in the hull between Krit’s spread thighs, held Krit’s slim hips in his hands, and pulled Krit’s channel on and off his hard, thick cock, while Krit moaned that they couldn’t be doing this—that Krit didn’t want this. But as Lars pulled back from the killing thrust as Krit, hard himself, was about to burst, Krit cried out of his need to be finished and grabbed for Lars’ buttocks, pulling the cock deep inside himself again.

Heinrich had told Lars that Krit liked to be fucked roughly, and Lars found that to be true.

Lars started pumping while they still could hear Somsri’s lilting soprano on the floating breeze. Such was his stamina and virility, though, that he didn’t finish, with Krit moaning and sighing in exhaustion to the deep, brutal thrusts, until Amnad had started into the second of the sonatas.

Laying there, panting, collapsed onto the top of Krit, Lars murmured. “After this concert. You can return to Germany with me. Heinrich wants you, needs you, back in his bed.”

“I can’t.” Krit was near to sobbing. He was struggling to get out from under Lars and out of the boat, and Lars was laughing and half-heartedly countering Krit’s efforts—but only half-heartedly. Both men knew that Krit only was able to rise from the boat because Lars had permitted him to do so. “I’m married now. I have created a whole new life around my music. Heinrich is a musician. He should be able to appreciate that even if you can’t. I can’t go back.”

“Are you that sure of the harmony you have struck here with your wife and your music?” Lars asked when Krit had gotten out of the boat and started to escape from the dimly lit storage space under the building. Krit stopped and turned. Lars had risen from the boat and was displayed in all his muscular beauty, his huge cock and low-hanging balls now swinging low between his meaty thighs. “Do you really believe you can run away from what a man has to offer you.”

With a half sob, Krit turned and fled.

“You’ll want me again,” Lars called after him. “We both know you will.”

Lars was still arranging his cotton pants and pullover cotton shirt on his arm when he reached the open doorway from underneath the building. One of the young male servants was standing there, his eyes going big at the vision of the sexy god emerging, naked, from under the building.

Lars laughed, reached over and unknotted the sarong around the servant’s waist, scooped the young man up in his arms, and carried him back to the boat for another round of—even rougher than he had dealt Krit this time—personal pleasure.

* * * *

It was late morning, and Lars, in his tight swimming trunks, was sunning himself on the deck outside the curved window of the concert hall. Amnad was in the hall, practicing the sonatas on the grand piano. Somsri was sitting in a chair near the piano, head down and facing away from the glass wall out onto the cove, making notes in a score. At the sound of a closing door in one of the huts on the platform jutting out into the cover, Lars turned his eyes in that direction to see Krit emerge in a gap on the pier between huts. He was only wearing shorts and flip-flops. By the time he reached the next gap in the huts, he was naked, with the shorts draped over his arm. His body was lithe but well muscled. He was an extremely handsome young man. His cock was in erection. When he reached the next gap between the huts, he turned, stood at the edge of the pier, and looked intently in Lars’ direction.

Lars rose from the orange padding on the deck and slowly stripped his swimming trunks down and off. Krit was still watching him intently. After what was only a few seconds but one in which both men were holding their breath, Krit executed a sleek dive into the shallow waters of the cove, did a circle to where Lars was standing on the deck outside the concert hall, and started swimming in swift strokes out toward the sea.

Lars dove into the water. He was a stronger swimmer than Krit—or at least Krit permitted him to be so on that day. The water was still shallow and clear enough to see that all that was below was white sand and schools of small, neon-colored fish. Lars stood on the sand, water only up to below his pecs, and crouched, while holding the smaller Krit in front of him, the two men facing each other. Krit sat on Lars’ thighs, encircling Lars’ waist with his legs and Lars’ neck with his arms. Lars encircled the smaller Thai’s waist with a beefy arm, and moved his other hand between their bellies and worked Krit’s cock while Krit and raised and lowered his channel on Lars’ cock.

They held there, up to their chests in the water, cooling their panting down, after each had ejaculated.

“Enough?” Lars murmured.

“No, again, if you can,” Krit whispered, his face buried in the hollow of Lars’ shoulders.

They swam around the edge of rocks at one end of the cove, where they found a sheltered stretch of sand. Lars stood at the edge of the surf, foam rolling beyond his planted feet and then back into the ocean, as Krit was joined with him at their pelvises, his torso arched back toward the sands of the beach, his knuckles barely touching the sand, while Lars grabbed his buttocks and pulled him on and off the cock to a second ejaculation.

Afterward, Lars lay on top of Krit, between his thighs, and they kissed repeatedly.

“You will pack and return to Germany with me after the concert,” Lars whispered.

“I cannot. My life is here now—with Somsri and with my music.”

Lars entered him again and fucked him for a third time—more roughly this time, with Krit writhing under him, crying out—but crying out for the fuck rather than in opposition to the rough fucking.

“You can’t get enough of it. You know what you want. You will have to return with me.”

“No. I do want you—again and again. You can have me anytime you want. I will seek you out as long as you are in Thailand. But I won’t go back.”

“I think you will,” Lars said, the exasperation showing in his voice. “I think I can make you.”

He rose off of Krit then and ran into the water, dove into a wave, and started swimming back into the cove with strong strokes. When Krit managed to swim back, Lars was nowhere to be seen. The sounds of Chopin’s Sonata in B minor, opus 58, were still wafting out over the water from the concert hall.

* * * *

The sun was low to the west, sending the shadows of the huts on the pier far into the cove in front of the concert hall window. Lars was stretched out on the orange mat on the deck outside the curve of the concert hall window, having awakened shortly before from a nap and contemplating going back to his room. The sounds of Chopin’s Sonata in C minor, opus 4, were wafting out of the hall behind him. Lars could now identify each piece that Krit and Amnad played and Somsri sang, and the mystery of them were really beginning to wear thin on him. One way or the other, his mission should be finished soon. He was glad of that.

Krit was nowhere in evidence. Lars hadn’t seen him since he had swum back from the encounter in the cove and on the sand. Really a tough nut to crack, he was thinking. It was time for Plan B, no matter how extreme, he thought.

And, speaking of Plan B, Somsri was coming down the pier from her room, wearing her red bathing suit. She came almost to where the pier ended at the door into the hall off of the concert hall. She’d had her eyes on Lars the entire way.

He rose, and stretched again, to give her a good look, and then started moving toward her along the deck, around the curve of the concert hall window. He kept her captive with his eyes, knowing how delicate the situation was here, not wanting her to bolt.

She didn’t bolt. When he reached her, he stood close behind her, wrapping his arms around her torso. He could feel her shudder and fold back into his belly. He felt himself going hard, which he considered a good thing and cultivated to the extent he could, thinking of Krit’s body folded into his rather than Somsri’s. He wanted her to feel the hardness of him. She was trembling.

This was the strategic moment. He moved his hands up her sides and under the material of the top of her suit at the side, palming her breasts, and squeezing gently. He kissed her hair at the side of her head and moved his lips down to where he took the ridge of the top of her ear between his teeth. She was still trembling, but she didn’t pull away. He pressed his tongue into her ear cavity, and he felt her going limp in his embrace.

She turned her face to his, and they went into an open-lips kiss. He knew he’d won now.

“Go into the water,” he whispered.

“What? Why?” she whispered. She jerked and gave a little exclamation, as he moved a hand down and underneath the material of her bathing suit where her thigh met her trunk, searching for and finding her clit in her folds with his fingers.

“Because I’m going to fuck you. You want me to fuck you,” he murmured.

“No, we can’t,” she whispered, but her heavy breathing and having moved her hand to cover the one he had moving underneath the material of her bathing suit belied her objection.

“Go into the water and under the pier, or I will fuck you right here,” he growled.

She whimpered something unintelligible, but when he released her, she stepped off the pier and went straight down into the water with little splash. He dove in beyond where she landed, turned, and swam back to the pier. She was already under the pier, backing up against a pillar on the second bank of pillars in, when he got there. She was panting and looking all wanting and confused and scared at the same time.

Lars swam to her and pressed her back against the pier. He reached around her and unbuttoned the straps of the bathing suit were they were attached at the base of her spine and pulled the top down to her waist. He had her waist encircled with one arm and his other hand pushed down the front of her bathing suit, with his thumb working her clit and his fingers invading her cunt. His lips and teeth were working her exposed breasts. Panting and mewing and moaning, Somsri’s arms encircled Lars’ neck and her thighs were hooked on his hips. Water lapped against the pier in small waves that had their bodies naturally undulating against each other with no purposeful movement of either one.

Her bathing suit was pushed down to mid thigh, as was his. The bulb of his cock presented at her cunt and pressed in, only the bulb inside her entrance. She had already exploded in an orgasm and was clutching his shoulder blades with her fingers, her fingernails digging into his flesh. She was making little growling noises deep in her throat. He gave her two inches of the cock, which caused her to tense and cry out, “Oh, my god!”

“What’s the matter? Am I hurting you?” he whispered into the hair on the side of her head.

“Please. Please, you must go slow. I’ve . . . I’ve never . . .”

“You are a virgin?” he asked in surprise.

“Yes, yes. I’m so sorry but . . .”

Lars roared with laughter. “Yes, yes, of course you’re still a virgin. It’s all part of the harmony of the musical fantasy you and your husband make. But you do want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

“Yes, oh yes.”

“I will go slowly then. But I will have you fully.”

And have her fully, he did. And, slowly but surely, she had all of him inside her, bringing on explosion after explosion until he too had ejaculated. After he was done, they held there, him still inside her, letting the gentle action of the lapping of the waves on the pillar move their bodies against each other and his cock inside her, until he had reengorged and fucked her again, pumping her hard and with abandon this time.

As they were cooling off from that, they heard the patter of feet above them on the pier. Krit returning to the hut—the room he shared with Somsri.

Embarrassed and returning to reality now, Somsri pushed Lars gently away from her.

“I must go now. We shouldn’t have. It isn’t right. Krit.”

“But I will have you again, won’t I?”

“Any time we can manage it,” she whispered in a strangled voice, giving him a look of consternation laced with want.

He held her at arms’ length as she readjusted her swim suit and then let her swim away to make whatever entrance and excuses she could in the hut above Lars’ head where Krit now waited.

When Krit went to the piano the next afternoon—the day before the royal court was to arrive for the Chopin concert that evening—to practice his etudes, he found an unsigned note on the piano that Somsri needed to see him in their hut. Amnad was off in the front-section traditional Thai-style wing, helping the servants decorate the ceremonial pavilions for the arrival for the king. Krit didn’t know where Lars was. He hadn’t seen the German engineer since the hour after dinner the previous evening when it had been Krit who suggested that Somsri practice her lieder again with Amnad playing and, when they were gone, had begged Lars to fuck him again, which was accomplished again in the outrigger-style boat in the storage area under the middle wing of the palace.

Heinrich had been right. Once he had taken Lars’ cock inside him, Krit was insatiable.

Once again Lars had told Krit that he would come back to Germany with him to resume his service in Heinrich Heller’s bed, and once again Krit had answered that he valued his music and his new life, no matter how much a lie it was, too much to give into that. And once more Lars said, “We’ll see about that.”

As Lars had planned in his introduction of dissonance into the harmony Krit insisted to pretend to live, when Krit arrived at his hut on the platform over the waters of the cove, he found a naked Lars on his back on the bed, holding Somsri’s waist between his hands, as she straddled his hips and rode his cock.

Somsri hadn’t seen Krit arrive and then quickly depart, and it didn’t suit Lars’ plans at that point for her to know Krit had seen them. As they continued to fuck, their movement naturally fell into the rhythm of Krit’s playing of Chopin’s etudes across the water of the cove, which sounded more hushed, more mournful, than he’d ever played them before.

That evening, after dinner, when Somsri arrived at the side of the grand piano and before Amnad arrived, it was her turn to find a note urging her to return to her room.

There she found Krit on all fours on the bed and Lars crouched over his hips and fucking him like a dog and growling commands for Krit to bark if he wanted Lars to stroke, which Krit did. He barked like a dog and begged Lars to resume fucking him.

This Lars wanted Somsri to see. He wanted her to see Krit in total subjugation and humiliation, begging for the fuck from a man. And he made sure to turn Krit’s face toward the door when Somsri gasped and let out a little cry and turned and fled down the pier. Lars didn’t stop, though. He continued to fuck Krit to the sound of Amnad playing Chopin’s sonatas—Somsri singing the lieder no longer being on the menu for the evening.

When Lars was done, he pushed Krit over on his side, and growled. “There, so much for the harmony of your little musical world. You didn’t flinch when Somsri saw us. You want the cock more than you want your music—more than you want the perfectly harmonious world of your piano playing and Somsri’s singing. Now are you ready to return to Germany with me?”

“I’ve told you I can’t come with you, that my world is here now, with my music and Somsri.” Krit was panting, but he also was pawing at Lars, trying to bring the big German down on top of him again, raising his legs and squeezing Lars’ waist with them. “Somsri knows. She knows I lie under men. She wants this world as much as I do. We have created something special. It’s more important than sex.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lars said with a leer. “Even now you want my cock back inside you. Even now my cock is more important to you than your music or your perfect world with Somsri. Tell me you don’t want the cock again.”

“I want the cock again. Fuck me, fuck me again, please,” Krit whined.

Lars rolled over on top of him and gave him his wish.

Afterward, back to the program, hammering at the program. “Are you ready to come back to Germany with me?”

“No, I can’t. My world is here now.”

“Shit.” Lars rolled off the bed and went back to his own room.

* * * *

The morning after the concert, Amnad’s chauffeured Mercedes pulled up into the forecourt of the Hua Hin palace. Lars handed Amnad into the backseat and Amnad slid over as the chauffeur put their luggage in the trunk. They were going back to resume the work on the staging for the Rigoletto performances at the Bangkok Opera before Lars returned to Germany.

Other than viewing them from afar during a triumphant Chopin concert the previous evening, Lars hadn’t been close to or talked to either Krit or Somsri since the last sexual encounter in their hut. He’d given the previous night to Amnad, who was dancing on the clouds from the success of the concert, and whom Lars rewarded by fucking him in four different positions of the male Kama Sutra, something that Amnad, totally unaware of the sexual tension drama that had been storming around him, indeed considered a reward. As far as Amnad was concerned, Lars had been there solely for him.

As Lars was about to fold himself into the backseat of the Mercedes beside Amnad, he hesitated, seeing Somsri rushing at him from across the expanse of grass in front of the palace’s Thai-style wing. He walked away from the car and met her several paces onto the grass. He grabbed her waist and held her at arms’ length as she approached to prevent her from flying into his arms and becoming a spectacle for speculation by Amnad, who was bending down and peering at them from inside the Mercedes.

Somsri had been crying, and she was in a state of dishabille—which, Lars had to admit, was quite sexy for anyone moved by a beautiful woman in distress.

“Lars, I don’t care, I—”

“Shush,” Lars muttered. “Keep your voice down, or I’ll have to go back to the car instantly.”

“Lars, I don’t care,” she repeated in sotto voce, with a sob, “I don’t care what you and Krit do. I don’t care what Krit does. I want to be with you. Don’t leave me.”

“I’m only going back to Bangkok,” he answered, his mind cranking at high speed, seeing a glimmer of hope for his mission. If dissonance didn’t work on Krit’s clutching at harmony, how centered would he be in this musical fantasy of Somsri and him if Somsri wasn’t there? If, for instance, she was in Germany until Krit gave in and appeared there too?

“Just to Bangkok,” he repeated. “I will be there for a couple of weeks, working on Rigoletto. We needn’t stop seeing each other, if you want.”

After placating her, Lars entered the Mercedes far happier and more confident that he’d been last night. He waved to Somsri, now smiling and her eyes gleaming through teardrops, and looked past her and across to the steps up to the Thai-style pavilions, where Krit now stood.

As the car pulled out of the forecourt, Lars looked back and his confidence took a little hit. Krit had come down the steps and encircled Somsri in his arms from behind, and she’d leaned her head back into his shoulder—looking entirely too content for Lars’ liking.

When the Mercedes had pulled out into the road, Lars leaned over toward Amnad, encircled him with an arm and turned Amnad’s face to his for a kiss-while his other hand found Amnad’s basket. The chauffeur eyed them through the rear-view mirror. Lars was well aware of both men, choosing the refined approach with Amnad and something far rougher with the chauffeur. Both seemed to enjoy what they got, though. It was just this versatility in a smashing package that had prompted Heinrich Heller to send Lars to Thailand in the first place.

Coming out of the kiss, Lars said to Amnad, “I’ve been thinking of your offer to move to your house while we work on Rigoletto. I think it would be better for me to keep my hotel room. Our encounters then could be so much more arousing and sensual—illicitly delicious.”

Putty in his hands, Amnad innocently moaned his agreement. The chauffeur smiled and returned his attention to the road. No, he thought, that’s not a man who wants to be pinned down too much by one man. Truly a man of dissonance rather than harmony.


###

146 Gay Erotic Stories from Habu

Angled Entries 1: Big Balling

Angled Entries 1: Big Balling [Author’s Note: This series follows on from “Dueling Regeneration” of the Philippe LeCroix short story series.] Chas Angle strutted down the stairs of his new plantation house, gathered his extra-long sweat shirt around his waist, climbed onto his cycle, and roared off down the long driveway on his way to the Hornet’s basketball stadium in downtown New Orleans.

Angled Entries: Painted Laddie

When Ms. Elisha came off the stage at the Bourbon Street female impersonators’ club and swished into her dressing room, Chas Angle was waiting for her. The meta hunk had worn a muscle shirt barely covering the superhuman bulges of his torso and a silky pair of shorts that barely held the bulge of his twelve thick inches. So, when he asked her if she’d come pose for him for photos, her quick

Angled Entries: Hard Decisions

Years and then more than a decade went by with nothing much happening in Philippe LeCroix's rotting plantation house on the Mississippi beyond the dust accumulating and the oaken walls drying out and spitting. Chas Angle still held his mentor and tormentor in his bed chamber on the second floor of the mansion, shackled to his bed, and rejuvenating himself only when Chas brought him young men to

At the Reservoir

I take three- to five-mile hikes about twice weekly. I have five nearby nature trails I rotate through (in addition to a few more urban walks). The park I went to recently—at the town's reservoir—has been on the Internet for years as a male pickup spot, although the police seemed to have stopped that a few years ago, I thought—and the pickup spots (the restrooms and an old barn) aren't near where

Azores Assignation

Edgar steadied himself against the bulkhead as the wake of a passing yacht sent his own ship to wallowing and scraping against the dock. He was hunched over the sink in the closely confined space, space being at a premium even in a Latitude 44 such as he’d sailed from Marseilles to the harbor town of Horta on Azores’ Faial Island. He believed that he could find exactly what he wanted here, and

Back Where . . .

I rolled over in the bed, reaching for Esteban, but he wasn’t there, setting off in me a mild zing of irritation. He’d gone to sleep last night while I was fucking him and now he wasn’t there at all in the morning. This brought the decision I had to make back to mind and was, perhaps, yet another nail in the decision—two decisions actually. I had an opportunity to head up the Radio y Televisión

Beautiful Bondage

I had been told that the assignment was a bit kinky, but a weekend stopover in Hawaii and three days on my own in Tokyo, paid for by the generous fee addition, were enough for me not to care. My pimp, Leon, told me to make myself blond all over, which I had grown used to in any assignment sending me to the Orient. And I was a bit intrigued because I was told up front that the client was Matsu

Being Fussy

I was going back from throwing some hoops with the guys one afternoon when I decided to drop in on Charlie and see how he was doing. He was a little high strung and had been having trouble with his latest live in of late. Denny was a real cocky asshole, so sure of himself and going directly for what he wanted—and usually getting it—and taking advantage of everyone along the way. And he was messy.

Bermuda Triangle

“A candidate for the Bermuda Triangle, might you say?” Dean said to Penn across the cocktail table. They were sitting at a window of the Splendor Lounge on the Champion of the Sea mega tourist ship on the first full night of its sail from Baltimore to Bermuda.The two, both members of the ship’s dance troupe were looking over a thirtiesh blond, well-formed, and obviously well-heeled hunk

Beyond the Beaded Curtain

I had been holding up the bar in the smoky lounge for more than a half hour, and Nick hadn’t shown. Felt pretty sorry for myself. That had been my story with my encounters with Nick: fuck ’em and leave ’em. I didn’t really want to play that game anymore, but here I sat, waiting for Nick. I had waved off several guys in obvious search of a pickup when the mystery man appeared at my elbow. As time

Biloxi Renewal

\Ham couldn’t sleep, and he thought he heard a noise from downstairs. Probably only one of the many ghosts haunting this old, rotting mansion, he thought. But, still, he was fully awake now. He rose off the cot he’d set up in his room until after everything was packed out and padded down the stairs into the music room. He was barefoot, only wearing his muslin sleeper pants. In twenty-four hours

Bite of the Schlange

Jacques, the young comte de la Arbois, nearly fell off his horse, both steed and rider trembling from exhaustion, into the arms of the innkeeper of the small village of Saint-Avold, a hard half-day's ride west of Metz. "A fresh horse," Jacques muttered feverishly through swollen lips. "We have such a horse for you," the innkeeper exclaimed. "But you are in no condition to ride on, young

Cast Party

I could not have been in any steamier place or time for my sexual awakening. Bangkok, Thailand, in the eighties was sin city extraordinaire. Anything went there; everything was tolerated. It was a mai bin rai (“nevermind; whatever, it’s OK”) place and everything was not only tolerated, but it also was on offer—and almost always for free or at a very good price. And it was an innocent time. The

Chain Gang Banged

I was only in for thirty days, and then not because of something I’d actually done. My buddy Phil had left drugs in my car, and the cops found them when they stopped me because I was driving a little too fast when I pulled away from a country beer hall they were staking out. I should have known better. I was only nineteen, and I shouldn’t have been in that beer hall at all, let alone drinking.

Chain Gang Banged

I was only in for thirty days, and then not because of something I’d actually done. My buddy Phil had left drugs in my car, and the cops found them when they stopped me because I was driving a little too fast when I pulled away from a country beer hall they were staking out. I should have known better. I was only nineteen, and I shouldn’t have been in that beer hall at all, let alone drinking.

Chaz's Choice

“Are you sure? You don’t have to go through with this.”But, who was I kidding. Julio’s choices had been shut down that first night—the night I’d found him supposedly by chance, but with chance having nothing to do about it. He’d been had even before I approached him at the Noobai Café, the discreet little gay hookup bar in the Restele district of Lisbon, not far from the Cuban consulate.

Cockpitting

After two years in the male-male paradise of Bangkok, a short assignment to Okinawa, Japan, seemed, for most of my tour, like entering a monastery. I was supposed to rotate directly back to the States with my SR71 supersonic photoreconnaissance unit, but the North Koreans were acting up on the DMZ, and the government wanted an intense look-see at whether or not they were building their troop

Congo Drums

The riverboat hit a log, or something, on the hull right at my head, and I woke with a start. The first sensation in the soft, wavering light of a single lantern hung by the doorway was the sound of the drums and low chanting from somewhere above. The driver and cook at it again. The sound was monotonous and comforting all at the same time. It also seemed to be richer than before, almost

Creamy Thighs

Tight, hard and hairless bodies with creamy thighs, resilient flesh on muscles of steel; and flexibility; flexibility is a must. I insist on that; and obedience and total subservience. And I possess them all. I fuck them all, women and men alike. I fuck them all regularly, without showing favor. That’s the only way to keep order. And they stand in line, audition for the privilege of being

Dagger Through the Moon

I am Darien, magician to the D’Ibelins; son of Jared, magician to the D’Ibelins before me; and grandson of Deter, magician to the kings of the Aquitaine. Can anyone deny my powers after the Horns of Hattin? But, no, no one but me knows of what really happened there in miracle of the stronghold of Belvoir. And that, perhaps, is as it should be. But as I glide across the sky, I look at that brand

Dangerous Experiment

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation,” “Natchez Refreshment.” “Biloxi Renewal,” “Reconnected Recovery,” “Theatrical Revival,” “Sailing Back into Life,” “Harvesting in the Park,” “Garden District Plunge,” “Dangerous Experiment,” “Dueling Regeneration”] Philippe had just been renewed, and he was

Deal Closer, Part 1

As we strapped ourselves in across from each other, knee to knee in the sleek corporate jet, I was wondering why CJ had picked me to fly out to the coast to try to close this business deal. I was pretty new to the company and no where near to having the seniority to be included on this trip. But I wasn’t complaining. A week in California and time to get to know the vice president of sales better

Deal Closer, Part 2

We got into L.A. that night and CJ and I went straight to the hotel. I was exhausted after my in-flight service training. CJ had booked a suite with two separate bedrooms, so I went to my room after dinner, showered, and went straight to bed. I was laying there on the wide bed, on my back, staring at the ceiling and just about asleep, when CJ crept into the room, came up on the bed and sat on my

Deal Closer, Part 3

When I had cleaned up and returned, I found that CJ had wiped himself off with a washcloth that Binggum had conveniently previously located in a bowl on the coffee table and was stuffing and buttoning his sausage back into his red-silk pouch. Binggum was stretched out on full the sofa, another wash cloth lying near him on the floor, probably used with a gentle touch by CJ in the most

Director's Couch

I often did things backwards in life. The old Hollywood adage goes that many a starlet—and we can add many a leading man, now that the cat is out of the closet on that—got their film career break by the audition they did on the director's or producer's couch. In my case, however, I got the part before the director had me taking direction under him on his couch. I had been a child actor on

Do You Trust Me?

Angelo had been so tense through his set at the café this evening, that he was afraid that it could be heard in his voice or in a change in how he coaxed the music out of the strings of his guitar. But those sitting around a smoking and drinking long after the food service had been shut down didn’t seem to have reacted any differently than before, with just those exceptions. Although all of the

Doubling Bets

(Suckered into betting against the double penetration myth) I should have known the sneaky Dutchman had all the angles figured when he suckered us into betting against a myth in the Men Only back room at Cowboy's Bar in Bangkok's Patpong district. He waited until the third revolution of the happy hour clock—when we were all soused and sluggish—and entered with a boy-built Thai. I recognized

Dueling Regeneration

[Author’s Note: This story completes the Philippe LeCroix series, which is best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation,” “Natchez Refreshment.” “Biloxi Renewal,” “Reconnected Recovery,” “Theatrical Revival,” “Sailing Back into Life,” “Harvesting in the Park,” “Garden District Plunge,” “Dangerous Experiment,” “Dueling Regeneration”] Philippe LeCroix, with his new chauffeur,

Egyptian Ram

I was nearing the end of the fourth group lesson on self-defense techniques at the store-front gym under the instruction of a heavily muscled Egyptian wrestler named Anwar, when he took me aside and, after telling me he thought I’d make a natural wrestler, asked me if I’d like to stay after class and have him demonstrate some holds to me. I had admired his massive build—a bodybuilder’s barrel

Eight- and Nine-Inch Drills

Ad placed by Andre (9 slender inches) and Mike (8 thick inches) in the local weekly newspaper: - - - - Power Drills: GBM’s, Strong, hard, silent eight- and nine-inch power drills seek tight BWM or SWM who seeks filled fantasy experience for multiple drill role play says-no-but-wants-yes bottom. Call Mike at 945-6036. - - - - Ad Rob saw instead in the local weekly newspaper and decided

Elementary, Snidely

“But I don’t understand how you can just stand here, out on this beach, and declare that Jason Dunn has run away with his college football offensive team coach and lost his virginity, Doctor Klein. The Dunn’s paid us to find their son, and I very much doubt they will be amused with the elaborate and very offensive story you’ve come up with by way of explanation.” “It’s elementary, Snidely. And

Elusive

I waited until we'd almost reached Miami's airport, but I couldn't leave it here.

Emmet

We live in a university town, my wife and I, and we live in a neighborhood within five blocks of the edge of that university. It’s an affluent neighborhood, built on heavily wooded, well-manicured lots on the side of a ridge, with narrow streets running up and down and twisting here and there. Almost like the country, but a wealthy enclave right in the small city. Quite staid we are. Not ones for

Enticingly Unnaked

“How about I treat you to a drink? You must be thirsty from all that naked time on the platform.”I had just climbed down from the velvet-covered bench on the platform where I’d been posing, in the nude, for the past hour for Chad Simmons’s Savannah College of Art and Design night school art class. I’d barely had time to shrug my white cotton dress shirt over my shoulders. That didn’t stop the

Ernestine

I’m not sure why I went to Club 216 that night. I’d joined months before but had gone only rarely. Joining put me on their e-mail list, though, and I kept seeing announcements go by of their semiannual beauty contest. It didn’t pay much attention to it—or at least I didn’t think I had—but that Saturday night found me there, just a couple of table rows away from the stage. I was by myself at the

Ethiopian Cabin Boy

When I left Bangkok, Thailand, the first time, I originally thought I'd be returning to a world that was almost completely straight and that my days of enjoying a rich and active bi lifestyle were over. My work with the government, with its strong homophobic policies, just didn't seem to leave that avenue safely open to me. And for a couple of years, when I was assigned to Washington, D.C., and

Family Day on the Pool Table

I had always thought that about the only thing you could do on a pool table was play pool, but the Taylor brothers went to great length and depth to teach me otherwise. I’d met the three brothers on the beach at Pataya, Thailand. Their family owned a hotel construction company and was making money hand over fist in throwing up fancy hotels in downtown Bangkok and at the Pataya and Hua Hin

First Threesome

My first, memorable threesome was in that fancy gym in Bangkok where I had recently met who I called my Indian magician, who had seduced and initiated me. And the threesome was orchestrated by that Indian diplomat as well. He had been eyeing a military attaché from the Israeli embassy on the exercise floor—a man pushing his forties, built close to the ground but with long arms, almost simian in

Firsts With An Indian Magician

My first time for a lot of things came within a three-week period. I was a young Air Force pilot, living in Bangkok, Thailand, and flying the SR71 photoreconnaissance airplane. I was as virginal as they came before arriving in Bangkok. Sports through school and Air Force training and heavy workouts pretty much had taken all of my time and energy. I was about as Mom, apple pie, and country first

Friday Nights with Lenny

I stepped back from the sidewalk, hugging my arms close to my sides, and leaned back on the wall at the corner into the alley, raising one leg, knee bent, and my cowboy booted foot flat against the wall. The hole in the sole of that boot was worn clean through and the cold of the wall wasn’t as cold as that of the sidewalk pavement. Besides, it was a good pose for the purpose. While still

Garden District Plunge

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation,” “Natchez Refreshment,” “Biloxi Renewal,” “Reconnected Recovery,” “Theatrical Revival,” “Sailing Back into Life,” “Harvesting in the Park,” “Garden District Plunge,” “Dangerous Experiment,” “Dueling Regeneration”] Philippe watched them from the shadows in

Getting . . . Educated, Conclusion

The next day was my next tennis date with Ben. As I had thought and hoped for, after we’d played and I’d beaten him for the first time, I learned that he was in bad condition again and needed help. We both took showers, and he started back for the massage room, but I stopped him, telling him I had found a better place for him to get relief. We hurriedly both put gym shorts and T-shirts on, and I

Getting . . . Educated, Part 1

It was the first month of my graduate school, and it was my turn for the “introductory” evening with my Logic professor, Paul Hollings. When I’d asked someone who’d taken his class the previous year what the proper attire for such an event was, he had just given me a lopsided grin and said, “For a handsome guy like you? I’d suggest very bulky clothes.” He hadn’t elaborated, but I probably

Getting . . . Educated, Part 10

Although I had several white bandana encounters that week in which all a stranger needed to do to get submissive sex from me was to ask for my bandana, none were as strange as the one I had while I was on my way to play tennis with Ben the first time. I was strolling along, racket case under my arm, when a big black limousine, with smoked windows rolled up beside me, the driver’s window rolled

Getting . . . Educated, Part 12

My next team punch event day was more memorable for being the day of the double massage than for my losing a wrestling match and getting fucked. I lost the match, of course. This time to Greg, who was perverse enough to make me swing both my arms and legs over the parallel bars and then got on a bench under me and fucked me first from the front, my ass tipped up and then from the back, my ass

Getting . . . Educated, Part 13

I still felt better about the possibilities of taking control the next evening, which may be why I took that ticket the doped up rocker had given me and attended his concert. His band really was quite good. He had a large crowd in the university’s soccer stadium and it was even filmed for national sale as a video. The rocker who had fucked me had a great, raspy, character-laden voice and he

Getting . . . Educated, Part 14

At my next tennis match with Ben, he allowed as how he wasn’t in nearly the same painfully hard condition that he had been when we’d done the prostate procedure, but he did show a bit too much eagerness to repeat the massage that day if I thought it was advisable. I wanted him at full staff for presentation to the coach, so I asked him if he could hold off until our next practice match, to which

Getting . . . Educated, Part 15

Coach Seeman had told all of the wrestlers that they could come over and use his swimming pool at any time, and I was so sore and strung out later that afternoon that I took him up on the offer. I knew there was a wrestling meet during that time and figured that Seeman and the real wrestlers would be busy with that and that I’d have the pool to myself. I did, in fact, have the pool to myself

Getting . . . Educated, Part 2

I trudged back to the dorm from having been raped by my Logic professor, feeling very down and very sore, hoping that no one would ever learn about my humiliation; angry at the professor, not knowing how I was going to be able to sit in his class in front of him now. Worried about whether and what demands he might make on me for the rest of the semester. I wasn’t that way. I didn’t want to be

Getting . . . Educated, Part 3

I had been sexually assaulted by three men within my first week at school. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I let it go for several days and then, when I was on my way to throw some hoops at the gym, I just snapped and found myself seeking out the dean of men students. I didn’t know if I could get a walk-in appointment with him, but I felt like I needed to talk to someone about

Getting . . . Educated, Part 4

It had been three days since I had been raped four times within two days, and I was hiding out. I had taken a by-week apartment made over from a motel not too far from the campus, dropped the logic class, and kept as low a profile as I could. I’d found the former motel too noisy to study in, so I was camped out in a small overgrown park nearby, where I was studying on an old picnic table. I

Getting . . . Educated, Part 5

I’d had enough of these repeated sexual assaults; being used like this. The next day, I packed my car and headed for home. No more than three miles beyond the campus gate, though, I heard a police siren and was pulled over to the side of the road. I sat in the car, wondering what I had done wrong, as a policeman strutted around and took a look at both license plates, all the time swishing a

Getting . . . Educated, Part 6

Coach Seeman delivered me to Nate’s door, ravished and still in handcuffs, which had been moved so that my arms were in front of me, and with my jeans barely covering me. When Nate answered the door, he was wearing only his briefs. As the dorm counselor, he had an actual one-bedroom apartment, including separate bedroom, a kitchenette, and a bath—which made me wonder why he showered in the common

Getting . . . Educated, Part 7

I stayed with Nate for the next two weeks, taking in my regular classes in the afternoon and spending most of the mornings learning the fundamentals of wrestling from Nate and Greg in a small room off the main wrestling gym while the coach’s regular “Greek Wrestling” class went on in the main wrestling gym. I thought I was getting the hang of it until I was called in for what coach termed one of

Getting . . . Educated, Part 8

Later that afternoon I got my first glimpse of my possible ticket out of this “team punch” hell. I went to class and the professor, who was also my faculty advisor, asked me to come see her in her office after her next class. When I appeared there, she wasn’t alone. A young student was sitting and chatting with her. I took to him immediately. He was perhaps the most handsome youth I’d ever seen;

Getting . . . Educated, Part 9

My next team punch event defeat wasn’t too taxing. I was getting steeled to these attacks on my body. The winner was one of those lean, mean Marines, without an ounce of fat on a very efficient body and a shaved haircut. Not much to brag about in the below-the-belt category, which probably is why I’d seen him hang out with one of the bantam-weight wrestlers, a willowy, but obviously strong,

Getting. . . Educated, Part 11

The exhaustion of and loss of strength from the previous day’s unexpected sex encounters may have accounted for my tennis match the next day, but it’s just as likely that Ben was just a much better tennis player than I was. He agreed to let me try to recoup the loss and set up another match for two days hence. As I had hoped, we were the only ones in the graduate gym shower room when we went in

Gotta Keep This Job

I had been summoned to the medical suite at my office at the end of the Friday dayshift of my second week on the job, and I showed up with a great sense of trepidation. It had been hard finding this job, and I just had to keep it. But I’d scored drugs for a short time when I’d been in college, and I knew this company had a strict drug policy. I hoped that they hadn’t found out about that—or that

Handed On

“I really do worry about you. When did you eat last?”“Please, please, don’t stop,” Marc whimpered between pants. “Finish me, please. Don’t make me wait.”“Now you want it,” the dance master laughed. “We’ll see how badly you want it.”The two young men were lying on a pile of old costumes in the dark corner of the back of the stage behind the wings. The dance master, Patrick Moran, only

Harmony and Dissonance

“Are you sure this is the address?” Lars Krieger asked, as the hotel car stopped in front of a massive, carved-wood, two-panel door in an otherwise blank concrete wall on Bangkok’s Soi 51 Sukhumvit. The road was narrow, almost an alley, it seemed, to the young German engineer, with one, long stuccoed wall running down its full length on each side with doors like this and wider garage doors at

Harvesting In The Park

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” “Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] Philippe had found this one particularly

Highballing

If the CEO of my company hadn’t seen me recently in that gay bar over on 12th and Madison, I don’t know how long it would have taken me to get invited to the executive floor. But Pete Peterson had seen me, and there I was, in his conference room, sitting in a second-row position in the weekly executive meeting. I’d been surprised, but pleasantly so, to see Peterson in the bar. He was one of

Iced

If I didn’t get a good fuck in before tomorrow evening, Tonya and I would be out of the medals for sure. We’d come to the Paris Grand Prix with good hopes of standing on the platform, but my timing was all off in the twists and throws we’d attempted in our practice session tonight, and I knew it was because I was so jittery from not getting my rocks off since we’d been at Skate Canada a couple of

Iced Flip Side

I had had my eye on Aleksey since the skating season began. He was the new partner for Tonya in the ice pairs division, and he was sheer sex on ice. He was all dark, brooding good looks; muscle and power and with curly black hair on his arms and legs and swirling around his pecs and diving in a wide path down into his leotard. He wore his jet black hair long, in a pony tail, with a few strands

Into the Dark

Momma, please. I won’t talk back anymore. Let me out of the closet, Momma. Or turn on a light. You know how scared I am of the dark. Don’t leave me here in the dark, Momma. Please. Please Momma. Momma? Momma?* * * *Brandon leaned over the low, padded cubicle wall and winked at Colleen and told her she was looking mighty fine today. Then, as he turned and moved down the corridor between

Israeli Assault

I'll always remember the Israeli by the image of him standing there at the window of the Oriental Hotel room, the strong Bangkok sun bathing his body in afternoon light—that and by the cockiness with which he took control. The Israeli army officer, a military attaché at his country's embassy in Thailand, had just two weeks earlier been part of my first threesome. He had seen me working out in

Joggered

“Open to me. Open to daddy.” And I spread my legs for him. Before he pushed me back gently onto the thick carpet on the moss covering the little sun-spackled glen, he had me kneel before him and take his beautiful, huge cock into my mouth, where I worked it up to over ten inches of hardness to the sounds of the birds twittering in the trees and the jogger emitting little sighs and moans of

Kasem's Kitchen

If the kitchen of Kasem’s family in the upcountry jungle of Thailand hadn’t burnt to the ground, I possibly never would have found out what the special Bangkok sports massage was all about. Kasem was my masseur at a fancy Bangkok gym, which was open for “men only” a couple of nights a week and which was a major pickup place for prime cuts of male meat. Of course, when I’d started going to the

Last Rodeo

Lattimore stopped at corner of the cookhouse as he was crossing from the main house of his ranch outside Laramie, Wyoming, to the corral to train the quarter horse he’d bought on the last cattle drive to Omaha. He leaned on a fence and watched young Kit chopping wood. The young man was stripped to the waist while he chopped.Bulking up real good, Lattimore thought. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad

Late Night Workout

I had been going to Gabe and Steve’s Gym for a couple of months, and I was quite pleased with the results. I could tell that Gabe and Steve were pleased too, as they’d both been giving me the eye when I was in the shower. I didn’t mind all that much; it was a free world and looks didn’t cost me anything—or so I thought at the time. I knew that Gabe and Steve were a couple, but that didn’t mean

Legend of Cowboy

All sorts of expatriate “characters” gravitated to Bangkok, Thailand, in the seventies and eighties, and none were more colorful than the man known simply as Cowboy. Cowboy was a six-and-a-half foot black American stud, who was said to have been a pro basketball player of some note who had retreated to Bangkok in the face of possible charges for point shaving and racketeering. In Bangkok, Cowboy

Like Father Like Son

As I walked into the city on the main street, Damrak, leading directly from Amsterdam's central train station, I nervously fingered the folded e-mail I'd been carrying tucked in my wallet for the past month and a half. Damrak changed into Rokin, and at the end of canal off the Amstel River, I made a right onto Heiligeweg. I had thought of this possibility on and off for the whole cruise down

Locker Room Revelation

It wasn’t a regular day of practice; only Hank and I had come in, and we’d worked out in the gym after we’d done laps on the field. I could tell he was steamed about something, but I didn’t ask about what. He had finished first, and it looked like I had the locker room to myself when I came in from the gym. I took a quick shower and pulled on my briefs and some baggy shorts and an athletic T, and

Loving Wife

“What’s for dinner? Lamb chops, I hope. You do those so well.”“Of course, if that’s what you want, Ely. If that’s what you want, than that’s what we’ll have.”He’s got no taste buds left, I think. What does he care if it’s lamb, pork, or shit? Note to self—while I try to keep my voice from having the sarcastic edge Ely had complained about of late. Of course we don’t have any lamb chops in

Master of the Boardroom

The reports of the week were winding down, and I looked around the table, only half conscious of what was being reported. The three older guys at the table would take care of all that for me. I was sizing up all of the young and beautiful people I’d stocked the board with. The power to do this was the joy of heading a robust family business; I could stock the board with the pick of the crop, and

Mentoring

Is this the very café table where we sat? Yes, I think it is. In fact, I’m sure it is. It’s as if time has stood still. The café is just as it was nearly thirty years ago—or at least I don’t remember anything as different. It’s hard to believe that as much as London has changed over the last twenty years, Norwich might not have changed at all. Or so it seems. And so I want it to be. I don’t want

Nailed By Obsession

He had become obsessed with me. The party was large and boisterous and our eyes had met across the room and he gave me a brilliant smile. A short time later, he’d sat down beside me with people swirling all around us and had put his hand on my thigh and had given me that brilliant smile again. I tipped my glass to show I needed a refill and glided away from him, not wanting to make a scene. Not

Natchez Refreshment

The cyclist was racing along the top of the Mississippi levee, anxious to get back into Natchez before the rains hit. Sweating profusely in the humidity and under the blazing sun, he had stripped his jersey off and wrapped it around the handlebars of the bike. It was almost dusk now, however, and the storm clouds were rumbling in. He felt chilled and tried to free the jersey from the handlebars

Naval Dilemma

Dutch came first. It was a particularly busy and boisterous night in the Dick Hut, tucked in the back shadows of an alley off the Nuuanu Stream in the heart of Honolulu's red light district. The sign over the door actually said

Neighbor's Hot Tub

My wife was off to see her mother, and for the first time since he’d gotten it, my neighbor, Marty, had invited me for an evening in the hot tub he had put in. His house backed onto my side yard, and he’d done a whole lot of nice renovation on his property since he had moved in. Marty was divorced and probably was in his early fifties, judging from his graying hair, but he had kept himself quite

New Master at Riverbend

Jerome stood just inside the doorway at the shadowed end of the room. He should have just turned and gone down the stairs and out to the carriage to tell Thomas that Master John wasn’t ready to go yet. That’s all Thomas, Master John’s carriage driver, had told him to do. But the shock of what he’d found when he’d entered the house on Decatur Street and been waved to the second door down the hall

New Orleans Rejuvenation

I was there for three nights in the basement strip club on Dauphine Street in the French Quarter, always sitting at the same table. I had picked him out on the first night—a lithe but well-muscled, dark Greek, displaying a mixture of danger and sassiness; much more into what he was doing than any of the other performers. His act was black leather. Studded-leather harness crisscrossing his chest,

No More Evening Shifts

There were four of them who entered the store close to closing time, all muscled punks decked out in black leather. I owned the small convenience store but found myself behind the counter this evening because my regular night clerk called in sick. The hunkiest of the four came up to the counter and puckered his lips and gave me a air kiss. He asked me where Jake, my regular evening clerk, was.

Norwegian Stallion

One of the saddest—and most ironic—casualties of the internecine Greek-Turkish war on Cyprus that divided the island into warring camps three decades ago was the once-famous and elegant Ledra Palace Hotel. The Treaty Room of the Ledra Palace, a hulking stone edifice in the Moorish style, had been the venue where the British secretly committed the crime of slicing up the Arabian Peninsula and

Nuclear Meltdown

It was all happening so fast. I didn’t even have time to feel panic. I just felt a dullness and a foreboding—and a creeping sense of being trapped in a web of some sort. No, more like a cocoon, the sticky thread winding around and around me. Smothering me.“Just a few minutes, Dr. Winthrop, and you can go back to your room. I know this has been a shock to you. We have just a few more questions

On a String in Bangkok

In more recent years I look back on my mid-1970s (and then again early 1980s) Bangkok adventure and just shake my head, wondering what we were thinking we were doing then and how shallow we must have been to be so totally focused on beautiful bodies and the striving for perpetual orgasm.I think that for most of those I played with for two-and-a-half years in the 1970s, the hedonist urges

On The Roof

It was a hot day, and I was out doing my laps in the pool when the roofers arrived. They had started the previous afternoon, just diddling around and getting their supplies where they wanted them. The older of the two was a well-turned-out, chiseled-featured, and solidly built dude, probably in his early forties, with prematurely graying dark hair. He looked like he’d taken real good care of

On The Trail

I had never tried to seduce another guy before, but Dale was just there at the right time and place. We were both runners—he because he was on the college football team and running up and down the Pine Mountain trail helped keep him in shape and I because I wasn’t that long out of college myself and I was doing the best I could to keep my fine form in shape. We had passed each other a couple

Only a Custodian

“And a ten-inch cock.”“You’re shitting us now,” Oliver said.“Yes, I’m shitting you,” Porter answered. “But, really, I would want him to have a nice cock on him.”“Well, high on my list is that he has to be willing to take out the trash without being asked to,” Adrian interjected.“And put the toilet seat down too?” someone asked. They all laughed.“No, thank god,” Adrian answered

Pay-as-You-Go Hitching

I saw him from a good distance away, walking down the highway in the direction I was driving shortly after a big cloverleaf marking the intersection of two major highways. He hardly looked like an experienced hitchhiker, but that was exactly what he seemed to be doing. Not only was hitchhiking illegal on a highway like this, but I also couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a hitchhiker on the

Pianoman

“First the tide rushes in, plants a kiss on the shore . . .”Matt often started a set with something quiet and slow, like “Ebb Tide,” when there was a convention or two in the hotel, like there was today—electricians and bankers. What a combination. Something quiet tended to settle and quiet them down to the point that he could stand it.It wasn’t a question of being a prima donna and

Picking the First Fruit

I think I just might be the best peach picker in Virginia. Well, in Rockingham County at least. And that isn’t just me boasting. That’s what Brother Jeb said all the time I was picking peaches for him. And Mr. Howell said that to me too. More than once he said that. I’ve heard both men say that, in the peach business, it’s getting the first fruit of the season to market before anyone else does

Pirated

I was just about home free with the tasty wench the lads had brought on board for me from Kingston when the attack started. After some mouth play, she hadn’t objected in the least when I’d unlaced her bodice and started giving her ripe melons the attention they deserved. We were entwined together in the window seat of my vessel’s fantail, and, forward lass that she was, she had unbuttoned my

Porn War

The song “Kisses Sweeter than Wine” sprang to my mind, because that was what his kisses were. As far as I could tell in the dimly lit Blue Moon resort hotel room in Las Vegas, he was a young hunk, no older than I was. Most of the men in the room were older, a few probably twice or more my age. None were complete throwaways, but he was prime among them. And he had latched on to me as soon as I’d

Reconnected Recovery

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” “Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] The young, drunk construction worker

Remembering Miles

I hadn’t seen Cousin Miles for nearly twenty years, and he looked more like it had been thirty. He looked so defeated and withdrawn into himself. And my memories were of a vibrant athlete. He wasn’t really a cousin in the blood-relative sense. Uncle John and Aunt Frieda had adopted both him and his sister, Mandy, because they couldn’t have any of their own. You could have told he wasn’t really

Renewal of Passion

I had been down and just marking time ever since I'd left Beirut three years earlier. I hadn't really been able to write that whole time either; I was just floating on the royalties from my earlier novels, written in the passion of my youth—passion that I just couldn't find in me anymore. Perhaps it was having hit that deadly age of fifty; perhaps passion naturally dissipated from that point.

Rest Stop

We were tooling down the highway in the early evening at a pretty good clip in my BMW Z4 Roadster when Perry started to get frisky. Perry was this hulking blond roommate of mine who also was on the football team, but who was a couple of years older than I was and played first-string tailback. I’d just started college this year and was still warming the bench, although I’d impressed the coach

Resting a Demon

I thought I was going to be sick. His mother asked him to entertain us, to play something for us on the piano, and the pert-butt blond tossed the curl out of his face and flowed over to the piano and started to fill the room with Chopin. I’d had this kid in my craw for a good fifteen years, and all I wanted to do was to slam him to the floor and fuck the stuffing out of him. And that was when he

Ride Em Cowboy

Since the 1930s my extended family has had a remote ranch in a hidden Colorado Rockies valley abutting Medicine Bow National Park south from Laramie, Wyoming. The mountain fasts there—almost alpine in environment—are majestic, but they can be raw and cruel as well. Our family raised cattle there and took timber off the mountainsides in a planned "thinning" harvest pattern that supported a

Rude Awakening

The most wonderful thing a lover has ever done for me was to give me my life. I didn’t understand it at the time, but if he had loved me as I wanted him to—as I begged him to—I would be long dead today. The days of my sexual coming of age in Bangkok, Thailand, during the early eighties were paradise followed by a rude awakening, a realization of how life can come back at you hard that I didn’t

Sacrificed by Curiosity

Doug had been conditioning me for months. We had met at the gym, and several weeks after we’d become regular spotting partners, he revealed to me, almost in an off-hand manner, that he was bisexual and that he actually preferred gay sex. He didn’t come on to me—at least not directly—and I consider myself fairly open-minded, so I continued with our informal spotting arrangements. I also had an

Sacrificed by Curiosity, Part 1

* * * The coven was good enough to dump Doug on the steps of an ER in a cross-town hospital and to drop me off at home with one of the younger men from the group there with me to clean me and the damage to our bedroom up and to provide an alibi for me when the police arrived later that evening. After the police left, I went into the bathroom and ran a steaming bath. I stretched out in the

Sacrificed by Curiosity, Part 2

I had been playing with the brunette’s tits, just as she was playing with mine, and I just got my hands away in time for Doug to take over. He must have been rougher on her tits than I was, because she was yipping and moaning and groaning and bouncing a bit on my skewer, which went to twelve inches under her attention. After a few minutes, he wish boned my legs again so that he could bury meat

Sailing Back into Life

Sailing Back into Life [Author’s Note: When the Philippe Lecroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” "Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] Alphonse waved

Sailors and Flyboys

FlyboysPete swung into the gym with a big grin on his face. “Fleet’s in and I’ve already talked with Javier. His ship will be in early, on Thursday. Says he can get a three-day shore pass. Time for a special weekend.”“I’m game,” Todd answered, but he was looking up at the man spotting him on the bench press and asked, “How about you, Dan?”“Every weekend’s special with you, babe,” Dan

Satin Circus

(Written by request for a satin fetish story by James A.)The music swells and the lights dim under the big tent, as the excitement builds in the audience and the buzzing conversations subside with the rising expectation that something—something special—is about to happen. Strobing lights and laser beams come up, gyrating around on the floor below and under the canopy of the tent above,

Satin Sleigh Ride

Count Gregor Arninov towered over his elegantly dressed host and hostess in the foyer of their winter dacha as his sleigh was being brought around. He was leaning over them and holding the admiral’s wife’s small silk-gloved hand in his appreciably larger satin-clad one while he murmured how wonderful their ball had been and that, yes, he had enjoyed dancing with their daughter immensely. The

Satisfaction Ashram

As I stood outside the entrance to the old British colonial-style Windsor Hotel in Nuwara Eliya, Sri Lanka, in the shadow of Mount Pidurutagala, waiting for someone to take me up to the ashram, I couldn’t believe how far—and how far back in time—I had moved from Teddy’s cabin in the Catskills. From the moment Teddy’s business partner, Mort Whitley, had driven up to the cabin and told me how

Searching for It

Searching for It(Corbin and Ethan both go looking for it on the New York docks)(sounding, fetish, docks, gay male clubs, domination, gay anal, rough sex, daddies, obsession, collections)“Yo, there, buddy. Lookin’ for somethin’? Cause I got somethin’ for you.”Corbin took a good look at the burly man who had materialized from behind a stack of metal barrels beyond where the light

Snaked on Anjajavy Beach

I had both the advantages and curses of being a rock star. I could afford to go anywhere I wanted on the spur of the moment or as the mood hit me, but if a mood hit me that would land me in the tabloids, I’d better be prepared to go to the ends of the earth.The mood had hit me to get the most exotic and total fuck that I could find by the most talented cocksman I could attract. I had been on

Snow Trap

Boyd had been leery of the arrangement from the very beginning, but he hadn’t said anything to his father about it. His father seemed so happy about having found Vic, one of Boyd’s college prep school coaches, two years after Aaron, his former lover, had died. Boyd would much rather it had been anyone other than Vic, someone who Boyd hadn’t known before Aaron died. But, when he was being honest

Snowy, Snowy Nights

In most senses Bran had been invisible at the Hayden saloon the couple of months he’d been there. But as he came out of the back room into the main saloon hall, carrying the bucket of water Levi Yost, the saloon keeper, had told him to use to freshen the bowls in the rooms upstairs, he looked at the tall Christmas tree in the corner. Sadie, Katie, and Faye were busy happily decorating the tree

Solicitous Service

Goran saw the young man standing nervously at the reservations desk and liked what he saw. He was even happy that Serge, the maître d, was pretending not to see the young man, because that meant that Goran, the waiter, could see him to the table—and could make contact of some sort with him on the way there. Goran was one to make an immediate assessment of the playing field and pick out who he

Someday My Prince Will . . .

Last night I dreamt I went to paradise again. I believe we can credit the encounter to Daphne du Maurier. My tour in Cyprus was at an end, but I had hung on for a month, sending my wife back to Washington, D.C., to get the house open up again and everything there back in working order and to guide one of our children into a new university year. I had stayed past my assignment rotation date to

Sweet Sanjay

I heard my name being called out from the midst of the teeming horde pressing in on the barriers after customs in New Delhi’s Indira Gandhi international airport, and a head and arm waving a sign was bouncing up and down over the tumult. The sign the young man was carrying said “Clifford Jenkins” with “New York” written under it. That was me. But I wasn’t being met by anyone that I knew of. The

Swimming Lessons

“I’d like to make an Australian Crawl.” Stan gave a hearty laugh and acknowledged an empty glass up the bar. While he was gone, Keith, in turn, acknowledged that his own beer glass had miraculously filled on its own. He didn’t have much doubt that Stan was trying to get him drunk so that Keith would go in the back room with him. The burly barkeep had been putting the moves on him for some time

Ten Slash Two

I had been jittery and conflicted for the entire two weeks since I’d seen that big black topping a guy at a pool party in Bangkok. I had been bottoming for a Swede in a nearby patio lounge when I looked over and saw this monster cock jack-hammering in out of the other guy—who clearly was in seventh heaven—and I almost melted on the spot. I was conflict, though. Obsessed with desire because the

That One Exception

I have always managed to keep my bisexual world in check and separate from my public straight world by always putting my wife and children first and by committing only to them—that is, possibly, with one notable exception. I had an atypical long-term relationship with an Australian colleague that seemed innocuous at least at the beginning but that has grown stronger over the years—possibly beyond

The Awakening

I guess it may have been because of my mother—and of the strange beliefs my grandmother formed around her. Up until the time my grandmother’s ill health coincided with me being old enough to go to college, I’d been kept in the dark about so many things. I knew that my mother must have done some really, really bad things from the way that my grandmother just tightened up, crossing her arms under

The Caregiver

Perhaps I gave in so easily because Lenny embodied the best of two worlds. First, he was a wonderful, gentle caregiver. He had been coming to my house twice a day for several weeks to take care of my bed-bound grandmother, who was recovering from a broken hip. Second, he was drop-dead gorgeous. All blond Swedish muscle with a shy smile to accompany his sensuous mouth. I’d had a rough week

The Celtic Sonata of Life

I was sitting outside the cottage door, just in my shorts, wondering if the farmer who had rented the rustic Cotswold cottage with the thatched roof and the rose trellis beside the door to me for two weeks had misinterpreted my offer. It hadn’t been in so many words, but I think I had been clear enough in my nonverbal delivery. But maybe not. Maybe signaling here in England was much different

The Clothes Horse

“You’d get half of the bid, plus you’d get to keep the clothes.”I didn’t know that I was all that wild about being auctioned off, but I had to admit that I liked—no, I loved—Zhao Zeng’s clothes. That was what had attracted me to him in the first place. His black satin shirt and trousers were cut so well—and so provocatively—on him that I could hardly keep my eyes off him, even though I’d come

The Commander

“Ahhh, that were very nice,” I said with a deep, satisfied sigh, as I spilled my seed down Des’s chin. We were in the boathouse on the lower lake, here because Des had wanted me to fuck him. But now we’d have to sit and talk for a bit, listening to the racing shells grind against the dock outside in the bit of a squall that had come up over Sandhurst. It would take me a few to recharge.“Cig?”

The Compassionate Reporter

“Lou is chasing another story down, Gavin, and this one doesn’t look like more than a short paragraph in the local news section. So if you’ve got an hour or two, could you check this out? And if you don’t have an hour or two, I’d like to know what you’re doing; what you’re working on now was due on my desk an hour ago.”The city editor handed Gavin a telephone message form.“OK, boss. I’ll

The Cure

I came to slowly, the flashing colored lights taking their time to form in my consciousness and whatever Tony had spiked my drink with slow to let loose of me. I was lying on a bed. I tried to rise, but my hands were cuffed together above me and my legs were cuffed as well to the lower corners of the bed. But the bounds were loose there. I could raise my legs as I wanted, but I couldn’t rise from

The Darling

“I’m going to take you to the Darling tonight.”I froze. I’d been chatting with three other guys on the sectional sofa in the conversation pit, not even aware that the major had reentered the house. I was studiously avoiding thinking of where he was. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been in this conversation group at all. I normally tried to stay well away from these three. The three pansies we had

The Day the Earth Moved

The two construction workers worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning up for the evening around the construction site on the new house on the steep hillside overlooking the pounding surf on the rugged coast below. The two moved together, in fluid motion. They were having a boisterous and obscene conversation of what the two horny hunks planned to do to their girl friends that evening after a

The Netotiator

I wondered what he could tell about me that no one at home or the office—at least I hoped and always had thought—knew. He had introduced himself as Hal when he’d appeared beside me in Business Class and I’d stood from my aisle seat so that he could get over to the window. He’d had a friendly smile, and if I hadn’t been busy during the first two hours over the Atlantic from New York going over the

The Thunderstorm

I fully acknowledge my weakness, but I think Janine has a share in the shattering of my vows to her. I’d only had that one fling back in college—with Phil. But Chet and Phil had had an affair after college, and now Chet was living in the next acreage to ours. Obviously Phil and Chet had talked about me, and Chet knew all about me before he moved here, because he had made quite clear to me that he

The Video List

“It sounds too complicated for you, Matt,” Jason had said. “Getting a list would be the hardest part—impossible, I think. This is a small potatoes town. I think you should just keep it to the street and be happy when it works out. And get a job.”I’ll admit that getting a job was what got the plan rolling. Then getting a list turned out to be one of the easiest parts. The roughest part,

Theatrical Revival

Theatrical Revival [Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” “Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] The bodybuilder

To Die in Madeira

I closed my lips over Sir Guy’s cock and pushed his foreskin down with them, my tongue going to opening and flicking down into his piss slit as my mouth slowly took more and more of him inside the moist warmth of my mouth cavity. He sighed contentedly and ran his fingers through my hair. He reached up and pulled my cock down to his lips and started returning the compliment.We were half way

Training Asu

“You cannot put it off any longer, my friend. If you do not choose for Asu soon, the priests will take him. The choice will no longer be yours—or Asu’s. He is of age for starting the life chosen for him. He cannot do other than meet his destiny.”“I know that, Sargon, it is just so hard . . .”Baltasar, the wood merchant, was sitting at a table outside of the tea shop in the bazaar, sipping

Trip Money

I had become a regular at the gym on Tuesday nights, and this 40-something businessman named Clint, who was also a regular on that night, and I had gotten to where we regularly spotted each other through our bar bell work. He was in great shape for his age, leaner than I was, but with well-defined, ropy muscles and chiseled square-cut features. I’d been trying to save the money for some time to

Trucker Bait

As I came up from the beach, I saw Carl and Angela on the deck, He had her top off and was stroking her breasts, and she was sitting astride his lap, having made who knows what connection. I knew what they’d be doing for the next couple of hours, which would leave me at loose ends again. I decided to take the initiative. “Hey, Carl,” I yelled out from below the deck sight line. “Would now be

Trunk Of The Car, 1

Trunk of the Car, Part 1 I found I had a carefree weekend on my hands, so I had driven into the small town to answer an ad for a classic Triumph convertible that I might want to add to my collection. But I had been up and down the street several times without finding the address I was looking for. So, I just parked my car and started hunting on foot. I did find the address, but no one seemed

Trunk Of The Car, Part 2

Eric must have enjoyed the polishing job we’d done on the trunk of his Tempest, because when I’d finished shooting off into him, he said, “Well, Peter if you’ll get this beautiful body off mine and stop entertaining the neighbors, perhaps we should go in and shower.” “I want to fuck again. I want you to fuck me,” I said, without moving. “That’s not out of the equation,” Eric said, with a

Trunk Of The Car, Part 3

As we were leaving the shower, Eric took the tube of mentholated lubricant, squeezed out a large glob, and asked Claude to apply it, which Claude was more than happy to do, pushing his hand deep down the back of Eric’s silk shorts and massaging the gel into Eric’s ass as Eric grunted and twitched his butt. “As soon as this does it’s magic,” Eric said. “I want you to have another go at me, Claude.

Trunk Of The Car, Part 4

Sometime later, I was awakened by Eric pressing on my shoulder. I raised my arms to bring him into bed with me, but he shushed me and said in a low voice, “No, not that. We hear something downstairs. Claude’s gone ahead to check it out. He wants us to follow him down. When we got to the first floor, we could see Claude at the back of the house, near a door that went into a workout room. Claude

Trunk Of The Car, Part 5

After hosing ourselves off again and getting back into those silk shorts, Claude suggested we go down to the living room and drink beer and watch a football game on TV. So, down we went. After I tossed off my first beer, I began to feel a little sorry for the dude hanging up in the gym and asked if it would be okay if I went in there and cleaned him up a bit and put some salve on the new hole

Trunk Of The Car, Part 6

When I awoke, the room was dim, and the house seemed very quiet. It had been a great day, but it was time to shower off one last time and hit the road. But first I’d find the guys and see what they were up to. As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard some noises from the back of the house and padded into the gym. The pizza guy was still on delivery, I could see. They’d pulled out the

Turkish Delight Times Six

While living on the island of Cyprus, I developed quite a taste for young Turkish men. If you could get a good-looking, well-constructed Turkish guy before he got too far into his forties, you could almost guarantee you'd have something forceful, vigorous, straightforward, and good natured to play with. You also, quite often, would have a guy with a pretty heavy pelt on him. Now, I didn't

Two Men in a Dungeon

The Hulk crouched near the bolted heavy oak door, eyeing Rab, ready to pounce, trying to anticipate where Rab might try to scurry next. The stone-walled chamber wasn’t small, but it wasn’t so large that Rab had much of a chance evading the Hulk much longer. Both men were panting, having played this cat-and-mouse game for several minutes, but Rab was more winded than the Hulk was. No one in his

Wrong Choice

It was the wrong choice of swimwear, and I was headed back to the guest room to rectify that, when the cause of it all stopped me in the hallway. The new owner of our company had invited me to his country place for a weekend to discuss some details of a project we were working on and it turned out there was a pool party included. But, not knowing that, I hadn’t brought my suit. I had assumed this

Zonked

I had literally creamed myself almost nightly for Phil’s body, but Phil was about as straight as they come--and getting all the female tail he could handle if all the talk around campus was true. We were both attending the university on athletic scholarships--Phil on a football and baseball scholarship and me on a wrestling scholarship, wrestling being a good way for me to get down and dirty with

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