Date: Mon, 27 Nov 2006 10:00:46 -0800
From: joe69orforg@yahoo.com
Subject: Bangkok Boys 3--A Night On the Town

Author's note: Reader comments invited. Earlier stories in this genre have
generated interest in possibly visiting Thailand. Since the time and
settings are about ten years back, no representations are made that similar
conditions exist at present. Any more current information from recent
travelers would be appreciated.

It was January 10, our last day in Bangkok. We spent the day picking up the
custom silk shirts and other items that we had ordered earlier, had a late
lunch and returned to the hotel. Our reservations to Chang Mai were already
confirmed. The teeming crowds in the streets were still confusing and
intimidating to us. Travel in the Orient added an element we hadn't
encountered in Europe--the language. We had a smattering of French, some
Spanish, and most Europeans spoke English as a second language. Even when
we couldn't find a local on the street to help us with directions, we could
rely on our limited language skills and our maps. The written language was
easily translatable between maps, directional signs, and street signs. We
could direct taxi drivers or order from the menu in the local language. But
Asian languages' graphology was a whole other thing. For some help, we had
turned to the hotel's concierge. He would take our English information and
write the Thai equivalent out on a sheet of paper that we could then show a
driver or store clerk what we desired.

Our travel guide included several gay-oriented businesses, since even in
Thailand with its lack of cultural taboos regarding same-sex activities,
emphasized places where gays would find more friendly treatment. We had
been able to find our way in the center of Bangkok with the concierge's
help and cooperative tuk-tuk drivers. Tuk tuk's are the common carrier in
Bangkok. They are three-wheel motorcycles with a padded seat on the back
that carries two passengers. The seat lifted up to take packages or other
cargo beneath. They were open-air conveyances, but then it was summer in
Thailand and very pleasant outside.

We had read about a bar and hotel on the outlying area of Bangkok where
room rates were given by the hour, a convenience to visitors who might
require some privacy for a few hours in the evening. It gave a high rating
to the bar as a dance show and strippers attraction that we thought might
be interesting. The concierge wrote a translation of the name and address
for us, and we took it outside to the driver of a tuk tuk in line in front
of our hotel. He seemed puzzled by the information we handed him, shook his
head and walked over to the next driver in line. After a bit of
conversation between the two drivers, the one we had intended to engage
nodded and gestured the next driver. That driver motioned us to hop on his
bike and commented with a smile, pointing to the other driver and said
something like 'new man' as he kick started his motor. We took off down the
boulevard.

We rode for fifteen or twenty minutes out into a different-looking part of
the city. The driver began to backtrack and retrace his route as if looking
for our destination. He muttered something we didn't understand and got off
his bike. We were sitting near what looked to be a small restaurant. Our
driver went inside and had a brief conversation with the cashier at the
front counter. The cashier was pointing and gesturing, and our driver
finally seemed to be clear on his directions. He ran out and hopped on his
seat, roaring off down another street we hadn't tried. After some more
experimentation, we stopped again by a phone booth. (This was before cell
phones came into use.) He carried on a conversation on the phone, nodding
and sounding as though he now understood. Away we went through a maze of
narrow alleys until we reached an area with buildings less tightly crowded
in on every inch of ground. Finally we stopped near a large vacant field
with a two story building that had large flashing neon lights at the far
side of the field. There did not seem to be much activity in the area, and
we were dubious about leaving our transportation in such a deserted
place. The driver pointed insistently at the building, shaking his head up
and down. "Yes, yes," he seemed to be telling us. He pointed to the paper
our concierge had given us.

"This is the place," he urged us. "Just take the path here and go to the
door you see in the front of the building." At least that was our
interpretation. Skeptical as we were, we handed the driver his fare and
followed the path to the door. We opened the door, and a burly bouncer-type
held out his hand. "Two baht," he announced. That seemed like a lot to
us. "One free drink," he added. Still seemed steep, though many of the
strip joints in the States charged a hefty cover charge to discourage the
riff raff. We paid, and accepted our drink tickets. Loud disco music was
pulsating through a curtained opening in the entry. We pushed the curtain
aside and walked into a large, brightly lighted room. A long bar ranged
along the wall about halfway to the back of the room. Beyond that was a
raised platform with a brass pole at one side. The opposite wall had
partitions about four feet high that divided the space into cribs six or so
feet square, open to the bar and platform. The rear part of the room had
more cribs facing the platform. Pillows and cushions were scattered about
on the floor, and a few cribs were occupied by men sprawled out
comfortably, drinks in hand. A few men had seats at the bar; some engaged
in conversation; others seemed to be by themselves.

Jon and I took seats alongside each other and held up our drink tickets. A
smiling and friendly bartender greeted us and brought us our order. We had
ordered vodka and tonics, and they were very strong. The music from the
loudspeakers reverberated off the walls with the strong characteristic
thump we were used to at home. I looked at the time. It was past ten. We
had left the hotel before nine, so had taken over an hour to find the
place. Jon asked what time the show started, and the bartender said that a
warmup had already finished. The main acts would be out at ten thirty. I
looked around the room. Virtually all the customers were Westerners. Two or
three were Thai--one chatting with a white guy at the bar, and two sitting
alongside Occidentals in the cribs. We sipped at our drinks until there was
room for more tonic, asked for a refill--tonic only. The vodka was harsh
even then.

Two attractive young Thais entered from a side door and each took a seat
alongside Jon and me. "Hi," they both said. "Buy me a drink?"

"Sure, why not," we replied. That was fast, I thought. My guy introduced
himself as Cam. Jon's guy was Ron. I was tempted to ask them for an ID. We
had heard that the minimum age for hustlers was 20. These guys looked more
like 15 or 16, though Thais can look awfully young well into middle age
sometimes. Both were medium height, smooth light olive skinned, straight
black hair in a bowl cut. No facial hair, and no tattoos showing. Oh, no
piercings that showed either. Their drinks looked like orange juice. I took
a sip of Cam's. It was orange juice. I offered him a sip of my drink, but
he shook his head. Although their English was limited and heavily accented,
we made light chat about Bangkok. Cam said that he'd been in town only a
few months; Ron had come from a farm over a year ago. They both aspired to
careers in electronics. For now, they were earning money for school.

A fanfare blared through the room, and two bright spotlights flashed
on. Bright colored lights blinked on and off throughout the ceiling, while
a row of yellow lights ringed the walls about a foot below the ceiling. A
nearly naked young boy came through a side door and danced his way across
the floor and onto the platform. He had long silk scarves tied to his
wrists, and as he danced to the beat he assumed a ballerina stance and
pirouetted, hands above his head with the colorful scarves flowing across
his face. His light skin was flawless, and his smooth body lithe and
slender. He did his bumps and grinds to the music with some professionalism
evident. We applauded as he did some graceful dips. The g-string he had on
as a covering revealed more than it concealed. It strained at its mooring
and suggested something of substance inside. He left the platform and
danced gracefully along the bar stools, stopping at each one that was
occupied to allow a little groping and the insertion of some currency.
Shades of West Hollywood! He then visited each occupied crib for a
donation.  He timed his circuit so that he reached his exit as the last
note of the music sounded. More applause.

The next performer entered as the first left, and he was beefier and more
rugged looking. He wore garish Reeboks and did high kicks to mark his
introduction. His tights covered from knees to waistline in a filmy red
stretch material that reminded me of someone wearing a silk stocking over
their head, with their nose smooshed against their face, only in his case
it was a substantial package that filled the crotch. His gluteus maximus
were round and full, and he had a dance routine that included several
bendovers that revealed a tight asscrack. His routine emphasized his
muscular body--often stopping in a body-builder's pose to show his
well-developed physique. Side comments were obvious, coming from patrons.
Oh yeah! Cam stroked my bare arm as the dancer warmed up the crowd. I put a
hand on his knee, pressed against my thigh. The dancer's circuit was
generously rewarded, and his transparent waistline was thick with American
greenbacks and British pound notes. Some Australian and Canadian money was
in evidence as well.

The third dancer entered to the Pussycat theme, though his costume was a
tiny black bikini, a pair of kitten ears above his head, and a few black
whiskers painted on his cheeks. His moves were sinuously feline, and his
writhing body invited reaching hands eager to stroke his glowing skin. Cam
breathed warm air into my ear and nibbled my lobe. I groped his inviting
crotch, imagining it was the dancer's. Cam responded in kind. I was
throbbing hard. So was he. I could see Jon beside me enjoying a session of
smooth stroking and groping as well. Ron suggested that we move over to a
crib, so we ordered fresh drinks and then took an unoccupied crib. Cam and
I sat with our backs against one partition; Jon and Ron sat facing us with
their backs against the opposite wall. Cam fluffed up some cushions to make
me more comfortable. I sat with my feet flat on the floor and knees up to
relieve some of the pressure my boner was creating against my fly. When the
pussycat made his rounds, he stood before me, his bulging crotch touching
my nose. I stuck out my tongue and licked his glans pressing against his
spandex. Then I groped his firm buns as I inserted my money at the back of
his waistband. He rubbed his pouch against my face in thanks. I wanted to
bite it.

A Persian dancer of the Seven Veils came out next. He was covered in filmy,
flowing transparent silk. He writhed to the flute music and insinuatingly
thrust his pelvis forward. Then he would run his tapered fingers down his
hips and twist his body invitingly to the hoots of the audience. His pouty
lips drew more howls. He wrapped himself around the brass pole and gave it
a vigorous rub with his crotch. As he agitated his admirers, he began to
strip away each gossamer piece, first the sleeves, then the vest. He
grasped the waistline several times and made motions to remove the bottom,
but each time hesitated until the crowd roared. By this time, most of the
cribs were occupied. Apparently this performer was a big draw. Finally, his
last fabric dropped. Only a thin elastic band surrounded his waist to hold
his donations. His genitals were unfettered, and he flipped his flaccid
cock at the audience with a broad smile as he blew kisses at his admirers.
He groped himself invitingly, and as he started his rounds, kissed his
largest donors wetly on their lips. A few groped his crotch and massaged
his firming cock. Before he had finished doing the bar patrons, he was
fully up, and his big balls were suggestive of more to come. Cam put his
soft lips against mine and thrust his tongue inside my mouth. The electric
shock flew to my crotch and on to my toes. As the dancer approached, Cam
whispered to me to be generous. I pulled out a tenner and waved it before I
slipped it inside the dancer's waistband. He presented his jutting cock. I
opened my mouth, and he slipped into my hungry lips. I cupped his balls in
my hand and he pumped against my hot tongue. Way beyond West Hollywood!
Alas, he pulled out and continued to gather tributes from other even more
generous players. Near the finale, a "C" note earned its donor his hot load
down the throat. Cam and Ron had been taking advantage of this blatant
arousal period to explore Jon's anatomy and mine, their hands and mouths
beginning to find bare flesh as our shirts were opened. Wriggling fingers
were milking guts and butts, and our stimulation was inviting
reciprocation.  Our companions encouraged our blatant exploration as well.
I was flowing copious nectar, and my crotch was soaked in its flow.

The finale was announced by a gorgeous young man attired as an impresario.
He introduced the Cossacks to a drum roll, and three robust youth burst
onto the platform to a rousing Russian sword dance selection. The three
squatted in a row, their booted legs thrusting out in brisk rhythmic kicks
and the claps of the audience. They wore tall military caps, were bare to
the waist, and had white filmy jodhpur-cut pants. The master of ceremonies
lay two crossed swords on the floor, and they skip-stepped around in a
circle, arms over their partners' shoulders, bare muscular backs and
firmly-packed bulbous butts

flexing as they did their intricate steps between the swords. The
presentation of these perfect mounds signaled the audience's approval
gestures. Whistles, shouts, clapping hands rhythmically eliciting harder
stomps of boot heels and inward thrusts of baskets bursting against their
fabric. The music grew faster and louder as the dancers stood in a line
across the platform, arms across their shoulders and did a grapevine step,
keeping up with the ever-accelerating beat until the clap of heels on the
floor engaged the audience in a floor-pounding exercise. Two men from the
audience jumped onto the platform and joined the three in their wild dance.
Then the music dropped to a more sedate tenor, and the three dancers seized
the announcer and began removing his clothes. As they stripped all but his
teenie bikini, another man from the audience stepped onto the platform with
a blanket. The three dancers grasped one side of the blanket, put the
announcer on it, and the three from the audience grasped the opposite
side. The group then lifted the blanket up and began an accelerating flip
of the blanket, tossing the announcer into the air in time to the music's
beat, higher and higher. Somehow, the announcer's bikini sprung loose, and
the Cossacks' boots flew off and their filmy pants dropped to reveal
uncovered crotches. As the blanket-tossing continued, four flopping cocks
elicited hoots from the audience. The din grew with hard slapping of hands
in cadence and yells of da DA DA that signaled the acceptance of the house
of the new number presented that night for the first time. Somehow, even
after the previous dancer had drained the generous audience, money came
out, and each of the four nude performers made slow progress around the
room Open wallets were met by turgid cocks willing to fill open mouths as
the collectors groped the more open fisted ones vigorously. All four were
engaged for the evening before the show closed. Bidding for the four
previous dancers was reaching a peak. The bartender had become the
auctioneer, and large sums were being called out.

Ron had begun pushing for our taking a room after the show ended. A finale
was yet to be presented, but he told us that it was just to pick up any
resisters left in the room who hadn't already committed their evening to a
bar boy or one of the performers. Word had spread that a party of four
friends had pooled their funds to engage the final act performers. A suite
had been offered at a reduced rate for the party of eight. This prompted
Cam and Ron to debate the preference of each couple taking a separate room
or the four of us taking the Princess Suite with bath including a Jacuzzi
and a fully stocked mini bar. Jon just stood aside with a bemused
expression as the two bar boys performed their tap dance. Ultimately, we
were offered the suite for the price of two rooms which were much smaller
and more austere. The bar was compliments of the house. Jon looked at me
with a shrug. We'd started out with the tacit understanding that we wanted
to try the rent boys idea if we found it appealing. Our young companions
had already started fanning the erotic flames, and all that remained was to
pull out the credit card. After all, we were on vacation.

The hallway to the upstairs rooms was crowded with couples already starting
for the real purpose of the night--getting good and wet. A back stairway
was opened to us, and we followed the party of eight to their even more
deluxe digs. Our boys knew the way to our accommodations. Ron led the
way. Cam brought up the rear playing grab-ass with me as we made our way
down the hallway. We followed the eight raucous guests ahead of us, four
already naked and encouraging their benefactors to handle the goods.

We turned into our suite, and Ron stood inside until Cam had made sure we
found the way, then he closed and dead-bolted the door. Practiced hands
began a carefully choreographed routine of sensuously stripping their
partners in the most erotic possible manner. I've never been undressed with
such a mixture of sensuosity and determination. Soft, gentle hands became
firm instruments of vigorous massage, and although I tried to reciprocate,
I was kept so busy that Cam was undressed at the same time as I, and we
embraced, kissing deeply as our hard cocks dueled for supremacy. This Thai
boy sent such shivers of delight through my body that I just felt suffused
with sensations so diverse that I had trouble sorting out the warm waves
washing through me, the jolts of voltage hurling excitement to my nerve
endings, the surges of pressure inside and outside my body, and the sense
of desire so intense that I couldn't express it adequately. I didn't even
have a term to label many of the sensations I felt. I had simply
surrendered to the most skilled stimulation that I had ever experienced --
and all this from a maybe-twenty-year-old Asian twink.

As I felt a focus to the complex of stimulations I was experiencing, I
looked down from my standing position to view a neatly parted head of fine
black hair bobbing back and forth below me. It had to be Cam sucking my
cock, but the wonderful things he was doing with his lips and tongue
rendered the crude term 'sucking' inadequate. And as his mouth delivered
its enormous rewards, his busy fingers worked my asscheeks and spidered
into my tight pucker. Ooooooohhhhhh. Aaaaahhhh. Promises. Promises.

I was vaguely aware of two other writhing bodies in the room, but I was
lost in a mist of untold thrills. I usually preferred mansex in which both
participants worked at doing a share of the stimulus and response, but now
I had surrendered to this youth who was making me discover totally new
sensations. He rose and embraced me, pressing me against him tightly and
writhing his body, using it as a tool of stimulation beyond belief. He
stepped behind me, bent me over and nuzzled into my asscrack with his
tongue, first teasing a tight pucker and then pressing his tongue inside.
Eeeeeeeee. An involuntary quiver rippled through my body as he laved my
hungry hole. He left a moist trail and slid his turgid rod inside me so
smoothly that I only felt the firm filling thrusting torrid waves through
my body. His was far from the biggest cock I'd ever taken, but his moves
and the places he found to awaken were just beyond belief. I groaned. I
moaned. I thrust back at him as he varied his pace. Ohyesohyesohyes, I
thought. Bury yourself deep inside me. Make me know that I've had a man's
tool completely. He grasped my cock and used it as a handle to direct my
movements against him. Ron and Jon joined us in a train, Jon in Cam's ass
and Ron in Jon's. We sang a quartet of desire being served, the Asian
version of a conga line. The squishing and pumping and groans and gasps of
four ravenous men joining forces to compound the satisfaction of grand
climax. Loud cries of release issued from our deeper voices; high tenor
tones announced climaxes of our boys. No, not all four perfectly
collaborated in one great exegesis. The joy was in the journey, not the
destination, and anyway, I couldn't be sure who did what when. All four
just hung in until the last man was sated.

When we unhooked, the Jacuzzi was turned on, and we all immersed our sweaty
bodies in its soothing water as we let our bodies regain some semblance of
stasis. It was impossible for four naked, horny men to sit quietly in the
bubbling water. Stroking and groping and legs entwined and all sorts of
little different things occurred to our minds. Ron manipulated my balls and
crotch with his overactive toes, and I took the measure of his jutting cock
with my slavering mouth. The warm, surging water worked its magic all the
same, and we found ourselves wanting respite. We turned down the king-size
bed, mixed fresh drinks from the bar, and sat contentedly listening to the
soft music filling the background. I hadn't even been aware of its presence
until then.

As we sat with the pillows propping us up against the headboard, little
surreptitious gropings kept occurring. I was between Cam and Ron with Jon
on Ron's other side. Cam turned onto his side and pressed his pretty ass
against me. I turned to spoon against him, and Ron followed my lead. I
found Cam's receptive hot hole and started a slow insertion of his little
pucker. Ron immediately drove all the way to his balls in me, and I found
Cam's spot of desire. We scarcely moved--just small pushings to encourage
sensations to build. I loved the feeling of being the meat in this
sandwich--these two young men thrilling at the ultimate in son-daddy-son
couplings. I felt Ron's thick length pressing deep inside me, his periodic
little thrusts keeping desire alive. Cam was flexing his sphincter against
my root. The object of this game was to prolong and build upon our
still-raging libidos for the longest and most exquisite expansion of our
ever-growing passion. A welling up inside that took over our senses served
as communication among all of us combining our most carnal appetites and
most basic needs. I allowed my involuntary mechanisms to govern the
continuous exchange of stimuli with my partners. When Ron's cock hardened
perceptively and he pressed hard against me, I felt my own churnings and
knew that two hard thrusts would release a flood. Cam was causing his stem
to swell and release, and I gave the first of the two thrusts I had, and
Cam shoved back against me, causing an immediate release. My hot load came
churning out into Cam's gut, and I felt Ron's constrictions announcing his
gusher as his teeth bit into my shoulder. I didn't know that Jon had been
goosing Ron the whole time.

We agreed to rest a while and so changed positions. I on the outside, Ron
next to me, Cam next, and Jon on the far side, changing to a more
lying-down posture to invite rest.

During the next thirty minutes I was torn between the need to prolong our
enjoyment as long as possible and our time demands. We should have left our
hotel with packing done so that we would be able to check out and arrive at
the airport without being so rushed. Connections in Thailand, we'd already
learned, could be problematical. Then I'd tell myself to live in the moment
and enjoy these two exciting young men as long as possible. I finally got
up to freshen my drink, and Jon joined me by the mini-bar. He asked softly
what I thought of our spending the night here, and I shared my concerns
about our checkout and shuttle to the airport need. I'm the worrier as a
general rule, but our flight to Thailand had been fraught with miscues and
difficulties. We didn't want our vacation spoiled by more airline
screw-ups.  I suggested that we stay for one more gang bang and then look
at the time. We both laughed at measuring the time element against the
enjoyment we both had felt so far this evening. Our rent boys seemed to be
sleeping, and so I made a move against Jon. As a rule, he doesn't prefer
69ing, but in this instance, we started on our sides on the floor. We tend
to be noisy, and soon our boys were on the floor beside us, one positioned
behind each of us poking around for a port to insert a firm dick. We were
soon all connected and seeking some novel sensations. The expertise of our
hosts made the assemblage build into a great expulsion of cumbuckets in
close sequence. Then it was back to the Jacuzzi. Our boys treated us to
more joy of grasping fingers massaging, deep kissing, nipple abuse,
ear-tonguing, and toe sucking. It was as if we were getting our lagniappe
without design. I checked the time; 3:30 a.m. How time flies when you're
having fun. It took our sternest resolve to break away from our delightful
playmates.

We acknowledged our need to get back to the hotel for a little shut-eye
before the new day engulfed us. Our boys seemed genuinely sorry to see us
go, though they'd have the use of the room for the night anyway. The night
had turned chilly, so we opted to ask for a closed cab. The bartender,
still on duty, phoned for us, and soon a small Nissan rolled up and tooted
his horn. We looked back with some regret as we rolled away. The trip took
about a half hour with a knowledgeable driver and lighter traffic. We left
a wake-up call for seven, which would be tight by the time we checked
out. I gave up the hope for breakfast. We'd get a small meal on the plane
to Chang Mai. Small sacrifice for the night we'd enjoyed. Damron's travel
guide listed some promising places in northern Thailand, so we had
something to look forward to. But that's another story--or two--or
three. See ya.