KenW

Love at first sight (#16) Fucking Lee had led me to a significant discovery about myself, as well as about not cumming during a sex event. Fucking around with Bee (squared), or is that being fucked about by, had sent me in a completely different direction. I was being led up the garden path, a mere foreign sucker meeting demands for money handouts and getting nothing, or not very much anyhow, in return. I was in love, but probably seen by most FMs as a fool for being so. I probably was a fool at that, plus quite likely mad, as I claim in another post. Whichever, I was doing it tough. Serves you right! (Can I hear that harsh admonition, Stern Reader?) Yes, it probably served me right. But I remain an old fashioned softie, hence a soft touch to boot. I still believed, as I have already said, that I could make Bee see, make him understand, make him improve himself, his moral approach and his reactions to me. I not only sought, as we’ll see, to make him a star, I hoped and worked to make him a better person. That I was to eventually fail hopelessly in these aims disappoints me, has soured me to some extent, certainly against him personally, as well as against his family. But even more against the kind of Vietnamese culture and morality that turns out young desolate empty products such as him who have no aim in life other than to use people for whatever shallow venal gain they can extract from them. What can I look back on? I have no photos, which is a shame. He had for my tastes, an excellent quality cock. Not the best I have encountered, but vastly attractive. This is not him, but the LB shown has eerily similar features. That same thick limp cock of quite good size that hardens up to magnificent magnetism and dishes up the most delicious cum I have ever drunk. The same shoulders and thin flat-chested torso. The same collar or shoulder length hair. However, my Bee had darker skin than the femboy shown above, and lacked the slightly disconcerting five o’clock shadow that you can just make out on the face of this one in red pants. My boy’s cock sucking lips were larger, huge in fact, while the look in his eye didn’t come up as insolent like the pic, but was wicked, electric, flirtatious. Bee also had the most perfect arsehole I have yet sampled. Again I regret I have no pix. But here is one getting towards the quality of Bee’s. This is an ex-Japanese GG porn star, my favourite for many years, named Miura Aika. In her thirties now, she is no longer in the scene, but her magnificent arsehole goes some way to giving you an idea of how good Bee’s was: if I gave him a 100 score (perfect) I would rate Aika-san’s as about 93. The caveat being that I only know Aika-san’s from images. Note the visibility of the sphincter, how it glistens in the pic quite white for about 300 degrees of arc, and you can easily discern its tendon-like strength and expandability. Surrounding it is the property shared by all great arseholes, that sunray rim of tissue (gorgeous brown in many Asians like Aika-san and Bee) which also aids the expansion, but in relaxation mode as shown in the pic gives to the hole an expansive resonance of attractive clean freshness and beautiful symmetry, akin to an ancient caldera, the inside rim of a quiescent volcano. The radiant pattern is a mahogany version of the Hinomaru, sunrays emanating from the centre of the universe. It makes you want to shove your finger in there. Or other things. His hole looked smelt and tasted magnificent. I loved to kiss it, lick it and stick my tongue in. Beauty accepted all that, for it flattered as Beauty likes and demands. But I still couldn’t cum. And this had zilcho to do with Tantrism. It was because there was no situation in which to cum. Which in turn was to do with a careless, reckless, deceitful VNese femboy taking me to lunch and going nowhere after, taking me to hotel rooms, rolling away sulkily in sheer farce. In short he was busy treating me like shit while at the same time, Attentive Reader, taking my money and trashing my self esteem. It looked for the moment like my project was in tatters.

I'm not familiar with Brian Rix willie, but Joe Orton is a culture hero of mine from way back. Superb farceur and playwright.

Sounds like such a nice time with nice people. Corner Bar is definitely now in my vision, and even though I cannot say when, I may have to hunker down there sometime. It would be good to do it when such nice folks are around and about. Also, Chiang Mai. I went there in the 1990s twice on business, totally caught up in straight stuff even at night time. I loved the town and the places we went. But I never saw a bar much less a LB. I'd love to go back now, and - especially if invited, for I'm a quiet chap and not intrusive - with our local hero Mr Uncle Lung and others such as Sam. But I can't say when, even though it will not be soon, as there's just too much on my plate at the moment.

Love at first sight (#15) “Ken’s Punctured Romance” (1914) Keystone Studios. Director: Mack Sennett. Scene: All in bed naked, Charlie in the middle and a faggot boy on either side. (Camera pans all three) I go to cuddle and kiss my Bee. Mabel sulkily pushes me away. Curses me. Rolls over to face the wall. Says she is sick. I lay on my back. Cheeky other Bee lifts the bedclothes to show me he is managing his meat. A nice hard erection. I push back the covers even further and go down to give it the vacuum cleaner treatment. My Bee rolls over in a jealous rage, hauls the covers back up, and drags me back to lying on my back. Mabel abuses me again. Then all settled, he returns to feigned and fake sleep. Second cheeky Chester nudges me once more. I give him a big hug and cuddle. My Bee wakes and rages. I desist. Lay on my back. Reach out to Mabel’s cock and begin to hold it, knead it. He takes my wrist and flings it back over my belly. Rolls away again. Charlie gets up and goes to toilet, closing door. Sits on throne. (Camera inside loo) Door opens. Bee #2 enters closes door and hugs Charlie who stands up. Charlie’s charlie stands up too. Charlie grabs Bee#2 cock. Door opens again. Bee #1 enters. Closes door. Hits Charlie with shoe and goes to throw soap at him. Charlie beats it opens door scrams closes door heads for bed. (Camera in bedroom again) Charlie in bed. Both Bees enter and get into bed in previous positions. Chester takes my cock, begins to play. I carefully take his hand, about to place it away, in fear of Bee#1. My Mabel lifts covers, grabs second Bee’s mit and throws it away from me. Hits me with a swipe. Curses both Charlie & Chester. Calls them dogs. Rolls away sulkily. Charlie sits up, throws back covers, grabs Bee#2 cock. Bee#1 sits up, hits him several times on head and back. Charlie leaps out of bed, so does Bee#1. Bee#1 chases Charlie around room throwing clothing cursing hitting. Back to bed. Leaping in, covers pulled up. Reprise… This goes on for the full ST hour. My Bee does not want me to touch him. Second Bee wants me, I go to respond, my Bee opens up and rages. No action. Second Bee wants me, I go to respond, my Bee opens up and rages. No action. The stop start, no want, offer, go to, prevented, try again, offer, go to, prevented, takes the entire time. Then my Bee looks at my watch and announces the hour is up. Movie over Mr Sennett. It sure is, I reply, getting up and donning my clobber. I’m outa here you little twerp. They didn’t hit me for money. They knew enough not to try that one on. But I left with, shall we politely say, punctured romantic emotions.

Hamlet (or is that Omelette) comes later...

Thank you kelly2 and willie. willie, regarding the bumlets, yes feel free to borrow...

Love at first sight (#14) From Lee to Bee. The next time my love at first sight LB texted me I suggested another bar where we could sit outside on a balcony and have reasonable privacy. But it seemed he needed a sidekick, for he turned up with another faggot boy also named Bee. (I wondered, after introductions, if Eric Idle would pop his head around the corner and pointing, ask me: He’s Bee, and he’s Bee; mind if we call you Bee?) Speaking of handles the boy never ever called me by name. In private he addressed me in VNese as Anh (husband), and in public, while he often referred to me in the third person among his friends as his husband, his second person mode of address, particularly around people who did not know us, was Ba (father). Now you’re all Sensible Readers. Many of you are long term Asia hands. You know what he’s up to. Why does any Quite-Divine teenager ever want to go with a fat ugly old fart anyhow? Of course. It’s for access to the big hard bulging thing in your trousers, that’s why. The thing they call your wallet. So it was Bee and Bee and me. Or Bee and Bee and Ba. Bee (squared) + Ba = Folly. An equation fit for the three Stooges (sorry Larry). Keystone Cops more like. After dinner and drinks, it got around to: what next? I have no memory now who suggested it, but the decision was made: a hotel. We headed off to a nearby mini hotel I had been to before, one known as gay friendly. It was cheap and completely without hassle even though on occasions I had, like now, been caught without my passport on me. Walking: me and Bee and, tagging along the other Bee. I paid for the room and we all three went up. (As I said, no real concern that I had no passport to leave at reception. A frown and disapproval expressed, but politeness and the desire for a ST room rental fee prevailed.) Showers and then into bed. My Bee (ha, listen to me – but just a manner of expression to allow me to distinguish), my love at first sight Bee, was quite tall for a VNese boy, probably around five seven or five eight (in centimeters is that 170?), and as I have said at boring length, stunningly beautiful. Slim, perfect dark brown skin, silky hair cut to just over his collar, long hands and fingers with exquisite nails, gorgeous legs and bumlets, and that ever so slightly faggoty pigeon toed walk-walk that is such a turnon for me. The second Bee was a short little one, a bit dumpy, white skinned, with a plain face, a small torso and a campy sneakiness that made him want to crash this party and gain favour with me. He worked as a hairdresser, and even gave me his card. All the accompanying faggot boys had seen the money I was handing over regularly to my Bee, and doubtless wanted a slice of the action. Over dinner the second Bee had played footsie with my hoof under the table. When I looked at him he gave me a wicked look that said he wanted me to do for him what I did for Bee #1. It was a contemptuous look. He would happily steal me from his friend. Probably also happily steal from me. I shifted my foot. Anyway, in the ST room what transpired in bed was sheer farce. I wish Mack Sennett had been there to film it. I’d self efface behind the camera, Charlie Chaplin shanghaied to play my part, Mabel Normand and Chester Conklin playing Bee#1 & Bee#2. So take your seats Ladies `n’ genemens, for a screening of the latest Sennett classic.

Sounds wonderful. On both my trips to P in 2010 I aimed to get to Sunee. Failed. Caught up in other stuff. Corner Bar sounds like the place to be. I know this should be in some hotels thread, but to stay on topic of Corner, if BMs can advise some good cheap digs within walking distance to Corner Bar that would be appreciated.

First of all thanx to deepthroat for the thread & pix. I've been interested throughout to see what FMs thought of all the girls. Lung's comment above is insightful. I would love to see some kind of feedback on dt's list. I'm not interested in who should be #1 or should #6 be #2, etc. I'm interested in how many BMs agree or disagree with the job lot 20 (in any order). And how many do they in fact agree with. Now, we can't all participate in such an exercise, as some of us - like me - don't know enough places, bars, girls. But I'd love to see the old Thai lags give feedback to a question like: How many of deepthroat's 20 would be in your Top 20? For the neophytes like me and the lurkers who don't know much more than nuttun, another question might be possible: If you could imagine a Top 20 - doesn't matter whether they're real girls, just imagine - how many of deepthroat's gals would make your list? I reckon feedback to questions like those 2 would be fascinating. Disclaimer: I've got an interest in this issue of how we judge beauty, and how much is it affected by populist opinion type judgments. I'd love to see the answers.

Mick's done his back at work, and is confined to a wheel chair at home. His mate Paddy comes around to visit. In the parlour Mick says "Paddy, before you settle will ya do us a favour? Go up to me bedroom and bring me pair of carpet slippers down. Me feets are cold." Paddy goes upstairs. Across the hall from Mick's bedroom, door open, Mick's two lovely looking daughters, 14 and 12, are lounging on a bed. Paddy goes to the door and says "Ya da reckons it's high time for you girls to turn in your virginity. He's asked me to fook wit you both." "O Tosh," says the 14 year old, "our da would never say such a ting." Paddy turns and yells down the stair well: "Mick, did ya say both of um?" Mick's reply thunders back up: "Course I said both of um, what's the use uv fookin one?"

Love at first sight (#13) I had not cum with Lee. That my number One sex event could entail a lack of ejaculation was fascinating to me. I needed to explore further, try to understand. Of course I’m far from alone when I don’t cum. Many old men don’t cum at all. They can still get hard, stay hard (prayers said for Viagra) and manage a root. They just don’t cum. Then there’s the other phenomenon of old men: the dry cum. I’ve begun to have these sometimes. You cum, your cock throbs, all feels good, your body chemicals whizz and bang about just like they always did at blast off. But no fluid emerges. Or more likely a dribbly drop or two tasol. But not cumming is not just about old men who can’t or rarely do. It has a much more profound element to it, one that I unwittingly slipped up against when I failed to cum inside Lee. Oddly, I see now it must have hinted itself to me that night, but like a wanderer caught in a strange context of full darkness, flailing about, grasping, touching, groping, stumbling, seeking, looking for a light, or at least a tiny flash of insight, I was unprepared and failed totally to grasp its meaning. Three years or so later Indra Sinha’s magnificent book “Tantra,” subtitled “the search for ecstasy,” was published and I purchased a copy immediately. It is not an easy read, by any stretch. In the end I learned much from it, but learned equally that it had underlined much that I did not know or understand, and probably some things about which I hadn’t even the knowledge to know I didn’t know. It’s easy to see the mainstream picture of Tantra, the one that concurrently titillated and abhorred the colonial English when they confronted it. For tantric sex, a core pillar of this way to knowledge, appears at first and second blush to be all about orgiastic hedonism, wild sexuality, albeit ritualized, and decadent happenings. (Sounds cool, I can hear Interested Readers pant.) For in this cult of ecstasy, where sex and belief are intertwined in a manner not unique to India, but at least articulated by Indian cultures and religions in a very singular way, we find all sorts of behaviours which to prim European colonialists seemed rude beyond belief, on the one hand, and physically irresistible on the other. Tantrism is the worship of Sakti and Siva, deploying the symbols of the holy lingam and the sacred yoni. It involves ritual sex, often in older times with prostitutes and members of low castes, with a five-fold sacrament made up of meat, fish, wine, bread and fucking. It incorporates the rallying of a body energy known as kundalini (from the same Sanskrit linguistic root that gave us kund which evolved into cunt). Posture, breathing and meditation all play crucial roles in performance. Orgies were back then part of the ritual, including wine, hashish, ganja, datura, many other forms of intoxication, food, dancing, incest, sex with young virgins, other men’s wives, eunuchs and prostitutes. Then on top of all that we get to where I am trying to take this post, Patient Reader. The key element of holy ritual sex was not ejaculation, but the retention of semen. The conservation of semen relates to the conservation of bodily energy, and its transmutation into spiritual energy. Siva and Sakti, when united this way, are Ardhanaresvata, the Divine half man half woman (as Serena Nanda said: neither man nor woman). While fucking, certain positions are adopted so sexual yoga can be practiced, and semen preserved. In such postures, such as one where they sit on cushions facing each other, he with one leg behind her, the other out to the side, she with both legs up, feet on his shoulders or her own, he inside her, they remain still for long periods, without cumming. Such prolonged fucking without orgasm retains seminal purity while it rouses and channels vast psychic energies. A long slow union, not of push and shove, not of cut and thrust, not of in and out, not of pounding, not of nobbing, not of dipping, but of steady silence, of calm motionlessness, of uninterrupted minimalist movement, of carefully controlled breathing, means attaining a level undreamt of before, of maintaining a sustained high of excitement, miles up in the stratosphere, floating bodies locked as one, charged with pleasure, sparks flying, electrical cords whizzing and fizzing, shooting stars sparkling, tiny tom thumbs exploding mildly, the holy lingam approaching orgasm, approaching, closer and closer, nearer and nearer, yet never quite reaching it, never quite getting there, such that this brilliant bliss can go on without ceasing. It’s somewhere quite near to there I got when I didn’t cum inside Lee. And what’s more about this rather convoluted post Faithful Reader, such an interpretation helps me to understand and explain why that remains my all-time number One sex event.

Love at first sight (#12) These pix are not Lee, but throughout the two hours her dick moved from this size and shape initially: To being sub-erect like this for most of the session: As I said above, she was concerned. She wanted to wank me off just so I could cum, but I refused, reassuring her. For I had discovered that other attribute hinted at earlier: sex without cumming. That does not apply to all my favourite sex events, but it is present in some of them. It is, I found out, an increasingly familiar pattern (especially now as I age), leading to sustained performance and maximized pleasure. It is almost impossible for me to describe the magnitude of this sex event. Experienced Readers, I can hear you now: ol Ken takes a LB home and sucks and fucks her for two hours. So what? He thinks that’s special. That’s everyday. Well, that’s the bare plot. And you’d be right with that as everyday humdrum. But like all good literature, all good movies, all good art, all good life, there are sub-texts, layers of meaning, nuances, allusions, that have to be added to bare plot in order to gain anywhere near full appreciation of what’s gone down. For example Keen Readers, as many of you know, the plot of Moby Dick is no more than two sailors sign on for a long cruise on a whaling vessel captained by an old man determined to kill a white whale. In the end the whale kills them. End of story. But the book (no, not the movie unfortunately, which was little more than the above bare plot) is one of the most wonderful subtle and non-subtle pieces of writing ever crafted in the English language, or any other language, full of wisdom, wit, puns & parody, of homosexual farrago, of manhood, of adventure, of the heart of darkness hidden in the soul, a lesson on sailing ships, sailors and cetology. A hotchpotch chronicle of philosophy, history and culture in nineteenth century America and elsewhere. I’m not putting myself up there with Melville, for this was but a two hour session with a LB. But it meant so much more than that mere plotline: I had ridden my fear and unlike Captain Ahab I had triumphed over it; I had the best fun I had had to that time with a cock, as Ishmael discovered it is possible to do; and it was a cock hidden at first in female knickers – another first; she turned out to be a nice girl, with no bad intentions for me – just like Queequeg did not turn out to be a murderous savage; she couldn’t cum, and I learned that night what magic can be had playing with a determined sub-erect member; I had not cum, and I learned that night, as if for the first time, how exhilarating that could be too, how sensual and subtle sex could be, how articulate a silent soft cock could be. I had found a gem. But as she departed, the gem shattered much of the glass in my future cabinet of curios as she said I was the last client she would be seeing hereabouts. For tomorrow she would be returning to her home town. Hookers back then charged by the hour, as I guess they do now. She charged me not a cent for the extra hour, never even mentioned it. Lee slipped out of my life, but remains to this day seared into my neurons as the provider of my all time number one sex event.

Love at first sight (#11) We kissed, she asked for her fee (common practice in Australia in those days to ask for fee before sex). Then she let me strip her down to her pretty white and pink ribboned bowed & lace knickers. She lay on her back on the bed. I set up on my hands and knees beside her, and after kissing her a bagful, I worked my way down to her nipples which I sucked for quite a while like an infantryman on parade: left, right, left… She spoke: apologized that she would not be able to cum for me, as she had just been with another customer and cum for him. The hormones she was on meant she could not do it twice so quick. I spoke: no worries. About half an hour or forty minutes must have passed as I travelled the winding mountain road from lips to belly. Then I carefully pulled the knickers down to reveal the sleepy little seasquirt lying there minding its own business. Beautiful, I reassured her. She smiled. Then followed an hour of sucking during which, as she had warned me, she never once got hard. Unlike your average female, this didn’t offend me or make me feel inadequate in any way. In fact I loved it. So did she, for she not only told me repeatedly, but groaned and sighed accordingly. Even if she was faking it, I didn’t care, for I wasn’t. I have a deep and abiding attraction to sub-erect cocks, as they roll and loll about, getting bigger than flaccid, like some kind of marine worm emerging from its burrow or tube, to fan itself about against the current and the water flow, but not filling fully with blood, like fat packed in a sausage. In the mouth, for me, there is nothing quite like it. Once the cock gets hard, then I like that too of course, but expect a shot of goo anytime soon and am disappointed if I don’t get one. But while still sub-erect, that wondrous bouncing rubber truncheon, that cudgel demanding cheek filled clutching, that totally silent one-eyed slapstick remains for me the most magnetic object 600 million years of evolution ever created. Like hapless iron filings I am a sucker locked in its force field. Then she asked if I wanted to fuck her. Yes, I said. She moved to doggie and I moved in. Big and open, juiced up and inviting, her rectum pulled and pushed my faithful one back and forth, as I slithered in and out for the next thirty minutes or so, but did not cum. She was concerned, I was not. Don’t worry, I assured her, I am having too much fun to cum. She lay on her back and I entered her from above. Again her arsehole welcomed me and we went at it for another session. Then we did it with her squat on the edge of the bed, me standing, knee trembling. I eventually rolled off, exhausted. This had been the best sex event I had ever experienced. I had not stopped for two hours. I was proud of myself. I was in my early forties at the time, but had managed a level of stamina I had not known since my twenties. For all the years of that entire interim I had not performed like this. It was simply because I was so turned on, a tinder dry forest set up for a high summer conflagration, a charged box of explosives poised to blow, but held back by experiencing sheer glee with Lee. Her wonderful arsehole and her magnificent benign sub-erect dick.

OK, OK, take it easy. Ha! Here's the next episode now.

Thanx Lung. Much more to come.

Pleasure fm. Re: other places including Thailand. An account of my latest (and second) visit to Pattaya (2010) is given on this site in the Thailand TR section, thread titled KenW Does Pattaya #2. A TR of my first trip there (also 2010) was put on another site LabyboysPattaya.com, to which I no longer have access. If you do, the thread is called KenW Does Pattaya. I have also made sporadic comments about Phnom Penh in an A List thread on this site to do with Cambodia. Fishing in Indonesia? I have nothing on that. I would love to do a sex tourism holiday in Indonesia, hunker down in somewhere like Jogyakarta and suck cock for a month. I have been to Indonesia many times since the late 1980s, most recently in 2003. Every time but one was on business with colleagues (straight) and I did not get to play up once. The only other time was a family holiday back in about 1990, so also no dodgy stuff for me then. But Indonesia has so many gorgeous citizens, boys, girls, LBs (called banci where I mainly was). A couple of the LBs who are members of LBR list their provenance as Bali so they might be good to get to know as a point of entry.

Thanks Bb. More to come.

In the Midnight Hour any version but I guess James Brown the most famous one EDIT: sorry, my brain damage showing again. I own a James Brown version which is excellent, but of course the most famous versions plural were by Wilson Pickett. http://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FGVGFfj7POA

Love at first sight (#10) Meaningful sex events. Now there’s something. As an exercise in erotica and memory recall, a few years ago I listed, from what my damaged brain could remember, what I judged to be my lifelong top sex events. Initially a Top 5, then later added some others my memory banks tossed up. It was a fun thing to do. It had no purpose other than a bit of egotistic enjoyment plus the recall of some nice sordid times. Two things emerged when I surveyed my list and thought about it all. One was that not a single event from what I’ll call legitimate or mainstream relationships (ex-girlfriend, ex-wife) was anywhere near being on my list. The second, unexpected and startlingly counterintuitive, was that all the events I had chosen as the best ones entailed one key underlying element: fear. Fear. The theme of fear severely pervaded my Top 5 (1 x LB; 4 x GG). There was another attribute, sometimes present, but not pervasive. I’ll mention it later. I won’t go through the five, but would like to mention the One that came out #1 Top of the Pops. It was my very first LB sex event, decades ago when I was much younger. In Australia. I had hired hookers before from advertisements in the newspaper, but found the sex always disappointing. Maybe it was me, or maybe I just drew the short straw with the girls I hired, but all seemed listless and there simply to let me go through the motions then take my money and skedaddle. In those advert lists in the papers there were always a few LB ads (listed under TS or TV headings). I was fascinated and wanted to try, but scared shitless. I was a lifelong cock lover, but had never been anywhere near a boy turned into a girl. Most of my life I have been frightened of the unknown. Abnormally so. Simple things, or at least simple and straightforward for most folks, like changing cities or taking on a new job held mortal fear for me. What if I failed? What if these new people don’t like me? Etcetera, wet underwear. But I desperately wanted to try this. So I did. I was living with family at the time (I was married then), who were away, hence presenting me with my chance. But with family, as most of you know, though tickets are bought and schedules planned, things can always change, an emergency can crop up, and a taxi can always suddenly pull up outside the front gate unannounced, unexpected, and it’s Hi I’m home early. O shit. (This was long before mobile phones were invented.) So the fear was trowelled on in two layers: 1) would there be a sudden change of plan and the other return while I’m chockablock up somebody else’s, and a LB at that? 2) would this LB experience all run foul for me (beat me up/have gangster allies/rob me/trash my place)? It was around midnight by the time she got dropped off at my door, and as I welcomed her I was shaking like a leaf. She was Caucasian (Australian), in her thirties, not bad looking, named Lee. (I seem to have a history of linking up with names like Lee and Bee – Gee it is history, I’m not making these ones up.) I locked the house door and ushered her down the hall. At the end was the spare bedroom, the den where I did my unfaithful clandestine at-home screwing. We went in.

+1 for the cartoon Mate. Need to see more of them.

Love at first sight (#9) But I’m getting way ahead of myself. Let’s go back to tomorrow. Recall when we met and I was hit by love at first sight – in As You Like It, Phoebe asks: who ever loved that loved not at first sight? For true love, really true love, the kind of love that shakes up galaxies, starts sunspot showers, send stars shooting, sets shepherds sharpening their shears, there can be no other kind of beginning. We exchanged phone numbers. Tomorrow I called. Yes, he was available to be bought lunch tomorrow, but not today. OK tomorrow will do. We arranged to meet in the backpacker precinct of the city at lunch time at a bar & eatery I knew. I turned up on time as I do. Half an hour later – me shifting in my seat suspecting I’d been stood up – it arrived in company. The third party was the other older gay boy who had been present at our first meeting and had told him that nineteen in English was nineteen. He was polite enough to introduce the other boy by name. Nice to meet you. My love interest’s nickname was Bee. Singularly appropriate, as: Bee Yootiful. We ordered and ate. The two of them spent 99% of the next hour ignoring me, nattering to each other in Vietnamese. I was unwilling to let on at this stage that I knew any language. I thought it might be more useful for them to talk confidently, allowing me to learn anything sinister, or even just gossip about backgrounds, pasts, intentions, etcetera, set up it were. But it was all humdrum teenage and family nonsense. One mention of a past love affair. I was determined to take it easy, not push, let this evolve at its own pace, at the pace he wanted it to happen. So I suggested nothing of sordid intent. I called for the bill. He said he’d contact me. Then they took off. I only knew one LB who frequented the backpacker area. I went walking with her. She had always been nice to me, friendly, and even though we had been to a disco together, and a bar together, we had never had sex. I had never suggested it and neither had she. Her friends had told me to watch out for her, as she was genuine low life. There were tales of going to hotel rooms with customers, followed by muggings and robbery. She was hooked on the needle. She only once ever asked me for money, late at night, when the candy man was due on his rounds. I have a mean old man’s attitude to money for drugs, but that one time I relented as I feared for her, worried what trouble she might get herself and innocent others into given she was so much in need of that hit and it was due. I went home and thought about my new boy, hoping like hell he wasn’t into drugs like that other one from the backpacker area. I wondered, half knowing, what he actually was into. I was calm, as I said above, but there was a certain fear present too. Would it work out? Or was I about to get touched up? What would it be like when we got around to some meaningful sex events?

Thank you JD.

Pleasure Larry, more to come.

Thanx Bb, more on the way.

Love at first sight (#8) Head for Phnom Penh, Ken. Say ya caint see him again. In the end I had to lie to Tung that I lived with my 50 something year old Aussie wife, a big strong woman who suspects but cannot prove I am having a fling. She has already begun checking my phone and twice has called names or numbers she doesn’t recognize, just to see who I’m in contact with. She has threatened, I told him, if she ever finds anyone I’m going with, she will track them down then cut their balls off and their tongue out. The calls and messages from his sector dropped off immediately to nearly zero. Except for an occasional late plea like these texts I received which I suspected were from him, but claimed they were from a supposed brother. (Probably his trick to keep my fictional wife away from his fearful cods – “It not me, it my brother!” Etcetera, a ploy it were.) But working my way through the fifty ways, I was out of it, making a new plan, hopping on the bus, with no need to be coy. No need to be coy alright, especially given my perfect looking LB had come into view. What would the world look like, Einstein asked over a hundred years ago, if we rode on a beam of light? I made no grand calls, no big dramatic decisions, but somehow my body was telling my brain that it was going to be alright, no matter what they did to me. It was not that I didn’t care, for I did, it was not that I wasn’t frightened, for I was, but it was as if I had made up my mind to put up with whatever happened, whatever came along, whatever they did to me. To endure. To go on. In terms of potential relationships, I had never known such calm, such relaxation, never been so at ease with myself. I was at peace with my soul. That’s what the world looked like. For here was beauty on my sleeve, an affectionate beauty that caught much local attention, the Uc dai loi with his boy, this boy I was so proud of, so pleased to call mine, so in love with. But there was nowhere to hide, not from the locals anyway, even when we sat furtively in the dark back section of small coffee shops or beer stalls, the boy’s head on my shoulder, hand on thigh, the occasional lipsmacking liquid kiss, or when we managed to spend a secret hour in a rented room in a small guesthouse or mini hotel. People were talking. But to my interest, intrigue, it was not a threatening talk, and even though someone was bound to tell someone I knew eventually, I felt I had boarded the rollercoaster, was strapped in, riding my beam of light. Aboard the beam time stood still, care evaporated, and sheer unadulterated beauty reigned supreme. That alone made it worth it, come what may. But the worm, like his perfect cock, as they say, turns.