“Sir, sir. You want woman? I can take you to fine woman.”
I continued walking down Wireless Road from Sathorn, out on the streets from my Dusit Thani Hotel. I was swishing my folded umbrella back and forth in front of me, the mark that I’d been to Bangkok before—that I was prepared to strike anyone who came too close. I’m not sure that anyone was afraid that I could do anything with a folded umbrella in the way of a vigorous defense, but the street people of Bangkok had a code. The umbrella trick showed that I wasn’t the usually three-day tourist. The funny thing is that, although I’ve been to Bangkok frequently, it rarely had been for more than three days. But I was here for business. That wasn’t necessarily completely true, though. I could have sent someone else to handle the antique import issues. But I chose to come myself because of what Bangkok offered to me.
“You want girl? A Man? A young katoy?” I knew that a katoy was a transvestite. The voice behind me was persistent. I kept walking. At the corner of Wireless and Sukhumvit, I’d turn right. The tailor I went to, Rama’s, was just a bit down Sukhumvit, across the railroad tracks. That’s where I was headed. I could take care of other pleasures later.
“You want a boy?” the voice came. “A very young boy, very nice boy?” And then, when I kept walking, “Dog? You want to fuck a dog?”
I walked a few more steps and then stopped and turned. He was young and small, but perfectly formed. Wearing just shorts and flip-flops. He had to be in his early teens. Honey-colored skin. Nice muscling for one so young—a worker—slim waist and hips. He looked delicate in spite of a well-developed chest and biceps. At the lower end of the four-foot-tall zone. His English was broken but good enough.
“Did you say boy?” I asked.
A “got one of the string” expression flashed across his face.
For the right prospect, Rama’s could come later. They had my measurements. They knew how picky I was. They would turn around a suit overnight for me. I could stay a few extra days in Bangkok, if I wished.
“Very close to here, Sir. A good house. Clean boys. Just up here on Soi 12. The Darling. Anything else you want too.”
“Show me,” I said. I knew about The Darling. I didn’t know it had such broad offerings. If there was anything like this young boy, pulling at my sleeve and looking so hopeful, I could be interested now.”
The issue once I’d permitted myself to be taken to The Darling was that there wasn’t a better looking boy there than the one who had enticed me off the street. The pimp who met me at the door took me down the corridor between the windows separated off by floor-to-ceiling windows. Behind the windows lounged prostitutes of every variety, all giving me the eye. I knew I looked better than the common tourist to them. I worked hard to stay in shape. At thirty-two I hadn’t gone to seed yet. I dressed well, although to accommodate Bangkok temperatures, I’d dressed down—linen slacks, an expensive Polo shirt, and open-toed sandals.
I’d told the pimp what I was interested in—what the boy on the street had offered and that had piqued my interest. My fetish was fourteen-year-old boys, young enough to be fresh and impressionable but old enough to have started body development. Boys weren’t that easy to get anymore, even in Bangkok. Even Thailand was closing down on them, watching the flights coming in from Amsterdam, the center for offering sex tours to Bangkok. I’d come from L.A. and on business, so there’d been no screening involved, even though I’d been here before and had indulged.
Even though I’d made my interest clear, he’d taken me all the way through the display rooms, hoping, I guess, that I’d take what he had the most of. At the end, when we got to room of my interest, all of the boys were younger than I was interested in. I had specific fetishes.
“How old is the boy who brought me here?” I asked.
“Vit?” the pimp asked, surprised. “He’s fourteen.”
“Perfect,” I answered. “He will do then.”
“He isn’t in this service,” the pimp said. “He works the street—bringing clients in.”
“Nonetheless he’s the one I want,” I said.
“He isn’t trained to it.”
“But he will be, won’t he?” I asked.
“He is too old to be a boy whore,” the pimp answered, “and it’s several years before we can use him as a man. He’s just someone who works the street. He doesn’t work inside.”
“So, he hasn’t been used before?”
“Not that I know of.”
“I’ll pay double—if you’re telling me the truth. If he’s fourteen.”
If Vit wasn’t a virgin, he put on a great act. He was trembling from the beginning and giving me “have mercy” looks. I gave him no mercy. The pimp said they’d clean him up, but I said I’d taken him the way he was—and I’d take him now. I didn’t want any of them, including Vit once he was told, to do anything to back out of it. From the moment I’d considered using him specifically, I’d been hard. I knew he was the one I wanted.
They put us in a room, with Vit naked and looking every bit as delectable in his small, perfectly formed stature than had aroused me, with the thought that it could be a sex massage and maybe just maybe, he could get me off by hand or a dry hump and I’d be satiated with that. I’ve experienced what they tried to do in these Bangkok massage parlors before.
I was having none of that though. I bent the boy over the massage table, holding him down, after we’d done some wrestling and he’d learned I was too powerful for him, with a fist in the small of his back. I used the other hand to work his body up—he responded nicely, which gave me pause to wonder whether he was acting the innocent with me and that influenced how I took him—and to finger him and open him up. The effort to open his ass up spoke for maybe he really being a virgin as did all of the gasping and groaning and crying he did while I was working his ass with my hand. When I went down behind him and started to eat him out, his responses turned to moans and sighs.
When I stood and covered him from behind, I didn’t waste much time getting my cock inside him. He screamed bloody murder, but much of the pleasure for me was that I was big and that a Thai fourteen-year-old was small. I wanted him to be tight. I wanted to feel like I was the first one in there, and I wanted to feel the yielding of the boy’s passage, opening slowly, reluctantly, to the thickness and length of me. I wanted my pubic curls mingling with his and then, when he still wasn’t completely open to me, I wanted to fuck the shit out of him. I wanted to feel him yield and open to me while I was pumping him.
And that’s what I did with the luscious little Thai piece. I fucked the shit out of him, with him bent over the massage table, feet pulled up off the floor, his hands gripping the other side of the table, and him screaming bloody murder, while I held him close, completely captive, under me, and thrust and thrust and thrust, taking my pleasure brutally. It’s what I came to Bangkok to do. It’s what I sometimes went to the Philippines or Egypt to do. To do a fourteen-year-old boy—totally.
When I’d started to pump, the boy had called out, “Please, please. You are too big for me.”
“Yes, yes, I am,” I said, with a laugh. And then I’d fucked the hell out of him. This was in my makeup. I couldn’t have helped it if I tried, and I didn’t try. I was a regular Heckle and Hyde with sex with fourteen-year-old boys. I was polite, mild mannered, sensitive, and civilized in public—very refined. If I got a delectable, small, and fresh fourteen-year-old boy under me, I was a wild man.
I knew that a fourteen-year-old boy was old enough and strong enough to take it.
He deliciously was only half my size, perfection in miniature, his skin so smooth and flexible. His joints flexible too. I could put him in any position I wanted him in, make him totally vulnerable to me. He struggled at first, as I wanted him to, but then, realizing there was no hope for him and becoming exhausted, he became docile and accepting of the inevitable—until, deliciously while I was penetrating him to the hilt, during which he fully played the violated virgin, he came back to life for the coup de grace. The thrill of being much too thick to penetrate his tight hole and then, nevertheless doing so, feeling him only reluctantly and with great panting and whimpers, open and yield to me, feeling him tremble in my arms and listening to him sob as I totally violated him, sent waves of pleasure through my body.
Unless he was a consummate actor, I could only get this response from him once, but I was enticed into seeing how close I could come with him to sexual nirvana a second—and a third—time.
When I’d come, I grabbed him by the hair and pushed him down to his knees and made him clean my cock with his mouth. Vit whimpered, but he did what I demanded. It couldn’t have been too rough for him, because I’d made him come with my hand before I gave him my load.
“Was that satisfactory?” the chief pimp asked me afterward, solicitous because I had paid double without hassling. He knew I’d enjoyed myself, I’m sure, because he most certainly was watching me debauch the boy.
“Quite so,” I said. “I want to take the boy for the night,” I said. “How much?”
This took the pimp completely by surprise. Hesitatingly, he said, “We would have to get him back—undamaged.”
.... There is more of this story ...