A real life adventure - or maybe it was all a fantasy - you will have to make up your own mind.
They say confession is good for the soul, so here, for what it's worth, is one. It covers a recent visit to one of the more civilised parts of South East Asia - and, no, it wasn't Thailand or the Philippines. Whether I am proud of what happened or not is not something I wish to examine. Who can ever fully explain their actions? I guess only a shrink might be able to tell me, and I have never been to one, never needed one, and don't need one now. So: to the tales; make of them what you will.
I now completely understand the feeling of loneliness. The most I had been away from home before was about a week. I didn't know how I could handle three weeks. Especially in a remote part of a really foreign land where few spoke English and there was little in the way of European companionship.
It becomes difficult; I have, and always have had, a fairly high sex drive. After a comparatively short time away, I found that the Shiatsu massage parlour took over a little from my missing my wife. A hand job from a strange woman is just that; it becomes mechanical relief. Don't get me wrong - it beats self-abuse hands down; indeed, it was a mind- blowing experience, for several reasons. Nobody had ever - and I mean EVER - done it to me before, not even xxxxx my wife, and the way it was done was so good and polished that it was an incredible experience. Never, even in my younger more virile days, have I ever ejaculated so hard that both a first and second spurt hit a ceiling nearly six feet above. When I say I came hard, do I ever mean it. It sure as hell felt as if I were trying to expel my balls out through the tip of my penis. It was the most incredible experience. Only one woman out of all the massage girls could ever achieve it. Two of the other girls wouldn't do it; one of the others was only a pale imitation. I suppose that Isis was just highly skilled.
Isis was not a tall girl; few of the natives actually were. She was certainly no oil painting, conforming to that much maligned small breasted pear shape, with heavy hips that some of the locals develop in middle age. Not a shape that you would dream about, or ever believe could harbour the talents it did. Her toes and fingers were instruments of both torture and great pleasure. They could tease out the knots in my muscles in a way that almost hurt it was so good.
The sexual approach that Isis used was a very deliberate thing that was almost casual in its application. It was built up over almost half an hour. I started by lying face down. She worked on my back first, by standing on the massage bench and holding onto a special overhead beam. Isis used that both for balance and for taking some, but not much, of her weight. She stood, very carefully, on my pelvic arch, which easily took her extra weight; then she probed with her toes. I was covered with a towel at this point, and using her toes very precisely she used her weight to break the knots and loosen the joints in my back and legs. It's a hell of an experience - intense, not overly painful, but not especially comfortable either.
Then, using an oil, Isis started on one of my feet and slowly worked her way up that leg, with me still face down. Her fingers worked at all of the muscles in turn. Idly I wondered how far she would reach, as her fingers were moving up the inside of my leg.
The first jolt of realisation that this was different came when Isis 'accidentally' brushed my scrotum from behind with her fingers. During your first massage, your immediate reaction is her cue as to how she will continue. If you are startled and look annoyed, the expression is "sorry" and nothing more will happen. If, like me, you enjoy it and make more room, it occurs again. I glanced over my shoulder and echoed her slight grin before relaxing and laying flat again. The oil and massage continued to the tops of the inside of my thighs and all round my ass. Her fingers just touching, teasing my asshole, kneading deeply, then brushing lightly, continuing all the time with that feather touch on my balls.
Jesus, were those fingers talented! It took a lot of self-control not to blow my wad right there and then. The towel was then moved to allow access to the other leg, and it started all over again with my other foot. If anything, the feelings were even more intense, because I knew what might happen. My erection was like iron and aching. I swear my balls were bright blue. After even more intense stimulation, Isis then moved on, almost reluctantly, to my back and neck. This allowed some of the sensations to die down, but the only real effect was to put them on the back burner for a while.
Isis then asked me to turn over, and my burgeoning erection was noted with a gentle smile. She then worked the same way on the front of my legs, with the towel draped almost obscenely over my penis. It just grew and grew; eventually the towel slipped off, and Isis didn't bother to replace it. I know from curiosity in my younger days that normally I could produce about eight, maybe eight and a half inches. In the height of passion, you could maybe add another bit to make it close to nine. I swear, I have never seen or felt it so large - it was fiery red and throbbing.
In the end, Isis simply added oil to it and ran both hands round it. Then, with one hand round my balls, squeezing them very gently, she stroked with me with the other hand. Her timing was exquisite, even if I lasted somewhat less than a minute. Isis built and timed the climax of her actions virtually precisely to mine, and I watched the spurt hit the ceiling with two bursts, and then go on to produce more fluid than I ever had before -- it must have been the final insertion of a well-oiled finger in my ass stroking my prostrate that did it.
I knew I hit the ceiling, and so did she. She actually climbed onto the bench and wiped it off. My heartbeat must have been up towards the two hundreds. Isis actually took about five minutes to gently stroke my chest and stomach to reduce my erection to a limp state. She then let me doze for about ten minutes to allow my heart rate to get back down to less than dangerous before she finished the massage off.
I thought that the effect might have been due to the fact that, by that time, I had been away from home for almost a week. Perhaps it was, but when Isis did it again four days later, the feeling she produced was just as intense, both physically and mentally. The build-up was the same but, instead of using oil, she decided to use her lips and tongue to finish me off, with both her hands working on my ass and my balls. The effect was painful, totally awesome, very special, and if it never happens again, I will remember it to my deathbed. After the second attack by Isis, my balls ached for almost twenty four hours. But what an ache!
The other tale was an incident which was not premeditated, but, when it happened, it felt almost preordained. By star sign, I am exactly, to almost the second, divided between Taurus the Bull and Gemini the Twins. Now, say what you like about astrology, then go out and buy the book by the American lady astrologer Linda Goodman called, perhaps surprisingly, "Linda Goodman's Sun Signs." Start by reading your own. It will change your perception of astrology forever. Gemini, the twins, make for a semi-schizoid personality, in most cases controlled; but you tend to almost, at times, have a split personality. The Taurean character leads to a stubbornness that, at times - please, please understand - leads you to do things with little thought for the consequence.
I have wondered, over the years I have been married, what I would do if I were ever offered on a plate, so to speak, the opportunity to sleep with someone else. Would I take the opportunity, or would I be strong? I guess you never truly know unless it happens. Well, it happened; and I slept with an Asian girl of about twenty-five, maybe thirty years of age. I suppose the best you can say is that, at the time, it seemed like a good idea. No, don't get me wrong: in retrospect, it was not the cleverest thing to have done, but the Gemini in me has no regret. Even when you're over fifty and have a high sex drive - and I am and I do - it's nice to know that you can still pull. And if, like me, you've not had sex for a few days, even hand jobs, it's nice to know that you can manage to do the job four times in the course of a night - Oh, all right then, three and a half! <G>
How did it come about? Well, there was another bar close by where I was staying. I got on well with the guy who ran it, and he reintroduced me to pool. As an aside, if you want to really upset one of your fellow Americans, confess that you haven't played pool for nearly twenty years and then hammer the poor devil.
I got very lucky. He gave me the split, and I put down two 'stripes' off the split and left myself an easy clearance for the others. The final ball dropped easily; he never even got to the table. I didn't buy another drink all night; the bar organiser bought them for me on the hotel's slate. It also led directly to the results at the end of the evening. The American left in a huff, and the boss man told me he had hoped that someone would finally take him down a peg or two. I just got very lucky.
.... There is more of this story ...