A New Year's Resolution

I'm not gay (laughing), with that said, I have seen some very good looking, uh, guys. Okay, go ahead and laugh. You see, toward the end of this past summer (August 2011), my wife and I visited an old friend of mine in Pattaya, Chon Buri, Thailand. He's a former Navy Seal. I'm a former Army Ranger assigned to SOG when we met and never mind how we met, that operation may still be classified even though it's been more than thirty years since then. Anyway, my wife was feeling rather confined. A retired police officer, she'd gotten used to running the roads, so to try to cure her "need for speed," I suggested that we take a road trip and, to make her feel better, she could drive. However, about that time, I got an e-mail from a former partner saying that I still had an open invitation to come visit. With his job, he couldn't leave the country and his company wouldn't give him time off nor release him from his current contract without a considerable financial penalty. He added that Pattaya is a coastal town and has several very good eateries. I remembered my TDY trips to Thailand when I was in the service and the delicious seafood. A couple of weeks later, my wife and I were on a flight to Bangkok.

It took us around twenty hours of flying, with a refueling stop, to get us there. I tried to figure out the time differentials, but all I got was confused. What I finally came up with is that they're twelve hours ahead of us . . . or behind us and, after twenty hours of flight, we got there eight hours or so after we'd left – according to the clock. My watch said differently. My old partner picked us up at the airport in – get this – a chauffeured company limousine. We were duly impressed. And nearly had heart attacks – three of them – on the way down to Pattaya. If any of you have ever driven in Italy or even New York, you may have a small idea of what that drive was like, because it was easily ten times more frightening. By the time we got to his home, my right arm, on which my wife had kept a death grip, was ready to fall off. She said that I was remarkably calm through it all, but it was just my poker face. I was just as terrified. Through it all my old partner was relaxed and kept up a running commentary about not only Thailand and Pattaya in particular, but also about former buddies of ours, American and Asian, that had stayed or returned to Viet Nam and Thailand. It is a beautiful region.

That night, he let us catch up on some of the jet lag and, the next day, took us out for one of the best ocean crayfish lunches I've ever had. After we were completely stuffed with crayfish, tiger shrimp cocktails, some of the best shark snacks I've ever eaten and some decent rice wine – imported from Japan – we went to visit a couple of clubs. We were still early, but he kept it light, since we were still pretty much done in by the travel and changes in time. He said that his wife, a very young Thai woman, wanted to take us to at least one "lady-boy club." I'll have to admit that I'd never heard of "lady-boys." Trans-sexuals, cross-dressers, yes, but lady-boys? My old partner joked that in Pattaya the best looking women were probably men. I laughed politely at the time, but when we got to the club and I saw the performers, I understood what he'd meant. My wife turned to his wife and asked if she was sure that these were men. She nodded and smiled, the usual answer of most Thais to questions she thought were kind of . . . well, dumb.

The look of these beautiful . . . what? Men? Women? Left me doubting myself because I was practically slobbering at their beauty. At any rate, I guess that's were I got the germ for the following story – purely a work of fiction. Much later, I was awakened by the startling thought that my old partner's wife could very well be one herself. I shook my head and rolled over, my wife pressed her warm butt against my belly, and I went back to sleep. But the next day, I kept staring at my partner's wife. She was very beautiful, one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen in a country full of beautiful women and it made me wonder. She ignored my curious looks and asked if we'd enjoyed ourselves the previous night. I nodded, still thinking of the fullness of some of those performers' breasts, the shape of their hips and their small slender hands and feet. They hadn't looked like men. She and my wife were laughing and talking about the evening, so when my wife asked about their breasts, I perked my ears up.

My partner's wife began explaining the process they went through to get like that. She said that they took female hormones, had their breasts augmented and some had plastic surgery to have their faces re-shaped and even had their testicles surgically removed! I also found out that she'd met my old partner while working as a translator at the American Embassy. That, at least partly, mollified my thoughts about her real sex. However, I still wondered about the two of them. When we got back, I began working on this story. It's been sitting on the back-burner, getting properly aged before I re-read it, corrected some spellings, awkward grammar and bad phrasing. Then I put it away again, figuring on looking it over again in a couple of weeks while I did a little more research on gay and transsexual life styles and sex. I just pulled it back up and, reading it over, it seems okay, so here goes with . . . "A New Year's Resolution."

— — — — —

I awakened with a big, throbbing head. Last night had been New Year's Eve and we'd been out in mid-town Atlanta, in the heart of all the nightclubs, welcoming the new year in. Now I was paying for it. I closed my eyes and pulled my wife's hips to me, pressing my uncoiling cock against her sweet buns and pressing my chest against her velvety, slender back. My nose was all plugged up and I couldn't smell a thing. It was my usual condition when I awakened with a hangover. It would take me most of today and part of tonight to recuperate and get my sense of smell back. However, I figured that it was just as well, I wouldn't have to smell my own stinky, alcohol-laced b. o. But first, I wanted a piece of ass. I was always horny as hell when I was hung-over and fucking my alcohol-laced cum into my wife's slick pussy always helped.

I snuggled up to her ass and reached around her waist, pressing on her soft tummy as I pushed my stiff cock between her round, yielding butt-cheeks. She had both hands over her pussy, and I figured she had her fingers in as well, her favorite way to sleep. Unable to get my hands on it, I took her butt cheeks in both hands and spread them, sliding the top length of my stiff shaft along her clenched little butt-hole. She gave a sighing moan and I felt it loosen as she pushed back. I reached around again, trying to grab her pussy, but she still wouldn't yield and move her hands. Oh, well, I loved her gripping asshole, but she usually never let me have any of it unless I fucked her pussy first and made her cum at least once. Only then was she mellow enough to give up her brown-eye. I barely remembered fucking her last night, so maybe this morning it was okay. I was still pretty shot, so I wasn't paying attention to much more than my rutting need as I slid my fingers tentatively down between her cheeks and felt up her butt-hole. With another low, moaning sigh, she unclenched it, letting me slip one, then two fingers in. It already felt slick, so we must have at least started on it last night. Oh, well. I wanted pussy, but her tight asshole was even better.

I spread her cheeks apart, opening her up like splitting a ripe peach and pressed my cock-head against her unfurling asshole. God, she was really willing I grinned, shoving all of me into her. She rewarded me with a backward bump and a whimpering gasp as she completely engulfed me – all the way to the balls. She felt a little different, but I was still too hungover and her tightly squirming colon on my lusting prick-head was just too wonderful. Her sphincter closed around my shaft, just behind my deeply immersed cock-head and gave me a welcoming squeeze. This was different, but I still failed to notice, it was just too good to do anything but enjoy. My fuzzy brain kept telling me that Carmella didn't have that kind of control in her asshole. It usually gaped open when I fucked her, fluttering around my cock-shaft and completely out of control. It was so loose afterward, that she had to run to the bathroom, holding her ass-cheeks together with both hands or while pressing a washcloth in her asshole to keep her shit from spilling out. But like I said, her sphincter gripping my shaft while my head wallowed in her writhing colon, just felt too damn wonderful to question at the time. So I rammed stiffly into her, gripping her hips and slamming hard into her "back seat pussy" – my teasing name for it. She only grunted and wiggled it back at me, demanding more and harder, so I gave her what she wordlessly begged for.

"Oh, bay-bee . . ." I moaned into her soft hair.

"Um-m-m-m," she crooned in response.

She reached back, gripped my plunging hips and rolled onto her belly. I noticed that she had a pillow under her hips, another first – she never rolled onto her belly. I don't think she ever really thought about it, just took my ass-fucking cock and gritted her teeth until it was over. The pillow helped. I managed to get into her clenching and unclenching asshole deeper than ever before. She pulled her knees up on each side of the pillow and rocked her ass back and forth with each of my deeply plunging thrusts. Suddenly, she buried her face in the pillows and gave a little screech, stiffening and shuddering under me. She was cumming! I gasped, delighted with this new development, and went wild, slamming my cock hard into her. Ramming stiffly as I heard another muffled shriek and her ass trembled as if caught in an earthquake, still cumming. Then it was my turn.

I rammed my stiff cock violently into her, my balls slamming hard against her firm split. I vaguely noticed that it was a firm split, but I was too far gone as I dug my toes into the bedding and held myself stiffly embedded deep in her squirming colon, blasting my hot cum deep into her. Her gripping sphincter was like a hand with fingers pinching the end of my cumming hose, creating a hard jet of cum that made her shudder and stiffen, her legs slowly straightening as she came again – or kept cumming, I couldn't tell which. I slid back, my cock-head clamped in her tightly gripping sphincter and, digging my toes in, hammered into her once more, sending another hard jet of white-hot cum into her, then again, holding myself in her ass stiffly, gripping her hips so tight that she could only shudder. I did it again a couple more times until I finally got enough control over myself that I could turn my hip-bruising grip loose. I sighed happily, still oozing cum into her asshole as I stretched out atop her, sliding my hands up her soft, velvety flanks and up her outspread arms, my eyes still puffed out and closed. She freed an arm long enough to reach down and yank the pillow free, tossing it on the floor. I lay on top of her, caressing her smoothly hairless arms and resting my chin on the top of her head, hearing a low, throaty, very satisfied, "ah-h-h" – and my eyes popped open.

I realized that she wasn't trying to buck me off and that she wasn't fussing and fuming nor yelling at me to pull out so she could go to the bathroom. Also, my head, when lying atop her like this, was usually alongside hers. This . . . person was much shorter than Carmella. This person wasn't fussing at me that she wanted to go to the bathroom. This person wasn't trying to get me off her. I fact, she had pulled my arms under her face and was suckling on . . . MY THUMB! It felt nice and very erotic, but . . . this couldn't be my wife! Who the hell had I just fucked?! And in the ass!!

My cock had been half-hard and I'd been thinking of leaving it in until I could get hard and fuck her wonderful ass again, but that cold realization completely deflated me and I suddenly jerked off her. As I rolled onto my side, my soft prick came out of her gripping asshole with a loud, champagne cork pop. I quickly yanked my thumb out of her suckling mouth and stared at the back half of the soft body lying in under me. It really looked nice, but it wasn't Carmella. Carmella had long, straight, jet-black hair from which she kept the salt sprinkles of gray off with judicious use of black hair coloring. This woman had long, straight hair alright, but it was a bright florescent red!

"Hey!" she protested, turning a pair of almond-shaped, wide, blue eyes at me, "I was using that," she smiled very adorably, her dimples popping into her cheeks.

"Who the fuck are you?" I blurted out.

She smiled and rolled her upper body, resting her head on a shapely elbow, revealing a small pair of – maybe B-cup(?) – breasts to me. They were nice and perky, small, maybe a handful each – in small hands.

"I'm Ronnie," she smiled, "and I love the way you fuck . . . Big Mike," she drew a deep sigh, "I love getting my ass fucked so much that I even sometimes forego getting sucked off for it," she giggled, "besides, my poor little thing is almost totally useless there."

She rolled the rest of the way and my mouth gaped open as I got a look at "her" small, softly-shriveled penis. She or he or – fuck it – it gripped the little prick between her fingers – just . . . oh fuck it! Her fingers and held it's small, cum-oozing head up as she looked into my face and smiled.

"It just lo-o-ves a stiff prick up my ass, yes! That's what makes it cum, you know."

She giggled like a naughty little school-girl once more and dropped back, her hips still sideways and her shoulders flat on the pillow, her hands up by her head as if in surrender.

"Fuck, Mikey," she sighed, "you got such a nice, big cock . . . and so fat!! Um-m-m," she ran her hands down her softly rounded tummy.

I just lay there staring. I'd grabbed a pillow, automatically covering my crotch with it, my eyes big and round. What had I just fucked?

"That big thing could make this exotic dancer quit dancing to devote herself strictly to one man, you know what I mean?"

Her voice was a sexy contralto. If I closed my eyes – and I did – I could almost see a man with a high voice lying there. Fuck! She sounded so sexy! I opened my eyes and stared. God, she looked good. She was so small and slender – and I really liked them that small, maybe a repressed pedophilic urge, but I don't know why I ever married Carmella. She'd been wide-hipped and heavy-breasted. Not really my type, but I thought I'd fallen in love with her, so I married her. Now, after ten years, her hips were even wider, her tits hung down below her belly button and said belly, was as large and round as an eighty-pound pumpkin. Her once beautiful face had coarsened somewhat, but still cute – in a fat way. The only pleasure I got from her anymore, was fucking her plump, round, fat ass. Which, as big as it was getting lately, was beginning to be almost impossible. With her massive buttocks pulled as far apart as I could get them, I could only get it in a couple of inches – of course, my own growing paunch didn't help any either. I thought back on . . . what had she said her name was? Ronnie? Yeah, on Ronnie's nice rump. I'd gotten it in her all the way to the balls and shit it had felt damn good.

"The last physical I had, the doctor told me that it was my pors-, um, pro-, um, a gland up in me that does it for me . . . makes me cum, that is," she chatted away like some empty-headed little bimbo, "and when a good, long, not to mention, fat cock rubs up against it," she arched her back and rubbed her small titties, "it not only sends chills all the way up my back-side, but it makes me spurt my cum all over . . . oh, by the way, I came all over your pillow. I hope you're not too mad at me?" she batted her eyes and pouted cutely.

I watched as she sighed heavily, shivering as if she was cumming just thinking about it. Then she opened her slightly slanted, really blue eyes wide and smiled happily up at me. And I finally found my voice.

"Wha-" I croaked and had to clear my throat, "ah-hem, what, I mean how did you, um, I mean, how did we, um, end up together?" I managed to sound meek and belligerent at the same time, my head spinning with possibilities. She quickly confirmed the one uppermost on my mind.

"Don't you remember," she asked so sweetly innocent, that I thought she was teasing.

I shook my head still staring at her. She had a beautiful body . . . up to a point. But then, even that didn't look too bad, in fact, it looked kind of . . . cute. She stretched out and shook her hair back, running her fingers through it. Very obviously, preening for my eyes.

"Well," she interrupted my inspection, "I met you last night. You was by yourself and some guy – or was it a woman – anyway this guy was really bugging the hell outta me and you asked him to stop and let me do my stuff. You were kind'a tipsy on your feet, but when that guy stood up and took a swing at you, you floored him – her? with one mean right hook, boy," she giggled and caressed my right hand affectionately, "you bought me with that punch," she pulled my hand to her face and kissed my knuckles gently, caressing my hand like she was caressing a soft, fuzzy kitten, "that was the kind'a stuff only a real gentleman does."

I sat up and looked around, almost expecting my wife to pop in through the bedroom door or out of the closet or bathroom.

"Was I alone?"

"Well, yeah," she giggled again, "why, did you have a date or something?"

"Or something," I pushed myself to the edge of the bed, "I thought I had my wife somewhere."

"Your wife!" she gasped, "ya mean you're married?!"

"Unfortunately," I nodded, "wish I wasn't, but I had my fat wife in tow most of the night. God knows for all I know, she might be sleeping in the other bedroom," I scrubbed my face with my hands, sighing deeply.

"Nope," she shook her head definitively, "ain't no one in here but you and me and your great big cock. Wanna fuck again before she gets home?" she looked at me hopefully.

I stared at her considering her offer, but then I regretfully shook my head. Her face showed her disappointment, but she reached under my pillow and fondled my prick, sighing as it began stiffening in her soft hand.

"Um-m. You're mouth says no but your big cock says yeah, yeah, yeah, and wants more," she giggled, "come on, how 'bout it? I was half-asleep when you fucked me a few minutes ago. I'm wide-awake now and I can really make it interesting," her wide eyes slanted into sexy little slits as she smiled.

I was thinking really hard about it, but I still shook my head.

"I'd sure like to, but I guess I better go find the old cow," I sighed.

Standing up, I dropped the pillow. No need for anymore modesty. She'd probably seen me naked the night before and I had fucked her sweet ass.

"Need to go to the bathroom?" I nodded toward her midriff.

"No," she smilingly shook her head, then she realized what I meant, "NO!" she shook her head and began laughing, "I learned how to control that part of me a long time ago . . . when I was just a kid."

"Okay, well, I gotta shit and clean up," she nodded and gave me a dismissive wave of the hand, pouting in disappointment.

"Can we make a date for another good fuck?" she asked as I turned away.

I felt something silky under my bare feet and glanced down. Then, picking the clingy stuff up, I realized that it was her panties. Without answering her question, I turned and looked at her. She smiled real big and held her hand out for these little wisp of nylon. I handed it to her as she stared pointedly at my stiffening cock. I was definitely thinking about another fuck with her . . . and it wouldn't cost me a dime! Fuck me! What was I? Queer all at once? I shook my head, not to decline her offer, but to myself, trying to clear it. I heard her sigh behind me, the bed springs soughing softly as, I guess, she stood up.