Anson in Hong Kong Ch. 04

The club was a voyeur's dream. Ferries and junks continued to ply the crowded waters of the harbor—mostly carrying tourists and commuters to nearby islands and Kowloon (the life-giving "land-side" of the island—where power was generated, water was collected and purified, sewage was processed, and food was aggregated). It was a busy and exotic time. The club was full—mostly with Western businessmen and women, dressed in the required designer duds. More than one young Asian beauty hung on the arms and words of an older man. These were peppered with jean-and-tee-clad American computer whizzes who were trying to find investment capital in the city. After a little time, I tapped Jorge on the shoulder and whispered, "I want a little private time with you before we dine." So we rose and took the single staircase down to our suite.

Jorge could sense something was different. I was quiet, but took Jorge into my arms and took his lips as we entered the room. "I need a little vanilla, a little TLC. Too much of the exotic. As we were staring into the harbor in the club, it seemed to me that an ethereal Sandra was on the other side of the tall windows. She was trying to tell me something, but I couldn't hear. From her smile, however, I think she was saying that it's okay. That I can love again. With that little speech (which Jorge wisely listened to, but did not comment), I carefully undressed Jorge and himself. We lay on the bed, embraced each other, and caressed—as our lips touched.

Jorge took the initiative and began to stroke me. This was the medic Jorge, not the sensuous animal. "Do you want to talk about her?"

"We ran into each other again—we had known each other in high school—as I was graduating from Stanford. At the time I was really confused about my sexuality—but it was a time when men who had doubts suppressed them. Society—certainly not upper class SF society--wasn't ready to accept gay, or even bi, men in positions of power and responsibility. I had experimented a bit, actually a very little bit, in college, but nothing serious."

"Sandra was perfect for me—she was intellectual, wealthy, connected, and not terribly demanding in bed. We loved each other and enjoyed being with each other—but more like brother and sister. Within a few years, and after a few unsuccessful attempts at conceiving a child, we began to drift apart. We had separate rooms, and we both worked tremendous hours—me at the law firm; she at various charities. So sex was a rare occasion—perhaps on a beach vacation or when one of us needed particular comfort over a loss or misfortune—almost by appointment. We were a golden couple on the outside, often pitied to be childless, but nevertheless envied. About six years ago, she was diagnosed with cancer. She underwent treatments, some experimental, went into partial remission and survived far longer than her physicians expected. I missed her—no I miss her."

"I started working ridiculous hours so I wouldn't have to think. Before the decision on the trip—and to interview potential companions, I was pretty much wandering: cruising, hooking, working huge hours to fill the void. I avoided time in our apartment—which was really her apartment."

"I never dreamed that I would meet someone like you. I'm literally born again. I love holding you—and being held by you. And I feel like an 18 year old—my sex drive, my sexual imagination, my willingness to try anything are all new."

"Jorge, we have another three weeks or so on this trip. But, I'd like you to consider moving to my condo when we return to San Francisco. I will return to work—and I presume you will as well. We'll need to deal with family, friends and acquaintances as a couple. Even today I think that is not an easy proposition, but I'd like us to try. I don't know how we'll be together when we have mostly separate work lives—and we are not free at a moment's notice to jump into bed and fuck. But, I want you in my bed at night—or when you work nights, early in the morning when I wake. I want you with me, Jorge. Will you consider it?"

"Anson, I'm honored by this proposal, but it isn't unexpected. These last weeks have been the best of my life. I couldn't imagine not having you. I don't need to consider it. Yes."

"Now, let's get the most out of the rest of this vacation." I pulled Jorge into me and Jorge wrapped his arms around, dropping down to hold and caress my ass cheeks. "This is getting way too serious. Do me, Anson. I want your big fat cock in me. I want it hard and I want it rough." With those words he quickly moved onto all fours, dropped his head and pointed his ass. I guess I knew how he wanted to be taken.

I reached under the pillow and pulled out the lube—and the cock rings that he had introduced to our play a few days before. I lubed one set and squeezed them onto his scrotum and shaft. Then I did the same for myself. I wanted this to last. I moved behind him and pushed his thighs apart—even though he had already done so. It was just part of the dom routine; the sub never was completely right. My fingers dug into his crevice and I pulled him apart, diving instantly with a curled tongue into his pulsing hole. I tasted, licked, sucked and teased. My lubed fingers were soon opening his shaft. I was big and knew it—so I always took a few extra minutes to massage and widen. One hand went to his shaft and bulb to distract him as I began the relentless push inside.

"No matter how often you do this, I am always surprised by your size. I've never taken by, let alone seen, one bigger. I must be getting looser. But, it doesn't change. You fill me every time. When you're in me, I feel complete." He laughed, "But are you growing?"

"Only with you, lover. Only with you." I stroked a few more times, being sure to swipe his nut with each pass. And then I felt bottom. His nuts felt different on mine—hard and firm and low hanging. Then I realized it was the toys holding our erections and arousal. We both had ripe kiwis, four perfect fruit, hanging low below the woody stems above. I started the motion, then when deep inside, I froze. First, I fondled his balls and pulled them away. I bent my chest over his back, nipped the nape of his neck a few times—my previous brands were fading. My hands moved up to his pecs and my fingers began to arouse his nipples. They enlarged and deepened in color as he gasped in pleasure. Then I fell back onto my haunches and brought him full into my lap. His hair was drooping sexily over his eyes; perspiration was dripping; his mouth was partially open, gasping for breath. I reached up to his throat and pulled his face to mine, contorting his body and forcing my steely dick into his prostate. He was at the edge. His abs were drawing in, ready to propel his essence.

Suddenly, I pulled out again, spun him and seated him in my lap, plunging deep again as he scooted up to my chest. We embraced and kissed. I could feel his heart on mine. I used hands to raise him a few inches and seat him again. He loved it. So I repeated. Even with the restraining ring, he was gone. Precum flowed and then we experienced the simultaneous blast of release.

I pushed forward, squirmed in his cum and enveloped him with arms and legs and dropped to his mouth. "God, lover, that was good. Much better and you'll need a stretcher. I presume you are trained in CPR." I didn't need to say the words. I knew he was mine.

Later in the week we spent a few days at the beach and a day on the water at Causeway Bay—but it wasn't the same. Everything was crowded and there were few Westerners. Hong Kong was becoming China. Another exotic destination was being transformed into international commercial sameness and mediocrity.

In the evenings we dined and shopped. Each of us ordered fitted shirts, suits and sport coats. I even persuaded him to get a tux—he would need it with me. Once or twice, it was clear that the tailors were taken with us—measurements were taken and retaken, with what appeared to be a good deal of "accidental" touching. The fact that we were always commando seemed to amuse them. Once I challenged a small guy who had persistently stroked my dick as he measured for trousers. But he had a ready reply, "Sir is so big that I need to induce a bit of an erection to get the right size for the leg opening where you normally keep it. With some, it doesn't matter. With you, the pants wouldn't fit—or do our establishment proud." I smiled and Jorge actually laughed. I'm sure he uses that line all the time. Fortunately, tipping—and fraternization—weren't allowed—so we knew it was all innocent fun. Imagine a job where you measure guys—many unattractive—all the time. When you get a specimen, why not go for it? Pity most urologists. We had everything shipped to my condo. We wouldn't need those clothes on the trip.

Soon it was time for the next stop. Jorge had initially been interested in playing with the body builders, but I warned him that in China, doing so was a criminal offense—although rarely prosecuted if done in privacy. But those guys were Chinese—and one never knows how deeply the party's intelligence has invaded society. Did we really want to risk those complications—particularly since the guys, while nicely muscled, appeared to be challenged in the procreative equipment area? He smiled, and I knew that he had been teasing.

We went upstairs and fell into bed, happy enough with each other. Neither of us needed those body builders.

To be continued. BD