Carolina Connections

Tariq attempted to raise his torso to Swede, but the American slapped him across the face, growled, "Abek henak! Khez zelk!--Stay there. Take it!" and Tariq lay back, with a sigh. "Afth. Yobkhni!--Open up! Give to me!" and Tariq collapsed under Swede, giving him everything. Swede took everything from him.

Tariq had come but Swede hadn't, when Ty, naked, joined them. He and Swede put Tariq between them, and they shared him in a double penetration that had Tariq nearly unconscious and moved Swede to new heights of arousal himself--but for Ty, not Tariq.

After they were finished with him and Tariq was curled up on the bed, panting and whimpering, in ninth heaven but close to the edge of his endurance, Ty turned to Swede and said, "You might want to go into the other room now. There's beer in the refrigerator, if you'd like it. You can either leave--the car we came in is downstairs and he'll take you back to your ship--or you can stay around until I've done some work here and then you and I can get it on. I'd like that."

"I'd like that too," Swede said, and he moved toward the bedroom door.

Ty was standing over Tariq. "And what shit is this I found sewn into your thawb, Tariq?" he said.

Swede turned and involuntarily said, "What's that?"

"It's what it was before I smashed it. It's a bug. Someone is keeping track of Tariq. It isn't our side. Who is it, Tariq?"

Tariq murmured something.

"Bad answer," Ty said. He leaned down a slapped Tariq across the face, coming and going, and Tariq fell back onto the bed. Ty went around the bed pulling out restraints that had been tucked below the mattress. Before Swede turned and left again, Ty had Tariq spread-eagled, face down on the bed and restrained. He had a ball gag in his mouth. Ty obviously wanted to soften the young man up before interrogating him further. Ty had a hand whip. As Swede went to the kitchen and popped the refrigerator open, he heard the snap of the whip. These weren't love taps.

Later, Ty came out to the living room, still naked.

Of course Swede wanted to know if Ty had broken Tariq, but he knew he dared not ask--nor could he ask what would happen to Tariq now. He'd been a nice lay. Swede was sorry that Ty's suspicions had borne out. Instead, he silently went to the refrigerator and retrieved a beer for Ty.

"Should I maybe just go now?" he asked. "You look tired. And you might not be in the mood."

"I'm more in the mood now than ever before," Ty answered. "But if this is too much for you, you can leave. If you don't leave, we're going to have quite a struggle finding out who does who. But, if you want to--"

"I'll stay. I'll win." What Swede didn't say was that Ty was such a sexy god that Swede would feel he'd won no matter who fucked who.

As he turned out, they flip-flopped, there, wrestling on the living room carpet, each fighting for control, each eventually giving control to the other, each fucking and each getting fucked.

When Swede left to go down to the lobby for his ride back to the SEAL merchant ship, Ty had returned to the bedroom to do whatever he was going to do with Tariq.

* * * *

Before Sully came back into consciousness, Swede had him spread-eagled on his belly on the bed, with his wrists and ankles tied off at the corners of the bed frame. Pillows stuffed under his midsection lifted his buttocks off the mattress, giving direct access to his anus. He woke up panting and exclaiming through the ball gag in his mouth to the snap of Swede's hand whip on his back, buttocks, and thighs. Swede wasn't beating him hard, but it stung.

One thing Swede had learned from Ty--some fuckers wanted it this way. He had discerned that Sully wanted it this way and that had turned out to be correct. There were times that Swede wanted to do it this way too. This was one of those times.

At length Swede put the whip down, climbed up on the bed, hovered over Sully, worked his cock inside the young man's ass, and fucked him and fucked him and fucked him.

Later in the night, he put his mouth next to the young man's ear and whispered, "Pay attention now, Sully. This is the exit lecture part. You came in here a male whore selling yourself on the street. We punished you for that for four years. You had an opportunity to clean yourself up and get out of that life. You've shown today that you'll go right back to that life if you can't be shocked out of it. This is your shock and your chance to 'get it.' It's all up to you. I'll let you sleep on it, now. In the morning you can shower and I'll feed you breakfast and take you back for your formal release. I could have killed you tonight. Keep that in mind. If you don't find some way to stay out of these situations--not doing drugs, not getting drunk, not letting johns get past your guard and incapacitate you and then do whatever they want with you, you either won't live long or will be right back in prison--next time a prison with heavier security and nastier inmates and guards than Caldwell has. Think on that."

The next morning, Sully's friend, Tony, a rent-boy living in Asheville who had roomed with Sully before, was there to pick him up.

They drove in silence for several minutes in Tony's car en route to Asheville before Tony spoke. "You've been gone for a while, Sully. I'll help you reconnect in Asheville, if you need to. Not the drugs part. I won't have any part of that. But I know of a pimp or two with an opening."

"Thanks, Tony," Sully said. "But I'll be at a half-way house for a while, with a probation officer and a social worker helping to get me a job that won't send me back to Caldwell. I'd like to try to make it on the outside. I don't want to go back to prison."

"Was Caldwell all that bad?" Tony asked. He wanted assurances it wasn't; it was just luck that was keeping him out of there... so far.

"You have no idea, Tony. You have no fuckin' idea."

"They fucked you hard in there, did they?"

"But it wasn't all bad, was it Sully? I know you. I don't think it was all bad for you."

"No, it wasn't all bad. There was a guy named Swede. A big bruiser he was--but kinda sweet too, if you know what I mean."

Before That: Patrick, Ty, and Kevin

It had been a long, dusty ride on a summer's morning in 2007 from the U-Tapao Airbase south of the beach resort of Pattaya, Thailand, east on the Sukhumvit Road to Chanthaburi and then north on highway 317 to the remote hilltribe area on the Cambodian border. The two men in the backseat of the jeep were sitting close together, very much aware of each other, but one of them was more self-conscious and awkward with their proximity than the other one was. Patrick Thornton and Ty Thanawat, both of the CIA's Special Operations Group unit housed at the airbase, had only recently returned from an R&R weekend at the Pattaya beach resort. Patrick was newly arrived at the assignment and just becoming adjusted to Southeast Asia. Ty Thanawat, the unit chief, who was half Thai and who had been born in this region of Thailand, and thus was in his element in this remote part of the country, had been here for a year.

Ty had taken Patrick under his wing. It was his suggestion that they go to Pattaya together on their weekend off from working with the Thai hilltribes on the border to change the hilltribes cash crop from opium to tapioca and other food crops and to start up a handicrafts industry for the hilltribe women. It was in Pattaya that Ty took Patrick to a cock fight and, seeing how quickly Patrick took to gambling, introduced him into a high-stakes card game and told him of the casino gambling that was being introduced to the northwest, just across the Cambodian border, in Poipet, and had seen how Patrick's eyes had flamed at the prospect of going there.

"We'll go up there on our next weekend off together," Ty had said. As Ty made up the work schedule, that could be any weekend he wished it to be.

It was Ty who took Patrick on a boat trip across to a remote island from Pattaya, where they cavorted around in the jungle just in their Speedos and drank Tsingtao beer and smoked joints that Ty provided and where, lying on a deserted beach, minus their Speedos, before boating back to Pattaya, they shared their first kiss and Ty jacked Patrick off with his hand as they lay stretched out beside each other and Patrick moaned. It was in a Pattaya hotel room that Ty shot Patrick up with heroin for the first time. And it was in the hotel room, while the younger man danced on the clouds in euphoria, that Ty tied Patrick's wrists to the headboard of the hotel bed, rolled over between his spread legs, coaxed the pelvis of the half-aware young man to rise to his need, worked his thick cock inside Patrick's channel, and, as the two moved their hips in consort with each other, Patrick moaning and groaning softly, fucked Patrick long and deep.

Patrick thereafter was not completely aware of what had happened that afternoon into the evening in Pattaya when Ty had fucked him again and again, but he was aware enough of what happened to know that they had fucked--that they had done it all, gone further than he and the only other man he'd had sex with, his best friend from North Carolina, Kevin Grimes, have ever gone because they had discovered that they both were bottoms, that they both wanted the same thing from a man. Ty had provided what Patrick had been missing in a homosexual relationship. There was no denial or going back for Patrick now. He knew he wanted a man more than he wanted a woman. And he knew he wanted Ty's cock inside him.

And now they were in the back of a jeep together, Patrick being taken on his first trip out to the hilltribe area where their work was centered. Patrick, though, already wondered what sort of effort Ty Thanawat was making in this project, because it was obvious that Ty himself was a source of the drugs he supposedly was working to eradicate. He had introduced Patrick to heroin--not much, just a taste of it prior to the two times they had fucked--but already Patrick appreciated how one could be hungry for it, just as Patrick had learned he was hungry for sex from a man. He certainly was hungry for the sex the drugs were associated with. And Ty was a sexual god. Patrick already was lost to him. But he also was scared stiff of him--"stiff" being the operative word. Ever since that afternoon and evening in the Pattaya hotel, Ty had kept Patrick stiff in anticipation of the next coupling.

The jeep let them off at the village of the hilltribe and they were taken around by the head man, who treated Ty with much deference. It was quite an honor to them that one whose mother had been from the region had returned to them as the chief of an American aid mission attempting to lift them into economic prosperity. The opium had made them more prosperous than they'd ever been before, of course, but they had been brought new skills and introduced into new markets they'd never dreamed of being able to serve.

After the formal introduction tour for Patrick, Ty bid the head man good-bye and said, "Let's go on a more extensive tour ourselves. I want to show you something."

Patrick went with him. They bypassed the walk around the village where village woman and children were working on handicrafts--textiles, wood carvings, beaten tin, and native-dress dolls--on the beaten-earth living areas under their platform wooden houses. Patrick had seen all there was to see here. Ty took him out to the fields of vegetables, tropical fruit, tapioca, cotton, and rubber--all, except the tropical fruit, experimental now to see what grew the best here. But then he took Patrick beyond these fields to the other, more hidden fields.

"Those are opium poppies," Patrick said, in surprise.

"Yes, they are," Ty said, with a grin. "The hilltribes are quite resilient. The Agency plan is for them to substitute legal market crops and handicrafts for the opium. The hilltribes here are showing that they are fully capable of keeping the old crops while taking on the new ones."

"But that's not what we are here for," Patrick said.

"Yes, but I have roots here. I also have plans and dreams. I won't be working for the Agency forever--probably not for much longer. I have a stake in lifting the conditions of the people here, and of lifting myself as well."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You are part of the project now. You very likely would discover what is going on here for yourself in time. I need to know whether you are with me or will be against me."

"I don't know. I just don't know," Patrick said, but then he was breathing harder. Ty had come close to him and was embracing him. Patrick's eyes were caught by those of the handsome mixed-breed black man who had acquired all of the best physical elements of his Thai mother and black military father. Before Patrick could express more doubt, Ty captured his lips in a kiss.

Ty laid Patrick on the soft ground at the verge of an opium field; relieved the young man of his trousers and briefs as they kissed and groped each other; turned Patrick on his back; guided his legs and spread and bent them, his heels dug into the soft earth; rose over him; penetrated his anal passage, and rode him, in-out, in-out, to a mutual ejaculation.

They lay stretched out against each other on the bank beside the opium field, smoking joints Ty provided that had more of a kick to them than marihuana or hashish.

"I need to know, Patrick," Ty whispered. "Are you going to be with me or against me?"

"With you," Patrick murmured. He would do anything for Ty for the sex to continue. He didn't ask what would happen if he was going to be against what Ty was doing here. He was smart enough not to ask.

That evening they were the honored guests at a village celebration featuring music and suggestive dancing, beer... and light drugs. That night, Ty and Patrick lay, fully naked for the first time since the remote island beach off Pattaya, before they'd gone all the way, on a pallet in a raised-platform guest house dimly lit by candles. For the first time, Patrick was aware that, as dusky as Ty's coloring was, his cock, thick and long, and balls were jet black, a gift, in both size and coloring, no doubt of his black American father. Ty had shot him up with heroin again and Patrick was dancing on the clouds. He concentrated on playing with and making love to that jet-black cock, with his hands and his mouth, until Ty laughed, rolled over on top of him, and made it disappear in the young man's ass.

Later, as Patrick was coming down from his drug and sex-induced high, Ty, moving from two budding addictions he was introducing Patrick to to a third one, told him about their coming trip to the developing casinos of Poipet, Cambodia.

Patrick had never known such exotic pleasures--on several levels--before coming to Thailand. He thought back on his three close friends--his best male friend and, to some extent, lover, Kevin Grimes; Kevin's wife, Megan; and Patrick's own wife, Haley, living and working in Bangkok, seemingly a whole world away from the southeastern jungles on the Cambodian border. He had thought he'd be miserable separated from them.

He had been so wrong. If it came to a choice, he would now choose Ty and the rest could go to the devil. Since Ty was a form of the devil that's where they all eventually went anyway.

* * * *

It had been quite a workout with Ted Lange, a political officer at the Bangkok embassy, on the racquet ball court at the Royal Thai Sports Club near the American embassy compound, for Kevin Grimes, a newly minted cultural affairs officer at the embassy. Kevin's newly regular Thai masseur, Kassem, was giving him the nearly full-service massage that Kevin had found relaxed him totally. Kevin was on his back, naked, on the massage table, his arms raised over his head, his wrists cuffed to the top edge of the massage table and a washcloth over his eyes, as Kassim let his hands flutter around Kevin's body and his mouth suck Kevin's cock.

This was a special Thai-style massage that foreigners--farangs, in Thai parlance--came from Europe to indulge in. It wasn't the total massage that Kevin might have wished. Kassim wasn't a top. Kevin's most intimate lover was his best friend, Patrick Thornton, now living on the southern Thai coast, but Patrick was a submissive, like Kevin, and they'd never moved to the cock-in-hole stage. Kevin had only rarely cruised for a top, but he had done so on occasion, increasingly so here in Bangkok, a distinctly hedonist, anything goes, city. He, in fact, had hopes of getting it from the man who was his sports partner today, Ted Lange, as the two had flirted with each other, or so it appeared to Kevin, and seemed to be dancing around the possibility. It was a dangerous possibility to consider among U.S. government employees, though. Homosexuality was a separation offense, although the State Department was the most prone of U.S. agencies to look away from that.

Kevin and Ted had latched on to each other right after the first country team meeting after Kevin arrived. His junior position didn't really qualify him to attend the embassy's daily country team meeting, but new arrivals were brought to their first one to be formally introduced to the others. Kevin's master's degree at Duke had been mentioned and Ted had come to him after, saying, "I'm a Duke escapee too. A few years before you, though. I work in the political section. I'm a North Carolina native even. Wilmington."

"Me too," Kevin had answered. "I'm from Fayetteville. Not so far from Wilmington."

"No, it's not. Virtual neighbors. You look athletic. I organize an informal tennis morning over at the Royal Thai Sports Club on Saturday mornings. Do you play tennis?"

"Yes, doesn't everyone?" Kevin said. Ted returned his big smile. In fact, it seemed to Kevin like Ted was showing an interest in him that was going beyond the friendly--even the remark that Kevin looked athletic; Ted had given him an up-and-down scrutiny that had started to make Kevin go hard. He wondered if the man knew the effect he had on men who were aroused by men. Probably not, Kevin reasoned.

Over the next couple of weeks, right up to that day they played racquetball at the sports club, Kevin was to wonder whether or not Ted knew the effect that his smiles and casual conversation had on men who were aroused by men.

Kassim had told him that he would go higher in arousal and release if he were bound and blindfolded, and Kevin had agreed to try it out. Kassim was sucking on his balls and he had two fingers in Kevin's ass, rubbing Kevin's prostate, making Kevin moan with pleasure and arousal, as Kevin put his pelvis in motion, lifting his hips off the surface of the massage table and stroking up into Kassim's face, when the feel of the attention changed. The feel of the mouth changed. It went to swallowing his cock, deep-throating him. The fingers in his ass seemed thicker, the stroking became more purposeful.

The purposefulness was going beyond what Kassim had done for him before. Whoever the man was--and Kevin now knew it wasn't Kassim, came up onto the table on his knees, pushing them under Kevin's buttocks and raising Kevin's hips. The man had his cock out and was rubbing it on Kevin's inner thighs. Kevin opened his thighs wider and whispered, "Yes. Please, please," and repeated it in Thai, "Chai, chai, krunathamman," in case his visitor was Thai.

The man laughed and played the bulb or his cock around the rim of Kevin's hole. Kevin panted and his anus blossomed for the man. Kevin had been fucked before, albeit not often. He'd never been this aroused for it before, though.

"You want it?" a low, masculine voice asked.

"Yes. Yes, please. Fuck me," he murmured. The man spoke English--with an American accent.

Kevin cried out as the cock entered him and the man started to pump him. Using the leverage of his feet placed flat on the surface of the massage table, Kevin raised his hips further and swayed with the thrusts.