Extreme Gay Thailand 1978 Ch. 01

[This is chapter one of a completed four-chapter novella that will post within two weeks. ]

I tend to index specific years in my life in terms of some significant event I was involved in during that year. The year 1978 should bring forth the first movie I had a part of, The Deer Hunter, but, although it's related, what I think about when 1978 is considered is the night train from Bangkok to Chiang Mai and having three-way sex with a couple of guys, including a forgettable movie actor, who, nevertheless, had a memorable cock. And I think about the motion of a train rumbling along on rough tracks, the train's motion being an equal partner in the fuck for the movie guy and me. I think about the rhythm of the fuck synchronizing with the rocking of the moving train and grinding of the train's wheels on the rails.

I forget what the actor's movie name was. I saw him in nothing else after The Deer Hunter and he was pushing the edge even then, appearing twenty years younger in the movie, more or less my age of twenty-five at the time, primarily though the magic of the manipulatable camera lens and angles. When a guy hits his forties, though, the cock, if he's used it right, holds firm for longer than the rest of the man's body, and the man I'll refer to as Craig Culver was certainly able to hold a nice erection.

I wasn't a slut in the mid-seventies, but I think all that saved me from being considered that was how hedonist Bangkok, Thailand, was in those days. In New York City I would have been considered promiscuous. In Richmond, Virginia, I would have been considered a whore.

I wasn't fucked every day, but I didn't miss many. I'd been innocent, so narcissistic that I was dumb about sex, and repressed before the State Department sent me to Thailand as a cultural affairs officer. But Bangkok was such a freeing cultural experience for me, letting me blossom my interests and talents in the theater, music, art, and writing and opening me up to pleasures I hadn't been aware of before.

I was what could be described as a pretty boy head turner in my youth and had kept most of that into my twenties, but I was so oblivious to what was being suggested and offered to me before arriving in Bangkok that I wasn't in the game. Once there, though, Bangkok was a whole different level of the game, and it took me by surprise and by storm. A black major at the American military liaison office, the Joint U.S. Military Assistance Group--JUSMAG--understood what I wanted and needed when I didn't. He pursued me expertly, cornered me, took me hard, and had me royally fucked and his slave before I fully understood what was happening. He then passed me around at his convenience. Within months of arriving in Bangkok in 1976 at the age of twenty-three, I had acquired a taste for it. I had become a male whore even by Bangkok standards.

In my work, I met a lot of creative and "what the hell; whatever gives you pleasure" people in the arts, and I was able to work in any artistic medium I wished, from acting on the stage, to singing in and producing concerts, to arranging art exhibits, to writing drama reviews for the English-language newspapers. And I partied hard. It was the latter--the drama critic duties--that introduced me into working with movies as well as my embassy job, which was forgiving of my extracurricular activities as long as they increased my cultural skills and experience and I networked in ways that promoted U.S. interests. The Deer Hunter, the first movie I did some work on, was an American production and one that the Thai were quite pleased to be having scenes filmed in Bangkok. The movie was partially set in Vietnam, but that country was inaccessible then, so the film company had come to Bangkok.

When film companies came to Thailand to work, they typically brought only the minimum number of production crew needed to supervise filming and only the principal actors. Their scouts came to people like me, newspaper film critics, to recommend crew and extras to fill out their needs. The Deer Hunter was in the last stages of production and had come to Thailand to film a few scenes. They needed someone to clean up scripts in the evening for the next day of filming after the director had reviewed them and made changes. I wrote movie reviews for the English-language press, so the movie producers came to me for a recommendation of a script editor. They were fine with my showing interest in the job myself.

I convinced my superiors that such work would add to my job skills. I took that position. In that work, I came into contact with the actors, and the Bangkok segment of the movie, which transformed a closed U.S. military commissary on the Klong Toy docks into a military hospital set. The filming lasted long enough that the actors and crew filtered out into Bangkok society, which catered to any interest they would admit to. Being a premier hedonist, "anything goes" city, there was no prurient interest of movie folk that Bangkok couldn't--and didn't--cater to. What I could--and did--offer to them was quite tame at that time by Thai standards. As noted, though, it would get me called promiscuous in New York City and a male whore in Richmond, Virginia. Eventually, I reached that status even in Bangkok.

This is what led to the actor, Craig Culver. He was filling a small speaking role in the movie, having had better, beefcake heart-throb roles in his earlier career, and came to discover that I took cock and would happily take his. JUSMAG was dominated by muscular, cut, cocky military men who had gravitated to billets in that office in Bangkok because they preferred partying with men, many of them having a special affinity to young Thai youths, including transvestites. Thanks to the existence of a network of high-ranking gay male officers in the services, there were billets, like JUSMAG in Bangkok, that were protected for gay assignments, and, if assigned there, you either were part of the open gay lifestyle, or you moved on and kept your mouth shut. Good-looking soldiers who supposedly were straight but were deemed to be wavering were assigned there. They invariably left definitely bent. Male prostitution was an accepted and burgeoning institution in Bangkok and JUSMAG parties were a paradise for men seeking other men.

Craig Culver attended one of the Saturday pool parties at the JUSMAG compound and thus, having seen me a couple of times in the production trailers on The Deer Hunter set, caught sight of me naked and on my back on a pool lounge bed, with my major on top of and inside me and pumping away. Culver didn't say anything to me then, but he stayed nearby to watch for a while and he gave me interested looks before going off to find a playmate of his own--at least for that time.

I recognized him that day, watching me being fucked by the pool within sight of other guys, his tongue and dick hanging out and waving just like the other guys' did, and I figured my role in The Deer Hunter production staff would probably be taking on a new dimension. I was right.

He had once been a handsome and body-beautiful man. He still was above average in looks, when you squinted when taking his large frame in, but he had thickened, and had a distinctive beer belly. He had acquired crow's feet around his eyes and all that accompanied that. He wasn't that bad in build now--unless you'd seen him on screen in his "definitely a hunk" days. I didn't exactly salivate at the opportunity to hook up with him upon first sight, but he was a movie actor, once a movie star, so the prospect of getting it on with a movie star was there in the mix. Still, the JUSMAG soldiers were in their prime, especially my major, The Major, and I had little reason to look beyond them. They were straightforward and basic, but they knew how to lay a submissive out, panting and cooing.

But the soldiers weren't there on the late evening when I was finishing up a script cleanup in a production trailer and Culver came, shirtless, into the trailer with a smile, a bottle of bourbon, and two glasses. In the soft lighting of the evening in a small trailer, he looked pretty good. He still had good muscle tone in the upper torso and only a bit of thickening around the waist. His face would still be good for another ten years, maybe fifteen, with further help of a good plastic surgeon. I could tell he'd already had some help there.

He clearly wanted to fuck me; He made this obvious by referring to the day he'd seen me at the JUSMAG pool. He took time to seduce me, he showed me that he was hung, and I let him fuck me. It wasn't like fucking was a limited resource.

And he'd once been a heart-throb movie star. A unique notch for the bedpost.

He feigned that he wanted to look at what I was doing with the script he'd be following the next day. It was fine with him to just look over my shoulder while I typed and we both drank booze.

"You come here to work after putting in a day with your other job?" he asked. And when I said I did, he said something about how I must really need a massage to stretch out my tired muscles then. I didn't demure, and he worked on my shoulders while we looked at the script, him looking over my shoulder. I was wearing a sports shirt, but it was hot and stuffy in the trailer and I'd unbuttoned it and let it part open. He was good but not subtle about getting his hands between the material and my flesh to massage my shoulders and to work the shirt off my back so that it cascaded down to the chair seat, leaving me bare-chested.

"I think I saw you at the party at the military compound on Saturday. I'm pretty sure I saw you," he murmured in my ear. He had a good, sensual voice when he spoke low--and behind me, out of my vision, he aroused me. His seductive voice must have helped him in getting movie roles a couple of decades earlier. And there was that opportunity to put a unique notch on the bedpost.

"I saw you, so I guess you did see me," I answered. He was establishing that I took cock. When he saw me at the JUSMAG compound, my head was lolled over to the side and my tongue was hanging out from the effect of The Major's Class A shaft pumping.

"The black guy is a real monster of a man," he said.

"The Major is a god."

"Really built and I don't know if I've ever seen a man as hung as he is." The massage had moved to the front, with his hands palming and massaging my pecs. I shimmered at that, but I made no move to stop him. I had already decided I'd let him fuck me if that was where this was going.

"Yeah, he's a god," I answered. I knew of a man in Bangkok--Cowboy--who was bigger, both in thickness and length, but that didn't take much of anything away from The Major.

"I don't know what it is about small guys liking the big, thick ones... I know it's worked for me. Small guys really like what I can give them."

He had my nubs between his thumbs and another finger and was filling them out. I probably could hear the low moan that produced. His lips were pressed into the hollow of my throat, and I leaned my head away to let my jugular pop out for his tongue. One of his hands went down to my crotch and traced my engorging dick through the material of my trousers.

Yes, he was going to fuck me.

So, in talking about long and thick cocks he was declaring himself as a top--and a bull. He even was making an allusion to my size. He didn't seem to be complaining. Why did the big bulls always go for the small-hipped guys, I wondered. But then I knew why--because of the awe both the top and bottom got when the little guy was able to sheath the shaft--the extra feeling of conquering and surrendering they got out of it. There wasn't anything physical, I didn't think, about the thrill of splitting narrow hips with a thick cock, but it obviously had a mental thrill to it--and sexual arousal was as much mental as physical, I'd been told. A favorite in sex talk during a fuck was "You're so tight," which turned on top and bottom alike, but did that really have any physical meaning? I'd only been in Bangkok two years and I'd already sheathed many a big shaft. Surrendering to it did give me an added emotional high. Admiring my slim hips and telling me I was "so tight" as he stroked inside me added to the high.

He had seen me with The Major--how I had been able to take The Major's thick cock--how my seemingly small hole had blossomed right open for him.

"Here, I can't dig in deep through the material of these trousers. Let's dispense with them," he said.

I helped him unbuckle and unzip me and get both the trousers and briefs pulled down my legs.

"Be good to me, Daddy," I murmured.

"I'll be very good to you, Baby," he whispered. He was all giving me attention then--taking care of me.

He returned briefly to kissing my throat and massaging my pecs, pinching my nipples between thumbs and forefingers and working them, giving a little groan of his own when he pulled moans out of me.

"So nice and sweet," he murmured. "So fuckin' nice."

I had gone hard and he reached one of his hands down and grasped and slow stroked me. As long as he was behind me, I didn't have to think of his age and his paunch. He was a movie actor--not exactly a legend anymore, but he'd had his innings. A one-time movie star was working my nipples and stroking my cock. I was going to be fucked by a movie star--or, at least, a guy who had been a movie star.

"Nope, no guy has ever complained about what I've got... I'm hung too, you know. Not like that soldier who was fucking you but good enough--more than good enough."

"Are you?" I said, arching my head back, thrusting my chest out into his fingers working my nipples. He brought his face down, and I closed my eyes so I could pretend it was one of the young JUSMAG studs. He pushed his tongue between my lips in the kiss and I let him in.

"You're going to let me fuck you, Baby," he whispered when we came out of the kiss.

"Yes," I answered.

"Do you do it for the money or the pleasure?" he asked in that low sexy voice he had.

"Yes," I said, being flippant, but it was true nonetheless. I gave it away to The Major and the other soldiers at JUSMAG, but The Major sold me from time to time, usually to a Thai general or other military man in the various foreign missions for The Major's advantage. I liked the variety. I also found the notion of being The Major's slave to be sold to other men arousing.

The Major said it was because I liked playing the paid whore. I didn't disagree. When he said that, though, I said it was because he liked playing the pimp. He didn't disagree with that either. But he did say that, when I laid down for a Thai general, I was serving the mission of JUSMAG.

Out came a wad of Thai baht bills to be dropped beside the typewriter in front of me. He didn't ask for permission beyond that, and, truth be known, I found that arousing. The Major hadn't asked for permission the first time--nor since. He'd just grabbed me, put me under him, and fucked my lights out. It had been glorious. And he'd been right--it had been exactly what I wanted and needed even though I was totally unaware that it was happening until he had me in a doggy, with a strong arm under my belly, and was stuffing himself in me while I screamed and writhed. The first black bull cock is something to scream for--and then to want to scream for again. He kept stuffing and pumping me, calling out "You're so tight," until I had collapsed and was moaning and whimpering and sighing.

Culver swiveled the chair around and showed me he was both hung and erect, and I dutifully sucked him off as he crouched over me in the chair. Then he went down on his knees, and it was his turn to suck me fully erect while he reached between my thighs and under my buttocks, pulled me forward on the edge of the chair, and fingerfucked me until I was panting for it.

"Such slim hips," he kept muttering, as if he'd found the Holy Grail. "Will I fit? Can you take me?"

We both knew I could, as he'd seen me take The Major. He was just saying this for the arousal value. So, I didn't bother to answer in words. I whimpered something, and he moaned in pleasure.

He was a real movie actor--not in his prime or a box office name, but a movie actor nonetheless. And he knew what he was doing and how to get what he wanted. He'd gotten it a thousand times before.

When I'd taken this part-time job, I had fantasized about a movie actor laying me on the set, and now it was happening--not an A-list actor and in a production trailer rather than on the set, but it was a beginning, a unique notch on the bedpost.

He fucked me right there in the chair, coaxing my legs to spread and hang over the arms of the chair, hovering over me, running a hand into the hair on the back of my head, gripping it, and arching my head back over the back of the chair, making a big deal of slowly penetrating me with his cock, and running it up, deep into my core. "Such narrow hips. You're so tight," he muttered over and over again.

My passage went into shock at the invasion, the muscles of the wall gripping, clutching, and releasing. "Fuck me" they were screaming. I lifted my legs off the arms of the chair and hugged his hips tight between them, holding him into me, signaling want and acceptance and surrender to him.

He had this technique at the beginning--I could see why he said topping worked for him. All the way in and hold until my walls settled down and relaxed, opening completely to the shaft. And continuing to hold until the walls shimmered and the muscles started rippling over the cock, wanting friction, wanting the fuck. I embraced him with my arms, digging my fingernails into his shoulder blades. Then, as I whimpered and begged for it--"Fuck me. Please, fuck me now! Be good to me."--he started the taking, moving slow and then faster and faster yet, pumping me to mutual ejaculations. He had never asked for permission. I had begged him for the fuck--not just to be inside me, but to move inside me.

Once he was moving inside me, it was a very good fuck. He continued kissing me on the mouth, giving me tongue, and on my throat and my nipples. "So nice; so tight," he kept murmuring. He continued to grip my hair and arch my head back, which pushed my chest up and out, vulnerable to his searching lips and teeth. And he had a strong, deep stroke, coaxing me to move my hips with him, to rock against him and take him deep inside my soft core. His paunch was pressing painfully into my belly, but he expertly put me in a position that permitted him to get it all in, and when he had, I didn't care. We had no restrictive thoughts. I took him raw. This was a good six years before the horror of the AIDS epidemic set in, and he fucked me bareback.

Once he had me fully covered, he got rough. He slapped me on the face a couple of times, crying out "Take it, bitch" and "Give it to me, you little whore" in what he no doubt considered his manliest Humphrey Bogart growl. At one point his hands grasped my throat until my eyes bugged out and I gasped for air. Once into it he was brutal. But I clung to him and took it. I'd taken it rough at the JUSMAG pool and he knew I had. I was a bitch and a whore there, and he knew it.

"Yes, yes, yes! Screw the hell out of me!" I cried out to let him know I'd take what he was giving. I hugged his hips close with my knees, dug my fingernails into his shoulder blades, and moved my pelvis with his thrusts.

He was a gusher. I felt his release--and then again and again. I didn't always feel a guy's breeding release and it was glorious when I did.

He was as self-centered as any movie star, and when he'd gotten the ejaculation he wanted, he pulled out of me, wiped himself off with a handkerchief, and left the trailer, leaving me without a release. I had to jack myself off, sprawled there in the chair.