Extreme Gay Thailand 1978 Ch. 01

But he'd been good while he was inside me, When he came around again days later, looking a bit sheepish and apologizing for being rough the first time, I opened my legs to him again. In the dimly lit trailer, it wasn't as evident that he was moving beyond his prime.

He was rough with me again, and I had grown to needing it that way.

There was a cot in the back section of the trailer and that's where he fucked me the subsequent two times he visited me late in the evening. He was too heavy for me, making me uncomfortable the first time on the cot when he lay on top of me. Once he was inside me, though, it was all heaven. He did know how to use a cock. The third time, I rode him in a cowboy. That was the most pleasant of the three couplings. He did get me off while fucking me after that first time.

They were just pleasant hookups. We didn't interact other than that on the movie set and no big deal was made about him showing up to fuck me and me letting him do it. Only one part of the movie was being filmed in Bangkok and they were anxious to get the film in the can and edited. They had a release date that was within the year. Three weeks and they were out of there. I assumed he'd be leaving with the rest of them, and that was fine with me.

I was getting a lot of it, with variety, in those days. In terms of good bodies, Culver didn't have one in relationship to the JUSMAG soldiers I was serving under. He had a more-than-average cock, though. And he was a movie actor. So being covered by him was nice. But just nice. One of the cameramen, who had been rough with me--was French and demanding and fucked dirty--had pulled more passion out of me than Culver did and had left me gasping. I wasn't going to beg "over the hill" Culver to take me home with him. He was on his way down the hill rather than up, and I was just getting into my stride in this man-on-man business.

But a movie star notch on the bedpost is worth the effort.

* * * *

"Do you know Craig Culver? I believe you may have run into him on the set of The Deer Hunter. He had a part in that and has stayed around to do a couple of cultural exchange programs with us."

"Yes, I believe I've met him," I answered guardedly. Judy Taylor, the embassy cultural affairs attaché and my boss, had called me into her office at the American Center. Was this it, then, I wondered. Was my career going to come crashing down because of my homosexual promiscuity being called on me. On paper, it was a firing offense. In the State Department's cultural affairs department, it was pretty much overlooked. This was the realm of artists, and creative people were mostly at least bi if they didn't go all the way in playing for the home team. I was promiscuously gay here in Bangkok, yes, but I hadn't been before coming here and I thought I'd been discreet. I didn't mix it with my official duties. Yes, I'd fucked around with some Thai artists, actors, and musicians, but it had all been to make them favorable toward the United States. Wasn't that my job? "Yes, I've encountered him a couple of times," I nervously added.

"We're sending him up to Chiang Mai to do a program at the university there--a play reading and discussion of American drama with the students. I'd like you to accompany him--both to babysit him and to do the play reading and discussion program. You're ideal for it. You CV notes that you've had formal acting courses."

I gave her a sharp look to ensure that I wasn't getting the vibe that she knew just how well I fit in with Craig Culver on a program--that he'd had his dick inside me. But Judy was all innocence on the score. She was an expressive lady. I think I would have known if there were undercurrents here. She continued. "You just were on stage with the Bangkok Community Theatre in Edward Albee's one-act Zoo Story. That would be ideal for this. Culver says he knows the play. You could do a couple of read throughs with him and be on the train to Chiang Mai by this weekend."

"The train? We wouldn't fly?"

"It's Culver's request. He says he'd like to go by train instead. Says he's tired of airports and wants to see the countryside. We're booking you on the night train."

"He wants to see the countryside and you're booking us on the night train?" I asked.

"Yes, well. I think he doesn't want to admit that he has a fear of flying."

He flew me all right, I was thinking. But there didn't seem to be any reason not to agree with it. Culver and I had parted amicably enough on The Deer Hunter set. And this sort of thing was my job.

"Does Culver know you are pairing me with him?"

"Yes, he knows. He's at the Ambassador Hotel on Sukhumvit, Soi 11. Call him and give him what he wants between now and Thursday night. That's when you take the train."

He did know I was coming--he met me at the door to his hotel room in just a towel, and I gave him what he wanted right off the bat--which included his bat.

I lay, naked, on my back at the foot of the bed, Culver hovering over me, between my spread thighs. I had my arms outstretched on the bed, grasping at wads of the silk bedspread, my legs raised and spread, held by his hands, and him staring down into my face, his cock deep up inside me, the muscles of my walls gripping and clutching on the hardness of the motionless invader. He was deep inside me, hard but motionless, waiting for me to beg for it. This tease seemed to be a fetish of his--not giving any real action until he was begged for it.

He released my legs, growling from me to leave them spread, and grabbed my throat with one hand and slapped me across the face a few times with the other.

"Shit, you're so cruel," I whimpered.

He laughed and slapped me again.

My passage walls undulating over the cock, trying to coax it into motion, I did beg for it. His paunch was heavy on my belly, causing me to pant and fight for breath, but I wanted it. "Fuck me, Craig. Don't make me wait any longer. Work me. Make me come."

"So, the cock of an old actor like me is good enough for a young, handsome piece like you," he growled. He obviously was at that age of wondering about his desirability.

"Yes, yes. Your cock is magnificent. Work me. Do me. Be cruel," I begged. I wasn't acting.

Those moments during which he fully possessed me, ramrod hard, stretching me deep in my soft core, only slightly pulsating as my walls frantically grabbed at the shaft until surrendering wholly to him, relaxing and fully opening to him, were what his commanding sexual charisma was all about. They were moments of being totally in his control, without him moving inside me or allowing me to move either. They were moments of both agony and ecstasy--moments that had me suspended, breathless, on the clouds. Those moments were to hold in my mind as among the most significant experience of that year.

He laughed again and started to pump. I hadn't thought a second about not seeing him again, not having him inside me again, when my temporary stint with The Deer Hunter was over. I thought it had just been a couple of hookups. He was just an old, heavy, has-been actor with a good cock and a commanding domination. I was shocked to find that I was wrong--that I was happy to be under him, him deep inside me, again. I ran my hands up and over the curve of his belly to his nipples, without shuddering in disgust at the size of his paunch or the puffiness of the pecs, and then around to palming his slack buttocks, holding him close to me, as I rocked on his cock, coaxing that repeated gush of his breeding out of him.

It was all about the cock in the hole. "So very nice. Such narrow hips. A nice, tight fit. Open to me, Baby. Take it. Ahhh, yes, like that. I'm gonna come!"

This time after ejaculating he stayed there, pressing me down on the bed with the heaviness of his paunch, capturing my eyes with his. He grabbed my wrists with his hands, holding them to the bedspread, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, crossing my ankles on his lower back. Both of us tuned all of our senses to the cock deep inside me, feeling it wither. Then, as he whispered how nice, young, and nubile my body was and what he was going to do to it, we both concentrated on him hardening again. As before, he held me fast, keeping me from writhing on his expanding, possessing cock, until I relaxed and my walls rumbled open for him. I cried out, "Do it. Fuck me again."

"Stay tight for me, Baby." And he fucked me again.

He clearly was glad to be inside me again. Against all odds and expectations, I was glad to have him inside me again.

* * * *

"The lady at the embassy said that you'd show me around--would take me where I wanted to go before the train leaves on Thursday."

"That's right," I said. We were eating at the Chinese restaurant in his hotel. We'd had our choice of Chinese, Japanese, Thai, and Western. The embassy was paying. "Is there someplace you'd like to go this evening? Patpong maybe?" Patpong was the main, long-time tenderloin district of the city. It was just across the embassy district to the main road paralleling Sukhumvit and a few blocks into the city. You could almost see it from the top of the Ambassador Hotel in those days. You couldn't see it from there through all of the new skyscrapers that have risen in that district of the city in the last forty years, though. Navigating Bangkok, the Venice of Asia, wasn't easy. It never had been, but now the traffic was heavy. The canals--the klongs--snaking through the city made travel distances by surface road a journey, and when the klongs flooded, it made all travel hazardous.

"Where's this Soi Cowboy I've heard of?" Culver asked. "Maybe we could go there. I heard there are tranny bars. I'd like to try one of those out."

"Ah, yes, that's easier. It's on this side of Sukhumvit, off of Soi 23." It, in fact, was a lot closer and easier to get to than Patpong was. It was quickly becoming the city's second tenderloin district. All of the bars on that short street running between Asok Montri Road and Soi 23, one block in from Sukhumvit, belonged to an American expatriate known as Cowboy. Is real name was T. G. Edwards. By the time I got to Bangkok he'd made everyone forget what the "T" and the "G" stood for and he was just Cowboy.

The strip of bars cum brothels, serving all manner of prurient interests, had been developing just in the past few years. Cowboy was a charismatic black bull who had been a professional American basketball player--thus approaching seven feet in height with the beefy body to go with it--and who had been caught shaving points and joined the U.S. Air Force as an airman whose assignment was to play on the U.S. Air Force basketball team in Thailand. He didn't last in the service for very long, but he remained in Thailand, where he put his ill-gotten betting earnings and his charismatic personality to establishing the Soi Cowboy pleasure strip. His claim to fame here was his jolly good humor, his open-handed charity projects, his massive size, his jet blackness, and that he was reputed to have the biggest cock in Thailand, no matter the nationality. I didn't question that that was so. He also was bi and promiscuous and was able to pull off a "nail 'em, breed 'em, and walk off" technique without alienating the women or men he laid. He left them all with the urge to put a "I've been laid by Cowboy" magnet on their refrigerator doors.

For me, when it happened, it was another notch on my bedpost. Those of us who had been topped by Cowboy--and that included me--wore the experience as a badge of accomplishment. It was a status symbol here in Bangkok.

"We can go to Soi Cowboy and I can do better than just take you to where the tranny action is there. I can introduce you to Cowboy," I said. I didn't say anything about him salivating over doing a tranny after he'd just done me--twice. I didn't expect any sense of jealously to creep in--not of a heavy, over-the-hill, old actor. But, surprisingly, it did give me a twinge of disappointment.

Culver was duly impressed as I introduced him to Cowboy at a Soi Cowboy tranny bar, having called ahead and asked Cowboy if he could meet us there. Culver and Cowboy were of a shared era in the States, although Cowboy was the younger of the two. Cowboy was a pro basketball star when Culver's name was still included on the marquee of movie houses. They had heard of each other in their prior lives. Cowboy was happy to meet us and to cut one of his best tranny's out of his herd for Culver to ride.

"They will be a while," Cowboy said, turning and smiling to me, as Culver and the tranny sauntered off toward the back of the bar where a doorway covered by a beaded curtain led back to the fuck rooms. "Why don't you come to my office here. I want to show you something." I began to tremble at that point. Cowboy was prime meat; I didn't expect to be getting his attention that easily. It was enough of a mark of pride that he'd done me more than once. To do it so casually now made me feel like part of his stable.

Get his attention I had. What he wanted to show me was nearly a foot of hard cock. It wasn't new to me. Cowboy and The Major were friends. They had tag teamed me before. The Major enjoyed watching Cowboy fuck me and always positioned himself to watch the cock fill, stretch the hole, and move in it. This, though, was Cowboy showing his interest in and arousal for me outside of the realm of his friendship with The Major.

It wasn't a romantic encounter. He held true to his "nail 'em, breed 'em, and walk off" reputation. What was satisfying was that he had selected me for the attention at all. I wore nothing to the encounter. He wore his ten-gallon hat and his fancy cowboy boots. He bent me over his desk, held my slim hips between his big, black mitts, and entered and entered and entered me. I writhed under him, exclaiming, "Fuck, shit, fuck, you're killing me!" as he bounced the bulb of his baseball-bat sized shaft off the back of my tonsils from inside. He used his fat thumbs to stroke and pull my butt cheeks apart to open my hole as much as possible, as I gripped the far edge of the desk top with my claws, panted hard, and howled his cruel, glorious taking. I'm sure my screams of pain-passion-ecstasy echoed through the bar. Cowboy was as obsessed with the size of his cock in relation to the size of the hole as anyone else was. He had a mirror positioned so he could observe what his dick was doing in the hole.

He left me collapsed, spread-eagled, and gurgling on his desktop and had gone back to one of his other establishments on the street when I hobbled back into the bar. He had said nothing to me beyond two short sentences after he'd fucked me, but his cocking, his patting me on the rump, and his big smile afterward were enough. The next time he wanted me, I'd lay down for him. I'd even think about getting an "I get laid by Cowboy" magnet to put on my refrigerator door.

What he had growled to me when he pulled on his clothes and walked out of his office was, "Nice lay. Like them narrow hips and that you are tight no matter how much you're used. Give my regards to The Major." With just those few words he conveyed that I met his standards and he'd do me again as it was convenient. Beyond that he established he realized I was slaved to The Major but also that he, Cowboy, had privileges with me, as The Major's friend. I didn't object to any of that; I reveled in it. A major divide in the city was those who had been fucked by Cowboy and could hope to be fucked by him again and those who were losing out.

The shocker for me after that encounter was that all the time Cowboy was pumping me with that monster cock of his and bathing my stomach with his cum, I was thinking of Craig Culver and whether he was finding fucking a tranny was better than fucking me. I was ashamed to think it, but I did think that I hoped Craig Culver had heard my screams of being fucked royally by Cowboy while he was riding the tranny. I didn't scream like this for Culver. Maybe he'd try to up his game.

But thinking these thoughts meant I was hooked on Culver without understanding why in the hell I would be.

He came back humming and fucked me divinely when we got back to the hotel, bending me over the bed and fucking me from behind as Cowboy had done, but taking his time and waiting for me to beg for it to move inside me--wanting to beg for it--unlike Cowboy, who, bang, bang, spiked me, tickled my tonsils with the bulb of his shaft, came, and left with a disarming smile that made me want him to do me again. But he never said a word about comparing taking a tranny with taking me, so I guess I'll never know. Although increasingly and inextricably I was becoming clingy to him, Culver continued to treat every fuck as a casual hookup.

* * * *

It felt like a coffin, especially as there were two of us in there, not just one--and one of us, not including me, had a few too extra pounds on him. It was so claustrophobic in there that I was in danger of hyperventilating. And then I was hyperventilating in a good way--dancing on the clouds--and it had nothing to do with how close it was in the bunk on the train. I can't fathom why, after all of these years, when I think of the year 1978, I think about this nine hours wedged into a confined space designed for the standard Thai body--only one standard Thai body--but I do.

The sleeping car--the premium-class sleeping car--configuration on the night train from Bangkok to the ancient cultural capital of Siam in the north, Chiang Mai, consisted of double-layer bunks running down both sides of the corridor of the coach, with drapes you could pull across the length of them to shield you from the walkway. The bunks were maybe six feet long, which accommodated me, but not Culver all that well, and three feet wide, which didn't handle Culver's bulk well at all. But we managed. Culver had ways of keeping my mind off how confining the space was.

Who would have known that pudgy, over-the-hill actor Craig Culver could give me two premium la Petite Mort--a little death--fucks, which were ones that laid me out totally and had me erupting in orgasms?

The top bunk, which was what I was ticketed for, would have been just too confining in that the outer metal wall was just that, the blank wall of the carriage, with the wall curving in at the top. The lower bunk had four feet of window looking out onto the passing countryside if you didn't pull the curtains closed there, which I didn't. I spent the time Culver was fucking me, which was pretty much the whole nine hours, with snooze and dinner breaks, with my head turned to the window and following the flashing lights of whatever civilization was awake at night outside the lurching train. The track from Bangkok to Chiang Mai went through a rural, rice-paddy world with limited lighting at night--the area hadn't reached the twentieth century yet.

Nine hours almost nonstop of lying on my back, legs parted and bent, with a man lying between my legs, his cock buried inside me and moving, in and out, in and out, while I had nothing else to do but lie there, watching the countryside going by, and flexing my fingers on his shoulder blades to the rhythm of the fuck.

The near pitch-black darkness of the confining space helped me in staying aroused with an old--older than I was used to taking--and heavy man on top of me in such close quarters. He did spend as much time propped up on his elbows and knees as his conditioning permitted, though. It also was a help that Culver was an expert in working another man's body--working up his arousal, preparing him, fucking him, cooling him down, working up his arousal again, fucking him... and repeat.

He made an adventure of getting me undressed in that space and using his hands and mouth to get me worked up to begging for the cock even before he had managed to strip himself in a space where you couldn't even raise your arm very far over your head without hitting the underside of the bunk above you. He was still in his trousers when he bent my legs up into my chest, rolled my pelvis up, and went for my cock, balls, and hole with his lips and mouth.