Anson and Jorge in Singapore

Anson and Jorge in Asia, Ch. 03

Next stops: Singapore and Bangkok

This is the third in a series of fictional stories. There is a little recap at the beginning since these stories were not originally written as chapters in a series. All characters engaged in sexual activities are over 18. In an earlier chapter, the guys were tested, found clean, and agreed to be exclusive. Thus there is no mention of wrappers. AI was not used in the creation of this story. © 2023, all rights reserved. Brunosden

Anson and Jorge took the bullet train to Narita Airport (via Tokyo), spent the night at an airport hotel and took the early morning Singapore Air flight to Singapore. The first stop on their Asian tour was over—a dozen plus days of discovery (many of those days of "discovery" within the confines of their hotel suite) in Tokyo and Kyoto.

Arrival at the international airport in Singapore was typically uneventful and efficient. A hotel car and driver were waiting at the exit and about a half hour later, they checked into the Four Seasons Hotel, just off Orchard Road. It was already mid afternoon, and they had eaten on the plane. So, after they settled in, they dressed immediately for a workout.

Modern Singapore had developed several new hotel districts—on the "entertainment" (gambling) island created with fill in the sea which surrounded the island nation and near the new vertical botanical garden—both just outside the city center. It was a typical Singapore move: Singapore was both intensely commercial and socially conservative. Gambling, drinking and dancing were all taboo for "good" Singaporeans—but the elite did not want to lose out on the enormous profits from these "sins"—particularly if the "sinners" were foreign. So they built an artificial island and connected it with a toll bridge and an aerial cable car. Singaporeans were discouraged from visiting—except of course to work or to visit the Disney-style theme park on one side of the new island. Then additional tourist attractions and hotels were built outside the city to diversify the traffic.

Anson had been to Singapore many times on business and preferred the commercial hotels downtown. He thought the small Four Seasons was the nicest and very convenient. It had taken most of a day to do the transfers. The trains and airports were crowded, and it was very hot.

Anson and Jorge had been together now for over three weeks. Anson had decided to travel after his wife's death—and years of forced celibacy during her long illness. He had also decided he wanted a companion—a male "fuck-buddy"—a pleasure he had denied himself during his long marriage and his wife's long illness. He had "interviewed" several candidates and picked Jorge. They had spent about a week together in San Francisco and another week plus in Japan.

Anson was a lawyer—a partner litigator in a major San Francisco firm from which he was on sabbatical. He was athletic, in shape, and looked much younger than his actual age (50-ish). He was about 6-2; had an athlete's build (tennis, sailing and gym); dark curly hair with just a touch of grey on the sides. All of the guys he had interviewed (second interviews all involved tests for sexual "compatibility") were shocked at the size of his "endowment" when he took them to bed. He had warned in his e-post, but no one believes that kind of information, particularly on internet dating sites, even the screened elite ones.

Jorge was younger, a veteran Army medic who had gone back to university to become a Nurse Practitioner and Physicians' Assistant. He was starting a long leave of absence—in an attempt to recharge after years of superhuman effort in the COVID wing of a major hospital.

Jorge had been one of the four "finalists" in Anson's unusual online search for a "travel companion with benefits". His muscular, gym-rat, dusky good looks and compassionate personality had won Anson's approval--as well as his lust. He was also a dream in bed: a power bottom. At the time, since Anson was a confirmed top, the impressive length and girth of Jorge's uncut penis didn't seem to matter so much as Jorge's active and sensuous receptivity to Anson's hunger. But that would change. They were traveling together for about two months—at Anson's expense, while Anson's condo in San Francisco was being remodeled.

Anson and Jorge were now very comfortable with each other. Jorge had moved from tentative, almost submissive sub to a willing and contributing partner in pleasure. Anson had taken Jorge in every possible way, really enjoying Jorge's sensuous body language. And, on the last evening in Kyoto, much to Jorge's surprise, Anson had insisted that Jorge top him and take his anal cherry.

Singapore was not on the original itinerary that Anson had proposed to his potential companions, mainly because Singapore was probably the least Asian of all the major cities in East Asia. It was very Western; very conservative—almost puritanical with respect to sexual morality; but it did have several not-to-be-missed attractions, including the world's only night zoo, the world's largest aviary, and the world's tallest botanical garden. And the Pan-Asian cuisine was well known. Anson had been there many times. He had several Singaporean clients including one for whom he had handled high-tech litigation. When one client had heard from one of his partners that Anson was planning an Asian holiday, he had insisted that he be given an opportunity to show him a non-tourist Singapore. So changes in the itinerary were made.

Because of the expected conservative social environment (at least on the public face), Anson had broken his "two can travel as cheaply as one" rule and had not booked a suite—but rather two adjoining rooms. They were nominally colleagues traveling for pleasure, but not obviously attached or sexually involved. The Assistant Manager, who had pretended he remembered Anson from previous trips, took them to the two rooms. He settled them in and briefly introduced the mechanical devices. Minutes later luggage was delivered. By prior agreement, they changed into gym gear. While Jorge had been careful to engage in daily gym time in Japan, Anson had let a few days slip by. Both needed a workout.

The gym was well-equipped, spotless, and not terribly crowded in the late afternoon. Anson noticed that it had been set up in his favorite style: a stretch area, then a large open semi-circle containing a "circuit" with free weights at the end. Anson particularly liked the discipline of the circuit: exercise stations with quickly reset pre-flagged weights (light, medium and heavy). Participants moved around the circuit, three minutes at each, one-half minute to re-position, every third circuit aerobic. Movement was "controlled" by rock music. There were 18 stations in all (try for 3 reps of 10 each at each station, but move on anyway when the music stops). There were also two "cut-outs" that would add 4 stations each—one for arm development; the other for adding depth to 6 or 8-pac cuts). Speed and reps were more important than weights. The view out the windows onto the pool deck was a nice touch. It was like a tough game of musical chairs. Both guys entered the circuit, and emerged about an hour later, tired and dripping from the high humidity, despite the AC, but with that very pleasant after-glow of a good workout.

They elevator-ed back to their rooms. Each went to the door of one of the rooms, hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign, and securely locked it. The double doors adjoining their two rooms were then opened.

[From this point, the story shifts to Anson's POV, and is told in the first person.]

Jorge messed up the bed in "his" room, placed his toiletries in "his" bath, stripped, and was carrying towels into my bath. I followed close behind, once again salivating at Jorge's dusky muscular beauty, particular his small tight butt that always revved me up. His glutes moved nicely beneath the smooth mounds with deep hand-hold hip indentations. He was pumped, cut and sweaty. His black hair drooped over his forehead, almost covering his sexy dark eyes. The sultry look was definitely porn quality.

I had grown to love those ass cheeks and the tunnel of pleasure between them. In fact everything about him turns me on: his physique, his tanned square face, his skin color and texture, his thick cock, his thick dark curly hair, his musky aroma, and his tight, talented chute. But this dark Adonis package held one of the most caring and attractive personalities that I had ever encountered. He was a saint: compassionate, receptive, understanding, almost intuitive in his responses to my needs.

But, I wasn't looking for a saint right then. I was looking for a down and dirty guy that I could wallow with in pleasure and get off big time. And here he was just before me.

Before Jorge got to the bath door, my arm reached out, I wrapped around his waist, and pulled him hard into my gut and already rigid erection. My second hand reached around and fisted Jorge's cock—a nice 8 inch handle—to stop him. Jorge turned his head and our lips met. "Don't you want to shower first? I'm all hot and sweaty and feel a little dirty."

"Not this afternoon, babe. You are exactly what I want right now. I want to revel in your musky aroma. And I want to feel your pumped muscles—particularly the one in my fist right now. Come over to the bed with me. I want to taste that dick and lick those balls before we remove all the good stuff. You've already got me so turned on and hard as a rock."

Visibly surprised (I had previously always been so "clean" when we coupled), but obviously very interested, Jorge moved to the bed, pulled away the white duvet, and sat on the edge, looking up into my hungry eyes. I knelt between his legs, forcing his thighs apart. My head bent to the task. While this is not the first time that I had taken Jorge into my mouth, it was the first time that I had moved into Jorge, knelt between his thighs in a submissive pose, with obvious intent to suckle and blow him. Always before, it had been part of the total package in bed after we had showered. Jorge was now ripe with musk and moist from the humidity and exertion. His dark heavy balls hung low while his shaft was lifted in response. His thighs and guns were pumped and his sweaty 8-pac was cut deeply. I sucked the cock inside, used my tongue to push down the hood, and took about six inches, washing it with my tongue, stroking up and down. It tasted of the best of a man, the nectar of the gods. Then I pushed him back onto the bed and raised his thighs. I attacked his taint and rim and my tongue dug deeply into his anus. My hands stroked his swollen sweaty muscles. He was already panting with readiness and exuding musk. I simply couldn't get enough of him.

But I wasn't yet getting the treasure that I wanted. I needed to drown in Jorge. I wanted to fill my lungs and my mouth with his musk, sweat, old cum and precum. I wanted to consume him. I wanted him dirty and natural. This was the jungle and I was a scent-directed predator.

So I stood and pushed Jorge back onto the bed. He scooted up to the pillow, v-ed his legs, and I straddled his chest, pushing my ass toward his face. I wanted to take this guy with all of his maleness. I bent down, licked his sweaty balls, and took the cock inside again—but this time, as he deepened inside, my nose was buried in the swollen, moist balls. My tongue could even feel the hot turmoil inside, roiling in readiness for the upcoming journey. I was tantalized and drawn deep into his center. Every sense was involved: smell, taste, touch, sight. My hands reached around and pulled Jorge up hard into my face. He raised his thighs, folded them over me, and tightened around my head, pulling my mouth and nose into him. The heat and the aromas were intense. I could breathe only him. I was hypnotized, no drugged, by it all. He was a human dispenser of male aphrodisia!

His move had also pushed me back into his face. Then I felt Jorge pulling my ass down and his tongue licking my head, then my shaft, then my balls and finally my taint. Hands pushed aside my thighs, massaged my cheeks and pulled them apart. Then a saliva-coated finger was inserted and wiggled its way to my nut. The teasing shock hit and traveled up my spine. I stiffened and began to leak as Jorge captured the delicious fluid on his tongue as he milked my prostate. He was eating with a passion, also intoxicated by my exertions. We were literally surfing in our sweat.

I reached around and inserted my saliva-lubed index finger inside his anus, touching and poking the prostate, pulling him hard into me. We were so tightly coiled together, wrapped into the tightest yin-yang, that we were like one hot pulsing organ at the throes of self-fertilization.

Neither of us could handle so much intense stimulation without certain results. Jorge started—he was on his way to an orgasm. I could feel the spunk climbing up his cock as it trembled on my tongue and swelled in my cheeks; then I felt the spasms. I reached to the push hard on the taint to halt the ejaculation and enhance Jorge's pleasure. But I was too late. The moment of truth had arrived. Jorge bucked up and began to shoot his seed between my waiting lips. So I instantly switched tactics and started to pump the shaft and massage the balls to speed his flow and drain him. Taste and feel replaced smell as my operative senses. I was soon overflowing with his delicious toffee cream. I was reveling in the Jorge-the-animal, the man—not an antiseptic, perfumed bed partner.

At that moment, I graduated from "intellectual" sex for pleasure to down-and-dirty pleasure of real man on man sex. I was definitely gay to my very core with this sexy guy. I was definitely into this man. He had bewitched me. I thought that I owned him, but actually at that moment, he owned me.

It was too much for me. My enormous cock swelled and the hood drew back as the bulb pushed forward, positioning for the shots. I was totally filling his mouth with my size—I would splurge down his throat unless I withdrew a little. Jorge knew what was happening—although the intensity of his own explosion had distracted him from what I was about to do to him. He plunged two fingers in and began to scrape my prostate with curled fingers, pushing my fluid out. I felt the beginnings of the irreversible: a deep anal orgasm. My whole body tensed. My legs stretched toward the pillows, splayed out around Jorge's head; my chest collapsed into Jorge's; and my hips pulled back my cock a little from his mouth. Then I exploded like a capped two-hundred year old volcano. Jorge captured most of the white hot lava between smiling lips until I too overflowed down his cheeks and covered his face and neck with my cum.

I rested above him, sucking on his softening dick and inhaling his aroma. My head rested on his thighs, intoxicated by his manly scents. I was on an incredible high. Then, exhausted by the effort, I rolled off. Jorge rose, flipped and took me into his arms. I grabbed his cock and pulled it between my thighs and pulled our chests and hips together. I didn't want to end the connection. No one moved. We were both spent, but still drugged by the intense male musk that floated around us, the tastes on our lips and tongues, and the touch of ultra-sensitive spent equipment. We were wet and dirty and pumped and totally empty. Our faces met and I licked my spunk from his face like a mongrel dog licking cream from a bowl. Eyes closed and the sleep of delirium overcame us.

Perhaps a half hour later, the bedside phone began to ring. It awakened both of us—although in the post-coitus drugged state, we weren't even sure what the ringing meant. It went silent. A minute or so later, it started again. This time I realized what it was and reached over to pick up the receiver. It was my client. He was inviting me to a day on the water on his yacht the next day. Was I available?

"Sure. We haven't made any specific plans yet for the few days we are here. By the way, I am here with a friend, a young medic whom I met shortly after Sandra died."

"I know the company sent a memorial, but I've not had a chance to offer my own sincere condolences. I'm really sorry to hear of your loss, Anson. I'm sorry we never had a chance to meet her."

"Thank you, Tao. I appreciate your thoughts. Would it be acceptable if my friend joined us?"

"Please, any friend of yours is welcome. This is not for business. It'll just be a pleasant day on the water. It'll be hot. Casual, of course. Unfortunately, this is Singapore—so no winds—the yacht is a motorcraft. I hope that won't disappoint you. If it's okay with you, my driver will be at your hotel at 8:30 tomorrow. We'll probably finish with cocktails around 6. There is a small plunge pool on board, and we will be visiting a quite nice beach. So bring trunks. We'll take care of everything else."

"Thank you very much, Tao. I look forward to it. Incidentally, my friend's name is Jorge Perez. I'll invite him when we meet later for dinner."

"I understand you're at the Four Seasons. Before you leave Singapore, be sure to try the pan-Asian buffet at the Hyatt down the street. I think it's called 'The Straits Café.' The Indonesian and Malay specialties are probably the best in the city."

"Thanks. I think we're going to Raffles tonight—at least for drinks. I understand they have restored the old porches."

"I think you'll enjoy it. The tidbits are wonderful. See you tomorrow."

I turned to Jorge, who had posed his magnificent body on the bed. "I presume you heard. We're going boating tomorrow."

"Sounds great. But, I must smell like a San Francisco bath house before the cleanup crew comes in. I definitely need a shower now. That was one of the hottest times I've ever had with you Anson. I think I'm beginning to get into your head. Aren't I? You're starting to appreciate the earthy sensuality of my people and what it means to be a hot Latino lover. Are you sure you don't want an instant replay? I think I could handle another round."

"I'll join you in the shower. Let's not gild the lily, or attempt to re-taste the sublime. That was a blow I will remember for a long time. And, I promise, we will do it again. I'm hooked on this little guy." With those words, I stroked his dick, cupped his balls and rose from the bed.

********

Later (by now close to seven) we decided that dinner would be drinks and light fare at Raffles--one of the few remaining colonial-era hotels. It was built by the British and used by the Japanese as a headquarters during the war after they took the island from the British. It had fallen into disrepair until Singapore's re-emergence as a key city in the post-colonial world in Southeast Asia. It was grand and "muscular" (as British Imperial hotels tended to be) and beautiful—maybe even a little stuffy. The famous Singapore Sling (the drink, not the sex toy!) had been invented in the Bar and countless gin and tonics had been mixed in those rooms. Dress at Raffles after six was "formal Singapore"—which meant white slacks or shorts, white button up shirts, typically worn outside, and shoes (not sneakers or sandals). No tees, no jeans.

Over drinks we enjoyed a few hours of nostalgic reminiscing on one of the grand portico terraces which had been glassed and air-conditioned, owing to Singapore's year round tropical climate. Jorge seemed, more than usual, ready to talk about his past. I went quiet and listened. He told one story after another about his extended family, its experiences in creating a life in San Francisco (mostly difficult), his military service and a number of Medivac missions he had flown in the Iraq and Afghan wars. It had brought him to despair on many occasions, but caused him ultimately to pursue a career in health care. He admitted to a macho, free-wheeling (mostly hetero) sex life in the barrio and a partial conversion to homo-top experiences in the Army. Then he had come back to school and the work at the hospital.