The Darling

"I'm going to take you to the Darling tonight."

I froze. I'd been chatting with three other guys on the sectional sofa in the conversation pit, not even aware that the major had reentered the house. I was studiously avoiding thinking of where he was. Otherwise I wouldn't have been in this conversation group at all. I normally tried to stay well away from these three. The three pansies we had termed them behind their backs—all three of the limp-wristed type, all affiliated in some way with the music and theater world of the expatriate community in Thailand, even though two of them were Thai. They only went with men as a threesome, joined at the hip. There were men here, though, who enjoyed the novelty of having three at a time. I wasn't one of them. And, thank god, neither was the major. As far as I knew.

I didn't keep track of who the major was fucking. He wasn't the kind who wanted anyone hanging on him like that. As long as he was fucking me, I just let that question be. The major. That's what we all called him then, and now, decades later, I no longer can recall what his real name was, even though Thailand was not the last post where we met up.

"I'm going to take you to the Darling tonight," he said in that rich baritone voice of his, as I looked down to see the strong, chocolate-brown hand he had rested on my forearm. He had leaned down to speak in my ear. I looked up into the eyes of the three pansies. Their litany of whining complaints and snippy gossip had been interrupted and they were all staring beyond my head, over my shoulder, at the heavily muscled barrel chest tapering down to the flat, hard belly and slim waist of the major's. He had come to the party in just low-slung jeans and sandals, knowing that all eyes would follow him around the room. I suspect he'd done that this evening because he'd planned what he was going to say to me—what he was going to do with me—and he wanted me to know that if I didn't go with him, he could have his pick of nearly every other man at the party.

He also, I'm sure, knew how aroused I'd be just to see him walk into the room—and to know that he fucked me.

I saw the eyes of the three pansies slit, almost as if in unison, and their sharp little tongues flicking out to wet their lips in arousal and, could it be, in some remembrance of shared experience. Yes, it could, I guessed. I wanted to think that the major wouldn't have been interested in them, but I claimed no knowledge—or hold—over what the major liked or had done beyond putting his brand on me. I had visions of him fucking all three of them, in quick succession, if only for the variety and exercise that entailed.

"Yes, if that's what you want," I whispered.

"That's what I want," he murmured, running his hands into the deep arm holes of the athletic T I was wearing and cupping my pecs. I leaned my head back onto his sternum and turned my face up to him as he kissed me with those thick, sensuous lips. When I tilted my head back down, I saw that the three pansies were hanging on every movement, their envy barely shielded. I heard a collective sigh as he stood, pulling his hands back from my chest.

"One more drink and we'll leave," he said. And then he was gone.

"If that's what you want," I repeated. But he was already gone, and the three pansies were already leaning into each other, pointedly ignoring me, and resuming their gossiping.

He had won. The major had beaten me. It had been a three-month struggle, but he'd finally gotten me to agree to go to the Darling with him. This was the first time he'd flatly told me I was going to go there with him. It's probable that, if he had said it in declarative earlier, I would have obediently agreed. I doubt I could ever flatly say no to a command from the major. He fucked me like no one had ever done before—nor, as far as I can remember, ever since. He was built like a horse, was a power driver, and was so strong that he manipulated me like I was a rag doll. And I loved muscular, demanding black men.

He'd always phrased it as a question before, and I had begged off, for what I thought were good reasons. But tonight it was a declaration, and, coming on the heels of the news he'd given me earlier out on the terrace by the pool, I couldn't say no.

"I've gotten my orders," he'd said. "It's back Stateside."

I paused for a few moments for that to sink in. He was holding me in his arms, and I'm sure he could feel me trembling. I had his jeans unbuttoned and was giving him a hand job, assuming he'd take me to one of the loungers around the pool and fuck me. We wouldn't be the only ones doing it. He liked to fuck publicly. He liked having an audience gather around him while he was showing his prowess and displaying that thick ten-by-two incher of his. And I didn't mind it when it was him—but only him. With him, I was aroused at the thought of all those men gathered around us, wishing that they were getting what I was getting.

I unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts and pushed them and my briefs down to my ankles. I didn't want to think about what he said. If I didn't react to it, maybe it wouldn't be true. I didn't know what I'd do in Bangkok without him. Well, I'd continue to find big men to fuck me, of course. There was no shortage of offers. But for nearly a year he'd been at the base of those I coupled with. I compared all of the men I went with to him, and all had come up shorter or thinner, or with less drive or inferior technique. I lifted a leg and hooked it on his hip. I used the hand I'd been jacking him off with to move his cock to below my ball sack. I moaned as his cock head rubbed across my perineum.

"Fuck me here, standing," I murmured.

"Did you hear me? I have ongoing orders. I'll be leaving Bangkok."

"I always thought I'd be the first to go," I answered. "Agency tours are shorter than those in the military."

"I know," he answered. His hands were palming my buttocks. I thought he was going to do as I asked. Just lift me up and set me on his cock, standing. If he did that, I would arch back toward the terrace, palming the rocky surface with my hands, giving those inside the house, beyond the wide glass doors, the full effect of the fuck—his rippling chest muscles in full view, his straining arm muscles holding my pelvis to him as he fucked down into me. That would please him and those in the house too—and thus, I would be pleased as well. And I could try to dismiss what he'd said from my mind.

He wouldn't go farther toward taking me right there and then, though. He just held me there, motionless, against his chest.

"You know there's something I want you to do with me. I'll be leaving soon. I will be disappointed if I leave without that. It could be your farewell present to me."

"The Darling. You want to bring that up again."

He just gazed at me, expectantly, until I broke down and spoke again.

"We've discussed this before. It's too close . . . and it's one thing with you, but with another—"

"It's what I want."

I broke away from him then, pulled my shorts up, and retreated into the house. Everyone else I walked by was coupling up already, so I had nowhere to go to fold into a conversation—except for the conversation pit. The three pansies had taken up residence there and no one had come by yet to take them all, giggling and wiggling their butts, up the stairs to the bedroom level. I sat on the sofa near them and turned my attention—or pretended to—toward them. They, in turn, pretended that I was part of their conversation. They didn't try too hard, though. They saw me as competition. I wouldn't be taking them upstairs, but the next man who drifted over sniffing for some tail, might choose me instead of them.

The minutes ticking by without anything happening—especially since I had no idea at all what I wanted to happen—were excruciating. Even though I couldn't see him, since I had pointedly positioned my back to the door out onto the terrace, my mind was trying to trace where the major was, what he was doing. Had he, out of pique, decided to punish me by pointing to another man and pinning him to a lounge cushion with his cock? If so, most of the men at the party would have gone with him with a smile and a sigh. And, if so, I would deserve it.

I had what I thought were good reasons for my reluctance. The Darling was too close to my apartment—at the head of Soi 12 Sukhumvit. My apartment was farther down the same street. There was only one entrance into Soi 12, and it went right by the forecourt of the Darling. Every time I walked home from the embassy, I had to pass the Darling. And nearly every time I did, there were both men and women out in front of the Darling, soliciting. I would be recognized in the Darling, I had every reason to presume. Beyond that, there was what the major wanted me to do in the Darling. It was one thing to let him fuck me in public—I had become accustomed to that and even, now, was aroused by that. What he wanted in the Darling, though, was something entirely different.

So deep in thoughtful concern was I that I didn't hear him approach.

"I am going to take you to the Darling tonight."

He was leaning over me on the sofa in the conversation pit.

"Yes, if that's what you want."

* * * *

He obviously had thought ahead. A black Mercedes with tinted windows was outside the house when we left. He handed me into the backseat and climbed in beside me. He said nothing to the driver, who apparently already knew where we were going.

As we drove across Bangkok in traffic that still, this late in the evening, was door handle to door handle on the clogged streets, the major put an arm around my back, tilted my head to his with his other hand, and took me into a kiss with those thick lips of his. His hand moved down to the waistband of my shorts. He unbuttoned and unzipped me and pulled my half-hard cock out.

I whimpered for him, moaning a "please," that he knew was not a request for him to stop.

His hand dipped farther down, his fingers moving between my thighs and across my perineum, the tips of his middle finger coming to rest on the rim of my hole. I rolled my hips up to give him better purchase and sighed. One of my hands involuntarily went down and covered the back of his hand, holding him there, wanting him inside me.

He buried the fist of his other hand in my hair and pulled my head back. His face was very close to mine. I knew what he wanted now. He wanted to watch the expression on my face change while he had his way with me.

I heard him grunt, and recognizing that he didn't want me to reach for him in this instance, I just relaxed, took my hand away from his, and let him play my body. He always wanted to be in full control.

As he slowly worked first one and then two and, finally, three fingers into my channel, I ached to put my hand on my engorging cock and stroke it to relief. But I knew he wouldn't want that and would brush the hand away—and in doing so would have to pull his fingers out of me. I didn't want him to do that.

I began to moan and move my pelvis on his hand as his middle finger found and began to play my prostate.

"Please, daddy," I moaned. "Let me ride you."

"Later," he said.

I groaned as he continued to play me.

"Please. My cock. Let me . . ."

That was the signal he was waiting for. He withdrew his fingers from my hole and wrapped his fist tightly around my cock and slow pumped me until I gave a little cry, tightened up, and ejaculated.

He gave a low, throaty laugh and lowered his lips to my cock and cleaned me up.

* * * *

The Mercedes pulled into the forecourt and almost all the way up to the front door, where the light would have been very dim if it weren't for the frenetic glow of the orange neon sign flashing over the entrance announcing that we had arrived at the Darling. The driver opened the rear door and the major hustled me quickly from the backseat of the car into the entry, where we were met by a giant of a man who was bare-chested and bare footed and wearing a striped silk sarong around his waist.

"This is Boonsri. I told you about him," the major told me as the Thai giant turned and ushered us deeper into the bowels of the building.

And indeed the major had told me about Boonsri. Most tend to believe that Thai men are small, willowy figures, and many are. But some are big, heavily muscled men—nearly as stately as the major himself. Boonsri was one of those Thai.

The major had told me several times as he spun out a dream of his that this Boonsri was going to fuck me and the major was going to watch.

We had entered the Darling, the Darling Massage Parlor. In Thailand massage parlors are brothels. If you want minimal massaging leading to sex, you went to a place like the Darling. If you wanted both a good massage and sex, you joined an expensive gym. If you only wanted a good massage, people would wonder why you bothered to come to Thailand at all.

When the major had first told me that he wanted to take me to the Darling and I had begged off, I'd said I would certainly go to a massage parlor with him if that was what he wanted, but it would need to be one other than the Darling. That was too close to home. My wife and children knew as well as I did what happened in the Darling that we all had to pass each time we left our apartment compound or returned to it. But none of us openly discussed what the Darling was all about or wanted to get anywhere close to talking about whether I'd go to such a place—even though it was given as natural that well-heeled Thai men frequented such places even if they were happily married. And I wanted to keep it that way. The first unguarded mention by anyone that they'd seen me at the Darling, and the whole life and career I had so carefully constructed would have collapsed upon itself.

"It has to be the Darling," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because Boonsri, the man I want to share you with, is at the Darling. He's indentured there. He can't go anywhere else."

"And it has to be him?"

"Oh, yes, it has to be him," the major had answered.

And here we were. When I saw Boonsri I was even more apprehensive than I'd been when the major had described him in the abstract.

The Thai giant turned and moved into the interior of the windowless building. The major took my elbow in a firm grip, and we followed the slapping sandals and the hem of the striped sarong on the polished wood floor. We were moving toward a room with a bright light and the recorded and amplified sound of a whiny Thai songstress singing to a half-toned stringed instrument. When we walked through the door and into this space, it proved to be yet another corridor. but the walls into the rooms adjoining the corridor were glass panels. On one side of the corridor, behind the glass, erotically clad women were sitting and reclining on couches and primping for a few men standing in the corridor who were, with the help of a Darling attendant, making their choices. In the other glass-fronted room on the other side of the corridor were the minimally dressed men and boys. There were more women than men on offer, and most of the attention in the corridor was focused on them, but a few men were turned toward the window looking in on the men and boys too. On both sides of the corridor, the men and women behind the glass were playing up to the men in the corridor, each vying for attention and selection.

Eyes followed us as we moved through the corridor, with most of them, of course, focused on the major. But not a few of the women and men behind the glass were primping for me as well.

I kept my head down, watching the hem of Boonsri's sarong as much as I could as we moved through the corridor. I didn't want anyone to recognize me on the days I walked by the Darling on my way to and from my apartment. The major was sensitive to me on this, and, indeed, seemed to have conveyed the need for stealth to the Thai giant before we arrived.

We went through another door and were in a stair hall. We followed Boonsri up one flight and then half way down another corridor, past a series of closed doors. The sounds coming from behind these doors left little doubt what was happening there. He turned and opened a door looking much like the rest and stood aside, beckoning the major and me to enter a small, mirror-walled room with a massage table in the center and a couple of straight chairs and a table at the side. I began to tremble as I saw that the table had packets of condoms, bottles of lubricant and massage oil, and various sex toys and restraints neatly arranged on the top of it. An alarm clock was also sitting on the table, but, slightly to my surprise, Boonsri didn't set the timer. This was my first indication that this would not be a rushed assignation.

At Boonsri's direction, both the major and I stripped down and piled our clothes on the same straight chair. When we turned around, Boonsri had loosened the knot on his sarong, let it fall, and was neatly folding it up as well. I gasped at the sight of his equipment. He was erect, leaving little question what service he would be performing for me—or that he would enjoy doing it.

He motioned for me to climb up on the massage table and lay down on my back. The major took a straight chair, reversed it, and straddled its seat. He folded his arms on the top of the chair's back, with his cock hanging down the back of the chair under the lowest rung, and urged Boonsri to start the show.

Boonsri was a legitimate masseur and was very good at his job—at all of his jobs: working my muscles, working my throat, and working my channel. He massaged my extremities in a deep-tissue workout and then my chest and torso muscles, relentlessly working his way to the center, and doing it so sensually that I was sighing for him and mellowing out.

As the major sat there and watched, the Thai took possession of my cock with his hand and slow pumped me until I had come for him. Then he pulled me forward on the table, with my head lolling off the edge. He was working my temples with his fingers, nearly putting me to sleep, when I felt the head of his cock at my lips and I opened my mouth and throat to him.

As was the case when I deep-throated the major in this position, I need do nothing but open as wide as possible for him and try not to choke.

He slowly face fucked me until the major requested a change in positions, and then he had me roll over on my front and gave an equally deep-tissue massage, moving toward a conclusion with his greased fingers invading my channel and massaging my prostate to my second coming. I turned my face to the major to see that he was masturbating himself and fully enjoying the performance. Boonsri finished me, taking a good half hour to do so, by climbing the table, straddling my hips, skewering my ass with a thick cock, arching my torso back in a full Nelson hold that pinned my arms above my head, and rocking back and forth to work my channel with his digging cock.

I was moaning and thoroughly exhausted when Boonsri had come and climbed off the table. With a groan, I turned over and started to sit up. But now it was the major's turn. He rose from his chair, walked over to the table, grabbed my ankles, and split my legs wide, causing me to collapse onto my back. I arched my back and cried out and moaned as he, longer and thicker and more strongly stroking than Boonsri, took me more roughly and completely than the Thai giant had.

The major took his time with me, and as exhausted as I was, I just lay there, tongue lolling, holding my legs as wide as possible to be able to take him, and luxuriated in the fuck of my favorite lover.

I wasn't in any way angry with the major for wanting to share me and to watch another man fuck me. The major had been good to me, and now he was leaving. Nothing would be the same after that. Anything I could do to show him how I had appreciated what he'd done for, with, and to me, I would do.