I'll always remember the Israeli by the image of him standing there at the window of the Oriental Hotel room, the strong Bangkok sun bathing his body in afternoon light—that and by the cockiness with which he took control.
The Israeli army officer, a military attaché at his country's embassy in Thailand, had just two weeks earlier been part of my first threesome. He had seen me working out in the gym, and my Egyptian sexual mentor had said the Israeli could have me if he would agree to a threesome with the Egyptian. The Israeli must have been pleased by me, because the very next day he started a campaign to get me alone. He had begged and pleaded with me and had declared that he'd treat me like a priceless gift, and I had finally agreed to meet with him alone.
I was attracted to him, so the decision was not a hard one to reach. He was intriguing, almost simian in appearance, but in an attracting way. Somewhere in his early forties, but a magnificently maintained early forties, he was quite hairy, my first experience with anyone so heavily pelted, but also very muscular, and with arms longer in proportion to the rest of his body than normal. There had been nothing spectacular in the length and girth of his cock, but he had used it quite masterfully on me up against the tiles under the cascading water of the gym's shower. I had thought of the churning of his cock inside me, the strength of his arms around me, and the silkiness of his hair against my skin ever since that threesome.
He was good at his word about showing me how much he valued this meeting. He had booked a room in Bangkok's most exclusive hotel, the Oriental, on the banks of the Chaopya River in the center of the city's commercial area. The first thing I noticed when I was ushered into the eight floor room suspended over the busy river was the sumptuous Jim Thompson silk appointments, a model of understated wealth and refinement. The second thing I noticed was the bucket on a table in the center of the room with an uncorked bottle of Mumms champagne cooling in it. I also couldn't miss the tube of lubricant lying next to the champagne bucket alongside a money clip thick with Thai baht, left there no doubt after having tipped the hotel staff heavily in advance to enable this tryst.
The third thing I noticed was the Israeli officer, draped pensively at the corner of the full-length window, dressed in his military khakis and black boots—outfitted Israeli military style at least from the waist down. He was bare chested, those long powerful arms of his folded under his bulging, hair-covered pecs. He had been staring out of the window when I arrived, but as soon as the bellboy had departed and quietly clicked the door to the room behind him, the Israeli turned and gave me a broad smile of welcome, obviously delighted that his campaign to meet me again had been successful. He undraped his arms from around his chest and walked over to the table, poured champagne into a glass and turned to me.
I assumed he was going to hand me the glass of champagne, but he didn't do so right away. Instead, he took a deep drink from the glass himself and then leaned into me. It was obvious he wanted me to kiss him, and when I opened my lips to him, he transferred the champagne into my mouth. He did this twice again before he refilled the glass, handed it to me, and moved to close behind me. He was forceful, almost cocky in his movements. Throughout the preliminaries he was quite precise and authoritative in telling me what he wanted me to do, no doubt, I thought, a natural function of his military position, but also a sign of high self-confidence, as it he assumed I'd acquiesce in anything he asked of me. I might have found his direction brusque and presumptive, but I quickly was finding that I liked this form of domination.
I was wearing a light cotton safari leisure suit from the Bangkok designer, John Fowler, which was popular with the foreign community at that time. The shirt tail was hanging outside my pants, and the Israeli ran his hands under that at both of my sides and moved his strong hands up between my shirt and my skin to come resting on my pecs. He pulled my back in close to his front, and I could feel the urgency of his cock against the small of my back. He was flicking my nipples and I moaned for him and almost spilled the champagne. One of his hands slid down my belly and followed the thin trail of hair running from my navel down to my pubes. His hand went below my waistband, and he was cupping my cock and balls. I groaned and laid my head back against his shoulder. He was kissing my temple.
He started undoing my belt and zipping my pants down, but I put my hand on his and asked him if I could shower first. No one could go out in the noonday sun of Bangkok and avoid getting hot and sticky, and I was no exception in this. He consented, although I could tell he was a little peeved that I had interrupted his own schedule, and waved his hand toward the bathroom. I disengaged from his embrace, placed my obviously very expensive crystal champagne glass carefully down on the table and entered the bath. I was about to shut the door, but he instructed me in a rather gruff voice to leave it open so that he could watch me shower from the bedroom.
I stripped down just inside the bathroom door to give the Israeli a good look at the goods—which, of course weren't really new to him, as he had fully fucked me very recently—and cleaned myself out well with the preparation I'd brought, knowing I had quite an ass session ahead of me. Then, leaving the shower stall open, I took my time washing the grit of the Bangkok streets off my body. When I was finished, I wrapped my body in the lush terrycloth robe the luxury hotel had provided and padded out into the bedroom.
