I had both the advantages and curses of being a rock star. I could afford to go anywhere I wanted on the spur of the moment or as the mood hit me, but if a mood hit me that would land me in the tabloids, I'd better be prepared to go to the ends of the earth. The mood had hit me to get the most exotic and total fuck that I could find by the most talented cocksman I could attract. I had been on open exhibition for months and could have had any woman I'd wanted during that time. But revealing what I really wanted just wasn't the type of publicity the band—or it's teenaged-girl-based fan club—could use. And that's why on this particular evening I found myself on Thailand's Pattaya Beach in search of relief for this heat I'd been in for a total plowing for the last few months of what must have been the longest road show concert series any international band had ever done. My voice was hoarse from all of the performances, and my ass was twitching for attention. Pattaya wasn't necessarily the end of the earth. But it was so open to accommodating what I needed without a whole lot of publicity that it seemed the right place to be.
I'd heard that Howard's Bar off the beach at Pattaya was the place to hook up. So, long after the sun had gone down, I entered the garden bar dressed in my most fetching low-rise stonewashed jeans and a pair of loafers and showered body and shampooed hair and nothing else other than a friendly smile that had been plastered across numerous music, fashion, and gossip magazine covers.
The party was already in full swing. A couple of bars were set up under palm trees surrounding a meandering concrete terrace with a pool, many clumps of lush tropical vegetation that provided a good many discrete pocket garden areas, and a network of muted lighting that highlighted the central dance floor and provided good mood light to all of the other nooks and crannies about. There was a good crowd already partying—all hunky-looking men and all obviously either on the make or well into making or being made. A band of Thai musicians was doing a creditable job off to the side of many of the hit tunes of the day, including several that I had recorded to platinum myself.
I recognized some of the men there and was surprised to see most of them here; I didn't feel so isolated now in what I had to do to keep public face. But as long as they didn't do a double-take at seeing me, I wouldn't mess with their desire to hang out without being outed either. Still, with all of the talent in evidence, I was both surprised and a little gratified to note that all eyes at least stopped when they saw me and a good many lingered there—with some even bold enough to give me a come hither look that I knew so well when I was on vacation from my public world.
I could feel my butt twitching. One of these hunks was going to top me tonight—sometime before I left Howard's Bar—and I wasn't going to let him go until he'd done me royally. I was going to work some unsuspecting guy to exhaustion tonight.
I sat at a bar stool watching the crowd and brushing off the braver of the swirl of cruisers who approached me with their tongues hanging out, whether attracted by recognized celebrity or my hours spent in the gym and grooming shops I knew not—nor did I particularly care—any brand of honey would do tonight as long as the bees had nice bods, big dicks, and a lot of stamina. I wanted something special—and I wanted it soon; I'd flown all the way from L.A. for this.
Within about ten minutes, I'd seen him. I was sure that I saw him before he saw me. He was at a table with three other capable-looking muscle men—and he was the hunkiest of the lot. I could hear their boisterous conversation well enough to tell that they were all Aussies. He had the size and physique of a footballer and the face of a movie star. All blond good looks with enough of a tan to make him look like a serious outdoor sportsman. He was wearing baggy cargo shorts and a godawful Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned and hanging loose to reveal a serious bodybuilder's torso. I decided that if he had a cock to match that, he could very well be in for a special treat tonight.
He must have felt someone watching him intensely, because he turned to me, made eye contact, and gave me a glorious smile.
I was about to go over and tell him he was the night's lucky winner when a swirl of bodies came between the two of us. His table was across an edge of the dance floor from where I was sitting, and the singer of the band that was playing had put on a hard sell for dancers to flood the floor. They had done so. And out of that new, distracting wave of dancers, my attention was torn away from the Aussie hunk and found a new, fascinating focus.
There, highlighted by a traveling strobe light that must have been guided by a real fan in the lighting booth, was a sight that took my breath away. The dancer was South Asian. He had a rich chocolate-brown body that was well muscled but that also was as lithe and as flexible as anything I'd seen on a man. He had a healthy head of black hair and a face so chiseled and fine boned that it was hard to think it was natural. But it was his torso that mesmerized. He was undulating in perfect harmony with the music in a slow, sensual motion that stretched and highlighted every muscle. He was wearing a Thai-style sarong skirt that barely covered his hips, and considering the movement of his body, it was hard to understand how the sarong stayed in place. As beautiful as the movement of his torso to the music was, however, what was primarily arresting was his body tattoo.
He had a gorgeous, almost luminous, rendering of an intricately scaled snake, in reds, greens, and purples, coiled around his midsection and winding up and around his left shoulder. The head of the snake, which, when examined closely, evoked the beauty and features of the dancer himself, dipped down and looked out—straight at me; always focused on me—from his sternum at the center of his torso just below his pecs. And when I was able to pull my gaze from this as the dancer made the snake sway back and forth with the undulating of the music's rhythm, I followed the tail of the snake. It wound back around to the front of the South Asian and came just to below his puckered navel and then disappeared down and beyond the dipping waistline of the sarong, toward the very center of the dancer.
The dancer had seen me. The dancer had chosen me. He moved to directly between me and my line of sight on the Aussie hunk and stood there, dancing only for me. Swaying to the music for me. Undulating his snake tattoo in a mesmerizing movement that held my attention entirely and aroused my already oozing juices. The South Asian was dancing with his hands too, turning them in impossible positions to the rhythm of the music. They were beckoning to me, and the dancer was slowly retreating from me, but drawing me with him.
I had no idea I'd left the bar stool and was following the swaying snake until we were beyond the dance floor and entering one of the more private parts of the garden, still within sight of the swimming pool and well within hearing of the band music and softly lit, but somehow completely cut off from the swirling vortex of cruising men on the dance floor and at the bars. The achingly handsome South Asian was still moving with the music, undulating his muscles and that fascinating snake. I was charmed. He drew me over to a velour-covered padded lounge chair, one of a large set scattered around the pool area, and I sank into that without being fully aware that I no longer was sitting at the bar.
The South Asian swayed in front me to the music, drawing ever closer to me. The snake was holding my attention enthralled. I felt the long slender fingers at my waistband and the button being undone, and I heard the zipper being slowly worked down. And I felt my jeans being pulled off my legs, but I had eyes only for the undulating of the snake tattoo. It seemed alive. Sensual, not the least bit frightening.
The dancer leaned down and his handsome face crowded my vision. He was smiling and telling me how beautiful I was and asking me if he could fuck me. His long slender fingers were stroking my cock. And of course I told him he could fuck me. That's what I'd come here for. Exotic relief. And this was far beyond my wildest dreams.
