The Fiery Dragon Ch 01

The Fiery Dragon Ch 01

David visits China as it opens to Western tourism

This is the first chapter in a longer story that opens in China, about fifty years ago, at the beginning of the first interactions among Americans and Chinese on their territory. The action is a little slow in this chapter, although there is some at the end. My regulars know that I like to set up a scene. If you're looking for just a stroke piece, some of my shorter stories are recommended. Or just go right to Ch 02—which should publish within a day or so. All characters, including the entertainment boys, are over 18. © Brunosden, All Rights Reserved.

It was 1980. The PRC Cultural Revolution had ended officially in1976, a few years after Richard Nixon had opened China to the West. Mid-way through the next administration, Jimmy Carter had opened formal diplomatic relations. But, it took several years before any real change occurred—especially in tourism. China, which had been hosting "select" visits (mostly diplomats and potential investors for a few years, but shunning tourists, especially those from the West), had just permitted pre-packaged and carefully guided tours, and the US State Department had begun to permit Americans to visit.

I'm David Lee (incidentally, I'm a Virginia "Lee", not a Chinese "Lee"), 21, preparing for a career in nuclear engineering—research or possibly education. I'm six foot four, with wavy black hair and medium-toned skin with little body hair. We assume that our family's light mocha skin and the "Lee" name probably derived from some plantation interracial activity many generations ago. I'm quite slim; some would say lanky or even gawky. I'm unattached at present. (Actually, I've near been "attached" to anything but my large right hand.) I wear black-rimmed glasses most of the time, although I've got contacts. I dress mostly in baggy cargoes and button-up shirts with pockets for my slide rule, pens and pencils. I've got good, actually great, grades. I graduated from Thomas Jefferson School for Science in Fairfax at 15—one of three that age, dubbed the "pip-freaks" by our classmates. The other two were both Asian-Americans—with whom I had practiced Chinese. I guess you'd call me a nerd or a geek. And I'd have to agree.

I graduated with honors from Ann Arbor at 19, majoring in engineering, East Asian Studies and Chinese. Mom was convinced that I needed to allow my social development to catch up with my intellectual achievements. So she had insisted that I do additional majors rather than graduating early. I rapidly became an encyclopedia of Chinese history and geography. I was in love with the idea of China.

I run and workout between runs, so I'm in pretty good shape--there is almost no fat on my body, but I'm really not into team or contact sports. In fact, I'm really not into any interpersonal relationships. I'm strictly a loner without any real friends.

My only distinguishing feature is normally well-hidden: I'm hung, really, really hung--dark, long and thick—like those pictures of Africans I've seen in National Geographics. And the size is exaggerated by my slimness. Probably one of the few redeeming features of my ancestry! But it means I typically wear tight underwear (or a jock) and very loose shorts or cargoes. In the event of an erection, which at my age is pretty common. And I'm the butt of many locker room jokes. I realize now that they were prompted by envy. At the time, being different was another trial I had to endure. Curiously, being hung as a 15 year old is NOT an advantage—or at least it wasn't in the 70s!

My folks are solidly lower middle class. Mom keeps house, Dad is a carpenter and I've got four sibs—so I'm pretty much broke and on my own, with some college debt and accumulating more, although I've merited a significant amount of scholarship help.

After my first two years as a graduate student at Chicago in nuclear engineering—when I had a summer break as my courses ended and my research and TA responsibilities would begin, I had applied for a Fulbright—I needed a break of a year and wanted to explore, but interest in Asia was at a record high. And I was probably too much of a risk for a program that attempts to develop country-to-country understanding through collegiate interrelationships. So, I didn't get a grant—which would have paid for a year or so of "travel-education." I therefore planned to be back to grad school in September—where I would begin my final doctoral work, having completed all of the required courses and then some. I started looking for a summer job to take up the time, probably in fast food. And then I lucked out.

The campus newsletter contained a small ad. Exotic Journeys was looking for tour leader assistants. No experience with the tour locations necessary. At least 21 (my birthday had been in April). Language was a must. And the ability to manage adult seasoned tourists (i.e. "herd cats") was required. I had four years of Mandarin by then, but no cat-herding experience. Nevertheless I responded and signed up for an interview. To my surprise, I got a call three days later. I was hired for the China tours.

At the interview, the job had been outlined: I'd fly to Shanghai in a week and over the next ten weeks, shepherd five groups of sixteen people each, two weeks each, on a "comprehensive" tour around China. I'd be working with (really for) a local Chinese guide, certified by the Party, bunking with the guide, and traveling with and responsible for the group's compliance with the rules. The itinerary was preset and it included several hours of "education" about China—provided by the Party. No side trips or self-exploration were permitted. The pay was not great, but they provided airfare, lodging and a small per diem. The rest of my compensation would be derived from tips—depending on how good and attentive I was. I accepted immediately. It was a dream! Someone was going to pay me to tour China!

I arrived in Shanghai on June 15, three days before the arrival of the first group. My "guide" met me and spent the next three days drilling into me the rules and requirements, along with how to use the "whisperers" (the earphone devices that permitted the guide and me to give instructions and descriptions without shouting), and a crash course in the history of the places we would visit. He gave me a uniform—drab button up shirt with the EJ logo embroidered in yellow on the khaki shirt, and long pants, thin cotton and fairly tight. A web belt. He let me keep my shoes, which would double as running gear in the outside chance I got to run. "No shorts in China. And no decadent Western tee shirts, whatever the logo. We are reps of EJ and must look professional at all times."

Chen was about 40 (but looked over 60) and had spent eight years on a farm as part of the Cultural Revolution. He was married, small, dark, wrinkly and wiry—and very much in charge. He knew everything. Didn't expect much from me. In fact he considered having an assistant as "a symbol of excess decadent Westernism." But, he never repeated anything—so the travelers would look to me for repetition. Oh, his English was not great either. It was going to be a real trial to spend ten weeks with him, virtually 24/7. So I determined to work hard and learn everything I could about China. And focus on the guests—the source of any income I would make that summer.

I was going to be in China for ten weeks plus. I was excited, despite Chen.

During the introductory period in Shanghai, we stayed at what was probably less than a one star un-air-conditioned hostel. But, at least the dormitory set-up meant that we each had our own bed—although we were responsible for the linen service from our per diem. The food was mostly rice, with a small scoop of veggies and some meat—often unidentifiable. The first morning, he lectured. Then in the afternoon, we raced around Shanghai, and he would point, expecting me to remember what we were seeing. (I did, of course; I've got that kind of brain.) The second and third days were all lectures, with poor quality pictures of the sights we were about to see. That was my introductory education. I wasn't expecting much after my introduction.

Incidentally, since it was summer, China's air was hot and really dirty. Coal fired power plants and dirty engine buses and trucks were spewing into the air. They definitely were going to need nuclear power, I thought immediately. And we showered often—mostly twice a day.

*******

We met our first group of travelers outside immigration and customs. They were old—all over 50, sixteen in all, and they looked tired from the long trip over from San Francisco. Chen immediately launched into an introduction which most of them ignored (or couldn't hear or understand) while I marshaled the bags into the bowels of the bus. Then it was to the hotel—where Chen and I would now stay too. Dinner was buffet in the hotel dining room. No further touring or lectures for the rest of the day. We would begin with a day-long city tour the following day. Most of the group got little or none of this. So, as we traveled to the hotel, I walked up and down the aisle of the bus, answering questions and introducing myself. We got to the hotel, and, after room assignments were made, our guests retired for a nap before dinner.

I'm not going to bore you with the details and sights of those first two weeks. Even though I was wide-eyed in wonder to actually see the places I had only read about. Shanghai, Sian, Nanjing, the Great Wall, a day on the Yangtze, visits to a few factories, a farm, a village, a Chinese festival (which had survived the Revolution by shedding its ancestral, religious significance), ending in Beijing. Chen stumbled through his explanations, but to the best of my knowledge got his history and his place-identifications all perfect—which I had quickly memorized from the guidebook. Every day had a least one "guest lecture" on some aspect of Chinese life—which was always superior to comparables in the West. China's "advanced" technology was emphasized rather than the relics and outstanding achievements of Imperial China.

We slept every night in the same room, but all but two nights thankfully in different beds. The rooms were small—reserved by the hotels for guides with baths that typically were in the bedroom itself, rather than separated into a separate room. Chen's hygiene was fastidious, but he had no sense of modesty or privacy. He was casually nude in showering, sleeping and dressing. And I got not a moment to myself to relieve any sexual pressure. Even the shower was typically open to the bedroom. But, I survived the first cohort. The tips weren't bad. Then we flew back to Shanghai and prepared for our second group.

For the next two weeks, we repeated the itinerary with another group.

I think it's safe to say that I was nearly exploding with sexual tension by then. I even had a wet dream—something that had not happened to me in many years.

I had become accustomed to typical American space and privacy. I hit puberty at 14 (my junior year of high school) and continued to slowly develop the characteristics of a man for several years thereafter. I had experimented (mutual jerking) with a friend (male) late in high school. But nothing more. I was pretty much afraid of the opposite sex. And taunted by the other guys in the high school locker room because of my age, immaturity—and the size of my dick.

By college, even though I rarely dated, I was rubbing one out at least once each day. (Actually, that was a little white lie—I never dated and it was often more than once a day.) With the new China routine, I was as horny as I had ever been. And with no outlet on the horizon. I dared not try anything with Chen in the room. I had heard that the Chinese were notoriously puritanical.

We were becoming accustomed to each other. When together we were mostly silent and kept to ourselves. When with the group, I deferred to his seniority and explained later in confidence. We didn't lose any luggage—nor any tourists. And to the best of my knowledge no one wandered off—after all, unlike modern trips, this one had no "free time." But, on an interpersonal level, this was a desert. I decided I could survive ten weeks of this—for the educational value—and maybe the tips.

But, the easy stuff was about to end. During the third two-week section, one tourist pleaded fatigue and decided to remain at the hotel for the day in Nanjing, skipping a long trip into the countryside to "observe modern agricultural techniques in China." When we returned that night, we learned the man, a New Yorker, had decided to "explore a real Chinese city." He had wandered off, and by mid-day he had been arrested in a zone forbidden to Westerners, and was being held by the local Red Guard committee for "questioning." It took an entire day to spring him while his wife was in near hysteria. (The forbidden zone, by the way, was an electronics factory that was making small components for an American electronics powerhouse. But, apparently the working conditions were near-slavery. And China was not permitting Western inspection of its newest sources of foreign exchange.) He was furious. But, he was immediately deported—at his expense.

The next morning, when I woke, Chen was also gone.

I was told to hold the group at the hotel—which fortunately was located adjacent to a beautifully restored garden—until Chen's replacement arrived. They said that Chen had taken ill during the night. Who knows? So we had a long walk in the ancient garden. Then lunch at the hotel and a "break" for rest.

Around two that afternoon, there was a knock on the door to my room. I opened to find a man, about my age or perhaps three or four years older. He was tall by Chinese standards, but half a foot below me. He stared directly up into my eyes, smiled, bowed perfunctorily and introduced himself as Tang, Phillip Tang. He was dressed in Western casual clothes. He was to be the new Chen. I stood back, and Tang ("call me Phillip—but not Phil") entered with a small leather trimmed case. The case was new and obviously expensive, probably a good copy of an LV. He was as different from Chen as I could have imagined. He was handsome, open and obviously muscled. After introducing myself, I pointed to the empty bed, and he placed his suitcase on it. "If you'd like the other bed, I can switch. It doesn't matter to me."

"They look the same. This will be fine."

Then, he turned to me. Without any further pleasantries or introductions, he began, "So we have a half-day to make up for our guests. Let me show you how we will adjust the itinerary to accomplish all of this. Then, we'll go downstairs to dinner, and I'll introduce myself to the group. I already know that you have been instructed well—Chen is a good guide—but he made the mistake of accepting the promise of an American without taking precautions. I won't make the same mistake." Phillip's English was really quite good—and quickly establishing his authority. I guessed immediately that he was Red Guard or maybe of the Party (I had already guessed that the tour company was a front for one of them), and that this cohort of travelers was now all under suspicion. Presumably, I was too.

After he described the revisions, Tang turned to the bed, opened the case, and stripped. Then he turned, gave me a full on stare, as though challenging me, and moved to the shower--a small prefab cubicle with a translucent curtain open to the room. He looked nothing like what my prejudiced American preconceptions had expected. Dark hair and darker eyes, trimmed brows, thick lips. His skin was only slightly colored—not the slightest "yellow." His shoulders were wide. His chest was well-developed, and tapered to a slim waist with a prominent vee belt. Rippled abs were decorated with a thin happy trail. He had runner's thighs and the butt of one who had been to a gym—or perhaps a work detail that required repeated squats. Almost no body hair. No scars. The dick was about average (although I didn't have much Chinese experience to compare), arching over very large balls. I didn't stare—at least not for long. In short, he looked like an athletic, collegiate Chinese-American, an Asian hunk. I knew the group was going to take to him immediately. I did. He was definitely good looking, and at least superficially interesting and interested.

Phillip was really the first contemporary that I had met in China. And his immodesty together with his physical beauty was going to be a challenge. Fuck, I was chubbing already—and the thin khakis weren't going to provide any camouflage. Where did those feelings come from?

After his shower, he pulled back the flimsy curtain and stepped out, still nude and without even a towel. I couldn't tell whether he was teasing, tempting—or acting normally for a Chinese. He pulled out a brand new set of the official shirt and trousers, pulled into them—very form fitting, commando, I noted, and announced it was time to join our guests. He unselfconsciously reached inside and adjusted his dick to emphasize its presence. At that second, I realized he was a player. I needed to be very careful.

Later Phillip apologized to the group, explained the change in the itinerary, and had dinner with all of us. He was already charming some of the Americans, as he had me. He was every bit the "New China Man" that the Government wanted to project.

We finished the third tour without incident. Each day Tang followed the same routine—showering twice each day, displaying his nude body almost all the time in the room, occasionally chubbed (perhaps from stroking one off in the shower), speaking almost colloquial American (so my re-translations became almost superfluous), adhering to the new itinerary rigidly, and charming the guests (and me). My tips doubled with that cohort—for less work and less stress. (Unless you want to count the sexual tease that he presented regularly.)

But, I noted that he watched me closely when I stripped to shower. The first time, his eyes widened when I dropped the slacks to the floor and slipped out of the briefs. I had been a little uncomfortable in the small bus that day. So, I was a little chubbed, clearly not erect, but I was already much larger than he could ever manage. He was definitely interested—either for academic purposes—or perhaps for more. His eyes were glued to my cock. I was accustomed to such stares, but I was flattered nonetheless. And, I guess I was also attracted to him. He didn't say a word. But, his eyes certainly suggested that he was indeed quite interested. During the next couple of days he seemed to be perpetually naked in the room. And watched me whenever I was.

During that week, I think I matured several years. I still had had no experience. But, my body and my thoughts were definitely attracted to Phillip in a way that I had never felt before. I guess I didn't realize at the time that he was probably seducing me.

At the end of the tour after shepherding our guests to their international flight, we flew to Shanghai and had a free evening before our next group arrived. We checked right into the hotel (not the no-star hostel as Chen had required), and as we went to the room, Phillip asked if I'd like to visit a Chinese club that evening. "You probably won't find any other Americans, but it should nevertheless be interesting. I promise it's not off-limits, provided you stay with me and do what I tell you."

Real China! Yes! I was quickly tiring of the party-line tourism which was dry and full of statistics and re-interpreted historical facts. I desperately wanted to meet some Chinese in their natural environment. His comment about "not off limits" suggested that this club was probably risqué and suspect. "Of course, Phillip, I'd like to see the club. But, I don't have a lot of extra money. I've heard some of these places can be very pricey."