The Fiery Dragon

The Fiery Dragon Ch 06

David's experiences change after Phillip leaves

This is a chapter in a longer story set initially in China, about fifty years ago, at the beginning of the first interactions among Americans and Chinese on their territory. It had moved to Vienna and then to Washington as David matured. David is now "safely" back in Washington. All characters are over 18. © Brunosden, All Rights Reserved.

David Lee and Phillip Tang met almost ten years ago. In Shanghai when David, a graduate student at Chicago, had taken a summer to use his Chinese language skills assisting as a guide-translator in the fledgling tourist industry in China. Phillip had been his "boss." They had also begun a relationship which lasted for several months. In what appeared to be a coincidence at the time, Phillip had "followed" David to Chicago where Phillip was assigned to the PRC consulate. It all ended abruptly with Phillip's disappearance after he realized that he was being "set up" by the Party to "cultivate" a relationship with David. The Party, with a long view and patient as ever, assumed that David's budding star status in the field of nuclear engineering might be of value to the PRC sometime in the future. They wanted a loyal party member to be one of his friends, perhaps his closest. Phillip rebelled at the prospect and within a few weeks was back in China.

Years went by. Phillip married and fathered two sons. In the Foreign Ministry, given his family history, he moved quickly up the ranks. These years were the post-Cultural Revolution years, and China was opening, becoming Westernized and apparently moving into the international arena of major influential nations. And Phillip was "present at the creation" so to speak, an influence for change.

David, as had been predicted, became a star and after receiving his PhD, he had gone to work for the US Department of Defense, specializing in nuclear propulsion of naval vessels.

David did not begin a serious relationship with anyone else. But, he did begin to take his physical appearance seriously. He worked out every day, adding muscle to his six foot four frame. He ran up to 50 miles every week. He traded his black-rimmed nerd glasses for contacts--although he kept them in order to maintain the Clark Kent look from time to time. His face lost the roundedness of youth and squared off. He found a terrific Korean barber in Washington who styled his hair to movie star quality, and in a private studio at the back of the shop, performed grooming services for his best customers. He even developed the affectation of his look-alike, Christopher Reeves, then the embodiment of Superman: he curled one dark lock over his forehead.

He began to dress the part of a successful young entrepreneur--rather than an aging school boy nerd. Fitted shirts, tailored suits, tight branded casual/athletic wear. In short, he began to culture the Clark Kent look (i.e., the tall, muscular, square jawed Christopher Reeves.) All of that earned him many dates with attractive young ladies, mostly one- timers; and many propositions from guys in the gym locker room--especially given his very generous endowment. He could have been easily taken for a bi-sexual playboy--were it not for the fact they he was quickly moving into leadership in the defense field where his intellect was respected and rewarded every day. By day he was a nerd in a suit; by night after a gym pump, he was a playboy--usually a hunky top, mostly nude, prized for the size of his cock, hooded, but absolutely NOT caped. And secretly closeted like his idol, Clark Kent.

David and Phillip met again, after about eight years in Vienna when both were serving as second-in-command of delegations to talks related to the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty.

It looked like their torrid affair was going to be rekindled when Phillip invited David to his apartment. The old flames still burned hot and bright. Phillip was addicted to David's "fiery dragon"--the biggest monster that he'd ever encountered. But, they were wary. Both now had achieved status and intellectual value to their respective countries. So, this time, after a long session of incredible sex and a short pillow talk, David decided to leave. He no longer trusted that Phillip was really that interested in him for himself. Phillip and David both had second thoughts that summer in Vienna--and each was at the edge of calling on several occasions.

Then, tragedy struck Phillip and China in the Tiananmen Square Massacre in 1989. Phillip's wife and oldest son were missing, presumably dead. Phillip had had enough China. He disappeared from Vienna--and David's life--once again. The incident was the harbinger of another period of China shutting down or being shut down by the world.

The story continues in David's voice...

Without the presence of a delegation from China, the talks in Vienna went into recess by the end of the summer of 1989. I returned to Washington where I was named bureau chief of a new project to create an even "quieter" nuclear fleet, one that could be away from port for years at a time without refueling if necessary. And my life in Washington picked up where I had left off. Half the time I was at DoD doing paperwork, keeping our project front and center before the brass, explaining--and explaining and explaining. For the other half, I was heading the team of real scientists using the tanks at David Taylor in Maryland where the Navy did all of its propulsion testing. We were making incredible progress.

I bought a condo in Foggy Bottom, preferring the District's vibe to Virginia's, where there were lots of young on the make, but where gay tolerance was still pretty low. I re-activated my membership at Gold's Gym--where serious body work co-existed with serious cruising (it was the gym closest to George Washington University), and started to date again. Although when I did, I often pictured Phillip under me. He was my first, and in many ways my best.

It didn't take long before I spotted Diego Vargas, a GW physician and Gold's member that I had hooked with a few times before leaving for Vienna. We were both dressed and about to leave. I guess I hadn't been very observant or I might have caught him working out, in the showers or the locker room. He looked really bulked up and really hot.

"It's been a long time, David. I thought maybe you had been transferred. Good to have you back. You're lookin' good. Real good. What, have you put on another dime of muscle mass? Fuck, you look more and more like Superman every day. I bet you've even got a red cape now. Let's have a drink together sometime."

"Hey, Di. Been to Vienna--Austria, not Virginia--on a TDY. Negotiations are all sitting on your ass work. But, my apartment-hotel had a gym, and since I don't party, I had two or three hours a day to work out."

"It shows man. You're really buff. Are you ashamed to be seen with me? Doctor's hours don't permit that kind of gym time. So I'm a little flabby. Getting to look more like a Daddy every day."

Despite the fact that he was obviously in shape, really good shape, he was never satisfied. Always putting himself down. He was about 32, I'd guess, and a real catch.

"Doesn't look that way to me. You're cut, man. The fuzz on your jaw and cheeks looks pretty rad also. Nice contrast. I guess you've got a regular barber now. You're quite a handsome bastard--if you like the Latino look. I bet the nurses love it."

He smiled at the compliment, but didn't continue the repartee. We both knew we were both gay.

"So how about Friday? You remember? My place is between here and GW--only a block or so. In Foggy Bottom. Then he made a lame joke about bottoms. Say, eight after a workout? I don't work Saturdays. So I won't run out on you this time."

"You're on, Diego. Good to see you again."

"Good to be seen by you, Superman!"

He remembered the banter that we had tried months before. And Di did look really good. Nicest bubble in the gym. He must do thousands of squats every week. I looked forward to our date. Diego was a cardio-thoracic surgeon. So he often worked early mornings--unless called in for an emergency and tended to be at Gold's in the evening. He was obviously Latino, just about six foot, black wavy hair, dark skin, wide-square jaw, complimented by a nice stubble. He had some dark body hair, mostly on his pecs. He was cut, but his best features were the bulging bis and tris. He really filled the shirt sleeves. And, and the uncut eight incher and kiwi sized balls filled the cup of his trunks. I guessed he was still grooming the dark curly pubes that crowned the precious jewels.

I knew he was a bottom, despite the physical, very macho look. He had asked me out during my first week at Gold's. I wasn't sure it was a date--or that he was gay. But I liked him and had nothing better to do. We had gone to a bar, but the conversation soon convinced us that we were kindred spirits. We moved to his townhouse.

I had done the honors in his bed. His surgeon's fingers and large hand had massaged me to the brink. He was probably the best edger I'd ever met in my life. Then he had taken all the inches when he was in the saddle, and he had the best anal massage technique that I could ever imagine. He could edge me with his anus! And he repeatedly stalled my orgasm until I blasted a quart up inside. So much that it dripped back out onto my crotch, soaking my pubes with my own cum.

He dropped off and pulled up the duvet, clearly expecting that I would spend the night. I did, and later that night, I realized he had pulled me into a hard spoon. At first I recoiled, but then settled in and began to enjoy being held, warm and tight against a muscled, lightly furred chest.

He was gone before six the next morning before I awoke. He had left a note that he had a six o'clock surgery scheduled. He invited me to shower. And he had sketched an erect dick at the bottom of the note with a ruler next to it and the note, "Fuck, a foot long hot dog. My favorite ball park frank! Encore! What's his name? Next week?"

We had a couple more dates before I had left for Vienna. There were some real possibilities there. He was strong, physical, loved to be fucked--and he was pretty quiet, like me. He was up on world affairs, but not terribly opinionated or nosy. Perhaps it had something to do with his immigration and recent citizenship. He was being careful. A real man's man--for a man.

I worked out Friday after work, showered and headed over to Diego's place just before eight. I was pumped and looking good. And I knew it. I had thrown on a tight polo and dark black tight jeans. He was waiting at the door, dressed in boxer briefs and a tee that stretched precariously over his chest and bulged at the upper arms. I guessed immediately that we were going to pick up where we had left off. That was okay with me. It is exactly what I had in mind--and Davie was even more anxious than I.

I followed him to the kitchen where he opened the fridge and handed me a Coors. We clinked cans, and he pointed to the leather couch. I looked around. The place was sparsely furnished with modern stuff, very clean, and devoid of anything personal--like family photos. For the next few minutes, we traded some recent personal history, but I could tell from the knit briefs that he was ready for some action. Serious conversation was for later. We both wanted some immediate gratification. I stood. "I'm going to get comfortable." I removed the slacks, button up, Nike's and sox, and threw them on a chair. I was commando, and my fiery dragon was unfurling his wings.

Diego theatrically used his tongue to wet his lips and remarked. "Definitely Superman." He stood, crushed me into his chest and our lips met. We made out, standing for maybe five minutes as hands stroked. He was already rock hard and my man of steel was already almost there. I reached around and grasped his butt cheeks. They were large, but filled with hard muscles and had very nice deep hip dimples--the kind I liked to grip when I topped.

We released for a few seconds and he pulled off his tee and his trunks. He fell back onto the sofa and, using his incredible strength, pulled me into his lap. His hands were immediately stroking my cock. His surgeon's hands were soft, but really strong. The fingers were disciplined, long and strong as well. He was absolutely the genius at stroking--and I knew from before, that he was as talented as playing a rim or a nut with a finger fuck. After only a few minutes of hand work, he paused. "Oh, fuck. I really love this big guy. Let's take him to my room so we can give him some room to play." We got up from the sofa, and he led the way upstairs, swaying his butt before my watering lips.

Of course, he had a king. He pulled down the duvet, stripped and spread out on his back. In this position, I got a good look at his towering dick and groomed pubes. He was fucking magnificent. There was very little fat to obscure the deep cuts and a light short fur covered the pecs. I followed and covered him, using fingers to pinch his nipples and lips to bathe and nip at his throat. My legs vee-d and then tightened to hold him under me as our cocks played tag. Di began to move, squirming under my onslaught, using his giant strong hands to massage my cheeks, fingers stroking the cleft and circling the rim. We wrestled for a few minutes, quite evenly matched. It felt so good to be tangled up with a strong guy who could give as well as take.

Then, as if a light switch had been hit, he froze, pushed me off and assumed the submissive position with head and elbows on the mattress, ass lofted in invitation. "I need you now, David. Inside. Now please." He picked up his head and motioned with it to the lube and magnums on the bedside table. I reached for both, lubed him and me, wrapped and lubed again. Fingers worked him for a few minutes, then a rolled tongue and fingers again. "I'm ready, Clark. Put that monster in."

I was getting used to the "Clark." But, his use of the word "monster" rather than "dragon" made me pause for a minute. But, I snapped back into the present. I molded my chest to his back and slipped Davie up and down his cleft before aiming at his quivering entrance. I touched, applied pressure, and the head popped in. Di was obviously a seasoned cock-slut. He felt little pain and was not the slightest reticent or slow. Given my size, he was still tight enough however. So I pushed again, seating the first three inches, stopping on his swollen, hard love nut. He whistled, "Yes. Right there. Do it Superman." I punched it a few times. Then I continued on deep into the chute, crowding the nut as I did so. Suddenly, he thrust his ass back into my gut and I bottomed. He hissed and froze. "Fuck, you're the best, David. The absolute best--and biggest I've ever taken. I can't get enough of your monster dick."

"Let me clue you in on an in-joke. His name is Davie, and I call him my fiery dragon."

"How very fuckin' inscrutably Chinese of you!"

I laughed at his allusion. But, it didn't distract me.

I started to pump, using powerful thighs to thrust up and in, ripping up his welcoming ass, as he moaned for more, deeper, faster, harder. After several minutes of this really athletic sex, I could feel he was loosening up enough for a really hard fuck. I reached under and fisted his shaft while cupping his balls with the other hand. I could feel the heat and the turmoil. His little guys were getting ready to take off. He was an incredibly sexual animal. He tightened his anal muscles to massage my cock and milk it. His skin was glistening with musk-scented sweat. His nose was flaring. His eyes were rolling. His hair was drooping over his forehead. He was whispering directions, using every sexy four letter word not in the dictionary. He was pouring out pre-cum which I used to massage the glans. It was too sensitive. He repeatedly backed off to get relief from the intensity of the finger pressure on his head, but doing so seated him hard into my crotch--and nested me at the very edge of his bottom. I drew back and plunged hard, several times. He uncharacteristically yelled at each downstroke. Then when he backed in again with particular strength, I slipped through the inner ring, felt the gush of new lube, latched my lips onto his throat, and started to spasm.

He felt it too. "Oh, fuck. You've done it again. You are so fucking big--and long." He squeezed me tight inside. And then I felt his gut draw in tight and the autonomic thrusts of his shaft in my hand. His spunk was rising, hot and full. The veins and tube popped. The head expanded in my fist. And then he blasted--as I did too. Three, four huge explosions of cum. Then, I released his balls, but held the shaft, and fell into him, forcing him to the bed under me. It felt incredible to have such a muscled he-man under me, full of me, and under my control. I'm pretty sure that is as good as it gets--even for a gay Superman. My lips went to his ear lobes. I nipped. Then to his nape, just below the collar, and I left a mark. Super-man was here!

Later we ordered a pizza--my one carb indulgence for the week--and caught up on our recent experiences. He was curious about Vienna, but understood that most of the substantive stuff was off-limits for discussion. I didn't mention Phillip. That was a closed chapter in my life. It was so comfortable, that when he asked me to spend the night, I agreed. That meant I'd have at least two more shots at his magnificent and talented Latino ass, one later that night and another Saturday morning. He didn't disappoint me. Fuck, he was hot. We parted mid-morning, and I went home to change for my longest run of the week. During the run, I realized that I hadn't had a single thought about Phillip for an entire day.

Over the next several months, we worked it into a semi-routine. He spent Fridays at my place, or I went to his. One night we talked about our sex lives and realized that we had been exclusive for a long time, including most of the time I had been in Vienna. So we tested, and he let me go bare. At the time in DC, when AIDS was at its peak, that was a major commitment and concession. We trusted each other completely. It was also a silent commitment to exclusivity--and possibly much more.

Twice I talked him into topping me. Despite my size, I was resolutely vers, and loved having my nut tapped by a muscular guy's cock from time to time. He was big, and his cock was a work of art--long, straight, and medium thick, translucent enough to showcase the dark purple veins and with a peach shaped head that turned dark when his hood pulled back with arousal. I wanted to feel him inside. I wanted that peach to punch my love nut and bring me to orgasm. But, it was a failure both times. When he topped, he had a hair trigger and popped the first time before he even penetrated and the second time, almost immediately after entry. He apologized each time and moved immediately into position so that Davie could complete his mission.

The second time, I had sucked him off to relieve the "tension" before he tried to enter. He was really big, and I had trouble getting him in my mouth. But, with the head inside, being tongued, and a hand on the base, he deposited a tasty load. And a few minutes later, he tried again to top--with the same result. He shot his load within seconds of moving through the ring. So another aspect of our relationship was sealed: I was the top. And he was very satisfied to be the power bottom. Although he did agree to let me research creams that might reduce his sensitivity, he made it clear that he was perfectly happy to be bottom. It didn't make any difference to him in our relationship.

Over the months, I learned a lot about him. His folks were Castro refugees. He had spent his early years in a Miami barrio. His Dad had been a surgeon in Cuba, but had to redo everything in the US and settled on being a Physician's Assistant--which didn't require med boards in English. Diego had been raised an American and had been toughened by the barrio. He had found his way to a Jesuit prep school in North Miami and UF. Then it was med school, and a residency in New York at Einstein. A few post-grad fellowships landed him at GW in the thoracic surgery department where he quickly proved his worth and where he was now co-head of the surgical department.