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This is a completed five-chapter GM novella that will complete posting by mid-July 2019.
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I now understand that my subconscious was miles ahead of my "surface" brain on knowing what I wanted. Male models apparently are as justly characterized as thick brained as female models are reputed to be. I suppose I was more narcissistic in my youth and early adulthood, though, assuming that love came from the mirror and that sensuality was merely a fake technique applied to TV commercials to sell products.
I suppose that I had been desired for my looks and hit upon by men into my twenties, but I had been too taken with myself to notice. There had been gropes in public urinals, to be sure, and as they increased in frequency, they did increasingly set themselves in my subconscious as something to wonder about and to think upon. I was flattered, but I didn't think they said anything about me if I just walked away from such propositions. But I clearly separated them from real life—which to me were straight, white teeth, a firm body, and a good job, wife, and family to propel me into the comfortable life.
So, when my spiral started for real, down into the world of realized desire, and all of that subconscious thinking about it was being drawn to the surface, there was no blame to cast—other than on my own self-indulgent fighting of any thoughts of what really aroused me in any significant way.
I'd seen the Indian doctor (if he really was a doctor—but, of course, as I later found out, he was) work the young men on the gym floor and in the shower room. There was no reason my surface brain wouldn't know he was a sexual predator—or what his chosen prey was. In the end, I'm really glad it happened, though. Well, glad on one level. Finding man-on-man sex was freeing for me.
And I must say when I saw him working on other young men in the gym, I wanted him to work on me too. I didn't want to have the feeling that he wanted them and not me. I was the professionally groomed male model. I wanted to soak up the attention of other men in the gym. I just assumed that when and if he did, I could just walk away from it as I did when men reached out to touch me at the urinals in a public bathroom.
The Indian was a magician really—and I was the world's most naive dummy. The first encounter happened without me having a clue about what had happened even when it was over. I was a few years older than those the Indian doctor was targeting at the gym—and he was a good twenty years older than I was. He touched me in the sauna—just lightly on the thigh that first time, but then again, a little more firmly and bravely when I didn't roll off the sauna shelf and walk away—and when it continued and became progressively more intimate without me shirking it, thinking that that was just how Indians were—touchy feely; we seemed to be having a reasonable conversation—my cock burbled out juice without warning and certainly without my really realizing we were having any form of sex.
He had a mesmerizing singsong voice, and I got horny without the usual arousal mechanisms—no warning really. He was doing this monologue about being circumcised or not in those doctor words of his, as if we were having an academic discussion or a medical consultation—which I thought came from some possible anomaly he had seen in my anatomy that I should have checked out with my own doctor. I have no idea how he knew suggesting a possible flaw in my body was the most direct route to my attention.
That's how you get the attention of a narcissist. Ask him about a pimple you see on his nose. He'll drop everything and run for the mirror.
He had his long, thin fingers on my cock head, seemingly examining around the base of the glans to advise me on whether it had been a good cutting job or not—something I hadn't even thought of ever, truth be known—without me realizing or appreciating what he really was doing. I was being a real dope.
After that, which was one of my earliest visits to that gym, I observed him seduce young men on the gym floor, bringing them into the sauna, and as discreetly as possible, lapping them in a dark corner of the mist-filled chamber. He would fuck them—and then move on to the next conquest. Like others, I would sit and pretend it wasn't happening—watch with curiosity while making like I wasn't watching. This was Bangkok. Most the gyms permitted open sex. I'd known that soon after signing up with this one. It didn't bother me; it titillated me, which I should have taken as a sign right there that I was become ripe for approaches by men.
For most the Indian doctor seduced it was just a one-time game. For me, though, he seemed to have other, more elaborate, plans. But that thought eluded me until years later. Why did he fuck and discard others in the sauna but lure me into his web for extensive training and debauching? Perhaps it was that I had so much farther to travel in the road to sexual depravity. I started, despite my age, a pure innocent. That was quite a rarity, I'm sure, in Bangkok at that time.
Anyway, that first time I was so surprised at his fingering, doctor giving free medical advice, of my sensitive cock bulb that I shot right off. I was greatly embarrassed, thinking I had probably misjudged his intent and now he'd think I was queer. I left the sauna in a highly confused state, with him clucking behind me, "It's quite all right. Very normal. Don't feel embarrassed." For his part, he probably just thought I was performing a hard-to-get mating dance. I hadn't clocked him when he got hold of my cock. I'd just sat there and stared dumbly. And I apologized, embarrassed, at my body's reaction to his touch. I was the sort who tried to see things coming and who strategized my possible responses; this had come out of the blue. Regardless, his reassurances helped put me off my guard.
I stewed about the encounter for a week, all of the repressed feelings of sexuality and how I fit into that surfacing and plaguing my thoughts: what had really happened; how I really should have responded. Strangely, I thought more about the doctor in the sauna being an Indian than I did of him being male. My model background and the resultant worship of my own body and, in comparison, the forms of other men had robbed me of the usual stigma of men admiring other men that society ingrained in other, "normal" people. It was natural, people, including men, would admire my body and say so. I was a model.
So, the Indian aspect of him overpowered the male aspect in my assessing. And although I didn't think I was attracted to Indians—in fact, I found them obsequious and off-putting devious at work—this one was quite handsome and distinguished and sensual looking. And he was so self-confident. I was so dumb that even seeing him with a young man in his lap, fucking him, didn't mitigate my regard for him as a doctor. My instinct when I first saw him was to frame him in a TV commercial appropriate for the aura about him—which, yes, was as a calm, knowledgeable, distinguished doctor or professor.
The next time we were in the sauna alone, I more or less set myself up for the pass, thinking he probably wouldn't even make one—that it had been my imagination that he'd made one in the first place—and I could put my confusion to rest—that I could be assured that the first encounter had, as he indicated, been merely a medical discussion.
Having no intention of anything happening at all, although we exchanged a few glances on the gym floor, when I entered the sauna, I stretched out on my back, towel loosely wrapped around my waist and stretching down to my knees. I told myself he wouldn't even come into the sauna. I'd left him doing stretches on the gym floor and chatting up a young, blond German. But he did come to the sauna shortly after I went in. He came in and sat on the bench below where I was stretched and beyond my feet. In somewhat of a trembling condition, I spread my thighs and bent my legs, raising my feet to set flat on the planks of the sauna shelf. Doing so spread my towel open so that from where he was sitting, he could see up under my towel and check out the goods—if he wanted to. I held my breath, half willing him not to want to so that I could put my confusion to a rest.
I discovered by his almost immediate reaction that he obviously wanted to and liked what he saw.
