The usual disclaimers apply. Don't read it if is illegal where you are, rights are reserved, comments welcome, you know why you are here....
A Guy Named Joe
Amazon
I had the oddest feeling as I left the restaurant and crossed the crushed gravel of the small parking lot and drank in the rich earth smell of the city. It was diesel fumes and shit, I thought, and decay. Everything here in this big town on the river with the canals- klongs, they call them- would return to mold and earth if left alone.
And of course that included me. The feeling I had was one of tension in my loins. Had I misread Rick? He was an intense guy, personable to a fault, a hail fellow well-met. I had dinner with his mistress, the lovely Oy, whose transition from country boy to lady of the mansion was seemingly complete. He had been charming and gallant. But a little aloof. There was something about those eyes, so worldly and dark. And I was headed to an assignment with a katoy that could meet my desire.
How had Oy put it? It was delicious. I wanted a man being a women to make me, a man, feel like a woman? Shit, all I wanted to do was get a good fucking. I think that is just human, maybe the most human thing there is. I lit my chrome Zippo lighter and looked at the piece of paper that I had been handed.
The address was in the low numbers on Soi 6, perhaps a half mile from where I stood. I stood under the faint light above the gate of Rick's Number One and waved for a pedicab, careful to keep my hand down so as not to offend the Thai driver. Traffic was brisk in the middle-evening as partygoers ventured out into the cool of the night. A cab lurched over, the peddler wearing a skirt and plaid shirt tied gathered at the waist. He smiled at me with teeth stained with betel-juice.
He spat on the pavement as I told him the address and he stood on the pedals and we caroomed back into traffic. I looked around at the throng, western tourists returning for dinner, Thais going home or out to sample the nightlife, men attracted to the heady aroma of sex that hung in the air of corruption. Maybe that was what made this place so sensual, the heat and the sweat and smell of the buses and crap.
I was tense as we pulled up in front of a low block of apartments, dinner sitting heavy in my stomach. In the night I could only see that they had once been whitewashed, but there was the stain as they began the slow return to the earth.
I handed the driver five bhat for the trip and dismounted from the cab. There was a central doorway leading to a passage inked in darkness. The paper had said apartment 3 at this address. I checked my watch. I was a couple minutes early. I lit a cigarette and choked down the smoke, feeling the tension in my gut. I threw the butt down after a few drags.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I took a deep breath of the rich air and walked up three steps to the open portal and walked down the hallway, peering at number on the doors.
Number 3 was second on the right. I could barely make it out in the gloom. There was a faint orange flow around the bottom of the door. I swallowed and rapped softly on the door.
I could hear motion inside, and then the rattle of a chain on the other side of the door. The knob turned and the door opened to a candlelit room. I smelled the musky scent of incense, so rich as to be almost overwhelming. Before me was a woman who towered over me. Her face was framed in an afro that formed a perfect corona and her skin was a rich ebony, like oiled teak. Her ears were pierced with large silver hoops. Her brows were plucked to high accents and her eyelashes were enormous, drawing me into intense dark eyes, her lids colored a deep purple, and her lips were voluptuous and colored brilliant crimson.
"Hello, Rob," she said in a husky contralto. I could see her adams apple move behind a thick velvet choker as she spoke. "You are Rob, aren't you? Or did you forget the pizza?"
I smiled, frozen in the gaze of those dark eyes. "Yes, I'm Rob. Oy referred me^Å" I trailed off lamely. Was this a visit to the doctor's office? Panic began to rise and I looked down the towering frame to the tits that thrust at me agressive as torpedoes. They were gigantic, thrust up against the silk of a patterned blouse cut high so her mid-section was exposed. The muscles of her belly were defined, leading my eyes down to thin hips caught in a mini-skirt. Her legs went all the way to the ground, ending in platform shoes with a pronounced heel.
She might have been a little taller than me in bare feet, but with those shoes and that hair she towered above me by eight inches.
She smiled, though not in a kind way. A neutral smile, perhaps, a professional courtesy, one that indicated nothing. "Come in, Rob. Let's get to know one another. Perhaps we have something in common. Mother Oy thought we might."
By her smoky voice she was American, and African-American at that. I have always had a weakness for men- people- of color, and I was stunned. She took my hand and pulled me into the room, closing the door behind me.
"Thanks for the response. I get that sometimes. But can you talk?"
"Um, yes, yes of course I can. I just was not expecting^Å"
"A six-foot five inch nigger?"
"No! I didn't mean that. My first lover was a black man, please, don't take it that way," I stammered. Shit, that was the biggest event of my life and I am blurting it out in the first seconds. "Please."
She looked at me stoically and then there was a smile that actually held some warmth. "So you like black folks?"
I felt better, thinking of Alexander of the café au lait skin and thin imperious cock and passionate lips. "I love black folks," I breathed. "I love them."
"Fair enough. Would you care for a glass of wine? I'm drinking white."
"That would be wonderful." I think I exhaled for the first time since I knocked. She turned and walked toward a short hallway that held what looked like a kitchenette. The bathroom and the bedroom were probably beyond that, though the rest of the hall was cloaked in darkness. The whir of an old window-mounted air conditioner stirred the air and blew the rich cocktail of her scent and sandalwood in lazy coolness.
"Make yourself comfortable. Have a seat."
There were two couches pulled together in an L-shape around a low coffee table. A stick of incense burned there in a long narrow tray. There some silk prints on the wall depicting Thai dancers in the stylized costumes, cobra figures sprouting from their shoulders and erupting from the peaks of their hats. The Cobra was a powerful symbol here, one of strength and virility and danger. I walked over to the couch and sat down on one, on the edge, still ready to flee if I had to. I heard the opening of the refrigerator and the clink of bottle on glass.
She stepped around the corner, a wineglass in each hand. She walked toward me, extending one hand. Her nails were long and painted crimson to match her lips. I took the glass from her and brought it to my laps. She slipped by me, her navel at the level of my eyes, and delicately took a seat on the adjacent couch, so that the arms were between us. Her breasts were less threatening with them between us. She looked at me levelly.
"Relax, White Bread. What you see is what you get. Maybe."
"All right. I'll try. This is not what I expected. I thought you would be Asian."
"Reasonable enough, I suppose. And in a way I am. I am going to be a woman in Asia, or at least the kind I can be here and I can't be at home." She arched her back, and her magnificent bosom strained at the material of her blouse. "I got these here. They are brand new. Cost a fraction of what they would have cost back in LA. What do you think?"
I took a sip of wine, hypnotized by the jutting mass of her chest. "Why, they are very impressive. Lovely, I mean." I tried to be polite about them, but they frankly freaked me out. When they pointed at me I felt like I was being illuminated by twin searchlights.
"They are nice work, if I must say so," she said expansively. "But listen, White Bread, why don't you drink your wine and we can have a bowl or two and see if we can loosen up."
She rose and walked to a reel-to-reel tape recorder on a console against the wall. She flicked a switch and the tape began to roll. Miles Davis, cool and cerebral passion flooded the room. She took a small box from a shelf and returned to her seat. She looked at me and I felt like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a cobra.
She slid the top of the box off and set it down on the coffee table. She fished around in the box and brought out a bamboo stick with brown materials wrapped in a bundle at the top. "Thai stick," she said. "The very best." She bent forward and removed the strand of wrapping from the bundle and gently crumbled the dark marijuana from the stick onto the lid of the box, careful to keep it all in a neat pile.
Then she removed a little brass pipe with a wide flat bowl. She took a pinch of marijuana and placed it in the bowl. She produced a wooden match and struck it artfully one-handed and raised the pipe to those enormous crimson lips. She carefully applied the flame and drew the smoke deep into her lungs. She held it there, gazing at me, and then exhaled slowly, the smoke hanging between us. The smell of the dope and the incense and her were overwhelming. I breathed in what had been in her as she took another pinch and placed it in the pipe and extended it to me.
I put my glass on the table and took the pipe. I had not smoked dope since I had been in Bangkok, part of a small effort to clean up my act. But I put it to my lips and as she waved another match across it I sucked the smoke to the bottom of my lungs. It was rich beyond belief. When I was full I held my breath and I swear I could feel the rush as swiftly as my blood rushed through my lungs. I could feel my heart beating, suddenly huge and heavy in my chest. Miles wailed in the background. I gazed into those chocolate eyes, losing myself in their depths.
"My name was Cleatus, but I am known as Cherie here. You can call me Amazon."
"All right," I said. "Amazon it is." We had another few bowls and finished the wine as she told me her tale.
She grew up in Watts, a tall skinny kid. Good at sports but not that good. The riots had put everything on hold, Black revolution in the streets, the 68 Olympic Games indelible in his mind. He had not been a star at the playground. As the other boys cocks were stirring for the girls who blossomed, he found that his cock was stirring for his buddies. It was awkward, he said, being Black and Gay.
He had to maintain an air of machismo, and find the others of our kind for the furtive grope in the alley, always afraid of being caught. By the cops or by the neighborhood hard guys.
He had done a hitch in the army, enlisting with his mother's permission at 17 as a way to get out of Watts and the situation in general. Even the prospect of Vietnam did not dissuade him.
Enlistments were only two years in those days, he said. I watched his throat, fascinated, as the structure moved behind the velvet choker. I let his words carry me along. He had been lucky. The need for troops in Vietnam was fading in 1970, and he wound up in Germany in a transport unit. His exposure to the barracks and to Europe showed him many new things, and there in the military, there are a lot of boys who if are not homosexual, are Gay for the Stay.
He saw an ad for a drag review when his unit rotated through the isolated garrison in Berlin, and he went, and he said that it electrified him.
He went around to the stage door when it was over, desperate to meet these men who appeared as women. When they emerged, suddenly normal men in fey street clothes, they saw him. Exotic and filled with longing. Barely legal, even there. And they took him under their wings.
He went back to Berlin on pass and they indoctrinated him to the drag world, and he was free to be gay when he was with them, partying in the clubs on the Ku-damm.
By the time his tour was up, he had made some decisions. He would be released from service right there, and then he was going to take his last paycheck and head for Bangkok and get the tits he knew he needed and could not afford in Europe. Then he would return to the cabarets of Germany and be the Queen.
Queen of the Amazons.
I was mesmerized. She did not ask me my story. I imagine it was written on my face. She got us more wine, and I watched her sashay by, swinging her thin hips enticingly. Her shoulders were strong and the veins stood out on her ebony arms. She brought the wine back and placed my glass in front of me.
"So, watcha think, White Bread? How do you like me so far?"
"I think you are the most fascinating person I have ever met," I said softly.
"Well, that is a start. I think I might keep you for a while. I like to fuck white ass. Like those kinky Germans. That is the other part. I amazed them."
She reached between those massive breasts and unbuttoned her blouse, shrugging it off. Her brassiere was black satin and strained to hold in the monters. She reached behind her and unclasped the bra, leaning forward in a most feminine manner to shrug it off. When she stood erect, her shoulders back the breasts stood out hard and jutting. They seemed to have no relationship to the rest of her body, which was slim and well muscled.
Amazon undid a button on the side of the mini and unzipped it, stepping out. Her panties featured a reinforced panel on the front. It must be to keep her cock pressed against her body. "I always like getting out of this thing," she said. "Hard to go to the bathroom and stay lady-like. I gotta take a leak. Have your clothes off when I get back." She walked away in her platform shoes and I heard the door open back in the hall.
She was matter of fact and completely in charge. I stood and unbuttoned my shirt. I placed it on the couch, someplace, I am not sure where, and shucked off my shoes and slacks and underwear. She would be even taller when I was in my bare feet, funny what you think of at times like this.
I stood there, naked, waiting. I heard the creak of the door and then her footsteps returning. She rounded the corner and came into the light. Her breasts pointed at me. Her lips were freshly crimsoned. The muscles on her lean belly formed a six-pack that vee-ed down to those slim hips and high bubble buttocks. And now, free from its prison, hung her cock. My eyes bulged. Even limp it was at least eight inches long, and uncut. It was darker even than his rich skin. He stopped and cocked his hips at me.
"Come here, White Bread. Worship the Queen."
I couldn't help myself. "Yes, Ma'am," I said. I walked to her. As I got close she reached out and grasped my shoulders, pushing me down. Her feet were akimbo, and on my knees I was between the platform shoes. I had to look up at the magnificent cock, and I looked at her ballsack, long and deeply tectured, public hair trimmed and curly.
Him, I thought. Oh, yes, Him.
I reached up and gently took his ballsack in my palm and opened my mouth. I extended my tongue and breathed in the musky smell that had been trapped in his panties. The dope was in my head. I licked the tip of his cock, teasing a drop of urine from it. I licked him softly but insistently, and I could feel him respond, beginning to swell. I had to arch my back as it rose before me like a thick snake. He was going to be ten inches of manhood if he was an inch, and I took as much of him into my throat as I could. Gentle, I thought, if he wants to use me differently he will tell me. I gently caressed his balls, feeling them glide beneath the texture of his sack. I could only get half of him down my throat and I licked the underside of that magnificent tool.
It was richly veined, carved almost. It was the most powerful beautiful cock I had ever seen, bigger, more insistent, the most male thing in the world. I looked up from my man-meal and saw his lips and his wild halo of black hair framed by those rigid breasts with the angry nipples.
With my other hand I grasped the rest of the mighty shaft, a full span of my hand. I smoothly began to jerk him with my right hand as I sucked the tip of his cock, tonguing his piss-slit of the slimy pre-cum and continuing to caress his balls.
"Oooh, that is not bad, White Bread. You got some potential as a cock-sucker, you do."
I redoubled the motion of my tongue and increased the tempo of my caress and rhythmic motion on the base of his shaft. He started to fuck my face, thrusting more of himself into me. "You go, boy, you suck Amazon's fat black clit! Oooh^Å"
I was so hard that my erect cock was slamming my belly. I wanted to cum so badly but I could not release my hold of him. I could sense he was nearing his climax and I held him on my lips so I could taste him when he came. His hips bucked toward me and my hands felt his balls contract upward toward his body and the first surge of his rich cum on its way to my mouth and tongue and greedy gullet. He erupted into me, and I imprisoned the huge mushroom tip of his cock at the front of my mouth so I could milk him of every last drop.
When his major spurts were over, I took him again, sucking the aftershocks, hungry for more of his hot manhood. My lips were slick with his seed and my belly was filled with his hot jism.
It was hot and slimy and wonderful. He came in massive waves, five good shots that almost pushed me back off him, I swallowed, submitting to his manhood, triumphant in my service to him. I was almost choking, the taste salty and acrid in the submission and victory.
I did not take his dick out of my mouth. I waited attentively and kept up a gentle manipulation of him. I could wait until he told me he was done with me.
"White Bread," he sighed. "I'm glad you took the first one in your mouth. The next one is going to take longer, and I am going to fuck your white ass within an inch of your life."
I nodded, the tip of his cock still within me. I could feel him stir again. This was liable to be an all-nighter, I thought.
Next: Fucked by the Queen