A Walk on the Wild Side Read online

  Now Gina could do something useful. She tore open the packet and rolled the condom onto his cock. Squirting lube into her palm, she spread it over him and returned the tube.

  Teera lay still on the bed, hiding his face. In the soft bedside lights, she watched Greg climb over him, hungry and ready. The two male bodies, firm and rounded, moved in their shadows, changing, hiding, showing, creating an erotic tableau that held her mesmerised.

  Greg held himself over the boy, guiding his cock to complete the connection between them. He pressed down, and Teera whimpered. For long seconds, Greg waited, tense and patient. Teera whimpered again, and allowed him in. Pulling back and pressing, pulling and pressing, Greg worked his way downwards until at last his lay on Teera’s back. He sighed and began a long, slow retreat until Gina guessed he was almost free. His next downward thrust was confident and continuous, burying himself in the boy. Again Teera whimpered, but Greg was not listening. He began to move regularly, inevitably, working towards his climax.

  Gina stared and wondered at his power. She reached out to lay a hand on his back, sliding it down to feel the great muscles driving him in and out.

  Greg sighed. “Oh yes!” She wanted to do more. Reaching down between his thighs, she found his tight, furry purse and clasped it. As he moved she was pulling at it, feeling the balls within.

  The effect on Greg was electric. “Oh God,” he hissed, “Don’t stop, don’t stop...”, and it was happening. He buried himself as deeply as he could and, every muscle tensed, arched his shoulders back. A heart stopping instant, and his climax began, and Gina shared in it, his roots pulsing under her touch.

  When she filed onto the airport bus next morning, the seat next to Greg was empty. He smiled shyly as she sat down.

  “Sleep well?” he asked.

  “No, I did not!” Changing to a whisper, she said, “I kept waking up and remembering.”

  The bus started its engine and the noise made it easier to talk. Gina said, “I wonder how Teera is.”

  “Probably OK,” said Greg. “He was walking quite normally when he left.”

  “How long did he stay?”

  “Oh, he left soon after you. Had a quick shower, collected his cash and went. Were you OK? Not upset?”

  “Um - no. Confused, maybe. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

  “And I’ve never let anyone watch like that, but it was fun, wasn’t it?”

  “I guess so. An evening to remember.”

  “Definitely, and thank you very much.”

  “I keep thinking about Teera - what’s he thinking this morning?”

  Greg sat quietly for a moment. “You know, I don’t think he’s gay. He certainly doesn’t have much experience. He didn’t know how to do it.

  “I guess it’s always the same. Men are trying to buy an evening’s illusion, a pretend love affair that is hot and sexy, but one they can walk away from without regrets. It would take a pretty smart prostitute to give you that, boy or woman. Most of them don’t even try. You saw how he was sucking away, trying to get me to come as quickly as possible? He just wanted to grab his money and run.

  “He almost managed it, too. I was all ready to blow, especially with you there. That made it super hot. I owe you a trip to the theatre, at least, if your reputation can stand my company.”

  “Do you do that sort of thing in Adelaide? I mean, are there places you can go?”

  “Not really. There are gay bars, of course, but they’re just for meeting and having a drink. There’s a couple of saunas that can be fun. In some ways, more fun than Bangkok because the men there are just looking for sex, not money. I’ll take you along if you like. Just kidding.”

  “Mmh - the theatre’s been pretty boring recently. I’ll think about it.”

  An Afternoon at Pretty Pool

  Jason parked at Pretty Pool and set off along the beach. The afternoon sun beat down on his shoulders, and the Indian Oceanmoved listlessly beside him. He hated Port Hedland – as did everyone – but it paid well. People worked day and night, hard work, long hours and saved their money. The more successful you were, the earlier you could leave and get a life down South. Get away from this brutal, dry climate and go to a town with normal people, shops, cinemas, entertainment. Here he could get a pizza at Bruno’s, or check the bored dancers at the Pier Hotel, or go to bed with a good book. And that was it.

  A kilometre along the sand he came to his favourite sign, an attempt by the town council to avoid embarrassment. It said ‘Clothing Optional Beyond This Point’. As far as Jason was concerned it was the best place in town. He paused to strip off and put his clothes in his bag. He continued along the beach wearing only his hat, to protect his head from the scorching sun, and thongs to protect his feet from the scorching sand. He cheered up in anticipation, and started to look for signs of action.

  The beach was low and plain, like most of the hundreds of kilometres of shoreline in this part of Western Australia. A narrow strip of sand backed by low dunes, without a tree in sight. It looked quiet today. One couple in the distance, and he decided to take a look.

  Nothing there. When he reached them, he found a man and woman watching him defensively. The woman was topless, but the man was nude. His cock was circumcised, stubby and overwhelmed by untidy hair. Jason nodded to them and continued, scanning the dunes as he went.

  He was getting near to the end of the beach, too far away, and he walked back past the couple looking for a suitable place to lie. He picked a high dune and set up his beach umbrella. He spread his towel in the oasis of shade and lay down to read, and to scan the beach. From here, he could see all the way to Pretty Pool, and the sand was empty. For the moment.

  It was a good beach. The swimming was not so good but, if you waited long enough, there would be a spectacular sunset. And while you waited, there was a good chance of something interesting coming along.

  The couple had decided to leave and walked back past him. The man checked him out, and Jason made sure his cock was obvious, lying limply over his thigh and completely hairless. The woman kept looking forward. Women never seemed to get it. Here was a nice looking guy, with a nice looking cock, and she would not even look at him. Men cruising for men would be way beyond her understanding.

  Jason returned to his book and, as he read, he was unconsciously touching his cock. Running his fingertips lightly along it until it began to plump up in a half-hearted sort of way. Men, he thought to himself. We just can’t leave it alone, can we? Take a man’s clothes off, and his hand automatically goes to his cock.

  A noise behind him made him turn, and a man came from behind his sand dune.

  “Good day, mate. It’s quiet today, isn’t it?”

  Jason looked him over before answering. He looked old, over fifty, he guessed. He was wiry, and his skin had been tanned deep brown. There were no white tan marks. He wore only his glasses, and a black golf cap. Around his cap, his hair was white, and the dusting of hair on his chest was white too.

  There was no other hair on his body, and his cock showed long and proud. It was already erect. A heavy, silver cock ring ran around it and behind his swollen balls. He must have been stroking out of sight, and only emerged when he was ready.

  “Nice looking cock,” said Jason. It was true. Thick, straight and circumcised, its excited plum glinted in the sun. Jason could not take his eyes from it. “Like some shade?” He moved to offer the man some space on his towel.

  He came to sit cross-legged beside Jason, his hungry cock tall in his lap. The towel was small and his knee pressed against Jason’s thigh. Without asking, he reached for Jason’s cock, now rapidly hardening. “Nice,” said the man.

  That felt good, but Jason wanted the man’s cock. He seized it and enjoyed its hardness in his hand. “Jeez, that’s a nice cock. You from round here?”

  “No, mate. Just visiting. Wife’s gone to Karratha for the day. Hey, take it easy. I don’t want to come yet. I’ve been playing with it all afternoon, and I want i
t long and slow.”

  Jason reached under him to cup his balls. The man’s cock rested against Jason’s forearm and twitched. It looked desperate.

  Pulling away from the man, Jason moved down the towel and leaned into the man’s lap.

  Cautiously, he sucked the taut head into his mouth. “Oh God!” whispered the man. Jason ran his tongue around the head. It felt smooth and live. He flicked the tip of his tongue under the ridge, and the man quickly pulled his head away.

  “Ah fuck, that’s good,” he said. “Now, slowly,” and he let Jason loose. Jason covered the swollen head with kisses before taking it back into his mouth. Holding still and sucking, he used his hand to rhythmically jerk the skin of the man’s shaft. The man’s hand was resting on the back of Jason’s head.

  Suddenly the man whipped his hand away and gripped the base of his cock with the fingers and thumbs of both hands. “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming,” he gasped urgently.

  Jason quickly covered his teeth with his lips and bit the end of the urgent cock, sucking hard. It was about to happen, but Jason kept his jerking slow and regular, biting in time with his stroking.

  “Aah - it’ s coming,” said the man, and waves of sperm slipped into Jason’s mouth. “Oh man, that’s good. Oh God!”

  Jason’s held still, gripping the man’s cock between covered teeth until he felt him relax. The man sat back.

  “Wow, you’re good,” he said and stroked Jason’s head. “I’ve got to go. The wife will be back soon.”

  Jason was reluctant to let him leave. “That was a lot of cum. You must have been saving it up.”

  “Yeah, well, I like to keep it up for a while before coming. Keep it ticking over for a couple of hours and you can go off with a real bang. Especially if the other guy does it right. Like you did.”

  Jason laughed. “Anytime. I enjoyed it. Tap me on the shoulder next time you’re down here. You in town long?”

  “A few more days, I think. Depends on the wife, but I might see you down here again.” He stood up and left.

  Jason made himself comfortable on the towel again. He idly stroked his cock and looked out along the beach. The couple in the distance were just reaching Pretty Pool. He thought about the woman and her refusal to look at him. No, women just don’t get it. Ever.

  He settled down to wait for more action.

  Jane

  The sight in front of Tim was shocking. This was the oil-field, for goodness sake. Off-shore, as well. He could not believe it. There, standing at the ship’s rail and enjoying the wind in her long black hair, was a beautiful woman.

  The off-shore oilfield is mostly male, and if that is true in the North Sea or Gulf of Mexico, it is doubly so in Indonesia. This oil-rig tender was full of men. He had seen a couple of female engineers in the past, foreigners from the oil company who had been flown out for specific tasks. They had done their jobs and flown away the same day. The Government did not wish to encourage local females.

  No one asked the Indonesians rig hands what they thought of the idea of women on their rig. The foreigners might be friendly with them, but you never really penetrated their dark eyes and understood what lay inside. There was little opportunity to socialise on a rig anyway. Indonesians and foreigners ate separately. They shared the same rec room and watched the same videos, but you were never close to them.

  What would they make of this? Tim had stepped out on deck, expecting to watch the sun go down over the gentle Java Sea, and there stood an elegant woman in a filmy red dress. Slight, oriental, as beautiful as a dream. She had one hand on the rail, her eyes closed and head thrown back, enjoying the soft breeze on her face. A matching chiffon scarf fluttered at her neck, and her hair hung behind her. Her stillness added to the sense of unreality. Tim looked around. They were alone.

  Suddenly, she became aware of him, slowly opened her eyes and turned towards him. “Ah, Mr Tim,” she purred.

  “Dammit, Jane! You scared the life out of me! You look too real.”

  “Thank you, Mr Tim. You're very nice to me. Come closer and I can be nice to you as well.”

  “Doesn't anybody mind you dressing like that?”

  “Oh, no. Nobody minds after work. Some of them like me very much. Do you like me?” Her voice sounded dreamy and enticing. A man had to wonder exactly what she had hidden under that red dress.

  Every rig in the Java Sea seemed to have a transsexual or two. Billy boys they were called, although goodness alone knew why. They tended to take jobs in the service area, laundry and cleaning, or cooking like Jane. Many Indonesian men are lightly built with little facial hair. They could easily dress in women’s clothes. When the transsexuals were working or travelling between the shore and the rig, they dressed as everyone did, in jeans and a shirt. Loose clothes, to hide their shape.

  They had breasts. Jane had breasts, and her dress let some of her cleavage show. How did they do that, Tim wondered, grow breasts? The results looked real enough and moved around just as they should. Did they simply go to the doctor and ask for hormones to turn themselves into women? And then when their figures had changed enough, when their curves had softened and breasts started to grow, what then? What happened to their male part? Did it still work? Did it stand up when they got excited? Could they father children? Just what was hidden behind that dress?

  Imagine picking up one of the pretty young things who chased foreigners in Jakarta, taking her home and then finding that her panties contained more than you had expected. How embarrassing! Tim shuddered at the thought.

  Jane smiled gently at him, as if she could read what was going through his mind. “We meet again on-shore, Mr Tim, and you can take me to a nice restaurant.”

  Tim laughed at the thought. “I don't think so, Jane. You'll just have to wait your turn along with all the other girls.” It was true. Jakarta was bachelor heaven.

  “Other girls!” snorted Jane. “What do they know? You come with me, Mr Tim, and I give you very good time. I know how you like.”

  Tim was still chuckling inwardly as he left the deck. If all billy-boys were like Jane, they definitely had a place off-shore, if only because they reminded you of what you were missing.

  Tim’s shift started at midnight. He wove his way down the pipe deck to the bow of the tender. The rig stood on its platform far above. To get from the floating vessel to the fixed platform, he had to cross the widow-maker. The step from the moving vessel to the fixed platform gangplank frightened everyone, even the old hands. Tonight the sea was being kind and, although he never liked looking down at the darkness below him, he made the crossing easily.

  Tim’s lab lay just behind the drill floor. A comfortable place, with a padded office chair and a coffee maker. Constantly airconditioned, because the salt-laden tropical air could play havoc with the computers and sensors. Tom’s job was to monitor the sensors and plot exactly what was happening at the bottom of the hole, and take regular samples of the mud and cuttings.

  He quickly scanned the instruments. All good, and he flicked through the reports for the last twelve hours. The rig was drilling ahead smoothly and there was little to report. If he took a set of samples now, he could put his feet up for a while.

  Once the samples had been stored and logged, he leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the table. A man could read a lot of books, doing a job like this. There was a shelf of them behind him, but tonight he did not feel like reading. He put his hands behind his head and thought about his scheduled days off.

  He had never lived in a place like Jakarta before. It was almost impossible not to love it. Booze was dirt cheap, and the restaurants served all imaginable cuisines. There was a range of bars from swish to seedy. There was free live music everywhere. Above all, there were hordes and hordes of beautiful, beautiful girls who seemed to like rich young foreigners at least as much as he liked them.

  Heaven on earth. At home in England, girls always puzzled him. He did not understand what they wanted from him, and he rarely manag
ed to pick one up. Here things worked differently. They picked him up. True, you never quite knew if you were talking to a potential girl-friend or a semi-professional, but who cared? Even the girls from the street managed to make him feel they did it for fun. And the other girls, who claimed to be secretaries or students, might take something for the taxi fare home but so very little. Anyway, paying for sex brought a delightful sense of freedom from obligation.

  And on top of it all, the girls were so beautiful, and accomplished too. Naturally delicate features, deep black eyes, hair a Western girl would murder for. Honey brown bodies that fitted just nicely under your arm, light as a feather when they fell asleep half on top of you. They still surprised him with new and exciting techniques. Tim drifted towards sleep with a pleasant hardness filling his shorts.

  He woke with a start, and shook his head. He had been miles away, standing in the doorway on an unlit Jakarta back street. A girl was taking him, on her knees in front of him, luxuriously moving her mouth up and down his erect cock. He was ready, ready to come at any minute.

  The girl took him out of her mouth, and a delicate hand came up to brush her hair behind her ear. “You like me, Mr Tim?” She looked up, and it was Jane.

  My God, he thought. I’ve been out here too long. Even the rig hands look good. Then he realised something had changed outside. The pumps had stopped. He grabbed his helmet and went out. Great! The rig was pulling out of hole. No more drilling for at least 18 hours. He rushed back to the lab. He just had to collect the print-outs, and then he was off. He could go to sleep until tomorrow.

  He looked into the mess, but no-one was there. He took an apple and made his way to his cabin.

  He had not been in the shower for long, when he heard the cabin door open. “Mr Tim? I come take your laundry, OK?” Jane. What was she doing here? She worked in the kitchen, not the laundry.