This is a print version of story I was twenty-three at the time... by outsfguy from

I was twenty-three at the time...

Five-and-a-Half Loads and a Half-Ounce of Gold
A true story by Outsfguy

Part one: I Swallow his Honey-Sweet Cum

I was twenty-three at the time, and tired. I had just spent 24 hours on a bus from Jakarta to Bali, and this trip was proving to be something of a bore. The hot and straight eighteen-year old son of my co-worker who lived in Jakarta was going to Bali to drink and fuck whores to celebrate in the New Years - he and his buddies from the international school.
On the bus, only the hot k** and his geeky – and also straight buddy –
said much of anything to me. They spend much of the time goofing off and planning on where they were going to pick up sluts.
When we arrived at Kuta Beach, we check into a moderate and anything but romantic hotel. The only good thing about it was it was exactly across the road from the ocean. I roomed with my pal and his geeky bud, but soon I was left on my own.
That evening, walking along the beach, looking at the sun go down I thought myself pretty lonely. As it began to get dark, I got up, dusted sand off the seat of my jeans and looked for a way back to the road.
As I was walking, this k**, who was probably eighteen or nineteen, came up to my side. Now, the men of Bali are beautiful, big round and masculine faces with open and friendly gazes and smile, but this guy was hard and angular and looked a lot more Arabic than Asian. He was about 2-inches taller than me, but ripped. His tank top let show a lean and well-muscled chest, abdomen and a pair stunning arms. A square gold pendant, like a flat bar of 24 karats, flopped at the bottom of a thick gold chain.
At first I didn't know what he wanted – there were panhandlers and people selling trinkets everywhere – but as the k** smiled at me and began to walk backwards, just in front and to my left side, he held up an unlit cigarette.
He said: "French? German? Français ou Allemande?"
"American." I said.
Then a grinning leer spread across his face and for the first time I saw just how sexy he was. He had big bright eyes, short-cropped hair, and a devilish lilt to his full lips.
"Light?" he stopped walking; stepped in front of me.
I shrugged and half laughed: "I don’t smoke." I laughed because there was something heavy about his accent; his vowels all had some redounding resonance that trembled in the filling of my teeth and deep in the marrow of my thighbones. I tried to step by him; he put his arm out – I felt his hot but dry hand grip my forearm.
"Why so afraid? You no like to make new friends?"
I started to walk; "I have to meet my buddies for dinner." It was a lie.
He followed me. "You have a girlfriend?"
I must have grinned like an idiot, because he instantly got it. Next think I see is him looking at my crotch, for yes, the moment he laid his workman's hand on me, my cock strained with all it's might, against my Levi's, for his rough touch to grip it too.
"OH!" he laughed, then drew in for a low and sideways confidence "You got a boyfriend?"
"No." I said, and that was the truth.
"Then stop…" he pulled on my arm again, and this time I did. "Let's go sit on the beach, watch the waves – what's your hurry?"
Right. What was my hurry? An empty hotel room, searching for what was good on local Bali TV?
"OK," I said "but here?" It all seemed so open with sunburned Australians littering the sand.
He winked: "Follow me." And his tones reverberated deep enough to finger my soul.

By now the dusk was settling hard on one of the last days of the year, and a growing gloom was punctuated by December monsoon clouds off in the western distance. He took me to a slight berm, walking the whole time with his shoulders brushing against my arm; my back; my chest. Here we were sheltered from the view of the road, and also from most people who were packing up their beach blankets and k**s for the night. Now he took my hand. It was callused and strong, but gripped mine with something like studied tenderness. He pulled me down to sit next to him on the sand, and I nearly fell on top of him. He took hold of my upper body and said lowly: "Got ya."
I sidled down next to him, slowly letting my mouth fall upon his, and he kissed me with the same warmth with which he held my hand. Soon the ice was broken and his tongue roved deep over mine and explored the far and slobbery crevices of my back molars. I moaned deep, for I love to be kissed like that, and love to feel a man's breath grow hot and short on my cheeks and face as I kiss him back.
His hand went to the front of my shirt – a sure sign of a straight guy – to play with my instantly erect nipples. He lifted my t-shirt off, and fingered and played with them one by one until that too made me groan into his baited mouth.
He broke off, my lips instantly cooled to the night air, then he dove forward, bent his head and delicately licked the straining tip of my right nipple. I responded by gripping the short-cropped hair on the side of his head; his fingers continued to ply their novice talents on the un-sucked b*****r tit.
I had to do it. I lifted his face with both my hands and drew him back into our kisses. I didn't bother with his shirt, for it was getting quite dark now, and his loose fitting jeans clearly showed me he was stiff at my touch too.
I rubbed his dick hard though his clothes, and it leapt under my grip to rock hard status. I had to free it. I unzipped, let it spring out, then spit in my palm. You'd have thought no one had ever touched the sexy k**'s cock before, for the moaning yelp he let out I thought was going to draw a crowd, but instead, as I slowly began to stroke him, from delicate little ringlet at the tip of his pee hole, to long and tight grips as I pressed my hand firm against his balls, he grabbed my neck and drove his tongue back into my skull, the whole thing being there to catch his deep reverberating pants and sighs.
I broke free. I leaned him back, and through a sidling glance, watched him interlock his fingers behind his head. I scootched down on the sand, locked eyes with his and put his cock in my mouth.
Being an American, I was used to cut dicks, and he being Muslim was clean as a whistle. I deep throated him to the base of his shaft, and again the moan he let out I thought would be the end of us. Yes, it was exciting, damn exciting, to be having sex with a dude in public in a country where what could get us killed.
Now it was my turn to tease. My hands slid up over his torso that had not an ounce of fat, over a smooth and a hairless belly, over ridges of flexing abdomen muscles, then up into a sapling forest of teenage Arab chest hair, to his nipples. A pinch, a brush of the fingernail, a glace of a rough cuticle – I knew my new-found friend was learning, taking mental notes, sighing to deep-seed the thrill of how it's properly done by man on another man.
In my mouth, my tongue slowly mimicked the procedure of my fingers: lose and loving on the tip, pressured and wild as the tip went in my throat and the base came to my lips with it's sweet-smelling balls. I cupped his testicles; felt them move heavily in their scrotum casing, and decided to give them some attention.
I pulled his jeans down to his ankles and stuck my nose into the overhang of his scrotum, just there above the perineum, with it's center fold, and the apparent seat of all that's honey-sweet about an individual man's smell, and this young man smelled like apple blossoms swimming in diluted musk – a delicious smell.
I licked that crevice. His hands went to the back of my head. I took one ball in my mouth, sucked it, and again it strained mightily, rolling in the profound manufacture of his seed, but this time it stayed against the inside of my lips, for I wouldn’t let it go. I really sucked on it, and the hands in my hair squeezed to show me just the same level of pleasure and pain I was giving this teenage stud.
On to the other; but this time the strong drool of precum made me notice just how close to madness I was driving the boy. As I took the tip of his throbbing cock back between my lips, he whispered in horse concentration: "Cum, OK?"
My response was to cuticle both his tits at the same time, and he shot a torrent of sweet-tasting jizz into my cheeks, down my tongue, and out the corners of my mouth. His panting and hand thrusts against my head pulsated in rhythm with his torrents, shooting over and over – perhaps seven or eight times – and his hand pulsations f***ed my lips closer and closer to the seat of his trembling love-juice makers, and that heavenly scent of his.
I elevated myself. Used the back of my hands to wipe cum off the outside of my mouth, and swallowed the remainder. Now inhaling again after what seemed a long time, the taste of him came to the forefront of my senses too – like golden figs steeped in cream drawn from the fragrant ocean. I loved it sliding down my throat, coating as it went, promising to make love to my tummy for at least another hour to come.
He gestured with open arms, and I again nearly fell into him. I was going to kiss him, was going to f***e him to taste his own seed, but he made a funny face. He turned half away, but I gently slid my hand around his chin, tilted it back to me and kissed him anyway. In a moment, his sighs blossomed once again, and his strong, masculine tongue came into my mouth to lap up the love juice he had left there for me to drink down whole.

Part Two: He Cums in me Five-and-a-Half Times

We were walking along the beach road, the yellow lights showing us the way.
"What is your name?" I asked him.
"Salleh." He told me, and I said mine in return. "What will you do now?"
The unexpected tenderness in his tone made me look into a face that seemed too sad for just having been sexed on the beach.
"I don't know. Back to my hotel."
"That one?" he pointed, reaching out to again stop me by my arm.
"Yes. Why?"
"They don’t allow local visitors – I can’t go in there."
Something in the back of my head made me ask: "How do you know?"
"My friend, Lipo, he likes to find Japanese girls and puck them." There was a misplaced sound: his 'fuck,' or any word with an 'f' in it, somehow always came out like a 'p.' "He can never get in there." He pulled on me.
"Don’t go."
"But what'll we do?"
He slid in right by my side; slid his hand along the inside of my wrist, down my palm, and locked his fingers through mine. "You like to puck? You like to puck guys; or you like to get pucked?"
My prick grew harder with every misplaced 'f.'
"Both." I said.
"You want to puck with me? I want to with you."
"Where. Not in public?"
"You have a pew dollars? I know a place; they don’t ask questions."
I looked around. Here, so far from home, a sexy k**'s fingers gripping, pleading with mine to 'puck' with him, and a slight shift and I brought the top of his wrist to feel the strain beneath my zipper that he alone was responsible for – that he alone could atone for.
"I have a few dollars." I said.
His face cracked open. The worry was instantly gone, and just like the first few moments I met him – before he pumped his load down my gullet – I saw that smile curl his devilish lip, and felt his hot hand on me.
Salleh pulled me along. I tried to remove my hand, but he frowned. "This is Indonesia, men who are friends hold hands, walk, in cafes, at home, it's natural."
I swallowed a moment, glancing at cherry-faced Aussies passing by with raised eyebrows. "Yes, but locals with locals, not 'me' with 'you.'"
He only me drew me closer to his body; closer to that scent that now coursed through me too.

His 'place' was incredible. I thought he was leading me to some dive where fleas and lice made their abode in any soft material available, but instead we walked along the beach road, took a sheltered path and emerged upon a little village of thatched bungalows. Each one was separate; a large room with a separate bath.
We walked into our room, and turned on the light. A square vault of open bamboo rose 25-feet above our heads, while the center of the room was dominated by a king-sized bed, without head or footboard, dressed in the whitest and freshest looking sheets imaginable. Four bamboo posts market the corners of the bed and gauzy mosquito netting d****d all in inviting tropical splendor.
Salleh went to the bathroom. He turned on the light. "I'll take a bath pirst."
I heard the water running, so I sat on the bed. He 'accidentally' left the bathroom door open, so I watched him slowly disrobe. First his tank top, then shoes, jeans, socks and last, as he turned the water off, his briefs.
He stepped in the water, and I rose to watch, as I believed he wanted. He placed his hands over his face, slowly reclined in the water and soon dipped his hair under the surface. As he came up, his eyes opened on mine; he smiled, and gestured for me to come to him.
I kneeled at the head of the tub, lowered my face and he partial rose to give me a lingering kiss. Then without saying a word, he gave me the little shampoo bottle. I put a dab in my palms, leaned over to feel my erection press against the tub's side, and gently lathered his head. He closed his eyes, touched my forearm and smiled again.
After he rinsed his head, he kneeled in the bath, and handed me the bar of soap. I scrubbed his back, his belly, his chest and nipples, and he turned to kiss the arm that laved him.
He stood, wrapped a towel around his torso and began to undo my jeans. He slid them down to my shoes then helped with them and my socks. The shirt was dispatched and he held my hand up while I stepped in the water.
With shampoo and soap, he returned the washing of my body, and lingered on the shaft of my cock.
"You know – " he stammered "I've never been pucked by a guy – I never had sex with anyone – except you, on the beach."
As gently as I could, I managed to challenge: "Come on, you’re so good looking, so open and going after what you like – you..?"
"I played with my cousin's titties – a girl, that's how I learn, but not like you, you're better. And my friends, men, they are like my b*****rs to me. If I say I want to have sex with them, maybe they say yes, but it's like f****y, I can't. You are first person, man, to say yes to me."
I rose from the water. "OK, then you can fuck me."
"I'm a virgin – no condom?"
"No condoms..?" I was stymied. "Why?"
"Lipo said you can't feel the same with condoms. You OK? I never pucked anyone, I swear."
"OK. Fuck me bare – but don’t cum in me! Got it."
"OK, OK, I won't."

Load One:

As I led him to the magical-looking bed, I grew stern: "You can 'puck' me raw, but you must do as I say – get me ready. Lick me, finger me, lube me with your spit. Understand?"
I could tell a twin realization in his prick growing to attention and the crack of his mischievous lips.
I pushed him down on the white sheet; I undid his towel, and climbed on top. I pinned his upper arms above his head with my knees and lowered the tip of my cock to his snarling lips. He pretended not to want to part for them, so I bend down and f***ed his mouth open with my tongue. All tension left his resisting arm, and again a low rumbling groan left his throat. I straighten up again and freed his limbs. He grabbed my cock near the base and guided it to his kiss; first the hood, which grew flush at the touch of his lips, then his tongue came out and rimed the opening, forcing a pearl of precum onto his tongue, then he sucked it. The shaft slid halfway down his throat – I could feel the narrowing where his gag reflex lived – but he only held my eyes and sank it deeper.
His mouth was cool and slippery, and I thrilled secretly knowing what excellent lube his spittle would make.
I reached behind me and stroked his 7 ½ inches – who could tell that cock had cum with violent f***e less than a hour ago – cum in my front entry, and now it seemed to strain like a wolf to get through my back door.
I pulled my dick from his novice, but hot, attempts to suck it. I straightened my spine, moved up a little and told him: "Use that tongue on my ass."
And before I knew what hit me, his hands gripped both butt cheeks and spread my sphincter to his full onslaught. His tongue rode the outside surface with soothing licks – one following another – until I relaxed and the rosebud blossomed in slow motion opening to his loving. I was unprepared for this k** to know what he was doing down there, but I nearly swooned as he went about it with poise and fairly deadly skill. Man, if he was going to fuck me, this is what I needed, for now my wrists were sweating, and that tingling sensation meant I was excited to the max.
I took his right hand off my ass. I lifted it, and my head bend over to meet it half way. I conjured up that thick kind of spit from deep within in my mouth – the best kind for love-making – and then holding it forward on my tongue put his first two fingers in my mouth. He pulled them out again with a creamy wad, and as I guided his digits to my dark side, I told him: "Use that. Gently push it in."
Again my breath was nearly taken away. His index finger balled the spit wad collected from the other fingertip, and spread it in exacting precision on, and only a half inch around, my love hole. Then his fuck-finger went into me; calm, assured, unflinching, with just the right f***e; he finger-fucked me, and I sighed: "Damn k**, take it easy." But, he didn’t listen. With his other hand he collected his own spittle and soon two callused fingers were in me, only now they were lubing me up and down, going high up to where the muscle relaxed inside and depositing Salleh's load of expectorant for use later. He pooled it there for his head to dip into, as needed.
He pushed me down on the bed. On my back, instantly my feet were in the air. He elevated my ass to his face by punching down on the back of my knees and I bobbed up to his tongue like the float of a fishing lure.
Now he really went to work. As I began to pant and jack myself, he stuck his tongue in over and over again. His idea of a break was letting me fall back down to the bed to be assaulted by his waiting fingers. First one, then two, then three, while spit and more spit was left inside of me.
"You ready?" he asked, knowing I was begging for it.
"Do it, stud."
He scooted close to me, his rock hard thighs hitting my butt. He spit one big wad on his cock and rubbed it only on the tip. Again the back of my knees were pressed towards the sheet, and I felt his head knock at my door. Suddenly his eyes were on mine. He pushed, waited; I relented, he pushed some more; he blinked, wordlessly asking if I could take him, and I grabbed the back of his thigh and drove his cock into me.
He sank to the balls and let out that same passioned cry from the beach. As he withdrew halfway out, I f***ed him to stretch out so he could kiss me as he came back down, and he did, grunting straight into my mouth.
Now he fucked me over and over; always the same stroke, half way out, then deep down to the balls, until he could dive no deeper into me. I felt the regular slapping of his nuts against my backside and pictured them churning heavily, making more and more of that sweet smelling cum to fill me with.
I spit into my own palm, and jacked to the rhythm of this teenager's pounding. I could tell his young stamina couldn’t hold, so I brought myself to the threshold of orgasm and waited until it looked like he would blow.
Suddenly he stopped fucking. He looked at me with pleading intensity: "I never came – let me cum in you…"
I nodded, and now the devilish grin flashed and his fucking resumed, but with double the pace. Soon he tensed, and I knew I was about to blow his mind – because as he slowed to let himself orgasm, I came and the tightening and loosening impulses around his cock in me nearly killed him with pleasure. He moaned and shot into me like he hadn’t cum in a month.
As he slowly withdrew, my ass wasn't sore, but it tingled and glowed and smelled alive with this stud's seawater spunk.
He collapsed by my side.

Load two:

We lay a moment, panting, looking for something to wipe our cocks and hands with, but instead we kissed, and we didn’t stop.
His tongue, now tasting of my backside, explored every inch of my mouth, lips and my eagerly returning tongue. My hand went to the side of his face, his hand slipped down the back of my thigh and brought my knee up to my chest. His finger slipped into me again and lovingly explored my fundament just as his tongue was doing above, in my mouth. I groaned, but freed myself, a little. I slid down and turned around. I lay my head on his upper leg and took his half erect dick in my mouth. He reciprocated, and soon we made a happy sixty-niner couple. I was a bit surprised at how quickly his prick stiffened again, and soon I tasted precum on my palate.
He must have been excited, and my leg was again moved out of the way and his tongue was spooning my back passage. I was more than ready to take him, his cum replacing the introductory lubricate of spit with a far smoother material.
I lay face down, and he climbed on top of me. Getting fucked facedown is a different experience. The position naturally closes off the opening and makes for a tighter experience.
He again put a wad of spit on the tip of his dick and guided it in.
I felt his whole weight on the end of his cock, and it pressing into me with slip-sliding abandon. He fucked me far deeper that the first time, and each thrust fucked the back of my prostate like it was the goal, and not my ass, which was merely in the way.
He lowered his face to the back of my head. I reached up behind me and kissed him like I meant it, for at that moment in time nobody had ever loved me the way he had.
He grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to corkscrew; my legs and ass still facedown, but my face and shoulders looking at him. Again that manic rhythm appeared letting me know he was close, and as he came, he collapsed with f***ed and labored screeches in my ear. Meanwhile down below, my prostate got the creaming of it's life.

Load three:

Now I needed a break. That gently tweaked and glowing asshole from the first drubbing was complaining a bit. Within me, one in my tummy, and two in my gut, three loads from this young man gurgled.
I sat on the edge of the bed wondering where my shorts had gotten to. Some dark memory, like from a hundred years ago, said they were in the bathroom.
I got up and went there; slipped them on.
When I came back, Salleh was stretch out on the bed. The corner of his towel was d****d over his crotch, but the rest of him was free to view. I thought for a second he had drifted off, but he opened his eyes and lifted his arms to me. I cuddled next to him and we talked a bit.
I learned where he was from, that he was a university student who did landscaping on the side to pay his tuition. I learned that he didn’t want to marry the girl his parents had picked for him – didn’t want to marry any woman – and that he dreamed of running away to somewhere where he could build a life with a man he loved and whom he knew loved him. I told him, that if that is what he wants, he will achieve his goal, and that someday he'd make some guy a fine husband.
This seemed to sadden him a moment, but he embraced me harder, driving my flank partially on top of him, my leg crossing his.
"Do you need a sl**p?" he whispered in my ear, that deep guttural reverb again tickling my fundament.
"No. Why?"
"I like you." He said "Do you like my love?"
My dick grew hard against the flank of his abdomen. "You're hot." I told him, and with his spunk still lubing half my insides, it was true. And now just a whiff of his jizz, in or out of me; on my own breath as I slightly belched up some of his swirling seed from my stomach - it all turned me on, and though my love-pucker was getting sore for all his attention, it still ached for more of it, more of him in me – it's the scent that did it.
He pulled me to my feet. He pushed me over to the doorframe, and had me put my hands on. He kicked my legs apart and drew my waist away from the wall. Bent like this, he saw no need for anymore formality, and his cock fucked me to his balls.
I nearly shouted, but before I could he had withdrawn quickly and pummeled me again, straight up to his nut sack, which slapped mercilessly against my ass. My shout turned into a breathy exhale, and now he slowed his pace and stayed in me, fucking like he was deeply in love with me, his cheek fell against my shoulder blades and his hand reached around to hold my dick. His touch was loose, just a ring for my tip and shaft to slide through while he pummeled me from behind. Yes, he fucked my ass; I fucked his grip. It took him awhile to cum now, finally his youth seemed at a loss for his desire, and meanwhile, I came on his fingers which paused, and brought my love-juice up my mouth to clean it off.
My tongue exploring the webby base of his digits must have done it for him, for his breathing accelerated, he gripped me hard at the waist, and grunted another load into me. I reached back and stroked the side of his head as he tried to catch his breath. He responded by straightening me up, turning me, and kissing every inch of my face with his out-of-control breaths, and lips, and tongue.

Load Four:

An hour passed. We were back in the tub, I reclined sitting between his legs, my back on his chest. Again we talked of the future. He asked why I didn't have a boyfriend. "Haven't met the right person." I told him. I couldn't see his face, but it must have moved him, for he embraced my chest tightly.
"OK lover," I chuckled "now my love portal is really sore. How many time a night do men in your culture fuck?"
"Four or five; six. Isn't that normal?"
"Hot, man. That's fuckin hot, and no, it's not normal where I'm from. One slam, a thank you, a call for a cab, and that's considered romantic."
"Romantic…" he muttered as if realizing something deeply internally – his guttural tone seeping into my neck and making the hairs there stand on end – it was like a sonar exploration of me; what signal it returned to him, I cannot know.
"You don’t mind cum in the water?" I looked down, a soapy-looking ring was edging our skin; it had seeped from my ass, mixed with the warm bath and scented the whole room with apple freshness. "It is yours after all."
"You are sore?" he said as if first realizing what I had said earlier.
"Yes tiger, you've love-punched me good."
He stood, got of the tub and began to look around the room. He picked up a small bottle and grinned at me.
"Hand cream. I will help you feel better."
He lifted me out of the tub and had me kneel at the toilet, which he proceeded to bend me over.
He spread a large dab of cream on his two large fingers and smoothed it around my hole. I must have stiffened and moaned slightly, because his free hand, with open palm, laid itself on top of the dip of my lower back, and he said: "There, feels better already." And it did, but exciting too. I stuck my ass up a little, and he got it, for soon those same two fingers gently spread the hand cream inside the loose ring of muscle that he had used so well.
He paused. I heard the bottle click open again, then felt a dribble run down my butt crack to his digits half in, half out of me. He worked this new addition in and now I definitely moaned, and shoved my backside closer to his firm ministrations.
He withdrew and surprised me. Now I felt empty without his warm and rough fingers digging into me. But that surprise turned into a shaking groan again as the hand cream bottle itself was pressed against my sphincter.
"Relax." He said, and I opened up. The bottle tip slipped in, then half the bottle itself, and it felt great. Smooth and cool, slippery and less thick than his cock it reminded me of what lesser men than my teenage stud felt like in me.
"This will make you feel better." he said, and squeezed half the contents as he slowly withdrew it. I felt the slick application, and it did feel better, no, it felt fucking great!
As soon at the bottle tip reemerged, his pair of fingers were there to replace it. Newly lubed, they slid in with no resistance, and I only knew their position because the rest of that hand was slowly playing with the rest of my butt crack. He twisted, he rotated, he drove me wild with my own pants and f***ed my dick to grow hard against the cold porcelain of the throne I straddled.
I was in no position to protest his fingers pulling out of me, but the reason soon became clear. Now four fingers pressed against me. He paused, the slowly twisted them in. I shoved my ass as far back as it could go to take it all in, and I felt them sink to the knuckles, then to the ridge where fingers become hand and palm, and then further to the thickest part of his fist. He worked it in and out, my cock again and again hitting the toilet and threatening to cum. He withdrew back to his knuckles, and now I felt his thumb join the others and slide with assurance. He didn’t stop until I felt the relief of his wrist pass into my hole, and he for his efforts felt the pulsating there of muscles as I orgasmed all over the floor, hands-free – free of my hands that it. It was as if my dark stud had jacked me off from the inside.
He withdrew, and kneeled up against me. His dick slid in like an old companion into my armchair, and fucked and fucked, causing me no pain, only a growing sense of heat as his cock head stayed lovingly within the confines of my toneless muscle that strained to grip him.
He flipped me over, put my back on the toilet seat, and squatted down to fill with open ass with his dick again. Now I could see in the harsh light of the crapper his gold pendant. It flapped against his partially hairy chest as he withdrew out of me, and floated in the air above my face as he dove down again. It was sexy – as sexy as the young man who wore it, and rubbed his DNA off on it with continual use.
He kissed me, the weight of the pendant falling on my cheek, and into my mouth he grunted his love spasm one more time, and I greedily took both from him – his seed down below, his cumming breath deep within my lungs.
I began to think this k** was in love with me.

Load Five:

We slept. He clung onto me, his hand pressing my waist against his soft cock and balls, my head riding his outstretched arm, his lips occasionally grazing the nape of my neck. In his sl**p I heard him call my name, felt his dick stir to attention; even in his sl**p he was fucking me.
Towards morning, I awoke to find him leaning on an elbow watching me sl**p. "Good morning." He said.
"What time is it?"
He picked up his watch from the nightstand. "Half past four."
"Too early…" I stammered, turning over on my side.
He kissed the top of my shoulder, and now I roused a little more. Down below I felt a little queasy; my sides sloshed and my butt hole told me it couldn't keep up with all this activity.
Salleh pulled the sheets back. He lifted my leg and bent his head down to my portal. He licked it gently as he had done when first about to fuck me, and I groaned in pleasure. He scooted and pinned the back of my knees again to the sheets, and went as it with great soothing.
He had the hand cream again, and lubed both my hole and the tip of his cock with large amounts. As he fucked me, straight missionary style, the pendent striking my lips and cheek again, the pain became strong.
He kept just the tip of his shaft within me, maybe thinking that was more comfortable for me, but it was not. His constant restraint, using only his thickest and most pulsating part of him, only drove me wild. I started to jack; he started to kiss, and now he drove his cock home, straight to the balls and nearly drove me to climb up onto his arms and shoulders.
"You ready?" he asked. Now he learned the joys of two men cumming at the same time. I jacked, nodded, and almost as if at a signal, our eyes locked, and he came with f***e into me, and I shot cum all over his pendant and delicately hairy chest.
Neither one of us bothered with a clean up, he just pulled me back into his embrace, and we were asl**p in a matter of moments.

The Half Load:

We snoozed until about nine o'clock. We'd have to be out by eleven, so I tried to rouse Salleh.
I sat on the edge of the bed and again contemplated where the dickens my shorts could be. They were on the floor next to my feet, my dark and sensuous lovers' briefs, right next to them. I picked up his. I brought the crotch part of it to my nose and inhaled; apples and the sea – the smell of Salleh. I half wondered it he'd let me keep them, but then, the thought was clear: if I asked him, he'd probably do anything for me.
If this k** was a hustler, he made no demands on me – no mention of needing cash, or of anything.
Salleh moved. I took his shorts and lightly rubbed his chest with it.
"Morning sl**py head."
"Morning." And he pulled me down to a long kiss.
My dick began to move and that twitter of nether region reminded me how my ass hurt from this man's love.
Salleh looked utterly sad. He sat up in bed, and was honest: "I don’t want to go."
My reply was to kiss him, to f***e his mouth open and take my tongue.
He grew passionate and stroked my back and upper legs.
His fingers moved towards me hole.
"No…" I said tugging on his hand "…there are other ways to make love."
We continued to kiss, his dick grew hard, and I sucked it. It was familiar now, and I explored every vein ridge and fold and bump with my mouth and tongue and lips like an old friend; one who had given me immeasurable pleasure of his company. He sucked me, and I grew rock hard as he attempted to match my motions stroke for stroke. Again his hand explored; again it wandered south and lifted my thigh. He fingered me, and somehow the pain wasn't as bad as I anticipated.
He stopped and raised his head. He almost pleaded: "Let me puck with you, one more time…"
I considered the onslaught of his passion in slow review. Load after load, but when he fucked me on my tummy, then corkscrewed my shoulders to face him – that was special.
"Corkscrew me, like last time."
He puzzled, but I simply lay on my stomach, and lifted my ass up for his use.
He positioned himself, spit a deep and glutinous wad of spit onto his dick and began to insert. The pain was great. He got in, pushed half way down and I stopped him, made him stay there, but I needed to relax.
In a moment I nodded and he plunged in to his balls. I was in pain, but I f***ed myself to turn my upper part to him and he reached down and kissed me, his now cum-stained gold pedant pummeling me too as he thrust.
I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed him off. "I'm sorry. It's too painful. Finish outside."
I didn’t mean to sound peeved, but pain is pain; there's nothing I could do about my tone of voice. What he did next though, that surprised me. Instead of doing as I said, finishing himself, he lay down on the bed and put his head between my legs. He took my cock in his mouth, and with long, slow and deliberate plunges made me to understand that I was to cum in his mouth. This thought alone got me going, and his tongue caressed the pee slit every time he redove on it down to my balls.
"Are you sure..?" I managed to get out.
"I want it." he said. And as he sucked me a few more stokes, I shot a load straight back to his tonsils, again and again, I pulsed in his mouth and again and again he moaned with deepening reverberence in his joy in getting what he wanted from me.
He seemed to swallow, but when he came up to kiss me, half my seed was on the edge of his tongue. He shoved it into me, and spooned it around the sides of my mouth. I kissed him back, and f***ed some it back to him, which he greedily swallowed.

Part Three: I Fuck the Shit Out of Him

About noon I was back in my room with my straight companions. They asked me where I had been all night. I told them I got lucky, and said: "What about you guys?"
They, the hot one and the geeky one, looked at each other as if about to fabricate something the other should support.
"We struck out." The geeky one said.
I couldn't help but smile as I went over to my bag. I fished for a clean set of shorts and a shirt.
Preoccupied as I was, I didn't notice the geeky one come up right behind me. The first indication to me he was there was a sniffing sound. I looked at him.
"What's that smell?" he asked; sniffed me.
"Oh. I'm sorry. It's me – I'm just about to step into the shower."
Now the hot one came up to me and smelled me with frank appraisal.
"Yeah, I smelled it too."
"I'm sorry!" I said.
They looked at each other puzzled. The geeky one said: "But you smell great – like hot apple cider..."
"Yeah, like with cinnamon or cloves or some sweet-smelling shit. Is that what she smelled like…"
They were amazed – yeah, that's exactly what he smelled like; what I smelled like because of him.

Alone on the head, I let Salleh's seamen ooze out of me for a long while. Sitting there, with this not too unpleasant sensation, I thought how much easier his drooling cum came out of me than went in, but far less pleasantly.
As we parted this morning, he stopped me by the door to our room, said we were going to see each other tonight, no matter what, and gave me his phone number.
"I don’t have any more money…"
"We can use Lipo's room. I'll tell him I want to spend the night with a friend, and he'll sl**p with one of our buddies. I'll call you around six, and meet you outside your hotel. OK"
I nodded.
He kissed me, saying: "I have your babies inside of me." he looked
sad again.
I laughed, pushed him back a little. "If anyone's pregnant from last night, it's me!"
Now alone on the stool, his love draining slowly down the drain, I realized his 'babies' meant my sperm was inside him too – those were his babies; my babies. He meant that we were connected because I too had deposited my seed in him, as he had done six times in me.

At six he took me to a restaurant – nashi goreng, or that wonderful Indonesian fried rice with thin slices of chili.
Lipo lived in a single room of a complex of low buildings that looked something like a project – subsidized housing. As we walked the open loggia, and people greeted us with a mixture of surprise and friendly suspicion, and that feeling of doing a dangerous thing in a dangerous country returned. But, it also returned a thrill in me.
In Lipo's room, sitting on this bed, I told Salleh I couldn't stay the night.
"I have to be ready to leave early tomorrow. Our bus goes at ten."
He took my hand, stroked it. "But we have tonight."
"Honestly, the way you fucked and fingered and jammed and fisted me last night, I can’t take you tonight. There's just no way."
Now he looked like he was about to cry, but he said slowly "Then you puck me. I never before, but for you – you, I will."
He reached behind his neck, his armpit hair flashing up to view. "Here…" he fumbled with something "…I need you to have this."
He detached his gold chain and pendent and drew it before my eyes.
"No…" I said, half laughing "…it's yours!"
He kneeled behind me, lifted it over my head, and I felt its pendulous weight light on my chest.
He said: "When you go back to America, and people ask you if you have a boyfriend – you feel this gold on your chest, and you tell them, 'Yes, the man who loves me in is Bali.'"
I touched the hand that lingered over my heart; I used it to pulled him down into my kiss and tongue, and he moved to lay his head in my lap.
I stoked his hair for awhile, and ventured: "You want to get fucked?"
He nodded, clearly apprehensive, but he sat up, lifted my t-shirt off and began to play with my nipples. We resumed our tongue exploration of each other's mouths and I felt his hand on my fly. I kneeled on Lipo's bed and he unzipped me. My already hard cock came out to meet his lips.
He sucked me and reached up to tweak my nipples, and I stroked his hair, which felt like silk velcro. I pulled off his shirt, lifted him up by grabbing under his arms, and raised his left elbow high. My tongue explored the soft and dark folds of his armpit and the hair growing there, and he moaned in yet another found pleasure. I licked and sliced my tongue along the back ridge of his triceps and he shuttered in the sensation. I knew he liked it for that low and garrulous tone again wafted out to fill the small room with his sonorous joy.
I licked his nipples, made my way to his other armpit and again he loved it. He pushed me back onto the bed and yanked off my shoes, then socks, and pulled the half off jeans and shorts clear off of me. They went flying to land in a loud thump against the door.
He sucked my cock like this morning, holding my eyes and drinking in the way his tongue on my pee slit thrilled me.
Now it was my turn. I stood, pulled him up and yanked down his running shorts and briefs. I laid him down again, and sat on the edge of the bed. I picked up one of his feet and slipped off the white ankle sock. I loosened his toes, smelling the undeniably familiar scent of the boy, and bent down to kiss them. Slowly I worked my way along, making sure each little piggy was properly greeted and freed and kissed. My tongue slipped between the smallest toe and its neighbor. Salleh groaned loudly, and I stopped to make a hushing signal to him. He looked with eyes slit-closed by pleasure, then clamped one hand over his mouth. I slipped my tongue between the next toe and its neighbor, and now the young stud wriggled under my gripping hold on his calf, but I wouldn't let go. Each slit was tongued, until finally his entire big toe went into my mouth and I sucked it, hard. He nearly kicked me, involuntarily I suppose, but that sonar reverb pinged around the room to tell me I was do right by him.
I let his foot drop. He sighed, but stiffened again as I picked up his other foot. As I played with this one, I also grabbed his hard cock and toyed with the tip. A small drool of delicious precum made me stop to sop it up, but only for a moment, for I had his legs pinned up by his ears in the next moment, admiring his virgin hole.
It was round and pink, and I do believe it had never seen the light of day of another man's love.
I loosened my pushing a tiny bit and went down on it. He moaned loud, and I covered his mouth with my hand. As I licked his slowly relaxing flower bud, he shifted his mouth so that he gently began to bite the side of my hand; this pressure, gentle as I say, telegraphed his feelings through cycling spasms as I pleasured his button.
This time I came with proper lube. I pulled up my jeans and fished out a packet from the pocket. I tore it open and dribbled it down his perineum, catching it on my fingers before it was wasted. I lifted him back again and rounded his hole in increasing circles; I was going to get in there, but he was going to enjoy it too.
Slowly, I stopped. My index finger's tip paused at the threshold, and pushed. He gasped; I applied more pressure, and waited for him to relax. He did and my finger slipped in.
He looked at me like he'd never felt anything so exciting, but then I twisted my digits, and his eyes grew round with wonder. I pulled out. Now my thumb was going in; again, lube, pressure, waiting – entry. He writhed under me, but I held him still and buried my thickest finger up to my palm.
He loved it, grabbed onto my arms and grew short of breath. I took his hand, spit into it, then guided it to start jacking his own dick. He did and I positioned myself close to his ass. I lubed my cock well, from tip to base and guided it down.
I slowly leaned forward, naturally sinking it into his body, and at the first resistance, I stopped and looked onto his eyes. He paused, then nodded, and I fucked him. At first I toyed with my throbbing head just inside of his hole; in out, in out, driving him wild. Soon though, I leaned all the way over to kiss him, and sank my shaft down to my balls. I knew I'd have to kiss him, because the moment I got all the way in, my stud panted and groaned so loud, the rafters would fall if my mouth had not been there to stifle it.
I was not going to cum quickly – no six times for me – one or two long slow and deliberate fucks, that was for me.
I went in and out; sometimes deep, sometime just the tip to see which he liked better. He loved it deep – positively writhed and yanked my hair when I neared his prostate – yes another joy encountered.
So I stopped. I pulled out, and motioned for him to get up. I lay down, and he looked puzzled.
"Sit on it." I said.
He kicked his leg over mine, facing me and reached for my dick. He held it as he slowly lowered his cum-hole onto it. Now he was in control, and just as I suspected, he loved it deep – sat on it so hard, his own cock pulsated precum on my belly, and naturally conveyed this pulsating throb as a tight circle around the base of my cock. I was buried deep in him, and I started to jack him as he fucked himself.
Now I felt the weigh of his half-ounce of gold upon me, his ass riding my dick; his gold my heart. I thrust up, pummeling him harder and deeper, forcing him to let me pull out into longer strokes with each thrust.
I thought he was about to blow. So I stopped. "Get off." I told him. I was going to make him cum in a way he'd never forget for the rest of his life.
I simply told him to face the other way. He did. He re-sat on my dick and I stated to pump him again. He moaned and moaned, and I half sat up to grab his shoulders. "Let go." I told him, and I guided him back to lay his back on my chest. His cock stood straight up in the air and I started to thrust deeper and deeper, knowing the pressure from the inside on his prostate was driving him mad. "Yes?"
"Going to cum?"
I thrust deep and almost entirely pulled out; thrust again and knew I was about to fill him with my load, and then I saw it, and then I felt it. His cock shot a jet of pure white spunk straight up onto Lipo's wall above and behind my head, his muscles around my cock spasmed, then relaxed into a regular tightening and releasing, and I shot and shot and shot, matching each of his pulsations with seed of my own.
He rolled off of me; his ass slipping off my dick and cum spilling out of him, but he turned and kissed me like he meant it, like he did love me.

He cried as I left him in Lipo's room. We wrote, and a few months later, Salleh began to mention a new schoolmate; one he liked, one he felt he could tell anything to, and then his letters stopped. I knew he had found a piece of his dream, and I hoped he was happy.
I have it still; his half-ounce of gold. Sometimes when my partner is away on a business trip, I take it out, slip it around my neck, feel his weight upon my chest and have a long slow wank. When I cum thinking about Salleh, it's always the same things that get me spurting – how he looked with that wicked smile walking backwards on the beach before me; how he thrilled to the touch of my hand on his nipples, there under the berm, public and dangerous; the way he gripped me and filled me with his cum, load after glorious load – and of course, his smell, something that has the essence of memory itself – like apples bobbing off a far away shore.

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