A Half-Ounce of Gold - 1. Part One: The Beginning

Five-and-a-Half Loads

and a Half-Ounce of Gold

___

An Erotic Tale

by AC Benus

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 kid and his geeky – but also straight – buddy said much of anything to me. The rest of them spent much of the time goofing off and planning on where they were going to pick up sluts.

When we arrived at Kuta Beach, we checked 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 was left on my own.

That evening, walking along the beach, looking at the sun go down, I thought myself pretty lonely. I sat for a while watching the winter orb enter the water, but 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 kid, 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 two inches shorter than me, but ripped. His tank top let show a lean and well-muscled chest, abdomen and a pair of 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 kid smiled at me and began walking 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; in fact, he stepped right in front of me.

I shrugged and half laughed. "I don’t smoke." I had laughed because there was something heavy about his accent. His vowels all had some redounding resonance that trembled in the fillings of my teeth, and deep in the marrow of my thighbones. I tried to step by him, but 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 thing 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 its 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 halt my progress. "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 formerly littering the sand for as far as one could see. Granted, now they were all packed up and trooping to the roadway with atrophied legs like hermit crabs.

He winked. "Follow me." And his tones reverberated deep enough to finger my soul.

˚˚˚˚˚

There were no lights anywhere on Kuta Beach. 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 upper arm, back and chest. Here we were sheltered from the view of the road, and also from the one or two beach stragglers. 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 to explore 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 when 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 tee-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 cooling in 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 my un-sucked brother 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 forcefully 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 into my palm. You'd have thought no one had ever touched the sexy kid's cock before, for I thought the moaning yelp he let out 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 interlacing 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 thought the moan he let out 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 that could get us killed.

Now it was my turn to tease. My hands slid over his torso, which had not an ounce of fat on it, over a smooth and a hairless belly, over ridges of flexing abdomen muscles, then into a sapling forest of teenage Arab chest hair to his nipples. A pinch, a brush of the fingernail, a glance of a rough cuticle – I knew my newfound friend was learning, taking mental notes, sighing to deep-seat the thrill of how it's properly done by man on man.

In my mouth, my tongue slowly mimicked the procedure of my fingers: loose and loving on the tip, pressured and wild as the tip went in my throat and the base came to my lips with its 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 its centerfold, 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 hoarse 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 gripping pulsations forced my lips closer and closer to the seat of his trembling love-juice makers, and that heavenly scent of his.

After he was spent, I elevated myself, used the back of my hand to wipe cum from 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 – 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 force him to taste his own seed, but he made a funny face. He turned half away, and 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. Go 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 some words starting with an 'pha' sound came out like a 'p.' "He can never get in there." He pulled on me to slow us down.

"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 ask no questions."

I looked around. Here, so far from home, with a sexy kid's softly pleading tone to 'puck' with him in my ear, and his fingers gripping by my bulge. One slight shift and I brought the top of his wrist to feel the strain beneath my zipper, one which he alone was responsible for – one 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 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. We going for a walk, we in cafes, we at home; it's natural."

I swallowed a moment, glancing at a cherry-faced Aussie passing by with raised eyebrows. "Yes, but locals with locals, not 'me' with 'you.'"

He only drew me closer to his body; closer to that scent which now coursed through me as well.

˚˚˚˚˚

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 a separate suite, comprised of a large room with its own bath.

We walked into ours and switched on the lights. A square vault of open bamboo rose 25 feet above our heads, while the center of the space was dominated by a king-sized bed – without head or footboard – dressed in the whitest and freshest looking sheets imaginable. Four bamboo posts marked the corners of the bed and gauzy mosquito netting draped all in inviting tropical splendor.

Salleh went to the bathroom. He turned on the light. "I'll take a bath first."

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 observe, 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 him. "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 brothers to me. If I say I want to have sex with them, maybe they say yes, but it's like pamily, I can't. You are first person, man, to say yes to me."

I rose from the water. "Then you can fuck me."

"I'm a virgin – no condom, OK?"

"No condoms...?" I was stymied. "Why?"

"Lipo said you can't feel the same with condoms. You OK? I never pucked anyone, I swear."

"All right. Fuck me bare – but don’t cum in me! Got it?"

"OK, OK, I won't."