“Whose great idea was it to go trekking in Southeast Asia in April?”
“I believe that would be you. Yep, you.”
“Well, next time I get a great idea, please don’t listen to me.”
It was only the first day of our trip . . . well, it was really the third day but we had decided to not count the two foggy, jet-lagged days we had spent in Phnom Penh. Those were a blur for both of us and we couldn’t tell you a thing about what we did, what we ate, or even what we drank. There were memories of many glasses of a local beer called Angkor, but alcohol definitely did not help when trying to recover from a nineteen-hour flight. I looked at my husband of two months as he shifted the backpack on his hot, sweaty body – clearly, he had not enjoyed the additional eight- hour van ride to Ratanakiri, the upper northeast province of Cambodia. Neither of us had bothered to find out that April was one of the hottest months of the year in this country – a place where it was really never cool to begin with.
“What’s this guy’s name, again?”
“Sounds like something from The Lion King.”
“Stop it. I told you – no jokes about local names, customs, or new experiences. We don’t want to offend anyone and we both said stepping out of our comfort zone would be a good thing.”
“Staying at a Hyatt instead of the Ritz is really about as far out of my comfort zone as I really ever intended to go.”
I looked at the man I loved, as he shielded his eyes from the burning sun. We were standing on the side of the road, basically in the middle of nowhere, waiting for our hired guide to pick us up. We had been there for only ten minutes, but it seemed like a lifetime. Charles Jonathan Wickshaw, the third, was definitely out of his element. An accountant, by trade, the man was used to tailored suits, air conditioning, and dry martinis adorned with onions (no olives, thank you very much) – instead of dusty, barely paved roads in a remote area of what would be considered by most people a very remote country. The fifty-six year old, fairly in shape man took out his phone and glanced down.
“Oh great, no signal. Now, how am I going to look at my porn?”
“Stop it, you. Put the phone away. You promised. If only you looked at porn. I think you get hard from reading work emails a lot quicker than you do from looking at pictures of naked men.”
“That’s because I have you. Why would I need to look at other men?”
His smile melted things a lot faster than the Cambodian sun. This silver haired, well manicured, Manhattan born, self-made millionaire had somehow plucked me out of the thousands of profiles he received from an online meeting site called ‘Mates’ five years ago and we had been together ever since. I was a second grade teacher at a struggling private primary school in Brooklyn and he said he had chosen to respond to my profile because I had quoted Victor Hugo when describing myself. It had gone something like, ‘Diamonds are found in the dark bowels of the earth; truths are found only in the depths of thought.’ I was an avid reader and he somehow saw that in what I wrote. We had our first date at a local coffee shop and, bam, five years later we were married and planning to hike through the jungles of a hot, humid country on the other side of the planet.
“And what does Kakada look like?”
“You know, dark hair, dark eyes, kind of short.”
It was clear Charles was not amused at my descriptive words that would match almost every Cambodian. I glanced at my phone and saw that our guide was only about five minutes late. I didn’t tell my husband that we might be there for a while, having heard that Cambodian time was a little more relaxed than a Wall Street financier might like. I knew this trip was going to be good for Charles, especially when it came to things he could not control – but the long van ride had definitely taken its toll.
“I don’t want to sound like a whiner, but I’m getting hungry.”
“Kakada said he’d have some snacks for us when he arrived – to tie us over until dinner.”
Suddenly, there was the sound of an approaching vehicle. I looked down the road and quickly noticed it was a tuk-tuk – one of the motorcycle led rickshaws that were commonplace in Cambodia. Luckily, Charles had found them quite charming in Phnom Penh, but I wasn’t sure he’d feel the same way out in the hot, dusty rural part of the country. It was pretty clear this was our guide, because he was grinning from ear to ear as he approached. I was surprised a little when the vehicle got closer and suddenly the look on the driver’s face turned to shock. I tried to figure out what the guy was staring at with such a look, but it was too difficult to read. He quickly regained his smile and came to a stop in front of us. He was off his bike in seconds.
“Hello, I am Kakada. I hope you are Rick.”
“Hello. Yes, I am Rick and this is Charles.”
“Hello, Bong Chas.”
When we turned to my husband, I swear I saw a flash of the same shocked look on Kakada’s face as before. The Cambodian put his palms together, in a prayer-like fashion, brought the fingers to his forehead, closed his eyes, and made a slight bow. There was something much more reverent than the greeting he gave me. I simply decided it had to do with age – since I was about ten years younger than my spouse – although he definitely didn’t look that much older. Hesitantly, Charles corrected Kakada’s mistake on his name.
“Um . . . sorry, it’s actually Charles.”
“Yes, Bong Chas. It is very nice to meet you. It is a good time for you to return.”
“No, it’s Char – les . . .”
I quickly gave my husband a look that made it clear I thought he should just accept the Cambodian’s pronunciation. I was pretty sure it was a name that must be hard for locals to get correct. It did have some difficult sounds. I could tell he was a little upset, but he took my lead in the situation.
“What does ‘bong’ mean, Kakada?”
“It is what we say when we meet someone older or someone that deserves great respect.”
This definitely brightened Charles’ spirits. He loved getting respect. He was the founder of a major accounting firm and respect is something he received on a daily basis – or more like an hourly basis. Again, I noticed something in the way Kakada referred to Charles that seemed very different – almost odd. I still just chalked it up to my husband being older, but I wasn’t sure.
“I have food for you.”
“Great. I am starving.”
Kakada took a round cylinder-like container from his tuk-tuk. I recognized it from shops in the city and from watching people give offerings to the monks at the temple we visited in Phnom Penh. It had three different levels – one with rice, one with vegetables, and one with curry. It looked delicious. Kakada dished food into two bowls for us and then gave us a fork and spoon. I had read that in Cambodia you used the fork to push food into the spoon to eat. I caught Charles’ eye and showed him how to use the utensils.
“Since you are hungry a lot, Bong Chas, I have something good for you.”
Kakada took out a key and unlocked a special compartment under the front seat of his tuk-tuk. He reached in and brought out a rectangular Tupperware box. He took off the lid and there were bacon-like strips inside. I could tell it wasn’t really pork, but I didn’t know what it might be. Our guide handled the container with much care and he gently took out a strip to hand to Charles. As soon as my husband took the food, Kakada immediately closed the container and put it back in the compartment.
“I should share with Rick?”
“No, Bong Chas, this is special for you.”
I was too busy chowing down on the rice and curry to even care about the strange looking food. Charles was very brave when it came to trying new things, so he took a huge bite of the strip – taking half of it into his mouth. He immediately smiled and let out a ‘mmmmm’ as he chewed and swallowed. He clearly liked what he was eating.
“This is very good. What is it, Kakada?”
“In English, it is called beetle root.”
“I’m eating beetles!”
“No, Bong Chas. It is a special root from a plant that grows high in the mountains of Ratanakiri. It is very special to the people of Cambodia. And beetles like it, too.”
Charles finished the strip – clearly he had been planning to eat it all even if it had been made from beetles. Kakada motioned for us to get into the vehicle with our food. He then loaded our backpacks onto the seat above the compartment – across from us. He jumped on the motorcycle, started it, and we were off. I was busy eating the curry and trying to take in all the beauty of the surrounding countryside. Even though it was splat in the middle of hot season, this part of Cambodia was cool enough and wet enough to still have green rice fields. The moment made me want to be close to Charles. Without even looking, I reached over to grab his leg. I was completely caught off guard when my hand landed on a raging hard-on – easily detected underneath the material of his cargo pants. I quickly looked down, to confirm his larger-than-normal cock was stone stiff and then I looked up into his slightly embarrassed, but very happy face.
“I guess it must be the motion of the tuk-tuk!”
“Well hell, I should have gotten you in a tuk-tuk a lot sooner than this.”
“You have no idea how much I want to plow you right now. I’m in pain I’m so hard.”
“Are you trying to turn me on, Bong Charles?”
“I am if it’s working.”
I glanced forward to see if Kakada understood the conversation we were having. I glanced into the two rearview mirrors that hung down from either edge at the front of the tuk-tuk’s roof – to give him better views of what was happening on either side. Traffic in Cambodia had no rules and the zig-zagging of motos (what they called motorcycles), other tuk-tuks, and cars caused there to be chaos all the time. It seemed like Kakada was ignoring us – or, at least, pretending to. Since there was no other traffic on the road, he didn’t need to look into the mirrors as often he normally would. I squeezed the hard rod and slid my hand up and down a little – just to tease my husband. I was actually quite surprised by the hardness I encountered – it was more than I was used to.
“If you do that too much I’m going to throw you over those backpacks and have my way with you right here, right now. I’m so close to cumming a strong wind could make me orgasm.”
I removed my hand. Even though he was joking, I could hear some honesty in his words, as well. I was suddenly very turned on by the situation – trying to prevent our tuk-tuk driver from seeing Charles’ big hard dick or the way I was playing with it. I did not, however, want to cause my husband to have a sticky accident. I kept my hands to myself for the rest of the ride to our high-end eco-resort. Kakada deposited us at a nice looking four-room bungalow near a gorgeous waterfall deep in a forest. He explained how to walk down to the main part of the resort for our meals, but quickly reminded us that meals could be delivered to our bungalow, as well. He also encouraged us to swim in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall – saying it was reserved for this bungalow specifically. This seemed to please Charles to no end.
“You need or desire anything more, Bong Chas, you call Kakada.”
The tuk-tuk driver bent slightly at the waist with his hands up at his forehead in a prayer position. I got the distinct feeling that Kakada favored Charles in a way that almost seemed something akin to love or desire. I was shocked by such an obvious display of affection – having read that Cambodians were reserved and almost shy. I also got the feeling that the attraction was much more intense than something sexual. The driver backed away, leaving us on the porch of our bungalow.
Charles grabbed my ass hard as we walked into the bungalow. It was the type of clutch that made one go up on the tips of his toes. He pushed me firmly into the middle of the room, tossed our backpacks onto the bed and then reached around me from the back to undo my pants. I swear the man let out a deep growl as he slid down my shorts, but I have a feeling that was just what I wished he would do. He was, however, breathing deeply and loudly. After my shorts hit the ground he squeezed my ass cheeks super hard and dug his fingers into my solid butt meat. When he spoke his voice seemed to fill the entire room. It was a voice full of huskiness and masculinity – and it was something completely new to me. I realized at that point that Charles was completely nude – he had somehow gotten rid of his clothes as fast as the Flash.
“I’m sorry, kid, but I’ve got to fill you with my throbbing hard meat and I’ve really got to do it right now. Feeling this ass of yours is only making it worse.”
“When have I ever said no to you?”
I felt the tip of his cock start to pry between my ass cheeks – steady and strong. I was defenseless against his hardness. It was a feeling that was so familiar, yet – for some reason – this time there was something different, something almost enhanced. I couldn’t place it, but then his fat head pressed into my hole and nothing else mattered. I breathed air in and out loudly to help move quickly from the pain to the pleasure. I could only think about what was trying to invade me and how it seemed so much bigger.
“God, you feel like you’ve grown.”
“I was thinking the same thing, but it’s just that I haven’t ever been this hard. And you’ve never been this tight. Oh fuck, that feels good. I gotta go deeper man!”
“Deeper? Oh my god!”
By this point, I had thought my husband was already fully submerged within me. I had no idea there was more of him to come. When it came to sex, I was a Grade A catcher. Charles’ had always been impressed with my abilities as a bottom – and usually petered out – excuse the pun – a lot earlier than me. Today, it felt different, though. There was so much power behind his plowing – there was so much mass being plowed into me, as well. I knew I had never been opened so wide or invaded so deeply. My body could tell me that. I was amazed – after all these years – that Charles could still surprise me during sex. Where had he been hiding this rod of concrete before? By this point, the motion of his stiff shaft going back and forth within me had reached a pace that seemed beastlike and the joy it was giving both of us was clear from his animalistic grunts and my pleased moans. That’s also when my elder lover reached around my body with his left hand and started twisting my nipple like it was a stubborn cap on a bottle. His right hand found its way to my raging hard-on and started pumping vigorously. He’d thrust into me as he pulled his hand down my cock and then reverse. The motion was driving me crazy with pleasured anticipation. After he plunged into me fully, he growled into my ear.
“I’m about to fill you with so much man spunk you won’t need to eat any protein for a week, bud. Oh yeah, squeeze that tight ass of yours. I’m not sure I can handle too much more of this. You’re hotter than a New York sidewalk in August. Damn, you feel fine. Plowing you never felt this good.”
I did not realize I could be turned on more than I already was. All of this was so new – the sexy roughness in how he handled me to the alpha talk he was delivering in my ear. Charles was always neat and controlled in everything he did – even when we had sex. This beast mode that had suddenly come out of nowhere made me so excited I knew I would soon be a goner, no matter how hard I tried to prolong my release. Something was definitely different about my husband, but I was not going o complain. He resumed his power plowing and increased the speed of his hand on my cock.
“I’m gonna make you squirt, bud. I’m going to make you squirt big time. We’re going to unload together. You’ve never felt so good, babe. I feel like I could plow you all night long. Oh hell, you’re so tight.”
I suddenly became aware that Charles was now in some other world. His body was on overdrive – desperate to give us both lots of pleasure. He was more different than I had ever seen before – confident, cocky almost, and definitely taking the lead. The man was even emitting loud grunts of sexual joy and he was usually pretty quiet during intercourse – only moaning slightly upon release. These sounds were so different than any other time. My husband was pounding me with quick thrusts of his crotch and then pulling his hard meat partially out very slowly – his words matching the rhythm. I had never felt such overt pleasure.
“Fuck . . . yeahhhhh. Fuck . . . yeahhhhh. Fuck . . . yeahhhhh. FUCK!!!”
And with the last obscenity – something he never did – he slammed my ass as if he wanted to go through me. I felt his ample balls smack against my ass as he pinched my nipple harder than ever and pulled his hand down my shaft tightly. There was a moment of calm before the storm and then he unleashed a gushing geyser of his thick juice into my ass. I swear I was temporarily blinded by the pressure of his load as my eyes rolled back into my head. I had no choice but to squirt out my explosion in response to his generous and athletic invasion of my body. I was simply offering copious amounts of thanks. My cum shot across the floor as if it were being ejected from a super soaker. I cried out in pleasure . . . pain . . . bewilderment . . . who knows what – simply because I shot the biggest load of my life. I continued to buck like some kind of untamed stallion – both because of Charles’ ongoing pounding and the fact that my body was emptying itself of the internal lake that had been building all afternoon. There was now a thick line of my spunk reaching far across the floor and my ass was leaking some of the huge load that had been deposited there by Charles. We were both breathing heavily and our bodies were still shaking from our orgasms. Once he was somewhat steady, Charles walked me over to the bed – his throbbing hard cock still sheathed in my ass. He pulled out of me, causing me to gasp loudly as his hardness passed the opening of my hole. He let my body drop onto the bed – completely spent. I forced myself to roll over so I could look up at him.
“Fuck, I feel great. Gotta crank out some pull-ups.”
There was an exposed beam reaching from one side of the bedroom to the other about seven feet off the ground. Suddenly, my husband jumped in the air, grabbed hold of the metal beam, steadied himself, and then started lifting and lowering his body in perfect form. My mouth dropped open wide. This was the guy that only biked or swam for exercise. He had an aversion to weights and steered clear of anything remotely close to what he called the actions of a ‘gym rat.’ His cock was still rock hard and it bobbed a little as he muscled his body up and down. He was grunting numbers in that animalistic way as before for each lift. When he finished and held the twentieth lift for a lot longer, he dropped to the ground and noticed, for the first time, my shocked face. He was walking around the room shaking out his arms.
“What? What? Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You have never uttered the words ‘gotta crank out some pull-ups’ ever in your life. You’ve never walked around nude for longer than two minutes – and, mind you, that’s because you had to dry yourself off. And you most certainly have never pumped my ass as hard as you just did – not to mention making noises and comments I’d normally expect from some hot porn movie.”
“I don’t know, bud, I just feel like a million dollars . . . no, a billion dollars. It must be this country.”
“And that’s another thing, since when did you start calling me ‘bud?”
“Wow, I didn’t even notice. Gotta do twenty more, bud.”
My mouth gaped open wider as I watched Charles jump up to grab the beam and, again, ‘crank out’ twenty repetitions. His body now glistened beautifully with a light sheen of sweat and his cock was still fully engorged – rigid as a pole and sticking straight up. I marveled at how he could perform this particular exercise so easily. Charles was fit, but he certainly wasn’t muscular. He didn’t do anything to build up his arms – so it was amazing that he did forty pull-ups without any problem. When he dropped back down to the ground, he again walked confidently around the room shaking out his arms even harder this time.
“God, that feels so good. My heart rate’s up, my blood’s pumping, and I’m still so freaking horny. My nuts need to bust another big one out badly. Can you help a fella out, there, bud?”
He was now standing beside the bed and had reached down to push his cock out straight – so the tip dangled near my face. I swear the thing did, indeed, look bigger, but, like Charles, I chalked it up to just him being so incredibly hard. My hubby teased me by pressing the hard tip of his rod against my lips. I could not figure out what was happening to the man. The timid, refined man I loved was brazenly whacking his hard cock against my face – not in a painful way, but more playfully and confidently. I rarely got the chance to suck Charles off. He definitely loved my mouth, but usually he couldn’t stay hard long enough for me to evoke a release. That clearly would not be the case today.
“Are you taking Viagra?”
“It feels like it, huh? No, bud, this is all natural and I’ve never felt this jacked. Oh, baby, I gotta feel that throat around my meat. Come on, open wide for your man.”
The second my lips parted my mouth was filled with his pulsing, hard-as-hell cock. I choked a little from the sudden tightness his rod caused. I had always considered myself an expert cocksucker, but I had not been prepared for his aggressive move. It was something very foreign for the man I loved. I was not complaining, but I immediately had to adjust, open wider, and swallow. My throat somehow opened to allow his tip to enter and Charles began to press his meat deeper into my mouth and then pulled it back. There was instant joy for both of us. I regained my control and began to power suck the man’s cock. I still could not believe how hard his cock was – mainly because it had never gotten this way when we had sex before and here we were headed toward his second explosion within just twenty minutes. Charles was usually sound asleep within ten minutes of ejaculating. He was always so considerate to get me off first, just because he knew he might not have the stamina for it after he came. The battering ram that was pounding my mouth seemed so out of place. It also took up so much more space than it ever had before. By this point, I was enjoying the sucking so much I was rock hard again, too.
“Hot damn, your mouth is almost as wonderful as your ass, bud. I love it when my big tip slams into the back of your throat. So fucking hot. You suck cock better than anyone I’ve ever met. Damn, I bet you could suck water out of a stone. I’m . . . gonna . . . cum . . . ohhhhhh . . . hellllllll.”
How the man gushed a second big load in such a short time was beyond me. My throat was instantly filled to capacity and I was swallowing with all my might. Charles continued to pull and thrust his rod into my mouth for the duration of his orgasm – actually causing the gobs of milky semen to be thicker. I wasn’t able to get it all and it ran all down my chin and neck. I gave it my best shot, however, and I pleased my man to no end at the same time. When he was finally finished plowing my face and slapping my chin with his balls, he pulled out of my mouth and fell to the bed beside me. I could tell the man’s breathing had not returned to normal and that he was completely spent. I lay down beside him and draped an arm over his back. Within minutes we were both sound asleep.
“What time do we have to meet Kakada?”
I woke to a gentle shaking from my husband. I immediately noticed soreness in my mouth and in my ass. This brought a smile to my face and I then felt the dried cum on my chin and below. Charles was playing with my nipple – something he knew turned me on. I rolled over on my side to look at him. Instantly, I knew the old Charles was back. His face looked reserved and his demeanor was polite and giving. I found myself both relieved and disappointed.
“We need to meet him at the restaurant at six. What time is it now?”
“Five thirty. Shall we shower?”
“That was a wonderful afternoon, Rick. Thank you.”
“No, thank you. I enjoyed it, as well, but I might be walking a little funny tonight.”
I found myself wishing he would call me ‘bud’ or he might crank out a few more pull ups, but the very professional, the very dependable, and the very gracious Charles was back. I forced myself to see this as a good thing and not dwell on how for about an hour he had been a cocky, commanding version of the man I loved. We showered together and my husband softly cleaned my body. I did the same to him.
“I think that laundry place in Phnom Penh shrank my shirt.”
I didn’t hear what he said because a life-size statue in the corner of our big living space was distracting me. It was of some Cambodian god or king standing at attention with his arm bent at his side and the palm facing out – like he wanted to give you a ‘low five.’ I wondered if it were some kind of greeting or maybe the man was actually offering a blessing to those who entered. I made a mental note to ask Kakada when he arrived. I turned to look at my husband – dressed smartly in his favorite light blue polo and some nice looking khaki slacks.
“Look – this shirt is tighter than it was.
“Oh my, I think you’re right. But it actually looks good. The tightness fits you. I think the pants are a little tighter to. I wonder what the laundry place did to make that happen.”
“I didn’t give them my pants.”
My attention was immediately pulled away from what Charles was saying because a rather large gecko crawled out from behind a large armoire against the wall and scurried up to eat a mosquito resting above. Good, I thought, one less little pest that might bite me during the night.
“Do you think about a hundred of those creatures will come out when we turn out the lights at night?”
“You mean and have like a gecko rave or something?”
Charles pushed his arms in the air and acted like he was dancing – I emphasize the word ‘acting’ because the man never danced. He always said he didn’t like it. I smiled – both at my husband’s attempt at a smooth move and the idea of a bunch of geckos boogying to disco lights while we slept. I noticed that the shirt and pants actually did look really hot on Charles tonight. I decided I would take all of his clothes to that laundry place when we spent a few more days in Phnom Penh. He clearly looked great in clothes about a half to a full size smaller than what he bought. I never thought about changing the size of his clothes. My thoughts were interrupted by Kakada’s voice on the large veranda in front of our bungalow, which also made our imaginary gyrating gecko scurry back behind the armoire.
“Bong Chas and Rick! Are you ready for dinner? I come early to give you a gift.”
“I thought we were meeting him at the restaurant.”
I whispered to Charles and he put his hands up in the air – indicating he did not know anything. I went and opened our front door. There was Kakada – now dressed in a long sleeve cream-colored dress shirt and some black pants. He was actually quite a handsome guy when he wasn’t sweaty and covered in dust. His face was beaming and on a tray he had two delicious looking tropical drinks in tall glasses.
“Chim-reab-sua, Rick. That is how we say hello. It is formal. We use that when we talk to older people or our guests.”
“No, Rick, that wasn’t even close. Here, try it again, chim-reab-sua.”
The correction had actually come from Charles, now standing behind me. I turned to him – astounded that he had caught on to what Kakada had said after hearing it just once. And, indeed, his version had sounded much different than mine and almost exactly like our guide’s.
“Ah, Bong Chas. Chim-reab-sua. It is good to see you looking so healthy.”
I chalked up the oddity of Kakada’s words to translation issues and I was still floored by my husband’s flawless Khmer – what the Cambodian language was called. He had taken some foreign languages in high school and college, but I had never heard him pick up sounds that quickly. He stepped around me.
“What did you bring us, Kakada? They look delicious.”
“I have brought you both something very good. For Rick, a wonderful mango passion fruit smoothie. And for you, Bong Chas, I have a special beetle root and dragon fruit smoothie. This was made just for you. I am sure you will like it very much.”
“I did like that beetle root earlier today. Let’s have a taste. Thank you, Kakada.”
“Bong Chas, you can say ‘ahkuhn,’ which is thank you in Khmer.”
“Well, ahkhuhn, Kakada.”
“You are most welcome, Bong Chas.”
“Yes, ohkoon, Kakada.”
Both men laughed at my botched version of ‘thank you,’ but I did not care because the smoothie I was drinking was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. I immediately realized that this was the way fresh mangos and passion fruit should taste – not those things I got in the states that had travelled forever to make it to my expensive organic grocery store. I sipped the smoothie slowly to allow my taste buds to enjoy its goodness for as long as possible. Charles, however, sucked his down in one long draw on his straw – even causing loud slurping sounds to get the last few drops.
“Man, that beetle juice is good.”
“Beetle root juice, Charles. It sounds nasty when you call it beetle juice.”
“Well, it’s nasty good.”
“I am glad you like it, Bong Chas. It is very good for you. Are you ready for dinner.”
“We are. I’m starving, how about you, bud?”
That one short word got my attention the same way a screaming smoke detector can make you jump into action. I had no idea why, but I immediately looked down at my husband’s crotch and was rewarded with the outline of what was clearly a raging hard-on beneath his khakis. The word ‘bud’ seemed to go hand-in-hand with my husband’s newfound horniness. I moved my gaze upward and I swear the guy was standing straighter than he ever did – and was almost puffing his chest out like some gorilla during mating season. There was a devious smile on his face as he gazed at me. Instantly, I new the cocky Charles from our afternoon delight session was back. My own crotch stirred as Kakada turned to lead us to dinner. My husband’s hand lightly touched my back to guide me, but immediately slid down to my ass and squeezed tightly – again, causing me to let out a slight yelp and go up on my toes. If Kakada noticed any of this he did not let on. He simply led us down a path, lightly singing a song.
“Let’s sit on the same side, bud.”
Charles was lifting the chair from the other side of the table and moving it around to be beside mine. It was a long table, so there was ample room for both of us – it was just such a surprising move for my husband. He’d never contemplate moving furniture around in a restaurant or, heaven forbid, sit on the same side as me – making it undoubtedly clear that we were a couple. I certainly was not going to complain, I was just taken aback by his bold move. Kakada had retreated somewhere – to the kitchen or the bar area and the few people that were at the spacious open-air restaurant were far enough away to allow us to talk freely. Charles sat down beside me and immediately leaned into my body.
“I’m harder than a steel girder, bud, so I’m going to need some groping from my man.”
His big hand was on top of mine underneath the conveniently covered table. What was clearly a traditional Khmer table runner was draped over a low hanging red cloth, which prevented anyone from seeing what Charles was doing. He gripped my hand roughly and then moved it over to the large throbbing tool pressing against his pants. I let out a slight gasp when I felt how hard he was – it, again, was something so foreign. It caught me off guard. He crushed my fingers around his big meat and squeezed – as if I were just a puppet responding to his actions. There was immediately a low guttural moan that escaped Charles – under his breath, so no one other than me would notice. He started moving my hand up and down his long, hard shaft.
“Damn, bud, I’m even fucking harder than I was this afternoon.”
The cuss words that came out of Charles’ mouth so easily almost shocked me as much as his new name for me. My husband reserved these kinds of words for the rare occasion that he accidently hit his thumb with a hammer or pushed a button on his laptop that instantly erased all the information he had painstakingly just entered into an online form. I wasn’t offended in any way – actually, it was the opposite - the cussing actually turned me on. His voice exuded the same cockiness of his actions. It was like there was a total new packaging of the man I loved. Mild-mannered, shy Charles suddenly changed into domineering, dripping with manliness Charles.
“Yeah, that feels nice, bud. Real nice. Just keep stroking that hard thing.”
“Charles, this new you is really great and all, but it’s also starting to freak me out a little.”
“Why is that, bud?”
Charles spread his legs apart a little more, so my hand would have complete access to his stiff-as-hell meat. It was such a macho move and so out of place for him. He spread his left arm across the back of my chair, letting his hand rest on my shoulder. I continued to press my hand against his hardness and move it up and down. Charles was grunting softly in approval as I did my work.
“You’re the man that almost never allows public displays of affection. You didn’t even want to kiss in front of people at our wedding. Now you have me fondling you under the table, your arm is draped across my shoulder, and you’re sitting on the same side of the table as me – something you’ve never done before.”
“I just can’t help it, bud. I wanted to be close to you. It’s like I can’t get enough of you. But, more importantly, I needed you to stroke that wild beast under the table.”
The man had never referred to his own cock as a wild beast or in any other fashion, come to think of it. I was still groping his tool, which had seemed to only get harder . . . and bigger, if that had been possible. I was caught between an intense lust for the man who had taken over my husband’s body and a need to know that whatever was causing him to be an alpha with a capital A was not harmful in any way. He clearly picked up on my worrying. He grabbed the back of my neck and squeezed.
“Listen bud, your old man is fine. In fact, he’s never been better. I didn’t hear any complaining when I was banging the shit out of you this afternoon. I’m sure it’s just this incredible country, the fresh air, and the tropical surroundings turning me on. Sit back and enjoy the ride. Speaking of rides, I hope you’re ready for the crotch bucking of your life later on tonight. I feel like I could shove my rod through the headboard if I wanted to. Your tight ass is going to be the only dessert I’m going to need tonight, stud.”
By this point I, myself, was hard as stone and definitely leaking copious amounts of pre-cum. I made a decision at that moment to throw caution to the wind. The change in Charles was not hurting anyone – as a matter of fact, quite the opposite – he seemed to love the changes almost as much as I did. I did, indeed, sit back and let him continue to massage my neck as I massaged his crotch. I intended to enjoy the ride.
“I feel like I could eat a horse, bud.”
“Well, be careful Bong Chas, they actually might have it on the menu.”