I met Damen on-line. He’d contacted me from a travel post I placed on some hook up site. We were both going to be in Penang at the same time, both on short holidays to Malaysia’s island paradise. We emailed back and forth. He finally sent a photo. Studly. So I agreed to meet him the following month.

I was a day late in arriving. Thank you Air Asia. Having not been to Penang before, I’d selected a mid-range hotel that appeared to be about half way between the two places I wanted to experience: Georgetown and the night market at Batu Ferringhi. The Evergreen Hotel turned out to be a lot nicer than I expected. It catered to visiting businessmen. A fax awaited my arrival. From the management of the hotel, welcoming me. I could only assume in SE Asia, faxes are de rigueur for businessmen. A charge for the fax was on my bill at check out. Instead of complaining, I laughed.

My plush ocean view room overlooked a lap pool and the hotel’s circular drive. Directly across the street, a paved walkway fronted the small rocky beach that quickly disappeared into the turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean. Locals fished from the concrete barrier, angling for that night’s dinner.

Damen was scheduled to arrive by ferry from Sumatra, his home, two days after my planned arrival. I had intended on having a full day to explore Georgetown before hooking up with him. Instead, I got a good night’s sleep and a few hours the next morning to go exploring before he’d arrive.

I love to take a few hours walk when I get to somewhere I‘ve never been. Might have a general destination in mind. Or not. You get a good overview of the place, see how the locals live, and run into unexpected pleasures that way. By map, Georgetown looked like a short stroll from the Evergreen. In reality, it was a good two hour hike. I tried following the beach as much as possible, but the road snaked away from the water often. Occasionally it turned back oceanward with several promenades offering a shady spot to stop and enjoy the view. Muslim women sat looking out at the water, wrapped in their tudongs in shades of blues and purples. By the remnants of Fort Cornwallis, lines of rickshaws waited in the shade, their drivers fast asleep under the cast iron cannon peaking out over the fort’s red brick walls. Eventually I ended up at the ferry terminal. Not that that had been my plan. But it was an hour before Damen’s expected arrival, so I grabbed a taxi back to the hotel for a nap.

Like my plane, Damen’s ferry was late. Not quite as tardy, though. His at least arrived on the scheduled day. About three hours after he was suppose to arrive, he called. He had just got in. I told him I would wait in the lobby and that he was about a 15 minute taxi ride away.

Our brief on-line relationship was not much more than an introduction to each other, an assurance that we were compatible, and that the G rated pix we’d exchanged allowed for a mutual attraction. Two gay guys hooking up in a foreign land probably meant sex, but we hadn’t really talked about it. Just that we would meet. When he showed up at the hotel, suitcase rolling along behind him, I realized to him, our plans meant he’d be staying in my room. No problemo. I’ve had travel mates share my room before. And even if we didn’t end up in the same bed, it’s nice to have a companion around when you visit somewhere new. For short trips. For short periods of time. And fortunately there were two queen size beds in the room, so we would only be sharing a bed if we wanted to.

Damen was in his late twenties. Tall for an Indonesian, he was just an inch shorter than me. Beautiful dark skin, deep brown eyes, an engaging smile. And fit. Not muscular or built, but in good shape. Turned out he was quite studly, just as his pix had suggested, which isn’t always the case. So I was ready if he expressed any interest in hopping into the sack together.

After he unpacked we strolled down the beach getting to know each other a bit better. He was in college back home, worked part time in radio, wanted to be a journalist. His English was very good. Whenever he had trouble coming up with the right word, he’d ask for help. Even when he had a phrase right, he’d often ask if that was the best, or most common way, of saying it. I liked that he was both inquisitive and desirous of learning not only how Americans talked, but how we thought too. I like being a spokesman for my fellow countrymen. They come off much better that way. Scary thought, huh?

We found a Malaysian version of an outdoor food court and had a cheap dinner sharing a beat up metal table with other diners. The beer was warm, the weather pleasant, a balmy breeze blowing in off the ocean. We watched the sun go down as the sky changed hues. Ended up chatting with a group of Malaysians we’d met on the beach. None of us really spoke the others’ language well, so there was lots of laughter as we tried to carry on a conversation in English, Bahasa, and Malay.

When we finally got back to the hotel, we sat on the couch in the room talking about our countries, politics, and religion. Not really the outcome you’d expect of two gay guys alone together. He told me about his boyfriend, an older married gentleman from Italy. We talked about the difficulties of long range relationships. Toward the end of the night, he stretched out and laid his head on my lap. But it was more out of being comfortable with each other than as a prelude to sex. Around one in the morning, we both decided it was time for bed. I took a shower and hopped into my bed. He took a shower, and dressed in a pair of black silk boxers, decided to slip into bed next to me. We fell asleep.

Yeah, I know. Disappointing. Y’all were hoping for one of my soft porn tales. Me too.

The next morning dawned, a new day began. A new Damen, too. He woke before I did. And immediately got busy making sure I was up, too. Up being the operative word. Waking in the morning to a hot stud’s lips around your cock has got to be one of the better ways of starting a day. My first trip to Penang had just got a whole lot better. As my tale of that trip did too, I’m sure you’ll agree. I looked down, brushed his hair away from his eyes and smiled, “Good Morning!’

He laughed. Broke off from his efforts to give me a morning kiss. I slid my hands down his body, shucking off his shorts, then enjoying the feel of his cool naked flesh against mine. I feel bad for straight guys. They never get to experience spending a chaste night in bed with a buddy to wake the next morning for a friendly orgasm. Damen was a delight. And quite vocal in showing his pleasure. He had a nice firm body. And a rock hard cock. Even when I was deep inside of him.

We spent close to two hours waking up. Then hopped into the shower for some more fun. By then we were both ravenous and pleased that the hotel’s buffet breakfast was extensive. And disappointed that my plane was due to leave that evening.

We decided to head into Georgetown. Both of us camera buffs and wanting to photograph the historical ‘burb. We wandered the streets taking pix, stopping to show off our better shots to each other. We’d both done some advance research and had several of the same spots to visit in mind.

Georgetown is a World Heritage Site. There are several renowned locations, like the blue Cheong Fatt Tze Mansion, that are not to be missed. But pick any street and take a walk. The worn, tired buildings, degenerated by age and the tropical sun, are painted surprising pastel hues set off by vibrantly colored wood shutters and doors. Even corrugated tin walls are painted in vivid shades of lime green, blue, and pink. It’s architecture from the colonial past still in use today. Narrow sidewalks meander under concrete canopies. The support posts often featuring small shrines with paint as decaying as the surrounding buildings. Red brick work peaks through crumbling plaster. The streets are alive with vendors offering Malaysia’s version of fast food. The populace mounted on motor scooters compete with colorful rickshaws for room on the narrow streets. The Muslim population are decked out in traditional Islamic dress, but with a Penang flair: they wear the bright florid colors of the island in place of the staid black and austere whites of their Arabian cousins.

After a few hours of wandering around, Damen timidly suggested a visit to the colonial cemetery. He was a bit concerned I’d think it strange or morbid, but he really wanted to visit the graveyard. My kinda guy! I love cemeteries. Especially those with graves from hundreds of years ago. Tombstones tell a story; the history of a place is often well laid out in the local cemetery. Plumeria trees dot the landscape at Georgetown’s colonial cemetery offering shade and filling the area with their heady scent. The headstones are engraved in a multitude of languages. The Christian colonial rulers’ markers crumbling in decay long forgotten by relatives removed by both time and space. The Asian gravestones still show signs of familial visits, small offerings left in honor of ancestors. We spent more time there than any of the other areas of Georgetown we visited that day.

All good things come to an end and it came time to go back to the Evergreen and pack. I had a flight to catch. He wasn’t scheduled to leave until the next day. I was concerned about his having a place to stay for the night so I checked with him about his plans, ready to pay for another night’s lodging if he needed it. Turns out he had a prepaid hotel in town. He told me he had planned on staying there the night before, but after seeing me in person in the lobby the afternoon before, decided he’d rather spend the night in my bed. Cheeky little bastard!

That should have been the end of our relationship. But he’d held back on more info, too. Turns out his boyfriend was on a business trip in Bangkok and Damen would be there in a few more days. He was headed to KL first, and I was off to Bali for a few days. We’d both be in Bangkok at the same time, and made arrangements to meet again.

We saw each other again in Bangkok. An interesting tale in its own right. But that’ll be a separate post. Stay tuned . . .

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