Wit hated Air Asia. Not that he’d ever been on a plane, much less one of the low cost carrier’s. But he was familiar enough with their record to know the plane would be late. Again. He was already anxious as it was. Seeing ‘DELAYED’ flash at him from the Arrivals board wasn’t helping matters. Paul, aka The Doctor, was on that plane. And Wit could barely contain himself at the idea of seeing him again.
Wit was used to the departures area at Suvarnabhumi, seeing a farang customer off was kinda the holy grail for a bar boy. First, you actually knew he was gone. And second, a few well placed tears always meant the farang would empty his pockets of left over baht and hand them your way. After getting taxi money for your return trip back into town from him, of course. He had a few repeat customers who always showed up at his bar on their first night in town, but none he’d ever been able to convince to agree to him meeting them when they arrived. So waiting for a familiar face to make its way out of customs was an unusual experience. Meeting a man who was not a customer was too.
It’d been two weeks since he’d met Paul. They’d texted, emailed, and once even skyped during their separation. Paul had told Wit more about himself, giving Wit the chance to get to know him better. And in return Wit had told Paul those things about himself he thought Paul wanted to hear. Few of which were true. No problemo. Truth was over-rated; it was one of those things that arrived in its own time. Kinda like Paul’s plane.
Paul’s planned visit was short, just for the weekend. Wit had managed to get the entire weekend off work, which only took a bit of begging and a few small lies. Paul intended on spending that time shopping – at least when they weren’t cuddled up in bed together. He’d been effusive talking about his favorite malls, those he wanted to visit again, the larger, fancier shopping extravaganzas that Wit only knew from the occasional day spent with a farang customer. So Wit too was excited over the prospect of emptying Paul’s wallet. Paul also wanted to spend time at Chatuchak – which Wit wasn’t as happy about. The Weekend Market was too hot, too crowded, too filled with knock-off goods for Wit’s taste. But Paul kept crowing about some damn mini cream puffs at the market that Wit just had to try. The only cream puff Wit was interested in was the one Paul kept tucked inside of his Calvin’s.
Finally the flight from Kuala Lumpur arrived, just minutes before the next scheduled one was supposed to. It didn’t take Paul long to make it through Immigration and Wit spotted him immediately when he walked out into the arrivals hall. He ran to Paul intending to give him a big hug and kiss; Paul body-blocked him with his carry-on. Love may be blind, but evidently Paul was worried his fellow passengers were not. Wit made a mental note that PDAs were a no-no with Paul. And then made another that the sight of Paul’s warm smile made his heart melt.
Standing in the queue to catch a taxi without being able to touch Paul was unbearable; the long, slow ride into town almost as bad with the only interaction between the two being the warmth coming off Paul’s body. Checking into the hotel seemed to have taken hours, that Paul registered Wit as a guest too a small bit of sunshine piercing the gloom of being so close and yet still so far away. The elevator took a life time to travel three floors. And when Paul started fumbling with the key at their room’s door Wit wanted to scream. But as soon as the door slammed shut behind them, Paul became as anxious as Wit, both only slowing things down long enough for Wit to perform his subservient act of kneeling down before him to remove Paul’s shoes and socks. Which, as it had the night they met, caused Paul’s cock to immediately spring to full attention. The rest of the night was a blur of sweat and flesh. Hours later, falling asleep wrapped in Paul’s arms, Wit felt as if he’d finally arrived.
Early Saturday morning, they took the MRT to the Weekend Market, with Wit enjoying the last bit of air-conditioning he’d get for the next few hours. As soon as they ascended into the bustling marketplace, Paul rushed off leaving Wit to trail behind. Ah, the cream puffs, Wit thought. And then giggled at the sight of Paul’s muscular ass moving beneath his shorts. Two deliciously sweet chocolaty cream puffs, he thought, his cock beginning to stiffen before he decided walking through Chatuchak with an erection wasn’t the best of ideas and focused his attention elsewhere. Wit hurried to catch up; his phone rang. His customer from Thursday night. He let it go to voice mail rather than take a chance of Paul overhearing his conversation. But it reminded him that Paul was out spending money and he wasn’t busy earning the money he could. With Lek working at the bar now, his share of the rent had dropped. But he could tell dating Paul was going to be expensive. Wit knew the good things in life weren’t free. But wished a little bit of goodness would come into his without decimating his wallet. But he was in love. Tuesday’s customer went down as ‘Saturday with Paul’. The farang whose call he’d just ignored was ‘Sunday with Paul’. It was a good thing Paul was only in Bangkok for the weekend; Wit wasn’t sure he could book enough customers to cover an entire week.
It hadn’t been much, but so far Paul had picked up the tab for everything they’d done together. Wit had 50 baht earmarked for some cold fruit, a treat later for the two of them, an attempt to pay his share without actually doing so. He was worried about later when they hit Siam Paragon. He couldn’t even afford a snack at that mall and hoped Paul wouldn’t notice he wasn’t buying anything. But his story was that he was a university student. And surely someone still in school couldn’t be expected to have a lot of extra money to blow. Not that Wit had a clue as to the finances of someone in college. He wasn’t even quite sure where the nearest university was. That reminded him that he still needed to make it out to Khaosan Road to buy a fake student ID card. Just in case Paul ever asked to see it.
So far he’d been lucky. Not that far out of school himself, Paul had seemed eager to talk about Wit’s schooling when he’d offered up a lie about how much studying he had to do. Wit had grimaced – the only honest part of their conversation – and then claimed he didn’t want to think about school while he was enjoying the break from his studies. Paul had seemed to buy that. Maybe university students really didn’t like attending school. He’d have to find out. When Wit had told farang customers in the past that he was going to university and needed help with his tuition, they’d seldom if ever asked questions. Other than how much. It looked like having a relationship with Paul was going to be an education in itself. Wit hoped they’d find the damn cream puffs soon before he had to pee. Love or hate Chatuchak, the one thing everyone could agree on was that the market had the filthiest, foulest restrooms in Bangkok.
Paul led the pair into the depths of the market, winding through cramped aisles filled with half the population of Bangkok, the ambient temperature skyrocketing the further in they went, the heat radiating from tin roofs already baking in the mid-morning sun combining with the packed, slow moving bodies of the crowd to create a barely survivable atmosphere.
Finally Paul managed to locate his cream puff stand. Wit had to admit the pastries were good. And when he reached up to wipe a small drool of whipped cream running down from the corner of Paul’s mouth, he didn’t balk at the intimacy of the gesture. Wit thought maybe he should have tried wiping that cream away with his tongue instead. Happy at the sweetness filling his mouth, Paul reverted to an earlier topic of conversation. One that wasn’t as sweet.
“You never did tell me what your major was,” Paul prompted.
It took Wit a minute to figure out what Paul was talking about. And then another to quell his rising panic when he did. He wasn’t quite sure what a major was, but knew from coaching from his barmates what the acceptable answer was. “Bidness,” he answered, half mumbling his reply into his dessert.
“Oh! A BA is good,” Paul allowed. “What area are you thinking of going into?”
Wit’s panic returned in full bloom. He hadn’t a clue how to answer that. Instead he fell back on the only area of bidness he knew and suggestively slid his pastry into and then out of his mouth. Allowing his own tongue to seductively catch the filling that dripped from his lips, he put words to that thought. “That area,” he whispered while eyeballing Paul’s crotch.
Paul turned a shade of red Wit didn’t think SE Asian’s were capable of, giggled, and then quickly changed the subject.
Gucci, Armani, Prada . . . the stores Paul chose to browse through at Siam were a blur of designer statements as he led Wit from one mall to the next later that afternoon. Wit was astounded at Paul’s capacity for selecting clothing that cost more than Wit saw in an entire month. But Paul made it seem that it was the two of them doing the shopping, often asking for Wit’s opinion before making a purchase. Part of him wished Paul would buy him a fancy shirt or new pair of pants too, the other part of him relieved that since something for Wit never entered the conversation meant that he didn’t have to invent an excuse for not buying anything. He was just happy to be with Paul. And even happier they were shopping where it was air-conditioned again.
The only dilemma arose was when they stopped for a late lunch. Paul’s mind seemed to only drift away from shopping when food was present. He’d asked Wit what bar he wanted to go to that night. Wit almost chocked on the chicken leg he’d been chomping on as his mind raced through the options, trying to figure out how they could hit Soi Twilight without running into another bar boy Wit knew. Or a customer that knew Wit. Fortunately, before he had to come up with an answer Paul suggested they go to DJ Station, where they’d met. He’d meant a club, not a bar, much less a gogo bar. Wit thought it might be a good idea to suggest that they both could benefit from going on a diet to avoid being around food for the rest of the weekend.
Paul’s entire focus was on clothing, and expensive clothing at that. So Wit was surprised when Paul decided MBK should be part of their shopping excursion for the day. Even the brand names carried by Tokyu didn’t seem to be up to Paul’s level of interest. But it turned out he only wanted a new bag; he’d already bought so much his haul wouldn’t fit in the small carry-on he’d arrived with. And being who he was, Wit couldn’t help but to gaze wistfully at the displays of gold they walked past. Wit’s slowing pace as they passed the first gold shop didn’t register with Paul. At the second it did and he stopped, thinking that Wit might be intending to buy something. Wit thought a chunky gold necklace would make up for his loss in spending the day with Paul instead of taking that customer’s call. And boyfriends bought boyfriends jewelry. He just wasn’t sure how to put that suggestion into Paul’s mind. And then before Paul could come up with that idea on his own, as Wit hoped, he saw the clerk who he usually used to exchange the jewelry farang bought him back into baht headed their way. Wit grabbed Paul’s arm and led him away before the clerk could greet him by name. His real life was proving to be quite detrimental to the one he’d fantasized of for his doctor and him.
Back at their hotel, Wit was on more familiar – and safer – ground. He needed a shower. When Paul embraced him after making sure the door was firmly shut, Wit decided Paul desperately need a shower too. A visit to Chatuchak tended to stay with you the entire day. After stripping down to his underwear, with a bit of help from Paul, he once again knelt before him to remove Paul’s footwear. And again, Paul’s cock hardened at the fantasy of a submissive, muscle-bound hunk eager to fulfill his every whim. Wit reached up, unbuckled Paul’s pants, and pulled them downward allowing his already glistening member to spring free. Shower or not, the sight of Paul’s throbbing hardness was more than Wit could stand. He leaned in to show Paul what he could do with the type of cream puff he preferred. Paul stopped him, lifted him back to his feet; Wit could feel the beat of Paul’s heart when their naked chests pressed together. “Wait,” Paul murmured.
Kicking off his pants and underwear as he crossed the room, Paul reached into his carry-on. He turned back to Wit, holding out a small box wrapped in shiny gold paper. “I brought you something,” he said shyly. Looking at Paul’s erect cock Wit thought, you certainly did. And then noticed the gift Paul held in his hand. Good things come in small packages, he reminded himself, even if only one of the two packages he was eyeballing qualified as being small. Vision of the gold on display he’d hurried them away from earlier filled Wit’s mind; the wrapped box was just the right size. Possibly a necklace. With luck, if the gods were smiling upon him, even a ring. Wit wasn’t used to unwrapping a gift in front of the giver; protecting both party’s face mattered more than the desire to see what the gift was. But since he’d already unwrapped one of them . . .
Paul moved back to stand in front of Wit again, placing his hand on Wit’s shoulder with just enough pressure to sink Wit back to his knees. Paul’s cock dripping pre-cum, even more excited than Wit, filled his vision. Holding the box in front of him, Paul lifted off the cover. A flash of metal caught Wit’s eye. But it was silver, not gold. A slight frown creased his forehead. Perplexed, he reached in and pulled his gift from the box. It wasn’t a ring either. At least not the kind Wit had hoped for.
It took Wit a moment to identify what he now held in the palm of his hand. Not something he was used to, or of any need of himself, from times he spent with farang customers he finally decided it was a cock ring. Although those he’d seen before were usually solid metal hoops. This one was made of leather. With silver-toned spikes rising along its circumference. It was not what he expected. Paul’s already hard cock taking a sudden upswing proved Paul was more excited about the gift than Wit was. Still . . .
“Put it on me,” Paul whispered , his desire, his need, evident in his voice.
Wit was almost in tears as he reminded himself you should never look a gift horse in the mouth. But how he was supposed to fit his mouth over that was the real question. Paul’s balls tightened, drawing up closer to his erection when Wit fastened his gift around Paul’s member. He gave it a tug to finish the procedure, the low moan escaping Paul’s lips saying it all. Wit was disappointed, but a bit turned on too as he looked up to see the intense pleasure displayed on Paul’s face. Ah, what the hell, he thought. He could work with this. And then giggled at the thought that he hadn’t been the only one shying away from sharing who he really was as he got busy giving Paul the happy ending he wanted.
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