Thai Heaven

As I stood on the station waiting for the train to arrive, I felt not
exactly depressed, but bothered and disoriented. It had been an
oppressively hot day, and it had not been a happy one. I had started the
long drive from Melbourne to Sydney early that morning, only to get to
Melbourne's northern limits when my car began behaving oddly. Five
kilometres later, it simply stopped. Phone calls, tow trucks, irritable
car repairers and frustration followed, as did a dash to Spencer Street
Railway Station to see if I could get a sleeping compartment on the
overnight train to Sydney. "Get real, mate," I was told by the cranky
old booking clerk, "those were booked months ago. But I have got one
last seat in Car 2."

So I took it, and here I was waiting with a mass of humanity to rush the
carriages and claim my seat. As usual, I was early and just as I was
rummaging through my carry bag at my feet looking for the book I had
forgotten, a pair of beautifully sculptured, smooth, coffee-coloured
legs housed in a pair of tan Timberland loafers appeared at the edge of
my field of vision. Hoping immediately that they were male legs, I
slowly raised my eyes to be met by the sight of a pair of beige linen
shorts which appeared to enclose a pert and perfect peach of a bum.

Now I was really interested and the horrors of my day were quickly cast
aside! And now it was time for a proper inspection. Initially I did not
have to be secretive, since the object of my interest - and rapidly
developing affection- was standing with his back to me. His torso was
covered by a smart bright pink polo shirt; he was clearly Asian, but
from which country I could not yet guess; his arms matched his legs, and
the long slender fingers of his right hand were wound around the handles
of a black nylon day-pack. The back of his neck was like brown silk and
strands of straight black hair mingled at his shirt collar. I sent him a
silent thought-message to turn around, and at the simultaneous hoot of
the slowly-approaching train, he did turn to watch it glide into the
station. His face was so sweet and angelic, so smooth and free of
blemish, that I thought he had to be Thai or Malay. His lips were full
and sensuous, and his eyes were wide and innocent. 'Stop staring,' I
inwardly screamed at myself, but I was too late, and he caught my eyes
with his - only for a moment, but it was enough to make me melt.

But now the rush was on. I was torn between following him and searching
for Car 2. Of course I had to choose the latter option and, as I picked
up my bag to head towards the front of the train, I saw with dismay that
he was making his way towards the rear of the train where the sleeping
compartments were. 'Oh well,' I thought, -just another disappointment to
make the day complete.

No wonder my seat was the last to be booked. Not only was I over a set
of wheels, but I was also next to the most repellent specimen of
Australian manhood - fat, dirty, unshaven and with a can of beer in his
hands. He grunted some sort of unintelligible greeting, pulled the top
off another can of beer, belched loudly and assaulted me with a foul
mixture of stale breath and nauseating body odour.

By now the train had begun its inexorable crawl to Sydney, and I just
knew I was in for the journey from hell. Searching for some alternative
to sitting in close proximity to my hideous neighbour, I decided that I
must be hungry and that it was time to locate the dining car.

Pushing open the doors to the dining car, I spied an empty seat opposite
a well groomed middle-aged lady and was making my way towards it when I
saw a flash of pink at the far end of the carriage. Could it be? Yes, it
was and there was an empty seat opposite him. So I kept walking.

"Is this seat taken? Would you mind if I joined you?" I didn’t wait
for an answer to my first question. The flicker of a smile and a nod of
agreement was all I needed, and instantly I was seated at the table and
in seventh heaven.

Porpon, it turned out, was Thai, 24 years old and was in Australia
studying for his Masters degree in Biochemistry. He was going to Sydney
for five days to conduct some experiments requiring specialised
equipment in the computer laboratories of the University of New South
Wales. He was intelligent and amusing, and as we talked our initial
awkwardness turned to familiarity. He was from a wealthy professional
family in Bangkok, and it soon became clear that his journey to study in
Australia had been motivated by more than just a wish to be at Melbourne
University. He was running away from something. Could it be that he was
gay? And how could I find out without offending him? Well into our
second bottle of white wine, Porpon himself solved that problem by
asking me about the gold chain and charm I wear around my neck. When I
told him that it was a present from a former lover, he looked me in the
eyes and quietly asked, "Was this lover perhaps a boy?" My nod of
agreement simply led him to say, "That is good."

Deciding that a third bottle of wine was excessive, I explained to
Porpon the revolting prospects of returning to my seat. I will never
forget his reply:

"Well, I am afraid that you must return to your seat," and then after a
lengthy pause and a faintly wicked smile, "but only for five minutes to
collect your bag. I would like you then to join me in Compartment 9 of
Car 11." As I got up from my seat, I was aware of the discomfort in my
groin as my raging hard-on fought to free itself from the folds of my CK

My tap on the door of his compartment five minutes later was met by a
soft "It’s unlocked." As I pushed back the sliding door, I was met by a
vision of pure heaven. Porpon was lying on his back on his bed clad only
in a pair of white Jockey boxer-briefs with the top of his erect cock
peeking cheekily from under the waist band. I stripped to my CK’s, now
glistening with pre-cum, and straddled him on the bed. Words were
wasteful, and I devoted all my attention to lathering his armpits with
my saliva and then nibbled at his small but erect nipples. This seemed
to send an electric shock right through him, and he arched his back and
let out a long low groan of pleasure. The only hair on his torso above
the waistband of his Jockeys was a sparse black snail trail which
emerged from underneath the knob of his rock-hard cock. Slowly I wound
the hairs of his snail trail around my tongue, which I then sent darting
towards his knob to catch the drops of clear liquid oozing from his
slit. Bucking at every touch of my tongue, he was now desperate for me
to rip off his Jockeys. 'Oh no, my lovely,' I thought, 'all good things
come to those who wait.' Now I turned him over and turned my attention
to the soles of his feet with my tongue, snaking it up the back of his
legs over the meagre offering of hair on the back of his thighs and
running it along the groove where Jockeys met thighs. But those
perfectly moulded round cheeks stretching the cotton of his Jockeys soon
got the better of me, and I buried my face into his cotton-covered arse,
nipping and licking, and inhaling his wonderful aroma. Only now did I
begin to peel his boxer-briefs slowly down over his hips, revealing the
velvet of his unblemished bum, at which point, with a vigour that caught
him completely by surprise, I pulled his cheeks apart and buried my
tongue in his pucker. I thought for a moment that he would shoot his
Thai coconut cream then and there, but fortunately that pleasure was

Turning him over again, I was greeted by the vision of a ramrod-straight
quivering cock, surrounded by neatly trimmed black hair and towering
over a smooth shaven sack weighed down by two very large plums. Very
soon that beautiful 6' shaft was in my mouth, and not long after my own
rod was worming its way into the cherry of his magnificent arse. It was
soon clear that I was not the first to fuck him, for which I was
grateful, and he presented that wonderful combination of grip and
freedom. I had no wish to pound him, and I soon discovered that what
gave him (and me) the greatest pleasure was a rhythm of total withdrawal
and slow reinsertion. I straddled him, rode him, bent him over - and
then he sat on me, slowly lowering himself to be impaled by my rigid
sword. He had barely touched his dick when it seemed to explode,
spraying my face and chest with stream after stream of hot white
tropical cream. When his ecstasy had subsided, he lowered himself to lie
beside me, peeled off my condom and took my meat deep into his luscious
mouth. With a quiver, I tensed and shot so much cum into his mouth that
it oozed through his lips and dripped down on to my balls.

His body and bum were everything they had promised to be, and to kiss
his soft, full lips and bury my tongue in his throat was ecstasy. The
taste of his bum was as sweet as his cum was salty. All night we rolled
in a mixture of saliva, sweat and cum, luxuriating in our passion. His
appetite for sex and love was insatiable, but by the time the train
rolled into Sydney’s Central station, my capacity to satisfy it was

Six months later, we are both back in Melbourne, but the passion and the
cum keep flowing.

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