Yeah, hi, it's me, Isaac again. Teaching English in Bangkok can be a drag. Sure, we get twice per hour what Wolf's buddies in the private schools in Chiang Mai get, but we deserve it. Just getting around can wear you down. You can splurge and go on the air-conditioned buses, but the traffic. If you're teaching private students at whatever venue you agree on, you have to leave at least an hour between appointments in hopes you can get to the next one from the last one on time. It seems that traffic is never less than continual gridlock. And the pollution, I can get about a half day out of a white shirt-after that the collar looks like the shirt hasn't been washed but has been worn for a week. And we English teachers have to wear a necktie, which is murder in the climate and. Ah, I could continue whinging forever.

Finally, I decided I'd had it and needed some r&r, the beach, that was it. I thought about the nearest beach resort to Bangkok, Pattaya. But people who knew better than I said, no. The water was polluted, there were no really nice beaches, and it more like that sex area Patbong moved next to the ocean than anything. Then a buddy suggested Koh Samet, an island in the Gulf of Siam near the port town of Rayong. A three-hour bus ride from Bangkok and then an hour on a fishing boat and you were there. Beautiful white beaches, they said, sand so white and pure they made glass out of it. There were basic but cheap resorts, fresh seafood, etc. It was too much of an attraction. Factoring in travel time, on a three-day weekend you could get there, enjoy two full days of beach lazing and other amusements, and get back to Bangkok for whatever commitments you had.

By luck, an important government holiday fell on a Saturday. The Thai custom, if this occurred, was to give the following Monday off as a 'compensation holiday'. I did a lot of teaching on weekends, when my students were free from whatever they did professionally. But no one wanted to waste a three-day weekend on English lessons. The weekend before the three-day one I reached agreement with all my Saturday-Sunday students that we would take a holiday. I breezed through my weekday teaching commitments just anticipating getting on the bus and forgetting Bangkok for three days.

Getting to Koh Samet was a bit more complicated than the simple bus and fishing boat combination I had heard in the original explanation. Bangkok has four large bus stations keyed to the cardinal directions, north and so on. But they are widely dispersed in the large city, and even in the allied city of Thonburi, across the Chao Phraya River from where I lived. Despite the fact that Koh Samet was to the South of Bangkok, it was somehow classified as eastern and the special bus line that took passengers to the fishing town where one caught the boat to the island left from the Eastern Bus Terminal. This was located far to the North of where I lived on a main north-south road called Sukhumvit. To get to the terminal itself meant that I had to make one change on the city bus lines as it was. Well, I could also take a taxi, but that was beyond my means.

Luckily, my Friday teaching appointments were Thammasat university students so it was all close to the guesthouse. My teaching was finished by late morning. I had packed a simple few changes of clothes and some swimming gear and a towel in my light backpack. I nipped back to the guesthouse, changed into clothes suitable for a holiday by the sea, and set off on the bus. Traffic leaving Bangkok on the inadequate highways, for the weekend, could be as bad as in any large city in the States. Luckily, I made it to the Eastern Terminal just in time to catch one of the relatively early Koh Samet bus line hourly runs. They actually took regular Thai passengers past the fishing town of Ban Phae, where folk going to Koh Samet caught the fishing boat, all the way to Rayong. But, the focus of their custom was tourists, both Thai and European, going for holiday on the island.

I stowed my pack in the luggage compartment and boarded the coach. It was one of the generic air-conditioned buses that provided the bulk of medium class overland transport all over Thailand, comfortable enough but not really. I scrambled into a window seat. I had never traveled to the South of Bangkok and wanted to see the scenery. I needn't have bothered. The southern highway, that went to the rejected resort of Pattaya, and further down peninsular Thailand, was lined with the typical Thai version of suburban development you could see leaving Bangkok from any direction. An occasional housing estate interspersed with row after row of endless shop houses.

Finally, the bus turned east off the Southern Highway, to a smaller trunk road that ran parallel to the northern coast of the Gulf of Siam. Fields were planted in extents of a spatulate leafed plant I later learned was the soil ruining manioc. Occasional angular limestone hills and formations also made the visual picture interesting. I divided my attention between the window and the novel I always brought with me. Having reading matter to make traffic jams on the bus and other forms of waiting in Bangkok less tedious was a great advantage. I was never bored. The highway angled further and further towards the water until we were traveling parallel to the gulf, just a few meters from the sea. I was surprised when the bus suddenly stopped in a small, nondescript town. The bulk of the passengers gathered their carryon luggage from the cramped overhead racks and began to get off bus. I hastily stowed my book in the small shoulder bag I carried for the purpose and followed suit.

Ban Phae was nothing much to look at. It was simply a fishing town. To the left of the road was a typical if run-down looking Thai district town. The weathered frame building in front of which the bus had parked turned out to be the local station of the Koh Samet bus line. As I waited for the bus boy to open the luggage compartment so I could retrieve my pack, I noticed another busload of passengers doing the same as we. Lots of people seemed to have the same idea as I did, to spend a three-day weekend at the beach.

We two busloads of folk formed into an untidy horde. People who seemed to know where to go started to walk across the road and out one of two large and very long fishing piers connected to the road, and the rest of us formed up behind them and followed. You knew you were somewhere nautical and exotic as soon as you left the dreary town. Squat tug-like Thai fishing boats were moored irregularly along the lengthy pier. Fishing nets were hung to dry in the sun, and large wooden frames with nets stretched across them held pressed, salted squid drying in the sun as well. The pier truly was long and it appeared the boat that was to ferry us to the island was moored at the very end.

I only caught sight of him by accident. He was in the crowd waiting to get onto the fishing boat that was to take us to Koh Samet, but rather far behind me. My toilet kit dropped out of the backpack I was only half carrying by the straps. When I stooped to pick it, up I saw him. He simply stood out from the crowd of European tourists completely, as if someone had highlighted him with one of those Day-Glo highlighters. He was remarkable for any number of reasons I could enumerate-for one thing his clothes. Most of us tourists were wearing shorts, including me, and some wore tank tops. Despite the sultry gulf weather, this guy was wearing a long-sleeved chambray work shirt, jeans, and motorcycle boots. It seemed odd apparel for beach going.

Clothing aside, he was one of the most commandingly handsome or attractive men, by my lights, I had seen in a long time. As I sluggishly picked up my kit so I could see him as he approached, my first impression was rugged. He had a thick head of coarse hair of an indeterminate sandy color, somewhere between brown and blond, cut and combed conventionally but tousled by the breeze and a bit long at the ears. which gave him a raffish look. He had one of those noble foreheads which people of commanding presence use to advantage. The other most noteworthy features of the rest of his face I could see from the distance were a fine, bushy mustache, darker brown than his hair, and an enviable cleft chin. My second impression was virile. It was obvious he hadn't shaved that morning as his as his face sported coarse brown stubble. Also, his work shirt was unbuttoned one button and the wind was blowing. The V thus exposed was filled with a solid expanse of curling chest hair of a brown to match his mustache. I was majorly turned on and knew I had to contrive a way to meet and talk to this guy at the very least.

We finally reached the boat that was to ferry us to the island. It was larger than most of the other fishing boats docked at the pier, and had been modified for its purpose. The entire upper deck was covered with rows of wooden benches, like pews in a church. We dutifully trooped in to fill the benches. Everyone sat facing the prow of the boat with luggage between the feet, as if anticipating the magical first view of the distant island. I perversely felt like sitting facing backwards, in order to see the fellow who was the object of my observation sitting behind me, but felt this would be a bit too obvious. The boat trip was uneventful and uninteresting. I did learn from dilatory conversation with my seatmates that the desirable beaches and the resorts were on the windward side of the island, opposite where our ferryboat would land. One also recommended the Ao Phai resort on a beach of the same name. I vaguely remembered the folk at the guesthouse who had suggested Koh Samet in the first place, mentioning this resort as well. They also said we had to take some sort of motorized transportation across the island to get to our goal.

The ferry finally pulled up to a small pier. The beach of the land-facing side of the island was gritty and uninviting. The motorized transport was singular, and I mentally dubbed it the sand tricycle. The driving force was a modified front half of a motorcycle, housing a powerful diesel engine, over which the driver sat. The rear was essentially a large wooden cart with facing benches for the passengers. Each tricycle could seat about ten to twelve passengers, depending upon how scrunched folk sat.

I managed to maneuver my way into the same sand tricycle as my mystery goal man and actually sit next to him. He had a substantial pack between his legs, which made me wonder why someone would come for a beach holiday on Koh Samet travelling so heavy. He proceeded to unbutton his cuffs and roll his sleeves up to his elbows, showing forearms as virile and attractive as whatever else was visible. I noticed he had dark blue eyes, almost violet, which made him even that much more exotic.

I decided to try some conversation. I had to shout to make myself heard over the droning engine of the sand tricycle. "Have you ever been to Koh Samet before?"

"No," he said directly into my ear, "I've been to Koh Phiphi and Phuket, but never here. A friend I met in the Philippines said this was the cheapest place to stay in this part of Thailand with good beaches and where I could rent a wind surfing board."

I tried another shout, "Some friends have suggested Ao Phai resort on Ao Phai beach, do you have a place your friend suggested to stay" Again he very practically spoke directly into my ear without shouting. "Ao Phai beach, yes, that's where my buddy said I could rent wind surfing boards. But he suggested another resort-I think it's two down the coast from that Ao Phai resort you mentioned."

At this point, the sand tricycle was travelling through the central part of the island, which was both sandy and marshy and the engine was working at top rpm's so even shouting was not effective. I watched the uninteresting scenery of coconut palms, scrub, a small Buddhist temple and unexciting hamlets, as we bounced along through marshy sand and over small hummocks. The sand tricycle crested a small hill, and the view was breathtaking. Obviously shallow sea, of a shade of blue I couldn't name, washing up on the whitest, most beautiful beaches I'd ever seen. And the vista stretched away as far as I could see up the coast of the island.

The sand tricycle fumped down the hill and began rolling more smoothly along a track parallel to the beach, a slight distance above the high tide mark. We stopped at the first resort, which consisted of a substantial registration building cum restaurant with picnic tables in front of it, and quite simply huts, located haphazardly up the hill from the beach. This was the pattern for virtually all the resorts we later passed. Two of the passengers got out at this first resort, paid their fares to the driver, and headed for registration.

I used the brief quiet to introduce myself. "Ah, name's Isaac, and you?" "My name is Urs, I am glad to meet you." He shook hands very formally. His English was perfect, and if anything over precise. His accent was Germanic, but I couldn't place it. I sometimes hated Europeans, as they often spoke English better than a lot of American high school graduates, their native language, and who knew how many others? "Ah, are you German?" I asked stupidly. "No," he replied, "German Swiss, from Berne."

I was about to say something else when the driver started the engine to drive on to the next resort down the coast. I decided to conserve my voice by not shouting over the noise. We established over the next two stops that Urs was a tourist coach driver in Europe during the summer, ferrying tourists on those five countries in seven-day tours and such. He worked from late spring to the end of October or so, virtually without a break. When the weather turned cold and the tourists disappeared, he headed for Southeast Asia, the Philippines and Thailand primarily, to spend the winter and a portion of his excellent income he virtually didn't spend while working. He intimated he spent his time in relatively inexpensive countries where he could get laid easily, but didn't make it clear with what sex. I couldn't read him for all I was incredibly attracted to him.

Finally at the stop that turned out be the resort before Ao Phai, where I intended to get out, I asked, "why don't you join me for dinner this evening? They say the seafood is incredible here and I'm pretty good at ordering an interesting Thai meal." Urs shook his handsome head, "no thank you, I just flew in yesterday and still have jet lag. I'll take something at the resort where I'll be staying, and just go to bed. Perhaps another evening would be ok."

As the sand tricycle droned on I thought quickly. At the next stop the driver called out, "Ao Phai resort." I babbled, "are you going to windsurf tomorrow?" Urs just nodded. "Do you think you could show me a bit about how to do it? I've always thought it looked incredibly fun." Urs just nodded again, "sure, but don't expect too much. It's not as easy as it looks." I signaled I was getting out and went about picking up my backpack slowly and clumsily, to the disgust of the impatient driver. "Since you'll come to Ao Phai beach here to rent your board. What time do you think you'll be getting here?" "Sorry, Isaac, when I am on holiday like this, I do as the spirit moves me. After I have gotten up, had breakfast, rested, and feel like it, I'll be here. I said as I climbed out of the cart, "I'll up at the restaurant there, just come and get me." "Ok," he shouted as the tricycle bounced off towards the next resort, "see you."

I hiked up the hill to the main building and registered. A young fellow took me to my hut. To call it basic would be understatement. It was a small building, about 12x8 feet in size, with a rough timber frame holding the door and one window with shutters. The walls were simply panels of thick plaited bamboo nailed between the timber uprights and connecting beams, which formed the only shelves on which to put things. The roof was some sort of thatch. The furnishings consisted of two very thin foam pads, one could hardly call them mattresses, on the floor with small kapok pillows and sheets. On one of the connecting beams, there was a small kerosene lantern and a box of matches. The proprietor had told me when I registered, that they turned off the electric generator at 10PM. The only nod to gracious living was a nice shaded porch at the entrance, with a line tied for drying your towel and whatever else.

Luckily, for not being too bored, I had brought some prepared numbers with the good ganja I bought from Wolf's source up in Mae Sai, where I went border stepping for visa purposes too. I smoked half of one to get mildly stoned and went to scarf up seafood while I read. After dinner, I decided to retire. I was fatigued from the trip and the ganja. I carefully piled one foam pad on the other, in hopes of more comfort, and crashed even before they had turned out the generator.

I slept without any disturbance and awoke more rested than I had been in months. I felt my chin and decided to forego shaving for the holiday-if Urs had stubble, so would I. This proved to be a good decision, as a visit to the very basic common bathroom showed it had no mirrors, and I hadn't brought one. I did your basic Thai dip bath, stowed my toilet articles, and headed for breakfast. I ordered a plain omelet on rice, nibbled my way through it, and simply sat happy in the sun, drinking Chinese tea and reading. A shadow covered my book and I glanced up to see Urs. He was clad more suitably for beach going in a nearly ragged tee shirt and Indonesian sarong, and was holding a beach towel.

"Well, Isaac, are you ready to try wind surfing?" I could only gulp and take a sip of tea. I finally found my voice. "Ah yes. What do I need?" Urs smiled from under his fine mustache, "well, a bathing suit, since I am told these are definitely not nude beaches, and your wallet. The rental place requires a deposit and the first hour's rent in advance." I felt stupid I hadn't anticipated the meeting better. "I'll just run up to my hut, change and get my wallet. Just a sec." Urs just nodded and sat down at my table as I scrambled up to my hut. I climbed quickly into my speedo's as the only swimming suit I'd brought, however revealing, and pulled some drawstring waist shorts up over them, mostly to have a pocket for my wallet. I grabbed it and my towel and hustled back to the restaurant area. Urs stood up as I approached, and we walked toward the beach.

The resort had a kiosk close to the beach where they rented out windsurfing boards, large inner tubes, and other beach equipment. Urs seemed impressed that I could speak enough Thai to ask about rental prices and other information. I nearly keeled over when I found out that the rental fee was 300 baht per hour and the deposit 500 baht, about $25 total at the exchange rate. This would take almost all the ready cash I had brought, for expenses beyond my room bill and food. I looked uncertainly at the large surfboard and the mast with its sail. Urs had casually put down the money without flinching, and was busy picking up his board and sail. I followed suit and followed him down to the beach. Ao Phai beach was a kind of shallow inlet on the winward coast of the island. We trooped down to one end where there were no swimmers or other people we might disturb or vice versa.

Urs casually put his board and sail down, threw down his towel and proceeded to undress. He unknotted his sarong, drew off his tee shirt, threw them onto his towel and stretched luxuriously. I almost fell onto the sand, tangled in my simple loose shorts, at the sight of him almost stripped. Oddities first; his 'bathing suit' was formed by a diaper-like wrapping of the utility large dish towel like length of cotton called a pakamah. Rural Thai men use this for mostly anything, from wearing it like an ad hoc sarong out of the bath, to wrapping it like a muffler on the cycle in the cold season. I knew from experience how easily the bathing suit-like wrapping could come undone.

It took all my self-control to keep from collapsing onto the sand again in paroxysms of lust at the sight of him almost stripped. Urs was magnificent, splendid, resplendent, splendiferous. I had no idea what he did to attain the fine musculature of his upper body. His description of his summer coach driving duties implied he would have no free time in about five to six months of the year to work out. His body was not sculpted like a lifter, but simply solid and imposing. He also had a superb tan, which set off his blondish good looks to advantage. His front torso was covered from below his neck to his navel with a curling mat of chestnut brown hair. Quite singular, indeed I had never seen such, was a lacing, an intercurling of much darker hair in his chest pelt that traced a line between his nipples, across his fine pectorals, and further delineated a trail from the middle of his chest down to his navel. The unique effect of the fell of hair covering his chest, his rugged good looks, and his fine body made him one of the most ineffably desirable men I'd ever seen.

Urs had picked up his board and sail and was heading for the sea. I picked up my gear and followed him, glad that the way I was holding the board covered the raging hardon that was straining the front of my Speedo's. Urs walked out into the water until he was about waist deep, floated his board in front of him, and fitted the mast into the hole in the board to accommodate it. I followed suit. He smiled at me and said, "let your board fall over on the side with the sail in the water, you'll need to practice pulling it upright." I did so. Still holding his board upright, he hopped up onto it into a crouched, balanced stance, and somehow angled his sail into a breeze I couldn't feel, to go sailing out into the open sea beyond the inlet. I was envious, it looked so free and fine.

With skill, he managed to tack around and sailed right back to where I was standing in the water with my flopped over windsurf board. He jumped off his and let it fall like mine. He came over next to me, which made it hard to concentrate on windsurfing. "Ok, now take the mast and pull the board upright."

The lukewarm seawater had luckily cooled my carnal reaction sufficiently; at least I wouldn't embarrass myself. I pulled on the mast and found it a good deal harder to right the windsurf board in the water than I would have thought. Unbidden, Urs reached next to me to help me with the mast. His wet pelt brushed my side, triggering further improper reactions. Oddly, it seemed mutual. Before I could do anything, it seemed one of the tucks in Urs' wrapped bathing suit arrangement came loose and it wound away from his body in the water like an ace bandage. It revealed Urs' large uncut cock about three-quarters erect. We both looked at it and then at each other.

I was fascinated that our mutual proximity had aroused Urs well on his way to arousal, and secondarily that he had no tan line. The expanse of his body that would be covered by a conventional bathing suit was as tan as the rest of him. Urs displayed minimal embarrassment, "where I hung out on Cebu in the Philippines had nude beaches. I mistakenly assumed it be like that here too, so I didn't bring a bathing suit." He calmly rewrapped his ad hoc bathing suit as best he could in the shallow water.

When we again had pulled the board upright, Urs gestured with his head while holding the mast, "jump up on it like I did, and angle the sail," he held a wet finger up, "in the breeze coming in from over your left shoulder. I hopped up onto the board into what I hoped was an approximation of Urs' balanced stance and tried to angle the sail to a breeze I again couldn't feel. To my amazement the board sailed forward about two meters, just enough distance for me to get my hopes up, and then flopped over. Urs got his own board going and called out as he sailed by, "I'm going to use up what rental time I have left, keep trying."

I did. I would get up on the board, and flop over. Repeatedly. I managed a couple of small trips just a bit longer than my first, but that was it. For the rest, it was up, flop, up, flop, until my arms got sore dragging the board upright for another try. Urs sailed in from wherever he'd been sailing in time to watch my last two up and flops. He dropped his board and waded over to me. "Come on, I'll hold the board steady and you get up and try again." The breeze is picking up." Urs was holding the board and I was about to hop up again, when we heard a loud call from the beach. We both looked over our shoulders to see the guy that handled the rental equipment making a 'come in' gesture and then exaggeratedly pointing to his wrist as if pointing to a wristwatch.

We proceeded to take the masts out of their fittings, picked up the awkward boards, and walked to the beach. The rental guy told me in Thai to just leave the boards and he would get them to the kiosk. We picked up our towels and clothes and walked towards the resort. "Why don't you wash the salt off in the bathroom here and then we'll have lunch together. Good seafood would have to be more fun than my attempt at windsurfing." I was treated to another brilliant smile emerging from under Urs' fine mustache, "sounds good. The food at the resort where I am staying is not very good."

We walked past the registration/restaurant building and on up to my hut. I climbed the steps to the front porch and threw my towel over the drying line. "The bath is just there, up the hill. Go first and I'll take a quick rinse when you're finished." Urs looked at me sideways, "they say fresh water is in short supply on this island. Why don't we 'rinse off the salt', as you put it, together?" I needed no further urging, grabbed my towel, and scampered off behind him as he climbed the hill towards the two adjacent communal bathrooms that served for the whole resort.

I slid into the door, which Urs had left ajar. Quickly closing and locking the door, I turned. Urs was unwrapping the last of his pakamah bathing suit. I approached him and he turned, pulling me into a tight clinch and began kissing me seriously. The turnon was complete; our tongues were doing salacious things together, Urs' bushy mustache was scritching my upper lip in ways I liked mustaches to do, and his wiry chest pelt was abrading my torso in all the right ways. Urs broke away briefly and began to roll my Speedo's down my thighs so our cocks came into contact. "You are not very subtle, you know," he said, flicking his tongue in between my lips playfully.

I caught his tongue with my lips and managed to mutter, "no?" He pulled his head back and ran one hand down my back to fondle my ass. "The way you eyed me when that kit dropped out of your pack, I expected you to jump me on the pier in front of everybody. When you elbowed your way into the same motor cart I was in and contrived to sit next to me, I knew something like this would happen." I started when one of his fingers entered my ass marginally. "Now," he said, further probing my rear, "does something happen here, or back at your, what is it you call them, hutte?" "Hut," I managed to blurt out." "Yes, a hut, I should have remembered the word. So, something here?" he wiggled his finger, causing me to downright shudder, "or in your hut?"

In the midst of being seriously, and willingly on my part, seduced, I looked around. The bathroom was rough poured concrete halfway up its walls, and the plaited bamboo and thatch for the rest. There was only the concrete water tank for bathing and your basic Asian squat toilet. In answer to Urs' question, I managed to reach into the bath tank, dip up a dipper of water, and pour it over both our heads. Urs started back at the coldness of the well water poured in for bathing. "Ach, back to the hut then. Let's rinse the salt, as you say, and get on with it." We playfully doused each other with water, soaped in a dilatory way, and rinsed more sedately. We toweled ourselves half,-dry and Urs knotted his sarong while I pulled my Speedo's back on. I was glad the cold water of the dip bath had cooled our ardor some. I didn't really want to walk all the way back to my hut with a hardon stretching my trunks or Urs' sizable erection tenting out his sarong in broad daylight. We quickly walked to my little hut, dumped our towels and Urs' pakamah on the drying line and tumbled inside.

Urs moved into the small building and I turned and quickly slid the bolt lock home. While Urs fumbled with undoing the waistband of his sarong, I rolled off my Speedo's and quickly discarded them. I unpiled the two foam pads I'd slept on and tried as best as I could to arrange them adjacent to approximate a double bed, spreading the inadequate sheet in the middle of the arrangement. While I was bent over, fussing with the pads and sheet, Urs came up and began to rub his hard cock in the crack of my ass while bending over me and grasping my waist with his arms. As he began to caress my cock, I was electrified, with his cock rubbing my ass and his chest hair brushing my back. "Mm," he murmured, "my first lover was another boy on my middle school football team. I've always liked men built like football players, slender and muscular like you." One of his hands began to caress my chest and my knees turned to water. We just folded up in sections onto the pads, like a badly folded camera tripod. The concrete floor felt hard through the thin foam as we collapsed onto our sides, turning to face each other.

Urs was good enough at kissing, I felt I should rent him out for executive seminars. His tongue was like an independent entity, finding creative new ways to arouse me further. We were in such a tight clinch, it was as if I was trying to learn Urs' body by Braille. My hands traced the hard muscles of his back, played around with the small patch of hair just above his waist, and ended at his ass. Like the rest of him, it was solidly muscular and disgustingly esthetic-his cheeks were globular and finely shaped. I cupped the globes of his ass and pulled which caused our cocks to rub together more tightly and incitingly. Urs broke off the kiss and looked somewhere between bemused and amused. "Ach, you are so begeistert. He muttered something in very dialectic German, which my high school German allowed me to figure out was 'how does one say'. "Ah yes," he said, bending to flick my very erect nipples with his tongue, "you are so ardent."

I traced the line of dark hair that curled its way across his pecs, among the chestnut thatch, between his own nipples with my hand. "Why should I not be with someone as beautiful as you? I've never seen such fine chest hair. And, it is attached to a total package I lusted after at first sight." Urs knelt upright next to me, "ach ja," he said, applying his tongue to my nipples again, which caused me to buck on the inadequate foam. "Yes, it does attract. If I see among my passengers a man, or sometimes a boy, I think would make a good sex partner, I am ach shamlos, yes shameless. I make to unbutton my shirt far enough so the dark hair shows. Perhaps when I am carrying luggage into a hotel. This usually, as you Americans say, gets me laid. But I must also fight off the women who want me." With that, he leaned over me and brushed my chest with his wiry chest hair. I dissolved in lust as Urs shifted to move us into a sixty-nine position.

As Urs settled into position, a close-up view confirmed that, like the rest of him, his cock was superb. If the ancient Greek sculptors had carved their fine athlete statues with erections, it would have looked like his. It was long, European uncut, and so lightly veined the shaft appeared smooth. The pendulous foreskin covered half the head when his prick was fully erect. I took his foreskin in my lips and lightly rubbed it up and down the swollen head of his cock, causing a satisfying jerking of hips and a Germanic moan of "ach, ja." When Urs applied his oral skills to my own cock, I found it hard to concentrate on my own attention to his fine member. Although I lacked a foreskin to play with, his lips and tongue performed the same magic on my cock that he'd done with his kisses, and his mustache brushed the shaft of my prick like an erotic whisk broom as he sucked me.

I don't know how long we slurped and sucked, pleasuring each other. Just for the erotic feel of it, I ran my finger up the dark trail of hair that snaked its way through the chestnut thatch on Urs' chest down to his navel, and played with his nipples. At the same time, Urs moved his hand to caress and cup first one and then the other cheek of my ass. I glanced down when he removed his mouth from my tingling cock, and saw him run his index finger into his mouth several times. I returned my attention to his strainingly erect cock, and stiffened when Urs used that selfsame finger to caress and play with the ring of my ass. He then ran it entirely up my ass and started to make fucking motions. I groaned and reached over to extract a tube of lube I carried with me while travelling, pleased at my foresight, and handed it to Urs.

Urs took the tube and applied liberal amounts of the stuff to his cock and my ass. He urged me onto my stomach and knelt upright. I heard a slight groan and looked over my shoulder to see Urs, kneeling upright, and looking both uncomfortable and annoyed. He muttered something in his dialectic German which sounded like, "ach, ich kann nicht so ficken." My high school German and raunchy German allowed me to make sense of this as, "I can't fuck like this." He stood up and said, "Isaac, turn onto your back and raise your legs in the air." Puzzled at the change in strategy, I complied.

He quickly pulled my legs up by my ankles until my calves were half way over his shoulders and only my shoulders remained on the pad. He held onto one of my ankles and lowered his hand to his crotch. I felt him use his hand to guide the head of his cock into my asshole and grunted when he jerked on both my ankles and pulled me up full onto his cock. I groaned as he began to fuck me vigorously, holding both of my ankles against his broad shoulders and thrust forward and down, filling my ass with his big cock. I had never been had in quite this way, and was pounding the thin foam pads with both hands at the painfully pleasurable invasion. It was interesting to look straight up at Urs as his balls slapped my ass as he fucked me.

He looked down with satisfaction at his driving cock. "There was no way I could have you kneeling, that concrete floor is too hard through these stupid pads. He smiled in a satisfied way-so I do you standing or, ach ja, it's coming. He started to bend over and lower my legs from his shoulders, which caused my knees to move towards my ears and raised my ass up off the pads. Urs bent his knees and straddled me as if he were astride a saddle, but the only contact between our bodies was his hands holding my knees upright and his cock stretching my well-stretched asshole as he drove his cock straight down into me. Waves of liquid pleasure washed over me as Urs quite literally fucked my brains out.

Suddenly I went ballistic. The change in position and the depth to which Urs was propelling his cock suddenly had it grazing my prostate, which had seldom happened in my fucking. I began shaking as a feeling like a volcanic eruption ran up the shaft of my hitherto untended cock and I began cumming right into my own face. My orgasm was intensified when Urs upped the ante and fucked me harder while I was still climaxing. It seemed Urs had reached the same stage as I had, as he sank his cock in deep and shuddered. I was afraid the noise of our joint groans would convince a passerby that a medical emergency was occurring and they needed to break down the door. Finally Urs relaxed and disengaged from my well-used ass by standing straight up. I managed to lower myself carefully, with a view to avoiding an uncomfortable meeting with the floor through the inadequate foam. Urs lowered himself to the pads with similar care and stretched out beside me.

He smiled in the unmistakably satisfied way of the well laid. I was taken aback when he flicked a bit of my cum off my nose with his tongue and kissed me, lasciviously. This was fine with me. I found kissing a man with a substantial mustache one of the more pleasurable of the minor amatory activities, unless there was a beard involved, which was even more fun. I pulled away and fingered one of his nipples and essayed "du fickst sehr gut," which I hoped meant something like, 'you're a good fuck'.

Urs laughed quietly, somewhere under his hairy belly. "And you too, my strange American. I never thought a trip to Koh Samet would such pleasures involve." He hit his forehead. "Listen to me, such good sex and I can no longer speak proper English."

I laughed, "better than my German. Now, what do you say you move out of your resort down the beach and come up here? We'll have another bath together and then see about dinner, and," I fingered his now flaccid penis, dessert. If you take another hut we'll have four pads to make this more comfortable."

Urs fingered my now similarly limp prick. "You Americans, so efficient, so in a hurry! Ach, I would prefer to, how do you say, liebkosen." I looked at Urs, "I don't know, the lieb part means love I know. Demonstrate." "Perhaps you know another word, as we also say knuddeln." I giggled as he began to knuddel by licking bits of cum on my chest and then pulling me to him for another mustachy kiss. I ran my hand down his broad back and pulled away just long enough to say, "cuddle, you furry Swiss, it means cuddle." And we cuddled.

After a suitable cuddle, Urs and I managed a bath without getting inflamed, and he set off to check out of his resort, after checking to see if there was a hut free at Ao Phai. As if the Divine had planned it, the hut adjacent to mine was free. Urs put down a deposit and too off down the beach to fetch his pack. I made a gesture to getting dressed by putting on a pair of loose drawstring waist shorts and a tank top. I had told Urs that I would be at a table at the restaurant, waiting on him for dinner

I grabbed one of the novels I had with me and went to the restaurant section of the resort, and sat at a picnic table. I decided after bottoming in incandescent sex, I deserved a bottle of Singha beer. I splurged on a large one, and sipped and read while I waited for Urs. I couldn't help but notice that a guy sitting at an adjacent table kept giving small furtive glances in my direction from time to time. I felt sure he hadn't noticed me noticing him.

I was both puzzled and interested by the aspect of the guy. The nature of his near-stunning good looks and a bit of gray in his goatee made my brain say thirty-something. My first impression was simply that it was totally unfair for a human male to have such a fine head of hair. His impossibly thick head of medium-brown hair came low on his forehead and temples both, and was cut long over his ears and neck. I wondered how he managed to render it close to perfectly trained and styled on an island in the ocean with limited facilities. The lengthy fall of his hair framed a fine-boned, well-shaped face with features tending towards delicate rather than rugged. He had a pair of slightly close-set, inquisitive blue eyes, a fine aquiline nose and a decidedly sensual mouth. His cultivated and well-trimmed goatee relieved the almost emasculate nature of his fine features. It was hard to gauge how he was built, as he wore a somewhat too-large tee shirt over loose drawstring-waist shorts. His legs, which I could see under the crudely built bamboo table with benches, were slender but finely turned. My impression formed of a compact but strong individual, as he had an aura of being almost ready to spring, like a jungle cat.

He looked like he was about to come over, for whatever reason, when Urs walked up with his big pack. "So, my American, you will show me to my hutte?" I had arranged with the management to keep Urs' key for him. I grabbed my still unfinished bottle of beer and followed Urs up the hill. I opened the door for him and stood aside as he stowed his sizable pack frame in the small hut. I nipped into the hut and grabbed Urs. I quickly kissed him and said, "shall we have dinner and then dessert, or would you like a small hors d'ouevre first?" Urs laughed, "I think after our workout this afternoon we need dinner first." I stopped, "Urs, do you like ganja?" He looked puzzled, "what is this ganja, I don't know the word." I thought a moment, "you know, dope, marijuana."

"Ach, so" he said, "marihuana. Yes, I like this but never use it in Europe. The tour company does a random check of," he gestured to his crotch. "Oh," I said, "urine test." "Yes, just so. But yes, if others have it, I use it out here. I never buy it myself." I was feeling forward and grabbed him again, "ah yes, I have a little and it makes me nice and horny. "Ach, my boy you are not needing anything to help you be, ja hornartig, geil, schwielig." "What?" I managed to ask. He cupped my crotch with one hand, "horny my American. Come, let's go eat."

We ambled back down to the restaurant. Seeing as how we were on an island in the Gulf of Siam, I was certain we couldn't go wrong with sea food. I ordered some shrimp, the odd green Thai mussels cooked with red chili paste and basil, and some veggies. We had a pleasant dinner, killed my partial bottle of beer and shared another in good companionship. Urs was so comfortable to be with, I found it odd. I had always heard the Swiss were formal and standoffish. We had discussed the possibility of another bottle of beer or dessert. I was feeling reinvigorated and leaning to dessert when the guy with the thick head of hair who had been eyeing me got up and hesitantly came over to our table. "Would you guys mind if I joined you for just a bit?"

I looked at Urs who shrugged slightly. "Sure, sit down." Up close, the fellow was even better looking that I had surmised. He looked uncomfortable. He hemmed and hawed a bit and then looked conspiratorial, "Ah listen, would you guys like to buy some dope, cheap?"

I tightened. I got my dope at a source my buddy Wolf in Chiang Mai had turned me on to. I went all the way to the Burmese border to do my little across the border visa trips, and bought my dope in Mae Sai. I knew that there could be little direct problems dealing with another foreigner. But you knew never knew what handy cop was watching him. I was interested however. I had a single number with me. I had already decided to take the fishing boat into Ban Phae and invent some dysentery to phone to my students for the first few days of the week. I wanted to spend some more time with Urs in our version of a tropical paradise. I didn't think he'd be getting to Bangkok any time soon, and dope spiced up the sex to my taste at least.

Before I could say anything, the fellow looked more discomfited. "I know this sounds suspicious, my just coming on like that. It's just, I bought a good sized stash up North, and haven't used as much as I thought I would. I leave from Bangkok day after tomorrow, will leave here tomorrow, and I hate to throw it away. I mean, I'm a bit short of cash and there's that airport exit tax and all. It's good stuff and you can have it for a couple of hundred baht, or whatever you can spare."

I was about to say something when Urs cut in, "would you have any of this stuff rolled so we could sample how good it is?" I looked across at Urs and thought he looked almost predatory. The fellow looked at Urs, "sure, do you want to come up to my hut and do it? Hey, this is silly, I'm Michael. Urs looked proprietary, "this is Isaac, and I'm Urs. No, why don't you get whatever you've got prepared and join us in that hutte up there." Urs pointed to mine. Michael nodded, "my hut is up at the back of the property, I'll go and get the stuff."

I was puzzled but Urs acted very decisive. He gestured for our restaurant bill, paid it with some hundred baht bills, and hustled us up the hill to our adjacent huts. I went to mine and Urs went quickly to his. I opened the door, and tried to arrange things, matches, an ashtray, and the small kerosene lantern for whenever the generator was turned off. There was a scratch at the door, which I opened. Urs pushed through with both the foam pads and all the bedding from his hut and dropped it in a heap. I started to try and arrange it into a place for three of us to sit on, and bent over, fussing with it. Urs grabbed me from behind and ran his hands into the waistband of my shorts and began to stroke my cock. I went hard immediately and dropped everything. I turned to embrace him and he grabbed me. "Isaac, I think we have, ach, what do you call them, a three-way on the way here. This handsome fellow, he is what you English speakers call a bottom. We will get stoned, get nakt, ja, naked," he smiled holding my chin, und gut ficken, we will fuck well."

While I returned my attention to arranging the four pads in some collective arrangement in the inadequate floor space, Urs stood next to the door looking expectant. I glanced up and noted he was busy in a bit of obvious stage setting. He removed his tee shirt and shoved the rolled waistband of his sarong down low enough, that an expanse of furry flesh that extended from below his navel to the beginning of his pubic hair was visible. I felt mildly irritated at the attention this dope selling American was getting but only mildly. Like wind surfing, I had the idea this worldly Swiss had a better idea of how to manage whatever was happening than I did.

Like following a stage direction, there was a hesitant knock on the door. Urs undid the small bolt lock and ushered in Michael, who seemed immediately taken aback. After doffing his flip-flops, he tripped onto the thrown together surface of the pads almost fell rather than sat down. Urs sat down next to him on the pads. The fabric of his sarong was very thin and the lineament of what it covered made it amply clear that Urs wore no underwear and was in the early stages of arousal. I sat down on Michael's other side. Before Michael could say anything, Urs stretched in such a way that it both showed off his fine body to advantage and pulled the sarong fabric covering his groin even tighter. I thought it somewhat theatrical, but Urs was well aware of what effect his virile good looks had on the susceptible-after all, here I was anyway. Michael went from taken aback to being fully undone, although this subsided a bit when Urs lowered his arms.

Michael made reference to the reason he was with us and turned away from the sight of Urs to pull two neatly rolled numbers out of the breast pocket of his tee shirt. "Ah, I brought these numbers so you guys could figure out if you wanted the stash or not." As Urs settled down next to Michael, I handed the still flustered fellow a box of matches. "Light one up for us and let's see," I said and used the moment to move a bit closer to Michael myself. Even in the harsh glare of the single unshaded light bulb that lit the place, he was uncommonly attractive. He didn't notice, as however he tried, his gaze kept moving to Urs' crotch.

He lit up one of the numbers, took a hit and then seemed again perplexed, as he didn't know which way to pass it. I took it from him and quite self-consciously used the movement of taking a hit and passing the number to Urs to move closer. Urs smiled like a shaggy predator and leaned in like me to take the dope. Michael's ganja was unusually fine and one hit had the good feelings running through my veins and gave me the effect unusually good dope had on me of making me immediately horny. Urs took a hit with a flourish, raising his arm-it was disgusting, as even the hair in his armpit was esthetically sexy. Michael was still unsuccessfully trying to keep from staring at Urs' crotch, where the evidence of his increased arousal was evident under the insubstantial fabric of his sarong.

We passed the number until it was obvious Urs was about to burn his fingers on the last of it. He stubbed out what was left in the tin ashtray and gave Michael a look that was positively plunderous. "Excellent stuff, we'll be glad to buy it off you. But you didn't just come here to share your dope, now, did you?"

Michael looked plainly confused, "Ah, er…" he managed to get out as Urs reached to jerk the tail of Michael's tee shirt out of the waistband of his shorts and pull it halfway up his torso. A wide trail of hair rose from Michael's navel and traversed his flat, narrow belly. Urs further confused the fellow by using both hands to jerk the tee shirt up and around his head. As he struggled with the shirt, whether to pull it down or take it off I wasn't sure, Urs deftly undid the knot securing his sarong and pulled it out from under himself, and off. He was magnificently, fully erect. I took my cue from Urs and quickly pulled off my own tee shirt and shorts as Michael finally divested himself of his tee shirt. The attractive trail of hair that ran up his gut seemed to diverge and parted to cover his narrow, taut pectorals. He was truly good-looking.

Urs ran one hand down through the fall of hair on Michael's chest and gently pushed the man prone on the mat. As Urs moved to kiss Michael, he jerked on the waistband of the man's shorts and gave me a significant look. Urs used one hand to urge Michael to lift his ass off the pushed together foam pads, and I used the opportunity to jerk his shorts and underwear down past his knees and then got them off. For a man of slight stature, Michael's cock was remarkably large, uncut and thick to go with its length. While Urs gave Michael the benefit of his considerable osculatory skills, I began to suck his cock. I had hardly started when Michael literally started to buck on this foam. He pulled free of Urs and sat up. He shook his head; "You guys are some take on getting rid of some dope."

Urs said nothing but kissed Michael again and gently lowered the man to the foam pads again and then shifted his attention to tongue Michael's nipple and gave me a significant look. I took the cue and began to tongue the handsome man's other one. Michael simply moaned and Urs' and my tongues tickled his nipples and one each of our hands cupped and caressed his cock and balls. The whole process became reciprocal when Michael managed to reach up with his hands to fondle both Urs and me. Meanwhile Urs and I found time to tongue each other over Michael's chest while the mutual manual arousal continued. We all seemed lost a pleasant haze of extended foreplay when Urs' startling dark blue eyes looked at me across Michael's hairy chest and he whispered, "ficke ihn waehle ich ficke dich gleichzeitig."

I was surprised at several things; Urs trusted my German to understand him, assumed Michael didn't speak German, and his plan at this seduction was kinky but attractive. He had said, in the command form of the language, "fuck him while I fuck you at the same time." Being the filling in the proverbial sandwich with these two attractive men seemed delightfully depraved under the circumstances. I took the initiative and moved to push Urs away and pulled Michael into position to kiss him, hoping I matched Urs' adeptness or approximated it. Urs knelt upright and inserted his head into the writhing pair of us so he could tongue and excite both our cocks. In the midst of the carnal confusion, I pulled Urs' trick of interrupting the making out to moisten my finger in my mouth and resuming kissing the man while reaching to run my finger up his ass. The simple act increased my own excitement as I grazed Urs' furry front and crotch with my hand where he bent over the pair of us. His sturdy prick was rock hard and I caressed it briefly before reaching between the cheeks of Michael's boyish ass and running my index finger up his anus.

His reaction was startling as he doubled the ardor with which he returned my kisses as I made fucking motions with my finger in his rear. His hips bucked against me and I noted that Urs had transferred his oral attention to Michael's prick. I pulled his head down to my shoulder and murmured, "Michael, let's fuck. Turn over." His reaction was unexpectedly enthusiastic. He quickly flipped onto his other side and bent at the waist to give me access. As I reached for the lube from my toilet kit Urs whispered, "take him from on top."

I knelt upright, lubed my cock and urged Michael over prone on his stomach so I could lube him. He complied. I covered him prone and found him easy to enter, keeping myself supported on my elbows and with my legs outside of his. Michael and I jointly groaned as I sank my cock into his ass. Urs had been right about Michael; he was a superb bottom, working his rear muscles along my cock as I thrust in ways that had me doing mental multiplication tables to keep from coming too soon. I was pumping Michael's fine ass for all I was worth when I felt Urs stand over Michael and me and cover me as he had when he'd fucked me in the contorted way we'd disported ourselves in the afternoon. I held still as he lowered himself, and then I groaned as he fitted the head of his big cock past my ring and thrust home in one quick slide.

The feeling of penetrating Michael while getting drilled with the regularity of an oil pump by Urs was indescribable. I could only assume that Michael's excellent dope had made Urs especially lusty. We got off to a rocky start but Urs and I soon got our motion coordinated and I was in a slightly painful sexual haze of pleasure as we fucked away. Michael continued to pleasure me like crazy with muscular squeezes around my cock and even managed to lift his rear to meet my thrusts with the partial weight of two guys fucking above him. Suddenly I couldn't hold out any longer and I dissolved into the mother lode of orgasms and my penis felt like a detonated rocket of pleasure as I poured myself into Michael. There was nothing I could do under the circumstances but lie there depleted over Michael while Urs continued to pound my ass. Finally he buried his cock deep and I assumed upon hearing his signature, "ach, ja," that he had come also.

Urs was finally no longer thrusting and we began to disengage. Urs withdrew his cock from my ass and I was only capable of rolling off Michael onto my back. Michael turned onto his side and said, "you guys fuck like maniacs. I've been had."

I also noticed that his cock was still emphatically hard. I nodded at Urs and both attacked his crotch together with me sucking his cock and Urs nuzzling and tonguing his balls. We didn't work long and suddenly Michael gave a yelp and was coming in my mouth. When he was finished we are put on the minimum of clothing to go to the bathroom and clean up. Upon returning to the hut we enjoyed some more of Michael's fine ganja. I was sated for the night and slept like the almost dead. Dope apparently made Urs indeed potent as I was vaguely awakened by the sounds and motion of him fucking Michael twice more during the night.

The next day Michael managed to rouse himself in time to pack and catch the fishing boat back to Ban Phae. I spent three more days at last learning to windsurf after a fashion and enjoying Urs beautiful body before returning Bangkok and resume teaching.