Yeah hi, it's me, Isaac again. I think my buddy Wolf, you know, that teacher up in Chiang Mai, talked about the oddities of Thai visas. Like, how you have to pass over the Thai border into another country and come back to be stamped in again every three months. He should complain. With that yearly renewable visa of his, all he has to do is go 'border stepping', as he calls it. His reentry into the country is assured by his visa. It's harder for grunt teachers like me, who don't work at an international school. We not only have to leave the country every three months, but apply for a new visa at a Thai consulate or embassy in the country we go to. This takes three days from application to issuing the new visa, so there's not only travel expenses but hotel, and eating and etc.

Complain, complain, you're thinking. For teachers in Bangkok there are two options. You can go all the way down peninsular Thailand to the island of Pinang in Malaysia, or all the way through northeast Thailand to Laos. Going north past Chiang Mai to the Burmese border, where Wolf goes, isn't an option. There's no Thai consulate in the Border town where Wolf goes day tripping; you'd have to go the country's capitol, and that's Burma.

I had regularly gone to Pinang in Malaysia. But the price of a second class fare on the train had risen, and while Pinang cheapo tourist hotels were cheap enough, it was a boring place. Also, since so many teachers like me went so frequently to Pinang, the Thai consular officials had become recalcitrant in issuing yet one more non-immigrant visa, unless some money changed hands. I decided to try the trip to Laos.

One could fly direct, but I couldn't afford this. Getting there overland was somewhat arcane, if cheaper than going to Pinang. One had to take an AC bus from Bangkok to a nondescript city in the Northeast of Thailand called Udon Thani. From there, another bus took one to the Thai Border town of Nong Khai. At Nong Khai, you engaged a vehicle to take you half-way across the newly opened, so-called 'Friendship Bridge', which spanned the Mekong River, with a stop at the Thai and Lao Immigration offices. Finally, you engaged a Lao 'taxi' at the border to take you to Vientianne, the Lao capitol. Friends told me the trip was rather arduous, with so many changes of vehicles, but could be done in not much more than twenty-four hours from Bangkok to Vientianne. It took almost as long to get to Pinang, and it was cheaper to go to Laos.

Khun Suthin, the exporter for whom I did English correspondence in his business, was kind enough to write a letter for me. He said as much that I was an employee but not, a kind of apprentice exporter who would in turn help the Thai export economy, etc. These were the kinds of official looking lies expected in Thai correspondence, and which I hoped would facilitate getting a visa. I packed my letter with the requisite number of changes of clothes, including my consulate safari suit, and left. I splurged on a taxi to the Northeastern Bus Station to catch my bus. It left in the late morning, and would not get to Udon Thani until early the next morning.

The coach was a bit larger and grander, but no more comfortable than the one I took to Koh Samet. I settled down for a long and not particularly comfortable journey. The only event, and not a memorable one, of the journey was the 'complimentary meal'. Somewhere in the depths of night, the bus stopped at a giant bus restaurant. The meal, khao tom, or rice porridge-a soupy sort of rice served with unappetizing side dishes was consumed in half an hour and the journey resumed. I was awake after the sun came up, as I had been told the station at Udon Thani where the Nong Khai buses left from was easy to miss. The bus stopped and the bus attendant pointed at it, so I descended and retrieved my luggage from the luggage compartment.

The next bus was considerably less comfortable. It was a simple coach without AC that had no particular schedule or set stops, except Nong Khai. I paid the ridiculously cheap fare, stowed my luggage, got on, and sat. It seemed the bus did not depart until some critical mass of fare-paying passengers had got on to make the trip worth while. Finally, enough farmers and school kids got on and the bus departed. The trip was slower than might have been, as the bus stopped whenever a passenger rang the bell to get off. Finally, the bus stopped at a station close to the enormous span that bridged the Mekong, but outside of the border town of Nong Khai.

The station was incredibly busy, with most of the passengers being Lao traders who were taking Thai goods back to Laos to sell at a profit. For a modest fare the bus took passengers to the beginning of Thai Outgoing Immigration and picked them just past Lao Customs and Immigration. It did just that. My passport was efficiently stamped out at the Thai office, and stamped in with less efficiency on the Lao side. We re-boarded the bus and were taken across the last half of the bridge to Laos.

The Lao traders went for buses. Friends had told me to look for 'Taxis', which turned out to be a number of venerable Toyotas and Nissans, whose drivers were obviously waiting for the few foreign tourists on the bridge bus. After a bit of bargaining, I paid a fee less than I would for a taxi ride from the outskirts of Bangkok to my guest house. And the distance to Vientianne was more than forty km.

The scenery was no more inspiring than that of rural northeast Thailand. Vientianne was built with the older portions of the city bordering the Mekong River. I knew we were entering the city after we began to pass furniture shops and soon blocks of shop houses. The driver snaked through the center of town, where from the looks of things the first class hotels were located. After a series of confusing turns, the taxi was travelling down a rutted road with the river on one side and old, colonial era official buildings on the other. He made a turn up a road, stopped, and announced, "Hotel Sukhnilay".

The hotel had been recommended by friends as a bit run down, but said the rooms were comfortable, air conditioned, and the hot water was reliable. The place was solid and indeed a bit run down. I figured it dated from after the French colonials had left, but before the communist revolution. I was checked into a room a bit more run down than the lobby of the hotel or the fancy nightclub. It was acceptable, but you knew where you were from the Cyrillic writing on the clanking AC proclaiming it made in the former Soviet Union. I glanced at my watch and noted with disappointment that it was already 2:45 in the afternoon. The consulate office did not take new visa applications after three PM so I was stuck in Laos an extra day. I had a mercifully hot shower in the cracked tile bathroom to wash off travel dust, and lay down for nap to take care of travel fatigue.

The next morning I put on my Official Thai Business safari suit. Appearance, culturally approved Proper appearance, counts for much in Thai society and the suit was part of the oil to churn out results, like a new visa. I had asked for an early wake-up call. I intended to get to the embassy at opening time. When I got there, I found a horde of others had the same idea. The small courtyard in front of the business windows of the consular section was completely crowded with South Asians of every sort. Pakistanis or Sri Lankans or whatever were hoping to use a tourist visa to Thailand as the first stepping stone to entry to America or the UK. I despaired at getting an application into the window by the cutoff time, given the number of applicants ahead of me and the unhurried speed with which the Thai staff processed business. I filled out my application form, got my additional papers in order and joined the line.

Then, I spied a European foreigner at the head of the line. He was gesticulating and looking agitated, and was obviously at an impasse with the consular official, most of whom usually spoke as good English as one could find in Thailand. I decided to see if acting as translator/facilitator might help me do some creative line jumping and get my application in faster. I waded through the sea of patiently squatting folk who had arrived before me and approached the foreigner. I got up behind the fellow and said, "Excuse me, sir, but you seem to be having difficulty and I speak Thai. Can I be of help?"

The guy turned around and smiled, "can you ever. This bureaucrat doesn't even want to take my application."

The fellow was one those commanding individuals that naturally exude vitality. He was no taller than I am, maybe five-eight, but outweighed me by what looked to be forty pounds of muscle. He was wearing shorts ending at the knee and a striped rugby jersey with the sleeves rolled up and looked like one of those tireless guys you see diving to the sand in beach volleyball competitions. What piqued me in interest level was that he was a light blond.

He was medium bald and what remained was buzzed to a short blond fuzz on a well-shaped head. The hair that frizzed his arms and his muscular legs was similarly light blond, but the thatch of chest hair showing at the vee of his unbuttoned jersey was a sandy brown. His face went with the overall package, as his mien shown with the same sense of coiled energy one could perceive from his body. His was not a handsome face, but strong. His baldness on top blended into an unusually wide forehead, and he had broad cheekbones and a strong jaw, which combined to give his face a squarish shape. Wide-set blue eyes peered out from under bushy blond eyebrows, and he had a pug nose, all of which reminded me somewhat of a bulldog. He wore a well-trimmed blond goatee, which heightened his interest level and offset the shape of his face. He was decidedly attractive in his overall aspect.

I made a polite wai of greeting with my hands to the consular official and said in my most polite Thai that perhaps I could be of help etc. Before he could say anything I turned back to the blond foreigner and said, "I'm Isaac. What seems to be the problem?"

"My name is Dylan Ferguson," he said. He then, proceeded to tell me in as short as possible. He was a master carpenter and a specialist in fine finishing of interior housework. A Thai developer had seen his work, and that done under his supervision in the US, and invited him to work as supervisor of such work on his own, "foreign guaranteed" development north of Bangkok in Rangsit. He lacked a contractor's license in the States and thought foreign travel plus being treated as a contractor would be good. He didn't anticipate the visa problem. Construction was a 'reserved occupation' for Thais, so he could not get a work permit, and his letter from his employer to get a new simple non-immigrant visa was clumsy, by Thai standards, to say the least. I turned on more of my best Thai to the official to suggest that Dylan was a 'consultant' on finishing standards, not a supervisor, and went on in my best BS.

The consular official seemed pleased to have a foreigner who could speak Thai and was dressed properly. Whatever I said seemed to convince him. He proceeded to take Dylan's application and my own, our paperwork, and visa fees ahead of seas of people, and smirked in a way to say, "no problem". I said my best and highest 'thank you' and we retreated to a corner of the consular courtyard.

"Damn, Isaac," said Dylan, "I don't know where you came from, but thanks. I've had nothing but hassles about this visa thing since I got here."

I smiled, "that's ok, we farangs need to stick together. Besides, acting as your facilitator gave me the opportunity to stick in my application ahead of the line." I was about to suggest lunch or something other to further things when an impossibly tall young man approached us and said, "hey, Dylan, how's the visa thing? Are you finished for the day?"

The guy was the last thing I would have expected to meet in Laos, a cowboy. He was significantly younger than Dylan, who was thirty-something for sure and significantly taller, perhaps six-six or slightly more. He wore Levi's with a rodeo belt, a well-battered and molded Stetson summer straw, and a tight white tee shirt which revealed that he was hardly lanky or thin, to go with tall, but well muscled.

He had one of those faces that promised something close to handsome at maturity, but he had not yet reached that. I put him at no older than twenty, as he still had a bit of baby fat still in his cheeks. It was hard to gauge his looks accurately, given the way his pulled down hat brim obscured much. One arresting feature was a pair of thick dark brown eyebrows, which tapered esthetically over the edges of his eyes. Their shape and evenness made them look as if they were trimmed and tweezed, which I doubted. His aspect was too masculine for such fussing. He had wide-set gray eyes on either side of a nose that was blunt but well shaped. His mouth could be described as sensuous or pouty, depending upon how his temperament turned out. A stronger chin would have been desirable, but the altogether picture was of a decidedly good-looking young man with future potential.

Dylan seemed a bit embarrassed for some reason but quickly hid it. He addressed the tall cowboy and gestured at me, "Justin, this is Isaac. He just saved my ass. That consular turkey didn't want to take my application until Isaac stepped and turned on the Thai." Dylan turned back to me. "Isaac, this is Justin. We're, ah, traveling together." I wondered why Dylan was both hesitant and almost apologetic in the short description and suspected more was afoot than just travelling together.

Justin looked at me suspiciously, but reached his hand out and we shook. "I'm glad you could help Dylan out. He's complained constantly about problems getting a new visa."

I smiled, "I'm glad to be of help, but it helped me too. Solving Dylan's problem allowed me to jump the line and get my application in." I gestured at the mob slowly inching to the business windows. "But Dylan, you need to get your employer to write you a new visa recommendation letter. That one as much says you're working in a 'reserved occupation'. Based on that, I'm not surprised they didn't want your application. And," I hesitated, "it would help if you dressed a bit more formally for things like this." I fingered the collar of my safari suit, "I only wear this for dealing with Thai officialdom."

Dylan looked down at this jersey and shorts, "I hate getting dressed up, but you're probably right. But, I owe you. I have appointments this afternoon about maybe contracting on that hydroelectric dam that's going in. How about we buy you dinner at the Nam Phu? Do you know it?" "I've heard of it, but I don't know where it is. It's my first time in Vientiane" "Easy, just walk down that main drag where the small roads to the hotels branch off. When you see a huge fountain on the left, that's Nam Phu. See you about eight?" I nodded and the oddly matched pair walked off purposefully.

I took a minibus back to the area around my hotel. Following friends' instructions, I walked a short distance and found several Vietnamese restaurants. After an excellent, filling lunch and a couple of bottles of cheap but good Bier Lao, I had a nap while awaiting my dinner appointment.

I awoke refreshed and thought about Dylan and his much younger cowboy travelling companion. Dylan's slight discomfiture at Justin's approach interested me. The weather merited shorts, so I dressed in shorts and a tee shirt and took off. The walk was only a few blocks. I looked wistfully at the broad and unclogged boulevards the French had built, and which the impoverished national economy kept free of traffic jams. The contrast with Bangkok's traffic gridlock was marked. I passed a multi-story, shuttered and dilapidated building which had a sign proclaiming it the Soviet-Lao Friendship Center. A few display photos displayed on the wall laughingly showed the delights of the Workers' Paradise of North Korea.

Just past this, I saw an enormous ugly fountain, lit with multi-colored flood lights despite the fact it was hardly dusk, and decided I had reached Nam Phu. The basin of the fountain was surrounded with restaurant tables and two open counters fronted for the two restaurants that served food. I approached and spied Justin's cowboy hat. As I neared the table, Dylan turned around and gestured to me. As I sat down in an empty chair, Dylan smiled, "my savior, do you think there will be any more hassles about the visa."

"No. If the consular guy took your application, they won't reject it. So, what's for dinner?" Justin gestured at the two restaurants, "you can have second rate Italian over there, or pretty good Indian food." Bad pasta didn't appeal to me so I said, "Indian, that's something I don't get in Bangkok." We ordered biryani, a kind of Indian fried rice, tikka chicken curry, and the spicy bean soup called dahl.

The dinner was delivered and we dug in. I concluded it wasn't much better in comparative quality to bad pasta, but it was spicy and tasted good. We ate and Dylan told of his unsuccessful try to get a carpentry contract on the hydroelectric dam. During the course of dinner, we consumed another few bottles of Bier Lao. The molded plastic table we were sitting at was small for three or four people, but not so small as to cause Dylan's bare hairy leg to come into frequent close contact with my own. He ineptly tried to mask whatever he was doing by feigning a stretch. I wasn't interested in pretense, so I rubbed back. Dylan relaxed out of his stretch. His right hand reached for his beer glass, and his left hand found its way to finger my hardon under the table. He exchanged looks with Justin before saying anything. I used the brief silence to place my hand in the same position, feeling a sizable, thick erection beneath the fabric of Dylan's shorts.

Dylan smiled, "Justin is usually pretty good at reading guys and we figured…" "You figured right," I said, cutting him off. It occurred to me that given the lighting and the raised nature of the fountain and surrounding tables we were fairly visible. I returned my hand to my beer glass and Dylan relaxed before raising his hands to make the code gesture to a waiter for the bill. When it was delivered, Dylan paid with Thai baht, which were eagerly accepted over the local currency. The three of us addressed the last of our beer and finally Dylan spoke up.

"Why don't you come along to our hotel, well guesthouse really. Justin is unusually clever and scored some of that amount of dope that usually finds it way to Thailand. And," he waggled his thick blond eyebrows in the manner of Groucho Marx, "the beds are enormous." I could only smile and nod in assent. We finished our beer and stood up.

Setting off back the way I had come from my hotel, we made an odd trio-two somewhat regular sized guys with a slightly slouching cowboy towering over us by about ten inches. We were almost to the small lane where my hotel was located when Dylan indicated we should turn towards the river on another small lane. We stopped at and entered a mostly wooden frame building that seemed modeled after most of the cheapo guesthouses in Chiang Mai. There was no registration desk visible. Dylan led the way up the stairs and opened a door just off the top of the landing. We entered a simply furnished room that made the word 'spacious' inadequate. It was twice the size of most guesthouse rooms I had inhabited, including the one I called home in Bangkok. It contained two of the large double beds found in such rooms, pushed together thus making a mattress area the size of a small wrestling mat.

Justin proceeded to the far end of one of the bed headboards and rummaged in a compartment, looking purposeful and ignoring Dylan and me. It seemed he had been collecting the materials for dope to be shared. He set about preparing said. I didn't feel uncomfortable, but was at a loss at what to do. Dylan solved the problem. With a kind of studied artlessness, if such a contradiction can be used, he removed his rugby shirt and threw it aside on a chair by the door.

His body belied strength and muscularity derived from physical labor rather than gym workouts. He had deeply broad shoulders in proportion to his height and a chest for which the descriptive adjectives deep and broad were only appropriate. His virility was esthetically pleasing. His chest hair was predominantly a light sandy brown, and that across his collarbones up towards his shoulders curled out, away from his body while the thatch that furred his heavy pectorals lay flat. His short muscular belly was traversed by what could loosely be called a trail, although it was thicker than that, and his navel was surrounded by what resembled a hairy starfish. His shorts hung low on his hips, and what showed there hinted at lightening to blond further down. He was one of the rare men that caused warm flashes of physical lust to run up and down my back. He seemed quite confident of the effect he had when stripped to the waist. He approached me and simply stood there.

Somewhere behind us I heard the click of a lighter and was aware of the sweetish smell of ganja smoke, but I was mesmerized by Dylan. I put one hand on the furry center of his chest and simply ran it slowly down towards his navel. In a reverse gesture, he jerked the tails of my tee shirt out of the waistband of my shorts and lifted them up to my armpits, urging me to discard it. I managed to struggle out of my shirt and in the short traverse my vision was obscured, Dylan had discarded his shorts and underwear down around his ankles and was standing there naked and magnificently erect. His cock was fine and thick as I had felt furtively back at Nam Phu, and stood up at a forty-five degree angle from his body.

Dylan peremptorily pulled me to him and the turnon was incredible as he started to kiss me. His hairy chest abraded me at every part of my bare torso, and his bristly goatee tickled me in the right way. While in our clinch, Dylan's work-roughened but adept hands unfastened my shorts and got them and my underwear halfway to my knees so I had the added pleasure of rubbing cocks with him too. I hadn't heard Justin approach us, but a voice from ten inches above our heads, sounding somewhat stoned said, "do you guys want some dope?"

Dylan and I broke the clinch to find the young cowboy proffering a tightly rolled number, already lit. He was still fully dressed and hadn't even removed his cowboy hat. Dylan and I sat down on the end of one of the large beds and started to pass the number back and forth. The dope was good and its effect quickly made me remarkably horny. I found my hand caressing Dylan's cock as he took a hit.

My attention turned to Justin when he stood in front of Dylan and me and removed his summer straw and put it carefully on a dresser. With some sense of drama, he then jerked the tail of his tee shirt up to just under his arms, and then pulled it off. His upper body was splendid for its remarkably well muscled and extraordinary length. He had broad shoulders, but his physique tapered below them to sturdy but hardly bulging pectorals. The abdominals on his markedly long belly were well-defined, but not quite six-pack. It occurred to me that perhaps it was Mae West who said it was much harder for very tall men to attain that workout magazine degree of muscular definition than for shorter men. He proceeded to remove his rodeo belt from his Levi's, unsnap and partially unzip them, and push the entire down to about where his pubic hair started with the assuredness of a Chippendale's stripper. This revelation just emphasized the admirable length of his fine upper body.

He had what I could only call a precociously hairy chest. Despite his youth, he had the beginnings of a pelt that spread across his collar bones, covered his pectorals to beyond his prominent but pleasingly small nipples, and culminated in an admirable trail that traversed his belly and found its way to his pubic hair. When he turned around to remove his jeans, revealing he wore no underwear, I could see even a few hairs on his back. The boy was a developing cub sure to become a bear in later life. As he bent and pulled his jeans off, he showed how well he had worked the quadriceps to shape muscular, fine thighs without being excessive, and he had one the finest globular asses I'd seen in a while.

Dylan and I were idly fondling each other's cocks and watching Justin. As he started to turn around there was a sharp knock at the door. It came in a syncopated rapping that had to be prearranged. With no concern for the fact he was stark naked and half-erect, Justin opened the door and ushered in a fourth man. Dylan half-stood and said in a choked voice, "Justin, who's this?"

Justin shrugged, "this is Marcus. I met him at a lunch place and we started fooling around." He looked at Dylan, "hey Dylan, we never said this travel arrangement was exclusive. You were taken up all day with your visa or the contract talks, and Marcus is cool." Dylan started to say something but was overridden by Justin. "I mean we mutually agreed to include Isaac here in our menage. I didn't expect Marcus, but now that he's here, we can have a complicated time of it.

Marcus looked extremely uneasy during Justin's brief explanation. He was a singular individual in appearance. He was nearly as tall as Justin, but much slenderer, spare even. His voluminous carpenter's jeans seemed ready to fall off his slender hips, and his polo shirt hung on his narrow shouldered frame. He was not exactly handsome, but a good-looking man. He had a thick head of chestnut-colored hair, somewhat long and raffish, which was matched by his thick, almost flamboyant mustache that all but obscured his mouth. His face was narrow and finely boned, and he kept giving all of us nervous looks with fine green eyes.

Justin turned and somewhat ostentatiously kissed Marcus while pulling the tail of his polo shirt out of the waistband of his jeans. Marcus pulled back to slip off his shirt. As I had thought, his jeans fell down around his ankles when he simply unbuckled his tightly cinched belt. Despite the almost matching height, the contrast in physical type between Marcus and the cowboy Justin was marked. Marcus seemed to be one of those people who could not put on weight despite whatever they ate. He was extremely slender and kept from looking positively thin by his spare, tight musculature. His upper chest was covered with reddish-brown hair that curled so tightly it looked like lamb's wool, but his long narrow belly was less sparsely furred. He dropped a pair of boxer shorts to reveal a long pendulous cock and heavy set of balls that looked almost disproportionate on his spare frame.

I wondered how the four of us would sort ourselves out. Justin seemed to think Dylan needed mollifying, as he made a complicated hand gesture at Marcus and then pulled Dylan over to the other large bed and the pair began to make out passionately, seemingly oblivious to Marcus and me. Marcus approached me tentatively and said, "I guess you know I'm Marcus." "And I'm Isaac," I finished for him. He said down next to me. "Do you top or bottom?" Marcus asked. I reached over to play with his wooly chest hair, "I suppose I'm versatile," I said, "I do both depending on the situation."

Marcus reached over and fondled my slightly flagging cock, which responded quite well. "I need to get fucked, and it looks like it will be a while until anything might happen with Justin." I glanced over and saw Justin lying over Dylan's prone body, supported on one elbow and guiding his hard cock into Dylan's hairy ass with his other hand.

I pulled Marcus to me and he began to kiss me passionately. There seemed to be an odd urgency in his desire to have sex with me. His voluminous mustache tickled satisfyingly. I reached to fondle his sizable cock, and while it became slightly swollen, he did not achieve erection. We fell over onto our sides in each other's arms. Marcus's imperative kissing and caressing hands soon had me more than ready to fuck him. For all my playing with his cock, it remained only tentatively partially erect. Suddenly he rolled over onto his back and pulled his legs up until his knees were next to his ears, and his narrow ass was presented. I knelt close and looked around for some lube. Marcus touched my waist and said, "don't worry, you'll get it in there ok. My hole is well stretched."

I complied and knelt where his ass was raised, bent over him, and applied the head of my cock to his ring. He reached behind me with one long, thin arm and pulled on my waist, causing me to enter him to the hilt. He took my entire length and groaned happily. "Oh, good, Isaac. Fuck me hard." I began thrusting and Marcus pulled me down so our chests were rubbing. The feel of his fuzzy chest hair against my own chest, and his ardor at getting fucked had me majorly turned on. I had never fucked such an enthusiastic bottom. His ass seemed somewhat stretched with use but was hot and he worked his rear muscles on my cock with each thrust. His green eyes flew open and he looked at me intently as I thrust, "yes, yes, Isaac, hard!" I did my best to comply. He groaned and gently pushed on my chest so I slowly raised myself on my outstretched arms. This changed the angle of my plunging cock and made him groan even louder. Suddenly he took my shoulders in his hands and said somewhat peremptorily, 'pull out and take me doggie."

I knelt upright and slid my prick out of his eager asshole. He reached down and took hold of his still flaccid cock and said, "suck my cock some before we continue fucking." I was interested that Marcus was handling our sex like a movie director, but complied. Again, with stimulation, his thick cock stiffened somewhat, but was nowhere near erect. He tapped on my shoulder, and when I pulled back, he nimbly rolled over to a kneeling position, with his narrow ass raised. He lowered his head to his arms on the bed.

I knelt with my legs outside of his and guided my cockhead into his receptive rear. He moved his body backward to meet my first thrust, his well-trained rear muscles working on my cock the entire time. I just groaned and started to fuck him harder than I had been before. This varied stage directed sex was suiting me just fine. He kept his face hidden in the crook of his arm, pounded the bed with the other hand, and groaned in time to my thrusts as I pounded his ass. We had been fucking longer than I could usually hold things off, but I could feel the endpoint building. The stage director looked up from the bed and asked, 'Isaac, are you about ready to come?" I paused and simply nodded. "Pull out and get on your back. I'll finish you astride on top."

I amenably withdrew my cock from his ass, and we moved simultaneously, with me on my back in the middle of the large bed, and Marcus deftly straddling my thighs while facing me. He raised himself high on his knees and unerringly fitted the knob of my prick into his rear. I literally shuddered as he slowly lowered himself over me and his muscles did lascivious things to my cock. He began posting over my cock with an odd smile hiding under his thick mustache. I abandoned myself to whatever this talented fellow was doing to me with his ass. I felt the wellsprings bursting somewhere in my balls and had the sense to stuff my fist half into my mouth to partially stifle the cry I gave when the first spurt of hot cum coursed up my quivering cock and I shuddered with each successive spurt. When I was finally spent, Marcus dismounted and said simply, "Thanks Isaac, you have a nice cock." With that, he rolled over to join his tall cowboy on the other bed.

Dylan sat down on the edge of the bed where I lay panting. "From what I could see of it, that was positively acrobatic." I laughed, "and it was all his idea. My fucking was stage directed by my bottom." Dylan looked a bit sheepish. "Justin is ardent in the extreme and keeps going for time after time." He looked at his still largely erect cock. But he tends to forget his bedpartner would want things to come to a suitable conclusion too. Would you mind some reverse action?"

In answer, I put my head into his lap and began to suck his cock, which quickly regained the admirable hardness he displayed when we first undressed. He half-groaned, "mm, enough, how do you want to do this?"

In answer, I turned over on my side with my back to Dylan, raised my upper leg in the air, and supported it with one hand. Dylan quickly interposed himself behind me. I felt the pleasing brush of his chest fur against my back as he molded himself to my position and took hold of my waist to pull me to him. He caressed one on my cheeks and murmured, "you have a nice ass Isaac." I relaxed a bit at the intimate compliment, and then started slightly as Dylan moved to fit the head of his cock in my ring. I had no idea what he'd done for lube and I grunted as he started to enter me. I groaned as he slid his prick in to the hilt and said directly into my ear from behind, "and this part of your ass is just fine too." With that, he started to fuck me slowly and lasciviously, with languid thrusts.

The situation was pleasantly erotic. I was still nicely stoned, sated myself from screwing Marcus, and had a fine, hard cock plugging my ass. I also had a good view of Justin lying prone over Marcus' similarly sprawled out body, and fucking him in that position. I realized that Dylan had a good view too when he urged my lifted leg down with one hand, "let's roll together. Justin has done me that way, but I haven't had a guy like that in a long time. I complied by lowering my leg, and still coupled we rolled together so Dylan was covering me prone with his weight supported on his elbows. I groaned again, as the posture drove Dylan's hard, thick cock deeper into my asshole. It also seemed to rouse his enthusiasm, as he upped the speed and pitch of his fucking, and his thrusts filling me hard and deep. I moaned, but through my slightly painful haze of pleasure at his invasion, noticed that he had, consciously or not, matched his screwing rhythm to that of his traveling companion. Justin seemed to be working himself up to his second climax in Marcus' well-used rear and Dylan was matching him, thrust for thrust. I felt the vibration of Dylan's low-voiced vocalization as he groaned, "oh, yeah, here it comes." I groaned too when Dylan released the support of his elbows and his full body weight flopped onto my back and but as he shuddered and orgamsed. Finally spent, he pulled out and rolled off onto his back next to me. "Oh, Isaac, that was fine."

I felt about as well used as Marcus, and noted that somewhere in the moment Justin had reached his own climax. I made a trip to the bathroom to clean up. When I returned, Justin was sucking on Marcus' large and now firmly erect cock, and the thin man was bucking on the bed. Suddenly it was evident he was coming. His copious orgasm dripped down the edges of Justin's mouth as he sucked.

We seemed then in that perplexing state of sex where everyone was depleted and in a state of waiting for rejuvenation. We lounged on the huge beds and bided time.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door in a tattoo the same as the one that had admitted Marcus. Justin leapt up from the bed and opened the door. Our somewhat mismatched group was joined by a fifth guy. He was obviously short, nearly a foot shorter than Justin who had to bend to kiss him, and looked like a refugee from the late 70's. I wondered how many other extras Justin had been carrying on with while Dylan was dealing with visas and whatever else.

He had a face that spoke of infinite good will. He looked at three puzzled naked guys on two large beds and simply clapped his hands and said, "Damn, Justin, I didn't imagine we'd have a group thing here, but what the hell?"

The 70's image was that his light blond hair was cut long over his ears and collar, with bangs, and he wore a longish but well trimmed blond mustache. His face was just short of handsome. He had wide set fine blue eyes, and good bones, but his nose was a bit too prominent. The brief silence following his opening remark was prominent. He smiled and said, "hi guys, I'm Arthur but call me Art." With this, he proceeded to undress with alacrity. He unbuttoned his sport shirt and discarded it, displaying the body of a determined athlete. He was undeniably beautiful. His torso was like an inverted triangle, narrowing down from incredibly broad shoulders through a tightly muscled chest to a ridiculously small waist. His chest and belly were lightly furred with sandy light brown hair. I began to guess at Justin's taste in men, in light of Dylan.

Art deftly discarded his trousers and boxers to display a profound tan line and a fine, pendulous and decidedly uncut cock. I tried to imagine a gym trainer doing a body fat analysis of this specimen and decided he'd come up with 0. The man was lean, and fine to look at.

Given the present company, I was happy to find someone shorter than I was. I jumped off the bed, ran my hands down Art's hairy torso, and knelt and started to suck his cock. I had no idea who was going to do what with what to whom, but he appealed to me. His cock elongated into a fine length, with the pronounced foreskin still covering the head of his prick by half.

Art sighed and said, "Justin, I thought it was going to be just us here, but you have accommodating company." I played with his foreskin with my lips and he stretched in an undeniably sexy way and looked down. "I don't know who you are but do you want to fuck?"

I stood up, kissed him, and said simply, "I'm Isaac and yes." It was as if we had no one else in the room. I got on the bed and simply raised my ass. Art spat in his hand, applied the result to his red extended cock head, and mounted me. "Oh my, yes, what a fine small ass," he said, and entered me. Everything was quick and I groaned at the onslaught of his thick cock. He began to fuck me seriously and I was lost. He fucked like he looked, vital and hard.

We teetered over on our sides and he just thrust hard, while I raised my leg with my hand. I was puzzled when Justin laid himself in front of me and said, urgently, "take me." I cared not whose was what, but pressed my cockhead to his hole and entered. The feeling of entering a hot and obviously not much used ass while being energetically fucked in my own rear was sensational. We thrashed disjointedly for a bit, but got things coordinated so my cock was exploring Justin's ass as Art's filled mine.

Art's thrusting cock seemed to graze my prostate, and triggered a tumultuous orgasm. My cock felt electric as my orgasm poured out in a hot rush. The muscles in my rear must have grabbed Art's cock as he grabbed my shoulder and I could feel him shuddering behind me. The bunch of finally subsided. I knew that Justin had fucked to climax twice in the recent past wand wasn't worried about his fun. Art pulled his thick cock out of my butt and I did the same with Justin. As we individually rolled away from our triple joining, I wondered what Dylan must have thought of the evening. I had no idea what he thought about when he decided with Justin to add me to the menage. Things had gotten decidedly complicated, if sexually satisfying. I'd fucked twice and been authoritatively fucked twice, and had no idea what might be next.

As the three of us disentangled and sat up, I noticed that Marcus was dressing and simply exited without any farewell to Justin. I had no idea what this signified other than it reduced our group to four. Dylan seemed inured to Justin's apparent indiscriminate confusion of their temporary relationship. Their agreed upon inclusion of me in it was some evidence. The bunch of us took turns in the bathroom cleaning up and then sat somewhat awkwardly on the beds.

Dylan seemed to approve esthetically of Art, at least. They sat rather intimately at one edge of the wrestling mat of beds, talking and feeling each other's similarly colored chest hair. Justin sat next to me, looking somewhat subdued. He glanced over at Dylan and then looked at me, "I guess things got more complicated than we might have thought." I had had little opportunity to appreciate the boy's fine long body and idly caressed his hairy chest. "Your friends made for some interesting sexual variations. "Yeah, well, I didn't figure on either of them showing up tonight. Dylan would like Art; he's good looking and insatiable in bed." He looked at me. "What do you say we go find some bottles of cold beer, if possible? There's plenty of dope but a cold beer would be good." I pushed at his back, and we went to get our clothes.

"Hey Dylan," Justin said as we dressed, "Isaac and I are going to see if we can find some cold beer." Dylan looked over and idly waved at us. We left the guesthouse. Vientiane seemed to largely closed down at 9PM, and I wondered what we might do. There was one seeming luxury supermarket close by that might sell beer but I was sure it was closed. We walked to the area of restaurants I had gone to for lunch. Surprisingly two of the Vietnamese restaurants were still open.

I was lucky that in Vientiane at least, the Lao could readily understand my government Thai. Justin and I went to one of the restaurants and I managed to ask for three bottles of Bier Lao. This obtained, we returned to the guesthouse. I had no idea if the brief respite of going for drinks would enable me to engage in sex again anytime soon. Justin was young, Art reportedly insatiable, and I no idea about Dylan. I had come twice and was dubious.

Justin unlocked the room door, and we entered. He seemed somewhat flustered to see Dylan and Art making out in a desultory fashion, neither yet aroused, but obviously intimate. "Hey, does anyone want some cold beer?" called Justin. I figured Dylan decided he'd punished Justin sufficiently for odd additions to the evening. He and Art got up and joined us as Justin produced that inevitable travelling accessory, a bottle and can opener. The room featured only two tooth glasses, so we shared glasses and bottles as needed.

It was obvious that the insatiate Art was becoming aroused. His penis was swelling and his hands were feeling anyone convenient. Justin said, "I'll just roll some more dope. Looks like it would be appropriate just now." He went to the portion of the headboard where he kept such supplies and went to work.

I had gotten rid of my clothes and just sat down with the remaining guys. Dylan smiled, "I guess you've gotten acquainted with Art." I reached to caress his penis and replied, "Intimately, the man is a force of nature." "So I saw, "Dylan finished. The three of us just started to make out in a familiar fashion. Propinquity was making for renewed desire. I heard the click of a lighter and smelled the familiar sweetish smoke. Justin interrupted our mutual grope to hand around two numbers.

We sociably passed around the numbers, smoking slowly, and the fine dope Justin had somehow scored took its effect. Despite previous exertions, I felt reinvigorated, as did my companions it seemed. Justin was standing next to the bed, and I took the opportunity of that and his height to sit on the edge of the bed and started to suck his cock. It was not particularly large, but thick and extraordinarily hard. Behind me, Art and Dylan were in a sixty-nine position, enthusiastically doing to each other what I was doing to Justin.

It was awkward, under the circumstances, but Justin produced a third number, which we proceeded to clumsily pass among us while we tried to maintain the present activities. When the third number was exhausted, Justin stubbed it out and sort of tumbled onto the bed beside Art and Dylan. We devolved into a general grope of four guys finding each other's mouths, cocks, and body parts to stimulate. Somewhere in the process I found that my intake of dope had somewhat overwhelmed me and rolled away slightly to just bask in being stoned.

I came to in a bit, aroused and a disoriented. I was greeted by a seemingly familiar sight for the evening. Justin was lying horizontal to the length of the bed with his head sprawled over the side. His legs were raised straight up in the air. Art was kneeling behind him, fucking him while grasping his perpendicular legs. Dylan was standing next to the bed, leaning slightly over Justin, who was eagerly sucking Dylan's thick cock. I felt both horny and left out, but Dylan's position suggested a way to complete the set piece.

I scrambled off the end of the bed and padded around to stand behind Dylan. I rubbed my hard cock between the cheeks of his ass and muttered, "shall we be democratic here?" Dylan looked over his shoulder with a contented look on his face and just nodded. I did the spit in the hand for lube trick, bent my knees, and fitted the head of my cock into Dylan's ring. He was bent in just the right way to give Justin convenient access to his prick, and for me to enter hhim. It was incredible. The pleasure Justin was giving him in front was causing his muscles in his rear to involuntarily tighten and the contractions were making my cock feel like it was going to explode as I fucked him.

I have no idea how long the four of us thrashed indiscriminately, in a multiple combination worthy of those described in the drama of the Marquis de Sade. But, ours was intense mutual pleasure. Suddenly, Art yelped and it was obvious he was coming in Justin's rear end. He knelt quiescent, with a look of undeniable satisfaction on his face, and then withdrew and flopped on his back. Justin lowered his legs to the bed, but never let up on giving Dylan head. Art got back up and started to vigorously suck Justin's cock. We were in a reduced grouping but continued.

Dylan began to shudder, and moaned as it was obvious he was coming in Justin's mouth. I could only see Dylan's broad hairy back, but could hear the slurping sounds Justin made as he took Dylan's orgasm. Dylan slumped slightly when he was spent. Art urged Justin to slide further onto the bed so he was comfortable. When he had done so, Art straddled his cock, fitted it into his asshole, and proceeded to give the cowboy a ride. Dylan bent further, supporting himself on the bed with his arms, which gave me better leverage to fuck him.

I grasped Dylan's waist, raised myself on the balls of my feet while leaning back, and proceeded to simply rut. Though in the throes of my own gratification, I could see that Justin was getting payback for doubling with Dylan and Art. He lay with his arm flung over his face while Art veritably bounced like a spring over his cock.

I could feel the wellspring of all orgasms building somewhere below the root of my cock, and could only moan, "oh yes," as it burst forth. I tensed and poured whatever I had left into Dylan's hairy ass. We both relaxed, and I pulled my cock out. Dylan stood up and we could only watch as Art finished Justin off. Art had never let up on the pace f his ride on Justin's cock. Justin suddenly threw both of his long arms out straight and indicated he was coming with a wide open mouth and a sharp intake of breath. He trembled as he came and then let his body loosen when he was spent. Justin reached and took hold of Art's legs and clumsily pulled them straight while sitting up. The two men ended up sitting facing each other with intertwined legs, with Art still impaled on Justin's cock. Justin gave Art a passionate kiss and said, "you ride me like no one else."

We were again in that uneasy situation of everyone being depleted and wondering what came next. Dylan nudged me and said, "let's get a bath, Justin and Art can take seconds." I followed Dylan into the typical Asian bathroom, which did have the luxury of an electric shower water heater. Dylan turned on and adjusted the heat of the water and proceeded to pull me to him and run the shower on its hose over both of us. Even after all the sex of the evening I still found pleasure in rubbing bodies with a wet bear.

"It's been a complicated evening, but satisfying, wouldn't you say?" Dylan asked as he reached for a bar of soap and began to suds the pair of us too. I nodded in assent and urged him to turn around so I could soap his hairy back. He said over his shoulder, "I had no idea Justin was so busy. Marcus was in questionable taste but Art there is just fine." I said nothing but simply enjoyed the gavotte of moving, turning, and soaping and enjoying a shower with another guy.

Finally we were clean and rinsed. "We'll have to share a towel; there are only two." As we tried to dry each other with the inadequate towel, I said, "I think it's time I went home, but yes, it's been and interesting evening." Art hung up the sodden towel, with both of us still damp. He put one hand on my shoulder, as if halting me and said, "why don't you sleep over? I'll urge Justin to get Art to do the same. After all, we have those two big beds, and there are two more days until we can pick up our passports at the consulate.

I could only nod, and we went out into the big bedroom to urge Art and Justin to have a wash while Dylan and I settled down for some needed sleep.