by Young
Taken aback by Andy’s pronouncement I blurted astonished, “Is that why P, Fahrib and Tad summon us to make love in their presence? I thought they were simply voyeurs enjoying our erotic performances.”
The group laughed at me.
“Many will be envious of Andy’s and your love and will do their best to crush your perpetual love for one another. There will also be those who will be illuminated by your sexual charisma. Mark my words, you and your beloved will be called upon to demonstrate and at times be tested because of the invincible bond you share. Never take your experiences for granted, but revere the assurances with gratitude and grace.”
These were the final words of the day from Señor Victor Angel Triqueros.
I nodded, without the faintest idea that my beloved and I would go our separate ways some years from then.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Vipers & Charmers
“Ecstasy is already within you. You do not have to look for it outside.”
Margot Anand
March 2013
My Email to Andy (Final Part)
My few days in Bangkok flew by quickly. When it came time to say au revoir, I didn’t expect that Max and I would be seeing one another again for some time, or at all. For me, our adventures were nothing more than a brief holiday romance.
Therefore, it came as a surprise when I heard him on the phone a couple days later. I was in Kuala Lumpur when the phone rang.
“Hi Young! I’m at Subang (Kuala Lumpur Airport). Will you come and get me? You’ll find me at the arrival lounge,” the German sounded urgent on the phone.
Before I could enquire further, he had hung up. I dashed to the airport in one of my family vehicles to find Max in the company of two provocatively dressed females who resembled those Patpong working girls. The trio were in a flirtatious mood when I approached.
Max announced before I had a chance to speak, “Meet Nia and Yum!” He introduced the women. “We met on the plane. They are here on vacation. Would you mind giving them a lift to their hotel?”
I thought nothing of it and agreed. No sooner had we stepped out of the airport than two burly policemen approached our direction. When the trio saw the police, they scattered in different directions, while I stood, stunned. The constables shot after them as they sounded the alarm to summon the other nearby law enforcers.
I was questioned about my association with Max and the women. I told them I hadn’t a clue who the females were and I’d known the German as of several days ago. I could hardly believe what they related.
The German had been under Malaysian and Thai police surveillance for some time. They had been tracking his illegal activities. The German posed as an import and export entrepreneur while smuggling Thai and Filipino prostitutes across affluent Asian countries such as Hong Kong, Singapore, Japan and Malaysia. He was in reality an underground sex trafficker for an organised syndicate.
These girls had been supplied with fake travelling documents by the crime syndicate. Max would then pose as their boyfriend or fiancé, and as the women’s sponsor to get them through immigration, camouflaging their true identities.
Upon arrival, the women were transferred to receiving pimps stationed at some obscure hotel or guest house. Max’s monetary share would then be wired to his German account. The man was also charged with money laundering.
Although flabbergasted by this piece of information, I did my best to co-operate with the Malaysian police by supplying them with the necessary information I knew of the man. I had no idea if he was caught and charged; that was the last I saw of the German.
This incident made a foul dent in my otherwise sunny family reunion. I cut short my Malaysia stay and returned to the United Kingdom, a country I cherish till this day.
This, my beloved ex BB and Valet, was my introduction to The Land of Smiles – an escapade I’ll never forget. ☺
Love and kisses.
Young
XOXOXO
1968
The Ace of Clubs
Two evenings before Andy’s and my departure from the sheik’s household, we were invited to a surprise party by our Arab hosts. It was a soirée in honour of Tad, the birthday boy. Andy and I were the sheik’s unofficial honorarios, and this was his way of thanking us for our Assalamu Alaikum household services.
Sheik Fahrib and Prince P had reserved the grounds of the Madras Club to host this celebratory party. This colossal grandeur was built by Mowbrays Copula, a respected businessman who later became the Sheriff and Mayor of Madras.
When he retired to England in 1792, his colonial home, along with its 105 acres of Mowbrays Gardens, was acquired by Mr. John D’Monte, who eventually died without heirs to inherit the estate. Upon his death he bequeathed his property to the Archdiocese of Mylapore, Madras.
Fast forward to 1963, when the Madras Club merged with the Adyar Club. They bought the Mowbrays Cupola and gardens, transforming the property to become The Madras Club official residence.
This historical expatriate establishment had played host to many a grand ball and royal visit, including one to honour the Duke of Edinburgh in 1870 and another for the Prince of Wales in 1875, before he was crowned King Edward VI. The honorary lists of British royalties extended well beyond Dukes and Princes. The likes of King George V, the Duke of Connaught and King Edward VIII had been esteemed at this legendary institution. It was on these stately occasions that ladies were allowed into this all-male domain.
Hence, at this Ace of Clubs overlooking the Adyar River, many Indian performers gathered that evening to celebrate Tad Abdul Hafiz’s thirty-third birthday. Fire breathers, jugglers, acrobats, stilt walkers, Indian dancers and, last but not least, snake charmers were on hand to entertain.
The Count and his Arabian allies were also using this opportunity to smooch with the Indian film industry’s movers and shakers in preparation for his upcoming Kāmasūtra – Lovers’ Tale project. Indian actors and actresses of the day mingled with movie professionals and creative film geniuses in the hope of securing their next major acting role.
As I toured this serene oasis, right in the middle of restless Madras, I couldn’t help but feel the old-world gentility and the camaraderie of the privileged few that passed through its corridors, the very same galleries and gardens where discreet Indian waiters in pristine white uniforms retreated to corners, only to emerge when summoned upon by their elite suzerains. As I stood in the shadows of giant neem trees observing the boisterous festivities that had now taken hold within the grounds of this exclusive club, an odd melancholic disquietude overcame my person.
This anachronistic relic of the Raj, where clannish snobbery reigned supreme, seemed out of context in the modern world. I had no idea why I was experiencing a sudden burst of emotional energy as trickles of tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. Was it the few sips of champagne I’d consumed, or was it the sadness of leaving my Master’s service?
Puni
A pair of consoling hands touched my shoulders.
“Young man, why are you crying on such a joyous occasion?” asked a voice.
I quickly wiped away my tears before turning round to find a suave-looking gentleman staring at me. In the semi-darkness, I guessed him to be in his mid-twenties and of Indian descent, since he spoke with a British Indian accent.
“Err… I don’t know why I’m feeling this way?” I stammered.
He extended his hand to shake mine. “I’m Puni. And you are…?” he awaited my response.
I shook his hand to introduce myself. “Your hand is so smooth, like an aristocrat’s,” the Indian remarked sybaritically as he held on without releasing.
I countered, “Are you an aristocrat? It’ll take one to know one.”
He laughed at my comment before he replied. “I’m an actor and dancer.”
Since he had skived from answering my question, I pressed, “You didn’t answer my question!”
The Eurasian opined smilingly, “We should head back to the festivit
ies. Otherwise, we’ll miss the harum-scarum of the snake charmers.”
We proceeded towards the madding crowd in silence while I pondered the man’s empyrean comportment. I found this Eurasian sensually hypnotic as he glided rather than walked to our destination.
Snake Charmers
Andy was in a huff when he saw me. “Where were you? I’ve been looking for you,” he vociferated sorely.
Before I had a chance to introduce my acquaintance, the British Indian had disappeared like a puff of smoke.
Andy added, “Tad is asking for you.”
“Me? What does he want?”
“Let’s go upstairs. He’s waiting for you,” my Valet ushered me up the stairs into a private chamber filled with books.
I could barely see Tad in the softly lid chamber. His silhouette beckoned me by the large French window. He was staring out onto the torch-lit garden at a couple of snake charmers playing their pungis, the instrument that is played to hypnotize vipers out of their baskets.
The Arab rested his hands on my shoulders as we stood, observing the merrymakers gasping when the serpents emerged from their wicker nests.
“Do you know that snakes can’t hear a darn thing?” the athlete expressed.
Neither my Valet, who stood unobtrusively in the background nor I, spoke.
He continued, “Snakes don’t have ears. They respond to the swaying movements of the pungis, thereby creating the illusion that they are responding to the sound of the musical instruments.”
He changed the topic abruptly. “I summoned you to claim the birthday present that the sheik has given me.”
I stared at him in astonishment, as no one had mentioned that I was the athlete’s birthday gift. He resumed, “I received word from E.R.O.S. that I’ll be hosting you and Andy after your summer vacation.”
Until that juncture, I’d had no clue that my next household would be the champion’s. Tad resumed, “I’ll have you for at least another three months, if not more.” I was totally dumbfounded by this statement.
Since our arrival to Madras, neither my Valet nor I’d had the opportunity to notify the athlete of my forgoing his kept-boy proposal. It was of little wonder he envisioned that I had unspokenly agreed. I had to come clean to the besotted Arab.
I unhooked the key necklace around my neck and slipped it into his pocket without uttering a word. He broke out in hilarity instead of the peeved response I was expecting.
He pulled me to him and kissed me passionately. Instantaneously, his maleness surged through my body. Like a viper bewitched by an artful conjurer, I was powerless under the intensity of the champion’s hypnotic glare. His masculinity intoxicated me. Our sudden burst of amorality had our bobbing hardness caressing one another behind our summer fineries. Like us, my Valet, who had been vigilant in the shadows, was equally aroused by this unbridled foreplay.
I fought to maintain my equilibrium as Tad’s intoxicating breath nuzzled my neck, in readiness to sink his pearly fangs into my tenderness, to claim my youthful essence. I was lost in this ecstatic invocation. This deliriously maniacal charmer had possessed an invisible hold on me. He was at once an ingenuous angel and a Machiavellian devil, charmer and serpent rolled into one.
My Valet’s discerning glare served only to heighten my sprightly libido. He had unleashed his alacritous affection to partake in our erotic proclivities. Their primal desires had penetrated my inner sanctum. I could no longer stave off my provocative inclinations.
Little was I aware that a third person had stepped forth from behind the curtain. Stripped bare, his sinewy physique resembled Hanuman, the monkey-god depicted in Hindu temples, though his comely features were of no monkey but of the handsome man I had just met under the neem trees. The trio triggered my thumping heart and throbbing groin to feverish excitement.
“Why am I chosen to indulge in this irrational phenomenon? Is this a test presented to appraise my resistance to Tad’s charisma or am I fantasizing what’s before me?” I questioned my thoughts when the men surrounded me. Their impiousness demanded immediate attention, and I was more than prepared to oblige.
Tad wasted no time to strip me naked in preparation to claim his prize. This generous man was delighted to share his gift with his comrades in crime, and I, the complaisant beneficiary, was happy to obligate. I engulfed their tumescence with gustatory fervor. Simultaneously and independently I gulped with pleasure at their frenzied effervescence, performed my oral dance with serpentine precision. I darted my hankering tongue in and around their bulbousness, savoring their ruggedness to feverish fervencies.
No longer able to obviate their peremptorily postulations, Tad lifted me onto the luxurious couch. He lifted my legs high above and delved his wiggling tongue into my holy of holies, relishing my sacred temple in readiness for his forthcoming delivery. Like Hanuman’s golden arrows of gilded concupiscence, both god and demi-god wasted no time in feeding me their flaming succulence.
I held onto the Arab’s bulging shoulders as he eased into my erotic sanctuary of earthly delights, opening the doorway for his comrades’ eventual entries. I coiled my slithering ethos around the Arabian charmer as we oscillated in rhythmic synchronicity to our heaving avidity. I was at once elevated to a nirvanic realm of blissful illumination where the Aleph of Time had overshadowed my consciousness. I floated buoyantly as waves of their quivering sturdiness pleasured my chamber of amatory sacrament.
My educator’s Tantric principles were correct. Our egos vanished into nothingness during moments of orgasmic release. The past, future and present had dissipated to nothingness. In their place, the vipers and the charmers had amalgamated into Oneness, only to re-emerge to an enhanced reality known as Samadhi.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Casting Couch
“It is only with the heart that one can see the truth;
What is essential is invisible to the eye.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupery
March 2013
Andy’s Response to My Bangkok Escapade
My, oh my! What a story! I bet you’re glad Max got rid of himself after what he put you through. I’ve heard of illicit tales like yours, but you are the only person I know who has experienced it first-hand.
Many third-world countries are havens for human traffickers like your Max. One has to be careful when travelling, especially to the Golden Triangle region. I hope the Malaysian authorities didn’t detain you for long. I’m sure your attorney brother vouched your rectitude and cleared your name from their watch list.
On a different note: I look forward to reading A Harem Boy’s Saga - book IV – Turpitude and reliving our fond memories. It has been more than forty years since we saw each other. It’ll be nice to see you again.
Please send my regards to your beloved Walter. Maybe I’ll get to meet him one of these days.
My dearest friend, be well (which I’m sure you are) and stay healthy.
Your beloved,
Andy
XOXOXO
1968
The Madras Cricket Club
My final day in India was occupied watching a cricket tournament at another prestigious expatriate club: one among three built by a British official named Alexander Arbuthnot, who wanted a property that catered to his cricket addiction. After all, it is a game that defines an Englishman for his Englishness. So, in 1846, the British expats stationed in the city got together, and the Madras Cricket Club (MCC) came into existence.
There were many charming facets to this two-acre property besides the cricket field, one being the 1927 often-photographed gigantic clock in the pavilion, which announced to the players that it was time for their lunch recess.
Back in 1968, when the club house and pavilion were in operation, cricketers had quite a ways to walk from the pavilion to the field.
It was at this shaded pavilion that our entourage sat, observing the sheik, the prince, the Count and Tad together with other expatriates as they played a friendly match with an opposing Indian team.
As I sat munching spicy fish fingers and sipping a virulent orange tangy drink made famous by the MCC, my teacher inquired slyly, “Did you enjoy the soirée last evening?”
I couldn’t answer with my mouth full. Leon jumped in brightly, “It was fun, fun, fun!”
Since our chaperones were off playing squash at the club’s courts, Señor Triqueros was left as our guardian. Our teacher looked to Lilee for a response. She gave the professor a wicked grin before she expressed, “Not bad, not bad at all. Sajit was good, but not excellent.”
I stared at the female, not knowing what to make of her comment, when Triqueros gave us an unscrupulous wink. He commented wittily, “The three shortlisted actors were vying for the role of Prince Guja and Jaleel in Mario’s upcoming production.”
“What do you mean, sir?” I chirped.
Our guardian let out an unruly snigger before leaning in to reveal a secret. “The three actors you had sprees with last evening were set up by the Count to test their erotic prowess. He wanted to observe their performances.”
“How did you know?” I questioned.
He tapped his finger to his nose as if he possessed an insider secret. “I’m aware of what goes on in this camp,” he smirked.
I added, “How would Mario know how they performed, if he wasn’t present at my rendezvous?”
Lilee remarked, “I get it. Prince P and my big-sister were his conspirators. They disclosed Sajit’s execution to him, didn’t they?”
Leon remarked, “Since the Count, Aaron and Hadh were with me last night, he must’ve surveyed Hadh’s actions. Though I wasn’t suspecting an administered conspiracy.”