Bangkok Summer Seduction

By Habu

College student Julien Kalimoka, is the exotic result of a marriage between an Hawaiian father and French-Vietnamese mother, and having recently found male-male love with the Nigerian, Kwame, is off to Bangkok for the summer following his first year at college to help out in his mother’s bookstore.

Although his parents are estranged, Julien’s father, who has already discovered and indulged in the joys of male-male sex, has suggested the trip to encourage Julien to further explore that lifestyle as well. When Julien reaches Bangkok after a mile-high club initiation on the air route from the U.S. West Coast to Tokyo, he discovers that his mother and her Thai royal boyfriend have their own plans for him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BarbarianSpy
• Release date: Dec 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781925190625

Habu

Habu is one of the pen names of a former supersonic spy jet pilot, intelligence agent, male model, movie actor, and diplomat. A wild youth in South East Asia was spent enjoying whatever sexual opportunities came his way, and much of his gay male writing is about recalling incidents from those days and inventing ones he’d perhaps have liked to experience. He now leads a very quiet and ordinary life.Check out our blog and get free stories. Feedback and reviews are always appreciated.

Book preview

Chapter One: Mile-High Club

I had thought that no one could see us when Kwame pulled me into his body and kissed me behind a column at the San Francisco airport departure lounge, but then I saw the built black dude sitting almost alone in a bank of chairs in the adjacent departure lounge. He was staring directly at us. Coming out of the kiss, I buried my face in the hollow of Kwame’s shoulder, as the Nigerian giant ran a hand down my chest and belly to cup my package and squeeze. I don’t know, maybe I buried my face in his chest with the thought that, if I couldn’t see anyone, they couldn’t see me either.

I didn’t stop him, though. I was so aroused I wanted to climb his hips right there in the crowded airport departure area. Kwame had opened a whole new world of pleasure for me. And now I was leaving him.

You know what I’d like to do to you right here, Kwame murmured in my ear.

I did, in fact; our farewell—at least for the summer—last night had been quite athletic and filling. I felt like I wasn’t walking straight today. Kwame squeezed my package again. I supposed the black hunk got a load of that too.

At that moment I didn’t care. Kwame and I had only recently gotten into it heavy, and here I was, leaving for Bangkok for the summer. My dad had said it would be good for me to see some more of the world and that I hadn’t seen my mother for some time and should visit her. He also said it would be good for me to earn some more of my freight between my freshman and sophomore years at Stanford by working in my mother’s Bangkok bookstore for a couple of months.

Dad didn’t know about Kwame. He knew how I swung—just as I knew how he swung—but he didn’t know that I was letting a Stanford graduate student from Nigeria live for free in my apartment and eat out of my refrigerator for only the cost of covering me—frequently and totally—on the bed. I almost told him the last time we met, Dad having flown over from Honolulu to L.A. for a business meeting. I think I neglected to do so so as not to give him an I told you so moment. After years of suppressed feelings, my dad had, in the last year, taken on a man nearly as young as I was as a lover. Now he was urging me not to hold off on, as he said, going for the gold, for as long as he did.

Get out there and experience it all; find your level of satisfaction; enjoy life to the hilt, he’d said. I wanted Kwame, who was quite a step beyond for me, not only in his exotic race, but also in what I would do with him in bed, what I had risked in the size of his equipment, to be a step I took on my own, not one I was goaded into by my father. Maybe it had been my dad’s challenging, but I’d let Kwame pick me up at a Stanford gay student union mixer and fuck me that first evening we’d met. I hadn’t been that immediately open to any guy before that. Indeed, there had been few guys before that at all—certainly not guys that challenged me being open enough to accommodate them.

I’d never met anyone as tall as Kwame before—or anyone before who had nearly a foot-long cock. Life with Kwame, which had just begun, was a real education, and now I was already leaving for three months. He also was my first black man. I was sometimes taken for black myself, but I wasn’t. My mother was French-Vietnamese and my father Hawaiian. That gave me a dusky tint, but refined features, thanks to the French and Vietnamese mix.

Kwame gone,