The Brown Doctor: Gay Adventures

By Rebecca Stone

"My boss had been surprised when I realized he was making leading comments and I responded in the same vein. His comments became more explicit and I followed him down that path. I realized he'd made overtures before but I'd never stayed with him in the spiral down to where I let him pull me into his hotel room in Pattaya and kiss me and then to feel me up."

Find out what happens next by reading the full eBook. Happy reading!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Stone
• Release date: Mar 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005792374

Rebecca Stone

I love writing and reading erotica. I enjoy publishing my content online and get people's perspective on my writings. I hope my readers enjoy the content I put through. Happy reading!

Book preview

The Brown Doctor: Gay Adventures

By Rebecca Stone

Published by

Ecstasy Publications at Smashwords

[e-mail]

Copyright 2022 Ecstasy Publications

Distributed by Smashwords

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entire coincidental

Authors Note:

All characters depicted in this work of fiction are at least 18 years old or above. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contents

Chapter 1: The Sauna

Chapter 2: The Ritual

Chapter 3: The Ultimate Control

Chapter 4: The Entire Gang

Chapter 5: Never Say Never

Chapter 1: The Sauna

I now understand that my subconscious was miles ahead of my surface brain on knowing what I wanted. Male models apparently are as justly characterized as thick brained as female models are reputed to be. I suppose I was more narcissistic in my youth and early adulthood, though, assuming that love came from the mirror and that sensuality was merely a fake technique applied to TV commercials to sell products.

I suppose that I had been desired for my looks and hit upon by men into my twenties, but I had been too taken with myself to notice. There had been gropes in public urinals, to be sure, and as they increased in frequency, they did increasingly set themselves in my subconscious as something to wonder about and to think upon. I was flattered, but I didn't think they said anything about me if I just walked away from such propositions. But I clearly separated them from real life—which to me were straight, white teeth, a firm body, and a good job, wife, and family to propel me into the comfortable life.

So, when my spiral started for real, down into the world of realized desire, and all of that subconscious thinking about it was being drawn to the surface, there was no blame to cast—other than on my own self-indulgent fighting of any thoughts of what really aroused me in any significant way.

I'd seen the Indian doctor (if he really was a doctor—but, of course, as I later found out, he was) work the young men on the gym floor and in the shower room. There was no reason my surface brain wouldn't know he was a sexual predator—or what his chosen prey was. In the end, I'm really glad it happened, though. Well, glad on one level. Finding man-on-man sex was freeing for me.

And I must say when I saw him working on other young men in the gym, I wanted him to work on me too. I didn't want to have the feeling that he wanted them and not me. I was the professionally groomed male model. I wanted to soak up the attention of other men in the gym. I just assumed that when and if he did, I could just walk away from it as I did when men reached out to touch me at the urinals in a public bathroom.

The Indian was a magician really—and I was the world's most naive dummy. The first encounter happened without me having a clue about what had happened even when it was over. I was a few years older than those the Indian doctor was targeting at the gym—and he was a good twenty years older than I was. He touched me in the sauna—just lightly on the thigh that first time, but then again, a little more firmly and bravely when I didn't roll off the sauna shelf and walk away—and when it continued and became progressively more intimate without me shirking it, thinking that that was just how Indians were—touchy feely; we seemed to be having a reasonable conversation—my cock burbled out juice without warning and certainly without my really realizing we were having any form of sex.

He had a mesmerizing singsong voice, and I got horny without the usual arousal mechanisms—no warning really. He was doing this monologue about being circumcised or not in those doctor words of his, as if we were having an academic discussion or a medical consultation—which I thought came from some possible anomaly he had seen in my anatomy that I should have checked out with my own doctor. I have no idea how he knew suggesting a possible flaw in my body was the most direct route to my attention.

That's how you get the attention of a narcissist. Ask him about a pimple you see on his nose. He'll drop everything and run for the mirror.

He had his long, thin fingers on my cock head, seemingly examining around the base of the glans to advise me on whether it had been a good cutting job or not—something I hadn't even thought of ever, truth be known—without me realizing or appreciating what he really was doing. I was being a real dope.

After that, which was one of my earliest visits to that gym, I observed him seduce young men on the gym floor, bringing them into the sauna, and as discreetly as possible, lapping them in a dark corner of the mist-filled chamber. He would fuck them—and then move on to the next conquest. Like others, I would sit and pretend it wasn't happening—watch with curiosity while making like I wasn't