Date: Tue, 27 Apr 2004 19:28:16 +0000
From: Moore
Subject: BYLAWS III

Chapter 7

SRI LANKA, THE FORMER British colony of Ceylon, famous for its tea
and semi-precious jewels, is a tropical island paradise.  A popular,
inexpensive vacation spot for Europeans, I visited frequently for a
little business and a lot pleasure in the late 70's and early 80's
until ethnic strife between the Sinhalese and Tamils made this poor
but beautiful country unsafe for locals and foreigners alike.

Thailand has long been famous for its well organized sex industry.
Clubs like Mrs. Lee's Asia Palace abound, where beautiful young
women and equally beautiful young men; pretty girls and boys barely
weaned from their mother's breast may, for a price, be had for an
evening of unsurpassed erotic pleasure.  Sri Lanka had no such
industry, but a few well-placed American dollars in a country where
adults labored for a dollar a day and children worked for less,
opened the door to a casual world of great sex.

I have Bruce and young Jacob to thank, or blame...depending upon
one's sexual orientation and point of view, for opening my eyes to
the wonderful world of pre-pubescent boys. Virgins preferably, with
smooth hairless bodies and sexual organs no bigger than a mouthful
became a passion that surprised even my dearest friends Stella and
Herb Lowenstein when I mentioned it during a visit.

"Peter always had to be first," she reminded Herb and I as we
sunbathed in the nude by their olympic size pool.

Nobody wears clothes at the Lowenstein estate outside of Portland.
Not their three kids; little Herbie proudly wears a cock ring like
the one his dad and I wear, the girls have pierced labias. And not
the countless friends who come by with their own kids for a fun
filled day in the sun.  Thongs are available for boys on the edge
of puberty, that sensitive age when they're self conscious about
the size of their cocks and sprouting pubic hair, and colorful
condoms in assorted flavors, and sex toys appropriately sized for
all age groups.  This is after all, Stella's house.

"First boy in high school to suck a cock," Stella said, patting
Herb's dick. "First to take it up the ass."

"That's true," I said, chuckling, "but...."  Herb spread his legs
for me as I knelt at the foot of his lounge chair. "Herb had some
firsts too as I recall. He was the first to cum in my mouth and the
first to cum in my ass."

"Seems like only yesterday," Herb said as I reacquainted my mouth
with the first, and the biggest dick I've ever had the pleasure of
sucking.

The thrill of being the first man to lie naked with a virgin boy,
to feel his small warm penis stiffen in my mouth as I suck and, if
I'm lucky and he's not too young, taste the results of his very
first wet climax is almost worth the risk.

In the States, unless you're a Catholic priest it seems, the risk
of exposure and potential imprisonment is far to great. Europe is
no less risky and their prisons make ours look like country clubs.
Language is a problem in some countries where the culture and laws
are not so restrictive; suitable hotels and edible food a problem
in other countries where laws prohibiting sex with young boys don't
exist at all.

Unlike Gerald Maplewood, the English attorney I met in Calcutta who
made sex slaves out of desperate young boys, I fall in love with
these adolescent wonders as I teach them, as Stella taught me, the
beauty and pleasure of great sex.  One look at a naked young boy and
I want to cuddle him, shower him with kisses and bathe him with my
tongue, every inch of his body until he's dripping wet with saliva.
Then I want to bury my face between his legs and breathe in the
unique boyish aroma that accumulates around his small cock and balls
and between the plump half melons that guard his puckered rosebud.

English speaking Sri Lanka with its fine hotels, warm climate,
beautiful Indian Ocean beaches...and friendly dark skinned boys
was, as I accidently discovered, a veritable Garden or Gayden
of Eden.

Chauncey Spencer, the hotel manager; very British, very handsome
and, unless my brain cells were jet-lagged, very gay and available,
lead the way to my ocean view suite at the Meridian. The AirLanka
flight from Hong Kong to Colombo, Sri Lanka's capital city, had been
delayed for hours due to equipment problems.  I was tired and stiff,
badly in need of a hot bath and a good night's sleep...but Spencer
had a nice ass and my dick was wide awake.

"Will you have tea, Mr. Conte?" He inquired.

"Tea? Yes," I said slowly, deciding if I wanted to fuck him now or
wait until tomorrow, "Though after travelling all day I have to get
out of these clothes and into a hot bath."

His eyes lit up briefly, but I guess he thought better of hitting
on a guest. "Your room boy, Ranjit, will serve you at once, sir,
and unpack your bags while you bathe.  We are delighted that you
have chosen the Meridian for your first visit to our city. Please
call me personally if there is anything more that you require."

Room boys are a common sight in the fine hotels throughout Asia
where labor is plentiful and cheap.  They work long hours caring
for their assigned guests, depending on tips for most of their
income. They're not always boys though, I should warn you before
grab your passport and head for the airport. Elderly men serve as
room boys in Taipei and Hong Kong hotels.

Ranjit was a boy, early teens and thin as a rail. His hotel whites
contrasted nicely with his dark skin. I took my cup of tea into the
the bathroom, leaving my clothes in a heap on the floor, and stepped
into the oversized tub.  Ranjit refilled my cup several times while
I soaked, carrying away my soiled clothes and returning with a small
tray of sweets.

"Have one," I insisted. "Have them all."

"Thank you, sir," he said.  "I do like chocolates."

"What else do you like, Ranjit?" I asked to keep him with me after
he had eaten the last one and licked his fingers clean.

"Cricket, sir, and football.  And you, sir?"

Great sex, I was tempted to reply.  And pretty young boys like you,
naked in my bath and in my bed. I let the moment and my hardon pass
before rising from the tub which sent Ranjit scurrying for a robe.

"Bring coffee at nine," I said, handing the boy a hundred rupee
note, about five dollars in American money. "And arrange for a car
at ten thirty."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," he said, pocketing the bill.  "Coffee
at nine, sir and a car."

I slept long and well, nude and yes, alone, waking refreshed to a
sun-filled room.  Ranjit, as promised, wheeled in the coffee cart
at the stroke of nine, unfazed by the fact that I was naked.  My
appointment with the Minister of Finance was at eleven, a small
matter concerning a $50 million loan from Mr. R's bank, remember
Mr. R, for an irrigation project, so I had time for a leisurely
breakfast.

"I'll have my coffee on the terrace, Ranjit."

The view of the Indian Ocean, waves crashing on to a white sand
beach not a hundred yards away was spectacular.  The view of a
bare breasted young woman and a dark haired young man having
breakfast by the pool two floors below was equally spectacular.

"More coffee, sir?" Ranjit said stepping forward with the pot,
pausing mid-pour when he saw my erection.

"It's okay to look, Ranjit."

"I'm sorry, sir, it's just that, oh my, it's so...."

"Big?"

"Yes, sir, big.  Very big."

He laughed when I made it thump several times against my stomach,
as did the two beauties at poolside who chose that moment to
exchange a humorous comment followed by a lingering kiss.  How
nice, I thought, glancing at Ranjit who also appeared to be
enjoying the little show by the pool and in my lap.

"French," he offered. "They are kissing each other all the time
and yesterday morning, sir, on the beach, the lady took off the
man's bathing suit and kissed him right here."

Ranjit, still pointing towards his slightly distended crotch froze
when I opened his pants, pushed them down along with his tattered
underwear and then brought his dark brown penis to my lips.

"Right here?" I said, kissing the moist tip as it emerged from his
cheese encrusted foreskin.  "Or here?" I said, cradling his smooth
hairless testicles in my hands before pushing his two precious
stones into my mouth.

A boy's first blow job, whether the lips around his cock be
male or female; experienced lips like mine or belonging to a
novice cocksucker, rarely lasts more than a few minutes.  Ranjit
was about average, though he produced a surprising amount of tasty
precum, ejaculating a five spurt load of thick sperm off the roof
of my mouth after two minutes of sucking.  I had ample time before
my meeting so I stripped him naked and carried him inside to my bed.

Ranjit left my suite at ten o'clock with a smile on his face, two
hundred rupees in his pocket and a well scrubbed body that smelled
of hotel soap, shampoo and the fragrant lotion I had massaged into
every inch of his dark young flesh after our bath. The wonderful
memory of his cock and the lingering taste of his teenage sperm was
still in my mouth when I was ushered into the Minister's office for
my appointment.

The meeting went well and the loan agreement prepared by Mr. R's
associate, a newly minted MBA from Wharton, was signed before
lunch. Quite a difference from the difficult stance Mr. R was to
take a few years later with my Arab clients in Bangkok.

He did finally agree to the Arab loan you should know.  Oh yes,
the day after our evening at Mrs. Lee's Asia Palace where, as you
may recall, she and I discovered Mr. R's 15" cock and his secret
fondness for little Asian boys.

Chauncey Spencer was in the lobby when I returned to the Meridian
late in the afternoon. "I trust your business went well, Mr. Conte?"

"Very well, Mr. Spencer," I replied, a receipt for the tax free
wire transfer of $1.5 million to my Swiss bank account safely tucked
away in my wallet. I don't object to American income taxes so long
as it's other people paying them.

"Please call me Chauncey," Spencer said, taking my arm and leading
me towards the lounge.  "May I offer you a drink to celebrate?"

An innocent offer from the hotel's manager or a pick up line from
a gay guy?  I usually celebrate the successful closing of a large
transaction with a long night of great sex.  Although Brits and
great sex is an oxymoron, the spicy food at lunch had obliterated
the spermy essence of Ranjit's morning ejaculations so I'd settle
for a refresher from Chauncey if he was game.

"Beefeater martini, straight up, with two olives," I told the
waiter. Chauncey said he'd have the same.  He lit an English Oval,
sucking the smoke deep into his lungs...exhaling with a sigh as
the drinks were served.

"I fear you will spoil the room boys," Chauncey stated after we
touched glasses and sipped our drinks. I had to look away, a tiny
bit embarrassed that he seemed to know about my bit of fun with
Ranjit.

"You Americans tip far too much, five rupees is quite sufficient.
Ranjit told the other boys that you gave him two hundred rupees
this morning."

Perhaps he didn't know. Perhaps he was jealous. Not that it mattered
one way or another if he thought I'd had sex with one of his boys.
"Ranjit is a good boy and..."

"May I join you gentlemen?"

Spencer rose to his feet.  "Yes, please do, Ms. Lalique."

"Peter Conte," I said, rising as well to my feet and in my trousers.

"Claudine Lalique."

The gorgeous woman I saw bare breasted at the pool this morning,
the French lady according to Ranjit, the one he saw on the beach
was now seated next to me.

"Roger has returned to Paris, to his wife," she said to Spencer.
Then, turning to me, "He was such a bore in bed."

There was something about Claudine that reminded me of Stella even
before her hand moved brazenly up my thigh towards my crotch. Before
she began tracing the outline of my thickening cock and before she
whispered in my ear, "Would you like to fuck me, Peter?"

Claudine shed her dress, I lost my suit coat, somewhere between the
elevator and the door to my suite.  She wore nothing underneath.

"Hurry," she panted, tearing at my shirt and pants.

The door was locked of course, the key left behind in the pocket of
my suit coat. Neither of us could wait another moment so we did it
where we stood...mated like animals on the hallway floor outside my
room.

Claudine gasped when I entered her, arched her back and shuddered
as my cock thrust deep into her sopping wet sex. She climaxed once
as we rutted like street mongrels and climaxed again while riding
my cock as I lay back on the plush carpet. The great sex resumed
in my suite after I retrieved my suit coat and room key, continuing
throughout the night until exhaustion sent us both to dreamland.

We coupled again at first light and then, impaled on my cock, I
carried Claudine to the terrace to watch the sun rise.

"Coffee?" I asked, reaching for the phone to call room service.

"With cream," she replied, squeezing my dick.  "We seem to be
all out."

I ran my fingers through her silky pubic hair, another trait she
and Stella had in common, slipping inside to coat my finger with
the sticky results of my last orgasm.  "Cream, mademoiselle?"

"Grade A, monsieur?" and she licked my finger clean.

If Ranjit was surprised to see us both naked when he wheeled in the
coffee cart, he was even more surprised, as was I when Claudine
stripped him bare and began to fondle his dark brown body.

"Cream, monsieur?" She said, offering up the boy's stiff dick as
I joined her by the cart and cupped Ranjit's balls in the palm of
my hand.

"Grade A, mademoiselle?"

Claudine smiled knowingly. "Care for a taste?"

"Mai, oui," I said as she guided Ranjit's erection to my lips. I
sucked the boy's dick and he climaxed quickly, filling my mouth
with spurts of warm creamy semen which I happily shared. Claudine
and I, the Cream Team, we kissed Ranjit's sperm back and forth
around the boy's cock until our faces were sticky and the boy was
hard again.

"Would you like to fuck me, Ranjit?" Claudine said, spreading the
lips of her pussy as she lay back on the bed.

"I don't mind," he said eagerly, using the curious Sri Lankan
expression which means yes, and moved towards the bed.

I watched them fuck for a few minutes until the sight of Ranjit's
smooth round butt and tight little balls became more than I could
resist.  Claudine caught my eye over the boy's shoulder as I moved
towards the bed.  She read my mind, parting his buns to expose his
pink puckered anus.  Just for fun I took some grape jelly from the
coffee cart to make his sweet young ass even sweeter.

I nibbled the boy's toes, licked the backs of his sweaty thighs and
around his testicles all slimy with Claudine's juices before burying
my face between the plump cheeks of his ass.  The gamey smell of the
sweaty young boy, the spicy taste of his hole, the squishy sound of
his cock thrusting in and out of Claudine's pussy...I had to get my
dick in him or go mad.

He cried out when I breached his virgin hole, then sighed as his
sphincter relaxed and my ten inch cock eased slowly inside.  Ranjit
was moaning now, fucking himself on my embedded dick as he fucked
Claudine.  I felt his muscles contract as his orgasm hit, bathing his
ass with my sperm as he shot off in Claudine's pussy.

Ranjit's morning of great sex ended in the shower where Claudine
sucked him from her knees then guided his stiff cock into my ass.
Claudine took me in her mouth while Ranjit discovered the pleasure
of cumming in a man's tight ass. Claudine and I washed his spent
body before sending him on his way with a smile on his face and a
fistful of rupees.
 
"Will you marry me, Peter?" Claudine said a few minutes later as I
poured her a cup of coffee.

I nearly dropped the pot.  "Why? I mean...I, um..." I didn't know
what to say. Marriage?  Herb was married, to Stella, the only girl
he'd ever slept with. Quite happily too, I should add, with three
kids who call me Uncle Peter.

"Why not?" Claudine responded. "We've only just met, but we have
so much in common, oui? 

"Yes, but...?"

"Come, Peter. Let's walk on the beach and we'll talk."

I slipped into a bikini, so small that it would get you arrested for
indecent exposure on most public beaches. Claudine took the cloth
from the coffee cart, deftly arranging it around her body like a
designer creation and we were off.

"And if you're not married by your 29th birthday," I asked after she
had told me her fascinating story.

"By the terms of my father's will, everything I have worked so hard
for the past seven years, the winery and the shops in Paris and
Lyons...they were nearly bankrupt when I started, all will go to my
Uncle Charles who has never worked a day in his life."

The attorney in me rose to a challenge.  "I could help you fight
the will."

"Perhaps, but it would take years and the business would suffer. So
much simpler to marry, Peter.  Marry a man like you who..., who is
so uninhibited."

We shed what little we had on and made love on the beach. "You
wouldn't have to give up young boys, Peter," she whispered in my
ear as I entered her, "Or other women. A marriage of convenience
and, oh my god, great sex."

Claudine left for Paris the following morning with my promise to
think about her proposal and to meet her there when my business in
Sri Lanka was concluded.  "Not more than a week," I told her at the
airport. "We'll talk more about getting married then."

Ranjit was out front when I returned to the hotel. He came over to
the car when he saw me. "The lady, Miss Claudine is gone, Mr. Peter?"

"Yes, she had to return to Paris.  Where are you going?"

"Home, sir. To visit with my family."

"And where is your home?"

"A small village, five kilometers from Colombo."

I had no plans for the day, no meetings or business to attend to.
The car and driver were mine for as long as I wanted and Ranjit's
smooth body, his warm dick and tasty ass was just the thing to take
my mind off Claudine's marriage proposal.  "Would you like a ride?"

"I don't mind," he said, climbing into the car.

I took off his damp shirt as we left the hotel grounds, pulling him
closer to inhale his boyish scent.  He giggled when I tweaked his
nipples and rubbed his belly, moaned when I slipped my hand into his
shorts and cupped his damp balls.

"Mmmm, your balls smell wonderful," I said, sniffing my fingers.
"I wonder how they taste today?  Why don't you take off those shorts
so I can find out?"

Sri Lankan roads being what they are, the relatively short trip
took almost an hour.  I was swallowing the final spurts of Ranjit's
second load of sperm when we arrived at his village.  Words can't
begin to describe the tin roofed shacks, dusty dirt paths and the
smell of poverty that assaulted a westerners senses. The whole
village came out to see who was arriving in a big fancy car.

Women and children, the men being away at work on the tea estates
up north, crowded around me. For many, it was their first close
look at a white man.  Ranjit lead me to his house and introduced me
to his mother who insisted I come inside for refreshments.  The warm
soda water she served did little to cool me off in the stifling
heat so I was not unhappy when Rajit said he wanted to go for a swim.

I left my shirt and shoes in the car, rolled up my pants legs and
followed Ranjit a short distance to a white sand beach dotted with
green palm trees and, much to my surprise and delight, naked boys.
Twenty or so naked young Sri Lankans, more in the water, a boy
lovers dream come true.

I slipped off my trousers and parked myself in the shade of a palm
tree to watch the young boys at play. An adorable little fellow with
a dirty cloth wrapped around his loins and a withered leg hobbled
over on his crutches to join me under the palm.

"You're Ranjit's friend, the man with the very big penis," he said
politely, looking down at my thong covered crotch. "I'm Nihal."

We shook hands.  He was trembling and mumbling under his breath as
he loosened his loincloth. "Would you like to have me, sir?"

"Have you?"

"Yes, sir. My penis, sir. For your mouth, sir, for ten rupees or
five?"

I had to laugh, clearly Ranjit had been sharing his experiences of
the past week. "What happened to your leg?" I asked, taking pity on
the lad who was willing to sell himself to me for less than the
price of a cup of coffee in the states.

"Crushed, sir, by the same rogue elephant that killed my father
when I was ten years old.  For two years now I have taken care of
my dear mother as best I can.  My penis is very nice, sir, may I
show you?"

Balancing on his crutch, Nihal unwound the loincloth to show me his
uncut morsel and marble sized balls. "One hundred rupees," I said,
reaching for my pants with one hand, Nihal's little cock with the
other.

He got hard in my mouth and his squeals brought some other boys
over to see what the commotion was all about. I ran out of rupees
long before I ran out of naked Sri Lankan boys willing, as one boy
put it, to pleasure my mouth with their young cocks.

"Keep track," I said to Ranjit as one spent dick withdrew and
another quickly took its place. "Every boy gets two hundred rupees.
I'll give you the money tomorrow."

That long wonderful day on the beach cost me four thousand rupees,
two hundred dollars, a small fraction of the cost of an evening at
a place like Asia Palace in Bangkok. The Sri Lankan boys weren't as
facially pretty, but their young naked bodies were soft and lush in
all the right places, fragrant with sweat in the tropical heat. And
their young cocks were hard, eager to pass through my lips to be
lovingly sucked and eager to try out my ass after Ranjit showed
them how to do it.

Chapter Eight

Claudine and I were married in a little church near her chateau in
the Loire Valley.  I gave her a ten carat diamond ring to celebrate
the occasion.  She gave me Jacques and Francois on our wedding
night, two French boys who didn't speak a word of English, but knew
how to use their mouths and frisky little bodies for more important
things. She also gave me, us, a honeymoon month on a small island
near Tahiti where the native boys and girls wore nothing but beads,
which made for some interesting tan lines.  Cocks and cunts, like
the sweet nuts and juicy berries that grew wild in the lush climate,
were ripe for the picking.

Claudine stayed in France to manage her business. I flew back to
New York on the Concorde to attend to my own.  Our arrangement, if
you will, worked well and we met three times a year in accommodating
locales like Sri Lanka for a week of great sex.  We stayed married
until her Uncle Charles passed away and with his death, the threat
to her business and our marriage both ended.

I have no regrets, nor do I offer any apologies for my life style.
The world is a fascinating place, populated by men and women, girls
and boys; and people like myself who enjoy great sex with all of
them.  America, with all of its faults and puritanical ideas about
sex reigns supreme, exporting its style and culture to every corner
of the globe.  McDonalds has stores in countries that weren't
countries a year ago. Europe contributes little, dead from the neck
up since the end of WWII. The former Soviet Union, a wasteland of
mobsters and corruption. China has lots of people and little else.
The Arab world contributes oil and a religion that promises peace
and delivers murder, mayhem, terrorists, bombs...and September 11.

Leading the American charge, long centered in New York City, are
our young people.  They define what's what in music, movies,
magazines, television, fashion, etc. Teenagers across the world
want to be like American teenagers; want to come to America, to
New York City...I'll be waiting.