Date: Sun, 29 Aug 2004 09:07:02 -0700 (PDT)
From: Robin Reed <any_mouse2003@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Guy Named Joe: Amazon

The usual disclaimers apply. Don't read it if is
illegal where you are, rights are reserved, comments
welcome, you know why you are here....

A Guy Named Joe

Amazon

I had the oddest feeling as I left the restaurant and
crossed the crushed gravel of the small parking lot
and drank in the rich earth smell of the city. It was
diesel fumes and shit, I thought, and decay.
Everything here in this big town on the river with the
canals- klongs, they call them- would return to mold
and earth if left alone.

And of course that included me. The feeling I had was
one of tension in my loins. Had I misread Rick? He was
an intense guy, personable to a fault, a hail fellow
well-met. I had dinner with his mistress, the lovely
Oy, whose transition from country boy to lady of the
mansion was seemingly complete. He had been charming
and gallant. But a little aloof. There was something
about those eyes, so worldly and dark. And I was
headed to an assignment with a katoy that could meet
my desire.

How had Oy put it? It was delicious. I wanted a man
being a women to make me, a man, feel like a woman?
Shit, all I wanted to do was get a good fucking. I
think that is just human, maybe the most human thing
there is. I lit my chrome Zippo lighter and looked at
the piece of paper that I had been handed.

The address was in the low numbers on Soi 6, perhaps a
half mile from where I stood. I stood under the faint
light above the gate of Rick's Number One and waved
for a pedicab, careful to keep my hand down so as not
to offend the Thai driver. Traffic was brisk in the
middle-evening as partygoers ventured out into the
cool of the night. A cab lurched over, the peddler
wearing a skirt and plaid shirt tied gathered at the
waist. He smiled at me with teeth stained with
betel-juice.

He spat on the pavement as I told him the address and
he stood on the pedals and we caroomed back into
traffic. I looked around at the throng, western
tourists returning for dinner, Thais going home or out
to sample the nightlife, men attracted to the heady
aroma of sex that hung in the air of corruption. Maybe
that was what made this place so sensual, the heat and
the sweat and smell of the buses and crap.

I was tense as we pulled up in front of a low block of
apartments, dinner sitting heavy in my stomach. In the
night I could only see that they had once been
whitewashed, but there was the stain as they began the
slow return to the earth.

I handed the driver five bhat for the trip and
dismounted from the cab. There was a central doorway
leading to a passage inked in darkness. The paper had
said apartment 3 at this address. I checked my watch.
I was a couple minutes early. I lit a cigarette and
choked down the smoke, feeling the tension in my gut.
I threw the butt down after a few drags.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I took a deep breath
of the rich air and walked up three steps to the open
portal and walked down the hallway, peering at number
on the doors.

Number 3 was second on the right. I could barely make
it out in the gloom. There was a faint orange flow
around the bottom of the door. I swallowed and rapped
softly on the door.

I could hear motion inside, and then the rattle of a
chain on the other side of the door. The knob turned
and the door opened to a candlelit room. I smelled the
musky scent of incense, so rich as to be almost
overwhelming. Before me was a woman who towered over
me. Her face was framed in an afro that formed a
perfect corona and her skin was a rich ebony, like
oiled teak. Her ears were pierced with large silver
hoops. Her brows were plucked to high accents and her
eyelashes were enormous, drawing me into intense dark
eyes, her lids colored a deep purple, and her lips
were voluptuous and colored brilliant crimson.

"Hello, Rob," she said in a husky contralto. I could
see her adams apple move behind a thick velvet choker
as she spoke. "You are Rob, aren't you? Or did you
forget the pizza?"

I smiled, frozen in the gaze of those dark eyes. "Yes,
I'm Rob. Oy referred me^Å" I trailed off lamely. Was
this a visit to the doctor's office? Panic began to
rise and I looked down the towering frame to the tits
that thrust at me agressive as torpedoes. They were
gigantic, thrust up against the silk of a patterned
blouse cut high so her mid-section was exposed. The
muscles of her belly were defined, leading my eyes
down to thin hips caught in a mini-skirt. Her legs
went all the way to the ground, ending in platform
shoes with a pronounced heel.

She might have been a little taller than me in bare
feet, but with those shoes and that hair she towered
above me by eight inches.

She smiled, though not in a kind way. A neutral smile,
perhaps, a professional courtesy, one that indicated
nothing. "Come in, Rob. Let's get to know one another.
Perhaps we have something in common. Mother Oy thought
we might."

By her smoky voice she was American, and
African-American at that. I have always had a weakness
for men- people- of color, and I was stunned. She took
my hand and pulled me into the room, closing the door
behind me.

"Thanks for the response. I get that sometimes. But
can you talk?"

"Um, yes, yes of course I can. I just was not
expecting^Å"

"A six-foot five inch nigger?"

"No! I didn't mean that. My first lover was a black
man, please, don't take it that way," I stammered.
Shit, that was the biggest event of my life and I am
blurting it out in the first seconds. "Please."

She looked at me stoically and then there was a smile
that actually held some warmth. "So you like black
folks?"

I felt better, thinking of Alexander of the café au
lait skin and thin imperious cock and passionate lips.
"I love black folks," I breathed. "I love them."

"Fair enough. Would you care for a glass of wine? I'm
drinking white."

"That would be wonderful." I think I exhaled for the
first time since I knocked. She turned and walked
toward a short hallway that held what looked like a
kitchenette. The bathroom and the bedroom were
probably beyond that, though the rest of the hall was
cloaked in darkness. The whir of an old window-mounted
air conditioner stirred the air and blew the rich
cocktail of her scent and sandalwood in lazy coolness.

"Make yourself comfortable. Have a seat."

There were two couches pulled together in an L-shape
around a low coffee table. A stick of incense burned
there in a long narrow tray. There some silk prints on
the wall depicting Thai dancers in the stylized
costumes, cobra figures sprouting from their shoulders
and erupting from the peaks of their hats. The Cobra
was a powerful symbol here, one of strength and
virility and danger. I walked over to the couch and
sat down on one, on the edge, still ready to flee if I
had to. I heard the opening of the refrigerator and
the clink of bottle on glass.

She stepped around the corner, a wineglass in each
hand. She walked toward me, extending one hand. Her
nails were long and painted crimson to match her lips.
I took the glass from her and brought it to my laps.
She slipped by me, her navel at the level of my eyes,
and delicately took a seat on the adjacent couch, so
that the arms were between us. Her breasts were less
threatening with them between us. She looked at me
levelly.

"Relax, White Bread. What you see is what you get.
Maybe."

"All right. I'll try. This is not what I expected. I
thought you would be Asian."

"Reasonable enough, I suppose. And in a way I am. I am
going to be a woman in Asia, or at least the kind I
can be here and I can't be at home." She arched her
back, and her magnificent bosom strained at the
material of her blouse. "I got these here. They are
brand new. Cost a fraction of what they would have
cost back in LA. What do you think?"

I took a sip of wine, hypnotized by the jutting mass
of her chest. "Why, they are very impressive. Lovely,
I mean." I tried to be polite about them, but they
frankly freaked me out. When they pointed at me I felt
like I was being illuminated by twin searchlights.

"They are nice work, if I must say so," she said
expansively. "But listen, White Bread, why don't you
drink your wine and we can have a bowl or two and see
if we can loosen up."

She rose and walked to a reel-to-reel tape recorder on
a console against the wall. She flicked a switch and
the tape began to roll. Miles Davis, cool and cerebral
passion flooded the room. She took a small box from a
shelf and returned to her seat. She looked at me and I
felt like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a cobra.

She slid the top of the box off and set it down on the
coffee table. She fished around in the box and brought
out a bamboo stick with brown materials wrapped in a
bundle at the top. "Thai stick," she said. "The very
best." She bent forward and removed the strand of
wrapping from the bundle and gently crumbled the dark
marijuana from the stick onto the lid of the box,
careful to keep it all in a neat pile.

Then she removed a little brass pipe with a wide flat
bowl.  She took a pinch of marijuana and placed it in
the bowl. She produced a wooden match and struck it
artfully one-handed and raised the pipe to those
enormous crimson lips. She carefully applied the flame
and drew the smoke deep into her lungs. She held it
there, gazing at me, and then exhaled slowly, the
smoke hanging between us. The smell of the dope and
the incense and her were overwhelming. I breathed in
what had been in her as she took another pinch and
placed it in the pipe and extended it to me.

I put my glass on the table and took the pipe. I had
not smoked dope since I had been in Bangkok, part of a
small effort to clean up my act. But I put it to my
lips and as she waved another match across it I sucked
the smoke to the bottom of my lungs. It was rich
beyond belief. When I was full I held my breath and I
swear I could feel the rush as swiftly as my blood
rushed through my lungs. I could feel my heart
beating, suddenly huge and heavy in my chest. Miles
wailed in the background. I gazed into those chocolate
eyes, losing myself in their depths.

"My name was Cleatus, but I am known as Cherie here.
You can call me Amazon."

"All right," I said. "Amazon it is." We had another
few bowls and finished the wine as she told me her
tale.

She grew up in Watts, a tall skinny kid. Good at
sports but not that good. The riots had put everything
on hold, Black revolution in the streets, the 68
Olympic Games indelible in his mind. He had not been a
star at the playground. As the other boys cocks were
stirring for the girls who blossomed, he found that
his cock was stirring for his buddies. It was awkward,
he said, being Black and Gay.

He had to maintain an air of machismo, and find the
others of our kind for the furtive grope in the alley,
always afraid of being caught. By the cops or by the
neighborhood hard guys.

He had done a hitch in the army, enlisting with his
mother's permission at 17 as a way to get out of Watts
and the situation in general. Even the prospect of
Vietnam did not dissuade him.

Enlistments were only two years in those days, he
said. I watched his throat, fascinated, as the
structure moved behind the velvet choker. I let his
words carry me along. He had been lucky. The need for
troops in Vietnam was fading in 1970, and he wound up
in Germany in a transport unit. His exposure to the
barracks and to Europe showed him many new things, and
there in the military, there are a lot of boys who if
are not homosexual, are Gay for the Stay.

He saw an ad for a drag review when his unit rotated
through the isolated garrison in Berlin, and he went,
and he said that it electrified him.

He went around to the stage door when it was over,
desperate to meet these men who appeared as women.
When they emerged, suddenly normal men in fey street
clothes, they saw him. Exotic and filled with longing.
Barely legal, even there. And they took him under
their wings.

He went back to Berlin on pass and they indoctrinated
him to the drag world, and he was free to be gay when
he was with them, partying in the clubs on the
Ku-damm.

By the time his tour was up, he had made some
decisions. He would be released from service right
there, and then he was going to take his last paycheck
and head for Bangkok and get the tits he knew he
needed and could not afford in Europe. Then he would
return to the cabarets of Germany and be the Queen.

Queen of the Amazons.

I was mesmerized. She did not ask me my story. I
imagine it was written on my face. She got us more
wine, and I watched her sashay by, swinging her thin
hips enticingly. Her shoulders were strong and the
veins stood out on her ebony arms. She brought the
wine back and placed my glass in front of me.

"So, watcha think, White Bread? How do you like me so
far?"

"I think you are the most fascinating person I have
ever met," I said softly.

"Well, that is a start. I think I might keep you for a
while. I like to fuck white ass. Like those kinky
Germans. That is the other part. I amazed them."

She reached between those massive breasts and
unbuttoned her blouse, shrugging it off. Her brassiere
was black satin and strained to hold in the monters.
She reached behind her and unclasped the bra, leaning
forward in a most feminine manner to shrug it off.
When she stood erect, her shoulders back the breasts
stood out hard and jutting. They seemed to have no
relationship to the rest of her body, which was slim
and well muscled.

Amazon undid a button on the side of the mini and
unzipped it, stepping out. Her panties featured a
reinforced panel on the front. It must be to keep her
cock pressed against her body. "I always like getting
out of this thing," she said. "Hard to go to the
bathroom and stay lady-like. I gotta take a leak. Have
your clothes off when I get back." She walked away in
her platform shoes and I heard the door open back in
the hall.

She was matter of fact and completely in charge. I
stood and unbuttoned my shirt. I placed it on the
couch, someplace, I am not sure where, and shucked off
my shoes and slacks and underwear. She would be even
taller when I was in my bare feet, funny what you
think of at times like this.

I stood there, naked, waiting. I heard the creak of
the door and then her footsteps returning. She rounded
the corner and came into the light. Her breasts
pointed at me. Her lips were freshly crimsoned. The
muscles on her lean belly formed a six-pack that
vee-ed down to those slim hips and high bubble
buttocks. And now, free from its prison, hung her
cock. My eyes bulged. Even limp it was at least eight
inches long, and uncut. It was darker even than his
rich skin. He stopped and cocked his hips at me.

"Come here, White Bread. Worship the Queen."

I couldn't help myself. "Yes, Ma'am," I said. I walked
to her. As I got close she reached out and grasped my
shoulders, pushing me down. Her feet were akimbo, and
on my knees I was between the platform shoes. I had to
look up at the magnificent cock, and I looked at her
ballsack, long and deeply tectured, public hair
trimmed and curly.

Him, I thought. Oh, yes, Him.

I reached up and gently took his ballsack in my palm
and opened my mouth. I extended my tongue and breathed
in the musky smell that had been trapped in his
panties. The dope was in my head. I licked the tip of
his cock, teasing a drop of urine from it. I licked
him softly but insistently, and I could feel him
respond, beginning to swell. I had to arch my back as
it rose before me like a thick snake. He was going to
be ten inches of manhood if he was an inch, and I took
as much of him into my throat as I could. Gentle, I
thought, if he wants to use me differently he will
tell me. I gently caressed his balls, feeling them
glide beneath the texture of his sack. I could only
get half of him down my throat and I licked the
underside of that magnificent tool.

It was richly veined, carved almost. It was the most
powerful beautiful cock I had ever seen, bigger, more
insistent, the most male thing in the world. I looked
up from my man-meal and saw his lips and his wild halo
of black hair framed by those rigid breasts with the
angry nipples.

With my other hand I grasped the rest of the mighty
shaft, a full span of my hand. I smoothly began to
jerk him with my right hand as I sucked the tip of his
cock, tonguing his piss-slit of the slimy pre-cum and
continuing to caress his balls.

"Oooh, that is not bad, White Bread. You got some
potential as a cock-sucker, you do."

I redoubled the motion of my tongue and increased the
tempo of my caress and rhythmic motion on the base of
his shaft. He started to fuck my face, thrusting more
of himself into me. "You go, boy, you suck Amazon's
fat black clit! Oooh^Å"

I was so hard that my erect cock was slamming my
belly. I wanted to cum so badly but I could not
release my hold of him. I could sense he was nearing
his climax and I held him on my lips so I could taste
him when he came. His hips bucked toward me and my
hands felt his balls contract upward toward his body
and the first surge of his rich cum on its way to my
mouth and tongue and greedy gullet. He erupted into
me, and I imprisoned the huge mushroom tip of his cock
at the front of my mouth so I could milk him of every
last drop.

When his major spurts were over, I took him again,
sucking the aftershocks, hungry for more of his hot
manhood. My lips were slick with his seed and my belly
was filled with his hot jism.

It was hot and slimy and wonderful. He came in massive
waves, five good shots that almost pushed me back off
him, I swallowed, submitting to his manhood,
triumphant in my service to him. I was almost choking,
the taste salty and acrid in the submission and
victory.

I did not take his dick out of my mouth. I waited
attentively and kept up a gentle manipulation of him.
I could wait until he told me he was done with me.

"White Bread," he sighed. "I'm glad you took the first
one in your mouth. The next one is going to take
longer, and I am going to fuck your white ass within
an inch of your life."

I nodded, the tip of his cock still within me. I could
feel him stir again. This was liable to be an
all-nighter, I thought.

Next: Fucked by the Queen