The Clothes Horse

The Dutch businessman was meaty in comparison, although I wouldn’t have called him fat. And he was a lot older. He was good looking, though, and had been the boldest of the guys in the lobby of the Butterfly, which unknown to me was a pickup spot, in approaching me, so it had been fine going with him. And he proved to be flexible enough to make the fuck fun.

In comparison with Zhao for what I liked, though, he was second or third best.

He also was philosophical about my changing horses at the bar. He’d had a standing fuck like he said he’d never gotten before, and I’d been very good to him for his 500 HK.

My eyes went to Zhao as soon as he entered the bar. He looked both sexy and elegant in his black satin outfit, which fit him like a glove. He came to the bar and, after ordering a drink, turned and surveyed the room. The Dutch businessman and I were at a table with some of the Dutchmen’s business cronies, and Zhao’s eyes lingered when they moved to me. They slitted, and I could tell that he was seeing the two of us together. So, I got up from my table and slid up to the bar, where we could contemplate being together closer.

I could hear him gasp from across the room when I stood and he’d been able to see the extra thickness running down my left thigh from my groin inside my tight jeans. I didn’t know at the time that this had such an effect on him—but at the time I didn’t know how expert he was in how clothes fit a man.

“American?” he asked when I’d bellied up to the bar to refresh my drink and that of the Dutchman, as well, who now was lost in trading business stories with the other businessmen at our table.