A Young Man’s Sexual Odyssey Pt. 03

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Note-All characters are mature adults who participate in consensual sex, there is no sexual violence and all scenes conform to Literotica guidelines.

A Young Man’s Sexual Odyssey – is a 3 part series

Part One -The Faithless Fiance and The Spider Gals

Part Two -The VibratingTranny Hooker

Part Three -The Korean Love Fandangle

Note – this is the third part of a three part story – you should read the 1st and 2nd parts first, but if you didn’t here in brief is what happened; a newly graduated Petroleum Engineer discovers his Fiance’s open mouth filled with half of the family’s Mexican gardener’s penis, in response, the young graduate angrily heads to Las Vegas where he unwittingly falls prey to three Spider Women who sexually attempt to dismantle his body and spirit. In part 2 he tries to recover and get back his mojo, he finds himself in the company of a super attractive black Tranny hooker whom he makes love to and then she teaches him what submission is all about.


Each part of the series deals with different aspects of sexuality so be prepared for diversity.

Thanks for checking out my stories, the sexual aspects are based on my true life experiences so you should feel the ring of truth. Best regards, Erectus 123



Back in Dallas, I tried to recuperate from my sex trials in the lost city, and they were trials without a judge and jury, only myself and my sexual peers. Whereas the advertisements tease, “What goes on in Vegas stays in Vegas,” it says nothing about the physical and mental exhaustion that takes place and how you leave Vegas carrying your preoccupations, like an extra carry-on suitcase they insist you check below, and you worry will it ever arrive? But all in all, once the plane took off I began to feel like a new man.

I’d fucked and been fucked out of any lingering romantic notions that had plagued me before my trip and Jesus, my ass was still sore! But, I was a new man, stronger and more resilient than ever before, ready to conquer the world and find my place in it, and I was just about over Traycee’s induced duck walk that I learned on my own to ease the pain. If anyone noticed it on arrival, I’d revised my disability explanation and planned to say it was the result of too much horseback riding.

I spent the next week at my parents’ home, resting up and putting warm towels on my cock and balls, waiting for the pieces of missing flesh to regenerate on my cock shaft, not to mention the unmentionable trauma inflicted to my posterior.

I was just beginning to feel physically whole again when it was time to report for my new job at the Petro Building in Houston. When I got there I was greeted by the logistics chief who salute me with a loud,


“What?” I asked.

“That’s Korean for “hello,” said the chief, a rather old skinny guy with red plaid suspenders, thick glasses and a partially bald head, who squinted up at me from behind a huge desk filled with maps and blueprints, a sort of Larry King of the petro world.

“I want to inform you that pertinent to your employment contract, you’re being sent to South Korea.” And then under his breath he intoned, “A lot of fine pussy there.”

The chief explained I was to accompany a team of experienced engineers to South Korea to test their exploration the Jeju Basin, a tertiary sector located midway between Korea, Japan, and China. I was told in confidence that the team of geologists and petroleum engineers had promising geological evidence that pointed to Block 4, 5, and 6-2 in the Northeast span of the basin.

Our team had already drilled several exploratory wells during previous years and were excited by the tailings that indicated several gas and oil deposits merited further attention. So there I was on my way to South Korea with only limited experience holding on to a pair of chopsticks, but before I returned to the USA, two years later, I would discover quite a bit more about Korean culture, pussy and revenge that the two wooden sticks might suggest if placed one over the other as if forming a cross.

In a few days I was seated on a Lufthansa jet headed directly from Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport to Seoul, Korea. Although our corporate office was in Seoul. I was to spent the first months of my time in Cheongbuk-Myeon, a small city about an hour and a half by bus from Seoul. My job, with the help of some really experienced engineers involved examination of core drilling, analysis of the core samples and attempts to link promising areas of gas or oil deposits that were in close proximity to each other. I was learning a lot.

When we were all agreed that we had a pretty good idea of where it would be most promising to drill, our team captain had us transferred to a town much closer to the deep sea drilling rig that was anchored 85 miles off the coast. This was to be my home for the next 14 month .

Jeju poker oyna Island (more specifically Jeju-do) has its own unique history. Clothing is more traditional, they have their own architectural style and their own dialectic linguistic traditions. Although Islanders could converse with mainland Koreans, their island dialect had many hidden meaning and words that may not be found in a standard Korean dictionary. I was most surprised by how different the climate on Jeju was from the mainland. The southern side of the island was subtropical while the northern side of the island was more temperate. If you started out walking from the south, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, by the time you got to the northern end the wind would be blowing and you’d need a sweater, long pants, a hat and scarf.

The nicest thing about Jeju Island was the exquisite Botanical Garden where I was destined to spend a great deal of my time drinking many bottles of OB Korean Beer and eating at a little restaurant nestled near the entrance to the gardens. This small wooden building was typical of those you find in the rural areas, only one story tall with a tiled roof. Although it was probably erected in recent years, it looked ancient and weathered. Very large boulders of lava surrounded the building, a reminder of the pyrotechnical prehistory millions of years ago when volcanic eruptions heralded the beginnings of a new geological era and formed most of the Asian island land masses.

My first impression of the island was that it seemed like a wonderful place to be working, in fact it seemed very romantic. Of course I wasn’t looking for romance. My Vegas’ orgies and a memorable tranny experience were far from romantic, but the lingering erotic memories were adequate to soap off in the shower or during late nights in bed all alone with only my well lubed gamecock to keep company with a soft towel. If I had thought teenage masturbation was behind me, I was in for a rude awakening.

We worked a five day week, in groups of three or four guys. I was the youngest, most of the older guys had acquired mistresses and spent more time talking about Korean sex practices than geology. The biggest topic was Korean Basket sex, where the woman was placed in a basket with a hole for penis insertion, hoisted above the man, then lowered and spun round for the males satisfaction. One of the guys claimed he’d experienced it one drunken night in a Soule brothel, the other guys denied the practices existence. For some reason this male sexual affirmation seemed necessary.

I was advised to visit some of the massage parlors where the girls finished you off with a quick happy ending. This was cheaper than the cost of a box of condoms back in the states and much more rewarding than the solo jerk-offs I’d been forced to practice. It turned out to be a good suggestion. I learned quickly that for a few dollars more the massage was the least prefered option. Although the girls spoke no English, they could speak cock and pussy quite fluently and some of the girls were quite attractive once their robes dropped to the floor. Small to medium sized firm young breasts were for the taking and if you went down on they welcomed you back like they truly loved you.

I was settling into a nice life style. I didn’t really want a mistress, I’d had enough of serious relationships to last me a good while. Of course my ex fiance had tracked me down and sent me a few letters which on arrival which I just threw in the garbage without reading them. I was too disgusted with Loren to even care anymore. After a while I was happy to see that her letters stopped arriving. In my warped sarcastic imagination I mused she had sent wedding announcements of her betrothal to little Juan, of the giant cock. That whole experience of betrayal was just too painful for me to deal with. I imagine Mr. Big Cock Juan had probably been planting his seed in her furrow for several years at least, which meant she had been betraying me from day one. Although I resented Juan I did not blame him, who says no to free pussy? I was resigned to not return to her and he was no doubt still harvesting her pussy.

“Never trust a woman!” became my motto.

Koreans are not unique in rudeness, of course common behavior that is a national trait may not be considered to be rude except in the eye of a foreigner. But there is an air of superiority that Korean males carry with them as sure as the western suits they wear and the Louis Vuitton messenger bags tucked under their arms. Our American secretaries were always complaining of being jostled and felt up on crowded public transport, they also reported being solicited with cash in hand by our Korean work partners who must have assumed all foreign women were prostitutes or at the least nymphomaniacs-and maybe they are?

But when in Rome, I mean Korea, keep your hands in your pockets and your mouth shut before some over enthusiastic citizen grabs your cock. Oh yes, bisexuality seems to be the norm canlı poker oyna in most of Asia, where sexual subservience to your boss will certainly propel your advancement-bend over and move forward! The all male saunas often have private places where homosexual activities can take place in private before the participants happily return home to their wives and children. Taking your superiors stiff cock in your ass doesn’t make you gay, it makes you agreeable.

When I would walk into town or eat out, Korean people will often stare, point their fingers at me, saying, “foreigner” and even snap photos of me. This made me and most of my comrades feel as if we were gorillas in the zoo with our big noses and pale skin color, (although one of us was black and he said it was even worse for him). Perhaps we were considered attractive in the US, but here we were just participants in a freak show.

Let me return to a more pleasant subject, in the center of the Botanical Garden was a small restaurant as I’ve mentioned, it wasn’t the food as much as the service that I enjoyed, although the food was excellent and very homey. “Min-he” was the name of the pretty waitress who served me. I assumed she was the daughter or granddaughter of the owner, “Jin-woo,” who was much older and a surly sort. He was usually bent over the coal stove or deep fryer with a look of consternation and yet the food he prepared was as amazing as any I’d ever eaten and he was the only one I ever saw cooking. Most of his dishes were heavy on protein; beef, shrimp, chicken or fish, either grilled in a smoky manner or fried to crisp perfection. I particularly enjoyed a fried chicken dish splashed with a sweet and sour sauce par excellent. They also offered a Korean barbecue dish with a variety of meats and a vast array of side dishes of Kimchi, pickles and some pickled items I was never quite sure of. Those large feasts were best shared with 2 or more guests. The restaurant varied the broths on different days, some were made with fish bones, others with fatty pork and chilli paste. My other favorite dish were the homemade dumplings, some stuffed with meat, others with vegetables-also the grilled pork belly was always super. Once you get used to the Korean flavors, the cuisine is exceptional.

The real reason I returned frequently to the restaurant was my fascination with Min-he. She was young, probably in her early twenties. Koreans hide their age until they hit 45 or 50, then it shows clearly as an ethnic mask revealing who they are and where they take origin. I guess that’s the way it is with most people, especially those with big boned ethnic faces. Our faces change as we age, the cheek bones are revealed, the nose often continues to grow as do the ears, the distance between the nose and the upper lip increases, but subtle changes and the deepening furrow wrinkles mark age upon us all.

As for Min-he, she was young and delicate in face, a small nose, flat cheeks, and a clear complexion yet she was fairly tall. Whereas most Asian women have small breasts, Min-he had a very nice pair of western sized breasts which I am so partial to. Her asiatic eyes were large and glistened like a flower touched by morning dew. To me she was beautiful, although most who observed her might not have been so struck. There was something clean cut and special about her, maybe it was her happy expression, her desire to please, her smile that she often hid behind her hand. Yes, her features were ethnic, there was no question she was Korean, and there was nothing Hollywood about her, she was what she was and I was smitten. There is an old Korean saying, I am told, that when you love someone they become beautiful in your eyes.

It’s always a problem falling in love with someone who does not speak your language, I was of course ignorant of spoken Korean although I tried to use a phrase book. Talking phones that carried on conversations in foreign languages did not yet exist, and it is difficult to carry on a romance when two people are not able to fully communicate. But sometimes, what you see in someone’s eyes is all you need to know. At least that is what you want to believe.

One positive thing going for South Korea is great food. Sure, a lot of it is spicy hot and kimchi fermented, but if you are from Texas you know a thing or two about hot chilies and gas producing meals. I ate in the little restaurant on weekends and also frequently at night. Yes, the food was good, but I most enjoyed service because Min-he was so intoxicating. She rarely looked up, her eyes were always downcast out of respect. Unlike the usual Koreans who would touch your hair without asking or stare, she was exemplary. After a few weeks she ventured a few words of English. She said she had studied in a missionary school and had wanted to continue with her education but her family felt an education was unnecessary for a female. She regretted that she had only limited contact with English studies. She felt in this modern age of tourism it internet casino would be an advantage to be able to communicate.

“I’d be happy to help you with your English studies,” I offered one evening.

And so began my closer relationship with Min-he. She was sure her family would not permit her to meet with a Westerner in private, so she suggested we meet in private on her day off in the far end of the gardens where there was an abandoned temple. There were still some chairs and tables where we could sit and so we began to meet, at first weekly and then on some evenings after I would eat in the restaurant. She would meet me afterwards in the evening and as there was still electricity and a ceiling lamp in the old temple we were able to manage quite well. Most public places and schools don’t pay much attention to heat, the kids wear their winter coats in school, fortunately the spring weather coincided with out meetings.

I was amazed at how rapidly she took to the subject and how serious and focused she was. Within several weeks she had advanced from a rather halting speaking manner to enthusiastically learning American pronunciation, embracing the subject matter and putting sentences together with very few errors. I very impressed and enjoyed her company, it was a good buffer after the shock I’d been through in Texas with my unfaithful fiance. Here in Korea thing were simpler and more old fashioned, or so I thought.

As time passed I felt more and more comfortable with my student. As she was my student I felt it would have been unethical to pursue her. And then my birthday arrived, I just mentioned it casually as one of our lessons dealt with a birthday party. I realized I should not have mentioned my birthday because she decided to give me a present. What was it? A South Korean massage.

I hesitated to agree but she seemed so insistent I was afraid my refusal would insult her. In Korea, outside of those massage parlors which double as brothels, a massage is offered as a sign of respect; children massage their parents and grandparents. At her request, I took off most of my cloths and she told me to lay on the old wooden desk she’d covered with a blanket. She then covered me with another smaller towel she’d brought. I left on my underwear although nudity is not shocking to Koreans and neither is sex but again I wanted to keep our relationship as formal as it should be between a teacher and a student.

She massaged me for the longest time and so relaxed me that when she told me to roll over I was hardly aware of what would come next, so that when she rolled down my underwear, I wasn’t quick enough to complain. She’d had plied my back with sesame oil when I lay face down, even rubbing the oil deep into my buttocks separation. Now positioned on my back she proceeded to oil my shoulders, my chest and then my pubes. I sensed that I was chubbing up but not sure if I had broken into a complete hard-on as my eyes were closed, I just lay there enjoying my respectful student’s birthday salute. She must have folded back the towel that provided me with some modesty and before I could object she had placed my cock head into her mouth and her hands were moving a mile a minute up and down my shaft while squeezing my swollen balls—and at some point her finger found its way into my ass and when it hit my prostate and pressed down I shoot a cum load that would have hit the ceiling, but that she never released me from her lips she obediently swallowed every drop. With a dry towel she dried me and with a damp sponge she cleaned me only remarking,

“Teacher, you are very big and very powerful.”

She showed no sign of embarrassment at the task she had completed so graciously. I thanked her for her gift and made no further mention of her behavior during the next few lessons which were as sexless as all that preceded my birthday surprise.

Korean saunas are places men go to relax, women also attend but the facilities are not coed, each sex has its own area. Besides the steam baths of varying temperatures (cold, warm, very hot) there are straw and fabric sleeping mats as well and it is not uncommon for Koreans to spend a good deal of their sauna time sleeping. After a hot dip or steam at astronomical temperatures you would probably encounter on the planet Venus (of course I’m exaggerating) it seems quite natural to sleep. The men also have what seemed strange to me, mirrored beauty tables much like you would expect a woman to have, but they exist for the men to shave, comb and dry their hair, and the young men do this quite obsessively.

A week or so after Min-he had given me my birthday massage, a strange incident took place that I may not have understood at the time. I had gone to the spa one evening, savored the cool water and warm water spa, dried off in the medium temperature Iglu and laid down on a straw mat to rest. It was late in the evening and there were just a few people in the spa moving around, mostly a bunch of sleepers grouped here and there. I’d fallen asleep and was dreaming that I was walking on the beach when it started to rain. Somewhere between dream time and reality I began to actually feel the warm wet rain on my face. I awoke with a start.

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