Fun with hotel staff

[Chuai-Duai]

A few years ago I was staying on Bali for a few days and took up a hotel offer of a free massage. It was available in a room next to the swimming pool and I envisaged a pleasant time with a bronzed Balinese boy but it turned out to be a very pregnant woman who could barely move and who gasped and groaned as she worked. Her back was obviously very painful and the whole experience was not very successful.

I returned to my room and discovered that the TV didn’t work so I called reception and they said they would send someone but several hours later no one had come and I took a shower as I planned to go out for the evening. Then there was a knock on the door and, dressed only in my towel, I opened it and a very attractive young man dressed in the hotel uniform of dark trousers and a blue patterned shirt said he’d come to fix the TV.

He worked for some time while I sat on the bed and watched him and we chatted and he found out I was on my own. Eventually he got the TV working and I stood up to thank him. He stood still looking straight into my eyes for just a bit longer than seemed necessary and then he reached forward and pulled my towel off. He must have been very confident that I was not going to object and I suppose he must have realised my interest.

We had some fairly gentle sex that was only marred by his obsession not to get his immaculately brushed hair messed up. He was also very particular about his trousers and shirt which had to be carefully folded as he undressed.

He was on duty so couldn’t stay long but said he would return later and we could go out together. So I waited and he eventually came back and he took me on the back of his motorcycle to a local bar. The roads were rough and unlit and it was a terrifying ride. The bar was very quiet and I saw nothing to suggest it was gay in any way and we soon returned to the hotel and he stayed the night but still obsessed about his hair. I had to leave early the next morning and he had to work so we said goodbye. It was in the early days of email and he said he’d email me from an Internet Café so I gave him my address but I never heard anything from him.

His name was “Ketut” which means he was the fourth child as children are named according to the order of their birth on Bali. I’ve still got his photo and the note he gave me with his full name written on it. When I returned to the UK I related the events to my sister-in-law who would then tease me about my encounter with a guy she insisted on calling "Ketchup".