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Sex in the Arab world
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
International Affairs
For many years, I've worked and fucked around the Middle East and
North Africa, so I can speak with authority about sex among Arab
men and boys.
When I was at school, an older boy said that Arabs fucked a woman
for children, a goat for necessity but a boy for pleasure. It was
several years later that I began to realize the profound truth of
this analysis. Almost every Arab I've met has been bisexual. It
is considered "normal" for boys and teenagers to provide sexual
gratification for their elders, but when they themselves grow up
and take a wife (or wives) their passive role is ended. It is not
considered "normal" for a mature man to play the woman, but it is
understood and accepted, albeit with a certain amount of contempt.
This is where the Arab demand for money is often misunderstood:
they are not by nature hustlers but they have to establish in their
own mind when they have sex with men that they are men selling
their services with the same honesty as a man toiling in the
fields. As a result, a small sum will often "buy" the most
gorgeous hunk of meat.
Customs change as they do in other parts of the world. The
Mediterranean Arab is more Westernized that the Middle East Arab
and the city Arab, particularly in international centers like Cairo
or tourist spots like Tangier and Tunis, has all too often been
perverted by Western ways. I wouldn't claim that the Arab has much
sexual imagination...in the smaller towns and countryside and
desert it is an insatiable desire to fuck young ass...but they are
quick to learn and eager to please.
In Cairo, you can find any kind of sex with men and boys you may
wish, at a price, and always with the strong probability of being
mugged to add to the excitement. But the smaller towns of Egypt,
Tunisia, Morocco and (before its present turmoil) Lebanon have much
more to offer. A major disappointment for me is that all Arabs are
cut as part of their religious and hygiene standards.
It is not unusual for an Arab to keep all his body hairs shaved,
while retaining a beard or moustache. I have often seen a man
lying on a barber's couch, quite naked, with a young boy lathering
his pubic area while the barber hones his razor. The barber's boys
are a good source of sexual supply.
Shaving is an important part of one of my most memorable
experiences. It happened in Tunis before that city fell completely
to the total corruption of tourism. I was walking down a wide
poorly lit boulevard opposite the central wholesale market one
evening. As I passed one of the palm trees lining the boulevard
I saw a man taking a piss near a tree.. Nothing particularly
unusual about that. But I stopped and looked a the huge, flaccid
meat hanging from his denims. I just couldn't believe it. He saw
me looking, and in a refreshing un-American way, turned slightly
towards me and smiled in a very inviting way. I was completely
intrigued and just couldn't walk away; neither could I just stand
there like some voyeuristic half-wit (typically American though it
would have been), so I walked over to the same tree, unzipped and
tried to piss while I watched him. His eyes were jet black and
they gazed idly at my fumbling attempts to get close to him. My
interest was now obvious to him and he nodded with a little smile
on his lips. I glanced humbly down at my very pale looking cock
and felt it stiffen slightly.
He made no further attempt to hide his thick brown horse cock
splashing out its warm piss. I reached out and felt the liquid
coursing along the tube. He moved his hands away, smiled and said
something softly in Arabic which I didn't understand.
It was impossible for my fingers to meet around his fat cock. I
felt it begin to stiffen. We couldn't do anything there and to
make matters worse I heard footsteps approaching. I zipped up and
drifted away. I had gotten turned on and decided to head back to
the center of town and cruise the local park. I hadn't gone more
than a hundred paces when I heard a quiet voice behind me:
"Cherie!" I turned to see the coal black eyes and warm smile I had
just left behind, who had obviously followed me. He struggled to
communicate a few words of imprecise French. He wanted me to sit
with him, drink some mint tea, meet his friends. Our conversation
was very limited, but his friends didn't seem the least bit
surprised that a foreigner should be sipping tea with them. He
wanted to show me around the market where he worked. We just
drifted away together into the night.
I decided he was too great a discovery for a quickie behind the
bushes. I was staying in a small Arab hotel, the kind you pay per
bed per night, and as I wanted the room exclusively I was paying
each day some four U.S. dollars for the four beds. I never made
a habit of taking casual pick-ups back to my room, but I sensed
that this was different. His total lack of inhibition by the tree,
his warm smile and friendly tone of voice reassured me that he
wasn't the ordinary street trade. Aziz, his name roughly
translated into English, had a quiet nobility about him. He spoke
for several minutes to the concierge of the hotel in Arabic. There
wasn't a trace of hostility, lewdness or guile from the concierge.
He said, "Your friend asked me what kind of razor you use. It is
electric and it won't be suitable. I have what you need." He
disappeared and returned with a barber's open razor, a soap stick
and a brush. "Your friend would like you to shave him."
My room was the most unromantic imaginable. It had one harsh,
uncovered light bulb and a hand basin in the corner with running
water. This is a necessity in any Arab hotel. It was designed to
be low enough for washing both the feet and genitals comfortably.
I had managed to make the place somewhat less stark with a few
small tapestries on the walls and had fashioned a cover for the
light bulb to soften the glare. It still looked pretty bad.
I began to wonder if Aziz understood what I had in mind...his
desire to be shaved seemed so bizarre to me, but not to him. As
soon as I locked the door he took off his rough spun garments. He
wasn't really beautiful in the way Westerners would traditionally
think of as beautiful. But he had the beauty that a very healthy
man exudes when he is naked, and that beauty comes from within.
His body exuded that kind of healthy beauty and I made certain he
was aware of my admiration of his masculinity. He had well-formed
but not over-developed muscles and creamy dark skin.
I saw that he had recently been shaved, because his pubic hair was
not profuse, none of it longer than an inch. I wanted to sink down
in front of him, but he fell on his back on one of the beds and
spread his legs wide apart in a totally passive gesture. It was
almost like a dream come true, and my senses reeled at the sight
of that massive cock draping over equally massive balls. With one
hand placed behind his head to give him better vantage, he ran the
other one idly up the inside of one smooth thigh. The sight of his
naked body was having an obvious affect on my young American cock
so I slipped out of my clothes. He watched me as I shred my
clothes slowly and his heavy, dark skinned cock began to swell.
I pulled a straight-backed chair alongside the bed and began to
shave around the huge piece of Arab man-flesh between his legs.
I couldn't tear my eyes away from it as I held it one hand while
the other slowly and carefully removed all the hair from his groin.
His cock would swell and throb in my hand every few moments but the
rest of his body was still and relaxed. It was all I could do to
sit still in that chair with my own cock jumping and throbbing.
He gracefully got up and went to the wash basin and rinsed away the
soap and hairs and dried himself with a towel. I sat in silence
and watched, but my cock grew harder still at the sight of him
standing and was now pressed hard against my stomach. I
instinctively reached down and pried it away, hoping it would relax
just a little. My balls were pulled so tight up against the base
of my cock, they began to ache. My cockhead glistened with a pearl
of pre-cum and I smoothed it over my throbbing cock-head.
Aziz watched as he toweled off with one hand and he reached down
to his now hardening cock and squeezed it playfully for me to
watch. He laid back down on the bed in such a way that it was
obvious he knew what my interests were and was not going to object
in the least. He assumed the same spread-eagled position but
placed both arms casually behind his head and closed his eyes. He
adjusted his hips slightly and, with my right hand firmly wrapped
around his huge cock, my other cupped his heavy balls. I moved up
onto the bed with him and began to worship that fantastic cock of
his with my lips and tongue. I tried to get as much of it as
possible in my mouth, but the most I could get was the head and
that stretched my jaws so much that they ached as bad as my cock
and balls.
He reached up, turned off the light, and put me face down on the
bed. He patiently waited while I brought out a jar of lubricant
from under the bed. He took a long, long time easing that giant
cock inch by inch up my hole. Never have I felt so totally had,
before or since. He wrapped his muscular arms around me and began
a slow fuck that went on and on. It was the most comforting fuck
imaginable, and when his cum poured into me, his tongue was fucking
my ear. I felt the heat pouring deep inside me. My cock twitched
once and I came quickly and furiously on the mattress while his
cock pushed all the way up into me.
He eased his cock out slowly and went to the basin to wash. I
thought it was all over and that he was going to dress and leave
me, but he returned to the bed and tried to make conversation in
his inadequate French.
I gathered from Aziz's conversation that he had been taught the
pleasure of having his cock sucked by a German tourist who couldn't
take it in the ass because of its size. He made no attempt to
handle my cock; it was obvious that would have jeopardized his
masculinity. It was difficult for me to imagine anyone with a cock
like his having much of anything jeopardize his masculinity! But
knowing how delicate the male ego can be, I didn't push the issue
and drifted off to sleep.
He stayed the night and we fucked again. When I woke up at dawn,
he had gone. Hell, I thought, with my cash and wristwatch along
with him. Who was it who said you can trust an Arab with your life
but not your billfold? Anyway, nothing was missing and I proceeded
to pull myself together. Just as I was dressing, Aziz returned
laden with fruit for breakfast. I was such a tender gesture, I was
stunned.
As we ate I wondered if I should offer him money, since he hadn't
found any work the night before. He didn't ask for any so I
decided it would be an insult. For the next few weeks, every time
Aziz had no work at the market he would come to my hotel room for
a shave.
He must have begun to sense that I was a bit disappointed that the
sex was so one-sided. I returned to the hotel to see a young boy
sitting with the concierge behind the desk. This was Hoodah, the
concierge explained, and he was "a very good and honest boy and
Aziz had sent him to keep me company." Aziz had told the boy that
I was a friend, would not hurt him, and he was to make me happy.
Hoodah was stunningly good-looking, with black glistening hair and
large eyes. As soon as we were alone in my room he reached up and
clung around my neck, inviting a kiss. I kissed him and slipped
my hand under his jubbah to fondle his body. Like Aziz, his body
was practically hairless except for a small patch of fuzz over his
cock. His hips were slim and he pressed his little bubble-butt
into my hand when I reached around behind him. He had a wholesome
smell of some herb. His hands began professionally kneading my
cock through my pants and I felt his very solid erection pushing
out from under his jubbah. It didn't take us long to get naked.
He put his small hand around the base of my cock and began to
gobble. He did it very well. I gently swung him around into a
sixty-nine position. His cock wasn't overly large, maybe 6 inches
and average diameter, but his balls were huge. Must have hung down
a good 5 inches and were as big around as tangerines. I cupped
them in my hand and squeezed gently. The pitch black patch over
his cock was the only trace of hair anywhere on his torso,
including his balls. I licked and sucked on those beautiful balls
while my hand continued to explore his tight little butt. His cock
jerked wildly when I fondled his asshole and he pushed hard against
my finger until it slipped easily inside. I took his sweet
smelling cock in my mouth and worked it over expertly. It didn't
take him long to cum and I followed in short order.
Hoodah got up and went to the basin to clean up and then returned
to the bed with a small cloth and proceeded to gingerly clean my
entire crotch. He expertly wiped my cock and balls with one hand
while the other deftly held my cock upright. He seemed fascinated
by all my pubic hair (I have a pretty thick bush and a lot of hair
under my balls) and he would grin like it was tickling his hands.
I chuckled and gave him a peck on the lips and a squeeze on his
little butt.
He got dressed and left, looking just as bright and beautiful as
he had when he came in. I went out for a while and returned a few
hours later, it was late evening and I started getting ready for
bed. I heard an almost inaudible knock at the door and in pranced
Hoodah loaded with brightly colored sticky cakes and bottles of
Coke (the staple beverage for the world's youth I'm beginning to
believe).
After we ate, he suddenly stripped off his jubbah and fell back on
the bed, displaying all his charms, reaching down to fondle my
cock, giggling and rolling over to stick his round little butt in
my face. We wrestled around on the bed for a while, while I
pinched and tickled him in various places. He was totally
disarming and perfectly charming while he would push his stiff cock
and heavy balls back through his legs and pull my head down to lick
from the tip of his cock, up over his balls and up between his
asscheeks. I soon was naked again and grabbed each asscheek in one
hand and pulled them apart while I buried my face in them. Like
his older male counterparts, he was immaculately clean and the
musky smell of his body combined with that elusive herbal scent.
It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. He was
obviously enjoying all this attention as much as I was giving it
to him.
Well, the light was soon off and I was licking and probing his ass
like it was angel food. It had been rimmed before. Often. His
hole opened easily and eagerly and there wasn't the slightest
strain of resistance as I penetrated the smooth warm hole with my
tongue first and then my now throbbing cock.
We didn't get much sleep; he was busy in one way or another off and
on all night. I only wished we had a language in common; I longed
to know how he'd gotten all his experience.
When Aziz came to the hotel a few nights later he asked the
concierge if the boy had satisfied me as he had been Aziz's gift
to me. I had to leave Tunis at the end of the month for another
assignment and when I finally returned a year later, I was unable
to trace Aziz.
This happened in Beirut. One of the most beautiful and relaxed fun
cities in the Middle East until the situation in Lebanon. The Navy
was making a courtesy call and a marine had gotten himself
separated from his buddies, had drunk too much and ended up in the
old Moslem sector. This is where the story begins. This
particular evening I was with Ahmed, whom I'd met some years back.
He was a projectionist in a movie house, about 30 with a lover,
Samir, who went everywhere with him. I don't know if that was
traditional or not, it didn't seem to matter them, they wanted it
that way so that was the way it was. Ahmed was pretty much a
father to Samir due to the great differences in their ages. In
fact, when they were together, that's what most people would have
thought to look at them. A night in bed with Ahmed and Samir was
always a night to remember. In order to avoid embarrassment, we
would go out to the city suburbs, where one of Ahmed's friends ran
a small cafe. He would let us use a room equipped with a bed
which, if not clean, was at least large.
Ahmed would strip and bathe Samir while I prepared a massage oil
using lemon oil and the oil of Patchouli, most of the most ancient
of Mid Eastern herbs. To this mixture I would add some crushed
leaves of Rue, another herb, while warming the oil over a candle
flame. After Samir's body was steamy from Ahmed's gently bathing,
Ahmed would lead him to the bed and shave him in the traditional
manner while I massaged the scented oil onto his arms and torso.
Samir's eyes were jet black pools of wonder during this ritual and
Ahmed would chant to him in Arabic while he shaved him. The
wafting scent of Patchouli would fill our nostrils and had an
almost hypnotic effect on Samir. His cock would swell and throb
as the razor slid gently and smoothly over and under his balls.
Ahmed would take his cock in his hand and kiss the head of it
affectionately just before he shaved around the base of it.
When Ahmed was done, he would sit back in a wicker chair, smoking
an ornate pipe and smile with admiration as he watched Samir
stretch and squirm in ecstasy as I smoothed the oil over his
freshly shaved genitals and down between his legs. Samir's cock
would be pressed so hard up against his belly, I would have to pry
it up and away to rub the oil on and around the base of it. I
would bend down and gently kiss the head of it as I had seen Ahmed
do and he would press my head down against it with his young hands.
Placing my hand on Samir's slim hips, I would roll him over on his
belly and continue massaging his shoulders and back with the heated
oil. His eyes would close and he would grind his pelvis into the
mattress in rhythmic motion when I reached his lower back. He
would thrust his round little butt up into the air begging for me
to caress them with the warm oil. I gently slid my finger down
into the hairless crevice between his cheeks and dabbed oil on his
anus. His little asscheeks surrendered willingly to my loving
squeezing and massaging.
This particular night, the marine happened to be sitting alone in
a cab when Ahmed, Samir and I descended on it on our journey out
to our rendezvous point. Me, with my little brass urn and vials
of oil and herbs wrapped in a white cloth, walking alongside the
burly Ahmed. Samir, chattering away in Arabic, stopping to grind
his hips in imitation of a belly dancer so Ahmed would reach down
and squeeze his butt. Samir would feign insult, act horrified and
pretend to push Ahmed into the street. Ahmed would cuff him beside
the head and the two of them would laugh hysterically and off we'd
go into the night like a trio of musketeers.
The marine seemed confused that the driver was refusing to take him
immediately to the landing stage where the Navy ship was docked.
The reason was that he'd gotten into a "service taxi", which only
operates when it has three or more passengers, the fare being
equally divided among the occupants.
The Marine was quite good-looking with his close-cropped hair,
freckled complexion and southern drawl. Samir though he'd struck
oil and threw himself in the back of the car, pressing himself
tightly against the marine while I climbed in beside him. Ahmed
sat in the front with the driver and motioned him to drive off,
hardly glancing back at the antics of Samir in the back seat.
We'd hardly been going a couple of minutes when Samir pulled up his
striped jubbah and pulled down his green briefs. He looked over
and grinned at the marine and uttered one of the few English
sentences he knew: "You like fuck?" The marine was hardly more
articulate. He looked down at Samir, gasped and said "Jesus!"
Samir, in his typical prankish manner, made a pass at the marine's
groin but had his hand knocked smartly away. I reached over and
gently stroked Samir's cock and placed his hand over my own. Samir
whipped out my meat and was merrily stroking away while I gently
massaged his young cock. "Jesus!" the marine said again.
"He only wants to be friendly," I said. Samir sat on my lap, and
although my cock didn't penetrate him, I got the exquisite feel of
his hot asshole rubbing against the head.
"Don't you want to fuck Arab boy, sailor?" the driver asked.
"Jeez," the marine said, "let me out of here." The only effect this
had on Samir was that he made another, more determined pass at the
marine's crotch and this time he held on like a ferret to its prey.
A few minutes later, I wasn't surprised to see that persistent
Samir had captured his prey; the marine's pants were open and his
cock hung out. Samir wrapped his lips around it.
The car bounced over a rough track and came to a halt. Ahmed and
the driver apparently wanted to encourage the wanton Samir just
for the hell of it. Samir was deep-throating the embarrassed
marine and I didn't help matters by reaching over and feeling the
marine's hard butt.
Ahmed said something to Samir in Arabic. The boy let the marine's
cock slip from his mouth reluctantly and, pulling his jubbah up
under his arms, laid face down over the car. "I don't do these
things," the marine said, but the two men positioned him behind
the boy's upturned little butt. Ahmed held the marine's hard-on
in position and guided it into the boy's waiting and relaxed hole.
Once in, he didn't take it out, even though he repeated once again,
"Jesus." He bucked to and fro and there was no doubt from his
dripping cock when he finally did pull it out that he'd shot his
wad in Samir's hole. The marine wiped his softening pecker on his
shirt tail and pulled up his pants.
"Gimme! Gimme!" said Samir in a heavy Arabic accent, already asking
for payment in return for his favor. The marine was in too great
a shock to respond and we decided that Samir would have to regard
his services to this particular representative of the U.S.A as
free. Ahmed and I rewarded Samir later that evening with some
freshly baked sweet cakes from a merchant near the place we were
headed for and he quickly forgot his disappointment.
We all got back into the taxi and drove to the landing stage. The
marine reached for some money to pay the driver. "No charge," I
said. The marine, still looking slightly dazed, and sheepishly
said "Thanks." As he was driving Ahmed, Samir and myself back to
our meeting place for the night the driver asked, "What happens to
a guy like that if someone actually starts shooting at him?"
I reached over, put my arm around Samir's young shoulders, and
pulled him close to my side and said, "Turns and runs in terror,
I suppose."
I had a business appointment in West Berlin on a Monday and made
reservations to fly in on the Friday before. This gave me plenty
of opportunity to spend the weekend in some of Europe's hottest gay
bars. I decided to stay in East Berlin and commute by U-Bahn. It
wasn't the first time I'd been in the Eastern sector, but it was
the first time I'd checked into a hotel there. It was modern,
functional (two stars) and second rate. On Friday night I did the
gay scene in the Western sector and slept late on Saturday.
After a lunch of good beer and lousy meat, I decided to explore the
old parts of the sector; the show-shops and apartments spreading
out from the Brandenburg Gate are too depressing. I wasn't dressed
for cruising;
in fact I was wearing a jacket and grey flannels. I accidently
came across a cottage (German mens room) tucked away between a park
and a section of overhead U-Bahn track. The moment I entered I got
the scene;
there was a lookout stationed near the door and three guys inside
at the urinals. It was an old building, L-shaped, with four
urinals near the entrance and four more round the corner of the L.
There were two W. C. booths but these were out of action; metal
bars were welded across the doors, suggesting that it was a trouble
spot the police didn't want to patrol.
The guy in the doorway was making a pretense of buttoning up. He
was dark haired, in his late twenties I guessed, and wore cord
pants and the kind of padded work jacket so popular in Eastern
Europe. Near the door at one of the urinals was a young blond in
denims and a Western style jeans jacket. As I took a urinal near
him, I saw around the L bend that standing side by side at the
other four urinals was a very hunky fair-haired guy, possibly in
his early twenties, wearing very greasy mechanic's overalls, and
a typical overweight German in a railway employee's uniform,
balding prematurely, and pink from high blood pressure. I felt
some resentment from them, as though my arrival had broken up their
action.
I'm usually cautious in a Communist country but on this occasion
I decided it was safe. So I let the young blond see that I was
giving my meat a few encouraging strokes. Immediately, he stood
back from the urinal so I could get a good view of his fresh young
cock jutting impressively from his tight jeans. Wow! I started
drooling. It was big, fat, pink and moist and despite the fact
that it was fully hard, his foreskin still fully covered the head
of it till he eased it back and revealed the glistening rosy red
splendor of the cock head.
"Are you British?" he asked in excellent English. My clothes told
him I wasn't German, certainly not East German. I told him I was
American. By this time the dark-haired guy had come in from the
door and reached over the partition between the urinals to play
with my cock. Satisfied that I wanted action, he nodded approval
and returned to his lookout position.
I'd hardly gotten my hand around the youngster's cock when the
fair-haired mechanic had dropped his greasy overalls. He was stark
naked, his overalls were wrapped around his ankles as he rested his
arms on the urinal partition and waited for the railway worker to
screw him. The youngster I was jacking off said, "He is here every
day; he just stands there to get fucked by anyone who wants to fuck
him. You want to fuck him?"
I was more interested in the young blond because, being cut myself,
I am fanatical about foreskin. His was too good for a quick blow
job at a urinal and I asked him if there was a safe place we could
go. He said, "your hotel will be OK." I had my doubts but he
assured me he had all the right papers and I.D. cards. even a
Communist Party card. So, I said "let's go!"
As he had indicated, no one challenged us when I took him up to my
room. He said his name was Reed and he was 18, a medical student.
He seemed comparatively well-off and influential; he behaved toward
the hotel staff with an almost adult authority, specifying the kind
of Polish vodka and German lager he wanted sent to my room. I was
beginning to take a genuine liking to this guy. His casual
confidence was refreshing and a distinct change from American guys
his age who seem to spend all their time either hiding under a rock
or trying to convince everyone that what's between their legs is
the best that ever was.
He indicated he was anxious to get under my shower as soon as we
were secure behind my locked door. I poured a couple of drinks for
us and tossed my jacket over the back of one of the chairs and
loosened my shirt. He took off his jacket and handed it to me to
hang in the closet for him and yanked his black T-shirt up over
his head. His chest was completely hairless and there was just a
trace of hair running from his navel to the top of his jeans. His
buns still had the firmness and roundness of youth and his jeans
clung to them tightly.
I told him to relax, that the shower could wait, and to sit and
have a drink first. After a few beers and some candid
conversation, I could see his cock was hardening again and showed
clearly under the tight fabric of his jeans. He spread his legs
wide apart and reached down and squeezed it firmly. I reached over
and placed my hand over his while he massaged it. He placed the
other hand behind my neck and gently drew my head down between his
thighs. I placed my lips over the bulge in this jeans while my
hand firmly squeezed the base of his cock.
He closed his eyes and whispered, "I would like to take a shower
first."
I slid my hand along the length of this cock and said, "I'd like
to have what's under that foreskin first."
He chuckled and seemed to be flattered by my interest. He stood
up and pulled his boots off and popped the button on the waistband
of his jeans. He was careful taking them off as they were genuine
Levi's and hard to come by over here. I layed them on the bed for
him while he sat back down in the chair and spread his legs wide
again. His young balls were pulled tight up against the base of
his cock and he reached down and tugged at them in an attempt to
loosen them somewhat. Having failed to succeed at that, he ran his
fingers idly over his erect nipples and his cock responded by
jerking strongly upward against his flat stomach. The foreskin
still completely hid the mushroom shaped head but the strong
masculine scent of his groin wafted up and filled my nostrils.
I had stripped down to my white Jockey briefs and my cock was
clearly hard and pressing out against the soft white cotton. The
head of my cock was already moist and the tip poked out above the
elastic waistband. I moved to a position on the floor between his
legs and took that beautiful throbbing cock in one hand while the
other reached under to squeeze his balls. He winced in pain at
that, I gathered they were loaded to the hilt and painful to the
touch as young balls get when they need relief. I slid my tongue
under the foreskin and cleaned the sticky fluid from around the
head of his cock lovingly. I enjoyed the strong taste of cock
cheese and the warm smells coming from his groin while he just sat
there and moaned between gulps of beer. His balls pulled up even
tighter against his abdomen and his ass cheeks clenched tight
together, a thin film of perspiration forming between them.
I pulled him up and over to the bed, where he crawled in and
propped himself up on one elbow and raised his leg up so his fat
cock faced me. Again his casual, uninhibited confidence was
refreshing and I wasted no time crawling in beside him (without
the briefs this time) and proceeded to make beautiful music on that
fat pink organ.
He pulled me around and deftly slid my cock between his lips and
I slid his foreskin back from the pre-cum drenched head. The fat
cockhead was punctuated by a tiny slit that was almost perfectly
centered at the top and I licked away the clear strand of fluid
that oozed from it. I worked on the shaft and head of that pulsing
cock for almost ten minutes, sliding it in and out of my throat and
pausing to remove it and gingerly let my tongue wander down around
and under his tender balls. He eagerly pulled my head up and, with
a single thrust of his hips, firmly planted his cock head between
my lips just as it erupted with gobs of white cum. I swallowed
hard and fast to keep up with the seemingly never ending load. The
taste and feel of his hot cum in my mouth drove me over the edge
and I tensed and blew my load down his throat at almost the same
instant as he started cumming.
I managed to clear my throat of all his cum and said, "you can have
a shower now if you still want to."
He swung his lithe young body off the bed and headed for the
bathroom. I followed, my eyes wandering over his small, round ass
cheeks bouncing invitingly in front of me still slightly moist with
sweat.
He stepped up to the toilet and took his half-erect cock in his
right hand. I reached over and drew the long foreskin down over
the cockhead and sealed it tightly with my fingertips. He placed
his hands on his hips and, with a sigh of relief, let go. His piss
built up inside his closed foreskin like a bladder. When I
released it, a powerful stream of warm piss hit my face and ran
down my neck and chest.
I was the star of Grunburgpark toilet in Frankfurt. Seething with
lust, I made for it in the depth of a German winter last week on
a Sunday afternoon and found I just had to wave my erection about
for a moment or two in the urinals when a man was on his knees
asking to suck it and another was pulling my jeans to my knees and
rimming me. An English queen with a red fist-fucking hanky in his
ass pocket directed the proceedings, little realizing his English
was much more understandable to me than any equivalent German.
"Suck that hole, sweetie," he told his companion and started
lusting after the sight of German tongue working on my crack. "A
hot little number," he told his German companion, who replied,
"Christ, I'd like to taste his asshole." I tried to look as dumb
as possible, enjoying their discussion of my charms.
The German came close to my ear and whispered in German, "Let me
eat your pussy, darling." I didn't go with them but teased the shit
out of the German by sucking him between rim jobs (he rimmed me)
and then sucked off two voyeurs who'd come to watch the fun. I
liked exposing my bottom and cock to complete strangers like that
and hearing the English queen invite more people to come and watch.
I held off for a long time but was unable to retain my cum a moment
longer and shot my load.
I rested against the partition awhile, observing the traditional
T-Room rites. A white American chicken strutted in...cock waving
out through his unzipped jeans. The old queens drooled and fumbled
to get their old wrinkled cocks out for him to scorn. Banish all
thought that he should bare his backside for them; those things
being distasteful in the states. Only as he masturbated would such
thoughts as exposing his sacred ass be contemplated. An
exhibitionist of degrees, I suppose. Still, I admired his
forwardness in strutting by to show his little cock on his way to
other places. Places where his disdain would gain him recognition.
With my jeans open and pulled halfway down my hips, I swiftly
turned sideways and dropped the denim enough to expose one cheek
of my well-licked ass. He quickly tucked his little erection back
into his drawers and scampered away. So typical, I thought,
shunning the ones that desire him and embracing the ones that
don't. My asshole began to yearn attention again, pushing away my
thoughts of the little chicken.
A rugged looking gent happened in and I squared off with him at the
urinals. He had a look of world-liness in his eyes that I admired.
No scorn, no fear...just casual, complete understanding of where
he was and why he was there. The type of look that says "Show me
your stuff and keep your mouth shut." The queen looked ill at his
arrival and flitted away. I stayed and watched his style, hoping
to learn. He flicked a few drops of piss from his cock and whipped
it around a few times while he glanced over at me. I grinned
wickedly and nodded towards the stalls behind the partition wall
I had been leaning against. He slipped around me, pausing
momentarily to grope my ass expertly. I raised an eyebrow in
consent and followed him. I stepped in front of him as he seated
himself on the john and slipped my jeans down to my knees in one
smooth move. He placed one hand on either side of my hips and
pulled my groin to his face. After planting a kiss just at the
base of my cock, he slipped it deftly into his mouth. A few
moments of sucking and he let it slip out as he spun me around and
pushed me forward so my backside was completely at his disposal.
His tongue devoured my puckered hole and he rimmed me expertly for
several minutes with a style I admired. I offered no resistance
and quickly responded to his attention, my cock now stiff and ready
for more of his skills. I pulled away and thrust it into his
mouth. I came quickly down his throat and planted a kiss of
genuine thanks on his veteran lips as I pulled my jeans back up.
-=[...(O)...]=-
British baths are always havens of voyeurism and exhibitionism,
since no sex is permitted on the premises and furtiveness is the
order of the day. Camp commandants rush in on tiptoe every so
often to throw offenders out or at the very least to enjoy the
spurting cocks on view. I find that this atmosphere suits me
admirably, as I can show off my cock to some admiring gentlemen,
my bottom to others, and can usually incite not only voyeurism but
competitive cock-jerking from some of them.
In St. Tropez, however, acres of french ass would appear, much of
it male, some of it masculine, and some of it succulent in the
extreme. Cock was on show, but to a lesser extent; the French are
sometimes protected by the most coy of devices, a cache-sexe. If
they sold the little things after a day's wear, with the thong that
divides cheek from cheek and protects their assholes, I'd probably
buy quite a few for the natural aphrodisiac they'd have after a day
in the sun; but no such market had yet to be created...at least not
in this paradise.
So I contented myself with "doing in Rome" and joined in the sun
and ass worship. My favorite ass was glimpsed only once (alas),
when a hairless young Frenchmen whose ass was being changed from
briefs to swimming trunks deftly and hurriedly, but not so quick
or cleverly as to prevent my gazing on his milky smooth cheeks and
crack. I get hot over hairless, muscular, masculine legs, nipples,
belly and, inevitably, ass. He was an outstanding example of the
hairless type; muscles, with full curving buttocks. I had wished
for a glance at his naked buns for many days. On this day, I was
rewarded and they were worth the wait. It turned out he was 17 and
his name was Claude. I was to learn other things about him during
my stay in St. Tropez, but that's a story for another day...
The days in St. Tropez have brought out a new interest of mine;
playing the exhibitionist. But, coming up against extremely rough
competition, I have had to refine the practice to an art. There
are certain "rules" to the game and one must study ardently to
achieve success. I am, of course, displaying myself to as many men
as possible. I find that advertising my cock and ass as blatantly
and crudely as possible brings in the right kind of voyeur. The
time of day, I found, was honored in this art almost as much as it
is in Hindu worship. The early morning is favored by the
practitioners...a mystery beyond my comprehension.
I've always sortof admired male whores (hustlers is "polite", but
no more accurate). My love for some of the rough trade beauties
of America's porn factories and the trashy young men who wave their
public jewels and much-abused asses at audiences of lusting men is
profound. So is my envy. I would love to appear every two hours
to be pawed and slavered over by any guy with the price of
admission to a fleabag cinema in his pocket. But my perverse need
to experience the delights of casual voyeurism cannot be satisfied
by enlisting in a raunchy cabaret. So I set about to find a
suitable alternative...and found the perfect solution behind the
lens of a willing cameraman working out of a grand old house
overlooking the beach of St. Tropez.
Draped over a bench in the changing room adjoining the beach,
feasting my eyes on the daring French youth that trotted in and
out to furtively glance at each other in hopes of catching a
glimpse of cock or a flash of naked butt, I waited patiently for
the perfect ass of Claude to appear once more. It was early in the
day before the majority of sun worshippers had donned their cache-
sexe and settled on the white sand. He sauntered in, glancing
around nervously, dropped a small bag on the bench opposite me and
began undressing. He had turned his back to me and was busily
unstrapping his sandals when an idea came to me...persuade him by
example. I stood up, dropped my black speedos, and bent forward
at the waist pretending to be keenly interested in a small bruise
on my toe. Turning sideways towards him, I glimpsed him studying
the curve of my ass, then blushing and staring down at the floor
sheepishly. I smiled and remained in that position for a good
minute or two before sitting back down and throwing one leg up on
the bench to give him a full view of my groin. He turned his back
to me and hesitantly pulled his white briefs down while bending far
forward at the waist. My eyes locked on to the cleft down the
center of his young ass which closed so tightly that his asshole
was protected from view even in that position. He stood up, took
his bikini trunks in hand, and pretended to be undoing a knot in
the cord that ran through the waistband. After a few minutes, it
became obvious he was really trying to undo the knot and sat down
on the bench facing me. His legs spread wide and I drank in the
sight of his young, fat cock and heavy balls. His cock and balls
had the characteristic dark coloring of the French and, although
the hair on his head was golden brown, his pubic bush was much
darker. Both the bush and the rest of it down there stood out
starkly against the milky white of his loins. An early morning
breeze swept through the changing room, smelling of salt spray.
It was cool and I could see his balls contract upwards slightly.
My cock began to respond both to my nakedness and the sight of his
taut, hard muscles.
He looked up at me and then went back to attempting to undo the
knotted cord with great frustration on his face. I got up and
strolled over to him, casually whisked the garment from his hands
and proceeded to unknot the cord for him. He beamed up at me and
muttered a meek "Merci" before yanking the things up over his
sweet, tight ass. With this successful pursuit behind me, I
ventured to invite him to join me on the beach. He hesitated and
then consented with an equally meek "Oui".
We sunned side by side for some hours, him telling me tales of what
he would do when he was out in the world on his own. Me telling
him stories of travels in the Middle East and Africa. He explained
that he never had enough money (the plight of youth around the
world) to go places he wished he could. It was then that I
inquired how he managed to get any money at all. He swore me to
absolute silence and told me of the photographer up beyond the
dunes who took pictures of him and gave him money in return.
Curious as to the nature of this venture, I asked him if he posed
in the nude. He said no, but very close to it. He said that many
of the young French men on the beach do pose nude for him and they
get more money for it. He agreed to take me to meet this man the
following day.
The gentleman in question was named Philippe, short and stocky with
a bushy moustache and paunchy beer belly. Claude introduced us and
asked if there was work for either one of us that day. Philippe
explained that he was doing "duos" and that he, Claude, had refused
to participate in the past. Claude nodded knowingly and asked me
if I understood what had transpired. I said that I thought so, but
would like to see for myself to decide if I was interested or not.
Philippe agreed to allow me to sit in on a session and led me up
a long flight of ornate stairs to his studio, which overlooked the
beach and surf. There were two young Frenchmen, totally nude,
lounging in chairs out on the balcony behind the studio and
Philippe beckoned them to come inside to begin work. Claude had
decided to wait downstairs for me, but I gave him a few francs to
buy some croissants for us at a local bakery and then meet me back
here. The two young men were tan all over and their slim, muscular
bodies looked very inviting. Philippe posed them in various erotic
positions, snapping away with his camera and running back and forth
to shift an arm, leg or cock to suit the shot he was trying to
make. The youths both had stiff hard-ons and displayed them with
great pride. No actual sexual contact was made, only made to
appear to be taking place between the two. After some thirty
minutes or so, Philippe motioned that he was done and after
counting out some francs for each of them, sent them out of the
studio with instructions as when he would be ready for them again.
Needless to say, my speedos were being stretched to the limit by
this time.
By this time Claude had returned and was shouting "Cheri!" from the
bottom of the stairs. I left the studio and went down to greet him
and tell him of what the photographer had been doing. He listened
intently but showed not interest in participating. I talked on
about how he had a beautiful, sexy body and should be proud to
display it. Philippe sat down beside us and bemoaned that he
couldn't find enough models to keep the "patrons" satisfied (I
assumed he meant publishing houses that used his photos). He
looked over at Claude and then at me and asked if we would like to
pose in a duo session for him. My interest was immediately sparked
and I agreed with great enthusiasm. Claude was reluctant, however,
but we managed to convince him it was alright.
My heart was beating wildly as I stepped out of my clothes in the
studio and watched Claude remove his suit and beach shirt. His
torso and legs were darkly tanned from the beach but his hips and
ass were boldly white in comparison. The sight of those small,
well-rounded globes of ass cheeks were enough to take your breath
away and I shivered with excitement at the thought of being close
enough to touch them. Claude was awkward in front of the camera
and Philippe was constantly running over to put him in the right
position. We worked through various poses for about 10 minutes and
I was getting hotter by the minute. My cock was pressed hard
against my stomach and refused to go limp in the midst of all this.
Claude was obviously nervous and his cock would get semi-erect and
then go flaccid again, much to Philippe's chagrin. I asked
Philippe if it would be alright if I fellated Claude to help him
get an erection for the pictures. Philippe agreed. I took the
half-hard pink cock between my lips and gently tongued and slid the
head in and out. Claude moaned softly and stretched out fully to
give me plenty of room to work. Philippe snapped away, obviously
pleased at the way things were going. I rolled Claude over, pulled
those beautiful globes apart and tongued furiously at his cleft and
asshole. He arched his back and thrust his butt hard up against
my nose and lips. His muscular legs flexed as he writhed under my
probing tongue. I reached under and pulled his cock back through
his legs. Pre-cum was dripping freely from the engorged head and
I licked it up lovingly. His slim hips rested lightly and easily
on my hands. I licked and kissed those ass cheeks all over and
over again. He had reached down and was stroking my cock
gently...it was beginning to be more than I could take.
When it was obvious that he was very hot, Philippe told him to roll
back over and spread his legs wide for me. I dove down between
them to lick his balls and cock while the cameraman moved in for
some close-ups. Claude could hold back no longer and, with one
hand under his balls, I slowly slid the other up and down his
swollen shaft. His legs stiffened, he trust his hips upward and
a solid stream of hot cum flew up and hit me right in the face.
Philippe was ecstatic and I blew my load at almost exactly the same
time. It landed squarely on Claude's firm, hairless stomach and
pooled in his navel.
Philippe thanked us profusely, paid us handsomely for our efforts
(some effort!) and we left with an invitation to return and do some
more posing for him in several days. Claude and I wandered back
to the beach to rejoin our fellow nudists and exhibitionists at
doing what they do best...delighting the eye of the beholder with
the splendor of the male physique in it's unadorned beauty.
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