I cannot figure out why I am here . I try to soothe my mind by telling myself and friends I came here for a rest only. But Allah knows better. 1981 was the first time I set foot on this scorching soil. I was only 21 then full of vibrant juices and willingness to taste anything that would turn those liquids boiling hot. Due to circumstances I was not allowed to stay too long and I never really got hold of anything except for some `chocolate'(pronounced in the Spanish way, another word for hashees).
Last year, precisely nineteen years later I decided to finish my exploration tour and realized I had lots to learn and catch up with.
Particularly about hot throbbing uncut dicks that seem to lurk at every corner hidden in blue jeans or djelabahs.
Morocco isn't Egypt, let's make that a clear statement. Though they have the same inclination. Have a good short time with a `zamel'. That's how they call a passive homosexual who sells his body, but it's common use for anybody willing to expose his arsehole for them to clean it out.
I was barely standing at the shore of Asilah beach. A sea resort crowded with tourists in summer, but now virtually abandoned and littered with garbage of all kinds. Just as I had left the medina a young lad a bit raggedy came running up to me. "hola, como estas? Bien?" . Boyish look nineteen I believe and handsome.
His pidgin Spanish made it clear by the way he was talking to me that he had been around a lot with tourists and not only with straight guys . He guided me away from the crowds -- soccer players around his age. "Vamos recto, senor, alla hay mala gente, roban y todo." I believed him. I heard some shouts in the distance, friends of his inviting us over. But he said, they were dangerous people.
After half a mile of chit chat we found ourselves a resting place near the dunes. He took of his T-shirt and laid back, his arms backwards behind his head. I saw he shaved his armpits, not unusual in the Arabian culture.
"I shave my armpits too", I said an showed him. He smiled. His belly was tight with only a few wrinkles near his bellybutton. Tension was rising . I felt my dick pushing agains the raw texture of my jeans. "Tu eres muy guapo", I whispered in his ear. He moved his head, squinted a bit and then finally he unbuttoned his fly.
No undies of course, but a big jungle of black curls around the base of his circumcised cock. It stood right there, proud and sure for action. "chupa un poco" I looked around sheepishly and grabbed his cream coloured skewer.
He leaned on his elbows to see how I did it. The fact that anybody could come around from the dunes or even apprehend us made it all the more exciting. I sucked and chewed the 'kefta'like it was going to be my last one;
His flesh was really hard and pulsating. But it was not longlasting. He pushed my head away and shot the whole load on his belly. I got upset a bit and told him he could unleash the full amount in me.
But he wanted flouze now. Money, as usual. It was a turn off. He got it his way but not in money.
I promised him a tape and a wristlet I had somewhere in my backpack. For the next week I'd see him with the same smile on his face and not asking me anything anymore because he knows I am a `poor artist'.
Nevertheless, I got picked up the same week by another bloke. He said he was twenty three but I don't care what they say. He had a little fuzzy moustache and he definitely was on the prowl for some meat here. No I had no room I could take him too. We went from park to park, huddled sihouettes, groping each other anxiously on a bench? he sighed or was it pretending, hoping, he would turn me on real fast. Finally we went to the Asilah landmark. It was real dark, the guard made his round and a straight couple cuddling each other looked the other way when we sneaked around the back of the circular platform on which stood a huge modern sculpture I had not seen in daylight even.
This boy was sure of his case with me. I couldn't withhold myself any longer getting close to an apotheosis and we had not even done a thing. He revealed his dark bold engine- we had both crouched. He spat on the head of this Moorish example of repressed organ. I massaged it gently and rubbed it real tight. Then I urged him to stand up and maneuvred him in front of my face where I gobbled the black force into my tiny mouth. I almost puked when he rammed it through my throat, but I didn't give in. Then as I got really into it he pulled me up, I had his butt cheeks in my hands and pushed him back and forth but he then violently pulled me up and ordered to turn around. He was too young to be around with gays all the time, and he wouldn't suck or get fucked, very few Arabs I met allow that,, so I thought it was safe to have him uproot my inner tunnel. He spat and lubricated the shaft and dug straight for it. I almost screamed but then I realised that the guard could hear me. I jacked off feverishly and came before or together with him. Both were happy. My cum had fallen on his walkman that he had laid down next to him. As I thought all had gone well, he was too embarrassed me for a gift. Fifty dirhams. Half an hour bargaining brought it down to 10. Then we walked back while he tried to calm me down . "Don't worry my friend, there is no problem, you give me ten dirhams and a gift tomorrow. We are friends, O.K?"
He bought two battery cells for his walkman and then we split up. Resuming our anonymous lives in darkness and daylight...