From: nogarder@ix.netcom.com(*** )
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: International Affairs-Arab [1/2]
Date: 16 May 1996 02:30:19 GMT

			International Affairs
			       Part One

	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 lay 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, lay 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!"

From: nogarder@ix.netcom.com(*** )
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: International Affairs - Arab [2/2]
Date: 16 May 1996 02:42:58 GMT

			International Affairs
			       Part Two

	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 Levis and hard to come by over here. I laid 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.

				* * *

	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 sort of 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
flea-bag 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 "Cherie!"
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 all right.

	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 all right 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 its unadorned beauty.