J.O. Dickingson

The Gargoyle of Male Fecundity

Chapter 23

Flight Lieutenant Willhiem Wales woke earlier than usual. Today was his twenty-seventh birthday. Heading down to the dorm lavatory, he stepped into the shower stall and turned on the water. As he lathered up, he wished the residences didn't use individual stalls. He much preferred the open showers at the gym where he could check out the other officers in training, and where they could check him out, where stripped-down bare-butt naked men treated each other as equals and rank and position did not matter. Of course when you were stripped-down bare-butt naked it was obvious not all men were equal, though none of them could be too obvious in checking that out. Such things were frowned upon in the military even though sexual orientation had been ruled discriminatory as a basis for rejection in the military years ago.

He thought back fondly of the open showers at Eton where boys were not as worried about such things, where curiosity overcame the shyest and the most prude of boys, and where sex play between boys was part of the school's tradition and culture. Back then boys, and more than a few men, were, naturally, particularly curious about him, and he had nothing to be ashamed of when he was a lad, nor now. As he lathered up his balls and his cock, those memories caused his member to begin to swell, and having no fear of being seen, he gave free reign to those memories of young, naked bodies and dangling boyhoods and the furtive glances at him and his body, and as his cock quickly swelled, he pulled back his foreskin and soaped up the sensitive skin under his knob. Soon his seven and a half inches [19 cm] were proudly jutting up in the air, but unfortunately he was the only one to see it. He slowly stroked his rigid shaft as he thought back to those early boyhood investigations and the pleasures they'd brought, the pleasure of enjoying the bodies of his mates, and the pleasure of having them enjoying his body. He was tempted to wank a load off there in the shower, and he often did in the mornings, but today he decided to hold off. Perhaps, after his family party, he might find someone to help him celebrate more privately.

After an early breakfast in the officer's mess, he joined the other early risers for church services there at the chapel on the base as he did every Sunday. On a weekday and Saturdays after breakfast he would have joined his classmates in the briefing room where they would have been briefed by their instructors on the day's training activities. The rest of the morning would have been spent in the classroom. Eager to learn and an able student, he found the time passed by quickly. After lunch he usually had his afternoon helicopter sortie, all too brief, after which he and his classmates again met as a group for a debriefing. The rest of the afternoon was then spent preparing for the next day's sorties in the Station's Ops Room, planning routes, studying maps, and rehearsing drills. His afternoon routine ended with a phone call to his Household Office at Saint John's Palace for an update on any urgent matters and upcoming appointments and any schedule changes. Normally he ate his evening meal at the Officer's Mess with the others and then spent the evening at his studies.

That was his routine six days a week. Sundays he had the day off. He usually spent the mornings after services jogging around the track or working out in the gym and the afternoons on his studies and the evenings just relaxing with his fellow trainees, possibly going to the local pub or the cinema. Occasionally if he had official engagements coming up, he'd spend the afternoon at Blackwell House going over the briefing papers his Household Staff would have prepared for him. Today being his birthday, after checking in with the Household Staff in the latter part of the afternoon and receiving birthday greetings from them, he headed to the Palace for an intimate family get together, his father and stepmother, his paternal grandparents, and his brother and his aunt. On such an occasion he used to be joined by his great-grandmother and his great-aunt. Although they'd been gone now for several years, he missed them both. They had both been strong, independent women and he admired their no-nonsense attitudes and respect for tradition and yet the flexibility to be able to adapt to modern times which made them very popular with the public. His grandmother had the same qualities and he hoped that when the time came for him to become king he'd show the same leadership capability.

Ever aware of the media, who would be particularly watchful today, he left the RAF Shawbury airbase discretely, driving by himself but of course closely shadowed by the Scotland Yard. Even though he understood the necessity and they did their best to be unobtrusive, he hated having to be constantly watched. Arriving at the Palace, he joined his father and grandfather for drinks in the den, and was surprised to find with them David Saint Anthony Chattham, the husband of his first cousin once removed. Apparently Mary, David's wife and his father's cousin, had an engagement that afternoon with his grandmother, her aunt, regarding a charity and exhibit of Mary's art and she, her husband, and their two boys had been invited to join the family for supper. Willhiem, having an interest in the history of art himself, was delighted to have an opportunity to discuss the topic with her, his grandmother, and his aunt, as he suspected his grandmother had figured he would. He always found himself more comfortable with the female side of his family, finding the men colder and more formal and less interested in the things he was interested in, an influence perhaps of his late mother. His grandmother, bless her heart, knew that and had likely arranged for the meeting with Mary purposefully on the same day as his birthday.

It was a splendid birthday party, quiet and private and far from the prying eyes of the paparazzi and the public, as the family preferred such occasions. There were times for official ceremonies and pomp and pageantry, and there were times for private celebrations and the closeness of family, and this was one of the latter. Throughout the pre-supper cocktails, supper, and the post-supper conversation in the parlour afterward, Willhiem could not help noticing that the younger of his two second cousins, ten-year-old Arthur, Arthur Rowland Nathaniel Chattham, was constantly looking at him though the youngster quickly averted his eyes whenever he looked back at him. He was beginning to wonder if he had something caught between his teeth or forgotten to do up his fly or something. The boy's behaviour he would expect from a ten-year-old commoner in awe of the presence of royalty and the third in line to the throne, or even women closer to his age attracted by his handsome good looks, but not from a member of the family.

Young Arthur Chattham looked very much like his father, the same full, round face, the same dark, curly hair, the boy's being a bit longer and adding to his good looks, the same eyes, even the same smile. Although they had attended a number of family occasions and a few formal occasions together, they'd rarely sat down together at anything this small and intimate. Even so, he could not figure out the boy's fascination with him and it was becoming disconcerting, and not just because he was being stared at. It was an easy leap from the more logical reasons for the boy's behaviour to the fanciful, and from the fanciful to the erotic, and those thoughts were even more disconcerting than being stared at. The more he thought about the boy the more physically attractive the boy became, and the more attracted he felt toward the boy, the hornier he felt, and the harder it was to keep track of the conversation. Willhiem Arthur Peter Ernest Wintsor, third in line to the throne, was soon sporting a seven and a half inch [19 cm] banger.

His brother Harold was the first to excuse himself. Like Willhiem, he was a full lieutenant in the Household Calvary and in January he had begun a two and a half year training program to become a helicopter pilot for the Army Air Corps. The two of them shared a room at the Shawbury base but Harold had a speaking engagement Saturday and so had spent the night at Blackwell House. Though the schedules of the two princes made allowances for their royal duties and obligations, they were still expected to fulfill their military obligations like any other officers. He had a full day of lessons and sorties the next day, which meant an early night. Despite his reputation as a bit of a playboy, Harold loved the military and was determined to be the very best helicopter pilot that he could. Willhiem's father and stepmother were the next to leave, his father having an early morning engagement the next day. He was close to his two boys despite public perceptions to the contrary during his troubled marriage while they'd been growing up, but his life was also becoming increasingly full and complex as he assumed more and more responsibilities for his aging mother. Mary and Willhiem's grandmother and aunt had become engrossed in some conversation about women's rights in Iran or something, and with the departure of his father Ernst and his wife Caroline, his grandfather had taken his niece's husband in arm and had headed off to the den for an after supper drink and to talk about the theatre, David being an actor and Peter being a patron of the arts, with David's twelve-year-old son Sampson tagging along.

"Well, I guess that just leaves you and me, old chap," Willhiem said with a smile as he glanced at Arthur. "I don't have to be back at the base until twenty-two hundred. What would you like to do?"

"Do you really fly helicopters?"

"Yes," he said with a smile. So that had been the boy's fascination? He should have known. Boys his age were fascinated by planes and tanks and such things. "Well, actually I'm learning to be a pilot," he added with another smile. "Most of the time I'm sitting on my flippin' backside in a classroom." Arthur smiled, knowing what it was like to spend your day sitting on your backside in a classroom.

"Could we go for a ride?"

"I'm afraid we don't just 'appen to 'ave a search and rescue 'elicopter parked out on the front lawn," Willhiem said, and the boy laughed. "Besides, I don't 'ave a license to fly on my own yet."

"In that case, what would you like to do? It is your birthday."

Willhiem immediately thought of one thing, and immediately rejected it, but it just as quickly popped back into his head. He had, after all, been thinking about it ever since he had first noticed the boy looking at him.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Willhiem said with a smile.

"You thought of something. I can tell," the boy persisted doggedly as schoolboys do once they get the scent that something is being held back from them.

"It was just a fantasy."

"Whatever it is, I'm jolly well game," the boy said with a typical ten-year-old boy daringness and a shrug of the shoulders. "It'll be my birthday present to you. I'm sorry I didn't bring you anything by the way. I didn't realize it was your birthday."

"That's quite all right."

"Would you like me to 'ave your baby?"

Willhiem's jaw dropped. It was his turn to stare. Aware of the seconds ticking by, he chuckled, not knowing what to say. That was hardly something he'd expected to be asked, and especially by a ten-year-old boy.

"I'd like to 'ave yours," the boy continued seriously.

"Well, huh, ah, just what do you know about the birds and the bees?" he asked with a slight smile.

"I know it's supposed to be a man and a woman that do it, but girls are bloody yuck," Arthur said with all the seriousness and sophistication of a ten-year-old boy and Willhiem had to smile. "I met someone though at the Ascot Racecourse who said 'e could make it so it can be between two guys, as long as one of them was old enough to make, you know, the guy stuff that makes a baby."

"And did 'e tell you just how 'e was able to do that?" asked Willhiem, humouring the boy but also growing suspicious. Surely the boy was not that naive as to have been tricked into engaging in something sexual by some pervert.

"'E didn't just tell me. 'E did it. 'E planted a seed up my arse so that when I did it with a guy old enough to make babies I could 'ave 'is baby."

"And just 'ow did he plant this seed?" Willhiem asked, now alarmed and afraid he knew the answer.

"He stuck his pecker up my arse and shot it out."

Willhiem felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was just as he'd thought. Now how was he going to break this news to the boy's parents? Some birthday present this! "You met this bloke at the Ascot Racecourse?"

"Wasn't a man. It was a kid. 'E's four."

What a roller coaster this was becoming! First he was certain the boy had been molested, and then he comes up with this tale. "Let me get this straight. A four-year-old bloke stuck 'is pecker up your arse and shot out a seed so you could 'ave a baby," Willhiem repeated. Arthur nodded. "When was this?"

"Last Tuesday. The first day of the Royal Ascot. My mom and dad and Samuel were watching the 'orseraces at the Ascot Racecourse, and so was 'im and 'is dad. At first I thought it was 'is grandfather since 'e 'ad white 'air and looked really old and everything, at least sixty I bet. The races were sort of boring and we started talking, about 'orses and the fancy 'ats the ladies were wearing and stuff, and 'e said 'e didn't have a mother but 'e had another dad who was a boy about my age but 'e was in school. 'E said 'e was made by a man and a boy, and that 'e could make it so other boys could 'ave babies with men too. I told 'im I thought that was cool and better than doing it with a girl and so we pretended we were going to get an ice cream and went to the stables and found an empty stall way in the back and did it. It was a clean stall, with fresh hay," he added as an after thought. "It was fun and felt real neat," he concluded as his second cousin stared at him.

An analytical thinker by nature, Willhiem studied his young relative as he sorted out what he had just been told and tried to make sense out of it. The chap the four-year-old kid was with was probably his father as the kid had said, divorced or a widower since the kid claimed to have no mother, though he could be a grandfather with a single son. In either case he likely molested boys, at least one, the 'other dad' the four-year-old had mentioned. He had evidently told the kid that two guys could make a baby to justify what he was doing with the other boy, and quite possibly what he was also doing to his own four-year-old son. The boy had evidently known the mechanics from what Arthur had told him, so he had to have been told about it in some detail if he hadn't actually witnessed his dad and the boy doing it, or had it done to himself. That was sick, and highly erotic, the stuff pornographic stories on the Internet were made of. Then there was Arthur's tale. Ten years old and getting his arse screwed by a four year old in the hay in a stall at the Royal Ascot. Now that was totally wicked! Willhiem's cock twitched in his trousers with the thought.

Harold had been the same age as Arthur and he'd been twelve the first time he and Harold had messed around with each other, back when both of them were attending Ludgrove. He had fond memories of those early explorations and discoveries with his schoolmates and with his younger brother, and he still sometimes thought back on them when he felt the need for a J Arthur. Willhiem smiled. Now that was a funny euphemism considering the name of his second cousin! He knew that there was nothing uncommon about schoolboys messing around with each other, nor brothers. There were a few guys at Eton who had claimed in private midnight chats to have messed around with their kid brothers, though none as young as four.

"Let's find some place more private to talk about this," Willhiem said quietly. With seven hundred and seventy-five rooms, including nineteen staterooms, fifty-two royal and guest bedrooms, ninety-two offices, and seventy-eight bathrooms, he didn't think that would be a problem. The conversation they were having was not one he wanted his grandparents, or his second cousin's parents, to walk in on. His intention really was to talk. His first and immediate concern was to confirm that Arthur really had been buggered by a four year old and that the fanciful story wasn't just a coverup of the fact he'd really been abused by a 'really old' man at the racecourse or some other adult for that matter. His second concern was to be sure Arthur hadn't been traumatized by the event if he was in fact telling the truth, and that he understood the significance and ramifications of what had happened to him, and that two blokes could not really make a baby. And third, if Arthur's story about what had happened at the Royal Ascot was true, if the toddler had told him anything that might indicate he, or his 'other dad,' had been abused.

Those were his main reasons for suggesting they go somewhere more private, or so he told himself as they headed upstairs and down the hall toward the private family rooms where the staff would not be up and about this hour. The portraits on the hallway walls watched with accusing eyes as they went by. There was a second reason. The boy had offered to have sex with him, to give him his arse for his birthday, and a baby to boot. It was just as possible his young cousin had made up the fanciful tale about the four-year-old as an opening to suggest messing around. Children were a lot more curious about sex and a lot more knowledgeable and sexually active than adults gave them credit for. A thirteen-year-old chap who had claimed to have fathered a child with a fifteen-year-old tart and was proud of it had been all the news not that long ago, and it turned out there were several other underage boys who were potential fathers.

Willhiem's cock twitched again. To have sex with his ten-year-old second cousin was a tempting offer. The boy was attractive, bloody damn attractive, and he was keeping it in the family, his grandmother and Arthur's grandmother being sisters, making the two of them second cousins. He'd make sure the boy understood that there was no way they were going to make a baby of course regardless if the boy had just made the story up or not. He wouldn't take advantage of any boy that way, and especially not a relative, even a distant one. Of course doing it with a boy so young was taking a big risk, a damn big risk. Still, if the boy was still willing after they talked, well, doing it with him was a lot less risky than doing it with Kate, who could blab to the paparazzi or get knocked up, and would be a lot more enjoyable.

He chose the bedroom where as children he and Harold used to sleep when they holidayed with their grandparents as little children at the Palace and where they stayed on those rare occasions when both their father and mother were away overnight during the summers when they weren't at school and couldn't take them with them. It was relatively nearby but not a room any of the family nor the help would likely go past, and the decor had been kept as it had been when he and Harold were in their early teens, more in keeping with the tastes and interests of boys that age and less ornate and lavish than most of the other rooms though the sculptured ceilings, furnishing, artwork and expensive linens covering the bed were in keeping with the other bedrooms and reflected the family's wealth and heritage. As he entered the room, he wondered if his parents and grandparents had never found it strange that with all the bedrooms and beds in the Palace that he and Harold preferred to sleep together in the same room and the same bed. He was glad that they hadn't, or if they had, that they had judiciously decided not to pursue the matter.

Sitting down on the large double bed side by side, he had Arthur repeat his story, but this time stopping him and questioning him for clarification or more details. The boy had said his name was Charles, and that he was going to be four and a half next month. He hadn't said the name of the man he was with, but he did say he was his father, and a doctor, and yes, he did look like he was about the same age as Willhiem's father except his hair was white and he didn't have a bald spot in back. Yes, he had claimed his other father was a boy of ten who was going to be eleven in two months and who had given birth to him. With further prodding, his suspicion that the boy and his supposed ten-year-old father were being abused was confirmed, the boy having told Arthur that his 'big' father often stuck his dick up his 'little' father's arse, and that he himself often sucked the dicks of his two fathers and played with them, and that they played with his dick also. The four and a half year old also claimed to have fucked his younger father and to have shot a seed up his arse, which had resulted in him getting pregnant and giving birth to a baby brother, now nine months old, after the older father had fucked the ten-year-old. There were too many subtle details in the four-year-old boy's story for him to have made it up, and Arthur's description of the four and a half year old fucking him in the stables was too detailed and accurate to have been fabricated. The bits about the boy being their son and making seeds that he shot up the arses of his ten-year-old father and Arthur so they could have babies he attributed to the four year old's active imagination and innocence likely based on something the man molesting him had told him.

Although he knew most people, and all of his friends and acquaintances, would be incensed and revolted by what he'd heard, by the time Arthur was done, Willhiem was erect and aching to get a load off like he'd never ached before. He was a healthy, active man and had sexual needs after all, but unlike most twenty-seven year old men his opportunities to satisfy those needs were limited. The future king of England couldn't just walk up to any bird and bonk her after all, and quite frankly, Willhiem was not that interested in women, and never had been. Being shy and sensitive as a child, he'd been uncomfortable with both boys and girls and had preferred to be alone, and when he did have to mix he preferred the company of boys, having at least a few things in common that they could talk about. He suspected his mother had been concerned about that and might even have been worried he was a botty boy because as he entered his teens she seemed to be pushing the birds on him particularly strongly. Then she and his father began having more and more arguments and she was becoming quite bitter, especially about his grandmother and great-grandmother, both of whom he greatly admired and respected, which was difficult as he loved his mother also. At the same time, the press began publicizing her scandalous behaviour, her bulimia and flirtations, and the affairs both she and his father were having with others. None of it made it easy for a boy in his early teens, and any one in itself was enough to turn him off girls.

With his good looks, the paparazzi and others desperate for attention didn't make his life easy either with everyone speculating on his love interests and commenting on his looks and his body, using him to sell their gossip rags or to promote themselves, like the bloody nonsense the American twit Britney Sparks had released to the press a few years ago about exchanging suggestive messages with each other to drum up some publicity for herself. That was enough to make any teenage boy swear off girls and become bent as a nine-pound bob note. Sure there had been girls he'd gone out with and that he'd liked, Kate Milton being the most recent and whom he was currently seeing, but the press always made more of their relationship than there was. Of course one advantage of having the press speculating on who would become his future wife was that it kept them from speculating on what other interests he might have.

If they ever discovered some of his interests, past and present, they would make his underage excursion into a pub as a student at Eton and Harold's recent flirtations with barmaids bloody tame in comparison. His darkest and riskiest behaviour had been ten years ago, the period following his mother's unexpected and tragic death. Distraught over revelations about her affairs and her unhappy marriage and her sudden death and the mysteries surrounding it being continually brought up, he'd gone into a major funk. Unbeknownst to anyone else, he'd begun mutilating himself, cutting himself with a penknife and piercing himself with pins, always careful to do so where nobody would see the wounds, seeking to replace the pain in his heart with physical pain, and when that didn't work he began lashing out at others, quick to turn to fisticuffs with his mates at school and resorting to cutting remarks not just with the paparazzi but with those close to him, his brother and his father particularly. Eleven years ago, during the Easter break, at the age of sixteen, he'd met up with a famous and handsome young American television actor a year older than himself, a closet homosexual also fed up with the paparazzi constantly harassing him and women throwing themselves at him. The two of them had snuck into the Tower of London and had engaged in a wicked and dangerous weekend of some mutual S and M in the dungeons. That had been his catharsis and he'd thankfully realized what he was doing to himself and where he was headed with such harmful behaviour.

That didn't mean he wasn't still pissed off with the deal life had dealt him and frustrated with having his every move watched and reported to the world. Two months later, two days before his seventeenth birthday, he'd attended his uncle George's wedding, and recalling the fairytale wedding of his own parents and the disastrous results of that marriage, he'd gotten pleasantly and privately bombed, and finding himself alone with George and Sarah's pageboys, seven-year-old Felix Littlebutts and six-year-old Harry Warchild, what happened next would have had him jailed and disgraced forever. It was also one of the hottest and most enjoyable nights that he'd ever had. It had certainly been a wedding night he and the two boys would never forget.

Shortly after that he'd turned to his second cousin once removed, Frederick Wintsor, the son of Albert, Duke of Kensington, and Frederick, estranged from his father and in the media over his use of drugs, made even more sensational because the two of them were friends, turned to him. In part in defiance of his father and grandparents who'd strictly forbidden him to see Frederick, in part out of sympathy for each other, and in part out of puppy love, he'd begun seeing Frederick on the sly his last year at Eton, slipping away for a sexual tryst whenever and wherever they could. Their love affair had continued during his gap year and the beginning of his first year at St. Andrews, but with Frederick attending school at Oxford and him in Scotland, their infatuation faded and their romance came to an end. Frederick in fact became interested in some bird and they'd recently gotten engaged.

Willhiem had thrown himself into his studies at St. Andrews, which was not difficult considering he loved learning. He'd met Kate Milton and they'd dated off and on, nothing serious though the media tried to make more of it. He still preferred those of his own gender, but other than a hot encounter over the Christmas break five years ago with another American celebrity, a recently turned seventeen-year-old blond who was at one time promoted as the prince of pop and who was the horniest and hungriest cock hound Willhiem had ever met, he'd satisfied his urges the same way millions of boys and men around the word did, with his hand.

Willhiem smiled with that slight curl of the lips and shy look that over the years has sent thousands of girls, and a good number of botty boys, swooning. What the bloody 'ell, instead of having himself a J Arthur, perhaps it was flippin' time for him to have himself an Arthur Rowland Nathaniel Chattham, and a child of his own. He wouldn't be the first royal to have a gay tryst, nor the first to engage in an intergenerational gay relationship. James I had only been 13 and was already ruling as king when he was hopping in bed with his cousin Esme Stewart and the man was thirty something, and everyone knew that Edward II and Piers Gaveston were more that just good buddies.

Taking Arthur in his arms, he eased the boy down on his back and kissed him. It was an awkward kiss, Arthur and his four-year-old seducer having forgone any type of foreplay in their encounter, but the ten-year-old was game, as he'd said, and returned the kiss, and after a half dozen times, the two of them were kissing up a storm as if they were old lovers. The boy's breath was sweet and his lips tasted of strawberries and chocolate mousse which had been served for dessert along with birthday cake, as did Willhiem's though his breath also carried a faint hint of apricot brandy. Willhiem slid the boy's burgundy jacket off and untied and removed his tie and as he began to unbutton the boy's formal white shirt, Arthur began to unbutton Willhiem's military tunic and then his regulation army shirt. The tie Willhiem had to help him with.

Willhiem caressed the boy's smooth, soft chest and tweaked his nipples, causing the boy to squirm with the arousing irritation. The boy was in good shape and athletic but like his father was carrying a few extra pounds, and his muscles, though firm, were rounded and undefined, the boy being only ten. Willhiem, at six foot two [1.88 m] and a hundred and seventy pounds [77 kg], was solid muscle from a regime of daily workouts. Arthur ran his hot, slender fingers over the twenty-seven-year-old's firm pecs appreciatively. Having inherited his mother's fine features, his chest was sparsely haired with fine, silky, sandy-blond hairs which Arthur delighted running his fingers through. The two kissed as Willhiem reached down and pulled down the fly of the boy's black trousers and the ten-year-old reached over and pulling down his second cousin's zipper, slipped his fingers inside his fly and wrapped them about the hot, damp tube in his nylon underwear. Willhiem's cock throbbed hotly with the touch of the boy's hot, slender fingers.

The two of them, partially undressed, inhaled deeply with growing excitement, the ten-year-old boy in his formal dinner wear, the twenty-seven-year-old birthday boy and lieutenant in his RAF uniform. They fumbled with each other's belt, and as Willhiem raised his hips, Arthur eased his trousers down, and then raised his own hips so Willhiem could draw down his. Lying there face to face on the large double bed in only their socks and underwear, Willhiem wearing his plum-coloured Australian Bumfloss briefs, his one concession to luxury and his favourite brand since his teen years, and Arthur wearing his British-made tight white schoolboy briefs, the two kissed and caressed each other's body. Willhiem slid down on the rich, dark green, satin comforter and kissed and licked and sucked Arthur's nipples, causing the boy to squirm with never before felt arousal as his tender young nips became hard and burned with a painful pleasure.

The boy slipped his hands under the elastic band of Willhiem's tight briefs and pushed his underwear down, freeing the twenty-seven-year-old's wood. Arthur looked down at it with awe and admiration and reached over and slipped his fingers about the base and squeezed it, his eyes widening as he realized its size and felt the power throbbing inside it. Willhiem pushed down the boy's white briefs and slipped his thumb and first finger about the boy's slender, still limp organ and slowly began to stroke it. Like himself, the boy was uncut and he slowly drew the boy's foreskin back, exposing the boy's knob, and then slowly pushed it back over the sensitive glans. He asked the boy if he played with himself and the boy shook his head in the negative. Willhiem's stiff, aching cock jerked with excitement with the thought of the boy's naivety and innocence and a droplet of clear pre-cum oozed out the tip.

Standing up and stepping out of his underwear and removing his socks, Willhiem retrieved the towels from the attached bathroom and stripped back the dark green comforter and top sheet of the bed while Arthur removed his underwear and socks also and the two lay down on the stripped down bed once again and resumed their kissing and caressing. Willhiem squirmed down and took Arthur's little preteen dick in his mouth and gently sucked on it, and pushing back his foreskin with his lips, he swirled his tongue over the boy's tender knob. His dick felt so silky soft and his pubes and balls smelled of young boy beneath a faint veneer of soap. He continued to suck and lick until the boy's little cocklet was stiff. Rolling the boy over, he pulled apart his ass cheeks, pale pink and baby smooth and plump, and bending over he stuck out his tongue and began to rim him. The boy squirmed with the still novel sensation of being erect and with the totally new sensation of having his asshole licked. The future king of England wormed his tongue into the ten-year-old's dank hole and twirled it, and pressing his tender lips against the youngster's pucker he blew his spittle into the boy's rectum and Arthur squirmed, fully aroused and aching for sex for the first time in his life.

Sitting up, Willhiem directed the boy and he eagerly bowed his head and licked his older cousin's rigid shaft, running his tongue from his balls up along the thick, solid tube to his flanged knob. Willhiem squirmed with pleasure as the ten-year-old boy swirled his hot, wet tongue over the knob of his banger like it was an ice cream cone, sending thrills of arousal through the blood-engorged knob and down the core of his shaft. Arthur inhaled deeply with arousal and excitement, inhaling the musky fragrance of the older man's sweaty crotch and delighted to have found that contrary to what he'd expected cock was actually quite tasty. Having the boy work up a mouth of spittle and drool his slimy saliva over his projecting cock a couple times until it was dripping with spit, Willhiem stacked the pillows in the centre of the bed and covering them with the towels had Arthur lay with his hips elevated on them just as he'd had Harold do almost fifteen years ago.

Kneeling between the boy's raised, outspread legs, he placed the tip of his stiff cock against the boy's arsehole, both slimy and slippery with spit, and slowly pressed forward, telling Arthur to press out with his stomach as if he was taking a dump to open and relax his sphincter. Having only been fucked once before, and that by the finger-sized little cocklet of a four and a half year old, and Willhiem having a thick, seven and a half inch [19 cm] sausage, and using only spittle for lube, their union was not easy. They were lucky the family and the help were far away and a floor below them as the two snorted and gasped and grunted and groaned with the strain and the heat of their desire, the two of them desperately wanting to unite, their passions and needs having been inflamed by their foreplay.

Arthur inhaled deeply and held his breath as he strained to open his anus, clenching his teeth and eyes shut with his effort and the pain. Willhiem bit his lower lip as he relentlessly pushed his hips forward, wedging the most sensitive part of his body into the boy's spit-slick anus. Ever so slowly he felt his knob stretching open the boy's sphincter, and working up a gob of spittle, he spat at their union, his gob striking the cleft of the boy's pale pink buttocks and oozing down the groove to his straining pucker and over it and around Willhiem's blood-engorged knob. Inhaling deeply he continued to push as did the boy until at last his large, flanged knob popped inside the boy's hot, moist rectum. Panting as if he'd just run a dozen laps around the soccer field, Willhiem paused for a moment to catch his breath and to allow himself and the boy to recover, and then he ever so slowly sank his long, stiff banger up the boy's rectum.

Arthur inhaled deeply with the unique sensation of being penetrated. Being stuffed by his cousin's long, thick cock was a lot different from being penetrated by the finger-sized cocklet of a four-year-old. His anus burned with arousal, and as he felt Willhiem slowly ease his thick cock back out his anus the burn flared, not with pain but with an irritation that was masochistically delightful, and he inhaled deeply. The exotic fragrance of Willhiem's Royal Copenhagen Sport cologne, a combination of citrus, soft woods, amber and moss, filled his lungs and the boy looked up into the deep blue eyes of his handsome, sandy blond haired cousin and smiled with a boyish grin. Willhiem returned the boyish smile with that shy, heart-melting, sincere smile of his, and the six-foot-two [1.88 m], twenty-seven-year-old leaned forward and kissed his young cousin as he sank his throbbing cock back up his hot, moist rectum.

This was bloody fucking wonderful. He had not felt so hot nor so good since he and Harold had messed around in this very bed, their excitement heightened by worries their parents or grandparents would discover them. Willhiem could only imagine the shock on the faces of his father or his grandparents if they could see him now, stripped bare arsed naked and banging the arse of his naked ten-year-old cousin. He thrust his long, thick cock in and out rapidly, delighting in the heat and the tightness of the boy's asshole, delighting in the pleasant throbbing of his aching cock. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, delighting in the smell of sex starting to permeate the room, delighting in the undescribable smell of boy. He closed his eyes in pure rapture, savouring every moment, every smell and every sound.

Arthur clenched and unclenched his sphincter in time with Willhiem's thrusts and withdrawals as Charles had told him back in the stalls at the Ascot Racecourse. He was glad he had run into the four-year-old and that the toddler had shared his secret with him. He was really quite an amazing chap, and there was no doubt in Arthur's mind that the toddler had been born of two guys, and that he and Willhiem were at that moment making a baby. Having his own son was going to be so cool. He reached down and grasping his erect little wiener, he pulled back the foreskin. His little cocklet had swollen more since Willhiem had fiddled with it and the skin was tight and harder to pull down. He trembled as it unfolded, revealing his tender knob, and he inhaled sharply with the unique pleasure as he pushed the skin back up, just like Willhiem had done to him. It was a new pleasure to him, and one he knew he would repeat often in the future, and he hoped that he and Willhiem would be able to repeat the other pleasure he was feeling often too. His anus burned with hotly as Willhiem's thick cock pumped in and out of his asshole, and it seemed to throb in time with his irritated little penis. Making a baby was a lot of fun.

Willhiem was humping his ten-year-old cousin rapidly now, his large, pendulous balls now drawn up tight under his shaft. With each lunge forward he drove young Arthur forward, and with each withdrawal he drew the ten-year-old back. His arsehole was so bloody hot and so bloody tight it was unbelievable. The twenty-seven-year-old RAF lieutenant plowed his ten-year-old cousin with furious delight as he felt the pressure increasing deep in his loins, his now benumbed cock feeling twice the size as he worked it in and out of the boy's tight hole. His biceps bulged as he raised his body and then relaxed as he lowered his body in the perverse pushups and sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down the middle of his back and down the sides of his sculptured torso as he closed his eyes and arched his back in delight, savouring every moment and every detail of this fantastically hot and pleasant fuck. He was gasping for breath now, as was Arthur, the two of them sucking in the humid air, the fragrance of Willhiem's cologne now mixed with the erotic fragrance of their sweat, his and the boy's, and the musky fragrance of their sweaty balls.

With a mighty sigh, Willhiem thrust his hips forward as his cum at last raced up the core of his benumbed shaft and erupted out the burning tip, squirting deep up the ten-year-old's rectum. The future king of England trembled and his breath shuddered as he came, his throbbing, aching cock buried up the asshole of his young cousin, and as the boy arched his back and cried out with delight, his naked, perspiring body raked by his own orgasm, his little, stiff cocklet burning between his thumb and first two fingers. He jerked and twisted uncontrollably, the electric shocks ripping through his cocklet causing his body to twitch out of control. The two of them gasped for breath as hot, thick, royal cum flooded the boy's rectum and they sucked in the humid air pregnant with the primordial fragrance of fresh cum. Spurt after spurt erupted out of Willhiems' burning peehole, filling the boy's rectum and flooding back over his swollen, throbbing cock. The ten-year-old boy whimpered with delight as he felt his rectum being flooded and as a blissful warmth flooded over his groins and the room spun dizzily. On the floor below, Arthur's parents and Willhiem's grandparents chatted, blissfully unaware of what their son and grandson were doing, unaware that a future king was in the making.

***

"Jhuk. Bend down, Gobindar, jhuk. Good boy," Ravi said softly as the huge elephant slowly dropped to its knees. Hanging onto the rope about the huge beast's collar, the nine-year-old boy swung off the elephant's back and slid to the ground. Normally he would have exercised Gobindar by walking him around the compound, but he, Ravi that is, was twelve weeks pregnant, and standing on his feet for any length of time was becoming a problem. Reaching up and giving the elephant a loving pat on the side of the face and handing him a handful of peanuts, Ravi motioned for the beast to get back on his feet. He had a way with elephants, just like his father, who was a revered Baro-Phandi, highly esteemed not only by the Indian mahout society but by elephant owners and the government officials, and often called upon during important festivals and official ceremonies. Someday he would become a Baro-Phandi like his father. He didn't have his own elephant yet of course, not officially, but he'd been around elephants since he could walk, and he was considered an unofficial kavady, an assistant mahout, by everyone at the elephant camp, not just because of who his father was, but because of the skills he'd already shown at his young age. He was even now helping familiarize the youngest elephants with crowds and vehicles for the day when they would participate in parades for the government or the temple of Guruvayoor. And like many popular mahouts, he was a fine singer, often singing to the elephants while caring for them, and regularly being asked to perform at school and temple functions.

"You shouldn't be working," admonished Rajah as he approached, a look of concern on the forty-five-year-old ranger's face. Rajah was Ravi's lover and the father of his unborn son. He worked for the Kerala Forests and Wildlife Department, one of the rangers responsible for the large forest reserve that purchased many of the elephants from the camp, and often brought them orphan elephants to raise and train.

"It is all right. It is relaxing riding on Gobindar actually. The rocking motion puts our little one to sleep," Ravi said with a grin as he gently caressed his swollen stomach. He had been feeling their baby moving now for several weeks, and could even tell when he was sleeping and when he was awake, which filled the delighted boy with wonder and awe. Just yesterday Rajah had put his hand on his stomach and had for his first time felt their son move too and had shared in Ravi's wonder. "Except I have to often stop and get off to take a leak, but I think Gobindar understands," he said with a twinkle in his deep brown eyes. "I think he knows I'm with child."

Rajah didn't question that. Elephants were very sensitive animals, and particularly attuned to their mahout, and although Ravi wasn't specifically in charge of Gobindar, there was no question there was a rapport between the two. Besides, Ravi knew his elephants far better than he did. He put his arm about the boy as they walked, concerned about his health. He took a couple squares of almond-pistachio barfi and a half dozen laddu, tiny balls of chickpea flour soaked in sugar syrup and covered with melon seeds, out of his backpack, and Ravi's eyes lit up.

"I thought you might be hungry," Rajah said with a knowing grin. "I would have brought you a coconut, but I could not find any at the market," he joked, having teased the boy about giving him a diet of coconuts to improve the quality of his milk just like they did with the pregnant elephants. He'd also reminded the boy that they did not expect the pregnant elephants to continue work once they were half way through their pregnancies, and he expected the same of Ravi.

"Thanks. I'm starving. You wouldn't happen to have any pickled cauliflower in your backpack, would you?" he asked as he stuffed one of the chewy barfi in his mouth and began to chew happily. "I've been craving them all afternoon."

"You are the hungriest boy I've ever known, and have the strangest cravings," Rajah observed with a smile.

"Yeah, well, I am eating for two," Ravi said with a giggle. "And I think the craving is from little Chandi," he added, Chandi being the name they'd chosen for their unborn son. "I don't normally like cauliflower, pickled or otherwise."

"Well, Chandi will have to wait until supper for the cauliflower," Rajah said. Ravi had been eating with him this past couple weeks, usually after having his evening meal with his family. His parents had noticed his distended stomach several weeks ago, and Rajah had told them he'd heard of such a thing in his travels and that the boy's swollen stomach and ravenous appetite were the result of a worm infection, which would pass in time, and the best recourse was to be sure he was well nourished and rested. That had not exactly been a lie. The boy's swollen stomach was the result of a worm, the one-eyed worm hanging between his legs, and it would pass in another month and a half, and the boy did need to be well nourished. The explanation was one of several suggested on the Rana Anshar website to which they'd been referred to by the elderly man from China who had three months ago discussed with them their love for each other and an unbelievable miracle that could happen if they were both willing.

Rajah could not deny his love and sexual attraction for Ravi. He'd felt that way ever since he'd first met the boy in his first visit to the elephant rescue and training centre just over a year ago, but he had not acted on those feelings and so was surprised the old man knew of them. He was even more surprised to learn Ravi felt the same way for him, and knowing nothing about such things had been troubled by his strange feelings. Rajah himself had no misgivings about his desires. Although homosexuality was illegal in India, there had been no prosecutions for many years and almost everyone considered the old British law a holdover from colonial days and irrelevant today. Did not the Kama Sutra describe homosexual men and their marriage to each other, and speak of their love and attachment for one another and their deep and trusting friendship? Some Hindi priests have even begun performing same sex marriages saying that such love is the result of sexual attachments from previous lives and that marriage, as a union of spirit, is transcendental to gender. It is said the soul itself is genderless, and it is known that the gods themselves switched genders and sometimes played the role of a man, and other times of a woman. Did not Vishnu take the female form Mohini and marry the hero Aravan, and did not Krishna's consort Radha take on the male form Gadadhara? Rajah had no misgivings over their age difference either. There was a long history and tradition of child marriages and intergenerational marriages after all, though those customs were being eroded by Western thought, and it was only because of the increasing influence of those western doubts, that he'd not acted on his feelings for Ravi.

As for the miracle of two males producing a child, when Maharaja Dilipa died, did not Lord Shiva appear before his two widowed queens and command them to make love, and by his blessings did they not bear a beautiful son, Bhagiratha, who became one of the most famous kings of India? Hinduism has many divergent beliefs and divisions, but one objective that unites all Hindus is the objective of producing male heirs. As a bachelor with no interest in women and little prospect of marriage, that was one requirement of his faith that had troubled Rajah and given him regrets, but the arrival of the old man had given him hope. Creation is unlimitedly diverse, and that includes methods of sexual expression. Sadists, masochists, and transvestites, straight and gay, are found in all cultures. In mostly northern India reside the hijra, most of them male prostitutes and all of them practising castration. The kothis, men and boys who see themselves as women, take feminine roles, dress as women, and prefer to have sex with other men and boys. And many married men often prefer kothi over women as a kothi can have sex more openly than a woman, who is passive and only has sex to produce children, and kothis can have sex in ways a woman can't with a man.

Being devout Hindus, they had prayed together to Shiva as supreme god and the god of procreation, and also to elephant-headed, pot-bellied Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, the reliever of childbirth, and the bringer of joy. Besides being the god whom everyone prays to for success before beginning any undertaking, Ganesha was a favourite of men who had sex with other men because of the obstacles their love faced, and he was a favourite of Ravi, because of his love for elephants, and because they both loved the round sweet modaka. Their prayers had obviously been heard for Ravi was very clearly pregnant.

"There is something else I crave," Ravi said, looking up at Rajah with an impish grin, "and I don't think I can wait until supper."

Rajah laughed as he drew the boy close. "Now that is a craving even greater than your hunger," he said, "but one that fortunately I think I can do something about."

Great must have been their prayers, for Shiva had granted them not one, but three miracles. Besides having a child without the requirement of a woman, and soon having a male heir as required by their faith, was Rajah's phenomenal sexual stamina. At an age where many men are beginning to slow down, he had the energy and the physical ability of a teenager. Not only that, his love and his lust for the boy was growing with each day, and with each pound the boy gained the more irresistible his body was becoming. Fortunately for the two of them, the walk to Rajah's home was not far.

"Now let us see if we have any jars of pickled cauliflower," Rajah said with a smile, pretending to have forgotten about Ravi's other craving.

"I think I've found a cauliflower right here," Ravi observed, reached up and cupping Rajah's crotch.

"Hmm, right shape, but the head isn't branched, and I don't believe it's pickled," Rajah replied with a smile.

"Close enough," Ravi replied with a grin.

Unbuttoning the man's trousers, he slipped his fingers inside the fly and in the fly of his underwear. Wrapping his fingers about the man's limp cock, he eased it out the two openings and dropping to his feet, he took the man's brown sausage in his mouth, delighting in the musky fragrance and salty taste of the damp cock. Although Rajah was the first man he'd ever had sex with, Ravi was not unaware of nor inexperienced when it came to same sex relationships. His father was happily married and had six children, two girls and four boys including Ravi, but he also on occasion sought out a kothi when he desired sex solely for the pleasure of having sex and he did not keep that hidden from his family. After all, a man has different needs from a woman, needs better understood and satisfied by another man. What can a woman know about sucking cock when she has no cock herself? And why should a man deny himself the pleasure that another man can bring when he has fulfilled his duties and sired six children of his own?

Ravi's oldest brother, ten years his senior, had also had sex with a kothi, and had said if the woman he would eventually marry could bring him half as much pleasure he would be happy. Ravi would never want to be a kothi, and could not see how any male could want to look and dress and act like a woman, but even at the age of nine he could see how the kothi filled a very important and natural role in his world, helping girls like his sisters to remain chaste by providing a sexual outlet for the virile young men like his brother who would otherwise be pressuring them to have sex. So young Ravi knew about the same sex experiences of his father and his oldest brother, and he knew all about the mating of elephants and the birthing of their young. He knew about the pleasure that could be had between guys too, he and his closest friend, the son of one of the grass-cutters, having explored the mystery of self masturbation together and then having tried it on each other, and having experimented with oral sex on each other after having overheard Ravi's oldest brother talking to one of his friends about having had a kothi do it to him.

He swirled his tongue around the exposed knob of Rajah's now swollen cock, and as his hot, wet tongue brushed against the edge of the man's flanged knob Rajah inhaled deeply with the pleasure and his cock oozed out a dollop of sweet pre-cum. Ravi knew he should smear it over Rajah's knob to help lubricate it, but he could not resist flicking the clear droplet up with the tip of his tongue and savouring the sweet nectar, which he enjoyed almost as much as he enjoyed the sugar treats that Rajah bought for him. Anyway, Rajah would be producing many more droplets. Of that he was correct. As he ran his tongue up and down the man's shaft, along the sensitive skin just below his knob, and around his knob again, more droplets magically appeared at the opening of his cock, and Ravi smeared the slime over the man's blood-engorged knob, mixing it in with his trails of spittle. Looking down at the fully clothed nine-year-old apprentice mahout, even his turban still firmly in place, kneeling there sucking on his cock caused the forest ranger to tremble with lust and his blood-engorged cock to throb with lust.

The two disrobed quickly and eagerly and resumed their foreplay on Rajah's bed, caressing and kissing, fondling each other's dangling, sweaty balls, stroking each other's swollen, aching cock, Rajah's long and thick, Ravi's slender and short, both aching for attention, both rigid and throbbing with arousal. Rajah caressed his beloved's swollen stomach, constantly amazed that their baby was inside, and Ravi ran his hands over his lover's slim, dark brown body, regular physical labour keeping it lean and hard, and through the thick, curly hairs of his chest. As Rajah rolled over on top of him and raised himself, Ravi looked up into his lover's eyes and his lover smiled back down at him, his long, wavy, glossy-black hair held back by the colourful headband that Ravi had made for him.

At last the pregnant nine-year-old boy threw his legs in the air and over his head, presenting his ass to his now flushed and aroused lover. Ravi squirmed with delight as Rajah knelt behind him and bending over, fastened his lips to his anus and rimmed him, running his tongue over his tender bud and worming it inside his ass and blowing his spittle up his dank hole, all the while gently caressing his swollen stomach and fiddling with his little cocklet, gently stroking the rigid, hot little tube that ached to be stroked just as an itch aches to be scratched. As he felt Rajah's hot, wet tongue worming into his anus, he squirmed with arousal and pleasure and sent a silent prayer up to Ganesha for having such a caring, gentle lover and to Rana Anshar for having brought them together, knowing that no woman would ever do to a man what Rajah was doing to him.

At last Rajah ceased his rimming, and straightening up, shuffled forward on his knees. As he felt Rajah's hot, wet knob pressing against his anus, Ravi pushed out with his stomach muscles and felt their baby move inside his belly. The first time he'd felt that he'd observed to Rajah that their son was moving over for his cock, causing the man to laugh, but also to worry about him. Now they were both used to the movement and knew there was no cause for alarm. In Ravi's mind, little Chandi was just getting comfortable so they could both enjoy the fucking he was going to receive. Ever so slowly he felt Rajah's knob stretch open his sphincter and he strained and pushed as Rajah relentlessly pressed forward, inhaling and exhaling deeply as he strained to penetrate the boy, his hole still marvellously tight despite the number of times he'd fucked it. Their determination, their spittle, and Rajah's pre-cum won out, and they were finally rewarded with Rajah's knob popping inside Ravi's rectum.

Ravi inhaled deeply as he felt his lover's long, thick rod slowly penetrate him, easing farther and farther up his asshole until his rectum was stuffed and he could feel Rajah's coarse, curly hairs brushing up against his hairless balls. He closed his eyes with the pleasure of having his rectum stuffed with his lover's thick, rigid cock and in anticipation of the pleasure to come. The burning ring of fire that was his anus constricted as he felt his lover's cock begin to withdraw, sending shards of sharp pleasure through his anus and up his rectum, and he arched his back and inhaled deeply with unabashed delight. As his lover's piston began to ease back up his rectum he relaxed and dilated his anus, his eyes still closed as he felt his rectum being stuffed again. He reached down and resumed stroking his little cocklet, his thumb and first two fingers squeezing the little, swollen tube of flesh lightly and stroking from the base to the tip and back down, sending shards of pleasure through his swollen little knob and up the slender tube.

The forty-five-year-old forest ranger and the nine-year-old unofficial assistant mahout gazed into each other's eyes as the man's hard, aching cock eased in and out of the throbbing, clenching asshole of the boy, their love and lust for each other so evident only those with hatred or jealousy in their hearts could find sin or immorality in what they were doing. They worked together as one, not just for their own pleasure but to bring the other pleasure also. Their cocks throbbed and ached with arousal and the pressure slowly developed in their loins, gradually building with each thrust and withdrawal. Their cocks throbbed with hot desire, their knobs burning with painful pleasure. They gazed into each other's eyes and smiled, each knowing the pleasure the other was feeling and each knowing they were the cause of that pleasure.

Their breathing slowly became more laboured, deeper, louder and faster as their hot blood pulsated through their cocks, causing Ravi's little pecker to throb like another little heart, his own heart pounding loudly in his thin chest. His rectum was pulsating in time with his heart and his little cocklet and in time with his lover's thick cock buried deep up his rectum. They were one with one another, a two-backed, four-legged, four-armed beast panting and gasping in rut, the pressure developing in their loins, building and building until at last they exploded. Rajah gasped with pleasure and thrust his cock deep up Ravi's rectum and the nine-year-old boy quivered and inhaled with delight as he felt his rectum being flooded with his lover's hot, thick slime, penetrating deeper and deeper up his body as spurt after spurt throbbed into his rectum and had nowhere else to go.

His anus burned pleasantly as he concentrated on the unique sensation of being filled with his lover's love juice, and then he reached his own orgasm, the sharp thrills encircling his irritated little knob causing him to thrust his body upward and his arms and legs to spasm uncontrollably. No matter how often he experienced it, it was just as powerful and just as frightening and just as delightful as the very first time. Shock after shock ripped through his young loins and he cried out with pleasure, wrapping his thighs tightly about his lover's naked body as his mind and soul entered that space so few boys his age were allowed to experience.

***

Muhammud Ibrahim Fahred stood in the shade in front of the Kandahar police station and inhaled deeply, sucking the smoke from his cigarette into his lungs and holding it there for several seconds before releasing it. The boys were beginning to gather, greeting each other with smiles and chatting amiably, some of them passing around a cigarette also. Most were between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, though occasionally there was a boy seventeen or eighteen, and occasionally boys as young as twelve. They were all dressed the same, loose shirts over baggy cotton trousers, sandals, and turbans, a few wearing a watch or rings, gifts for their favours which they'd come to offer the men at the station. Their clothing was plain and colourless, reflecting their poverty which united them all. Their fresh, beardless faces and the look of hopeless resolution also united them. They were halecon, boys for hire, local youth, many with one parent killed in the wars, some with no parents, all of them poor, all of them trying to survive.

Across the street a couple Canadian soldiers stood watching the scene unfold, the same scene that played out every evening, and Muhammud did not have to see their faces to see the look of contempt and disgust in their eyes. He kept his face turned and in the shadows so that the Canadians could not see his contempt, and his hatred, for them. What did they know about his way of life, the culture and history of his people? Who were they to invade his country with arrogant offers of help and stand there and look down their noses at him and his fellow officers for doing what men and boys had been doing in Afghanistan for thousands of years before they'd come? Who were they to judge his values and beliefs by their prudish and privileged standards while their wanton women flaunted their bodies in public and inflamed the passions of their men, and their boys, and yes, other women? Not only that, their commander even announced to the world media that the practice of halekina, the love of adolescent boys, was one of the things they had come to Afghanistan to change. Muhammud spit into the dust in his own contempt, and would spit in their faces with their better than thou holy attitudes. There were those who haled the invaders as saviours of the country and liberators. There were many who did not. Muhammud was one of the latter. He was not so sure that occupation by the Canadians was any better than rule by the Taliban. He did know that both were better than occupation by the Americans, which was about to increase.

He also knew that halekina was as much a part of his culture as the burka and the mosques, as sure as the hot desert winds of summer and the freezing cold in the high mountains in winter. He also knew that the love of adolescent boys, and boys offering their bodies for favours, was not unique to Afghanistan, nor to the Middle East. It was practised everywhere in the world. The difference here was that to be a loved boy was an object of pride, a symbol of high status, sullied only by the war and the poverty of a nation that had not known peace for most of its history.

Islam denounced sex between men as taboo, and decreed that women be segregated, covered and inaccessible. But Allah created men with needs and lusts, which were particularly strong in their male-dominated, warrior culture. And so there was halekina, the love of adolescent males. A man could satisfy his sexual needs with a boy whose beard had not yet grown in and not be in contravention with his faith, and those boys who wished, could line their eyes with kohl and engage in sex with men honourably and with comradery with those of their own gender. There was no shame in a man courting a boy of twelve or thirteen, gifting him with chocolates or money as any man would gift his beloved. There was nothing immoral about giving a boy tea or hashish or a ring, even a fighting pigeon, in thanks and gratitude for seeing to a man's needs. For a boy to be the object of a man's love was an honour and brought the boy status, and later, when the boy began to grow his own beard, he and his lover would often remain the best of friends though no longer lovers, and he in turn would take his own ashna, his own beloved.

A younger boy, a boy of twelve, with a protruding stomach noticeable even with his loose shirt and baggy trousers joined the others and they all greeted him warmly. Muhammud's eyes lit up. This was Gamal David Agha, his beloved, and the bearer of his child. He had not been standing outside of the station to review the potential bedmates and select the most desirable as he'd once done. Others inside the station would soon appear to do that, and to send the others, disappointed, back to their homes. He had been waiting for Gamal. The boy's eyes lit up too as he spotted Muhammud waiting for him. The two of them headed up the street, away from the disapproving eyes of the invaders and toward Muhammud's small apartment, to the privacy of their little love nest.

As they walked, Gamal thought of the past four months, and how lucky he was. Upon reaching his twelfth birthday, he had considered joining the other boys in the neighbourhood down at the police station. He and his family could use the extra income. His older brother, now nineteen and living on his own, had done so, sharing the money and gifts he had been given to the appreciation of their parents and their three sisters. But now he was married and had a baby on the way and his parents were left to support Gamal and his three sisters. His father did all right as a cobbler. There were others much poorer than they, but there were many much richer also. His mother and father had no objections to what he was planning on doing, and his sisters thought it a brave and honourable thing. Before he could do so, there had been renewed fighting by the Taliban and it had been too dangerous for a boy to be alone in the streets, and then a warlord to the north who had a large poppy farm came to his father for new shoes for he and his sons and his wife and Gamal was busy helping his father in his shop after school until his bedtime, and besides, the extra money was not so needed then.

Five months had passed since his twelfth birthday, and then Muhammud had come into his father's shop to get his boots repaired. He had a stern, fierce appearance and he was old, over fifty, older than his father, but there was something about the man that attracted Gamal to him and he could sense behind the bristly black beard and thick eyebrows was a kind and compassionate man, and one who longed for love. Muhammud, he was to learn, was fifty-two. His wife had died twenty years ago after giving him three sons, all who had also died, the youngest of pneumonia while still a baby, the middle child unfortunate to be standing beside a local politician who was the target of a suicide bomber, and the oldest as a soldier fighting the Russians. He had never had the desire to remarry, but he still had the needs of a man. He was, of course, immediately attracted to Gamal. Twelve, handsome, in the bloom of his youth, shy, there were many who would eagerly buy his charms.

Muhammud had talked to his father and had begun dropping by at the shop, bringing small gifts for the family, fresh vegetables from the market, a piece of fine leather, chocolates, a ring for him, and he and Muhammud would talk, about the war, about the Canadians, about making shoes and going to school, and they would go for walks and occasionally to Muhammud's home where they had tea and honey cakes. The man's intentions were clear, and Gamal was fine with that, and in fact when after two months the man made no sexual advances, he was beginning to worry that the man was losing interest, and that he would bring shame to his family, not honour.

Then one day they went to the home of a friend of Muhammud, a blacksmith ten years younger, who shared his home with a boy of sixteen who quite clearly also shared the man's bed, and with a boy between the ages of three and four. The man spun for them a fabulous tale that was like one of the ancient tales of magic and jinn and flying carpets, and just as unbelievable, but it was told with such sincerity and passion one had to question if just maybe such things could be. The man talked about how evident the love was between himself and Muhammud, and there was no question of the love that existed between the blacksmith and the two boys, the oldest being not just his ashna, his beloved, but the bearer of the younger boy, their child. Muhammud confessed his love for Gamal to the man, and to Gamal, and how blessed it would be if he could have an heir, even with the dangers and risks of the future and the possible heartbreak of losing still another son. Gamal's heart ached for the man and tears welled up in his eyes at his sorrow and at his faint hope, and he took his hand, and said that he would live with the man for the rest of his life, and if what the blacksmith said was true, then he would willingly bear the policeman's child, not out of sympathy or sorrow for the man, but because he loved him and knew how much the man loved him, and Muhammud had cried.

Muhammud had him wait for a week, and the two had prayed to Allah for guidance, and at the end of the week Muhammud had asked him if he still felt the same way, and Gamal had replied that he felt even stronger about what he'd said. So they'd returned to the home of the blacksmith, Pasha Abdul Ullah, and they'd had tea and black current jam on freshly baked bread made by Seyed, the sixteen-year-old boy who helped his lover in his blacksmith shop and looked after their home and their child, and the two men shared a bowl of hashish and they talked, while their child, Yusuf Amin Ullah, whom they said was three and six months old, happily played with the wooden mule and cart that Muhammud had purchased for him from a wood carver at the market. And then Pasha had taken Yusuf aside and had talked to him and then returned holding the boy by the hand and said that the boy would be happy to make it possible for Gamal to have Muhammud's child.

They could have done it in private, but they had shared with each other their deepest secrets and desires, and they were all of a like mind regarding what was about to happen. Even so, Gamal was self-conscious as stepped out of his sandals and removed his shirt. He had the trim, muscular body of a preadolescent boy, at that age where he'd lost his baby fat but still did not have the muscular definition that came along with teenage hormones, his skin smooth and coconut brown, working in his father's cobbler shop having given him firmer muscles perhaps than many his age. He removed his turban and untied his hair which hung down to his shoulders, dark black, wavy and glossy. He even more self-consciously stepped out of his trousers and then his underpants. His pubes were hairless as were his pendant testicles, his two eggs the size of cliff sparrow eggs weighing down the bottom of his loose sack. His dark brown sausage was cut with the slightly darker knob flanged, the tip extending just below his lower nut.

Yusuf had stripped also and like most three and a half year olds stood there without the slightest concern or embarrassment. His skin was only slightly darker than Gamal's, the same shade as the two who claimed to be his parents, and he was of average height and weight for a child his age, three foot one [94 cm] and just over thirty pounds [13 kg]. His little dicklet was shorter and thinner than Gamal's small finger but his balls, round and slightly darker than the rest of his body, each the size of a grape, were larger than those of any child Gamal had ever seen.

As the two men and the teenage boy sat down cross-legged on the floor to watch, the boy stepped up to Gamal and reached up and cupped his testicles and gently rolled them in the palm of his hand. He stretched out the loose skin of his ball sack and rubbed it between his thumb and four fingers, and then slipped his thumb and fingers about the base of Gamal's limp cock and held it up. The toddler bent over and slipping his lips over the knob, he began to suck, his cheeks sinking in and his eyes narrowing in delight. Gamal's cock of course responded and to his embarrassment was soon standing upright, rigid and swollen. Stepping around behind him, he did not at first understand what the toddler was doing as he felt something hot and wet press against his butthole but he quickly realized the three-year-old had pressed his lips against his asshole and was blowing his spit up his ass. To tell one to kiss one's ass was one of the greatest insults one could curse another with and it was a dirty thought. It was also, to his surprise, highly erotic and stimulating. When he felt the toddler begin to lick his asshole, and then to wiggle his tongue inside his hole, Gamal's stiff cock jerked with arousal.

"Now you must get on your hands and knees," the boy instructed as if explaining some new game he had learned.

As Gamal did so he noticed the boy's little dicklet was stiff and jutting up in the air just like his own. Seeing a three year old with an erection smaller than his little finger was strange but added to the sexual desire Gamal was feeling. Yusuf took several of the unoccupied cushions and stacked them up behind Gamal and knelt on them. Adding one more cushion so that when he knelt on them his crotch was in line with Gamal's asshole, the toddler grasped the twelve-year-old boy's hips and shuffled closer until the tip of his little cocklet was pressing against the older boy's rimmed asshole. The toddler pressed his hips forward, easily sinking his little cocklet up the twelve-year-old's ass. Gamal had, of course, been mentally prepared to be fucked by Muhammud. That was what men did to boys, and why Muhammud had begun courting him. He had never in his life expected to be fucked by a three year old toddler, and certainly not that he'd be fucked for the first time in his life before two strangers and the man who had been courting him.

Gamal had seen stray dogs fucking in the streets and alleys and had often been amused at their lack of modesty, and when he was young he and his companions often watched and joked about how disinterested the female looked and how crazy-eyed the male humping her was. As he knelt there on the carpet in Pasha's home being fucked by the three-year-old toddler and watched by his lover and supposedly the boy's parents, he had an inkling how the female dog must have felt. At first he was acutely aware of the three pairs of eyes upon him and that he was in the position and role of the female, and he stared down at the carpet in embarrassment, blocking the fact he was being fucked out of his mind and concentrating on the carpet, memorizing the intricate design.

As the toddler banged his naked body against his, driving his slender little cocklet in and out of his ass in rapid little jerks, his stiff little organ too short for him to develop much of a stroke without pulling his dicklet right out, Gamal began to concentrate on the burning ring that was his asshole. It was pleasant, not unlike how the tip of his cocklet felt when he rubbed it. That he was being screwed by a three year old toddler, in front of his lover and two men who were still pretty much strangers, was surprisingly erotic. The more Gamal thought about that, the more erotic it was. When he felt Yusuf reach around under him and begin to yank on his stiff cock, he forgot about the others as the additional pleasure burned about his dickhead like a halo.

It was an unusual experience, to be fucked and beat off by a three-year-old. He could not feel the toddler's little prick inside him, but the little pricklet still made his anus burn with pleasure, and feeling the toddler's hot little hand yanking on his dick was totally different from feeling his own fingers tugging on his cock, but it was just as stiff and the knob burned just as pleasantly. Initially the reason they were doing this was foremost in his mind, but as the pleasure pulsating around his anus and around his dickhead increased he soon was thinking only of the pleasure he was feeling and wondering if the toddler fucking him was feeling pleasure also. He tensed and relaxed as he felt himself approaching the peak of pleasure that until that moment he'd only reached by his own hand, and he concentrated on his swollen dicklet and his burning asshole, willing himself to reach that peak. As the first jolt of his orgasm hit him, causing him to arch his back and grimace with the sweet pain, he felt the toddler tense also, and grasp his hips tightly, and he felt something shoot into his rectum, something solid, as a pellet might feel being shot up his rectum.

When Yusuf withdrew, Gamal sat down, surprised at how exhausted and how flushed he felt. Pasha held out his hands and Yusuf ran into his arms proudly and the two kissed, on the lips, and Pasha drew him close to him. The toddler whispered in the forty-two-year-old man's ear and the man laughed and nodded his head as he released the boy and the naked toddler turned and ran to Muhammud. He deftly unbuttoned Muhammud's trousers and slipped his hand inside his fly, but what he found was not so easy to take out. Muhammud laughed and stood and unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning the top of his trousers, he let them drop. Pushing down his underwear, he smiled down at the toddler who immediately grasped the man's erection by the base and slipped his lips over the knob as if he was sucking on a frozen treat.

Muhammud's large, thick cock and flanged knob were much larger than Gamal's preteen cocklet and the knob alone filled the toddler's mouth. The boy sucked on it for a minute as he had on Gamal's, and then he began to give the fifty-two-year-old man his unique version of a blow job. Muhammud looked down in surprise as he felt the boy begin blowing his spittle up the core of his stiff cock. It was a strange feeling, and highly erotic. Already fully aroused from watching the three-year-old toddler fucking the ass of his twelve-year-old ashna, he felt his swollen cock twitch and his pre-cum ooze up the core of his cock to mix with the toddler's spittle. The toddler continued blowing, forcing his spittle into the swollen cock sticking out of his mouth and Muhammud felt more pre-cum try to force its way up the core of his cock only to be blocked by the force of spittle entering it.

He inhaled deeply with the strange sensation, certain he could feel the mixture of spittle and pre-cum slowly oozing down the core of his swollen cock to the base. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever felt and he moaned and sighed with the pleasure unabashedly, knowing that the man and his teenage lover would know of his ecstasy and would be honoured at the evident skill of their toddler regardless if the boy was really their son or not. Pasha and Seyed were indeed very much aware of their guest's pleasure, having received the same unique blow job from their toddler, and, unlike Muhammud, aware of the consequences of receiving repeated such blow jobs. They were also very pleased and honoured by the skill of their three-year-old, taking as much pleasure in his skill at sucking cock as most parents would have taken in their three year old's mastery of new words or learning that square pegs don't go into round holes.

Already fully aroused from watching their toddler fucking their handsome twelve-year-old guest and bringing him to an orgasm, and knowing that his fifty-two-year-old lover was about to reach his own, the two hosts quickly discarded their clothes and reached for each other's throbbing, aching erection. Gamal watched in amazement as his lover was blown by the three-year-old toddler and their two hosts began to stroke each other as they watched his lover getting sucked off. Yusuf's cheeks were sunk in as he sucked hard on the blood-engorged knob filling his mouth. Muhammud's cock was longer and thicker than Pasha's but the three-year-old was having no difficulty sucking it, and he was clearly enjoying it. Muhammud, Pasha and Seyed were all panting deeply and they all had that far away look in their eyes that men get just before they climax.

Muhammud was the first and he warned Yusuf what was about to happen but the toddler kept his lips tightly fastened to the man's cock. As the man came the toddler's Adam's apple bobbed rapidly as he tried to swallow the man's thick, copious load and his cheeks began to bulge out as Muhammud obviously filled his mouth with his hot, thick cum. Unable to keep up, Muhammud's creamy white slime began to ooze from the corners of the toddler's lips. Their eyes fastened on their toddler, Pasha and Seyed pounded each other's cocks rapidly. Both were gasping for breath as they lay down facing each other, head to crotch, and seconds later they began to cum. Thick ropes of cum erupted from their cocks and each eagerly caught the other's shot in his mouth. Rope after rope spurted out of their swollen organs and they swallowed each rope eagerly, occasionally in their excitement and with their own ejaculation missing and streamers of creamy cum laced each other's face instead. Gamal stared in wide-eyed wonder and amazement, as did Muhammud. Never had Muhammud seen anyone come as did Pasha and Seyed. Instead of a rapid burst of spurts, each spurt erupted almost in slow motion, one following the next, and not for a few seconds, nor a minute, but for several minutes. Never had he seen so much cum ejaculated at one time. By the time they were done, the air was heavy with the nutty fragrance of spilt cum. Later when he commented on their unusual ejaculation and phenomenal amount of cum, his two hosts grinned and exchanging knowing glances, told him mysteriously that his day would come.

A week later Muhammud fucked Gamal for the first time. He had taken the boy to a restaurant that he frequently visited when he was too tired to cook a meal at the end of the day or when he felt like celebrating, and he ordered their meal for them. That was a new experience for Gamal, his father never having had a reason to take his family to a restaurant, and not having the money to spend on such a luxury even if he'd desired to do so. They had ended the meal with a cup of coffee, black and bitter and strong, another novelty for Gamal. As they headed to Muhammud's small home, the two were as nervous as a bride and groom on their wedding night, and as Gamal sat down on Muhammud's bed and Muhammud began to unbutton his tunic with trembling fingers, Gamal could feel his heart beating in his chest as if he were about to face a firing squad even though the 'gun' he was about to face was one he'd desired for the past nine weeks.

Despite the orgy of the previous week, they kissed each other self-consciously and their caresses were awkward as one would expect from two virgins. Each was very much aware of what he and the other was doing, and so afraid of making a mistake or looking foolish in the other's eyes. Fortunately for them, nature eventually took over and they began to think with their balls, not their brains. Each kiss became less awkward, and each caress more natural. As their hot blood coursed through their veins their desire increased, and as their desire increased so did their boldness. Kisses that had been brief, perfunctory pecks became long and passionate, caresses that had been light and uncertain became firm and deliberate. Of course as their passions rose, so did their flesh until both were erect.

Gamal assumed the same position as he had for Yusuf, and Muhammud knelt behind him. They used a tube of lubricant instead of spittle, Muhammud smearing the paste over his knob and then lubricating Gamal's anus, smearing the paste over his tender pucker and then inserting his greased middle finger up his rectum instead of rimming him. Their first union was much more difficult than Gamal's penetration by the three-year-old. They knew the procedure and the position, but Muhammud's cock was much larger than Yusuf's little prick. They were determined and eager to please each other, however, and not totally unaware of what each had to do, and in time they were rewarded for their patience and persistence.

Feeling Muhammud's cock stretching open his sphincter until it popped inside his rectum and then sinking deep up his ass was far different from his first buggering by the three-year-old. As Muhammud began to pump his cock in and out of Gamal's asshole, the pleasure each was feeling, and the pleasure each was bringing the other soon overrode all other thoughts. Their second time was better, and the third time that night was pure delight. It was the most wonderful night either had ever experienced. Gamal smiled as he thought back to that first night three and a half months ago.

"You are happy," observed Muhammud as they entered his small apartment. It was a simple, sparse apartment, but it was orderly and remarkably clean considering Kandahar's dusty streets, and it was in a quiet neighbourhood.

"Very," said Gamal with a wide smile, his white teeth flashing as he wrapped his arms about the policeman.

They kissed as they embraced, fondly and tenderly, and their light embrace and the gentle pressing together of their lips ignited passions between their legs. Muhammud could not believe how deeply he loved the boy nor how strong his lust was for him. He had loved nobody so much, not even his parents nor his brothers and sisters, and though he had lusted for many a handsome boy, he had lusted for none as much as he lusted for Gamal, and with each passing day that love and lust grew just as surely as the boy's belly was growing. He unbuttoned the boy's loose shirt and the fly and top button of his baggy trousers and caressed that belly now, firm and protruding and carried low so that his body was the shape of a pear, with large flabby breasts like fat Abdula ben Taliq the spice merchant who loved boys as much as he loved pastries. It was said that if a woman carried low and out front that she was carrying a boy.

Gamal's slender preteen cock began to rise as Muhammud's hand caressed his protruding stomach gently and lovingly, following the outward curvature of his body. He loved being touched, and especially having his stomach caressed. Muhammud's fingers followed the downward curve to his naked pubes and his genitals which he fondled and stroked gently. Gamal had not been able to see his dick for the past several months, not even when it was erect, not that the prepubescent cock was that long when it was aroused. He loved his swollen stomach and the baby growing inside it even though it made it difficult to piss not being able to see his dick nor the angle he was pointing it. He even loved his fat, flabby breasts filling with milk for his unborn child. Lately they had begun leaking milk, which he knew was a good sign for he had heard his mother and the wife of his eldest brother discussing it. Discovering him listening, they had shooed him away, saying that their conversation was not for the ears of men or boys, and he had smiled. If they only knew why he'd been so interested!

As Muhammud caressed his stomach and stroked his swelling cock, Gamal carefully unsnapped the policeman's holster and removed his pistol, and unbuckling his wide leather belt, he unbuttoned his tunic and then his shirt, revealing his hairy chest but leaving his tie untied. The man was so handsome in his uniform, and he was so lucky to have a policeman fall in love with him. It could as easily have been fat Abdula ben Taliq who would have suffocated him in his blubber if they'd made love face to face, or any one of several other men he knew, including a couple of Muhammud's colleagues at the police station, who cared only of their own pleasure and looked down upon the boys they fucked as if they were dog shit and treated them even worse than the scrawny wild dogs searching for food in the garbage in the alleys, where some of the men took their boys to screw.

He unbuttoned the man's trousers and let them fall to his dusty boots, and then pushed his underwear over his hairy butt and down his hairy legs. His cock was already partially aroused. Holding onto the policeman's body for support, Gamal lowered himself to his knees, and taking Muhammud's thick, fat cock by the base, he held it up and slipped his lips over it. He gently sucked on the spicy, erotic sausage, and his little dicklet sprang to attention as he felt the man's cock swelling between his lips. He delighted arousing his lover this way and he sucked on his swelling cock eagerly, bathing it with his spittle and then savouring and swallowing the cock-flavoured spit. Gamal inhaled deeply and stroked the tender inside of the man's thighs, hastening the swelling of his cock. The pregnant twelve-year-old boy delighted in the spicy fragrance of his lover's crotch and his balls, hot and sweaty from his uniform. Muhammud's hairy belly rose and fell slowly and rhythmically as Gamal took his pleasure with the man's cock until it was rigid and pulsating hotly in his mouth and his own little dicklet was jutting out from under his swollen stomach and itching with arousal.

He slowly lowered himself so he was on his hands and knees on the intricately decorated goat-hair carpet of various shades of purple and burgundy. Muhammud quickly untied his heavy boots and removed them along with his socks, trousers and underwear and knelt behind the boy in his open tunic and shirt, still wearing his peaked cap and his khaki tie. He removed the boy's sandals and eased off his trousers and underwear, leaving him only in his unbuttoned shirt. Retrieving the tube of lubricant from the pocket of his trousers and unscrewing the cap, he squeezed out a dollop of the grease on his index finger and applied it to the boy's anus.

Feeling the greasy touch of Muhammud's finger, Gamal immediately opened up his anus, pushing out with his stomach, and he inhaled deeply with the erotic pleasure of having his backdoor pucker stroked. The itchy ring sent ripples of desire up his rectum and he inhaled deeply again, this time with the pleasure of having his asshole penetrated by the man's greased finger. He felt his lover bending over and his coarse beard and moustache brushed against his skin seconds before he kissed him on the nape of the neck in gratitude as he worked his greased finger in and out of his asshole, preparing him for the penetration of something much fatter and longer. Gamal's slender cocklet jerked with arousal as he was finger fucked until he was aching to be penetrated by the man's cock.

Muhammud was eager also, and removing his finger, he applied a generous dollop of the grease to his blood-engorged knob and spread it over the turgid flesh and down over the shaft of his rigid member. Setting the tube of lubricant aside, he knelt between the twelve-year-old boy's slender legs and placing the tip of his aching cock against the boy's greased hole, he grasped the boy's hips and slowly pushed forward. Feeling his lover's knob pressing against his hole, Gamal again pushed out with his stomach and opened his anus, eager to be fucked. Ever so slowly he felt his anus being stretched open by the man's greased knob. Even though by then they'd done this close to two hundred times, he was as tight as he'd been the very first time. He strained to accept the man and he felt their baby move in his stomach and he imagined the unborn baby rolling over so his asshole was in line with Gamal's so that father and son might be fucked together. He knew it was an absurd thought, but it caused his cock to twitch with arousal and he pushed all the harder.

It was delightful being penetrated, and though he preferred they fuck face to face so he could look up into his lover's face and see his pleasure, his protruding stomach made that impossible now for the next little while. Gamal inhaled deeply and grunted and panted like a mongrel bitch in heat in Kandahar's alleys, and he felt his lover behind him panting just as deeply and grunting just as loudly and unabashedly as he pressed forward relentlessly, gradually spreading open his anus until his blood-engorged knob popped inside his rectum. Gamal delighted in the sensation and exhaled in exaltation and he clamped his anal sphincter shut behind the man's knob as if to secure it in position and prevent it from withdrawing. Adjusting his grip on Gamal's hips, Muhammud eased his hips forward and Gamal inhaled deeply with the pleasure of feeling his lover's long, thick cock slowly penetrating his body, sinking deep up his hot, moist rectum until the tip of his lover's fat cock was buried deep up his shithole and his coarse, curly hairs were pressing against his naked backside.

What delight it was to feel one's backside stuffed with the cock of one's lover! There was nothing more erotic than to have a man's cock up your asshole, and there was no greater commitment of one's love than to allow your lover to fuck you. What was said as a curse and an insult around the world, was the most intimate expression of love between two men, or between a man and a boy. What many saw as a sin and what most condemned as immoral and illegal, Gamal saw as the ultimate in pleasure and the deepest proof of their love for each other. He trembled as he felt his lover's fat, rigid cock slowly begin to ease out of his rectum, and he kept his sphincter clamped about the hard, three-boned flesh, and as he felt his lover pause and then begin to sink his cock back up his hot, moist hole he relaxed his sphincter and delighted in the sensation of being penetrated again.

The man's hands slipped around his body and with fingers splayed and palms fat against his body, the man pressed his hands against his large, protruding belly, swollen with their baby, in part to support himself as he banged away at the boy's backside, and in part to help the boy support the pendant weight of their child as he was fucked. Feeling the man's hot hands against his belly caused a rush of passion to surge between his legs, and feeling the firmness and girth of the boy's belly pressing against his palms caused a similar surge between Muhammud's legs. Gamal breathed deeply and slowly as his mind concentrated on the burning ring of his anus. It itched and burned furiously as the man's thick cock eased in and out of his body, sending ripples of pleasure out from the burning ring. His rectum throbbed hotly in time with the throbbing of the swollen flesh stuffing it, and as the swollen knob brushed against the boy's prostate it sent shards of pleasure through his swollen genitals, his large preteen balls now drawn up beneath his slender, throbbing cocklet. Almost four inches [10 cm] long and as fat as his lover's thumb, it throbbed and ached with desire, and when he felt the fingers of his lover's right hand slide along the curvature of his pregnant stomach and over his naked pubes to wrap about his aching cocklet Gamal arched his back with pleasure.

It was a hot, dry evening that mid July in Kandahar and soon the twelve-year-old boy and his fifty-two-year-old lover were perspiring profusely. Still wearing his shirt and tunic, Muhammud could feel his sweat soaking into his shirt and pooling in his armpits. He pushed Gamal's shirt up to his neck so the air might cool his body, his back damp with perspiration and the sour smell of sweat wafting up from his smooth, hairless underarms. Their hot blood coursed through their veins as lust swelled in their loins and Muhammud thrust his hips to and fro faster and faster, his sweaty balls swelling up beneath his pistoning cock. Both sucked in the still air laden with the smells of armpit sweat and hot, damp balls. Breathing heavily now they felt the pressure developing in their loins as their throbbing, aching cocks went numb.

Gamal swayed dizzily as Muhammud clutched his body and thrust forward with a groan and he felt his lover's hot, thick slime spurt deep into his bowels and flood his rectum with warmth and moistness. His own orgasm sparked through his groin, causing his cock to feel like he had to piss a horse stream and causing his legs to jerk and his right thigh to quiver uncontrollably. Spasm after spasm of sheer pleasure ripped through his body as his lover quivered with his own pleasure, their union sticky with their love. The twelve-year-old boy clenched his asshole tight about his lover's throbbing cock as he inhaled deeply, sucking the nutty fragrance of his lover's fresh cum mingled with their sweat deep into his lungs. He was pregnant and in love and life could not get any better.

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