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30 November 2009

User: BimBimble
Rating: 9.0

monster cock
what a ride...

Ferry boat Turkish hairy dad

Last summer I was in the Mediterranean and I had to take a short ferry-boat trip to an island.

The day was hot and sunny. Having to wait for almost an hour for the next departure I opened the roof of my convertible and got rid of my T-shirt so I could get some tan on my small, smooth, trim body. (I know you hate this part but that’s what I am, a 45 year old man with boyish looks…).

While I was waiting in the car line on the embarcadero I noticed an elderly couple just behind me in their camper. She was a thin freckled woman with an attractive Kate Hepburn like weather worn face and unable to keep her mouth shut for a second since she was chatting all the time to the husband.

Oh boy! The husband! HE was something. Peering into the rearview mirror I could only see his face, his upper torso and forearms resting on the steering wheel, but wasn’t that enough to set me boiling!

He was the polar bear if there ever was one. White trimmed beard on a pleasant face topped with thinning short white hair, and silver hair with golden streaks on his forearms: lots of it. He wore a short sleeved azure shirt that was unbuttoned as far as I could see and from it fluffed out a forest of white hair like a cloud in a blue sky. And to add to my suffering the man was tanned, which made his white fur look even better by contrast.

I turned back and peered more closely, pretending I was trying to see how long the line was behind me.

The woman looked back behind her too. Leaning out of her open window she turned and smiled at me: I felt the chatterbox was eager for an attentive listener so I jumped to it and said: “Quite a long line behind us, many won’t make it to the next ferry.”

“You’re right, and I wouldn’t be on their shoes. I’m dying to get into the boat and rest on the deck. We’ve been traveling across Europe for a month now and we’ll spend a week of total relaxation on the island before we go back to Turkey. My brother lives there with his family: he married an Italian woman and now he’s retired and prefers to live in the warm south.”


So they’re Turkish, and I adore a big Turkish bear, let’s get acquainted a little better with Mrs. Bear and who knows…

“You came all the way from Ireland on that camper?”, I said. “Must be very comfortable, I had a mind to buy one myself but never had the opportunity to see how it really is to live inside those things…”

“Oh really? Once we’re on board Rick won’t mind to show you our home, will you Rick? You will show our friend ….er…”

“I’m Andrea,” I volunteered. “Andrea, isn’t that a girl’s name?” she laughed a shrill little laugh. “Excuse me Andrea, no offense meant, I am Anne and this is my husband Rick.”

“Hi Anne, hi Rick. No offense taken but believe me, in Italy Andrea is the equivalent of Andrew and the female counterpart would be Andreina.”

She laughed again and got along pretty well with all the chit chat, although Rick seemed to be gazing at the void in front of him, which happened to be in my direction, so I never felt sure whether he was looking at me or not, but he managed to grunt a Hi when introduced, producing a smile that for the second . It melted me more than the Mediterranean sun.

“Seems like I’ve been appointed tour guide of our little home” he said with a half desperate half amused expression on his face.

“Come now Rick, as if I didn’t know how proud you are of our castle on wheels”, she reverted to me beaming. “That’s how I call it Andrea, our castle”, and then to Rick again “and after all the work you put into it I can’t imagine you won’t be happy to show it to our friend.”

“Well, I don’t mean to be a nuisance” I interrupted, “you’re on holiday so just relax and have a good time on the ferry-boat. It’s a very pleasant crossing, I did it many times.”

He looked at me with more intensity and said “It’s all right son, Anne loves to spend all her time in the sun and she’ll go on the deck but I need some rest and I’ll spend my time in here anyway. You’re welcome to visit.”

And so it was that, once on board, Anne walked resolutely towards the deck with a towel and gallons of tanning lotion, leaving me alone with daddy bear Rick.

“Come on son, let’s a have a beer, cool and nice just out of the fridge”, Rick beckoned me. I picked up my shirt from the back seat. “Don’t bother, it’s just too damn hot for that” he said, pointing at my shirt. “As you see I’m very comfortable too, after all this is my home” he rumbled with a laugh.

As I jumped in I saw he was very comfortable indeed. His shirt was completely unbuttoned and open on his hair-matted chest, long white smooth hair puffing two inches out of his body; and the only other garment he wore were his boxers, sky blue as the shirt.

His muscular legs were covered with thick grey fur and the sight of his barrel chest and belly, solid and firm and all covered in white snow made me almost gasp.

“You look pale, son, here have a beer and sit down.”

He handed me a cool can, winked and sat in front of me on a little sofa. Spreading his legs comfortably he told me to relax and feel at ease, he’d show me the place around as soon as we’d cool off.

The hell I could feel at ease and cool off: I couldn’t help but staring at those grey, furry, beefy thighs, but what really mesmerized me was his crotch. Man, his boxers’ fly was unbuttoned except for the top button, and his crotch hair escaped through the open gap, even thicker and longer than the fur on the rest of his body. The outline of his cock and balls was very clear against the stretched thin blue fabric: fat cock on one side, big balls on the other.

“Oooops, sorry, I was about to take a leak when you came in”, he twinked when he saw me staring, “been saving it for hours on the road, we never stopped since this morning, didn’t want to miss this boat. I must have a couple gallons here.”

“I need to go too if you don’t mind…”

“Then come over, we better piss together, the reservoir needs recharging and there won’t be enough flush for two.”

We headed for the tiny toilet. Even leaving the door open we were crammed real close in front of each other. I unzipped and got my cock out. He let his boxers slide down to his ankles, his fat cock dangled heavily on the huge Turkish hairy balls hanging halfway down his thighs, his smell so close to me… our cocks were practically brushing…

“Aaah, those balls needed some fresh air, been sweating in those boxers since this morning.”

I decided to get bold. “You sure have some equipment there” I said, “bet that dick must be real fat when it’s hard, and look at those balls man, never saw low hangers as heavy as those.”

He looked at me and suddenly grabbed the back of my head, pulled my face toward him and clamped his lips on mine while his other paw held his pissing cock. He started fucking my mouth with his tongue and pissing like a horse.

“You like to take a leak with daddy don’t you”, he managed to mumble with his tongue practically still in my mouth, “come on, piss on daddy’s cock son.”

After the first nanosecond of shock I responded quite enthusiastically and kissed him deeply while pissing on his crotch and on the hairy paw that was directing the thick gush of piss onto my cock.

Our bladders were drained eventually, and now I took the initiative of kneeling down and licking my piss from his fat uncut cock.

“Yeah, make it nice and clean boy, I saw you look at me from your car, loved that smooth tan body of yours, let me feel this smooth chest …mmmmm… nice hard nipples you got here, mind if I play with them while you clean my balls, son?”

It was totally useless to answer so I went about my business, licking his balls and his now hard cock. Jeeeez it was so fat the thick foreskin retracted to expose half the cock head and a piss slit that must have been half an inch. How I loved to work my tongue deep in that hole, and from his moans he loved it too, especially when I started fondling his big nipples looking up at him with his cock crammed now in my mouth. I pulled his unbuttoned shirt open and the sight from my point of view was amazing, a forest of thick fur spreading across the three snowy white mounds of his belly and tits, and ending up in a trim bearded face smiling down at me with twinkling eyes.

Squeezing his Turkish hairy ass with my hands, I pressed his crotch onto my face to signal I wanted him to fuck my mouth harder now, and then roamed my hands across his furry back and up again to his big pink hardening nipples. The taste of precum in my mouth was wonderful and he increased his tempo ramming that hose deeper and faster down my throat. I gagged but held and twisted his nipples harder.

“Aaaaggghhh, twist them fuckers son, play with daddy’s nipples while he fucks your boy face, daddy IS GONNA CCUUUUMMMM!!!!”

The thick spurts kept coming and coming, I had to let it spill out of my mouth and the final shots hit my face and chest. He was panting heavily, face upwards, eyes closed, he kept whispering “Oh son, oh son, oh son…”.

He finally looked down on me. “Thank you”, he panted, “come let me lick that sperm off your face and chest, and make you happy too.” With that he started lapping his cum from my face and chest with gusto, pulling me up against him.

My rock hard cock was now painfully swollen and rubbing between his big Turkish hairy thighs. While we kissed exchanging cum I managed to slip his shirt off him so could see and feel his Turkish hairy shoulders and back. “Rick you’re so damn hairy and hot I’m gonna cum just looking at you”, I said.

“Wait a second boy, show daddy how much you like his fur, let me sit on the toilet and you can fuck these big Turkish hairy tits, bury your cock in that fur man.”

That drove me crazy and I started rubbing my cock on his chest hair, leaning against him, my hands on his shoulders while I fucked the crack between his man tits where the hair was even thicker.

“Come on, shoot a big load into daddy’s mouth while you fuck his chest, go on, fuck daddy’s Turkish hairy body yeeaahh…”

I kept on fucking his chest and growled like a bear as the first spurts shot up into his open mouth, and kept cumming and cumming until it spilled onto his chest and he scooped it up with his fingers and finally swallowed my cock to suck it and lick it clean.

We kissed again, wet and deep, exchanging the final gobs of my cum load with our tongues.

“How did you know…” I asked when we sat down for a second beer, cuddling and kissing.

“Takes one to know one, I guess. Anne and I are good companions but we haven’t had any sex for a long time. We don’t have children and maybe that’s why in the last years I found myself increasingly attracted to younger men. I found that there are many of you guys who like to play with an old daddy bear like me, so I’ve developed quite an eye for hungry men and boys – call it a sixth sense.” Then he winked again. “Actually I wasn’t that sure… I thought you were after the truck driver behind us.”

“What truck driver?” I asked…

Gay Travel Istanbul – City you must see at least once

Gay Travel to Istanbul – Pointers are at the end of the article.

One thing about the real life me, that many people do not know, is that I have traveled to around 60 countries in my lifetime. For several years, I was a consultant based in London, and used to travel around the world as part of my job- a typical year consisted about about 150 days on the road. Some of the travel was ludicrous. I once did a 10 day around the world trip (40,000 miles) meeting with various clients in five continents, this is an experience I would never want to repeat.Needless to say, I am not keen on long distance air travel as a recreational activity. But I do look back and congratulate myself on seeing all these places as part of some very hard work.

One of my favorite cities is Istanbul. I have had the pleasure of traveling there twice. I cannot wait to go back. Istanbul is an absolutely stunning city on one of the world’s most scenic settings- the Bosporus Straits connecting Europe and Asia – spanned by a huge modern suspension bridge that looks like the Golden Gate, and the Golden Horn, which separates old Istanbul (above), which used to be called Constantinople before 1453, and modern Istanbul (below). Old Istanbul, as Constantinople was the center of the world for about 1000 years.

I am not going to go down the history route, but basically, Constantine the Great, the Roman Emperor who converted to Christianity, and subsequently his empire along with him, moved his capital here from Rome. This became the Byzantine empire, one of the most polyglot and enlightened cities the world has ever scene. Although many of the ancient churches have been torn down, Hagia Sophia, the Church of the Divine Wisdom, is still standing – it is enormous and fascinating to see. It is no longer a Church or a Mosque but a Museum. They have lots of cute cats inside, who have food to eat and are super friendly. One of the things I have noticed about Turks who are (and forgive me for a stereotype) some of the nicest, friendliest, most polite people I have ever met is that they take care of stray animals in public places, a trait that I admire greatly. I’ll have more to say about this later.

The South Side of the Golden Horn, old Istanbul is like a working museum. This is the Istanbul of popular imagination. Beautiful Mosques such as the Blue Mosque above, that are open to members of any faith as long as you take your shoes off before you enter, and observe proper silent decorum. I found going to all these Mosques (I remember going to two other huge ones) to be a very peaceful and moving experience– my thoughts turned to contemplating the universe as I looked at the peaceful geometry inside, and heard people chanting in a nice language. I felt at home, and at peace. Anyone who thinks that Islam is a religion of violence needs to come to Istanbul and see why it is so attractive to so many people.

The other great tourist attraction south of the Golden Horn is the huge Grand Bazaar. What brought Istanbul this to mind tonight is that my sister, staying down here at my Mom’s house, found a gift – a well made green leather case, that I purchased for a Mother’s Day gift in the grand bazaar that my Mom never used and wanted to take it. I said fine, and remembered the day I purchased it. I had to haggle with three guys in the bazaar who acted like I ripped them off beyond belief by paying about $100 US for it– any Turk could have gotten it for 1/2 the price. Needless to say I thought it was a good buy at the time, and it would have cost double in the U.S., which leads us to rule number 1 about Istanbul.

Rule number 1. Do not try to bargain and win in the Grand Bazaar, which is a shopping area the size of an entire downtown. You will lose unless you are Turkish, or know what the heck you are doing.

North of the Golden Horn is modern Istanbul. The Golden Horn is not a big strait, the bridges are modest– but crossing it, quite literally, is moving ahead in time about 500 years. Here, the people, mostly young, are western dressed. Taksim, which is like Times Square, is the center of Turkish gay life – and has a number of gay bars and discos. Modern hotels are here (A 5-star hotel can be had for about $120.00 a night U.S., Istanbul is a very inexpensive travel destination), as are great restaurants and just about anything else you want in a modern city.

Now I said that Turks were friendly and courteous. One of the most unbelievable things happened to me in a good Turkish restaurant in Taksim (btw if you think you have had good kebabs forget it- you have not experienced one of the world’s great cuisines until you come to Istanbul). I have problems with cigarette smoke. Turks can smoke very smelly cigarettes in restaurants. Well, I asked the person about 15 feet away if he would not mind not smoking since I was allergic and his smoking meant i could not enjoy my meal. The person – and his table– apologized to me, put out cigarettes, said “our guests meal is what we were are concerned about” or something like this, and could not have been nicer. My hosts said “of course he will put it out, just ask him”. Now, I have never seen conduct like this. They were apologizing to ME for smoking!

One other time, in Taksim, an extremely handsome (many of the men in Istanbul are stunning) young guy we was running a kebab shop invited me back in his place for some tea. I spent an hour talking to him. Since I am shy when I travel I did not “explore” his friendliness — he said he wanted to practice his English. This is the type of city it is– everyone seems to be super friendly. But a caveat-

Rule number 2. This extends to anyone gay, straight, or whatever. Although it is not common, never take up someones offer on the street to take you to a nightclub, or join them for a drink. You may find yourself buying drinks for some male or female “escorts” who will just come and sit at your table. They will be given water, and you will end up being hit with a huge bill– if you resist paying, you will be physically intimidated. In essence you have been mugged. Once again, never take anyone’s offer up on the street to take you to a club!


Gay travel in Istanbul:

Istanbul has a large gay scene. It is legal. There are no laws against gay relations. They have Gay Pride. The culture in Turkey is very very macho. The majority of the guys seem fit. Guys do not walk down the street kissing and holding hands. I have heard that the old Turkish bath houses have a gay subculture, but I have not been so I cannot comment. The bars and clubs were enough action for me. There were many – but the drink prices are steep. Make sure you ask before you order.

Now, things may have changed. I have not been in three years, and the situation for the Western gay tourist may have become a bit less safe, as more “Islamic” elements may be more prominent in Turkish society. My guess is that this does not extend to Istanbul, but watch how you act and where you in public. Please check the travel guides for updates.

As I have indicated, many Turkish men are very handsome. They are not all dark either (the smoldering dark-eyed look very nice); there were many blonds around, since Istanbul is such a melting pot. If you are “Western” looking,especially with pale hair and skin, you are considered a bit of “bait” for the hot horny guys there. Many are bi, and I will say one of the hottest weeks of my life was spent in Istanbul. I will let you use your imagination. This is one of the reasons why I want to go back. I have a vivid memory of sitting at a bar in Istanbul, getting a bit drunk, and a really beautiful young guy who was sitting next to me starting rubbing his leg against mine. Let’s just say that my hand accidentally touched his pants, and a really big surprise was waiting for me.

Week 8 Results!

Comments Off on Week 8 Results!
30 November 2009
The male performer of Week 8 will receive a $250 cash prize on their next payout. The winner is Hadess! Congratulations! The bottom two performers who were eliminated from the competition are: Saxie and Marcelinho. We are now in Week 9 and have only 4 in the running to become Flirt's World's Top Cam Model!

Week 8 Results!

Comments Off on Week 8 Results!
30 November 2009
The male performer of Week 8 will receive a $250 cash prize on their next payout. The winner is Hadess! Congratulations! The bottom two performers who were eliminated from the competition are: Saxie and Marcelinho. We are now in Week 9 and have only 4 in the running to become Flirt's World's Top Cam Model!

Mauro and Vagner

30 November 2009
Mauro and Vagner's video is another find from the vaults that's never been release before. Mauro is a model I've never used before but you'll see more of him in the coming months - he's a bottom who really knows how to ride a big cock. You may remember Vagner however: he did a three-way with Kaio & Bruno that turned out to be very hot - you'll certainly not forget that thick cock of his. So sit back, relax and enjoy seeing this young stud slamming the hell out of Mauro.


Boris and David Castan are out, ass-hunting. The two Scallies love to share a good passive dude so when they get their hands on Nicolas Tori, you know he’s gonna get well used and abused! First a few kick up the ass, spit in the face and insultes then it’s bend-over-time for an ass-trashing session!


Jerk with Cum Squirt (reupload)

29 November 2009

User: brianbustanut
Rating: 9.0

So from the rmc girls' opinion I totally agree with the guys perfect everything and would love u to cum all over me.
yummy! would love all that hot cum over my face 10/10
Quote: "Beautiful cock, beautiful thighes. Love the ball sac and shaft. Really nice squirting action. Would have loved to have feasted on that load!"
Beautiful cock, beautiful thighes. Love the ball sac and shaft. Really nice squirting action. Would have loved to have feasted on that load!
10 out of 10!

Of Synchronicity and Cats – Turkish Gay Story

There is a synchronicity in the world that, if you are willing to follow your heart, brings you together with paradise.

That really isn’t what Shilo was thinking about when he arrived in Istanbul. He may have mused on the plane at the strange turns his life had taken in the last few years.

It all started out when a white cat adopted him. His long hours and singular focus on his work had left him something of a lifelong bachelor. Not that he never went out or dated, but when prospective mates discovered they were a distant second to his work, they tended to move on.

As a parting gift, a lover gave Shilo a beautiful pure white kitten with blue eyes, an Oriental Shorthair. He did so with a smile, and the best of intentions. Being a cat person himself, he undoubtedly knew that the pretty little bundle of joy which Shilo named Star, would soon take Shilo in hand, er, paw. And so she did.


When Star was a few months old, Shilo discovered his suspicions were true – she was quite deaf. Scientist that he was, he couldn’t help but begin to investigate the cause. You see, he was a geneticist – and genetics determines which white cats are deaf, and which are not.

And so began a long, roundabout journey that eventually led him to Turkey.

There are many breeds of cat that have white members, including some breeds that are always, or most often, white. The eye color, too, seems related. There are blue-eyed whites that are never deaf, such as the British Foreign White. Shilo’s curiosity led him on.

In Turkey exists three separate breeds, with either many or all of their members being white, blue eyed and odd eyed – and none of them were deaf. In particular, Shilo became interested in the Turkish Vankedisi. The government rarely allows these beautiful and somewhat rare cats to be exported – and so Shilo set out for Turkey.

Which led to him standing in the Istanbul airport, bags in hand, looking for Zeki – a young guide he had hired through an Internet website.

Shilo was momentarily stunned when he saw the young man holding up the sign with his name on it. Zeki was younger than he had expected, perhaps only in his late teens. His golden skin glowed with health, making a perfect contrast with his coal black, curly hair, cut short, and his large, dark eyes. His lips were full, cheekbones high, chin pointed; in short he had the sort of Oriental beauty usually reserved only for women. Yet he was undoubtedly male, with wide, muscular shoulders, a tiny waist, and perfect, round ass filling out his skintight European style jeans.

Spotting Shilo staring at him, Zeki shook the sign and pointed at him. Shilo nodded, at a loss for words and Zeki ran up to him and took his bags.


“I am Zeki. You are Shilo?”

Shilo gulped, “Yes.”

“I am pleased to meet you. I have a room for you at a very nice hotel. You would like to go there? Or do you wish to have a meal?”

“Your English is very good.” Shilo managed to get a word in edgewise, as the youth bubbled with energy and enthusiasm.

“Yes. I learned in school. Also, I visited America a few years ago. I have family there. We went to Disney World. Florida is very nice. American’s very nice. You wish to eat? Do you need to exchange some currency?”

Shilo was stretching his long legs just to keep up as Zeki sped through the airport and across the parking lot to a shiny compact car. Again, he was surprised.


“Yes. I keep nice, for guests. I buy it myself from guide money.” Zeki smiled.

The drive is best not described. Let’s just say that for a little while Shilo was less interested in Zeki and more concerned about surviving until they got to the hotel.

They raced through the lobby. Zeki nodded at the desk clerk and headed for the elevator.

“They know we are coming.”

Then they were at a door and inside what proved to be a quite luxurious suite.

“I unpack for you. You would like a shower? Perhaps something to eat?”

Shilo sat down on the bed and just shook his head, smiling as he watched Zeki bustling around, unpacking and putting away his things as he chatted on, outlining the itinerary he had planned for Shilo. Quite simply, Shilo was overwhelmed.

“Tomorrow morning, we leave early for Lake Van. I have spoken to some people there. We will see the cats. Perhaps you can talk to them about selling you a cat. Perhaps not… It is very difficult to export one of the Vankedisi, but you will be so surprised to see them at home. They wander freely about the town and play in the lake. They love water.”

“Yes, I very much wanted to see them in their own home. I’m not sure if I wish to buy one, if I can have some information and hair samples that may be enough.”

That brought Zeki up short, and before long Shilo was chattering along excitedly himself, explaining that he was a geneticist and was doing research into what caused some white cats to be deaf, and others to be free of the handicap, which led him into talking about Star. To his surprise, he discovered Zeki liked cats as well and soon they were sitting on the bed together, chatting along like old friends.

Shilo became more and more physically aware of this extremely attractive young man, the exotic, spicy scent of him, his bright eyes and quick smile. His body responded with a quietly swelling hard-on, which he began to try and shift to conceal.

To his surprise, Zeki placed a hand on it and squeezed gently, then stroked him through his pants. Both of them stopped talking. Their lips met and found other useful things to do. Zeki’s deft hands soon had Shilo out of his clothing and naked on the bed, stretched out on his back as those full, soft lips kissed their way down his body until at last they enveloped his now rock hard cock.

Shilo moaned and ran his hands through the coarse, soft black curls of Zeki’s head as the young man expertly sucked his cock. Zeki’s tongue teasing the head as his clever fingers massaged Shilo’s balls until he moaned in ecstasy.

Afraid he would cum much too soon, he tugged at Zeki’s curls until the young man looked up at him, smiling, the foreskin of his cock nipped between sharp, white teeth as he paused.

“You, too” Shilo managed to gasp.

Zeki stood and lifted the loose shirt over his head, revealing a physique a Greek god would envy. As he wiggled out of his tight jeans, he grinned and teased, turning his back to Shilo as he slowly revealed a perfect ass.

Chuckling, Shilo rolled over and grabbed the jeans, jerking them down and then twirling Zeki around. A thick, dark engorged cock swung and slapped him lightly in the face, making both of them laugh. Shilo grabbed at it as it bobbed while Zeki kicked off his shoes and jeans then drew the young man into the bed.

They lay close, naked skin against skin, golden brown and pale cream, bright gold curls intermixing with coarse shining black, swollen pink and shining with precum throbbing against dark and thick meat, thudding with every beat of Zeki’s heart.

Shilo ran his hands over the firm, young body as they kissed. Zeki shuddered as Shilo pinched his nipples then rolled himself so that he wound up on top of the tall American.

Shilo spread his legs and relaxed, even as he trembled with excitement. Zeki wet his big cock and then penetrated the offered asshole. Groaning, Shilo arched his back and spread his legs wide as that thick dick shoved its way into him, forcing him open and filling him with its heat.

With all the aggression and energy of youth, Zeki began to pump hard into Shilo’s ass. Shilo moaned with mixed pleasure and pain as that big cock bludgeoned deeper, spreading him to his limits and then some, filling him in a way he had never felt before. He reached and grabbed his own ass with both hands, spreading himself, wanting more of that hot staff inside of him.

Zeki took Shilo’s pale dick in one hand and began stroking hard in rhythm with his own thrusts. He fucked harder and faster, his excitement, and his cock, growing. Helpless beneath the younger man, Shilo was moaning in time with his thrusts, lost in the sensation of heat and strength inside him, his own dick swelling as Zeki stroked him until he released a thick, creamy stream of cum that glistened on his golden chest hair.

Running his hands over Shilo’s chest, Zeki rubbed his own cum into the golden fur, and then licked it off his fingers with obvious delight. With a last few hard thrusts, he gushed a huge load of cum into Shilo’s ass, the hot wetness splashing down both of their thighs and dampening the bed beneath.

He lay on Shilo’s chest a moment, catching his breath. Shilo put his arms around this gorgeous young man and wondered if he would consider moving to America.

(And that is how Shilo met Zeki, four years ago. Now Zeki and Star, and the new Turkish Vankedisi kitten, rule Shilo’s life with gentle shared despotism and teach him to balance work with play…)

Under The Stars – Gay Story

29 November 2009

I met my first boyfriend, Jarrod, when we were freshmen in college. Neither of us were very experienced with men and he had even been out with a few girls in high school. We found each other one day in the cafeteria serving line. We’d started talking and ended up sitting down for a long conversation over our meal. I don’t know what possessed him to be so forward, whether it was a look I gave him or just some vibe that set off his gaydar, but he started playing footsy with me under the table. Anyway, we exchanged phone numbers and things took off from there.

For the first few months, we fucked like bunnies just about everywhere we could find. His dorm room, mine, in the car on a dark country road, under the stage in the auditorium. And we were so in love. He didn’t know that much about romance, but eventually he learned he’d get further with a bottle of wine and a rose than he would with “Hey, let’s fuck!” We were so in love. It was near the end of our freshman year, that spring, when he did the most romantic thing, though.


The day we had our last finals for the semester, Jarrod took me out for dinner at an expensive restaurant and then, over dessert, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a box with these ten karat gold dog tags with both our names on them and put them around my neck. It was really sweet and he pulled a matching set out from under his shirt. The whole evening, he’d been hinting that the most special thing was yet to come. I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about.

After dinner, we got into the car and drove out into the country. I couldn’t understand where we were going until we got to the entrance to this huge park on the outskirts of town and Jarrod took the turn. Technically, this late at night the park was supposed to be closed, but they don’t really enforce the rules all that well as it’s in a more rural area. We followed a road through the park that led past the lit picnic and parking areas until the lights along the roadway ended and we found ourselves rolling through inky blackness pierced only by the car’s headlamps. We finally rolled to a stop and Jarrod shut down the engine and turned off the lights. All was silent. He reached into the back seat and grabbed a blanket as we got out of the car. I took a look around. It was a beautiful night with a full moon bathing everything in a soft, white light. The only sound was our footsteps and the sound of running water from the nearby creek as he took my hand and led me off into the night.

We climbed a tall hill crowned by this giant old oak. Jarrod spread out the blanket on the ground and we sat, hand-in-hand and just surveyed the scene for a moment. Off in the distance were the lights of the town, sparkling like thousands of jewels and above us was the moon and the stars that winked like white diamonds on black velvet. He leaned in and gave me a long, warm kiss on he lips and we sat and talked for a while about our good times and our future together. As he cuddle me up to his chest, he undid the buttons on my shirt and slipped his hand underneath. He kissed and nuzzled my neck as he pinched and played with my nipples. A little shiver went through my body.

I turned my head up to face him and our lips met and parted, our tongues roamed each other’s mouths. I pulled off my shirt and laid back on the blanket. He slipped his off and we began caressing, kissing, grinding against each other’s bodies. Jarrod kissed and bit my neck and ears and slowly kissed his way down my neck and chest. His tongue found my nipples, which are especially sensitive and it was like I’d stuck my finger into an electric socket. My whole body shivered as he bit them and tickled them with the tip of his tongue. I could feel my cock beginning to swell. He worked on my nipples for quite a while before he slowly ran his tongue down my abs to my belly button and ran it round the rim there. It tickled and I laughed. He just looked up at me and smiled.

I placed my hands lightly on his shoulders as he pulled down my pants, freeing my boner to spring out and I could feel it rubbing against his chin as he kissed and licked his way down past my belly and buried his nose in my pubes. I closed my eyes and gave out a little gasp as his wet mouth closed around the head of my cock and he began running his tongue around the rim. He sucked it and kissed it until it was hard as a steel rod and then he swallowed the full six inches until I could feel him nuzzling into my trimmed blonde bush. Then he began to bob up and down on it slowly. My hips began to involunarily rise up to meet him on the downstroke. The rough flat of his tongue pressed tightly against the throbbing vein on the underside of my penis and when it rub across the base of the head, tingles went throughout my body and I could feel the hairs standing up on my balls.

My fingers tangled and pulled on his hair as he left my dick and began giving attention to my nuts. His tongue ran over them lightly and he would suck first one, then the other into his mouth. He nuzzled them with his nose as he slipped a finger behind and began massaging that magic spot right behind them. I began giving out low moans as he began kissing and licking his way back up my abs and chest to my lips and we french-kissed for what seemed like ten minutes before he took me by the shoulder and rolled me over onto my stomach. I felt the tip of his tongue on the nape of my neck and then a shiver ran through my body as he ran the tip lightly down the length of my spine to my ass.


I felt his strong hands grasp the cheeks of my butt and give them a tight squeeze as he spread them wide and then his tongue as he began to eat out my asshole. He ran it across and around the rim, liberally lubricating it with his saliva. When he began boring deep into me with it, wriggling his way deep into my anus, I gave out a yell of pleasure and I lifted up, trying to drive that tongue deeper into my hungry hole. He pulled out his tongue and began working on me with his fingers, spreading apart the muscles and massaging my prostate. He’d had four of them up there before, working me to get a comfortable fit for his thick seven and a half inch tool. It felt like he was going for the record tonight and I tensed my muscles to hold them tight, wanting to keep that feeling. I raised my butt and swayed a little as he worked his fingers in and out, occasionally working them from side to side to spread me even wider. By the time he was through, I was begging him for his cock. He was more than happy to oblige.

Jarrod unzipped and slid his pants down over his fat meat. It was uncut and the foreskin had pulled all the way back, leaving the head fully exposed, and I could see the glint of his precum which oozed out of the tip in copious amounts. I can swear I felt a few drops land, feeling hot on my exposed butt. He rubbed the head against my now- relaxed poop chute, lubricating me with his own natural juice, before slowly pressing the head in. As I felt it slide in, I groaned and my butt clenched involuntarily because of the thickness of his dick. I’d never had a problem with the length of it, but it was so fat it felt like it was going to tear me apart. He lowered himself down on top of my back and whispered into my ear that he loved me as he slowly worked the full length of it into me. We lay there quietly, with him covering me all comfy and warm, as I got used to the feeling. Then Jarrod began to slowly move it in and out. It felt like a red hot poker had been shoved up there and kind of tickled, too. As my insides became slicker with his precum juice, he began stroking faster and I could feel him rise up off of my back as he lifted himself up onto his hands to get a longer stroke.

His hips thrust faster and faster and I could hear the slap as they hit the skin of my ass. I could feel drops of his sweat dripping onto my back from his hair he was grunting with every hard slam into my ass. I ran my tongue along my lips and moaned. I wanted to feel his man juice in me. I wanted to feel it’s heat and get all sticky. He began to slow down and take longer strokes. I knew that Jarrod always did this when he was about to cum. He slid all of his cock but the head out of my hole and then slammed it in hard. He ground his hips, rubbing it all over inside of me and then he did it again. The third time, I felt the hot surge of his cream. It burned and made me tingle and I felt this orgasmic wave shoot through my body as every muscle tensed in release in unison. I bore down and squeezed his cock with my butt muscles, wanting to milk him dry as he slowly worked his still-hard and hot tool so as to spread his jizz in me as much as he could. He collapsed onto me and I could feel his sweat being rubbed all over my back as he continued to work my bum. I loved the feel as his cock got soft inside of me and the wet, sticky sensation of his huge load.

When he finally recovered and was able to pull out, he ran his hands down my sides and kissed an bit my neck. We lay that way for a while and then fell asleep naked and in each other’s arms under that beautiful sky. When I woke the next morning, it was to a beautiful sunrise and to the feeling of his warm, sweet lips on my cock. There were other nights of passion out under the stars over the next three years, but none was ever quite as special as that first time.

A Longer One

28 November 2009

User: deej
Rating: 0.0

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27 November 2009

User: will1806
Rating: 10.0


Hairy Arabs

Hairy Arabs

The tattoo-headed Francois Sagat is back in Raging Stallion’s new Arabesque, the major new release from director Chris Ward.

Raging Stallion reminds us that Sagat’s performances in Hard as Wood and Hole Sweet Hole “made him an instant superstar (he will be on the covers of most major gay erotic magazines in the first months of 2006)” and “he has quickly become Raging Stallion’s top selling performer. His work in Arabesque is noteworthy and will deliver him to the top ranks of all time best porn performers. In a dramatic pairing with Hussein in a Turkish Bath setting, he shines brightly in what may be the finest scene Chris Ward has ever filmed.”

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Gay Sex Slave : Raped by Talibans

It all started five years ago at Al Azhar university in Cairo. How proud I was when I first enrolled as a mature student there under a different name. Yet I was not entirely comfortable with the thought that I had raised the money through selling hashish. The profits went to a Syrian farmer, from Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley, who claimed he donated regularly to Hezbollah while my principal buyers were ( thank Allah for this fortuitous irony ) the Israeli military.

On the darkest nights I waded across the Jordan river to sell to my contacts on the West Bank but sometimes the Zionist junkies ( may they all one day be captured, forced into fetters and chains, savagely sodomized and then sent to suffer the torment of eternal hell fire ) refused my shipment and I was forced to sell the excess cheaply to my fellow Palestinians in Zarqa. At the time I convinced myself that the means justified the ends – finding the best tutors to lead me closer to God.

Unfortunately I had to strike an even more unpleasant deal with Satan while trying to get to Cairo to start my studies. I hadn’t been able to aquire my “permission to leave Jordan” permit as I had never completed my military service and desperate attempts to bribe bureaucrats in the army and government had failed miserably.

As a last resort I had befriended Adel (name changed), a young man who had once played half back with my cousin on Zarqa’s football team but was now employed as a passport controller on the “rustbucket run” from Aqaba to Nuewieba ( actual ferry route was different ). It was well known that Adel’s fantasy was to get a real deepthroat experience, so much so that when a well endowed local lad had refused to oblige, he importuned a virile pig which he found tethered in a farm yard on the outskirts of the Christian quarter. All went well until Adel decided to reverse roles. Unfortunately the pig looked on the young man’s delicate penis as a modest hors-d’oeuvres and as Adel desperately tried to prize open the beast’s jaws, the food demanding grunts of the animal’s greedy brothers and Adel’s own squeals of pain panicked the chickens and they in turn the dog and horses and the resulting commotion roused the farmer who peppered the yard with gunshot.

Since then Adel had spent as little time in Zarqa as possible as he had not been able to quell the gossip. When I met him it was far from Zarqa in a small office on Aqaba’s seafront adjacent the port’s RO RO berth. I tried to bribe him to help me pass through passport control, but he explained that the paltry sum of money I offered as an inducement was in no way sufficient to compensate for the risk he would be taking in smuggling me off the ferry at Nuweiba without a thorough documentation check. He added that he was only a junior official and as such never routinely checked passports and documents himself, but only the particular details of a few difficult cases at the direct request of more senior officers.

Adel assured me however that he had a foolproof plan providing I could “pay the price” and I was quickly persuaded by his newly found self-confidence. But in the event it proved to be far from easy. As he escorted me from a private cabin down a steep stairwell towards the car deck, we were spotted by a uniformed officer who sported so many stars on his epaulets that I couldn’t determine his exact rank.

“Where are you going ?” he barked so as to be heard above the engine noise. “This is the son of General Mohammed Hafez,” Adel cooly replied, “and my boss has asked me to look after him.”

“Well hurry up and get back as soon as you can. There’s a huge pile of processed passports waiting for collection upstairs and no one to hand them back to the passengers.” I followed Adel down on to the car deck where he produced a key with which he was able to open the back door of a refrigerated meat lorry.

“Now for my reward !” he exclaimed excitedly as he closed the door behind us. He ignited his cigarette lighter so that I could just make out the outline of several carcasses hanging from hooks. Then falling on his knees he calmly lifted my gallibaya and received my shrivelled penis into his gentle grip. I was grateful for the meagre warmth of his hands but the whole ambiance, together with the freezing temperature and the fear of our imminent discovery prevented my member from performing as it should.

So I slapped his face hard so that he momentarily reeled in pain and instructed him to concentrate on licking my sweaty testicles while I allowed my own expert fingers to massage my cock, stopping only occasionally so as to spit on the queer’s face. By doing this I was able to enjoy my own inner fantasy of having my shisha blown by a plump Cairene belly dancer while the dollops of saliva spattering his face reassured me that I had no sympathy, let alone interest, in his own perverted inclinations.

As I felt my orgasm surging, I grabbed his hair violently pulling his already open mouth forwards so as to receive my semen, lest any evidence of our wretched encounter ever be discovered on the floor of the lorry. Then I quickly covered myself again and reminded Adel that his absence on deck would soon be noticed, my passage into Egypt having now been secured.

My arrival at the Al Azhar in Cairo held out the promise of finding a deeper spiritual satisfaction. Al Azhar was the world’s oldest university. The first lecture delivered in 975AD. Its’ porticoed mosque and buildings stood at the heart of Islamic Cairo; the crowded threadlike streets constantly alive to the honking traffic and the petitions of beggars, gold and copper merchants and souvenir salesmen.

It was here where I first made contact with a few other middle class students who shared an adventurous and romantic inclination, fortified by youthful idealism, to join the Taliban in their jihad to create a new Umma or Islamic nation in Afghanistan. I was twenty nine, a student of Islamic studies and, despite my age, a little naive. I do not wish to disclose who at the University was my spiritual guru but his inspirational magic also effected my best friend Omar (false name.) In Afghanistan, he promised us, we could finally be true mujahideen. Holy warriors like those that had defended the Prophet in the epic battles around Mecca and Medina so many centuries before. We would be the spearhead, the enabling vanguard, and the bridge on which the Islamic nation would cross over to the victory that is promised and the tomorrow to which we now aspired.

However, for me, it had already become a less glorious ambition. I was desperate to break free from alcohol and sex. How I loathed the Pyramids Road where the clubs reaked of booze and the cheap perfume of down at heel working girls. For all its’ worldly pleasures Cairo had become my own private hell.

Sometimes I used to go with Omar and few other students to find the latest hot arrivals on “the Road” – mostly slim dark Eritrean or Sudanese girls. We fucked them with barely disguised contempt, but I think deep down we despised ourselves more for discussing the word of God at Quranic history seminars and then going down to the Road a few hours later to shag sharameet. Doubtless, some Al Azhar students would have been horrified by our activities.

Omar and I had become hopelessly addicted to Cairo’s seedy pickup joints. The meaninglessness and pace of Cairene life, the endless smoking of shishas, the noise, the smog, the constant visits to tower block brothels; it had all become too much. We were desperate to put these shameful routines behind us. So we set off for Afghanistan. Our first transit stop would be Karachi, Pakistan. Finally, we hoped, we would discover a stricter more austere, but infinitely more rewarding, existence.

When we landed at Karachi’s Quaid-e-Azam international airport we knew it was probably going to be our last opportunity to sample cosmopolitan pleasures. I had secretly feared that among all the touts and officials milling about the arrivals area, I might spot a bearded Taliban meet and greet who would shepherd us in to a waiting Toyota pick-up truck, but on exiting customs we were very much on our own. Obviously Allah had decided to allow us one last opportunity to indulge our veracious sexual appetites, perhaps in order to cellebrate the dawning of a new age. Surely he would forgive us.


We spent almost one thousand rupees between us that night. Much of it on buying the right to deflower a couple of imported virgin Bengali call girls. The normal price was 300 rupees for such a privilege, but due to the recent economic downturn we were getting a bargain at just 150 rupees, the well dressed jawada ( lit. “the open-handed one” or famale pimp ) assured us.

We had obtained helpful directions earlier from one of the university lecturers who had warned us which parts of Karachi “to avoid.” He explained that the red light areas of the city had changed little since the British set up official areas of tolerance during the Empire. If he ever reads this, let me say in my own defense that I wasted a little less money than Omar since I didn’t tip my girl, but then Omar was from a comfortably off family, his father a senior commander in the Egyptian Air Force, and his wages were subsidized by U.S. aid so I suppose ironically it was the American taxpayer who had indirectly funded our trip.

I should also add, in case readers are annoyed at my ruthless indifference to my virgin’s subsequent fate, that I never penetrated her but left that to the next lucky customer. I did spend a little time in idle chat as she had learned some elementary arabic back in her Bangladesh madrasa. I told her about my plan to fight the Americans but she didn’t seem too interested. She said that if she had another chance to travel – she wanted to go to America to find work. I reminded her that prostitution was a grave sin and that to sell herself to Americans, would be an unforgivable crime. Besides, how could she remain a virgin that long and once deflowered she would worth no more than so much rotten fish.

Perhaps it was a sense of shame at my own cool conceipt that made me impotent, but I still enjoyed an aggressive ten minutes of kissing. May Allah who knows all abslove me but I could not resist the witchery. Her mouth reminded me of a wide-open cunt and her tongue tasted of exotic fruits and coconut. As I left the bitch even managed a nervous smile. I know she wanted to devour me but some inner strength prevented me from going too far. Yet those moments proved infinitely more pleasurable and memorable than the thirty or forty fucks I had paid for on the Pyramids Road.

The next day, already short of funds and despite a sleepless night, Omar and I caught the 0935 Baluchistan Express to Quetta, a city situated 536 miles north west of Karachi on the mountainous frontier with Afghanistan. For over a hundred years it had been the main route for gun and drug smuggling across the border and now it had become a major jumping off point for would-be Taliban recruits.

Like true penetants, we purchased third class tickets. It was a token but uncomfortable economy. After hours perched on wooden seats my arse felt the same as it had three years earlier when I was raped by two Nubian farmers in Aswan. A sort of bitter-sweet pain. They had invited me to smoke some hashish in the sugar fields by the Nile. Without any encouragement one of them kindly showed me his cock, proclaiming it possibly correctly to be the largest specimen in Upper Egypt, before the other grabbed me from behind and forced me down in to the mud.

Fortunately the mountainous scenery helped to distract a little from the discomfort of such nightmarish memories as the train chugged its’ relentless course past dried up river beds and mud villages, and through the steep valleys and tunnels cut through the rock by impoverished Baluchi labourers for their British masters some one hundred years before so that the soldiers of the Empire could tame “the roof of the world.”. For much of the time it followed the same route the pervert Alexander “the Great” had taken on his ironfisted campaign of conquest two thousand years before and now we too were on our way to fight an as yet unseen enemy. The new imperialists. The Americans.

The train slowly gathered pace as it began to descend across a wide plateau dotted with Afghan refugee encampments and as dusk fell we arrived at Quetta’s noisy railway station. We were tired but ignored the petitions of the numerous touts offering to show us cheap accommodation as we were eager to discover the Taliban recruiting headquarters which other Al Ahzar students had proudly told us about.

We struggled through a busy street market where majestic Pathan traders wearing huge turbans sold everything from Afghan carpets to dried nuts. Yet despite the chaos, finding our way was easier than we had expected as there were several hand painted posters on walls. They appealed to anyone willing to join the jihad. There was one with a picture of a bloody American hand stretched out over a map of Palestine appealing to our own anti-American sentiments and another poster with a picture of Kashmiri freedom fighters which seemed to be aimed more at the Pakistani students. We could read the script as they were phrases in Koranic Arabic. So we just followed the arrows daubed on the bottom of the pictures.

I won’t tell you about the dark and seedy office were we finally enrolled as Taliban or about our days of training in Pakistan or how we crossed into Afghanistan. That can wait until another day. But I will tell you a little about our Taliban commander, Basim [name changed]. Myself except, all our unit was comprised of Egyptians and Basim constantly reminisced either about his father’s role in the October War or about the girls in Alexandria. He always talked about women but he seemed to hate them.

One day as we approached a village we saw a woman loading a donkey hantoor with bags of tomatoes. The village was otherwise deserted. It was the middle of summer and the woman was exhausted from the heat and her heavy work so that she had removed her burqa. She then pulled out a hijab from a basket and, glancing around her in obvious fear that someone might notice her relative state of undress, quickly donned it but carelessly allowed a lovely fringe of hair to remain uncovered.

I remember feeling aroused but as I was imagining what her voice must sound like I saw Basim slowly raise his rifle and rest it calmly and deliberately on the side of the wall behind which we were concealed. Before anyone could stop him, a single shot ran out and as she fell, I saw Basim glow with unmitigated pride at his marksmanship.

“Sharmurta wehesha” – dirty prostitute –
he declared cooly, as he lowered his rifle.

We hadn’t seen a woman for days and several of us felt more contempt at Basim than we had ever felt for the peasant woman. She may not have been conversant with all the hadith but she was working hard for a family. If there were a few who felt she had committed an offence in not wearing the burqa, even they were a little anxious that Basim was becoming a loaded loose cannon. We all called him “Mussolini,” jokingly at first, but soon some of us used the nickname with a nervous sincerity, only thinly disguised by humour.

We had been operating in the mountains to the south west of the Panjshir Valley and it was with some luck and great relief that one day we discovered an abandoned Lada Niva four wheel drive by a dried up wadi at the edge of a steep escarpment. Amazingly it seemed undamaged and though the keys were missing it was something of a mystery as to why it had been abandoned. Especially when we discovered a rod for the starter moter left with apparent indifference on the front passenger seat.

But Basim wasted no time deliberating on the mystery. He seized the rod, rolled back the right hand sleeve of his gallibaya revealing more of his bicep muscle than was technically allowed and then thrust the starter handle rod into the front of the bonnet. “Mafeesh moshkila” [no problem] he reassured calmly as he exerted only a portion of his huge strength to turn the motor. But his efforts were rewarded only by the silence of the desert.

Again he tried. This time summoning all his strength with the strain showing clearly on his brow and the patches of sweat rapidly darkening his gallibaya. As I watched him I could sense among my comrades the growing disillusionment with this man’s brutality and vanity and seeing a brown paper bag left on the back seat of the car I took it and moments before Basim was to make one last push – I imploded the bag loudly with a clap of my hands. Just as I had expected Basim thought it was a gunshot. His life now seemed to him to be in imminent danger. His exertion on the starter motor handle had already forced him off balance and when the “gunshot” rang out he fell face forward to the ground.

I expected words of anger – even physical violence – as Basim picked himself up from the rocky ground but his crazed reaction was as bizarre as it was intimidating. “Paper bags are haram. You should know that. You fucking little sharmurta [female prostitute]. Son of your mother’s cunt. You are finished.”

Then, Omar, sensing the situation was already out of hand, tried to restrain Basim. But Basim, now enraged, pulled Omar’s restraining hand into an arm lock and threw him head first onto the rocks. I will never forget the cracking noise of Omar’s skull splitting open, the crimson gentle flow of blood from his open mouth and the deceptively radiant olive complexion of his skin. Indeed I will never forget any part of the picture. Even the harsh unforgiving contrast of the burning blue sky with the dark crags of the surrounding mountains. The others made no move. They knew Basim’s greater strength and power. But I stared at him with a hatred that I could not have disguised and at that moment it was my only consolation that he should know that I would kill him. To my bitter disappointment it seemed that even Basim knew that there were times to be cautious. And he barked at the two men standing next to me. “Take him. Tie His hands up.”

Then summoning his one trusted lieutenant he instructed the others to wait by the car while they would take me for my punishment. They began to march me back towards the mountain cave we had left two hours before that morning. They walked some thirty paces behind me and were talking in an angry tone but too quietly to hear.

I wondered what would happen. Surely they would kill me. Nobody would find my body. But would the others perhaps hear the gunshot ring out. Or perhaps the Lieutenant had other ideas.

He was nicknamed “Khashaba” [block of wood] because of the thick solid appearance of his cock. Almost every evening he would casually extract it from his jallibaya as he related stories, by the campfire, of European and Israeli women he had “conquered” when he used to run a small food supermarket in the backpacker beach town of Dahab, back in Egypt.

But everyone knew that his sexual energy now found other even more dubious targets. Afghan village women who were shias – but who he dismissed as “sharmutaat”, [prostitutes] and, on at least one ocassion I witnessed, one of their young sons – who he declared would be better of dead than to be indoctrinated into such an evil perversion of the Islamic faith. So Khashaba dragged him by his feet screaming into a farm outhouse after he had got one of us to tie his hands.

I remembered the cries of “No” echoing across the arid valley many times before the boy finally must have aquiesced. I never saw what happened but I already felt I knew too much. I could feel a wind picking up. It was rare to get such a strong breeze at midday. I glanced back at Basim and Khashaba. They were too close for me to try to make a dash and even if I did there was no water for perhaps two hundred miles. In front now I could clearly make out the dark entrance of the cave we had left this morning and I could just make out the large rusty metal munitions box that we had dumped carelessly on our exit. As we got near Basim and Khashaba increased their pace until I sensed they were only a step or two behind me. “Stop.” I knew I had no option but to obey. Somehow I had to survive whatever was about to happen. Then calmly Basim instructed me to remove my gallibaya and bend over the rusty metal ammunition box. They were going to beat me, they were going to kill me but did they plan to rape me first ?

Even though my hands were tied, my easy compliance must have surprised them but I knew, if I wanted revenge, that I had to stay alive. But I had to think quickly. I had to make them believe I was harmless or atleast not worth killing. “I am very sorry for my reckless stupidity,” I confessed, as I removed my gallibaya. “I deserve to be punished. I know my behaviour was pathetic. I am just like a worthless sharmurta. [prostitute]”

I added the last comment as a calculated risk as I knew neither of them had sex in over six weeks and that they would have willingly had intercourse with a tethered donkey. I hoped my confession conveyed an implicit offer of regular relief. But there was silence. I prayed one of them would not be too afraid to play along with my dangerous offer. Although I felt disgusted at what I was contriving, I was too frightened at the imminent possibility of death to really care.

I bent naked over the ammunition box as I had been instructed and deliberately spread my legs as wide as possible. Surely they couldn’t mistake the sacrifice I was offering up to them.

Now, I could hear them talking quietly again but this time in the way mischevious children whisper secrets to each other. Then, at last, and with pathetic relief, I could hear the crunch of small scree stones as one of them approached. But what would he do ? I heard him load his rifle, and the emptry cartridge drop out. Now I knew real fear. My last thoughts were bizarrely philosophic and abstract on friendship and its’ importance. I was just wondering whether my comrades would miss me when I felt the cold rifle but touch my behind. Then he pushed it with slow and deliberate care up my arse, and though I realized this could be my undignified exit from this world, I carefully and modestly feigned pleasure, moving my arse upwards and allowing the muzzle end of the rifle to ease my cheeks apart.

He spat contemptuously at my arse hole. Three times.”You fucking sharmurt. I will sodomize you every day of your life.” I have never been so happy in all my life. Not because I am gay but because here in his contempt was the offer of life. The sweetest gift that can be given. Now I knew it was Basim but strangely I had to fight a confused feeling of love for him – like that of a child for a harsh abusive father. He would treat me with contempt and yet my future lay in his hands. When he thrust his penis into my arse it was more painful than I had ever imagined and I think he realized that and that it pleased him that he was violating virgin territory -that he was the first to conquer me. Khashaba would have to make do with whatever sordid mess remained.

Strangely his hands didn’t touch me, even though it would have been an easier job for him if he had helped to steady my body’s reactions to his immense physical force – perhaps some ninety kilos of muscle. I think he felt that if he touched me it would be a sign of humanity, a sign of weakness. It would no longer be my punishment but an act bordering, if somewhat dubiously, on love.

With each thrust his penis grew in size and it became more painful. Much more painful. So painful I had to try desperately hard not to scream in pain, to make any move to escape. As his thrusts grew in speed and depth I still tried desperately hard to feign gasps of pleasure in ever more desperate attempts to earn both his total trust and complete contempt. Every now and then he would withdraw his cock, much to my relief, spit on it on and then push it back in with more force than he thought I could take. Again and again, he rammed it as far as he could up my hole. I thought the nightmare would never end. Several times I couldn’t help letting out a barely restrained scream of agony, but I immediately cried out “aiywa” (yes) to disguise my desperation. I could hear his breathing grow heavier as the weight of his entire body bore down via his penis into the very depths of my being. I forcefully mastered my desperate wish to struggle free and instead tried with all my willpower to relax my buttock muscles and allow his penis to penetrate deeper than I had ever imagined possible.

I thought it would soon be over but I now sensed that Khashaba was also moving in for his share of the kill. I heard his approach and then suddenly he was squatting in front of me. Throwing up his gallibaya he asked me “Takul zubree ?” “Do you want to suck my cock ?”

I was surprised he asked, rather than just doing it, although he knew I was in no position to refuse. I told him it was my dream to take it all in my mouth. But he wasn’t going to let me have it so easy.

“First, you lick my arse, whore !” and he turned his behind to me and, as my hands were bound, he was kind enough to open the cheeks so my tongue could lick inside. It was the most degrading moment of my life but I knew I had no choice. How much I was learning about my self. How low human beings could go in order to cling to life.

It was not only a vile task, but because Basim was still thrusting through my body from behind with the full weight of his, it was a difficult just to keep my head sufficiently upright so my tongue could find its way inside Khashaba’s hole. Then Khashaba turned round and lifted up his cock so that his smelly testicles dangled in front of my tongue. “Lick them. Lick my balls.” I paused for a second because the smell of unwashed flesh was so strong. “Lick them, Whore. Lick them.” “Shukran” [Thank You} I stammered, half in apology for the momentary delay as my tongue cut its way through the thick hair around his balls. Obviously he hadn’t shaved himself for some time. But I was distracted from this unpleasantness by the intolerable pain created by Basim’s ever deeper and faster penetration of my behind.

Several times now Basim spat on my arse as his breathing mounted. His heightened excitement seemed to infect Khashaba who now forced the whole of his massively thick penis into my mouth. Khashaba pushed the entire weight of his body to force it deep down into my throat so that I was desperate to cough to expel this suffocating intrusion. Especially, as now I was sandwiched between two merciless forces driving every ounce of energy and life from me. Just then, however, Basim suddenly extracted himself and although khashaba’s thrusting thighs obscured most of my vision I could just make out a dust cloud on the horizon and a shimmering black spec at it’s centre which slowly began to emerge into the form of a distant, but approaching, vehicle.

Basim watched nervously, but Khashaba was not going to have his climax postponed by anything. As he told us when he once pulled a shia woman by her hair into a vacant workshop “Don’t disturb me for anything – even if Osama is assasinated.” Now the rapid approach of the unidentified vehicle only hastened his thrusts. Deeper and deeper, while his hands squeezed my head tightly in a vice like grip. Then he began to take quick short breaths and moaned “fucking sharmurt” [fucking male whore] several times before ejaculating deep down inside my throat.

As he stepped back he dropped his gallibaya over his slowly deflating penis, like some giant high altitude balloon slowly losing air. He was contemplative and looked disatisfied. “You were a crap fuck,” he told me as he turned away to view the approaching vehicle which was now barely a mile away. Still, Basim watched passively as the car approached. I pulled my gallibaya back over my head. Suddenly Basim seemed anxious. Straining my eyes I now recognised that the car was the very same Lada Niva which three hours earlier Basim had been unable to start.

For a few moments more Basim watched, a look of concentrated concern growing more apparent. Then suddenly he began to run for the cave. Khashaba also started to run, moments later. But too late. As a gunshot crack sounded, he fell to the ground at the same instant. Basim, not looking back, made it to the cave, dodging one last bullet. I froze. I prayed that I too was not a target, for I realized that with my hands tied and no weapon I had little chance. The car pulled up a few feet from me and a senior Taliban commander, equivalent in rank to major, got out, along with a more junior officer and two soldiers, one of them from my unit.

The major looked at me sympathetically and with it seemed not inconsiderable interest. “I know what was happening here. Your colleagues warned me. These men that did this to you were inhuman. You have done nothing wrong. You are a good and decent soldier. Your colleagues say you have excellent engineering skills. I need someone like you to work with me at our headquarters in Kandahar. Interested ?”

Little did I realize that my agreement would embark me on yet another journey into the sordid world of sex exploitation in the ranks of the sex-starved Taliban – but this time I was to discover the true character and hypocrisy of those in the highest political, religious and military ranks. What I was to discover would be truly shocking.

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