Tanta
by Alexander

 

Part One

Tanta is in the middle of nowhere – almost literally. It is about half way between Alexandria and Cairo, with a hundred kilometres of desert north to Alexandria and south to Cairo.

It was my first overseas posting for the bank for which I work, and at the age of 25, I was well pleased with myself. My job was to oversee the accounts for some water treatment works being paid for by the World Bank – simple and undemanding for the most part.

My home was a basic three-roomed apartment on the ground floor of a five-story building, and once acclimatised to the hot, dry climate it was quite comfortable. The added bonus was that my everyday needs were taken care of by a live-in maid-cum-cleaner-cum-cook, her home being a shack built on the flat roof of the building which she shared with her son who appeared to be about fourteen or so.

Luckily I managed to do most of my work at home, only the occasional visit to the site being needed to check on paperwork or some other minor problem. As a result, Muniera (the maid), her son Ahmed and I soon came to a free and easy working relationship. Early morning breakfast and evening meal were her fixed points, with my washing being done at week-ends. During the day I was taken care of by Ahmed who spent his day pottering about the flat cleaning and dusting – a never-ending job in a desert climate. Any free time he had he seemed quite content to spend in front

of the building playing about with his mates.

***

There is something about the look of Arab boys which I find incredibly magnetic. To begin with I had my desk under an open window, but wasted so much time starting at them, wondering what they looked like under their neck-to-ankle galabeyas that regretfully I had to move it. It didn’t stop me finding the time to perv on the boys though. Almost every afternoon I managed to make time to wander about the small town, rationalising to myself that I needed the exercise.

It was during one of my exploratory walks that I found something far better: A veritable boy

heaven.

On one of my afternoon strolls, I discovered not more than a 100 metres away a small, slow flowing river, which I assumed was part of the Nile delta on which Tanta was built, and depended on for its water. Attracted by the sound of happy boys and lots of splashing sounds I threaded my way towards it. Once located, I was amazed and delighted to see half a dozen boys leaping in and out of the water, the only items of clothing worn being either the knee-length loose-fitting underpants, or, in a few cases, nothing at all.

When the boys saw me watching I fully expected them to dress hurriedly and scurry off. Instead,  much to my delight, they seemed to welcome a spectator, and having given me a cheery wave and beautiful wide smiles, continued as if I wasn’t there.

From then onwards I made a point of visiting them at least once a day, usually in mid-afternoon when most of the town was taking its daily siesta. I even took the chance of taking a few sweets or cold drinks with me once in a while as a sort of friendship token, or a bribe to ensure their

continued attendance!

The universal boys’ network must have been busy at work as one morning, Ahmed let it be known that he knew where I disappeared to every afternoon. With a complicated mixture of his poor English, my almost nonexistent Arabic, and a lot of arm-waving, he got his idea across. With a happy smile and the ubiquitous ‘thumbs up’ sign, he let me know everything was all right.

In fact I noticed that he followed me for the next few days, but stayed more or less out of sight. On the fourth day, I made a point of noticing him, and invited me to join me.

This pleased him immensely and he was even happier when I handed him the chocolate I’d brought to share among the boys. It was obvious that he looked at his friends enviously as they resumed their water play, jumping, diving and generally having a good time.

With more than a little selfishness and a purely obscene reason, I pointed alternately at the water and Ahmed, nodding my head vigorously. He soon got the idea and gleefully shrugged off his galabeya before leaping into the river to join his mates.

Unlike any of the others, he was wearing a very old pair of what were once western-style white briefs, not only far too big for him, but also with very tired elastic. They were, however, as I realised, a sort of badge of rank, showing that he worked for a foreigner and as such merited an emulation of their dress.

They were so loose that they did little to hide his modesty as with every movement his testicles and penis slipped out one side or the other. In no way did this disconcert him, thank goodness, and I was treated to a display that gave me an erection, which my trousers did nothing to hide.

The one thing I’d noticed with Egyptian boys was that it is almost impossible to guess their age. Ahmed, I knew from our peculiar conversations, was fourteen years old, but from my intense perusal of his beautiful body, you wouldn’t have thought so. Like the other boys, his skin was a flawless deep olive colour, his eyes a soul-absorbing black, and his lips a sensuous deep red. His penis and testicles, not yet fully developed, were silky-smooth skinned, and almost hairless. They were nothing to be ashamed of however, the nine or ten centimetres of brown flesh and exquisite balls were like a magnet to my eyes and my cock twitched at every wicked sight of them.

Eventually it was time to go, much to my disappointment. As I retraced my steps towards home, I became aware of Ahmed walking beside me. Giving him a friendly grin, I was rewarded by one of his mind-blowing smiles. Experimentally, I put an arm on his shoulder and gave him a friendly hug. He relaxed into me for a moment as if to let me know that it was OK.

We were walking slowly down the little back road when he shrugged my arm off his shoulder and moved away slightly. Looking at him curiously, I spotted a woman walking towards us, which I assumed was the reason. This was confirmed when, as soon as she was out of sight, he picked up my arm and replaced it on his shoulder. Inwardly my heart missed a beat as I revelled in the contact, initiated not by me this time, but my young companion.

Several things changed from that day onwards, I was pleased to see. Ahmed became much more solicitous, and seemed more relaxed and content. He spent a lot more time in the flat, constantly arranging and rearranging the contents of my drawers and cupboards, cleaning and polishing endlessly. When not working he sat cross-legged on the floor, waiting for the slightest hint of a need I might have. We also taught each other a few basic words of our own languages which made things a lot easier for us both.

The real change came when I saw some jeans and shirts in a local shop one day. After some confusion about the sizes I wanted, and the inevitable bartering, I took the parcel home and presented it to Ahmed.

He was delighted with my small gift and I think he would have hugged me, but physical contact between us was still limited to an occasional arm-on-shoulder on our walks to and from the swimming place.

Instead of the hug, I was rewarded by the totally unexpected sight of Ahmed throwing off his galabeya and putting on his new clothes. There was no sign of inhibition at all – he was no more than a metre or so in front of me when he struggled to unfasten the button and zip on the jeans. My eyes (and brain) were once again fixed steadfastly at the top of his legs. I noticed he was still wearing the old and grubby pants I’d first seen him in – they were probably the only pair he owned. Thoughtfully I searched through my underwear draw and picked out two pairs of pants which were a little too small for me, and in any case would look a lot better on him. I gave him a choice between a pair of skimpy (on me!) bright blue briefs and a pair of more traditional white Y-fronts.

His face was a picture! This was too much for him; within seconds, he stepped out of his filthy pants, took my offering and held a pair in each hand, looking from one to the other, deciding which ones to try on first. Needless to say, I was entranced by the now completely naked boy stood in front of me. Was I mistaken, or was there the slightest hint of a burgeoning erection or not? I glanced up at his face and was slightly embarrassed to see him blush. He dropped a hand to hide his little problem much to my chagrin and so without giving it much thought, I took an enormous risk and used a finger to push his hand away.

I met with only a nominal resistance to my relief and was rewarded with the vision of a definitely rising cock, and a little smile. Ahmed made no attempt to dress himself straight away: he was certainly aware of my centre of interest, but made no effort to do anything about it. Was this his gift to me for the clothes, or did he have other thoughts? Perhaps the same as mine? I looked at his face but couldn’t work out anything from his expression except that he certainly knew what he was doing to me.

I made a play of being unable to decide which pair he should put on, eventually picking the small blue ones unsurprisingly. He slid them on and deliberately adjusted his now half-hard cock. He turned round once or twice as if modelling them for me before putting the jeans and shirt on.

The overall effect was stunning. The white shirt set off his olive skin perfectly and the jeans hugged his legs delightfully. Leading him into my bedroom, I stood him in front of the full-length mirror so he could get a good look at himself: he twisted and turned trying to get a view from all angles. Eventually he was satisfied and turned to face me.

“Shukran, effendi, shukran awi,” he stammered out. “Sank you sir, thank you very much,” he translated into his best English.

I stepped behind him and crossed my arms over his chest, looking at us both in the mirror.

“Enta kwais walad, ” I said in my poor Arabic. “Kwais awi!” “You’re a good boy. Very good,” I translated, hopefully correctly.

***

Once again our daily routine changed. Despite my best efforts, Ahmed insisted on changing out of his jeans and shirt before he went to his home on the roof, and changing back again when he arrived in the morning. Amusingly, he carefully folded his clothes in the evening and placed them in the clothes cupboard alongside mine.

Because he knew I liked looking at him, he always changed in front of me, wherever I happened to be at the time. The mornings in particular he seemed to enjoy. The first thing he did when he came into the flat was to make me a cup of tea which he then carefully brought into the bedroom. As I sipped the drink he slowly and deliberately changed his clothes, making sure I was watching. I didn’t know whether he thought this was a game or not, but I am sure he enjoyed it almost as much as I did. After the first few days I even stopped trying to hide the hard-on tenting up my bed sheet, and neither did he attempt to hide his own, although he managed to complete his dressing before it was at full mast!

I took at least three showers or baths every day – morning, noon and night. Ahmed would run the bath for me in the morning as I finished my tea. For some reason the flat had an enormous Victorian cast-iron bathtub which had probably been salvaged from an old hotel. Hot water was provided by an almost equally ancient 1940’s British ‘Ascot’ gas boiler, bolted solidly to the wall. At least a metre and a half tall, it was a maze of bright copper and brass work, almost a work of art in itself. It also had a terrifying habit. Turning the hot tap on released the flow of water into the system, this in turn allowed the gas to flow which would be ignited by a pilot light. For some reason there was quite a delay between the gas being turned on, and it being ignited by the pilot light. The effect was that the build up of gas unexpectedly exploded with a boom which shook the walls! The technique was to turn the hot tap on and quickly escape into the living room, making sure the door was closed behind you! Once the waited-for explosion had taken place, the bathroom could safely be entered.

The explosion was also the signal that my bath was almost ready. Ahmed would have laid out my toiletries neatly and placed the towels handy.

On this particular morning everything was normal until I searched for the towels – they were nowhere to be seen. This had never happened before, but I simply assumed Ahmed had forgotten for some reason. Slipping back into the water, I called out for him.

Instantly he opened the door and came in: he couldn’t have been more that a metre or two away.

“Towels,” I said, smiling at him miming the motion of drying myself.

“Sorry!” he said, returning the grin, “I get.”

Hurrying back with the towels in his hands he put them down and looked at me oddly. Without a word he moved across towards me and picked up the soap and wash cloth. His intention was obvious. Hesitantly and nervously, he soaped the cloth and started to wash my shoulders and chest.

“Mmmm!” I murmured as I relaxed and started to enjoy the attention.

It wasn’t long before he stopped using the cloth and I delighted in his soft, delicate fingers running themselves over my skin. I closed my eyes and concentrated, wondering just how far he would dare to go. My cock was also curious as it began to plump up, thankfully hidden under the soapy water.

I felt Ahmed stop and I opened my eyes, disappointed that he’d called a halt so quickly. To my complete astonishment, I was met with the sight of him taking his shirt off. Initially I guessed it was to stop it getting wet, but when he put his hands on the belt of his jeans I wasn’t so sure.

“OK?” he said quietly, looking at me closely.

Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded at him. He flashed me a delightful grin which told me all: I’d been set up!

Even now, he took care to fold his clothes carefully and put them well away from any water which may splash on them. As he bent over to put them on the floor, I was privileged to get a superb view of his perfect butt, tightly held in his briefs.

This time there was no mistaking his intentions. There was no playing about this time. He sat on the edge of the bath and treated me to a wonderful upper body massage. For one so young, he was amazingly good. He was patently nervous at first – I could feel the anxious trembling through his fingers. I moaned again in pleasure as he gently took each of my nipples in turn, and under the pretence of washing, rubbed the palms of his hands over them. My cock had by now achieved its full size – not big by any means, but there was enough of it to stand proud of the water by a couple of centimetres or so.

Ahmed couldn’t have failed to notice this, but so far hadn’t let his hands drop below the level of the water. By now, there was nothing I wanted him to do more.

Turning to look at him, he was obviously enjoying himself, watching his fingers intently as they roamed around my torso. I let my gaze drop to his crotch and stared at the now quite noticeable erection only just covered by his briefs. He noticed my stare and shifted his weight slightly to edge it closer to me.

Holding my breath I let my hand rest lightly on his thigh, my fingers pointing at the bulge stretching out his pants. This was a bridge we had to cross together. Ahmed had taken the lead so far, but somehow I knew that it was up to me whether we took things any further or not. As if to give me a hint, he opened his legs just a little wider.

Slowly and with just a little pressure, I let my index finger run up and down the ten centimetres of hidden treasure, savouring every magic moment of it. Now two fingers, using them to outline his cock and feel his balls through the thin material. All this time his hands were resting on my shoulders, his weight all but pushing me down in the water. Now it was his turn to close his eyes, his lips creased in a gentle smile.

The atmosphere in the bathroom was electric. There was no doubt at all that we both wanted to take things further, much further. How much further we were about to find out.

Because they were on the large side, I had no trouble in slipping my hand inside his briefs and for the first unforgettable time cupped his adolescent cock and balls in my palm. I let them rest there, feeling his rapid heartbeat throb through his beautiful cock.

With my one hand I tried to push his pants down, without success. Ahmed, bless him, realised my problem and did the job for me.

Quite deliberately, he posed in front of me, his pride and joy swaying enticingly in front of my eyes. Once again, I was completely unable to speak. For the first time since I was his age, I was able to stare at and relish a completely naked young boy. More than that, a young, perfectly formed boy-god. He was beautiful, from the top of his fine black hair to the tips of his toes. And in the middle …..

“Zubra!” Ahmed giggled pointing at his dick. “Zubra!”

“Prick!” I laughed. “Prick. Or penis.” Another English word learned.

I took the offered gift in my hand and stroked it tenderly, not so much to bring him off as to wallow in its classic beauty.

“Kwais awi,” I murmured softly.

Gently I pulled him towards me, indicating that he should join me in the bath. With a delightful smile, he held my hands as he delicately stepped into the water. There was just enough room for him to kneel awkwardly between my splayed legs.

Slowly we both watched as he immersed his hands in the water and let them edge forwards. I gasped in delicious surprise as his fingers slid down the inside of my thighs to caress my cock and balls.

His touch was feather-light, which made it erotic almost beyond belief. He was feeling all round my manhood, treating it as if it were made of the finest bone china. Even without doing anything else, I knew that I would cum soon if he carried on like this. Before I did though, I was caught completely by surprise as he suddenly launched himself forward and landed on top of me, stretched out completely, our groins mashed painfully together.

The pain was only momentary however as he repositioned our cocks between us and made himself comfortable. Wrapping his arms behind my neck, he rubbed his nose against mine, giggling happily. More than pleased to reciprocate, I hugged him tightly in return.

Such was the difference in our heights that I could feel his solidly hard dick pressing into my navel, my own being somewhere between his thighs – a situation I was quite content with, at least for the time being.

I felt him relax as he nestled his head on my shoulder and arched his back slightly as he pushed his cock against me, almost as if he was checking it was still there. Lastly he squeezed his legs together, sighing as he felt my dick trapped between them.

For endless minutes we lay together in absolute bliss, neither wanting to disturb the peace and tranquillity. In fact I thought he’d dropped off to sleep until I heard him whisper, “Barrid.”

“Barrid?” I questioned, not knowing what he meant.

“Barrid,” he repeated, and then added with a frown, “Not hot. Mish sochna.”

He was right. The water was definitely not hot. Disturbing him as little as possible, I reached over and turned on the hot tap. Unfortunately I’d temporarily forgotten about the quirky heater, and just as I was about to settle down again, we were both shaken by the explosion. For a split second we hugged each other tightly in fear before we realised what I’d done.

Giggling like little kids, we settled down again, Ahmed looking down at me. The surprise of the bang had effectively broken the atmosphere we had created and were both fully alert. Ahmed leant back and rested his forearms on my chest, staring into my face. What was it with this boy, I thought? He never stops looking at me. Not that I was complaining of course, after all I was probably spending as much time lusting after him. But there was something behind that stare -something I knew and recognised.

The warm water gradually working its way down the bath had its effect – easing us both into a soporific daze again.

We stared into each other’s eyes, shamelessly and happily. Two people enjoying each other, separated only by an inability to communicate in our own languages. Not that it mattered a great deal, after all we’d managed quite well so far!

“Buss!” Ahmed said suddenly, jerking me back to reality.

“Buss?” I mimicked, wondering why he was asking about public transport.

“Buss.” He repeated, tapping his lips with a finger and making a kissing shape.

“Kiss,” I told him. “Buss. Kiss.”

Gently I put my hand behind his head and eased him down.

Our lips met fleetingly – just a quick brush.

“Buss schwaiya,” he said seriously.

He leaned down and kissed me again, more firmly and for longer.

“Buss tammam,” he whispered, “Kiss OK.”

Dutifully I repeated my lesson, much to his glee.

“Buss kibir,” he said as he hugged me tightly and pressed his lips once more to mine. This time his mouth was open and our tongues met hungrily. This was doubtless a ‘big kiss’.

I don’t know if he had kissed anyone before in anything other than a familial peck on the cheek offered to close relatives and friends, if not he was making up for lost time now. Certainly his youthfulness and probable inexperience made it a fantastic experience for us both.

Once started, he simply couldn’t get enough. Energetically and almost ferociously he kissed me over

and over, each time giving me a delighted grin before diving in again. Whatever pleasure it gave me (and that was a lot!), I’m sure he derived a lot more from it.

At long last we simply had to get out of the bath. Our skins were by now well and truly wrinkled like dried apricots or prunes.

We weren’t quite finished yet though. Ahmed had decided I needed to be dried off. Wrapping the big towel round me, he energetically patted me dry. No rough drying, just a simple dabbing away. Even when he came to my groin he padded away, very carefully, holding my erection through the towel as he worked on my balls and crotch.

By the time it was my turn, it was hardly needed – he was almost completely dry.

Instead, I sat him on my knee and softly rubbed the towel over him. He simpered quietly as I attended to his crotch, taking the chance to use my hand rather than the towel to wipe away the nonexistent moisture. It didn’t help when he insisted on kissing me all the time either.

Reluctantly we eventually managed to break apart and dress ourselves. We both had work to do.

As I sat at my desk, staring sightlessly at the paperwork, I let my mind wander, trying to sort out what had happened.

I was certain that I hadn’t started things off today, much as I may have wanted to subconsciously. It was Ahmed who had made the first pre-planned move. He was also naive and inexperienced too, so what made him think I would be interested?

He had almost certainly added two and two together when he realised how much I enjoyed watching him and the others playing in the water. He was also aware that I spent as much time perving on his crotch as anything else. That is what had aroused him to begin with, I rationalised. And naturally, being full of hormones, had followed it through, much to my delight.

Continuing this train of thought, I quickly realised several things. Firstly that our relationship, if any, would be led by him; secondly that we were lucky enough to be able to continue any relationship in secrecy, and lastly that I was being presented with an opportunity to learn some useful Arabic, although perhaps not the sort to use in polite company!

One other thing was also settled in my mind later. Our day carried on exactly as before, even to the extent of Ahmed accompanying me to the swimming place. Neither did he make any attempt to repeat our morning frolic when I had my lunch-time or evening shower.

As I lay in bed later that night, I couldn’t get Ahmed out of my mind. As I toyed with my erection, I realised that despite our fun and games, we had touched each other’s tackle very little and that neither of us had cum. I wasn’t even sure if he could do anything yet. He had a good set of balls and a nicely developing cock, but he was still almost hairless and I couldn’t remember which came first – the hair or the cum. Of one thing I was sure of however, for good or bad, I seemed to have got myself a devoted body servant and admirer!

This last thought was enough to drive me over the edge. I came massively and hugely, my mind filled with a glorious image of Ahmed, naked, erect, and waiting for me.

The following morning, I felt just as Nero or Alexander must have felt two thousand years before in the same part of the world. I wasn’t allowed to do a thing for myself when he was around: tea brought in, an exotic and erotic strip show, and a warm bath to slip into.

This time though there was no bashful and tentative foreplay. I noticed that the towels had been remembered this time, and that a very keen and excited young man was in the bath almost before I was. I had no choice, Ahmed had apparently decided for us.

Instead of allowing him his prolonged kiss-fest, I let him have his own way for just a few minutes before persuading him to turn over onto his back. Having eased him down so that my erection fitted snugly in his crotch, I played with his nipples, well satisfied with myself when I heard him purr with pleasure. With the other hand I soaped his chest and abdomen, revelling in sheer pleasure. Very gently I soaped his balls and cock, taking it slowly enough for him to stop me if he wanted. Which he didn’t.

I was aware of his breathing getting faster as I played with his dick. As I moved onwards and began to masturbate him gently, I was rewarded with a deep-throated, almost animal, groan. Just to give him one more chance to stop things going any further if he wanted, I took my hand away and rested it on his stomach. There was no reaction for a second or two, until he realised what I’d done. Hurriedly and firmly he put my hand back and showed me what he wanted.

This time I took a firmer grip and using just my first three fingers began to give him the pleasure he demanded and certainly deserved.

It didn’t take long. Within just a few blissful strokes I felt his body tense and then arch upwards, jerking as he orgasmed magnificently. Unfortunately I couldn’t see whether there was an emission or not as I came at the same time, my spunk shooting high into the air before audibly plopping into the water.

Ahmed was wrecked. His breathing was ragged and his dick now a flaccid, spent muscle. He turned over, gave me a tired smile and a kiss before closing his eyes.

I didn’t allow us to stay there too long though, Ahmed was drained and needed time to recuperate I thought. With some difficulty we struggled out of the bathtub and stood dripping on the floor. I dried us both quickly and gave him a tender hug and kiss. He was feeling better now, but nevertheless I pushed him out of the bathroom and into my bedroom.

He didn’t complain as I lay him on the unmade bed, taking the opportunity to gaze at his beauty, noting with interest that his dick was half erect already!

As I leant over to draw the sheet over him, I was taken by surprise when he threw his arms round me and pulled me onto the bed with him. The little horror had caught me again! Giggling gleefully, he entwined himself round me, legs and arms locking me in place. His face was wreathed in smiles as he hugged and kissed me.

There was no escape. Momentarily I wondered what sort of beast I’d unleashed – he seemed insatiable. But then I suppose so was I at that age, given half a chance.

Resigned to my fate, I sank down alongside him and drew the sheet over us.

This time there was no doubting his seriousness. Squashing his body as close to mine as he could, he leaned in to kiss me again, holding me not tightly but tenderly and gently. The kiss too was passionate, not frenzied or amateurish. I was dimly aware of him stroking my back and running his fingers through my hair.

Breaking our embrace, he moved back a little and looked at me, brushing the hair out of my eyes. Quietly, he reeled off a stream of Arabic, not a word of which I understood. The meaning though was plain enough. His features had softened and his eyes doe-like. Whatever he had said had been tender and caring, of that I was certain.

He lay his head on my chest, listening to the beat of my heart, his arms carelessly draped around me. I gently kissed his soft hair and rested my hands on his superb butt cheeks, stroking and kneading them as my mind turned over.

Whatever it was that Ahmed wanted, it certainly wasn’t the just the physical side of sex. He enjoyed our nakedness together, and loved the close intimate contact of our bodies, the gentle caresses and the kissing. Although both our dicks were rigidly erect during our loving, it seemed that this was treated as a sort of by-product of our tenderness.

Moving a hand onto his iron-hard dick, I began to masturbate him very slowly, wanting to give him the pleasure for as long as possible. Disentangling himself from my body, he turned over onto his back, put his hands under his head and opened his legs invitingly. All this accompanied by his shit-eating grin.

Before taking hold of him again, I took a long, loving look at his dick, now hard enough to be laid flat against his stomach, pointing north. I was right about the pubic hair. I noticed that there were a few, very few, fine black hairs just starting to grow. His dick was perfectly smooth and uncircumcised, the foreskin being just long enough to cover his deep purple head. His balls were also smooth and as yet unwrinkled – a perfect match for his cock. I wasn’t to know it at the time, but Ahmed was one of the few Egyptians who hadn’t been circumcised, being one of the less than four percent of Christians in the country.

Fitting two fingers under the shaft, I pressed slightly with my thumb and resumed my massage. Ahmed moaned as I played with him, first stroking under and around the head, then a delicate run up and down his shaft. Occasionally I would take time out to feel his just post-pubescent balls for a change.

Ahmed was obviously enjoying the attention, first throwing his head from side to side, then squirming and wriggling his body uncontrollably, his fists clenching the sheet. Despite his urgent need to cum, I persisted in my slow, delicate ministrations, driving him higher and higher into the realms of pure ecstasy.

Soon he began to thrust his hips desperately into my hand, his body now covered in a fine sheen of sweat. I speeded up slightly and put my mind to bringing him up to what I hoped would be the best orgasm of his young life. It wasn’t long in coming. With a final, desperate lunge, he arched his back, forced his cock through my hand, and shot. There wasn’t a lot of cum, but what there was was delivered in six or seven achingly powerful spasms, uncontrolled and desperately needed.

Very slowly his erection subsided and I carefully milked the last few drops of cum out of it, knowing from long experience how raw and tender his cock felt just now. Carefully I used a corner of the sheet to wipe up the results of his orgasm.

Giving him a chance to come down from his high, I lay alongside and cuddled him, stroking his back and hair. Looking at his face, I noticed tears in the corner of his eyes – tears of happiness and joy I realised. Softly I kissed his luscious lips and told him how beautiful he was.

The recuperative powers of a teenager never cease to amaze me. After such a mind-numbing orgasm as Ahmed’s, I knew that if had been me, I would fall asleep almost instantly. Not so my angel. Within five minutes he was perky and bright once more, and wanting affection. After a kiss or two, he pushed me onto my back and ran his eyes up and down my body, registering it all. I have never been a very hairy person – there is no hair on my chest at all, and only a nominal cluster under my arms. There isn’t a lot of pubic hair either, much to my embarrassment at times. This didn’t seem to bother Ahmed though as he ran his fingers through them.

Gracefully and in one smooth move, he straddled me, squatting down on my chest. I was just getting used to the sight of the perfect orbs of his butt when I felt him take hold of my cock.

As he rubbed it slowly, just as I had done to him, my brain exploded into a myriad coloured lights and mind-numbing bliss.

Either innately, or because he was more experienced than I thought, Ahmed’s technique was perfect. Sometimes he would work his fist up and down slowly and gently, exerting next to no pressure on my throbbing member; at other times he would rub vigorously, his grip much firmer. Twice I nearly came, but managed to hold back somehow. On the third time, I had no chance. Ahmed was rubbing my cock just under the head when I erupted, projecting globs of hot, steaming cum straight up in the air. With hardly a pause, Ahmed emptied me completely. Falling back on the bed, he used the same corner of the sheet to clean up the mess.

“Good,” he said, “Very good. Now me and you same-same!”

Exactly what he meant by this, I didn’t know, but however you interpret it, I was more than happy.

***

This routine of ours continued in much the same way for several weeks, neither of us getting bored with it or losing interest. Ahmed grew more confident in himself and gradually took more and more control of things, not only of our morning bath-times, but also of the flat in general. We saw less and less of his mother, my Adonis being more than willing to do all the fetching and carrying.

I also bought him a few more clothes – jeans and T-shirts in the main, but also some European-style underwear in a variety of patterns which amused him immensely, even to the extent of showing them off proudly to his friends at the swimming hole. They were still kept in my flat though, thus establishing himself as a resident of the household.

Some time about the fourth month, two things happened which were to move our relationship on to a higher plane.

We’d continued our daily visits to join the swimmers, both Ahmed and I now accepted as an integral part of their group, helped no doubt by the constant supply of sweets and drinks.

The boys were much more at ease with me now. They’d picked up on my obvious pleasure in watching their lissome bodies glistening in the water. Like boys the world over, the occasional unwanted erection happened too, but unlike the boys I’d grown up with, there was no embarrassment or crude piss-taking. By and large they were totally ignored or even admired in a bantering sort of way.

That isn’t to say that there wasn’t the occasional game of crotch-grabbing. Most of the boys took part in them, including Ahmed; whether they were naked or not seemed to make no difference. I’d learned a few of their names by now, and noticed that two of them, Ashraf and Sherif, seemed to be the ones who usually started them.

On this particular day, Ahmed and I were sat on the river bank sharing an orange when I noticed that Ashraf and Sherif had separated themselves from the main group and were stood up to their

chests in the water, facing each other.

From the look on their faces and the position of their hands, it was clear that they were enjoying themselves. I nudged Ahmed and nodded in their direction. Ahmed continued biting into his orange and shrugged his shoulders, hardly showing any interest at all.

“Seddiki,” he managed to splutter out.

Friends, he’d said. Well, that much was obvious at least.

“Shufti,” Ahmed continued, his interest now reverting to the main group.

And watch I did, curious as to what Ahmed meant. It was delightful watching the two boys having a friendly grope under the water. The lads were talking quietly when they grinned at each other and after what looked like a bit of a friendly argument, Ashraf ducked under the water. From the change in Sherif’s face and body posture, it was more than obvious where Ashraf’s mouth was! Every few seconds he would emerge from the water, take a deep breath and submerge again. This went on for at least five minutes before Sherif’s body convulsed, sending little waves out into the river. This was closely followed by Ashraf bouncing to the surface, grinning broadly. Opening his mouth, he displayed whatever was in it to his friend, rolled it round his tongue a couple of times, and swallowed!.

Moments later, they paddled through the water towards the gang. Not before giving me a cheery wave and a thumbs-up first though! Once back with the group, they were welcomed as if nothing unusual had happened.

Back at the flat I learned that Ashraf and Sherif were good friends, and more interestingly, what I’d seen was nothing too much out of the ordinary.

“Boy-boy, OK,” he grinned, rubbing his index fingers together side by side. “All boy do it,” he added. “Girl-boy very bad, make big problem. Boy-boy good,” he concluded.

So, that little episode cleared up a lot for me. At last I began to understand the almost casual approach to sex boys had. It wasn’t furtive or secretive in the slightest, just accepted as a normal part of growing up, to be enjoyed whilst it lasted. I also understood where Ahmed got his experience from. When pressed further, he also admitted that ‘boys sometimes put zubra here’, pointing to his bum. That left me with a lot of food for thought.

The second thing that happened, not long after the river incident, was that I had a visit from a very excited Muniera, waving a letter at me. Of course I hadn’t a clue what she was saying, not to mention my complete inability to read Arabic. The only thing that Ahmed managed to make me understand was that they had to go away. Where, why and for how long I’d no idea.

Without realising it, I’d become totally dependent on him, partly because he kept my home running smoothly, but also because we had become very close to each other. Ahmed alternated his expressions from a deep concern for his mother, and a resigned ‘I don’t want to go’ look at me.

Thinking desperately what to do, I remembered that the Egyptian couple who lived upstairs spoke some English. I didn’t know how much, but I had to try.

Luckily they were able to explain things well enough for me to understand. Apparently the letter was from her family, informing her that her sister was very ill, and that she should go home if it were possible. This was news to Muniera as well – she couldn’t read at all, and the letter had frightened her. Anyway, after a lot of discussion, it was agreed that she should go home as soon as possible of course. It was also agreed, at her insistence, that Ahmed should stay behind and take care of me.

This was necessary, it was explained to me, in order for her to keep her job. If they both left, the company would find someone else and she would be out of work, and probably homeless as well.

I managed to hide my delight at this news, which Ahmed almost did. Standing beside his mother, it was just about as much as he could do to keep a straight face, but those wonderful eyes of his said it all. As we left the flat I was taken on one side and told quietly that it would be nice if I could help her out with some cash. Selfishly, I hadn’t realised that her wages weren’t much above subsistence level and that the expense of a long trip into the country would almost certainly stretch her finances to the limit.

It was very early the following morning that I was awakened by Ahmed shaking my shoulder. Bleary eyed and sleepy I noticed vaguely that it was only just daylight.

“What?” I said irritably.

“Mamma go now,” Ahmed told me.

Forcing myself to wake up, I put the dressing gown on that Ahmed had offered me, and staggered into the living room. Muniera, dressed for travelling and carrying her few clothes in a cheap plastic bag, shook my hand and managed to say “Goodbye and sank you!” in her broken English. Through Ahmed, I told her to have a good journey, hoped her sister was OK, and not to hurry back. I also pressed a few pounds into her hand. At first she protested, but not too much as we both knew the money would be needed.

With that they both left, Ahmed promising to come back once he’d helped his mother onto the bus. Wearily I staggered back to bed.

I was awakened seemingly seconds later by the bedroom door closing and Ahmed standing beside my bed.

“All OK,” he grinned. “Mamma gone.”

For a boy who had just said good-bye to his mother for goodness knows how long, he seemed to be inordinately cheerful – and I had a good idea why.

Without bothering to ask, he casually stripped off and climbed into bed with me. Putting his arms round my neck and wrapping his legs round mine, he made himself comfortable, for all the world as if it were perfectly normal and this was his regular and rightful place.

Giving me, for once, an almost chaste kiss, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. I wasn’t fooled for an instant. He had probably been dreaming of sharing my bed for ages and now that he was in charge of my well-being completely, without the complication of a mother around, he was exerting his authority.

“Goodnight, baby,” I whispered in his ear.

His eyes flicked open, a cheeky grin flashed across his face and he said lazily, “Good. All OK

now. All very nice.”

Surprisingly we did in fact drop off to sleep, spooned together comfortably.

I awoke some time later, feeling much better and far more alert than I did earlier. Ahmed was in the kitchen making our breakfast by the sound of it.

***

Today was one of the days that I visited the site to collect any mail or paperwork and as the car came to collect me at nine o’clock, I opted for a shower rather than a long soak in the bath with Ashraf for company. It didn’t stop his joining me though. Part of his self-imposed regime seemingly was to make sure I was squeaky clean before I went anywhere.

This he did assiduously, washing and rinsing me at least twice.

The procedure was so routine by now that neither of us got much more than a slight erection – unless it was wanted of course. It wasn’t until Ahmed knelt to clean my legs and thighs that I sprung my boner. The sight of his face just a few centimetres from my groin brought the memory of the under-water blow job leaping into my mind. Ahmed and I had never tried anything like that before: the only liberty I’d taken with him was to run an experimental finger down his ass crack and press gently against his sphincter. There was no reaction, good or bad, to this and so rather than risk upsetting him I limited myself to the occasional feel.

As he stared at my hard-on, he giggled slightly and flipped it with his fingers, watching it bounce up and down amused him immensely and he broke out in fits of giggles.

Placing his hands on my hips, he glanced up at me smiling very slightly. He kept his gaze firmly on my face as he moved towards my cock. Holding my breath, I nodded at him. Wordlessly he moved closer. I had fully expected him to take me into his mouth, but he surprised me by licking my shaft up and down a few times before he kissed it. Apparently this was enough for him as he rose to his feet, turned the water off and whispered “late” to me. Or was it? My over-excited brain hoped he’d said “later”, not “late”.

Taking advantage of having a car and driver I did some shopping on the way home from work. Food shopping wasn’t in my domain – the only things I needed to get were toiletries and the occasional few bottles of beer and wine. Walking past the clothes shop I spotted something that I knew Ahmed would love. On display was a locally made Arsenal shirt, together with, oddly enough, a pair of imported red-trimmed white shorts. Despite the fact that the shorts looked to be a bit on the small side, I bought the kit anyway.

Ahmed was delighted with the gift. Once again I was treated to a strip show, much to my pleasure. The shorts were a bit tight on him, but not overmuch. They displayed his legs off to perfection, the hem being cut very high, allowing his thighs to be seen beautifully. The only problem Ahmed seemed to have was how to arrange his cock and balls. No matter how he tried, they could still be seen almost obscenely through the material. Eventually he settled for arranging his dick to point downwards, curling under his balls.

He looked so attractive and alluring in his new kit that I managed to persuade him to keep them on for the rest of the day; dispensing only with the T-shirt, and him being the little exhibitionist, he was more than happy to oblige!

When I went into my bedroom to get changed, I noticed what at first appeared to be a pile of dirty rags in the corner. Curiously I examined them. Underneath a pair of thin, coarse blankets was a cheap bright yellow foam mattress which I assumed was Ahmed’s bed. He’d taken up residence it appeared.

Shrugging my shoulders in resigned acceptance, I changed and had my shower.

It was my usual practice to watch TV in the evenings and perhaps enjoy a beer or two. Sometime around ten or eleven I would have my last quick shower of the day and either read in bed for a while or move the TV into the bedroom and watch it until I was tired enough to sleep.

I decided that there was no reason to change my habits now that Ahmed was present and so the evening continued as normal. He squatted cross-legged on the settee and watched the television intently. Once the 10 o’clock news had finished, he silently took himself off to the bathroom and then to bed. I followed an hour later.

Ahmed had made his bed in the corner of my room and was  now laid on it, dressed in his galabeya and half-covered by a blanket. As I organised myself, he turned onto his side, rested his head on his crooked arm and watched me. Settling down to read, I was acutely aware of two big brown eyes staring at me. Despite trying to ignore them, their mute appeal niggled away. After having read the same paragraph three times, I gave up.

Lifting the sheet invitingly, Ahmed’s eyes lit up instantly and he threw back his tawdry blanket. He ran across to my bed and just before leaping in, dropped his galabeya to the floor. Giving up any further attempt to read, I slipped the book under my pillow and turned to face my imp. Aware that yet again he’d got his own way, I turned the light off and cuddled him to me, sighing contentedly.

To begin with he was happy enough just to let his hands roam all over my chest and abdomen, his head nestled comfortably on my shoulder. Somewhere down below, I felt his erection pressing against my waist.

There was no way I could ignore him, not that I wanted to anyway. To begin with I was quite prepared to let him do whatever he wanted with me whilst I lay back and enjoyed it. This lasted all of 30 seconds. Turning to face him, I held his head between my hands and kissed him. First on his forehead, then each of his two eyes, then the tip of his nose and lastly on his waiting lips.

Ahmed returned the kisses delicately and tenderly at first, but soon turning into a hard, passionate embrace. He was rapidly getting out of control, his body writhing and squirming all over me, his kisses becoming almost painful.

It was with some difficulty I pushed him away from me and held him there until his heavy, ragged breathing slowed down and his heart had stopped thumping. Once again a combination of hand signs and words told him that he had to slow down.

Grinning sheepishly, he nodded at me and stroked my chest gently, returning to kissing me softly. The desperate urgency now overcome, we fondled each other lovingly, allowing our hands to wander wherever they wanted, taking an infinite delight in each other. I guess that in the past, Ahmed had only messed about with other boys in a quick, fumbling sort of way – either a hurried mutual jerk off or possibly passionless blow job. Certainly it took him some time to accustom himself to the slow and tender approach, which ultimately was a thousand times better than what he was used to.

Lazily I felt his smooth silky balls and cock, rubbing the head of it just enough to produce a soft purr and contented sigh from him.

I also discovered that, like me, he had supremely sensitive nipples. A gentle rubbing of them making him shiver with pleasure and emit deep moans of delight. When I licked and nibbled at them softly, his body went rigid and his arms held my tightly. At first I thought he didn’t like it, but when he forced my head down and gasped out ‘again, again’. I knew he’d learned something new and very erotic.

We learned a lot about each other over the next hour, both discovering things about our bodies that we never knew. In years gone by, I had of course spent many nights sharing my bed with a partner, but these had almost always been somehow unsatisfying. Once the hurried wank, BJ, or occasional bum-fuck had been completed, sleep quickly followed. Ahmed I don’t think had ever spent a whole night in bed with someone else.

He took his turn at sucking on my nipples, finding it a little difficult at first as he couldn’t stop giggling. Whilst he was engrossed in playing with my tits, I took the opportunity of sliding a finger into his butt. Once again there was no response, even when I managed to slip a finger in up to the first joint. I had to pull it out before I could experiment any further as he moved his head down my chest, kissing it softly all the way. When he reached my throbbing, and copiously leaking dick, I felt him take it in his hand and point it to his lips. I waited with bated breath, hoping against hope that he would have the courage to take the next step.

Delicately he smeared a little pre-cum on his finger and slowly licked it off. Deciding that it didn’t taste too bad, he used his tongue to collect some more. I was in heaven and hoped to goodness that he didn’t stop.

Ahmed was totally absorbed in what he was doing. He inspected my dick minutely, moving it to and fro slightly to get a better look. Eventually, he extended his tongue again and flicked it magically on the glowing head. It was far too much for me to handle – I just couldn’t wait any longer.

Putting a hand on his head, I urged him down. After only a split seconds delay, he opened his mouth and sucked me in. He just let it lay there for a while, obviously unsure what to do next. At first he used his tongue to feel it, then he began to suck very gently, one hand supporting my balls, the other holding my dick in place. He was now absolutely and totally lost in a world of his own, concentrating intensely. I lay back, eyes closed, letting the incredible emotions wash through me.

Under his fingers, I felt my balls tighten up in readiness for what was soon to be the inevitable result of Ahmed’s wonderful attention. Reluctantly, I pulled him off my aching cock just in time to prevent my choking him. Fascinated, he watched each spurt of spunk fire out, not flinching in the slightest as they pebble-dashed his face.

At long last, he wriggled round and stretched out beside me, his face showing a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. To ease his possible feelings of guilt, I told him how brilliant he was, and how much I’d enjoyed it before kissing him and wiping the sperm off him.

Idly, I noticed that Ahmed was fondling his still erect cock. Remembering that he hadn’t cum yet, I pushed his hands away and leaned into his groin. Starting at the base, I kissed my way along his shaft, not forgetting to include his balls along the way. After giving it a delightful wet lick, I absorbed his handsome tool into my waiting mouth.

There was a gasp from somewhere above me and a whispered torrent of muttered Arabic. Taking this as a sign of approval, I set to work earnestly. Using every trick I knew, I gave Ahmed the best blow job he’d ever had, and certainly the most enjoyable one I’d given since I was a boy. His cock was a perfect fit in my mouth, my lips brushing against his groin as he gently pushed against the back of my throat. Gradually I increased the sucking and speed until he was moaning and groaning in ecstasy, his head thrashing from side to side wildly.

Feeling his already iron-hard cock stiffen just that little bit more, I sucked for all I was worth as he ejaculated onto my tongue. It was deliciously salty and warm and all the more tasteful by coming from the boy I was rapidly falling in love with.

We were both exhausted by now, physically and mentally drained. Glancing at the clock, I realised with a shock that more than two hours had sped by in an instant. Kissing each other one more time, we cuddled up and fell asleep instantly.

 

Part Two

During the mornings, once our bath was completed, Ahmed and I devoted ourselves to the business of the day – he sorting out the flat and me attending to paperwork. Studiously, we avoided each other by and large. Curiously though, he always seemed to finish his work whenever I did. I was presented with a cup of tea and made to watch as he changed out of his jeans and shirt into his Arsenal kit if we were staying indoors, or his galabeya if we were going out. Wisely, he’d decided not to wear the white shorts outside the house. The provocation of his tight package and smooth legs would have induced erections on the entire male population of Tanta if he had.

Our day thus divided itself into two parts – work in the am and leisure in the pm. In the mornings, my young Ganymede was serious and workman-like, ignoring me as much as possible. The afternoons, however, were our time together. He was a natural exhibitionist, and knew exactly the effect he had on me. Wearing nothing but the football shorts or his underwear, he would drift around the flat tantalising me with teasing glimpses of his groin or tightly encased butt. Occasionally he would dance for me, a little awkwardly, to some tune in his head or on the radio, happy and carefree, lost in a world of his own.

Using the English magazines I’d bought, we would sometimes sit at the table and teach each other our respective languages. This almost always ended up with us laughing at the miserable attempts to wrap our tongues around the unfamiliar sounds. Whenever this happened, Ahmed would leap up and sit straddled on my knees trying to force my lips into new shapes. Naturally, this would end up with us kissing each other joyfully and embracing – a situation Ahmed managed to contrive every time.

Lazily he would rest his head on my shoulder, slip his hands under my shirt and close his eyes for a few minutes. When the inevitable erection sprung to life, he would stand up, remove his shorts or briefs, together with my shirt. Resuming the position, he would sigh deeply and relax his newly released cock standing proud. Unable to resist the temptation, I would cup my hands round his cock and balls and hold them gently. Thus we would doze contentedly for an hour or so, waking occasionally to have a kiss and cuddle. There was never any sex during these times, we were perfectly content to be together, comfortably at ease and pleased just to enjoy the tranquillity.

Bedtimes were our special times together. Slowly over a period of a couple of weeks, they got earlier and earlier until eventually Ahmed would make it plain that he was ready for bed at half past nine, and that I should follow. Having nothing better to do, I willingly obliged!

Once comfortably arranged in bed, we would practice our language skills together, me using my rapidly improving Arabic and Ahmed his English. Thus we ended up in the odd situation with me speaking his language and Ahmed mine, interspersed with giggles and uncontrolled laughter at a forgotten or mispronounced word. He was immensely amused when I tried to convince him that the stripped horse-like animal really was called a Zebra, and that the black and white crossing-places on our roads were called Zebra crossings!

Ahmed was also immensely delighted when I taught him the pleasures that a well executed 69 could engender.

We’d long since got over the need to bring each other to a quick orgasm and spent a lot of time kissing and embracing, usually ending up head-to-toe, sucking gently on each other. Having learned the signals, we both knew when we were about to cum and thus were able to prolong our love-making well into the early hours if we wanted.

One thing we both enjoyed was to kneel astride each other and play with our nipples. This also had the advantage that we could gaze into each other’s eyes and lose ourselves.

It was during one of these sessions that we made our final bond together. Ahmed was perched on my abdomen, gently sucking away on my nipples when he decided to change tactics. Sitting up, he twisted and twirled my teats between his fingers, giving me his most endearing ‘I love you’ look. My dick was gently resting between his but cheeks, sliding up and down slightly as he rocked to and fro.

Almost without thought I pressed my throbbing dick deeper into the crack and moved it back and forth. Ahmed smiled slightly, as much to himself as me, and shifted position to allow me better access.

Once I’d found his little rosebud, I pushed my cock against it firmly; not enough to force an entry by any means, but enough to let him know it was there. Almost instantly he let go of my nipples and pulled his butt cheeks apart. Having got so far, I was suddenly unsure as to whether I really wanted to do this. Although I was not as big as most erect cocks, it was still large enough to cause Ahmed some pain, especially as it was probably his first time. Neither was I sure whether Ahmed was offering me his body for his benefit or mine.

Any such doubts I had were soon dispelled when he reached behind him and held my cock as he tried to sit back on it. After several attempts without success we were both seriously frustrated. Not wanting to lose this long-awaited prize, I eased Ahmed onto the bed and slipped into the bathroom for the Vaseline.

Laying him on his back, I put a pillow under him and knelt between his legs. Gathering a healthy sized fingerful of jelly, I smoothed it around Ahmed’s hole and carefully pushed a finger in as far as it would go. As I worked it around, I watched Ahmed carefully. So far he seemed quite happy and was enjoying the new sensation. Two fingers produced a slight grimace at first, but soon dissipated as he relaxed.

Ahmed watched, fascinated, as I used my spare hand to smear my aching cock with the lubricant. Pushing his knees up to his chest and getting him to hold his cheeks apart, I rested my dick against his hole.

“Yes?” I whispered.

Getting a determined nod of the head in reply, I pushed gently but firmly. This time I entered much more easily, his sphincter suddenly relaxing to let me in. I stopped immediately and looked anxiously at Ahmed. His eyes were tightly closed and he was biting his bottom lip. I waited for the initial wave of pain which he undoubtedly felt to disappear before going any further. Once the ache had gone, he opened his eyes and grinned very slightly at me. Encouraged, I forced myself millimetre by millimetre into his tunnel of love, pausing once in a while for him to get used to it. At long last I felt myself in as far as I could go and lay down on top of my Adonis, taking my weight on my arms.

Ahmed let his legs drop onto my back and we lay there blissfully for several minutes, both absorbing the long delayed ecstasy of our coupling. Ahmed was running his fingers through my hair, looking up at me. The fact that he was happy was perfectly obvious, the smile that was spread over his face said it all. This was something he needed and desired, the ultimate demonstration of the love we had for each other. Up until now, neither of us had the language skills, or nerve, to risk taking things this far. Fortunately, nature had taken a hand as it often does, and we’d achieved our goal when the right time came.

As I slipped in and out, slowly and carefully, I savoured every fantastic moment, unable to remember the last time I’d done this, or even with whom. Whoever or whenever it was, there was no way it could have been better than this.

Causing as little disturbance as possible, I made myself more comfortable and felt Ahmed clasp his hands on my back and lock his ankles together, pulling me even deeper inside him. Drawing back a little, I thrust back down again, feeling his tight ring muscle slide down my shaft. As I bottomed out, I must have hit Ahmed’s magic spot. Instantly Ahmed eyes flashed open, a look of complete astonishment cross his face and his arms and legs clamp me in a vice-like grip. This was accompanied by a low, prolonged growl as he felt his prostate being stimulated. Having found just the right spot, I rubbed against it three or four times, eliciting an ever increasing response from Ahmed. He was now completely out of it. His face was screwed up in a mask of sheer erotic pain and his lissom, sweating body shuddering and shivering in uncontrolled ecstasy.

Unable to control myself any longer, with a few urgent strokes, I came deep, deep inside him, my final last desperate thrust releasing a fountain of high pressure cum.

Even after I was spent, I was reluctant to withdraw my surprisingly still hard cock, but did so to give Ahmed a break. Rolling off, I was only mildly surprised to see he’d cum at some point, the shiny juices glistening over both our bodies.

Ahmed stared at me disbelievingly, shaking his head, bewildered by the intensity and unbelievable feelings he’d experienced. Quite suddenly he started crying. Not sobbing, but allowing tears to flow freely down his cheeks. Slowly he turned over, lay on my chest and kissed me deeply and passionately, our tears mingling together.

It took him quite some time to return to his senses, during which he rested his head on my chest and idly rubbed his hand over my stomach. Neither of us spoke – there was nothing we could say.

We must have dropped off to sleep for a few minutes as the next thing I knew was that Ahmed was using a wash cloth to wipe away the dried cum and sweat on me. He was already cleaned up, and smelling deliciously of my body talc.

Climbing back into bed, he wrapped himself round me once more and snuggled up. Even the erotic attentions of his fingers couldn’t rouse my flaccid cock – at least not yet. Ahmed’s though was rampant once again and demanding attention. Looking from one to another he laughed, making some sort of comment about my being an old man. This of course led to a rough and tumble, just the thing we needed to release the tension we both felt.

We ended up with Ahmed pinning me down to the bed, his hands firmly on my shoulders and his legs locked over mine. My cock had by now decided to wake up and was standing proudly, pointing up at Ahmed’s chest. He grinned wickedly at my arousal and leaned in to kiss me.

Releasing the pressure on my legs and shoulders, he looked at me with a questioning frown. Slowly he sat back on his haunches and pushed his dick down so it was aimed at my crotch. Still holding my gaze, he lifted first one of my legs and then other so they were up against my chest. It was payback time.

I handed him the jar of Vaseline, giving him tacit approval to carry on.

Repeating exactly what I’d done before, Ahmed smeared the lubricant over his cock and around my hole.

When things were prepared to his satisfaction and his pulsating knob was nudging against my ring, he gave me a last look before leaning forwards with his hips.

I’d been butt-fucked a few times in the past and as a result entry was fairly easy for him. It also helped of course that his was somewhat smaller than some of the tools I’d taken before – not a lot though as I felt the whole length of him slide down in one smooth movement. I could feel the fantastic warmth buried deep inside me, relishing the almost forgotten wonder of it. I sighed contentedly and gave Ahmed an encouraging smile.

He grinned back at me wickedly before looking down to watch as he experimentally slid in and out very slowly, savouring every moment. His delight in this new experience was evident as he rested his hands on my legs and used his hips to thrust back and forth.

The feelings you get when you are the fucker and the fuckee are very different of course, although as far as I was concerned they are both immensely satisfying. Having thoroughly enjoyed Ahmed’s beautiful body just a few minutes ago, I was now just as pleased to be on the receiving end.

Ahmed too was pleased with himself. It wasn’t long before he began to roger me in earnest, his hips bouncing backwards and forwards with increasing speed and force. It was by no means painful – in fact I enjoyed the intense pleasure he gave me as he thrust in and out. The fact that he’d lost control of himself once again and was fucking me like a rabbit only increased my arousal.

Despite having cum not too long ago, Ahmed was rapidly approaching another intense climax. There would have been no point in trying to get him to slow down and take his time, he was much too far gone for that – and my arousal was all the better for it.

With a last, desperate lunge he forced himself in me one final time and washed my insides with his cum – and I swear I felt every last spurt of it.

Ahmed fell off me, laying on his back and breathing deeply, his chest heaving. Beads of sweat were glistening on his forehead and his eyes staring sightlessly into the far distance. Picking up the wash-rag, I lovingly wiped his face and chest.

This time he slept. Before long he was breathing gently and soundly, a slight smile still on his face. I gave him a couple of light kisses before dropping off into a blissful sleep myself.

From that day onwards our relationship improved immensely, much to our delight. To begin with, I thought that the excitement of the illicit pleasures we were taking would wear off, at least as far as he was concerned. After all, I reasoned, he is still a young teenager, and such pleasures as we were enjoying would soon pall and he would lose interest as other things began to interest him.

This proved not to be the case. As time went by, we got more and more comfortable and at ease with each other. I almost always let Ahmed take the lead, the only rule being that we restricted the more energetic of our practices to the night time. And energetic they were! With the increase in his confidence (and experience) he was much more able to relax and take his time, the only thing I couldn’t cope with was his boundless energy and insatiability. On more than one occasion I was awakened in the early hours with a warm, moist mouth clamped around my dick, not so much as to bring me off as to satisfy his own desire. He was more than happy for me to lay back and do

nothing except enjoy it.

A month sped by and much to our shame we’d hardly ever talked about his mother. After he’d moved his few possessions back into the flat, I don’t think he even went to check on his ‘house’.

It was with some surprise therefore that we had a message to say that his mother would be coming home in a few days. I think we were both dismayed at this news, I knew I was. Ahmed of course was torn between the pleasure of having his mother back and the coming to an end of our debauched life together.

Apparently, this was not to be so, at least if Ahmed had anything to do with it. As usual, he was determined to get his own way and had devised a plan to this end. He tried several times to explain it to me, and although I grasped it in broad outline, the details escaped me completely. For one mad instant I thought of using the couple upstairs to translate for us, but even the most naive of people would soon smell a rat!

A day or two before Muniera was due, I was intrigued to see Ahmed’s bed and bedding had re-appeared in the flat. This time however, it was carefully rolled up and stored in the kitchen.

On the day his mother returned, Ahmed naturally spent a lot of time with her, ensconced in the shack on the roof. Sadly, I’d decided that the fun times were over and had made my mind up that we were now reduced to our shared bath times again.

Just after tea, I was more than a little nervous when Muniera and Ahmed appeared together. Thinking that somehow she’d found out about her beloved son and me, I waited for my world to come crashing down. To my surprise, she seemed puzzled and curious as much as anything else. Ahmed was being intense and serious, and very verbal, hardly giving me a glance. The Arabic was far too quick and difficult for me to follow. The only thing I picked up on was Ahmed’s pointing to his bedding once in a while and his arms waving about.

Eventually it dawned on me that he was trying to persuade his mother that it would be better for all of us if he slept in my kitchen instead of upstairs. I could see his logic in this, but doubted whether his mother could, or would. In our western society, the idea of a young, nubile, boy sleeping in a flat with only a 25-year old for company would raise a few eyebrows, even if he was sleeping in the kitchen!

This thought didn’t apparently strike Muniera. If it did, she either ignored it, or accepted the situation for what it must be. Her only concern seemed to be that the presence of Ahmed in my home would somehow disturb me. It would of course, but not I think in the way she meant. At this point I explained that I didn’t object in the slightest, and daring to go just a little further, added that I even thought it was a good idea. If she agreed of course.

To my utter amazement, she did agree, even going so far as to thank me profusely for offering to take care of her son! I still wasn’t sure whether she had any idea what was going on between us, but she must be incredibly naive not to have even considered the idea. If she thought that there was anything happening, she obviously accepted it. This society never ceased to amaze me. Anyway, the deal was now done and I had a new resident in my flat. Yet again, Ahmed had triumphed.

After many ‘thank you’s’ and ‘good wishes’, Muniera left. As she went out, I got the distinct impression that she was actually pleased for her son, who, as far as she was concerned, was starting to make his own way in the world.

Just as soon as Muniera had left, Ahmed confirmed his new status by rolling his bed up and throwing it in the corner. He also used the heavy bolts to secure the front door of the flat, something we’d never done before.

Lastly, he dragged me into the living room and gave me a tremendous hug and kiss before closing the louvred window shutters tightly – again, something we’d never bothered with. He left me sat on the settee, puzzled, as he disappeared into ‘our’ bedroom with firm instructions that I was to stay put.

A few minutes later he returned dressed in his jeans and white shirt, with what can only be described as a wicked leer on his face. Tuning the radio in to a local music station, he began to sway rhythmically to the hypnotic music. He was dancing for me! The deliberate semi-darkness of the room was perfect: he danced and skipped around playfully, sometimes almost invisible in the gloom, at other times lit entrancingly by the slivers of light creeping through the shutters. Slowly, and with supreme eroticness, he unfastened the buttons on his shirt one by one, looking at me out of the corner of his sparkling eyes, exactly as he’d seen the belly dancers do on the television a hundred times before. With an exorbitant flourish, he threw his shirt across the room and beamed at me, his erection clearly stretching out his jeans. It wasn’t the end though. Continuing to step gracefully around, he shyly unbuttoned my shirt just as erotically as he’d done his own. When my shirt had joined his, he began work on his trousers. Teasingly he undid the button and slid the zip down, just far enough not to let his goodies be seen. With an admonitory wave of his finger, and a knowing smile, the zip was pulled back up and he danced away.

Ahmed was thoroughly enjoying himself, showing me a side that I’d never seen before. He seemed to have a natural ability to entertain, and danced around without a hint of awkwardness or embarrassment, enjoying himself just as much as I. Even the difficulty of removing his trousers whilst still moving around was done gracefully. Now delightfully naked, he seemed to take immense pride in showing his perfect body to me, from every possible angle, his erection leading the way.

By now I was incredibly hard and aware of a visibly growing wet spot. Ahmed, giggling, did no more than rub his fingers on it and lick them, using his tongue in the most lascivious way I’d ever seen.

Anxious to help him along and at the same time give my aching cock some room to breath, I made to undo my belt and zip. Ahmed slapped my hand away playfully and knelt between my legs. Slowly, oh so very slowly, he did the job for me, not once taking his eyes off mine. Holding me by the wrists, he encouraged me to stand up and step out of my trousers puddled on the floor.

Giving himself a last few twirls in the middle of the floor, he at last stepped gazelle-like towards me and fastened his hands loosely behind my neck. Staring deep into my eyes, he stretched up and kissed me, longingly and passionately, his hot body pressed tightly against mine.

If he’d done anything else, anything at all, I would have cum. In something of a daze I pushed him away, just far enough for me to take a hood look at him before drawing him back, as much to hide my tears of happiness as anything else.

Dreamily we sank to the floor, still embracing and still kissing. Such was the state of our arousal that our hugging and kissing soon became urgent, demanding and lustful. Desperately I pushed Ahmed onto his back and hoisted his legs onto my shoulders, moving my beating dick up towards his hole. Ahmed too was incredibly aroused, his face showing an almost feral lust.

I felt his sphincter relax and instantly forced myself fully down in one smooth move. He was more than ready for it, and to stop himself from screaming out loud, forced his first into his mouth. Before I could begin to fuck him, he bucked and writhed under me, desperate for me start. Without giving a thought to any pain or hurt I was giving him, I forced myself in and out hurriedly and almost viciously, oblivious to his moans of ecstasy and his tortured body.

When I came, it was painful and debilitating for me, my balls aching with the strain. Utterly exhausted I collapsed, gasping heavily, already regretting the brutal was in which I’d all but raped him. I needn’t have worried though. Through a tear-stained and flushed face, his eyes told me how happy he was; a fact confirmed by a lip crushing kiss and tongue wrestle.

It was ages before we could summon up enough energy to stand up and when we did we had to hold on to each other for support. After a few minutes, I gently picked my boy up, wrapped his legs round my waist and carried him through to the bedroom.

Much later that night I was awakened by Ahmed pushing his cock against my butt. We were laying stretched out, with Ahmed spooned into my back, a position he would find it impossible to enter me from easily. Slowly I turned onto my back for him and reached out for the Vaseline.

Unhurriedly, he smeared us both and slid his cock into my waiting body. He fucked me very slowly and gently, stopping to rest once in a while to kiss and toy with my nipples. In, out; in, out; in, out, he moved, keeping almost perfect time with his heart beat, the infinite pleasure he was getting demonstrated by his constant purring. Even when he came, he kept up the slow relentless pace, his sperm injected deep inside me. A leisurely end to a perfectly natural and loving act. Letting his soft cock fall out, he wriggled his way up my body, rested his head on my shoulder, smiled softly, kissed me and went to sleep fully satisfied.

It took me a great deal longer. I played the scenes over and over again in my head, trying to convince myself that they weren’t the product of a spectacularly vivid dream. Letting my hand fall onto my wet cock, it took just three strokes.

Slowly our days organised themselves into a regular pattern. The mornings we spent together, from the time we got out of our shared bed until my lunch-time shower; then he would spend most afternoons with his mother, who thanks to Ahmed, had been able to pick up another morning job to help with the family finances.

The evenings and nights times continued very much as before, the only change being that we reserved our more exuberant and physical activities to the bedroom, the danger being that we would sometimes oversleep – three times I missed appointments at work!

In fact, a year had flown by: something I hadn’t realised until I was asked for my annual report by the company. Leaning back in my chair as I thought about the past 12 months, I closed my eyes and thought about it. Nor surprisingly my mind went straight to Ahmed; the most important thing in my life. He’d grown a lot over the year and was now almost as tall as me. He had also filled out beautifully, and had the beginnings of what was going to be a perfect bush of hair around his pride and joy. That too had grown, being almost as big as mine now, something he was inordinately pleased with of course.

He had matured too. Our love making had taken on a much more serious side to it, which we both found better. Able now to control himself a lot easier meant we could take our time over things and derive the maximum amount of pleasure form our love-making. Thankfully though, his maturity lapsed sometimes when we were alone. In the evenings, once the door was bolted, he would often dance for me. It was never as alluring or erotic as the first time – that could never be re-captured, but the wicked leer, amazing erotic strip show always led to a night of complete debauchery when he reverted to the young boy I’d first known. In the privacy of our own little kingdom, we were as happy as two people could ever be.

My Arabic had also improved to the extent that we could converse almost normally most of the time, although I did get one or two raised eyebrows on the site when I forgot myself and used an inappropriate word, or displayed a knowledge of the language which went beyond that expected of a simple accountant! My knowledge of Arabic did, however, do me some good. The company offered me a permanent contract and the use of a company car, together with a rise in salary!

Ahmed was delighted with the news and we celebrated by having a party, to which we invited both his mother and the people upstairs, as well as a few friends. The bombshell hit me later, after we’d gone to bed. We were both too tired to indulge in very much sex play and we were gently fondling each other when I asked how his mother was. He replied that she was very happy and pleased for us both.

This struck me as being an odd way of putting it and so I asked if she knew that we – and I gave his erection a tug to make my point – were ‘messing about’ together.

“Of course!” he laughed.

My mind went blank and my dick deflated instantly. I looked at Ahmed, my fear showing intensely. This produced an annoying giggle from him, and a quick kiss. I felt a little better, but still frightened. Seeing my worried frown and obvious discomfort, he relented and explained things to me. She’d sort of guessed that there was something going on between us when she went away, he told me. And she knew for sure when he came to live with me.

I was still feeling very uncomfortable and embarrassed, after all there hadn’t been the slightest hint

from her.

“She’s very happy for me. And for you,” Ahmed said seriously. “After all, we are two young men and are only doing what young men do. She’d be worried if we weren’t doing anything,” he laughed. “Otherwise there’d be something wrong with one of us!”

I didn’t ask any more questions – I’d got enough to think about. In any case, Ahmed was busy trying to resurrect my flaccid cock, determined to prove his point. Which he did – three time that night.

It took me a week or so not to blush every time I saw Muniera, and even now I am slightly uncomfortable in her presence, especially when Ahmed is in one of his playful and unpredictable moods.

As far as we are concerned though, Ahmed is now a part of me – and me a part of him. I even went as far as buying him a good suit of clothes to celebrate our now sanctioned relationship, and taking him out to the cinema, which he loved.

All this happen five year ago, and Ahmed and I are still together. His mother eventually went back to her village and I got a new maid to replace her – a single one!

Whatever people may think of our relationship is never mentioned, and neither has it affected us in any way that we know of. People just accept it for what it is and aren’t in the slightest bit judgemental. Ahmed is a fine young man now, holding down a job as translator in the same place I work. He is mature, handsome and tremendous company – most of the time! When our front door is closed and locked, he changes and becomes the boy I started to love so long ago. He still enjoys dancing too!

 

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