Date: Fri, 14 Jan 2005 08:37:59 EST
From: PixaJax@aol.com
Subject: Desperately Seeking Selim Part 1

I woke up in a sweat and a  puddle of cum. The pillow that I had been
humping in my dreams was still wedged between my thighs, my cock still
punched into the folds of the pillowcase. A beautiful arab boy had come
to me in the night. He had slipped naked into my bed and backed into me
so his plump buttocks were pressed into my belly, coyly offering himself
to me. "Min fadlak!" he had whispered. "Please! I want THIS!" and he
reached back to take hold of my already hard cock and direct it between
his delicious cheeks. I plunged into him and held him tight as I fucked
him. He moaned and groaned as I massaged his love-gland until we both
came together. I called out his name "Selim" and at that moment awoke. It
had been so real, I could scarcely believe that there was no beautiful
arab boy in my bed holding my cock tight in his sweet boypussy. What had
provoked this fantasy? Why a boy and  not a girl? And why an arab boy in
particular?

As I showered, I remembered the story about the soldier who had explained
to the army psychiatrist that although he regularly experienced three
kinds of sexual activity - masturbation, sexual intercourse and nocturnal
emissions - he liked the wet dreams best, because "you meet a nicer class
of people, doc." There was no doubt that my handsome arab boy Selim was
in that category.

And then I remembered what had provoked the  fantasy that had led to such
a satisfying climax. I had been reading a book by Colin Wilson, in which
he quoted a famous author - Maugham, I think - as saying that he was
unsure of his sexual orientation until he went with an arab boy who made
him cum three times in one night. "At that moment", said the famous
author, "with my agile arab boy still cuddling into me, I knew that the
only good sex for a man is sex with boys."

I dried off, trying to ignore the tingling that had begun again in my
penis, and got dressed. Downstairs in the hotel dining room, I took a
hasty petit dejeuner of croissants and coffee. I debated whether I should
phone my wife, Angela. In my mind's eye, I saw her naked at her dressing
table. She was just putting on a lacy white bra, scooping her breasts
into the cups and adjusting them till she was satisfied they looked
right. I saw the tidy triangle of pubic hair atop her slit. And realised
that I was not in the least aroused. On the contrary, I felt repulsed by
the very softness and feminity that had attracted me to her in the first
place. Instead, I remembered Selim's firm muscular body  and the clean
male smell of him, and my penis stirred into life again. I contrasted the
tightness of his rectum, the way the sphincter muscle had gripped the
shaft of my cock, with the slackness of my wife's slithery cunt which
made me feel as if I was pushing my cock into bowl of melted jelly. No,
fuck it, I wouldn't call her. She was probably lying on her back with a
vibrator up her cunt anyway.

I got up, trying to adjust my tumescent cock, and went back to my room,
dazed at what had happened to me. I had never had sex with a boy before
(or with a man for that matter), not even in my dreams, but now it was
something I badly wanted for real. And Marseilles was a good place to
find my Selim.

[To be continued. Comments to pixajax@aol.com]