Date: Sat, 15 Jan 2005 06:03:27 EST
From: PixaJax@aol.com
Subject: Desperately Seeking Selim Part 2

As part of the "great adventure"  of turning my boylove dreams into
reality, I thought I should inform myself about the art of anal
intercourse. Just as I had no experience of sex with a boy, so I was
ignorant about backdoor loving. I once tried it with Angela, but she was
repelled by the idea and told me not to be so disgusting. Which I thought
was unreasonable seeing that she enjoys using a buttplug on herself.

As the meeting droned on, I allowed my mind to drift away from the topic
of distance learning and started to think about my own styles of fucking.
Basically I veer between two styles. One is the long steady piston style,
keeping up a regular rhythm of penetrating as deep as possible and then
withdrawing almost completely before thrusting in again. The other is
thrust-thrust style, where I stay deep in and just keep thrusting without
withdrawing at all. The latter style is somehow more aggessive as if you
were using your hard cock to punch your partner deep inside. If it goes
right, you and your partner will both be shouting out obscenities with
every thrust:
thrust-FUCK!-thrust-FUCK!-thrust-FUCK!-thrust-FUCK!-thrust.....
But would these styles work for anal intercourse too? And would it make a
difference that my partner was a boy? Do boys LIKE having a hard mancock
in their anus? Would my real-life "Selim" (when I found him) enjoy being
pistoned? Or thrust-punched? And, remembering the tightness of my wife's
asshole, surely a boy's would be even tighter, and then how do you get
inside him? At that moment, the image from my wet dream of feeling my
cock deep inside my boylover as he pressed his buttocks against my belly
surged into my mind.
By this time, my cock was tenting my pants. Fortunately, I was sitting at
a conference table so my untimely erection was invisible to the others
round the table. But it was swollen and painful, and cried out for
relief. I visualised pumping my cum deep into a boy's rectum and hearing
him moan as surge after surge of my hot manseed hit his insides. Oh fuck!
How I needed a wank! And soon or I would end up with aching balls and
gnawing hungerpains in the pit of my stomach. Surreptitiously I slid a
hand under the table and caressed my throbbing erection through my pants.
I ADORE masturbation. I will jack off, jerk off, wank - call it what you
will - any time any place. There's something about masturbating in public
that heightens the thrill. Did I dare to unzip and get my cock in my
hand? Then try to look interested in the meeting while I imagined my arab
boy impaled on my prick like a shish kebab on a skewer. That was it: I
wanted to skewer him! The skewer style of fucking! Wow. My hand felt good
caressing my cock. If only I dared....
Fortunately for me, the chairman called an end to the meeting and people
got up and left more in more haste than was decent. Clearly they were as
bored as I was with the topic of distance learning! I hung behind, making
a show of sorting out my papers before putting them into my briefcase, by
which time my cock had detumesced a little so that I reckoned I could
walk out to the restroom without people seeing a fucking great bulge in
my pants.
The restroom was empty except for a fair-haired guy - the Dutch
representative - who was busy combing his hair. He had been sitting next
to me at the conference table.
"That was quite a boner you had there!" he said, so matter-of-factly that
his words didn't register with me at first.
"Sorry?"
"I saw you stroking yourself under the table. It made me want to do the
same!"
"Oh..." - I hesitated, searching for an innocent explanation for my
behaviour.
He grinned.
"It's all right, man! I am as horny as hell, too. It must be this
Marseilles heat. Makes it difficult to concentrate on anything except
finding a good fuck."
I made one of those oshkosh kind of noises you make when you are not sure
how to reply. He looked at the ring on the ring finger of my left hand.
"You married?"
I nodded.
"Me too. No sex there, though....." - he stared directly into my eyes -
"... but I am tired of that kind of sex anyway."
Was he reading my mind? I replied as nonchalantly as my beating pulse
allowed.
"Yes, I know what you mean. Comfortable but unexciting, right?"
"Personally, my friend, I prefer to masturbate these days."
"Me too."
The words slipped out before I realised it.
"Really?"
He smiled at me.
"Alone?"
"Sorry, not sure what you mean......."
Do you always jack off alone, or do you like to share?"
Oh shit, I could see where this was leading.
"I'm not gay, if that's what you  mean."
I said it more vehemently than I intended. He raised his hands in a
gesture of surrender.
"Hey, don't get offended! It was just a question. Come on, let's go have
a drink. If you want to, that is. And I promise not to embarrass you
again!"
He laughed, and easy honest laugh that made it impossible not to relax
with him.
"Sure. I was going to jack off, but that can wait. Let's go."

------------------------------------------

Sitting on the hotel patio, cool drinks in our hands, we pursued our
conversation.
"So, Jack, what do you think of Marseilles?"
"It's my first time here, Wym," I said, "so I have no opinion."
"You know what Marseilles is famous for, don't you?"
I thought for a moment.
"Drugs? Poppa Doyle?"
He laughed.
"Yes, and?."
He waited. I scratched my chin and riffled through the filing cabinet of
my mind.
"Oh, bouillabaisse!" I said, pleased to have remembered the name of the
fish stew for which the city was renowned.
"OK, drugs and the French Connection and bouillabaisse. And?"
"I don't know. Erm, Algerians?"
I seemed to recall that it was the first port of call for north Africans
coming to France.
"Right! Lots of delicious youngsters from the Maghreb!"
I did a double take at the word "delicious".
"Delicious?"
"Yes. It's the right word in English, isn't it?"
He was so fluent that I had forgotten that he was Dutch.
"Well, I suppose so. But we mostly use it to describe something that is
really good to eat."
"Exactly."
"But you said.........."
And then the penny dropped.
"Oh."
He laughed again, that lovely open honest laugh.
"Does that shock you?"
"What?"
"That I should think of a young arab boy as something delicious,
something good to eat."
At the words "young arab boy", I felt a long tingling thrill course
through me from my crotch to the hairs on the back of my neck. When I
spoke again, my voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.
"It's what I dreamed about last night. Fucking a beautiful arab boy. It's
what gave me a hard on during the meeting."
"So, my good friend, you HAVE, how do you say, "taken a walk on the wild
side"?"
"No. Never. I mean, it's just a, a fantasy...." My voice trailed off. I
felt foolish suddenly.
"And does your good lady wife know that you lust after beautiful arab
boys?"
There was a hint of teasing in his voice.
"No.." - I felt I could trust this man - "....but she wouldn't give a
fuck if she did know."
"I love that expression "she wouldn't give a fuck"! And if she gave you a
fuck you wouldn't enjoy it, right?"
It was my turn to laugh.
"Right!"
"Listen, my friend, why don't you and I team up this evening and see if
we can make your fantasy become a reality? What do you say?"
"But how? I mean, you can't just go up to a boy in the street and say "I
want to fuck you". What......"
"Leave it to your friend Wym Vanderpump," he said tapping himself proudly
on the chest. And then tapping the side of his nose in a conspiratorial
gesture, added: "There are ways."

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