Date: Tue, 14 Sep 2010 17:28:38 -0700 (PDT) From: Aihu Fist Subject: Hammam part 18 Hammam by Aihu Fist part18 I pondered about my White friend in the nick. Allah knows if he is still there and his arse must be sore by now, knowing the guards who will not have missed an opportunity to take turns on a smooth hairless roumi bum. As I thought of it, I noticed the poking hard on my bermudas. How long was Gadhafi going to be in Morocco? A day, a week, fucking all boys until his prick was sore? Mine got harder and I pushed it down between my legs. I couldn't walk through the streets like that. I had an idea, I would wait outside, all night if must, for his Excellency to come down with his entourage and see if I could smuggle myself into it. I am sure he will have some boys by his side in the limo. In the mean time I had to eat something. I walked round the hotel and bumped into the chef. -What the hell are you doing here, alley cat? The chef barked at me. -Mimoun? -Rachid? -This cannot be true, I don't believe my eyes! I shouted at the top of my voice. -You bugger of a cousin! I wouldn't have believed it either if it hadn't been for my own eyes staring at you now. Everyone in the family had given you up. Your dad told us that you had fallen over board during a fishing trip and were eaten by a shark. -And you believed my liar of a dad? -Well he is my uncle, after all. He had a point, I admitted. But, Allah surely had strange ways to show his love, I thought. -Where have you been cousin? Have you eaten? -I was about to look for some food when you showed up. -You mean, you are living in the streets? Hang on, maybe I can help you. Come over here, and get your ass away from those bins. Rashid was ushered into the kitchen where he was taken to the toilet. -Now, clean yourself up, for Allah's sake, you look like you haven't had a bath for months. Here is a bar of soap and shampoo. I will get you some clothes of mine I have grown out of. Rachid took his time and lathered his olive skin with Dove's care. He began to smell like an angel, when cousin Mimoun knocked on the door. Are you ready? Yes. Ok. Then put these on. Now come out, you know you don't have to hide your pretty butt for me, I have seen it so often at your home, or have you forgotten about our nightly escapades in bed? -No, of course not, I piped. I took the clothes; they all smelled nice and clean. A pair of jeans, socks, a T-shirt and a pair of?knickers. -But they are girl's knickers, I can't wear this. -You can't? You must, this is my special treat. Don't you recognize it? -No. -Think again. I held them up against the light ? -No -Yes! -All these years you have kept those? -Yes, because you had worn them and I wanted to keep the scent to my nose, every night before going to sleep. You were seven then, remember? -Yes, and you were eighteen. You had bought this one for me and I had to dance in it for you only. I had totally forgotten about it. -Yes, and I had you walk around in your mum's pumps too. The knickers were too big then, but now they will stick to you like glue. Put them on. I did it with glee, it brought back so many memories of the good times, when dad hadn't started spanking me yet. -Turn around, oh cousin, you look fabulous! Mimoun squealed. Now, put these jeans on fast, I wouldn't want any of the staff or kitchen assistants catch us here at this moment. Get some tajine and off you go?hang on a minute. Go off? Where do you live? I lowered my head in shame. -Come on Rachid, what is the problem? -I have nowhere to go. In short I told him in a nutshell what had been my life so far. -Oh I hope Allah has mercy on your dad's soul and yours. So, you have been around I gather. Well, there is no way you are going back to that sort of life. I will see to it that you get a job as my apprentice. There is plenty to do and to learn. But, first things first. I'll have you finish your food and after that you go and have a nap in my bed. We will take care of Gadhafi later. Maybe there is a small chance you will get to see him face to face. Leave it to me. Digesting the tajine in bed was no problem. I reminisced of our young days together and how short my long term memory was. Maybe we would have pleasant nights together. I also anticipated my future as an apprentice cook. My head began to spin with new ideas of how to get to my roumi friend and how to get him introduced to Gadhafi. I am sure Gadhafi would not discard an experience with a tight little European butt hole and perhaps, just perhaps he might reward me. Perhaps he might take me on board of his plane to Lybia and I could start the career of circus director. More likely, I would turn into another bedboy for him, whom he would discard after a number of screw parties, but then, I might still end up providing him with boys. That is, if I survive his eclectic collection of boys. I still had no pubic hair, no hair on my cheeks or chin, not even dark fuzz above under my nose. As I said, my head was spinning with fantastic plots; I even had a plan B. In case everything went wrong, I could always try to poison him and I would be rewarded by the CIA or Scotland Yard. I wondered if there were any zamels in England or the USA who had a career in the Secret Service. My zob was getting stiff and I needed to jack off. I began to caress my tiny sack; no hair was to be felt. It was all soggy between my thighs. I pulled my hand back and smelled it. It really had a scent of its own. My cousin was right about it, I mean to keep my undies for so long. I dug my fingers deeper en ended up touching my hole, which was even wetter. My zob, pushed against my thumb, I couldn't ignore it, and so I started rubbing it with a drop of saliva. Oh, it felt heavenly, no one can do what your own fingers know, I thought. My index and thumb had my little knob bathing in a bubbly juice. It got hold of my senses and made my innards burn with desire for Gadhafi's big monster cock. Then I heard footsteps. It must be my cousin, It was better if he didn't find me yanking at my zob that soon, or he might think that I am really depraved. Better to wait a few nights and pretend I am asleep. It was ten by now and he must be dead tired too; too tired to think of sex. Mimoun entered the room, silently. Dropped all of his clothes on the floor and gazed at his cousin who was fast asleep. The room was totally dark but for a beam of light that came in from a street lantern. -Cousin, cousin, he whispered. Are you awake? But Rachid didn't move a fin. Mimoun stood naked by the bed; a silhouette of ebony, slender and thin like only young gods can be. He lifted the bed sheets and glided without the making of sound under them. Rachid slept on his tummy and although he had pretended to fake sleep, he actually had fallen asleep and wasn't aware of his cousin getting in to bed. Mimoun literally licked his lips, because his mouth and tongue went dry just thinking of Rachid. It was night and a little cooler than normal. He appreciated the bed sheet once he lay under it. He was really knackered, his body was but his mind wasn't. His mind was in a frenzy trying to untangle the many things he had to do in the coming days. Tomorrow, he would have to convince his boss to hire Rachid as an apprentice. This was a five star hotel, the best of the best, but then Mimoun was the best chef around, specialized in European and Maghreb cuisine. He licked his lips again, they felt parched. This was Allah's present for his hard work and an honest life, Mimoun pondered. The bed was big, in point of fact there was room for three. Mimoun was such an excellent chef that he was allowed to live in a hotel room with double bed. He lay on his back and and looked at the ceiling. Then at the window, he couldn't help but notice how the light contoured each and every curve of Rachid's body. What will I do? He is sleeping, Mimoun murmered to himself. He did that often, I mean, talking to himself. This room had never seen the lights of a youngster like his cousin. So, it looked like a mirage, flown over from the desert and dropped here, right at his feet, in his bed. Allah, please, don't tempt me. But if it is your will, give me a sign now. A soft breeze of city air wafted through the window, blowing the curtains aside. Mimoun veered up and leaned on his elbows. Where did that breeze come from? The body next to him moved for a split second, one arm pulling the bed sheet by his feet away. The sheet ended up covering Rachid's head, both arms and lower back, leaving Mimoun without any cover at all. Hamdulla! the latter whispered to the heaven, you have heard my prayers? The curtains fluttered with another breeze. Mimoun was looking at Rachid' bottom, which lay there motionless caught in a frame of light from the street. Was that a sign? Please God, if it is what you reward me with for my belief in you, than I thank you from the bottom of my heart. But before I make any move on my cousin, let's make it clear that I am allowed to unwrap the present. It should not move in any way, if it does than I know that you don't want me to unwrap it. I will consume it with unconditional love for you. Allah Hu Akbar. Mimoun was god-fearing, not god loving, he'd curse himself forever if he knew he would displease god. He rolled on his left flank and snaked down toward Rachid's bottom. He gasped as he marveled at the exquisiteness of this boy's buttocks. But he was so much more thrilled to see that he had not been deceived; Rachid had not taken off his knickers. The lace pattern was even more inviting, now that the light focused on it. It couldn't be more divine. His right hand brushed slightly over the fabric, it felt electric, Mimoun was definitely recharging himself. The hand tried to track down the waistband to hook up with it. One finger and another on the other side got hold of the soft band and started to roll the knickers over the immobile curves. His mouth was as dry as the desert, he couldn't even whisper any more. Please god help me unwrap him, let him not wake up: I never done this before. You know that. I've only done it with live boys. But I won't call for your anger and do what you want me to do, as this is your precious gift. The knickers were past Rachid's feet. Mimoun held them to his nostrils and inhaled heavily. His boxers tried hard their best to rein in his other gift. Mimoun was reasonably endowed and by now he had trouble in keeping it from leaking. Rachid didn't move and inch, but still the gift was his. God's promise and reward for a pious life. Let me move his legs, dear God, is that OK? A third breeze blew through the room and Mimoun took that as a yes. He spread both legs so delicately, but Mimoun was having difficulties breathing. He gasped for air and craved a drink. His cock poked through the boxer's fly, the pre-cum visible. Mimoun knew he had to be fast, the boy might wake up any time. On his knees between Rachid's thigh's he commenced the exploration of pubescent boy, he had only known a few years ago. Now he was going to deflower him in his sleep. Was that rape? NO, of course not, God had given it to him. That was the thought that did it. It was his treasure and just as God asked Ibrahim to sacrifice his son Isaac, so had he now kept Rachid asleep to be divinely raped by his cousin. The fact that Rachid had not moved, let alone uttered a sound, was the true sign of Allah that he was his to taken. And take he did. First a middle finger lubed in saliva and the ring finger. Feeling up his prostate, prodding, digging, Rachid was the Sleeping Beauty. A slimy thread attached itself like goo to Rachid's sphincter. There was no invitation but a gentle push against the door named virginity. At least, that's what Mimoun thought. God had given him a hand me down virgin who wouldn't even know what it meant to be a virgin. So, the push was a piece of cake. As soon as the sphincter embraced the head of Mimoun's zob, the game was on. Mimoun had been sex starved for ages; he ploughed and ploughed, making funny noises when he pumped harder and deeper: Rachid slept on, his butt had been abused so often, it didn't even make him cry anymore. Help me god, Mimoun, squealed, I am going to come, please let it go all in, every drop, I need it so badly. He shook and nearly collapsed on Rashid's back. Gosh, he made it. His shaft was covered in shit, but it was divine shit. Thank you lord, he whispered, not let me put his knickers on again. And God was pleased with the end. Tomorrow was Friday; he could take a rest from his creation. Just as Rashid had his knickers over his butt, the lights in the street went out. It was dawn, soon everyone would be out and Mimoun would have to see the boss. He hadn' slept a wink. But he screwed enough to keep him going for the rest of the new day. For more write to aihufist@yahoo.com or read the previous chapters and other stories of my hand at the prolific authors's page.