Date: Wed, 6 Sep 2017 12:22:36 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Lion-King Chapter 19 Lion-King by badboi666 =============================================================================== If sex with boys isn't your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with fresh young lads then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. Don't leave, however, without doing this: Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html =============================================================================== Chapter 19 My journey has almost reached another significant point. Today - 31 August 1973 - is the last time I'll be seeing Leo. It seems odd writing that a few weeks after he died. I'll meet him at Gay Pride last year, and tomorrow it'll be BL, and my life then, as you'll find out, was much wilder. But today's about Leo. A long time ago I told you that when Leo moved in with me he sold his flat. This month we bought the Tangier place where we've spent many happy holidays. We're here in Tangier at the moment. We got here four days ago, and spent the first day being curious tourists, and getting an idea of the sort of places available, and the likely prices. Luckily a move from a London flat to a Tangier flat leaves you with a lot of change, so cost was the least of our problems. We wanted somewhere near the souk, where we'd do all our shopping, and where Arab boys would be more likely to be encountered. Leo had this odd idea that Arab boys would fall over themselves to carry our shopping home for us (a bit like Billy), so anxious to please the Englishmen that they would bare their nice little arses for a good fucking. Dream on, Leo, I thought. We went to see an agent who spoke English - our Arabic was non-existent then, apart from the basics of hello, good-bye and thank you - and explained our specific needs. He left us in no doubt - in no doubt at all - that he understood them perfectly. That he exceeded our self-imposed upper age of fuckable males by about five years was the only reason that we didn't confirm his suspicions about us in the most rewarding way. When he rang a little bell and tiny cups of coffee were brought in by a boy of about 15 he saw us smile. "You will enjoy Tangier, gentlemen," he said with a smile, "the boys are very beautiful, are they not?" We agreed. When the coffee was finished he cleared his throat. "Well then," he said, "I have three flats which I wish to show you. Shall we go now?" The first was small and didn't really meet our requirements. Typical bloody estate agent, I thought. Start with shit and work up. Why don't they just listen to what you want and show you the obvious place that they know perfectly well you're going to fall for? My sour mood melted when he showed us the third flat on his list. It was perfect - the right size, the right degree of privacy from neighbours, the right distance from the souk, little traffic. We bought it the next day, and I arranged for a local builder to call yesterday to take my instructions about what was needed. Leo had seen a couple of my conversions and rather liked the idea of a more accommodating bathroom than the flat already had. Leo isn't into piss, so it wouldn't be one of my de luxe versions - just a nice big shower and a nice big bath, with room in each for two, maybe three if one of them is nicely under 17. I gave the builder the sketches I'd made and we agreed a price. Through the estate agent acting as interpreter I made it clear that if the work was not finished by the end of November, and if it was not exactly what I had specified, then he wouldn't get a cent. If on the other hand it was done exactly, and on time, he would get a 20% bonus. When this was conveyed to him his eyes lit up, and he became effusive. Eventually we got rid of him. I thanked the estate agent, who had recommended the builder. Was there anything else he could do for us, he asked. When neither Leo nor I said anything he added "Anything at all? Any special requirement to celebrate your coming to Tangier?" If this was how pimping was carried on here we wouldn't have to hunt very hard for the recreation we sought. We had signed a deal. The agent would get 10% of the price - a very handsome sum for two days work. I knew how business worked in England; would it be the same here? "We have agreed a deal," I said, "and we are very happy with it. Perhaps however we might change one of the terms." He looked a bit alarmed. "Do not fear," I went on. "I'd like to suggest that in view of the very great help you have given us with the builder we increase your fee to 15% of the price." He expressed pleasure at this, but still looked a bit surprised. "I suggest that you prepare a new document for signature with the figure of 15% instead. I suggest further that you send the boy who brought us coffee yesterday to bring the document. When he returns to your office tomorrow morning" (here I looked meaningfully directly at him) "he will give you the contract." Leo was doing his best to refrain from chuckling. Since those early days Leo has seen me operate many times, but this was the first occasion I had been so blatant. The estate agent beamed. If he had any reservations about giving the boy into our care for the night then the extra 5% quite blew them from his mind. "Jamal will be delighted to serve you again," he said, "he is a good boy, and knows the ways of the world. I will lend him to you - he is mine, you see. I know you will be kind. His name means 'beautiful'. It is appropriate, is it not?" The guide book we'd bought in London before coming to Tangier gave no insight into how one should thank an Arab for giving you his under-age boy-friend for the night, but we did our best, and our best was clearly sufficient. We parted on enthusiastically amicable terms. ***** Jamal was the first of a very long line of Arab boys we fucked over the next 44 years. You've heard about many of them already. Jamal was different simply because he was the first. When he spent the night with us we had no other Arab boy with whom to compare him - no Zeb, no Hassan, none of the others. He was utterly different from the three English boys we'd encountered in the last year, and as far as the pleasure he gave us he was up there with Billy. I haven't told you about Billy yet, although I have referred to him. If I have time later I'll put you in the picture. His is an unusual story, and Billy was an unusual boy. Jamal appeared at our hotel yesterday after our evening meal. It was around 8, and already beginning to get dark. He had an envelope in his hand, which allowed the lobby staff to make the assumption that he was on legitimate business. I was paged and duly went to collect him and his document. Leo engaged the page in conversation after I'd gone down to see Jamal. The look on Leo's face implied that we might be seeing more of the page on another occasion. Jamal had been hot when he had brought in the coffee the day before. Then he had been dressed in a neat white shirt and brown slacks. Today he was wearing a different shirt but the same slacks. I guessed that he'd been told to come like this to add weight to the idea that he was on a business errand. When I met him in the lobby I was careful to say, for the benefit of anyone listening "You have the contract, Jamal? Good" before whisking him upstairs. When we were in the lift he took my hand and pressed it to his lips. "I will be good with you and your friend," he said, "Abdul has told me." I smiled, and raised his hand to my lips in return. "Jamal," I said, "we will be very good with you." If Jamal had been hot yesterday he was scorching now. No sooner was he in the door than he took off his clothes. Shirt, slacks, shoes, socks all thrown in a corner. This 15-year-old was on a mission to earn his lover that extra 5%. It was quickly clear that the mission itself was Jamal's driving force. His cock pointed up in his scanty white western-style briefs - had he put them on so that he could give the English men the pleasure of seeing him step out of them? What did Arab boys normally wear? We were new to all this. Later we would expect boys to be in a dishdash, but since Jamal worked in a office such lower-class garb was to be shunned. Jamal stood in his tiny pants and smiled at us. "Do you like me?" he said simply. "Jamal, we like you very much," I said. "We are glad you are here with us." I beckoned him over and he stood close to me. He was about 8 inches shorter than I was, so I raised his chin and bent forward to kiss him. His lips were parted as they met mine, and a tongue was searching for mine as soon as our mouths touched. He fumbled at my zip, but he wasn't all that familiar with western clothes. I helped him by undoing my trousers and he tugged them down, his lips leaving mine as he bent to do so. While he was easing my trousers off I removed my shirt. He knelt and pressed his lips to my cock, still inside my pants, but very visible as it was almost fully erect. "Mmmm!" he said, "how big and hard." Leo had moved to where Jamal was kneeling and turned the boy's head towards him. Jamal cottoned on immediately and gave Leo the same kiss and strip that I had enjoyed. Meanwhile I took off my pants. Moments later Leo and Jamal were also naked. Jamal smiled. "Nice English cocks!" he said, "they will fuck me very nicely." "Is that what you would like, Jamal?" asked Leo, "we would like to fuck you very much." Jamal grinned. "It is why I am here. Abdul likes to fuck me, and he is nice, and he has told me that you gentlemen are his friends. He knows I love being fucked." He cleared his throat. A decision was about to be made. "I think Leo will fuck me first. His cock is the same as Abdul's, big and fat. Then when I am full of his juice my bum - is that the word? - will be hot and Rex can thrust his zub in me. Do you know zub?" If we didn't before, then we did now. It was a while since I'd heard 'bum', but it was certainly acceptable from Jamal. "Jamal, your bum is lovely and we will both fuck it, and you will love it when we do," said Leo, "you are a very hot boy. Before I give you my zub I must make you ready." Leo got the boy on the bed and gave his arse (I can't bring myself to write 'bum' any longer - it smacks of children far too young, even for me) a careful preparation. Tongue, lips and fingers were all pressed into service, and into Jamal. Jamal moaned as Leo's ministrations brought an already steaming boy close to the boil. "Oh, fuck me, Leo," he begged. "My bum needs your mighty zub." These sentiments echoed Leo's, and a few moments later he was buried deep inside the boy. Jamal had a highly developed response to having a zub in his bum, and he arched his body as Leo plunged in. Leo was fucking him from behind, so Jamal's cock was available for action. I laid down beside them and managed to get my lips on Jamal's cock. "Oh, Rex, suck me, suck my zub. Leo will fuck my bum and I will fuck your mouth." Simple words, but enormously erotic when uttered by a 15-year-old, especially when his cock is only half an inch from your lips. Leo didn't last much longer, and his pumping Jamal's arse full of nice English spunk drove the boy to unload into my mouth. Very tasty, and a new flavour for me. The spices in his everyday food had an effect on the subtle taste of his cum. I would find that a common feature of the deposits made by a wide range of Arab boys over the years to come. Leo's cock came out of Jamal, and a small stream of cum followed Leo's cock. I laid on my back and motioned Jamal to squat over me. As he did so a large amount of Leo's cum fell onto my belly. Since this was a location not unaccustomed to receiving Leo's cum neither he nor I really noticed. Jamal, in contrast, was fascinated. "Look!" he said, "Leo's mighty cum has fallen from my bum. I must taste it. Abdul says 'taste, not waste'." I rather doubted this, as it didn't seem likely to me that two Arabs would make jokes in a foreign language in the immediate aftermath of an ejaculation, but I didn't want to argue. "Abdul is wise," I said gravely. "But more of Leo's juice will be wasted if I do not put my zub in your bum." Jamal smiled. "Yes," he said simply, "you must fuck me now. Then your juice will be in my bum. I will like that." You're not alone, I thought. I took hold of his slim hips and held him over my cock. He reached down and felt me, feeling the whole length and murmuring words of praise and excited anticipation. We were both looking forward to my cock's disappearing. Leo helped by getting the aim right. I'm sure Jamal had no problem lining Abdul's cock up with his arse, but mine was new to him. Then it was there: I could feel his wet cummy arse lips brushing my cock. "I feel your zub, Rex, fuck me now pleeeese." As he lowered himself I pushed upwards and it took only two or three seconds for my whole 9 inches to vanish into the 15-year-old's wet Leo-spunked arse. Bliss! Sloppy seconds up a boy as young as Jamal was sloppy seconds in the best place. Jamal had cum already, so his hair-trigger wouldn't be firing particularly quickly. We might keep this up for a reasonable time. Jamal had other ideas, however. Although he was Abdul's lover and had presumably learnt a great deal from the slightly older guy, he still wanted to breast the tape as soon as the starter's gun went off. I thought of telling him to slow down, but it would have spoiled the moment. He would learn soon enough that delaying his cum didn't mean you got fewer cums. Soon his speeding-up and his groans told us that he was close. Leo reached across and stroked the boy's cock. It was all of ten seconds of stroking before Jamal's cock gave a lurch and fired three ropes of lovely Arab boy-cum onto my chest. Only a boy of his age could lean forward far enough to lick up half of his own spunk without letting 9 inches of Rex slip from his arse. The erotic nature of Jamal's cum and his treatment of it took me to the edge. "I'm going to fill your bum with my juice now, Jamal, here it is - aaaah!" and my spunk shot deep into him, higher up than Leo or Abdul had seeded him. "Oh, Rex, your juice is like liquid fire," he cried. I thought his English teacher deserved high praise for teaching him as colourful a simile as that. Perhaps he too had had the privilege of planting a seed in the same place. We were all three tired, and we fell into the bed wrapped in a tangle of arms and legs. The room reeked of cum. By 7 this morning (31 August 1973, as I said) it reeked of cum a great deal more. A second round of fucking has taken place only an hour or so after the first. Then we slept knotted together like adders. The third round, to which were roused by a randy teenager, occupied us for a while at about 6.30. This time Abdul roused us by the 'I'm-sucking-your-cock-do-you-like-it?' method. We did. We erected. We felt orgasm approaching. We alerted him to this. He doubled his efforts. We came, squirting into his mouth. He sucked and licked like a child with an ice cream. We subsided. He swallowed. You are wondering what I mean by 'we '. He managed to get the important two inches of both our cocks in his mouth together. So 'we' did indeed come in his mouth. Neither Leo nor I had ever had that particular experience before. Feeling your lover's cock pulsing as he shoots next to your cock doing the same thing, while both are in a boy's mouth ... welcome to Tangier! ***** After he'd gone, a signed contract in his hand and still a good quantity of, as he put it, 'fine English juice' up his arse, Leo and I drank a long leisurely cup of coffee. "I'm going to like it here," he said. I reached across and took his hand, raising his fingers to my mouth as Jamal had done yesterday. "So am I, love. When Jamal arrived I was thinking of Billy." "Why? He couldn't have been less like Billy." "Maybe that's why - after all, Billy was only 10 days ago and he was the last boy we had before Jamal." Leo smiled, "Yes, he was special, wasn't he. I wonder what he'll do." ***** It's probably easiest if I just tell you about Billy in a straightforward way. A couple of weeks ago Leo and I had been in Sainsbury's doing the weekly shopping. There was some charity thing going on where local lads were packing the bags and carrying them out for customers - scouts or something. We had two big bagsful, and we were perfectly capable of carrying them, but it was in a good cause, so we'd let the boy beside our check-out stuff our groceries into the bags. When we'd paid the boy - Billy, as we later discovered - offered to take them to the car. We agreed, and he followed us, struggling rather, as our shopping was quite heavy. While he'd been stowing stuff away at the check-out Leo and I had been looking at him, but only in the way you look at the Mona Lisa. You like what you see, but you don't think of owning it. When we'd paid and Billy was picking up the shopping Leo whispered in my ear, "Just go along with what I do. I think he's cute." I thought he was cute too, but then, as you know, I'm disposed to thinking slim boys of his age - 13? 14? - are cute. I wondered what Leo had in mind. Billy had given no indication of interest in us whatever. As we left Sainsbury's, with Billy a few yards behind carrying the shopping, Leo reached out and took my hand. This was unexpected, but he gripped my hand so tightly that I got the message. This was 'go along with what I do' time. I squeezed. "Good," he whispered. When we reached the car Leo unlocked it and opened the boot for Billy to put the bags in. Leo turned to me. "They'll be all right there, love." I grinned and flashed a smile at Billy. Billy's face was a picture. Blank amazement would best describe his expression. Leo turned to him. "Thank you, son, here's something for your charity," and put 50p in his hand. Billy, bright red, mumbled thanks. We drove off, and I could see Billy standing stock still watching us go. "What was all that about?" I said. "That, my dear Rex, was me baiting his hook. If we are patient we'll find out whether he bites." We were almost home - 15 minutes away - when Leo said "Goodness me, Rex, we quite forgot the mango chutney." "What are you raving about: we don't use mango chut- oh! I get it. We're going back." Leo patted my knee. "You are so bright sometimes. We must just hope that Billy is still on duty. If I'm right he will find our reappearance as welcome as we will find his." We didn't take long to find a jar of mango chutney. When we were near the check-outs we hovered uncertainly, debating some purchase nearby, until the queue at Billy's one looked right. Billy was busy filling a small bag, far too small for it to be worth taking out to anyone's car. We plonked down the chutney. Billy looked up. At exactly the same moment four things happened. I smiled at Billy; Leo smiled at Billy; Billy smiled at us; and Billy went bright red. The fish has bitten, I thought. The only reason for Billy to go red is one which both delights and alarms him. It seemed promising. There was a lot of noise around, chatter from other check-outs, kids shouting, background musak, so that no-one apart from Billy heard Leo ask Billy if he would carry the chutney to the car for us. Billy nodded, even redder, and the three of us made our escape. We had parked the car well away from the store, and it took a couple of minutes to reach it. By the time we got to the car (we were holding hands again) Leo took the bull by the horns. "Well, son," he said, "you've had a good look at us, and you've worked out what we are. My guess is that you've got thousands of questions you'd like to ask us. Right?" Billy nodded, still red. "My name's Billy," he said, "and .. oh, I don't know." "No, I know you don't, Billy," said Leo gently, "but you can ask us. We're not your parents or your teacher. We don't know you, and you don't know us. Talking to a stranger is often easier than talking to people who know you. Would you like to talk to us? About anything?" Billy nodded. "You have to say 'yes', Billy, can you manage that?" Leo was smiling as he said this. Billy looked up at him, a face full of trust and hope. "Yes please," he said quietly. "Good," said Leo, "well done Billy. When do you finish here?" It was agreed that we would be in this part of the car park at 4 when the charity do finished. He didn't have to be home until 7. We would take him home and he would ask all those troublesome questions, and we would drive him back to somewhere a few streets away from his house. Billy accepted all this with a grin. "Thanks," and he trotted off to load more shopping. By 6.20 Billy was sitting at our kitchen table with Leo and me on either side of him. He had a coke and we had a beer each. No-one seemed ready to set the ball rolling, so I decided it might as well be me. "How old are you, Billy?" I asked. "I'm 14," he said, "my birthday was three weeks ago." "Good, then you're grown-up enough to know that two grown-up men who are holding hands are - what, exactly?" Billy hesitated, looking from Leo to me. "Go on, Billy, the word won't hurt," said Leo. Billy screwed up his courage and whispered, "Queers." "Well done, you're right, although it's not a word you need to whisper. I'm Rex and this is Leo and we live together. I love Leo and he loves me. That makes us unusual, but there's a lot of us around. We don't mind holding hands, but most queer couples don't do that in public." Billy said nothing. "Why did you come with us, Billy?" asked Leo gently. You are, of course, well ahead of the game here. It soon became clear that Billy was unhappy with the realisation he'd come to that his interests were more our side than the other. He liked looking at other boy's cocks when they were changing in the swimming pool, and when he wanked he thought about a particular boy at school. "Does he know?" I asked. Billy shook his head. "God no, he'd kill me." "Maybe, but has it crossed your mind that he might think of you while he was wanking." It hadn't. "How do I find out," he asked sadly. There was no easy answer. It would depend on how strong the friendship was between them. Did they hang out together? "Oh, yes." Did this other boy visit Billy's house? "Yes." It was getting easier. Billy would have to acquire a dirty magazine with nice safe heterosexual pictures, and suggest that his new secret was something his friend might care to share. "Then, when you're both sitting close together looking at the pictures, let him turn the pages. What's his name, by the way?" "Tim." "If Tim spends a nice long time on a page where it's showing some guy's cock there's a fair chance he likes looking at it. It it's cunts he drools over, then he's a lost cause. Billy grinned. "That sounds fun." We assured him that it would indeed be fun, and that the fun would increase if he was careful only to adjust his cock visibly when it got hard. "Visibly? But it's embarrassing." "Yes, donkey," said Leo kindly, "but you want him to notice you're hard. He'll be the same, trust me. Any 14-year-old seeing pictures of cocks and cunts is going to get a hard-on." "What do I do then?" We told him that he was flying by the seat of his pants then. If Tim's erection seemed to be linked to a desire to drool over cocks then all Billy had to do was reach over and feel hiss bulge in his trousers. If that didn't provoke any reciprocation then Billy should take the Tim's hand and put it on his own bulge. "Gosh!" Billy digested all this. "Where will I get a dirty magazine?" We would have offered him one of ours, but ours were all queer and had no cunts. Billy needed cunts in case Tim really was straight. That was when Leo made his master-stroke. "We'll buy you one and you can come and collect it on Saturday (it was now Thursday)." Billy nodded. "Yes, that'll be super. Thanks." Embarrassment was now forgotten. Leo made arrangements to pick the boy up at 2 o'clock at the place we would drop him today, and off he went, seemingly a foot taller. "D'you think he'll be there?" I asked. "50-50 I'd say," said Leo. "If it was tomorrow the odds would be against it, but each night he's in bed wanking and dreaming about Tim, wishing he had him in bed beside him, will increase his desire to do something about it. Leo was very brave on Friday and browsed several magazines before choosing one suitable for Billy's experiment. We looked at it together. We agreed that we could not understand what attracted nice-looking guys with nice-looking cocks to want to stick them in those nasty-looking places. It was true that women had arses, but the magazine in our hands gave no indication that gentlemen's cocks would be welcome in these ladies' arses. "Mad," said Leo with feeling. I had to agree. Leo collected Billy on Saturday at 2. By 2.30 he was sitting between us eagerly turning the pages, his erection clear for all to see in his jeans. He adjusted it several times. He was curious about the cunts, but his curiosity was merely biological interest; the cocks were right up his street, requiring more frequent adjustment. "This is what you do now, Billy," said Leo, reaching across and gently squeezing Billy's junk in his jeans. Billy sighed deeply and a moment later cried out. "I've cum! I've cum in my pants! Oh fuck!" Naturally we were all concern. We got him out of his jeans, his pants, his shirt - the lot. Leo and I glared at each other briefly, but I won and Leo carried the sullied garments away. It was three or four minutes before I heard the washing machine start. I looked at Billy, standing naked before me. "Don't cry, Billy, it's what happens. You came because you were enjoying looking at pictures of cocks. You're maybe a little queer boy like us - enjoy it." His cum was still coating his hairless cock and some of it had dripped down to his right thigh. "I'm going to clean you up. Sit down on the sofa." Billy did as he was told, and I knelt between his naked legs. Shut your eyes, Billy, and just enjoy it," I murmured. Leo came back from what had clearly been a tasting session to find Billy wreathed in smiles as I set about licking spunk off his legs and cock. It's quite hard getting every last trace of spunk off a 14-year-old's cock, especially an uncut one like Billy's with a nice loose foreskin, and I'm sorry to say that before I'd got him really clean he had another little accident - well, quite a big one, actually. "Oh God! Rex, I'm cumming again ... ooooh!" Leo was beside him in a second and bent to give him a gentle kiss. "Enjoy it, Billy." ***** The day before we left for Tangier there was a knock on the door. There was Billy with his bike. Billy was a bronzed god eight feet tall with lightning flashing from his head. Well, that was how Billy saw himself. The Billy we saw when he was sitting at the kitchen table again was the same to look at as he had been a week earlier, but the Billy inside was bursting with excitement. "Thanks," he said. "Tim?" I said. Billy nodded. "Yeah. You were right. He's been dreaming about me when he wanks. He had a sleep-over at my house last night." "And?" "I did his cock like you did mine, Rex, with my mouth." "And?" Billy grinned. "Then he did mine. Then we did it three more times in the night." ***** It's very nearly midnight. Leo's asleep in our hotel bed in Tangier. I would spend the rest of my life with him until he died in 44 years' time. This was the last time I'd see him. Thank you, Leo. I kissed his lips gently. He stirred and smiled in his sleep. My tears fell silently onto my pillow. Good-bye Leo, my love. =============================================================================== badboi666@btinternet.com is where you should send comments and suggestions