Date: Thu, 18 Aug 2011 10:28:32 -0700 (PDT) From: Aihu Fist Subject: Bakshees in Casablanca part 3 Bakshees in Casablanca By Aihu Fist Part 3 It must have been around 3 pm when the clinking clanking sound of rambling keys got me on my feet again. The person who walked in was the Chief inspector himself. -Hello young man, I see and hear that you have had company. It was reported that you have behaved and that you have been very cooperative; is that true? I didn't know what he was hinting at, hopefully my good behavior in the cell and not the stuff the wardens had forced me to endure. -Yes, sir I have, I sheepishly said. -Unfortunately, your case is a very sad one; it's one of drug abuse, and I already told your consul that I cannot let you off the hook for that. -But sir,... I panicked. This could not be true. -Now don't interrupt me here. I am the one who decides what to do with you. My men were told to keep an eye on you and they did. There is always a chance that the judge let's you go, but he will have to take into account my word first. What will become of a young man like yours in our jails, have you any idea? -No, I lied. -Well, our jails are full with youngsters like you, drug addicts, petty criminals, but also with murderers, pimps, prostitutes... He paused here, scanning me from top to toe. -May I ask, why you are sitting in your underwear? -The warden told me so. -And what for reason, if I may ask so? The tone of his voice implied he knew some things about the ongoings in this cell. -I don't know, sir, I just did so, I followed orders. -Good boy. Now I understand what they said about your being so cooperative. He knocked on the door and the whip warden appeared with a flat box in his hands. The chief took it from him and handed it over to me. -Open up. It's my gift for you. I took the top off the box with trembling fingers and was amazed at what I saw. A beautiful crimson red djelabah, embroidered with brocade at the cuffs and the neck. -I want you to wear it, it is pure silk and a very costly garment, I bought it at an auction, last night; it was once worn by our young prince Mohammad the sixth. Under that gown you don't need briefs anymore, so take them off and put the finery on. I respect your privacy, no need to strip in front of me; you take them off when you have the djelabah on. It took me ten minutes to change and then he guffawed: -Oh Almighty, that's how I imagined it to look on you. It fits you like a glove. Turn around, yes, oh yes, you look so princely, so handsome and pretty. The chief took off his blazer and gave it to the warden, who without an order from him disappeared and let us alone for a long while. -Turn around young man, slowly. I was puzzled, but obeyed. He was really a strong man, just the way he stood there, with his feet widespread, and firmly planted onto the ground, his arms crossed over his broad chest. -I am so glad you have fallen into my hands, you were god sent, boy. Come here, he said, beckoning me like a father would. Don't be afraid, I am a good man, although at times, in the office, I do bark at people. That's only to assert my authority. I hesitatingly walked over into his welcoming arms. He embraced me and held me tight against his chest, nearly suffocating me. He rubbed his nose in my hair and took a deep breath. -However, you are in custody for an offence, my puppy. His hands, now descended over my back, as if he were counting my vertebrae. -Beautiful lads like you have a purpose in this life. Some are born as beauty queens to decorate the lives of the ogres. My head spun, I couldn't believe that a police officer was actually hugging me, and lewdly stroking my bottom. -You know what I mean? I mean, look at you, a beardless boy with the looks of a girl, a super smooth skin, and that at your age? What was Allah's purpose in making you, other than for you to serve your brothers, who are always in need of a good playmate? But what if you don't have or find one like me, who spent his time being lonely every evening, and who is bored to death with silly wives? Then on a blue Monday, a young cub like you unexpectedly walks into my office, and you expect me to let you go like that? He tut-tuted and clicked his tongue, licked his index digit and painted my lips with it. You have fat Arab lips, filled with blood that makes you a very attractive partner. Anyone who cannot see that is an idiot. It's in your face, begging "I am ripe, you can pick me". I am not an idiot. I pay my warden to keep such cherries for me to pluck. He was no slowly rolling up my jelabah with both hands until I stood naked from my bellybutton down to my feet. -Hold your jelabah way up here for me and tell me how would you feel about helping me out, so that I can help you? -You mean baksheesh, sir? -Yes, something like that. All the boys pay baksheesh for good treatment and food here, haven't they told you, yet? I heard you paid my men very well, and although I think my men are paid well by Moroccan standards, I think they deserve some extras by my standards. Of course, the cherry on the pie is always for me to pop. As he said that, he grabbed my bottom with his big hairy hand. -What do you say? -But your men... -What about them? -They already... I stopped myself right there, I was going to say that one of them already had taken my cherry, but that would maybe upset him, as he believed I had been kept a virgin for him. So, surely he didn't even know about what happened to me in the other cell. -Nothing, sir. That's what he wanted to hear. He unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his fly and got his trousers way down below his knees. -I know roumis do a good job when they are told to do so. You must take good care of him, he said while pointing at his erect penis. With both hands I pulled the towering sex sausage between my lips, and coursed my head up and down. It was so fat and long that I had trouble not gagging from the start. When it was more than he could take, he stopped me right there, and pulled me up by my chin with one hand. -You did so well, roumi, I wish I could keep you here a few days more, but the consul said I couldn't. He loves boys too, you know, but only our ones. You see, I look the other way, we all know he bangs poor Moroccan boys, and he knows we bang his kind. He scratches my back and scratch his, you see? So, he will only get you out of here when I say so. Without a word he undressed me and maneuvered me, like the warden, into a corner. -This may hurt a little, but remember, it will be your best "Greetings from Casablanca", he said. He aimed well; however, I clenched my teeth and prayed he had it over and done with quickly. He left me with the promise of immediate freedom. But, it was 7 pm, when a young employee from the embassy collected me at the police station. I complained to the consul about the lack of power and the solidarity with other Belgian nationals in custody. -There is nothing we can do, he said, if we help you, and then the next arrestee will face worse treatment. This is a dictatorship, he added, and we as diplomats have to be careful. My passport had a stamp of deportation; it read that I was not allowed to come back to Morocco for the next decade. I had paid a high price for my freedom. I wondered if the consul really knew what I had endured. I became a little suspicious, when we were alone in his office. He said that if it were of any consolation or help to me, I could always spend the night at his residence. The glazed look from his deep blue eyes didn't really encourage me to say yes. I opted for a guest house for my last night, and first thing in the morning, I would travel to Spain. When I arrived in Ceuta, I solemnly got to my knees and kissed the Spanish soil. My mother did not find out about it until I arrived in Belgium, having hitchhiked all the way to Ghent, and with my last hundred Belgian Francs (3 Euros), I bought myself a big cone of French fries and an onward train ticket to my village. For comments: Aihufist@yahoo.com