Date: Sun, 13 Mar 2005 07:31:15 -0800 (PST)
From: Sin Titulo <sintitulo2@yahoo.com>
Subject: Bone Hunter III

	Work began on my Pleaseusaur began in earnest at
first light that morning.  The crew of men Hasem had
hired proved more than adiquate to the task, and by
the end of the second week,  using the tools I'd
brought with me from Philadelphia, we had the exposed
parts of the skull in  plaster casts to protect it
from possible damage during the undermining of the
stone.  The electric stone saw, powered by the
portable generator a doner had kindly included in his
substantial gift, had severed the skull into three
more managable parts, with insignificant loss of bone.
 I was happy things were moving smoothly.  My estimate
as to how long it would take the crew to remove the
entire skeleton and prepare it for shipment, was right
on target.  Three months ought to see the job
completed.
	Hasem had been to see me on several occassions, but I
was always busy during the days with the excavation,
and he didn't seem to be able to stay with me thriugh
the night.  I was and horny.  My hand was becoming my
best friend on my lonely cot at night.  He was worried
about his father the Sheik, and had told me he needed
and wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.
 While I understood, I still missed his caresses and
the feel of his big cock filling my body with his
passion.
	The last time he'd dropped in unexpectedly riding his
camel up to the excavation site late in the afternoon,
I'd walked across the salt pan of the ancient seabed,
talking quietly about the progress the men were
making.  He managed to work our walk into a dry waddi
that had once held a freshwater stream that had fed
into the shallow sea, and there, he kisses me with all
his own pent up passion.  We came close to giving into
our desires, but he finally reassumed control over his
emotions, and apologized that he'd made me so hot for
his cock.  He couldn't stay, since his father had
taken a turn for the worse, and he had only stopped by
the site, to tell me and his three uncles working in
the crew, that his father's time on earth was nearing
an end.
	He left as soon as we returned to the crew as they
were winding up their day of hard labor.  He spoke a
few words in his spare Arabic, the beautiful lilt of
the language falling like a ton of lead on the ears of
my crew.  They set up a uulation in mourning for their
Shiek, and insted of returning to their camp, marched
off following Hasem's camel's track.  In no time at
all, I found myself alone in the profound silence of
the gathering dusk.  I trudged sadly back to my tent,
and fed myself on a tin of sardines, and a handful of
crackers.  I spent the remaining hour of light,
updating my field notes, and down loading the digital
photos I'd filled my camera card with.  I was immersed
in this work, when I heard a scratching at my tent
flap.  Thinking myself alone, I was startled.  My hand
dropped directly to the pistol I had taken to wearing
on my hip since the excavation had begun.  The camp
was filled with expensive equipment that any Arab
would covet.
	"Who is it?"  I blurted it out in English, before I
realized the person scratching on the flap was
probably not fluent in the language.  I repeted the
demand in my halting Arabic, and there was a small
throaty sound in response.  I stood, and threw the
tent flap back to see a young Arab man, hardly more
than a boy, standing in the sand with his hands cupped
together as if he was offering me something.  I
stumbled through asking him what he wanted.  With his
hand, he scratched at his throat, and I thought he was
miming that he was hungry.
	I rummaged in my pantry trunk, and pulled out a can
of Vienna sausages.  I popped the lid on the small
can, and handed it to him along with a fork.  He took
both, but instead if diving into the food, he examined
the fork closely, turning it this way and that, as if
he'd never seen such an instrument before.  He didn't
seem to know what it was used for.  I took the fork
and the can of sausages from him, and speered a juicy
weener on the tines, and handed the fork back to him.
He smiled at first, taking the fork again and repeting
his careful examination.  Finally he smelled the
sausage, and after a puzzled moment, touched the meat
with the tip of his tongue.  Instantly, a look of
horror crossed his face, and he dropped the fork and
sausage into the sand at his feet.
	They weren't the best in the way of food, but they
weren't that bad either.  I took the fork and pulled
the sandy weiner off the tines, and buried it in the
sand.  I wiped the remaining sand off the fork, and
speered a second weiner.  I held it out to him again,
and he made a disgusted face, and took a step
backward.  I shrugged, and bit into the sausage.  He
nearly gagged, and ducked back outside the tent.  I
put the rest of the sausage into my mouth, and
followed him out into the early evening.  He was
standing a few feet away, next to a large bundle of
what appeared in the gathering darkness, a mass of
dirty rags.  I think it was at that moment, I realized
he hadn't spoken a word to me.
	I tried my Arabic again, and got the same scratching
motion on his throat with his fingers.  It dawned on
me that I'd seen the work crew signaling to each other
in this way.  It always precipitated a water break.  I
popped a whole sausage in my mouth, and ducked back
into the tent.  I set the can and fork on my desk, and
grabbed up my canteen.  I handed it to the boy when I
stepped out again, and got the same sort of reaction
the fork had gotten.  He turned it this way and that,
shaking it listening to the liquid inside.  He made
the same motion again, and I took the canteen from him
and unsrewed the top.  I took a swallow, and handed
him the canteen.  He had watched my demonstration
closely, and promptly tipped the canteen up and
emptied most of its contents all over his face.  I
realized the boy had never seen such a thing as a
canteen.  He had no idea how to get the water out
without pouring it over himself.
	I grabbed up a coffee cup sitting next to the pump
stove, and poured him a drink.  He sucked it down like
he hadn't had any in days, and offered the empty cup
back making the drinking signal again.  I poured a
second then a third cup.  He slowed down by the time
he'd guzzled the fifth cup, and began to nurse the
sixth.  He sat down on his bundle of rags, and I sat
in my camp chair opposite him.  I asked him what his
name was, and he touched his lips with an almost
femine gesture, and shook his head.  I took this to
mean the boy was mute.
	I asked if he could write, but he didn't seem to
understand.  I got my English/Arabic dictionary and
checked.  My question had been correct, but apparently
he had no understanding of the idea of writing.  I
pointed to myself and said my name.  He watched me
while I talked to him, his lucid watery eyes following
my every move and gesture.  Finally, he stood agian,
and took the few steps that separated us, and dropped
to his knees before me, taking my hands and holding
them to his forehead.  Embarassed, I pulled my hands
away, but he grabbed at them again, and looked at me
pleadingly making the little huu huu sound in his
throat I'd heard him make before.
	I was at a loss as to what all this might mean, and
longed for Hasem's advice on what was going on.  He
finally relaxed his grip, and rocked back on his
heels, still looking at me intently.  Finally he
rubbed his stomach, and made the scratching motion on
his throat again.  I picked up the canteen, but he
held up both his hands.  I puzzled a bit before I
realized he was saying he was hungry.  I offered the
remains of the Vienna Sausages, bu he again made his
look of disgust.  I had another, and went into the
tent and returned with form crackers and my jar of
peanut butter.  I spread some on a cracker, and handed
it to him.  He sniffed the strange food, and tasted it
again with the tip of his tongue.  This time, he
smiled broadly, and I realized he had no tongue.
	I fed him cracker after cracker, and after, several
more cups of water.  When he seemed satisfied, he
stood and walked to his bundle of rags.  He plopped
down on them, and closed his eyes.  I sat there for a
few minutes until I realized he was snoring gently.  I
stood quietly, and slipped into my tent to my own bed.
 I half expected he would be gon by morning, leaving
as silently as he had arrived.
		When the alarm went off, I stepped out of the tent,
nude, expecting to have my world to myself hardly
thinking of the young Arab of the night before.  I had
a wicked piss hard, and headed around the back of the
tent to my latrine hole. I stopped in my tracks, when
I saw the young man sitting on his bundle of rags
grinning at me in the early light.  His eyes were
rivited on my boner, and he licked his lips.  It
crossed my mind that he might be interested.  Thoughts
of Hasem crossed my mind, and I wondered how he'd take
a third party in our sex play.  The boy's robes were
filthy, and I imagined his body beneath them was in a
similar condition.  I couldn't make up my mind what to
do for a moment, but finally continued to my latrine,
and stood there waiting for my hardon to subside to
piss.  The cool morning air felt good on my naked
skin, and I stood there for a long moment waiting,
until I felt him step silently beside me.  His
delicate fingers traced a path across my back and down
over the mound of my left flank.  His other hand,
brushed across my taught stomach muscles, and found
their way to my hardness.  His fluttering movements
were stimulating my skin to goosebumps.   I sighed,
and shivered under his touch.
	I felt him drop to his knees, and I closed my eyes
tightly.  He began kissing my hip, and dragging his
lips over my sensitive skin.  He reached my shaft, and
nibbled up the length to the head.  His warm mouth
wasted not a second taking my hardness inside.  His
hollow felt different and a little strange.  Without a
tongue, nothing but his suction and the pressure of
his lips were present to stimulate my feelings.  I
gasped, and he began to suck.  I reached for his head,
and soon enoughg we had a strong give and take going.
The boy was a master cocksucker.  He had me going in
less than a minute.  When I came, I felt like I was
pouring the gush of a wellspring down his throat.  He
swallowed and swallowed, sucking in air between each
gush of cum.  Once my nuts were drained, my pisshard
began to collapse.  The boy let my softening cock slip
from his mouth, and took it in his soft feminie hand.
He stood up next to me, hugging my naked body close,
standing slightly behind me and to my left side.  I
began to feel the piss rising.  He held my cock
gently, pointing my stream into the hole I had dug for
the purpose.
	When my stream petered out, he leaned down and sucked
my glans clean of urine, then stood and raised his
ragged robes, and pissed into the hole.  I could not
see his cock because it was hidden by the filthy robe,
and the way he was standing.  But, from the sound and
volume of his piss, he had something substantioal
between his legs.
	I made coffee and we had bowls of instant oatmeal,
which he seemed not o have ever tasted.  He was
cautious of the cereal as he had been of the Vienna
Sausages the night before.  I told him in my broken
Arabic that we would go to the oasis today to bathe.
He nodded his head, but looked worried.  When we
finished our breakfast, he took the dishes and wiped
them out with sand.  I watched him as he carefully
replaced each clean dish back into the trunk where I
kept them  in exactly the same order I had takn them
out.  He was nothing if not observant.
	The hike to the oasis took the better part of two
hours, and as we entered the waddi where the spring
was located, he seemed to perk up, as if he knew where
he was.  He took the lead, and strode several yards
ahead of me, becoming confident and purposful.  As the
treetops of the palms surrounding the pool of water
came into view, he slowed down, and before we were
exposed to any possible people that may have been at
the water, he crouched and spent several minutes
examining the area before he finally stood and
motioned me to advance.  I wondered why he didn't want
to just barge into the oasis like I'd seen other Arabs
do after a long hike across the desert.
	At the pool, I began to strip my clothes off.  I told
him to do the same, but he shook his head and stood
watching me get naked.  Once I had stripped, I stepped
up to him, and told him in my halting way that I
wanted to bathe him.  Again he shook his head.  I
ignored him, and pulled his filthy burnoose off his
head.  His hair, long and womanish, was colored with
henna.  Besides being reddish over his coal black
color, it was filthy as well.  I began tugging at his
sash to remove his ragged and filthy robes, and he
resisted for a bit, but finally just stood there
letting me strip him.  As his back was exposed, I
could see on his dirty but smooth skin that he'd been
whipped brutally.  He had dozens of scar weals across
his back and buttocks.  Long healed, they were none
the less evidence of someone's displeasure with him.
I ran my hand over the scars, and he trembled as if
they still hurt him.
	Leading him into the water, he was halting, having to
be coaxed like a young girl.  His now naked genitals
were much darker than the rest of his milk coffee
colored skin, and were impressive as I'd imagined.
His fear of the water kept him limp, even as I handled
him to wash the area with clean sand from the bottom
of the pool.  He got the idea after a few moments of
me scrubbing his skin, and began to do the same to me.
 We washed each other , scraping skin nearly raw with
the sand.  His skin began to glow rosy under my palms
as did mine.  When he reached for my genitals, to
scrub them, he found my erection.  He laughed, and
tugged on me like a kid with a new toy.
	I pushed his hand away, and waded out of the water to
our pile of stuff.  He watched me while I rummaged in
my pack for the shampoo I'd brought along.  He
marveled at the profusion of suds the small amount of
liquid soap made, and when I poured a little in his
palm and told him to wash his hair with it, he brought
it to his lips and tasted it as he'd done with his
food.  Before I could stop him, he'd sucked the sweet
smelling soap into his mouth and was smacking his
lips, causing foam to erupt from his mouth.  I told
him to clean his mouth with water, which he did.  As
he was bent over doing that, I pushed his head under
water, and wetted his hair.  When he came up gasping,
I had the impression it was the first time he'd ever
been immersed in water.  I squeezed shampoo onto his
head, and began to scrub.  He began making his huu huu
sound, but finally relaxed into the finger massage I
was giving him trying to get down to the roots of his
thick hair.
	Clean at last, we waded to shore and lay down on the
clean sand to let the sun dry us.  We must have dozed
off, because the next I knew, he was frantically
grabbing his rags and running for the bushes.  I sat
up, blinking and looking around.  I heard the tinkling
of a bell, and realized there was a herd of goats
coming up the waddi to the water.  That meant other
Arabs.  I dressed quickly, and grabbing my pack,
followed his foot path through the sand where I found
him cowering in a thick stand of thornbush.
	"Why are you afraid?"  His eyes pleaded with me to be
quiet.  His fingers brushing his lips and shaking his
head.
	I saw he was still naked, his ragged clothing
clutched to his chest like a shield.  I pulled s
tshirt and an old pair of worn jeans out of my pack
I'd brought along for him, and after some coaxing, I
got him to dress in them.  I took his filthy rags, and
dug a hole in the sand and buried them.  He watched me
doing this, and a look of aprehension spread over his
features.  I told him his clothes were to dirty to
wear, and that if he wanted traditional clothing, I
would buy him some at the next market day.  He nodded
his head, and smiled.  We watched the two Arabs
driving their goats to water, and when they became
occupied with cooking a meal while their goats watered
and grazed on the lush vegetation of the oasis, the
boy and I slipped away back into the waddi, unseen.
	That evening, we had a meal of sardines and crackers,
and from his pile of rags, he produced a large red
onion.  We drank water cooled by evaporation, and
watched the sun setting in the west.  I told him he
should remove everything he wanted to keep from his
pile of stuff, and that I would burn the rest to kil
the many creatures I imagined living in the filth.  He
set about pawing through the pile, and I retired to my
tent to get a little work done on my field notes.
	Busy tapping at my laptop, I glanced up at a small
noise and discovered him watching me wide eyed hunkerd
down on his heels in the door flap of the tent.  I
crooked a finger to him and he smiled and in one fluid
graceful motion, had risen and was standing beside me.
  I pulled up an MP3 tune on the computer, and started
it playing.  He stepped back, and his empty mouth hung
open in awe.  He looked over the laptop carefully, and
finally just stood beside me listening with his eyes
closed to the Bach concerto I had played.  I decided
he might like to see some of the video I had
downloaded from the satalite link one of my generous
doners was paying for.  I selected a piece that
involved two men fucking, and when it was playing, I
nudged him to open his eyes again.  They grew large as
saucers, and he went back to examining the laptop.  I
realized the scene on the screen was having an effect
on him when I glanced at his crotch and saw it had
grown substantially in his pants.  I  reacted to his
erection by getting hard myself.  I leaned back in the
camp chair on its rear legs, and showed him my hardon.
 He grinned, but returned to the video.  I leaned my
head toward him, and rubbed my cheek against his
erection.  He placed one of his delecate hands on my
face, and rotated his hips, slowly grinding his
erection against my head.
	I slipped out of the chair to my knees, and worked at
the button front fly.  Since I hadn't given him any of
my underwear, his hard cock came out with a slashing
motion and fell across my face.  I swallowed him
whole, and he moaned as I sucked him hungryly.  He
placed his hands on my head, and soon enough we had a
good rythem going.  I wanted to feel his big thickness
in my hole, and after a few minutes, released his spit
covered shaft and stood up to drop my pants.  I turned
my back to him, and spread my cheeks with my hands as
I leaned over the table that held my laptop.  He
placed his hands on my hips, and I felt him press his
large dark cockhead to my hole.  I leaned back into
his thrust, and he entered my hungry hole with ease.
	He fucked me long and slow for several minutes.  I
was moaning with the pleasure of the fullness his
large member was giving me, and I began to feel his
nearly hairless balls with my hand between my legs.
He reached for mine, and I groaned with the touch of
his girlish fingers stroking my nuts as his big cock
coursed in and out of my hole.  In such a short time,
I'd become a slut for big cocks in my ass.  I couldn't
get enough.
	It took him several minutes of hard fucking before he
began to make his huu huu sound in my ear, and I felt
his big dick pulse and beging thrumming his heavy load
of cum into my bowels.  I gasped at the feeling of his
silky load turning my gut in to a foamy smoothness,
and started jacking myself to get off.  He pushed my
hand away, and pulled his softening cock from my hole,
and in an instant, had my cock down his throat.  I was
primed, and after a gasp of pleasure, began to unload
in his throat.  He sucked and swallowed several times,
until I fell limp out of his mouth.
	I needed a drink, and we pulled our pants up and
stepped out of the tent.  I was intent on the bottle
of scotch I kept in the pantry chest, and didn't
notice anything until the boy gasped and fled back
into the tent, making his huu huu sound.  I looked
around, and sitting on his pile of rags, was Hasem.
His camel was tethered to a tent stake, slowly
munching his cud.  How they had arrived without being
heard was a mystery.
	"Hasem!" I gasped.  "How long have you been here?"
	"Long enough," he said, rising from the pile of rags.
 "Who is the boy?"
	"I don't know his name."  I briefly told him the
story of how the young Arab had come to the then the
previous night.
	"And already you are having sex?"  He looked a little
peeved at me.  I explained about how he had blown me
in the morning, and how horny I had been since he,
Hasem, was not able to be with me because of his
father's illness.
	"Ah. . ." he said, walking in a small circle in the
dim light from the glowing tent.  "Yes, I have grown
horny as well."  He paced a few more turns, and came
back to me.
	"I came to tell you that my father has begun his
journey to paradise.  My people have accepted me as
their shiek.  I have also prepared a new tent for you
in the village.  I came to take you there to show you.
 But I find you having sex with a young boy. . ."  He
paused, and looked at the tent.
	"Are you jealous?"  I asked, trying to assess his
mood.
	"Let me ask you this," he responded.  "Do you love
me?"  I was taken aback by the question.
	"Y. . .yes," I stammered.  "I. . .do love you.  Since
we met you have been my one thought as a companion."
	"And the boy?"
	"Just sex.  How could I love him so quickly?"
	"You should get used to loving him," he said.  "He
will be with you a long time."
	"What do you mean?"
	"We used to call them slaves."
	"What?"  I was horrified.  "He's not a slave."
	"Well, he has given himself to you, and therefore is
essentially the same as a slave."
	"I won't have him."
	"Tell me Danniel, did he kneel before you and place
your hands to his forehead?"  I nodded.
	"Last night."
	"That was his way of telling you he was yours to do
with as you pleased."
	"I'm disgusted."
	"Don't be.  It is the way of the people.  My people.
Has the boy been beaten?"
	"Yes.  badly from the looks of the scars on his
back."
	"And he has no tongue; am I correct?  I nodded.
	"So. . ." he considered his words.  "The boy was
caught giving pleasure to a man or men by his people.
He has suffered the pain of the beating, and having
his tongue cut out and he has been cast out of his
tribe.  Dressed as he is in your clothing, I don't
recognise his people, but I'd guess one of the more
primitive tribes from the deep desert.  He sat back
down on the pile of rags.
	'"There is no question, he has given himself to you.
He will be with you until one or the other is dead."
	"No way."
	"Unfortunately it is true.  It is the will of Allah.
He is your slave.  What is his name?"
	"I don't know.  He can't speak."
	"It is not important.  He will accept what ever you
choose to call him.  What ever you choose to do to
him.  With him.  His life is in your hands."
	"But Hasem. . ."
	"I must return to the village.  The people still
mourn my father, and I will be expected.  I will
return in three days, and will have made the new tent
large enough for two.  Perhaps we will both enjoy his
attentions in the future.  He is good yes?"
	"Yes."
	"Well trained by the man or men who caused his
disgrace."  He tapped his camel's knees with his
riding stick, and the beast knelt in the sand.  Hasem
leaped into his saddle, and muttered "hut hut."  "In
three days Danniel."  He wheeled the beast and quickly
vanished into the night.
	I found the boy cowering behind the cot.  I pulled
him out, and he embraced me, sobbing on my shoulder
for a long time.  I held him, and I suppose the tears
I shed into his tshirt, were simpathy.  We laid down
on the cot, still clothed, and must have drifted to
sleep.  The next I kew, my laptop alarm was beeping at
me, and the cool air told me it was near dawn already.
 I had a wicked piss hard in my pants, and extricated
myself from the entwinging arms of the boy, sleeping
peacefully, his face that of the boy instead of the
tense young man I'd known the day before.
	I walked out of the tent into the glow of dawn, and
made my way to the latrine hole.  As I pissed, he
slipped up to me silent as a thief, and reached for my
cock, guiding my stream into the hole.  I sighed, and
began to grow hard.  What a life I had moved into.


email:  sintitulo2@yahoo.com