At Dusk The Wind Changes

By John Yager

The following story is a work of gay erotic fiction.  If such stories are not to your liking or if you are not of legal age to read such stories, please exit now.

I wish to offer special thanks to Andrew, who did proofing duties on this story.  Andrew is British and wishes readers to know that any anomalies are due to differences between English and American usage.

This is a work of fiction and in no ways draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. Any similarity to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental.

This work is copyrighted © by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author.  It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.

If you wish to receive e-mail notification of subsequent posting,  please let me know by sending your request to the e-mail address below.

During the day, heat building up in the Sahara causes a high pressure area to develop, which in turn creates a steady breeze. The breeze is hot, but very dry, moving out from the interior.

At dusk there is a brief time, almost a definable moment, when the wind changes. The desert cools rapidly as the sun declines, becoming quite cool after sundown, even in summer. As the temperatures change at ground level, the remaining hot air rises, creating an updraft, a vacuum, a low pressure zone. As this occurs, the winds change, the hot, dry breeze of the day in replaced in an instant by cool, damp breezes being pulled in from the Mediterranean Sea.

It was at that moment every evening, that Janni came to me.

He was dressed in his knee length jellaba, white cotton, cut straight like a long shirt, contrasting with his olive skin. I knew he wore nothing under it.

"I bring you tea, Sir," he says, his voice rich but very soft, almost a whisper.

"Yes, Janni, thank you." I put aside the pages I am proofing, push back from the table I use as a desk. The old Olivetti manual is covered and Janni reverently carries it from the verandah into the living room of the little house. He regards the typewriter as a wonder and carries it with the care and reverence of a religious relic. I've told him it's old, but to him it's the symbol of everything modern, western. "Now they make electric models, Janni. This one is old, but more reliable here with our not so reliable electrical service."

"It is a marvelous, Sir. It takes your thoughts from your fingers and prints them on the page."

"A pen could do that, Janni."

"Oh no, Sir. It is perfect, every letter just the same."

"It's fast and neat and keeps my editor happy."

Janni stood by as I drank the hot, astringent tea. When the little glass was just half full, I put it back on the table and he immediately refilled it. It was true, I had found, that hot beverages on days like this seemed to have a cooling effect. I remember how I'd marveled at the old men in a Kairouan café who drank their hot mint tea on the hottest days, when the temperatures hovered at forty degrees Celsius, and not even the mad dogs moved.

"Will you take the bath now, Sir? Janni asked.

"I think I'll go for a swim. Then I'll bathe."

"Shall I come with you?"

"Yes, Janni, that would be very nice."

The boy ran back into the house while I put away the last of my day's accumulation of papers. He returned within moments with two large towels and we walked together down the little path through the dunes to the small split of sand. The little house which I had rented a year before, had not been lived in for some time.

Once, I had been told, it had been the summer house of a French family from Sousse, then the home of a strange Danish woman, about whom the villagers still told tales. She had ridden a bicycle and had worn very short pants.

The house had been so cheap that I couldn't pass it by. Then, within a few hours of renting it, Haddia, my closest neighbor, came to ask if I desired help. When I said I did, thinking she was offering her services, she left momentarily and returned with Janni, third of her four sons.

"He knows how to serve a gentleman, Sir, a European gentleman. His older brothers have both served and they have taught him everything. He will stay here to see to your needs. He will clean and keep the house for you. I will prepare your food and do your laundry at my own house, just along the road a few hundred meters.

"Janni will bring you bread and coffee in the morning and make you a cold meal at night. At midday he will come to me and I will have ready for him to serve you a meal as fine as any prepared at the great tourist hotels on the long beach the other side of town. I know how such things are done, Sir, how you would wish your house kept and your needs met. When I was a girl I worked at such hotels and know all they do and how they cook."

"Like me and his older brothers, Janni speaks some English and desires to learn more. There are good jobs for those who speak English at the big hotels and you will be doing him a great service if you insist on speaking English with him."

As she made her very convincing speech, I looked from her to the boy. He was small, not five foot six, and in his mid teens. His body, under the jellaba, looked well proportioned and muscular for such a young man. He smiled at me. My mind was made up. I agreed to Haddia's terms, telling her that I was American, not European. "Kif-kif," she had said. I was to pay two dinar a week for the boy's services; paid to Haddia, not to the boy. He would sleep on the small day bed in the lounge.

That had been a year ago. I'd been looking for a quiet place to write and couldn't have found a better one. A year beyond my Master and no desire to teach; three years beyond my undergraduate degree and little to show for it, I had saved and struggled to give myself the space and time to do some serious work. The novel I was working on when I arrived had been finished within three months of my arrival and was now in print. It had received some good reviews and my publishers had retained me to work on a second novel, to be completed within another year. I would stay on here at least as long as it took me to finish it.

The little whitewashed house was perfect. It was snug and comfortable, cool in summer and warm in the damp winter months. It was well away from the road, and not a well traveled road at that. And it was well hidden in a jungle of overgrown trees and underbrush. Only one corner of its red tile roof was visible to passersby. It had two fireplaces, one in the lounge, one in the bedroom, and with fires in both, the little house was warm and cozy on the coolest winter nights. The little path ran down from the verandah to the beach and there were no other houses near by.

Janni returned with the towels just as I finished putting my papers away and together we walked down to the sea. The sun was setting far off over the ridges to our right and the water sparkled with the last glimmers of slanting light. I had come to consider this my private beach, and for lack of any close neighbors, it was. I pulled off my sandals and shorts and walked naked into the incoming tide, the gentle swells rushing between my bare legs. Janni removed his jellaba, folding it neatly as he always did, and placing it on the long bench which bordered the thicket of wild plums on the right side of the path. I turned to watch him run across the narrow strip of sand and scamper through the shallow water to catch up with me and then go on a few meters further out. His body was perfect, reminiscent of some classical statue of a youth. His skin was golden in the evening light, every part of his well muscles body rippling with the joy of his youth.

"We race, Sir?" he called, his voice full of laughter.

"Sure, Janni, where's the finish line?"

"Oh, I do not know." He looked around for a moment, not knowing what to suggest, then turned back to me, his eyes sparkling. "Just catch me, Sir," he called from three or four meters ahead. He dove into an incoming wave and bounded out into deeper water.

Not wanting to end the game too soon, I gave him a few more seconds and them sprang after him, making a show of my efforts. Janni was an excellent swimmer and by dodging and turning, diving under when I got too close, he prolonged the fun for some time. We were both breathing hard by the time I got close enough and made a lunge for his glistening body, encircling him with my arms and pulling him to me. He laughed and kicked and turned. His beautiful perfectly smooth chest was pressed against mine and he could not have escaped if I had not let him. But I made him work. His strong legs kicked up a storm of churning water and I let him think he had broken free, all with his own efforts. He sprinted ahead again, turned in a wide arc and headed back toward the shore. That was his mistake. It not only gave me time to cut him off, but allowed me to make him my captive in the shallow water where my greater height and weight put him at a considerable disadvantage. I grasped a kicking foot and held on. He pushed my arm away with his free foot and bounded for the beach. I tackled him, American football style, in the shallow water and we both went down laughing. Shallow water, but still deep enough for both of us to find our heads under water as we rolled over and were overtaken by an incoming wave.

I came up coughing sea water. Janni had had the sense to keep his mouth closed and was suddenly kneeling beside me in the outgoing tide, his face full of concern.

"You are well, Sir?" He was asking, and I, fine, but not yet able to speak, just looked at him and nodded. His jet black hair was plastered to his head and his black eyes sparkled.

I stayed down longer than it took me to stop coughing so that when I finally stood, I had completely regained my breath. As I stood, Janni leaned toward me, ready to help if I was still a little weak. I caught him completely off guard and swept him up into my arms and walked up the beach holding him like a child.

Janni laughed and kicked, but it did no good. He was my prisoner.

Once on dry sand, I lay him down and then knelt over him, pressing my body against his and covering his sweet mouth with mine. I felt his penis harden against me and my own pulse with need. Janni spread his legs to make room for me, threw his arms around my torso and drew us into an even tighter embrace. He moaned as my tongue slipped past his willing lips and his hard little body trembled against mine.

When we eventually broke from the kiss he smiled up and said, his voice no more than a whisper, "Sir, you will take me here?"

I kissed his forehead and whispered back, "no, rascal, I can't put up with all this sand."

"I filled the bath."

"Good. Let's get back in the water to rinse off. Then we'll go up to the house."

"Yes, Sir."

Janni was methodical in his efforts to remove even the last grain of sand from me and from himself. We rinsed, standing on first one foot and then the other, in the shallow water with the evening tide washing around our legs. The boy leaned against me during this exercise, pressing his hips against mine as he had me lift one foot, then pressing his chest against my stomach as we tried in vain to get from sea to sandals with no accumulation of new sand. My sandals were a waste of time and I gave up trying. We were both erect and Janni looked up at me shyly, acknowledging his want.

I walked on carrying my shorts and sandals, not bothering to pull them on for the short walk up to the house. Janni did the same but he was obviously still uncomfortable with his own nakedness.

We stopped on the steps to the verandah to dry ourselves again and dust away the sand we had picked up on the path. By now the sand was dry and we did a better job of it, brushing our feet on the cropped grass near the house. Janni giggling as it tickled.

"Now, Sir, we go to the bath?"

"Yes, Janni. We bathe."

Bath, bathe, bathed, like many English words. He had not yet mastered the unexpected complexity and formed his sentences around the few he knew. We walked through the now dim lounge, into the bedroom and then into the bathroom. There was a separate toilet to the left, as was common in older French houses, and in the bathroom itself, a huge tub, not factory made, but built of brick and mortar and covered with white tile. It was almost as big as a more modern spa or whirlpool. It required a huge amount of water to fill it, making it impractical and wasteful. The water was heated by three primitive glass solar panels on the south slope of the roof, and it took for ever to fill the huge bath. On sunny days it was fine, but in the winter when a warm bath would have been wonderful, we depended instead on a small and rumbling "jet d'eau."

I stepped into the bath and sat on the submerged ledge at the left end. Janni busied himself finding the oil he especially liked. It was made locally for sale to the tourists and considered a great luxury. Returning with the oil, he sat naked on the side of the tub and poured a reasonable amount onto the surface of the water. He stirred it with his hand, swirling the water into a momentary froth. Then turning again, he found candles and lit them, placing one at each corner of the huge tub. Janni loved this ritual and we tended to repeat it two or three times a week. Finally satisfied, he stepped into the tub with me and took his usual place at my left side. He leaned back, looked up at me and smiled. It was a shy smile, full of wonder and desire. His right hand moved under the water to find my thigh, stroked it for a moment and then rested there. I knew his routine and would let him play it out, my only attempt to encourage him was to place my left hand behind his head, along the curve of his shoulders, and draw him a little closer to me.

The length of his right thigh pressed against my left thigh and his side pressed against my chest. Janni's hand came up a little, as I knew it would, pressing, stroking my thigh, moving with slow but constant speed toward my erect penis. His hand moved further up, his fingers extended along the inside of my thigh. He moved it up more, stroking, teasing. The backs of his fingers moved across the tight skin of my scrotum, brushing it, moving back down my leg, then moving up to repeat the process.

Janni turned and looked up at me. I smiled at him and he smiled back, a winning, happy smile. "Yes," I thought, "this is where you want to be, where I want you to be." Over the last few weeks I had come to realize, or more properly put, had admitted to myself what I already knew, that I loved the boy. He had become a necessary part of my life. The realization, the admissions, brought with it some rather significant complications.

Janni grasped my erect organ and gently squeezed. He was becoming bolder, the process of moving from thigh to cock, shorter, more direct each time we were together like this.

"Um," I smiled down at him, "that feels very nice."

"Yes, Sir."

He stroked it a little and then moved from the ledge to stand in front of me.

"Will you move up, Sir?" He meant for me to stand, and lean back against the side of the tub.

As I do so, he reaches out to grasp my hips and moves down to kiss the head of my hard penis. He moans as he begins to lick it. His sweet mouth runs over the length of the shaft, leaving it wet and slick. Then he moves back a little and looks up at me. He smiles as he opens his lips and moves down again to take the head into his mouth. His lips slide down and he slowly takes my entire length in. I feel a moment of resistance when my cock hits the back of his mouth. There is a momentary pause and then his throat opens to me. I slide in, the full length of my cock is in his throat, the head deep in him. He holds his head very still, his mouth pressed into my pubic hair. His throat begins to pulse. It is a sensation I have felt with no other lover, before or since. It is the result of his repeated swallowing and powerful sucking, a technique he had learned from his older brothers. Janni knows I can't last long when he begins the incredible action on my already aroused cock. He slows down just a little to give me time to regain control, then begins again. I grasp his shoulders and come, hard, powerfully, shooting my seed deep into his throat. It is over too soon, but I know there is more to come. Janni always insists on bringing me to one powerful, quick climax so that when I fuck him it will take me much longer to reach climax again.

When I soften in his mouth he releases me and moves back again, smiling up at me.

"I will wash you, Sir."

I continue to lean back against the side of the tub as Janni takes a bar of hard local soap and a coarse cloth, lathers it up and begins to run it roughly over my shoulders and upper arms. It is so coarse that it seems as if it would take off a couple of layers of skin, but I had learned from the attendants at the local hammam, as well as from Janni's previous ministrations, that it did no lasting harm and left me feeling cleaner than I had ever felt before.

"Will you stand, please, Sir?"

I stand as Janni continues to run the soapy cloth over my stomach and legs, avoiding my crotch which he knew was far too sensitive for such serious scrubbing. When he had finished he puts his left hand on my hip and pushes, indicating that he wants me to turn around. When my back and buttocks are finished, I take the cloth from him and reciprocate, washing him, just as he washed me. This had been a rather serious issue between us for weeks. He had insisted on washing me but had been adamant that I could not wash him. I eventually realized that his objections were not fear of my touch, but a deeply rooted sense of how inappropriate it would be for me, his employer, to bathe him. Eventually I was able to overcome his objections but even now, after more than a year together, I knew it was not easy for him to submit to my care.

I ran the coarse cloth over his shoulders and chest as he stood, eyes closed, submitting to my care. I moved down, running the coarse cloth over his hard, rippled stomach, and then down over the fronts of his legs. He stood up to his mid thighs in the warm water, never opening his eyes, never looking at me. As I finished with the cloth his skin seemed to glow like burnished gold. I turned him and repeated the process on his back and buttocks, then laid aside the cloth, taking the soap in my bare hands and working up a rich lather. I turned Janni toward the wall, facing the back of the tub, and pushed him a little forward. He understood and leaned forward, bracing himself against the back side of the tub. With one well lathered hand I reached around him and grasped his hard, pulsing cock. With the other, I began to wash the cleft of his tight, bulbous ass. Janni moaned. He thrust back a little against my hand and moaned again.

I inserted one finger into the tight channel of his ass and twisted it to wash him inside. The boy's moans were constant now and when I felt the muscles of his ass loosen to me, I removed one finger and replaced it with two.

"Yes, Sir," he gasped.

I took my time, running one hand over his cock and then down to lather his tight balls, never chancing bringing him to climax. With the other I continued to finger his tight ass, feeling it pulse, wanting more, gradually relaxing and allowing me further in. Two fingers were replaced by three fingers and the process began again.

"Now, Sir, please, Janni moaned. I removed my fingers and reached for the jar of petroleum jelly I kept by the tub. Once generously lubricated, Janni would remain ready for me all evening and well into the night. When I had worked an adequate amount into his pulsing channel, I reached for towels and we stepped out of the tub, drying ourselves and each other.

Back through to the bedroom and I took my usual position. Lying on my back on the bed, my legs spread a little, and waited for Janni. He crept over me, kneeling to kiss my waiting lips. "I am so happy, Sir."

"Yes, Janni, I'm happy, too." For Janni "happy" was a very useful word. On his lips it could be content, ready, aroused, yes even happy.

The boy crouched over my pulsing cock and never moving his gaze from mine, lowered his beautiful body. His eyes always opened just a little wider when the head of my cock first touched his ass. He lowered himself a little more and I felt myself slip in, spreading the hard muscular ring, and with a sudden thrust I was in. Janni moved further down, impaling himself on my pulsing shaft. Slowly, down, he settles his sweet body onto me. I try to remain very still, restraining myself, resisting the natural instinct to thrust up into him. I wait, wanting Janni to remain in control. Slowly, further down, slowly settling onto me, his eyes, still locked on mine.

"Yes, Sir, yes."

He was there. My cock was now encased in his seething tunnel, still waiting, wanting to move, needing to move.

Janni moves up a little and then back down, slowly, slowly, his body has not yet fully accepted the presence of mine. He raises up again, a little further this time, and settles down on me. Up again, down, up. His pace picks up a little.

"Yes, Sir, yes, yes."

It is my signal to begin. I move, thrusting up, Janni's eyes are glowing now, his face is radiant.

"Yes, yes."

I thrust up, harder this time, driving my body into his as he jolts and responds, lifting, descending, lifting again.

Over many evenings we have perfected our passions, refined our lust.

The tempo quickens, the thrusts become hard, full of our need. Janni's chest is ridged now, the muscles of his arms like ropes. The ridges of his belly are tight and knotted. His eyes are still on mine.

"Yes, yes," Janni drones. "Oh, Sir, yes."

I first sense the approaching end in Janni's hard legs, the muscles brick hard in our shared passion. I feel it building in my own belly, then in the center of my chest. The pressure grows; this cannot last. Janni is moaning now, beyond words. It no longer matters that we have so little language in common. Now we are beyond our few words. Our bodies have found some primal means of sharing, communicating on a level beyond the economy of words.

"Yes, Sir. Yes, yes, yes."

At last Janni's eyes leave mine, not willingly, not by choice. His gaze is ripped away from mine by the sheer strength of our expending climax, by the explosion of my body deep in his.

The boy groans, his penis jerks and erupts, sending his seed in creamy ribbons over my belly and my chest as I empty myself in him.

Our bodies sag, mine into a spent shadow of itself, Janni, against me, purring like some splendid, happy cat; a tiger, panther, leopard, all formed into one.

We sleep, Janni curled into me, his body warm, his breath ebbing and expanding like the sea. The little day bed in the lounge is rarely used.

The end.