Date: Thu, 8 Jan 2009 12:53:34 -0800 (PST)
From: John Venn <johnvenn1945@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Tanta Part 1 of 2    m/t

Disclaimer:

This story contains scenes of a sexual nature between a man & a young
teenager. If this is not to your taste, or is illegal where you live, or
you find it morally offensive, then read no further and leave now!!

The story is purely imaginary and bears no resemblance to any living person
or persons as far as I know, much as you or I might wish!

Comments are always welcome at johnvenn1945@yahoo.co.uk

**************************************************

TANTA               (m/t, mast, oral, anal)

by

Alexander

Tanta is in the middle of nowhere - almost literally. It is about half way
between Alexandria and Cairo, with a hundred kilometres of desert north to
Alexandria and south to Cairo.

It was my first overseas posting for the bank for which I work, and at the
age of 25, I was well pleased with myself.  My job was to oversee the
accounts for some water treatment works being paid for by the World Bank -
simple and undemanding for the most part.

My home was a basic three-roomed apartment on the ground floor of a
five-story building, and once acclimatised to the hot, dry climate was
quite comfortable.  The added bonus was that my everyday needs were taken
care of by a live-in maid-cum-cleaner-cum-cook, her home being a shack
built on the flat roof of the building which she shared with her son who
appeared to be about thirteen or so.

Luckily I managed to do most of my work at home, only the occasional visit
to the site being needed to check on paperwork or some other minor problem.
As a result, Muniera (the maid), her son Ahmed and I soon came to a free
and easy working relationship.  Early morning breakfast and evening meal
were her fixed points, with my washing being done at week-ends.  During the
day I was taken care of by Ahmed who spent his day pottering about the flat
cleaning and dusting - a never-ending job in a desert climate. Any free
time he had he seemed quite content to spend in front of the building
playing about with his mates.


There is something about the look of Arab boys which I find incredibly
attractive.  To begin with I had my desk under an open window, but wasted
so much time starting at them, wondering what they looked like under their
neck-to-ankle galabeyas that regretfully I had to move it.

It was during one of my exploratory walks that I found something far
better: A veritable boy heaven.

On one of my afternoon walks, I discovered not more than a 100 metres away
a small, slow flowing river, which I assumed was part of the Nile delta on
which Tanta was built, and depended on for its water.  Attracted by the
sound of happy boys and lots of splashing sounds I threaded my way towards
it. Once located, I was amazed and delighted to see half a dozen boys
leaping in and out of the water, the only items of clothing worn being
either the knee-length loose-fitting underpants, or, in a few cases,
nothing at all.

When the boys saw me watching I fully expected them to dress hurriedly and
scurry off.  Instead, and much to my delight, they seemed to welcome a
spectator, and having given me a cheery wave and beautiful wide smiles,
continued as if I wasn't there.

>From then onwards I made a point of visiting them at least once a day,
usually in mid-afternoon when most of the town was taking its daily siesta.
I even took the chance of taking a few sweets or cold drinks with me once
in a while as a sort of friendship token, or a bribe to ensure their
continued attendance!

The universal boys' network must have been busy at work as one morning,
Ahmed let it be known that he knew where I disappeared to every afternoon.
With a complicated mixture of his poor English, my almost nonexistent
Arabic and a lot of arm-waving, he got his idea across.  With a happy smile
and the ubiquitous 'thumbs up' sign, he let me know everything was all
right.

In fact I noticed that he followed me for the next few days, but stayed
more or less out of sight.  On the fourth day, I made a point of noticing
him, and invited me to join me.

This pleased him immensely and even more so when I handed him the chocolate
I'd brought to share among the boys. It was obvious that he looked at his
friends enviously as they resumed their water play, jumping, diving and
generally having a good time.

With more than a little selfishness and a purely obscene reason, I pointed
alternately at the water and Ahmed, nodding my head vigorously.  He soon
got the idea and gleefully shrugged off his galabeya before leaping into
the river to join his mates.

Unlike any of the others, he was wearing a very old pair of what were once
western-style white briefs, not only far too big for him, but also with
very tired elastic. They were, however, as I realised, a sort of badge of
rank, showing that he worked for a foreigner and as such merited an
emulation of their dress.

They were so loose that they did little to hide his modesty as with every
movement, his testicles and penis slipped out one side or the other.  In no
way did this disconcert him, thank goodness, and I was treated to a display
that gave me an erection, which my trousers did nothing to hide.

The one thing I'd noticed with Egyptian boys was that it is almost
impossible to guess their age.

Ahmed, I knew from our peculiar conversations, was 13 years old, but from
my intense perusal of his beautiful body, you wouldn't have thought so.
Like the other boys, his skin was a flawless deep olive colour, his eyes a
soul-absorbing black, and his lips a sensuous deep red.  His penis and
testicles, not yet fully developed, were silky-smooth skinned, and almost
hairless.  They were nothing to be ashamed of however, the seven or eight
centimetres of brown flesh and tiny balls were like a magnet to my eyes and
my cock twitched at every wicked sight of them.

Eventually it was time to go, much to my disappointment.  As I retraced my
steps towards home. I became aware of Ahmed walking beside me.  Giving him
a friendly grin, I was rewarded by one of his mind-blowing smiles.
Experimentally, I put an arm on his shoulder and gave him a friendly hug.

I felt him relax into me for a moment as if to let me know that it was OK.

We were walking slowly down the little back road when he shrugged my arm
off his shoulder and moved away slightly.  Looking at him curiously, I
spotted a woman walking towards us, which I assumed was the reason. This
was confirmed when, as soon as she was out of sight, he picked up my arm
and replaced it on his shoulder. Inwardly my heart missed a beat as I
revelled in the contact, initiated not by me this time, but my young
companion.

Several things changed from that day onwards, I was pleased to see. Ahmed
became much more solicitous about me, and seemed more relaxed and content.
He spent a lot more time in the flat, arranging and rearranging the
contents of my drawers and cupboards, cleaning and polishing endlessly.
When not working he sat cross-legged on the floor, waiting for the
slightest hint of a need I might have. We also taught each other a few
basic words of our own languages which made things a lot easier for us
both.

The real change came when I saw some jeans and shirts in a local shop one
day. After some confusion about the sizes I wanted, and the inevitable
bartering, I took the parcel home and presented it to Ahmed.

He was delighted with my small gift and I think he would have hugged me,
but physical contact between us was still limited to an occasional
arm-on-shoulder on our walks to and from the swimming place.

Instead of the hug, I was rewarded by the totally unexpected sight of Ahmed
throwing off his galabeya and putting on his new clothes. There was no sign
of inhibition at all - he was no more than a metre or so in front of me
when he struggled to unfasten the button and zip on the jeans. My eyes (and
brain) were once again fixed steadfastly at the top of his legs. I noticed
he was still wearing the old and grubby pants I'd first seen him in - they
were probably the only pair he owned. Thoughtfully I searched through my
underwear draw and picked out two pairs of pants which were a little too
small for me, and in any case would look a lot better on him. I gave him a
choice between a pair of skimpy (on me!) bright blue briefs and a pair of
more traditional white Y-fronts.

His face was a picture!  This was too much for him; within seconds, he
stepped out of his filthy pants, took my offering and held a pair in each
hand, looking from one to the other, deciding which ones to try on first.
Needless to say, I was entranced by the now completely naked boy stood in
front of me.  Was I mistaken, or was there the slightest hint of a
burgeoning erection or not?  I glanced up at his face and was slightly
embarrassed to see him blush. He dropped a hand to hide his little problem
much to my chagrin and so without giving it much thought, I took an
enormous risk and used a finger to push his hand away.

I met with only a nominal resistance to my relief and was rewarded with the
vision of a definitely arousing cock, and a little smile.  Ahmed made no
attempt to dress himself straight away: he was certainly aware of my centre
of interest, but made no effort to do anything about it. Was this his gift
to me for the clothes, or did he have other thoughts?  Perhaps the same as
mine?  I looked at his face but couldn't work out anything from his
expression except that he certainly knew what he was doing to me.

I made a play of being unable to decide which pair he should put on,
eventually picking the small blue ones unsurprisingly.  He slid them on and
deliberately adjusted his now half-hard cock.  He turned round once or
twice as if modelling them for me before putting the jeans and shirt on.

The overall effect was stunning. The white shirt set off his olive skin
perfectly and the jeans hugged his legs delightfully.  Leading him into my
bedroom, I stood him in front of the mirror so he could get a good look at
himself: he twisted and turned trying to get a view from all
angles. Eventually he was satisfied and turned to face me.

"Shukran, effendi, shukran awi," he stammered out.  "Sank you sir, thank
you very much," he translated in his best English.

I stepped behind him and crossed my arms over his chest, looking at us both
in the mirror.

"Enta kwais walad, " I said in my poor Arabic. "Kwais awi!"  "You're a good
boy. Very good," I translated, hopefully correctly.

Chapter Two Once again our daily routine changed.  Despite my best efforts,
Ahmed insisted on changing out of his jeans and shirt before he went to his
home on the roof, and changing back again when he arrived in the morning.
Amusingly he carefully folded his clothes in the evening and placed them in
my clothes cupboard alongside mine.

Because he knew I liked looking at him, he always changed in front of me,
wherever I happened to be at the time.  The mornings in particular he
seemed to enjoy. The first thing he did when he came into the flat was to
make me a cup of tea which he then carefully brought into the bedroom.  As
I sipped the drink he slowly and deliberately changed his clothes, making
sure I was watching.  I didn't know whether he thought this was a game or
not, but I am sure he enjoyed it almost as much as I did.  After the first
few days I even stopped trying to hide the hard-on tenting up my bed sheet.

Neither did he attempt to hide his own, although he managed to complete his
dressing before it was at full mast!

I took at least three showers or baths every day - morning, noon and night.
Ahmed would run the bath for me in the morning as I finished my tea.  For
some reason the flat had an enormous Victorian cast-iron bathtub which had
probably been salvaged from an old hotel.  Hot water was provided by an
almost equally ancient 1940's British 'Ascot' gas boiler, bolted to the
wall.  At least a metre and a half tall, it was a maze of bright copper and
brass work, almost a work of art in itself.

It also had a terrifying habit.  Turning the hot tap on released the flow
of water into the system, this in turn allowed the gas to flow which would
be ignited by a pilot light.  For some reason there was quite a delay
between the gas being turned on, and it being ignited by the pilot light.
The effect was that the build up of gas unexpectedly exploded with a boom
which shook the walls!  The technique was to turn the hot tap on and
quickly escape into the living room, making sure the door was closed behind
you!  Once the waited-for explosion had taken place, the bathroom could
safely be entered.

The explosion was also my signal that my bath was almost ready.  Ahmed
would have laid out my toiletries neatly and placed the towels handily.

On this particular morning everything was normal until I searched for the
towels - they were nowhere to be seen.  This had never happened before, but
I assumed Ahmed had forgotten for some reason.  Slipping back into the
water, I called out for him.

He couldn't have been far away as instantly he opened the door and came in.

"Towels," I said, smiling at him miming the motion of drying myself.

"Sorry!" he said, returning the grin, "I get."

Hurrying back with the towels in his hands he put them down and looked at
me oddly.  Without a word he moved across towards me and picked up the soap
and wash cloth.  His intention was obvious.  Hesitantly and nervously, he
soaped the cloth and started to wash my shoulders and chest.

"Mmmm!" I murmured as I relaxed and started to enjoy the attention.

It wasn't long before he stopped using the cloth and I delighted in his
soft, delicate fingers running themselves over my skin.  I closed my eyes
and concentrated, wondering just how far he would dare to go.  My cock was
also curious as it began to plump up, thankfully hidden under the soapy
water.

I felt Ahmed stop and I opened my eyes, disappointed that he'd called a
halt so quickly.  To my complete astonishment, I was met with the sight of
him taking his shirt off.  Initially I guessed it was to stop it getting
wet, but when he put his hands on the belt of his jeans I wasn't so sure.

"OK?" he said quietly, looking at me closely.

Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded at him.  He flashed me a delightful
grin which told me all: I'd been set up!

Even now, he took care to fold his clothes carefully and put them well away
from any water which may splash on them.  As he bent over to put them on
the floor, I was privileged to get a superb view of his perfect butt,
tightly held in his briefs.

This time there was no mistaking his intentions.  There was no playing
about this time.  He sat on the edge of the bath and treated me to a
wonderful upper body massage.  For one so young, he was amazingly good.  He
was patently nervous at first - I could feel the anxious trembling through
his fingers.  I moaned again in pleasure as he gently took each of my
nipples in turn, and under the pretense of washing, rubbed the palms of his
hands over them.  My cock had by now achieved its full size - not big by
any means, but there was enough of it to stand proud of the water by a
couple of centimetres or so.

Ahmed couldn't have failed to notice this, but so far hadn't let his hands
drop below the level of the water.  By now, there was nothing I wanted him
to do more.

Turning to look at him, he was obviously enjoying himself, watching his
fingers intently as they roamed around my torso.  I let my gaze drop to his
crotch and stared at the obvious erection only just covered by his briefs.
He noticed my stare and shifted his weight slightly to edge it closer to
me.

Holding my breath I let my hand rest lightly on his thigh, my fingers
pointing at the bulge stretching out his pants.  This was a bridge we had
to cross together. Ahmed had taken the lead so far, but somehow I knew that
it was up to me whether we took things any further or not.  As if to give
me a hint, he opened his legs just a little wider.

Slowly and with just a little pressure, I let my index finger run up and
down the ten centimetres of hidden treasure, savouring every magic moment
of it.  Now two fingers, using them to outline his cock and feel his balls
through the thin material.  All this time his hands were resting on my
shoulders, his weight all but pushing me down in the water.  Now it was his
turn to close his eyes, his lips creased in a gentle smile.

The atmosphere in the bathroom was electric.  There was no doubt at all
that we both wanted to take things further, much further.  How much further
we were about to find out.

Because they were on the large side, I had no trouble in slipping my hand
inside his briefs and for the first unforgettable time cupped his
adolescent cock and balls in my palm.  I let them rest there, feeling his
rapid heartbeat throb through his beautiful cock.

With my one hand I tried to push his pants down, without success.  Ahmed,
bless him, realised my problem and did the job for me.

Quite deliberately, he posed in front of me, his pride and joy swaying
enticingly in front of my eyes.

Once again, I was completely unable to speak.  For the first time since I
was his age, I was able to stare at and relish a completely naked young
boy.  More than that, a young, perfectly formed boy- god.  He was
beautiful, from the top of his fine black hair to the tips of his toes.
And in the middle .....!

"Zubra!" Ahmed giggled pointing at his dick. "Zubra!"

"Prick!" I laughed. "Prick. Or penis."  Another English word learned.

I took the offered gift in my hand and stroked it tenderly, not so much to
bring him off as to wallow in its classic beauty.

"Kwais awi," I murmured softly.

Gently I pulled him towards me, indicating that he should join me in the
bath.  With a delightful smile, he held my hands as he delicately stepped
into the water.  There was just enough room for him to kneel awkwardly
between my splayed legs.

Slowly we both watched as he immersed his hands in the water and let them
edge forwards. I gasped in delicious surprise as his fingers slid down the
inside of my thighs to caress my cock and balls.

His touch was feather-light, which made it erotic almost beyond belief.  He
was feeling all round my manhood, treating it as if it were made of the
finest bone china.  Even without doing anything else, I knew that I would
cum soon if he carried on like this.  Before I did though, I was caught
completely by surprise as he suddenly launched himself forward and landed
on top of me, stretched out completely, our groins mashed painfully
together.

The pain was only momentary however as he repositioned our cocks between us
and made himself comfortable.  Wrapping his arms behind my neck, he rubbed
his nose against mine, giggling happily.

More than pleased to reciprocate, I hugged him tightly in return.

Such was the difference in our heights that I could feel his solidly hard
dick pressing into my navel, my own being somewhere between his thighs - a
situation I was quite content with, at least for the time being.

I felt him relax as he nestled his head on my shoulder and arched his back
slightly as he pushed his cock against me, almost as if he was checking it
was still there.  Lastly he squeezed his legs together, sighing as he felt
my dick trapped between them.

For endless minutes we lay together in absolute bliss, neither wanting to
disturb the peace and tranquillity.  In fact I thought he'd dropped off to
sleep until I heard him whisper, "Barrid."

"Barrid?" I questioned, not knowing what he meant.

"Barrid," he repeated, and then added with a frown, "Not hot. Mish sochna."

He was right. The water was definitely not hot. Disturbing him as little as
possible, I reached over him and turned on the hot tap.  Unfortunately I'd
temporarily forgotten about the quirky heater, and just as I was about to
settle down again, we were both shaken by the explosion. For a split second
we hugged each other tightly in fear before we realised what I'd done.

Giggling like little kids, we settled down again, Ahmed looking down at
me. The surprise of the bang had effectively broken the atmosphere we had
created and were both fully alert.  Ahmed leant back and rested his
forearms on my chest, staring into my face.  What was it with this boy, I
thought?  He never stops looking at me.  Not that I was complaining of
course, after all I was probably spending as much time lusting after
him. But there was something behind that stare - something I knew and
recognised.

The warm water gradually working its way down the bath had its effect -
easing us both into a soporific daze again.

We stared into each other's eyes, shamelessly and happily. Two people
enjoying each other, separated only by an inability to communicate in our
own languages. Not that it mattered a great deal, after all we'd managed
quite well so far!

"Buss!" Ahmed said suddenly, jerking me back to reality.

"Buss?" I mimicked, wondering why he was asking about public transport.

"Buss." He repeated, tapping his lips with a finger and making a kissing
shape.

"Kiss," I told him.  "Buss. Kiss."

Gently I put my hand behind his head and eased him down.

Our lips met fleetingly - just a quick brush.

"Buss schwaiya," he said seriously.

He leaned down and kissed me again, more firmly and for longer.

"Buss tammam," he whispered, "Kiss OK."

Dutifully I repeated my lesson, much to his glee.

"Buss kibir," he said as he hugged me tightly and pressed his lips once
more to mine.  This time his mouth was open and our tongues met hungrily.
This was doubtless a 'big kiss'.

I don't know if he had kissed anyone before in anything other than a
familial peck on the cheek offered to close relatives and friends, if not
he was making up for lost time now.  Certainly his youthfulness and
probable inexperience made it a fantastic experience for us both.

Once started, he simply couldn't get enough. Energetically and almost
ferociously he kissed me over and over, each time giving me a delighted
grin before diving in again.  Whatever pleasure it gave me (and that was a
lot!), I'm sure he derived a lot more from it.

At long last we simply had to get out of the bath. Our skins were by now
well and truly wrinkled like dried apricots or prunes.

We weren't quite finished yet though. Ahmed had decided I needed to be
dried off.  Wrapping the big towel round me, he energetically patted me
dry.  No rough drying, just a simple dabbing away.

Even when he came to my groin he padded away, very carefully, holding my
erection through the towel as he worked on my balls and crotch.

By the time it was my turn, it was hardly needed - he was almost completely
dry.

Instead, I sat him on my knee and softly rubbed the towel over him.  He
simpered quietly as I attended to his crotch, taking the chance to use my
hand rather than the towel to wipe away the nonexistent moisture.  It
didn't help when he insisted on kissing me all the time either.

Reluctantly we eventually managed to break apart and dress ourselves.  We
both had work to do.

As I sat at my desk, staring sightlessly at the paperwork, I let my mind
wander, trying to sort out what had happened.

I was certain that I hadn't started things off today, much as I may have
wanted to subconsciously.

It was Ahmed who had made the first pre-planned move.  He was also naive
and inexperienced too, so what made him think I would be interested?

He had almost certainly added two and two together when he realised how
much I enjoyed watching him and the others playing in the water.  He was
also aware that I spent as much time perving on his crotch as anything
else.  That is what had aroused him to begin with, I rationalised.

And naturally, being full of hormones, had followed it through, much to my
delight.

Continuing this train of thought, I quickly realised several things.
Firstly that our relationship, if any, would be led by him; secondly that
we were lucky enough to be able to continue any relationship in secrecy,
and lastly that I was being presented with an opportunity to learn some
useful Arabic, although perhaps not the sort to use in polite company!

One other thing was also settled in my mind later.  Our day carried on
exactly as before, even to the extent of Ahmed accompanying me to the
swimming place.  Neither did he make any attempt to repeat our morning
frolic when I had my lunch-time or evening shower.

As I lay in bed later that night, I couldn't get Ahmed out of my mind.  As
I toyed with my erection, I realised that despite our fun and games, we had
touched each other's tackle very little and that neither of us had cum.  I
wasn't even sure if he could do anything yet.  He had a good set of balls
and a nicely developing cock, but he was still almost hairless and I
couldn't remember which came first - the hair or the cum. Of one thing I
was sure of however, for good or bad, I seemed to have got myself a devoted
body servant and admirer!

This last thought was enough to drive me over the edge.  I came massively
and hugely, my mind filled with a glorious image of Ahmed, naked, erect,
and waiting for me.

The following morning, I felt just as Nero or Alexander the Great must have
felt two thousand years before.  I wasn't allowed to do a thing for myself:
tea brought in, an exotic and erotic strip show, and a warm bath to slip
into.

This time though, there was no bashful and tentative foreplay.  I noticed
that the towels had been remembered this time, and that a very keen and
excited young man was in the bath almost before I was.  I had no choice,
Ahmed had apparently decided for us.

Instead of allowing him his prolonged kiss-fest, I let him have his own way
for a few minutes before persuading him to turn over onto his back. Having
eased him down so that my erection fitted snugly in his crotch, I played
with his nipples, well satisfied with myself when I heard him purr with
pleasure. With the other hand I soaped his chest and abdomen, revelling in
sheer pleasure.  Very gently I soaped his balls and cock, taking it slowly
enough for him to stop me if he wanted.  Which he didn't.

I was aware of his breathing getting faster as I played with his dick.  As
I moved onwards and began to masturbate him gently, I was rewarded with a
deep-throated, almost animal, groan.  Just to give him one more chance to
stop things going any further if he wanted, I took my hand away and rested
it on his stomach.  There was no reaction for a second or two, until he
realised what I'd done.  Hurriedly and firmly he put my hand back and
showed me what he wanted.

This time I took a firmer grip and using just my first three fingers began
to give him the pleasure he demanded and certainly deserved.

It didn't take long.  Within just a few blissful strokes I felt his body
tense and then arch upwards, jerking as he orgasmed magnificently.
Unfortunately I couldn't see whether there was an emission or not as I came
at the same time, my spunk shooting high into the air before audibly
plopping into the water.

Ahmed was wrecked.  His breathing was ragged and his dick now a flaccid,
spent muscle.  He turned over, gave me a tired smile and a kiss before
closing his eyes.

I didn't allow us to stay there too long though, Ahmed was drained and
needed time to recuperate I thought.  With some difficulty we struggled out
of the bathtub and stood dripping on the floor.  I dried us both quickly
and gave him a tender hug and kiss.  He was feeling better now, but
nevertheless I pushed him out of the bathroom and into my bedroom.

He didn't complain as I lay him on the unmade bed, taking the opportunity
to gaze at his beauty, noting with interest that his dick was already half
erect already!

As I leant over to draw the sheet over him, I was taken by surprise when he
threw his arms round me and pulled me onto the bed with him.  The little
horror had caught me again!  Giggling gleefully, he entwined himself round
me, legs and arms locking me in place.  His face was wreathed in smiles as
he hugged and kissed me.

There was no escape.  Momentarily I wondered what sort of beast I'd
unleashed - he seemed insatiable. But then I suppose so was I at that age,
given half a chance.

Resigning myself to my fate, I sank down alongside him and drew the sheet
over us.

This time there was no doubting his seriousness. Squashing his body as
close to mine as he could, he leaned in to kiss me again, holding me not
tightly but tenderly and gently.  The kiss too was passionate, not frenzied
or amateurish.  I was dimly aware of him stroking my back and running his
fingers through my hair.

Breaking our embrace, he moved back a little and looked at me, brushing the
hair out of my eyes.

Quietly, he reeled off a stream of Arabic, not a word of which I
understood.  The meaning though was plain enough.  His features had
softened and his eyes doe-like.  Whatever he had said had been tender and
caring, of that I was certain.

He lay his head on my chest, listening to the beat of my heart, his arms
carelessly draped around me.  I gently kissed his soft hair and rested my
hands on his superb butt cheeks, stroking and kneading them as my mind
turned over.

Whatever it was that Ahmed wanted, it certainly wasn't the just the
physical side of sex.  He enjoyed our nakedness together, and loved the
close intimate contact of our bodies, the gentle caresses and the kissing.
Although both our dicks were rigidly erect during our loving, it seemed
that this was treated as a sort of by-product of our tenderness.

Moving a hand onto his iron-hard dick, I began to masturbate him very
slowly, wanting to give him the pleasure for as long as possible. Unwinding
himself, he turned over onto his back, put his hands under his head and
opened his legs invitingly.  All this accompanied by his shit-eating grin.

Before taking hold of him again, I took a long, loving look at his dick,
now hard enough to be laid flat against his stomach, pointing north.  I was
right about the pubic hair.  I noticed that there were a few, very few,
fine hairs just starting to grow.  His dick was perfectly smooth and
uncircumcised, the foreskin being just long enough to cover his deep purple
head.  His balls were also smooth and as yet unwrinkled - a perfect match
for his cock.

Fitting two fingers under the shaft, I pressed slightly with my thumb and
resumed my massage.

Ahmed moaned as I played with him, first stroking under and around the
head, then a delicate run up and down his shaft.  Occasionally I would take
time out to feel his just post-pubescent balls for a change.

Ahmed as obviously enjoying the attention, first throwing his head from
side to side, then squirming and wriggling his body uncontrollably, his
fists clenching the sheet.  Despite his urgent need to cum, I persisted in
my slow, delicate ministrations, driving him higher and higher into the
realms of pure ecstasy.

Soon he began to thrust his hips desperately into my hand, his body now
covered in a fine sheen of sweat. I speeded up slightly and put my mind to
bringing him up to what I hoped would be the best orgasm of his young
life. It wasn't long in coming.  With a final, desperate lunge, he arched
his back, forced his cock through my hand, and shot.  There wasn't a lot of
cum, but what there was was delivered in six or seven achingly powerful
spasms, uncontrolled and desperately needed.

Very slowly his erection subsided and I carefully milked the last few drops
of cum out of it, knowing from long experience how raw and tender his cock
felt just now.  Carefully I used a corner of the sheet to wipe up the
results of his orgasm.

Giving him a chance to come down from his high, I lay alongside and cuddled
him, stroking his back and hair.  Looking at his face, I noticed tears in
the corner of his eyes - tears of happiness and joy I realised.  Softly I
kissed his luscious lips and told him how beautiful he was.

The recuperative powers of a teenager never cease to amaze me.  After such
a mind-numbing orgasm as Ahmed's, I knew that I would fall asleep almost
instantly.  Not so my angel.  Within five minutes he was perky and bright
once more, and wanting affection.  After a kiss or two, he pushed me onto
my back and ran his eyes up and down my body, registering it all.  I have
never been a very hairy person - there is no hair on my chest at all, and
only a nominal cluster under my arms.

There isn't a lot of pubic hair either, much to my embarrassment at times.
This didn't seem to bother Ahmed though as he ran his fingers through them.

Gracefully and in one smooth move, he straddled me, squatting down on my
chest.  I was just getting used to the sight of the perfect orbs of his
butt when I felt him take hold of my cock.

As he rubbed it slowly, just as I had done to him, my brain exploded into a
myriad coloured lights and mind-numbing bliss.

Either innately, or because he was more experienced than I thought, Ahmed's
technique was perfect. Sometimes he would work his fist up and down slowly
and gently, exerting next to no pressure on my throbbing member; at other
times he would rub vigorously, his grip much firmer.

Twice I nearly came, but managed to hold back somehow.  On the third time,
I had no chance.

Ahmed was rubbing my cock just under the head when I erupted, projecting
globs of hot, steaming cum straight up in the air.  With hardly a pause,
Ahmed emptied me completely.  Falling back on the bed, he used the same
corner of the sheet to clean up the mess.

"Good," he said, "Very good. Now me and you same-same!"

Exactly what he meant by this, I didn't know, but however you interpret it,
I was more than happy.

**************** This routine of ours continued in much the same way for
several weeks, neither of us getting bored with it or losing interest.
Ahmed grew more confident in himself and gradually took more and more
control of things, not only of our morning bath-times, but also of the flat
in general. We saw less and less of his mother, my Adonis being more than
willing to do all the fetching and carrying.

I also bought him a few more clothes - jeans and T-shirts in the main, but
also some European-style underwear in a variety of patterns which amused
him immensely, even to the extent of showing them off proudly to his
friends at the swimming hole.  They were still kept in my flat though, thus
establishing himself as a resident of the household.

Some time about the fourth month, two things happened which were to move
our relationship on to a higher plane.

We'd continued our daily visits to join the swimmers, both Ahmed and I now
accepted as an integral part of their group, helped no doubt by the
constant supply of sweets and drinks.

The boys were much more at ease with me now.  They'd picked up on my
obvious pleasure in watching their lissome bodies glistening in the water.
Like boys the world over, the occasional unwanted erection happened too,
but unlike the boys I'd grown up with, there was no embarrassment or crude
piss-taking.  By and large they were totally ignored.

That isn't to say that there wasn't the occasional game of crotch-grabbing.
Most of the boys took part in them, including Ahmed; whether they were
naked or not seemed to make no difference.  I'd learned a few of their
names by now, and noticed that two of them, Ashraf and Sherif, seemed to be
the ones who usually started them.

On this particular day, Ahmed and I were sat on the river bank sharing an
orange when I noticed that Ashraf and Sherif had separated themselves from
the main group and were stood up to their chests in the water, facing each
other.

>From the look on their faces and the position of their hands, it was clear
that they were enjoying themselves. I nudged Ahmed and nodded in their
direction. Ahmed continued biting into his orange and shrugged his
shoulders, not showing any interest at all.

"Seddiki," he managed to splutter out.

Friends, he'd said.  Well, that much was obvious at least.

"Shufti," Ahmed continued, his interest now reverting to the main group.

And watch I did, curious as to what Ahmed meant. After all, there was
nothing more delightful than watching two boys having a friendly grope
under the water.  The lads were talking quietly when they grinned at each
other, and Ashraf suddenly ducked under the water.  From the change in
Sherif's face and body posture, it was more than obvious where Ashraf's
mouth was!  Every few seconds he would emerge from the water, take a deep
breath and submerge again.  This went on for at least five minutes before
Sherif's body convulsed, sending little waves out into the river.  This was
closely followed by Ashraf bouncing to the surface, grinning broadly.
Opening his mouth, he displayed whatever was in it to his friend, rolled it
round his tongue a couple of times, and swallowed!.

Moments later, they paddled through the water towards the gang. Not before
giving me a cheery wave first though! Once back with the group, they were
welcomed as if nothing unusual had happened.

Back at the flat I learned that Ashraf and Sherif were good friends, and
more interestingly, what I'd seen was nothing too much out of the ordinary.

"Boy-boy, OK," he grinned, rubbing his index fingers together side by side.
"All boy do it," he added. "Girl-boy very bad, make big problem.  Boy-boy
good," he concluded.

So, that little episode cleared up a lot for me.  At last I began to
understand the almost casual approach to sex boys had.  It wasn't furtive
or secretive in the slightest, just accepted as a normal part of growing
up, to be enjoyed whilst it lasted.  I also understood where Ahmed got his
experience from.  When pressed further, he also admitted that 'boys
sometimes put zubra here', pointing to his bum. That left me with a lot of
food for thought.

The second thing that happened, not long after the river incident, was that
I had a visit from a very excited Muniera, waving a letter at me.  Of
course I hadn't a clue what she was saying, not to mention my complete
inability to read Arabic.  The only thing that Ahmed managed to make me
understand was that they had to go away.  Where, why and for how long I'd
no idea.

Without realising it, I'd become totally dependent on him, partly because
he kept my home running smoothly, but also because we had become very close
to each other.  Ahmed alternated his expressions from a deep concern for
his mother, and a resigned 'I don't want to go' look at me.

Thinking desperately what to do, I remembered that the Egyptian couple who
lived upstairs spoke some English.  I didn't know how much, but I had to
try.

Luckily they were able to explain things well enough for me to understand.
Apparently the letter was from her family, informing her that her sister
was very ill, and that she should go home if it were possible.  This was
news to Muniera as well - she couldn't read at all, and the letter had
frightened her.  Anyway, after a lot of discussion, it was agreed that she
should go home as soon as possible of course.  It was also agreed, at her
insistence that Ahmed should stay behind and take care of me.

This was necessary, it was explained to me, for her to keep her job.  If
they both left, the company would find someone else and she would be out of
work, and probably homeless as well.

I managed to hide my delight at this news, which Ahmed almost did.
Standing beside his mother, it was just about as much as he could do to
keep a straight face, but those wonderful eyes of his said it all.  As we
left the flat I was taken on one side and told quietly that it would be
nice if I could help her out with some cash.  Selfishly, I hadn't realised
that her wages weren't much above subsistence level and that the expense of
a long trip into the country would almost certainly stretch her finances to
the limit.

It was very early the following morning that I was awakened by Ahmed
shaking my shoulder.

Bleary eyed and sleepy I noticed vaguely that it was only just daylight.

"What?" I said irritably.

"Mamma go now," Ahmed told me.

Forcing myself to wake up, I put the dressing gown on that Ahmed had
offered me, and staggered into the living room.  Muniera, dressed for
travelling and carrying her few clothes in a cheap plastic bag, shook my
hand and managed to say "Goodbye and sank you!" in her broken
English. Through Ahmed, I told her to have a good journey, hoped her sister
was OK, and not to hurry back. I also pressed a few pounds into her hand.
At first she protested, but not too much, as we both knew the money would
be needed.

With that they both left, Ahmed promising to come back once he'd helped his
mother to the bus stop.  Wearily I staggered back to bed.

I was awakened seemingly seconds later by the bedroom door closing and
Ahmed standing beside my bed.

"All OK," he grinned.  "Mamma gone."

For a boy who had just said good-bye to his mother for goodness knows how
long, he seemed to be inordinately cheerful - and I had a good idea why.

Without bothering to ask, he casually stripped off and climbed into bed
with me.  Putting his arms round my neck and wrapping his legs round mine,
he made himself comfortable, for all the world as if it were perfectly
normal and this was his regular and rightful place.

Giving me, for once, an almost chaste kiss, he closed his eyes and
pretended to sleep.  I wasn't fooled for an instant.  He had probably been
dreaming of sharing my bed for ages and now that he was in charge of my
well-being completely, without the complication of a mother around, he was
exerting his authority.

"Goodnight, baby," I whispered in his ear.

His eyes flicked open, a cheeky grin flashed across his face and he said
lazily, "Good.  All OK now.  All very nice."

Surprisingly we did in fact drop off to sleep, spooned together
comfortably.

I awoke some time later, feeling much better than I did earlier.  Ahmed was
in the kitchen making our breakfast by the sound of it.


End of Part 1

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If you have enjoyed this, why not try some of my other stories posted on
this site?

Gary and John series
Cairo Holiday (Also in 'The Best of Nifty')
Gareth's Story
Forest House
Tom Brown's Schoolboy
etc.

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