Date: Thu, 17 Jul 2014 16:44:17 -0700
From: Aihu Fist <aihufist@yahoo.com>
Subject: Bacha Bereesh by Aihu Fist

BACHA BEREESH by Aihu Fist


Hotel Muslim in Quetta was fully booked: everywhere men, young and old,
milling about in their salwar kameezes. No women allowed in the hotel and
testosterone was in the air. It was 1998 and the only male foreigner
there. Friends in India had told me to be careful and not to stand out. So,
I abandoned western dress code and bought me a second hand national dress,
a two piece suit in white muslin. It had been a fortnight since I had left
Lahore which an American traveller had jokingly dubbed La Whore, and ended
up in this polluted city called Quetta. Lahore was another city, however,
it was not a hotbed of Taliban warlords like Quetta. In Lahore I dared to
walk about in spandex tights, until a French traveller told me that they
would think of me as gay and I did not want that attraction, he
cautioned. Quetta on the other hand, a bastion of Taliban militants, choked
my lungs and being an asthmatic it was no fun exploring it. However,
something deep inside told me to hang out here a little longer. Most of the
population was Shia and I had arrived in plain Muharam festivities in which
they flog themselves with a whip made of razorblades. Many belong to the
Pashtun people, also known as Pathans. I saw many with heavy big turbans
and sporting defiant beards, which they showed off with pride. According to
Taliban fundamentalism, a true Muslim has a beard as thick as a fist.

On one of my last nights in Quetta, I spotted a few young men on the
balcony opposite mine. Just as I, they were dressed in a national `costume'
in light blue and khaki brown. There were four of them and sharing a
dorm. It was 9pm and outside the hotel there was nothing but darkness and
cars producing a racket of noise. Only a few street urchins peddling food
or begging ran about.

One of the men, who were all bearded, kindly beckoned me to come over to
the dorm. They were all in their mid thirties and pretty cute for Pakistani
standards. Most men wore colourful sequinned hats which was enveloped by a
turban. In the streets I had sen and met with fierce looking men with fiery
faces, the likes of you would not want to meet after dark. I carefully
avoided looking into their eyes.

It had been a bit of a boring day, hence the men's invite was a bit of a
welcome break for me for after two weeks I had become quite lonely which
was caused by my poor command of Hindi which I used to communicate with the
Urdu speakers. They did understand Hindi.  I walked anti-clock wise over
three balconies around the patio 2 floors below and arrived in their
room. All the men were happy to see me and straight away offered me to sit
on one of the beds by the door which they left open for a little
while. Pleasantries were exchange in a cordial way, however, no chai
(Indian tea) was offered because they had no stove the room to prepare
it. I gathered they were workers for a Fiat plant in Karachi. They were
here on a holiday/seminar paid for by the company. I knew that Karachi was
the most dangerous place in Pakistan. Bombs went off so often there and
lately a spate of kidnappings had started to trouble the coastal city.

The men could not hide their excitement and wanted to know all about
me. Pakistanis, just like their Hindu brethren, can hardly keep their hands
to themselves, which was understandable given the fact that I was barely
eighteen, blue eyed, beardless, blonde haired, and travelling on my
own. You get the picture...a white young roumi who they loved to practise
their English with. That is was the excuse to chat me up, I guessed. It was
my first time in Pakistan and had been ill prepared for this country. As I
think about it now, I was quite naive. A member of the Seals, recently told
me that I could have easily been taken for a spy, and if American soldiers
there had seen me post 9/11, they would have sent me to
Guantánamo. Nobody would have believed I was just travelling there
to see the country.

The boys had no fan in the room and the heat was getting to me. After the
initial exchanges of names and background information on both sides, they
became a little more ambitious in getting to know me physically. Two sat
behind me on the single bed and the other two stood cross armed in front of
me. Then one of them turned on the radio and hummed along with a tune while
another one asked me to sing a song from my country. I must say I liked the
ambience and shared a gave a few tunes with them, which they liked. I liked
the dance the boys had begun. One hour later we had become quite familiar
with one another. Occasionally, one of them put a hand on my knee while
asking questions about women - did I like them?  I thought that telling
them that I was a shy person and never and a girlfriend was sufficient and
I also fired questions about Islamic culture and I was curious enough to
ask about their appearance and why most men walked in female shoes. Why did
they use mascara or was it eyeliner? No, they said, it was not eyeliner or
mascara but khol they used, one of them explained. They showed me a little
tin bottle which they gave me as a present. Of course they insisted they'd
put some on my beautiful blue eyes which would make me more handsome, they
claimed, and I allowed them. Oh, yes I was quite vain then. The two from
the back coaxed me into lying down on my back. The others held my face in
the right position while yet another one traced the kohl professionally
just below my eye. The smacked their lips and said : "ba ba baaa...(wow)"
The radio volume got cranked up and they asked me if I was thirsty...A Coke
was ordered from the reception and opened up in the bathroom whence from
they brought it back in a glass. They all drank from the bottle...for a
gent like me from the west it should be offered in a glass, they
explained. I believed them, because I had experienced so often in India;
nothing was never too good for guest from the West. I was always seated
higher than my hosts. I on a stool and they on a rug, literally looking up
at me like I were a god of some sort.

I lost track of time and had grown a bit weary of the cackling Urdu spoken
around me. I spoke less and less and let them do the talking, singing,
dancing I had basically given on socialising and accepted whatever they
offered me. Yes, I got kulfi (ice cream) and some sweet pastry to eat. I
let go of my guards and literally behaved as if I was in my own
room. Leaning on my elbows or slumping on the bed. I was exhausted, but of
what? I heard myself think. I had not done anything all day but sit and
read in my room.  They probably noticed I was miles away and told me to get
up and dance to something they saw in Hindi movies. I thought that would
wake me up, so I showed off a few disco moves to the genre. I was a good
dancer, I danced at home and in discos since I my fifteenth birth year. I
twirled and shook my butt, made a few Travolta gestures and steps which
nearly made them drool over me. Their eyes popped and bestowed comments on
me for each and every move in Urdu. I did not understand what they said,
but some of their glances at each other should have been telling me some
things.

I gasped for air and stopped; I was tired and wanted to go to my bed. As
soon as I said that they grinned at each other. One blocked the door with
his body and said: "Bacha bereesh! Please stay with us. We are friends."
The other men nodded and repeated bacha bereesh, bacha bereesh and started
a dance around me. The most handsome, who stood in front of the door walked
over into the circle placed his hands on my cheeks and repeated; "bereesh,
bereesh, sundar sundar hey." Then he kissed me on the lips. I felt too
faint to push him away...I was overwhelmed with the attention I got from my
new friends. He left me and was replaced by his friends who one after
another did the same thing. The dance around me went on while one kissed
me. My lips were numb but I felt each and every tongue on mine. They
laughed, intoxicated with joy. Was this the way Pakistani men greeted and
loved their guests, I thought. I felt dizzy and had trouble keeping my
balance, but I remained on my feet. One of them had placed his hands on my
hips and coaxed me into a pelvis dance. I allowed all of that...the party
had only just begun, I thought. The perspiration under my shirt was visible
under my armpits and my chest. The music beat had them all lolling their
heads and stomping their bare feet. I received another kiss on my left
cheek and then one of them from behind lifted my kameez and pulled it over
my head. I was now half naked and all eyes concentrated on my exposed
bits. Instantly, after `losing' my shirt, fingers started walking over my
torso. I giggled and laughed when it became too ticklish. I closed my eyes
and drifted off into another world, a marasma of colours and snaking
lines. I turned euphoric, ecstatic, and energy filled me. Next, I felt
hotter and sweatier, I seemed to me, that I was somewhere where anything
was possible, I could take on the world...Man, I swung my hips, my
shoulders, I became a belly dancer. I could hear the bells at my feet. I
danced a dance and it seemed to have started ages ago. When I opened my
eyes for the second time, I looked at my feet and actually saw I was
wearing bells the Indian Kathak dancers use. It must have been my
imagination I thought, because how would they have put them on while I was
dancing. Surely, I would have felt them doing that. Having closed my eyes
anew, the room of colours had turned ever so dark with psychedelic figures
moving about in all sorts of styles and colours. I raised my arms like an
eagle, waved them over my head around my loins, I was tip toeing...was that
all in my head?  What had felt like another hour was probably only a few
minutes later when I opened my shutters once more, but I saw nothing but
darkness. My friends were still there, but some sat on the beds watching me
perform. I was so confident, I was the star of the night, I was Venus with
balls. That was the moment when something sneaked up my backside which felt
soggily warm. I realised I was totally naked. My trousers had gone and yet,
I did continue the show for my hosts. I heard whispers, smacking of lips,
and more wet hands touching my thighs, my knees, my butt. I remember all
this as from a dream. During the time I did not realise they were stripping
me, I had not been aware of it. Perhaps seeing myself naked was also an
illusion caused by the dancing, I thought, that is why I preferred to keep
my eyes shut, and kept pirouetting and moving all night long. It was best
to keep to myself in the belief that it was fantastic trip in my head.

"Bacha, bacha," I heard them sing in a fourfold whisper. I was not moving
anymore; in my head I still was, but now different hands were pulling at
all sides. My feet, arms, legs and head was taken care of, as if I was
lying on a horse drawn cart that went up and down a mountain, or in a
dinghy at sea.

Indians were good at massage...I had had a few massages Aryuveda style
which was quite sensual. But this felt hard on my skin. The tripping in my
head was more important for me that trying to understand what was going on
outside of my head. The heat became more intense in a and around my
bum. The boat must have gone up a high wave because my legs were lifted
high up in the air and and then this long eel found his way into me.

A slap in the face woke me up.  "Open eyes." it echoed.  I opened my mouth
to say something but something got stuck in it that kept on coming in and
out.

I realised something weird was going on, it was also the start of me waking
up from my Arab trip. 
What I felt far below was difficult to
describe but it was like I needed to crap but could not. Slowly I was
overcome with joy again. My penis got hard and a dolphin sucked on it. More
laugher was heard again, mixed with grunts, snorts, groans, mostly my own,
I believe.
I was about to explode inside, I wanted to put eat
the eel who kept dogging my teeth. Instead, some flippers slapped me on my
backside, my round cheeks.  Different shapes and sizes squirmed in and out
of me..

Finally I realised, the men were over me. The fish and mammals had left me
and now I sucked one friend's dick after another. i felt like a damp rag
being tossed about when another of them spread y arse cheeks and plunged in
me. I had no more colours or my eyes closed. The long shaft of the Muslim
penis lingered long enough to make backwards moves and I adjusted by
screwing myself on him. I sucked like a whore on cut cocks. Their grimacing
faces looked quite out of place. They had drugged me, I realised. How many
had had me already, how many had fucked my arse or had it just started?
What time was it-was to still pitch dark outside? I could not care
less. They had me, why fight it? I was starting to enjoy it. I loved the
different sizes of cocks they rammed into me. However they were not that
kind in fucking me. They would pull me by the hair and kept me stuck over
their dicks while others behind me slapped my butt real hard. But we were
all naked. I swallowed the sperm of some, I kept it in my anus from
others. As if this was not enough for them they dragged me from the bed by
hands and feet like a sedated wild boar and put me on the floor. They then
emptied their bladder on me while they giggled. Finally they put me under
the shower and after that, discretely walked me back to my room. The
morning after theirs was vacant. I dreamed of the next adventure.


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