Date: Sun, 28 Aug 2016 15:38:56 +0100 (BST)
From: "rampage938@btinternet.com" <rampage938@btinternet.com>
Subject: ARABIAN ADVENTURES  Part 1

I don't know about you, but I find airports - civil or military - and
hotels always make me feel as horny as a jack rabbit. I find airports are
okay for a quick hand job but hotels are always good for something more
substantial. It does not seem to matter if they are five-star luxury or a
nil-star dive as it is in hotels that a randy military man has many
opportunities to meet guys (or gals) from all over the globe who are as
gagging for it as he is and are looking to hook up with you to relieve
tensions. The end result of this is that I seem to get an almost permanent
hard-on wherever I'm staying. On this occasion I was being sent as an
ancillary to attend a week long international military conference to be
held in Al Dhobaia, a small friendly place tucked away out of trouble at
the bottom end of the Gulf. I would be travelling, of course, by military
transport plane, which itself could also be an interesting experience.

When I arrived in Al Dhobaia I found my way to the four-star hotel courtesy
of a government jeep and its rather tasty Arab military driver whose name,
according to the ID badge pinned just above the breast pocket on his khaki
shirt, was Sohan. When I eventually got to the hotel, sure enough I found
the obligatory fit young guy on Reception with his standard disposable
'come hither' smile that unmistakably read "WELCUM" in large letters. We
flirted a bit as I checked in. With a flick of his finger, he summoned the
usual eager bellboy who leapt over to me and hovered over my bags a tad too
long. Glancing up at my crotch in the process, he caused me to feel a
momentary tingle you know where. He grinned at me and I swear he invitingly
wiggled his bum at me. I thought, "Not in the lobby, you horny sod! I do
have some decorum!"

Grabbing my key and following the bellboy's bouncing bum towards the
elevators, my attention was grabbed by two young Arab guys scooting across
the foyer towards me. They obviously wanted the lift as well so I leant
over and pushed the 'OPEN' button and held the lift door for them, as a
neighbourly deed. Giving me broad, friendly smiles one of them said
something to me, which I took to be a 'Thank You' but as I don't speak
Arabic (apart from the ubiquitous zhig-zhig that is) and had stupidly
forgotten to pack a basic English/Arabic phrase book prior to leaving the
UK, what he said could equally have been something on the lines of "Why
don't you fucking Brits piss off out of here." However, I was also thinking
that ogling these two young guys would make the ride more pleasurable. In
my experience, hotel lifts always seem to travel more slowly than any
others. We were heading for the eighteenth floor and I speculated that
there might be a chance to make eye contact or arrange to meet that evening
for a drink in the bar. I'm always up for it, you know! Some things never
sleep.

Utilising the highly polished full length mirrored cladding of the interior
walls, I decided to check out this deeply tanned and provocative pair. They
were wearing matching Levis, sandals and torso hugging tank tops. I slowly
worked my way from their feet, up four muscular legs, until I finally
surveyed two brazenly audacious butts, the contours of which were
emphasised by the constriction of their jeans. Ignoring my presence, the
one on my left reached over and suspended his thumb off his companion's
back pocket, his hand blatantly cradling a proudly swelling buttock. I
hoped it was more likely being done for my benefit. For a split second I
was somewhat astounded until I recalled the briefing we'd been given by an
IO (Intelligence Officer) before our departure. "One important thing,
lads," he had said, "you may see two men walking down the street either
hand in hand or with their arms around each other's waist. This is not an
overt display of eroticism but a mark of friendship commonly seen all over
the Middle East." Oh, yeah? Who is kidding whom, may I presume to ask?

I was beginning to wonder if the display before was intended to convey
ownership, a non-verbal communication informing me these two were
together. I preferred to think they were indulging in this blatantly erotic
display for my benefit. Accordingly, I quickly checked my hair and tugged
my rising bulge into a more prominent position. Alternatively, of course,
it could be a non-verbal come-on and this was the version I chose. As the
lift seemed to be taking forever to reach the eighteenth floor, I decided
to add something to the growing sexual tension. I stopped leaning on the
gilded handrail and stood up straight, a move that allowed my crotch to
approach closer to their titillating rears.

They did not need second sight to be aware I was close behind them, as my
breath must have been tickling the back of their necks. I also caught them
checking me out in the mirrored section of the wall beside us. Retaliating
with an unsubtle stare of my own, I found it almost impossible to decide
which one I would prefer, which is an ideal situation to be in when you're
planning to shag with a couple - which I definitely was - while my
conscientious self was mentally rearranging my schedule. However, at this
stage I was not very confident of success. After all, I had seen nothing
tangible to indicate they would be up for man-to-man fun: one wrong move
and I could end up with a dagger between my shoulder blades. Arabs can be
very touchy, you know!

Having perused the fine specimen to my left, I resumed my scan of this
tasty twosome and turned my lubricious gaze to the one on my right. Slowly,
deliberately making it clear I was checking him over like he was a prize
bull - oops, should that be a prize camel, given my location? - I thought
he might be the older of the two. His tight arse cheeks were a finger's
length away from my twitching hand as I stood there. I noticed he had
slightly longer hair than his friend and that he was the taller of the
two. They both had broad shoulders tapering into small waists. Their bum
cheeks - calling to mind four prize coconuts - were tantalisingly squeezed
into perfectly fitted jeans. Scrutinising their individual contours, I
scratched an imaginary beard as I chewed on an imaginary stalk of straw and
pushed an imaginary Stetson to the back of my head. Stuffing my itching
hands deep into the pockets of my slacks, reminiscent of those old Marlboro
Man TV ads, I was determined to play the idea to the end and use it to
indicate I was contemplating which of them I would fuck first.

With his hand cradling his boyfriend's delightful arse, my gaze followed
the older one's muscular hairy forearm up to where the sleeves were
stretched over defined biceps. Triceps also swelled under his tight tank
top. Having absorbed his framework thus far, my eyes drifted down-wards to
where his tank top did not quite meet the waistband of his tight jeans,
clinging to his sweat damp body and leaving a narrow band of naked deeply
tanned skin above the dark blue denim. Tilting my head slightly to the
right, I caught a glimpse of a bead of sweat running down his neck before
it disappeared beneath his top. My lechery was suddenly interrupted by the
broadly grinning younger boyfriend catching my eye. He had probably been
watching me in the mirrored wall. I quickly realised my mouth was wide open
and that I was drooling like a thirsty dog. Swallowing a mouthful of
saliva, I was about to say something but whatever it was, was cut off by a
loud DING as we arrived at DIX-HUITIEME ETAGE. Can anyone please tell me
why most Middle Eastern hotels seem to label everything in French? They
were the first to leave the lift and I followed them as quickly as I could
but my heavy bags hampered me somewhat. As the lift doors swished shut
behind me, I looked to see which way they had gone but was rudely hindered
by a couple of drunken louts staggering down the corridor. I had lost sight
of my flirtatious duo but caught a glimpse of a bulky suitcase apparently
wheeling itself into the room next to the one I had been allocated.

Scurrying into my room I dumped my heavy bags at the foot of the bed, tore
smartly over to the wall dividing the two rooms and pressed my ear against
it. I could hear muffled noises as one of them turned the shower on while
the other flicked through some TV channels - sport, wailing Arab music,
then OFF. In the ensuing silence I heard a click followed by the distant
noise of traffic on the highway below. He must be on the balcony! My
horniness gave me superman powers and agility as I charged over to my
French windows, flung them wide open and stepped gracefully out into the
rapidly fading twilight.

I met with a blast of warm dry air delicately scented with petrol fumes and
was momentarily dazzled by the setting sun so that I was unable to see if
anyone was outside on the next door balcony. When my vision cleared, I saw
one of my fit buddies leaning over their balcony. He had ditched the jeans
and top and was clad only in a pair of skimpy thin briefs. Smiling as I
strained to see more against the glare, trying frantically not to look like
a sour lemon, I managed (with difficulty) to stop myself from leaping over
the low glass partition and ravishing him then and there. I could visualise
myself vaulting into their room and violating him and his boyfriend for a
few hours. Trusting he could not read my mind but rather hoping he could
(and liking what he read there) I moved over to speak but he simply smiled,
said something unintelligible in Arabic and glided back into his room,
leaving a dick-stiffening whiff of expensive cologne on the evening breeze.

I just stood there, frozen in time still with my gaping mouth, preserved as
a perfect example of the untimely come-on. Peering over the glass partition
I could hear voices so I leant dangerously further out to catch glimpses of
them moving about their room. They had both stripped down and were wearing
towels wrapped around their middle regions. Then it hit me: what the fuck
was I doing, lecherously peering into their room like one of those Peeping
Toms! I saw myself well into my eighties in cheap dark sunglasses and a
dirty trench coat, flashing my withered old cock at sexy teens. Suitably
deflated I let them have their privacy back and returned to my own room.

Grumbling and muttering to myself, I made my way towards my bed, slowly
unbuttoning my flimsy cotton shirt. As I slumped down on to the crisp linen
sheets feeling like a sex doll that had lost all his air, there came a
rat-a-tat-tat knock on the door. Instantly revivified, I leapt off the bed
and thrust my open shirt into the front of my low slung cargos, undid the
button in the waistband, pulled the zipper down just far enough to be
interesting and skipped lightly over to the door, grabbing my room key in
the process. I was certain the sexy pair from next door would be there. I
composed myself and heaved the door open, standing sensuously with the hem
of my shirt just tickling my pubes, which were teasingly just visible where
I had unzipped the fly of my cargos (no underpants, of course.) Languidly
rubbing a hand over my short chest hair, clipped before leaving the UK to
get a more even tan, I looked at them with every lecherous method of visual
seduction I had acquired since boyhood. I brushed the hair from my eyes and
twinkled bashfully.

"Oh, hi!" I murmured.

"Salaam - um..." he was clearly trying to think of the right English word,
"...come."

 I considered he had indubitably chosen the only correct word to fit the
circumstances! He looked a bit on edge and nervous, glancing up and down
the corridor. "Come" he repeated more urgently, reaching out for my
hand. Somewhat flustered, I allowed him to drag me to their room - but do
not run away with the idea that I was an unwilling captive!

To be continued as Part 2.