Date: Wed, 4 Oct 2000 15:54:04 -0700 (PDT)
From: Aihu Fist <aihufist (at) yahoo (dot) com>
Subject: Asilah Hustlers

I cannot figure out why I am here .  I try to soothe my mind by telling
myself and friends I came here for a rest only. But Allah knows
better. 1981 was the first time I set foot on this scorching soil. I was
only 21 then full of vibrant juices and willingness to taste anything that
would turn those liquids boiling hot. Due to circumstances I was not
allowed to stay too long and I never really got hold of anything except for
some `chocolate'(pronounced in the Spanish way, another word for hashees).

Last year, precisely nineteen years later I decided to finish my
exploration tour and realized I had lots to learn and catch up with.

Particularly about hot throbbing uncut dicks that seem to lurk at every
corner hidden in blue jeans or djelabahs.

Morocco isn't Egypt, let's make that a clear statement. Though they have
the same inclination. Have a good short time with a `zamel'. That's how
they call a passive homosexual who sells his body, but it's common use for
anybody willing to expose his arsehole for them to clean it out.


I was barely standing at the shore of Asilah beach. A sea resort crowded
with tourists in summer, but now virtually abandoned and littered with
garbage of all kinds. Just as I had left the medina a young lad a bit
raggedy came running up to me. "hola, como estas? Bien?" . Boyish look
nineteen I believe and handsome.

His pidgin Spanish made it clear by the way he was talking to me that he
had been around a lot with tourists and not only with straight guys . He
guided me away from the crowds -- soccer players around his age. "Vamos
recto, senor, alla hay mala gente, roban y todo." I believed him. I heard
some shouts in the distance, friends of his inviting us over. But he said,
they were dangerous people.

After half a mile of chit chat we found ourselves a resting place near the
dunes. He took of his T-shirt and laid back, his arms backwards behind his
head. I saw he shaved his armpits, not unusual in the Arabian culture.

"I shave my armpits too", I said an showed him. He smiled. His belly was
tight with only a few wrinkles near his bellybutton. Tension was rising . I
felt my dick pushing agains the raw texture of my jeans. "Tu eres muy
guapo", I whispered in his ear. He moved his head, squinted a bit and then
finally he unbuttoned his fly.

No undies of course, but a big jungle of black curls around the base of his
circumcised cock. It stood right there, proud and sure for action. "chupa
un poco" I looked around sheepishly and grabbed his cream coloured skewer.

He leaned on his elbows to see how I did it. The fact that anybody could
come around from the dunes or even apprehend us made it all the more
exciting. I sucked and chewed the 'kefta'like it was going to be my last
one;

His flesh was really hard and pulsating. But it was not longlasting. He
pushed my head away and shot the whole load on his belly. I got upset a bit
and told him he could unleash the full amount in me.

But he wanted flouze now. Money, as usual. It was a turn off. He got it his
way but not in money.

I promised him a tape and a wristlet I had somewhere in my backpack. For
the next week I'd see him with the same smile on his face and not asking me
anything anymore because he knows I am a `poor artist'.

Nevertheless, I got picked up the same week by another bloke. He said he
was twenty three but I don't care what they say. He had a little fuzzy
moustache and he definitely was on the prowl for some meat here. No I had
no room I could take him too. We went from park to park, huddled
sihouettes, groping each other anxiously on a bench? he sighed or was it
pretending, hoping, he would turn me on real fast. Finally we went to the
Asilah landmark. It was real dark, the guard made his round and a straight
couple cuddling each other looked the other way when we sneaked around the
back of the circular platform on which stood a huge modern sculpture I had
not seen in daylight even.

This boy was sure of his case with me. I couldn't withhold myself any
longer getting close to an apotheosis and we had not even done a thing. He
revealed his dark bold engine- we had both crouched. He spat on the head of
this Moorish example of repressed organ. I massaged it gently and rubbed it
real tight. Then I urged him to stand up and maneuvred him in front of my
face where I gobbled the black force into my tiny mouth. I almost puked
when he rammed it through my throat, but I didn't give in.  Then as I got
really into it he pulled me up, I had his butt cheeks in my hands and
pushed him back and forth but he then violently pulled me up and ordered to
turn around. He was too young to be around with gays all the time, and he
wouldn't suck or get fucked, very few Arabs I met allow that,, so I thought
it was safe to have him uproot my inner tunnel. He spat and lubricated the
shaft and dug straight for it. I almost screamed but then I realised that
the guard could hear me. I jacked off feverishly and came before or
together with him. Both were happy. My cum had fallen on his walkman that
he had laid down next to him. As I thought all had gone well, he was too
embarrassed me for a gift. Fifty dirhams. Half an hour bargaining brought
it down to 10. Then we walked back while he tried to calm me down . "Don't
worry my friend, there is no problem, you give me ten dirhams and a gift
tomorrow. We are friends, O.K?"

He bought two battery cells for his walkman and then we split up. Resuming
our anonymous lives in darkness and daylight...