International Affairs Southern Knight BBS ]=====-..... (804) 674-1907 .by Rick, Sysop of Southern Knight For many years, I've worked and fucked around the Middle East and North Africa, so I can speak with authority about sex among Arab men and boys. When I was at school, an older boy said that Arabs fucked a woman for children, a goat for necessity but a boy for pleasure. It was several years later that I began to realize the profound truth of this analysis. Almost every Arab I've met has been bisexual. It is considered "normal" for boys and teenagers to provide sexual gratification for their elders, but when they themselves grow up and take a wife (or wives) their passive role is ended. It is not considered "normal" for a mature man to play the woman, but it is understood and accepted, albeit with a certain amount of contempt. This is where the Arab demand for money is often misunderstood: they are not by nature hustlers but they have to establish in their own mind when they have sex with men that they are men selling their services with the same honesty as a man toiling in the fields. As a result, a small sum will often "buy" the most gorgeous hunk of meat. Customs change as they do in other parts of the world. The Mediterranean Arab is more Westernized that the Middle East Arab and the city Arab, particularly in international centers like Cairo or tourist spots like Tangier and Tunis, has all too often been perverted by Western ways. I wouldn't claim that the Arab has much sexual imagination...in the smaller towns and countryside and desert it is an insatiable desire to fuck young ass...but they are quick to learn and eager to please. In Cairo, you can find any kind of sex with men and boys you may wish, at a price, and always with the strong probability of being mugged to add to the excitement. But the smaller towns of Egypt, Tunisia, Morocco and (before its present turmoil) Lebanon have much more to offer. A major disappointment for me is that all Arabs are cut as part of their religious and hygiene standards. It is not unusual for an Arab to keep all his body hairs shaved, while retaining a beard or moustache. I have often seen a man lying on a barber's couch, quite naked, with a young boy lathering his pubic area while the barber hones his razor. The barber's boys are a good source of sexual supply. Shaving is an important part of one of my most memorable experiences. It happened in Tunis before that city fell completely to the total corruption of tourism. I was walking down a wide poorly lit boulevard opposite the central wholesale market one evening. As I passed one of the palm trees lining the boulevard I saw a man taking a piss near a tree.. Nothing particularly unusual about that. But I stopped and looked a the huge, flaccid meat hanging from his denims. I just couldn't believe it. He saw me looking, and in a refreshing un-American way, turned slightly towards me and smiled in a very inviting way. I was completely intrigued and just couldn't walk away; neither could I just stand there like some voyeuristic half-wit (typically American though it would have been), so I walked over to the same tree, unzipped and tried to piss while I watched him. His eyes were jet black and they gazed idly at my fumbling attempts to get close to him. My interest was now obvious to him and he nodded with a little smile on his lips. I glanced humbly down at my very pale looking cock and felt it stiffen slightly. He made no further attempt to hide his thick brown horse cock splashing out its warm piss. I reached out and felt the liquid coursing along the tube. He moved his hands away, smiled and said something softly in Arabic which I didn't understand. It was impossible for my fingers to meet around his fat cock. I felt it begin to stiffen. We couldn't do anything there and to make matters worse I heard footsteps approaching. I zipped up and drifted away. I had gotten turned on and decided to head back to the center of town and cruise the local park. I hadn't gone more than a hundred paces when I heard a quiet voice behind me: "Cherie!" I turned to see the coal black eyes and warm smile I had just left behind, who had obviously followed me. He struggled to communicate a few words of imprecise French. He wanted me to sit with him, drink some mint tea, meet his friends. Our conversation was very limited, but his friends didn't seem the least bit surprised that a foreigner should be sipping tea with them. He wanted to show me around the market where he worked. We just drifted away together into the night. I decided he was too great a discovery for a quickie behind the bushes. I was staying in a small Arab hotel, the kind you pay per bed per night, and as I wanted the room exclusively I was paying each day some four U.S. dollars for the four beds. I never made a habit of taking casual pick-ups back to my room, but I sensed that this was different. His total lack of inhibition by the tree, his warm smile and friendly tone of voice reassured me that he wasn't the ordinary street trade. Aziz, his name roughly translated into English, had a quiet nobility about him. He spoke for several minutes to the concierge of the hotel in Arabic. There wasn't a trace of hostility, lewdness or guile from the concierge. He said, "Your friend asked me what kind of razor you use. It is electric and it won't be suitable. I have what you need." He disappeared and returned with a barber's open razor, a soap stick and a brush. "Your friend would like you to shave him." My room was the most unromantic imaginable. It had one harsh, uncovered light bulb and a hand basin in the corner with running water. This is a necessity in any Arab hotel. It was designed to be low enough for washing both the feet and genitals comfortably. I had managed to make the place somewhat less stark with a few small tapestries on the walls and had fashioned a cover for the light bulb to soften the glare. It still looked pretty bad. I began to wonder if Aziz understood what I had in mind...his desire to be shaved seemed so bizarre to me, but not to him. As soon as I locked the door he took off his rough spun garments. He wasn't really beautiful in the way Westerners would traditionally think of as beautiful. But he had the beauty that a very healthy man exudes when he is naked, and that beauty comes from within. His body exuded that kind of healthy beauty and I made certain he was aware of my admiration of his masculinity. He had well-formed but not over-developed muscles and creamy dark skin. I saw that he had recently been shaved, because his pubic hair was not profuse, none of it longer than an inch. I wanted to sink down in front of him, but he fell on his back on one of the beds and spread his legs wide apart in a totally passive gesture. It was almost like a dream come true, and my senses reeled at the sight of that massive cock draping over equally massive balls. With one hand placed behind his head to give him better vantage, he ran the other one idly up the inside of one smooth thigh. The sight of his naked body was having an obvious affect on my young American cock so I slipped out of my clothes. He watched me as I shred my clothes slowly and his heavy, dark skinned cock began to swell. I pulled a straight-backed chair alongside the bed and began to shave around the huge piece of Arab man-flesh between his legs. I couldn't tear my eyes away from it as I held it one hand while the other slowly and carefully removed all the hair from his groin. His cock would swell and throb in my hand every few moments but the rest of his body was still and relaxed. It was all I could do to sit still in that chair with my own cock jumping and throbbing. He gracefully got up and went to the wash basin and rinsed away the soap and hairs and dried himself with a towel. I sat in silence and watched, but my cock grew harder still at the sight of him standing and was now pressed hard against my stomach. I instinctively reached down and pried it away, hoping it would relax just a little. My balls were pulled so tight up against the base of my cock, they began to ache. My cockhead glistened with a pearl of pre-cum and I smoothed it over my throbbing cock-head. Aziz watched as he toweled off with one hand and he reached down to his now hardening cock and squeezed it playfully for me to watch. He laid back down on the bed in such a way that it was obvious he knew what my interests were and was not going to object in the least. He assumed the same spread-eagled position but placed both arms casually behind his head and closed his eyes. He adjusted his hips slightly and, with my right hand firmly wrapped around his huge cock, my other cupped his heavy balls. I moved up onto the bed with him and began to worship that fantastic cock of his with my lips and tongue. I tried to get as much of it as possible in my mouth, but the most I could get was the head and that stretched my jaws so much that they ached as bad as my cock and balls. He reached up, turned off the light, and put me face down on the bed. He patiently waited while I brought out a jar of lubricant from under the bed. He took a long, long time easing that giant cock inch by inch up my hole. Never have I felt so totally had, before or since. He wrapped his muscular arms around me and began a slow fuck that went on and on. It was the most comforting fuck imaginable, and when his cum poured into me, his tongue was fucking my ear. I felt the heat pouring deep inside me. My cock twitched once and I came quickly and furiously on the mattress while his cock pushed all the way up into me. He eased his cock out slowly and went to the basin to wash. I thought it was all over and that he was going to dress and leave me, but he returned to the bed and tried to make conversation in his inadequate French. I gathered from Aziz's conversation that he had been taught the pleasure of having his cock sucked by a German tourist who couldn't take it in the ass because of its size. He made no attempt to handle my cock; it was obvious that would have jeopardized his masculinity. It was difficult for me to imagine anyone with a cock like his having much of anything jeopardize his masculinity! But knowing how delicate the male ego can be, I didn't push the issue and drifted off to sleep. He stayed the night and we fucked again. When I woke up at dawn, he had gone. Hell, I thought, with my cash and wristwatch along with him. Who was it who said you can trust an Arab with your life but not your billfold? Anyway, nothing was missing and I proceeded to pull myself together. Just as I was dressing, Aziz returned laden with fruit for breakfast. I was such a tender gesture, I was stunned. As we ate I wondered if I should offer him money, since he hadn't found any work the night before. He didn't ask for any so I decided it would be an insult. For the next few weeks, every time Aziz had no work at the market he would come to my hotel room for a shave. He must have begun to sense that I was a bit disappointed that the sex was so one-sided. I returned to the hotel to see a young boy sitting with the concierge behind the desk. This was Hoodah, the concierge explained, and he was "a very good and honest boy and Aziz had sent him to keep me company." Aziz had told the boy that I was a friend, would not hurt him, and he was to make me happy. Hoodah was stunningly good-looking, with black glistening hair and large eyes. As soon as we were alone in my room he reached up and clung around my neck, inviting a kiss. I kissed him and slipped my hand under his jubbah to fondle his body. Like Aziz, his body was practically hairless except for a small patch of fuzz over his cock. His hips were slim and he pressed his little bubble-butt into my hand when I reached around behind him. He had a wholesome smell of some herb. His hands began professionally kneading my cock through my pants and I felt his very solid erection pushing out from under his jubbah. It didn't take us long to get naked. He put his small hand around the base of my cock and began to gobble. He did it very well. I gently swung him around into a sixty-nine position. His cock wasn't overly large, maybe 6 inches and average diameter, but his balls were huge. Must have hung down a good 5 inches and were as big around as tangerines. I cupped them in my hand and squeezed gently. The pitch black patch over his cock was the only trace of hair anywhere on his torso, including his balls. I licked and sucked on those beautiful balls while my hand continued to explore his tight little butt. His cock jerked wildly when I fondled his asshole and he pushed hard against my finger until it slipped easily inside. I took his sweet smelling cock in my mouth and worked it over expertly. It didn't take him long to cum and I followed in short order. Hoodah got up and went to the basin to clean up and then returned to the bed with a small cloth and proceeded to gingerly clean my entire crotch. He expertly wiped my cock and balls with one hand while the other deftly held my cock upright. He seemed fascinated by all my pubic hair (I have a pretty thick bush and a lot of hair under my balls) and he would grin like it was tickling his hands. I chuckled and gave him a peck on the lips and a squeeze on his little butt. He got dressed and left, looking just as bright and beautiful as he had when he came in. I went out for a while and returned a few hours later, it was late evening and I started getting ready for bed. I heard an almost inaudible knock at the door and in pranced Hoodah loaded with brightly colored sticky cakes and bottles of Coke (the staple beverage for the world's youth I'm beginning to believe). After we ate, he suddenly stripped off his jubbah and fell back on the bed, displaying all his charms, reaching down to fondle my cock, giggling and rolling over to stick his round little butt in my face. We wrestled around on the bed for a while, while I pinched and tickled him in various places. He was totally disarming and perfectly charming while he would push his stiff cock and heavy balls back through his legs and pull my head down to lick from the tip of his cock, up over his balls and up between his asscheeks. I soon was naked again and grabbed each asscheek in one hand and pulled them apart while I buried my face in them. Like his older male counterparts, he was immaculately clean and the musky smell of his body combined with that elusive herbal scent. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. He was obviously enjoying all this attention as much as I was giving it to him. Well, the light was soon off and I was licking and probing his ass like it was angel food. It had been rimmed before. Often. His hole opened easily and eagerly and there wasn't the slightest strain of resistance as I penetrated the smooth warm hole with my tongue first and then my now throbbing cock. We didn't get much sleep; he was busy in one way or another off and on all night. I only wished we had a language in common; I longed to know how he'd gotten all his experience. When Aziz came to the hotel a few nights later he asked the concierge if the boy had satisfied me as he had been Aziz's gift to me. I had to leave Tunis at the end of the month for another assignment and when I finally returned a year later, I was unable to trace Aziz. This happened in Beirut. One of the most beautiful and relaxed fun cities in the Middle East until the situation in Lebanon. The Navy was making a courtesy call and a marine had gotten himself separated from his buddies, had drunk too much and ended up in the old Moslem sector. This is where the story begins. This particular evening I was with Ahmed, whom I'd met some years back. He was a projectionist in a movie house, about 30 with a lover, Samir, who went everywhere with him. I don't know if that was traditional or not, it didn't seem to matter them, they wanted it that way so that was the way it was. Ahmed was pretty much a father to Samir due to the great differences in their ages. In fact, when they were together, that's what most people would have thought to look at them. A night in bed with Ahmed and Samir was always a night to remember. In order to avoid embarrassment, we would go out to the city suburbs, where one of Ahmed's friends ran a small cafe. He would let us use a room equipped with a bed which, if not clean, was at least large. Ahmed would strip and bathe Samir while I prepared a massage oil using lemon oil and the oil of Patchouli, most of the most ancient of Mid Eastern herbs. To this mixture I would add some crushed leaves of Rue, another herb, while warming the oil over a candle flame. After Samir's body was steamy from Ahmed's gently bathing, Ahmed would lead him to the bed and shave him in the traditional manner while I massaged the scented oil onto his arms and torso. Samir's eyes were jet black pools of wonder during this ritual and Ahmed would chant to him in Arabic while he shaved him. The wafting scent of Patchouli would fill our nostrils and had an almost hypnotic effect on Samir. His cock would swell and throb as the razor slid gently and smoothly over and under his balls. Ahmed would take his cock in his hand and kiss the head of it affectionately just before he shaved around the base of it. When Ahmed was done, he would sit back in a wicker chair, smoking an ornate pipe and smile with admiration as he watched Samir stretch and squirm in ecstasy as I smoothed the oil over his freshly shaved genitals and down between his legs. Samir's cock would be pressed so hard up against his belly, I would have to pry it up and away to rub the oil on and around the base of it. I would bend down and gently kiss the head of it as I had seen Ahmed do and he would press my head down against it with his young hands. Placing my hand on Samir's slim hips, I would roll him over on his belly and continue massaging his shoulders and back with the heated oil. His eyes would close and he would grind his pelvis into the mattress in rhythmic motion when I reached his lower back. He would thrust his round little butt up into the air begging for me to caress them with the warm oil. I gently slid my finger down into the hairless crevice between his cheeks and dabbed oil on his anus. His little asscheeks surrendered willingly to my loving squeezing and massaging. This particular night, the marine happened to be sitting alone in a cab when Ahmed, Samir and I descended on it on our journey out to our rendezvous point. Me, with my little brass urn and vials of oil and herbs wrapped in a white cloth, walking alongside the burly Ahmed. Samir, chattering away in Arabic, stopping to grind his hips in imitation of a belly dancer so Ahmed would reach down and squeeze his butt. Samir would feign insult, act horrified and pretend to push Ahmed into the street. Ahmed would cuff him beside the head and the two of them would laugh hysterically and off we'd go into the night like a trio of musketeers. The marine seemed confused that the driver was refusing to take him immediately to the landing stage where the Navy ship was docked. The reason was that he'd gotten into a "service taxi", which only operates when it has three or more passengers, the fare being equally divided among the occupants. The Marine was quite good-looking with his close-cropped hair, freckled complexion and southern drawl. Samir though he'd struck oil and threw himself in the back of the car, pressing himself tightly against the marine while I climbed in beside him. Ahmed sat in the front with the driver and motioned him to drive off, hardly glancing back at the antics of Samir in the back seat. We'd hardly been going a couple of minutes when Samir pulled up his striped jubbah and pulled down his green briefs. He looked over and grinned at the marine and uttered one of the few English sentences he knew: "You like fuck?" The marine was hardly more articulate. He looked down at Samir, gasped and said "Jesus!" Samir, in his typical prankish manner, made a pass at the marine's groin but had his hand knocked smartly away. I reached over and gently stroked Samir's cock and placed his hand over my own. Samir whipped out my meat and was merrily stroking away while I gently massaged his young cock. "Jesus!" the marine said again. "He only wants to be friendly," I said. Samir sat on my lap, and although my cock didn't penetrate him, I got the exquisite feel of his hot asshole rubbing against the head. "Don't you want to fuck Arab boy, sailor?" the driver asked. "Jeez," the marine said, "let me out of here." The only effect this had on Samir was that he made another, more determined pass at the marine's crotch and this time he held on like a ferret to its prey. A few minutes later, I wasn't surprised to see that persistent Samir had captured his prey; the marine's pants were open and his cock hung out. Samir wrapped his lips around it. The car bounced over a rough track and came to a halt. Ahmed and the driver apparently wanted to encourage the wanton Samir just for the hell of it. Samir was deep-throating the embarrassed marine and I didn't help matters by reaching over and feeling the marine's hard butt. Ahmed said something to Samir in Arabic. The boy let the marine's cock slip from his mouth reluctantly and, pulling his jubbah up under his arms, laid face down over the car. "I don't do these things," the marine said, but the two men positioned him behind the boy's upturned little butt. Ahmed held the marine's hard-on in position and guided it into the boy's waiting and relaxed hole. Once in, he didn't take it out, even though he repeated once again, "Jesus." He bucked to and fro and there was no doubt from his dripping cock when he finally did pull it out that he'd shot his wad in Samir's hole. The marine wiped his softening pecker on his shirt tail and pulled up his pants. "Gimme! Gimme!" said Samir in a heavy Arabic accent, already asking for payment in return for his favor. The marine was in too great a shock to respond and we decided that Samir would have to regard his services to this particular representative of the U.S.A as free. Ahmed and I rewarded Samir later that evening with some freshly baked sweet cakes from a merchant near the place we were headed for and he quickly forgot his disappointment. We all got back into the taxi and drove to the landing stage. The marine reached for some money to pay the driver. "No charge," I said. The marine, still looking slightly dazed, and sheepishly said "Thanks." As he was driving Ahmed, Samir and myself back to our meeting place for the night the driver asked, "What happens to a guy like that if someone actually starts shooting at him?" I reached over, put my arm around Samir's young shoulders, and pulled him close to my side and said, "Turns and runs in terror, I suppose." I had a business appointment in West Berlin on a Monday and made reservations to fly in on the Friday before. This gave me plenty of opportunity to spend the weekend in some of Europe's hottest gay bars. I decided to stay in East Berlin and commute by U-Bahn. It wasn't the first time I'd been in the Eastern sector, but it was the first time I'd checked into a hotel there. It was modern, functional (two stars) and second rate. On Friday night I did the gay scene in the Western sector and slept late on Saturday. After a lunch of good beer and lousy meat, I decided to explore the old parts of the sector; the show-shops and apartments spreading out from the Brandenburg Gate are too depressing. I wasn't dressed for cruising; in fact I was wearing a jacket and grey flannels. I accidently came across a cottage (German mens room) tucked away between a park and a section of overhead U-Bahn track. The moment I entered I got the scene; there was a lookout stationed near the door and three guys inside at the urinals. It was an old building, L-shaped, with four urinals near the entrance and four more round the corner of the L. There were two W. C. booths but these were out of action; metal bars were welded across the doors, suggesting that it was a trouble spot the police didn't want to patrol. The guy in the doorway was making a pretense of buttoning up. He was dark haired, in his late twenties I guessed, and wore cord pants and the kind of padded work jacket so popular in Eastern Europe. Near the door at one of the urinals was a young blond in denims and a Western style jeans jacket. As I took a urinal near him, I saw around the L bend that standing side by side at the other four urinals was a very hunky fair-haired guy, possibly in his early twenties, wearing very greasy mechanic's overalls, and a typical overweight German in a railway employee's uniform, balding prematurely, and pink from high blood pressure. I felt some resentment from them, as though my arrival had broken up their action. I'm usually cautious in a Communist country but on this occasion I decided it was safe. So I let the young blond see that I was giving my meat a few encouraging strokes. Immediately, he stood back from the urinal so I could get a good view of his fresh young cock jutting impressively from his tight jeans. Wow! I started drooling. It was big, fat, pink and moist and despite the fact that it was fully hard, his foreskin still fully covered the head of it till he eased it back and revealed the glistening rosy red splendor of the cock head. "Are you British?" he asked in excellent English. My clothes told him I wasn't German, certainly not East German. I told him I was American. By this time the dark-haired guy had come in from the door and reached over the partition between the urinals to play with my cock. Satisfied that I wanted action, he nodded approval and returned to his lookout position. I'd hardly gotten my hand around the youngster's cock when the fair-haired mechanic had dropped his greasy overalls. He was stark naked, his overalls were wrapped around his ankles as he rested his arms on the urinal partition and waited for the railway worker to screw him. The youngster I was jacking off said, "He is here every day; he just stands there to get fucked by anyone who wants to fuck him. You want to fuck him?" I was more interested in the young blond because, being cut myself, I am fanatical about foreskin. His was too good for a quick blow job at a urinal and I asked him if there was a safe place we could go. He said, "your hotel will be OK." I had my doubts but he assured me he had all the right papers and I.D. cards. even a Communist Party card. So, I said "let's go!" As he had indicated, no one challenged us when I took him up to my room. He said his name was Reed and he was 18, a medical student. He seemed comparatively well-off and influential; he behaved toward the hotel staff with an almost adult authority, specifying the kind of Polish vodka and German lager he wanted sent to my room. I was beginning to take a genuine liking to this guy. His casual confidence was refreshing and a distinct change from American guys his age who seem to spend all their time either hiding under a rock or trying to convince everyone that what's between their legs is the best that ever was. He indicated he was anxious to get under my shower as soon as we were secure behind my locked door. I poured a couple of drinks for us and tossed my jacket over the back of one of the chairs and loosened my shirt. He took off his jacket and handed it to me to hang in the closet for him and yanked his black T-shirt up over his head. His chest was completely hairless and there was just a trace of hair running from his navel to the top of his jeans. His buns still had the firmness and roundness of youth and his jeans clung to them tightly. I told him to relax, that the shower could wait, and to sit and have a drink first. After a few beers and some candid conversation, I could see his cock was hardening again and showed clearly under the tight fabric of his jeans. He spread his legs wide apart and reached down and squeezed it firmly. I reached over and placed my hand over his while he massaged it. He placed the other hand behind my neck and gently drew my head down between his thighs. I placed my lips over the bulge in this jeans while my hand firmly squeezed the base of his cock. He closed his eyes and whispered, "I would like to take a shower first." I slid my hand along the length of this cock and said, "I'd like to have what's under that foreskin first." He chuckled and seemed to be flattered by my interest. He stood up and pulled his boots off and popped the button on the waistband of his jeans. He was careful taking them off as they were genuine Levi's and hard to come by over here. I layed them on the bed for him while he sat back down in the chair and spread his legs wide again. His young balls were pulled tight up against the base of his cock and he reached down and tugged at them in an attempt to loosen them somewhat. Having failed to succeed at that, he ran his fingers idly over his erect nipples and his cock responded by jerking strongly upward against his flat stomach. The foreskin still completely hid the mushroom shaped head but the strong masculine scent of his groin wafted up and filled my nostrils. I had stripped down to my white Jockey briefs and my cock was clearly hard and pressing out against the soft white cotton. The head of my cock was already moist and the tip poked out above the elastic waistband. I moved to a position on the floor between his legs and took that beautiful throbbing cock in one hand while the other reached under to squeeze his balls. He winced in pain at that, I gathered they were loaded to the hilt and painful to the touch as young balls get when they need relief. I slid my tongue under the foreskin and cleaned the sticky fluid from around the head of his cock lovingly. I enjoyed the strong taste of cock cheese and the warm smells coming from his groin while he just sat there and moaned between gulps of beer. His balls pulled up even tighter against his abdomen and his ass cheeks clenched tight together, a thin film of perspiration forming between them. I pulled him up and over to the bed, where he crawled in and propped himself up on one elbow and raised his leg up so his fat cock faced me. Again his casual, uninhibited confidence was refreshing and I wasted no time crawling in beside him (without the briefs this time) and proceeded to make beautiful music on that fat pink organ. He pulled me around and deftly slid my cock between his lips and I slid his foreskin back from the pre-cum drenched head. The fat cockhead was punctuated by a tiny slit that was almost perfectly centered at the top and I licked away the clear strand of fluid that oozed from it. I worked on the shaft and head of that pulsing cock for almost ten minutes, sliding it in and out of my throat and pausing to remove it and gingerly let my tongue wander down around and under his tender balls. He eagerly pulled my head up and, with a single thrust of his hips, firmly planted his cock head between my lips just as it erupted with gobs of white cum. I swallowed hard and fast to keep up with the seemingly never ending load. The taste and feel of his hot cum in my mouth drove me over the edge and I tensed and blew my load down his throat at almost the same instant as he started cumming. I managed to clear my throat of all his cum and said, "you can have a shower now if you still want to." He swung his lithe young body off the bed and headed for the bathroom. I followed, my eyes wandering over his small, round ass cheeks bouncing invitingly in front of me still slightly moist with sweat. He stepped up to the toilet and took his half-erect cock in his right hand. I reached over and drew the long foreskin down over the cockhead and sealed it tightly with my fingertips. He placed his hands on his hips and, with a sigh of relief, let go. His piss built up inside his closed foreskin like a bladder. When I released it, a powerful stream of warm piss hit my face and ran down my neck and chest. I was the star of Grunburgpark toilet in Frankfurt. Seething with lust, I made for it in the depth of a German winter last week on a Sunday afternoon and found I just had to wave my erection about for a moment or two in the urinals when a man was on his knees asking to suck it and another was pulling my jeans to my knees and rimming me. An English queen with a red fist-fucking hanky in his ass pocket directed the proceedings, little realizing his English was much more understandable to me than any equivalent German. "Suck that hole, sweetie," he told his companion and started lusting after the sight of German tongue working on my crack. "A hot little number," he told his German companion, who replied, "Christ, I'd like to taste his asshole." I tried to look as dumb as possible, enjoying their discussion of my charms. The German came close to my ear and whispered in German, "Let me eat your pussy, darling." I didn't go with them but teased the shit out of the German by sucking him between rim jobs (he rimmed me) and then sucked off two voyeurs who'd come to watch the fun. I liked exposing my bottom and cock to complete strangers like that and hearing the English queen invite more people to come and watch. I held off for a long time but was unable to retain my cum a moment longer and shot my load. I rested against the partition awhile, observing the traditional T-Room rites. A white American chicken strutted in...cock waving out through his unzipped jeans. The old queens drooled and fumbled to get their old wrinkled cocks out for him to scorn. Banish all thought that he should bare his backside for them; those things being distasteful in the states. Only as he masturbated would such thoughts as exposing his sacred ass be contemplated. An exhibitionist of degrees, I suppose. Still, I admired his forwardness in strutting by to show his little cock on his way to other places. Places where his disdain would gain him recognition. With my jeans open and pulled halfway down my hips, I swiftly turned sideways and dropped the denim enough to expose one cheek of my well-licked ass. He quickly tucked his little erection back into his drawers and scampered away. So typical, I thought, shunning the ones that desire him and embracing the ones that don't. My asshole began to yearn attention again, pushing away my thoughts of the little chicken. A rugged looking gent happened in and I squared off with him at the urinals. He had a look of world-liness in his eyes that I admired. No scorn, no fear...just casual, complete understanding of where he was and why he was there. The type of look that says "Show me your stuff and keep your mouth shut." The queen looked ill at his arrival and flitted away. I stayed and watched his style, hoping to learn. He flicked a few drops of piss from his cock and whipped it around a few times while he glanced over at me. I grinned wickedly and nodded towards the stalls behind the partition wall I had been leaning against. He slipped around me, pausing momentarily to grope my ass expertly. I raised an eyebrow in consent and followed him. I stepped in front of him as he seated himself on the john and slipped my jeans down to my knees in one smooth move. He placed one hand on either side of my hips and pulled my groin to his face. After planting a kiss just at the base of my cock, he slipped it deftly into his mouth. A few moments of sucking and he let it slip out as he spun me around and pushed me forward so my backside was completely at his disposal. His tongue devoured my puckered hole and he rimmed me expertly for several minutes with a style I admired. I offered no resistance and quickly responded to his attention, my cock now stiff and ready for more of his skills. I pulled away and thrust it into his mouth. I came quickly down his throat and planted a kiss of genuine thanks on his veteran lips as I pulled my jeans back up. -=[...(O)...]=- British baths are always havens of voyeurism and exhibitionism, since no sex is permitted on the premises and furtiveness is the order of the day. Camp commandants rush in on tiptoe every so often to throw offenders out or at the very least to enjoy the spurting cocks on view. I find that this atmosphere suits me admirably, as I can show off my cock to some admiring gentlemen, my bottom to others, and can usually incite not only voyeurism but competitive cock-jerking from some of them. In St. Tropez, however, acres of french ass would appear, much of it male, some of it masculine, and some of it succulent in the extreme. Cock was on show, but to a lesser extent; the French are sometimes protected by the most coy of devices, a cache-sexe. If they sold the little things after a day's wear, with the thong that divides cheek from cheek and protects their assholes, I'd probably buy quite a few for the natural aphrodisiac they'd have after a day in the sun; but no such market had yet to be created...at least not in this paradise. So I contented myself with "doing in Rome" and joined in the sun and ass worship. My favorite ass was glimpsed only once (alas), when a hairless young Frenchmen whose ass was being changed from briefs to swimming trunks deftly and hurriedly, but not so quick or cleverly as to prevent my gazing on his milky smooth cheeks and crack. I get hot over hairless, muscular, masculine legs, nipples, belly and, inevitably, ass. He was an outstanding example of the hairless type; muscles, with full curving buttocks. I had wished for a glance at his naked buns for many days. On this day, I was rewarded and they were worth the wait. It turned out he was 17 and his name was Claude. I was to learn other things about him during my stay in St. Tropez, but that's a story for another day... The days in St. Tropez have brought out a new interest of mine; playing the exhibitionist. But, coming up against extremely rough competition, I have had to refine the practice to an art. There are certain "rules" to the game and one must study ardently to achieve success. I am, of course, displaying myself to as many men as possible. I find that advertising my cock and ass as blatantly and crudely as possible brings in the right kind of voyeur. The time of day, I found, was honored in this art almost as much as it is in Hindu worship. The early morning is favored by the practitioners...a mystery beyond my comprehension. I've always sortof admired male whores (hustlers is "polite", but no more accurate). My love for some of the rough trade beauties of America's porn factories and the trashy young men who wave their public jewels and much-abused asses at audiences of lusting men is profound. So is my envy. I would love to appear every two hours to be pawed and slavered over by any guy with the price of admission to a fleabag cinema in his pocket. But my perverse need to experience the delights of casual voyeurism cannot be satisfied by enlisting in a raunchy cabaret. So I set about to find a suitable alternative...and found the perfect solution behind the lens of a willing cameraman working out of a grand old house overlooking the beach of St. Tropez. Draped over a bench in the changing room adjoining the beach, feasting my eyes on the daring French youth that trotted in and out to furtively glance at each other in hopes of catching a glimpse of cock or a flash of naked butt, I waited patiently for the perfect ass of Claude to appear once more. It was early in the day before the majority of sun worshippers had donned their cache-sexe and settled on the white sand. He sauntered in, glancing around nervously, dropped a small bag on the bench opposite me and began undressing. He had turned his back to me and was busily unstrapping his sandals when an idea came to me...persuade him by example. I stood up, dropped my black speedos, and bent forward at the waist pretending to be keenly interested in a small bruise on my toe. Turning sideways towards him, I glimpsed him studying the curve of my ass, then blushing and staring down at the floor sheepishly. I smiled and remained in that position for a good minute or two before sitting back down and throwing one leg up on the bench to give him a full view of my groin. He turned his back to me and hesitantly pulled his white briefs down while bending far forward at the waist. My eyes locked on to the cleft down the center of his young ass which closed so tightly that his asshole was protected from view even in that position. He stood up, took his bikini trunks in hand, and pretended to be undoing a knot in the cord that ran through the waistband. After a few minutes, it became obvious he was really trying to undo the knot and sat down on the bench facing me. His legs spread wide and I drank in the sight of his young, fat cock and heavy balls. His cock and balls had the characteristic dark coloring of the French and, although the hair on his head was golden brown, his pubic bush was much darker. Both the bush and the rest of it down there stood out starkly against the milky white of his loins. An early morning breeze swept through the changing room, smelling of salt spray. It was cool and I could see his balls contract upwards slightly. My cock began to respond both to my nakedness and the sight of his taut, hard muscles. He looked up at me and then went back to attempting to undo the knotted cord with great frustration on his face. I got up and strolled over to him, casually whisked the garment from his hands and proceeded to unknot the cord for him. He beamed up at me and muttered a meek "Merci" before yanking the things up over his sweet, tight ass. With this successful pursuit behind me, I ventured to invite him to join me on the beach. He hesitated and then consented with an equally meek "Oui". We sunned side by side for some hours, him telling me tales of what he would do when he was out in the world on his own. Me telling him stories of travels in the Middle East and Africa. He explained that he never had enough money (the plight of youth around the world) to go places he wished he could. It was then that I inquired how he managed to get any money at all. He swore me to absolute silence and told me of the photographer up beyond the dunes who took pictures of him and gave him money in return. Curious as to the nature of this venture, I asked him if he posed in the nude. He said no, but very close to it. He said that many of the young French men on the beach do pose nude for him and they get more money for it. He agreed to take me to meet this man the following day. The gentleman in question was named Philippe, short and stocky with a bushy moustache and paunchy beer belly. Claude introduced us and asked if there was work for either one of us that day. Philippe explained that he was doing "duos" and that he, Claude, had refused to participate in the past. Claude nodded knowingly and asked me if I understood what had transpired. I said that I thought so, but would like to see for myself to decide if I was interested or not. Philippe agreed to allow me to sit in on a session and led me up a long flight of ornate stairs to his studio, which overlooked the beach and surf. There were two young Frenchmen, totally nude, lounging in chairs out on the balcony behind the studio and Philippe beckoned them to come inside to begin work. Claude had decided to wait downstairs for me, but I gave him a few francs to buy some croissants for us at a local bakery and then meet me back here. The two young men were tan all over and their slim, muscular bodies looked very inviting. Philippe posed them in various erotic positions, snapping away with his camera and running back and forth to shift an arm, leg or cock to suit the shot he was trying to make. The youths both had stiff hard-ons and displayed them with great pride. No actual sexual contact was made, only made to appear to be taking place between the two. After some thirty minutes or so, Philippe motioned that he was done and after counting out some francs for each of them, sent them out of the studio with instructions as when he would be ready for them again. Needless to say, my speedos were being stretched to the limit by this time. By this time Claude had returned and was shouting "Cheri!" from the bottom of the stairs. I left the studio and went down to greet him and tell him of what the photographer had been doing. He listened intently but showed not interest in participating. I talked on about how he had a beautiful, sexy body and should be proud to display it. Philippe sat down beside us and bemoaned that he couldn't find enough models to keep the "patrons" satisfied (I assumed he meant publishing houses that used his photos). He looked over at Claude and then at me and asked if we would like to pose in a duo session for him. My interest was immediately sparked and I agreed with great enthusiasm. Claude was reluctant, however, but we managed to convince him it was alright. My heart was beating wildly as I stepped out of my clothes in the studio and watched Claude remove his suit and beach shirt. His torso and legs were darkly tanned from the beach but his hips and ass were boldly white in comparison. The sight of those small, well-rounded globes of ass cheeks were enough to take your breath away and I shivered with excitement at the thought of being close enough to touch them. Claude was awkward in front of the camera and Philippe was constantly running over to put him in the right position. We worked through various poses for about 10 minutes and I was getting hotter by the minute. My cock was pressed hard against my stomach and refused to go limp in the midst of all this. Claude was obviously nervous and his cock would get semi-erect and then go flaccid again, much to Philippe's chagrin. I asked Philippe if it would be alright if I fellated Claude to help him get an erection for the pictures. Philippe agreed. I took the half-hard pink cock between my lips and gently tongued and slid the head in and out. Claude moaned softly and stretched out fully to give me plenty of room to work. Philippe snapped away, obviously pleased at the way things were going. I rolled Claude over, pulled those beautiful globes apart and tongued furiously at his cleft and asshole. He arched his back and thrust his butt hard up against my nose and lips. His muscular legs flexed as he writhed under my probing tongue. I reached under and pulled his cock back through his legs. Pre-cum was dripping freely from the engorged head and I licked it up lovingly. His slim hips rested lightly and easily on my hands. I licked and kissed those ass cheeks all over and over again. He had reached down and was stroking my cock gently...it was beginning to be more than I could take. When it was obvious that he was very hot, Philippe told him to roll back over and spread his legs wide for me. I dove down between them to lick his balls and cock while the cameraman moved in for some close-ups. Claude could hold back no longer and, with one hand under his balls, I slowly slid the other up and down his swollen shaft. His legs stiffened, he trust his hips upward and a solid stream of hot cum flew up and hit me right in the face. Philippe was ecstatic and I blew my load at almost exactly the same time. It landed squarely on Claude's firm, hairless stomach and pooled in his navel. Philippe thanked us profusely, paid us handsomely for our efforts (some effort!) and we left with an invitation to return and do some more posing for him in several days. Claude and I wandered back to the beach to rejoin our fellow nudists and exhibitionists at doing what they do best...delighting the eye of the beholder with the splendor of the male physique in it's unadorned beauty.