Date: Tue, 12 Apr 2005 21:13:56 EDT
From: adama1416@aol.com
Subject: The Journey  Chapter 1

The Journey by L. Adams the Red Dragon

The usual warnings apply, this story contains descriptions of man to man
sexual activity.  If you are under age or if it is illegal for you to read
this type of material in your area, province, state, country, etc.  please
move on. The piece is copyrighted and therefore it may not be reproduced,
copied, or reposted, in any way shape or form without the express written
permission of the author.  You may contact the author at adama1416@aol.com.
All emails answered except flamers, they will be happily deleted.

Authors Note.  The concept for this story was taken from the Journal of my
great great grandfather.  In the actual journal, there was no 'explicit'
mention of any sexual contact between him or any other male, however, there
were many passages which would suggest such activity did take place.

The Journey Chapter 1 THE JOURNEY BEGINS

It was early summer of 1853, during the reign of Queen Victoria. I had been
planning this journey for nearly a year, all during my last year of school.
It would prove to be the most memorable trip of my life.

The mid day heat was oppressive as the train crossed the Moroccan plain to
the foothills into Marrakech.  It was so hot that my clothing was sticking
wetly to my body.  This was my first trip to anywhere outside of England,
and I wanted to see all of the mysteries of the world before returning home
to resume my studies. Morocco, Alexandria, Cairo and then on to
Constantinople, before returning home. My mother was against the trip, but
my father informed her that by the time he was my age, he had already been
in the Queen's service and seen much of the world.  At only 19 he had
assumed his father's seat in the House of Lords, and had taken over the
whole of the estate due to his father`s death.  He was sure that it would
be good for me to get out and see the world..  Father and I decided that I
would make my travel arrangements and he would send cables to all of the
hotels where I would be staying, to arrange my accommodations.

I was just 17 and had finished school only three weeks earlier. Totally
naive to the ways of the world, and even somewhat apprehensive, I left
Liverpool aboard the mail steamer AFRICANS bound for Casablanca and was now
riding the Marrakech Express to that ancient city, a trip of some 400km.

The Express consisted of a steam locomotive and tender, a few closed in
passenger cars for the first class passengers, but the majority of the cars
were open from about half way up the side to the roof.  There were wooden
slat seats down each side of the car which would comfortably seat two
people each.  At the rear of each coach was a small sort of enclosure with
a crude seat that was actually a hole cut out of the board and open to the
tracks underneath.  This was the toilet facility for the entire coach.  In
actuality, it afforded very little privacy, as anyone in the coach who
chose to look could see everything one was doing inside.

I was sitting there alone, though I hadn't started out that way.  My friend
Jack had gotten ill before the ship arrived at Casablanca, and had been
admitted to the hospital there.  Jack insisted that since he would be out
of hospital in a week at most, I should continue onward and he would join
me at Cairo in two weeks.

There weren't many westerners in the open cars, they were mostly in the
first class compartments.  In my car, there was a man and woman seated
together, and two other men, one about my age and the other who looked to
be in his fifties.  The older gentleman was smoking a big cigar and reading
the London Times, while the younger one seemed preoccupied with the
scenery.  The majority of the passengers, all of various ages, appeared to
be Moroccans.  Many appeared to be carrying all their belongings with them
and a lot of the women were dealing with small children who appeared
somewhat impatient at being cooped up on the train for so long.

As the city came into view, I was somewhat dismayed at my first impression.
The majority of the buildings appeared to be simple mud dwellings of only
one or two rooms, and single level, with small animal pens at one end or at
the rear.  The train station was totally different from the other buildings
in that it was built of wood, with large glass pane windows and lots of
gingerbread trimming which reminded me of England.  As we detrained, the
stiffening heat seamed to well up from the sand and the pungent smell of
animal dung filled my nostrils.  I heard voices from the front of the
station calling out the availability of transportation to the various
hotels.  I knew that my hotel was in the Kasbah, which I had been informed
was the oldest part of the city.  As I heard one of the camel drivers
calling out "Kasbah" I began to make my way in his direction.  When I got
to where he was standing, I asked if he knew where the Balthazar Hotel was
in the Kasbah?

"Balthazar, yes, I know it good.  I take, 3 denary."

I handed the man the money and as I attempted to mount the camel the man
grabbed my leg to give me a boost up.  I was suddenly a bit uncomfortable
with the placement of his hands, which I felt were a bit too handily placed
as one hand was firmly on my bum and the other seemed dangerously close to
my crotch, however he backed away a bit after I had seated myself on the
beast.  He grabbed the lead and jerked upwards as the camel sprang to it's
feet, jolting me about a bit.  My jolting was not unnoticed by the driver
as he suddenly grabbed my leg again to help steady me, I thought.  I became
uncomfortable again as he didn't move away at once, but rather, moved his
hand gently along my thigh in an up and down motion.

Our trip to the hotel was not a long one, but it took about fifteen
minutes, in which time I noticed that my driver continued to stay close to
my side, rather than leading the camel from the front, which I noticed was
how the other drivers led their beasts. As we traveled among the small
dwellings I was began to notice the smells of cooking in addition to the
animal smells.  Combined with the heat, the odors seemed to fill the air.
As we drew up in front of the hotel, he again placed his hands on my bum as
he helped me off the camel.  I nervously thanked him as he winked and
licked his lips as a lascivious smile played across his face.  I could feel
the heat of my blush as I turned to go into the hotel.

Inside the Hotel there were large panel fans waving back and forth in an
effort to provide some releif from the mid day heat, and I made my way to
the big marble desk where the consierge was standing.  I walked up to the
desk and told him my name, knowing that my father had cabled ahead to make
my reservations.  He glanced at me as he shuffled his papers about and
pulling a paper out from the stack, looked me in the eye and spoke in a
totally business manner.

"Master Robert Light, yes, I have a suite for you and your friend, Master
John Crane.  Is he arriving on a later train perhaps?"

Seeing the confusion on his face, I nervously whished that Jack were
standing there with me.

"No, he took ill on the boat, and was put in hospital in Casablanca.  He
should be joining me in Cairo."

His facial expression changed from serious to a sly smile as he made a
notation on his paper and passed it over for me to sign.  Across the top
margin he had written in upper case "ALONE!".  I didn't think anything else
about it as I passed the paper back to him.  He placed it on another stack
as he looked up and snapped his fingers for a bellman.

A young boy who I guessed to be about 14, dressed in white linen trousers
and a red satin vest which highlighted his olive toned skin, approached and
bowed, then picked up my bag as the Consierge handed him a key attached to
a fob.

"110" he said, "and enjoy your stay Master Light."

I turned and followed the boy as he led me up the marble staircase which
led off the side of the room and down the elegantly apportioned hallway to
my suite.  He inserted the key into the hole and turned the handle, pushing
the heavy oaken door inward.

As I stepped into the rooms, I noticed the ornate d^Ācor of rich mahogany,
heavy scarlet drapes, and the plush settee and side chair. The sideboard
had been set with a large basket of native fruits and bottles of various
wines.  We crossed the room into the bed chamber which was also elegantly
decorated.  The big bed, looked to be big enough for a Sheik and his whole
harem, raised on a platform about two feet off the floor with steps on
either side, and there was a large net fastened to the ceiling and draped
down at the head of the huge bed.  The young boy placed my bag on the
serviet at the end of the bed and took hold of the mesh drape.

"To keep off the.er.. Insects, mosquitos."  he smiled.  As he handed me the
room key, he touched my hand and held it for a breif time as he smiled at
me again, his dark eyes seemingly dancing as the light from the window
glistened on his olive skin.

"If you need, you call for Mahomet, that me, I come, get what you need. OK?
I take good care, yes?"

I smiled back at him, handed him a small gold coin, to which his smile
nearly covered his entire face, as he bowed and turned to leave the room.
He turned back and looked at me again and repeated what he had already said
adding with a bit of a laugh in his voice, "I come back and draw bath for
Master before dinner, yes?"

I nodded and he smiled and turned again and seemed to leap from the rooms
amidst a peal of laughter.

Mahomet, I thought to myself, he seems a nice enough youngster, and eager
to do his duties.  I wasn't sure about the whole thing, being waited on by
a boy much younger than myself.  The boy did seem quite happy though, and I
felt a small tingle when he touched my hand while handing me the key to the
rooms.

Of course, we had servants at home, but none this young, and they never
seemed this eager to please the members of my household.  I moved back into
the lounge room and got a glass and one of the bottles of wine from the
sideboard and poured myself a small amount.  Sitting down on the setee, my
thoughts drifted to my friend Jack, in the hospital, and I wondered how he
was getting on.  I was sure that he wasn't getting the kind of treatment I
was receiving here.  Poor Jack.  I wondered about his condition, as he was
quite weak and pale when they took him from the boat and put him into the
ambulance wagon.  I rode with him to the hospital and they seemed to have
him somewhat more stable by the time I had left.

Jack was naturally light skinned, as are most englishmen, but when they
first drew him from the boat, he looked near death.  His paleness a
striking contrast to his light brown hair and blue green eyes which seemed
sunken into his face.  His normally bright red lips looked somewhat gray
and his clothing was fully saturated by his perspiring, which might not
have been uncommon in the heat of this country, except that he was shaking
with chills.  I wanted to stay there with him, but he convinced me that I
should continue onward, so as not to ruin the trip, and promising that he
would do all that the doctors told him, and would definitely join me in
Cairo.  I gave the Nurse Mistress my itinerary for the next two weeks and
told her to contact me at once if his condition took a turn for the worse
and I would return posthaste.  She assured me that he would be fine in a
few days and would be on his way to join me.

Upon leaving the hospital the next morning, I hailed a carriage and had the
driver take me to the train station for the long ride to Marrakech.

There was a soft knock at the door and I rose from the setee to see who it
might be.  When I opened the door, I was surprised to see Mahomet standing
there smiling at me.

"I draw bath for you now, yes?"

"But it's still early yet Mahomet."

"No Sir. Dinner seating in one hour.  I draw nice bath, Young Sir get clean
and dressed."

I stepped aside and allowed Mahomet to enter the room and followed him into
the bed chamber.  He crossed the room and opened a small door and pulled a
valve allowing water to run into the large porcelain tub.  When the water
reached the desired level, he stepped aside and motioned for me to enter.

"Does Sir wish for Mahomet to bathe him?"

I felt the flush begin at my toes as it crept up my body expressing itself
boldly in my face, to which Mahomet giggled.

"No Mahomet, I think I can manage to bathe myself, however, you can unpack
my bag and lay out my clothes for the evening."

The boy moved to the wardrobe and opened it, retrieving a silken dressing
gown and crossed the room to hand it to me.  I turned my back to the boy
and removed my shirt, covering quickly with the gown.  I then removed my
shoes and stockings and then quickly my pants.  Glancing back to make sure
that Mahomet was busy, I slipped the gown off and slid into the bathing
tub, hurridly sitting in the tepid water to cover myself.

As I bathed I glanced at Mahomet, and caught him looking at me several
times, smiling as he stole glances here and there.

I finished my bath, still a bit embarrassed, and looked for a towel,
finding none, I had no choice but to ask Mahomet for assistance.  He again
opened the wardrobe and retrieved a large towel from inside and stepped to
the end of the tub, holding it out so that he could wrap it around me as I
stood.  I was suddenly too embarrassed to do anything other than to stand
as he wrapped it around my body and began to rub me dry as I stepped from
the tub.  Again, I felt the heat as my skin flushed even redder than it had
been before.  I took hold of the towel and gently pulled it from his hands
as I wrapped it round my body, clutching it to hide myself while he held
the dressing gown out to me.  I was afraid that he would notice my
excitement if I continued to allow him to dry me.  I took the gown and
pushed my arms through the sleeves, clutching the towel with the free hand
as I drew the gown about me.

Mahomet giggled as I continued to flush and nervously clutch the gown
together. Turning toward the bed and seeing that my clothes for the evening
had been laid out, I turned to Mahomet and told him that he could return to
his duties in the lobby.  He smiled graciously and I heard him giggle again
as he moved toward the door of the suite.

I dressed and left the room, locking the door behind me, and headed down
the stairs to the main dining room.  As I passed through the lobby area on
my way, I saw Mahomet, standing at his customary station.  He saw me and
smiled, nodding his head as I passed and entered the large dining room.

The dinner was wonderful, roast of lamb, a greens plate, potatoes and hard
rolls , and I couldn't help but think again of poor Jack, in hospital,
eating food that probably wasn't even fit to feed to dogs.  I called for
the waiter and told him that I would have a coffee in the main lounge.  I
moved to the lounge and was escorted to a seat where the small table had
already been laid out with a cup and saucer, spoon, and a sugar and milk
set.  The waiter brought a small, cozied pot and poured the coffee into the
cup, and sat the pot on the table.  I thanked him, and he left as I began
to drink the strong coffee.

The large clock in the lounge began to chime, indicating that the hour was
past nine.  I hadn't realized that I had been sitting in the lounge for so
long, nor had I realized just how tired I really was.  I decided it must
have been the long train ride that made me so, and decided to return to my
suite.  As I passed through the lobby, I noticed that there was an older
man where Mahomet had been earlier.  I stopped at the desk and left a wake
up for 7:00, as I wanted to get an early start on my sight-seeing for the
next day, and then headed to the stairs, and to my rooms.  As I neared the
door to my suite, I saw Mahomet, sitting on the floor outside the door.

"I get bed ready for young sir, yes?  Make sir very comfortable."

I moved to the door and turned the key to open it.  Mahomet pushed the door
open and stepped aside for me to enter, and followed me into the lounge,
closing the door behind us.

He moved swiftly into the sleeping room and began his duties of turning
down the douvet, and generally making things ready for me to retire for the
night.

I poured myself another small glass of wine and walked into the sleeping
room to find that Mahomet had my sleeping gown, holding it out as though he
were waiting for me.  After the events of the bath earlier in the evening,
I decided that he was just doing his duty, and began to undress.  As I lay
my waistcoat and shirt on the bed, and began to reach for the buckle on my
trousers, I hesitated.  Mahomet must have sensed my aprehension as he
handed me the gown and turned to busy himself with hanging my waistcoat
into the wardrobe.  As luck would have it, he turned to retrieve my shirt,
just as my pants fell to my feet, which wouldn't have been a problem had my
night gown not caught at my hips, leaving me totally exposed from the waist
down.  His eyes widened and he giggled as he also noticed the redness
return to my face.  I was determined at that point that I would pretend as
though nothing unusual had happened.

Mahomet raised the bed coverings and indicated that I should get in.  I
suddenly realized that he was not leaving my rooms for some reason.

"You may leave now Mahomet, so that I can lock the door for the night."

Mahomet looked somewhat stunned at my comment.

"Mahomet sleep on floor young sir.  It is my place in young sir's room."

"No, that's quite alright, I will be fine, and won't be needing any more
service tonight."

His expression changed suddenly from stunned to dejected.

"Sir is not happy with Mahomet?  Mahomet has done something wrong?"

"Oh no, Mahomet, you have done nothing wrong, but don't you want to go home
to sleep?"

"Mahomet has no home, but hotel.  Mahomet sleeps on floor of master's
rooms."

I was taken somewhat aback.  It had never occurred to me that the boy might
be homeless.  I suddenly felt ashamed, or at least embarrassed at my own
ignorance.  Was I totally callus and unfeeling?  How could I have known
what was expected?  I was a stranger in his country, and even with all of
my studies, I was ignorant of the customs of his country.  I looked at the
boy and extended my hand to take the edge of the bedcovers as I moved onto
the bed.

"Of course Mahomet, you can stay here for the night, but you mustn't sleep
on the floor.  You can sleep on the setee in the lounge if you like.  Just
be sure that you lock the door."

The boy smiled as he looked at me and bowed slightly, then he began
adjusting the netting around the bed.  He trimmed the lamp and as my eyes
began to close, I saw him leave the room.

I was startled awake by a heavy knock on the door.  As I rose from the bed
and searched in the darkness for the dressing gown.  Moving into the
lounge, Mahomet had lit the lamp and was moving toward the door.

He turned the bolt and pulled the door open slightly.  I heard the voice of
the Consierge as he spoke roughly to the boy.  Mahomet nearly shouted
something in Arabic that I couldn't understand and slammed the door shut,
turning the bolt.

"What was that all about?"

"Young master does not want visitors in night!"

"What visitors?  Who..er.why would anyone be visiting in the middle of the
night?"

"Consierge been drinking, want to bother young master, Mahomet tell him go
home, go away, not bother young master!"

Mahomet crossed the room toward me and motioned for me to return to my bed.

"What do you mean, he wanted to bother me?  Did he have a message for me?
Perhaps from my friend?"

"No young sir, he wanted to bother you.  He, he.he want to.to touch young
sir, like this."

Mahomet immediately reached out and placed his hand on my groin, grasping
my flaccid penis as he did so.  His action startled me so that I jerked
quickly, stumbling backward.  The youngster quickly caught me and helped me
regain my footing, and as he did so, I threw my arms around his shoulders
to help stabilize myself.  As soon as I realized what I had done, I began
to pull away from the boy.

"I'm sorry Mahomet, I didn't mean to..I'm.I'm so sorry."

I immediately turned and went back into the bedroom.  Mahomet followed me
in, lamp in hand, as he made his way to the side of the bed.  He placed the
lamp on the side table and again took hold of the bedclothes, raising them
dutifully for me to get into the bed.

"Young sir must not apologize.  Young sir has need?  Mahomet can fix."

As I sat on the edge of the bed, Mahomet bent and took hold of my feet,
lifting them into the bed as I turned.  Then, without warning or
hesitation, he began to move his hands up my legs and under my sleeping
gown.  As his soft young hands slid higher up my thighs, I felt a strange
sensation and began to feel my legs tremble.  I suddenly realized that my
throat was very dry, and yet, my lips stuck together, making it difficult
for me to speak.  When I did finally manage to speak, the words sounded
hoarse.

"M.M.Mahomet.w...w...wh.what are you doing?"

"Mahomet fix everything, make young sir feel much better.  Yes?"

"N...n...no, Mahomet, this is not good.  This is."

His hands were skillfully manipulating my penis, which had developed a mind
of it's own as it began to harden.  I had never felt anything so sensual,
so stimulating, in my entire young life.  I suddenly felt that I was about
to explode.  I couldn't catch my breath, my heart felt like it was trying
to jump out of my chest.  I felt my toes clinch as the current ran through
my body and my semen flooded forth out of my engorged penis.

Mahomet quickly removed his hands and scampered to the wardrobe to get a
towel and returned to clean the mess I had made.

As I began to recover my composure, my mind was reeling.  What had I done ?
How could I have allowed this situation to develop?  How could I allow this
boy to do this thing?  The questions ran rampant through my mind.

Mahomet pulled the bedclothes up over me and turned to pick up the lamp
from the side table, then turned back to me briefly.

"Young sir sleep now."

He then turned and left the room, and me, speechless and alone.  Suddenly,
I didn't want to be alone.  I didn't want the boy to sleep alone in the
next room either.

"Mahomet, come here please."

He came back into the room.

"You will sleep here tonight, in my bed.  Please?"

Mahomet crossed the room and stood on the opposite side of the bed.  "Sir
is sure he want Mahomet to sleep in his bed?"

"Yes, Mahomet, sir is very sure."

I saw a slight smile play across his face as he sat the lamp on the table
and trimmed the wick, allowing the room to darken.  I heard the rustle of
cloth and then felt him climb onto the bed.  I moved over closer to him and
my hand touched his naked flesh.  I immediately withdrew my hand as the boy
sat up in the bed.  With no words being said, I sat up and the boy lifted
my sleeping gown, pulling it over my head and dropping it to the floor,
then as we lay back onto the bed he snuggled close to me so that our bodies
touched completely.  I wrapped my arms around the boy and we drifted into
sleep.