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.