Work began on my Pleaseusaur began in earnest at first light that morning. The crew of men Hasem had hired proved more than adiquate to the task, and by the end of the second week, using the tools I'd brought with me from Philadelphia, we had the exposed parts of the skull in plaster casts to protect it from possible damage during the undermining of the stone. The electric stone saw, powered by the portable generator a doner had kindly included in his substantial gift, had severed the skull into three more managable parts, with insignificant loss of bone.
I was happy things were moving smoothly. My estimate as to how long it would take the crew to remove the entire skeleton and prepare it for shipment, was right on target. Three months ought to see the job completed.
Hasem had been to see me on several occassions, but I was always busy during the days with the excavation, and he didn't seem to be able to stay with me thriugh the night. I was and horny. My hand was becoming my best friend on my lonely cot at night. He was worried about his father the Sheik, and had told me he needed and wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.
While I understood, I still missed his caresses and the feel of his big cock filling my body with his passion.
The last time he'd dropped in unexpectedly riding his camel up to the excavation site late in the afternoon, I'd walked across the salt pan of the ancient seabed, talking quietly about the progress the men were making. He managed to work our walk into a dry waddi that had once held a freshwater stream that had fed into the shallow sea, and there, he kisses me with all his own pent up passion. We came close to giving into our desires, but he finally reassumed control over his emotions, and apologized that he'd made me so hot for his cock. He couldn't stay, since his father had taken a turn for the worse, and he had only stopped by the site, to tell me and his three uncles working in the crew, that his father's time on earth was nearing an end.
He left as soon as we returned to the crew as they were winding up their day of hard labor. He spoke a few words in his spare Arabic, the beautiful lilt of the language falling like a ton of lead on the ears of my crew. They set up a uulation in mourning for their Shiek, and insted of returning to their camp, marched off following Hasem's camel's track. In no time at all, I found myself alone in the profound silence of the gathering dusk. I trudged sadly back to my tent, and fed myself on a tin of sardines, and a handful of crackers. I spent the remaining hour of light, updating my field notes, and down loading the digital photos I'd filled my camera card with. I was immersed in this work, when I heard a scratching at my tent flap. Thinking myself alone, I was startled. My hand dropped directly to the pistol I had taken to wearing on my hip since the excavation had begun. The camp was filled with expensive equipment that any Arab would covet.
"Who is it?" I blurted it out in English, before I realized the person scratching on the flap was probably not fluent in the language. I repeted the demand in my halting Arabic, and there was a small throaty sound in response. I stood, and threw the tent flap back to see a young Arab man, hardly more than a boy, standing in the sand with his hands cupped together as if he was offering me something. I stumbled through asking him what he wanted. With his hand, he scratched at his throat, and I thought he was miming that he was hungry.
I rummaged in my pantry trunk, and pulled out a can of Vienna sausages. I popped the lid on the small can, and handed it to him along with a fork. He took both, but instead if diving into the food, he examined the fork closely, turning it this way and that, as if he'd never seen such an instrument before. He didn't seem to know what it was used for. I took the fork and the can of sausages from him, and speered a juicy weener on the tines, and handed the fork back to him. He smiled at first, taking the fork again and repeting his careful examination. Finally he smelled the sausage, and after a puzzled moment, touched the meat with the tip of his tongue. Instantly, a look of horror crossed his face, and he dropped the fork and sausage into the sand at his feet.
They weren't the best in the way of food, but they weren't that bad either. I took the fork and pulled the sandy weiner off the tines, and buried it in the sand. I wiped the remaining sand off the fork, and speered a second weiner. I held it out to him again, and he made a disgusted face, and took a step backward. I shrugged, and bit into the sausage. He nearly gagged, and ducked back outside the tent. I put the rest of the sausage into my mouth, and followed him out into the early evening. He was standing a few feet away, next to a large bundle of what appeared in the gathering darkness, a mass of dirty rags. I think it was at that moment, I realized he hadn't spoken a word to me.
I tried my Arabic again, and got the same scratching motion on his throat with his fingers. It dawned on me that I'd seen the work crew signaling to each other in this way. It always precipitated a water break. I popped a whole sausage in my mouth, and ducked back into the tent. I set the can and fork on my desk, and grabbed up my canteen. I handed it to the boy when I stepped out again, and got the same sort of reaction the fork had gotten. He turned it this way and that, shaking it listening to the liquid inside. He made the same motion again, and I took the canteen from him and unsrewed the top. I took a swallow, and handed him the canteen. He had watched my demonstration closely, and promptly tipped the canteen up and emptied most of its contents all over his face. I realized the boy had never seen such a thing as a canteen. He had no idea how to get the water out without pouring it over himself.
I grabbed up a coffee cup sitting next to the pump stove, and poured him a drink. He sucked it down like he hadn't had any in days, and offered the empty cup back making the drinking signal again. I poured a second then a third cup. He slowed down by the time he'd guzzled the fifth cup, and began to nurse the sixth. He sat down on his bundle of rags, and I sat in my camp chair opposite him. I asked him what his name was, and he touched his lips with an almost femine gesture, and shook his head. I took this to mean the boy was mute.
I asked if he could write, but he didn't seem to understand. I got my English/Arabic dictionary and checked. My question had been correct, but apparently he had no understanding of the idea of writing. I pointed to myself and said my name. He watched me while I talked to him, his lucid watery eyes following my every move and gesture. Finally, he stood agian, and took the few steps that separated us, and dropped to his knees before me, taking my hands and holding them to his forehead. Embarassed, I pulled my hands away, but he grabbed at them again, and looked at me pleadingly making the little huu huu sound in his throat I'd heard him make before.
I was at a loss as to what all this might mean, and longed for Hasem's advice on what was going on. He finally relaxed his grip, and rocked back on his heels, still looking at me intently. Finally he rubbed his stomach, and made the scratching motion on his throat again. I picked up the canteen, but he held up both his hands. I puzzled a bit before I realized he was saying he was hungry. I offered the remains of the Vienna Sausages, bu he again made his look of disgust. I had another, and went into the tent and returned with form crackers and my jar of peanut butter. I spread some on a cracker, and handed it to him. He sniffed the strange food, and tasted it again with the tip of his tongue. This time, he smiled broadly, and I realized he had no tongue.
I fed him cracker after cracker, and after, several more cups of water. When he seemed satisfied, he stood and walked to his bundle of rags. He plopped down on them, and closed his eyes. I sat there for a few minutes until I realized he was snoring gently. I stood quietly, and slipped into my tent to my own bed.
I half expected he would be gon by morning, leaving as silently as he had arrived.
When the alarm went off, I stepped out of the tent, nude, expecting to have my world to myself hardly thinking of the young Arab of the night before. I had a wicked piss hard, and headed around the back of the tent to my latrine hole. I stopped in my tracks, when I saw the young man sitting on his bundle of rags grinning at me in the early light. His eyes were rivited on my boner, and he licked his lips. It crossed my mind that he might be interested. Thoughts of Hasem crossed my mind, and I wondered how he'd take a third party in our sex play. The boy's robes were filthy, and I imagined his body beneath them was in a similar condition. I couldn't make up my mind what to do for a moment, but finally continued to my latrine, and stood there waiting for my hardon to subside to piss. The cool morning air felt good on my naked skin, and I stood there for a long moment waiting, until I felt him step silently beside me. His delicate fingers traced a path across my back and down over the mound of my left flank. His other hand, brushed across my taught stomach muscles, and found their way to my hardness. His fluttering movements were stimulating my skin to goosebumps. I sighed, and shivered under his touch.
I felt him drop to his knees, and I closed my eyes tightly. He began kissing my hip, and dragging his lips over my sensitive skin. He reached my shaft, and nibbled up the length to the head. His warm mouth wasted not a second taking my hardness inside. His hollow felt different and a little strange. Without a tongue, nothing but his suction and the pressure of his lips were present to stimulate my feelings. I gasped, and he began to suck. I reached for his head, and soon enoughg we had a strong give and take going. The boy was a master cocksucker. He had me going in less than a minute. When I came, I felt like I was pouring the gush of a wellspring down his throat. He swallowed and swallowed, sucking in air between each gush of cum. Once my nuts were drained, my pisshard began to collapse. The boy let my softening cock slip from his mouth, and took it in his soft feminie hand. He stood up next to me, hugging my naked body close, standing slightly behind me and to my left side. I began to feel the piss rising. He held my cock gently, pointing my stream into the hole I had dug for the purpose.
When my stream petered out, he leaned down and sucked my glans clean of urine, then stood and raised his ragged robes, and pissed into the hole. I could not see his cock because it was hidden by the filthy robe, and the way he was standing. But, from the sound and volume of his piss, he had something substantioal between his legs.
I made coffee and we had bowls of instant oatmeal, which he seemed not o have ever tasted. He was cautious of the cereal as he had been of the Vienna Sausages the night before. I told him in my broken Arabic that we would go to the oasis today to bathe. He nodded his head, but looked worried. When we finished our breakfast, he took the dishes and wiped them out with sand. I watched him as he carefully replaced each clean dish back into the trunk where I kept them in exactly the same order I had takn them out. He was nothing if not observant.
The hike to the oasis took the better part of two hours, and as we entered the waddi where the spring was located, he seemed to perk up, as if he knew where he was. He took the lead, and strode several yards ahead of me, becoming confident and purposful. As the treetops of the palms surrounding the pool of water came into view, he slowed down, and before we were exposed to any possible people that may have been at the water, he crouched and spent several minutes examining the area before he finally stood and motioned me to advance. I wondered why he didn't want to just barge into the oasis like I'd seen other Arabs do after a long hike across the desert.
At the pool, I began to strip my clothes off. I told him to do the same, but he shook his head and stood watching me get naked. Once I had stripped, I stepped up to him, and told him in my halting way that I wanted to bathe him. Again he shook his head. I ignored him, and pulled his filthy burnoose off his head. His hair, long and womanish, was colored with henna. Besides being reddish over his coal black color, it was filthy as well. I began tugging at his sash to remove his ragged and filthy robes, and he resisted for a bit, but finally just stood there letting me strip him. As his back was exposed, I could see on his dirty but smooth skin that he'd been whipped brutally. He had dozens of scar weals across his back and buttocks. Long healed, they were none the less evidence of someone's displeasure with him. I ran my hand over the scars, and he trembled as if they still hurt him.
Leading him into the water, he was halting, having to be coaxed like a young girl. His now naked genitals were much darker than the rest of his milk coffee colored skin, and were impressive as I'd imagined. His fear of the water kept him limp, even as I handled him to wash the area with clean sand from the bottom of the pool. He got the idea after a few moments of me scrubbing his skin, and began to do the same to me.
We washed each other , scraping skin nearly raw with the sand. His skin began to glow rosy under my palms as did mine. When he reached for my genitals, to scrub them, he found my erection. He laughed, and tugged on me like a kid with a new toy.
I pushed his hand away, and waded out of the water to our pile of stuff. He watched me while I rummaged in my pack for the shampoo I'd brought along. He marveled at the profusion of suds the small amount of liquid soap made, and when I poured a little in his palm and told him to wash his hair with it, he brought it to his lips and tasted it as he'd done with his food. Before I could stop him, he'd sucked the sweet smelling soap into his mouth and was smacking his lips, causing foam to erupt from his mouth. I told him to clean his mouth with water, which he did. As he was bent over doing that, I pushed his head under water, and wetted his hair. When he came up gasping, I had the impression it was the first time he'd ever been immersed in water. I squeezed shampoo onto his head, and began to scrub. He began making his huu huu sound, but finally relaxed into the finger massage I was giving him trying to get down to the roots of his thick hair.
Clean at last, we waded to shore and lay down on the clean sand to let the sun dry us. We must have dozed off, because the next I knew, he was frantically grabbing his rags and running for the bushes. I sat up, blinking and looking around. I heard the tinkling of a bell, and realized there was a herd of goats coming up the waddi to the water. That meant other Arabs. I dressed quickly, and grabbing my pack, followed his foot path through the sand where I found him cowering in a thick stand of thornbush.
"Why are you afraid?" His eyes pleaded with me to be quiet. His fingers brushing his lips and shaking his head.
I saw he was still naked, his ragged clothing clutched to his chest like a shield. I pulled s tshirt and an old pair of worn jeans out of my pack I'd brought along for him, and after some coaxing, I got him to dress in them. I took his filthy rags, and dug a hole in the sand and buried them. He watched me doing this, and a look of aprehension spread over his features. I told him his clothes were to dirty to wear, and that if he wanted traditional clothing, I would buy him some at the next market day. He nodded his head, and smiled. We watched the two Arabs driving their goats to water, and when they became occupied with cooking a meal while their goats watered and grazed on the lush vegetation of the oasis, the boy and I slipped away back into the waddi, unseen.
That evening, we had a meal of sardines and crackers, and from his pile of rags, he produced a large red onion. We drank water cooled by evaporation, and watched the sun setting in the west. I told him he should remove everything he wanted to keep from his pile of stuff, and that I would burn the rest to kil the many creatures I imagined living in the filth. He set about pawing through the pile, and I retired to my tent to get a little work done on my field notes.
Busy tapping at my laptop, I glanced up at a small noise and discovered him watching me wide eyed hunkerd down on his heels in the door flap of the tent. I crooked a finger to him and he smiled and in one fluid graceful motion, had risen and was standing beside me.
I pulled up an MP3 tune on the computer, and started it playing. He stepped back, and his empty mouth hung open in awe. He looked over the laptop carefully, and finally just stood beside me listening with his eyes closed to the Bach concerto I had played. I decided he might like to see some of the video I had downloaded from the satalite link one of my generous doners was paying for. I selected a piece that involved two men fucking, and when it was playing, I nudged him to open his eyes again. They grew large as saucers, and he went back to examining the laptop. I realized the scene on the screen was having an effect on him when I glanced at his crotch and saw it had grown substantially in his pants. I reacted to his erection by getting hard myself. I leaned back in the camp chair on its rear legs, and showed him my hardon.
He grinned, but returned to the video. I leaned my head toward him, and rubbed my cheek against his erection. He placed one of his delecate hands on my face, and rotated his hips, slowly grinding his erection against my head.
I slipped out of the chair to my knees, and worked at the button front fly. Since I hadn't given him any of my underwear, his hard cock came out with a slashing motion and fell across my face. I swallowed him whole, and he moaned as I sucked him hungryly. He placed his hands on my head, and soon enough we had a good rythem going. I wanted to feel his big thickness in my hole, and after a few minutes, released his spit covered shaft and stood up to drop my pants. I turned my back to him, and spread my cheeks with my hands as I leaned over the table that held my laptop. He placed his hands on my hips, and I felt him press his large dark cockhead to my hole. I leaned back into his thrust, and he entered my hungry hole with ease.
He fucked me long and slow for several minutes. I was moaning with the pleasure of the fullness his large member was giving me, and I began to feel his nearly hairless balls with my hand between my legs. He reached for mine, and I groaned with the touch of his girlish fingers stroking my nuts as his big cock coursed in and out of my hole. In such a short time, I'd become a slut for big cocks in my ass. I couldn't get enough.
It took him several minutes of hard fucking before he began to make his huu huu sound in my ear, and I felt his big dick pulse and beging thrumming his heavy load of cum into my bowels. I gasped at the feeling of his silky load turning my gut in to a foamy smoothness, and started jacking myself to get off. He pushed my hand away, and pulled his softening cock from my hole, and in an instant, had my cock down his throat. I was primed, and after a gasp of pleasure, began to unload in his throat. He sucked and swallowed several times, until I fell limp out of his mouth.
I needed a drink, and we pulled our pants up and stepped out of the tent. I was intent on the bottle of scotch I kept in the pantry chest, and didn't notice anything until the boy gasped and fled back into the tent, making his huu huu sound. I looked around, and sitting on his pile of rags, was Hasem. His camel was tethered to a tent stake, slowly munching his cud. How they had arrived without being heard was a mystery.
"Hasem!" I gasped. "How long have you been here?"
"Long enough," he said, rising from the pile of rags.
"Who is the boy?"
"I don't know his name." I briefly told him the story of how the young Arab had come to the then the previous night.
"And already you are having sex?" He looked a little peeved at me. I explained about how he had blown me in the morning, and how horny I had been since he, Hasem, was not able to be with me because of his father's illness.
"Ah. . ." he said, walking in a small circle in the dim light from the glowing tent. "Yes, I have grown horny as well." He paced a few more turns, and came back to me.
"I came to tell you that my father has begun his journey to paradise. My people have accepted me as their shiek. I have also prepared a new tent for you in the village. I came to take you there to show you.
But I find you having sex with a young boy. . ." He paused, and looked at the tent.
"Are you jealous?" I asked, trying to assess his mood.
"Let me ask you this," he responded. "Do you love me?" I was taken aback by the question.
"Y. . .yes," I stammered. "I. . .do love you. Since we met you have been my one thought as a companion."
"And the boy?"
"Just sex. How could I love him so quickly?"
"You should get used to loving him," he said. "He will be with you a long time."
"What do you mean?"
"We used to call them slaves."
"What?" I was horrified. "He's not a slave."
"Well, he has given himself to you, and therefore is essentially the same as a slave."
"I won't have him."
"Tell me Danniel, did he kneel before you and place your hands to his forehead?" I nodded.
"Last night."
"That was his way of telling you he was yours to do with as you pleased."
"I'm disgusted."
"Don't be. It is the way of the people. My people. Has the boy been beaten?"
"Yes. badly from the looks of the scars on his back."
"And he has no tongue; am I correct? I nodded.
"So. . ." he considered his words. "The boy was caught giving pleasure to a man or men by his people. He has suffered the pain of the beating, and having his tongue cut out and he has been cast out of his tribe. Dressed as he is in your clothing, I don't recognise his people, but I'd guess one of the more primitive tribes from the deep desert. He sat back down on the pile of rags.
'"There is no question, he has given himself to you. He will be with you until one or the other is dead."
"No way."
"Unfortunately it is true. It is the will of Allah. He is your slave. What is his name?"
"I don't know. He can't speak."
"It is not important. He will accept what ever you choose to call him. What ever you choose to do to him. With him. His life is in your hands."
"But Hasem. . ."
"I must return to the village. The people still mourn my father, and I will be expected. I will return in three days, and will have made the new tent large enough for two. Perhaps we will both enjoy his attentions in the future. He is good yes?"
"Yes."
"Well trained by the man or men who caused his disgrace." He tapped his camel's knees with his riding stick, and the beast knelt in the sand. Hasem leaped into his saddle, and muttered "hut hut." "In three days Danniel." He wheeled the beast and quickly vanished into the night.
I found the boy cowering behind the cot. I pulled him out, and he embraced me, sobbing on my shoulder for a long time. I held him, and I suppose the tears I shed into his tshirt, were simpathy. We laid down on the cot, still clothed, and must have drifted to sleep. The next I kew, my laptop alarm was beeping at me, and the cool air told me it was near dawn already.
I had a wicked piss hard in my pants, and extricated myself from the entwinging arms of the boy, sleeping peacefully, his face that of the boy instead of the tense young man I'd known the day before.
I walked out of the tent into the glow of dawn, and made my way to the latrine hole. As I pissed, he slipped up to me silent as a thief, and reached for my cock, guiding my stream into the hole. I sighed, and began to grow hard. What a life I had moved into.
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