Chapter 14. Cold beer and pizza in Morocco.
I shut off the power and locked the door. Patrik and I walked 100 feet to a bike rack where his Yamaha scooter was chained to a bike rack. We got on (without helmets) and rode to the waterfront boulevard then turned right. We kept going east to the Kmart and I went inside and purchased two six packs of Fischer, a Belgian wheat beer known for its higher alcohol content and full flavor, sort of like an American lager, definitely not a light beer. I don't really care what beer I drink as long as it doesn't give me a headache. I'm hops sensitive so there are a lot of beers I cannot drink.
But one mistake usually leads to another and we decided to go to my apartment, he chained the scooter to the fire department stand pipe near the front door. In the elevator he asked if I had any food or munchies, then in a flash I told him I did not. So we put the beer in the freezer and walked back to the store and purchased a frozen pizza (pepperoni and cheese) and a bag of flavored pita chips. That's the closest thing in Morocco to a bag of Doritos.
Morocco and Algeria do not have corn based economies, so the snack food market here is very different from the US where so many things are made from what they call `Dent' or cattle-grade corn. People don't realize it but the corn their favorite snack chips are made from is probably non-human food grade GMO sim-corn. It's not fit to eat, but lots of people eat it if it's packaged nicely.
It was almost 1930hrs by the time we settled down in my place and popped open the first beers. I turned on the radio to a Spanish dance beat station with Euro contemporary music, but I couldn't understand much of what they said (they talk too fast for me to translate). Their long-form dance beat songs on the radio are extremely repetitive and get on my nerves after a while.
We sat on the sofa and talked (loudly) about his work surveying churches in Morocco. Patrik seemed totally wrapped-up in his work, and his energy level was either total bullshit or totally weird. He was a real numbers geek. I told him the only numbers I get excited by were the ones on my paycheck. He laughed and told me, "Dude, you are really missing out, life is all about math, you choose to ignore it, but it's in everything we do."
I picked up my glass and took a huge swig and set it down and told him, "Five!" So he picked up his glass and guzzled the rest of it and smacked his glass on the coffee table and said "EIGHT!" Then he got up for another one and moved the rest of the bottles from the freezer to the refrigerator.
While he was across the room I stared at his body, Patrik was thin but his rear stuck out like a bubble butt school boy, the rest of him was thin. I wondered what he looked like, maybe he had a nice belly button. I guessed not, very few skinny boys had sexy holes like Jen's. You need body fat on your tummy to make for a nice belly button.
As he poured his beer and I saw his lowest shirt button was open and as he stood facing me near the kitchen counter his tummy was on full display. He had a soft hairless tummy and a shallow hole, almost like mine. He came back and commented it was getting stuffy inside, so I opened the big window that looked out over the beach. At night unless the moon is up it's nearly impossible to see the beach but you can hear the tiny waves wash up on the sand. Distant lights reflect off the water making it visible at night. Patrick walked over with his beer in hand and we stood very close looking out at the lights over in Spain and on freighters passing through the strait. He said it was a beautiful view, and then rested his arm over my shoulder and I put my empty hand on his hip and gently pulled him against me.
Patrik guzzled more of his beer then set his glass on the window sill and unbuttoned his shirt all the way, I set my beer down beside his and reached over and slid my hand side to side across his stomach, he felt very smooth and it started to turn me on. But I had this stuffed feeling in my gut so I asked, "You mind if I belch?"
"Go for it!" He quickly replied but didn't move back.
I leaned my upper body out the window and beer belched outside. When I leaned out he pulled his fingers out of my waistband and gently scratched my back instead. "Ohhh I needed that." I softly commented. I mumbled that sound was considered a mating call in some parts of the USA! He laughed at my joke.
I picked up my glass and guzzled the rest of it and turned to pour myself another. Then I reminded him we had a pizza, so I turned on the oven and set the timer for 12 minutes to pre-heat the box. Back by the window I stood behind Patrik and manipulated his shoulder muscles, noting he was rather bony there too. While I did that he turned around to face me and removed his shirt and tossed it on an arm chair and told me to start over.
With us facing, he was leaned back against the window sill I massaged his shoulder muscles, but this time I slid my hands down across his chest, which was nearly flat. He had a build sort of like mine, like a tall-thin 7th grader.
His nipples were perfectly round, red, and flat, about the size of a silver dollar coin and the color of his lips. His were like mine but his were bigger across. His flesh was soft and inviting. I wanted badly to check his belly button. Since he wasn't saying no to anything I did I slid my hands down to his tummy and rubbed his flesh and softly pressed one fingertip inside his hole then leaned forward and hugged him, so I could bring my hand up to check my fingertip if it was cheesy. It was odorless, so I lowered to my knees and rubbed my face across his tummy, side to side, kissing as I went.
He reached down and opened his jeans, he spread them wide apart. He reached down his pants and re-aimed it straight up but it barely peeked out of his undies waistband.
With a little help moments later his jeans and undies slid down around his ankles and I French kissed his belly button. When my chin was wet from saliva I drifted lower and took him in my mouth and slowly worked his head and about fifty seconds later he came in my mouth, which I silently spit on the floor, then took him back in my mouth. He ran his fingers into my hair and pulled my face firmly into his lower body and moaned with pleasure. The feeling of his soft lower belly against my face was wonderful, I could have stayed there for hours. It was almost too dark to see but it felt like he cut his pubes down like I did to mine, a crew cut.
I started to get up and paused to suck one of his tits inside my mouth and stretched it way out then released it and briefly kissed his mouth with full tongue action then drank half my beer. Alcohol killed his little tadpoles still swimming in my mouth.
When I stepped back Patrick drank his entire beer, turned around and belched out the window. The timer dinged and I stepped away and unwrapped the pizza and slid it in the oven on the baking stone and closed the door, re-set the timer and took off my work clothes and draped them over an arm chair.
I sat on the sofa and Patrik got on his knees between my legs and went down on me. I think I lasted two minutes and warned him. He pulled off but kept stroking. I spurted all over my stomach and chest. Something few guys will do, after I was done he used his hands to smear it all over my chest and then he fingered my now gooey nipples, then he sucked hard on one of them and fingered my belly button too.
We decided we had enough time to take a very quick shower together. Soon after we got out the timer dinged again so I pulled the pizza and sliced it and set out plates and a roll of paper towels. We sat on the sofa with our plates and chowed down American style pizza slices.
Patrik told me how hard it was trying to get mosque attendance data because he didn't speak Arabic. He said he developed 3x5 cards with the most important questions (with multiple choice answers) and a few introducing himself as a student studying Islam stats across Northern Africa. They said all he was interested in were attendance numbers, by the day. He said so far most mosques say they did not take a body count, which surprised him. He said the best they could do was give rough estimates.
But the Imam stood on his raised platform three days a week looking over the worshippers, couldn't he tell by how much of the floor was occupied how many were there? Turns out they all kept a tiny record like a visual percentage of the space occupied. Patrik added that when you remove seating and put people on their knees, side by side, they can fit a huge number of people into a small area.
And then he said something I never considered before. He said there was a problem with butt odor in some services because most of the attendees were working class folks and some of them actually came from work, and some of them did not have indoor plumbing at home. And they spent a bit of time on their knees, forehead on the floor, and butt in the air. Sometimes there was a problem with farting and butt odor amongst the tightly packed faithful. I tried not to laugh. He told me even in America with people like the Amish, they had limited indoor plumbing so body odor with them was also a problem in tight spaces, like a church pew.
We ate the entire pizza, four slices each, five beers each. We both had a great evening and he kissed me deeply at the door. I never invited him to visit any time he wanted. One thing I didn't want was for him to suddenly appear at my apartment door with an obvious boner while Jen was here. Jen knew I was bi, she's known that since middle school.
After Patrik left I stripped and went to bed and then it clicked in my head, why his chest seemed familiar, his nipples were almost the same as Jen's when she was in 5th grade; hers were flat round and red, about the size of a dollar coin. She was constantly trying to get me to gently feel them back then; I guess she really liked the way it felt. And it always feels better when someone else does it.
In bed that evening I wanked to mental fantasies about Patrik but his dick was twice as long and he was constantly trying to rub it on my face, my mouth, or him coming on my stomach. When I stood by the window he would walk up, take my hand and wrap it around his dick. While I was slicing pizza he was rubbing his dick head against my thighs. I came again in bed but left it to air dry because I was ready to sleep. I've seen a few guys with much nicer bodies than Patrik but his dick is very beautiful and I must admit when it comes to long duration dick sucking a smaller dick is better. He is at least one inch shorter than Daniel.
Two days later I took the bus to Tetouan and rented the jet to maintain my own certification and flew around the Atlas Mountains and then did two touch and goes, then landed and returned the plane. Total time: 57 minutes. Cost: $415 Euros, reimbursed by State eventually. But the initial cost went on my credit card.
On the taxi ride home I considered maybe for her next trip maybe I could rent the jet and fly to Madrid to pick-up Jen. I've never flown to Madrid and had to investigate if they charged for picking up one passenger at General Aviation. Some airports do, some don't. Some do but waive the charge if you buy fuel too.
Her next trip would be within the time frame for me to re-new my touch and goes. And Madrid was only 340 air miles from Tetouan, so it would cost about $1300 to fly her myself. I've never flown Jen before, I'd have to ask her. Some people are weird about stuff like that. They expect the pilot to be a faceless saint in the cockpit. I wouldn't take it personally if she declined.
So I emailed her later that day.
"Say Jen, next time you come here I'll be due for touch and goes (she knows what that means). What about if I fly you down here from Madrid International? On your trip home you would fly commercial from Tangier to Austin, but on the way here from Austin to Madrid, then fly private jet from Madrid to Tetouan. The airport in Tetouan is 12 miles further from home than the airport in Tangier."
An hour later she replied with "Okay." So I reserved the jet by putting a $500 deposit on it and submitted my flight plan and the date. Madrid said: no charge for a quick pick-up but I will be low priority on departure slots. I knew Madrid was busy but not THAT busy, so they meant maybe a 20 minute wait for permission to get in the cue to depart. Commercial jets go first, but in Madrid general aviation and cargo is strictly segregated from passenger service. The problem with a 20 minute wait to take off is the jet is burning fuel the entire time.
Madrid International is a huge airport and they do tons of air cargo daily, they also do a huge airplane repair/service business. They have 4 runways and one of them (32L aka: 14R) is reserved for non-passenger flights 24/7. General, cargo, and maintenance flights are restricted to 32L from 4am to 11pm daily. The general aviation terminal is closest to 32L.
Just to explain the naming rule for runways is those numbers represent compass headings. Runway 32L at Madrid says it is heading toward 320 degrees when approached from the south end. The L means there are multiple runways with the number 32, so 32L is left of the other one. At the north end of that same runway a different number appears. In the opposite direction it is heading toward 140 degrees, at the north end the same runway is marked 14R. And another thing I get asked is what is General Aviation? Typically it is smaller, non-military aircraft, too small to use the commercial airline terminals where you might find American Airlines or KLM. At the big terminals the airlines rent gates from the airport and they have the facilities to handle large numbers of passengers and their luggage. At a General Aviation terminal no such services exist. So they are typically a lot smaller buildings and have minimal services and security. Those terminals are where people with jets like the one I rent are assigned to park and load/unload passengers and cargo. Most of the general aviation terminals are ones where people walk out the door and across the tarmac to the airplane and get inside with stairs built into the jet. But they probably have an old staircase (the type that is built on top of a pick-up truck frame) around in case someone flies in an antique passenger plane, like an old Constellation.
I got a call from Patrik two weeks after our beer and pizza visit at my apartment. He was working in the area and just wanted to say hi. We talked for about fifteen minutes, he sounded fine. The next day I got a satellite call from Daniel, he was also doing better; he received some of the insurance checks and was doing better with all his bills paid and old accounts closed. His parent's house should be sold soon but any proceeds from it would be split between him and his sister but it could get him a lot of money. I haven't asked specifics but from all the anticipated incoming funds he should end the year with a bank balance of over 2.2mil.
He said he was still clean and sober and going to AA meetings and said he was much less of an asshole compared to when he worked for State. I thought he was about to blame his problems on State then remembered I was still an employee so he abruptly changed the subject. He said he met a girl and they were dating, but she had a kid which complicated stuff. And she was a Christian holy roller which also complicated things. He said when they chatted he had to steer the conversation to avoid any discussion about religion. I was going to ask if her child was autistic but decided not to ask.
I thought about inviting Patrik back for pizza but he travels so much it's hard to simonize our schedules. Three weeks before Jen's trip we finally got together but this time I got us carry-out from Café Vintage down the road, I had tempura fried fish meals x2 in the refrig, ready to stick in the oven. For carryout they put like things together in aluminum foil so re-heating is easy, instructions are printed on the carry-out bags. I think the best way to re-heat breaded food is with an air fryer, but I don't got one of them.
When Patrik came over our power was out so we had to re-heat food in the oven. I set our food in a glass bowl on the pizza stone and heated it at 200 degrees for 9 minutes and that worked fine. So we used cheap store-bought tartar sauce and enjoyed our meal without electricity. He said the worst part was nine floors up without the elevator!
After the sun went down we had fun in the shower and tub for nearly 90 minutes. It worked only because we were smaller guys and fit in the tub. I had to light two candles so we could see in the bathroom; Patrik said he liked the candle light.
I finally got Patrik used to the idea that I really liked dick, a lot. So he started offering his to me. He'd come over and once he got hard he'd pull it out and show it to me. Sometimes he'd take off his clothes and crash on my bed and call me over to eat him knowing I'd never say no. I find sucking boner to be extremely pleasurable, especially when I can completely relax while doing it. I can close my eyes and make my body limp and nurse on it for as long as he could stay hard. Some guys require constant stimulation to stay hard, other guys can stay hard because they want to. Patrik could stay hard for as long as he wants. I was that way up to about my 34th birthday.
Patrik also let me photograph his body as long as I didn't image his face. I had a couple dozen shots of him on the roof, shirtless. He sat on the roof floor so nobody on other apartment roofs could see and I took close-up shots of his dick. I told him some day I wanted to draw a face on his dick head and take portraits of it to use as my screen background on my laptop. He thought that was a really weird idea but was willing to give it a try. He said nobody else saw his dick so nobody would see the ink.
I wanted to do the same thing with his nipples, draw a smiley face on them: glasses, hair, ears, nose, mouth, eyes, eyebrows, chin, lips, etc. I had some ultra fine-tip black markers that would work perfectly on nipples and wipe completely off with a paper towel and some alcohol.
On our last visit we discussed actually fucking but decided to stick with oral sex for now. Oral sex was my favorite thing anyway. I told him I never rimmed anyone before but might consider it if I hand-washed him myself first. He said it was important to do several enemas first too. It was also obvious he knew a lot more about boy sex than me.
Over the final days before Jen's visit we texted daily and grossly over-planned her trip since this time I was one of the airlines! I've never done this before. In the past my passenger was my boss, this time my passenger was my girlfriend, possibly some day my wife.
I also had to study and memorize the taxiways around 32L and the general aviation terminal, which was rather small.
I spent lots of time deciding if I was going to tell Jen about Patrik but decided it might really hurt her feelings so I decided not to say anything while she was here. The problem is she reads me very well, she might sense I was seeing someone in how I acted toward her, how I held her hand, how I moved my tongue when we kissed. She notices everything.
The week before her trip I scrubbed my place and even dusted the walls! All the laundry was folded and hung neatly, I even washed the curtains and the scrubbed the bathroom toilet and floor.
I also looked into the cost of a scooter big enough for two, what insurance cost, and availability of gasoline, since much of northern Africa is a diesel fuel use region. Very few people own gas powered vehicles. But people use gas leaf blowers, gas lawn mowers and tractors, and scooters so there has to be gasoline around somewhere. The one I was looking at in the states was called a Yamaha Zuma 125.
Actually, there are almost no big gas stations here with big convenience stores, like Circle K in America. Here, most gas stations have one very old 1970s gas pump with one hose near the side of a building with no sign by the street. You pay and the owner unlocks the pump and pumps the diesel you purchased. Very few people here own cars, public busses and taxis are the primary means of transport along with scooters. Most commercial vehicles (cement mixers, semi trucks, delivery vans, and city vehicles) use a small commercial vehicle fuel station; they have no retail sales, just pumps.
Five days before Jen's flight I was in my office toying with the prisoner tracking app on my cell and was really shocked when I got a yellow dot almost in the same location as me! At first I wondered if I was implanted without knowing it since I worked for State. I grabbed the phone and went outside and walked half a block away but the dot stayed in that spot. That meant it was someone upstairs in the leather factory with an implant, possibly a new employee.
The leather business is owned by a local family and they employ about twenty people, some in retail but most in the factory. They make and sell all sorts of things made of leather (coats, soft shoes and boots, gloves, shirts, vests, jackets, and riding pants) and have about 30 work stations in the two floors above street level. They are just now starting to use computers to maximize production from leathers they purchase from hide tanners. I know him and her, an older couple in their late 60s, inherited the business from her parents.
I usually deal with her, because he is more of a book keeper, payroll kind of guy. I forget her name but she speaks fluent Spanish and we've always got along. When I use their bathroom I simply shut my door and walk into the leather store and walk into the back room and use the toilet and leave, usually with just a smile and a wave on the way out.
I locked my door and went next door an hour after lunch and looked for her (I think her first name is pronounced Jamala). I gestured to speak to her in private. In Spanish I asked if they recently hired someone upstairs and she said they recently hired three upstairs, meaning they worked on sewing machines. She gave me a weird look like why would I suddenly care, but she knows I work for the US State Department and would never ask such a thing unless it was serious.
I told her someone upstairs has a satellite tracking implant, meaning in most cases they spent time in prison or jail in the EU or North America. She nodded and thanked me, she said she knows already who it was and said she would investigate further. Without shaking hands (something you usually don't do with Islamic married women) I used their bathroom then left for my office.
About 90 minutes later the tracking dot on top of me disappeared from my screen. Later that day Jamala appeared outside talking to one of the vegetable venders out in front of our stores and then she glanced in at me so I stepped out the front door and stood near her looking over the selection of green beans and bell peppers. She softly told me a new hire from the EU, someone with leather experience in a car factory lied about his past so they asked him to quietly leave.
They run a very tight ship in their business, everyone is treated like family and gets benefits and pay few people do in Tangier but their shop is very well known around Europe for quality hand-made leather goods. She thanked me for telling her but when she asked how I knew I just smiled and purchased a pound of green beans for myself and went back in my office.
A few minutes later Jamala tapped on my glass storefront and smiled and waved as she walked back to her store with a bag of oranges. The smile and wave were all I needed to see.
That evening when I locked up the shop and left for the bus stop it started raining hard over south-west Tangier. The bus stop was covered but I got wet on the way there. On the way home it turned into a severe thunderstorm and I barely made it from the bus stop to my apartment building but I got drenched. I was trailing rain water across the lobby, past the entrance to KFC, all over the elevator floor and down the hallway to my door.
Luckily we didn't lose power while I was in the elevator, but ten minutes after I got inside the lights went out. I probably should have not used the elevator during a storm. I lit my camping lanterns and peeled off my clothes and hung them over the shower curtain. Next thing I decided to do was to open and window and watch the storm with my view over the beach and the strait.
From my living room window I can see really far north, maybe some mountain peaks far north of Tarifa, Spain. It was neat to see how far the light from the lightning carried, the storm was south of me, sort of behind me and the wind blew north too so I wasn't getting any rain water inside.
In my apartment lit only by candles and kerosene lanterns I watched the lightning illuminate the strait. Like a giant camera flash I saw glimpses of cargo ships silently moving left or right through the waterway. I wondered how many people maintained a watch on this waterway during World War 2, they had to keep watch for U-boats. I think Germany patrolled the Med constantly because their source for crude oil and refined diesel fuel was near the Black Sea in Romania and near Baku on the Caspian Sea. Oil from Baku went Romania by train and tanker. The U-boats guarded those ships.
The climax of the movie The Boat (Das Boot, 1981, Germany) is about a battle weary U-boat crew assigned to patrol the Mediterranean Sea. Despite the fact that the strait is essentially 10 miles wide and 1000 feet deep it was still extremely dangerous place to sail a U-boat, even underwater at night. And here I am almost 80 years later, staring at the same patch of water. I wonder about all the people standing guard all night watching ships pass left and right. I imagined how many people stood guard here going back to the days of the Holy Roman Empire, standing guard back then watching wooden hull sailing ships pass to the left and right. If only the Atlas Mountains could tell the story.
I wonder what year the first ship passed through the strait and what direction was it heading. My guess was the first man-made ship to pass through the Strait of Gibraltar was west-bound, around 3400BC or earlier.
Contact the author: borischenaz mailfence