Captured

Chapter 33. Homemade mushroom and potato soup.

I flew up to Madrid to stay with Jen while I was on paid medical leave; my injuries are considered a workplace incident and a military attack on the United States. The amount of time and money the US spent to respond were based on that. I took a taxi from the airport to her 2nd floor apartment. After an emotional welcome she had me take my shirt off (but I couldn't take off my undershirt, it was soaked with body fluid that dried to a tan colored crust that glued my t-shirt to my back). I heard her gasp, and then she smashed her fist on the kitchen counter in anger when she saw it, I told her they itched like crazy. Jen quickly morphed into mommy and wanted to take care of me, I told her my scars looked worse than they felt. She tried to count the burn marks from the cattle prod, they shocked me all over from my neck to my thighs. That cattle prod worked through my clothes just fine, just like the whip and they were so close together she said they couldn't be counted accurately. The high voltage set my clothes on fire in some places but they were too wet to burn much. When my shirt caught on fire they stepped back because of the burnt flesh smell. What kind of people stand there and watch another human they just set on fire and do nothing? She walked me to the bathroom and stripped off my clothes and made me stand in the shower to dissolve the crust and let the undershirt fall off. I wanted to tell her they were all dead but kept it to myself for now.

Jen used a scissors to cut off my undershirt, but part of it was stuck to my back so I turned around to let the warm shower water do its thing. It made a splat sound when it fell to the shower floor. After my shower she patted my back dry and helped me get on the bed she made for me on the living room sofa (her living room and kitchen are actually one large room.)

I had to lie on my stomach so the fluid still oozing from the whip scars and burns didn't make me stick to the sheets. They leaked a clear fluid like the stuff that collects inside blisters. To board the airplane I wore a windbreaker so I didn't stick to the airplane seat backrest.

I couldn't tell her about the retaliatory killings in Rabat, so when she asked about the perps I usually said I had no idea who they were. She said she didn't believe my story and said them taking me from an Embassy office (at gun point) was like an act of war. I agreed and told her eventually everyone involved will pay with their life. The idea that they could kidnap a diplomat and think they'd be safe anywhere on Earth... shows how poorly informed those three men were. You pull that shit in any country and you are playing with dangerous stuff, sooner or later will come the knock at the door. I told Jen, "Sometimes stupid and dangerous walk hand in hand, but not for long."

It's like that old joke: `What were the dumb hillbilly's last words?

`HEY Y'ALL, WATCH THIS!'

After my shower she put gym shorts back on me and escorted me to her sofa where she already put her softest cotton sheets and a thin wool bed spread. I stayed there on my stomach being treated like an injured baby. It was interesting watching her go about her household business like I wasn't even there. Jen sort of turned into Rosie the Robot, mindlessly cleaning and doing things. For a time I think she forgot I was on her sofa oozing from my back.

That evening she spoon fed me and sponge bathed me on the sofa like I was her baby. At dinner time she sat on the floor beside the sofa so we could eat together too. Jen brought cushions and made a spot on the floor in front of the sofa and sat there in the dark so we could talk about stuff other than my wounds. At 10:10pm she was yawning so much I told her to go to bed.

All evening I noticed she avoided touching me, I think my wounds freaked her out. But I told her they really didn't hurt much but they itched a lot but I couldn't reach them so I had to ignore them. She sprayed my worst itchy spots with something that contained numbing medicine so stop the itch, that stuff is available in Spain but not in the USA. It smelled like Bactine but I think it also contained lidocaine.

The next morning Jen was up before the sun, she spoon fed me scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee through a straw but I fell asleep again and slept until 11am (because of the vicodin she gave me), but she went to work and didn't get home until 5:05pm. I spent the day on the sofa listening to sounds outside and downstairs. I only got up to use the toilet and drink some water. I could almost hear the old folks downstairs talking at lunch time. So they probably heard us talking but can't understand what we say, plus Jen and I usually speak English when we're along together and I doubt her landlords do.

Around lunch time when I got up to use the toilet I noticed there was no sensation of fluid dribbling down my back so I guess I was healing quickly. I was pretty hungry and at 12:55pm there was a loud knocking at the bottom of the stairs on the front door. In my shorts I went across the living room, down the stairs and opened the door, it was a food delivery. I thanked him and went back to the sofa.

I think the open wood stairs going down to the front door is an extremely bad design, but it looks pretty. Stairs should never be slippery or wide-open, they are pleading for a lawsuit.

I set the bag on the sofa and with one hand I opened the wrapper and saw it was a very nice looking sandwich, a BLT. Jen knows I really like BLTs so I assumed it was for me. The bread was a thick Italian white. Trying not to spill anything I carefully ate my lunch and went back to sleep.

Jen got home at 5:05pm, it got cloudy while I was asleep and it smelled like rain was close, she arrived home in a long black raincoat and hat, with sunglasses, an obvious disguise. The only thing she was missing was a long handle bar moustache.

She sat on the floor beside the sofa and we talked briefly, I thanked her for lunch. That evening she helped me back to the shower, I did my hair and shaved. We let the hot water dissolve the remaining crusty spots on my back. Jen was in the bathroom and told me my back looked a lot better, less red, and the scars were healing well. I told her they itched a lot less too. She sprayed that Bactine type stuff on me again and the itch went away.

That evening for dinner she hand-made a pot of Creamy Potato and Mushroom soup (not from cans, made from scratch) and sauteed thin chunks of ham steak with sauteed onions on the side, she also served some steamed green beans with melted butter and herb sprinkles. It was very nice. I fed myself on my stomach on the sofa and she sat on the floor beside the sofa. I asked how she made the creamy base, Jen said: "Melted butter, ground pepper, 2 cups of milk, chicken bouillon cubes (2), 6 tablespoons flour. Then I added cubes of yellow potato, diced mushrooms, and diced white onion."

I told her it was good, she said, "That was obvious, you finished off two bowls." We both laughed.

At 8pm the next vicodin kicked-in and I fell asleep during our conversation.

On my third day Jen came home from work early and had me sit at the kitchen table and visit/watch while she made dinner, some traditional Spanish dishes she learned from her elderly landlords downstairs. She said it was `Momma's Recipe' and pointed downstairs. She carefully inspected my back and said the oozing was still stopped, so she let me drape a bed sheet over myself. Sure enough, no wet spots, but I still had some dried crustys that needed to be washed off.

Before she started dinner I told Jen about Luis and how he was a college student here in Madrid, he lived with his parents because he was young, maybe 19 or about to turn 20. After I gave her a detailed description of his body Jen immediately suggested we should take a taxi and knock on his door. I told her the entire truth that we met at a private twink party, and then I had to explain what twink meant. I told her the term `twink' used to be considered a put-down but today young people often wear it like a badge of honor. It was very common for young men of all races to pass through a phase of adolescence where their body exactly matched the modern meaning of the word. She asked me what race Luis was and I said I thought he was Hispanic but it looked like he could have a touch of oriental too.

She looked up the word Twink online and told me it said: Usually a young (often flamboyant and gay) male, often late teens to mid-late 20s, usually slender to medium build and hairless on exposed skin. Formerly considered a pejorative term, the shaved/slender appearance is commonly a signal of adherence to a particular set of social values which may change over time or by region. Twink is usually self-assigned based on one's self image, and once adopted they commonly prolong the identity by prolonging the appearance.

I turned on my cell and texted:

`Luis, Amigo! Como estas? Hola, estoy en Madrid visitando a la chica de la que te hable. Podríamos visitarlo brevemente, solo el tiempo suficiente para saludar, ni siquiera necesitamos entrar. Se que estas ocupado con la tarea.' (Hey Luis, I am in Madrid visiting the girl I told you about. Can we come up there for a brief visit outside? I understand you are busy with homework.)

Two minutes later he replied: `22 C. de la Reja in San Sebastian de los Reyes.' He texted again and said he is doing aviation math homework and can only visit outside because his upstairs apartment is piles of books, papers, and dirty laundry.

We found his address on gmaps and looked at their home, the first thing that caught my eye was an in-ground pool in the yard and a 3-car garage and the property was walled-in on a corner lot at the edge of a large upscale/new residential area, so we got a taxi and headed northeast from near central Madrid. When we were almost there I texted Luis and told him we'd be there in a couple minutes, on arrival we let the taxi leave.

Their rather large home sat behind a protective stone and mortar wall with iron fencing on top (like every other home on that block), but they added bamboo netting for visual privacy in the yard and I saw warning signs because of a high voltage shocker wire along the top of the iron fence (like they use on farms to keep cattle from breaking the fence). The main gate was a motorized steel door for vehicles, nearby sat a heavy steel pedestrian gate with a mechanical timer knob in a box beside it. You grabbed the knob and twisted it around like a kitchen timer, it generated electricity to ring a bell inside the house. I cranked the knob and watched/heard it wind-down. In the distance we heard a heavy steel gate slam shut, then moments later we heard sandals shuffling across a sidewalk, then the sidewalk gate started to move and it squeaked loudly as it opened and there stood Luis in denim shorts, sandals and a (black) baggy tank top shirt. That was when I first noticed that Luis had kind of a soccer player build, tall and sinewy.

With a big smile he gestured for us to enter. Luis let the gate swing shut, it latched with a loud BANG!

Luis gestured again for us to follow and walked us across their vast concrete yard to a heavy square patio table with two large umbrellas and chairs near their in-ground pool. I pulled out the only chair fully in shade and offered it to Jen, we sat down and I introduced Jen to Luis. "Ah yes, you told me about your beautiful friend from central Madrid, very nice to meet you!" He proclaimed in perfect Spanish. They shook hands and both of them had big smiles, I suspected Jen would initially be very impressed by his long center-parted luscious black hair. To me it looked like Luis got a trim recently, it was maybe 2-3 inches shorter and now barely touching his shoulders but his hair looked shiny and very thick.

During my introduction I also told him a little about Jen and me being friends since we met in Sunday school and then Jen abruptly changed the subject and asked about his school work. Luis quickly stood up and asked if we needed something to drink (it was rather warm outside in the brilliant sunshine on a giant concrete patio) and I said sure, so he took off running and disappeared around the corner of the two-story square-boxy house and came back about two minutes later carrying several things. One was a text book totally stuffed with handwritten notes on crumpled sheets of paper. He set down a tray (appeared silver plated) with three tall glasses and a small bowl with round pretzel, raisins, peanuts, and Gummy Worms. We feasted on the salty snacks and sipped ice cold water.

When he returned Jen saw the bowl and laughed loudly. Instantly defensive Luis asked if it was wrong and Jen (trying to speak without laughing more) said, "No, it's perfect, and I adore gummies. In fact my dentist told me I shouldn't eat any more, but I rarely take his advice." We all laughed as she reached over and planted a worm in her mouth but let it hang out briefly before sucking it inside her mouth. I carefully picked out some peanuts and pretzels.

I wanted to ask if he quickly whipped-up that snack bowl, but I expected he might say it was their servant. I didn't want to embarrass him so I never asked. Since he came back so quickly I suspect he got his text book while their servant quickly made the tray of drinks and snacks, she probably watched us from a ground floor window and got them ready to go before he even asked. People who live in a large fenced-in house with a 3-car garage often have a live-in servant.

While I munched peanuts and pretzel twists I leaned over and grabbed his text book, it was second-year aeronautical algebra, and I remember it well. I turned to his bookmark at page 189 where he was part-way through an entire two-page set of calculations he had to do on paper using a simple calculator, but he had to show his work. Jen and Luis seemed to click immediately and started talking in Spanish about his neighborhood and some Madrid politics since it was getting close to a local election for mayor and city council.

While they talked Madrid politics I looked closely at their two story house (and the neighbor's houses too). It looked large but it also looked cheaply built, like a Euro-McMansion. The neighborhood almost looked like it burned down recently and all that survived the inferno was the stone and iron fence and pool. Their house looked like it was supposed to resemble a stack of very large plywood crates, it was very boxy and irregular. It looked industrial and modern, almost like an outdoor shipping warehouse beside a commercial pier for unloading cargo ships. There were almost no trees in the neighborhood but the perimeter fence and pool looked very old, much older than the house. It sort of screamed Euro-Contemporary which didn't exist before the 1950s, but the fence looked mid-late 1800s. In fact the wall was very similar to the one around the Embassy in Barcelona except this one offered visual privacy.

The house had large plate glass windows that ran from floor to ceiling and the outside walls between the windows were wood textured concrete. I had to assume it had no basement but I quickly estimated their home was about 14,000 sq ft, maybe 4-7 bedrooms and the same number of bathrooms. I guessed it looked like an Ikea store inside with minimalist Scandinavian Post-Soviet furniture. It was safe to assume in also contained a mini-apartment for a live-in servant.

While they continued discussing candidates for alcalde (`mayor' in Spanish) I quietly did his remaining math problems, I'm sure he saw me doing his homework. I set the book on the table and watched them both get excited talking about who'll win the election this fall. And as expected Luis shifted in his chair which slid his baggy tanktop shirt sideways and exposed one of his big round burgundy colored nipples, and I saw Jen stare at it then she started trying to involve me in their discussion but I knew nothing about Madrid politics. After the last problem was done I set his book down and paid closer attention to the conversation, but politics just isn't my thing. I kind of eyeballed Luis's exposed tit as he sat at the patio table talking to Jen. I recalled licking it at the twink party.

Luis is thin, his arms are thin and his chest is rather flat, he looks like he never lifted weights and rarely ate his entire dinner, perhaps his metabolism is sky high too. He is after all a tall young man (6'1"??). I seemed to recall he was 19 or almost 20 but I wasn't sure about today. I could see by the smile on his face that Luis was enjoying talking to Jen. I doubted Luis had the time to follow politics on the TV so he might be parroting what he heard his parents say at the dinner table.

I have never heard Jen speak Spanish that rapidly before, it sounded funny. Then Luis shifted in his chair the other way which exposed his other tit to us and he acted like he didn't realize he was flashing us, but I think Jen knew he did it on purpose. After we finished our drinks Jen interrupted and said we needed to go, and we asked him which taxi was best to downtown. Luis said: "....call 26272829 and give them my address, they will pick us up out there." He said pointing at the heavy steel gate. While she was poking in the numbers Luis pulled a paper from his text book, it was his class registration form that also showed his home address. Jen read it into the phone and then gave her address as the destination. While Jen was on the phone Luis quietly commented to me that he knew her neighborhood, it was very old and a nice part of town, but the streets are too narrow (which is a polite way of saying: `no parking'). Jen was still on the phone and told the operator we'd pay in cash. She closed her phone and set it down and said they'll be here soon, they have a car in the area.

I told Luis that the actual street in front of her apartment was supposedly hundreds of years old, it predated cars and you could see some of the ruts from iron rim tires on carts pulled by donkeys or oxen.

I asked why iron rimmed wheels ground ruts in stone and brick streets but car tires with ten times the weight did not. Luis said it was because of pounds per square inch, those narrow carriage tires concentrate a lot of weight on a very small spot, narrow carriage wheels are the worst thing for modern streets. "That makes sense." I replied. Then he added that the PSI on a record player of the needle in the groove of a record is tremendously heavy which is why records get damaged so easily.

A couple minutes later we all stood up and paused to look at the pool. It appeared to be similar in size to the one at the twink party, maybe 12 feet across and 24 feet long, with a deep end but no diving board. Luis said the heater was broken so the water's cool. The pool looked like a sky-blue rectangular hole in the large concrete yard. Like I said, most of their yard was smooth featureless concrete, but there was one small patch of grass, or something that looked like grass. Maybe it was an outdoor grass carpet but we never got close enough to check.

He said his parents forced him to wear a hairnet in the pool, we chuckled. Jen told him his hair looked divine and he actually blushed and raised a hand to his nose to hide his smile. I think hair compliments from girls really click in his brain. The table with the umbrellas and chairs was the only thing that rose above the concrete in their entire yard. It was hard for my brain to imagine young Luis, maybe four years old with his mommy in the pool learning to swim. The entire outside of the house and the yard really lacked any evidence of human habitation, like it was all just for show.

If this was where I grew up you would see tubes of suntan lotion, recliners, extra beach towels, maybe a pair of sandals someone forgot by the pool, maybe a small radio with CD player on the table too. But this place lacked all of that stuff.

We slowly walked around the pool and back to the big steel gate, Jen bent over and swished her fingers in the water as we walked around it, "It is cold!" Luis then told us as we slow-walked to the gate that when it rains the water doesn't have any where to go so it sits on the concrete and starts to evaporate and sometimes it actually forms clouds trapped by the iron fence and they have their own miniature weather systems form over the yard! We chuckled and I could honestly visualize that happening.

Luis turned the steel door handle, pulled it open, stuck his head out to look both ways, after he was sure the area was safe he opened it wide for us. We walked to the sidewalk and paused to shake hands. He said he had to get back to his math homework, and then I told him I finished his algebra, and Luis laughed and said thanks but he had plenty more in another book. He said it never runs out. That was his life: read, sleep, shit, sit in classrooms. He has not touched his game counsel or done laps in the pool yet this year.

Seconds later a nice midsize Toyota car rolled up and tooted the horn and we waved and Luis disappeared behind the heavy steel door and we got in the taxi and paid and rode back to her apartment. The taxi inside had no barrier so we only whispered to each other. The driver had the radio on MegaStarFM 100.7 `Solo Temazos.' (Only Hits) Lots of radio stations in Spain are networked so you can listen to the same network as you travel across the country, I can hear many of them in Tangier from the stations in Tarifa and Algeciras. Lots of jobs in Spanish radio also disappeared, except sales and engineering.

I think our driver was African, he had one of those pleasant colonial British accents. It took nearly 40 minutes to get home and cost nearly 75 Euros with tip. She tipped him more for not chatting too much. Jen liked the music station. We sat in back and held hands. She whispered asking how my back felt. "Its itchy but I think it's still dry." She had me lean forward so she could look, then she softly said: "It's dry."

We rode closer to downtown Madrid and Jen leaned over and asked me, "Say, did you see his face when we left. I think you were talking to the taxi driver."

"No, I never looked back once the car arrived, you know me, Mister Literal, always focused on the present."

"I watched as Luis held open the gate and we walked out to the sidewalk, I think he started to get teary eyed. Maybe you should email him when we get back."

I replied with, "I went through flight school too but I did the Reader's Digest condensed version with the State Department and I already had a pilot's license before I was hired. Luis wants to be a commercial pilot, maybe he'll fly cargo, maybe passengers. But being a femboy in a largely hetero masculine industry in a largely masculine Catholic country can't be easy, and that's on top of what he has to learn in school. Who knows how his parents feel when their son dates other boys, and how much they actually know. I doubt he tells them much, and I doubt they ask. He's under a lot of stress; I could feel the vibes coming from him during our brief poolside party. I got the gut feeling Luis is a great kid, but he may be in over his head. It's impossible to quantify, or to measure. From Tangier there isn't much I can do for him, I wish I could. I wish I could adopt him like family, like I adopted Daniel, and we did college together and shared the work which made it a lot easier."

Jennifer sighed and said she got a vibe from him like he needed support, help of some kind. I agreed but reminded her I lived too far away. I was certain that someone as good looking as Luis could surely find a friend, someone to talk to at 2am when he was drunk and buried under a mountain of homework assignments with midterms coming in nine days.

Jen said she got a very good impression from him but felt he needed help and support and he was hurting. I told her I'd try to stay in touch but my big effort was down at the airport and my own career with State. She asked if their response to my kidnapping was because that's what they always did or because I was a special son.

I told her I really didn't know. "My boss is good at some things and he sucks at others, but his primary concern is himself and his family. I think all US Ambassadors get that way eventually. I mean when you get used to having people who wait on your every need and then one day it's threatened.... It's a big fucking deal. But I think what they tolerate me because I'm from Texas and they're all from the northeast, except the ambassador is from Vegas." I just sort of shut up mid-sentence to let her figure it out. I was tolerated but not one of the chosen, never would be a special person because I wasn't a member of the highly secret State Department Old Boys Club.

I do more than State expects, I keep my mouth shut, I show up for work early and put in more hours than I am scheduled, I never complain, I work the system to my advantage, and I do my job really well. So they tolerate me and I'm not currently on the kill list, so everyone's happy. That's my job.

Something else to keep in mind is that most embassy assignments are given to people who made large donations to the president's election campaign, so they replace most ambassadors during the first six months of the new president's term. Everyone knows they'll get fired after the election so they make the best of it until then.

Someday I'll tell her the actual story but until then I keep my mouth shut. I don't think that is a lesson she's learned yet. The big problem for Jen is she gets emotional and can't shut her mouth. Once she learns to master her emotions then I can say shit. I love Jennifer and I'd walk down the aisle with her if she wanted but I'd never work for her or with her because she gets too emotional. She is blind to it but her employees are not. I think sometimes it affects her decision making, like 17 employees fired in three months. That may work in Texas but in Spain.... Bad idea.

I would have spent more time gently nudging the old angry customer service people into compliance than she did. She put down her foot, which was law, and then held them strictly accountable to the new rules. I believe more in the glacial theory of management: slowly, with time and pressure and you can move a mountain. But I think the owner of the company was in a hurry to stop the losses and she promised a quick fix. It almost cost Jen her life.

That evening we ate a late dinner at home: Organic Rigatoni pasta with her homemade meat sauce, green beans, and sliced carrots sauteed in butter with garlic and herbs. It was quite nice. That evening we showered together and slept (spooned) in her bed. I was turned on in the shower but she ignored it. Jen fully understands that sometimes a man's penis operates independently of the host. This is why I always say that a penis cannot lie.

The next day was Sunday and she wanted us to take a walk before breakfast so we left the house around 6am and walked around two blocks. Before we left she wanted to look at my back again and lifted my shirt then said it looked much better. As we left her place I saw the rest the block she lives on and saw most of the older buildings looked to be three stories tall but the ground level floors were converted into retail space, despite the complete absence of parking and the one-way narrow brick street. She lived in a miniature city within a city.

Down the block from her place I saw: sandwich shop, car dealership (for ordering new only), insurance dealer, dry cleaner, nail salon, coffee shop, two empty store fronts, and a retirement fund advisor. At the end of the block we turned right onto the sidewalk on a much busier street, nearby ahead of us was a semi-enclosed bus stop shelter with some nasty looking bearded guy stomping around the sidewalk wearing a long leather coat, talking loudly to himself. I saw Jen move her hand to make sure she had the spray can ready.

We got stopped by a huge filthy homeless sidewalk troll and she warned him to go away, but he kept blocking our way until we paid his sidewalk toll, so Jen warned him again then sprayed him in the face with pepper spray. She carried the type of pepper spray that contained a skin dye to mark them purple for police. The purple takes days to wear off flesh. After she sprayed him I lunged forward and shoved him in the chest, he fell backwards on the sidewalk and we casually walked around him.

Jen mumbled in English, "Life's little lessons." And I mumbled, "Yah, and next time he'll use a knife instead." She said she already ordered a tiny body cam to clip it to her clothes, next time she'd have his picture. She said she's seen him in the area lots of times but this was the first time he blocked the sidewalk, he was obviously a drug addict. It looked like he was building a cardboard house beside the city bus shelter, that was his toll booth.

Jen showed me her `self-protection gloves,' she said they were new. She pulled one off and showed me how the right glove had an elastic sleeve along the palm. It held a common size can of pepper spray. It held the spray can in your hand in the correct position always ready to fire, but you could still do things like hold a dog leash. When necessary it was always ready, just raise your arm and bend your thumb. I never saw such a thing before and thought they were neat. They were very light weight and cool to wear. The touch surface was something like textured rubber, ideal for catching a football or grabbing a paper bag at the coffee shop. You could wave your hand around but the tube of pepper spray stayed firmly against your palm. The idea was you could walk the dog or carry grocery bags and you always had a spray can in hand that you didn't need to hold onto. The can was always lined up with your thumb. Some customer reviews said it was almost too easy to spray yourself, but all of them conceded you'd only do it once. Both gloves had the elastic tube that held a standard 22g pepper spray can.

After getting past the sidewalk-toll troll we entered a small market store with an old brass bell above the door. It went DING DING when we entered and let the door shut by itself. We walked over by the deli counter and bought two pounds of sliced smoked bacon, half a watermelon tightly wrapped in plastic, a bottle of wine, and two cans of frozen orange juice concentrate. That cost about thirty Euros and she would not let me carry the bags. The lady who sliced her bacon recognized Jen and called her by name.

Jen told the deli counter lady there was a homeless guy in front of their store who was covered in purple dye. The nice lady chuckled and said he lived out there but knows not to come in the store or interfere with their business. She said he came in last year and demanded cash now he's missing his left ear, but his long shaggy hair hides the loss. The lady behind the counter mumbled, "Life's little lessons," and we all chuckled.

We continued our walk around two blocks then arrived at home from the other direction. We made ourselves nice breakfast of omelets, toast, bacon, orange juice, and slices of watermelon. After breakfast we did dishes and laundry and stripped her bed and did three loads of laundry, Jen set-up her ironing board and we worked together ironing her work clothes for next week. Her kitchen is very European style, very compact and utilized every inch of space.

Beside the refrigerator was a closet door and inside that space stood a stacked washer and dryer. Actually, her entire apartment is very Euro-contemporary looking. The thing I like about it the most is the near total lack of carpet. Her kitchen had a small island countertop that surface gave her a great work surface, and it had two outlets as well. Her sink is stainless steel but it's rather small, luckily it is deep. Her stove top has just two gas burners and a folding splatter barrier. From what I've seen here in Spain and down in Morocco the American concept of a 4-burner gas range with a large oven and a broiler underneath it is pretty much gone because the only thing you really need a huge oven for is a 24 pound turkey which almost nobody eats except one day a year. So everyone buys a countertop oven for pizza, meatloaf, potatoes, and bread. In Spain most people put the two slice toaster on the kitchen table, but everyone has a small Espresso maker here! Coffee is super popular here, but Starbucks is not.

She showed me how some refrigerators for apartments in the EU are tall but very narrow. Hers was stainless steel outside but white plastic inside. The shelves were glass and like mine they needed cleaning. She said it's a pain in the ass to take them out. Next time she cleans them she is going to wrap them in aluminum foil or Saran Wrap.

After laundry we sat in the living room and talked for a long time. Jen turned sideways and put her head on my lap, I slid my hand under her shirt to caress her nipples. Once in a while her body would twitch and she scrunched her face as my fingers caused her bursts of pleasure.

At lunch time she had me remove my shirt so she could inspect my wounds and said she saw no signs of infection and everything looked better. I told her the itchiness was nearly gone.

We got in the shower and she very gently hand washed my back with soap on her hand until every spec of dried crust was gone. A few spots had grown paper thin scabs but most were just pink and very tender. The best part was the itch was gone.

(Author's note: writing this chapter and describing Alex's itchy wounds made my back actually itch like crazy! I got out my bamboo back scratcher and kept it beside the computer.)

At 5pm we started making dinner; we cut up a whole chicken and got it ready to bake in her countertop oven. She added sliced potatoes and broccoli. I told her I never saw broccoli baked in the oven before. But she melted mozzarella cheese in the microwave to pour over the broccoli to hide the shriveled appearance. She only had one very large spear so after it was cooked she sliced it in half.

That evening while cooking dinner we discussed Luis, she also commented on his huge flat areolas and I agreed and said I'd licked them before, they were very soft and salty But I told her his dick was rather low mileage and he needed to improve his technique but his body was like a work of art, he was so beautiful. I suggested Luis was not a virgin but he didn't have a lot of experience in bed.

She said she was jealous of his flowing shiny black hair. I told Jen I liked to press my fingers into his hair and feel the thickness. Luis is like Jen in that way, his beauty doesn't seem to mesh with his future life plans. His body had a sleek womanly outline but he said he has no desire to be a woman, he liked being a femboy and did a great job maximizing his beauty. If you saw a photo of his belly you couldn't tell if it belonged to a man or woman. I think he said he was a femboy because of how he was shaped, femboy and gender dysphoria are not related, and femboy is usually always a temporary part of someone's life. He said it was very common for boys to have a period during adolescence where they were shaped like a girl, but it's temporary.

It was nice spending all day with Jen, the windows were wide open and we hung out on the sofa while dinner cooked. At 6:19 the bell on the countertop oven went DING and we went to the kitchen to get stuff ready to eat. She opened the oven and said it needed to cool a bit, so she used hot pads and pulled out the tray and set it on a cutting board and got out the plates and glasses while I put the bowl with the cheese in the microwave to melt it. After two minutes she pulled out the bowl and added diced tomatoes and crushed red peppers and parsley flakes. Then it went back in the microwave for 90 seconds to finish melting it for the broccoli.

We stood facing each other, my waist was against the kitchen counter and she stepped in close and put her hands on my arms and we kissed briefly, she even started her soft groan sound which meant she was turned on. Since we still had time I slipped my hands down her back and up her sides under her shirt but encountered her bra underwire. She stepped back and reached up and quickly unclipped the front then moved back against me and we started deep tongue kissing again. I quickly got hard and once again slid my hands under her shirt and this time my thumbs reached her pointy-puffy nipples and started gently rubbing side to side and around in circles. That made her moan even more. This time she stepped back and quickly pulled off her t-shirt and bra and dropped them on the floor and stepped back into me and our tongues met again. This time I reached down and pulled up my shirt and dropped it on the floor too. Now she could move around to gently rub the tips of her nipples on my flesh.

Jen moved around and put her hands on the counter edge and jumped up so she was sitting on the counter, I leaned in and took one nipple in my mouth and gently suckled on it while she held my head and pretended she was breast feeding me. A few minutes later the kitchen timer went DING and our cheese was ready so I stepped back and helped her to a soft landing on the floor. We picked up our clothes then put our chicken onto plates and she got out some candles and poured some wine and we sat (shirtless) at the table and ate by candlelight. I had a hard time concentrating on eating with her naked breasts just three feet across the table. The sight of her body from neck to thighs just paralyzes my brain sometimes. I think I was hard for the entire meal.

After dinner we did dishes and she put on an apron but it left her tits fully exposed which made my fire burn even hotter. There was something about her pointy nipples sticking out around the straps of her kitchen apron that really turned me on. Seeing the apron straps snagged on her nipples also teased me powerfully.

After dinner we took off our clothes and sat on the sofa and played footsie under a bed sheet (while talking about stuff) until we couldn't stand it anymore then she moved up near me and took my dripping boner in her mouth and easily made me orgasm. After I came I got up and got her a glass of water then I went down on her crotch and licked her little magic lump until she came. Twice I told her to lower her moaning volume, the landlord can probably hear it.

By 9pm I'd been half-hard all evening. We got in her bed and she stroked me to a fully hard boner then she got on top of me and used my dick like her fingers, she slid (rubbed) her spot back and forth on the back of my boner until she came again. She really pressed down hard that time and I could feel her body twitch and tremble as she got close and experienced physical waves of pleasure. Then she came the second time on top of me and by then I was a wet mess. She started sliding again and made me come on my belly, she said I actually filled my belly button and it had semen trickling across my hairless pale tummy and down the side onto her sheets. We took showers and got back in bed and went to sleep.

I stayed two more days but she worked daily and never once tried to pressure me to tour her office. On Wednesday morning I took the train down to Tarifa Spain and rode the ferry across then walked the two miles around the bay to my apartment, the walk gave me more time to think about stuff. That evening I texted my boss that I was back home and could probably go back to work early, and not take all three weeks off. He said it was up to me, so I said I would be back on Monday (1 week early). He told me he would keep the credit for another week of paid leave for me to use in the future.

Next thing I did was to text Daniel and he told me to come down, so I took the bus down and he picked me up at the bus stop in town and delivered me to his motorhome.

On arrival he had me take my shirt off so he could see my scars, I told them they looked much better than one week ago, but I spent the last week in Madrid getting nursed back to health. He chuckled and commented "Literally nursed." And I agreed, which meant I spent quite a bit of time with Jen's tits in my mouth. He's never touched them but I told him exactly what she looked like. He knows Jen and I played Doctor when we were little kids and Jen often had a man size appetite for sex and loved being naked.

I finally figured out Jen is one of those people who likes people looking at her body, she is not at all shy about her breasts. She finds it very pleasurable to have people see her naked. Ever since we were little kids she was constantly offering to take off her shirt and wanted me to take my clothes off too. To me at that age I didn't understand so I often changed the subject but I still saw her naked hundreds of times in elementary school. So I was one of the few boys at that age who knew exactly how girls were built and how grownups had intercourse. I just didn't understand why.

The clock said it was 4:45pm when I arrived. He had no planes on the pads and the airport was unusually quiet because storm clouds were slowly approaching. Dan said severe weather was coming so we made dinner quickly and poured some wine too because the power was likely to go out soon. He always kept two bottles in the refrigerator, he usually bought wine by the case somewhere locally, but it's a Spanish wine of some kind, probably a Merlot.

The power went out 15 minutes before the storm arrived. It rained hard and had lots of thunder and cloud to cloud lightning, but it was one helluva storm. It reminded me of the coastal storms we got in Houston during hurricane season, except Morocco really never gets tornadoes.

He lit two tea-light candles and we sat on opposite ends of the sofa and talked for hours. That evening we drank two bottles of wine and by 8pm both of us were only wearing gym shorts.

Dan's motorhome has a 12v DC lighting system for when the power is out. It has very small LED light fixtures all over the ceiling that can be switched on with one toggle switch on the dashboard. One switch and all of them come on and they run on two large batteries in the back by the diesel engine. He rarely turns it on unless it is absolutely necessary.

Dan told me about the experiments they did using a 3mw LED laser (it projected a short straight green line instead of a dot) for a glideslope light. They gray-taped it to a rock and set it on the far east end of the runway (on the centerline) then had a local pilot fly over several times, in direct sunlight and as the sun was setting. They liked the way it suddenly became visible when the plane was centered over the runway and aligned with it too. It did not affect vision all they saw was a faint green flash on the windshield. The laser for their tests was set to blink-off once a second. The only problem they had was the range of the laser light was short so it only became visible about 2 miles west of the runway during the day. During direct sunlight it was difficult to see. Any tiny scratches or dust on the windshield is what made it visible. Dan said that at 2 miles out the laser line is about two feet wide, but 2 miles is pretty close to the runway (at 95mph), it should be clearly visible by then. The runway itself is nearly a mile long so they lose laser range so someday they will try to make it work from the west end of the runway instead of the east end. They wanted the laser at the east end so if someone landed at night on the runway with no lights (because the power was out) you could still tell if you were centered over the asphalt because the green laser line was perfectly aligned with the center line on the runway.

Dan said that at night the green laser projects what looks like a paper thin wall of green laser light above the centerline of the runway that is visible for three miles, after that is gets hard to see from all the dust in the air. He said you can see it in daylight but it's rather faint. He said there are tiny chips in airplane windshields and those are where you saw flashes of green.

Remember, by the time you can see the two laser colors you're on final approach to a white rectangle box painted on a very narrow runway. You'd have one hand tightly on the throttle, the other hand on the stick gently steering it to a soft landing. The flashes of red and green simply confirm what you should already know.

He stopped talking and sat upright, looked at me and said he just remembered something important, he ran an ad in the newspaper (Morocco World News) in Tangier. Each week on Thursday they publish a list of church services for every city or village on the peninsula, he ran an ad for two weeks, a small one column box announcing a `Friends of Bill W.' meeting in Spanish language (Amigos de Bill W.). Dan said he got 15 calls the first week and they're planning on having their first meeting next month (September 2019). He read the same note to everyone who called: smoking is allowed, bring a folding chair for yourself, bring your own big book, meetings will be in Spanish only. He encouraged everyone to bring something to share like: coffee, cups, creamers, sugar, and spoons. No food provided (unless you bring it) and a clean lockable outhouse was available nearby. The meeting would be in a wide open building with free parking but poor signage, call if you get lost, but he texted everyone a photo of a hand drawn map and instructions for mass transit. Most people planned to take the bus and a black taxi the last few miles, he advised them to gather at the roundabout bus stop and then share a taxi:

`Take the N2 highway bus south from Tangier to Ain Lahcen and get off the bus at the R-417 Roundabout. Go south 1.5km and turn right onto the wide-graded dirt road, go east to the first curve and enter the new gravel driveway, watch for the small sign that says: Danville Airport. Follow the driveway to the large airplane hangar and join the meeting. Call for directions, use a GPS, or ask anyone outside where the airport is. The dark green airplane hangar is visible from a distance as the tallest building in the area, also watch for the bright white roof of the control tower which also sticks out above the trees. You can see the bright white roof on the control tower easily in town and the N2 highway, it looks like a small white pyramid above the trees. It's very visible from the R-417 Roundabout bus stop too, but not at night!'

He said he is expecting the estimate for running power lines to the south side of the runway in the mail anytime soon. It would be installed by the power company as they had time. They are usually busy with burnt fuses caused by afternoon storms this time of year, but mornings are available. The engineer said probably one day to trench in the conduit and another day to pull the wires and connect them at both ends. Dan had to pay for the conduit out of his own wallet, they are also going to run a standard four-conductor telephone line along with the power wires. Dan said that might get him DSL internet (to the hangar) if it works. He also had to pay for a buried utility locating service to walk the planned route to check for anything buried, but they found nothing except rocks and weeds.

He showed me his clipboard sheet for AV-Gas sales, it's been less than he expected but he's not advertising it, just word of mouth.

He said the first Drone tournament is this weekend, it starts Friday evening and continues until about 10am Sunday. Performance races (speed tests with the radar gun on a tripod) over the runway are Sunday at 6:30am and he has fifty teams registered to see who's got the fastest drone. The managers are already there daily setting up stuff and the forecast is for sunny skies, high temp around 92F.

He's ready to sell hot dogs in buns with toppings and bottled drinks in returnable 16 ounce bottles. The returned bottles will be picked up by the guy in the catering truck, the same guy who is bringing the buns. This is the same company that provides food services for the entire meet, it's a wholesale restaurant/catering supply company.

He said they had him dig a shallow pit with the Bobcat about 14 feet wide and fifty feet long behind the hangar for five tent camping sites, and then they had 12 tons of clean beach sand poured in the pit and leveled off. They already have trailers there with their stuff, like PA systems, official's stand, and observation seats to watch each pole for drones bumping into it. And they have a trailer full of rented folding chairs too. They expect paid attendance of at least 310 adults, it could go as high as 600. Dan said he gets a cut ($1.5E) for each ticket sold and everything from the food he sells. He could make two thousand bucks that weekend in cash.

Suddenly Dan got up and reached out for my hand. I extended my hand and he pulled me to my feet and pulled me outside with a flashlight (it was dark outside with a storm about to hit the airport, the wind was howling and dust was blowing), he said "You gotta see this too." But he told me he was proud of this little thing, he aimed his flashlight at the hangar and showed me he had a proper orange and white airport windsock on top of the pipe, it was standing straight out in the strong wind, so we ran back inside the motorhome and he locked the door. It was just starting to sprinkle outside too.

We both felt the temperature drop quickly and he said he needed to close the windows so we didn't sink. I felt the motorhome wiggle and shudder a little and the windows flashed from nearby lightning strikes, the power was still out. He said it`s usually back on about 45 minutes after the storm is over. The linemen have to go out and replace a few fuses but they won't do it during the storm.

We talked about summer storms back in Houston, we both were there for two hurricanes when we were kids. This storm was intense but the show was neat with all the flashing and rumbling thunder. While we watched the lightning flash through the windshield of the motorhome (he opened the curtains) I moved my foot between his legs and rested my toes against his dick. At first he ignored it, then after a while he spread his legs and re-positioned the bottom of my foot gently against his limp dick. Slowly I moved my foot around and slowly he got hard, same with me. Then I took one of his feet and put it between my legs like mine was on him.

I sat there watching the wind blow hard on the stuff growing outside, lit only by lightning. I asked, "Are you sure they don't get tornadoes here?" And he said they don't have the wind patterns that cause them, but they can get pretty strong straight line winds which can be as bad as a very weak tornado. Dan reminded me of weather classes during flight school. In the USA they are caused by winds coming from two directions that cause the rotation to start. He said they don't get that here because of the mountains and the huge expanse of ocean on two sides. He said that was why Chicago never gets tornadoes.

"There's only two places in Africa that get Tornadoes, Eritrea and South Africa, they don't even get em in Portugal which is not very far away, but Spain does." Dan said like he just memorized that answer from watching reruns of Jeopardy. Alex, I'll take Weather for 200.'

The rain came down super hard and Dan actually used the bathroom in the motorhome and while he was gone I took off my shorts and when he got back on the sofa I put his foot against my naked boner, of course it was instantly obvious. About five minutes later with the storm still blasting the airport he turned sideways and slipped his shorts off and turned back and put my foot on his crotch, he felt semi-hard.

We talked while the thunder rumbled outside and the hard rain on the metal roof of the motorhome really amplified the volume, made it sound heavier than it actually was. I kept my hands on his foot and pressed my dick between his toes so he was sort of holding onto it. (Probably a code violation, but the power was out so it didn't count).

After about thirty minutes the storm started to fade and he was still totally hard with my foot against his boner (which was pointed at the ceiling), lit only by flashes of lightning and the one remaining candle on the coffee table.

By 10pm we'd consumed two bottles of wine and the storm was still flashing in the distance and the rain was down to sprinkles but the wind was still strong. I used the toilet (but no flushing because the power was out) and when I came back he was seated upright on the sofa with his hand sliding up and down his shaft so I sat and stretched out on my stomach and took him in my mouth and worked him slowly. Dan gently rested his hand on the back of my head and leaned back against the sofa cushions.

Dan stopped me and told me to only suck the tip so he could stroke it by hand. He used a couple fingers and his thumb and came nicely in my mouth and I swallowed and rinsed it with the little bit of wine I was saving for his reward. That time we had some leakage even though my lips were pressed firmly against the tip, instead of taking the entire shaft in my mouth. I couldn't get a water tight seal.

He relaxed and leaned back on the sofa with his eyes closed like he was totally satisfied and worn out, so I moved closer on my hands and knees and slowly licked both of his tits and licked out his belly button then milked any remaining drops of semen out of his rod and licked it clean. Soon after that we went to bed together. It wasn't over for me so I asked if I could use his tummy and of course he said okay, so I rolled over beside him and jerked myself and came on his stomach and cleaned it up with paper towels, then we went to sleep after a swallow of water. Dan always keeps two sealed water bottles and a roll of paper towels beside his bed now.

Moments after I finished cleaning up the power came back on so I flushed the toilet and cracked open two bedroom windows and turned off the lights and got back in bed.

That morning he made us scrambled eggs from egg whites in the carton. We had toast and coffee and he put bits of frozen veggies in with the eggs and melted butter and cheese on top, it was pretty good. He said it was a mozzarella cheese, they don't sell sliced American in Morocco but they did have Velveeta, which I liked.

After breakfast he showed me the red laser for the west end approach lighting. It was tiny, like half an AAA battery, maybe half a cm across and 3cm long. He connected the wires by hand to a regular AA battery and it projected a bright red laser line on the kitchen cabinets across from us.

He said they already chiseled out a small pit in the runway at the very edge of the pavement. They'll place the laser and run a wire to a power supply then comes the hard part, aiming it. They are going to align it somehow and carefully epoxy it in place and cover it with a small square piece of clear glass and let it run day and night off a solar charged pack of AA batteries laid nearby on the ground. It will project a horizontal red laser line up into the air a few miles. From the other end of the runway another LED laser with green light already projects a vertical plane of light down the runway. The green one is for left-right of center alignment, the red one is for up and down alignment. The best part is they'll still work when the power goes out. He said if you come outside at night with a sheet of white paper and hold it in the air above the runway and move left or right you can see the green line. He said it continues out about 2-3 miles from the runway then gets too weak to see, even at night.

Dan said that at night with dust in the air you can actually see the red and green planes of light in the air and simply fly down the junction of the two, you don't even need to see the runway just follow the light beams. He tells pilots to always fly above the red plane, never below it. Too bad you can barely see them during the day. He said that once they have working approach lights he might extend business hours to sundown but he needs to add more of those walkway solar powered lights so pilots can see the runway and service pads in the dark. He'd have to put four of them on each service pad and install them around the entire runway, especially so pilots can see where it ends. Dan said after they use the red laser for about a year if it turns out to be a success they'll move it to a new location inside the LZ box on the runway but for now it indicates a virtual extension of the runway surface up into the air. Two days ago they removed the original WW2 aircraft carrier approach lights because the power went out too often to rely on them.

The reason why it was not a priority is 96% of the pilots and planes he serviced were not authorized or equipped to fly at night, which requires instrument rating, an aircraft with navigational instruments, and a runway with the proper equipment too. Dan said it was weird how aviation has mostly ignored the GPS system which has been in service since 1993, but its slowly being adopted in aircraft today, over 30 years later.

Dan showed me inside the ATC building, he finally got a (12x12) wood floor built, elevated two inches above the concrete floor and a toilet mounted properly and sealed, now all he needs is someone with a concrete drill and a big concrete bit to drill a one inch hole through the five inch thick concrete wall for a plastic water line.

The control tower was unchanged, he said his teenage employee (Samir) started work and so far is okay. He said the kid is smart but lazy as fuck, so there will probably be trouble between them someday but since the boy is a Muslim and a local kid he probably can never be fired. Dan said he suspects the kid may be gay, or at least he talks with a slight hissy gay accent. I reminded him that lots of kids these days speak with that accent but it doesn't mean they're gay and his hiss could be caused by his teeth. He might be metrosexual and maybe a bit feminine acting, he probably never had a male role model. Then as a joke I told Dan to buy him several John Wayne westerns on DVD, some might already be dubbed into Arabic. Dan said his only male role models growing up might have been the Teletubbies.

I saw he had the tanker parked out on the tarmac and had a price (per liter) written in chalk on the side, but it was nearly washed off in last night's rain. We walked over to the refueling pads and he took off his sandals and waded out into the water on each pad and twisted off the plastic caps to let them drain into the soil. He uncapped all three and set the caps by the holes. The water drained quickly down the holes. While he was doing that he said "Most small airplanes hold about 55 gallons of fuel, which translates to about 200 liters. I have the pump set to kick off at 190 liters but you can just keep going, but it kicks off the nozzle. It takes twelve minutes or more to fill a small airplane. For ten Euros they get thirty minutes on the pad. One skilled ground crew can pump gasoline and fertilizer at the same time and still have ten minutes left once the plane is filled. He checks the engine oil, tires, the fuselage, and the control surfaces while his wife pumps the stuff into two caps on top of the wings." Then he laughed loudly and said he's seen hand written labels drawn on wings to make sure they put the right stuff in the correct tank or it could severely damage the airplane, even cause it to explode.

While he was unscrewing the caps he told me he got an idea why the soil on the other side of the runway was so different. I gestured for him to tell the rest of the story. "I think the bedrock is deeper over there than on this side of the runway, it's like a shelf and it drops off, the runway was built along the edge of the shelf." I liked his idea and smiled and nodded agreement because it made sense. I asked if he knew how deep it was and he said he didn't know but suspected maybe five to ten feet down on the south side of the runway you hit solid granite. He said some time he's going to get a ground radar and look it to see how deep bedrock really is.

We looked at the Citation and said he'll try to charge it during the drone show because they bring their own diesel generator and he can run an extension cord inside and plug-in the jet to let it charge the batteries. I agreed it was okay to do. The charger was on the floor in back by the lavatory. He said he would plug it into a long extension cord and run it out a window on the back side of the hangar.

"What about business this morning?" I asked.

Dan said it was slow due to the time of year and the storms, we may not see much traffic today, possibly a weekend pilot or two for AV-Gas. As if on cue we heard the distinct sound of a small plane to the west and walked toward the runway and looked into the low western sky and there we saw a low altitude airplane on final approach, Dan said the runway and traffic pattern was empty so he was free to land on his own. I glanced over at the pad and saw the rain water had already soaked in so I jogged over and screwed the cap back in place. This was one of the few airplanes that had something like headlights on the front, most crop dusters did not. Most of them only had one bright red lamp on top of the vertical stabilizer in back.

The plane got lower and lower and touched down his wheels in the LZ box and coasted about 1/3 of the way down the runway and saw us standing near the refueling pads and turned off the runway onto the rocks then turned and rolled onto the 2nd pad and shut off his engine. It sounded like a modern piston-engine, possibly an automotive engine like an inline 6-cylinder. This was not an open cockpit crop duster but a weekend flyer fiberglass body four-seater but the pilot was alone. Dan said he knew this guy he'd talked before about renting an anchor spot on the tarmac to store his plane.

They shook hands then the pilot climbed out and he gestured at the wing and the tanker, he needed fuel, so Dan brought over the ladder and leaned it against the other side while the pilot blocked the tires. Dan told me you had to block the tires or the weight of him on the ladder against the plane could get the plane rolling and they'd crash down on the concrete pad! He climbed up and reached over and flipped open the fuel door. Next, he pulled out the ground wire (it was now on a mechanical retractor reel like they used to put on vacuum cleaners). He connected it to the ground lug on the front landing gear frame and also used the copper clamp, then Dan turned on the pump and grabbed the nozzle and pulled hard on the hose to stretch it across the ground to the plane then climbed the ladder still pulling hard on the heavy black hose. He reached over and removed the cap and looked down inside the tank. The pilot gestured to fill the tank to the top by pointing at the sky.

I got the impression the pilot spoke Arabic but only knew a little Spanish which was why he seemed reluctant to talk to Dan.

Dan carefully tapped the nozzle to the tank then inserted it and lifted up on the handle and fuel started to flow. The process was nearly silent because it was electric. It doesn't pump gas like a gas station pump for cars so it takes longer. The plane took 180 liters and the pilot paid in cash. He even paid extra as a tip for full service. It took about eighteen minutes to fill the tank. Dan said he wants to get a windshield scrubber brush with a squeegee and a bucket and hang it on the fuel truck for pilots to clean their windows while they wait because the filling process goes slowly. While he was refueling the pilot opened the front end and checked engine oil and looked around inside the engine compartment. I think the price was $1.40 per liter and he only accepts cash, Euros and Moroccan money but everyone pays in Euros even though Morocco is not in the EU.

As a joke this pilot told Daniel he needed a JU-52 parked inside the hangar and a gift shop that sold World War-2 models, like airplanes and tanks and little plastic soldiers. We all laughed but it was a nice idea. I'm sure it got Daniel thinking: Maybe a replica anti-aircraft gun outside and a WW2 truck or two like they used here back in the war. The airport could be a tourist attraction and museum too.

After the fuel tank was full he capped it and closed the door then retracted the big rubber hose. As is the custom, while he was wrestling the thick black hose back onto the retractor reel the pilot climbed the ladder to check that his tank was properly capped and the cover was securely closed and latched. Then Dan carried the ladder to the tanker and hung it on the side hooks. Lastly Dan disconnected the ground wire and told the pilot the cost was 71 Euros. The pilot climbed up inside his plane and started counting money. Dan walked over and collected $75E, they shook hands and Dan walked over to the truck to shut off power to the pump. We stepped back and watched the pilot kick the blocks from the tires, climb inside, fasten his seatbelt, and start the engine. He let it idle for several seconds, Dan said he was probably noting the fill-up in his logbook, then he closed the door and gave it some throttle and started to turn around and taxi to the runway. Dan walked along beside the wingtip and walked onto the runway and checked the sky for other aircraft, then he gestured to the pilot he was clear to take off. Sometimes he runs the airport traffic by hand signal and never turns on the radio. The control tower was only open when Samir was working. But if the place got really busy then he used the radio for everything. He confessed that everyone thinks Samir is a woman because nobody knows he is just a local boy. Dan seldom accuses Sam of being lazy now but he does accuse him of being terribly naive, which is okay for such a young person.

Instead of running to the west end he started his takeoff roll halfway down the runway and took off quickly and disappeared into the sky. Dan started the tanker and drove it over by his outhouse and plugged it into his power outlet to charge the batteries for the fuel pump. After he plugged it in he walked back to me over by the hangar, he had a friendly-relaxed smile on his face but paused to crush a lizard that was crossing the runway. Dan has come to truly hate the tiny lizards.

The entire airport area was quiet again so I asked if I could trim his body hair and he said okay, so we went back by the motorhome and he got the hair trimming kit from his underwear and sock drawer and brought the vinyl zipper case outside. I stood beside the picnic table with the battery powered trimmer while he pulled off his shirt and put his hands on top of his head so I could start with his pits. Those never take long and he really doesn't grow much hair there. Dan's arm pit hair is very similar to the ones that grow on top of his head, it's somewhat thin and straight, nearly the same color.

Next, I carefully checked both nipples and the center of his chest but I found no hairs so I sat on the bench and turned him to face me and did the hairs that grew below his belly button.

When those were removed I had the pleasure of unbuttoning his jeans and lowering the zipper, then I spread them apart and slid them down to his ankles. He lifted one foot at a time and I set his jeans on the picnic table, then I took off his underwear.

I finished hand-trimming his pubes around his dick and balls, then along the sides of his shaft, and then carefully trimmed his nut sack. Dan turned around, bent over a little, reached behind and pulled his butt cheeks apart so I could trim his crack. After that I had him put one foot on the bench beside me so I could raise his nuts and trim between his thighs.

After that was done I used his tiny hair trimmer and did inside his belly button, then re-checked his chest and then he was done. Dan said it takes less toilet paper to wipe if your ass is properly trimmed.

I mentioned I hadn't see the cat and he said Cat was fine and she was killing lizards but not as fast as he hoped, but the kittens are starting to act like little cheetahs stalking their prey in the jungle. He said two kittens disappeared but she has three left and mommy is teaching them to hunt lizards and harass snakes. The missing kittens probably became snake or fox food.

Just to check I walked alone over to his outhouse and opened the door: no lizards and no flies!

When I came back he had his jeans and shoes back on so he sat beside me on the picnic table and I reached over and rested my forearm on his shoulder and gently massaged one of his tits, he acted like he didn't notice.

"Would you do something for me Dan?"

"Yah." He replied.

"Would you please come for me?" I asked nicely. Trimming his body hair always made me horny, especially if I got to do it outside in the sunlight where I could really see good detail in his body parts. Dan usually got half-hard when I trimmed him.

He never actually answered but he was half naked so he stood up and stepped up onto the picnic table bench, turned around and sat on the top, leaned back and pushed his jeans down to his knees and started stroking himself to a boner, he was working kinda fast too. I climbed on top of the table and tried to wet his dick with my mouth but the way he was moving his hand it was dangerous to even try, I didn't want to get smacked in the mouth by his stroking hand. While he was pumping I licked his belly button instead. I had to assume he knew to warn me when he got close so I could get my mouth in place.

After nearly two minutes through clenched teeth he said he was getting close (he was pumpin' it pretty hard) and I moved my face dangerously close to his dick, then suddenly he stopped and said: "Take it!" I aimed it up higher and watched as the first spurt flew over his stomach and splashed down on his chest. I quickly took him in my mouth and swallowed the rest of it. He flexed his hips a few times then stopped moving and paused to catch his breath. I had a bit of swallowing to do. Soon, I backed off his dick and he sat up with a big smile while I wiped around my mouth with my hand. I watched the semen on his chest started to dribble down toward the sides. He had that unmistakable post-orgasm smile on his face. I've also noticed that in this exact situation anything I asked him he'd agree to. I could take advantage by asking him to French kiss me and I'm sure he would for a few seconds until he realized he was violating his stupid hetero code.

He gestured toward the motorhome door and said there's water in the refrigerator, so I went inside and got the filter pitcher out and poured a glass and drank all of it. Dan walked inside with his jeans on and a smile as I guzzled a second glass. I told him he tasted good but he never commented (he doesn't like it when I tell him he tastes good). Dan grabbed a paper towel to wipe the semen off his chest. I loved watching him wipe semen off his body, I loved watching his hand slide across his big tits and see them snap back into their natural shape.

I must say something else nice about Daniel. Some guys after they come they treat their semen as if it was toxic sludge, yet they will let someone else swallow it. Daniel is totally not afraid of his semen, I think when he's alone and jerks off before taking a shower he'll smear it all over his skin. I bet he's tasted it too but would never admit it, not even to me.

Let me tell you, there is very little on Earth as sexy as watching Daniel walk in the room in bare feet, jeans pulled-up but wide open, no shirt on, with several puddles of fresh semen splattered across his sexy hairless chest. I could see the very base of his dick and the hairless soft skin above it. It was such a sight I instantly got hard. So I reached down my jeans and straightened mine to it pointed at my belly button. He looked down at his chest and I'm sure he saw my partially hidden erection. His body has a definite high school boy sex appeal when freshly shaved that cannot be understated. I remember back when we were both 17 Daniel could get completely hard and was ready to fuck in a few seconds. Now in our mid-late 30s when he's shaved he looks almost the same as he did at age 17 (below the neck and above the thighs).

He stood by the sofa and reached down and turned on his computer and I stepped-up close beside him and put my arms around him and slid my hands up and down his chest and rested the side of my face on his back and whispered that he was just as sexy as he was in high school and Dan whispered thanks. Then I softly whispered in his ear, "You can fuck me anytime you want, no condom." He replied with he just got these old family pictures, some of them were him with no shirt on going back to when he was a little kid. They had a pool so there were a lot of family photos of him and his sister in bathing suits.

Normally he never replies but that time he actually told me he didn't want shit on his dick, so I told him I would give myself several enemas, there'd be no shit. "My ass'll feel warm and tight, I promise I'll be one of the best fucks you ever had." I think that time he actually heard me.

After a moment of standing together in an embrace with my hand sliding up and down his chest I asked him how long ago was his last actual pussy and he said about two years. So I told him now was a great time for some good old fashioned hard-hump fucking. Dan said he just came, and I asked if he could come again and he chuckled softly and boasted, "Whadday'allthink?"

I let go of him and ran my hands down his silky soft back and picked up my backpack which always has a small disposable enema kit. Without asking I went into his bathroom with the door closed and rinsed myself. I basically kept rinsing until the water came out clear. Dan waited in the living room and pretended not to be listening.

I filled the small plastic squeeze bottle with warm tap water and inserted it then squeezed the bottle flat then pulled it back out and held it inside for several seconds then let it spray out like diarrhea. Lather, rinse, repeat. After that was done I cleaned it with hand soap and put it back in my backpack.

After a serious washing I got on his bed which was still unmade from him sleeping in it last night. I pushed the top sheet and thin bedspread cover down on the floor and pulled the bottom sheet tight and fluffed up his pillows. Then I turned toward his full-length mirror and watched myself strip off my clothes. My body looked a lot like it did in high school except I was thicker now and I kept the hair shaved off on my entire front side and between my cheeks. I got down on his bed on my stomach and spread my legs apart and closed my eyes and rested my head on his pillow. We've never gotten this close to actually fucking before so I was a bit scared what could happen, he might chicken-out and tell me rudely to get dressed. He could get mad and tell me to leave. I knew Dan's dick very well and was confident I'd have no problem taking him.

I heard him doing something out in the kitchen, maybe he was drinking water too. Then I heard the main door lock get pressed and Dan slowly walked into the room, I heard the sound of blue jeans hit the floor by his closet, then he hung them on a hook inside his closet. That meant he was naked.

Dan walked over to the bed and he stood there and softly mumbled, "What do I do?"

I told him to go potty so he did and returned to the spot by his bed.

Then I handed him my little plastic bottle of baby oil and told him to butter himself and me. I heard the cap close then I told him to get on the bed over my thighs and spread my cheeks and slowly insert himself, but go slowly. I told him to oil my hole too, I reached back and pulled my cheeks apart and felt his fingers. Dan has never touched my bunghole before so I was sure he'd be scared. He's probably never touched anyone's butt in his life.

Dan climbed on the bed and got positioned on top of me. I felt him press his rod between my cheeks, and then he slid it up and down hoping to feel something. You can do that but it takes some practice, he certainly was not prepared. I reached behind and moved his boner so his head was on my hole. Dan was in a position that even if he suddenly fainted and fell forward his dick would still penetrate me, it would be nearly impossible for him to be humiliated, dissatisfied, or frustrated.

Dan started rocking around, like he was micro-humping my ass to the beat of some music. When he was about one inch inside he lowered his body down on my back and whispered he was inside, I told him he still had a long way to go so keep pushing. So he lifted up and went back to pushing. The oil helped a lot and within about five minutes he was fully inside. I was getting emotional and warned him I may cry but it was my emotions not pain so don't worry, just keep drilling. Dan ignored my comment and started humping like I was a rubber sex toy.

He got up into push-up position and a started fucking me, after my ass and his dick were properly stretched and oiled he was able to move faster and he mumbled that I was tight, he said it felt great but I kept silent because I was also crying, soon after that he said he wasn't going to last much longer. He slipped out a few times but was able to easily reinsert himself.

After a couple minutes of hard humping he made a deep groaning sound. He put his hands on my sides and pulled back on me to lift my ass off the bed, finally he asked me to get up on my hands and knees and then he worked me hard and fast like stealing home plate. Our bodies were slapping together and making lots of sex sounds, lots of slurping, lots of groans.

By then I was in tears and actually started to cry a little but I tried to keep it quiet. My face was dripping snot, tears, and drool on his soft white bed sheet. Then finally he slowed and moved his hands up to my shoulders and shoved-in really hard which slid both of us further up the bed. I think he was starting to come when he slowed his thrusts to coincide with his spurts. Each time he spurt inside me he grunted too, which I thought was a great sign for him. Then Daniel leaned forward and rested his body on my back and panted and became limp on top of me. I slowly lowered down on his mattress but he remained on top of me and panted.

I opened one eye and saw his right hand on the sheet near my face so I pulled it to my face and held it tightly and kissed his palm repeatedly. Every time I pulled his hand to my mouth his fingers touched my eyes, nose, and chin. I never did that before but it was really neat feeling his relaxed hand against my face.

He didn't move for a while, maybe eight minutes he stayed limp on top of me. Daniel took time to cool off and catch his breath, I felt sweat from his body drip onto me and run down my sides to the sheets. His body was nearly perfectly aligned with mine and I felt his entire weight on me. He rested the side of his head against mine and tried to cool off.

Dan eventually whispered that it was very intense. I could feel his dick was slowly deflating but it was still inside me. About eight minutes after he came he finally slipped out and it was over. He got up on his knees then stood beside the bed and grabbed some paper towels to wipe off and softly boasted there was no shit on his dick. I rolled onto my back and watched him wipe himself. It was a sight I'd hoped to see for almost two decades.

He stood beside the bed naked with his freshly shaved body. I saw his flawless round belly button hole and his hairless lower tummy and chest, he looked practically the same as he did in the boy's locker room at our high school. I wished I could have taken pictures, he looked boyishly beautiful, innocent, and very appealing.

It kind of reminded me of watching the boys in freshman year of high school gym class as they finished lifting weights, how smooth and thin they all were, but they were sweaty and surging with hormonal power as they toweled off in the weight room. I remember how the weight room stunk like sweaty boys and how it made me want to hot oil massage every one of them. Their bodies so flushed with uncontrolled hormones, their nipples all swollen and puffed out. None of them knew the power they all held. Half of them had partial boners too but everyone had to not look down in the shower, the temptation tortured me.

The biggest problem with Daniel is he can be a complete dick at times (and not realize it). I'm surprised he didn't go on and on about no shit on his dick. I was thinking to myself, Of course there's no shit on your dick, I told you I gave myself five enemas half an hour ago, what did you expect?' If he'd had the time to think it through before speaking he would have understood: Oh yah, you did do that didn't you, so maybe this is how it normally works for gays. Then I would say, Yes my friend, anal sex is usually poop-free, if you'd invested time asking questions and learning you could have known that 25 years ago. Spend more time asking questions and less time judging people about things you know nothing about.'

I rolled onto my side and Dan got back on the bed and landed beside me still damp with sweat. Our heads touched. He reached his left arm across my back and pulled me tightly against him, our faces were inches apart. He moved his face closer to mine and I felt his lips touch my nose and slowly he opened his mouth and his tongue entered and for the first time in over 20 years we French-kissed and I could tell this was an act of love, not just post-sex kissing. He put some real emotion into his kiss, so I did it back and leaned firmly in to him and we stayed in that position without moving for quite a while. Both of us whimpered softly into each other's mouth while our tongues danced together but I kept mine really quiet.

He pulled his mouth off and tapped his forehead against mine and we breathed each other's air without speaking, it was incredibly romantic. We rubbed and shared sweat and bad breath and semen and exhaled air and nearly everything two people can share during extreme intimacy, I'm sure Daniel was fully aware he seriously violated the code. If there were commandments in his Hetero Code I think he just violated most of them:

1. Thou shall not fuck a dude for any reason, even to save a life - including your own.

2. Thou shall not put your tongue in another man's mouth for any reason, even to save a life.

3. Thou shall not touch or look at another man's rectum, unless he is an infant and you are changing his poopy diaper.

4. Thou shall not tell another man you love him unless he is your grandfather.

5. Thou shall not discuss orgasms or let another man watch you orgasm.

6. Thou shall never discuss masturbation with another man unless he is a doctor or Rabbi.

7. Thou shall not kiss another man unless he is your father, grandfather, or son and you are at a family Christmas party.

8. Thou shall not discuss in detail another man's body unless he is your infant son.

9. Thou shall not perform the mouth to mouth portion of CPR on another man if there are any witnesses.

10. Though shall not do anything your conscience suspects might be gay, and if you did you damn well better not do it again or tell anyone.

A short time later he whispered that he was glad we did this. I said I would remember this for the rest of my life. He chuckled at my comment. He had no idea I cried the entire time. I always get hormonal-emotional while being bitch-fucked and for a while after.

The way I saw it he just gave me a piece of himself when he came inside me. Dan would be inside me forever.

I rolled us over so he was on his back and now I was on top. I slid down and pressed my face into his sweaty nut sack and all around his limp penis, then licked out his belly button briefly, then up to his chest where I sucked one of his tits inside my mouth and stretched it out, then I let go and slid up and kissed the side of his face then his mouth then l lowered my face and French kissed him back with me on top and in the lead. He went along that time. I told him again that I loved him and he said it back, then I got off the bed and asked him to take a shower, so he turned on the motorhome water heater and 15 minutes later we took a quick shower in his tiny bathroom.

While we waited he tried to act like nothing happened but I sat on his bed waiting in silence, which might have looked a bit awkward to him.

After showering we got dressed and hung out on the sofa and talked, he had the TV on with the sound muted. I asked him if he had his aeronautics math text book and he said yes and got it from a cabinet in his bedroom. I looked up the chapter about runways and how to calculate a perfect glide slope (the proper angle for a safe descent down to the runway) and we sat close side by side on the sofa and read the formulas and rationale for the numeric inputs (if A=___ and B=___ and C=____ then B squared over C squared equals A divided by pi times the length of the runway in meters over the sum of A+bxC squared). The answer was 3.259 degrees. Then I used his protractor to show him the angle for his runway and typical propeller airplanes and we agreed on the proper angle for landing and then we went outside and I fabricated a pole out of three eight foot two by four boards and some nails. That gave us a mast 18 feet tall.

He stood up his tallest folding ladder and leaned the mast against it and we hammered a big nail in the runway then we stood the protractor against the nail. Then we agreed on where the string would cross the scale on the protractor (to achieve the ideal glide slope) and he climbed the ladder and with the string pulled tight, he climbed up until the string crossed the mark on the protractor and I told him to mark the pole right there for the 3.26-degree approach angle. We went inside and got the tiny laser and placed it in the pavement hole (about the size of a typical egg) and I aimed it up so the horizontal laser line crossed that mark on the board and that was the base of a proper glideslope angle (as if the runway continued up into the air to meet the tires under the airplane).

I held the laser while he ran to the ATC building and got the epoxy and mixed the two parts (with toothpicks) and poured them into the hole to cement the laser in place. I held it there until the epoxy started to cure, it got rather hot. I asked him to grab small rock and I used it to prop the laser in place so we didn't have to stand there watching epoxy harden and block the runway at the same time. He set the board down and laid the ladder on the ground. We put the battery pack away and by then the laser was cemented at the correct angle for an ideal 3.259-degree glideslope and the hard part was done, and Daniel was very happy that we did it exactly by the book (Fundamentals of Aerospace Engineering, 2017, by Manuel Soler Arnedo, PhD).

We used our typical winds blowing toward the west at 5 knots, and typical crop duster airspeed of 90 knots (103mph) from an altitude of 1800 feet ASL. The only problem was this was at the very end of the runway pavement so if a plane saw the red beam and followed it but was a little low he might smash his landing gear into the west edge of the pavement, so eventually it would need to be moved to the center of the LZ box. I reminded Dan to tell people to stay above the red beam and watch for the big white triangle on the runway. Eventually he would add runway lights too but that was a while off yet.

After that we put all the stuff away and sat in the motorhome and gabbed for hours, but 90 minutes later he got two gasoline customers, I helped by doing the wheel blocks, he had to drive the truck over to the pad and got them parked and connected safely and we sold another 85 gallons of fuel.

We drank more wine that evening and Daniel said something he shouldn't have, we were both quite drunk by then. He started to talk about how the State Department and the US Navy invaded Rabat because they kidnapped an embassy chief (me) in Tangier, which was an act of war. The way he spoke sounded like he forgot I was the guy who got kidnapped.

Daniel admitted it was too dark inside the helicopter to see the look on Aneese's face when he realized he was about to die. He said it was both funny and sad to watch as they escorted him two blocks from home down the middle of his street in the dark at night, wearing only boxer underwear with a soldier behind him holding a very thin dental floss string which was wrapped twice around his neck. Aneese seemed to have figured out during their walk that it hurt less and he could breathe easier if he let go of it and did as he was instructed by the soldiers in black behind him. At least doing it late at night spared him some humiliation. Daniel said walking him from his bed to a nearby park really hurt his bare feet a lot but they made him keep walking regardless.

They buckled him into a seat beside the other sliding door as the group got in and strapped into seats. One member of the team belted himself on the bench so he was nearly knee to knee with Aneese, while the soldier behind him kept backward pressure on the string. Within seconds of shutting the doors the chopper lifted off, everyone turned their heads and saw the streetlights of Rabat slip further away as they lifted off and quickly gained altitude.

The flight took just a couple minutes and everyone saw the lights along the waterfront in Rabat disappear beneath them and out ahead sat the vast darkness of the ocean. Everyone knew that they couldn't go far, no helicopter can cross the ocean. That is when Aneese must have sensed his impending execution and decided not to struggle. It was likely that moment he realized this was related to the guy they snatched from the Embassy in Tangier, which violated international law and really pissed off the US Government. Now it was time to pay with his life.

They flew west out over the Atlantic Ocean for a few minutes and one of the men in black slid open the large side door and reached over and un-did his seatbelt and gestured to Aneese to exit the chopper which was heading west at 900 feet with an ground speed of about 110mph. There were two guys with weapons aimed at him and he really had no choice, so he leaned over to look out and down but it was too dark to see anything. Then unexpectedly, he leaned over again and sort of fell forward out the door and was gone. They slid the door shut and latched it. That was the point where Dan stopped talking and I understood he was there because he had no other way of knowing that much detail about what happened after the door was opened. He said Aneese never put up a fight or cried or anything. Out he went, the door slammed shut, and the chopper turned around and started to drop down to the level of the sea so the rest of the team could safely exit the helicopter into the ocean where there was a large raft waiting. The co-pilot had a large search light aimed at the raft on the ocean a couple miles away. He hovered ten feet above the sea as three soldiers jumped out, one after another, but Dan stayed on board. They flew just above the water back to the beach and touched down for a few seconds and Dan jumped out, then the chopper crew left for their home base in Algeria. At first they flew just above tree height to avoid airport radar and commercial airplane traffic.

I pretended I didn't hear what he said, but Dan got really quiet after his comments. But like I said we were both fuckin' drunk.

I heard it was a rented military chopper. He never explained any more of what happened or why he was involved, but the only way he could have known was if he was actually there. I kept my mouth shut but suspected he might have been invited to assist by someone. My guess was he walked back into the city and took a taxi to the Rabat airport and bought a ticket onboard the next commercial flight to Tetouan, then a taxi back to Ain Lahcen. After he told me the entire story he corrected something, he said the popular version has Aneese walking three blocks from his front door to the city park with dental floss around the neck, he had to cooperate or forget about breathing. But Dan changed something in how he told it.

"You know dental floss is super strong. I could see the narrow white line around his neck inside the helicopter at 900 feet over the ocean. When they had him at gunpoint in his bedroom one of the crew knocked him to the floor and that was when they wrapped it around his neck twice and pulled it tight." Dan's explanation convinced me he was there defending his brother, it nearly made me cry. `You fuck with my brother then you're gonna see my asshole side.' I knew he risked his life to make sure it got done.

We never discussed it again, but it reinforced in my head that I must always be prepared to sacrifice my life to protect his too.

Contact the author: Borischenaz at mailfence....

This book will end at chapter 39-40.

Just a reminder, this story is 100% fiction, none of it happened, none of it is real.

I've never been to Africa, Asia, or Europe!