Captured

Chapter 36. Looking for real estate near Danville, visiting Luis at home in May.

In that area around Ain Lahcen it's mostly hilly agriculture. There weren't even any in-town residential lots for sale. I think the smallest piece of land outside town was five acres. At first glance there were no properties for sale adjoining him. But there were a couple marked that could sell soon due to recent deaths as soon as the estate settled, one was not adjoining Dan but it was near (on the main road halfway between the roundabout and the airport) and it was 15 acres for $22k the last time it sold.

You can see the land around Ain Lachen in Gmaps. Do a search for Restaurant Nouzha' and look at their photos, many are taken looking out the 2nd floor dining room windows at the land outside the town. Same type photos are seen by searching on gmaps for Restaurant Ifran' and looking at their photos. The 7 story square white tower across the street is the local mosque (Mosque El Fath) in town.

Buying land in Morocco is a different process than in the USA, but I'm not a dual citizen like Dan so I'd have to ask him to buy it for me while I worked on my dual citizenship application. Dan has told me more than once he would not hesitate to end his US citizenship and become a full citizen of Morocco because he trusted the royal family more than the US Government and he's tired of paying those huge income taxes to the Fed. I wasn't sure I was as convinced as he was. The King might be okay today but what will his son be like? I think the heir to the throne graduated from a university in England and was working for the EU as a staff attorney. At least the royal family has a long record of advocating for the citizens of their country (in the media). I suppose there are laws here that seem too intrusive but those may be from the influence from religion on politics. I respect that they come down hard on criminals, but sometimes it seems a bit too harsh. If you deliberately injure innocent people the state can come down very heavy handed. They start teaching children in kindergarten how severe the penalties can be for violent crimes, so nobody can say they didn't know. When they wake up from surgery after their hand is amputated for a 2nd theft conviction they can't say they didn't know it was coming, and there will be no application for disability either, it becomes a case of: sucks to be you!

Truth be told, I really don't know if they still remove hands for multiple theft convictions.

Dan and I talked honestly about the king and his family here once and jokingly we said that since he appears in public in an antique roadster in parades twice a year he would be easy to kill from the side of the road with a few sprays but it would probably mean killing other innocent people to get at the king. But if he ever became a tyrant it would be rather easy to expose him because he likes making public appearances. Unlike being a sniper in the USA, here in Morocco it is easy to kill people with germ weapons because it can be done in large crowds and nobody suspects anything evil just happened. Plus there is no sign of foul play until a day or two has gone by, all you need is favorable winds and some experience.

The next morning I changed my mind and deposited only $500k in my account, but I miss-counted and actually deposited $500,200. After that task I called Dan then drove down to visit him all day. Of course since I was driving the car he gave me a list of stuff he needed from town. I always got him several five gallon drinking water jugs. He asks me to get him one of those huge packs of toilet paper since its much cheaper up in the city and now there are two people using his toilet. He also wants laundry detergent. The popular brand here is Persil Pro-Clean. Green Heritage Pro is the biggest selling toilet paper in northern Africa.

The drive down was okay but traffic was heavy so it took longer than normal because the `N2 Highway' cuts through a lot of small towns. It's kind of like driving I-40 when it was US-40 back in the early 1950s. They should have not let businesses build beside the highway like they did in the US on the old US Route highways. At least the N2 is four lanes most of the way and most of the stop sign intersections are now roundabouts but you still rarely get above 50mph.

On arrival I got changed into shorts and a tank top and helped him on the tarmac re-fueling airplanes and making sure nobody trashed the inside of the Porta-Potty. I should say that when you work on the tarmac you need to be super aware all the time before you move where all the spinning propellers are because it's super easy to accidentally walk into one.

I also got to meet Samir, he seemed a little stressed when I walked up into the control tower and invaded his privacy. I think he might have been slowly jerking off and didn't hear me walk in the door downstairs. He was taller than I expected for such a skinny Arab teenager.

Nobody but Sam and Dan are supposed to be in the control tower and suddenly there I was so it scared him at first. And just like Dan said, the control tower smelled like teenager body odor (butt and arm pits).

The first thing I noticed about him was like Dan said, he had that hiss in his speech. He was giving off gay vibes too that triggered my gaydar, but he's a local Arab boy so it would be muy bad if I even asked. Dan thinks he's straight but I told him I bet he's secretly on the Underground Moroccan Rainbow Team.

Samir was seated in his chair holding the binoculars watching the tarmac and the incoming airspace. He jokingly told me `Your neck has to be in good shape to do this job.' I asked if he remembered the business jet that was parked in the hangar and he said he remembered it, and he gave it clearance for the flights it took the day it left too. I told him I was the former owner, so he saw me standing near the runway when it left. Once that clicked in his head then he started making eye contact.

I sat behind him on the counter top watching across the runway at all the airplanes being re-loaded. They had three planes waiting and all three pads in use, two planes were there to buy AV-Gas only. Most of those planes were chartered, usually to fly small cargo to an airport in another country, like Algeria, Mauritania, and Mali. He sees some organs for transplant, important documents that had to be originals and not faxes, sometimes their cargo was a person, and sometimes they flew super expensive experimental drugs.

Samir said he has to ring the bell anytime he sees an airplane about to move onto the runway, sometimes they don't call for permission first, they look left and right and just go for it.

He told me most of the airplanes here for refueling take off near the pads, which gives them almost three thousand feet which is way more than enough for most crop dusters. Many of them only need about 1000 feet. But if they are carrying something of value then for added safety they use the entire runway. He said most of the crop dusters land early and turn off the runway before they get to the pads to get in line. They get about 2200 feet of runway to land, slow and roll off the pavement and get in line.

Sam said he gets them lined up and Dan waves them onto the pads as soon as someone leaves.

I asked if he ever has to kick people off the pad when they run out of time and he said it happens once or twice a week, but it only costs ten bucks for thirty minutes so most of them just buy more time. He said Dan is building two more pads right now. He pointed over to the far side of the property and I saw a square hole in the ground about a foot deep and thirty foot square, he said that was the first airplane repair pad, rented by the month. He said Dan has it rented already and a waiting list for others that want to re-build an engine but can't do it at home.

We saw two planes finish re-loading and start their engines. Their ground crews left in their trucks and the first plane rolled off the pad and across the tarmac to the runway and started speeding up before they got on the pavement. After it was lifted off the next plane did the same routine. Once they were gone Dan waved in two more to take their places. He carries a notepad to notice when they start and leave, and he always has the bathroom door key in his back pocket. He walks over with each one, unlocks the door and looks inside and reminds them if they crap or piss on things without cleaning up they can never again use the bathroom, but they are always welcome to pee over by the fence.

I asked Sam if he ever used it and he said, "No, we use the toilet downstairs, but there's no privacy and no fan either. When you take a crap down there the shit gas often drifts up into the control tower!" I laughed but I didn't think he thought it was funny.

He asked where I was from and I assumed he meant here in Morocco. "I'm from the east side of Tangier, near the bay."

"Oh, I hear the water is very cold too."

"Yes, cold but it's clear and you get used to it in time but that's why when you see pictures of beaches on the Mediterranean Sea there are usually a lot of people but nobody is in the water." Sam laughed when I said that.

I asked Sam how he liked working at an airport and he said it was fun but you gotta be really careful about watching the runway so planes don't crash.

Sam asked me what Dan used to do for work in Texas. I told him he was a cop, a detective, a pilot, and a bounty hunter. Sam just said Wow!

I told Sam I met Dan in high school, 9th grade, he was in two of my classes and it took a while to get to know him because he was very quiet.

"Didn't you own part of the airport when it first opened?" he asked.

"Yes, I helped him pay for the runway to get re-paved, now I hear he might get to widen the runway to 50 feet."

Sam said, "Dan mentioned it but the guy with the money is still talking about prices. He owns a company in Spain that crop dusts, they have 15 planes and need a place to re-fuel and re-load since they also do farms all over the peninsula." Sam said if they sign the contract this airport will triple its daily business and he'll need another person working here. But the first thing they'll do is close for a week to widen the runway. They'll do it in the winter when the business is slow.

It was interesting talking to Sam, he was so involved in talking he didn't seem to notice he had his Djellaba pulled way up his thighs and he sat there with his right fingers sort of picking at his dick. I could see his pale white thighs and up on top I could see most of his hairless brown chest. Then he asked me to watch the western sky for incoming planes, he needed to run downstairs and use the toilet.

So I stayed on the counter watching the sky and he got up and went down stairs. I heard his piss stream in the toilet, then he flushed it and it sounded like a regular old toilet.

After he came back he sat in his office chair and surveyed the entire airport, then he asked me without looking at me, "Can I ask you a gay sex question?"

I told him it was fine.

"What does semen taste like?"

I told him on most guys it's bland and kind of thick like ketchup or salad dressing. I told him most guys it tastes kind of bland like unflavored yogurt, most of them its salty. A few guys have bitter semen, but I didn't think there was anything that could be done to change that. I told him after taking semen in the mouth you need to rinse it down with about anything. I said it's better to wash it down with something that kills the tiny sperms because if they stay in your mouth too long they can start to attack certain patches of skin because they think it's a female egg. So I repeated to rinse it down or spit it out and rinse your mouth with something to kill the sperms.

I told him the best way was to take his dick far into your mouth and let him orgasm, and swallow it as fast as he makes it. Always have something to drink nearby when you might have semen in your mouth.

He asked if the sperms will hurt your stomach and I said no, they'd be dead before they got there. Sperms usually die easily, but always have water nearby your bed. He smiled but never said why he wanted to know. After that I was convinced he was at least bi.

"You're bi, right?" he asked.

"Yes. I suck dick and I also have sex with my girlfriend."

"When did you first know?"

"I think I was in third grade and I saw a porn video at someone's house, I could not take my eyes off him and I knew right then I liked women's and men's bodies but my favorite is dick. Sucking dick is very pleasurable, it feels wonderful, it's fun, and I like being in control of guy's bodies. When you got a guy's dick in your mouth you own him. I like to give them strong pleasure to make them very happy and satisfied. It makes me feel good when I watch a guy orgasm in my mouth and know it's like the best thing he ever feels."

Then I paused briefly and told Samir that a man's erection is his most secret and most important thing in life. Nobody but his closest friends ever get to see his boner and watch him orgasm, and most of all to taste his dick and his semen. That is the closest two men can get, when they can say "I know how he tastes." When a man orgasms inside your mouth or your rectum he gives you a piece of himself, which is the biggest thing he can do for another person. After that there is nothing else left to give.

About the time I finished with my explanation he raised his hand and pointed to a spot in the sky and said it was about to land. He reached over and grabbed a cotton rope that lay across the countertop and slowly pulled it to ring a large brass bell outside the control tower. He did that for ten seconds and watched across the runway and saw Dan wave, meaning `message received.'

I thanked him for the nice visit and left the tower and used the toilet then went back into the motorhome and sat on his bed and wanked and came on my palm. Spending that much time with the scantily clad Samir sort of made me horny, I really like his smooth brown flesh, it's very inviting. I had visions of him on the sofa and me rubbing my face side to side across his tummy while I wanked.

While I was on the bed I heard the single engine plane land and hit his brakes and get in line for service, there was only one plane ahead of him. The airport was much busier than I ever thought it would be. After I washed my hands in the kitchen sink I went across the runway and helped him direct traffic and got the airplanes in line pre-registered to speed things up. Most of his customers already have accounts. Many prefer to pay cash for each visit, so far Dan only has one customer who pays a flat rate monthly for his five airplanes.

Around 5pm things were done, the pads were clear and it was almost time to close so he turned off the Open sign and we walked across the runway back to his motorhome. I had no idea if Samir was still here.

I asked Dan if he saw the news about Tron Singh and he said he saw it online, he can't watch TV news because it's all in Arabic.

"Did you do that?" he asked with a growing smile and I simply nodded yes.

He never even used the words reward' or danger' or anything he simply asked `How much?'

All I said was "Nine." And he was thrilled and ecstatic and very happy for me, we hugged and he said we should have a party. I told him I might retire and buy property down here because I liked the area where he lived. I did not say I wanted to live down here for improved access to his dick but I am sure it might have crossed his mind.

He said as far as he knew there were no adjoining properties for sale but there were two old guys really close by that died in the past few months and those places eventually come up for sale. Then he said, "Wait a second, you aren't a citizen are you?" and I nodded no. Then I quickly asked if I gave him cash if he would buy it for me and later on transfer it to me for a dollar and he said: Sure!

I told him to keep an eye on the newspaper where they list properties selling at auction to settle estate claims.

Then Dan immediately came up with plan-b, "Why don't you give State three months notice that you were retiring. Then drive down to Rabat and buy a motorhome and park it here, get your own water tank and power line and you can live here, be my neighbor full time!" Then he reached down and grabbed the bulge in his shorts and gave it a squeeze and shake. I told him it sounded like a good plan, until he got married and pressured me to move elsewhere.

Dan chuckled and said it wasn't likely, he likes living alone, he wishes he had a dog but didn't think he had the time and didn't know what breed would survive living in the desert heat, the snakes, and be smart enough not to walk into a spinning propeller.

Then he leaned forward and loudly proclaimed, "Hey, you're rich, go take the plane for a ride, you can afford the gas now!"

I agreed then he reached into his pocket and tossed me a key on a short leather piece of shoe lace and said he installed the key switch last night. The plane is just like Freddy's except it don't leak engine oil. Then he laughed and corrected what he said, "Freddy's plane don't leak no more, saw it with my own eyeballs."

I put the key in my pocket and admitted I missed the pilot's handbook from the Citation that had all kinds of procedures and checklists that were tried and tested for years. But with the PO-2 there was nothing but your own experience as a guide.

After the last plane took off we walked back to the motorhome and relaxed inside with the AC blasting. I drank some water and turned on the TV to a local weather channel but kept the sound muted. I told him that was something I could do with my money, start a text based English world news TV service, just scrolling headlines. I could run it from home over cell data with a 5g hotspot, sell ads to make some money. I set the key for his airplane on the coffee table.

Dan asked who would run ads in English on a text based news service. I told him tourist businesses in the old city might. Places like hotels, medical clinics, pharmacies, restaurants, bus tours, private limos, massage, liquor stores, and hashish candy stores.

After we got cooled off I walked around the coffee table and got on my knees, Dan spread his legs and I rubbed my hands on the bulge in his shorts, then I un-did them and pulled them down to his feet and tossed them on the sofa beside him, he slid his shirt up to his arm pits.

I got down and started rubbing my face in his crotch (and inhaling deeply) while Little Dan slowly came to life. He softly warned me he might not last long, it's been days since his last. Sure enough he didn't last long and Dan was rather vocal too and he tried to hump my mouth. I think he lasted maybe three minutes and I swallowed all of it. I got up to get a glass of water and saw Samir was inside the bus standing by the door watching silently, Dan still didn't know. I smiled and waved at Samir and guzzled a glass of water while Dan stayed on the sofa with his schlong across his stomach, his eyes closed, and a smile on his face. I drank the water and set the glass down and walked over to Samir and put my hand on his shoulder and gently turned him around and walked him back outside. We softly spoke out there while I think Dan actually dozed off.

The first thing I told him was Dan is not gay, but I am bi-sexual. Then I asked him if he knew what bi-sexual meant and he nodded yes. I told Samir I've been blowing Dan since we were his age but Dan is only interested in women. Then Samir nodded yes and said, "But there are no young single women anywhere near Ain Lahcen!" and I laughed along with him. Then Samir said something that surprised me, he said he just wanted to know what it feels like to be in love.

I told him Love was sometimes a bad thing, it made men do stupid things and become blind to the truth, but it was fun early on. Samir changed the subject and said he never had sex either, then made a jerking motion with his hand, and said it looked like I was pretty good at blowing Dan and I laughed. I asked Sam if he was gay and he shook his head no then grinned broadly, which meant he had a big secret. My guess was he was a virgin and would get in bed with anyone who pressured him to strip and get in bed. But Sam was just too boyish for my tastes, even knowing he was an adult.

"You need something from Dan?"

"Yes, he pays me on Sundays."

"Ewww yah, that's a problem. Do you get the same amount each week?" I asked.

"Yes, two hundred Euros a week." He replied still in Spanish.

I pulled out my wallet and handed him two hundred Euro notes and told him, "That's a lot of money for a teenager who lives in the desert." He told me he gives it to his father and he gets an allowance back but the money he's made for the family has made a huge improvement in their home; they recently had running water installed in the bathroom and kitchen now. Now his father is saving up for their first water heater. I reached back into my wallet and pulled out a fifty Euro note and handed him that and said it was our secret. It was sort of my way of buying his silence. He laughed and as I handed him the cash I told him to forget what he just saw. He nodded excitedly in agreement. I wondered what he would spend his new money on. There aren't many stores in town. Maybe he'd buy a few beers or a pack of condoms. If I was an asshole I'd suggest investing in a bar of soap.

To people who live in the desert without running water the phrase `bar of soap' has a totally different meaning than it would to us in the USA. Out here a bar of soap has universal applications, like washing clothes, washing dishes and pots and pans, and washing your hair. Out here a soap bar is large and very hard and not designed for comfort in the bath tub. The big seller in rural Morocco is Falcon Household Soap, it's made in Egypt.

Sam thanked me, shook my hand with way too much energy, and got on his bike and rode off toward the runway. But before he got far I shouted to him to tell Dan to tell me how much the water heater cost, then he took off on his bike and soon disappeared. I went back in the bus and sat on the sofa beside Dan, he was sound asleep, naked, with his semi-hard dick laid at an angle across his lower belly, a beautiful scene I must say. I turned on my cell and took about thirty pictures of him since he was passed out. I took only close-ups of his dick, his belly button, and his beautiful nipples too. I got a super close up of his tit that filled the screen, I'd use that one as my desktop background image on my laptop.

I got down on the sofa and slowly rested my head on his naked lap, his balls at my nose and closed my eyes and fell asleep too. Hopefully nobody came to the airport, but the sun was setting so it wasn't likely. I drove home that evening and got back to town at 11pm and went to bed.

Three weeks after that visit I got a weird email from Dan, it said simply: twelve gallon electric water heater $190 Euros. At first I didn't understand then it dawned on me I asked Sam to tell me what the new water heater will cost, he remembered and this was the reply. So I got online and transferred $200 from me to Dan and told him to give it in cash to Samir as a gift to their family for their first water heater at home. He told me later the message was delivered and would send back any replies.

Later that week Dan told me he got a visit from Samir and his entire family on his weekend, he wanted to show them where he worked and what he did. His parents were extremely proud that their lazy son handled such responsibility, any mistakes he made endangered lives. He never told them most pilots thought he was a woman. Nor did he let them see the hundreds of dried semen droplets on the floor in front of his desk. His parents never saw this type of behavior from their only son before and I think it really changed their attitude toward Samir. And downstairs Samir never explained that all the 2x4 boards and drywall were things he used his allowance to buy to build himself a room so he could leave home eventually!

It was two months until I kissed Jen again. She flew commercial to Tangier and took a red taxi to the bus stop and walked in the KFC. I always thought it was funny when she took the red taxis (they are a taxpayer subsidized adjunct to the public busses) because she had a lot of money and could easily afford a private limo. The family who owns the company she works for has rewarded her for greatly improving the business with multiple rather large bonuses. When she was beat on the street by the family of someone she fired to save the company they paid her medical bills, they did it without asking her. Jen told me years ago that family also owned several car dealerships in Europe and in the USA and they were super wealthy.

I was on the bus on my way home from work when she entered my apartment, I left a key for her with the doorman. I told him not to check her ID, she was a young woman with curly red hair. Trust me she'll be the only red-head asking for my key. There are very few red headed people living in Morocco!

When I got home she was on my bed reading one of my true crime books. I had so many things to tell her.

While we visited I took the extra door key and put it on her key ring, inside her suitcase. She didn't see me do it because of the curtain that hangs between the sofa-back and the side of the bed. It's a studio apartment and really the only closed off spaces are the rather large walk-in closet and the bathroom. The rest of my apartment is one oddly shaped room with two windows because I am on the corner of the building.

The apartment is almost L-shaped with the bed corner near the elbow and when you first walk in the first thing you see is my tiny kitchen. The bathroom and kitchen share a common wall. The curtain between the living room and bed area slides in a metal track on the ceiling like they used to put on the ceiling of hospital rooms where it was two beds to a room separated by a curtain, same mechanism.

Our reunion soon became sexual.

I quietly walked in the apartment and said `Hi Jen!' but went straight to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth. After some quick maintenance I walked across the room, around the sofa and the curtain and dove onto the bed and landed half on top of her, Jen was wearing a nice button down shirt and jeans, but no shoes or socks. We hugged and I whispered that I really missed her, she said the same back. I asked if there was something she needed to do right away and she said no, I replied with, "Great!" Then I slowly unbuttoned her shirt, she dropped the book on the floor. I already had my thermos of water on the bedside table. She reached for the light switch to darken the room a little.

I unbuttoned her shirt all the way down and was surprised she had no bra on. I lowered my face to her tummy and French kissed her belly button then worked my way up to her chest. I gently kissed and massaged both of her pointy-puffy nipples then moved up a little more and we kissed with a lot of passion and some low level moaning too. By that time I was fully turned on. By that time both of us were ready for action, and that is exactly what happened.

You know the drill: eyes closed, flesh on flesh, tongues moving on sensitive spots -- everyone has several. We swapped places three times and she came once, I came twice -- ten minutes apart. My favorite part was after it was over, she was on her back and I was on top with our noses nearly touching. She had a very relaxed -- satisfied smile on her face, she spoke softly and in a different tone of voice. Just five minutes ago her face looked angry as she worked hard to achieve an intense orgasm. She grunted commands through tightly clenched teeth, sometimes tiny droplets of saliva hit my face but it was worth the effort. After her orgasm she was a totally different person, I loved the intimate conversation after we both came and our world was showing thanks and affection for each other. It's a side of her personality nobody else but me has seen, her satisfied smile also appears during pillow talk. I'm surprised she didn't ask me for the 29th time to marry her, but that time she didn't!

"You have no idea how nice that felt," was her first comment. I got up and grabbed some paper towels and wiped my semen off her belly, and the drops on her chest. I use paper towels and tried to dry between her legs but she sheds a lot of fluid in a short period of time. She always made a wet spot on my bed. When I knew Jen was visiting I always put a pad on my mattress, just in case.

No big surprise she said she needed a tall cold glass of water but when I started to move she pulled me back and whispered: soon.

We continued our little chat for almost an hour. I had moved down slightly to put my mouth within reach of her big red pointy nipples so I could kiss and lick them. She shuts her eyes when it feels nice. I've licked almost every square inch of her body over the years but one thing I have never tasted is her milk, it would be interesting if she got pregnant and produced milk. I've heard human breast milk tastes a lot like vanilla milk shake. She's swallowed a lot of my milk, I'd like to consume hers too. She looked in my eyes but never said anything when I told her.

Women have a lot of secret sexual desires and fantasies they keep to themselves. Those are what make a lot of men believe that sexually there are very few differences between men and women when it comes to sexual desires. The big difference is how and why they keep those secrets.

They all know as they strip naked in front of each other in the girl's locker room that the main difference between them and the boys is the smell of the locker room. The girls can easily be equally hungry and lusty, they are better at hiding it but underneath catty glances at each other they all know the truth.

An hour later we cleaned up and walked to the fish place, Vintage Cafe, it's almost a mile away to the east. We had to wait 20 minutes for a table after our hour walk. Sometimes the service there is rather disappointing. The staff seems indifferent about customer satisfaction when they get super busy. Jen suggested it was a management problem, they all looked unhappy.

The restaurant is small and packed tightly so there are frequent problems with customers bumping into other customers and nearby tables. It makes it hard for the staff to move around or carry trays of food to tables. I think they should remove one table and increase the empty space but they are more concerned about cash in the till at closing time.

Our Red Snapper fillets were nice, properly broiled. They were thick, flaky, and tender. We also got sides of steamed veggies with real butter and some kind of dipping sauce for the fish that was also great on the broccoli. We also had two glasses of wine each. Because the place was busy we guzzled the rest of our wine, paid and left. We walked home kind of buzzed, holding hands. Jen loves an evening stroll under the stars, holding hands, and the wide smooth sidewalk that runs along Shark Beach.

I live in a part of the city that puts a constant effort into looking festive and pretty all year, but it really shines (no pun intended) at night. Outlining every building, tree, and public structure are tiny white LED strings, it almost looks like Christmas. But it's very pretty and they come on every night on a timer after its dark outside. This is an area designed for younger middle class married Muslim couples (without children) to live a modern life with convenience, low crime, lots of local services, and no need for a car. I should add that in farming areas of Morocco the birth rate is much higher than in the city.

This area can be seen easily on Gmaps, locate Tangier and in the northeast part of the city there are two harbors, then a wide curved beach that runs around the bay. The bay is bordered by a wide boulevard called Avenue Mohammed 6th. I'm not sure but I think that might be the present King or maybe his father. Either way, Jen and I call that long wide beach: Shark Beach because of the number of shark attacks and how it looks pretty but every time we see it the beach is empty. Is it empty because of shark attacks, or because of the modesty police, or the ice cold water, or all three. It is used by tourists more than anything else. Because both of us are very nerdy we shortened the name from Shark Beach to: Sierra Bravo, or SB, for Shark Beach.

If you look closely at the beach road you can see the intersection with a road named Avenue de France. Near that is a block with several tall white apartment buildings and one of them has a KFC on the ground floor, which is where I rent with a unit that has a view of the Strait and the building next door to the east. But my place gets a great ocean breeze if I open both windows.

We left Cafe Vintage and walked home holding hands and enjoying the wonderful weather, the starry sky and of course the good conversation. We got to a junction on the sidewalk where it splits and you can stay on the part along the boulevard or the other route that runs along SB, the sidewalk becomes the border between the wide flat beach and the apartment complex, we stayed right and walked along the beach where it was much darker but there were decorative light fixtures along the way but there are patches where it gets pretty dark. I was always cautious when walking in the dark along the beach, as if I was still in Houston.

Seeing a couple holding hands and walking in the dark but she does not have a head cover can drive some men into a rage which might lead to a stabbing in the dark. I had my can of pepper spray in my hand just in case. If I heard any odd noise my first reflex is to spin around and raise my hand ready to spray in a fraction of a second.

In nicer parts of Tangier they have very decorative street lights installed and they look very nice, add an upscale flavor to the neighborhood. They are not hugely bright, just enough so you can see the sidewalk and maybe any sea creatures on land looking for something to drag back into the bay and eat.

Around the area were millions of tiny LED lights that outlined the buildings and most of the trees along the boulevard. Jen told me she really liked my neighborhood, which was a huge area of newer ten story tall apartment buildings with a nice five-lane boulevard running down the middle and little clusters of stores, like the one I call K-mart because the sign is in Arabic and I have no clue what the actual name is. K is for Kramped because it is literally stocked to the ceiling in places. It's like the inventory of a Walmart crammed inside a Walgreens size building. If the thing you want is in the stack you have to press a button and wait for the kid with the ladder to get one down.

There's always lots of foot traffic around the area and very few kids. There's no trash blowing around and no loud vehicles except an occasional semi truck hauling freight into Tangier. It's a very middle class neighborhood that represents the new standards of housing and lifestyle for Morocco. Very few cars are owned here. Gasoline is hard to buy here too which also discourages car ownership. But there are a number of gas scooters on the roads in Morocco, but not like you see in Vietnam or Cambodia. There is a government permit required to purchase and own any motor vehicle for ten years, the permit is usually more expensive than the car!

If you want to buy a $20k new car, you have to also purchase a permit to own a car, which would probably cost about $19k for ten years. And after that anytime you buy gasoline there will be a purchase limit and there could easily be a line of cars at the pump that is nearly thirty cars long. And the guy who sells gas is an elderly man who works with one speed (super slow) and the pump cuts off at ten gallons so you will never fill the tank.

If you have a foldable, 2-wheel shopping cart (what I call a Bag Lady Cart) almost everything you need is within walking distance of your home in this area. On the down side, if a shopkeeper pisses you off you usually have no competitor to switch to. That changes the way people deal with retail employees, it causes people to try change the stores instead of just never going back.

The truth is there are a lot of people in retail that are mean-spirited and hateful and should not be dealing with the public, the compact nature of my neighborhood causes more loud arguments in stores where it's almost impossible to go shopping elsewhere. In the USA you hop in your car and find another store, but in Morocco... not really. You gotta stand and fight. It's also part of Arabic culture too, expressions of anger in public are much more common here than in the states. To my ears fights in stores sound irrational because I cannot understand anything they're shouting and it always sounds out of control and other people tend to join in.

On our walk back I steered us off the sidewalk and across the parking lot and showed her my car. "I didn't know you bought a car." She loudly spoke.

"Yah well it's not used much, I still take the bus because buying gas is a major hassle. There's a guy who sells gas but he's over by my office and he usually has a line of cars waiting. And he usually has a limit of ten gallons. He only takes cash and he's slow as a snail. I had to buy it for several reasons, like hauling stuff down to Danville."

"Can we go see him tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'm not sure if he'll be there, he could be in line somewhere waiting to buy gas for his favorite toy."

"What's that?"

"The love of his life is his Bobcat skidloader, it's a miniature backhoe that steers like an army tank."

"Is he gonna get rich with the airport?"

"I doubt it, he's already had to hire a part-time local kid to help him run things. The kid spends most of his time in the control tower listening to the aviation radio and answering the phone. The boy is like 19 years old, and in the States he'd be considered a high school drop out."

"Really, he needs an employee and he's not making a profit yet?"

"I mean when Dan runs to town for gas, groceries, or to get the mail the place sits all by itself. Dan is worried about someone breaking into his bus and stealing his shit. He's not been ripped off yet but he thinks it's coming soon when people start to think the airport is making a ton of money."

"Sounds like a big headache."

"Yep, he isn't making much money yet but he's close to breaking even, with one employee. I think the quad copter race track is his best idea so far. Maybe he could get something simple like a hot dog cart, or maybe sell beer or popcorn and candy."

"You gotta show me that drone racing stuff."

"Okay, we'll go down there tomorrow, it's too late now."

We paused our conversation as we walked around a group of people entering the KFC while we waited for the elevator. Sometimes the lobby smells like fried chicken. KFC is a small addition to the apartment building but it is also a pass-through so you can walk in the KFC entrance, walk across the area where people order and out another door and you're at the elevators and the mail boxes. If you walked across the street from the bus stop cutting through KFC is a shortcut.

Back in my apartment we cleaned up and decided to shower together.

I washed her back while she shampooed her hair. During her rinse I got on my knees and hand scrubbed her butt cheeks and her crack and reached between and washed her girl parts. Then I turned her around and hand washed her breasts and inside her belly button. Jen closed her eyes and groaned softly, then I turned her around to rinse the soap and shampoo off and turned her around again and pressed my face into her tummy and French kissed her belly button again. That time I noticed she relaxed her body more and let me do my thing, and she seemed to enjoy the attention more than the last time. I would do this to Daniel but I think belly button attention to Daniel almost is too gay even for him.

Like I told you before her belly button hole is deep and wide and for some reason I find it very erotic, especially when she does a belly dance show for me. I bet if I measured her belly button it would be 1.5 inches across and two inches deep. The bottom is smooth and pale and because it's wide open there is no cheese growing inside it like most people get. If you didn't know Jen personally but saw her belly dance routine I think most people get the impression she has unusual sexual powers because of how erotic her tummy looks. And with her burgundy red puffy nipples her body just screams sexual power. I think if I had her body I'd be playing with my tits whenever I was alone. Her belly button is so wide it doesn't collect lint either, the stuff just falls out!

After dinner I got out my laptop and found a video of a drone race on Youtube shot as FPV and showed her what it looked like to the pilot. Jen said she started to feel dizzy just watching it! I told her they had to sit during the race. The online video showed something they need to do to the race track in Danville, they need to paint the steel rings bright white to make them easier to see on video displays.

That evening while we were talking she told me what Dan should do, since he has connections with the oil industry at a wholesale level he should buy a gas pump and a big tank and sell gasoline for cars and scooters at the airport. Like buy a semi tanker trailer and connect it to the gas pump and sell gas right out of the semi trailer until it's empty then drive it back to the port for a re-fill. She said she wondered what profit could be made selling gasoline. We got out a calculator, and with a 36,000 gallon semi tanker truck hauling gasoline. The price marked up by 20 cents a gallon would earn over $7k per load, which is more than enough to make the truck payment and pay for the pump and the business permits. Raise the price to a dollar mark-up per gallon and you're talking close to $40k per load. She told me I should open a gas station on the highway in Ain Lahcen and sell gasoline only. People would drive from all over Tangier to fill their tank. One attendant working one pump with two hoses, working fast, no ten gallon limit, we'd be an overnight success. Add a line of vending machines for people waiting in line and the place would be like a money tree. And if business got slow advertise one side of the pump only sells gas into cans, motorcycles, and scooters. The place would be more popular than Sturgis South Dakota!

Jen asked if they had self-service gas in Morocco and I told her I wasn't sure but since she mentioned it I don't think I've ever seen it here.

I told her if he did that, built a covered one pump gas station in Ain Lahcen it might put the little old man out of business in a few weeks, depending on price. But it could spark a culture war between Dan and the local Arab guy that might last a hundred years! That caused Jen to become quiet briefly. I asked, "And how many people would pay 30 cents more per gallon for much faster service and no limit on sales, but cars and pickups only. Once the tanker ran dry then the place closed until they got back with another load from Eddalya." That also got her thinking.

We talked about Ain Lahcen and I told her it was sort of like a big strip mall. Many of the stores are along the highway but some are on the main street in town, which is just behind the strip mall, on the north side of the highway. "The tallest building in town is the mosque tower. The top is ringed by loudspeakers. And there are about five decent restaurants in town, most of the beef and lamb is locally produced, most of the fish comes off boats on the Atlantic. The town is at the edge of a large forest that runs down into the mountains and up toward Tangier, but in many directions all you see is farm land." I told her, "If you think Kansas City is all about beef you should take the restaurant tour of Ain Lahcen! Those folks take their meat super serious, it's kind of an Arab tradition. Slow cooked, spicy, and super tender." I told her we've only eaten in town five times and we always had a great meal. We ate at Restaurant Nouzha twice, the place is two stories tall and they are open all day, except Fridays. Most of it is buffet style and the food was fantastic, I still have dreams about eating there regularly. Their clay pot chicken and rice is great too, but it's not traditional Singapore style.

They cook the rice in these heavy ceramic bowls, the rice starts first while the chicken goes in the broiler. When the rice is nearly done they put the seasoned chicken in the pot and put on the volcano-style clay pot lid that cooks them together, but there is a round hole in the top. Yes, it looks like a small volcano but it's great for cooking rice and chicken together. You get a lot of rice and half a chicken chopped into pieces (bone-in) and people use chopsticks or a spoon. They also add your choice of veggies, they go in the pot when the chicken and rice is 90% cooked so the veggies mostly steam. It's very filling and not totally carbs, but their recipe is wonderful and they always sell out. Look online for pictures of: clay pot chicken rice. I keep telling Dan he needs to get an Instant Pot and do it that way so it doesn't turn his entire motorhome into an oven.

I use half a chicken, chopped into chunks (bone-in), it goes on top of 2 cups of rice, with mushrooms, J-peppers, two packs of chicken bouillon, three cups of water, salt, pepper, several shakes of Tabasco, and then I add cauliflower and Morton Season All (which is available in Morocco).

In local restaurants they add a gravy that turns everything shiny brown but mine comes out more like they eat in Hong Kong and Singapore, kind of a pale white meal, which is why I add other veggies for color, like chopped red and green bell peppers.

After 8pm I turned off all the lights and lit one candle on the coffee table and I left the windows open a little, it was cool in the apartment. We got on opposite ends of the sofa under a blanket and talked for a couple hours and played footsie. I worked her nips with my toes and rubbed her spot too. She rubbed the bottom of her foot on my dick which made it hard and it felt nice too. She said her toes were slick with pre-come.

When the wind changed direction we started to smell KFC odor blowing in the smaller window by the hallway door so I got up and closed it. Let me tell you, the smell of a KFC is not as nice on the roof as it is inside the dining area.

We talked about Daniel and the airport (Danport), we also talked briefly about her assault injuries (her neck still bothers her from time to time), we talked about Luis and his wonderful black hair, and we discussed money too. She asked about my sister and I asked about her brother Jeff. She had little to say about Jeff other than where he lives and was recently divorced. I told her Dan had almost no contact with his sister since the lawyers got involved, she seriously ripped him off while he was defenseless and in prison.

She asked how much money Dan had left and I said he still had a rather large income coming from their estate. He was told originally it ended but that was another lie she ended up paying him everything she tried to steal. I told her I think he has about two-mil in Texas and two-mil in Euros in a bank in Tangier. He had so much cash coming in from the airport that he's had me haul cash to the bank for him. But don't be fooled, he is paying for a lot of stuff out of his pocket still, so like I said he is barely making any money, even though there is a lot of cash flowing into his pants pocket. During the crop growing season the crop dusters can get very busy and they line up to service their planes, he can have a line of five planes waiting for their turn on a refueling pad. He has three of them and two more being planned.

I explained how he was going to build another 30 foot pad and install some kind of tent frame, and then people can rent it to work on their airplanes. Some of them need re-building and a 30x30 canvas tent would give them plenty of shop room and they could rent it for a couple months and have an indoor place to work. Now that he has electricity he can run extension cords for power tools and lighting. So for that one he could charge big rent dollars and it might also land them an actual licensed aviation mechanic.

He pays his employee two hundred Euros a week for full time hours and he pays in cash. The kid told me he gets home with the cash and has to hand it over to his father to use to improve their home and pay for electricity. The kid lives rural, near Ain Lahcen, but like Dan they don't have city water or sewer and some places are really bad for drilling a well so they get water delivery service instead.

I told her about the airplane he just bought and that he also bought me out as part owner. She asked if that meant we were drifting apart and I told her no, it meant he didn't want to have to ask me for permission to do or change things. He wants total control of the airport, which would be what I would want too. She even asked if we were still having intimate times together and I said yes, but not on every visit, just sometimes. Sometimes sex is not on his mind or mine, those times we are like brothers and do things for each other. Like how I flew to Italy to purchase the airplane for him and fly it back to Morocco. He never hesitated to ask and I never hesitated to say yes and risked making my boss upset by suddenly taking a week off without advance notice. `I risked my life too,' I added. I paused briefly then told her my investment was always supposed to be temporary but we never set a deadline, I was supposed to trust him.

Then she asked me what was probably a big question for her: "How long do you expect to be living in Morocco?"

I sighed and told her the truth. "In the State Department a lot depends on who's president and what he wants to do, so every four years things in State can change dramatically, like my office could easily get shuttered. But as long as the current president is in office and the US Ambassador to Morocco is the same I don't expect any changes. State in Washington said they wanted me exactly where I was for now and I think State is being reimbursed for all my expenses by another branch of the federal government, but I can't talk about it.

Jen sounded like she was really curious but let it drop. We were quiet for a while so I apologized for being blunt, and she told me it was okay. Jen reminded me the president was in the third year of his second term so my career at State in Tangier might be over soon anyway.

We discussed living together some day and where we would stay, overseas or back in the States. Would we live in Texas or somewhere not as hot and rainy as Houston?

"I got another work question if you don't mind."

"Go ahead." I told her.

"You were hired as an FCA and a pilot but you don't do either of them now, why's that?"

"Well, part of the answer is something I cannot discuss. It has something to do with that box outside my window. A lot of what I do or don't do has to do with that box. But they still send me the daily list of State Department wanteds in Europe and Africa. I could capture any of them without jeopardizing the box but I got a lot of things going on right now and I got plenty of money coming in and money in the bank too." I also told her I keep my pilot's license current on my own, it's also my hobby.

"How much you got in the bank?" she asked.

"About 980k in US dollars. What about you?" I didn't mention the eight million Euros in my bedroom closet and she never asked.

First she told me some of her money was in cash at home in the mattress, she told me I was to never repeat this to anyone. She said she's received several bonuses from the owners of the company, most of those were in cash, off the books, tax free. She said she has 3.1mil in US dollars at home in cash. I knew it was a lot but not that all of it was in cash hidden in her apartment. Then she told me most of it was actually in a lock box in a bank in Madrid so it was safer than in the mattress. She said that place she lives in burnt down eight years ago and there is nothing to stop it from happening again. As a joke I told her to buy a waterbed.

To change the subject I told Jen, "I could live in west Texas, like maybe around Alpine, Midland, or Marfa. Spend some of that hard earned money building the house I want on the land I want and ride a horse to work and raise cattle and eat food I grow and maybe have a baby and a dog and share it with someone I love, like maybe even you."

She told me she loved me too and said she liked my plan but wasn't sure if she wanted to make a baby when there are so many kids without parents.

I told her about someone I knew, she was a nursing student I knew during college. They said the same thing and adopted a week old infant but as the kid grew up she turned out to be batshit crazy, and even tried killing her mom a few times by the time she turned four. She attacked her mother in bed with a kitchen knife more than once and by age 7 the girl was on powerful anti-psychotics and could never be trusted by anyone anywhere forever. But if we made our own child then we'd know something like that wasn't likely to happen. Jen was silent on that subject.

We both kind of fell asleep at the same time.

The next morning we left at 8:30am I called Dan after we hit the road and he answered and said he was in town in-line at the gas pump but he won't be home before we arrived. He said there were ten cars in line at the pump ahead of him so it could be another hour easily.

I showed her the route I drive from my apartment to the `Danport.' The street names are often too long to type so I abbreviate them, the sequence heading south goes: Muhammed to France (at the train station), turn right onto Espagne, left on Abbatoir, south to N2. Its 21.5 miles south to Ain Lahcen at the R417 Roundabout, stay right, follow the unnamed dirt road, stay to the right. You drive south 1.5miles into the farming area and keep an eye open for the control tower, and the bright white roof. Turn right onto the narrow dirt road, watch for the airport signs, Dan added another along the main road. He said he is going to have more metal signs made and placed by the street department all the way to the highway. The dirt road the airport driveway starts at is unnamed as far as I know, so Dan gets his mail at a mail service in town. Yes, in Morocco you have to pay an annual fee for mail service, the good part is there is no junk mail with their system because the sender has to get permission to send to you first.

On the drive south Jen looked excited and eager to see Dan.

I parked near the hangar and showed Jen the old WW2 German building. I said they kept two cargo planes inside for teaching maintenance and three others tied down outside (and covered with camo netting) and this was the school where they taught paratroop flight crews how to maintain the airplanes and drop parachute jumpers on target. There was no WW2 combat in Morocco; the Afrikakorp was mostly in Algeria, Tunisia, and Libya. They were there due to the proximity of Italy and Sicily. Germany protected north-central Africa because the allies could make bases there then more easily invade Italy and Yugoslavia.

Germany was also interested in Africa because at the beginning of the oil boom they had exploration drilling going on in all those countries. Many countries were in Africa because of the potential for oil resources. Germany got most of its oil from southeast Europe but the allies bombed it frequently, so Africa could open an entirely new way to bring crude oil home to Germany. And none of the allies had air bases in Africa.

"One little runway and one small hangar and this was the main training base in all of Africa?" She asked.

"Uh huh. They kept it small and hard to find so the Allies couldn't see it or bomb it. This was one of the few German airbases that was never bombed during or after the war."

"Huh. It's like walking back in time here."

"Yep, I think it's cool as hell. But it's hard to imagine this place in full operation like maybe 1943, what it must have looked like, what it was like to be stationed here, and how they did stuff, like the toilets, showers, electricity, water, mail, food, medical, all that other stuff soldiers need. They had it all here and Dan and I want to know how it was done so he doesn't have to repeat all those experiments. But after over 70 years it all sort of disappeared. Slowly he's figuring out stuff and I think he's doing a great job too."

I paused briefly then added, "Dan has had several customers suggest he add a theme to the airport, he can still run his business as-is but add replica stuff to make it look like you flew back in time to 1944, add a mock-up anti-aircraft gun, armed soldiers, military trucks, and maybe one or two JU-52s parked on the tarmac. One of them suggested having the 20mm anti aircraft gun and three mannequins dressed like real soldiers with flack vests and helmets, in real uniforms manning the gun. Others suggested sand bags, trenches, whatever else they had here during the war." Jen thought that might turn it into a working museum and draw visitors from all over Africa and Europe.

She asked where they taught soldiers how to jump with parachutes, didn't they need a tall tower for that?

"That's something that throws everyone, this airbase never taught jumping out of airplanes, they only taught the crews that flew the airplanes. I have no idea where Germany had their jump-school. Everyone that came here was already a pilot and had hundreds of hours flying the JU-52, this place taught them how to do basic maintenance and repairs, how to balance the load of jumpers for safe operation of the airplane, how to fly with other planes in formation, how to deploy the jumpers, how to tell when it was time to open the back door and chase them out. Each airplane had a three-man crew: pilot, co-pilot/mechanic, and a crewman. Those were the people trained here, each school lasted six weeks." I explained, and added that the co-pilot was actually the flight engineer, he turned the knobs that actually ran the engines, and the pilot only had a throttle.

I explained how they might fly cargo one time and might be dropping paratroopers on their next flight. The cargo planes were unarmed and the crews could only perform routine maintenance, but transporting paratroopers was something that had to be taught for safe release of the jumpers.

We walked over to the runway and I held up my hand to try to show her the green laser centerline beacon but it was hard to see in direct sunlight so I stood there since my t-shirt was white and that way she could see the thin green vertical line. I told her it went up and off into the distance, we turned to look down the runway and I pointed up toward the distant mountain peaks. "They can see it on the windshield about 2-3 miles out."

Of course that made no sense to Jen so I told her that tiny scratches and residue from dead bugs on the windshield made the laser light visible during the day. That was when I noticed that it looked like Dan added about twenty more of those solar powered blue LED markers to the runway and two refueling pads. They're sold by the box, I think some pilots had gifted them to the airport too.

When we walked behind the hangar and I showed her the line of weird black steel rings on poles sticking up in the air. "Those some kind of military radio antennas?"

"Nope, but that's a good guess because they look like directional radio antennas. This is a race track for quad copters, its turning into a big business in Morocco and Egypt, an exciting activity for everyone in the family. Kids especially love it."

She asked how it worked so we walked to the west end and I showed her how they formed a zigzag line. "Think of it as a nine-hole mini golf course. You have to sit down over there with video goggles on and fly your drone from ring to ring and pass through each one without touching it, then move on to the next one. Remember, this is a 3D puzzle but their video goggles are usually 2D, so it's much harder than it looks. The pilot with the fastest time without hitting anything wins."

"Huh! It sounds neat, sounds expensive too."

I told her it was much harder than it sounded and it was very popular with younger middle class Muslim families in this part of Morocco, but you can buy an entry level drone for under thirty bucks on Amazon. I think they had one dealer online in Spain who was getting all the business, but some of these guys are really serious about building the fastest and best quad copter. They are broken up into classes now to make it fairer. They have three tournaments a year now, but it will soon grow to five a year since people are joining in groups as word spreads. It's like slot car races back in the 1960s in America. There are a bunch of father-daughter teams in this area too. Dad builds the drone and daughter is the pilot because her reflexes are twice as fast as his."

"This track will someday attract hundreds of families and Dan will be the main guy to sell snack foods, he said he might start with a hot dog cart and all beef hot dogs, buns, and condiments. He thinks he might be able to make a thousand bucks per meeting just selling dogs and drinks. He said he might buy an old pop vending machine too. He might even try selling wine by the glass too."

"Wow, what a deal, he has total control."

"Yes, except the weather on race day!"

She laughed and said the course looked neat and she took a photo with her cell. Jen said it looks weird like some kind of new age art sculpture. We turned around and walked back to my car. Then we drove over by the ATC building and I showed her his motorhome and how he was slowly rebuilding the old ATC building. The door was unlocked so we went inside.

Inside the ATC building there was light because it floods down the large open hole in the ceiling where the stairs go up to the control tower. We walked up the narrow stairs holding hands. It's like twelve steps and a turn to the right, then twelve more steps and another turn and twelve more steps then suddenly you are in a fishbowl with a fantastic view of the entire area. It looked hazy out but we could barely see the Rock of Gibraltar (44 miles away) and the oceans and the old walled city. If we turned around and looked south the view was the Atlas Mountains, which were very green this time of year from all the rain.

We sat in the lawn chairs and talked with the sun streaming in. It quickly got warm but there was a little air circulation because of all the spots around the windows he left open. When we started to feel a little sweaty we went back downstairs. I never turned on the fan.

The ground floor of the ATC building was one large room, 30x30 with concrete walls, ceiling, and floors. He was slowly building a bathroom in the northeast corner. We saw he assembled an old steel shower stall near the flush toilet. He had a sink but it wasn't connected yet. I turned the faucet but there was no water but the toilet looked ready to go. I told her he had to hire someone with a huge hammer drill to bore a hole through the concrete wall for the waterline.

"What's that?" she asked.

"A hammer drill is used for drilling holes in concrete. It not only spins the drill bit but also hammers it sort of like one of those jack hammers you see contractors using to bust up sidewalks and cement slabs. Concrete is full of rocks and that's the only way to get a drill bit to go through a rock."

Outside behind the building we saw two blue plastic 55 gallon drums up high on stands that were full of water. Each one had a downspout going to the roof, so Dan was working on routing all the rainwater to these two spots to catch and flow into the bathroom. I wondered if they could hold enough rain water to keep him flushing all year. They had a pipe that joined them at the bottom then a T-pipe and one line went down and inside through the hole in the wall. I told her he catches some of the water from the hangar roof and brings it over in the Bobcat and pumps it into these two tanks.

After that we walked over to the end of the runway and I showed her the markings on the runway and explained what they meant, then I showed her the tiny red LED which was under a square piece of glass at the very end of the runway pavement. I tell you what, if you're going to stand on a runway you have to keep your head on a swivel in case there is a plane suddenly needing to land. We walked back and I showed her around the outside of his motorhome and the 1,000 gallon plastic water tank half buried in the ground and the Porta Potty near the water tank.

She opened the door and stuck her head in then turned to look at me and said it was the cleanest smelling Porta John she ever saw in her life. I told her Dan was pretty redneck about people cleaning up after themselves. He warns every visiting pilot to clean-up or be banished for life. I told her the thing was rented and he paid monthly for the service and they empty the tank every 60 days and power wash it inside too.

I told her Porta Potty was part of a big international company, we're talking Fortune-500. But the company name seems unrelated to the business so few people know that company owns the brand and rules over all those franchise dealers. Jen said it was the first one she saw that wasn't trashed inside. I corrected what I said by telling her Porta Potty was a subsidiary of the big parent company.

The service guy drives a giant wetvac truck and backs up to the door of the Porta-John and pulls out a large hose with a long plastic tube on the end, he sticks the tube through the seat down to the bottom of the tank, turns a valve and it sucks everything into the tank. After that he gets out the power wash nozzle like at a car wash and power washes the entire inside, then he sprays an anti-bacterial, anti-odor all over the inside. After the power wash he tosses-in five packets of toilet tank chemical and sprays in a couple gallons of water and it's done, and after it air dries he goes to the next one. It takes about 10 minutes to empty and clean the inside (he also does minor repairs). I told Jen he just rented a second one now that pilots started paying to land and refill their drop duster airplanes. I pointed over at the hangar and said she could see it over there. Jen turned to glance at the hangar but it's almost the same color as the hangar, so it's hard to see.

Between the front of the motorhome and his half-underground water tank stands the last utility pole where his motorhome is plugged-in. He has his charcoal grille and some lawn chairs set out. I noticed his picnic table was now fully stained. It almost looked like he actually took it back apart and stained it properly too.

"So how does he shower?" She asked.

He uses the homemade shower in the ATC building most of the time but he can use the shower in the bus but it's a tight fit. Imagine taking a shower in a jet airplane bathroom. I told her there's no water heater in the ATC building, showering there gets you warmish water heated by the sun.

"What about a water well?" she asked.

I explained they told him this property sits on solid granite that goes down all the way to northern New Zealand. They say if you dug straight down in Tangier you'd hit sunlight again in Kerikeri New Zealand where they grow a lot of fruit and it's very green and totally farmed.

She smartly asked how the Germans got water here in 1940. I told her we think they drove into town with water tank trailers and filled them on city water, possibly with rifles aimed skyward while they asked nicely. I told her Dan thinks they had two or three (1500 gallon) water tanks on trailers they could pull behind a small truck or a jeep. They filled them in town on city water and probably paid cash too, then back here they parked the trailers up on platforms and it provided water pressure by gravity. I told her he's not yet found their sewerage system for the enlisted men living in the barracks. But it's possible it was buried beside the barracks building, but there would have to be something to treat the waste made by a hundred soldiers crapping and pissing every day.

I also told her my theory about water was that the Germans paid well for water and for beer in town, because if they pissed off the locals any one of them could send a letter or telegram to London and report the air strip and they'd bomb the place with one quick trip but there are no craters in the area, this place was never bombed, I think that also means they got along well with the locals.

We sat on the picnic table and talked for a while in case he might arrive soon. Jen told me she saw a cat run across the runway, I told her it worked here to keep the lizards and snakes away. She said she hates snakes, I agreed!

We talked about stuff and airplanes and while we sat there two crop duster size planes flew low over head, both of them waved but you really have to know where to look to see the pilot's hand.

It was cooler outside here than back in Tangier since we were closer to the mountains. At 11:45 I was getting bored and we decided to drive home and as we got up I saw Dan's Toyota truck drove onto the property. "Oops, he's back!" We stood by the table watching him drive toward us, she visualized how he'll look now, I visualized his flat red nipples under his shirt and wished I could lick them. He'd let me but we couldn't do that with Jen here. Dan and I usually stayed apart when Jen was here.

He slowly drove down the runway and parked beside my car. Dan got out with a huge smile and he jogged over to the motorhome and directly to Jen and they hugged like long lost best friends. They exchanged quick mouth kisses. When he stepped back I saw Jen had a very broad smile on her face, he's like family to her.

Dan took her hand and walked her inside the hangar and showed her the airplane he recently purchased. He offered to take her for a ride but she declined for now.

We walked up and I told Jen it was a 1929 Russian airplane, sort of based on a British design from 1917, except the engine was late 1920s. She was fascinated and I told her it used to be a crop duster in Italy and now he just flies for fun. We walked up beside the plane and I showed her how it was an actual radial engine, five cylinders, with bomb mounts under the wings still. I showed Jen the machine gun mounts on top of the upper wing, I said this plane was actually used for photo reconnaissance during WW2. It was flown along the east coast of Italy looking for signs of spies penetrating coastal defenses and movement of allied ships on the Adriatic Sea.

Jen asked what the reason was for two wings. Dan and I glanced at each other for which one was going to explain it, so I nodded yes and he gestured to me.

"Think of a vacuum cleaner in an airplane hangar. You plug it in and touch the end of the nozzle to the wing and the motor winds up and the vacuum holds the hose to the wing, right?"

"Yah, sort of." She stammered. So I asked what happens when you hold your hand on the end of the vacuum hose and she said it sucks your hand tight against the hose. I told her "Exactly. That's what the wings do too." I paused to consider my words and to keep it as simple as possible.

"Okay, all wings do is create suction which is only created on one side of the wing because of its shape. Two wings create more lift than one wing. So if you have an old airplane design with an old inefficient engine and propeller you need the second wing to create more lift to compensate for a weaker motor and slower speeds. The faster the wing moves the more lift it creates but if your engine sucks then you need more wing surface area. So that's why some have two wings, until a time when internal combustion engines and propellers became more efficient and powerful. Follow me so far?"

"Uh huh. So far I understand."

"The wings are shaped so the air is pushed away from part of the wing making a big area just above the wing surface with very little air. Lower air pressure above the wing acts sort of like that vacuum cleaner hose, it causes an upward sucking force on the wing which we call lift, but I think it's actually more like suction. And remember, that suction force is 90 degrees to the plane of the wing so when they bank in a turn the direction of the suction force isn't upward, it's always 90 degrees to the plane of the wing. So in a steeply banked turn the wing loses most of its upward force, the suction force is still there but it's on an angle 90 degrees to the plane of the wing. That make sense?"

"I think so, that's the best description I ever heard of how wings work." I told her, "...imagine the suction power of 200 vacuum cleaners sucking upward on the top of the wing, that's what makes it lift off the ground but it has to be moving for the suction to appear. They call it lift because it isn't always upward. Anytime you see a banked airplane in a turn think to yourself that they are flying with greatly reduced lift. All planes loose altitude in turns." I used my hands on the wing to demonstrate the direction of the lift so a banked wing creates a banked lift too. That is why airplanes taking off and landing always keep their wings horizontal.

Then Dan spoke up, "Yah, and to clarify something most Americans are taught, the Wright Brothers did not invent the airplane, nor did they invent powered flight. Nor were they the first people to fly a motorized aircraft. They patented a type of wing control surfaces that were mostly rejected by the entire world, and soon forgotten. The first powered flight was in France well ahead of the Wright Brothers. There were people all around the world that were working on the exact same thing about the same time. The one invention that really made powered flight possible was the invention of the internal combustion engine, which was a lot of little inventions brought together to make one new thing."

Then Dan added, "The French guy who was the first to fly across the English Channel from France to England used wing warping that the Wrights invented but within a couple years the entire world rejected it as being a bad design." I paused briefly then told her that the propeller is basically the same thing as a wing, it creates lift too. So advances in wing design also lead to advances in propeller design and performance.

She stood there paying attention to what we were saying so I added: "The Chinese claim they had lifted humans up in the air hundreds of feet to act as aerial observers of battlefields over a thousand years ago. They claimed to have used large paper and wood kites to lift people, sort of like a tethered hang glider." We all chuckled, but it was true.

Jen asked what wing warping was. So Dan answered, "They developed a way with a simple set of controls to twist the shape of the wings, like birds twist and bend their wings when soaring. But at the time they invented wing warping the word Aileron was already in the English dictionary. That is the technology that proved to be best. The real big invention that made powered flight possible was a reliable gasoline engine. It's possible Henry Ford contributed more to the invention of powered flight than the Wrights ever did."

"So who really invented the airplane?" Jen asked.

"Lots of people in lots of countries, it wasn't one person. One of the biggest inventors who pushed the technology and promoted powered flight was an eccentric wealthy man named Alberto Dumont, he was from Brazil but lived in Paris and spent a lot of his inheritance on airplane parts, he died in 1932. Some people think he was gay or bi, even more people think he was nuts."

Our conversation continued and we drank water and enjoyed the fresh air near the mountains.

When the sun was getting low and Jen whispered she was ready to go home so we hugged Dan and left for Tangier, it's like a thirty to forty minute drive if you're not in a hurry. We parked in the small resident lot and walked back to the building with a KFC on the ground floor.

Unlike American apartment complexes this one, which is very large (like thirty ten-story apartment towers) has very small amount of parking since very few people in Tangier own cars (it's a different story out of town in farm country). I never drive myself to work, I always take the bus or a red taxi. You can actually get almost anywhere in Morocco on city busses if you are not in big hurry, and it's cheap too. In rural Morocco people drive trucks, not cars.

In Tangier there are several bus routes, it costs like two bucks to ride the bus. They usually come by every half hour from 5am to midnight, seven days a week. The red taxis run the exact same routes as the busses and only stop at bus stops. If you want to ride the red taxi just stand at a bus stop and wave down a red taxi then agree on a price and he'll continue driving the bus route until everyone gets off, then they turn around and go back. The black taxis are just like any other taxi in the world, they'll take you anywhere you want to go. The red taxis run faster than the bus and might cost a buck or two more, but they only drive on bus routes. Red taxis run all night. The bad thing about the red taxis is they try to pack in as many people as they can so you might end up pressed against a stinky person or some kind of weirdo. I think a social custom in Tangier is fat people should not ride the red taxis.

I told Jen that if you ever want to die quickly, take a kitchen knife and go hold-up a taxi or a bus. Then get off the vehicle and sit on a bench at a bus stop. Within a few hours you will be arrested, interrogated, and incinerated. They have zero tolerance for armed hold-ups in Morocco, it's a great way to die quickly if you're in a hurry to die. Your body is cremated and dumped in the public ash pit. I think most of those deaths are done by a knife in the gut, and then you are left alone to die at your leisure. Then you get transported to the city morgue and dumped on the pile. Twice a week they get loaded into an industrial oven with a back hoe and reduced to ashes and bones, those get shoveled into dumpsters and eventually dumped into the city ash pit. They do not keep any records for who ended up in the city ash pit.

I heard once they shot a movie here in Morocco back in the 1980s to get rid of an annoying cop they got him super drunk then super glued daggers in his hands and put him on a city bus, he ended up in the ash pit later that week. Death by Cop, `almawt ealaa yad alshurtii' is how the title was said in Arabic.

One other thing about mass transit in Tangier is if someone tried to rob people on the bus or at a bus stop, when they are identified the government will probably make them disappear. If you rob someone at knife point at a bus stop within a week there will be a knock on your door and you'll never be seen again. Although it may take time they are 100% dedicated to removing all dangerous criminals from Morocco. And in this country there isn't always a public trial. Your body is cremated immediately and you are never seen again. There's no jail time, no parole, no nothing. Justice is fast and blind. It may take time but eventually the bad guys always end up in a public ash pit. And another nice thing about Morocco is few people want to migrate to Morocco except old American hippies and beatnik wannabees. Tangier also attracts American misfits and some international fugitives but those are rare now. Some say it's easy to hide in plain sight in Tangier but anonymity doesn't last forever. Some say Tangier was a notorious party place from 1920-1970, kind of a reputation like Bangkok or San Francisco, except maybe more poetic and intellectual. It attracted a lot of communists that got kicked out of the States in the 1950s. And Morocco is not a hardcore orthodox Islamic country to those people also tend to not live here. They ignore a lot of things many consider to be victimless crimes, like smoking opium in public or selling organic hashish cookies.

I also told Jen about a weird sound that jets make after they go by. "To continue what I said earlier about how wings work, here's a related thing most people don't know. Let's say you are in the desert far from anything and someone flies a high speed military combat jet over you, maybe 300 feet up. Let's say he goes over at 1500mph, which is pretty fast. As the jet moves through the air down low it pushes the air out of the way making kind of an invisible tube in the sky to fly through. But after the jet goes by all that air starts to move back to fill the empty spot. Behind the jet a sound follows behind, almost like an invisible aircraft trailing the jet, maybe 900 feet behind it. There is a sound of the atmosphere rushing back into the void created by the jet. The only people who know about that are people that have had a supersonic jet fly low overhead at high speed. I bet if a bird flew into the void before it closed the bird would instantly die and drop from the sky because of the absence of air in that tube the jet created." She didn't seem very impressed with my airplane trivia.

Back at home Jen went to bed and I shut off the lights, lit a candle on my alarm clock and we talked briefly and she fell asleep. After she was out I took off her clothes and got her under the sheet and blanket and got in beside her and stared at her breasts as she breathed and they moved up and down.

She slept like the dead that night, she even stayed asleep while I removed her clothes and pulled the bedding out from underneath her so I could cover her. Then I got undressed and spooned behind her and reached around to caress her stomach and tits. Jen had to fly home tomorrow morning.

On Sunday morning she got up first and went to the bathroom. She woke me up but I kept my eyes closed and buried myself under the bedspread. When she came back (naked) she got under the blanket and snuggled backwards against me and I put my arm around her and gently massaged her nipples, so she turned onto her back so I had better access.

I asked what time her flight was and she said she didn't have a ticket. The thing we both learned was there were so many ways to get from Tangier to Madrid there was no need to book a flight weeks in advance, just go to the airport, show your passport and some cash, and you'll be on the next flight. They run five flights per day, round trip. It's like flying from Los Angeles to Las Vegas, flights every hour, no assigned seating or first class, just pay and walk on board.

We snuggled under the sheets to the distant sound of big cargo ship horns out on the Strait. I laid tiny kisses on the back of her neck and around her ear. I whispered in her ear that I loved her and she smiled and nodded yes then wiggled back into me even more while I caressed her nipples. Jen really likes having her titties touched as much as I like doing it. In all honesty I could spend all day playing around with her titties and never get bored, and I would be hard and dripping the entire time.

We stayed in bed under the blanket for an hour just snuggling, she likes that as much as me. About 10am she told me she needed to go. We showered quickly together and I drove her in my car back to the airport. On the way she asked how far it was, I told her the airport was eight miles each way. I told her I was going to park and go with her to the check point but she said that wasn't necessary, just drop her at the departures entrance, she knew the airport well enough to go alone. So that's what I did, we kissed in the car and she walked in the terminal alone.

About 36 minutes later she texted me she was through security and her flight was boarding, departing in 20 minutes, she'd be home about 1:30pm today. She thanked me for a great time and invited me to fly up anytime, even just for an afternoon visit. I told her I had plenty of room in my closet, she should keep some clothes and bathroom stuff at my place, she said okay and told to do the same.

One of these weekends when she's down here I am going to ask her if I can take photos of her naked, but she can cover her face, I really wanted to photo her breasts and her eye grabbing belly button. I've seen many nudes of women with pointy nipples so those are not unique but they are rare. Those would be great jerk off pictures I could put on my computer as a background image. Even though they don't really mean much to most people I enjoy looking at belly buttons and when women's fashions in the USA had girls walking around in public with bare tummies I was a big fan, but then it fell out of style. It was nice while it lasted. I think those belly shirts sort of sparked the craze about not shaming fat people and putting fat clothing models in magazine ads.

And with the topic of belly buttons I must say I have never in my life seen a belly button that was improved in any way by piercings, tats, or jewelry. All those do is create permanent ugly scars, same with nipple piercings. Almost nothing turns me off as much as pierced nipples and belly button jewels. Anytime I see a pierced nipple the first thing I think is that person hates their nipples, it's very sad.

I did something that week I never told anyone, I applied for dual citizenship, American first and Moroccan second. I sent the payment and submitted the application form. If granted I would get a passport from Morocco that listed both countries but my US passport would never mention it.

The next week I talked to Dan over the phone and he said he now has four of the (ten) doors back on the hangar and its starting to look like a hangar again. The doors are getting him a lot of comments about making a small outdoor display of German war stuff, he also was on the search for a JU-52 to park on the tarmac. Dan said he spoke to a sculptor about welding up wire frame soldier bodies. They can slide uniforms over the frame to dress them like German soldiers. He was also looking for a welding shop that could build a replica of a 20mm anti-aircraft gun on a trailer mount.

Dan said the north side driveway was finished so you no longer need to drive on the runway to get to his motorhome, just enter the airport and take the first right turn, but it can only handle the weight of a small car or truck for now. He also mentioned that he might upgrade his water service to 2000 gallons (for $100E) a month soon. He removed the garden hose and dug a trench and buried a proper PVC water line from the tank to the motorhome.

There's a mercury vapor lamp in the ceiling of the hangar now, it's on a wall switch. He held his second 12-Step meeting and attendance was 23 that time and he now has six folding chairs, every one of them is different! But the meeting went well and the lighting was great but it was harsh because the bulb is new. Dan said some older guy seemed to be flirting with him after the meeting, he wanted to take Dan out for dinner to Mont Granada in town. It's a small cafe and hotel in Ain Lahcen next door to the Mosque. Dan is the same age as me, 37 almost 38. I wonder what he would do if a guy around 60 made a pass at him. He never mentioned it that first time so I wonder if he went along. I think that was part of the reason why he liked AA meetings is they are sometimes a good place to find a friend for sex.

Dan told me the highway department installed all his metal airport signs, so now there are airport signs as far away as the N2 Highway at the R417 Roundabout, they guide drivers all the way to his hangar. They are small arrow signs with a propeller airplane icon and an arrow, similar to ones in the USA and Europe. He also hired a sign maker to make him a better sign with a steel base, on a rectangular piece of plywood with the name of the airport at the end of the driveway but the new sign is up much higher, much easier to see. The original sign was plastic and sat inches above the ground. The new sign is in Arabic, Spanish, and English, it says Ain Lahcen private Airport, and it also says there are no commercial passenger flights. Samir wrote the Arabic words with Latin alphabet letters: matar eayn lihasan alkhasi.

And speaking of Samir, Dan said he's got problems at home. His father told him he must get married, find a job, and move out by his 21st birthday. Dan said Samir came to work two hours early and told Dan and wept while he told the story so they are talking about building him a small shelter of some kind on the airport property, maybe inside the ATC building, maybe nearby. He has about 17 months until the deadline. I think his parents expect he will join the Moroccan Army. Samir said that at $200 a week he earns over $10k a year which is more than his mother makes at her job, and she has two years of college and almost 20 years of work experience! I told Dan I might consider letting him live on my property, if I buy a parcel of land near town. He could build a one room shack and insulate it and make it kind of nice, sort of like a micro home.

He said a couple times recently Samir had a friend visit during his work hours. And on those days the control tower really smelled like teenager body odor. Dan said Samir's friend also spoke with the hissy metro accent, so he thinks they are secretly in love but he believes Samir is still a virgin. Dan said the control tower smelled like sweaty crotch (boners).

Dan said that for rural Arab boys who desire other Arab boys it is extremely risky making that first move, so it takes a lot longer and is done in private and their relationships build very slowly compared to Europe or North America. Even discussing gay sex with another boy in private can be literally life threatening. You must be 100% certain the other boy wants it before even a stray touch of the hand. So like I said: Extremely slow, extremely dangerous, very private. I think the control tower gave Samir an advantage because it was mostly private and offered them a place to talk.

His friend also wears sandals and the Djellaba. But his friend wears one that is very baggy on top which means it shows a lot of his smooth flat brown chest, which might be seen as flirting. It looks like it was way too big but he had the bottom hemmed so it didn't drag on the ground, but it made the V-neck opening go much further down the center of his chest to show off more skin and display that like Samir he also had no chest muscles and had the shape of a young boy. Dan says the true test will come when he sees if the friend rides over on a bike too and how much crotch he shows, or maybe he is a good boy and wears undies. Or maybe he is a naughty boy and wears tiny pink panties with tiny flowers that are barely big enough to contain his boy parts.

Dan told me he got pretty bold with Samir when he asked if he could invite a friend of his from school over to see the airport and what he did for a living. Dan told me he actually warned Samir, "Your job requires you to keep your eyes on the airport and the sky, if you put two planes on the runway at the same time everyone will see it. So if you're going to take dick in your mouth don't jeopardize anyone's life in the process or I'll personally see to it you end up in the ash pit!" He said when he said that Sam smiled then looked horrified and never commented but the mystery boy was over a few days later, and there were never any safety incidents. About two weeks later the same boy rode over again for a visit. Dan said that it's hard to guess the age of most Arab boys because they tend to stay hairless on the face and chest longer than white boys, they look younger longer.

Dan said when viewed from the sides the glass isn't tinted so you can see inside the control tower and when he took a break in the motorhome he glanced up in the control tower and thought he saw the visitor sitting on the counter but never saw Sam's head so he thinks he was blowing his friend, but he might have actually been downstairs using the toilet.

One month later I reached my decision and told Jennifer first, I decided to retire and stay in Morocco and buy farm land south of Ain Lahcen, there was a farm coming up for sale near the airport but not bordering it. It was twenty two acres of desert brush and they said it might be possible to install a water well but it would be expensive and might hit natural gas and water, possibly both in one well.

One day my new Morocco passport arrived in the mail but I haven't told Dan yet, I met with a realtor and we toured properties south of Ain Lahcen and I paid to have one of them re-surveyed. It was 2600 feet from the airport property line. The place I looked at was formerly occupied by a trailer home (classic double-wide mobile home) but it has been vacant for two years. The land has buried electrical service, 2000 gallon buried water tank, septic system, unpaved driveway, and a cement slab perfect for parking a mobile home (with tie-downs), RV, or motorhome like Dan's. The area around the mobile home slab is the only part of the 22 acres that's flat, the rest of it slopes upward toward the Atlas Mountains. The land is sandy but mostly covered with weeds so it would support grazing a few animals.

I met a well driller to give me a price on a four-inch diameter water well and asked about wells and earthquakes. I also asked about natural gas wells in the area. He did a ground radar scan around the large concrete RV parking pad and said a water well would probably go 400 feet, but might also have natural gas in the water so he suggested another well about 50 feet away and not as deep to vent the natural gas to keep it out of the water. He said I could collect and store the gas for free heat during the winter but it is mostly considered a nuisance for people wanting drinking water. He said they could blast dynamite underground to fracture the rocks and release the gas faster but then I might need to burn off the gas since it might escape faster than I could ever use it. He also said the methane gas might contain radon gas too since there is lots of uranium deep underground across northern Africa.

I asked if he had other people in the area with natural gas in their water wells and he said, no -- there were none, they always managed to miss the gas, but after a big earthquake it was possible it could appear suddenly. He told me most of the homes between Ain Lahcen and the mountains get water delivery service and learn to live with water restrictions.

When they speak of elements and molecules in the underground rock like Natural Gas, Radon, Uranium, and others they're talking about microscopic stuff. They say that on Earth one of the most common elements in the ground is aluminum, but if you dig a hole in the ground you never see shiny metal bits. That's because the metal is dispersed in pieces the size molecules too small for the eye to see, in fact many of them are too small to see with a microscope, but maybe with an electron microscope.

When people drive across the western USA and look at all the mountains and rock cliffs it is very common to see red colored soil and rock (like along the Colorado River). The red color comes from iron, but it's not chunks of metal, its bits of iron the size of a bacteria. So when they say there is uranium in the soil it is likely too small to see or maybe even to remove with filters. I guess that is reason #2 why nobody out there has a water well because of the radon and gas that could end up coming out of your kitchen sink faucet.

If I need to have a Geiger counter to test my water maybe it would be better to pay for commercial service instead. That got me wondering if the water truck had uranium in it too. I decided to ask Dan about testing or certification of his water supply. He does not drink or eat local water.

The thing about Uranium goes like this: All the Uranium on earth arrived here billions of years ago from a comet or meteor that smashed into Earth while it was forming. Over time it got blended into the rock and spread around, sort of like dumping fruit into the blender full of yogurt. Uranium is an unstable atom, which means it splits in half all on its own, which is called spontaneous fission. The moment an atom of uranium decides to suddenly break in half is completely random, it might happen after an hour or ten billion years. The two atoms Uranium breaks into are called Daughters of Uranium, their identities are easily predictable (search online for: daughters of uranium). Those daughters are also unstable and eventually they split (fission) too and the same story repeats over and over until each part splits 14 times and the last daughters of uranium are Lead, which is stable and non-radioactive. One of the daughters is Radon, which is a radioactive gas. Radon exists naturally in the ground, just like methane gas.

A lot of people don't understand this but when an atom is radioactive that is because it is unstable and splits on its own. You cannot take a stable atom, like Lead and make it radioactive, any more than you can take a Cat and make it instantly become two frogs. Exposure to radioactivity does not make things radioactive. Radioactivity is a physical characteristic of a finite list of atoms.

My question is if Lead if the 14th daughter of Uranium does that mean all Lead on earth was once Uranium? Same thing with Radon gas, is all Radon gas formerly Uranium? Long ago Uranium was commonly used as a pigment, so there is a lot of it in our environment, its everywhere. For decades it was used to tint glass green. Look on Ebay for Green Uranium Glassware. I guess if you live in an area with a higher than normal uranium content in the ground that increases your risk for radon exposure.

The well driller guy told me that to buy or make a device to remove gas or uranium from well water would be super expensive and hard to maintain. The biggest problem is if the thing quits working it might be almost impossible to detect because it's filtering atoms and there is no way to see them. Dan asked him how they get well water in Ain Lahcen without uranium or natural gas and the guy said their wells are much further from the mountains which is why they don't get contaminates, and their water is professional tested weekly.

I had an idea of building my own home because I'm young and can afford to do it. I could buy a used RV, not a true motorhome like Dan's but smaller and less expensive. His has features that don't impress me because autistic people like me are often focused on things other just appearance. I am more impressed by good design and usability over appearance.

When it comes to motorhomes they are more often purchased by older people, retired with money in the bank. They have cultural expectations, like they insist on: a dining table and chairs, a 4-burner stove with an oven big enough to fit a large turkey for when the family visits on Thanksgiving, a two sided stainless steel kitchen sink with a spray nozzle on the side, four slice toaster, microwave above the range, room enough for a traditional Christmas tree, and lots of closets and drawers. Almost none of that stuff matters to me and my generation so I could easily live in an RV half the size of Dan's for a year or two while I built my own home, to the specs that were important to me: Super insulation and energy efficiency, solar power, storm and earthquake proofing.

I made a few quick sketches of a 24x24ft pole construction home with a concrete floor, one bathroom, one bedroom, decent kitchen, and a small living room. A living room is not as important to me because I do not watch TV. I'd probably add one small office room too. The outside walls and ceiling would have 5.5" of Styrofoam insulation so the house would be as well insulated as top quality ice chest. I think I'd insulate under concrete floor too and add plumbing for solar heat of the slab at a later date. And I think I'd put all the plumbing in the walls instead of in the floor, except for the toilet and shower.

I even read about using straw bale insulation outside the structure, like adding a thick heat blocking wall on the south and west walls to absorb the sun's heat. They also discussed adding a roof over the roof so the house was always in the shade and stayed cooler all summer.

The RVs I would look into are what they call Class-C (like 20-24 foot long), what Dan lives in is a 45 foot Class-A motorhome, without expansion units.

In May I got an email from Luis that his semester was about over and he invited me to visit at his place, he reminded me he had the entire second floor of his parents house and they were going to be out of town in May, so I emailed back to discuss dates, then I told Jen so she knew ahead of time. If she found out I was in Madrid and didn't even call she'd be pissed off, so I am always honest with her. She knows I am turned on by Luis, but not in love.

Luis and I soon agreed on a weekend and I told my boss I would be in Spain, because sometimes people need their replacement passport on a Saturday, but the posted hours for my office did not include weekends, just Mon-Fri from 9am to 6pm. Saturdays and Sundays were by appointment. But I wanted him to know. He jokingly asked if I was buying another airplane, I laughed and said I was going to Spain for love and affection.

Everything was set and I started loading my backpack because it was only five days away. Just in case there was a rush of tourists I made a reservation for an airplane seat on late a day flight and Luis agreed, I would arrive by taxi at his driveway about 7-9pm on Friday. I'd stay until Sun afternoon.

It was difficult but I stayed off the best porn sites and tried to not jerk off for almost four days so I might be able to spurt three feet the first time I came. It's difficult (not jerking off), especially in bed or in the shower. The evening before my flight I got a text from Dan, with help from Samir and his father (for money) he got more hangar doors re-mounted, now six of them are in place and working just fine, he has four more to go. He sent pictures too. He put all the doors on one side so half the hangar can be closed off now. Dan said he expects to get grief and maybe even threats from the guy who stole the hangar doors long ago, but the last time he drove past that property he saw they had a temporary shelter erected for the cattle, it looked like a DIY greenhouse kit made from curved sheets of tin roofing, like an old style Quonset hut.

The day before my trip to Madrid Dan emailed me a photo someone let him scan, it was taken during the war by his grandfather because he was a pilot and came to learn maintenance on the JU-52. The black and white photo showed the man with a friend standing on the tarmac in uniform, smiling for the camera. In the background they could clearly see the barracks building, the shower tent, a 1500 water tank on a small single axle trailer on a stand beside the tent, and the barracks building looked like the American barracks buildings on every American army base back in the 1940s, a two-story wood building about forty feet wide and 150 feet long. There was one JU-52 tied down and covered by camo netting on long tent poles and the ground was packed gravel, like it still is today.

In one area the image showed lines of barbed wire around the perimeter and a 20mm anti-aircraft gun with nobody watching the sky.

The one thing they used back then Dan has still not learned about was specifically how they raised the water trailers to provide water pressure. They'd need to be raised so the bottom of the tanks were about six feet above the ground, that is an increase of about five feet. The trailers with 1500 gallons weighed probably 500 pounds empty and full of water they weighed (7x1500+500=11000 pounds) a lot. He thinks they made some kind of ramp and pulled the trailers up on top, like some kind of elevated vehicle platform. Some other guys thought they had fixed water tanks and pumped the water up into the raised tanks, and a few guys suggested it was done with a platform and some kind of hydraulic jack to raise the trailers by parking them on a ramp then lifting it like a car on a hydraulic lift at an oil change place. But of all the pictures he's seen so far the view of the shower tent was always blocked by airplanes on the tarmac. Dan said he was sure water was rationed and the soldiers knew the Army was known for murdering millions of civilians so they never broke the strict water ration rules. He thinks they pumped water from the trailer up into a tank on legs, which would be the cheapest way to do it.

Friday after work I went directly to the airport and flew to Madrid, I was super excited and had a hard time concentrating on anything. I already told Jen I was visiting Luis, she told me to be careful if we went out to eat.

My flight landed in Madrid and after I got off the plane I walked quickly out of the terminal and waited ten minutes for a taxi, I had his address memorized. It took nearly an hour in heavy traffic to arrive and the taxi dropped me off at the pedestrian gate. I walked over and twisted the knob all the way around. About 45 seconds later I heard a heavy steel door gate slam shut across the yard, then footsteps across concrete and then the gate rattled and slowly opened and there stood my friend Luis, with a big smile he gestured me to come in. We walked silently across their concrete yard, past the pool, past the large area of carpet grass, around the corner of the house and up a flight of steel stairs to the second floor. He completely bypassed the ground floor, but I saw some lights were on inside, so maybe the house keeper was still there.

I asked if anyone else was home and he said yes, they had someone who kept the house clean, she lived with the family, but he said we might not see her.

We walked up the stairs. There were ten steps then a landing, then ten more steps and we were at a doorway that opened to a small foyer with a chandelier above a hardwood floor. Inside the walls looked like limestone, the place looked like a rock quarry inside. We walked across the small foyer and turned down a hallway with four dark wood doors and with a squeak it opened into what looked like a studio apartment.

His room had two large plate glass windows that went from floor to ceiling but were covered by sheer curtains. I could see street lights and an occasional car drive by but just the lights.

His room had a very large TV and two leather sofas with some tables and arm chairs. On the screen was some kind of WW2 combat infantry simulation. I saw it was running, soldiers in uniform with rifles were running past him but he stood still, but I could see the effect of breathing on how the rifle was held. At the bottom center of the screen was the end of a rifle barrel and all around were bombed ruins of a very old farming town, perhaps France or Belgium in the 1940s. The town was in ruins and there was smoke and debris on the cobblestone street and I heard distant rifle fire and saw the lights from a passing airplane up in the sky.

Luis offered to put my backpack in the bedroom, so I followed and he showed me a smaller bedroom with a full size bed, fully made up and very clean, odorless, etc. The bed was made like an army cot with the bed spread pulled tight and perfectly positioned pillows.

Back out in the main room were three other doors. One went into a small kitchen, one went into a larger bedroom that looked occupied and one more went into what looked like an office with books, papers, a desktop computer, and a table with stacks of text books, he said it was his homework room.

Back out in the living room we sat on the leather sofa that did not face the TV and he asked if I was hungry and I told him I was starved so we discussed food and decided to order delivery, he handed me a menu and something to write with.

I wanted an Italian Beef, sort of like a Philly beef with sauteed onions and cheez whiz, it was a foot long on an Italian hoagie roll. He wrote down grilled brats (x2) with onions, bell pepper slices with jalapeno slices, fries, Sauer kraut, and a tall orange juice. I added a 12-pack of a French IPA beer in 12 ounce bottles. He said it would take about an hour to arrive so he asked if I wanted to try the war simulation and I said I'd rather watch him do it.

Luis does not know I'm a total loser when it comes to hand to eye coordination, that I might never be able to play games like that with both hands operating one remote, running, shooting, ducking, yelling, trying to stay behind cover, in the dark, in the fog... no way can I do something like that but I thought it might be neat watching him do it. And while he did it I could watch his body move and imagine how he might taste later on.

Luis seemed very interested in seeing me try the simulation so I was honest, I told him a year ago I had autism and things like games with a little handheld controller with joysticks was just too hard for my brain. Luis said in Spanish, `Nonsense!' and he pulled out another controller and put the game into Sandbox mode where the two of us would be the only people and once it started we were on a cobblestone street, at night. There were old houses and closed shops, and a central church with a tall bell tower, and house after house, many had been burned, some had been shelled and were collapsed, and I even saw a couple goats run down the side of the street close together. That made me laugh, the entire scene looked totally real, except people's faces looked somewhat cartoonish.

I stopped at one house that was lit and tried the door and it opened, he came back and we walked inside.

The house was wood inside, beams, floor, posts on the corners, with plaster walls between the posts. There was a table and some kind of kitchen with a hand operated water pump and nearby was a hearth with all the stuff for cooking at the fireplace. They had a large iron Dutch oven hung on a swivel arm by the fire. They had no electricity and just a few books. It looked like everyone just left and the fire was still going. We saw arm chairs and a narrow sofa. I turned around and tried to sit, but he had to show me how to do it with the remote. Luis sat on an arm chair and we both took seats and just chilled out in this photorealistic home from the late 1800s in the small town of La Greve France, which was very near the coast on the D776 Motorway, about 75 miles southwest of Omaha Beach by highway. I think this area was affected mostly by paratroopers landing in nearby fields. Lots of them were blown off course and landed near here and ended up having to march almost 30 miles to get into the D-Day landing zones.

I was nearly boiling over with desire for Luis, so at the risk of being too pushy I asked Luis how much longer until our order arrived and he said about 40 minutes, so I asked him if I could suck his dick right now and he chuckled and stood up and shoved his shorts down and spread his legs and glanced at me, so I dropped the remote and walked over and got on my knees between his thighs and took him in my mouth and it smelled like he needed a shower, probably like I smelled too. But I took him in my mouth and relaxed my body and kind of melted on his lap and he put his hands on my head and I just nursed on his dick like he was momma pig and I was a piglet. I didn't really do much to make him come, just let his dick soak in my mouth.

But I guess that alone was enough for Luis and he started to wiggle around and make sounds like he was in distress, then he took my head in his hands and started moving me up and down and about two minutes later he came in my mouth. I swallowed as fast as he made it but the volume of semen was rather small compared to Daniel. After it was over he fell sideways on the sofa and pulled me up to his face and we tongue kissed for a while, which was very nice. I slid one hand under his shirt and located his right tit and fingertip massaged it while he moaned softly from his mouth into mine.

When he pulled off his entire attitude had changed and he thanked me several times and said that was wonderful what I did to his dick, which was funny because I didn't really do much of anything except hold it in my mouth and rub my tongue on his piss slit.

We spent probably 35 minutes on the sofa together when he said we should get ready so I got up and offered a hand and pulled him to his feet. He used the remote to change the TV channel to something off cable, like the Weather News Now service. In his little kitchen we got ready for chow by setting out plates, napkins, silverware, and filled two glasses with cold RO water that came from a tiny faucet on the sink.

His kitchen was tiny, like eight feet wide by twelve feet long; he said we'd eat out in the main room on the sofas. In the distance I heard a bell ring and he took off running to answer the bell before the maid got to it. He ran outside and came back a few minutes later with boxes in his arms and a smile on his face. I held doors for him and back in the kitchen he opened food and put it on plates and we sat in the living room and watched the weather channel with the sound muted, I think he liked this channel because it had a lot of weather information which was something he was learning in school too. Pilots need to understand the weather maps and how systems move around.

We sat and ate and talked and watched the weather channel and had a nice dinner, I drank two beers, he only drank orange juice, but his came in a 2L plastic bottle. I never asked what dinner cost but I expect it wasn't cheap.

I think we spent nearly half an hour eating; I put the rest of the beers in his refrigerator and a couple in the freezer since they sat out so long. After dinner I asked where the bathroom was and he gestured to follow him. He guided me into his bedroom and through another door and there was his bathroom, which was long but narrow. He had a tile stand-up shower with a bench seat bolted to the wall, a long sink counter with cabinets and a large mirror, lots of recessed lighting, and every surface was covered by large ceramic tiles, except the sink counter. He jumped up and sat on the counter so I stood there and pissed then washed my hands and he watched everything I did. Then Luis asked if I wanted to shower and I smiled and said yes, as long as we can do it together.

Without speaking he slid off the counter and walked out to the bedroom and started taking off his clothes, I followed him and then took off mine. He already had most of the lights off so the place was pretty dark but he lit a candle on the counter to light the bathroom, then he turned on the shower and we walked inside.

His shower was designed to not need any kind of shower curtain, but it had a narrow entrance you had to step around a wall then squeeze through the opening and into a totally tile shower, but he left the lights off. He moved the candle to just outside the shower on a rack that held clean folded towels.

Once the water was hot we stepped inside and washed ourselves but bumped into each other several times, his shower space was like three foot by six foot and maybe seven feet tall.

Without asking, once I was done (I did not wash my hair) I turned and soaped my hands and started to do his shoulders and down his back, then I got to his butt cheeks and even carefully washed his butt crack with my fingers, then I went down his legs. In the darkness I could still see when he turned around so I washed up his legs and then concentrated on the gap between his thighs, and carefully washed his scrotum, then his pubes, and his dick which was already fully erect. His boner is long, even longer than Daniel. I guess he was around seven inches, maybe a little more.

I made sure I accidentally bumped my face into the head of his dick several times. Next, I used my finger tips to carefully wash out his belly button then up his stomach to his chest. Luis raised his arms so I could do his arm pits and feel his thin but firm upper arm muscles. Then I re-soaped my hands and carefully fingertip washed his rather large flat round nipples, which made him close his eyes and raise his chin to look at the ceiling. He leaned back into the wall and pushed his stomach out as I stepped in close so his dick head touched my stomach as I continued to hand wash his three inch dark red nipples. His dick stuck out like a flagpole the entire time.

It looked like he put on a few pounds of school fat because his belly button was deeper than last year, I was able to get my finger half way inside it before I hit bottom. After his chest I soaped my hands and stroked his boner from end to end and he softly warned me it would make him come so I didn't stop and sure enough he started spurting semen, his entire body twitched with every squirt of semen he shot at me.

About one minute after he came I turned off the water and stood directly in front of him and we made out for maybe five minutes with lots of tongue action.

Then Luis soaped his hand and turned us so he was sideways to me and grabbed mine and stroked me, but I stopped him and asked if we could do it in bed, he stepped out of the shower and handed us towels then out in his bedroom he laid on his back, I sat on his thighs and we took turns stroking me. He had his hand gripped tightly around mine when I felt it start, so I warned him it might hit his face. I expected he would squint his eyes but instead he held his mouth wide open and stuck out his tongue as I felt a rather large orgasm building inside my lower belly.

Luis said I started to drip semen seconds before my orgasm started, it all landed on his balls. Then one long string of semen came out and landed on his chest and part of it got his chin. The second squirt went over his shoulder and landed on his pillow but some got on his neck, and the third shot landed across his chest and stomach. I felt suddenly weakened and leaned forward and started licking up that third line of semen then went over to his tit and sucked it hard inside my mouth and pulled my head back to stretch it out and make it hurt a little.

By then I had semen all over my tongue, my chin, and my lips so I went for his mouth again and we had a long greasy kissing session lubricated by semen and sweat. That was the best part of all. Luis can be an extremely passionate kisser, it is unmistakable what he was trying to do. In fact I'd say his kissing had improved since our last full-contact visit.

A while later we went to bed because by then it was 1am and both of us had the yawns. We slept facing away from each other, our backs touching.

While I tried to calm my mind and fall asleep I thought of Jen, only 26 miles away. Her chest is the best for nights like this but Luis was unusually nice for an evening of tongue action.

Some guys do not care for being licked all over but Luis pressed into my tongue which meant he was getting into it. I think next time I come up here I might bring a small squeeze bottle of chocolate syrup along, like the kind you pour on ice cream. I've never seen it in stores in Spain but I bet it's around, I just don't know what label to look for.

On Saturday morning we walked five blocks to a small cafe with a local crowd of regulars. They really had no menu, just ask. So I ordered an omelet with sauteed veggies (mushrooms, j-pepper slices, diced ham, and some sliced squash sauteed too). I added sliced potatoes with melted cheese sauce on top, and toast. Luis got basically the same thing but his omelet was plain except his had a white cheese melted inside that looked like mozzarella.

We casually walked back to his place and had to avoid some homeless people living on the sidewalk like war dead, but the only war in Madrid was economic, and the victims were all drug addicts, probably all dual diagnosis too.

Back at home we sat on the sofa and talked about school, his classes for next semester. He had the dreaded airframe design class which lasted an entire calendar year, that was fall, spring, and one summer semester and was full of more math and even some metallurgy. He said it was the one class that got rid of the most students because of the math. He would need tutoring but he'd be able to do it. He said he should have taken more algebra in high school.

Luis told me last semester he saw two of the girls in his class were crying in the hallway after mid-terms and they both dropped out. His class has fifty students and they lose about two per semester, mostly because of math. Then he said "Thank God chemistry isn't a requirement for Master of Aeronautics because Chemistry is really nothing but more algebra anyway."

I told him I had chemistry and it was mostly algebra but it was done to teach chemical equations to predict what will happen before you start combining chemicals.

Then Luis told me he didn't mind algebra as long as he had enough time to work the problems, he always double checked his answers and rarely got even one answer wrong on tests. He said his trick to beating algebra is to go slow and work each problem from different directions. He explained how he checks his math, something like if A+B=C then C-B=A, that is running problems from two directions to get supporting answers, that is how he always gets a 4.0 grade on math, but he personally hates algebra, its mostly pointless. I agreed with him to some extent, but told him there are occasions people use algebra like calculating a triangle to make sure the shed or patio you are building is square and not a rhomboid. He looked at me like I was nuts for saying something nice about math. Then we laughed and the subject turned to lunch, it was 10am.

But I wasn't done bitching about algebra. "I remember one of the problems we had to memorize the math. It was a falling body equation. It showed a little man holding a bowling ball on the Leaning Tower of Pisa. We had to calculate how fast the ball would be moving at so many feet of free fall. Then I told him something that made him laugh. After graduation I started to get phone calls from the University Alumni Association begging for money. I told them I was mentally tortured by having to calculate falling bodies, so they can take their donation request and stick it up their assess. That was on a final exam and is something I will never use in life, emphasis on NEVER. Too bad they couldn't have asked something related to my major? Then I hung up and they never called me again.

We laughed at my anger then he tried to discuss lunch again.

He said, "Same as last night, order delivery or go for a walk and possibly deal with homeless on the sidewalk."

I asked to walk somewhere, so he agreed and said we'd go to another local cafe, about five blocks the other way, they had a very nice Italian menu: pasta, sauces, meatballs, pizza, sandwiches, and stuffed pasta, all homemade. I said I'd bring my pepper spray this time.

After that discussion I inched closer and slid my hand under his shirt, then asked him to take his shirt off, so he pulled it off over his head and tossed it on an arm chair. Then I spent time facing him, sitting sideways on the sofa, and rubbed his body, he slid his hand over to my crotch and parked it there. After half an hour of rubbing his flesh I took off my clothes and sat sideways on the sofa and he went down on me then hand jerked me and I came on my stomach. Luis cleaned it with paper towels then we made out until noon and left for our hike to the cafe.

Once he had his shirt off I had free access to his tits but he never showed any dislike so I kissed and gently touched his drink coaster size nipples dozens of times. I know if my tits were as big as his I'd have my hand up my shirt any time I was alone.

Jen told me she had breast feeding fantasies when she masturbates, I asked Luis if he did too and he said sometimes but he usually has fantasies about domination and forcing partners to do what he ordered. I told him I had no interest in violence or restraints, he said he knew I was into dick and tits, he was totally cool with that. He said the best thing I did to his tits so far was dragging his tongue across them over and over, he also liked fingertip massage on his tits, but preferred to have his dick sucked.

Around 11am I got him to take off his clothes and I spent the next hour messing around with his dick, sometimes he got hard and started dripping. Sometimes he lost his boner. I noticed he got hard whenever I played with his belly button hole. When I play with someone's belly button I usually spread my hand out but bend one finger and slide it all the way inside then slide it in and out but the fingers spread wide across the stomach feels very nice to most people. Most people I do that to say they've never had sexual belly button attention before.

I told Luis, "Men and women have the same number of sensory nerve endings in their nipples, but you need to train your brain to make it feel better. The more you massage your own and tell yourself over and over how nice it feels and how sensitive your tits are over time it will gradually improve. You sort of have to brainwash yourself, sort of like training your brain to recognize nipple touch as highly pleasurable and erotic. The more you do that the better it will feel. I said I believed for most women breast feeding an infant had some degree of sexual pleasure, which was why some women were huge fans of it, until the teeth erupt and the baby starts to bite!"

He laughed.

We sort of felt each other and touched a lot until noon then got dressed and left for the cafe.

Outside the gate we headed the other way and it was quite a walk, I started to get thirsty.

Finally, we got to the end of their upper-class residential neighborhood and into a business district and soon came to an old cafe, the place looked like it had been there for over fifty years, and maybe the same wallpaper the entire time!

During the walk we decided to also order dinner for carry out after lunch so we could stay home the rest of the day, maybe stay naked too.

We ordered family style spaghetti and baked spicy beef meatballs with garlic bread and wine and green beans and a huge salad with Caesar dressing.

For dinner we decided not to order pizza, instead we ordered beef sandwiches, thin sliced ribeye grilled with onions, melted provolone, and hot sauteed peppers and celery on the side. For sides for dinner we ordered a spicy olive salad, breaded fried cheese sticks, and cheese stuffed j-pepper skins.

Once again he paid for everything and I never saw the bill.

When our food arrived I told Luis he lived in a rather large house, what did his parents did for a living. He seemed reluctant to discuss his family at first but I let the silence pressure him to confess. He told me they own a factory that made surgical kits for hospitals. He said they mostly made kits for normal births of babies. Everything the hospital needed for a normal delivery of a baby was provided in a large cardboard box, they called it a Baby Box. Hospitals bought them because it eliminated a lot of surgical equipment sterilization, drapes, and covers for the mom and coverings for the doctor and two nurses, as well as for the newborn baby. They also made suture kits for emergency rooms and urgent cares with everything they needed to repair lacerations. He said it's cheaper for the hospital and cheaper for the patient, it's faster and easier for everyone. Their kits are sold all over Europe and he said they made a lot of money off the suture kits. The factory sold hundreds every day.

I was surprised he answered. I was also surprised he decided to become a pilot and not work for the family company. He sort of confessed that his father was highly disappointed by his appearance, especially his long hair and the clothes he wore, Luis was obviously gay and feminine. He spoke with a gay accent but he was smart enough to stay away from tattoo shops and he had no piercings except tiny diamond earrings.

I asked him if he knew how many square feet their home was and he said he had no clue but on the 2nd floor it was divided into four apartments just like his, that means on the 2nd floor they had eight bedrooms!

We had a nice chat where he talked about high school when he sort of started to talk and dress gay and the crap he got, but the worst part happened at home. I told him how I had a similar problem with my family and I wasn't gay acting at all and my best friend was a girl but everyone eventually figured out I was into dick most of all. I told him about Dan but they met before. He said he was not a virgin but did not have a huge sex history and I was the first boy to sleep in his bed. I thanked him for the privilege. Luis chuckled at my comment. He also sort of confessed being beat up by his father on the day they confronted him about his gay-ish appearance and he admitted he was gay. That was the day he realized he would never set foot inside the family company as long as his father was alive.

After a few minutes of silence while we walked he said his father has since got used to the idea but he still thinks it's hilarious to tease him about sucking dick. I told Luis, "Look at it this way, you can be assured their sex life is all missionary and probably completely boring if not completely absent." Luis glanced at me with a pained expression like he never considered his parent's current sex life, then I repeated "They are probably completely not sexually active if they are grossed out by the idea of dick in the mouth."

Luis said he loves sucking dick, I told him I did too, and it was one of my most favorite things to do.

Since we were talking about sex I asked him if I could blow him again when we got back and he said yes, help myself anytime. I asked if he meant that literally and he paused and said, maybe not all the time.

"So how many times a day can you come?" I asked him and asked most of my male friends eventually. I was always surprised by the number of guys who said they had no idea how many times they could come in a 24 hour period. I told Luis I felt it was something you should test before you turned 21.

He sat there thinking for a second or two then said he had no idea.

"So you never jerked off over and over to see how many times you could come in 24 hours?"

Luis kind of chuckled and said no, he never did that. I suggested he should try once so he knew. Better to find out on your own than with a special friend in your bed. Luis agreed. I told him it was something he could boast about on his 70th birthday.

I told him my maximum was probably nine times a day, but I'd need to use lube to reach that number. I didn't say it out loud but I suspected Luis would be good for 3-5 orgasms a day without any special preparation other than abstinence for two days prior.

On the walk home I carried our dinners in one large paper bag since he paid. I asked him what his favorite kind of sex was and he said he didn't really have a favorite but he thought my oral sex was fantastic. I told him sucking dick was something I did pretty well and I really enjoyed having dick in my mouth, probably more than anything else. I told him my second favorite thing was licking and massaging nipples, bigger was always better. In third place was belly buttons. He asked if I ever rimmed a guy and I said no, I was too much of a germophobe for that, but I might consider it while we were in the shower.

"Which do you like more, fucking boys or coming in their mouth?"

His answer surprised me he said I was only the second person who swallowed his come, but it was nice, he said he probably liked butt sex more than oral sex, so I told him he could fuck me tonight if he wanted, without a condom. Luis was silent after I said that.

We never had any encounters with homeless people on the walk home. We walked up the stairs, he unlocked the door and we put the food in his small oven but set it for 90 degrees to just barely keep it warm. We got back home at 1:45pm so we had 4-5 hours to kill, I reminded him he could fuck me if he wanted and again Luis was silent, I think he was considering if he wanted to do it. We sat on the sofa and he turned on the TV again, I asked him to take off his shirt. That time he got up and made sure the two entrance doors were locked then carried his shirt into his bedroom and came back wearing high school style gym shorts, which was wonderful because I could see almost his entire body. He looked to be about 1/3 erect just then.

I went the other bedroom and got into my gym shorts and sat sideways to him on the sofa. He watched the screen while I felt his body. I could see him getting turned on when I started fingering his nipples. I liked to rub my fingertips around and around the actual teat in the center, the more I did it I saw a wet spot growing at the end of the ridge in his shorts. It was easy to see his dick when it pointed toward his hip joint. A few times I rubbed his lower stomach and reached down and rubbed the ridge in his shorts, so he slid lower on the couch so I could feel him easier.

About ten minutes later I reached down his shorts and moved his dick so his head was above his waistband. I think that crushed his ability to say no to anything.

Luis stood up and turned to face me and stretched and twisted his upper body then offered his hand and escorted me to the bedroom where he kicked off his shorts and pointed to his bed. I noticed his bed was expertly made while we were gone at lunch.

I dropped my shorts on the floor and got on my stomach in bed and spread my legs wide apart. I heard him do something over by his dresser and he walked over and I heard a bottle click shut, and then he reached for my cheeks and roughly rubbed lube in my crack and especially on my hole.

It was less than four minutes later he was inside me and laid his full weight on my back. Luis is about 2-4 inches taller than me and he's a bit heavier. Luis did not waste any time getting himself fully inside me, and then he started humping and stopped for five minute breaks so he didn't come. He certainly liked humping action. I stayed on my stomach and kept my mouth shut and tried not to cry while he was in push-up position on top of me humping me rather hard, I thought at any minute the top of my skull was going to start bumping into his solid wood headboard. At least his bed didn't make much noise. Luis was pretty quiet too except for breathing.

He had his hands on my back and shoulders for a while and sometimes he kissed my neck and shoulders as he drilled me. I could tell he was getting closer because the amount of time he could spend humping me got steadily less and less, but he seemed to really like this the most.

By the time he couldn't last more than about four minutes I was crying but doing my best to hide it. My eyes were flooded with tears, my nose was dripping and my mouth was salivating like crazy, I made a big wet spot on his pillow too. I hugged the pillow to my face to hide my predicament and hope he didn't see me, it looks like I was suffering but I just get emotional when being fucked. I have no idea why it happens but it always has. Some people cry during fireworks, some people dry during music performances, I cry during sex. I cannot stop it or prevent it. It just happens and it's very embarrassing.

Shortly after his last break he started pushing me really hard and I let go of my pillow and used my arms to keep from sliding into the headboard. He pounded my really hard and started to groan then with louder grunts with each thrust he shoved really hard and I felt his dick twitching in my ass and then he collapsed on top of me and laid there panting, he was wet with perspiration and panted heavily after half an hour of hard work. I felt drops of perspiration landing on my skin.

Then without warning he quickly got off the bed and walked into the bathroom, I got up and followed him. Luis stood at the toilet and pissed while I leaned against the counter and watched, he watched me watch him pissing. Then we got in the shower where he kissed me passionately and told me that was great sex, but he never said I could fuck him.

After we got cooled off and cleaned up he got on his knees and blew me in the shower, I came quickly and he silently opened his mouth and let it dribble out, he actually stood up facing me and I watched as my semen slowly dribbled from his mouth, then he rinsed his mouth with shower water and we kissed for a while again.

His entire affect changed after sex and he turned on the game console again and handed me a remote and in sandbox mode we wandered around that town in northwest France (in the province called Normandie) and walked down the road toward the coast, about ¾ of a mile away, at night, in a light rain. I swear it was so realistic I heard rain drops hitting my helmet.

It was very interesting to watch us on the big screen while we sat side by side on his sofa, we talked as if it was us on the screen walking late at night in a light rain down a dirt road toward the coastline. I had no idea where we were going, but it looked like we were going slowly down hill. I saw a few animals silently grazing in the fields to our left and right but they stood like statues in the darkness. The game even had crickets making noise all around us as we walked down a dirt road lit only by the moon.

On either side of the road was grazing pasture. All I could see were rocks and grass. Once in a while I saw flashes of light in the clouds far in the distance. I guessed those were from the invasion as bombs exploded but they were too far to hear. The sound of the wind was louder than the explosions. The only thing missing was the smell of the grass and the ocean.

We followed the road, perhaps it was close to a mile and sometimes I swear I heard the sound of waves crashing on rocks along the shore. In the distance I saw a cluster of faint lights like a single building or a group of structures with people inside. The longer we walked the closer we got.

With the joystick pressed forward we both walked together but sometimes I had to steer left or right as the road started to turn the closer we got. I started to make out what looked like a short squat mountain peak ahead and in some places I thought I could see the actual shore and the ocean beyond it. At one point I stopped and looked all the way around but Luis kept going. After looking around I turned back and ran to catch up with him, then we continued our march down the unpaved dirt road that was mostly made of small rocks and sand. It was easy to see this one lane road had a lot of traffic on it over the years. It looked so old it might have been built by the Romans!

Slowly the structure ahead of us became easier to see, even though it was late on a cloudy night, at least the rain had stopped. It started to look like we were approaching some medieval castle on a hilltop. It looked like the castle was surrounded by dozens of houses and shops on a hilltop but we couldn't see the ground around it yet because of the slope of the farmland ahead of us.

So all I had to do was keep pressing forward on the joystick and occasionally steer a little left or right while we quickly walked down the road. Once in a while when he got ahead of me I could see the bayonet on his rifle looked identical to the one on mine. I had a hard time seeing myself using it on anyone, stabbing just gives me the creeps, unless it was that or die. I can do almost anything to someone to defend myself or my family.

Ten minutes later we were close enough to see the ocean and the waves, hear the waves crashing on the rocks and saw the road we were on went out to a small island that rose out of the sea with what looked like a castle or maybe a cathedral on top, surrounded by other buildings with a fortress wall around the outside.

As we finally started downhill toward the beach I could see the road was barely above sea level, we could walk out to the island. Everything was wet since the tide went out and exposed the ground. It appeared the tiny island was about 1000 feet from shore.

Once we walked down on the beach and started walking on wet ground that was underwater an hour ago we started to walk faster because neither of us knew how long the tide would stay out. It was likely we'd be stuck out there until the next low tide. To be honest, I grew up in Houston and I don't know squat about tides.

We walked on a twenty foot wide sand and gravel road to the base of a rock island. It popped into my brain that if the tide started to come in that we could be swept away and never seen again, I honestly considered running but it was just a simulation, a very real looking simulation. At times I forgot I was sitting on a sofa watching a very large TV connected to some kind of game console. Luis still hadn't told me where we were going, but I think this was still northwest France in the 1940s, but I still couldn't tell if this was the Atlantic Ocean or the English Channel.

As we got close to the structure I could see the outside perimeter was cut stone and it looked hundreds of years old, like a castle. It had a thick stone wall with places to fire cannons and rifles all the way around, but the water in the bay looked rather shallow I bet the threat from naval vessels ended a long time ago.

We approached a wide doorway designed to keep out the highest waves and naval invaders too. On some parts of the wall, even seen only by moonlight, there were visible scars from cannon fire from hundreds of years ago. This place looked very old and very medieval.

We entered a foyer area with platforms above for soldiers to open fire and kill any invaders down below. Luis told me we were entering Mont Saint Michel on the English Channel near the French city of Pontorson, about 180 miles west of Paris, about 135 miles east of Brest. Draw a line on a map from Paris to Brest and around halfway you'll be a few miles from here.

There were three walls with reinforced doors to pass through until we ended up on a narrow cobblestone street with shops on both sides. It was late and everything was closed except we saw lights in one window, it sort of looked like a coffee shop, so we walked in and set down our rifles, helmets, and sat at a table. All this time watching ourselves on TV walk toward the French shoreline on the English Channel in the rain I actually started to feel cold and wet. All that was missing were the smells of the sea and of a musty old castle on a tiny island very far north.

The tiny cafe was lit by lanterns and candles. I could smell coffee brewing and he held up two fingers and said `Deux cafés noirs.' I probably could have done that too, but I wasn't sure where he'd get money from. I watched as she made a fresh pot, the waitress opened a paper packet and poured it into a metal basket and on top of that sat a large funnel. Remember, this castle had no electricity.

She had another stainless steel pot sitting over what looked like a Sterno burner constantly simmering. She poured almost an entire pot into the funnel and I heard it drip through the filter and into the glass pot beneath it. She let it alone to drip for a while then removed the funnel and set out two cups on saucers with spoons and a glass sugar dispenser with a chrome metal cap. She poured our cups and I think Luis ordered again: `deux baguettes s'il vous plait.' He actually spoke at the TV and it responded. She opened a bread box type thing and using long chrome tongs she pulled out two rolls that looked like plain bagels and set them on saucers near our coffees and then asked for ten pennies, which Luis pulled from his pocket, but it was two five cent coins I heard land on the counter. He tossed coins on the coffee table and the sim people on the game did the same.

The waitress walked over to an antique looking cash register and pushed down three buttons and dropped the coins inside what sounded like an empty wood register drawer. Then she went in the back room and we heard the sound of someone washing dishes in a tub of soapy water. But she returned a minute later with two hand-cut pats of butter and cream cheese for our rolls, then she went in back and started washing dishes.

I asked in Spanish what our plan was on this island and Luis said we were going to the Abbey up on top, it was about a quarter mile hike but we needed to warm up and maybe dry off a little. I wondered what he wanted to do in the abbey. I knew what I wanted to do but it would be highly inappropriate in any church. And maybe even illegal in some places.

We drank our coffees and ate two bagels and then left with the waitress still in the kitchen, the tiny brass bell rang above the door as we exited into the cold darkness. We turned in the direction of uphill and kept going.

The narrow cobblestone street constantly turned to the left and eventually we made it to a part where there were fewer shops and more homes, but everything was dark. Up above us the clouds were broken and the full moon shone brightly on the tiny town made entirely of stone blocks. Windows, doors, and signs were wood and windowpanes were all glass but everything else was rock.

We climbed several stairs as the street turned sharply to the left and sort of U-turned and brought us to the entrance of the abbey, I thought it was a solid stone Catholic church from the middle ages, the entire town seemed to be built in stages, slowly, and with great care for surviving severe ocean storms that blew down the English Channel. Many Atlantic hurricanes ended up in the English Channel as powerful summer storms.

He pulled the large chapel door open and we entered the side door of a very large cathedral with tall narrow windows up high that let moonlight stream in, and like most of the rest of this place the entire area was empty of people, except the waitress. The inside of the church with its tall stone columns and arched roof was stone blocks, some sculptured some were plain. The windows were all cut glass but none of the panes were colored glass. The ceiling looked to be at least 80 feet above the floor, but the main room was perhaps only 25 feet wide, but possibly 140 feet long. It was an impressive structure made almost entirely of stone, glass, and mortar. Luis mumbled to me the place was over 1,000 years old but it was built in stages. The way it looks today is about 500 years old. The main street through the town at the base of the island looks a lot like Diagon Alley, but half as wide and here everything is made of stone.

We slowly walked across the church and out through a door, down a hallway and out another door and walked up to a three story house that looked like it came from the campus of Hogwarts School. It had a slate roof that sloped to overhang the windows and doors and just looked weird, it wasn't square and had sort of a drooping appearance. He tested the door knob and it opened inward, but it was dark inside. He said this was one of the apartments for visiting church officials, its three stories tall.

Luis pulled out a small box of wood matches and struck one and we both saw a lone candle in a holder on a thick wood table, he carefully walked over by the large stone hearth and lit the candle. In the corner was a spiral iron staircase. Picking up the candle by the base of the holder we walked to the staircase and up the narrow creaking iron stairs to what looked like a small loft bedroom.

The floor upstairs was like the one downstairs, it looked like 400 year old hardwood planks, probably not something to walk across with bare feet. There was a small bed with a homemade headboard of bent tree branches lashed together. The mattress looked like it was stuffed with animal hair, the blanket was tucked-in and looked like handspun wool. It was about twin size and was made tight enough to impress any Marine Corp barracks sergeant.

There was a hardwood cabinet instead of a dresser, it had four doors and leather strings for knobs. Across the small room was a tall but narrow window, Luis set down the candle on the bedside stand and we walked over. What I thought was a window was actually a 2-piece door with narrow glass panes, and with a twist of the glass door knob it opened, both halves opened inward and we walked outside onto a tiny balcony with an iron railing firmly bolted into the solid stone block wall of the house. I grabbed a hold and tried to shake it but the railing was as solid as the thick stone walls.

I walked up to the railing and looked down and with the light from a full moon I think I saw a tiny garden, three stories below us, ahead sat the wide open English Channel. In the distance I made out a small source of light, probably a passing British navy ship. It was cool and breezy out but even lit by the moon it was breathtakingly beautiful and peaceful.

I felt Luis wiggle closer to me and he placed his arm over my shoulder then other hand slowly moved around front and he undid two of my shirt buttons then his hand slid inside my shirt and he rubbed my stomach, I grabbed the sides of my shirt and untucked it all the way around.

Slowly his hand moved further up and across my chest where he stopped to massage my nipples, but soon it moved south until it was down my pants and held my sweaty parts in his large hand.

Before I knew what his intentions were my pants were loose and I raised my ass and shoved them down to my ankles and I heard his hit the deck too. After he got undressed he held out his hand and we stood up and moved around behind the sofa and used the sofa back to act like the iron railing on the balcony on the image on the big flatscreen.

Only using spit for lube he entered me and spread his legs far apart to lower himself (Luis was 3-4 inches taller than me), he slowly entered me and started humping me vertically while we both stood against the sofa back.

Luis is one of those guys who can form a big load of saliva and let it dribble out of his mouth and land perfectly on his dick head, I could never do that.

The entire time my eyes were stuck on the image on the screen and I swear what we did melted into the image on the screen and for a while I felt I could actually smell the musty air inside this medieval ocean-front residence.

Luis reached around and slid his hands up my sides and up to my shoulders in front to hold me down while he picked up the pace and started hitting me rather hard upward. One time he hit me hard enough to lift my feet off the floor, my toes too. That was when he started to come inside me then it all got quiet and he stepped back and dropped out, that was when I started to cry uncontrollably. Luis walked to his kitchen to grab a roll of paper towels to clean up.

By the time he was done I had semen slowly oozing down my inner thighs. But he got on his knees behind me and cleaned my backside and never missed a spot. He heard my discomfort and handed me two to blow my nose.

Moments later he led me in the dark away from the video game to his bathroom and into the shower. I noticed his towels had been replaced while we were in town buying food.

We stood facing in the shower, mouths joined, tongues touching, bodies pressed together under the warm shower water. I think we stayed in that spot for twenty minutes. I didn't want it to end. It felt like I was actually in 1944, the night of Tuesday June 6th.

I thought to myself `I gotta get one of those game consoles, that was an amazing experience. It was some kind of WW2 D-Day invasion game in sandbox mode where nearly everyone else was gone, at least anyone with a rifle was gone and the abbey was empty too. The really weird thing was we were nearly 70 miles west of the D-Day Invasion and at that distance there was almost no sign anything was happening, except an occasional flash of light in the clouds far off to the northeast.

After the shower we landed on the sofa, he was on his back, I was on top of him. I fingered and explored his body for an hour. I slid up and down as my area of interest shifted from his nut sack to his belly button, his nips and to his wonderful face and thick firm hair. I could have sat on the sofa with him seated between my knees and brushed his hair for an hour. His hair was so thick and luscious it was almost erotic feeling to run my fingers into it and draw them out like a comb. I pressed my face into his hair and pretended Jen had his hair.

That evening we ate our dinners and hung out on the sofa in our shorts but we spent the evening on the sofa with the lights off, intimately touching each other and talking about family and friends and crap we had to do. I told him I might retire soon and turn into an eccentric autistic man, I might buy an old 1930s airplane and spend the rest of my life tinkering around with it. Luis said he had to do a five page report on bi-planes during the early 1900s and the two wars. But he was still working steadily toward his master's degree and his eventual job as a commercial pilot. He told me he might try to fly cargo instead of passengers just to avoid all the airport crap. He said there is almost no security theater at the air cargo terminals.

We both fell asleep spooning on his sofa. The next morning I grabbed a taxi at 7:10am and left for the airport and walked into my apartment at 9:57am

At home I texted Jen that I made it home okay and I was careful to type the message in all lowercase letters, she would interpret that as me being totally relaxed and at peace, or I got fucked hard and had a great time.

Note from author: The character Luis is based on an actual young man from near Medellin Colombia who appears on CB as a femboy (Srluism), his likeness is used with permission, but his actions and words here are totally fictional.

Contact the author: borischenaz at mailfence