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Egyptian Initiation

bysr71plt©

I now understand that my subconscious was miles ahead of my "surface" brain on knowing what I wanted. Male models apparently are as justly characterized as thick brained as female models are reputed to be. There was no blame to cast; I'd seen the Egyptian doctor (if he really was a doctor) work the young men on the gym floor and in the shower room. There was no reason my surface brain wouldn't know he was a sexual predator. In the end, I'm really glad it happened, though.

The Egyptian was a magician really—and I was the world's worst dummy. The first encounter happened without me having a clue about what had happened even when it was over. I was a few years older than those the Egyptian was targeting at the gym—and he was a good twenty years older than I was. He touched me in the sauna, and my cock burbled out juice without warning and certainly without my really realizing we were having any form of sex. He had a mesmerizing voice, and I got horny without the usual arousal mechanisms—no warning really. He was doing this monologue about being circumcised or not in those doctor words of his, as if we were having an academic discussion or a medical consultation, and he had his long, thin fingers on my cock head before I really knew what he was doing. I was so surprised that I shot right off. I was greatly embarrassed, thinking I had probably misjudged his intent and now he'd think I was queer. I left the sauna in a highly confused state.

For his part, he probably just thought I was performing a hard-to-get mating dance. I hadn't clocked him when he got hold of my cock. I'd just sat there and stared dumbly.

I stewed about the encounter for a week, and although I didn't think I was attracted to Egyptians, this one was quite handsome and distinguished and sensual looking. The next time we were in the sauna alone, I more or less set myself up for the pass, thinking he probably wouldn't even make one and I could put my confusion to rest. I stretched out on my back, towel loosely around my waist and stretching down to my knees. He came in and sat on the bench below me and in back of me. In somewhat of a trembling condition, I spread my thighs so that from where he was sitting, he could see up under my towel and check out the goods (if he wanted to). He obviously wanted to and liked what he saw.

An electric jolt went through me and I suddenly knew we were "doing something," when I felt his strong, long fingers on my foot and he was massaging it—the sole and the toes—and slowly pulling on toes in a sensual way. I went hard. He slowly worked his hand up my calf and knee and under the hem of the towel. That's when he started murmuring to me how nice my body was—and I was narcissistic enough to melt to his seduction. He'd seen me work out on the gym floor, he said, and he knew I was in TV commercials. His hand slowly went up the inside of my thigh and he was lightly stroking my cock. I shoot off almost immediately again. And, thick lunkhead that I was, I apologized for early ejaculation. This hadn't happened to me with women. Obviously the new experience with men was just that much more arousing.

Still holding my cock, he said he could teach me some techniques that would help with that problem—he was talking like a doctor and like it would be something I could use with the women I was with. I weakly said I didn't have a problem with women, but I was talking pretty weakly because my attention was riveted to what he was doing with his hand. He was palming my cock and stroking the pisshole with a thumb, rubbing my ejaculated cum around the head. He was still talking clinically enough that I was fooling myself a bit about what was going on. I said I'd think about it.

The next week, he overheard me being told that my regular masseur wouldn't be there that afternoon—I always worked out, showered, and then was rubbed down. The Egyptian then asked me while we were still out on the floor exercising whether I'd like to come back to his apartment after we worked out and he'd give me the massage I was missing. I was all aflutter, still not positive where this was leading, when we got to his place. He did have a massage room with a padded table and all. And he massaged my back and legs and arms with oil—doing a better job than my regular masseur did. He told me to roll over on my back, and when I did so, I saw that he now was naked. He was tall and lithe, but very well muscled, and he had a thin but very long dong. It wasn't hard at all, so I rationalized that I was pretty safe.

He was massaging my front with oil and my cock was standing up straight—and I was very embarrassed, not being able to control it and still figuring there was an outside chance he wasn't trying to do me, that this was all a misunderstanding on my part. When he got to my pelvis, he slowly jerked me off. I made some embarrassed comments about being sorry I'd gotten hard, and he could just try to ignore that, but he was soothing me with words to the effect that the Egyptian massage method included an "evacuation of the pent-up essences" and it was all very normal in the Egyptian context. But even then he was starting to teach me control. He'd pump me up and then hold off until I cooled. My cock and his hands were so oiled that there was little friction at all in what he was doing. At last he let me ejaculate and cleaned it up with a towel. He then massaged all of the muscles on my front side real well again and I got drowsy.

He came around to above my head and he was massaging my temples and really putting me to sleep. He put his hands on my upper sides and pulled me up on the table until my head dropped off the end of the table and he was still working my temples. Then I felt his cock at my lips and he was pushing in, suddenly very hard. I was shocked because he had hardened up almost instantaneously (something I later learned was in his bag of tricks). He didn't push far in, but I sort of spit it out and told him, rather frightened, that I'd never sucked a man before—that, in fact, I'd never had any form of sex with a man until now.

He went all impressed and joyful at the news that he had a virgin on his hands. While I had been wondering what was going on, he had just thought I was into a foreplay game. He asked me if I'd let him initiate me. He begged me to let him prepare me for future encounters. He entreated me that I'd never have anyone as gentle and skilled as him if I had any inkling I wanted to be with men. He flattered me by wondering how anyone who looked like me could have gotten this far without going bi. He showed me a picture of his wife (really was his wife, I found out later) and assured me that many men took pleasure both ways. Something inside me told me I didn't want to deny myself any opportunities to full sensuality, and I gulped and asked him if he really would be gentle. (I didn't think to ask him why I wasn't going to be fucking him instead, if I was all that hot.) To prove he would be gentle and careful, his cock did go back into my mouth, but only a little ways, and rotated around. He said we wouldn't have to get much into that for now. (My guess is that he wanted to get his dick up my ass before I thought better of the situation.)

He sent me off with an enema bottle then, saying I'd be more comfortable if I was cleaned out—and he went off to take a ritualistic shower (he said). He didn't want me to take a shower, I guess, because he wanted to roll around in the oil I'd been basted in.

When I came back, he had me go up on my belly on the table—I was oiled up so well now I could have slid off the table. I assumed he'd suck me off to show me how that was done, but he obviously was going straight for the main event. A virgin is a virgin. An American male model virgin in the grasp is probably a trip to paradise for an Egyptian. He put a pretty bulky pillow under my belly to lift my pelvis up. He then got up on the table, pushed my thighs wide, and got down behind me and tongued my asshole for a while. His tongue also went to the underside of my cock and around my balls and across my inner thighs in this process. All the time he was telling me how nice I was and assuring me that I was slowly opening and that I'd be well open before he mounted me. He was pretty good at his word on that. He patiently worked on me for an hour or more (during which I shot off a couple more times, with his encouragement and clucking that I had nothing to be embarrassed about—I could reload within twenty minutes in those days and shoot off five or six times a night when I was really aroused). Varieties of lubricant were applied, some of which was for deadening the area (and probably was illegal). After his tongue, he went to fingers. He had long, sensual ones, and he could easily reach my prostate and showed me how he could make me shoot off just by rubbing me there. Then well-oiled fingers probing deeper. Whatever he was using to deaden pain was only used on the rim and just a few inches inside, so he could be in a couple of inches before I even knew I was being skewered. He showed me a couple of smallish dildos of increasing size before he lubed them up and screwed them into my ass and around. Not much pain in any of this, and I was jacked up to the roof at the very idea of what was happening to me—the sheer risk and adventure of it—and the fact that I'd finally been brave enough to give it a try.

After more than an hour, I felt his cock at my back door, and he very slowly entered me—and entered me and entered me and entered me. That was one long cock. It felt like the uncoiling of a snake inside me. He had one of those "bent up" cocks too, so I could feel the head dragging along my ass canal walls as it plowed up me. There was some pain now, but I'm sure minimal pain for a first time. I'd been as gently prepared as I could wish for. He rode me, slowly pumping me deep, for a good thirty minutes, drawing out his pleasure with the virgin as much as he could, I suppose. He was braced on his knees behind me and either kept his hands hooked over my shoulders or palmed flat on my shoulder blades as his cock worked me. He was chattering away in his singsong voice, no doubt keeping me calm and mesmerized, and I could tell that the experience was quite arousing for him too, because he came quickly (for him—he was the master of self-control). His ejaculation felt like a warm oozing inside me, sort of a foreign tickling sensation.

He held there for a while, his cock buried to the hilt, massaging my muscles again and telling me what a lovely young man I was. I felt him go tumescent inside me. But he just kept massaging me, not letting me up. And I felt him start to engorge and fill up my ass canal again. I didn't feel sore inside, but the deadening was wearing off on the rim of my ass, and I felt a little chaffed there. It was obvious that he wasn't going to let the virgin get away with one screwing.

He pulled out of me and walked down the table on his knees, pulling me with him, until we were both standing on the floor at the edge of the table, and then he bent me over, my chest on the table, my legs wide, and he folded himself over me as well and slowly entered me a second time. This time I felt some pain at the entry and let him know he was hurting me. He shushed me like one would do a fussy baby and just kept plowing up me. He said he wanted briefly to let me feel another type of fucking and that he knew I'd enjoy it. He squeezed my thighs with his, which tightened my canal around his cock and then he took me in long strokes, nearly all the way out, and then all the way back in. He did me for about fifteen minutes this way, and I was very vocal with this one, arching my back up to him and writhing my hips around. This is where I first experienced pain mixed so heavily with pleasure that I was yelling that he was hurting me and pleading with him to keep pumping me. He claimed to really like my reaction to that position—and chose to keep pumping me.

Then he turned me on his cock, while pushing on my back onto the massage table. He spread my legs, and, saying this was yet another style I might like, he gave me a mixed-routine fuck. He'd pump me from the front with fast shallow strokes for five minutes, then take the root of his cock in his hand and rotate it around inside me, hitting all the walls with that bent knob of his. Then back to the short, fast strokes. I did a good bit of grunting and moaning for him in this position—and wondering if it was going to ever stop—not at all sure I wanted it to. He went deep then for about three plunges and he had cum again.

We showered together and that's when he went down in front of me in the cascading water and sucked me off. He did it quickly that afternoon. In later sessions he showed me he could drive me wild with his tongue and mouth work on my cock.

After drying off, he took me to his bed, and after lubing up my hole and his cock, he fucked me again in a side split—me on my left side, he on his left side behind and under me, his left arm under and around me, with his palm fanned out over my belly, his right hand holding my right leg up in the air, and his cock stroking up into me from behind and below. During this, he started showing me that men could exchange sensual kisses. After he was done with me in that position, I was exhausted and slept in his arms for over an hour, with his cock up my (now throbbing and sore) ass.

So, it took me a hell of a long time to get around to any "firsts," but then my real first was a doozy.

The Egyptian gave me ointments and lubricants to cut down on the "getting used to it" pain, and a collection of ever-larger butt plugs—that didn't stretch the rim too much, but that stretched the first three or four inches inside, so that big cocks could get in and not do too much damage.

Good thing I had this preparation and the first encounter/training I had with the sensitive Egyptian, because about six weeks after that, I was trapped in a massage room at the gym by a Swede with a thick good eight incher and was taken roughly and in no uncertain terms and little choice in the matter (of course, it was all my fault as I had purposely given him a good look at me and acted a little provocatively in the shower room to check out my effect on other men). With the preparation the Egyptian "doctor" was giving me, I actually enjoyed the Swede.

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