tagGay MaleEthiopian Cabin Boy

Ethiopian Cabin Boy

bysr71plt©

When I left Bangkok, Thailand, the first time, I originally thought I'd be returning to a world that was almost completely straight and that my days of enjoying a rich and active bi lifestyle were over. My work with the government, with its strong homophobic policies, just didn't seem to leave that avenue safely open to me. And for a couple of years, when I was assigned to Washington, D.C., and was retraining to work on the ground to unravel secrets for the United States as I had recently been doing high overhead as a photoreconnaissance jet driver, my sex life was pretty heterosexual.

But to my surprise, when I was training for intelligence gathering, I discovered that my line of work wasn't as pristine sexually as I had tried to convince myself it was. I should already have been aware of this, as I had already gotten hints of my spy masters looking the other direction in Bangkok when it pleased them to do so. And in my training, I learned that they could be pleased to do so if the intelligence needed was considered very important and when the options of "getting the goods" were restricted.

I was sent into the Middle East and stationed in Cyprus, which is now considered in relationship to the Middle East somewhat like Switzerland was considered to Europe in World War II—a safe haven where spies can meet on neutral ground and where it is considered ungentlemanly (although it does happen on occasion) for "wet" (meaning doing someone to death) operations to be conducted. And it wasn't long before I learned how far I might be expected to go to "get the goods" in my job. It was also where I quickly found a new answer to one of three questions that had perpetually come up in the world of "bottoms" in my Bangkok days: This question was "What was your longest?" One of the other questions, "What was your thickest?," would also be answered when I lived on Cyprus, but during a different tour a decade later. The remaining question, "What was the most satisfying?," had already been answered years earlier in Bangkok in the form of a black Army officer (who, with his 10 by 2 dimensions, almost answered the other two questions as well).

The "longest" question was answered in the form of an Ethiopian cabin boy on the yacht of a Saudi businessman at anchor off the Larnaka waterfront. This promenade, very European in atmosphere, enjoyed a deep, flat beach separated from a long hotel and sidewalk café front of gaily decorated umbrellas and tables by a wide boulevard. The boulevard was anchored at one end by a yacht marina and at the other by the medieval harbor castle where Richard the Lionhearted married his shipwrecked Berengaria.

After our encounter, the Ethiopian had me singing a couple of octaves higher than normal and walking around tenderly—although the later part might have been caused by the escapades later that night. I can't attest to how long the Ethiopian's cock was, but both my eyes and my intestines are quite sure they've never seen or felt a longer one.

When he took me, we were in a lower-deck cabin of the yacht, where you couldn't stand up straight except in the middle of the room. A double bed went in under the bulkhead. The Saudi owner of the yacht and I had just agreed on some successful business of a nefarious government nature, and the Saudi had been very attentive to me and let me know he wanted to fuck me. I had met him at a couple of embassy cocktail parties earlier and apparently had made a very favorable impression on him. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he fancied me, but I didn't make the connection at the time when I was assigned to contact him. My spy masters wanted the deal to go well, and I had been told to do what it took to conclude the deal—and I subsequently came to assume that my masters knew exactly what the Saudi businessman was interested in getting in return for his vital information. So, when he so directly propositioned me and connected it with his willingness to provide what I had come for, I said I would sleep with him that night on the yacht. Clearly delighted, he responded that, in appreciation, he'd send me a gift before dinner.

An Ethiopian cabin boy—not a "boy," of course, but an adult young man—had been gliding around the yacht all day as it wallowed off the colorful Larnaka waterfront, doing this and that. He was incredibly tall and thin, really out of place on a yacht with cramped head room, even if it was large. When I opened the door of my cabin to him, he was carrying a tray with a bottle of champagne and one glass on it, but I knew right away that he was my gift, because he was nude. His pecker hung down almost to his knees, it seemed—and this thighs were unusually long in themselves. I had never really thought about whether the unusual height on some African tribesmen had a relationship to dimensions elsewhere, but just then my education in that department lengthened considerably.

There was no thought of me refusing this gift from the Saudi; he hadn't given me the promised information yet, and this was no time to rock the boat—other than the rocking the Ethiopian was about to do with his performance on my body, of course.

I was still in just my Speedo, so there wasn't much undressing required. The tray also had a bottle of KY on it, and the Ethiopian just slid off my Speedo and knelt there and sucked me hard, while pulling his own meat to erection. I fell back onto the bed, which was low to the floor, while he lathered himself and my hole up. He wishboned my legs up and out and I dug my feet into the low bulkhead that stretched out over the bed. He then knelt between my legs and just fed and fed and fed and fed that long eleven- or twelve-incher up into me.

At first he moved my hand to my ass and had me cup my fingers there so that he was pushing his cock through my cupped fingers, giving him a hand job as well as him giving me an ass fuck, when he entered me. I gasped as he reached a depth inside me I'd rarely felt before even though he had to go three inches through my fingers before entering me. But he laughed hoarsely as I panted and moaned to accommodate him. And then he brushed my hand away and I arched my back and cried out my astonishment and passion as he just dug deeper and deeper inside me. It wasn't all that painful, because his cock was pretty thin, but he had to have gotten well up into my intestines and stretched them out where they'd never been touched by a foreign object before.

I looked up as he was doing this, and the Saudi was lounging in the doorway watching me get royally fucked. The Ethiopian pumped me that way for a while and then turned me over on my belly and got that cock even farther up into me, taking it all out and then just slamming all the way back in repeatedly until he needed to cum. And he withdrew then and shot off all over the small of my back. I was digging my fists into the bedding as best I could to hold position while he jackhammered into me. I'd already cum twice by then myself, once with the help of his mouth and then with the help of his hand.

The Saudi just stood there and watched with slitted eyes, and he kept his hand busy with his own cock. His "gift" to me was even more another gift to himself. He really wanted his entertainment worth for those precious secrets he held, and the long, long Ethiopian and I gave him quite a show.

That night the Saudi and his bulky bodyguard did me in a sandwich in an all-night fuck fest in the main cabin, which was not nearly as cramped as mine was. The Saudi's equipment was nothing to write home about and he came quickly, but the bodyguard had a really thick piece and was a fast reloader and had a vigorous, long-endurance pelvis action. Lots of nice muscle. He's probably the one who was responsible for my bowed legs and shuffling walk—and big smile—the next day.

They did me in turn. Then, as a finale, the Saudi really wanted to get his cock in there with the bodyguard's, but I wasn't having any of that, needed secrets or not. The bodyguard alone was much too thick.

I never did drink the champagne, and I can only surmise that the information I collected was worth my effort—at least my masters were well pleased when I returned, and they asked me no questions about my use of trade craft in getting the goods.

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