Becoming Hannah Pt. 01

Becoming Hannah

This is my first foray into homosexual erotic writing. This takes place in October 1973 in the Washington DC area during a tumultuous time in the world and in the United States. DC is an area I am very familiar with, if not the time period. This is not a commentary on anything political. It is just a backdrop to a small story about two people finding joy with one another.

I have tried very hard to remove any hint of political inference. Please don't read this looking for it.

Yes, I have to say that. You wouldn't believe the emails I receive. There are a lot of really angry people in the world.

This is short and sweet. I am calling this Part One, and suspect I will write more, but the feedback I receive will determine if this is worth continuing. Not farming here, but if this gets voted into obscurity, I will have received the message loud and clear. This subgenre of erotica might not be my thing.

Love,

Lana Ocean (Estcher)

P.S.: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All my fictional characters engage in sexual acts and are aged eighteen and over.

P.P.S. As always, I welcome CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.

Part One -- The Awakening

HASANI STIRRED AWAKE and rolled from his stomach to his back. He felt strangely at peace and stretched languidly and enjoyed the pleasurable feeling of his slim muscles stretching. He knew where he was and why he was feeling so good this morning. In desperation, he had gone to visit with someone he admired greatly, hoping against hope, that he might give him advice.

Hasani smiled to himself and opened his eyes to find himself looking at the sun slanting in through the open window to fall across the foot of the rather large bed he found himself in. He ran his hand over the thin cotton quilt covering the bed. The sheets underneath the quilt were satin and felt glorious against his naked body.

He felt a twinge of pain or two. He could feel the small bites on his neck, nipples, and buttocks. He knew they were marks to claim him and Hasani smiled deeper. He pulled back the sheets and looked down at his lithe body. He lacked the definition most men have, even the thin ones. It was the body of a woman in many respects but with smaller hips. Hasani loved to describe his Egyptian skin as a light mocha, a rich caramel with hardly a blemish. His hair was naturally curly, and grew thick and luxurious on his head, gleaming in soft lights as if oiled as his ancient ancestors would.

The noise of early Sunday morning Fall traffic in the streets surrounding Washington, DC, was quiet in the background. Hasani watched the drapes at the open window flutter in a small breeze. He hoped today would be a little cooler. Last night, he had been bathed in sweet sweat, pressed to the satin sheets, as Ezra drove his iron hard cock deep into his bowels. He had pressed his head with his face sideways into the mattress, holding him prone to the bed, as Ezra's heavy weight drove his cock as hard and deep as he could into Hasani. His cock driving painfully, relentlessly, beautifully into his ass, stroking his prostate, and sending waves of pleasure and pain through him. Those first blasts of Ezra's pleasure into his rectum had set him off and Hasani had ejaculated hard into the mattress under him. Ezra had first bit him then, high on his neck. He had cried out in pain and pleasure. He smiled now, remembering. It had been the highlight of his evening.

Hasani felt his cock stir and rise. He looked down his body and took his cock in hand. He was hairless except for his head and eyebrows. His cock looked exquisite. Long enough, thick enough, responsive enough to fill his desires and those of the men he took when allowed. More often he was the bottom, gladly allowing men to take him and use him for their pleasure. Many would think his past sordid, but to Hasani he had few regrets. He needed men to dominate him, take him, make him feel like the woman he wanted to embrace.

Hasani was a long way from home. He lived from house to house in Washington, finding partners in the DC bath houses, or bars, or on campus at George Washington University where he studied Judaism, a far cry from his Islamic upbringing. He was a blackbird, singing in the dead of night, searching for partners to learn to fly, waiting for his moment to arise. He was very nearly homeless. Coming to visit Ezra had been an act of desperation

The Yom Kippur War had started after rising tensions between Egypt and Syria against Israel two weeks before. The name was fitting given the attacks occurred during the month of Ramadan and on the day of the Jewish Yom Kippur. Hasani wasn't alone in condemning the war. Israel had taken Arab territories in the Six-Day War in 1967, including the Sinai Peninsula and the Golan Heights. The United Nations along with Anwar Sadat had been hopeful that Israel would return the occupied lands, but ultimately Israel rejected the terms. Egypt and Syrian forces surprised the Israelis and pushed quickly across the Suez Canal and hit the Golan Heights. Now the United States and the Soviet Union were involved.

For Hasani it meant his family back in Cairo had cut him off from financial assistance. He was alone in a country not his own. His stay in America was through a student visa, registered with George Washington University. No tuition meant no school which meant no visa. He had stumbled from relationship to relationship, each lasting barely a day or night. His little amount of saved money was gone and when he found himself standing on the street, looking, and hoping for some man to pick him and pay for sex with him, he knew he had to make a better choice for himself. Men liked to dominate his feminine figure and sometimes it descended into violence. He feared for his safety and desperate, he had turned to a man he had only recently met through the university.

Hasani adored older men and the more they resembled his father, the more he admired them. Being from Islam, he was suffering from cultural alienation. He was drawn to Judaism, feeling it less repressive a religion and more accepting of men like him. Islam and homosexuality were oil and water. Leaving Cairo for his education in the United States had liberated him and he had been no stranger to exploring his desires. It had also led to him finding Ezra, his professor of Judaic Studies. George Washington University was the oldest and largest Catholic and Jesuit university in America and strangely had Ezra as a professor of Judaism. It had drawn Hasani and others.

Meeting Ezra had led to peace activism, and he had been a very early promoter of the Egyptian/Israeli peace movement in DC. It had also led to Hasani speaking a local synagogue. It was there that Ezra had given Hasani that look. The smoldering eye of someone who sees something he desperately wants to possess and own. To take and use until pleasure is found. Hasani had seen the look and smiled at the man. Ezra was in his early fifties, with a portly paunch, greying hair with still a bit of black on top, and he stood tall, over six feet, wide at the shoulders, and heavy-set. Hasani was drawn to this look. A month ago, Ezra had spoken quietly to Hasani in a corner of a full room of guests. He had leaned in and whispered something so startling and so intentional, that Hasani had felt the draw between them to be real and tangible.

"You remind me of my mother," he had whispered in his ear, his lips close to touching his flesh.

Hasani's skin had erupted in goosebumps.

Yesterday, walking past protestors swarming the streets of DC protesting the Vietnam and Yom Kippur Wars, he had boldly approached Ezra's expensive townhouse in downtown DC and rang his doorbell. Ezra had answered the door, dressed as always in a suit and tie, even in his own home, and let him in without a word after first glancing to the street.

It took several glasses of wine to relax Hasani enough to plead his case with Ezra. He needed money. He needed a place to stay. He needed a mentor, someone to care for him. Ezra asked probing questions about his home back in Cairo. How his family was doing. What they thought of the war.

Hasani had broken down then. The wine and empty stomach proving too much for him. The shame and embarrassment of lowering himself to a beggar caught up with him. He apologised and rose to leave, hoping to find solace with a group of protestors, and maybe finding a futon or the corner of a house to sleep.

That's when it started. Hasani lying back in the satin bliss of the large bed smiled as he remembered last evening.

* * *

Hasani rose and made for the front door. He could feel his eyes burning with shame and tears. He was never the strong one. Never a man amongst men. He felt small, unpowerful, at everyone's mercy. He liked it best when people told him what to do and how to do it. It was easier that way. Hasani could please men. He knew how to please them. He loved to please them. Now he had nothing, just shame and a need to flee.

He made it only a few steps before Ezra stepped in front of him and stopped him. He was a massive man, towering above him in height, weighing at least twice what Hasani weighed. Ezra was imposing. A force. An amazing intelligence burned inside Ezra that Hasani was drawn to very strongly. He loved to listen to him speak. To describe his love and joy of Judaism. Often their talks explored the similarities and joys of their respective religions. Ezra had opened Hasani's eyes to the beauty of the world in a time when all that remained was war and death.

Ezra had grasped his chin hard with one hand in a way his father had often done when he was about to chastise him for some slight or wrong. Ezra forced Hasani's face up to peer down at him. It was an unnatural position, but Hasani felt the power from Ezra. He could not resist. When Ezra raised his other hand, Hasani had flinched involuntarily. He had expected a blow, but instead Ezra had wiped at Hasani's tears falling from his eyes.

Hasani's heart pounded in his chest. He had never been this intimate with someone before. Or so exposed. The look in Ezra's eyes was deep smoldering coals of passion. Hasani could not look away. His eyes went round as Ezra leaned forward, his lips pursed for a kiss, and planted one softly on his forehead. Hasani's eyes closed as he savoured the intimate moment. The kiss resonated within him, filling a void he had known existed, but until that moment had not known what to fill it with.

Ezra's two hands warmly held Hasani's face in his. His warm large palms pressed to his cheeks, his strength holding him in place, but Hasani could no more resist than tear off his own arm. His eyes remained closed, and he felt the closeness of Ezra. His own lips parted in anticipation. His heart thumped painfully at a tremendous rate and fear and panic rose quickly within him. He wanted to run, but he was locked in place. Ezra's presence was everything in the world to him.

Ezra kissed his lips then. At first gentle and tentative, it grew in passion as Hasani returned the kiss. His body responded and he felt his erection grow painfully hard, pressing against his jeans, and demanding release. Ezra's kiss grew more passionate, and Hasani adored how his tongue probed his mouth and found his own tongue. The world reduced to this kiss. Ezra lowered his right hand and wrapped it around Hasani's slender waist and pulled him in tight against him.

Hasani's slim body sank into the weight of Ezra. He could feel his heat, his passion, his strength, and power. Hasani was almost lying back against the arm around his waist, feeling weightless. He trusted Ezra and gave in to him completely, relinquishing his fears and embracing his sexuality.

He wanted this man inside him. He wanted to pleasure him. He wanted to swallow him whole and bask in his attention for however long it could last. Hasani felt safe and desired. It was all he ever wanted in life. Thoughts of deportation, of returning to Cairo, of his own failures in life, all melted away in Ezra's arms. The world reduced to their passion and as his passions grew and so did Ezra's, arms wrapped around Hasani, and Ezra's excitement grew alongside Hasani's.

They broke the kiss for air, and Hasani felt his right cheek being pressed into Ezra's chest with one of his meaty hands. He brushed at his hair and held him.

"Everything will be fine, my libling," whispered Ezra as he stroked Hasani's back with one hand and played with his hair with the other.

Hasani could feel Ezra's excitement between them. It matched his own.

Ezra released him and stared at him for a long moment. Then he reached out and took his hand in his and led him upstairs to his bedroom. The walk up the stairs, and every step Hasani took, brought him closer to discovering a truth. His qalb, or heart, sounded a beating drum of desire. His ruh, or spirit, sang to the spiralling heavens. His nafs, or self, was soaring. His 'aql, or mind, was serene.

They entered the bedroom and Ezra stepped away from him. He pointed at the bed. "Undress," he ordered Hasani. "Up on the bed."

Hasani climbed up onto the overly large bed. He had never seen one so large. He knew it was a king, but it looked like the entire bedroom was one big bed. He turned to Ezra, who was undoing his tie, the top button of his shirt already undone. Hasani felt foolish but in a jovial mood. He made a show of undressing, pulling his shirt free from his jeans and pulling it over his stomach and chest, and up over his head to be discarded. He wished he had breasts to show Ezra. A little something to reward him with. But all he had was his flawless skin, hairless, and with little tone. The upper body of a petite woman, a Lolita like in the novel of the same name.

He watched Ezra watching him. He was enraptured, smiling at the silly antics of Hasani. Hasani turned his back to Ezra and peered over his shoulder at him. He batted his eyes; glad his lashes were thick and long. He could sense the sexual energy in the room. It swirled around them and gave this bedroom a sense of sanctuary. Here they could be free to explore their hearts' desires.

Hasani undid the button at the top of his jeans, and rasped the small zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room. Not so quiet, thought Hasani. I can hear Ezra's heavy breathing. He smiled, still looking back at Ezra.

"Show me your ass, my libling," panted Ezra. He was unbuttoning his shirt; his hairy chest and large belly now exposed. He reminded Hasani of his own father. Large, hairy, and overweight.

Hasani tugged at the waistband of his tight jeans and pulled it down off his ass. His boxers slipped down a little and exposed the top of the crack of his ass.

"Wait," ordered Ezra. "Come to the edge of the bed. That's it. Bend over a little. A little more..."

Hasani was standing on the edge of the bed, his boxer clad ass directed at Ezra. His jeans were around his knees. He bent over as instructed, his ass jutting toward Ezra. Ezra, in just his dress pants and socks, stepped toward him and reached up and placed his warm, broad hands under Hasani's arms right on the muscles under his shoulder blades. With excruciating leisure, Ezra ran his hands down Hasani's sides, and then around to caress his stomach. The hands slid around to his sides and then to his lower back. Hasani was finding it hard to control his breathing. He felt every inch of his skin as Ezra caressed it. His hands went to his waist, right on the waistband of his boxers and stopped there. He was still a little bent over, and it felt awkward, but his level of excitement was making him shiver with anticipation.

Ezra stepped forward and Hasani felt he could sense every movement the elder man made. He felt exposed and on display for him and relished it. He felt a warm breath on his lower back that grew warmer and then Ezra planted a kiss on the upper crack of Hasani's ass. A warm, wet kiss, with a stroke of a tongue, on a place Hasani had been rarely kissed. Ezra held it there and Hasani felt like he was on a pedestal. A Greek pedestal, and he the muse.

He felt a gentle tug on his boxers and his heart rate quickened. Slowly, and luxuriously, his boxers were pulled down past his ass cheeks, past his thighs and down past his knees to pool at his feet. He was bent over, naked with his ass exposed, with the face of a man he respected and admired inches from him. It was homoerotic and exciting.

Ezra kissed him again in the same spot but then kissed downward along the crack of his ass. His warm and wet lips and tongue pressing and probing gently. Hasani felt he was an object of desire. He felt more like a woman than he had in a long time. The position and the actions of Ezra placed Hasani in a position of subservience. He was meant to be pleasured. The centre of attention. He was being objectified by an older Jewish man who was attracted to his girlish looks. The taboo of homosexuality and inter-religious dogma had Hasani rock hard in excitement.

Ezra's mouth left his ass crack and Hasani looked under his arm at him. Ezra stepped back and beckoned Hasani to join him and pointed at the ground before him.

Hasani didn't hesitate. He climbed off the bed, leaving his boxers behind. He liked how his cock was fully exposed to Ezra. He could see how hard and excited he was. Hasani moved to a kneeling position on the hardwood floor of the bedroom directly in front of Ezra. He knelt low to the ground, so his head was right at his crotch. He reached up and saw his hands trembled, not with fear, but with excitement. Looking up he saw Ezra's large gut, jutting from him, covered in dark hair. Ezra's breasts were large with fat and his nipples covered in more dark and grey hair. Above all that, were the eyes of Ezra, boring into his with lust and desire. Full of lust and desire for Hasani.

Hasani knew what Ezra wanted. He reached up and opened the button of the waistband of his dress pants. He found the slim zipper and pulled it down over the straining bulk of his erection. He peeled the waistband away and could see Ezra wore white briefs. Ezra's stomach lowered now that his pants were undone. Hasani took a moment to reach up and run his hands over the expanse of his gut. He was warm and soft. His belly pliable to his hands.

He moved his hands to the waistband of the briefs and dug his fingers underneath. He pulled down, stretching the underwear down in the front until Ezra's thick and unruly grey pubic hair was revealed. Hasani was excited. He knew he was about to see Ezra's penis. He felt like a child on his birthday, opening a special gift. He pulled down farther and Ezra's base of his cock was exposed. He paused to admire the thickness at the base. Hasani loved thick cocks and the feeling they gave him as they stretched him out. He continued pulling, revealing more and more of his exquisite cock. More and more length appeared. His thickness was perfect. The skin flawless and swollen with desire. Ezra was an older man with the cock of Adonis.

The underwear reached mid-thigh when Ezra's engorged head of his penis popped free. The hard cock bounced free and swung upward, with a soft and humorous glancing blow to Hasani's chin, but no one laughed. This was serious business. Both men were beyond excited. Ezra was circumcised, but that was to be expected. Ezra's cock was standing straight out and pointed obscenely at Hasani's face.

Hasani licked his lips to wet them. He couldn't keep his eyes off the beautiful cock in front of him. The tip glistened with moisture. The smell was intoxicating. The true smell of a man. Everything Hasani desired was in front of him.