Rashid, Almost A Love Story

Of course, he wasn't called Rashid.

Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

And we are all innocent

Hello Rashid, thank you for your message, your kind words, and your enthusiastic response to my erotic fiction. I very much appreciate your appreciation. But honestly, I simply do what I enjoy doing, and hope that maybe others get to enjoy some of it...? Writing dirty stories gets me aroused. I love the fact that it happens that way for others too... Erotic prose can reach out and touch the reader in direct physical intimate ways. All I need to know is, does reading my stuff get you hard if you're a guy, or moist if you're a girl? Does it...? Do my words reach out and stimulate your cock...? Does it get you tossing off? While writing a hard-core story I usually have to pause two or three times just to relieve the building sexual tension by jacking off. But I've always spunked-off to porn fiction. All my life I've got erections by reading pornographic prose and wanking to old jazz-mags and dirty books. And what happens in my head, emerges in the form of fiction. It's kind of wonderful to be able to conjure up erotic images in another's mind without actual physical contact. To know that by some kind of magic, words that I write are reaching out to touch other cocks, stimulating an erection, and making another human being spurt off in the heat of orgasm...

...Porn is the only literary genre that produces actual physical changes in its readers. That's unique, and pretty amazing. That's humbling, and a kind of pleasing bond that unites us. And when you think about it, I suppose getting sexually aroused to the point of ejaculation by the visual stimulus of a photo is understandable, but when you're getting fiercely turned-on by reading words that someone you've never met wrote a hundred or a thousand miles away, that's evidence of a pretty sophisticated intellectual evolution of the species. There are supposedly erotic cave-paintings, I don't know about that, but there's lots of sexually explicit art from ancient Greece to indicate they enjoyed a rich and gender-diverse sex-life, and there are wall-paintings in the Pompeii brothel that prove they knew their way around a richly-satisfying blowjob. I can confirm how good it feels for a guy to have a stiff cock pulsing in my mouth, or up my bum-hole. So where's the harm...? How can anyone NOT get off on it...? Forget labels, designations and preconceptions, and just love it... Be wonderful to think that we're connecting on this virtual level... I'll be in your wet-dream if you'll be in mine...? Tell me about yourself. I wonder what it is like being, shall I say, of our tendency, where you are? I hear such unsettling stories -Tristan-

Hi Tristan, I love that you share your writings with me. I want to write a little but the inspiration evades me. Can I ask you a question? Are you happy with your life? I mean, are you content and satisfied? I'm from Delhi, where the days are yellow buttermilk-bright with sun, the nights are black and the stars so clear and hard, I catch the aroma of night-blooming flowers, I hear the sound of receding engines lost among night insects, and somewhere above them, shines the same white moon we both can see. And no, in my experience, it's not really okay for people like us, to be, um, people like us here. It's scary when I'm riding public transport at night, getting eyeballed by creepy men. Hoping that I'm too poor to rob, too chubby to sexually harass. But if there's a guy that I'd enjoy being sexually harassed by, I'm too bashful to make the first move, frightened of rejection. One has to be really careful, but we do get by. Although lately, to be honest, I've been very unhappy, even miserable. There are things which aren't really under our control, things we can't really do anything about -- relationships, for example. I mean, I can't control when and where I'm gonna meet the right guy, or if ever at all. Does that mean I'm going to be miserable forever? Which brings me back to my original question: are you happy? What do you think about meeting the 'right' guy? Your friend, Rashid.

Hello Rashid, very many thanks for your kind response to my message... you leave me breathless, you truly do. Reading such poetic sweetness I just have to close my laptop down and go take a walk, turning over the things you've said in my head. I live in West Yorkshire, what they call Brontë country -- you know all that, right? There's a canal towpath where I like to walk. There's a canal network that extends and interconnects forever, Victorian infrastructure for coal and wool to feed their industry, it fell into disuse early last century, but is now renovated for slow house-barges and rambling towpath walkers. There are squirrels and heron. And I'm walking here in a slight morning mistiness, thinking of you. I sometimes get emails from people who've read my stories -- like you did, and they are curious to know the details of my life. It would be so nice just to meet you for coffee -- a discreet Indie place, and talk these things over like ordinary people do, like human beings, like friends... like illicit lovers. I confess that you make me feel a little guiltily inadequate. You are obviously a caring and sensitive person. It makes me feel like a dirty little slut by comparison. My obsessions are more immediately physical than romantic. Perhaps I've just not been fortunate enough to meet the right partner yet...? I'm happy to just squat down and suck my Boyfriend's big beautiful cock and luxuriate in the sensation of him spunking-off down my throat. That's all I need to get me off. Any finer feelings I'm prepared to put on hold until later. Love -Tristan-

Hi Tristan, no need to feel either guilty or slutty, except in a good way! Everyone is born different, and everyone should accept themselves for who they are. There's nothing wrong with getting off on physical desire alone, and often I too am just plain horny, and want a guy to simply fuck my brain out. But for me, yes, the emotional angle is just as important. And, you're absolutely correct -- the right guy has to come along to ignite those feelings in your heart. When I'm not in a monogamous relationship -- where I most prefer to be, I do pick up random guys and take them home for a bang. Ain't nothing wrong with a boom boom till Mr Right shows up...

Oh Rashid, I do so very much appreciate your words, and thank you for the photo attachments. You look very attractive, with such sad eyes. Maybe we can be 'Special Friends'? That would be lovely. It would be even nicer if I could be one of those random guys you take home for a bang, and we could truly fuck each other's brains out! I confess that I'm very taken by your sexy photo, you look beautiful. Your body looks so smooth, I imagine it would so delicious to sixty-nine with you. I get horny just thinking about doing that, I can taste you from here and you taste so good...

Tristan, I would love to take you home, and fuck your brains out, after you fuck out mine. We can spend entire weekends in bed, making love, sleeping, making love, just chatting away, making love, watching TV, and making love again! Plus, might I also say, I'm very good in bed, I could make every fantasy you ever dreamed of come true. I would love to have you as a most special friend.

Rashid, I stoop down and gently kiss the tip of your beautiful cock in respect and affection. You make it all sound so delightful. I'm twenty-seven years old. Five foot ten inches tall. Dark complexion -- what I call Mediterranean swarthy due to my mixed parentage. My grandfather was a Bengali poet, to whom I give thanks for my smoky complexion, and my grandmother was an artistic Russian Jew, a surrealist painter, which perhaps explains my name. I'm slim to the point of skinny. My body is largely hairless, but for the scut of pubes. I am happy for flesh to be flesh, and for the tides of our desires to carry us where they will, to be true only to our inner soul. To lie naked together and to feel the firmness of your erection as I kiss it, as I run my tongue down its length, and taste you. I need nothing more...

My Dear Tristan, this is my story, for what it's worth. I was studying at university, but while I was at home during recess I was with my friend in my bedroom. We were naked. I was lying on my back on the bed and he was sitting on my chest, his knees straddling me and playfully pinning my arms to my side, his body was so lithe and vibrant with energy as he nuzzled the head of his smooth slender cock between my lips and into my mouth. I'm aroused and achingly erect. We're both giggling and laughing with pleasure as I wriggle, pretending to resist while secretly adoring the warm taste of his cock fucking into my mouth... when my Mother suddenly enters the room carrying a pile of my freshly-laundered clothes. She screams when she sees what we're doing, and my Father hurries in to investigate. My Mother was crying as my friend hurriedly retrieved his clothes and slips away as furtively as he can, and my Father postures and lectures that I'm an unnatural pervert who brings shame, disgrace and humiliation upon the family. He threw me out. Tells me never to return. That I'm no longer his son, that I'm ostracized from the family. I was distraught...

...I return to the University. I have no place else to go. And my tutor -- Mr Khan, notices my distress. He takes me aside comfortingly, gives me a drink, dries my eyes with a big white handkerchief, and asks why I'm crying. I just blurt out what had happened. I don't know why. He seems so reassuringly supportive, sympathetic, as though I can trust and confide in him. He asks 'was the other boy forcing you to do things against your will?' I answer honestly 'no, we'd done it before, we both wanted it.' He says not to worry, it's only natural and healthy for young men to explore their sexuality with each other. It is the evils of society that condemn us for following our own roads into eroticism. It was only then I realize his hand is resting on my thigh in a quite intimate way. He looks me straight in the eye as his fingers trace the outline of my cock through the loose material of my pants. My adrenaline surges and my heart melts. I meekly follow him. He has one of a circle of small grace-and-favour bungalows set beneath the trees in the university grounds. It was filled with books and papers. He has cable-TV and air-conditioning. Once inside it seems so right when he undresses me and I'm shyly naked for him. Mr Khan takes me doggie-style for my first real adult experience. He's forceful and insistent in the way he introduces me to full gay sex. After that, I practically live with him for about a year, and he fucks me every day, at least in the beginning. But on later occasions he also encourages me to ride him as he lies on his back on the bed. I lower myself onto him, reaching down to position the pulsing head of his cock at my ass-mouth, then exhale as I press myself down onto him and he slides up deep inside me...

...At first I was self-conscious of my puppy-fat and my round girlish bottom, but my own state of arousal seemed only incidental to his pleasure, and when he's fucking me my own jiggling erection is little more than an ornament. When we are young and nervous and unsure we need the help and encouragement of an older more dominant man to guide us along the wonderful path of sex, a strict and demanding but sensitive and considerate tutor who introduces us to the joys of regularly taking that big cock up the tight little bum-hole. Someone who will coach us into deep-throating and being face-fucked. Training us to always be obedient, submissive and courteous to him. This is how it was for me and Mr Khan, and I will be eternally grateful for the gift of sexual awareness he gave me.

My Dear Friend Rashid, I've been rereading your beautiful message, and there's so much poignancy in your words about 'he fucked me every day, at least in the beginning' -- I do so sympathize with what you were going through. I know that feeling, when sex is so powerful and urgent and consuming, then... suddenly, he no longer wants to fuck you quite so intensely. You're all keyed up with anticipation, and you fear he's losing interest. You wonder, what am I do wrong? Should I try harder? I've been there, believe me, I share your pain, I think it's wonderful the way we can get together and confide these hopes and failures and bitch about the fallibility of the men in our lives. Are all men the same, the world around...? Playing with our hearts and our cocks, then getting bored and moving on to new fresh bodies...? You and I, we share this great well of melancholy emotions.

Tristan, forgive me, while Mr Khan and I were together, I walked with a new confidence. I felt smug, attractive and desired for the first time in my life. It was as if I'd been living a lie, and at last I'd discovered my own true self. We were discrete, but I suppose other students realized what we were doing, while the university simply turned a blind eye because he is a good popular tutor, and they don't want to lose him. I always called him Mr Khan, even when we were having sex. I can't help but recall the glistening taste of the sweat on his skin, the musky aroma of his groin, the way he groans at the point of orgasm, the rich taste of his cum, the ache of him that remains deep inside as he slides the full length of his cock out of the tight clasp of my rectum. Ultimately, I fell in love with him, until things ended in a quite unpleasant fashion. I'm not even sure he was Gay, or if he simply took advantage of his situation. He told me that fucking boys is less problematic than fucking girls. Boys don't get the monthly, or the pregnancy when the monthly fails. Boys don't go protesting about sexual abuse and inappropriate behavior when they get dumped. They don't take their grievance to the University Principal's office or to the local newspaper...

...Maybe by telling me that he was giving me a coded warning? Because one of the cleaning domestics told me that he selected a different 'special boy' every year. That I was simply the latest in a long line of fuck-toys that he'd enjoyed. That he treats pliable boys like tissues, soft, clean and disposable. And yes, he dumped me at year's end. Some other boy is now riding that awesome cock. Whoever he is, I'm jealous. I'd give anything to live that wonderful year again. I've had a few flings since then, but have got my heart broken too. It's a rough world! I hope he remembers me with affection, as one of his best 'special boys'. But yeah, it is essential to be very careful here, as I suppose it is elsewhere as well. Tell me about yourself. I would love to know more about you.

My Dear Friend Rashid -- I do so very much hope that you are well and happy. I love your words, I respect your courage, and sympathize so very much with your heartache. Yes, life can be cruel -- whatever our gender orientation. I've certainly gone through my own darkness and uncertainty. You are lucky to have found love, even if it was fleeting and left you bitter. I'm not sure I've ever been in love. I've certainly been infatuated and obsessed by the men who have passed through my life, with a sexual intensity that burns and consumes me. Although I'm not sure that such a powerful urgency and physical craving constitutes love. When I'm in what I dignify as such a 'relationship', with a married man, I give everything I have and do everything I'm capable of doing for him. I love to suck his cock especially, although when he wants to fuck my tight little bum-hole, that's a delight too. I imagine you with your tutor-lover, fucking and getting fucked every night. Maybe you were lucky, even though it seems difficult to see it that way now? I've been reading back through your delicious letters...

...And I must shyly confess that some of your explicit confessions have affected me greatly, to the extent of producing a very pleasing hard-on that demands to be eased by a little wanking! I particularly enjoy where you say that your own state of arousal was only incidental to Mr Khan's pleasure, and that when he was fucking you your erection was 'just an ornament'. I love that image. And I'm certain that your cock is such a sweet ornamentation as it bobs and flips to the rhythm your lover makes in your bottom. I see it so clearly in my imagination that my own cock is hard and oozing fluid already. Or am I presuming too far...? I feel that despite everything we are united across the miles in sharing our tastes and passions. Am I wrong to think so...? Which is why we, me and you, should comfort each other. I would love to shower warm wet kisses all over your cock, and suck your balls, first one, then the other. Then -- just maybe, you'd like to suck my cock...? It's aching hard now, just at the thought of your moist lips closing around it... Love -Tristan-

Tristan, I would drain your balls, and then cuddle with you, till we fall asleep.

Rashid, I admit to you that most of my lovers have been married men. My most recent Boyfriend was a married Solicitor who worked with a City Law Firm, which meant that I only got to see him when he could get away on some pretext, which was once a week, or sometimes ten days. He usually texted ahead to tell me when he had free time and was coming around. I sat and waited for those text-message, I'm so excited. Yet when he arrives we barely speak to each other, we only snatch an hour of frantic sex together before he goes home to his wife. He just sticks his big beautiful cock in my mouth, and I gratefully suck it as he fucks my face until he cums down my throat. Or he slides it up my bum -- no condom, and I feel him orgasm so deep inside me, it feels so wonderful, such a joy. But then he pulls his pants back on and leaves me to go home to his wife. With only the delicate taste of his spunk in my mouth and the warm glow his cock has left in my bottom. And I'm left here feeling so inadequate, feeling horny and frustrated, going over every detail of what we've done together, in my mind, and getting hard all over again with yearning for him. I've tried so hard to keep his interest, dressing girly, doing all the dirty little things he likes... but, like you, I feel that maybe he's tiring of me...?

I could not agree more, Tristan. It's almost as though the men in our lives treat us like the condoms they squirt their load into! I assure you I've done pretty much everything men in my life have asked me to do, and yet every single one of them has left me. Somehow they've found out that the faults I have are something that overshadow my good side. Don't you sometimes feel as if somehow the men we meet are like the worst of the lot? Surely there are some good men out there! It's just our bad luck that we've never met any of them! Hope our luck changes soon!

My Dear Rashid, I don't believe for a moment that you have the faults you claim, I'm certain that from what I know of you, that you have a good loyal heart and a lot of love to give to the right person. We all have vulnerabilities. I admit that I'm something of a size-queen. Always have been. I worship a guy with a big cock. All of my resolves and good intentions to steer clear of casual sex dissolve with just one glimpse of a big cock, even if the guy is less than admirable. I'm sometimes afraid of where my urges drive me, that it might cause me harm. I went back to one guy's apartment with the obvious intention of having consensual sex, he was older than me and intimidatingly well-build, but once we got there he became quite aggressive, calling me a 'dirty faggot'. He went into this long tirade about faggots always chasing him because he was well-hung, even when he was at school other boys wanted to see and touch his cock, and how he was treated as a piece of cock-meat by greedy gay pervs...