Gay Erotic Stories

Tunis 1983 In all of North Africa, Tunis is certainly the best and the friendliest place for the gay traveler: the people, the sand strands, and that delicious cuisine. Think of the briqs for instance. Not so risky as certain other North African countries if you are prudent and circumspect. The men are friendly and not aggressive; the police have an eye on the security of the tourists, not on what they do as long as the laws are respected. A discreet butt-fuck is not a crime. You must however know what you want, because there are no gay bars, no exhibitionist faggots, no obvious professional boys-for-rent, only adolescent and adult machos who do exclusively what machos love to do: to fuck or to get sucked. A fuck is for physical relief; it does not compromise their masculine dignity or their personality; that's what they fear like the plague. The younger ones ask in a friendly way for some pocket money. These days, the tariff for a correct service was 10 Dinar, something like 8 to 10 dollars. Money gives the boy an alibi; he does not give and does not receive lust and pleasure. It also helps a jobless boy to survive for some days in the big city or to help his mama to feed the little ones. All this is a normal thing, provided it remains discreet. As girls are not available and an Arab will never play the passive role -- in no case would he ever admit that -- the main sexual object is the European tourist. Of those who travel alone, there is quite a lot who visit the country for this agreeable situation. Another condition to enjoy the country, you must speak French. Then you have the choice. With just English, your only resource would be the doorman of the hotel, and you cannot be sure that he is willing and ready. For the moment. Avenue Habib Bourguiba goes from Place d’Afrique to the (now closed) catholic cathedral and to the Medina, the old city with the Souk of marvels. This promenade is lined by tree alleys, where thousands of birds scream and whistle, flower beds are in profusion, wooden newspaper, mc and flower kiosks. The people of Tunis are fond of flowers like no other people in Africa; in springtime, you see the young men with a jasmine flower behind the ear. The communal tank trucks come at 3 a.m. to clean and to water the whole promenade. The park benches between the trees of the alley invite encounters, more or less innocent: "Vous permettez? Will you permit me?... Il fait beau ce soir...It’s a beautiful night…" Walking up or down in the middle of the alley, be aware of eye language. The man or the adolescent looks directly into your eyes, with a broad smile, and often that is a message. If you don't like the person or his offer, or when you cross one of the hundred or more policemen who guard there the Ministry of the Interior ("where they keep the Register of the Population!"), you just look on the ground. You should not think that flocks of horny satyrs are running around with foam on the mouth. The Avenue is just the promenade of the sympathetic population of Tunis, married couples in Sunday dress, groups of chuckling girls, fiery eyed young daddies pushing their baby buggy, dignified old gentlemen in Djellabah and red Fez or in dark blue suit with the coloured ribbon. Sometimes, rarely in fact, you may cross a man or a boy with a broad smile and a direct, inviting look into your eyes who passes his hand carelessly over the spot where it does good. You must know or even expect the gesture to realize it; the approach is always perfectly discreet. Now, if you are interested in the good things the man may propose, you make the same movement. After having crossed, you turn back some steps later, and you see that the other one has done the same. After some hesitant courting turns, you sit down on a park bench or you enter one of the small side streets without looking back. You will be joined at once, unless it was just a teasing play. Cigarette please, light please, and the affair is concluded, one question remaining: "Do you know a quiet place?" One night, at about 1 a.m., I crossed three young men coming down in the middle of the alley, heavy built like road or building workers, in Sunday suits that apparently did not fit them. The heavy fellow in the middle looked into my eyes with a broad grin and his large red paw kneaded the content of his trousers. The two comrades on his left and his right looked on the exhibition, which was not so discreet as usual, then on me with a delighted grin, and nodded enthusiastically "oui oui oui!" Some steps later I turned back and there they stood waiting. I nodded and turned into a small side street, which was deserted now. They followed me eagerly and encircled me against a house wall. I wanted to abridge the usual, thrilling step-by-step approach, since it was late and the next day I had to reach the Algerian border, some 500 km from Tunis. So I asked directly: "Alors, qu'est que vous voulez? Now, what do you want?" They did not say a word, just chuckled and laughed. I thought I had understood: "Lah afhamou al arabiya!" The same reaction. The big one who had hooked me, pointed to his ear and to his mouth, and his index waved the sign of "no no no,” the two others showed their agreement with him and giggled enthusiastically. Oh no, a gang of deaf-mutes! What is that going to be? I raised my eye-brows, my shoulders and asked with my hands, "Alors quoi? Now, what's going on?" Again an outburst of merriment. The smallest one of the three shaped an O with the index and the thumb of his left hand, and moved the index of the right hand in and out; then he pointed to himself and to his two comrades. Actually, I found his crude and direct sign language funny, but I gesticulated "Quoi? Tous les trois? What? All three of you?” showing the number with my fingers. "No, no, no, too much for me, too hard," slapping on the arm and on the hard belly of the big one. The little interpreter, as I called him since they could not tell me their names, shook his head and made an appeasing gesture, "Non, non, doucement, gentiment - no, slowly, gently," They begged with their eyes of faithful dogs, please, please! I answered with the same movement of the hand: "Okay, all three, but slowly, smoothly?" They smiled like happy angels and cackled with delight, in expectation of the promised slow and gentle butt-fuck. Our gang of four engaged now into the lesser lighted area of the old town. In Tunis, they still have the old French system of the buzzing door opener that allows one to enter into the staircase leading to the different floors. The three boys dragged me into the dark space under the main stairs where usually the bicycles are standing, something like “chchcht” was whispered and we went to work, their pants open and mine down around the ankles. The interpreter took the first turn, but as he was smaller than me, he had to stand on his foot-tips and to jump upwards. I had pity on him, so I bent my knees and put my hands on them. Now it went easier and faster. His comrade, the big one, stood beside me and got his caliber out which corresponded in size to his paws, and he rubbed it slowly to an impressive full size. The third one stood sentinel at the slightly opened main door, one hand on the door wing and the other in the depths of his trousers. My fucker gargled something like "aa aah aahrrrf ..." and was about to faint with excitement when he shot his load. As soon as his prick had slipped out, the heavy boy seized me and began to fuck, slow and hot. As I was very excited, especially for him, his big organ caused me no pain, just an immense feeling of hot well-being. This lasted for a good time, because he probably controlled himself efficiently. He finally contracted himself, seized me heavily by my hip bones and I felt a warm spurt inside. For a moment, he stood motionless, and then he dragged his dick out of the hole and kissed me on the throat and on the lips. This never had happened to me. To be precise: never in an Arabic country. He did not seem to be embarrassed in front of his comrades. Maybe it was because the staircase hall was dark. I was sorry because I would have liked some more time in Tunis because of him. Now it was the watchman's turn, who was replaced at the main door by the interpreter. I was not very hot for this third fuck after all the excitement provided by Big Muscle Man, but a promise is a promise. The boy crossed the entrance hall with his boner in his hand, making his comrades chuckle. He did not lose a moment and penetrated me eagerly. When he had got his cum off and replaced his tool in his trousers, I slightly touched the hand of the big boy I was so horny. He understood immediately what I needed and gave me a second servicing as exciting as the first one, cackling with joy the whole time. The situation was, however, risky as some of the inhabitants could be aware and intrigued by this busy group downstairs, and so we left, closing the main door softly behind us. When we took leave from each other in the street, they shook my hands enthusiastically and gargled in that sound of theirs, “aaa aaa arre!” They certainly had not had the opportunity to fuck a willing partner for a long time. To find one is certainly somehow difficult for their kind, and they cannot do it among themselves. As for me, besides being satisfied, I was happy to have accomplished my daily Good Deed. Comments: moran_nl@yahoo.com