Gay Erotic Stories

Nigel received a warm welcoming at the Africa Liberation Day celebrations, and felt sorry he couldn’t stay, since his flight for Casablanca, Morocco was leaving later the same evening. He had noted another fiery speaker, who turned out to be from Morocco. It also turns out they are on the same flight. Nigel is excited, because this Brother can tell him a lot about the experience of Morocco’s black people, suffering at the hands of Arabs. More so, the Brother, named Mansouri, is also a strong-looking, masculine guy with an impressive physique.

Mansouri is a mature man in his late 40s, is dark reddish brown in complexion, has short, wavy curls, a big moustache, black, deep eyes and the way his grey suit sat, you can tell his body is not out of shape. As they sit next to each other inside the plane, Mansouri loosen his tie; unbutton the top of his shirt and a forest of black, curly hair pops out from his chest. As he rolls up his shirtsleeves, Nigel is noticing the same thick hair on his arms. He can’t remember ever having seen a Brother with so much hair! Nigel doesn’t normally care much for body hair, but there is a special turn on with Mansouri’s wild rainforest. For the whole flight, he doesn’t really follow Mansouri’s conversatio –all he can think of is how hairy the rest of that body is.

As they arrive in Casablanca, Mansouri convinces Nigel to cancel his pre-booked hotel and come with him to his family’s village, some kilometers outside town. They arrive long after midnight, and the big family house, set on a hill is dark and quiet. It quickly comes alive when the family discovers Mansouri has returned home. Nigel learns his new friend has two wives and nine children. Some of his relatives are also living in the house. Both wives are stunningly beautiful, with dark complexion and warm, brown eyes. A popular perception is that all Moroccans are light skinned ‘arab-looking’ people. But North Africa has vast numbers of dark skinned Africans, suffering at the hands of Arab prejudice.

The family is happy to see Mansouri and makes Nigel feel more home than he can ever remember having been in somebody’s house. As the younger wife and the daughters prepare tea and a meal for the two men, the house is filled with aromatic odors of cinnamon, turmeric, curry and cloves. The family is all dressed in ‘gowns –the men in kaftans and the girls and women in long dresses with beautiful veils decorated with silver. After eating a tasteful dinner, one of Mansouri’s daughters takes Nigel by his hand and leads him into a side room. She motions to him that he can take a bath here– there is a wooden built-in basin in the middle of the floor, and she fetches him two large calabashes of water before she leaves. He undresses, slips out of Rafael’s briefs, and pours water down his body, enjoying the sensual feeling of warm water and pleasant aromas.

When he is looking for a towel, Mansouri’s older son, Aziz, comes in with one. Instead of handing him the towel, the early-20’s-looking boy starts padding him dry, all over the body. Nigel is puzzled, but doesn’t say anything. The room is silent as Aziz pads every part of him dry. He then gets a jar of oil and starts massaging Mansouri’s body. Starting with his feet and legs, he works his way up, takes his time and with experienced hands, gives him a rough, and at the same time, gentle massage. He stops when he has done his upper thighs, and Nigel is about to get aroused.

Aziz then motions for him to lie down on his stomach. This young boy has obviously got it all in check. Nigel is confused, is the boy coming on to him, and is this kind of massage something he is supposed to do, what if the boy noticed that he is about to get aroused? He tries to say something, but Aziz hushes him to silence. He then starts to give Nigel a massage that’s out of this world. Nigel tries to resist the sensation, but after a few minutes he has submitted to the world Aziz’ hands take him to. His hands are everywher –on his neck, his lower back, and his shoulders and on the back of his thighs.

Nigel is deep in a world of pleasure, although his dick is still soft. Then Aziz pauses. Nigel can feel him pressing a point between his toes very firmly; first it feels like a small sting of pain, then, as out of nowhere, his dick is instantly hard in two seconds. It gets hard so quick he doesn’t even get a chance to think. Then Aziz starts up a wild routine, with his hands all over him again. In between he presses the same point between the toes, and his dick reacts every time. He is uncomfortable lying on top of his stiff boner, but is shy to turn around and expose himself to this boy. Without having touched his dick, ass or nothing, Aziz brings him almost to the point where his balls squeeze and want to shoot, but he stops just seconds before it is about to happen. “My father is waiting for you outside”, he says. Then he gets up and leaves the room.

Nigel is not sure if he is dreaming or if this is really happening. But as he gets up, his hard dick will not go down, as if it has been cursed by it’s own hard-on status. He grabs a khaftan from the wall and goes outside. He finds Mansouri sitting alone by a fireplace behind the house. The fire gives his face and skin an impressive glow. “So, did you enjoy your bath and massage?” Mansouri asks him. Trying to hide his hard-on as he sits down across from Mansouri, Nigel is confused. Did he ask his son to do this to him?

“Eeeh, well, yeah, it was very nice…” he stutters.

“Don’t be nervous, my friend”, Mansouri convinces him. “Aziz is an eager medical student, and he is currently working on traditional methods to cure impotency”.

“Well”, Nigel smiles, “I think he will do a good job.”

Mansouri looks back at him with a serious face; “I know he will”.

The two men talk away in the night, as they sit around the fire on low chairs, sipping sweet tea. They discuss politics, philosophy, government and economics. It is only when Mansouri pulls his knees up, a move, which pulls his khaftan up above his ankles and exposes his dick, that Nigel loses his drift. His eyes wander from Mansouri’s brown feet, only covered by sandals, and then the thick stream of black, curly hair starts–up his legs, down his thighs, ending in a solid afro-bush standing out of his crotch. His crotch, in turn, serves as home to a phat, curvatious dick hanging down, almost touching the ground. Nigel’s eyes are transfixed, because this is a good piece of meat, which would make any vegetarian regret his stand. The monster is soft, and when its owner tells his stories waving his arms and explaining, his Moroccan banana is swingin’ from side to side. Nigel’s own dick never really went back to soft after Aziz’ touch, but now it is harder than ever. He doesn’t know what to do with himself–if sexual frustration has an ultimate point, he think he has reached it. Not knowing what Mansouri is really about, he takes a chance.

“So what is the future for Black people in Morocco”, he asks Mansouri with a challenging look, raising his own khaftan casually so Mansouri can also inspect his own market.

“The future holds great things, but we need to study it carefully,” Mansouri motions for Nigel to come over and sit next to him.

“You are right,” Nigel replies as he gets up and walks over to Mansouri, deciding to stand right in front of him, “and I guess we have to reach out and grab what is given to us.” He bends his hips forward, making his boner stretch out a massive bulge in the khaftan, pointing right between Mansouri’s eyes.

“You are wrong”, Mansouri looks him straight in the eye, “you have to reach out and reclaim what rightfully belongs to you”. Nigel is not sure if that is an invitation but he tries to remove Mansouri’s khaftan. “But you have to fight for it, otherwise you are no good in any revolution”, Mansouri tells him as he gets up, not letting his khaftan go.

“Well, I don’t have a problem with the fighting part”, Nigel says firmly and insists on removing the khaftan, and when Mansouri still resists; “And I’m all about a serious revolution” he says, sounding agitated, pushing Mansouri down to the ground and pulls off the khaftan by force. Mansouri is not resisting anymore. Nigel takes in the sight of this BrothaBody lying in front of him. Mansouri’s body hair is out of control, yet it affirms every muscle and curve on his body. He is just staring back at him.

“What’s your next move, Soldier”, Mansouri is still challenging him.

“I stick to my strategy”, Nigel replies and sits across Mansouri’s legs as he starts feeling up his chest, stomach and thighs – all covered in that thick layer of hair. His hands find that banana member and starts giving it a very revolutionary touch.

Mansouri sighs, filled with pleasure, but his eyes remain a challenging stare; “What if you run out of ammunition?”

“I always pack more than my enemy would expect”, Nigel replies and works Mansouri’s growing manhood. He is in control of the situation.

“What if something unexpected happens?”

“Well, I’m always prepared”, he shoots back, knowing he will get his way with this Brotha.

“What if you underestimated your enemy?” The questions are starting to annoy Nigel. He needs to give this man some dick in his mouth so he can shut up. As he is getting ready, Mansouri’s arms are locking him down, chin to chin, kneeling over Mansouri’s body. Nigel is strong, but trying to resist, he can see he is overpowered. And it seems Mansouri is holding him with one hand. The other is lifting his khaftan, exposing his ass to the moon and he can feel Mansouri’s fingers fondling his ass with something sticky and wet. His face is deep into the forest on Mansur’s chest, and he can’t move an inch, as much as he tries to wrestle. “What if the enemy has a second regiment?” Nigel hears the question, but before he can even get to think about the meaning, he feels his ass being torn apart and invaded by something big.

He has never had anything but some freaky sister’s finger up his ass, so he is both confused, upset, frightened and amazed at the same time. The big thing is entering his ass bit by bit. Nigel loses his sense of understanding, he feels as if he is about to pass out – and in the middle of the confusion, pain turns to relief, and then to a strange enjoyment as his ass is being ploughed in deeper. What mysterious powers do these people possess? How could this be happening to him? Someone who was always on top of things, be it a political problem, a rally stage, a man ass or a woman pussy. That big thing is riding up his ass; to a point so deep he can’t describe the sensation.

The thing is banging harder and faster, and he is trying to figure out how Mansur can be all over him at the same time. After a wild ride, the thing exits him, and the arms lose their grip. Confused, angry and excited at the same time, he turns around and looks straight into Aziz’ big dick. This is more than he can take; his ass has been ploughed by a little youth! Mansur turns him around and looks him in the eye; “Don’t let your anger and cockiness control you, my Brother, I had to humble you – you are a good fighter, but in order to solve problems, you need to be prepared for anything”.

Aziz sits down with them. “Sorry mister, let me make it up to you”, he says. Aziz then presses the same point between his toes again, and, miraculously his dick is up in 2 seconds again. “Watch this”, Aziz says, as Mansur puts his hand over Nigel’s mouth. Aziz then massages a point towards the back of his foot – and all of sudden Nigel’s balls are shooting out big loads of cum through his dick. The thick juice splashes all over his body and some filters into Mansur’s forests. Only because of Mansur’s hand, nobody can hear the deep growl he is letting out, in both surprise and a feeling of ecstasy. This is the weirdest thing he has ever felt. Both Aziz and Mansur laughs. “Well, Soldier, you’ve learnt some lessons. Tomorrow you can thank me”.

Feedback: AlphonsoXL@hotmail.com