Blac Box

One might ask what I, a young American, was doing in a seedy bar and male bordello on a dusty street in Peshawar, Pakistan, walking down the stairs from the rooms overhead after having serviced a Pakistani military officer. And, indeed, that's exactly what the fine-looking fellow in a well-pressed safari suit who was lounging against the bar asked me when I reached the bar and positioned myself at the perfect nonthreatening, but possibly available, distance from him.

He was quite presentable indeed, and an American himself, as revealed by his accent, and he was giving me a friendly smile, so I picked one of my less acerbic responses. "I'm here having a drink, if anyone is paying."

That, of course, was the very shortest version of how I came to be here. The longer version was rather painful and wholly unflattering, so I didn't talk about it much. The truthful version is that I had been working in male porn films in Jersey City, of all places, and the director of one of my movies said he was taken with me and my commanding stage presence, and did I know that the best pay for male porn stars was to be had in Karachi—of all places?

I didn't know that, and I didn't take into account that the director was a South Asian himself and one with a particularly shifty-eyed appearance. He offered to pay my way to Karachi, saying he happened to be going there himself, and I bit. Barely there, he promptly sold me to a chieftain in the unmannered tribal areas in the north, along the Afghanistan border, and I spent a good three months in his harem being defiled by all and sundry. When he had grown tired of me, I was dumped on the streets of Peshawar one early morning to look out for myself. I was saving for airfare back to the States, and this bar and bordello was where I was doing the saving, such as it was. It certainly was a step up from being tumbled on a dirty rug in a mud hut by sometimes two burly men at once—although not much more than a baby step up.

You thus could say that I was in pretty desperate straits and open to almost any half-way reasonable suggestion for changing my lot even slightly for the better. And that's why Steve's proposition, when he got around to pitching it, didn't sound half bad.

"I'm standing drinks over here, if you're interested, yes," the handsome, well-muscled man of about thirty said. "My name is Steve, by the way. And you're . . .?"

"Ken. You can call me Ken," I said, as I moved over beside him, close enough for him to make a move if he wanted to. "And I'd do almost anything for a gin tonic," I added, remembering one of my most frequently used pickup lines.

"Almost anything?" Steve asked right on cue, and the palm of his hand went to the small of my back.

"Well, 2,000 rupees plus that gin and tonic would get you anything," I said. I turned and smiled at him, and he grinned back at me as his hand moved down to cup my buttocks.

He fucked me on the same narrow bed in the small room upstairs where I had sucked off the military officer not more than thirty minutes earlier.

Steve was a fast mover at the bar after our signaling was over; I hardly had time to down my gin tonic before he had me twisted to where he was letting my butt know he had a raging hard on—and quite a good-sized one too—and he had one hand on my basket and the other running up under my shirt and searching for my nipples.

There were only a couple of other men in the bar. A few were enjoying the view, but none were showing any surprise, having seen me more or less in this position a couple of times a day. I'd seen the dicks of everyone I could see from the bar myself on days when they could scrape up the necessary rupees.

When we got to the room, he told me to strip—all of the way—but quickly, if you please. He wanted to see me in the altogether, he said, but time was short. While I undressed, he did so as well, neatly folding his clothes. He had an athlete's body, tanned and perfect except for a few scars on an arm and his side that could be either gunshot or stab wounds.

Perhaps I should have put a halt to everything then. But I didn't. He already had money out and on the nightstand—somewhat more than the requested 2,000 rupees.

"Do lube and condoms come with the quoted price?" he asked.

I opened the top drawer of the nightstand, and he leaned over me and reached in and took out a professional-size tube of lubricant and two condoms. He held the condoms up for me to see.

"I put 6,000 rupees down," he said. "We square so far?"

I nodded and leaned back against the side wall, my shoulder blades touching the cool, moist mud brick, and rolled my hips up at the edge of the bed and spread my legs.

He fucked me hard and fast and deep and expertly. And I gasped at the thickness and depth and rapid pistoning and came a long time before he did.

"Stretch out on your stomach," he said in a low voice after he'd spent his first condom. I did so and he sat on the bed beside my hips and started massaging my back and thighs and butt.

It felt nice, something I didn't usually get from a client except for the few who fancied they were in love with me and thought they could, eventually, convince me I was in love with them too if they treated me right. This mostly meant they wanted their fucks for free. I could have been in love with an exotic prince if he'd swept in and taken me away to his mountain palace. But none had ever ventured into the bordello in this section of the city to my knowledge.

Steve ran his hand between my thighs. I sighed and opened my legs to him, and he encircled my cock in a fist and started rubbing my piss slit with a lubricated thumb.

And while he was slowly masturbating me, he offered to be my saving prince.

"You married to this place?" he asked.

"Not particularly."

"I'm taking a walk in the mountains and could use a companion. Fancy some fresh air for a couple of days?"

"Last time I checked I wasn't due a vacation," I answered.

"It would only be for a couple of days."

"I don't have hiking . . . ahhhh, yes, yes, like that . . . I don't have hiking boots."

"I'd outfit you," he said. "And it wouldn't be a vacation, really. I'd pay you 20,000 rupees."

"And fuck me how many times for that?"

"Oh, maybe five times—unless you wanted more, of course. That would be double pay."

"I don't know . . . yeah, maybe." Business had been slow; it was the wet season, and the men were out watching their women work the fields during the day and coming home exhausted in the evening from seeing how hard the woman worked.

"In that case, here's another 2,000 rupees," he said as he reached over and took more money out of his wallet and laid it on top of the 6,000 already on the nightstand. "Sit up and blow me. I want to know how well you suck before I'm sure about taking you along."

Steve stood up beside the bed, and I sat up on the edge and palmed the hollows below his hips and beside his hard-muscled buttocks and opened my lips to his erect cock. I sucked on just his glans and flicked his piss slit with my tongue until he groaned and palmed the back of my head and forced my lips farther up his shaft. I didn't think I'd be able to take him all in, but he proved me wrong to a bit of objecting and gagging on my part.

He was breathing heavily and I could feel him shuddering—always a sign that I was delivering satisfaction—when he pulled away from me, made me roll the second condom on his cock, and told me to lay belly down on the bed again. I opened my legs as I felt him pull my cock up between my thighs. And then he gave my cock some attention with his mouth as he crouched between my legs. His lips and tongue went to my hole, and despite all advisories from me that I was close to coming again, he tongue-fucked my channel and slowly pumped my cock with his fist until I did, indeed, come.

He took up a pillow that had fallen to the floor and inserted it under my belly, raising my pelvis to him, and then he stretched out on top of me, closely fitting his body to mine, and I widened my stance as his cock slid into me. He quickly encased my thighs in his, though, causing me to gasp and groan at the tight filling of my channel by his thick cock, and plastered his lips to the hollow of my neck as he slow fucked me for an eternity.

After that there was no question whether I was going with him.

I didn't count on how cold a walk in the mountains along the Pakistan-Afghanistan border north of the Khyber Pass would be.

He was as quick and insistent on getting off on that hike as he'd been about getting me into bed. He didn't even give me a chance to ask him why he was taking that walk.

I really should have thought about asking him that before we set off.

We took a Land Rover as far up into the foothills as we could and then hiked for a while and stopped at a rest station built for mountain climbers at the base of a mountain that looked pretty much like the Rockies to me. But maybe a bit higher. OK, looks can be deceiving. Probably a great deal higher.

After dinner, taken in silence because I was already exhausted just by the short walk from the Land Rover, Steve disappeared outside. I stepped out into the cold to see what he was up to and found him holding some sort of beeping metallic box and turning it in different directions, listening to the change in the beeping. It had a needle on it too, that seemed to insist that it wanted to point up the mountain. I saw Steve smile and then he turned and saw me, and I saw him give a little frown.

I started to ask him questions about the beeping box, but he bustled me inside, threw me down on one of the cots and fucked all of the questioning out of me, leaving me a heap of satisfied sighs—at least for the moment.

It was still dark when he woke me up again with his cock plowing my depths. And when he'd spent another condom, his own this time, we bundled up and started our slow hike up the mountain.

We made remarkably good distance, entirely, I'll report, because of Steve relentlessly driving us on. Twice on the trail he stopped and told me to go take a piss or something over to the side, and I saw him open his little beeping box and take bearings again.

Before nightfall, we had reached another rest stop cabin on the side of the trail. I heard Steve mutter, "Ah, good, they're still here," which was my first clue that we no longer were alone on the trail.

Three men were in the cabin when we entered it. All of them were hulky and bulky and Slavic looking. They were speaking Russian, which, I'm happy to say, I heard a lot of in Jersey City, so I know how it sounds when I hear it. Can't understand a word of it, of course. Which was too bad, because the three were looking us over real good and muttering to each other.

Surprise, surprise, Steve spoke Russian too, and then I found out that the man who seemed to be their leader, a muscle-bound dude who stood a head taller than the other two and whose name was given as Sergei, also spoke passable English.

I don't know what Steve told them in Russian, but they settled right down and became quite friendly.

They had brought vodka. And, more important, they were happy to share. Steve said no thanks, he didn't drink vodka, but when he produced chocolates from his backpack, the Russians seemed to forget any tendency to take umbrage at his failure to drink with them. I did drink with them, though. I didn't get drunk, but I got tipsy—too tipsy, in fact, to be much use to myself for what came later.

While we all shared dinner rations, Steve took me over to the side and gave me a serious look.

"Listen, you are a loyal American, aren't you?" he whispered.

"Well, yes, of course," I said. "I'm not really in Peshawar because I have anything against America. Just circumstances, you know."

"What I'm going to tell you now can't go any farther than you. You must never tell anyone. If I thought you would, I'd have to kill you."

"No, really?" I said, amused. But then I wasn't all that amused anymore. He was smiling—grimly, though. But it was his eyes. They weren't smiling at all.

"These guys are Russian spies," he whispered. "They're after something I've been sent by U.S. intelligence to retrieve, and I . . . we have to make sure I get there before they do. Can you understand that?"

"Spies? Get where?" I muttered back. "Does this have anything to do with that beeping box in your backpack."

"Yes, of course," Steve responded, his voice laced with exasperation. "But we can't talk long; they'll get suspicious. I'll just tell you straight out and you nod your head if you're with me. If you're a loyal American. This is very, very important."

I nodded my head—not really for practice, but he was so intense and had such a strong grip on my arm that I wanted him to know I'd die for America, if I had to. I'd even sing the "Star Spangled Banner," it that would help—although even in these circumstances I couldn't guarantee I'd hit that high note in the song.

"A plane went down on the mountain. A reconnaissance drone. Something so new and different that almost no one knows about it. It was locating Al-Qaeda leaders. And it went down. And somehow the Russians know about it too, although only I have the homing device to be able to walk directly to it. I've got to get to the plane first. There's a black box and some other gear that I must retrieve. Understand?"

I nodded my head. One of the Russians came over and refilled my vodka cup. Both Steve and I smiled sweetly to him, and then he went back to where the other two Russians were huddled. Sergei had his hand high on the thigh of the sitting Russian, and the other one leaned down and planted a kiss on Sergei's lips as he squatted and folded himself into the bundle.

Steve gave a low whistle. "OK, that's it. I was told that was it, but now I know. Here's what we are going to do. Ken, Ken. Focus, look at me. Read my lips. I have to say this fast and very low."

I turned to him and focused on his lips. There seemed to be two sets of them, though. I obviously was drinking too much vodka too fast.

"I have to go on ahead tonight to the wreckage and retrieve what I can," Steve whispered. "You have to stay here and occupy the Russians. Understand? Try to keep them from noticing I haven't come back from taking a leak. I'll be back as soon as I can to pick you up and we can go back down the mountain while the Russians go on up looking for what's no longer there. Understand?"

I started to nod my head and then realized it didn't make complete sense to me.

But before I could say anything, Steve had reached over and pulled my sweater over my head. He then put his arms around me from behind and palmed my nipples and called out to the Russians, "Say, Sergei. You like my friend here?"

Sergei looked up—in fact all three looked up—and I could tell that they did like me, that they liked me a lot.

"Ken here is a male whore," Steve continued in a friendly, casual tone. "I bought his time down in a bar in Peshawar. Brought him along so I could fuck him in the evenings."

Three sets of Russian eyes widened up to saucers. I could tell that they all understood English well enough.

"You want to fuck him tonight? Only 20,000 rupees and you can all have him. I'll go outside. I'll sleep in the shed outside. You can all fuck him all night long. Only 20,000 rupees. What do you say? Look at this chest. Young American piece. You should see his nice hole. Good fucking, I can assure you."

I never saw 20,000 rupees appear so fast. And with only mild vodka-impaired objection and struggle from me, which the Russians enjoyed immensely, they did, indeed, fuck me in relays most of the night, with one Russian cock barely vacating my channel and my mouth before another plunged in and started pumping away. They were so engrossed with me and with each other that none of them ever showed any curiosity about where Steve was.

Toward dawn, they were all exhausted and in a stupor from having imbibed more vodka than I had and doing more vigorous fucking than they should have done in the thin atmosphere, and at last, saying I had to take a piss, I painfully rose and pulled on whatever of my warm gear I could find in the dark—the Russians never having bothered to make me take off my hiking boots while they fucked me—and hobbled out the door.

My timing was perfect. I was still creating yellow snow not far from the door to the cabin, when a bright light on the side of the mountain, a good bit farther up than where I stood, blossomed up and caught my attention. Seconds later I heard a low, rumbling boom. Not loud enough to wake the Russians, I am happy to say, but loud enough in combination with the slowly waning bright light up there outlining a hump on the mountain to know that Steve wasn't just retrieving a black box and some portable secret gear from that crashed plane up there.

I also wasn't dumb enough to believe that Steve was coming back this way to pick me up.

I felt in the pocket of my parka and found that Steve had stowed the Russians' 20,000 rupee in there. At least he'd done that much. This, with the 20,000 he'd given me back in Peshawar, might be enough to get me as far as Karachi—a good two centuries forward toward civilization. That is if the Russians didn't get suspicious when they woke up and found that Steve wasn't here anymore.

"Ah, well, that's life. My life, certainly," I muttered and, with a sigh, turned my nose downhill and started off at a slow, painful gait, hoping that Steve had left the keys in the Land Rover—knowing, though, that he either had not, or that he had every intention of getting there before anyone else did.