This is a work of fiction, and as such the characters are not bound by the usual dictates of modern society. Unsafe sexual practices can be undertaken with impunity only in the world of fantasy. In reality, it is your obligation and your right to play safely, sanely and healthily.
I hope you enjoy my work, and if you have any comments, or ideas that may inspire new work, please feel free to contact me through the link below- all E-mails will be answered to the best of my ability.
I would like to thank all of you for the many letters you wrote (so far over 200) and for telling me how much you liked or hated the story so far. Keep the letters coming and send in a donation to the site you are reading this on.
End of Chapter 24
"Damn it lover you don't need any aphrodisiacs. Get the hell out of here. You better take that shower-alone. GO NOW, habibi, before I insist that you fuck me right here and now. Right on the floor with the servants as onlookers cheering you on..."
Chapter 25
Joseph, after taking a shower and a quick shave exited the bathroom drying his damp hair with a big fluffy towel. At one time he hated the fact that the army had insisted that his longish blond hair had to be cut short. Now he could see some advantages to the military 'Buzz Cut'. First of all, it dried quickly and it was easy to keep groomed. But lately an additional plus came to light. Whenever he rubbed the short stubble it reminded him of Rich. Now that man was the love of his life, but at times he could be so weird.
For the last few weeks, during their lovemaking, he would find any excuse (or no excuse at all) to rub his cock and balls over the short hair. When Joseph asked him why, he said it was a major turn on. That it felt like tiny electric shocks stimulating his libido. He said it made him fantasize about all kinds of erotic situations, none of which he would divulge. Joseph never pressed him for any answers, but the fantasies sure added to their bedtime activities.... Oh! Damn it, there I go again the soldier thought; all I have to do is to think about Rich and I start getting hard. I've got to put him out of my mind. Thinking about him can make me careless and I cannot afford the luxury of that now. It takes only one slip and its curtains for me. (No, not the type of curtains he visualized in one of his own crazy fantasies. The one in which the both of them were on stage doing the "Dance of the Seven Veils". After the last veil floated to the ground, he and Rich, completely nude, are holding hands and bowing before a huge applauding audience as the curtain comes down!) (Now who is weird? he asked himself.) He was constantly trying to force this daydreaming crap out of his consciousness by repeatedly telling himself, over and over; I have to stop thinking of him. Being with Rich is fun. With Rich my mine can relax and be free. Being with Fazzi is not fun. It is work, deadly work. I have to focus and keep focused. My mind must always remain concentrated on the job.
Wrapping the big towel around his waist, he walked over to the walk-in closet where he surveyed the growing collection of clothes hanging there. Along with two sets of army fatigues and his class 'A' uniforms, the maid had hung the new suits and sports clothes that Fazzi had ordered custom made for him. (Fazzi had also wanted to have his uniforms tailored but he had really put his foot down on that one.) The tailor had done a beautiful job on the new items. All were beautifully crafted and hand finished. All very expensive looking and made to give the impression that the wearer was either a highly successful young businessman or more likely, a man 'kept' by one. The entire wardrobe must have set Fazzi back almost as much as he had paid for the BMW. Standing there he could not help but admire the beauty of two special items. Items. Hanging there were not one but two tuxedoes, one a formal black 'penguin' tux and the other a white dinner tux. While he had not wanted either, now as he ran his fingers over the material, he secretly ached to try on the black one.
In addition to this expensive wardrobe, Fazzi had also paid the tailor a small fortune to have a tailor's dummy made up. That duplicate of the soldier's body now stood in the corner of the closet and could be used when Fazzi wanted to order new outfits for Joseph. The only thing required was to select the material and style and the tailor would make up whatever he wanted. When not used for that purpose, the tailor had told them it could be used to hold jackets while the maid steamed the wrinkles out. When Joseph had again protested, it was Fazzi this time who put his foot down. Throwing his arms in the air, begging for the assistance of a higher authority, he then shook his finger in Joseph's face and said, "damn it habibi you better face certain facts; no matter what you say or want, I am going to surprise you from time to time with gifts. It is my nature! I love to give gifts to those I love. It is the nature of my people to express love in this manor. This is an old Arab tradition and if I must say so myself, perhaps one of the best. So why not make it a little easier on the both of us! I don't have a lot of time to waste shopping nor do I have the time to stand in line exchanging something that is the wrong fit or size. But most of all, as you should have learned by now, it is just not my style to buy 'off the racks'. That is for peons. Then again how can a gift be a surprise if you have to go for fittings? And this will simplify it for you too. I don't want you to have to spend all that time on fittings, standing on a raised platform having a stranger running his hands over that sexy body, touching you where he should not touch you and sticking pins into you. Time is money and we can use it much more effectively ---- besides if someone is going to stick something into you-it is going to be me and I won't use pins. Look at it as a money saving thing. We are lovers as well business partners. We will be going to a lot of business and social activities and we will need more clothes. The tailor made a mannequin of me and I am ordering one of you. Just trust me on this--this is the way of the 'rich class'. And you, my ex-farmer, are going to be rich, very rich. So get used to it. You are no longer a 'Fellah'. And I don't want to hear or see you acting like a peon ever again."
Opening one of the dresser draws, Joseph ran his fingertips over the new silk dressing gown and pajamas the Arab had purchased for him. He had never felt pure silk before. It was so light and smooth and it had this seductive sexy feeling. No wonder women loved its texture against their bodies. He almost 'creamed' at the thought of it next to his skin. And then he smiled, as in his minds eye he pictured Rich in a similar set of pajamas. He made a mental note to remind himself that as soon as he could he was going to buy Rich a set of these. Damn there I go again. I can't put these on now. With that material rubbing against my privates the Washington monument would take second place to the 'Benson' monument. While he was not concerned that Fazzi would see him so aroused, he did have misgivings about that nice maid seeing him exposed. These and other thoughts were suddenly and rudely interrupted by the voice of Fazzi coming through the intercom. He was telling him dinner would be ready in a half hour and to please get ready and come down on time-as he feared that cold lamb kabobs might loose their potency. Joseph, smiling told him he would be ready and that Fazzi should wait for him in the dinning room.
A playful mood descended on Joseph and instead of the silk nightclothes he removed the formal black Tux from the closet and quickly got all dressed up. Needless to say, the outfit fit like a glove. In fact it even came with a pair of gloves, a top hat and a shiny black cane with a silver handgrip and tip. What the hell, why not go all the way? Completely outfitted along with new black shoes and silk socks, he gave himself a final inspection in the full-length three-sided mirror that enabled him to view his entire body. He smiled and couldn't help saying to himself, God it does look great, I could get used to this kind of thing. Then placing the cane over his shoulder and using it to tilt the top hat at a rakish angle, he left the room whistling and walking with that Fred Astaire swagger he had admired when he watched those old films. He descended the stairs (he almost felt like tap-dancing down them) and made his way to the dinning room. He stopped in the doorway and leaning against the doorjamb, he struck a pose that would have done the old time dancer-actor proud. Then he cleared his throat and awaited Fazzi's reactions.
The Arab looked up and let out a gasp as his mouth fell to the floor. He said nothing. He was speechless. His hands started to tremble almost over-filling the wineglass he had been filling.
"OHHHHHHHHHHH! " crooned Joseph. "I'm sorry but I thought we were dressing for dinner!" Then after placing his top hat and cane on the sideboard and slowly removing his gloves and adding them to the pile, he proceeded to the table with all the grace he could muster and took his seat. At that precise moment the maid entered the room carrying the tray loaded with Lamb kabobs and steaming rice. She took one look and almost dropped the tray.
"Ya Rob, My god, so handsome, a movie star!" she exclaimed trying to recover her poise and some how, at the same time, managing to place the tray on the table. "See sir? Just like I said. A young prince-a Hollywood star. He makes me wish I was Cinderella."