PZA: Travels with Nicolau Ribeiro 18-20

Travelling as a guard and a performer with a small group of merchants across the mountains and skirting the deserts of Mawarannahr from Kabul to Herat, fifteen-year-old Nico learns about and engages in bacha bazi, boy play, teaching a 15 yo boy to enjoy and take pride in having sex with men, engaging in pure raw lust with an experienced 11 yo nomadic goatherd, teaching a 12 yo better techniques to attract men, taking a 9 year old's virginity in front of his 14 yo brother and introducing him to bacha bazi, and celebrating his good fortune with an skilled 7 yo boy.

Kabul being on the crossroads for travel east and west, north and south, with winter approaching in the higher passes there were a large number of merchant caravans preparing to make their final trips for the year. That did not mean joining one of them was going to be easy. For one, the caravan I wished to travel with had to be one heading west and/or south, which eliminated half of them as just as many were heading east and north. For another, the larger caravans were composed of several merchants banded together to share the costs and for protection who were experienced and established and so had already a loyal contingent of guards and retainers and were not hiring, particularly an unknown who could just as easily be a spy and informant for any number of marauders who preyed on the merchants travelling across the land with valuable merchandise. The smaller caravans at the same time were largely composed of relatives, brothers, fathers and sons, and so did not need to hire guards or retainers either, and could not afford any if they had a need. Besides, those merchants generally were going only a short distance and so I would have to be continually looking for hire at the end of each route. That left those caravans which were of some disrepute, either because of the merchandise they carried or because of the merchant or caravan leader. Paying the least and being the most dangerous, they were at the bottom of my list.

So, I spent the day, beginning with those of greatest reputation and most likely prospect of employment and working my way down the list. I was willing to take on any position, and though I felt I was most suited as a guard from my past experience, I was willing to do any job, loading and unloading the pack animals, setting up the yurts or tents and taking them down, feeding, watering and grooming the horses, assisting the caravan cook, or help any of the others performing the menial jobs required to maintain a caravan. As the day wore on, I became more and more desperate to the point where I was even willing to pay to join a caravan going my direction.

As dusk approached, I found myself approaching one of the more questionable merchants, questionable not because of the legality of his goods but because of their reputed mediocre value and so having little need for a guard. He was one of those men who specialized not in one type of merchandise but dabbled in many, particularly those of unusual or outlandish but popular nature. I of course began offering the skill I felt I was most qualified to provide.

"A guard?" he chortled, his fat stomach jiggling like a bowl of plum pudding and his many jowls quivering. "Sahyb, this child would join us as a guard," he called. A large, muscular brute naked from the waist up emerged from the shadows where he had evidently been enjoying his evening meal from the greasy shine of his lips and chin.

"A guard?" he asked with a grunt. "What do you plan on doing when a bandit attacks, pretty boy, drop your trousers and offer him your backside in the hope he will forget that he was attacking?" The merchant enjoyed the joke immensely.

"If I did such a thing, he would think he had died and was being welcomed by one of the Ghilman and would toss away his weapons and come running," I replied. "I think the tactic you suggest is one more appropriate for you. One look at your ugly, hairy backside any bandit would think the caravan was being guarded by a two-headed monster with one head facing south and the other north and would run off in fright."

It took a moment for them to understand my insult, and the merchant howled with laughter, appreciating my joke even more than he had appreciated Sahyb's. The brute took a moment longer, and, fortunately for me, was more amused than angry. At least I assumed it was a smile that crossed his lips. He and the merchant exchanged glances and the merchant broke into gales of booming laugher once again until tears came to his tiny, pig-like eyes and he fished out a lace-fringed handkerchief and dabbed his eyes with it.

"If you question my skill, have your man draw his scimitar," I challenged, seeing the curved sword stuck in the brute's belt. "If I win, you have a guard and all I ask in return is that you provide my meals. If I loose," I said with a shrug, "I offer you for this night the pleasure that only the Ghilman can provide."

The two glanced at each other, and the merchant, with much mirth, agreed. As we squared off, he called to those around, announcing our intention, and immediately there was a group of spectators, all with their purses out and willing to wager, which seemed to be a national pastime in Mawarannahr. What they were placing bets on I could only surmise was how long they thought I would remain standing. Much to my surprise, whatever the wager, the fat merchant was doing a brisk business.

My opponent was skilled, but like most large and muscular men, he relied more on muscle than on technique, something I had learned in my initial combat training back in the Mameluke citadel in Cairo. I had also learned how to use that reliance as a weakness and so now used my youth and agility to counteract his brute strength. We battled for a longer time than I am sure most expected, including my opponent, and like most men who are accustomed to winning and to winning fast, he began to tire despite his strength, particularly since he put far more effort into his attacks than I had to in my defence. He also became angry that I was if not besting him then at least matching him, and the angrier he became the riskier were his moves and the more careless he became until I had the good fortune to have him take a wild swing at me allowing me to step in under his shield arm and pricked his neck with the tip of my sword.

He fortunately had the good sense to yield. Those watching applauded my success, but those who had been betting turned with grim faces to the fat merchant, whose name I learned was Hazeem Qutubud Pacha, and turned over their coin.

"You wagered on him?" Sahyb asked in disbelief, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand

The fat merchant smiled. "I figured for one to challenge you to a sword fight, he had to be a fool or have a talent that was not obvious," he said, "and this boy did not strike me as being a fool. But do not take offense, my good friend. For increasing the weight of my purse, I will share some of my winnings with you." A wide grin crossed Sahyb's face and he accepted the offer. Respecting me and admiring my skill with the sword, he clapped me on the back for providing him such a good workout. Disappearing back into the shadows, he returned in a matter of heartbeats with a jug of kumis and invited me to join him. When we struck out the next morning, Sahyb and I did so with throbbing heads.

We travelled with three other merchants, a dealer in weapons bringing a strange assortment of arms I had never seen nor heard of before which he had gotten from the east, a trader in jewellery, mostly showy beads and poor imitations, and a dealer in exotic animals, mostly birds and with a pair of strange creatures that looked like small, hairy, ugly children with exceptionally long arms that he called monkeys. Our routine was boringly simple. We arose before sunrise, ate and packed up, rode until sunset and unpacked and ate and went to bed. We prayed facing Mecca five times a day. If we arrived at a village we stopped and bartered, sometimes spending the night there if business was good, otherwise packing up and continuing on our way for the few remaining hours before sunset. Sometimes if there was no interest in the merchandise of one of our companions he continued on alone and sometimes we were joined by merchants or tradesmen travelling between that village and the next.

Having nothing else to occupy my mind, I usually sat apart from the others and watched and listened, which I had learned long ago, long before setting out on this journey, was not a bad habit. It soon became evident that Hazeem, while skilled at bartering, did not have a good eye for quality. One day he was about to close a deal with a rug merchant when I caught his attention by loudly and frequently clearing my throat and I gave him a signal not to which I blocked with my body so the rug merchant would not see. Motioning for me to come forward, he leaned toward me and I whispered a warning about the flaw in the weaving, something obvious to me after accompanying Father and Uncle when they bargained with the Flemish carpet merchants who occasionally came to Viano do Castelo. He was much appreciative of my intervention and he purchased the carpet at a much reduced price. That began a practice of having me sit nearby and signal him if I thought he was being swindled, which he often was. To help pass the time on our journey and in the evenings, I played both the nay and ud which I took with me wherever I went and I sang the songs I had learned, especially since travelling with Prince Abbas, mostly epic songs about warriors and war, for my amusement and to the appreciation of my travelling companions.

Late on the third afternoon of our journey we arrived at a larger village whose name I have forgotten and the merchants quickly set up their wares. After our evening meal, a group of young boys suddenly gathered on the edge of our encampment. Several of the men, merchants and tradesmen, guards and retainers, approached them and after a brief conversation they paired up and headed to the mens' tents and the remainder of the boys departed. The boys who had joined the men reappeared an hour or two later, a couple not until morning, change jangling in their purses and the boys smelling of sex. Three days later, the same happened at the village of Pahja. Listening in on the conversation of the men as we continued on our way the following day, I pieced together that what I was observing was a practice called bacha bazi, which roughly translated meant playing with boys, bacha or baccha meaning child or young man in the Persian tongue which I had been learning while at Istanbul. The word bacha itself, I learned, was also used to describe a special group of boys, young male singers and dancers, the latter performing what they called the bazem dance, which was a variation of the seductive dance I had learned as a köçek. Having heard me sing, several men suggested that when I got to Herat I should seek employment as a bacha, saying they were highly respected and held in the greatest esteem, and that the city had many rich men who would become a bacha's patron. (1)

Early in the afternoon of our ninth day of travel we arrived at Daulat Yar, which I was told was the midpoint between Kabul and Herat and the last major village before arriving at our destination. The merchants immediately set up and the villagers flocked to our encampment. Ever since hearing me sing, Hazeem had been encouraging me to perform and that afternoon I finally gave in and I saw first hand the esteem with which bacha were regarded, in the eyes of the men who stopped to listen, and in the amount of coin tossed on the blanket I had set out before me. Encouraged, I decided to perform one of the dances that had been a favourite when I had performed with the Ghilman Entertainment Troupe, and the men watched with breathless appreciation, applauding my every move and devouring me with their eyes as they beat time with their hands to each step. Not one approached me for sex afterward and I knew then that their appreciation was for my skill, not for my body.

That night the usual collection of boys from eight or nine years of age up to sixteen or seventeen suddenly showed up as if they had been called to prayer by a muezzin and lined up outside the merchant camp. It had been a profitable day for most and many walked down the line and chose, each to his own preference, some who had been this way before having their favourites who sought them out. As the boys began to leave, I stepped forward on impulse and stopped a tall, slender boy whom I had assumed to be a year or two younger than myself.

"No! Not at all! I am honoured, Taxir !" Taxir, your majesty. I will never get use to that honorific. "I am humbled you have chosen me," he said, his voice filled with awe as he dropped to his knees.

"There is no need to drop to your knees before me," I said, adding with a smile, "at least not until we are in my tent and disrobed."

The boy blushed and stammered, not knowing what to say. Leading him to my small tent, barely large enough for the two of us in addition to my meagre belongings, I turned to face him and spread my arms in invitation.

"My name is Naqi," I said, once again having assumed the name the Moor Mustafa had selected for me upon arriving in Cairo as part of our attempt to blend in with the local population, the closest he could think of to Nico so I would be more likely to respond upon hearing it. "Please use it from now on."

Confidently approaching me, he began to disrobe me, caressing my body at the same time, at first above my clothing, and as he untied the sashes and ties slipping his fingers inside and caressing my skin. His fingers were long and slender and his touch delicate and teasing. I knew well the finer techniques of foreplay, and this boy, Umar by name, was very skilled. Stripping me down to my thong, he began disrobing himself, moving seductively and smiling up at me invitingly. He was a handsome enough fellow, with an unblemished, tawny-coloured complexion, deep black hair which he wore in long curls to his shoulders, dark brown eyes with the thick upper fold characteristic of these people, and thick, sensuous lips. His ears were perhaps a bit too large and stuck out, and his nose was narrow and hawklike, and he was on the skinny side, his ribs and shoulder blades clearly visible and his elbows and knees boney.

There was, however, something wrong about him. It took me a while to figure out what it was. He was skilled in the art of providing pleasure, and he was pleasant enough to look at, but he was showing no evidence of taking pleasure in what he was doing. Yes, his eyes and his smile were seductive, but they lacked sincerity. I found myself growing aroused, being a normal, healthy teenage boy and having not engaged in sex for the past twelve days. My pleasure, however, was incomplete being unable to sense any pleasure from my partner. His caresses and gentle kisses were mechanical, the right time and place but lacking any feeling. It was not that he found the task before him unpleasant, not from what I could tell, but nor did he take great joy in pleasuring me.

Even when he began to pleasure me orally, there was still a detachment that was evident. My cock stiffened and throbbed and itched with pleasure and the ache deep in the pit of my groin grew, but there was no connection between us. It was as if this was his job, one he was skilled at, but which he performed out of necessity, not out of enjoyment. I thought perhaps it would be different when he turned and bent over and I mounted him, but as I penetrated him and began to pump my stiff flesh in and out of his hole, I had no sense of joy from him. Yes, he worked his anal muscle in time with my thrusts and withdrawals, and yes, he himself had become erect, but he knelt on his knees and elbows woodenly and only his increasingly more laboured breathing gave me any evidence of any enjoyment at all. I came up his ass, and he snorted and grunted as I filled his rectum with my hot seed, but he did not spurt himself.

"But pleasure is so much greater when it is shared. Why do you approach the merchants if not because it brings you pleasure?"

"The merchants and craftsmen pay well, especially if they have made sales during the day, though sometimes they wish a boy to make them feel good if it has not been a happy day. My father has two sons and three girls to support and is not a rich man. There is little work for a cobbler in our village. I do what I can to help."

"Of course. It is honest work, and people appreciate the sandals and shoes he makes."

"It is something boys do. Many boys do it, almost all in our village. If Allah, Blessed be His Name, has blessed a boy with good looks and skill, he gets chosen often and brings his family much money, for as long as he remains beardless. Then if he is the oldest he gets a job helping his father, or if he is younger, a job with a man who has no sons, or a man who needs more workers than he has sons, and he puts his boyhood behind him. Pleasing men is a boyhood thing, not a job."

"But like doing a job, one must still be skilled, and like a job, one earns money, and like a job one should be proud doing honest work and doing it well."

"Ah, but it is. There is no greater pleasure than the pleasure that a man can experience with this rod of flesh between his legs, and to be able to bring a man that pleasure is something special, and to be proud of." I reached over and slipping my fingers about his limp snake, I slowly stroked it. "This time think of the pleasure your zubr brings you, and how special those who bring such pleasure to others are."

As I continued to stroke and fondle his limp tube, he reached over and began to fondle mine. I concentrated on the pleasure he was bringing me and I told him to concentrate on the pleasure I was bringing him for it was the same pleasure as he was bringing me. I caressed the tender inside of his thighs, causing him to squirm with arousal, and I inhaled deeply and squirmed also as he did the same to me. I caressed his smooth, rounded chest and fondled his nipples until they became firm, and he did the same to me and I squirmed with the painful pleasure shooting through my swollen, irritated nipples as he gently stroked them, and he tensed and shivered with the same pleasure as I stroked his swollen little buds. That he and I were of the same age and feeling the same pleasure heightened my pleasure, and, I think, his also.

Becoming erect, I reached between his legs and caressed his hole and he opened up to me. I inserted the tip of my middle finger to the first knuckle and worked my first joint in and out of his anus. He grasped my swollen cock and squeezed it tightly as he tensed with the pleasure I was giving him, and as he slowly stroked it he did so with much more enthusiasm than the first time we engaged in foreplay.

When I at last mounted him, he accepted me eagerly, and as I began to fuck him, easing my cock in and out of his hole lubricated already once with my seed, he tensed and relaxed and worked his muscle along with my thrusts and withdrawals. Although I could not see his face, I could tell that this time he was concentrating on his own pleasure. All too soon we reached that ultimate point once again, but this time as I filled his rectum with my seed he quivered and spilled his seed. It shot through the air and landed on the soil over which I had pitched my tent, squirt after squirt, until the pressure decreased and the slimy fluid throbbed out of his swollen cock and over my fingers as I stroked his member, my own throbbing out my own seed and filling his rectum once again. It was so much better, and I could tell that he was finding the same.

When he left in the morning, emerging from my tent the same time as the other boys who had spent the night emerged also, he beamed happily, coins jingling in his purse and a plain ring set with an amethyst on his finger, the coin for his family, the ring for himself. He walked proudly, head held high, proud of being who he was and what he had done that night, and as the other boys gathered around him and admired his ring and excitedly asked what it was like to have congress with a bacha, he stood even taller. Those who had engaged him in the past were going to find a very different boy the next time, and I had a feeling that once word of his added passion got around, he was not going to be passed over in the future. I smiled at that thought, and though it will require many Hail Mary's to prevent my soul from descending into hell, I was proud of what I had done.

Continuing on our journey, we arrived at the Hari Rud, which I was told arose in the mountains of Ghor to the East and ran south past Herat to vanish in the sands of the Karakum desert. It sustained a narrow but fertile oasis and was flanked, I was told, by some of the richest grazing grounds in Central Asia. We followed it and on the fourth day since leaving Daulat Yar, we came upon a tribe of nomads herding their goats, coming down from the summer grazing grounds in the mountains and heading for the wintering pastures lower in the valley. We were approached by the head herder, the eldest of the dozen families or so who were travelling together, and the merchants and craftsmen quickly agreed to set up camp early to conduct business. The nomads struck camp beside us, each family having their own large tent of coarse, black goat hair that housed parents, children, and often grandparents and unmarried aunts and uncles.

These nomads, I learned, live by their own tribal code, which they call Pashtunwali, which values courage, personal honour, resolution, self-reliance, and hospitality, all of which was evident in their behaviour and actions from the oldest man to the youngest boy as we met and traded. That evening, a group of boys from the nomad camp suddenly appeared at the edge of ours. More than the usual number of men came out to inspect them, it being the general feeling that these boys, living a free and wild life and living close to the land, were more spirited, and sexually satisfying, than village boys. Even so, there were more boys to choose from than those doing the choosing.

Curious if what the men claimed was true, and, I must confess driven by my profound weakness for pleasures of the flesh and immorality, from leaving with these wanton heathens all these months I have to conclude given my Christian upbringing, I approached the remaining boys. After much consideration, I selected a young lad of eleven, a good-looking boy with large, expressive, rich brown eyes, and with a dark reddish-brown complexion reflecting, I suppose, his long hours out in the constantly blazing sun in this hellish land.

Upon entering my tent, he immediately approached me and slipping his hands inside my robes, pantaloons, and thong, he extracted my member and holding it up like some treasure, he admired it with his slanted eyes and glanced up at me with esteem. Dropping to his knees and brushing his lips along the rim of my knob, he inhaled its fragrance like some fragrant flower, or perhaps more appropriately described, like some fragrant stew pot, for he quickly slipped his lips over the knob and began to suck gently on my swelling flesh. It was not until he had me firm, which did not take that long, that he proceeded to disrobe me. As I stood there naked before him, he quickly stripped down, untying the colourful burgundy and blue sash about his waist, pulling his long, plain cotton shirt that hung down past his knees over his head, and pushing down his baggy cotton trousers. His slender, brown member, slightly longer and thicker than my thumb, jutted out from between his legs at an angle, not yet erect, but not limp either. The last to be removed was his turban and then his skullcap, and as he removed it his hair, black as night and thick like most of these people but cut longer than most and curly, tumbled to his shoulders.

He once again took my still stiff member in his hands and admired it, and then turned his attention to my stones and began to nibble them. After a bit he took first one and then the other in his mouth and rolled the egg inside the rough sack with his tongue and lips, a technique I had not experienced before and which caused the first of my clear nectar to ooze from the tip of my aching member. As he sucked on my testicles, coaxing still more sweet nectar to bead at the tip of my cock, I could not help think of his family in the encampment beside ours and wondering what they were doing and thinking. Was his mother picturing her eleven-year-old son laying on his back and spreading his legs, preparing to be penetrated by a man's member just as she was penetrated by her husband's? Was his father laying in his bed imagining his son sucking on the cock of some stranger? Or were perhaps the two of them not thinking of him at all but were fucking in the hopes of making another boy? Did he have brothers? Was the older perhaps at that moment choking his chicken and thinking of when he was a boy and engaged in bacha bazi with strangers? Was his younger brother dreaming of the day when he would be old enough to do so? Did he have sisters? How did they feel knowing their brother was playing with that most private part of a man? Women for breeding, boys for pleasure. Were they wondering how a male could derive pleasure from sex? Were they wishing they had been born the preferred sex?

The boy, whose name was Okan, was skilled in the art of providing pleasure, and from the eagerness with which he sucked on my cock and caressed my thighs, the bright sparkle in his eyes, and his own stiff, jerking member, it was clear he was deriving pleasure also. We lay down on my blankets and he snuggled against me, his hot, naked flesh rubbing against mine. He smelled of goat and smoke from the dung fire and of the earth and the fragrance inflamed my passion and was more delightful than the sweetest perfumes of the courtesans of Rome. As his raw fragrance filled my lungs all thoughts of his family and what they were thinking fled from my mind as I was filled with a lust like I had not felt since those nights so long ago with the young Berber Ahmar.

He lay on his back and spread his legs, knowing I could wait no longer, and I knelt before this young, living altar and plunged my stiff cock into him, ramming it up his rectum in my lust. He had, without my awareness, lubricated his anus with a bit of goat fat he had wrapped up and brought with him. I penetrated him easily and with delight, burying my aching member up his velvety channel and delighting in the pleasure as I felt it close in about my cock and squeeze it, hot and wet. I began to pump my hips rapidly, driving my cock up his rectum in desperation and withdrawing it as far as I could without slipping out of his body and driving it back in again, the burning of my knob and the throbbing of my shaft like an itch where I could not reach.

He allowed me to lustfully bang against him for perhaps two or three dozen heartbeats, and then when I drew back so did he and as I lunged forward he dropped. At first I did not understand and tried to change my rhythm but no matter what I tried, he matched me, whether my thrusts were short or long, fast or slow. And then anger and irritation filled me that this boy in his youth and inexperience was thwarting my desire at its peak. That frustration was short lived as I realized what I had just thought. He was preventing me from reaching that peak so as to prolong that desperate lust, that painful pleasure that precedes the spilling of one's seed. He was young, but far from inexperienced. And so I stopped pumping my hips and lay there and enjoyed the pleasure of a swollen cock and aching knob and having my member surrounded by hot, moist flesh, and as I looked down at him he smiled happily at my comprehension and that smile caused a surge of desire up the core of my cock that was as delightful as it was painful and I felt my sweet nectar leak out of the burning tip of my cock and into his rectum. I quickly looked away least I not be able to control the release of my seed but I could not get the image of those smiling lips and dark, sparkling eyes and fresh, bronzed cheeks of my sinful eleven-year-old cherub. More of my sweet nectar oozed out of my swollen cock and I ached so to resume fucking. We lay there, me on top of him, for the longest time and he had to be aware of the struggle going on inside me.

We lay there for the longest time, as motionless as we could, until our breathing slowed and our passions subsided, and then I began to fuck this delightful, young goatherd once again, and he resumed working with me, contracting his anal muscles as I withdrew and relaxing them as I plunged the depths of his rectum. He reached up and caressed me as I fucked him, and he wrapped his smooth, slender thighs about mine. The muscles of his chest, arms and thighs were rounded yet with his youth, but firm from a life of physical labour. I leaned forward and kissed him on the lips and he returned the kiss, soft and gentle. His breath was sweet and fresh, the breath of a boy, and I inhaled again his smoky, musky fragrance and imagined I was fucking some young, mythical faun.

The desire built again in my loins, and from his heavy breathing and heaving chest I knew it had built in him also. This time we approached the peak more slowly, and this time we did not stop. The pressure between my legs built with each stroke, and with each stroke I was sure the next would trigger my seed. I tensed with the anticipation and grunted with my exertion, as did he, and then we reached that peak, my testicles contracting and my seed flung from the pit of my groin up the core of my cock and out the tip and up his rectum. I quivered with delight as spurt after spurt erupted from my swollen, numb cock, and he quivered as I filled him with my seed as he reached his own orgasm, his body thrusting up and dropping down uncontrollably as lash after lash laced his slender, swollen cocklet, causing it to burn with the same painful pleasure as mine and to ache for the release of his seed. His little testicles were drawn up so tight beneath his slender, stiff cocklet they could barely be seen, and though he could not yet produce seed, I knew the pleasure he was feeling was equal to mine. Better than a village boy? I do not know about all goatherds, but Okan was.

Arriving at the town of Obeh, we repeated the routine, the merchants and craftsmen selling their wares and me performing with my voice and my musical instruments, and the boys gathering at our encampment as dusk approached. After my experience with Okan, I hesitated joining the others, certain that no matter how attractive or skilled the boy the experience would be a disappointment. Nothing could match the pleasure of that night with the nomad goatherd. The devil had by then his hooks firmly in me however, and I joined the others and slowly walked along the line of expectant young boys. The boy I chose, Yahya, whose name I learned later was equivalent to John, was twelve and plain-looking. In that I had waited for those older than I to make their selections, the more attractive boys were taken, whom I knew would fetch a higher price anyway. That had been purposeful on my part for I had wanted a boy as different from Okan as possible.

It immediately became evident that Yahya, though experienced, lacked the skills that the plainer boys needed to be selected. Some men are satisfied simply having a boy suck their cock or bend over for them, wanting only a warm body and finding delight in the spilling of their seed, not the play leading up to that ultimate point. Most men in the group I was travelling with expected more, wanting beauty or skill in addition to a willing mouth or anus. In a way his lack of skill was a fortunate circumstance after Okan as my purpose for having sex with him became totally different, and being different, there was nothing to compare.

So, I stopped him early on, we dressed, and we began again with me showing him some basic techniques beginning right from disrobing. The boy's problem I quickly deduced was purely inexperience and having nobody to show him the finer tricks of pleasuring a man. So I showed him how disrobing can be used to bring a man pleasure and arouse him, first stripping him and then having him strip me. We proceeded to kissing and caressing, fondling a man's privates, and finally some of the basic techniques of sucking and fucking. The boy was an apt student and the subject I was teaching of high interest, and I found myself delighting in taking the role of teacher. I was the corrupter of this youth, an instrument of Satan, and so great was my depravity I took delight in playing the role and felt no remorse when it was done. God condemn my soul, but there was no doubt in my mind that in the future once his skills became known, word would spread and he would become more popular and I was proud to be the cause.

Three days later and after eighteen days of travel, we branched away from the Hari Rud and after perhaps a dozen furlongs we arrived at Herat. It was a major trading centre, sitting on the crossroads with trade routes running north to Merv, south to Kerman, East to Balkh, Samarkand and China, and west to Nishapur and Istanbul. Herat was once Tamerlane's capital, and was now ruled by his descendant, Sultan Husayn Baikara, the acknowledged head of the House of Timur, who besides being the Sultan of Herat controlled the second half of the original Timurid lands known as Khorasan and which extended from Khwarezm below the Aral Sea to the north to Kandahar to the south. He was also, I learned, the uncle of Babur on his father's side and just a year ago had to mobilize his army to counteract an attack against his son Ibrahim by the brother of his son's guardian and his own cousin Sultan Mahmud with whom Prince Abbas and I had spent ten days only a month previous. (2)

This was the end of the journey for the merchant Hazeem Qutubud Pacha, who had become like an uncle to me. I parted company with him and Sahyb, who had become a good friend and travelling companion, and I knew I would miss their company. Hazeem said he would enquire into caravans heading west or south and put in a good word for me, and Sahyb said with a grin that he would vouch for my skill with the sword, both long and short, and he laughed at his own joke. I myself headed directly to the bazaar and began making inquiries and that evening I found an inn that was respectable and charged a reasonable price.

The next day I found an unoccupied but busy corner in the bazaar, using the knowledge I had gotten from Lutufkar on how to locate the best place to advertise the arrival of the Troupe, and spread out my carpet and performed between inquiries. Again I was quickly surrounded by men and boys who listened to my singing and playing with revered silence, and who clapped along with the rhythm when I performed a few simple dances. When I paused and brewed myself a pot of tea, I selected one of the elders and better dressed men I had seen watching me and invited him to join me. He did so with surprise and beamed with great pride at having been chosen, and when I handed him the bowl of tea he took it with profound obeisance, declining my offer to add a spoon of butter, a taste I had developed travelling with Prince Abbas. He was, as I had suspected, a man of influence in the city and one who would know about the movement of caravans in and out of the city. Late that afternoon I was approached by a servant in the livery of the Sultan of Herat to perform at a reception the following evening, an invite that had cost me the price of a bowl of tea.

Like all of the Timurids, Sultan Husayn was a patron of the arts and a prodigious builder. His palace was lavish and ornate with colourful tiles and the flowing curves and arches typical of the architecture of these heathens and hung with large tapestries and paintings by their most renown artists. The reception itself was held in the Bagh-i Jahan Aray, the World Adorning Garden, where I was told most parties were held in addition to assemblies of all kinds and even meetings of his government. After our travels across the mountains and skirting the land's deserts, the lush grass, abundant shrubbery, and flower gardens interspersed with statues and fountains was amazing, and I was reminded of the garden of Lorenzo de'Medici.

That was not the only similarity to the garden in Florence. The Sultan, I was told, surrounded himself with poets, scholars, musicians and painters. His court, I was told, was also characterized by murderous intrigues, a reckless spending on luxuries, and rampant drunkenness to the neglect of the city's common people and the city's defences, information I knew Prince Abbas would have delighted knowing. Sultan Husayn was in that regard no different from his northern and eastern cousins. He did not, however, to my knowledge, have any great interest in boys, unlike Sultan Mahmud Mirza of Balkh, though he did have a fondness for the grape. Spotting the elder I had entertained at tea the previous day, I made a special point of acknowledging him, and his friends and associates looked upon him with envy. As for the Sultan, he approached me himself and had much praise for my singing which added greatly to my own reputation.

All of this I did, of course, not just for the money, which was substantial, but more important, to make contacts that might be helpful in obtaining my goal of returning home. The next day as I strolled the bazaar, many men of influence saluted me with their hands on their hearts and exclamations of " Kulluk " (I am your slave) and " Taxir." Wherever I paused to shop or to rest, the shop owners considered it a great honour. My repast for that evening, a delicious lamb stew with a generous amount of meat, and a pitcher of chilled ale, I was given for free for a couple songs and a couple tunes on my nay.

While I ate on the outside terrace, it being a warm and still evening, I noticed among my covert watchers two young boys, one in his teens and the other younger. When I left, the two followed at a distance, whispering to each other and frequently glancing at me. While not richly dressed, they were not shabby nor dirty, and they did not have the looks of cutpurses. I finally turned and challenged them, asking why they were following me.

"Forgive us, your Majesty, it is my idea," the older boy said, his voice quavering and cracking as he glanced down at the street. From the way his voice suddenly dropped several pitches and then rose again to the soprano of a young boy I guessed he had to be about fourteen and in the throes of puberty.

"I 3; have been told," he began nervously, "I have been told you are a practitioner of bacha bazi. "

"My brother," he said, nodding to the younger boy who had said nothing and had stared down at the ground the whole time as if hoping by doing so he would be invisible, "would like to be a practitioner also, but he has never done it before. He-we-are looking for someone who will show him how it is done, someone who will be gentle and understanding with one who is a virgin. The Honourable Hazeem Qutubud Pacha has said you are such a one."

I looked at the boy and at his older brother. "It is true you are a virgin?" I asked, addressing him.

"Mine," he said in a whisper so soft I could barely hear it. " Taxir," he added.

"Oh yes, very much, Taxir," he replied. "Except for some men who are not so gentle, and for some who pay little."

"To give to my father to help pay for me and so he does not have to work so hard, Taxir," came the unexpected reply.

"I give it to my father, Taxir, except for a little I give to my little brother to buy sweetmeats," he said, glancing at his brother fondly. "And sometimes I keep a little to buy something for myself," he added bashfully.

"Well, the Honourable Hazeem Qutubud Pacha is correct," I said. The two boys looked up at me with apprehension and hope. "I do not live far away." The two glanced at each other and smiles curled their lips.

"Bless you, Taxir," said the older boy, dropping to his knees and raising the hem of my robe to his lips and kissing it.

"Yes, bless you, Taxir," said his the younger boy, dropping to his knees beside his brother and kissing the hem of my robe also.

"There is one condition." The two boys looked up at me from where they knelt, apprehension and fear filling their eyes. "My name is Naqi. You will call me by that, and never say Taxir when we are in private again."

"As you command, Taxir," they chorused. They glanced at each other fearfully. "Naqi," they chorused.

Arriving at my room, the boys hesitated, and then with a final glance at each other, the younger boy stepped inside.

"Your brother can come in and watch," I offered, "if you want. Or he can wait in the hall by the door. It does not matter to me." The younger boy looked up at his brother and nodded for him to join him. "If at any time you want your brother to leave and to continue in private, it is your choice," I advised, and he nodded. "Well," I began, closing the door, "first what are your names, and how old are you?" The younger boy was nine and was called Zafir. His brother Sayil was fourteen. "Some men prefer to get right into the act," I explained. "Others, those who have a greater appreciation of the pleasure of sex, prefer to build up to the act slowly. A bacha does what is expected of him, so you must be prepared for either. But a boy who can arouse a man slowly until he feels like he is going to explode will become known, and most men will choose him over others, and pay more." Zafir glanced at his brother and Sayil nodded agreement. "Perhaps one more rule," I said. "Usually there is only you and the man who has chosen you to please him. For now, it is only you and me. Concentrate on me and forget that your brother is in the room."

"Sorry, Taxir," he apologized. "Naqi I mean," he corrected, looking like he was expecting me to whip him.

"Now, if a man wants you to arouse him, the first step is to disrobe him," I began.

The boy reached up and began to untie my sash, and found that facing a man and untying the knot is much different from facing the other direction and untying your own sash. He apologized for his clumsiness, and I told him he should never apologize, and that his awkwardness was part of his charm, and would in itself begin to arouse a man. That was the truth, and as he laboured to remove my robe and then my shirt and trousers, my sandals and my turban and skullcap, I thought back to my own first fumbling and embarrassing attempts to undress a man. It had also been the truth about some men finding it arousing, and by the time he got to my thong my member had already doubled in size. As he removed my undergarment and flushed with embarrassment and lowered his eyes, his innocence and sweetness caused me to ache for him and for my member to begin to lift up off my balls. Reaching down and slipping a finger under his chin, I raised his head until his eyes were level with my swelling cock and I impressed upon him the benefits of being a male and the beauty of one's most private and special parts. The look of wonder and awareness in his eyes caused my member to swell all the faster.

And so my instruction began and so captivated by his innocence and charm I forgot about the presence of his brother, and so captivated by this new and forbidden knowledge he forgot about his brother also. I know that there are those who will read this account of my travels with revulsion and will condemn me for my actions, and those who will blame the influence of the heathens who as a people engage in all forms of debauchery and depravity, but I must needs write about how I felt in the hopes that I can explain how a good, pure Christian boy did what he did in these heathen lands and hopefully will convey the wholesomeness of what we did, for I swear before my God that I do believe that what I did that night in Herat was wholesome. But I digress and get ahead of myself, a grievous fault of mine.

I encouraged him to reach out and cup my stones, reminding him needlessly of their sensitivity, that being something all boys long before the age of nine discovered. He reached out so gingerly you would think he had expected them to be so fragile they would break. Under my guidance he fondled them and my growing cock, and then nuzzled them with his nose and nibbled and licked them. To his surprise they did not have a horrible taste as one might suspect given their function, and to his surprise their fragrance was actually enticing. And so I instructed this young cherub in the finer art of lovemaking and boy play, how to disrobe, how to caress, and how to use his mouth and tongue on a man's member and his stones to arouse him and to bring him pleasure.

Watching his hesitant and apprehensive movements and the wonder and discovery in his eyes as he caused my cock to stand and as his own little member began to swell and eventually stand also caused my blood to race through my veins and my stiff cock to ache with delight. Words cannot properly describe the joy of watching a boy discover the mysterious world of sexual pleasure, the eroticism of his purity and innocence as he slips his rosy lips over the ruddy knob of a stiff cock for the very first time, as he fondles his stiff little cocklet and quivers with the new and wondrous sweet pain piercing his tender bulb. Words cannot describe the feeling that makes one's heart ache like it is about to burst upon the sight of those velvet lips glistening in the candlelight with one's sweet nectar fresh from one's stones, the sight of the shine of delight in a virgin boy's eyes as he fondles his stiff little pricklet for the first time and trembles with the pleasure his stroking creates, and the sight of the slender innocent fondling his tiny, hairless stones.

I introduced him to the finer technique of lubricating his anus and rectum and another's stiff cock with oil, and my heart, and cock, ached with arousal as I watched him slip his middle finger up his rectum for the first time and please himself. It took all my power to stop from spilling my seed when at last he dropped to his hands and knees and presented his virgin hole to me, and I inhaled with sheer delight as I slowly penetrated him, sinking my cock up that hot, tight, wet, virgin hole until my curly hairs were brushing against his tender backside. I fucked this delightful cherub slowly, delighting more in his discovery of the pleasure of having a man up his rectum than in my own arousal, and I quivered with equal pleasure as he tensed and quivered when my knob brushed against the button deep up a man's bowels that sent shards of pleasure up his stiff cock and up his stuffed rectum. I reached under him and stroked his tender cocklet as thick and long as my thumb and just as stiff, and I delighted in his awareness of the pleasure his little member can bring.

So involved was I in his joy and so surprised and delighted was he in the new pleasures he was discovering, we both forgot that his brother was sitting there watching. So aroused was I that I had to stop three times and wait for the longest time for my passion to subside before continuing. At last, I could hold back no longer, and this sweet cherub discovered the joy of having his rectum flooded with the hot, thick seed of another male. Heartbeats later he also discovered the joy of his own orgasm and he jerked uncontrollably and his right thigh quivered as shard after shard of pleasure ripped through his stiff, numb cocklet. Words fail me to adequately describe the pleasure a virgin feels upon discovering the joy of sex, or to describe the feeling one has being the one responsible for introducing a young boy to these marvellous pleasures.

I allowed him to lie there afterward flushed with arousal, his thin chest heaving and his stiff cock slowly drooping, so his mind could dwell on all he had discovered and on the new pleasures he had been introduced to, the pleasures of his body and the pleasure of bringing another of his sex pleasure. I and his older brother exchanged knowing grins but I made no move toward him nor did he offer invitation. This night was his nine-year-old brother's and his alone. It was late into the night before he left, coin in his purse for his father and a fine, thin gold chain to adorn his turban for himself as a memento of this most significant night.

The following day I was approached to sing and dance that evening for the Sultan who was hosting a group of religious theologians and leaders. I wore that night one of my finest köçek,

costumes and though my songs and dances were not provocative, I saw many of the learned men watching me undressing me with their eyes. Two nights after that I joined a group of poets and musicians to entertain at a banquet being held by the Sultan to celebrate Eid al-Adha, the Festival of Sacrifice which commemorates Ibrahim's willingness to sacrifice his son Isma'il as an act of obedience to God, and which also celebrates the conclusion of Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca all Moslems must perform that month once in their lifetime. The richest and most powerful men in the city and their wives were invited and they arrived in their finest clothes and jewellery. A cow had been sacrificed and roasted on a spit with one third being distributed to the poor earlier.

Taking my cue from the others, the songs I sang and dances I performed were more erotic but not as bawdy as those I would have performed with the Ghilman Entertainment Troupe. It was most strange doing so given the reason for the occasion, and seemed sacrilegious to me, but I had little choice in the matter. I guess it was my sacrifice of my beliefs in order to survive in this heathen land. I was very much aware of the attention of my audience and was surprised by the lust I saw in some of the eyes of the men with their wives sitting beside them. I was even more surprised to see the desire in the eyes of some of the wives. I could not help but imagine myself in congress with one with the knowledge of the other, perhaps even in the presence of each other like the brothers Zafir and Sayil three nights earlier, and so great was my depravity and so firmly was I in the embrace of Satan much to my shame I found myself becoming aroused. So intent were those watching me there is no doubt in my mind that many, men and women, were aware of the bulge that had developed in the front of my pantaloons as I stood before them and sang and I could do nothing to disguise it.

I was also very much aware of the eyes of the Sultan upon me. He was a large man and I was told a courageous and skilful commander and warrior, but now at the age of fifty-three rich food and fine wines, which like all Timurids he seemed to particularly enjoy, had turned muscle to fat and he had grown soft and indolent. Too much indulgence in fesq o fujur had taken its toll. I did not see a lust for my body in his eyes like many of his subjects, but what I did see was the greed and possessiveness of a powerful and rich man who was watching a pretty bauble he wanted to possess and show off to others, like a pretty parrot or a trained monkey.

I wanted to be no part of such an arrangement and I knew that I had to leave Herat soon or I would be entrapped for this was not a man you refused. Other entertainers that night saw the same as I and as we departed that night complemented me on my skills as a singer and dancer and observed that they saw a definite future for me in the Sultan's court. When I observed that I did not see that as a positive thing, most were shocked and could not comprehend why one would not leap with joy and embrace such an opportunity. There were a few, however, who understood my meaning very well, and in private and out of hearing range of the others, agreed with me and observed that such a move would be as confining and as stifling as entering a prison. One, a poet, took me aside as we were leaving and invited me to join him for tea the following afternoon, hinting that he had an offer I might be interested in.

The man being ten years my senior and being uncertain of his motives, I approached the inn he had named with trepidation the next day. To my surprise, he confided in me that there was a group of young men, poets, musicians and singers, and, he said with a smile, one artist and one philosopher, who were striking out from Herat on the morrow. They had no particular itinerary other than they wanted to explore the world for they saw travel as the best way to perfect their craft and to grow, feeling the collection of scholars and masters at Herat were not open to new ideas and was stifling their creativity. So, they were heading west and south, and he invited me to join them, for he had discussed me with them, and they felt that I could not only learn with such travel, but that I also had something new to offer them. West and south! I could not believe my good fortune and agreed immediately.

As I headed back to my room in high spirits and with light heart, I decided on the spur of the moment to detour toward the Friday Mosque, a three-story tall building almost three hundred years old with a blue-domed minaret on each of the four corners the same height as the building. It was a magnificent piece of architecture and a popular shrine, but I was not heading there to admire the building nor to pray. Nearby was a public garden where boys gathered in the hopes of attracting a government official or some passing businessman or noble on their way home after an evening of drinking or partying. There were, as I had anticipated, between a half dozen and a dozen boys lounging beside the central fountain. The older boys greeted me with scowls and frowns, figuring I had come for the same reason as they were there and knowing with my good looks I would be chosen over some of them. I was not, however, looking for a man, and, to tell the truth, I was not sure what sort of boy I was looking for. It had been an impulse decision, one last night in the big city of Herat and a chance to celebrate my good fortune, but when I saw him three-quarters of the way around the fountain, I knew it was him and I was in Fate's hands.

He was leaning against the fountain wall, hips thrust out suggestively and head thrown back with a confident stare in his eyes and a saucy curl of his lips. He was all of seven years of age and knew my good looks were no competition for a man who wanted his boy young. Catching his eye, I jerked my head and moved away from the fountain. He straightened up and walked toward me, or rather, he sauntered toward me sassily.

His eyes widened in surprise, but only for a heartbeat. He was a boy of the streets and concealed his feelings and thoughts well. "Three rial." Three hundred dinar?

"You must be exceptionally good, or think me some empty-headed coxcomb. One rial if you please me."

I took him to my room, which was not that far away. He had not exaggerated. This was a boy who knew exactly what he was doing, and took great pride and joy in what he did, the type of boy I hoped Umar and Yahya would become. Kaan was his name. He wasted no time extracting my cock and he slowly aroused it using his fingers, lips and tongue to tease it but purposefully avoiding the sensitive rim of my bulb so as to prolong the pleasure of becoming aroused. Not until I was stiff did he disrobe, first himself and then me, the order unusual but which I found most effective. He exposed his naked body to my eyes proudly, knowing the sight of his slender member and tiny, hairless balls and his smooth, compact ass would further inflame my passion, his youth alone being enough to pique my desire.

I could not help but wonder at this culture where boys acted so provocatively while they clothed their women from head to toe in thick, black robes they called a burka with only a slit for their eyes least their body arouse a man, a culture where women were seen as breeders and joy was found not in women but in boys. It was a most perverse culture, made all the more perverse by the strict religious regimen they followed, one which in many ways was even stricter than that Christians were expected to follow. Of course back home, the role of women was primarily the bearing children also and they themselves, if they were decent Christian women, found no joy or pleasure in the sex act. Congress with boys for pleasure on the other hand was generally condemned by civilized and enlightened men and certainly was not so openly practised, though, as I had discovered, it was not universally decried.

With my cock being ravenously sucked by this eager, naked, seven-year-old child and shards of pleasure piercing my blood-engorged knob it was difficult to condemn such pleasure. There is no delight greater than the throbbing of a stiff cock and the ripples of pleasure encircling one's bulb. Looking down at this dark-eyed, Arab devil kneeling before me with his lips about my stiff cock and his cheeks sunken in as he sucked on my swollen member, determined to bring me pleasure beyond my wildest dreams, his own stiff cocklet proof of the joy he found in sucking cock, I was hard pressed to decry what we were doing. How could something that brings both participants such pleasure be considered wrong? Why should such pleasure be restricted to just those of a certain age?

The boy was sucking on my stiff cock as if it had been dipped in honey. I inhaled deeply and gave in to the pleasures assaulting me, the pleasure of having a stiff cock, the pleasure of having it sucked, and the pleasure of seeing a boy of seven in the throes of sexual delight himself. Bringing me dangerously close to my peak, he suddenly clamped down with his lips and cut off my lust moments before I would have spilt my seed. I inhaled and exhaled deeply as my body struggled to spill my seed, but the boy won out.

Only once he was sure I would not erupt did he remove his lips from my aching cock, and then he smiled up at me impishly and confidently and waited further as my stiff cock twitched and jerked in desperation. As he sat and waited, he fiddled with his stiff little member as short and slender as his thumb, enjoying the pleasure and the effect it was having on me. How I envied him and desired the same burning pleasure he was feeling as he brushed his fingers against his bulb. Finally turning, he offered his smooth, compact backside, and I did not hesitate accepting the offer. Dropping to my knees, I grasped his narrow hips and placed the tip of my spit-slick cock against his tiny pucker. Grasping his hips tightly, I slowly eased forward, the tip of my rigid cock spreading apart his tight pucker ever so slowly. He inhaled deeply and relaxed his anal muscle and I inhaled deeply and pressed forward relentlessly, my slopehead slowly stretching open his anus. Gasping another breath, I closed my eyes and continued pressing my hips forward until I felt his tight anal ring slip over my knob and clamp down behind it. Never had I penetrated a boy so tight! I paused to regain my breath and to enjoy the sensation of having the knob of my cock buried up his hot, moist rectum. I waited a very long time and he made no more to urge me on, likely relishing the pleasure of having my fat knob up his ass as much as I was relishing the pleasure of having it inside him.

I then slowly eased forward, sinking my shaft up his hole until my coarse, curly hairs were pressing against his smooth backside and my dangling balls were lined up behind his tiny, hairless stones. I again paused to delight in having my cock buried up this eager seven-year-old boy, a boy half my age, and then I slowly drew my cock back out until my knob met the resistance of his anal muscle. Sinking my cock back up his ass, I delighted in having my aching cock surrounded by his hot, moist, throbbing flesh. Reaching under him, I found his stiff little cocklet and holding it with my thumb and first two fingers I began to stroke it and he squirmed and inhaled with the pleasure of having his little cocklet stroked. It throbbed hotly between my thumb and fingers and I knew that the sweet pain lacing my knob was the same sweet pain his little knob was feeling as I worked my fingers up and down his shaft and over the little, sensitive bulb. He was half my age, but I knew the pleasures I was feeling were the same as his and again I could not comprehend why such pleasure should be denied one simply because of his age.

There was one pleasure that separated us of course. As I approached that peak once again, this time with my cock up his ass instead of his mouth, I desperately wanted to continue but I forced myself to stop. I closed my eyes and tightened my grasp about his hips and concentrated on the pleasure of my pounding cock and the itching of my knob and the delight of having my cock buried up the young boy's ass. He stood perfectly still, enjoying the pleasure of being stuffed I imagine, besides knowing his slightest move could trigger the release of my seed and the end of this pleasure for both of us.

It took a long time but the urge subsided sufficiently for me to begin fucking his smooth, young ass once again. Again I enjoyed the delight of having my throbbing cock squeezed tightly by his hot, moist flesh and the delight of feeling the urge to spill my seed build up once again in my loins. As I approached that peak a third time, I could not delay it and instead I began to fuck him more furiously, anxious to relieve that itch that was as maddening as it was pleasing. I rammed my cock in and out of the little boy's tight asshole, grasping his hips for support as I plowed him in a final frenzy, practically knocking him off his feet in my lust. I inhaled deeply as I felt the twitch deep up my groin and I held my breath as I felt my seed race up the core of my cock and come spurting out the tip with a burning pleasure, filling the boy's rectum. At the same time I felt a tremor in his tiny, stiff cocklet and the boy began to buck and quiver and whimper with his own orgasm. I do not know which brought me the greater pleasure, shooting my seed deep up his rectum or feeling his little cocklet throb with his dry orgasm and hearing his whimpers of pleasure. Spurt after spurt shot up his rectum and my head spun dizzily with delight and the boy tottered on weak legs as he convulsed with his own climax. That was the first of three orgasms we shared that night, and when the young boy whose name I had never inquired left in the morning, he had triple what he had asked.

Having come to the attention of the Sultan of Herat before whom he performed, fifteen-year-old Nico fears he will become entrapped as another of the Sultan's baubles and eagerly joins a group of artisans planning on heading west and south to widen their experiences and knowledge. Travelling across the central steppes of ancient Persia he discovers the rich Persian poetry of boy-love as the group discusses the nature of love, himself becoming the object of the lust of a sweaty sixteen year old son of a coppersmith and brazier and introducing an illiterate thirteen-year-old stable boy to the delight of oral sex.

Although I had little sleep what with my excitement regarding the morrow and my sexual revelry with the wanton seven-year-old heathen I had picked up, I headed to the stables bright and cheerful at the break of dawn. There was much to put a smile on my lips and give a lightness to my steps that morning, which from my calculations I figured to be the seventh day of the tenth month in the year of our lord, 1491. For one, I had had a most enjoyable night of sex, reason enough for any fifteen-year-old boy to walk with a song in his heart even if the sex had been with one of my own gender and would weigh heavily against me on Judgement Day. It had also been enjoyable for the seven-year-old boy whose services I had purchased, which I knew all too well from working in the baths and as a dancer with the Ghilman Entertainment Troupe was not always the case when one sells his body to strangers as he did. More often than not those seeking such pleasure are only interested in their own satisfaction and have no concern for the enjoyment of the one they have hired, something I do not understand for even at my young age I know that sex is much more pleasurable when both individuals derive enjoyment from it. That is, I suppose, one reason men seek out boys, women, by their nature, not being disposed toward finding enjoyment in the sex act when the sole purpose of it is to bear children. It is, perhaps, even justification for men to do so. I had to wonder if the grand company at Florence would agree with my conclusion, and if I would ever have the opportunity to broach the idea with them.

The look of surprise and disbelief when I gave the boy nine rial for his services before we parted, three times more than he had audaciously asked for, brought me even more pleasure than the sex had. My needs being few and the most basic of them provided for in lieu of my services, the need to spend any of the coin and jewels I had accumulated in my travels had been rare, so nine rial was a pittance, but I knew for the street urchin it was likely more coin than he had ever held at one time. Those were three good reasons for my light-hearted mood, but all three together did not equal the fourth and final one. Although I had only a vague idea where I was going, each step I took meant I was closer to home, and that thought brought me the greatest joy of all.

My horse, my most faithful of companions whom I have ungratefully neglected commenting on in this account of my journeys, whinnied in recognition the moment I entered the stable and my heart swelled with fondness. I had named her Theresa after my father's ship the Theresa del Morau for she was my means of transport on land and just as dependable. She was beautiful, chestnut in colour with a long, black, silky mane and tail, and a small but spirited horse, a Shen, one of the gifts I had received from Prince Abbas the day we had left Tabriz in appreciation for having saved his life. That had been almost six months ago though to me it seemed like six years in this brutal, heathen land.

The Prince, like many Tamurids, was a good judge of horses and Theresa had served me well, in battle and in our arduous journey together over mountains and across deserts. Of course I had learned much about the proper care of horses, first from the Mameluke Usama el Hasan ibn Fuad who had purchased me in Cairo, and then from the gentle and quiet Turk Eskander with whom I had travelled along the Black Sea to Tabriz, and I had come to appreciate and love the beasts as much as my mentors did. I had to smile at that. Prince Afonso, a skilled horseman despite his young age, would be most surprised to see me now as I took a sweet out of my pocket and held it out in my palm for Theresa to take and then saddled her and lead her out of the stable. It had been just over a year ago that I had joined him and his valet in my first horse ride, which I had sworn had to be the most uncomfortable and painful way to spend a day and one I had not foreseen me repeating. A year! I wondered how Prince Afonso was fairing, and hoped well. He was, unlike the royalty I had been accompanying these past months, an honest and honourable individual, and someday would make a great king. Of course being Portuguese, and a Christian, that was only natural.

My fellow travellers arrived soon after, singly or in pairs. The first of my new companions was Rammah al-Ashrafi bin Sayf, who, at thirty-five, was the eldest of our group, and to me, seemed the least like the others in temperament and interests. Over the course of our journey I learned that he had been born there in Herat, the second son of a prominent official in the Sultan's court who had hoped his son would become an imam, a position which often wielded as much power as those who inherited their position of leadership. Instead he had entered the university and become a philosopher, and though an esteemed teacher, he did not have the power and influence that his father had hoped for his son and his family.

Next to arrive were the two musicians in our group, Ma'mar, sixteen, and Yaser, twenty-six. I had met both only two days earlier, the two of them having also been hired to perform for Sultan Husayn at the celebration of Eid al-Adha. Both had noticed the Sultan's interest in me and had commented on it at the end of the day, but it had been Yaser who had correctly interpreted that interest as being as a bauble to own and display, Ma'mar having assumed it had been of a sexual nature. When I had commented as we had left the palace that night that I did not see the likelihood of a future at the Sultan's court as being a positive thing, they had been the ones who were not surprised and who had agreed with me.

We were soon joined by two young men, eighteen-year-old Ubaydah and nineteen-year-old Ahsen, both foppishly dressed in gaudily coloured tunics and breeches. They, I discovered, were as loud and flamboyant as their clothing, and were, I learned during our travels, boyhood friends. The younger was an aspiring poet, and the elder, an exceedingly handsome young man, an aspiring singer and dancer. I had neither met nor heard of either of them nor heard of their family names. They contrasted sharply with the next member of our group to arrive, the second oldest of the eight of us, the artist Muhammad, a shy, quiet man of thirty with a slight build and fine, fragile features and effeminate gestures and whom had it not been for his clothing I would have thought a woman. The last to arrive was Hasan, the poet who had taken me aside and told me about this group and had invited me to join them. That he was late to rise and the last to retire at night the others all seemed to know and they teased him greatly about it as we waited for him to get his mount.

We were a strange group that set out that morning, the eight of us united in our desire to leave Herat and our common belief that for one to grow in one's chosen field one had to travel, to, as Rammah put it, experience life. Our differences far exceeded that which united us. While the others had been born in Herat or had lived there for some time, I had only been there for seven days. They knew each other and were familiar with each other's habits and idiosyncrasies, which gave them an advantage over me. In addition to that, while the others were leaving because they felt confined and wished to expand their knowledge and experiences and all were leaving their homes, I was leaving before I became entrapped and because I wanted to return to my home, two significant differences that united them and again set me apart. While most were united in their love of the arts, whether it be music, dance, song, or art, my interest in the arts was more a matter of pastime and, in this land, an aid to survival, the arts not being my major love and certainly not my intended occupation. Those were three significant differences which again united them and set me apart.

I was not the only one at variance with the group in one way or another. Like myself, Rammah had only a peripheral interest in the arts, his major interest, as I have mentioned, being philosophy. He was of all of us the most intellectual in nature, though that attribute was something that did unite the two of us despite our great age difference. The eight of us also differed greatly in experience. Some, like Muhammad and Rammah, were well-established in their fields and had developed reputations. Others, like Hasan and Yaser, were becoming known and were therefore of some influence, and others like Ma'mar, Ubaydah and Ahsen were just beginning in their chosen fields and in their learning. Though dance and music were not my chosen fields, I too was a novice, though I was more practised in those fields than I was in my father's occupation of trader and merchant, the occupation I wished to follow. Four of us were in our teens while the other four were between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five. It was not a great age difference, but many times in our journey I found our little group divided along that line, the four of us thinking and acting differently, often more impulsively and rashly, from the other four.

In temperament we ran the whole gamut, from quiet and shy Muhammad to the loud and ostentatious Ubaydah, and from the serious and sedate Rammah to the carefree Ahsen and easily flustered Yaser, and from the somewhat dower Hasan to the ever cheery Ma'mar. Myself, I considered to be more optimistic and adaptable than the others. The night we set up camp for the first time serves as a good example. It quickly became evident who was experienced living in the wilderness and who was not. Though the youngest of them all, in that I excelled over the others and I found myself helping or advising the others in routines I had taken for granted, like setting up the tents, digging a latrine, and cooking our evening repast. It also quickly became evident who were horsemen and who were not, and again, despite my youth, in that I had the advantage over the others. Yaser, Hasan and Rammah had owned their own horses and were the most experienced, but even they knew little about the care of horses, and horse riding was little more than a pastime of the gently-bred. The others had only recently purchased their mounts specifically for this journey. Again I had the advantage over them, having learned my horsemanship from riding in battle and over the most rugged of terrain and from true horse lovers, and I found myself helping and advising the others.

Despite our differences, we were an amiable lot, each readily admitting his weaknesses and admiring the strengths of others, which I found most refreshing after travelling with Prince Abbas and his men who would admit to no weakness. Every member of our group was willing to learn and willing to help, and in that our little group reminded me a lot of the Ghilman Entertainers along with our diversity of interests and skills, our common interest in the artistic and intellectual, our comradery, and even our eccentricity. It was good that we were an amiable group, for the trek west from Herat, though not difficult, was a long one.

Our first destination, I was informed, was the city of Kashan, some six hundred and forty miles [1030 km] to the west. There being steady trade between it and Herat, the trail between the two cities was well travelled, often wide enough for three or four of us to ride abreast, giving us the opportunity to talk and thus reducing the boredom of the ride and helping the time go by faster. Unlike my travels with the Ghilman Entertainment Troupe and with Prince Abbas, nobody was expecting us at our destination so our pace was slower though we did not dawdle, the less time on the road and in the high desert the better.

After our evening repast, Ma'mar and Yaser took out their instruments and practised, Ma'mar on the nababah, an instrument I knew as a spike fiddle, and Yaser on an instrument which he called the santis. When I observed that it was very similar to the dulcimer, he observed that the santis was a much older instrument upon which the dulcimer was based. As he played, I thought back to Florence and Uncle's fascination with the instrument, which none of us had heard until then, and his immediate decision to learn how to play one. That memory of Uncle and his impulsiveness, and unending curiosity, often conveyed to me in a covert, lopsided grin and a twinkle in his eyes meant only for me, caused my eyes to mist and my heart to ache for him. No man, other than Father, had such an influence on my life and upbringing, and I missed him dearly. As the others noticed me wiping away the tears, I observed that I had gotten dust in my eyes, and though most gave it no further thought, I know there were a few whom I had not fooled. Upon my companion's encouragement, I played the nay and when I told them about panpipes Ma'mar and Yaser were most interested, having never heard of such an instrument. When they inquired how I had come to know about it, I realized the foolishness of my loose tongue. Telling them my father was a trader and had come into possession of the instrument from the west, I managed to provide a reasonable explanation and resolved to be more careful about what I said in the future. The more fluent and comfortable I became in their language the less cautious I had become. Such was another of the devious ways these heathens had in subverting good Christian souls.

Besides playing favourite pieces and practising new ones, the two musicians spent time in the evenings composing their own music, a process I found most intriguing and which encouraged me to try my own hand at composition for the nay and ud, which I found not to be as easy as I had assumed. Other times Hasan and Ubaydah would entertain us with recitations of favourite poems, not just for our pleasure but a necessity to keep the words fresh in their minds. They also composed their own poems and tested out their rhymes with us. Ahsen similarly practised his songs or dances to perfect his skill, at the same time providing us with still a different entertainment, accompanying himself with a pair of capare or having Ma'mar, Yaser or myself play for him. He had a beautiful voice and a natural rhythm, and when Ma'mar or Yaser came up with a new piece of music he skilfully interpreted it in a new dance.

While we thus occupied ourselves, Muhammad would take out a pad of paper and sketch, sometimes portraits of the group, other times landscapes that we had seen during the day, and sometimes creating his own images out of his mind. Rammah alone of all of us neither sang, danced nor played an instrument, but he was quick to engage us in a discussion on some point of philosophy, and the others just as quick to initiate such discussion, which quite often was heated and passionate. And I, alone of all of us, devoted an hour of each evening exercising and practising with my sword for I knew how easily muscle can turn to flab and how the lack of use can take the edge off one's skill, and, how dangerous it was to travel even in this more civilized part of the world.

So it was that our trip to Kashan was quite pleasant and the days passed by quickly. Kashan was along one of the ancient caravan routes connecting the far east with the west. The city, I learned, was best known for quality carpets, cotton and silk goods, jewellery, and brass and copper work, both as pieces of art and the more functional purpose such as pots and braziers. Locating a suitable inn that was of moderate price and in a reputable part of the city, the members of our group with the exception of myself and Yaser being unable to afford the expensive establishments and none of us wishing to spend our nights in the cheaper establishments where one was likely to be robbed or even murdered for a few coin or a good pair of boots, and where one was even more likely to catch some disease, we dispersed through the city, each of us perusing his own interests, most of us meeting up at sometime or another at the bazaar to eat and to perform, to earn a few dinar to pay our expenses and for the enjoyment of performing.

Myself, I spent much of my time strolling about the bazaar and the adjacent streets where the craftsmen of the city lived and had their shops. I was particularly interested in anything out of the usual and that Father and Uncle would be interested in. Invariably I felt a wave of sadness when I thought of them, but my curiosity and the variety of new and strange things helped detract me and lift me from my depression. I found the wares of the local coppersmiths and workers of brass of particular interest. The afternoon of our second day in Kashan I discovered a small shop that specialized in hair combs, broaches and assorted clasps made of bronze and brass and inlaid with silver and gold wires in the most intricate of designs. A large bronze hanging with a detailed and intricate pictorial relief of warriors engaged in battle reminded me of the gilded bronze Gates of Paradise in the Baptistry in Florence that had so fascinated Michelangelo, giving me pause to recall those most pleasant, and for me bewildering, days at the Academy in Florence that seemed now so long ago and to wonder how Michelangelo and the others were fairing and if Michelangelo had yet taken on a young apprentice himself to teach during the day and to instruct in the arts of lovemaking at night.

It took a moment for the voice to penetrate my thoughts, and a few moments longer to realize the comment had been directed at me. "I beg your pardon?"

"I did not mean to intrude," the man apologized with a deep bow. "The place where your mind was I assumed to be a very pleasant place from the expression on your face."

"Oh. Yes. Yes it was," I replied, addressing the middle-aged man looking across at me with a knowing smile. "A special girl perhaps?" he asked with a sparkle in his eyes as he ever so slightly raised his right eyebrow.

"Ah," he said, his features unchanged. "A beautiful gift for him," he observed, glancing down at my hands. I was holding a copper hair comb inlaid with silver strands and three turquoise stones.

"Ah," he said, and though his expression still had not changed, I could tell he did not believe me. "You have excellent taste. A very good choice."

"I have three sisters, and a mother," I observed, glancing at the display of combs and broaches. Sometime later we reached an agreement on four pieces and a price.

"You know your jewellery well," he observed, "and you drive a very hard bargain. If every man bartered like you, my family would be starving."

"You do me honour. My father is a merchant and a trader of fine goods," I replied. "What I know I have learned by listening, and by observing him."

"You have learned well," he observed with an appreciative nod. "What, may I ask, is his name? Perhaps I know him or of him."

"I do not think so. He has never travelled this far east. His home is to the west, west of Cairo. But you are equally skilled in bargaining," I observed, changing the topic. So much for my resolve to curb my loose tongue. "And in your craft. Such excellent craftsmanship is a joy to behold."

"Thank you, but I can only take credit for this and that," he said, indicating two of the combs. "The other two, and most of what you see in my humble shop are creations of my son."

"You have taught him well. Such craftsmanship is rare, and I have never before beheld such unique and beautiful designs."

"A teacher's job is easy when he has an apt pupil," he replied humbly and proudly. "My son works very hard, and he has many designs that come from his head, not from me. And good son that he is, he turns every dinar he makes over to support his mother and me and his brothers and sisters and asks for nothing in return but the roof over his head and food in his belly. To hear your praise would mean much for him. Perhaps, young sir, you could tell him yourself?" he asked with a father's pride and hint of hopefulness.

Pulling aside the cloth hanging over the doorway at the back of his little shop, he motioned for me to step through. Doing so, I was momentarily stunned by the blast of hot air that struck me, air hotter than the air of the desert at high noon. Three large wooden shutters at the far back of the room were propped open to provide what little draft there was. Standing there beside a brick fire pit over which hung a metal pot was a boy, sixteen, stripped to the waist and wearing a thick, heavy leather apron and a narrow leather headband to hold back his long, flowing black hair. He was slowly and carefully pouring a silvery liquid from a small pot into the larger with one hand while stirring the molten contents with a ladle with the other, his foot at the same time pumping a bellows to keep the coals of the brazier red hot.

"Naqi 3; ah 3; ibn-Mustafa," I replied. Nobody had ever asked what my full name was and I said the first thing to come to mind. It was fitting actually as it had been the Moor Mustafa that we had rescued in Spain that had chosen my Arabic name.

"This honourable one has purchased one of your combs and one of your broaches," he continued, "and wished to meet the designer in person. This is my son, Badr al-Din Kazan."

"I am most pleased and honoured to meet you," I said, bowing respectfully. By Allah, not only was he skilled and muscularly built, but he was exceedingly handsome too! His skin was smooth and a dark brown and his arms and upper torso firm and bulging with muscle. Sweat trickled down over his hairless chest to soak into the band of his leather apron, turning the dark brown black. "I, ah, was observing to your father, that I have never seen such beautiful and unique designs, or such excellent craftsmanship."

"Naqi Ah ibn-Mustafa's father is a merchant and trader of fine merchandise from the far west. He is a most talented judge of quality jewellery."

"I am deeply honoured by such praise," Badr replied with a nod, clearly pleased, "especially by one as qualified as yourself. You will please forgive me if I do not stop in my work. The metals must be kept at just the right temperature or they will not combine and the mixture will be ruined."

"No, by all means, do not stop. I have never seen a brazier at work and find it most intriguing. Can I perhaps be of some help?"

He hesitated for a moment. "This is sweaty work. I would not want you to ruin your fine clothes."

"That is easily solved," I replied, quickly removing my outer robe, tunic and turban. I did find his work intriguing, but I found him even more so and in my brazen wantonness I hoped perhaps my naked torso would be of interest to him.

"If you could be so kind as to pump the bellows while I finish pouring this batch," he said. I quickly stepped up beside him and he showed me how to operate the bellows with my foot slowly and rhythmically to keep up a constant and steady blast of air on the coals. Putting on a pair of thick leather gloves, he carefully picked up the larger container he had been stirring and quickly poured the contents into moulds on a counter beside him. Returning the pot to the fire, he added several blocks of copper and began explaining what he was doing. The Imam of the city had requested two dozen brass candlesticks for the altar of a new mosque. He had begun by carving a unique design out of soft wood for the sticks, and then had packed fine moulding sand about the right half of this pattern in twelve wooden casings so when removed it left a detailed imprint in the sand and then repeated the process for the left half.

To these casings he had balanced a core plug for the opening to the candlestick. He then melted pots of copper and zinc which he had weighed ahead of time for the right ratio and added the latter to the former so the two molten metals combined, which was what he was doing when I had first arrived. This mixture was then poured into the moulds and allowed to cool. Later the two halves would be melded together and the edges filed smooth. He was very proud of his skill and his products, and I was an appreciative listener. The time passed quickly and I was surprised when his father returned and announced he had closed up the shop and it was time to quit for the day, and invited me to their evening meal. Badr told his father that we would clean up the shop and for him to go on ahead of us. As we cleaned out the hot utensils with sand and put everything away, I could not help admiring the young brazier, and to my embarrassment, he noticed my admiration.

"I learned from my father, and though I am young, I have had much practise," I admitted honestly, and I hope, not vainly.

I chuckled and flushed with embarrassment. "Your father meant of jewellery, and so did I."

"I know, but I have noticed you have a critical eye for more than brass and copper."

"I do," I admitted. Having been caught and being the wanton sinner I had become, there was no point in denying it. "And what I see is of high quality." I had meant the comment as a complement, but it was no sooner out of my mouth than I realized how brazen I sounded. All I could do was stand there dumbstruck and pray Allah would rip out my unthinking tongue.

"What I see also," he said, stepping up to me and taking me in his arms, much to my surprise, and even more to my delight. He was slightly taller than I and bent over and kissed me on the lips, his strong, hot hands on my sweaty, naked back.

"Will not come back down, and the evening meal will not be until the sun is cut in half by the horizon and it is cool enough to relax." "I do not know if I will be cool by then," I replied, caressing his sweaty, muscular back and returning his kiss.

He smiled and began to untie the cord holding up my pantaloons and I ran my hands down his torso to the band of his apron. The band was wet with his sweat and the knot tight and as I inhaled deeply with excitement and frustration, the dank sourness of his sweat and sensual fragrance of hot leather filled my nostrils. As my baggy pantaloons dropped to my feet, he reached behind himself and helped me loosen the knot and then chucked his heavy apron into a corner. His trousers were damp with his sweat also, and the front bulging out.

"It appears you like what you have seen," I said with a grin, reaching out and wrapping my fingers about the bulge. I could feel it throb hotly through his breeches.

I soon undid the ties and his breeches dropped to his feet. He was wearing no under breeches and had by then removed mine so we stood there naked with our trousers about our ankles. We embraced and pressed our hot, naked bodies against each other. His chest was broad and muscular, and his forearms and biceps especially thick and firm from the heavy work that he did. He had the long, slender fingers of an artisan though, and they were gently and tenderly caressing my back and slipping around to caress my chest, circling each breast in a slowly tightening circle until they were teasingly caressing my flesh just beyond the darker areolae of my nipples. His chest was smooth, like mine, but he had thick tufts of pit hair which were plastered to his skin with his sweat and from which I could occasionally catch a whiff of his manly scent. Although fifteen, my own pits were still embarrassingly smooth, but travelling and exercising had kept my own muscles firm and toned and as he caressed me I could see in his eyes his admiration.

As his fingertips caressed now my tender buds, my nipples tingled with the sweet pain and quickly became erect, and my penis quickly rose as if competing with them to see who could become the hardest the fastest. His own member had been rising as we had kissed and caressed and now stood upright and prodded my stomach. I reached down and slipped my hands about that long, thick, dark-brown rod and I gently stroked it, causing him to shiver with delight. As he cupped my buttocks and caressed them, I slipped my hand down his throbbing shaft to his thick, curly hairs and then cupped his large, black stones. They were hot and their hairs damp with sweat. I brought my fingers up to my nose and inhaled his nutty fragrance on my fingertips and my member twitched with arousal.

Our breaths grew more laboured and I sucked in the air, thick and hot, smelling of molten metal and sweat and lust and searing my lungs. We kissed again and his lips tasted of salt and his breath was as hot as the blast of air that had met me upon first entering the back of their shop. As we kissed, he ran a finger up along the crack of my ass and reaching my anus the tip caressed it and pressed against it and I willingly and eagerly opened up to it. He slipped the tip inside, not a difficult task with my desire and the sweat of my crack, and worked the tip in and out as his lips pressed against mine and I felt his tongue enter my mouth. Hot and slime-coated, it slid along my own tongue, joining it in the hot cavern of my mouth and as our tongues slid against each other we pressed our naked bodies tight against each other, hot, firm flesh pressed against hot firm flesh and two throbbing, iron-hard cocks pressed between two firm, flat stomachs, two teenage boys filled with the lust of youth.

Releasing me, he reached over to the counter beside us and picking up a vial, he unstoppered it and poured a few drops of a thick, bronze-coloured liquid over the tips of his middle and pointer fingers of his left hand. He then turned me around and slipped the tip of his middle finger into my anus and twisted it, and then slowly eased it further in as the tip of his pointer finger pressed against my anus and slipped inside also. With his two fingers up my ass to their first knuckle, he twisted them, stretching open my anus and lubricating it with the oil he had poured over his fingertips. Slowly he continued to insert his fingers and I quivered with delight as I felt them penetrate me. His breathing was heavy and forced as he wrapped his right arm about me and bent over and kissed the nape of my neck, his fingers slowly penetrating to the middle knuckles and then on. His right hand slipped down over my belly and cupping my hot, dangling balls, he rolled them in their loose sack as he pushed his two fingers in as far as he could, then slowly withdrew them to the tip of his shortest finger, and then inserted them again. My cock jerked excitedly, eager for me to be fucked by more than his fingers, and I felt his own thick, hard cock press against my buttocks, eager to replace the two fingers up my ass.

His cock was huge, almost two hands long, and as thick around as a circle formed by a man's middle finger and his thumb, larger than many full-grown men. He took the oil he had poured over his two finger tips and holding his stiff cock up by the base poured a few drops directly on the tip, allowing the oil to ooze down over his flanged knob and down along the shaft. He spread the oil over his shaft and it glistened in the light of the embers still burning hotly in the fire pit, and his long, dark brown cock reminded me of the poker he used to stir the coals of the fire. Soon it would be up my rectum, stirring the coals of the fire deep inside me.

Turning around, I grasped the ledge of the counter for support and bending over, I spread my legs and eagerly opened my anus. He stepped up behind me, and grasping my hips and bending his legs slightly so the tip of his oiled cock was aimed at my eager hole, he pushed forward. Slowly the sloped head of his cock stretched open my anal muscle and I strained to open it wider as his fat knob wedged in my puckered anus. Clenching my eyes shut and gritting my teeth, I inhaled deeply as he pushed on relentlessly until at last the flange of his knob passed my anal ring and it snapped shut behind his knob. We were both panting with exertion and he paused for a moment to catch his breath, and then pressed forward, easing his thick member up my rectum until I felt his coarse hairs pressing against my buttocks.

He paused again to enjoy the sensation of having his thick, hard cock surrounded by my pulsating flesh, and I inhaled deeply with delight as I relished the sensation of having a thick, hard cock stuffed up my ass. He then began to pump his hips to and fro slowly as he grasped my hips, and I opened and closed my anus in time with his thrusts and withdrawals. My anus burned with that sweet pain as his cock worked in and out of my ass and my rectum throbbed hotly in time with his throbbing member. Each time he thrust deep up my rectum, the knob brushed past that button deep up my ass, sending thrills of stimulation through my pelvis. My own cock was stiff and throbbing with desire, and it wagged with joy and excitement as my ass was fucked. He fucked me slowly and paused frequently to delay the inevitable and to enjoy the pleasure of our congress, but we were young and hot and even the most skilled and patient of men can only put off that ultimate pleasure for so long.

As Badr approached his climax, he tightened his grip on my hips and began to pump his own hips faster, driving his aching cock in and out of my rectum in a race to bring himself off. My own stones had swollen and tightened and though no hand had touched my member it had gone numb and I knew my own climax would be any moment, so great had been the pleasure of being fucked by this handsome young brazier. Badr was panting as loud as the bellows had been earlier, and he was sweating as heavily as he had been working over the fire. We both inhaled deeply, the hot, dry air fragrant with hot metal and smoldering coals, of zinc and copper and burnt ash, and then he lunged forward and threw back his head and I felt his hot, molten seed gush up my rectum. Seconds later my cock jerked and I felt my own white-hot lava flow up the core of my numb cock and I shuddered as it spurted out of the tip with a burning pleasure and shot through the air. Spurt after spurt filled my rectum and spurt after spurt sprayed the stained and worn workman's bench. I wondered how many other boys had stood naked before this wooden altar and baptised it with their seed as they were fucked by this dark-skinned, heathen Adonis. I quivered with delight as he squeezed me tightly, his hot seed filling my ass and surrounding his pulsating cock, my own seed hanging in a pearly white pendant like a droplet of molten zinc, my numbed member throbbing with pleasure and the opening burning with that sweet pain only a man can know.

We had disengaged and were dressing when Badr's father called down to inform us supper would soon be ready. We washed up in a basin of water in the shop and I followed Badr upstairs, hoping that nobody would notice the flush of pleasure in my cheeks. A large pot of stew made of garden peas, chunks of lamb and diced potatoes in a thick brown gravy awaited us, and following the blessing and thanks to Allah, we dug in with freshly baked flat bread, Badr's mother taking advantage of the hot coals in the shop to bake her own bread each night. Badr's father had said nothing, but I had the definite impression that he knew what we had done, and that it had been with his approval and blessing. We were young, virile men with needs that had to be met, and better we satisfy each other's need than take the chastity of some father's daughter.

We fucked again that night, back down in the shop, the embers still smoldering in the fire pit and our own fires easily stoked. This time it was longer and less frenzied, but just as pleasurable, and this time as we inhaled deeply with our approaching orgasms, our lungs were filled with the fragrance of tomorrow's bread. I stayed over that night, curled up in Badr's arms on his pallet on the roof of their home, only a blanket strung across two poles separating us from his parents sleeping on one side and a second blanket similarly strung to separate us from his younger siblings. The next morning and afternoon I spent with him learning the work of a coppersmith and brazier and helping him melt the copper and zinc and pour it into the moulds, and then sitting and watching him as he filed and engraved the candlesticks made the previous day, and then inlaid broaches he had made earlier with threads of molten silver. He concentrated intently on his work and I concentrated intently on him. He laughed when he looked up and found me staring at him and said I had the same look on my face as patrons of his father's shop had when they came to purchase their wares. I observed that his work was exquisite, and so was he, and he laughed again and said that his features were none of his doing but of Allah's.

"Allah be praised," I observed and we both smiled as we thought of the pleasure of the previous evening and of the evening to come.

I spent the entire day and the night with him, and the morning of the day after. We had sex in the shop in the middle of the day when it was too hot to work and again after the day's labour was done and a third time after our evening meal, and a fourth on the roof at night. Our blood was thick and the fire of lust ran through our teenage veins, and the vessels between our legs were constantly filled with molten seed. If his parents were aware of our activity, they made no mention of it.

I had told him I was travelling south and would not be in Kashan that long, and he had said it was all the more reason we should enjoy the time Allah had brought us together. He asked where I was going and why and said he had no desire to leave Kashan. He was content to live with his father and mother and he would most certainly at some time marry and begin his own family and eventually take over his father's shop and as the eldest son continue to live there with his wife and children and parents and produce beautiful things in copper, bronze and brass for others to admire and buy. I asked if he foresaw more teenage boys in this future life and he laughed and said most certainly, and I asked if he did not think his wife would mind, and he looked at me curiously and asked why she should as he would make her heavy with child many times as he wanted many children, so she should not begrudge him having pleasure. I smiled and agreed that she should have no cause.

"Women for breeding and boys for fun and melons for pure pleasure," I said and he laughed and said that was the way of the world and asked if after my travelling if I would settle down with a wife, and if I would too seek boys on the side for pleasure.

I replied honestly that I did not know, if I would marry, or if boys, or men, would be part of my future and he shook his head in wonder that at fifteen I would not know such things. For him, such a future was inevitable, and natural. His question gave me much to think about in the days to come. I did want a wife, and I did want children, a couple girls to cherish and for my wife to love and instruct on how to become a woman and to become loving sisters to my sons, and a boy or two to teach my trade and that of my father and his father before him and to carry on my name. I had limited experience to date with members of the fair sex, and the experiences I had, had not been that spectacular. I enjoyed the company of those of my own sex and preferred it to women, just as Father and Uncle had oft observed they preferred the company of sailors at sea and comrades at the local tavern over the chatter of women in the kitchen. I admittedly enjoyed engaging in carnal pursuits with those of my gender, especially boys my age or younger, but it would be impossible to pursue such activities back in Portugal and especially with a wife, and I did want to return to Portugal for I missed the tang of the sea and strolling along the cliffs of Viano do Costelo at dusk, the bustle and familiar security of the village where you knew everyone and everyone knew you, the serenity and quiet of the surrounding farms, the bleating of sheep in the hills, the rounds of cheese in the markets, Mother, Father, Uncle and my sisters, the rain, especially the rain. And there was, of course, the matter of sin and promise of eternal damnation for those with my perverted desire that awaited me.

I returned to the inn that afternoon, and found that my companions were planning on leaving on the morrow. I was surprised they were leaving so soon, but they said much to their disappointment they had learned all that there was to learn and Kashan had not lived up to their expectations and they were eager to move on. Eager to return to my home I was happy we were going to continue on our way of course, but I also felt a sadness leaving Kashan, and leaving Badr. I returned to the shop immediately and told him the news and he said he would miss me, and especially fucking my tight ass. I told him I would miss him also, and the fucking of course. We fucked that night, after the day's work and before supper, but I did not spend the night with him, knowing the pleasure could never equal that which we had.

From Kashan we travelled to Isfahan, a short trip of a hundred miles [150 km] which we covered in two days along a well-travelled trail, rising before the sun and setting up camp as it set. As we rode, I could not help thinking about Badr and about his comments about his future and mine. Rammah noticed my sombre mood and asked what was troubling me, and I replied that I had made a friend and that parting was a sorrow. We still did not know each other well enough that I could tell him about my other thoughts, about marriage and about boys.

"That is one of the disadvantages of being a wanderer," he observed. "One cannot put down roots and form lasting friendships."

"All the more reason for us to travel now while we are still young," observed Hasan, "before we settle down with a wife and dozen young ones."

"Perhaps it is a good thing we left Hashan as soon as we did. If Naqi was so enamoured by this new friend, a few more days and he might have married her and begun a family and we would have had to go on without him," commented Ubaydah.

"It was a male," I replied, "a coppersmith and brazier, a year older than myself."

"Ah, then it was not love, but lust," observed Ubaydah with a grin. I was shocked at the openness of his comment even if it was in jest and I could not stop from blushing, which verified the truth of his observation and caused them all to laugh at my expense. I will never understand nor become accustomed to this frankness and lack of guilt these heathens have when it comes to the perversion of congress between those of the same gender.

"Leaving someone who one has lusted after is just as difficult as leaving one whom one has loved," observed Rammah. This sentiment coming from him came as a surprise.

"And was sex with this coppersmith good?" asked Hasan, whether or not in jest I could not tell.

"Very," I replied with a smile, prepared to say I was joking had his comment been in jest.

"But one can have a deep love but not have sex," observed Hasan, "as a father loves a son or a mother a daughter. Even a husband and wife can love each other but not have sex. And conversely one can have great sex but feel no love."

"But you cannot disagree that sex is best when combined with love," persisted Rammah.

"I would not know. I have never loved those I have fucked, and I have never fucked those I have loved," joked Hasan.

"Two men can have a great love for each other but not have sex," I observed. "Some call such love Platonic love."

"I have read of such a thesis," observed Rammah with interest. "It was a concept proposed by the ancient Greek Plato, and supposedly practised by many of his countrymen."

"Well, we all know how it is with the Greeks," observed Hasan. "If you must bend over before one, be sure your back is to the wall." While we all laughed at the observation, I could not help but think how every country seemed to place the origin of such perversions with another country. Everyone knows it was the Arabs and Berbers who introduced sodomy to Spain and Portugal.

"Seriously," persisted Rammah. "There is a love between comrades at arms that exceeds that of mere friendship between two colleagues or two neighbours, and one that need not involve sex. Some say it is as strong a love as the love one brother has for another."

There was truth to that. I saw such love between Mameluke soldiers while I trained under them, and between the Janissary while travelling as their prisoner. Kasik kardesligi the Janissary called it, brotherhood of the spoon, the comradeship that develops between those who eat, sleep, fight, and die together. And while I witnessed sex between the Mamelukes, especially the older soldiers and young recruits, I did not see such relationships among the Turks. Before I could voice my thoughts, Hasan spoke up. "Some brothers have no love for each other," he observed. "As there are some parents who have no love for their child, and some children who have no love for their parents."

"True. And sometimes that love can be a suffocating thing," Rammah observed. "My father loves me greatly and I him, yet he does not support me in my choice of profession. He did not know of my decision to leave Herat and I knew if I told him he would be greatly displeased and we would argue. I did not want our last time together to be unpleasant, so I told him nothing. Having to leave without telling him I was going or saying goodbye has greatly dismayed me, but there could be no other way."

I could understand his feelings and that of his father as well, and thinking of his distress caused me much distress as well as I thought about my own abrupt separation from Father and Uncle in Cairo and how they had to be wondering what had happened to me, and surely if I was even still alive after all this time.

"I left with my father's blessing," observed Yaser. "Of course he travelled greatly when he was young also."

"Knowing you as I do, I can understand his eagerness to be rid of you," joked Yaser and Ma'mar retorted with a gesture that knows no language barriers.

"And then there is the greatest love of all, Divine Love, the love of Allah for mankind, and the love of mankind for Allah," observed Rammah. "There is nothing that exceeds it."

I was about to observe that devout Christians say the same about God, but I decided not to lest I find myself in an uncomfortable corner. It did give me pause to note that it was only one of many similarities I had discovered between our two faiths, and to wonder if we were really so different after all.

"Though many poets describe the love of one human for another as equating it," observed Hasan.

"Only to elevate human love," Rammah countered. "Nobody can seriously equate love between mortals with the love of Allah."

"Each type of love is unique. It is impossible to say one is greater than another," observed Muhammad, making one of his rare contributions to our conversation, "even the love of Allah, meaning no disrespect to Him or His Name."

"What of love between a man and woman versus that of love between two men, or two women?" asked Ubaydah. "They are very different, but can it not be argued one is greater than the other?"

"There are those who would say only the first is possible, and anything else is lust or perversion," he observed.

"The Qur'an and the Hadith are quite clear on that," observed Muhammad, whom I found to be particularly religious. "Does not the Hadith quote the Prophet as saying Allah curses the one who does the actions of the people of Lut?"

"True, but the Qur'an also says of Paradise: And immortal boys will circulate among them; when you see them, you will count them as scattered pearls. There are differing opinions on the acceptance of relations between men," countered Rammah, "differences not just between those trained in such matters and the common man, but between religious scholars themselves."

"To me it is simple. The first comes from the heart, the other from the testicles," observed Hasan with a grin, causing some of us to laugh.

"Yet I know of men and women for whom the relationship is pure lust, and of men who love other men with their heart," replied Rammah seriously.

"The same can be said about the love of a man for a boy, or a boy for a man. For some it is truly love and for others it is purely physical."

"O the joy of sodomy! So now be sodomites, you Arabs. Turn not away from it-therein is wondrous pleasure, Take some coy lad with kiss-curls twisting on his temple And ride as he stands like some gazelle standing to her mate," quoted Hasan.

"A lad whom all can see girt with sword and belt not like your whore who has to go veiled," continued Ubaydah.

"Make for smooth-faced boys and do your very best to mount them, for women are the mounts of the devils." (1)

"Or the relationship between a man and boy might have nothing to do with beauty, love or pleasure," observed Muhammad.

"For some men it is a matter of domination and submission, and for some boys what they mistake as love or lust is adoration."

"Love is a fragile and ephemeral thing," observed Ubaydah. "Unlike lust, which is hard and throbbing," he continued, reaching down and grabbing himself

"Blessed indeed are these two loving friends; They sleep through the night, in an embrace without end. They have loved each other since birth, so they say; With strong equal loves, alike all the way. When love came to them, they told him what to do: "Do the right thing, lo be and split love in two!" So Love split himself, in two equal parts: Hard work! But no thwarting those strong-knit hearts. Their souls became one soul, and then: That soul lived in the two loving men. These two don't quarrel; they avoid any strife; they guard their love as more precious than life."

The conversation left me with no answers and even more questions, and much to think about.

Isfahan lay in a fertile valley along the Zayandeh Rud. It was, I was told, once the capital of a great dynasty, but now the area around the city was populated by people who spoke different languages and followed different customs with no one strong leader. It had been invaded by Tamerlane just over a hundred years ago, at which time, I was told, he and his men massacred seventy thousand people.

As I was the more experienced in the group, I was selected to make arrangements with the stable master for the care of our horses while the others struck out to find us a suitable inn. The stable master seemed like a trustworthy man, but he was a businessman first and his love of money was greater than his love of horses. He was not the only stable master in Isfahan however, and he knew that his business depended on his reputation and that there were those, such as myself, who knew the proper care of a horse. He assured me that our horses would be properly fed and watered during our stay in the city, and that they would be rubbed down after our long ride, and I assured him things would not go well with him should he not keep his promises. While I began to curry Theresa myself, not because I did not trust him but because I found the task relaxing and enjoyable and so did she, I noticed the stable boy, a lad of thirteen, glancing my way with obvious interest and admiration.

"She is a beautiful animal," he observed when he saw I had noticed his attention. "A Shen is she not?"

"There was a noble from the east here once, from Bamiyan, who rode such an animal, and was very proud of her. I recognized the same lines in your mare."

"Her name is Theresa," I said, "She likes carrots. And sweets." He smiled and when I motioned for him to come closer his eyes sparkled. He stroked her coat appreciatively. "You enjoy looking after horses."

He nodded. "Horses do not treat you no different if you is rich or poor and do not care if you got no learnin'," he said. "They just know if you are kind or mean. They are better'n most people, not meaning you no disrespect or nuthin'," he added quickly.

"I have to agree with your thinking," I said with a smile. Taking out my purse, I handed him a couple coins. "If you see she is looked after, there will be more when I leave."

"I would be glad to look out for her without paying me," he said, pocketing the coins all the same. "I know where I can snitch a few carrots for her."

"Hajj. Hajj Abdullah al-Shawarib." The next day I wandered the bazaar but I found nothing of particular interest. Ma'mar, Yaser and Ahsen had set up on a corner and were performing, and from the coins in front of them their music and Ahsen's dancing was appreciated. I watched them for a while, and bored, decided to see how our horses, and particularly Theresa, were being cared for. When I arrived, the stable boy was in the back shovelling out the stalls. Seeing me, he immediately came over, wiping his hands on his trousers, which were as filthy as his hands. Beneath the grime, he was an attractive boy, short and on the thin side with thick, tangled hair the colour of henna, deep brown eyes, a snub nose, and a constant grin. We talked for a bit and I found his curiosity and enthusiasm regarding horses uplifting.

At supper we decided we would stay only one more day, my companions finding the city a disappointment with little to offer them. That night I played the nay and Ahsen danced and Hasan recited poetry, our contribution toward paying for our accommodation. The next afternoon I returned to the stables with two intentions. I informed the stable master I intended on taking my horse out for a bit of exercise, and that I intended on taking Hasan's horse also and wished the stable boy to ride him. He was most reluctant, saying the boy had much work to do, until I took out my purse. The price he asked was exorbitant, but I did not feel like bargaining, and if the afternoon turned out as I was hoping, it would be well worth the money. Hajj was surprised, and delighted when I told him I had purchased his services for the afternoon.

It was a bright, sunny day but with a chill to the air, it being the end of October. We rode up the valley from whence I had come and then left the main trail and followed a narrower, less-used trail that climbed up out of the valley and into the arid hills. They had a rugged beauty and we rode in silence, enjoying the warmth of the sun on our faces and the fresh air filling our lungs, allowing our horses to travel at a leisurely pace. As we rode, I glanced over at Hajj frequently, who had his own special beauty, and I felt a stirring between my legs which once started could not be stopped. He took to riding naturally and you would not know that to ride one of the animals he took care of night and day, seven days a week, was a rarity. The delight in his eyes and the constant smile on his lips was worth twice the money I had paid the stable master. We circled around and began to head back, stopping at a copse of trees to rest the horses before descending back down into the valley and back to Isfahan. Sitting there on an outcropping of rock, we looked down at the city sprawled out below us, and I glanced over again at Hajj, wondering how I could express what was on my mind.

He asked what I did and why I was travelling, and I told him that I had many jobs in the past, most recently that of soldier and of caravan guard, and that I had been away from home for a year and was hoping to return. He told me he had never until this day travelled beyond the city gates, and would most likely never do so again though he thought he would like to travel, though not as a soldier or a guard as he knew nothing about the use of weapons.

"I have lived in Isfahan all my life, but I have never seen it from above," he observed. "It is beautiful."

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "This has been the most wonderful day of my life."

"You are welcome," I replied. There had been a time in my life, so long ago, when a simple outing into the hills and a kindness would have been the highlight of my day also. "I thought you would enjoy it."

"I am surprised Ha'em agreed to let me accompany you. You must have paid him very well."

"He did require some convincing," I said with a grin. "It was money well spent."

"But you did not pay just for me to exercise your companion's horse," he said, looking up at me. I was not sure how to reply. "You have been looking at me ever since we left," he said, "with eyes of desire."

I opened my mouth. Flustered by his comment, I found I had no voice. It was true. I had been looking at him with thoughts of lust in my mind, and I had paid the stable master for the boy's company in the hopes that we might do more than ride horses.

"That is all right. For the joy of this day, I am yours to do with as you wish. My body is yours, though I am afraid I can not give you as much pleasure as you have given me. I have no experience and no knowledge on how one boy can please another, though I know such can be done."

He shook his head. "No man, or boy, has ever desired me. None have had any interest of any sort in me to be truthful, not even Ha'em who pays me to work for him only because he is too lazy to find someone else. I am sorry," he apologized.

Placing my hand on his shoulder, I told him there was nothing to apologize for, and that if others did not see the worth of his companionship it was their loss. I added that though I found him desirable, I did not feel he was under any obligation to have sex with me and nor should he. In fact, to be honest, for him to do so because he felt it was owed me would lessen the pleasure for myself, and I told him so.

He replied that he was not averse to doing such a thing, but had never had the opportunity to engage in such activity before and so had given it no thought. "I would willingly bring you pleasure for the kindness you have shown me, but I would probably do it poorly and disappoint you," he said, looking up at me with a look of self-deprecation. His offer was sincere but without any passion or desire. I considered dropping the matter and would have had it not been that in doing so he would take it as his being fault and as having disappointed me anyway. When I had approached the stable master, I had certainly not considered that I might find myself in such a dilemma. To proceed would be because he felt obligated and that I did not want and would not enjoy. To not proceed would leave me unsatisfied and him feeling guilty, and that I did not want either. Either way I lost. "You presume that I have some skill and experience in bringing such pleasure myself," I said with a smile. A look of confusion and uncertainty crossed his face. He did not know if admitting such would be a complement, or an insult, and denying it would go either way also. "Instead of using our lips and tongue to talk, let us see in what other ways they can be of use."

The copse of trees provided protection from the wind and the outcropping of rocks we were sitting on had been warmed by the sun. Removing my robe and spreading it on the ground for us to lie on, I untied the sash of my pantaloons and undid the ties to my under breeches and let them drop to my ankles and when I gestured for the boy to follow suit he self-consciously untied the cord to his breeches and let them fall. He was wearing no under clothes. As he looked up at me uncertainly and with apprehension, I smiled back reassuringly. Reaching out, I took him in my arms and began to caress his body, and he hesitantly reached out and began to copy me. The seriousness and concentration on his face reminded me of that first time for me in the dark jungles of the Kongo with the young black boy selected to please me. I recalled how I had felt as the mysteries of sex were revealed to me that night, my guilt and fear and inhibitions brought on by years of custom and teachings, my youthful curiosity about all things and especially those that were taboo, my developing awareness of the adult world and my growing maturity, the pleasure of physical stimulation, all jumbled together and demanding attention, and I knew how the young boy had to be feeling. Now about to introduce to him the unique pleasure of sex between two males, I now had some idea of how the young boy who had introduced me to that pleasure must have felt. Many are the poems about the loss of one's virginity and the taking of another's, and much to my surprise many are such poems referring to a man and a boy in this land, and as I felt the lust rising in my loins and causing my member to stir I understood why it was a favourite topic of poets.

I took my time, wanting to enjoy this experience to its fullest, and wanting the boy to have time to think about what was happening to his body and to enjoy his first time also. So I slipped my hands under his shirt and caressed his back, and then slid my fingers around to his chest and caressed it, delighting in the skinniness of his body and its smoothness. I slipped my fingers down and caressed his smooth, compact buttocks, and he copied my action, reaching around me and his hot hands caressing my backside. I bent forward and kissed him, first on the cheek, and then on the lips. It was a one-sided kiss, and when he returned it I was not ready and it too was one-sided. Rather than distract, I found it added to my desire and arousal.

Returning to his chest, I massaged it again, but this time as I massaged his young breasts I slowly tightened my circles until I lightly ran my fingers over his nipples. He tensed and automatically drew back. I caressed each breast again, but once more zeroed in on those sensitive nubs, and as I gently ran my fingertips over them the boy quivered with the arousal and inhaled sharply, but he similarly caressed my chest in ever tightening circles until he too ran his fingers over my sensitive nipples. His actions were not as smooth nor as gentle as mine, but his roughness added to the eroticism of being the first to be caressed by this boy. His nipples were soon firm, as were mine.

I slid my fingers down over his smooth, flat stomach to the patch of soft, curly hairs forming the triangle between his legs, and then on down to cup his small, dangling balls. His breathing was laboured by then and became even deeper as I rolled his sensitive balls between my thumb and fingers. Thirteen and never been touched by another, male or female: the thought of being the first to touch those most private orbs caused my cock to begin to rise as I imagined how he felt having another boy touching him there. Again he copied my actions, slipping his fingers down over my stomach and through my thicker, denser tangle of hairs, and similarly cupping my own stones, and the thought that mine were the first testicles he had ever cupped caused my member to continue swelling. He did not need experience to know how sensitive those two orbs he held in his hand were, and he caressed them with the same care and gentleness as I was caressing his.

Lying on the ground facing each other but in opposite directions and with our heads at each other's crotch, the boy again followed my lead. Taking his partially aroused cock between thumb and forefinger, I held it up and leaned forward. I was glad to see he kept himself clean. I inhaled deeply, delighting in the unique fragrance of the cock and balls of a young boy just entering his teens. My enjoyment could not have been greater had I been inhaling the fragrance of a sweet rose or a fragrant stew. I waited, and as I expected, I felt his hot, slender fingers seek out my own cock and draw it away from my body as I had drawn his away, and then the heat of his breath as he too leaned forward and inhaled. Slipping my lips over his knob, I closed them carefully about the shaft and sucked gently on his swelling flesh. His swelling speeded up and I closed my eyes with delight as he became hard between my lips.

Again he copied my actions, slipping his lips over my knob just as I had done to him, and then gently sucking on my flesh. Being two years older than he, I was that much bigger and I tried not to become aroused too quickly so he could get use to having another's member in his mouth, but knowing this was his first time, to be sucked and to have another's cock in his mouth, had my cock swelling quickly and I could not delay the change. Fortunately at fifteen I was still not that large, and by design, he had only the knob in his mouth. Even so, I knew it was a most profound experience, and I remained still, allowing him time to get use to the physical presence of my cock in his mouth, and the mental shock, knowing no matter how prepared one was, one could not prepare for the thoughts that assaulted one's mind having that most private part of another male in one's mouth. So again I went slowly, allowing him time to get accustomed to having a cock in his mouth, and giving me plenty of time to enjoy the experience as we both became fully erect.

His member was the typical size of any thirteen-year-old boy, perhaps as long as a man's middle finger, and at the most, twice as thick. Mine of course was larger, but being only two years older than he, not excessively so. I slowly eased my lips half way down his now stiff member and then paused and sucked on it, and slowly I felt his lips ease down my member and the tug on it as he also began to suck. I again waited for the longest time, and then slowly continued to ease my lips down his cock until my lips were grasping it about the base. He of course took longer and had more difficulty than I, but to his credit he persevered until he too had my entire cock in his mouth, which was a much more difficult task for him, being his first time, and my cock being half again as long and as thick as his.

Continuing to suck, I began to slowly draw my lips back up his stiff, throbbing cock to his knob, and then, just as slowly eased them back down. I knew if I did so rapidly he would repeat my actions and likely have difficulty breathing. I also knew if I went too rapidly I would bring him off quickly, and I wanted to enjoy this, knowing that it was the first time he had ever been sucked. For the same reason, I wanted this to be a particularly pleasurable experience for him, one he would remember for a long time. And so the two of us lay there on my robe on the ledge overlooking Isfahan gently sucking on each other's cock, our pantaloons tangled at our ankles, still wearing our turbans and shirts. I had no way of knowing to what extent he was enjoying the experience, and could only hope he was enjoying it as immensely as I was.

As the lust rose between my legs, I began to suck on his cock more eagerly and to work my lips up and down it more rapidly. Whether he copied my actions or also began to suck more deeply and to bob his head more rapidly because of his growing desire I did not know, but I suspected it was both. His little, slender penis was throbbing between my lips, and his breathing was becoming deeper and more laboured. My cock was numb now and the tip burning with anticipation, and I tensed as I felt the twang deep up my groin and my seed began to race up the core of my stiff cock and I mumbled that I was coming. And then I was filling his mouth, and as I tensed and arched my back with my orgasm he too tensed and grasped my hips tightly and began to squirt his hot, watery seed, too quickly and I suspect too unfamiliar for him to give me any warning. I did not need any and I eagerly drank down what he offered, swallowing his sweet nectar eagerly. He was inexperienced and had more difficulty swallowing my seed, but he did not loosen his lips about my siphon. My head spun with delight, the delight of tasting this virgin's seed, the delight of him drinking mine, and most of all the delight of having introduced the youngster to the pleasure one boy can have with another, the most intimate pleasure two males can share with each other.

I continued to swallow his seed and to suck on his cock for the longest time, draining his balls, now coiled up tightly beneath his member, and he continued to suck on my cock also, the two of us delighting in that pleasure that follows ejaculation and that comes from pleasing and being pleasured by another. At long last I slipped my lips off his still stiff cock and raised myself on one arm to watch this youngster sucking on my own cock, his cheeks flushed, and his feathery eyelashes closed. A moment later he also slowly drew his lips back and off my member, and then he too propped himself up on one arm and glanced down at my still erect member wet with his saliva and my seed. His lips were also wet with a film of my seed and as he looked up at me, they slowly curled into a smile, and I smiled back at him, delighted that he had found his first time as pleasurable as I had found it. Isfahan might have been a disappointment to my companions, but I will always remember it and my experience with the young stable boy Hajj Abdullah al-Shawarib.

Continuing to travel with a group of artisans across ancient Persia, Nico celebrates New Years with an orgy with a forty-year-old man, his brother and his brother-in-law and finds himself first attracted to a seven-year-old sherbet server in the market and then an eleven-year-old Zoroastrian wine-server in the inn he is staying at.

Nicolau Ribeiro (15yo)
Supporting characters men 40, 24 and 20; boys 7 and 11.
tb tt

The next morning Theresa had been fed, groomed and saddled and was waiting for me. So was the stable boy Hajj Abdullah al-Shawarib, fed and groomed and waiting for me, that is. I had never seen him so clean, and if possible his smile was even brighter.

"I will never forget you, and all that you have taught me and done for me," he whispered as he handed me the reins. "I have decided. I am going to travel, like you. Many caravans come through Isfahan, and they have need for someone to look after their horses. Perhaps someday, I will even become a merchant-trader," he confided with a smile.

"I will never forget you either," I replied. "And I am sure you will be a fine merchant-trader." I had purchased a small copper broach in the shape of a horse the previous day, and I slipped it to him as I took the reins. "For the extra care you have given Theresa," I whispered, and leaping into the saddle, I turned and headed up the street, my heart happy for the boy but heavy knowing we would not meet again.

Following an old branch of the Silk road which skirted the western and southern edge of Persia's forbidding central desert, the Dasht-e Kavir to the north and the Dasht-e Lut to the east, we headed to Yazd in the eastern slopes of the Zagros Mountains. It was a hot, dry country and Muhammad was the only one of us that saw any beauty in the land. We covered the thirteen hundred furlong trail in three days, arising before sunrise to travel in the cool of the morning, stopping to rest in the heat of the day, and travelling until sunset to take advantage of the cool of the evening. Yazd was a major trade centre located on a narrow strip of farmable land between mountains and desert with trails northeast to Mashad and on to Merv, north to Rayy and south to the Persian Gulf. Situated in a remote part of the country, the city had been spared the sacking by the Mongols unlike so many other cities and so the buildings were ancient and immediately caught the artistic eye of Muhammad. It was primarily known for growing fruit, which was surprising being totally surrounded by parched land. It was also known for its almonds and silk, again much to my surprise the area being rich in mulberry trees which I discovered were the home of silk worms. It was also, I discovered, a stronghold of the Zoroastrian faith.

"The Zoroastrian Towers of Silence." Rammah pointed to several tall, walled enclosures just outside of the city. "They leave their dead there for the vultures to feed upon."

"A few, discretely. There are not many who follow the old religion anymore though this was once the centre of their faith. Most have fled to the east, to India. There is now a mosque, the Friday Mosque where the devout Moslem worships every Friday, where once was their Fire Temple. They worshipped fire which they saw as divine and purifying." From the look of contempt on his face there was no question how he felt about the people and their faith. By then I had come to realize that even the most learned of men is not without prejudice. "They also believe that men who lay with men are demons and worship Daevas, the devil, do they not?" I asked, thinking back to what I had learned about them from Sultan Mahmud Mirza's catamites. I also recalled them clubbing to death a man accused of being a sodomite in the marketplace in Balkh, and Prince Abbas doing nothing to stop the mob though he himself was a sodomite and could have easily dispersed the crowd.

"Yes, they are an intolerant, stiff-necked people," Rammah replied. "They rose up as the old Roman Empire began to collapse and the Roman Christians became powerful, at about the same time as the eastern and western Christian churches split. The Persian Christians, the Nestorians, were persecuted first by the Roman Christians, and then by the Zoroastrians. The Nestorians were given legal protection by the Arabs when they conquered Persia in the mid 600s but many fled east to India, along with the Zoroastrians by whom they had been persecuted," Rammah said with a smile. "Now you see nothing of the Nestorians, and all that is left of the Zoroastrians are their foul Towers of Silence and a pocket of worshippers. The only true faith, Islam, reigns supreme."

For how long, I wondered, but I said nothing. I had also found by then that Rammah, like many learned men, did not appreciate what they held as truths being questioned. I vaguely recalled Father Francisco mentioning the Nestorians, a false Christian sect who had preached that Jesus was not one man but of two natures, a divine and a human, and that his mother Mary was not the Mother of God, for Jesus was human. I must confess I had not paid much attention to his sermon. How they felt about man laying with man I had no idea but I suspect they were against that too. It did not matter. Now they were gone. It was hard to believe that both had flourished here where sex between men and between men and boys was so open and so celebrated. It would be something to ponder to pass away the time when we next headed out.

As had become our routine, I sought out a suitable stable for the housing of our horses and made the arrangements while Rammah scouted for a suitable inn, the eight of us arranging to meet again at the city gate at dusk. Yazd was a much larger city than Kashan and Isfahan and everyone was much excited about the opportunities that awaited, even Hasan who always saw the darker side of things first, and Muhammad who rarely showed any emotion whatsoever.

Early the next morning Rammah and Muhammad headed off to the university, Yaser and Hasan to the library, and the others to other schools of learning, there being several, Yazd being the centre of Islamic arts and learning and quite evidently prosperous. Myself, I headed off to the bazaar. Rammah had told me I would be astounded, and he was correct. The bazaar was more than a marketplace. Within its boundaries were several mosques, baths, caravanserais, and schools. The main portion was vaulted with brick to protect the shops from the ever-present desert dust and wind, resulting in whitewashed corridors which were surprisingly cool and airy. They were lined with shops that offered carpets of every imaginable size, purpose and design, others that offered rolls of cotton fabric, and still others offering heavy multicoloured rolls of silk, smiths offering decorative copper wares, and furniture makers who set up their lathes in the street and plied their skill while their family sold their products. I paused to admire a beautifully carved wooden chest lined with red velveteen and decorated with brass nails that I knew Father would have delighted in and which I found myself the owner of after a candle mark of bargaining. Candy boilers wandered the streets with trays of crystallized sugar and other sweets which I could not resist, along with a baker with flaps of fresh sangak, stonebread, and others with fruit-filled pastries, which I could not resist either. One street was lined exclusively with carding, dyeing, spinning, and weaving shops, and another with shops offering jewellery, from cheap clay beads to intricate silver chains to precious gems that would cost a king's fortune.

The lanes of the bazaar twisted and turned, but all headed to the Friday Mosque with its tall facade and shallow dome. Entering, I stood there slack-jawed in wonder. The interior of the sanctuary hall sparkled with glazed tile, thousands of coloured tiles having been cut and positioned to form large mosaics of geometric and floral designs. The tall, slender minaret of the mosque was scaled five times a day by the muezzin to call all to prayer, and when he did the entire market stopped all business and all dropped to the ground and bowed to the southwest in prayer. Heathens they may be, but they were devout heathens, each and every last one of the lost souls. Well, almost. Much to my surprise, there was an active fire temple in the bazaar containing a large brass urn with a smoldering eternal fire perfumed with sandal wood and aromatic herbs attended by a handful of old men in black robes and cowls. As they looked over at me and their eyes brightened, with the prospect of a young initiate or their next sacrifice of a lover of males I do not know, I felt my flesh crawl and I turned and fled. I wandered all day, amazed by all I saw, and I saw only a fraction of what there was to see.

Our second night in the city was Samhein, the last day of October, a night when the dark forces were their strongest and hosts of evil spirits crossed into the world of the living. Back in Viano do Castelo that night of all nights the hearths were kept ablaze and only fools ventured outside. Although some said that the stories of the dead were nothing more than stories to frighten children into being good and were based on the pagan beliefs of the heathens of the islands of Ireland and Britain to the north, none risked the chance that the stories of the Lord of the Dead calling forth his evil spirits might be something more. Nobody made mention of such things there in Yazd and so nor did I, one of the rare times I did not allow my tongue to flap, though I stayed close to the hearth at our inn and slept with my sword at my side all the same.

The following day was Allhallows, All Saints Day. It had always been a major celebration that I had looked forward to back in Viano do Castelo with feasting and dancing in celebration of God and all His saints, known and unknown. Mother always baked her special spiced meat pies and Father would play the panpipes and Uncle would sing and it would be a most joyous time. Again as I thought of those happy times my eyes misted and I quickly brushed the tears from my cheeks. Fortunately nobody noticed. And again nobody made mention of the significance of the day and so nor did I. Everyone did, however, talk about the end of the year in two days hence and celebration of the new year the following day, the first day of the Arab month of Muharram. In Portugal we celebrated the first day of the new year on Annunciation Day, March 25, the day that it was revealed to Mary that she would bear the son of God. The day was celebrated as a religious feast with prayers to God and a splendid banquet held at the church, followed by an evening of music and dancing. It was another of my favourite times, it and Allhallows surpassed only by the feast day of Saint Nicholas on the sixth day of December.

Here, among the heathens, the first day of the new year was celebrated in much the same way, with prayers to Allah and large banquets held by the rich and powerful accompanied by entertainment by musicians, poets, dancers and jugglers. It was a good time for our group to be in Yazd and with the exception of Rammah we all found ourselves employed. Muhammad had been commissioned to do a special portrait for one of the dignitaries in the city, and Hasan had arranged for himself, Ahsen and myself to perform at the Mulberry Oasis, one of the more expensive inns in the city. Ma'mar and Yaser were performing that evening at the more modest inn we were all staying at, each of us having agreed to perform for a night while in Yazd as part of the arrangements made upon our arrival. Ubaydah had secured employment at one of the caravansaries in the bazaar.

We were given all the food and drink we wanted that night at the Mulberry Oasis, which Ahsen in particular took full advantage of, especially the free wine. Besides playing the ud and nay, I sang a few of the songs I had learned while travelling with the Ghilman Entertainers which had always been popular and Ahsen and I performed a few songs together, as duets or with myself providing the vocals and music while he danced to the song. As the evening progressed we found the more bawdy of the poems and songs resulted in a more generous tossing of coin, and of course we reciprocated with more songs of the same.

I had noticed one table of men eying me in particular and being particularly generous in tossing coins to show their appreciation. When we paused to take a break, one of the men at the table approached me and asked if they might buy me something to drink or to eat. I thanked him but replied that part of our payment was all the food and wine we wished. He then asked if I would do them the honour of sitting at their table, and seeing no harm in it, I agreed.

The man who had approached me, Muzaffar, I learned was single, twenty, worked in the family orchard, and had a sixteen-year-old sister who was the second wife of the oldest of the men, forty-year-old Haddar, who sold silk clothing. The other man, Humayd, was also single, twenty-four, an apprentice carpet weaver and the brother of Haddar. Much to my embarrassment they profusely praised my singing and playing and were much impressed when I told them I was with a group of artisans who were travelling across the country to further our knowledge and develop our skills. As I was about to leave to resume performing, Haddar reached out and observed how beautiful I was and daring to place his hand on mine, asked if I would perform something special for him. As I joined the others, I found he had slipped me an amethyst broach. As I fastened it to my turban, I tried to think of something appropriate I could perform, and, perhaps because he especially loved amethysts, I thought of Rifki and one of his favourite poems, and one that had been sung at his funeral. As I stepped forward and strummed my ud for attention, I looked directly at the table where Haddar was sitting and sang.

As I sang, I thought of Rifki and the day he had approached me, having noticed my depression over the life I was leading and missing home, and had confided in me how he had once considered suicide and how he had accepted the fact that his soul was that of a girl. I thought of his compassion and gentleness and his advice that day, and of his cruel murder and sad funeral. When I finished, my eyes had misted over and I was so lost in my memories at first I did not realize that the entire room had fallen silent, and that more than one man, Haddar and his brother included, had tears streaking their cheeks. Later Haddar would say it had to have been Allah Himself that had given such passion to my voice, but I know it was my memory of Rifki, though I could not help wonder if perhaps it had been Rifki's spirit that had touched me. The room exploded in applause as men stood and clapped their hands and tossed coins at my feet and the rest of the evening is a blur in my mind so overcome was I.

"One of your admirers is approaching, and from the looks in his eyes, I do not think he is going to ask for another song," observed Hasan. I looked up to see Muzaffar approaching again, and I recognized the look in his eyes also. "If you so desire, Ahsen and I can ensure you return safely to our inn."

I glanced again at Muzaffar, and at Haddar and Humayd standing at the table and watching with a look of hope and apprehension. "Thank you," I said, "but I think I will be all right." I stepped forward to meet Muzaffar.

"Haddar has bidden me to inquire if you would join him, and Humayd and myself, to spend the remainder of the night. He is quite taken by you, as are Humayd and I."

It was tempting, but three of them? And there was the matter of their age, and while not unpleasant, they were not that attractive. And, I had been performing for four candle marks and feeling weary. "I am most honoured by the invitation, but it is very late, and performing is tiring business."

"I am a singer and a musician, not some orospu or kaltak you can buy," I replied, more sharply than I had intended and to my surprise. (2)

He was so taken aback he actually paled. "My humble apologies," he said, bowing deeply. "We did not think that you were a 3; that you sold your body. My 3; my mention of, of a payment, was only to express the extent of his desire for you, and well, to entice you. Not once did the mention of payment cross my brother-in-law's lips. It was only an idea, more than an idea, a wish," he stumbled in his fluster, "a desire for your company to welcome the new year. That you are averse to engaging in an intimate relationship with men is regrettable, for us, but we respect your position-."

"I did not say I am averse. I am not. Verily, I find such intimacies most pleasurable. I will join the three of you, but only for a while for I am weary, and only for our mutual enjoyment, not for money."

"I understand," he said apologetically, gesturing with his hands as if to erase what he had said as he stepped back. "Please do not think unkindly of my brother-in-law. They were my unfortunate words – you will join us?" he asked as he realized what I had said.

"Give me a moment to tell my friends I will not be returning to our inn with them."

Hasan questioned my decision, partly because having invited me to join the group, he felt somewhat responsible for me. I responded with a smile that he need not worry and that I was not without experience in such matters.

"Three men?" Ahsen asked giddily, feeling the effects of an evening of free wine.

"Sing like you did tonight and they will be clay in a potter's hand, though I do not think it is your voice, or your hand, they are interested in," he giggled.

Haddar's home was not far from the Mulberry Oasis and the walk in the crisp November air helped clear my head and revive my flagging strength. We were greeted outside the door by a guard and inside by the major-domo who evidently had been waiting for his master. We headed to what Haddar called the Olive room and servants were immediately summoned to bring refreshments. The Olive room was a pale yellow-green room with a low oval table, a few potted shrubs of some sort, and a wide assortment of pillows and not much else, a room evidently used for small, intimate get togethers like ours. Several young servants, all male I noticed, brought platters of fruit, cheese and thin bread and chilled decanters of wine and quickly disappeared again.

Haddar for at least the fifth time expressed his appreciation of my performance that night, and his gratitude that I had joined them. To that I joked that I hoped my performance for the remainder of the night would not disappoint them, much to their delight. Soon we began to kiss, caress and disrobe each other, or more exactly they began to kiss, caress and disrobe me and I kissed, caressed and disrobed the three of them. They of course had the advantage over me, there being three of them and only one of me, and they had me naked long before I had exposed them.

It was not, of course, the first time I had engaged in group sex, having been introduced to such while in Florence and in Rome, nor was it the first time I had sex with two brothers, having first done so with Prince Afonso and his bastard brother Jorge and then with them and the fisherman's two sons. Nor was it the first time I had ever had sex with a married man, nor under the same roof as his wife and children. It was, however, to the best of my knowledge and memory, the first time I had ever had sex with a man and his brother-in-law.

Between our nakedness and foreplay, it was not long before we were all erect. Slipping his arms about me from behind, Haddar kissed the back of my neck as he caressed my chest and rubbed his stiff cock against my backside. He was a man of average height, perhaps seventeen hands tall, and weighed just over twelve stone, having a bit of stomach from too much good food. Like most married Arabs, he was full-bearded and as he kissed my nape and pressed his body against me his coarse beard scratched my neck and shoulders. His chest was covered with a thick mat of dark black hair and he had a thick triangle of coarse crotch hair, all of which I found arousing. His dark skin seemed even darker with the long, fine black hair covering his forearms and his calves. His thick hair and long arms that seemed to be embracing me from all angles reminded me of the strange pair of creatures belonging to the animal trader whom I had travelled with from Kabul to Herat, the creatures he had called monkeys. Haddar was not as ugly, but they were not that far apart, and as a sure sign of my weariness I found the idea amusing, and arousing.

Humayd was as tall as his brother and perhaps two stone lighter. He knelt before me and caressed my thighs and stomach with firm, deliberate strokes and his occupation as an apprentice carpet-weaver was evident from his strong, calloused fingers and muscular arms and upper torso. He also had thick, black hair but had only a moustache, and the hair of his chest, arms and legs were less dense than his brother's. A more beautiful monkey I mused. He gently cupped my balls in his right hand and rolled them in their sack with his calloused fingertips.

Muzaffar, being the youngest and working on his father's orchard, was in the best shape of the three of them with well-formed biceps and thighs and a broad, muscular chest which was as yet hairless. He was slightly taller than Humayd and perhaps a stone lighter. All three men were circumcised as was the custom of their faith, and their cocks almost identical in length and thickness, about as long as the width of six fingers and as thick as two fingers. Haddar's cock was oozing that clear fluid men sometimes produce if they are highly aroused, and he rubbed the tip of his cock against my asshole to lubricate it. I readily opened my anal muscle and he wedged the tip of his cock inside to better lubricate my hole as he slowly eased me down to my knees and elbows on the pillows. That placed me directly in front of Humayd and as Haddar grasped my hips and pushed forward, Humayd dropped to his knees before me and pressed down on his stiff cock as he shuffled forward and I opened my mouth to receive him as I pushed out with my stomach to receive his brother at the other end. The three of us were eager for sex and experienced, and Haddar penetrated me with little difficulty as I eased my lips down his brother's shaft. Haddar pressed forward until his coarse hairs were pressing against my buttocks and his cock was buried deep up my ass, and I lowered my head until my lips were tightly wrapped about the base of Humayd's cock and the tip was pressed against the back of my mouth.

Lying down beside me in the opposite direction, Muzaffar wiggled under me until his head was below my testicles. Opening his mouth, he slowly raised his head and his mouth enveloped my stones. Taking both of them into his mouth, he began to suck on them. Supporting myself on my knees and left elbow, I reached over and wrapped my fingers about his stiff cock and slowly began to stroke it.

And so it was that was the way we pleasured each other, Haddar fucking my ass, me sucking his brother's cock, and Muzaffar sucking me while I masturbated him. The four of us were hot and eager to climax, but we were all experienced and we paused frequently to delight in the tension building up throughout our bodies and particularly deep in our groins and to delay the inevitable. Despite the number of times I have had a man's cock up my ass, it was still a delight to feel that special part that makes a man a man deep inside my body. Unlike Rifki I have never felt like I was a girl in a boy's body, but even so I could not help but wonder if that was what a woman felt like when she was mounted by a man, and that night I could not help but wonder what Haddar's two wives thought about their husband sticking the cock he stuck up them up the ass of a boy instead of their cunts. Nor could I help thinking about them and that they were both pregnant from the seed from his man, the same seed that would soon be squirting up my ass.

I know there are those who would find nothing wrong with what we were doing and even those who would find it most arousing, but by far most of those I knew, at least in the Christian world, would find a fifteen-year-old boy engaging in sex with three adult men perverted and repugnant. A year and a half ago I would have been one of them. Actually, a year and a half ago, all I knew, like every other boy my age, was that the men of Sodom and Gomorrah and the heathens who had overrun the Holy Land took pleasure in congress with other men, an act which all decent Christians considered filthy and sinful. That a boy would enjoy having his ass fucked, or enjoy sucking a man's cock, or enjoy rubbing a man's cock and causing him to spill his seed was unthinkable. That a boy would enjoy engaging in sex with three men all at once was inconceivable. That was a year and a half ago. Now I found great pleasure in it.

That the three men were finding congress with me just as arousing there could be no question and their hot, stiff cocks throbbed with desire, one up my rectum, one between my lips, and the third grasped in my right hand. That I was about to have an orgasm was proof that I was finding it just as enjoyable. Haddar came first, grasping my hips and thrusting his cock deep up my rectum as he began to spurt. His brother Humayd followed quickly, his throbbing cock squirting his seed into my mouth while Haddar was shooting his seed up my ass. Muzaffar thrust his hips forward as his seed raced up the core of his stiff member and spurted out the tip and while he was in the midst of the pleasure of ejaculation I quivered with delight as I felt the twang deep up my groin and my seed raced up the core of my cock and spurted into Muzaffar's mouth.

The four of us quivered and inhaled deeply as we climaxed, filling our lungs with the sperm-scented air. As I felt Haddar's seed filling my rectum, I swallowed his brother's thick, bitter juice while Muzaffar's slime oozed over the back of my fingers and my own seed spurted down his throat. We groaned and gasped with the pleasure of our orgasms, and the pleasure that comes from being the cause of another's orgasm. To hell with what others thought. Sex was wet and slimy and pure delight.

We finally disengaged and the four of us lie there, each lost in his own world of pleasure, all of us united by the delight of our orgasm and the release of our seed, and for myself, the delight of being the cause of the others' ejaculation and pleasure. The three of us lay there for the longest time delighting in our private pleasure and recovering from the strain of ejaculating our seed. I felt someone slipping their fingers about my limp cock and fondling it and another set of fingers fondling my testicles while still a third caressed my backside. My eyes still closed, I reached out and caressed the hairy body on either side of me, running my fingers over firm, muscular thighs and through dense triangles of hair to find limp, damp members which I took in my hands and slowly stroked. The third found its way to my lips and I opened my mouth and slipped my lips over the limp flesh and sucked on it. Slowly my desire began to flow through my veins and to fill my member, causing it to slowly swell and rise. The two cocks I was stroking and the one in my mouth similarly began to grow. They were men, but they were putty in my hands.

Then the three men twisted around and began to kiss and caress and lick me. While Haddar sucked on my right nipple his brother knelt between my legs and sucked on my slowly swelling cock and Muzaffar sucked on my balls. Soon my sensitive nipple was hard and burning with desire. As Haddar ran his tongue over my smooth chest and down between my breasts his brother ran his tongue up from my crotch to my left nipple and he teased it with his tongue, causing it to become erect and itch like my right nipple while Muzaffar licked the inside of my thighs, causing my now stiff member to twitch with arousal.

Having me stand, Haddar and Muzaffar knelt before me and ran their tongues over my balls and up the shaft of my member to my bulb while Humayd knelt behind me and pulling apart of the cheeks of my ass began to run his tongue along my crack and to worm the tip into my asshole. Then it was he and his brother licking and mouthing my cock and balls while Muzaffar licked my asshole, causing me to squirm with delight and my cock to twitch and jerk with arousal. And then all three of them were on their knees worshipping my cock and stones with their tongues, licking my balls and running their tongues up the shaft of my cock and swirling them about the knob, causing a burn of desire to set my bulb aflame. I quivered with delight as these three men knelt there licking and sucking on my young balls and licking my throbbing cock. They took turns swirling their tongues about the rim of my bulb, and I quivered and arched my back with the delight. And then I felt once again the twitch of release deep up my groin and once again my seed raced up the core of my cock and spurted out the tip, this time to be caught by one brother or the other or by the brother-law. My hot seed, not as watery and thin as the first time, oozed out of the tip of my cock and down the shaft to be eagerly licked up by three men.

As I ceased spurting, Humayd slipped around behind me and I willingly accepted his cock where earlier his brother's had been while I slipped my fingers about his brother's member and began to stroke it and slipped my lips about Muzaffar's cock and began to suck on it. I could not help but wonder what the two brothers were thinking, and wondering how often the two of them sought the pleasures of a boy together. Having no brother, I had no idea what it would be like to engage in sex with the same person as my brother was, or to ejaculate in his presence and to be present when he ejaculated. To do so seemed particularly erotic to me and I felt my member twitch with arousal despite having just had an orgasm, but I could not stop thinking about it as one brother's cock throbbed hotly deep up my ass and the other throbbed hotly in my fist and knowing that the brother behind me would be shooting his seed into my body to join that of his older brother.

I could also not help but wonder what Haddar and his brother-in-law were thinking. The two men had licked up my seed like kittens licking up milk and now as I was sucking on one I was polishing the cane of the other. Were they thinking of Muzaffar's sister and Haddar's wife as I sucked and stroked. I was, and when Humayd added his seed to his brother's deep up my ass and as I swallowed Muzaffar's seed and squeezed Haddar's throbbing member as it spurted out its seed, I tensed and groaned with delight as I shot my seed for the third time that night and imagined her catching the four of us and the look on her face as she saw her brother, her brother-in-law, and her husband spending their seed. It was delightful.

The next morning the three of them sang my praises in the bed, and each slipped me a token of his appreciation, emphasizing that they were gifting me, not paying me for my services. It had been a memorable night, and I saw no reason to refuse their gifts if they felt so strongly about giving them to me. The reaction of my companions to my decision to have congress with the three men on the other hand was quite different. Although they said nothing, Hasan, Yaser and Muhammad I gathered were opposed from their coldness toward me. Ma'mar and Ahsen on the other hand seemed to approve, and Ahsen even seemed envious. Ubaydah and Rammah I could not tell one way or another. Whether it was because they were men and much older than I, or if it was because there had been three of them, I had no way of knowing. It was a choice I am sure many boys have had to make, and one I am sure the great philosophers would have debated, but writing of my adventures in this journal and talking to someone about it are two very different things, and I was not that comfortable in Rammah's company to raise the topic with him.

We stayed in Yazd two more days and then once again set out on the old spice road, travelling south and east to Kerman. Again the trail was well used and the weather was mild so we travelled the sixteen hundred furlongs in four days. As in our earlier travels, the time passed quickly and what time was not spent in rehearsing and perfecting our artistic skills was spent in discussion, and, at least in my case, tortured silence and reflection. My recitation from the Persian poet and mystic Jami was raised several times and lead to a discussion on other great Persian poets, and often a debate on who was the best and which tales there were about them were true and which were fabrication and in time all seemed to forget about my escapade that night.

Many favoured Mohammed Shams od-Din who had lived during the 1300s, better known as Hafiz which I was told means "one who had memorized the Koran" and is a title. His poems celebrated hunting, drinking and love at court and the devotion of the Sufi to unite with the Devine, and satirized hypocritical Muslim religious leaders, all of which were favourite topics among the poets and musicians in our group. Muhammad and Rammah preferred Muslih al-Din, who wrote under the name Sa'di, and lived a hundred years earlier, mostly because his poetry consisted of fables and histories illustrating Islamic virtues. All praised the poet Lufti who was still living and I was told in his mid-fifties and who depicted love in all its manifestations. His loudest advocates were the younger members of our group.

Kerman was a smaller city, the area most noted for its carpets and goat-wool shawls. On my second day in the bazaar I spotted a young sherbet-server, a boy of seven carrying on his back two large, ornate containers which together were larger than he was but which he expertly swung to one side or the other to dispense from a spigot and hose a copper cup of the sweet, cold drink, the cup being wiped clean after each serving with a damp cloth looped about his belt. He had the largest, most innocent brown yes, like that of a gazelle the poets would say, and a charming smile which revealed a row of perfect, white teeth. Although it was now the second week of November and the day time temperatures were not that hot, those in the market laboured hard and appreciated the cold, refreshing fruit drink and he did a brisk business and had to return to the well in the centre of the market midday to refill his containers with water. As he drew the heavy wooded bucket up, I stepped forward and offered to assist, which the boy gratefully accepted, and glancing around to see if anyone noticed, offered me a free cup of sherbet for my help. Toward the end of the day, I purchased two date and honey pastries from a vender in the market, and during a lull in business, offered the boy one, which he again readily accepted.

"You are being very kind to me," he observed as we sat on a low brick wall at the edge of the bazaar.

"You are a very hard worker and deserve a break," I replied. "And an attractive boy."

"Others have told me so, that I am attractive that is, but I have told them I have no interest in tasting the sherbet of their nuts, nor bending over for them," he said as a matter of fact as if discussing the weather. "Though the money I make goes directly to my father to help him support my mother and brother and sisters, he is a good father and sees to all my wants, and I have no need for extra money."

"I was not suggesting I desired your 3; ah 3; service," I protested, surprised by his comment, and perturbed that he had voiced desires I had not admitted myself.

"No, but you were thinking of it," he replied openly. "I could see it in your eyes." I could not deny it, and I knew as a former bath boy and dancer what he meant. "The others have always been old, and most of them ugly, not like you," he added. While we sat, we talked. His father owned a small fruit orchard on the edge of the city and had six children, four girls and two sons. The boy, whose name was Karim Shamah Izz al-Din, was the younger of the boys. What fruit they did not sell his mother and sisters took and squeezed out the juice which they stored in small jugs filled to the brim and sealed with wax and stored in a cold well so it would not rot or turn to wine or vinegar. To this he added water and sugar in a proportion his father taught him, he noted proudly, and sold at the market.

It was a profitable enterprise and his purse was heavy with coin by the end of the day. I offered to escort him home, telling him one of my former occupations had been that of a body guard. Revealing a dagger strapped to his shin, he assured me he needed no protection, but I could tell he was grateful for my company just the same.

The following day I sought him out on purpose and found him midday selling his sherbet, and again we spent the remainder of the day in conversation. He told me about his life and his family, with which he was very content, and he shared with me his expectation that as his father's orchard expanded it would some day be large enough for him and his older brother to share in the inheritance. He also shared with me the conversation he had with his brother and his brother's warning that I most likely had designs on his money, or on his body, and most likely both. I assured him that was not the case, confiding that I had more riches than many minor princes, and that though it was true I desired his body, I would never force myself upon him for that would tarnish the experience. I told him of my past lives as a bath boy and as a dancer and as a warrior and as a guard, and I sang and danced to prove my claims, and to pay for my share of our accommodations and the stabling of our mounts. I also told him I was only passing through with my companions, who were planning on spending two more days in the city before heading to Shiraz.

The next day was a cold day with a brisk wind coming down off the mountains and creating dust devils in the bazaar. Those who were out hurried about their business and did not linger and barter, and certainly were in no mood to listen to my music or songs, nor to purchase Karim's sherbet. In late afternoon we sought shelter in a blind alley beside a baker's shop where he had built extra ovens and blocked off the alleyway, a cubby that Karim had evidently used in the past.

"My brother says that the tellack boys, the skilled ones, do more than bathe a man's body, especially in the large cities like Istanbul, and that the bacca in the north dress like girls, and entertain men like girls for hire."

"Yes, with pretty skirts and baubles in my hair and rings on my fingers and toes."

"Yes, in the baths, in the private homes of appreciative customers who found my dancing and songs arousing."

He thought for a long time. "If I pay you, will you show me, how a boy pleases a man?"

"I have told you I find you attractive. It is I who should pay you for such a delight. Buy why the change in mind? Only two days ago you told me you had no interest in such things."

"Not with just any man. But I think you would be gentle and patient with me. My brother has said if what you have said is true, I might earn more money, especially on days such as today."

"That is generous of your brother, considering he is not the one selling his body. It is not all pleasure. It can be dangerous, and often unpleasant. You told me you had no need for extra money."

"I do not," he said with a shrug. He stared at the ground. "I am told there are boys who do it with boys just for fun. I do not wish to appear ignorant of such things."

How could any red-blooded teenage boy turn down such an invitation from an innocent, wide-eyed cherub? I glanced around. "Nobody ever comes here," he said, as if reading my thoughts.

"No payment," I said. "To exchange coin would cheapen what is a beautiful thing between two good friends. And, if at any time you decided what we are doing is not to your liking just say and we will stop, no judgement made. Agreed?"

"As do I," I responded, feeling odd to invoke Allah's name on such a matter, but then these heathens are a strange lot.

Removing my robe, I spread it on the ground for us to lie on and placed his on top of it. Our blouses and pantaloons I strung up on bits and pieces I found in the alley to block the view of anyone who might step into the alley. The sight of this beautiful, naked, smooth-skinned child, his compact buns, and his slender noodle-like member and tiny hairless sack caused the blood to race in my veins and my member to begin to swell. I kissed him and caressed him, tenderly and lovingly, and showed him how to do the same to me. As I pressed my lips to his, I recalled the lines written by the poet Hafiz:

I showed him the most basic of acts, what I have heard called polishing the cane and choking the snake, gently taking his little, limp member between my thumb and first finger and stroking it from tip to base, and he squirmed and squeaked with the itching pleasure that pierced his little knob. Feeling his little member swelling until it stood out rigid and hard between my thumb and finger gave me an immense feeling of satisfaction, knowing it was his first experience and his first knowledge of such pleasure. I then had him do the same to me before I became hard, wanting him to experience having another become stiff in one's fingers. I instructed him how to stroke my member with just thumb and finger, and then with thumb and two fingers, and then with his fist, and how to alternate the lengths of his strokes so that he at times only stroked the shaft so that one's desire cooled, and then demonstrated on him.

I explained to him that two males could do this until, if they were old enough, they spilled their seed, and if younger, until they experienced a similar explosion of pleasure but without the production of seed. I then went on to explain to him how one man can pleasure another with his tongue and his mouth, at first describing what was done, and then demonstrating on him, and then allowing him to practice on me. Oh what delight, a dark-eyed, rosy-lipped, cherry-cheeked boy parting his lips and slipping them over my member, tasting cock for the first time, inhaling its delightful, musky perfume, and bobbing his shaggy-haired head as he worked his mouth up and down one's member and sucked on it with eager but apprehensive anticipation. And what exquisite joy slipping one's lips over a seven-year-old's unnaturally stiff little noodle and sucking on it and tonguing it and the cherub squirming and quivering with pleasure hereto unknown and never to be forgot. No wonder poets found such pleasure something to extol.

I showed him how to delay the pleasure, a necessity for surely I would have filled his mouth with my seed moments after he had begun. Flushed with arousal and excitement, we sat and relished the pleasure pulsating between our legs and causing our stiff members to jerk impatiently for more. We shared a cup of cold sherbet and I had to close my eyes or the sight of this naked cherub sitting beside me with his stiff little member jutting out from his body with eager anticipation would have had me shooting my seed without so much as a touch. It took a long time before I was ready to resume. Having never anticipated the boy would consent to engage in sex with me, I had come unprepared, and I cursed my lack of forethought and my neglect to bring any form of lubricant with me. I could only use what nature provided and which, I suppose, men and boys have used throughout time. Again I told him if it was too painful we could quit, and indeed, if he so wished, we could continue on the morrow and I would bring proper lubrication, but he assured me that he was prepared.

So I finger fucked his tight little pucker first with my little finger, and then my third, and finally my middle finger. I eased them in to the knuckle and eased them out, and twisted them one way and then the other, stretching his virgin muscle. Working up a mouth of spittle I worked it into his rectum, and then coating first my middle finger and then my pointer finger, I inserted first one and then both up his hot, straining hole. Finally I drooled over my stiff, straining member, and having the boy kneel on our robes and spread his legs, I knelt behind them and grasping his hips, wedged the tip of my cock against his asshole and slowly pressed forward, telling him at the same time to push out with his abdomen to open his hole to me. Ever so slowly my spit-slimed slope-head stretched open his virgin tulip, and the two of us grunted and panted as we strained for that pleasure only two men can understand and appreciate. I inhaled deeply and pressed forward, my fingers squeezing his buttocks so tightly the skin had turned white about my fingertips. And then I felt my knob pop inside and his muscle clamp tightly down behind it.

I paused to relish my achievement, and the joy of this virgin seven-year-old boy about to be penetrated to the hilt. And then I slowly eased forward, sinking my stiff member up his hole until my coarse hairs were pressing against his smooth buttocks. Again I paused to enjoy the full penetration of this sweet, innocent boy, and imagined how he must be feeling having the thick cock of a boy twice his age up his rectum for the first time in his life. His hot, sweet flesh pulsating about my member, as if milking it, and his breathing was heavy. Slowly I drew back, easing my member back until my knob was stretching his muscle once more, and then I eased my cock back in. Slowly I fucked this sweet, innocent boy and he knelt there before me getting fucked for the first time in his life. I paused frequently to savour the delight of his young flesh grasping my cock, knowing the pleasure that was to come, to come for me, and for him.

I reached under him with my right hand, and finding his stiff little cocklet, I began to stroke it in time with the pumping of my hips, pulling back on his little cocklet as I shoved my cock deep up his ass, and then easing my fingers up his narrow shaft and over his little marble-sized knob as I drew my member back out of his rectum. In and out, back and forth, I fucked this sweet, naked cherub there in the narrow alleyway and pumped his stiff, little cocklet, brining us both closer and closer to that ultimate pleasure. I paused frequently for I was exceedingly aroused, but all too soon I could postpone what was to come no longer. And so I rhythmically pumped my hips to and fro, driving my throbbing cock up his asshole, the knob of my member burning with pleasure as I knew was the rim of his little, stretched pucker.

And then I felt the twang deep up my groin and the unique pleasure of having one's seed race up the core of one's swollen, numb member and out the tip with a burning pleasure even more intense. Spurt after spurt of my seed shot up this virgin boy's rectum, and then I felt him quiver and heard a squeak of pleasure emit from his rosy lips as his slender little cocklet throbbed between my thumb and first finger and I felt a tremor just below his bulb as the innocent reached his first orgasm. He bucked and squirmed and squeaked with delight as I filled his rectum with my seed and his body was racked with the undescribable pleasure of his first climax as he tried futilely to squirt what he did not have.

When at last we separated, he turned and looked up at me dewy-eyed and moist-lipped and the look in his eyes was worth more than all the jewels and coin of the richest emperor on this earth.

When we met the next day, the weather was much nicer and we talked and laughed like two carefree boys. He told me had told his brother nothing about the day before for it had been an experience too beautiful and special to share, and I told him that I too had told nobody and would never forget the afternoon. He did not ask that we do it again, and I did not press him. The first time was too beautiful, and a second time could not equal the delight of the first.

The following day we headed out on the next leg of our journey, heading south briefly and then due west across over two thousand and two hundred furlongs of arid, desolate desert and mountain ranges, the most arduous portion of our journey yet, arriving at the city of Shiraz located in an especially fertile valley on the western slopes of the Zagros Mountains nine days later. Despite the harsh surroundings and the difficulty of our travel over one pass and then down and up over the next, the journey, like our others, passed quickly as we got to know each other better and conversed more freely. Many hours were spent debating the merits and faults of Islam, Christianity, Zoroastrianism, and Judaism, followers of all seeming to inhabit the area. There were serious debates which made the better sex partner, a slave, a free man, or a soldier, a Zoroastrian wine boy (mōo-bačca) or a Christian one (tarsāa-bačca). It was also spent in discussions of the poets Hafiz and Sa'di, whose tombs were in Shiraz. The city had been the capital of several empires in the past and was noted for its grapes, citrus fruits, and especially its wine besides wood carving, silver work, rugs, and brocades. I was looking forward to our visit as much as any of the others.

The treasures of Shiraz had not been exaggerated, and the first two days I spent mesmerized by the merchants in the central market, admiring, and purchasing, ornate wood carvings, silver rings and chalices, and silk brocades, and the evenings getting drunk on Shiraz wine and the beauty of the tavern's wine servers, there being a great abundance of both, and from the looks exchanged between customers and servers, many men solicited the services of the boys serving them in special rooms the innkeeper had set aside for such purposes.

There was one boy in particular that stood out from the rest, a brown-skinned boy of eleven with long, dark black, tightly coiled ringlets, and who carried himself with an air of confidence, a boy on the verge of puberty, which some men claim to be the most desirable age of all. "I would stay clear of that one," observed Muhammad, having noticed my interest.

"I don't. At first I thought he was a Jew, for he looks much like them, especially his ringlets, but a Jew, no matter how young or old, how rich or how poor, wears a star on the chain about his neck, this boy does not. Nor does he wear a cross, which makes me think he is not a Christian, though he has Greek features to his face. It is possible he is Moslem, but I think not from his behaviour."

I studied the boy. Muhammad was an astute observer of others, which makes him a great artist, and I suspected he was right. "Some say the mōo-bačca are superior to other wine bearers in the bed," I observed.

"The Zoroastrians believe those who engage in sodomy are worshipers of the devil and stone to death those who commit such acts. The risk is perhaps what gives some men a more rigid erection. It is also not unknown for the devout to use boys such as this as bait, like a hunter stakes out a lamb for the wolf, and when the hunter approaches it is he who is caught in a trap."

"He is an attractive lamb, you must admit," observed Ubaydah. Muhammad darted him a scowl. "Do not get me wrong, I agree with you, Muhammad. It is not a risk I would take no matter how badly my stones ache for him, but he is an attractive youth, and even more so if he is still chaste."

"Well, I must perform," I said as I reached for my nay and stood. Singing and playing the flute is dry work, and besides a free room the innkeeper promised a steady supply of wine. When I felt my throat becoming dry, I waited until the other wine-servers were occupied, and then signalled my need, with the result the boy of my desires served me. I sang love songs, songs about the joy of wine and the beauty of wine servers, and between my requests and my songs, it did not take any great deal of observation to know he was the object of my eye. Whether it was my imagination, the wine, or the boy's own awareness, but he seemed, to me, to begin to reserve a special smile and attention for me.

"When I am done performing, I would be delighted if you could join me in one of the inn's pleasure rooms," I finally whispered as he filled my cup.

"I must work until the eleventh hour," he replied, keeping his head down but looking up at me with eyes that caused my heart to leap and inflamed my loins. "It will be painful, but I am sure the reward of such a wait will be worth it."

The boy blushed and lowered his eyes as he backed away. My companions thought I was mad, and warned me again of the possibility of it being a trap. Memories of the Zoroastrians stoning the man accused of being a sodomite in the streets of Balkh again came to mind, but I could not believe this young boy would ascribe to such a barbaric practice or willingly participate in the entrapment of a fellow human being. I performed one more set of songs and music that night, and was delighted that the same wine-server saw to my thirst. At last the appointed hour arrived and I finished my last song and bowed in appreciation of the praise and the coin being tossed my way. As I scooped up my earnings, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a man approaching, and sitting behind him watching another man who was obviously his master. I had seen such a scene many times and I knew immediately their intention. Catching the eye of my two companions, I signalled them my need for help, a signal we had arranged for each other's protection at the onset of our travels together.

They immediately leaped forward and blocked the advance of the man, making it seem most natural, and scooping up the remainder of my coin with the assistance of the wine-server we made our way through the crowd. As we reached the steps, I hesitated.

That screamed entrapment! The man who had been approaching me had spotted me and was pushing his way through the crowd again, this time aggressively. I turned to the boy and followed him not up the stairs but through the double doors into the kitchen and servant's quarters. Leading me to a narrower, steeper set of stairs, he motioned for me to go up and whispered something to his friends before following me. From the commotion and shouting at the other end of the room I knew the man who had been pursing us had entered and was being thwarted in his pursuit and I darted up the narrow steps three at a time with my companion close behind me.

The stairs ended at the top floor where a ladder continued to the roof through a trapdoor. There, a jumble of tents and lean-tos had been erected, a private hideaway for the inn's servants and employees where they could escape for a half hour or hour of rest away from the noise and turmoil of the inn. The innkeeper knew of it of course, but he also knew that a happy staff meant happy customers, and so as long as they did not interfere with his business, he did not interfere with them. They also knew a good thing and had their own rules and their enforcement, allowing access to only staff and their friends and never paying customers of the inn and tolerating no illegal activities of any nature. Fortunately, congress between two males was not considered one of those activities. Leading me over to one of the large chimneys connected to the fireplace in the inn's main room, he pulled open the flap of a lean-to built along the narrow end and motioned me inside. Heated by the chimney, it was delightfully warm inside. Lighting an oil lamp, he hung it on one of the supporting beams. It was small, a little more than the length of a tall man and with room for perhaps three men to lay side by side, the roof by the chimney about ten hands high and the entry half that. The floor was covered with a thick carpet and pillows.

"It is ours for the night," he said with a smile, noticing my surprise and delight. "I was going to bring you here, but not in such a hurry." I glanced around and back up at him questioningly. "We share it for special times. When I told my friends this was the night, my night, the first, my friends said to come here. We will not be disturbed."

"Disappointed! No! I am honoured, and pleased, to be the first. But I am surprised. A boy of your beauty."

"No. I have many friends who do such things. Too many too often to be what the priests say. Besides, things have changed. Zoroaster is not popular now, nor powerful. Now it is Islam, everywhere."

"No. But the others, when they found out my faith, they became frightened, of me, of what my people would do if they found out, and they backed away. A few did not, but then they were no longer wishing my body, only to despoil my faith. And from them, I backed away."

I reached up and stroked his smooth, beardless cheek. He was so beautiful, and so innocent, a child, but who any day could become a man. I remembered the first time I spilled my seed. He was young yet, much younger than I had been, and it could be many months, even years. But for some it happened early. It could be tonight.

"No. I am intoxicated by you. By your beauty, by your face, your eyes, your sweetness. Not even the best Shiraz wine could compare. It would be like vinegar in comparison. And I do not even know your name."

I untied the laces of his tunic and drew it over his head. He was wearing a loin cloth tied about his waist and between his legs, nothing else other than the plain chain about his neck. I admired the beauty of his body in the light of the lamp, smooth and rounded but with a firmness and contours of a boy approaching adolescence, a body sculpted in silver like the poets described. And his ringlets, so thick and so tightly curled that when I ran my fingers through them they sprang back up as if never touched. His underarms showed no sign of hair, nor his cheeks nor upper lip. I untied his loin cloth and spread it open to reveal it had not covered a single hair, not the crack of his ass nor his pubes, though they and his stones were a shade darker, as if in shadow, in preparation for a time not far away. He exhaled with a shudder and trembled as I ran my fingertips over his body.

"Do not fear," I whispered as my lips brushed his cheek and I nibbled on a small, delicate ear. "I will bring you only pleasure, and we will not do anything you do not want to do."

"We only have one night," I said with a smile as I kissed his cheek and ran my hands along his warm, slender body.

Taking his hands, I placed them on my chest and rubbed my breasts with them, and then I placed my hands on his chest and began to caress him. He copied my actions. I inhaled his sweetness and his freshness, like the freshest of air at the break of dawn, like the enticing fragrance of fresh bread from the baker's oven. He tasted of honey and fresh mountain water and my mind spun with dizziness. We kissed, lip to lip, and I floated in Heaven.

I worshipped every part of his body from the top of his forehead to the tips of his toes with my lips, and he mine. I fondled his tender testicles and his warm, limp cock and caressed the crack of his ass and his tight pucker, and he mine. I inhaled his fresh, clean fragrance and pressed his naked body to me, and he mine. I gently stroked his member until it was firm and throbbing between my fingers, and I lie back and delighted in his touch as his slim fingers wrapped about my cock and he gently stroked it until it too was rigid and throbbing with pleasure and desire. I stood before him, and squatting on his heels, he reached out and grasping my cock at the base, he bent it toward his mouth and those cherry lips slipped over the knob. I instructed him on how to go down slowly, becoming accustomed to having that part of a man in his mouth and delighting in its flavour and fragrance. I instructed him on how to slide his lips up and down the shaft and over the slope-head and suck at the same time, and how to tease a man's cock with the tip of his tongue, tracing the dark under vein to the tender skin below the bulb, around the rim of the bulb, and up the funnel to the tip. I rewarded him for his efforts with a clear droplet of my sweet nectar, which he flicked up with the tip of his tongue and drew out in a translucent thread until it broke and swung down to cling to his chin.

And then we reversed positions as I sat on my haunches and he stood before me, offering his slender reed to blow on. I took the slim tube in my mouth and sucked gently and delighted in its rigid strength and tender size. I teased it with my tongue until the boy could no longer stand still and twisted and swayed like a sapling in a storm, and indeed, there was a storm brewing between his legs, a storm like he had never felt before. I paused and let him delight in that strange, irritating and yet desperately desired pleasure, and then descended again, drawn to his little worm like a hungry thrush.

Ajib offered his backside to me, but I told him not then. Perhaps later, perhaps another day, perhaps another boy. For this night I wanted to see only his face. I wanted to watch this beautiful silver-bodied, ruby-lipped angel take my member in his mouth and drink from it. I wanted to see his delight as he tasted my wine. I ached not for his tulip, but for the flutter of those long lashes and the smile of those sensuous lips as they discovered the joy of sucking cock.

And so I stood once again and Ajib knelt before me, and taking my member again in his right hand, he bent it down and teased it as I had shown him, and I trembled with delight at the sight of that beautiful boy licking my cock like it was some honey-coated treat, licking another's cock for the first time in his young life. Those long lashes closed as he parted his lips and he took the knob of my member in his mouth and sucked on it, savouring it as child would savour a favourite pastry. He slowly eased his lips down the shaft and sucked until his nose was buried in my pubic hair and I quivered as I felt his hot breath blow and suck in through my hairs. And then he slowly withdrew and then descended once again, continuing the suction on my reed. Oh what beautiful music he played!

I placed my hands on his slender shoulders for support so dizzy was I with joy. My blood coursed through my veins and my heart pounded as I felt the tension rising between my legs. He went slowly, as I had told him, and I fought back the desire, but it was of little use. My breath was coming now in gasps and I tightened my fingers about his shoulders and warned him what was about to happen. He withdrew his mouth then and I wanted to scream, and I quivered like a dry leaf in an autumn wind, but as desperate as I was to continue, I calmed myself and inhaled deeply and slowly as I had learned long ago until at last I was ready to resume. The look of joy in his eyes as he parted his lips and leaned forward ignited my passions before his lips touched my cock. I threw back my head and sighed with delight as this young boy's hot, moist mouth enveloped my throbbing member and once again began to suck. Oh such joy! Allah be praised a thousand times from the tallest minaret.

Tighter and tighter wound the spring in my loins, deeper and deeper I gasped, and then the twang deep in my groin and the race of my seed up the core of my cock. I called out and grasped his narrow shoulders tighter as my seed erupted out of the tip of my cock, filling his mouth. He began to swallow but my seed came too fast and was too much. It filled his mouth and oozed out the corners of his lips. Squirt after squirt erupted out of my body as if I had not released my seed for months, and with such force that the tip of my cock burned with delight as if being skinned and my cock seemed to have swollen twice its size. Finally, as my eruptions decreased in frequency and volume, I stared down at this beautiful boy still dutifully sucking on my rigid, numbed member, my being filled with selfish delight and now with worry what I had done. Finally I pulled away and he looked up at me with eyes bright with wonder and pleasure, and my worries fled like the shadows with the approaching of the sun. "Did I please you?" he asked worriedly.

"Oh yes," I replied, dropping before him and embracing him. "Better than anyone ever has."

I then lay him on his back, and bending over him, I took his still rigid worm in my mouth and sucked on it and slid my lips up and down over the sensitive bulb and shaft, eager to bring him the same delight as he had brought me, if not with the release of his seed, then at least the exotic convulsions that come with one's climax wet or dry. He squirmed and panted with pleasure as I assaulted him, and he arched his back and began to jerk, as if trying to fuck my mouth as his own orgasm approached. He was gasping out of breath, and then suddenly tensed and froze.

"Oh no!" he cried out as he tried to push me back with an amazing strength that caught me by surprise.

And then before he could achieve his goal, his slender cocklet was throbbing out his sweet, sweet nectar, thin and watery, perhaps a half dozen squirts at all. It was like ambrosia and I delighted in the surprise gift, his first seed. I savoured it and allowed it to rest on my tongue, and then swallowed and savoured it again. I sucked gently on his numb member, drawing out the remainder of that lightly flavoured wine, and finally reluctantly eased my lips away. A thin, translucent thread connected the tip of his rigid reed and my lips and then broke, half swinging toward me and clinging to my chin, half hanging as a clear pendant from the tip of his little, stiff cock.

I smiled and so did he. I crawled up to him and our lips met in a long kiss, his lips wet and sticky with my seed, and mine wet and sticky with his.

We did it again, and again, and still again that night. How many times I do not know so drunk was I on love for this boy. He drained my balls until at last they were shrivelled up and tight like a withered old man's and I could produce no more nectar for him, and I drained his too. He was worried at first, but I assured him a good night's sleep and a good meal and he would be ready for another night like we had spent. I am told that milk and cheese and nuts are particularly helpful in refilling one's balls, and if that is true or not I do not know, but I shared the wisdom with him.

We fell asleep then, in each other's arms, naked, exhausted, and filled with delight. When I awoke, the sun had lifted from the horizon and Ajib was gone. My mouth was dry and my lips flaked with his seed. I could still taste his ambrosia and his cock on my tongue, and smell the fresh fragrance of his body and the musky scent of sex clinging to me. The flap to our love nest parted, and Ajib entered, with a trencher of fresh bread, a thick wedge of white, tangy goat cheese, a bowl of small, pink-shelled nuts which he called pistachios, which I have never heard of before nor tasted but which he said grew abundantly in this part of the land, and jug of chilled milk.

"The man who was pursuing us last night, he is waiting and watching for you in the common room," he announced. "He has been asking about you, and his master wishes to see you, very much. Luckily I saw him first and he did not see me."

"Well," I said, trying one of the nuts, "he will just have to wait a bit longer." It was evident Ajib was eager to test the truth of my advice about refilling his balls, and I knew neither of us could wait until that night to find out.

J.O. Dickingson

Travels with Nicolau Ribeiro

Stories 18-20

18. Khorasan

19. Persia, the Central Steppes

20. Persia, the Fertile Plains