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Amir's story is a bold escape from the isolated desert life, from the all male society, to define his own sexuality and to decide his own future . . .
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
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Amir's Story
BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 MunichAmir's Story
Amir’s Story
by Pierre d’Amour
BookRix Edition
Copyright 2015
by Amé
Pierre d’Amour:
Amir’s Story
Midsummer - midday - a fiery sun was trying to melt the sand of the endless desert all around me. The rock on which I sat was hard and hot - my little buttocks were frying on it - and I wore my skimpy loincloth like a turban on my head to save my young brain from evaporating too early. My pounding heart was in despair - my brother's goats had devastated my meagre millet garden last night - Uncle would beat my poor bottom blue and bloody once again! The well was dry since two moons and the only water we used in our oasis was carried in by our only camel from a mud hole far way - and there was not much of that murky liquid dedicated for the garden, for which I was solely responsible - so my young heart was in utter despair, as you can imagine, just by looking at the bare and wilting stalks.
Busy brown ants were running along in the little shade under the hot rock - the messengers to the Djinns of the underworld - not to be disturbed without bad consequences, so I was told! In the vibrating and rising dry desert air hung a lonely falcon like hanging on a string, not moving a single muscle, just turning lazy circles. On the endless horizon mirages constantly played tricks with my mind - conjured up imaginations of lush green palm forests waving in a cool sea breeze, and colourful villages full of dancing girls, their flimsy veils fluttering in the warm summer wind.
But my apologies: I should maybe introduce myself first! I'm Amir, the youngest son of three. My father was killed long ago by thieving Berbers, my lovely mother was sent to the town far in the north on the shore of the endless sea to fetch some money by selling her nimble body for things unimaginable to a boy in my age - but the money never came! Uncle was angry at this and at everything! My oldest sister was sold five years ago to an abusive husband hundreds of sandy miles away for the camel that now carried our weekly water supply. The biggest brother Omer was in charge of Emil the old camel and wasn't therefor home that much. Ismal was the goatherd, but he was too lazy to maintain the night coral, absolutely gay and a complete liar, whenever he opened his mouth - it never made any sense to accuse him to Uncle of anything.
I didn't know my real age, but I was so tiny and skinny that I presumed to be very young. Years ago all three brothers could still play naked in the muddy waters of the overflow, when there was a flow at all after an occasional short spring shower. We splashed at each other’s dickels and slapped them around our hips to make them grow, without any shame. This had changed, as if some sexual awareness had silently crept in, some adult privacy was suddenly needed? I looked down at my own dickel, restlessly rolling around in the steaming shade between my sun-burned legs, its skin juicy like a dried honey date, but its tender head much pinker than the skin of my palms - I loved to call him my little brother, because I needed one.
Dazzled by the blinding light I stood up and stretched my cooking muscles - there was no reason to stare at the lost garden any more. I took off my turban and wrapped the dirty threat-bare cloth around my bony loins to protect the sensitive end of my dickel from sunburn at least. Then I found two of our seven goats by the way, unhappily nibbling at some stingy thistles now that the millet was gone. Further on Ismal was reclining in the minuscule shade of a dying date palm, and as usually stroking his stiff cock. Startled by my sudden appearance he shot up and said in his sullen voice: »Amir, it's you! What a lovely visitor to end my boredom! Come and sit with me for a while!«
He didn't look at my face, just stared at my skimpy loin cloth with his hungry eyes: »When will you ever let me fuck you, little brother - the goats are not too much fun at it all!«, he babbled like drunken from stupor. I had witnessed that gross act of his before, observed his hard and glossy rod driving in and out of a young female goat at increasing speed - and I shivered even in the soaring midday heat. This would just tear me apart and I would die from internal bleeding, so I was sure! But there was still some excitement about this animal behaviour lingering deep in my memory, the involuntary hard-on I got that I had to hide for a while! But excitement all along, so I blushed.
»I let you fuck my sweetest goat, Amir!«, he was teasing me on, »if you let me play with you a bit, maybe let me lick your little ass!« I was shocked, but all the thought and pictures were confusing - the brain was rejecting but my dickel certainly aroused by this unheard indecency. And then the worst thing happened: my stretched loin cloth fell off, the pink end of my dickel pointed straight at him - and he smiled! He grabbed the aroused object quickly and pulled me down next to him into the hot sand. »First I help you, and then you help me - okay?«, he purred like a fresh breeze of generosity. His touch was certainly experienced, his help committed. I never had such feelings before, and I closed my eyes and blocked the word brother from my mind as he milked me like he milked his goats.
Just in an emotional daze I saw my dickel growing harder under his clever manipulation than ever before, bigger than I ever had imagined my little brother in my boldest dreams! A sweet pain shot out of my spine right into my groin, I felt spasms shake my hips, and a sort of trance was weakening all my remaining resistance - in a foggy haze I saw my white sperm raining down onto my brown belly like a milky spring shower. All the built up tension left my body and I was thinking only about sleep. Ismal just laughed and scooped the fresh spend up with his fingers, rolled me over onto my belly and rubbed the lubrication between my clenched buttocks into the dark cleft. He touched me there where nobody ever touched me before, and I couldn't protest - I was under his spell and I was in his debt.
His slimy fingers massaged the tight orifice, penetrated and stretched it. There was no pain or pleasure in that, just a sort of discomfort. A short shy glance at his huge rock hard cock told me that soon I would be fucked like a goat, and in my innocent boyish conception that meant slow death by internal bleeding. I wanted to live longer though and to know the world I was living on - so I needed a quick escape! Then Ismal propped me up on all fours to get his insane assault started, but that put me into the optimal sprinting off position - I grabbed a hand full of sand, threw it in his eyes - an ancient desert escape trick - and with flying feet I sped away like a Djinn on the wind.
Uncle's tent was of course the biggest one in our oasis - we boys had smaller ones just behind it, sizes depending on our hierarchy. Uncle was in his usual grumpy mood when I entered, sucking the juices out of his grotty brass pipe filled with smouldering camel dung - the whole interior smelled revolting. I humbly reported the devastating invasion of hungry animals in my millet garden, the general lack of water to keep any plant alive and the unfortunate the loss of my loincloth. After a decent thinking period he finally pulled the stinking pipe from his fat lips with a plop and looked at my dirty dickel first, sticky with sand plastered all over it.
»I know that I should beat you up again, Amir, but I'm getting tired of that silly game«, he released a sigh that sounded pretty much like the fart of our camel, then he took a deep rasping breath and continued: »You're not productive here, Amir - you have to go! Find the whore of your mother and don't ever dare to come back here without the money she had promised!« Then he sank exhausted back into his pillows, seemingly wanting to die, but with a weak smoky voice he was still able to mumble: »You will leave early in the morning, ask Ismal for a gourd of milk, there is no water to spare - fare well . . . « and then he started to snore - just like our camel!
