Roommates

Ziyad lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking. He had joined college here in America to study engineering two months ago, in September, but he already missed his home in Dubai. Oh, it was so far away, might as well be on another planet. Not that his life had been miserable, but here it was just such a different culture, different behaviors and habits, different lifestyles, different everything.

Even his roommate was different. Of course, he had the money to stay in a first-class suite, but he opted to room with another guy in the dorms, hoping to learn and adjust. Ziyad sighed, rubbed his crotch inside his designer jeans, and turned on his side, facing his roomie’s bed.

Back home in Dubai, life was quite simple and satisfying for Ziyad, in most aspects: prestige, money, relations, cars. But he had to come here to get an engineering degree. The campus was beautiful and he was impressed with the size of it: the quad, the buildings, the stadium, the Student Union, the multitude of students. He had spent his first two weeks in a daze. The change was enormous for him to process.

His roommate, Malcolm, was a nice guy, Ziyad had to admit. Very black skin, very tall and slim, very funny with his southern American accent, unlike the people here in Illinois. Malcolm was from some small town in Alabama. At first, when they met, Ziyad seriously thought about changing rooms. Back home in Dubai, black people were considered more like second-class citizens, mostly originating or coming from the Sudan or Ethiopia. But then he changed his mind when he heard Malcolm’s laugh. It was so rich that he felt it in his belly. Now, he couldn’t get Malcolm out of his mind.

At 22, Ziyad was a very handsome young man. He stood at 5’ 9”, weighed 165 lbs, with a lean and toned body. His dark skin had sheen to it and it was smooth except from below his waist, where a hair trail led to a jungle of black and curled pubic hair encircling the base of his cut dick. His butt was fuzzy but his crack was hairy.

Ziyad came from the ruling family stock in Dubai and was quite an eligible bachelor, especially now that in a few years he would return home as an engineer. But Ziyad was shy by nature. He knew that his peers in Dubai had been having sex for years. Although local females were inaccessible for pre-marriage sex, there were plenty of foreign girls from different countries who were more than willing to give head or even fuck a young Emirati prince. Ziyad, however, never felt the urge for those girls. He knew he was different. He would surf the Web for pictures of naked men, and he got aroused by them. But he never attempted at following up on his lustful thoughts. It was totally against his upbringing to lust after men. His religion wouldn’t allow it; neither would his family or tribe.

Now? In the States? Far from Dubai? Living along? Malcolm?

Ziyad rubbed his crotch, starting to get an erection. He had never been laid! Incredible as it was, with the looks and the money, Ziyad had never had real sex with another person. He rubbed harder, his dick erecting fast.

With a heave, he reached for his laptop, powered it, and pulled down his jeans and CK briefs. He stroked his cock slowly, watching the video on the screen. It wasn’t boobs Ziyad was gazing at, nor was it pussy or round butt cheeks. The video was a Corbin Fisher clip and Ziyad’s heart was beating to the rhythm of a stud raw-fucking another hot guy in the ass. Ziyad stroked faster, spitting into the palm of his hand, as the hung stud pulled out of the other guy’s ass and started shooting streams of thick, creamy sperm on and around the guy’s butt hole. As the stud rubbed his dripping cock round the hole, and then again shoved it back inside, the cum lubing his fat cock, Ziyad erupted, squirt after squirt of his own cum, spotting his Hilfiger shirt, hitting his mouth, and splashing all over the laptop keypad.

Closing the laptop, Ziyad proceeded to undress. He threw the soiled clothes into his laundry bag and walked naked to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he stalked back into the room, dressed and looked out of the window, thinking of how he could get hooked up. He had tried chat rooms on the Internet, but nothing had come out of that. He had found a couple of guys on Grindr. The first guy had emulated Freddy Mercury of Queen. He had even called himself Freddy and had walked and talked like the late star. This had turned Ziyad off totally.

The second guy from Grindr had not been American. He was from Morocco and had come through as a very macho “top” kind of guy. He had kept leering at Ziyad, undressing him with his eyes, licking his lips, in general being very vulgar. This hadn’t worked out either. What was constantly on Ziyad’s mind was Malcolm, sexy but, alas, unreachable.  

There had also been that time he went into a sex shop in downtown Champaign, hoping for a glory-hole action or something, scenes he had watched in gay vids. But he had soon chickened out and left disgusted with himself.

It was always the image of Malcolm, tall and dark and slim, in his briefs or boxers, walking around the room or lounging on his bed, that kept repeating itself in Ziyad’s head.

Malcolm had invited Ziyad to his home for Thanksgiving. Ziyad had even liked the long drive to Decatur, Alabama, in his rental, an Audi, but still a rental, unlike his Porsche back home, simply because Malcolm was sitting right next to him, giving him directions, laughing his amazing rich laugh and being the sexiest person in the world.

Decatur, Alabama, was a small town and Malcolm’s family was a lovable bunch. He had two older brothers and one younger sister. Malcolm’s mom was all over Ziyad, excited to have someone over from as far away as exotic Dubai. She went out of her way to make Ziyad taste all kinds of Southern food, enthusing about her cooking and about Ziyad’s visit in general. He knew where Malcolm got his laugh from; his mother filled the kitchen with the richest laugh that Ziyad had ever heard.

Ziyad, however, had had the shock of his life when he learned that he had to bunk with Malcolm in the same bed. He had spent the four nights tortured at the proximity of what had grown to become the love of his life, never able to touch or rub against him, but only to take in the scent and the warmth of the beautiful man inches away from him. His erection throughout the night was painful.

And Malcolm? He had been the sweetest, sexiest person ever throughout the visit. Ziyad had had to be careful not to show his attraction, especially now in front of Malcolm’s family. Back in their room, Ziyad had been too timid to make any moves towards the black Adonis from Alabama.

Malcolm had, at first, also been wary of this “Ay-rab” sharing his room. But he was impressed by Ziyad’s looks, his designer clothes, his expensive toiletry, and his Audi. Ziyad had proved pleasant company, always proper and tidy and a perfect gentleman. Malcolm had a toned body, tall at 6’ 4”, and he played basketball. The team, however, only depended on him to get the ball under the hoop, but he was shit for a shooter.

The two young roommates had gone out together for meals and sometimes for walks, but just as buddies, their relationship never proceeding onto another level. Only inside his mind, however, Ziyad ached to have something going with Malcolm. He didn’t exactly know what, just something. Maybe proximity? Touching? A kiss? Oh, damn!

“What?” Malcolm said as Ziyad handed him a red-wrapped package. “Z? What’s this?”

“It’s a gift,” Ziyad smiled, his heart beating fast.

“But… Z? A gift? What for, man?”

“It’s going to be your Christmas next week and you’re going home to Decatur. So… I thought an early gift is in order.”

“But, bro,” Malcolm said, alternating his look between the package and Ziyad’s handsome, smiling face, “you didn’t have to. I haven’t gotten anything for you.”

“No, I didn’t have to, and it’s not Christmas for me, so you don’t have to get me anything. Are you going to open it?”

Malcolm did. Three pairs of Calvin Klein briefs: white, gray, and black. Malcolm stared at Ziyad, holding the opened package. “I have never had such an expensive gift before, bro. And undies?”

They both broke out laughing.

“Man,” Malcolm said, turning the CKs over, “I can never wear these except when I’m here with you. My mates would start asking questions.”

With an extreme effort, Ziyad blurted out: “Are you going to try them on? I wasn’t sure of the… um… the you know… the size.”

Slowly, never breaking his gaze from Ziyad’s face, Malcolm pulled down his sweat pants. His own undies were the 3-dollar white Jockeys, the only kind he could afford. He turned his back to Ziyad and started to pull down the Jockeys. Ziyad inhaled audibly as Malcolm’s smooth, bubbled, black satin-skinned butt was exposed, showing a hairy crack as he bent over. Malcolm pulled on the CKs and turned around.

“They fit,” Ziyad whispered, gazing at the beautiful bulge.

Malcolm stepped closer, grabbed Ziyad’s head, and planted a kiss on his lips.

Ziyad moaned, almost fainted.

“That’s a thank you, bro,” Malcolm laughed, stepping back, looking so sexy that Ziyad’s knees started to go weak.

“Kiss me again, Malcolm,” Ziyad whispered, as if in a dream, not believing he had said those words.

Malcolm froze. He stared at Ziyad’s face, the brown eyes staring back, the head tilted back a little, the goatee black around his red lips, accentuating their sexiness.

“You gay, bro?” Malcolm said, also in a whisper.

Ziyad trembled, felt his stomach churn. “I don’t know, Malcolm, but I want you to kiss me again.”

Malcolm grabbed Ziyad’s waist pulling him in and kissed him deep, pushing his tongue into the Arab’s mouth, hearing the moaning deep from his throat.

When they pulled away, Malcolm’s CKs were stretched to almost tearing point with his erection.

“I got your present here, Z,” Malcolm smirked as he pulled Ziyad’s Lacoste sweater off and started to undo his silk shirt buttons.

“Oh, Malcolm, what are we doing?” Ziyad stammered, overwhelmed, his heart pounding painfully inside his chest, his cock already rock-hard inside his designer jeans.

“We’re fuckin’, bro,” Malcolm laughed richly, exposing Ziyad’s dark-skinned smooth chest. He leaned and licked and nibbled on the nipples.

“You gay, Malcolm?” Ziyad muttered, in retort to Malcolm’s earlier question.

“I’m who I am, Z, take it or leave it.”

“I take it, oh, Malcolm, I take it.”

Whatever else came out of Ziyad’s mouth was mutterings that Malcolm had no idea of their meaning, all in jumbled Arabic. Those mumbles increased in volume and intensity as Malcolm pulled down the jeans and the tight boxers, with Ziyad’s hard cock popping out, throbbing. As soon as Malcolm’s lips touched Ziyad’s cockhead, Ziyad’s knees crumbled under him and he fell back on the bed squirming and moaning. Malcolm swallowed the 7-inch cock, down to the base, gagging when it hit his throat but bearing down on it hard until he felt Ziyad’s pubes tickling his nose and Ziyad’s expensive perfume filling his head.

Malcolm sucked until Ziyad shot his load.

The Arab lay motionless on the bed, his chest heaving up and down, his eyes shut tight, his slimy dick plastered onto his belly . Malcolm stood up and pulled down his new CKs. He stepped next to Ziyad’s head and fisted his hard cock pointing it towards Ziyad’s mouth. Ziyad turned to find the dark uncut meat glistening next to his lips. He reached for the shaft, pulled down the skin, opened his mouth, and tasted his first cock.

The sensations inside Ziyad’s body coming from the silken but hard rod between his lips were indescribable. He pressed his lips around the thick black shaft and looked up at Malcolm. Malcolm arched his back and held Ziyad’s head, goading him to suck deeper, but when Ziyad gagged, Malcolm released the pressure. Ziyad wouldn’t give up in spite of the gagging and choking. He sucked hungrily, dizzy with the euphoria of an impossible dream.

Ziyad had never, ever, in his wildest fantasies, experienced such pleasure, such lust. It was only a cock inside his mouth, but for him it was the ultimate of sex. He faintly heard Malcolm’s moans and grunts as he worked the cock in and out of his slobbering mouth. The flood of thick semen took him by surprise, but he swallowed and swallowed. Malcolm fed him a full nut load, but he wasn’t satisfied. He wanted, no, he needed, the flood to keep surging into his mouth and down his throat, squirt after squirt of salty man cum banging against the back of his mouth, the cock thickening with every squirt, stretching his lips. He needed to feast on his roomie’s juice, to take all the sperm he could suck out of the glorious cock filling his mouth.

When Malcolm pulled out, it was with sighs from both of them. Ziyad licked the dripping head as Malcolm laughed.

“Bro, intense,” Malcolm said in his rich voice. “Oh man what a head!”

“Is this your first time?” Ziyad asked as Malcolm sat on the bed with Ziyad’s naked body pressed at his back.

“No, man, I’ve had blowjobs before, from chicks, but nothing compares to this,” he admitted, running his fingers along Ziyad’s red lips.

“It was my first,” Ziyad said in a low voice.

“First time you suck cock?”

“First time I get sucked also.”

“No way! A stud like you?”

“Yes way. Malcolm, you are my first, ever.”

“I don’t believe it, man,” Malcolm stared at Ziyad.

“You see, Malcolm, my dear boy. You live in an open-minded country, unlike mine. In Dubai, gay is bad, a sin, against society, against Allah. Gays, if caught, get lashed and jailed. If not Emiratis, they are immediately deported, after they are lashed. Gays are ‘khawals’.”

“Oh, man,” Malcolm shook his head. “You think all of the US is open-minded? Try Decatur, Alabama. Southern Methodists. Gays are sinners also for them. Maybe not lashed, but ostracized. Sometimes even bashed. Gay-bashing is a sport!”

“But…,” Ziyad wrapped an arm around Malcolm’s delicious waist. “But I have always heard that the US is the ‘land of the free’ and such.”

“This here town, Z, is a university town. Champaign-Urbana is not your typical American town. This is different buddy. Believe me.”

Malcolm bent and kissed Ziyad, deep, passionate, probing kisses. Still semi-hard, he lay on top of Ziyad, grinding on him, their lips glued to each other. Ziyad moaned. Both boys erected.

“Can I suck you again?” Ziyad whispered between kisses.

“I got something better, bro.”

“Oh?”

Malcolm slid down Ziyad’s body, licking and slurping, pulling Ziyad’s legs wide, licking and slurping down the trail, the cock, the balls, and into the crack.

Ziyad squirmed, his body set on fire. Malcolm probed into Ziyad’s crack with his tongue, finding the hole, feeling it twitching. He inserted the tip of his index finger as Ziyad grunted and pushed his butt back onto the finger. Malcolm worked the hole with his spit and fingers until he felt Ziyad’s body relax.

Malcolm brought his cockhead at Ziyad’s hole and lay on top of him.

“Do you want me, bro? Down there? Do you?”

Not realizing what he was admitting to, Ziyad nodded, delirious. Malcolm prodded. Ziyad screamed.

“Whoa,” Malcolm said moving back and away from the hole, resting on his haunches.

“You were going to fuck me,” Ziyad protested.

“You said you wanted me to.”

“I did not…. But I do. Oh Malcolm, I do. I don’t know what it’s like but I want it. I want it. I want you to fuck me. Malcolm, oh please. Do it.”

The pleading in Ziyad’s voice and the tears welling in his eyes made Malcolm press his knob back on the ring, gently but steadily. As Ziyad whimpered, Malcolm penetrated his cockhead and stilled, watching, waiting for the scream. Instead, Ziyad grabbed the edge of the pillow and bit on it stifling his moans. He looked at Malcolm with his abandoned brown eyes and nodded, both hands grabbing Malcolm’s muscled black thighs. Malcolm resumed the pressure, holding Ziyad’s legs high by the ankles, and his cock shaft started to slide into the Arab.

“This is some fucking virgin ass, Z!” Malcolm grunted as his cock shaft found it difficult to penetrate all the way.

“Umm… Umm… Umm.” Ziyad was writhing as he clamped on the hard rod invading his body.

Malcolm fucked. He started extremely carefully, very gently, never ramming or pounding, just a long slow sliding of his hard cock inside the tight virgin tunnel. Pinning Ziyad under him, Malcolm could feel Ziyad’s boner pressed beneath his belly and he made it a point to rub up and down the cock with each of his thrusts. Normally, Malcolm would be fucking hard and deep and fast. This was also a kind of first for him, making himself go slow and long, forcing himself to be gentle when all he wanted was to slam that ass under him.

And then Malcolm felt the wetness on his belly and he realized that Ziyad was ejaculating. This was accentuated by the squeezing and clamping of Ziyad’s ring around his cock. As the ring milked Malcolm with each of Ziyad’s squirt, Malcolm exploded. Amazingly, he shot his load sooner than usual and without his normal fast fucking.

They lay next to each other, Malcolm spooning Ziyad, holding him tight, sweating and breathing hard.

“This means we are lovers?” Ziyad finally broke the intensity, not looking around, scared of turning around and facing Malcolm.

Malcolm ground his crotch against Ziyad’s butt, his dick slimy with cum and ass juice.

“Depends on how you look at it, Z,” he said, licking Ziyad’s neck.

“What do you mean? Look at it?”

“Well, we can either be that, lovers, or we can just be fuck buddies.”

Ziyad was astounded at Malcolm’s reaction. He clamped his ass and felt the soreness after Malcolm’s cock invasion. How could they not be lovers? How could Malcolm call them “fuck buddies”? He didn’t want to become a fuck buddy. He loved Malcolm. Dare he say that? Would it freak Malcolm out? Would he lose the most precious person he had met since he came to the States?

Ziyad got up and walked to the bathroom, painfully aware of how he looked to Malcolm, his ass bare, just fucked, cum seeping out onto the back of his thighs, fucked, a khawal! As he stood under the shower hot water, he contemplated about what had just happened, taking stock, assessing the damages, evaluating the pluses. Fuck buddies? Lovers? Khawals?

So he was fucked. He had had a man-cock up his ass. And he loved it in spite of the pain. Was he now Malcolm’s “wife”? He heard himself snicker and mentally slapped his own face. His ejaculation had been the most intense, ever. He had felt as if his whole being was spurting out of his body as his ass clamped around Malcolm’s cock. He hadn’t even touched himself. But then again, all he had to compare with had been his own masturbation, his own hand, not a boy ass, not a pussy, not a mouth. Was his relationship with Malcolm going to be that? Him offering his ass to fuck?

The shower stall curtain moved as Malcolm stepped in and grabbed Ziyad.

“I love you, Z.” Malcolm’s arms wrapped around Ziyad’s waist as Malcolm pressed against his back emitting a low moan of desire.

Ziyad shivered. Ziyad erected as he felt Malcolm’s hard rod throbbing against his wet butt.

Malcolm turned Ziyad around and the two young men fell into deep, moaning, heart-rending kissing. Ziyad jumped as he felt Malcolm’s hand encircle his hard erection, gripping it hard. Slowly, Malcolm turned around, still holding Ziyad’s cock, and placed it between his ass cheeks. Ziyad reached for the soap, lathering, moaning. Malcolm guided; Ziyad thrusted. The insertion of Arab cock into black ass was smooth, long and deep. Malcolm raised one leg as Ziyad held him by the hips and fucked. The explosion made Ziyad’s earlier ejaculation rate 2 out of 10 compared with his shooting inside Malcolm.

The two roommates lay on their beds facing each other, stupid smiles on their faces, Malcolm in one of his new CKs, Ziyad butt naked.

“Come home with me for Christmas, Z.”

“It’s your Christmas, man, not mine. It’d be awkward.”

“Awkward? Why? We could have great fun,” Malcolm smirked grabbing his crotch lewdly.

Ziyad laughed, grabbing his in return, winking. “Malcolm, my man, I’m not ready to come out. Are you?”

“No fuckin’ way, bro,” Malcolm shook his head.

“So? Awkward.”

“Can’t we just spend time together without fucking?”

“No!”

“Have I created a sex monster?”

Ziyad got up and walked over to Malcolm’s bed. He pulled down the CKs and swallowed Malcolm’s limp cock down to the base. Malcolm erected and Ziyad choked, but the Arab kept on sucking until he was rewarded with a thick wad of black man cum.

“See,” Ziyad said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “I can’t NOT have sex with you. I can’t stop myself.”

“Stop it, Z. I want you to come with me. You can’t stay here alone for the whole break. Besides, you might get some other cock if I left you alone on your own!”

Ziyad laughed. “I’m 22 years old, baby, and this cock of yours was the first one for me. Now you think cocks will crowd around me all of a sudden?”

“Who knows? You’re fuckin’ hot, bro.”

“Christmas is a Christian celebration, and you know I’m not Christian.”

“So we celebrate your Mahomet’s birthday instead,” Malcolm joked.

“It’s not Mahomet. It’s Mohammad, you heathen.”

Malcolm gave another bout of rich laughter. “Whatever, Z. Just say yes. Baby, please.”

“What? You just called me ‘baby’?”

“My turn,” Malcolm said as he rose and walked the few steps over to Ziyad’s bed, and treated the Arab to a deep, exploding blowjob. “Yeah. You’re my baby and I’m yours,” he said as he swallowed the last cum down his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his thick lips smacking.

After Ziyad agreed to visit with Malcolm’s family for Christmas, he started to think about presents. Should he get all of them one present each? Or only Malcolm (since the CKs didn’t count anymore)? Or one present for the whole family? Or nothing? What were the customs here? He knew that everyone gave presents, but the Williamses were not his family. He snickered at that thought since as Malcolm’s “wife”, he could be considered family. His ass twitched; his groin churned.

Finally he decided to ask Malcolm.

“Fuck, Z,” Malcolm said. “You don’t have to get us gifts or anythin’.”

“But I want to.”

“No. Ziyad, baby, we are a regular poor family from Alabama, ok? You can’t flaunt your money around us like that.”

Ziyad was shocked. Was he flaunting his money? To these good people? He would never intend to hurt anyone by using his money.

“But Malcolm, baby, I’m sorry if you feel that way. I never thought.”

“Yeah,” was Malcolm’s stern response.

“Listen, Malcolm, do you feel that my money is a problem?”

“Not a problem, bro, but just don’t flaunt it.”

“Ok, I got that. But I need to take something for you guys. Just one present for the whole family. Would that be ok?”

“On condition that it fits with what we define as a present. Not a condo. Not a sports car.”

Ziyad laughed, so glad that the crisis was over. “How about we go together and you choose?”

And so, Ziyad bought a pair of silver-plated candle sticks for the Wiliamses. “Mamma’s gonna love those,” Malcolm said.

Christmas morning, the whole family was getting ready to go to the service.

“I can’t go,” Ziyad told Malcolm.

“Fuck,” Malcolm scratched his head. “It’s a tradition. But I understand, you sexy heretic. Let me see what I can do.”

“Just leave him here on his own until we get back, honey,” Malcolm’s mother said when he told her that he was going to miss the service in order to stay with Ziyad.

“That would be very inhospitable, Mamma, unchristian.”

The two boys had the house for themselves for a couple of hours and they used the time efficiently: sucking and fucking like rabbits, since they knew that this was the only time they could sleep with each other throughout their stay in Decatur.

The morning after Christmas day, Malcolm crept out of bed, leaving Ziyad asleep, and tiptoed to the kitchen.

“Good morning, mamma.”

“Sit and eat, boy,” Malcolm’s mother said, placing a plate of eggs and pancakes and a glass of milk on the kitchen table, with an uncharacteristically stern look on her face.

Malcolm fell in, his mother’s cooking being the best in the world for him.

“Malcolm?” his mother said seriously, sitting in the chair facing him.

Malcolm raised his head, surprised at the attitude.

“You have somethin’ to tell me, boy?”

“Huh?” Malcolm said, trying to swallow down the food.

“You and Ziyad? Do you have somethin’ to tell me?”

“Mamma, what are you talking about?” Malcolm stammered, hedging, heart beating fast.

“Look, son, mothers have a sixth sense, didn’t you know? You and Ziyad?”

“We’re roommates, mamma, and he is far from his family.”

Malcolm’s mother nodded, shook her head, rose up wiping her hands on her apron. “All I’m sayin’, boy, is that you follow the path of the Lord.”

“I am, mamma,” Malcolm squirmed. She knew! She was able to detect the vibes.

Malcolm gulped down the rest of his breakfast fast.

“Listen, mamma, you have nothing to worry about, ok? Ziyad and I are very … close. We…”

“Enough said, boy. Go,” the mother interrupted, her back humped over the sink as she did the dishes.

With a sigh, Malcolm left the kitchen.

“Mamma knows about us, Z,” Malcolm said as they were driving back to Champaign.

“You came out to your mother?” Ziyad asked incredulously.

“Not exactly. I couldn’t. But she knows,” Malcolm said with a miserable look on his face.

“Oh, man. I’m sorry, baby.” Ziyad placed his hand on Malcolm’s thigh, gently pressing.

“That’s ok, Z. I love you.”

“So where’s the ring?” Ziyad teased, trying to alleviate the atmosphere.

“Also, fuck you,” Malcolm laughed, leaning over and kissing Ziyad’s neck.

“You have, oh black dude, you really have!”

On their way back, Malcolm wanted to show Ziyad around since they had a few more days before they had to start classes. They visited different places, staying at hotels. Ziyad refused, categorically, to stay at the Holiday Inn hotels. He was able to persuade Malcolm that they can both use his money, that they can share and enjoy. Only the Hiltons and Sheratons for them. Malcolm had conflicting feelings, between Ziyad’s money and his own pride, but he acquiesced, enjoying luxuries he had never experienced before.

The morning after they left Decatur, the young men finished their sumptuous breakfast served to them in the suite that Ziyad had booked. At first, Malcolm complained. The night charge for the suite was $650, and the breakfast included Champaign, salmon, caviar, and of course the eggs, bacon, sausages, cheeses, and what not. Management sent up a basket of exotic fruits: a whole fresh pineapple, strawberries with cream, kiwi, mango. Malcolm was staggered but wolfed down the food and fruit, except the caviar, which he found disgusting, and the kiwi, which gave him goose bumps. They ate heartily, what with all the fucking they had had during the night and into the early morning.

“Oh, boy,” Malcolm heaved as he wiped his mouth, lying naked in the bed next to Ziyad. “This was really something. But, Z, I think we need to talk?”

“After or before we fuck?” Ziyad said sliding his hand under the sheets and grabbing Malcolm’s dick.

“You’re so insatiable, man. Really we need to talk.”

“Ok, baby, talk.” Ziyad stroked the cock from limp to semi-hard.

“You are paying for all of this, bro. I mean the hotels and the food and all the stuff.”

“Yeah?” Ziyad stroked more, feeling the stiffness in the rod inside his palm.

“I feel like a kept boy, Z,” Malcolm said, moving Ziyad’s hand away.

Ziyad sat up and turned to face his lover. “But, baby, I got the money, so what?”

“Exactly,” Malcolm said, getting out of bed, his dick hard and pointing upwards. “And you’re so fucking sexy. But still. It doesn’t feel right. All this money spent. I feel like a whore, Z.”

“You are mine, baby. Don’t let the money be an issue,” Ziyad cajoled.

They were silent for a while as Malcolm wrapped a towel around his waist, pressing his hard cock up against his belly.

“Look, Malcolm. You got to promise me something.”

“What?”

“You are not to interrupt me, ok?”

“Yessa, masta,” Malcolm said satirically.

“Huh?”

“Oh, never mind. Why don’t you want me to interrupt?”

“I will explain. But keep your mouth shut until I finish.”

“Fuck. Ok.”

“I have gotten to learn something about your culture here in America. I am going to explain to you my own culture. In Dubai, as member of the ruling family, I always have someone, sometimes more than one, employed to stay with me. To see to my needs.”

Malcolm’s eyes grew wide and his eyebrows knit. “What the fuck, Z? I’m not your servant.”

“Wait. Wait. Damn it, Malcolm. Don’t fucking interrupt. I have this idea. I will call home and explain to my father that I need a tutor and guide to help me out in my studies, especially the language. Let us see what he says. Ok? Ok, baby? Please say yes.”

“A tutor, huh? To teach you how to fuck and get fucked? Your parents know about this, Z?”

“Shit, no, Malcolm. Come on, man. Please, say yes.”

Two weeks later, Malcolm received a call from some agent/lawyer.

“Is this Mr. Malcolm Williams?”

“Uhuh.”

“This call is to inform you that Sheikh Makhzoom El Emari from Dubai is sending you the sum of $8000 as first payment, with the understanding that you will receive similar sums monthly, and on the condition that you agree to tutor his son, Ziyad. Would you like the amount to be sent to you by money transfer, or bank transfer to your account, or cash?”

Malcolm reeled. Eight thousand fucking bucks. Every fucking month.

“Mr. Williams? Are you there?”

“Oh…” Malcolm stammered, trying to find his voice. “Oh, yes, still here. Bank transfer is ok. I will text you my bank account number,” he finally managed to croak out.

“Great. Have a nice day, now.”

“Z?” Malcolm barged into their room. “Z? What the fucking fuck?”

Ziyad jumped up from his bed, the book he was reading falling onto the floor. “Damn it, Malcolm. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Eight thousand dollars? Fucking $8000? Your father sent me ‘first payment’, man. Eight fucking thousand bucks.”

“Hmmm,” Ziyad scratched his head.  “I thought he wouldn’t go below ten thousand, man. I’m sorry about that. But my father figured, as is the custom back home, that you, as my tutor and ‘aide’, will not have to spend any money as long as you are with me. This is how it is back home. The Emir pays for everything.”

“Shit in heaven. Fuck! Ziyad, I can’t accept this. An emir? You a fucking emir? Oh, fuck!”

“You can and you will. This is not coming out of my pocket, and you will be my ‘aide’. End of argument.”

Malcolm sat on his bed bewildered, shaking his head.

“See? Now it doesn’t feel awkward, does it? You have a job to do. By the way, please don’t ever think that because my father is paying you this money, that I will impose on you in any way. Malcolm, you are free to do whatever you want whenever you want. You can even go around fucking asses and sucking dicks. I will kill you if you do, but you are free to do it.”

Malcolm’s rich laugh resounded in the room. He stood up, pulled Ziyad to him, and kissed him deeply.

And they had sex. Insatiable. Intense and passionate. And to a certain degree, exhausting. For Ziyad, he had to endure the soreness in his ass. He felt the pain every time he squeezed his ring muscle, but it was good pain, pain induced by his lover’s fucking. It was a kind of pain that cried out for more. And he did get more. For Malcolm, his macho-black attitude had disappeared as soon as Ziyad’s cock invaded his black ass. Ziyad’s beard brushing on his face, instead of a woman’s soft skin, caused his whole body to tremble with lust.

Ziyad and Malcolm reveled in their relationship. They are still together now, even though Ziyad will graduate in a month or so and they both agreed that Malcolm would travel with him to Dubai as his “aide.”