By Mighty Mouth
My name is Jack and I am a doctor in my early forties. I have no need to state my personal statistics, since they are not relevant to my story.
I work for an organization similar to Doctors without Frontiers, but it is lesser known. I was asked to serve in Afghanistan for six months, that terrible war-torn and sad country. But I accepted the challenge without any regret.
I was assigned to the best hospital in Kabul, the country’s capital. On my second day there, as I was made my rounds to look in on patients. I entered the room of a teenage boy who had both of his forearms mangled, due to a terrorist attack by the Taliban, which I learned from the hospital staff. Both of his parents had been killed. How he managed to get an individual room in such a crowded hospital, I didn’t know. He had to have his damaged arms amputated below the elbow, since they were completely destroyed and useless.
Before arriving in Afghanistan, I spent four months studying one of their major languages, which is Dari, the language used in Kabul. So I could communicate more or less in that language. I asked the boy about some of the details of the attack. Although he was in great pain, he explained that both his parents had been killed in the attack, their house was destroyed, and that he was an only child. He told me that he was 18 years old, and his name was Akram. I thought that appropriate, because the name means “most generous.” I took a closer look at him. He was not wearing anything above the waist, and only flimsy pajamas below that. The pajamas seemed to show the outline of what could be a nice sized cock. I noted that he was light-skinned, about 5’ 10", with a nicely-developed body, and a handsome face, with green eyes, which so many Afghans have. In spite of his current situation, he maintained a positive outlook, and was very friendly. I was sure that he was not gay. I really felt sorry for the kid, who was almost totally helpless to feed himself, dress himself, take a bath, etc.
The next day when I visited him, he seemed in better spirits. He told me that after a period of recuperation, he would be fitted with two prosthetic arms and hands. I couldn’t help but notice that his crotch showed a significant bulge. I was tempted to ask, à la Mae West, “is that a pistol you are packin’, or are you just happy to see me?” I imagined that being a typical adolescent, he was horny all of the time, and had no way to get relief. I could see that he was grateful for the attention I was paying him, and I had gained his confidence. So I began to hatch a plot.
After I left his room I told the nurse on duty that in addition to being a medic, I was also trained as a psychological counselor, and that obviously the boy needed counseling due to his traumatic situation. I also said that I would be responsible for giving him his daily bath, and that I wanted absolute privacy while I was attending him. And thus it was arranged.
The next day I arrived at my usual time and told him that I would be bathing him. I locked the door to the room, undressed him, and got a large pan of water from his meager bathroom, with only a commode and a sink. I helped him turn over on his stomach, and washed his back from the neck down to his feet. Then I helped him turn over onto his back. Low and behold, he was sporting a beautiful, big-dicked hard on. I ignored it, and began washing his face, chest, and stomach until I came to his cock region. I gently washed his stiff erection, and he let out little moans of enjoyment. Then I took the plunge, and swallowed his entire shaft down my throat. He let out a gasp of surprise and pleasure. Since he was so horned up, it took only a couple of minutes before he shot a sizable load down my throat. I then finished bathing his legs and feet. He thanked me and told me that no one had ever done that to him before. He told me that if I wanted to do it again, it would be OK with him. How could I say no?
This ritual went on for several days. Then I decided to try a different position. I would kneel on the floor in front of his erect cock. Grabbing him by the upper arms, I helped him to stand up, then got down on my knees in front of him. I grabbed his butt cheeks in order to pull the full length into my throat. I regretted that he didn’t have any hands to put on my head to aid me in my task. But it was obvious that he loved fucking my mouth. Word got around among the staff of how devoted I was to my occupation. Little did they know that I was providing more than one service.
After a month of recuperation, he received his new arms and hands and the hospital decided to discharge him. On his last day there, he explained that he had nowhere to go, since his relatives didn’t want to take him in. I had rented a modest little house, so I said to him, “That’s not a problem, you can stay with me.”
He beamed a wide smile and thanked me. He put on his tattered clothes, we left the hospital together and went to my house. The next day I bought him some clothes. I invited him to sleep in my wide bed, which he gratefully accepted. My sucking adventure went on for the next five months, until my gig was over.
When it was nearing my time to leave, he became depressed. He begged me to take him to the States with me, but I explained that it would not be possible. He said that he would have to stay in a refugee camp until he could get his life together.
On the day of my departure, I held him in my arms, and we both cried.
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If anyone wants to read a free copy of my book, Memoirs of a Gay Rights Maverick, I’ll send it to you as an email attachment. Mighty Mouth