Conquering Afghanistan

I have always admired Afghans. I have met boys from this country before and I have never stopped imagining being with at least of them. I have stopped imagining. Afghanistan, check.

***

It happened one cold but sunny afternoon. The sun was up and the sky was blue. Everywhere, different shades of copper. I had just finished a quick rendezvous with an Italian which did not work out. His thingie was just pitiful - and I mean sad. Very sad. Blogger's Note: Before you boys start killing yourselves, take note, five is acceptable and anything beyond nine is scary. So there.

He said he was a contractor. Instantly, my libido shot up. I had this amazing impression that all contractors (or carpenters as I'd like to imagine them) are hot - amazingly hard arms, ripped abs and sculptured legs. I was in love. Plus, he's Afghan.

He called when he got to my apartment. I met him up at the lobby. My heart skipped a beat. The world stopped. My dick did the thinking and my man-gina too. He was all that I had imagined him to be sans the carpenter's toolkit. I should have asked him to come in full battle gear - that would have been nice.

"Hi..."

"How was the drive?"

"It was good. How are you Tristan?"

I gave him a flirty smile.

"So would you want anything to drink?"

"What do you have?"

"Beer, soda, juice, milk, coffee?"

"Beer would be nice."

I handed him a Heineken. He took a big gulp. I did the same.

"So how long have lived here?"

"Five months..."

"From where, DC?"

"No, Manila."

"Oh..."

"You?"

"I've lived here for some time now... five years..."

He pulled me closer. His hands were all over.

"This is nice."

"Ha! You ain't seen nothing yet."

"Show me..."

"Don't get too excited."

"So you like it slow, huh?"

"I like it rough."

The alcohol quickly took away all inhibitions - this is why I don't do drugs. And we were off to never never land.

"You like it rough, huh?"

I refused to reply.

"You want this? Tell me bitch."

"Ohhh... you're soooo..."

I felt like a porn star again. But, as always, I delivered.

"Ever been fucked this hard?"

Again, I refused to answer. I did not want to break his ego. He was, after all, delicious enough for a repeat. But he wanted an ego boost. He repeated the question. He wanted to hear that he was the greatest fuck I've had in this lifetime. He wanted me to affirm his manhood - that I was lucky to have him. And that pissed me off.

While it may be true that he ranked on the 90th percentile of all my fucks, I was not ready to be dishonest with myself. In the middle of the game, I looked at him, smiled and said:

"Yes."

And now, he's asked for a repeat to prove himself again.

Now, we go to war.