Gay Adventures In The Middle East Pt 12

I spit in my hand and reached down between my thighs to stroke his fat cock. I couldn’t close my hand around his thick shaft.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

*****

“Emi, do you want a going away party for your last day of work? I can get a cake,” Ali signed to me in swift, fluid motions with an excited smile. We were in his office where he had set up a small desk area for me to work. This would be my last day before we left to get ready for the boys to be born. I couldn’t believe how quickly everything had worked out.

It had been a crazy nine months since our wedding in New York. I had finally finished my degree and was rewarded with a long vacation in Europe before the next phase of our lives together would begin. I would work with him at his company, but first we would start a family. We both wanted it. He was at the age where he needed to carry on his family name and legacy, but more importantly he wanted little versions of us to grow our family.

We had flown to Rome where Ali rented a very impractical white Ferrari. We were spending two weeks driving around the coast of the Mediterranean from Rome to Barcelona. I’d suggested we get something bigger and more comfortable, but he loved his race cars, his mind was set.

We stopped in resorts and beautiful hotels in Monte Carlo, Cannes, Marseilles, and smaller towns along the way. We hiked a small mountain, went scuba diving, took a sailboat out, and every other activity we could find.

The best stop though was at a clinic in Genoa, on a steep Italian hillside overlooking the glass-blue sea. The doctor and a sign language interpreter sat across the large oak table from us in front of a huge window that afforded the most beautiful view of the crashing waves.

“You see, this candidate has virtually the same ethnic DNA as you! We traced your DNA back to a relatively small area along the coast of Finland! You may choose from these two prospects that will have the healthiest eggs. Which one would you like to see in your children?” The doctor pointed between two folders. I had no idea my family DNA was traceable to Finland. I knew very little about the family that rejected me when my parents were gone.

Each folder held pictures and essays from the women. They had written specifically to us because they knew Ali would pay any exorbitant price they wanted for their eggs. They both had compelling stories of excelling in academics, athletics, community service. One wanted to go to medical school and the other had a dream of buying a home in the mountains with her new husband who was a struggling artist. Ali had meticulously researched their medical history back five generations to ensure there would be minimal risk. He wanted the best.

Ali was giving them both money. We had read through their letters the night before and he knew I couldn’t make that kind of connection with someone and not give them help. But the one who would be the real egg donor would get the largest sum and Ali had set up an additional trust to give her something extra every year. Our children would know that wherever their biological mother was, she was taken care of and would never want for anything.

We decided on the woman whose donation we would use. Ali picked her because her father and brothers were all tall and strong, and had my nose and eyes. He said they were too cute to pass up. Most of her family members had been in their country’s armed forces so there was a lineage of physical and mental strength used in service to their people. I’m not sure if that’s something one inherits in the genes, but he wanted to cover all his bases. He also said her writing reminded him of the gentle optimism he saw in me.

She was the one I liked as well, I was glad we agreed on such a big decision. He had come a long way from when we were newly together and he rarely thought to consult me on even the simplest decisions. Now he listened, asked my opinion, shared his calendar and plans with me. Ali had run it like his business. He set up meetings with me when he got updates or new information. We’d go over it together and decide what to do. He told me I was good with details and found things he missed. I doubted that was true, but I was happy to have a voice.

The doctor had already met with us in Satra several times to collect our DNA samples and take copious amounts of sperm from Ali. I had helped in the collection. They had taken samples from me as well. They assured us that they could combine it so that our children would be genetically linked to both of us. Science is amazing when you have enough money.

Dr. Hamad, Ali’s father, was also involved. He was interested in the research on the procedures they would use, but also overjoyed to welcome new grandchildren. He was already in love with them long before they were born. I knew they would be the most spoiled children to ever enter the compound.

Dr. Hamad, more than anyone, put me at ease when he said this could be done safely. I was mostly worried about something going wrong with science and the children having to live a life of struggle because we played around with their DNA too much. But Dr. Hamad sat with me and showed me the computerized models of how it worked. He promised he would be involved throughout the process.

It was in the Aquarium in Barcelona where Ali got the phone call. We were in a glass tunnel under the giant tank when Ali put his hand to my chest to stop me. He held up his phone and I watched an excited smile spread across his lips as he spoke. He nodded and paced a few steps in each direction, making a little bounce when his smile widened.

He finished up and then signed for me that everything had gone perfectly and two of the embryos were growing inside a surrogate who would spend the next nine months living it up at a health spa in Switzerland. It was really going to happen. We were going to raise babies together; babies who held a piece of each of our DNA’s and all of our love.

“I’m going to be a father! Father! We are going to be fathers!” He signed and shouted in the small, enclosed tunnel. It must have been loud because I saw people jump and look startled. Everyone turned to look at us with joy though. I saw their hands clap and Ali hugged me into his side tightly.

“You will be the best father they could ever ask for!” I signed back.

“We have much to do to prepare! We have so much to buy, to build, to childproof!” Ali began to sign frantically as he paced in front of me. His body was working through the anxiety of the quick revelation. It was real, it was coming.

“We will. We have time… lots of time,” I signed back and laughed. He pulled me in and kissed me for the longest time as a school of colorful fish swam overhead. They seemed to pause and look down at us. I wondered what they thought about two men kissing. Are fish open minded?

“This is one of the things I love most about you, Emi. You are so caring and even-tempered; centered and peaceful. I know you will be the best care-taker our boys could ever ask for,” Ali praised. He lifted me up and spun around in a circle with excitement.

“I’m glad we got the news somewhere memorable. This place is magic now… You know this means we will have to come back here for the boys’ birthday someday. I hope they like aquariums,” I joked. We were always sentimental about the places where big events happened. Barcelona would now hold significance as the place we found out our boys first had life.

“I will build them one! It will be built for them, but open to the people of the Kingdom! It will have their name on it and we’ll only have fish that they like,” Ali laughed.

“We could give them fish names!” I joked.

“I will veto this! But we do need to choose names at some point,” Ali laughed.

Ali led me out of the aquarium. We stopped by the gift shop so he could spend a small fortune. He chose stuffed animals, whales and dolphins. I picked out little shirts for them with the logo of L’Aquarium de Barcelona. Ali was grabbing things he thought they would like along with a souvenir picture of us in front of a giant whale backdrop. We filled two large boxes and Ali paid for shipping so everything would be sent back to Satra for us.

After that news we canceled the rest of our plans and headed home to Satra. Ali was on a new mission. He met with the architect that had designed most of the compound and they looked over plans he had drawn up to build a bigger space. Our small loft house in the corner of the Hamad compound would be too small for a family of four. Our “little love-nest,” as Ali called it, would be passed on to Zaid or Samir.

Ali selected a site on the opposite side of the expansive pool area. The designs called for attaching it to the main house through a small, walled-off courtyard that could serve as a safe play area for the boys and keep them away from the pool. The design had three bedrooms clustered together. One would be ours, the other a nursery and the third would house someone to help us take care of the kids until they were old enough and we were more sure of our abilities.

Ali had launched an exhaustive, worldwide search for the perfect caretaker. There were piles of applicants, male and female, from a variety of countries. Ali had unreasonable expectations. They needed to have full medical training, speak Arabic, use sign language, be trained in arts, music, and education. I pointed out that Mary Poppins couldn’t even meet his qualifications. He said she would be disqualified for having children dance on roofs and feed street birds.

Ali took me on tours every Friday to show me the progress as they built it over four months. There was a lot of solid concrete walls and a very modernist style emerging with exposed steel beams and large, thick windows. He loved that style, but it was a little harsh for our family. He assured me they were making it the most child safe house ever built and we would have soft furniture and surfaces.

When it was finished, he was so excited to show me all of the touches he had added just for me. It didn’t yet have furniture, that would come in the following days. I worked with a designer specializing in baby friendly homes and the large furniture was in transit from Egypt. There were blinking lights throughout the house that would respond to the sounds of the babies. Red lights meant tears and blue lights meant laughter. It would help me when they weren’t in my sight even though the nurse would be there. He knew I would want to be involved in every aspect and wanted to give me that access.

Ali led me through the empty rooms where we would sleep, eat, dine, live our lives together as a little family. For some odd reason it all hit me when he showed me the small laundry room near the boys’ nursery. It hit me that soon I would be responsible for two little humans. They would look to me for everything. I felt a moment of panic as he showed me the touchscreen controls on the washer and dryer as if I’d ever use them with so much house staff in the Hamad compound.

“What’s wrong, baby? You’re so quiet,” Ali signed with a look of concern as he gauged my mood.

“I don’t speak,” I signed back and laughed to shrug it off.

“You know what I mean, sweetness. Are you alright?” Ali asked.

And then it just came out, a torrent of tears and signs about everything I worried.

“What if I forget to feed them? What if I drop one? What if they are born homophobic and hate us for being gay?” I signed.

Ali laughed at the last one. He knelt in front of me, rubbing his prickly chin over my stomach as if I was the one carrying the boys inside me. He looked up at me with those big, brown eyes that held my world.

“Baby,” he signed and rubbed my tummy. “We will have a nurse to keep them on a feeding schedule. You will not drop one. You are the strongest little cub I know. And they will love us no matter what because we will fill them with love and they will grow up seeing how inseparable their daddies are. We will teach them to love who they want and love is all they will ever know. No one is born to hate,” Ali assured.

I nodded. He got to his feet and lifted me up into his arms. He set me down on top of the washer. I spread my legs as he leaned in between them and wrapped his dark, muscled arms around me. He licked at my tears and kissed my cheeks with his perfect lips.

“I do the worrying. Whenever you need a break, I will be there. I will always be there,” Ali signed.

I nodded again and he leaned into me. He put his lips at the base of my neck and slowly kissed his way up, licking my skin and biting a little trail up the side until his nose disappeared into my hair. He rubbed his strong Arab nose up behind my ear sending a strong shiver through me. His arms slid around me to let me know I was his, I was safe.

I felt his breath against my ear as he said something. He always whispered things in my ears even though they didn’t work. I knew his sentiment though. He hated to see me anxious. It always stopped him from whatever he was doing, no matter how important. He could have been giving CPR to the Pope, but he’d drop it to rush to my side, settle his cub.

His hands rubbed down my back to grab my ass, knead my cheeks in his strong hands. He finished whatever he was saying and then bit playfully on my earlobe. I relaxed against his chest, leaned into him, gave up my worries to let him be the protector.

He pulled back from me, studied me with those big brown eyes. I hoped our boys would have his eyes though he specifically requested that at least one of them would have my blue ones. The geneticist and specialists told him that wasn’t likely with his dominant genes. Science hadn’t caught up to photoshop.

“O.K.” he mouthed with a questioning look. I smiled and nodded to show him I was ok. I leaned forward and kissed his forehead. He leaned into me and rubbed his nose against mine. They do that here, the Arab nose rub. Fathers do it to children. Grown men do it to other men to show a deep friendship. No one explained to me how it developed. It was just something they did. Ali often did it to me; usually when I was just waking up or when I’d done something he found adorable. He never liked to go without making physical contact with me for long.

“Ali,” I said his name. His eyes always sparkled and his lips curled into a smile when he heard my voice. I rarely use it mostly because I was mocked as a child for having a “deafspeak” accent. I honestly don’t know what it sounds like, and it feels weird on my throat.

“My precious love,” he signed. He brought a hand to my cheek and rubbed his thumb over my lips. I parted them for him and he pressed inside. I bit lightly at his thumb. I rubbed my tongue slowly across the smooth sheen of his nail. Our eyes locked, each of us waiting for the other to blink as though it would decide who was stronger. I blinked first and lowered my eyes.

I read that in a book once, it might have been Kipling’s Jungle Book. The boy would stare at the wolves, eye to eye, knowing that neither the wolves nor any other animal of the jungle could hold his gaze, his challenge, his superiority. But man is actually the weakest of animals his size and is ill prepared for an unarmed fight. A wolf could kill him, a lion could do it with ease. I could never meet my lion’s gaze for long.

And so I blinked first. Ali did what he always did when I looked down, he leaned in to sniff my neck, then nosed around in my hair before playfully baring his teeth on the back of my neck. He bit gently at the skin like a father picking up his cub. He’d do this until I laughed from the tickling sensations and pushed him away. We really are a strange couple… but it works.

Ali kissed around my neck and then along my jaw until he found my lips again. I felt his hands slide up under my shirt and he pushed it up. I raised my arms and he pushed it up and off my arms, breaking our kiss for mere seconds so the fabric could pass. He leaned back and pulled off his own shirt then dove in to bite and suck on my nipples. I relaxed into his arms as they massaged up and down my back. My cock was hard and I reached down to rub it through my shorts. Ali raised his eyes and looked at me with a lustful smile. It was time to break in the new house.

“Stay put,” he signed and dashed, shirtless and tenting his shorts, out of the little laundry room. I took the time to slid off my shorts and sat there in my briefs and tennis shoes atop the cold metal washer. My legs dangled over the side and I looked up to admire the nice shelves stocked with detergent and cleaning supplies lined up perfectly like a fancy supermarket display.

Ali dashed back in and pushed his shorts down and off. His red briefs, stuffed to capacity with his hard cock and heavy balls, were pushed down just enough to show the thick bush of his black pubes poking out of the top of the waistband. I know hot, ripped guys are supposed to be shaved, waxed, or whatever; but I like mine muscled and hairy. Ali hadn’t “manscaped” in many years. He did keep his beard trimmed close to his face and lined up nicely, but from the neck down he was a man in his primal state.

He knelt down for a moment to fish a small packet of lube from the pocket. He tried to step out of the shorts, but they caught on his sneakers. He stumbled against the dryer and his mouth moved like he was cursing. I leaned forward to put a hand to his shoulder to check that he was ok. He shrugged and smiled then held the lube up to show me he was not defeated. He kicked off the shorts and then shucked his underwear, his cock bouncing up and then down as if suddenly remembering how heavy it was.

“Emi,” he mouthed my name and pulled me to the edge of the washer top as he set the packet of lube beside me. He leaned in for a quick kiss as he reached under to pull at my briefs. He kissed down my neck and lingered around my left nipple as he fumbled to slide them down my thighs. They were too stretchy, the sheer material he liked me in, and they didn’t yield easily to his touch. He yanked at them angrily as his lips twisted my nipple. I reached down to help him. He got them down below my knees and then raised his foot to push them off me.

He raised my legs as his lips and tongue worked their way down my stomach. He has a little obsession with my belly button, but this time he just gave it a cursory pat of affection as he worked his way down to my hard, thumping cock. He never had much to do with it, but he would stroke it sometimes or kiss it. This time he kissed the tip and swirled his tongue around it twice, looking up at me with those eyes that said he was doing this just for me.

His lips moved on to my thighs. He spread my legs and kissed between them, licking that space just under my nuts. He rubbed his tongue, pressing hard, back and forth over that spot. It made my cock thump on its own and my eyes roll back.

“Ohhh,” I gasped and reached down to rub my hand over his freshly shaved head. He kept up the pressure, but let his tongue slide down to his prize, the pink hole that he loved. With my hand on his head, I could feel the vibrations as he hummed approval at my welcoming hole. He slid his tongue inside, knowing the path quite well.

He licked in circles slow enough to drive me crazy and have me whining for more. He didn’t need to do much to open me, he’d fucked me the night before. But he knew what I liked, knew his responsibility to give it to me. I only got a few moments of it though. He was in a rush and needed to bury his seed soon. I could tell by his mood. He had just brought his boy home to the house he had built for him. He wanted his reward and soon.

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4 thoughts on “Gay Adventures In The Middle East Pt 12

  1. JU says:

    I fully realize this story is meant to be adult gay porn, but I got caught up in the fictional characters and story line. So, I started doing some research, far more than the author did, and found far more interesting material and characters, customs, recruitment policies for this “region”. Fiction, maybe but based on a semblance of “reality”. So, thanks for peeking my curiosity.

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