The next time we met was in the Hamam, he was much heavier and I didn’t recognize him. We had very easy and successful sex. Today I realize that I know him when he wanted me to suck his nipples and hold his dick as in the Hamam. We parted friends and he asked for one euro towards his bus fare. Savas has mentioned a black rent man who is extremely good at his job and has many regular clients. He is also married, Savas tells me, adding, “Once a month the rent boys take a Viagra and do their duty by their wives.” His dick reminded me of very good upholstery, firm, resilient and perfectly covered. Black dicks like some Greek dicks seem to have an outer resilient layer over a rigid core.
November can be very beautiful, the first rains bring an early spring, it is still warm and the autumn sun floods the world with a golden pearly light. Sultan cleaned the house today; he spends all his time listening to Indian and Western pop on his earphones. He likes to watch Indian films; that bore me rigid and I have asked him to watch them during the day only. I have made him sit through some good films and he politely obliged me. Some are understandable to him but I find English films are very dependent on dialogue. American films are comprehensible regardless of merit or dialogue and Indian films are indistinguishable from one another.
He likes action movies but only if they are good. In Indian films, I get the impression that every part is played by one of three actors, the beautiful heroine, the middle age hero and the fat Aunty. All the films have the same story and are tolerable until they try to be funny or start dancing; unfortunately, this is most of the time. In rural India, such films must be an essential alternative reality. The fact that they are beautiful and predictable is essential. We had a similar situation in the nineteen thirties and forties from Hollywood.
Sultan tells me that he once fucked Manole; he indicated the size of his dick so it is probably true and he got paid. I am happy with Sultan and I don’t seem to be jealous but only concerned for his health. We seem to be happy exploring one another’s needs and the object seems to be, to make one anther happy. I have few sexual needs and Sultan is recognizing his own restrictions and fears. Christianity induces guilt but I have the feeling that Islam induces fear. But the inhibitions are social not sexual. Sultan has few reservations or inhibitions once sexually aroused. The fact that all his needs are passive even female does not seem to bother him. He is saving his dick for his wife.
November 20, 2010:
Last night, I saw on television some films about Paris dating from the early 20th century. How I love that era but of course at my age it comes under the heading, nostalgia. I recall the phrase “Nostalgia is not what it used to be” how very true. It is inconceivable to me that anything from the 1950s onwards will ever be nostalgic. Paris looked wonderful but Mistinguett looked like a French housewife in feathers. The young Maurice Chevalier always looked and sounded like a bad English comedian taking the piss out of the French. Josephine Baker was astonishing. I once saw her on television in the 1950s. I believe that only Paris could have given her the opportunity and assurance to be herself. The French are a very conservative race but there is a tradition of abandon in their night’s clubs, dating back to the ‘Belle Epoch’ and Toulouse Lautrec.
November 22, 2010:
Sultan’s passport has eventually arrived. We went and asked for it at the DHL office. They had not informed us of its arrival. His passport proved to be the necessary proof of his identity to accept it. Without any sign of embarrassment, he showed me his passport. It showed a young man with a mustache called Shahzad. I must admit that I approve of a fog of misinformation. When arrested on arrival he claimed that he was from Burma. I must say that Sultan suits him better, but I will get use to his real name.
If Shahzad wants sex or love he comes to my bed. If I ask him to join me the answer is usually ‘No’ but it only needs the slightest excuse for him to slip under my covers. The question ‘Are you awake?’ is usually enough. He climbs into my bed fully clothed; I think the pleasure for both of us is uncovering his smooth naked body. He always has an erection and remains lying face down.
Last night, he was very hard and active and by mutual accord I turned over and Shahzad put his arms round me and with my hand on his ass I pulled him deep inside. ‘Don’t move’ I whispered, sharing our power and accepted union. His urgency soon eased and we spent a very long time making love. He likes me to explore his prostate like a doctor making an extensive examination.
Shahzad often fucks me, we don’t use a condom, I wash immediately after, but I know he has not been fucked and I am confident that his circumcision helps to protect him from infection. The politics of Shahzad fucking me feels wrong to him because I am in a position of power and therefor respect, it is his job to offer his ass to me. Shahzad’s dick is thick and of a good size but has some scar tissue, the poor little sod’s circumcision probably went septic.
November 23, 2010:
Making love with Shahzad requires toys. He still wants to play and explore. In France, I saw a ‘But plug’ with a ball at its base. I have seen a small plastic butt plug; I will make him a toy by attaching it to a plastic ball. Then he can press his ass against me to his heart’s content. In time Shahzad promises to be a very satisfactory lover, there is something raw and uncomplicated about his naïve instincts and curiosity. He is not yet ready to assist me achieve an erection, but he reaches for my dick every time he feels the need to be entered. I am relieved not to have to take Viagra on the off chance that he might need a good fucking. I don’t want to suffer a Viagra headache or inconvenient erections after the event.
Shahzad gives me nice little glimpses of his life in Pakistan. He talks about the boys he loved and also about smoking Hashish in the buffalo house. It reminds me of my own childhood and the smell of hay in the cow house and the warm security of their complacent existence. That world came to a very abrupt end when eighteen cows were suddenly no longer enough to make a living in England and one hundred cows became necessary. Hay was superseded by silage and the cows spent the winters in a covered yard, not a cow house. All the smells of Nostalgia were gone forever. Hay and warm cows replaced by the smell of shit and silage. The cows now live in cold dank places where their breath turns to steam and makes a fog above their shivering bodies. Such is the price of progress.
Nashwan is now in Norway. He has a friend and they are going to Oslo to pick up one hundred euros I have sent. He has a lawyer and an allowance. Norway sounds very expensive and very cold, but as Nashwan would say ‘democratic’ he is now taken care of by the state.
England, December 10, 2010:
Before leaving I gave Shahzad three hundred euros and paid his rent in advance. England is dark, cold and depressing. We finished clearing the attic passing everything down from the mezzanine landing to avoid making any dust in Shirley’s house. I can watch television in the middle room but last night I unfortunately left my jacket on the floor and there was a scene and tears. There is a new series of ‘Merlin.’ I saw the first series in Greece. I said to Robert ‘I like Merlin, it reminds me of home’ ‘You mean like this place’ he said with some disgust. I don’t know if he was referring to the past or the present. Shirley is still incapable of stacking a dish washer and my brother must tidy the house and wash the floor before she returns from work. Pat the decorator still comes once a week to clean but there is nothing to do, beyond tidying and dusting.
I recall my brother, even at the end of mother’s life, telling her that she was a terrible house keeper and even the farm boy refused to ever take his empty mug to the sink and he also joined my brother in excluding mother from conversations with the words “We tell you, on a need to know bases only.” My brother and Shirley still lead separate lives in this big empty house. He can’t stand her taste in television programs. It feels very wrong that a house that was always a home is now unused. I suppose great civilizations have vanished under the wrong leader. Shirley is still living in denial that a farmhouse is a place of work but like Marie Antoinette; she has start
ed to play the rustic life. She is keeping chickens, but finds the eggs an imposition.
Greece December 25, 2010:
I have returned, it is Christmas day and we were invited to Penelope’s home for Christmas dinner. Shahzad wore my Versace jumper; this is the first time it has ever been worn, it being too expensive and exclusive. The son-in-law asked me, “What did Father Christmas bring you?” I answered “A pretty Paki”’.
I almost did not get back to Greece. A snow storm stopped all traffic, but some trains were managing to get through. Shirley eventually got me the relevant information from the internet and my brother took me to the railway station by tractor. A train did eventually arrive and I got to London. I could not face visiting Susan and her monologs, so I kept my presence a secret. Once on the train I sent her an SMS saying ‘Sorry Sue can’t come home, airports in England closed.’
Bonham’s are collecting everything once the roads are clear of snow. I spent every day packing treasures into boxes. Bonham’s have auction rooms all over the country and should know where different items are still in demand. The piano is not going. I sold one small Georgian settee to Paddy’s son for five hundred pounds. It is an early 20th century copy and the only thing that excited the valuer. It used to be a long settee and I removed the middle because short settees are more use and more saleable. I told Peregrine not to buy it, but he insisted. The cover, which came from Venice, cost 400 hundred pounds. The settee was once owned by some Princess and it cost me 1200 pounds.
January 5, 2011:
I am writing in the park. The winter sun is very beautiful; the sky has fleeting clouds and it is not cold. England is still gripped by snow storms and freezing temperatures. Last night during an intimate moment I told Shahzad that I loved him but it felt insincere. Telling Nashwan that I loved him sprang directly from my heart. Was it his appearance of extreme youth, the shape of his body or the sight of his dick and ass? It felt genuine, but it obviously meant nothing. I can happily plan to spend my life with Shahzad but the word love feels awkward and false. I can see how the emotions of love are deceptive and not necessarily true or wise. My heart aches for Nashwan and I am very concerned. The temperature in Norway is now minus 40 degrees I ache for him but still hope that he does not return.
January 10, 2010:
Shahzad seems to be happy that I am back. He has taken over the cooking but still goes out every night regardless of the weather. He is obsessed with beautiful boys but does nothing about it. Yesterday in the Hamam we were suddenly left alone and he stretched out on the floor with his legs invitingly apart. He is happy leaving me to explore and pleasure his body. He always moves his legs apart if I am anywhere near his ass. I soaped him all over then kneeling between his legs I took my weight on my hands and caressed his ass with my dick and balls. He spread his legs wider, then panting he pushed his ass up against my genitals and rotated and squirmed against my swelling dick as I pretended to fuck him. Suddenly he relaxed and after caressing his body I indicated that he could turn over. He turned his head towards me and smiling said, ‘Too late, I came’ so, my friend can orgasm from his ass alone.
Shahzad does not comprehend HIV so I insist that he always carries a condom, “If only to keep the shit off your dick.” He had two fucks in the park while I was in England. He believes that he is so strong and healthy that it is not possible for him to catch AIDS. I also suspect that he comes from a culture where it is believed where facts do not exist unless acknowledge.
It is raining a lot, so I visited Claire to borrow some DVDs but she was being particularly loud. She asked, ‘I hope my book by Kim Katrell is unharmed’ I replied, ‘Shahzad has not even looked at it’ and she announced ‘I am in no mood for smut.’ Confused, I remained silent so she continued, ‘This morning Panni insisted that I view the remains of a squashed cat.’
I didn’t get any DVDs but later when Claire’s house was full of men drinking and talking amongst themselves, I tried again. Claire was stamping around, shouting at the top of her voice and clapping her hands for attention. I recall this behavior while staying some year ago, whenever I became interested in a TV Program. I still didn’t manage to borrow a DVD.
January 12, 2011:
Last night Claire telephoned me with alarming news from Luke. She said, “It is common knowledge that you paid Mario 30,000 Greek Drachma for a fuck.” This is probably a ploy to gain my loyalty. She once told me that a, mutual friend, had told her that he felt, it was his duty to go to the police and report my activities in the Hamam. I answered, “I will ask him”, and she said, “No, don’t do that he will know who told you”, she then continued, “I will speak to him and explain that the rumors were all about the Greeks, not you.” I pretended gratitude the ‘mutual friend’ was very upset when I asked him about this and disgusted with Claire’s attempts to cause havoc.
Today Luke confronted Claire in front of me on a different matter, he said, ‘I am beginning to understand why men turn gay. Do you get any shit from your boyfriends?’ I answered with some show of dismay ‘No’ resisting the urge to say ‘only on my dick.’ Claire was mouthing and making signs of ‘Ignorant pig’ behind Luke’s back. I think this situation is because Claire won’t let him lick her ass, I think he should turn gay if he prefers the ass to the pussy.
Life is becoming unsure and I think it is time to make a will. I want to ensure some security for Shahzad and I do not want my sister-in-law to benefit from my life of investment and personal denial. I can’t see my brother lasting much longer in the circumstances, so Shirley will inherit everything and end up a very wealthy woman. She has no dependents to inherit our jointly acquired wealth and animal welfare will get the lot. My alternative to Shahzad is ‘Green Peace’. I believe that only the planet is of importance for the survival of mankind, not well meaning charities saving babies to die of starvation or over population, later.
January 15, 2011:
Shahzad has asked me for 350 euros to cover his share of family expenses because they are fighting a court case to be the legal owners of half of his grandfather’s estate. I gather that Shahzad’s father was a soldier and his brother farmed the land. The court cases have been going on for years. It occurs to me that court costs must be extortionate but if Shahzad is my partner I have no choice but to accept the responsibility of sharing his commitments, true or false. It seems to me to be a similar situation to my brother and me. I don’t think after my life of independence that he would be very happy if I tried to claim half his farm after he had worked without proper wages all his life. The difference being that my brother only owns the business, he rents the land.
Shahzad’s parents seem to be happy for their pretty son to live with an old man and ask for money. I gather that Shahzad was hopeless at home and his father preferred to pay somebody to do his work giving the buffalo its grass. I have detected no greed or dishonesty in Shahzad; he seems to be straight and trustworthy. He shows gratitude but only at a healthy level and he is considerate.
I asked Shahzad why boys keep leaving the east for Europe at such vast expense and he explained, ‘We can pay seven thousand euros back in ten years.’ He then talked about the lack of work, lack of future and a deep sense of hopelessness in Pakistan and he told me that only the Taliban gives boys any sense of hope and purpose.
I have long held the opinion that the dilemma of the modern world is a lack of identity and need of ‘a rite of passage’. Identity used to relate to family, religion and work but in the west, popular culture has eroded such values. People no longer have any sense of belonging nor seek purpose or understanding. Instead they pursue the cult of personality and hedonism and, the false values engendered by capitalism for profit. The message is made very clear “shopping is happiness” and “greed is good”
Last night, we watched one of Claire’s DVDs, the life of Gandhi. Shahzad gradually became very engrossed; he was over joyed to see a familiar landscape. I don’t know how Shahzad understood his own history as seen from a British p
oint of view, but he found Gandhi to be a very holy figure and was amazed and moved by Gandhi’s impartiality and achievements.
January 18, 2011:
This morning as usual I sat on Shahzad’s mattress and caressed his sleepy head running my hand down his lean angular body to his dick that looked huge under the blanket. Shahzad said, ‘Don’t touch me, ok’ for some reason it was the ‘Ok’ that hurt. Out of consideration I passed it off as a joke, kissed his forehead and smiling pulled the cover over his head. I can cope without sex but not the freedom to express my affection. He still believes that any sex is robbing him of his virility for marriage.
I seem to recall that I had similar fears in my teens and I even discovered the ‘tantric’ method of preventing ejaculation. Shahzad only seems to be happy about sex after spending hours in the park or watching ‘Sex and the City’. Love cured me of sexual fears when I was in the army. Loving Jose freed me from all sense of wasting my energy and I even questioned the validity of the law against homosexuality. I never resorted to denial about what is now called, ‘sexual preference.’ Honesty was always a fundamental part of my psyche.
January 19, 2010:
Shahzad is telling me about the reality of illegal immigration. He once told me about a very beautiful Afghan boy he found in Athens. The boy had no money and no languages so Shahzad took him to his agent (I don’t know if he meant Shahzad’s agent or the boys) and the agent grabbed the boy and pushed him into a room and locked the door. The agent said, “You pay or we kill you” Shahzad has explained how the agents are paid by bank transfer on arrival. He went on to tell me that they beat and even burn boys who have not been paid for.
The Hamam Diaries Continued Page 25