The more fluids for God the better, hey?Ī whiff of wind rustled me out of my reverie. A pitty we hadn't met on the mountains, we could have had a lot of fun up there. The Golden Disc was about to set when at the foot of the mountain I came across a little raggedy boy herding his goats, throwing pebbles at them, and hissing the animals back on the track. I slowly wandered off down the slopes with the sun gluiing on my back. Allah too, was proud of me, I could feel it. My semen mixed with the lewd hot air and I felt proud. And how I shot, almost ripping my flesh to pieces moaning and sighing, smiling in extasy at Deus Himself.
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For Allah and all his great prophets to see and hear what it means to have a love forsaken body full of lust and burning fire. I was going to swing it off for Baal-Moloch and Ra, for Zeus and Ganeymede. I rose and called for Lord Shiva, Bacchus, Osiris and Eros. My fingers aroused every slumbering fiber of supressed libido in me. I smeared a big clot up and down the shaft making it glisten and glow like a crystaline totem. It wasn't the first nor the last time that they had tried to get me laid. I reached for a pot of vaseline which only recently I had been keeping with me for out-of-the-blue-encounters with depraved youngsters. Crouching on top of the delapidated wall I caressed myself and rubbed my scrotum and penis real well. I am a child of the Sun, I thought and I will worship you right now.
I faced the sun now, chin up inhaling the air deeply. The wind licked my body and bore its breath through the tiniest of pores. I moved on and came upon a sort of ruin or dismanteled kind of house made of heavy limestones.I walked around around the circular wall. I found goat shit trails, so maybe I had to meet a herdsboy. About four migs- forgive me for my ignorance, they could have been F-14's as well. That's why I kept my straw hat in front of my lordship for a couple of minutes. I admit that for a minute I feared reprisals and that the heli might land and bust my arse. Were they really Pakistanis or were they Heaven sent to salute me, to honour my male divinity here in the Garden of Eden? Maybe they got a hard-on seeing this 'roumi' dashing over the grass like a pink bunny searching for a hole. How I wondered if they had seen this speck of male unashamed nudity. Migs !! Then a police helicopter roaring over my head. All of a sudden I heard a deafening sound coming through the solid blue sky. I figured not any of them would get it into their head to climb that high to stalk on me. Well, down below there were still a few lake visitors. I was now a streaker wasn't I? I couldn't I have cared less. My yellow shorts and finally the little piece of cloth over my private parts vanished in my red little rucksak. When I reached the the top of that mountain I undressed again. So I decided to get dressed again and climb a little higher. Maybe he was just curious for that body lying on a a bench or plain simply wanting to be by himself as well. Opposite my little bench and picnic table I saw a Pakistani young man lurking from afar. Surely,the daytrippers would not be around. Sunbasking on a Sunday in a tanga thinking that nobody would come near me. God! Last monday I was at Hanna lake in Quetta climbing one of the mountains surrounding the lake. Fifteen months of cultural alienation is not something easy at all. Nu nudity, not eventhinking of wearing a pair of shorts. Continuous denial of your own culture as locals want you to dress like they do. Weary of traveling and the price one pays for it. Fortunately I had found myself a spot without any onlookers and away from religious zeal and social pressure. Sitting here almost naked I must have been the sacrilege in person in what Ziarat actually meant: A Holy place. Now chest naked and bare legged with just my underwear I could lay back and dream of a horny Muslem prince or a Mujahedin warrior. My sneakers and shirt smelling with perspiration ended up in the grass. Sitting here in one of the last Juniper reserves I enjoyed every second I was breathing. Ziarat- meaning also holy place- had adopted me a refugee- of-pollution with open arms. I was tired of civilised life, of car exhausts and "hello, where are you from?" My escape from Quetta had proved to be a good choice. I sat there on a hillock overlooking the magnificent valley overgrown with strange yellow flowers irridiscent in the sunrays.