It might seem rather odd to some, but there is no denying that exotic locales often lead to exotic encounters. I wasn't thinking this when I booked a flight to Cairo of course; I'm an archaeologist, not an anthropologist, so the closest I've been to studying a living specimen of humanity was in biology class in Tenth Grade. Sure, I've had my various lovers, but they were hardly exotic.
My guide to the dig spoke heavily-accented English, but he had a smile that would light up Manhattan, full of strong white teeth which contrasted pleasantly with his sunbaked skin. I'm no novice when it comes to camels, and I think he was impressed when I didn't need his help. He didn't look Egyptian, more Bedouin than anything else, but it was difficult to see anything of him other than his smile, shrouded as he was in flowing robes.
"But such pretty skin will bake in the sun, must cover," he said, gesturing to my naked arms and legs. I gathered that he thought I would get burnt, and while I'm no stranger to the sun, he made clear with his charming patois that it would be far better to cover up than to regret it later. Holding his finger up in the universal "one moment" sign, he disappeared into a building, returning a few moments later with a robe and loose cotton pants to match. He must have expected me to need them.
The expression is "going native," and as we bobbed our way out of the city limits, it was hard to tell which of us was which. Certainly not flattering attire, but I'm a gal of limited needs. Most of the time my clothing is covered in dust; oh, not from ancient tombs though, but from ancient books. I practically live in the library, which is why I found being in the field so exhilarating.
As the sun rose high, nearing its zenith, my guide halted our procession at a cluster of scrub-like trees around a muddy hole. The myth of the oasis contrasted with harsh reality in my mind, and I almost laughed. But there was shade here, and in the heat of the day I was glad of it.
"When it cools, we move," said my guide, then he sprawled under the largest tree and for the first time pulled the cloth from his head. He was younger than I had expected, with short black hair which showed a hint of curl, and eyes which sparkled when he smiled. I suddenly found myself wishing I spoke Arabic, not just because I was feeling that typical American guilt when confronted with the bilingual. I wanted to communicate, and for the first time I realized what those who study the living must experience all the time.
I hesitated, not wanting to impose, but he beckoned me over with one hand while pulling out a water skin and a bundle from some secret pocket with the other. I was more than happy to oblige, and he smiled again, which made me smile. We sat there, both smiling at each other like idiots, me thinking about how beautiful his dark skin was and he thinking God knows what. Finally he laughed and broke the spell, and we sat together in the shade, eating a simple meal of bread and water and not saying a word.
At length, I felt I couldn't go on without an introduction, so I placed my hand on my chest and said, "I'm Nina," and instantly felt incredibly stupid. He smiled and mimicked my movements, saying, "I am Sallah ibn Omar ibn Ibrahim."
"Can I call you Sallah? I'm not sure I can remember the whole thing."
He laughed. I was really falling for his laugh; it was better than his smile. "Yes, Sallah to my friends," he said. "I forget with Americans how formal I am."
Without thinking, I started to pull off the robe, which was growing rather hot. Then I remembered. "You.. you don't mind if I take off my robe?" I asked.
"In my grandfather's tent, daughters who dressed as you would be beaten," he said sternly, and my heart sank to think that I had offended him. Then he grinned. "But I am not my grandfather. My family says I have been too long with Western people. I dream to go to England one day."
Considerably cooler without the robe and pantaloons, I returned to my seat at his side. "Not America?" I asked.
"If all American women as as beautiful as you, I may change my mind," he said with a smile. I blushed, feeling strangely comfortable with his flattery all the same.
"Most are much prettier," I said.
"Now this I cannot believe," he objected. "You are beautiful even at a distance, but how many American women can ride a camel with such skill. You must have our blood in your veins."
I giggled. "You're right about the camel," I allowed, "but this is my first trip to the desert. I know camels from home; my father worked in a zoo."
"A desert blossom may only bloom in the desert," Sallah said with a tone that suggested he was quoting some ancient wisdom. "So you are more beautiful here than anywhere else maybe."
It doesn't take much of this sort of thing to get me weak at the knees, and I was blushing red enough to be any flower you can name. "You're quite the looker yourself," I said by way of deflection, but also because I meant it. The smile alone would have made me notice him, and now that his robes weren't flowing in the wind, I could see his muscular body was no slouch in the looks department either.
"Ah, but not like American men in the magazines I have seen," he said with a wave of his hand and a smile. "The desert makes you lovely, but it bakes and burns me so I grow old before my time. It is the way of things."
"You're better looking than any American man I've run into," I said, not knowing exactly what I was doing.
He smiled. "You think this? You see, the desert is in you after all."
Our bodies were getting closer and closer together as I was drawn toward him. Our faces were nearly touching. Finally I realized what I was doing and almost pulled away, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. "Sallah, you need to kiss me," I said, the matter-of-factness startling the rational part of my mind.
"Americans, so forward," he laughed, but his eyes stayed locked with mine and he didn't move away. Then he kissed me. His lips were warm and much softer than I expected, and while he made no move to change the kiss, he didn't seem to mind when my tongue snaked into his mouth. Like I said, I'm no student of culture, but if it alarmed him when I began to press my body against his, he never said so.
We broke the kiss with a gasp. "A desert princess you may be, but you are American still," he smiled. "It is hard to say which makes you more beautiful to me." We kissed again, with more passion this time, and it thrilled me when he twined his tongue against mine.
When we came up for air again, I was lost in him. "You are the sexiest man alive," I said, with no hint of hyperbole.
He was becoming less and less controlled as I gazed into his eyes. "You are more lovely than the finest silks, more desirable than... I must have you. You wish it too I hope?"
I didn't have to say a word. We kissed again, and this time his hands were all over my body, their roughness driving me wild. I in turn was franticly trying to reach my hands into his robes, and when I finally succeeded, his skin was smooth as fine leather, almost as if the sand had shined it rather than wearing it rough.
His hands, skillful and strong, pulled my shirt over my head quickly but with a gentleness I had never felt before. Even in the depths of passion, he seemed a perfect gentleman. Then he gazed down at my breasts, which looked almost white against his hands. "It is more than I imagined," he said, enraptured. For my part, the touch of his fingers on the underside of my breasts made me shiver. Then I shivered even harder as his mouth closed around my left nipple, those soft warm lips pressing softly against my skin, which was burning hotter than the sun above.
I did not feel shy in front of him as he gently lay me on the ground and began unbuttoning my shorts. I felt like a wanton, lying there willingly letting this man I barely knew gaze down at my body like it was the only thing in the world to him. But I made no attempt to cover myself, even as he pulled my shorts and panties from me in one swift motion. I even spread my legs slightly as he gazed now at my naked pubis, giving him a better view.
"Now we see the real desert bloom," he said with a smile. "It is more radiant than any other." He reached down and stroked the swollen lips with those strong firm hands and I melted. I could feel him spreading my open and then massaging my opening, but I couldn't see it because my eyes were filled with stars. At length he pushed a finger into me, causing me to writhe on the ground like a snake. The soil beneath me was soft, not sandy at all, and cool from the shade.
Just as I thought I could take no more, his hands withdrew from between my legs and I felt him kissing me again, his breath hot like a sandstorm on my cheeks. He had me completely at his mercy, like no man had ever before him. When I finally opened my eyes and saw him over me, we gazed at each other for a moment, just drinking in the sensations.
Then, faster than I thought possible, his robes were over his head and he was naked above me. His body, hard and muscular yet somehow soft to the touch, was only slightly paler than his face. And his hardened cock drooped below his hips, bobbing against my skin as he kissed me again.
It was only after he had positioned himself between my legs that I realized just how large he was, and wondered rather absently if it would hurt much. He took my hips in his hands, pulled my pelvis up, making me squeal, and then in a rush penetrated me. There was nothing timid about his cock inside me, and he never stopped his invasion until I felt like I would be pulled apart and I screamed. The sound carried across the desert but no one was there to hear it as he halted, how deep inside me I don't know, and lowered my buttocks back to the earth, leaning forward to kiss me. "You are tight as a virgin," he whispered softly into my ear, and his smile made all my pain disappear. "I must be slower with you than the stallion with the filly."
So saying he slowly began to apply pressure downward with his hips, driving his cock ever deeper. I was panting by this time, my mind swimming through a sea of pleasure. It was his skill, more than his size, that pushed me over the edge, and as he bottomed out inside me I wailed as a fierce orgasm rushed through me. His hands were on my breasts and he was calming me, saying sweet nothings into my ear as I arched my back and my vaginal walls spasmed under his pressure and mine.
When I had quieted somewhat he began working up a rhythm, starting softly, then more and more firmly as he began to press himself in and out of my now-widened entrance. He had my hips firmly in his grasp again, and each time he pressed against my cervix I spasmed with delight. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of pleasure, he slowed. "You are used to me now I think," he said with that same beautiful smile, then he withdrew his hardness from my hole, much to my disappointment. "I must make myself again new to you, or I shall not see again that beautiful fury that consumes you."
He helped me to my hands and knees and then got behind my hips and made ready to mount me again. This was new for me indeed, since I'd never been taken from behind before. As I said, not many exotic lovers. And as he again slipped into me, I could feel what I had been missing. As the steel-hard head of his cock pressed up and in, I felt my arousal grow quickly to a crescendo. Each time his pelvis pressed against my thighs, his dark hair tickled my tender clit, pushing me closer and closer to the edge each time.
He slowed again. "I am close," he said. "Give me a moment to regain myself, and then I shall be ready."
"I'm close too, and I want you inside me," I said with a passion I had never before felt. It was true; I had never had a man spend himself inside me and that was all I wanted now.
He said something in a foreign tongue which sounded like disbelief. "You are perfect," he finished finally. "This must be only a dream, but if it is, then let us both enjoy it." He began to grunt with exertion as he again pressed himself deeper and deeper, pressing against my clit and cervix at the same time, until finally I began a slow, mounting orgasm which was unlike any I'd had before. When my feminine muscles tightened the first time, he gave one last push, deeper than all the others, and came as well.
His cock inside me was liquid fire, and as he emptied himself into my womb, each splash and spasm took me higher and higher until I was soaring on the winds. We were both gasping, the desert around us forgotten, nothing remaining of the world except my vaginal walls wrapped around his pulsating hardness. After he spurted what felt like a pint of jism deep inside me, he finally stopped and began to soften even as I slowly spiraled downward from the sky, until we both lay on the ground, covered in sweat, his now soft cock wet with my female liquids, my stretched opening dripping with his sperm. We dozed off like that, the hot breeze seeming cold, our backs pressed into the earth.
When I awoke, Sallah was already clothed, and I found that I was covered in my robe. It was evening, and the sky was just beginning to show hints of darkness. "We have stayed too long I think," said Sallah, his smile saying all that needed to be said.
"Why, what's wrong?" I asked hoarsely, my throat parched.
"We shall never make your camp by night," he said, gazing out over the horizon. "And the desert is no place to travel by the moon. Perhaps we could make the next oasis, perhaps not."
"Can we stay here?"
"Ah, this is what I was about to propose. We can make a small fire, and I have carried a tent for such occasions. It gets very cold at night, just as it is hot in the daytime."
"Did you bring two tents?" I asked him mischievously.
He grinned, and I wanted to bend over and take him again right then. "Foolish me, I think there is only one. I could sleep by my camel of course, so you could..."
He had to stop talking because his lips were covered by mine. "Who needs a fire," I said when I finally released him and hurried to put on my robe and pantaloons. From the looks of things, I wouldn't be needing my other clothes until morning. At least.