Open Sesame

By: Hank Horne
(© 2018 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

HHorne@tickiestories.us

Some forty years ago, I met a man who would become my BFF, Ron Nelson. We had so many common interests that it was impossible not to become close. Ron wrote wrestling stories which he gave to me to read. I got wrapped up in his stories and suggested that he send them to ‘Tickiestories.us.’ Over the years that Ron wrote for ‘Tickie Stories’, he would send them to me for editing, and he encouraged me to write something myself. I sent the first draft of this story to Ron to read and comment on – not knowing he was as sick as, apparently, he was. We lost him on 22 January of this year, 2018. I loved him dearly and miss him every day.

It is Ron Nelson, my best friend forever, to whom I dedicate this story.

Henri Horné

Chapter 1

It’s been nearly five years since I went to work at Global News Network (GNN) as a photographer and part-time reporter. I’ve been just about everywhere on all the continents on short-term stories; staying in one location for maybe a month or so, then getting reassigned somewhere else or back home to DC for six months. I’ve learned most of the languages native to the places where I’ve been, both from audio study guides and making friends with the natives. I have a good ear for accents, slight differences in the way different groups pronounce the same word and can identify hundreds of regions and their patois.

My name is Grant Richards; I was born in Baltimore, MD, but my family moved to the DC area when I was four years old. I started in the DC school system, but we moved to Montgomery County, MD, when I started Middle School. I graduated from the University of Maryland, with a degree in Broadcast Journalism, and a minor in Foreign Languages. In high school, I took Spanish and French as electives. Then added German in my freshman year of college, and Russian in my Sophomore year, Italian and Greek in my Junior year, then Japanese and Mandarin Chinese my Senior Year. The Arabic didn’t come along until I was being prepped for this assignment in Bagdad. I carried a CD player with me everywhere to learn how to speak and understand the language.

Fortunately (perhaps), I don’t have wife or kids to keep me tied to my home in Chevy Chase. Just a house that I grew up in and inherited from my parents. I have someone who looks after everything for me and we Skype at least once a week when I’m out of town.

The most recent overseas assignment was in the Mid-East. The network set me up in Bagdad, giving me a local cinematographer/interpreter to help me become acclimated to the situation there and make it easier for me to be accepted by the locals. Majid speaks English beautifully with only a slight Arab accent. I picked up on his command of the major dialects used in the area and soon was conversing easily with him in his dialect of Arabic.

At this point I’ve got to tell you more about Majid. Thirty-two years old, five-ten of solid, ripped muscle, with sparkling brown eyes and a killer smile showing a perfect set of teeth. It was all I could do not to pop an embarrassing woodie when I saw him at the airport holding a card with my name on it. As we shook hands and performed the ceremonial embrace, I was sure he could feel my excitement press against him and I was shocked to feel what I thought was the barrel of a gun against my leg. The look in his eyes said worlds to me, and my “gaydar” sounded the full-alert pings.

Majid introduced me to the Security Forces and helped me get through all the procedures a lot faster than I expected. He told me my rudimentary Arabic didn’t hurt either because it showed my respect for their language. We hauled my gear out to his SUV and headed for the Rimal Hotel used by some of the foreign press corps. After the long flight, I wanted a hot shower and some food. Maji (as I came to call him) offered to get us something to eat and drink while I was taking care of the other needs.

{I just wished I could get something more refreshing and relaxing than what was available in Bagdad. Oh well, I knew what I was getting into, so as Ray Charles sang: That’s Life!}

Maji returned to the room with sandwiches and Cokes (not like back home, though) just as I was getting out of the shower. I walked into the bedroom as he walked through the door. He stopped as he closed the room door, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. He was obviously flustered by my semi-nudity as he apologized profusely, mixing his Arabic and English to get his words out.

“I’m sorry, Majid, if I’ve embarrassed you, and I deeply apologize. I should have been more respectful of your beliefs — but I really didn’t expect you back this soon.”

“Oh, no, don’t apologize. And I was not embarrassed. I’ve just never seen so perfect a body on such a handsome man up close. And to think I’ll be working close to you every day. I am truly humbled,” he replied.

While chuckling, I said, “There’s nothing for you to be humbled about. I have a feeling that under those clothes is a hot body also. And I know you’re packing an impressive weapon down your left leg.”

Maji’s face turned red under his dark skin, and now he really was embarrassed.

I walked over to him, put my hands on both shoulders, and looking him in the eyes told him, “I think we are going to become very close, like brothers maybe. I’d like that because I never had any. Let me get dressed and we’ll eat. I’m starved, and this looks great!”

* * * * *

Maji invited me to have dinner that evening with his family. The gesture made me feel more comfortable in becoming acclimated to the culture since I would be with people who were friendly with Americans and (hopefully) forgive any faux pas I might make. He still lived with his parents since the girl he was engaged to was killed in a rebel raid and he was still mourning her death. His brothers, sisters, their spouses and children were all there to meet me. It seemed that I would have a ready, local family of my own while on assignment in the Middle East. They were all very welcoming, and I was impressed with their command of the English language. I did get a chance to pick up on their Arabic and they enjoyed when I would insert a comment or ask a question in Arabic. At first there was some giggles from the children when I said something, but everyone was understanding.

Maji drove me back to the hotel and said he’d meet me for breakfast the next morning. Afterward we would go to the GNN office and meet the local staff, then take a tour of the city.

* * * * *

Over the next week, Maji drove the Bureau Chief and me around to all the important sites in Iraq. He introduced us to all the Military Brass, both Iraqi and foreign Commanders. These would become some very important people for us to get to know because they would be the ones to speak to the world, giving authenticity to my stories and Maji’s videos.

Each morning Maji would bring the company SUV around to the hotel and we’d have breakfast together, usually with our sound-technician, Jennine Beaumont, and some of the other news crews staying there. Maji, Jennine and I would usually sit together, putting Maji and me next to each other. All it would take was for Maji to rub his leg up against mine to get my nipples to come to full attention. I was always afraid that someone would notice our interaction, however subtle, but apparently none ever did. We would all get caught up on what happened overnight and what was to be expected that day. Then everyone would take off to get their own assignments from their producers. Jeannine, Maji and I would pick up our producer, Jeff Witherspoon, at the office and head out for the day’s adventure. It was only on quiet weekends that Maji and I would have any real private time together.

We would visit some of his friends and family in small towns some distance from Bagdad. It was those times when we could share a room, and really be comfortable together, exploring what was forbidden in a Muslim world. One of those weekends, we went up into the hills near the Iranian border to visit some of his Kurdish family in Halabjah. I had no previous instruction in the Kurdish language, but Maji reassured me that would not be a problem. Listen carefully and I should pick it up before the weekend was over.

We left Bagdad early and had lunch with his cousins. He wanted to head out to the northeast, toward the Iranian border. I was a bit nervous about being off the beaten path, but he said he grew up wandering all over these hills. He said there was one place he particularly wanted to show me – a hiking trail that stopped at a hundred-foot cliff.

We parked the SUV about a hundred yards from the cliff and went the rest of the way on foot. Maji was extremely attentive about helping me over the rough spots by holding my hand tightly and making sure I kept my balance. Or so he said .... I wanted to hold his hand too. We got to the base of the cliff where there was a six-foot-wide space between two sides of the mountain. It ran about fifty yards down and ended where the two sides of the hill came together again. We got about half way to the end when Maji abruptly turned, pushed me up against the cliffside and laid an incredibly hot, deep kiss on me, forcing my mouth open to accept his tongue and begging for mine in return. His hot tongue was not the only thing I felt invading my space. The barrel of his personal hot-rod was pressing against his shorts and rubbing up against my own one-armed-bandit.

“Grant, this is the only place I know of where we can be ourselves. Anywhere else there are ears listening to everything. Every little sound can be heard in the next room, and there are always people who would tell on us if they could prove anything.”

“Maji, we’ll just have to always be careful. Even now someone may be sneaking up on us. I want you as much as you want me. But we should be extremely cautious. No intimate suggestions anywhere except when we’re secluded.”

“Grant, I want you in me – now!”

“I want it too, but are we safe even here?”

“There’s a place over on that side that you can keep watch while you take care of my present need.”

“We’re in this together, Maji. Que sera sera!”

I crossed to the other side of the path as though I were going to take a leak, unzipped, and Maji came over, took my engorged member in his hand, knelt and began a trip to oblivion for both of us. He ran his tongue around the corona and across the salivating tip. Slowly he worked his way down with his tongue, and back up to the head. Then he took the head in his mouth and worked his way to the base of my obelisk. He pulled back until just the head was in his mouth, and again went all the way to the short-hairs. I caught my breath as he started pumping the full length each time. I was so caught up in the moment I was gasping for breath.

“Get ready, man. You’re about to get a month’s supply.”

“M-m-m-m-m-m,” Maji replied, and began pumping as though he were starving.

My knees gave way with me and I collapsed on the ground. When I opened my eyes, Maji was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

“What’s that song in your country,” he asked, “that says ‘Mmmm, good’?”

“It’s a soup commercial. Maybe, cream of something soup? Let me know when you’re ready for me to reciprocate.”

“It’ll be a while. I shot my wad when you did.”

“And I was expecting some of that soup too,” I pouted.

We both laughed, then stood up.

“We’d better get back to the SUV. It might draw too much suspicion if someone passed by.”

The SUV was just as we left it, so we turned around and headed down the mountain, and back to Halabjah. Maji’s Aunt Fadila prepared an outstanding Kurdish meal for us, and we had a most enjoyable visit with the family that evening. We had taken camping gear, so we put our sleeping bags in his cousin Dildar’s bedroom; we flatly refused to take the bed and inconvenience him.

Maji and I stripped to our boxers then crawled into the bags. Dildar came in just as Maji was getting in his. The kid stopped and stared at his cousin.

“What?” Maji asked.

“When did you get so muscular?” his cousin questioned.

“I work out a few days each week.”

“Do you do bodybuilding contests?”

“No way! This is all natural,” Maji replied as he flexed both biceps. “I would never do any of those steroids that professional bodybuilders do. You want to see a build, get Grant to flex for you sometime.”

“Would you, Grant?”

“I’m in bed. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Oh,” the boy said, disappointed.

“Come on, Grant. Flex’em for us,” Maji cajoled.

“Nah. I’m tired. I had a lot taken out of me today.”

Maji nearly choked with that remark. He reached over and pulled the bag off me and started a tickling session which made me fight back.

“Alright! Alright, already! I’ll flex for you!” Then I grabbed Maji in a headlock and flexed as I tightened the hold. Dildar laughed at us.

“You two really are good with each other,” he commented.

“When you work very closely with someone every day, it’s almost like living together, and you become very fond of that person when they’re as likeable as Majid.”

“Yeah, he’s really a good man. He’s always been fun to be around.”

“It’s late, Dil. Get in bed. We’ve had a long day, even if all you’ve done is nosing around the city. Sleep well, little cousin.”

“Good night, Dildar.”

“Rest well, you two. I’m glad you didn’t want the bed to sleep together!” he snickered.

Maji sat up immediately. “What do you mean by that?”

“Dildar, if we had wanted to sleep together we would have put the sleeping bags together so it would be a lot easier than this way,” I replied. “So go back to your own deviated fantasy.”

Maji looked at me and laughed. “Yeah! Dream on!”

Dildar put his sleep shirt on and crawled in bed. A few minutes later Maji and I heard the slight movement of the bed, as if it were being rocked. We looked at each other and smiled knowingly.

“Something warm and wet is a lot more satisfying than a dry hand,” Maji said aloud. “I can just imagine if Jeannine was here, she’d first wrap her hot mouth around me and get me worked up for a more pleasing out – come. Oh well, we’ll be back in Bagdad tomorrow and I’ll see my little girl.”

I could see Maji’s face as he rolled his eyes.

“You deposit anything in that sleeping bag and you’re cleaning it up yourself – even if you have to lick it up.”

“I’ll shoot it over on your bag, then!”

“Only if you want to lose those gonads that produced it.”

We both were laughing by that time, and Dildar was looking at us with his mouth agape.

“Dil, go ahead and jack off. Neither of us cares if you do,” Maji said. “Then go to sleep!”

So – the kid did just that.

Sunday morning, we had a delicious breakfast with the family and packed up to go back to Bagdad. Before we left, Maji and Dildar got into a wrestling match and Maji turned his little cousin every way but loose. They had an enjoyable time together, and Maji promised we would come back to visit again soon.

To be continued...

Posted: 08/10/18