๐Ÿ“˜ The Life of Giving (Part 8)

Nov 11, 2019 | 0 comments

After a weird sort of a breakup with Samer and even wieder oral sex with Hassan immediately after my break up, I’ve decided to be alone for a while. I figured it would be best for me to actually decide what to do when there is no pressure to do anything. But the pressure was there, some pressure came from Hassan who was really impatient to see me again; other sorts of pressure were mostly self imposed. The only place no pressure came from was from Samer.

But, let me rewind this story a little bit, just so you can understand what happened after the blowjob with Hassan, and what followed.

So here I am, in bed with a guy who I like. But although the sex was amazing and my orgasm was actually there for a change, this situation had a weird problem: I just wasn’t that much into Hassan. It all felt like an act. Sure, everything he did was actually a part of something that I wanted. He was in charge, rough but fair. He went the extra mile with the robes. He even cared for how I feel during sex. And even afterwards, he talked to me like a normal person.
The problem is, it was a role he was playing. He wants me and he knows exactly the stuff that Samer didn’t do and I wanted to experience. So he created this situation where my dream gets lived through in real life. However, the dynamics of the relationship between the two of us were off because of it. As far as I liked Hassan, Samer was the one I wanted all of this to experience with. And he is actually the guy who makes it all hot for me.

๐Ÿ’ต DO YOU WANT A SUGAR DADDY OR A SUGAR BABY?

I’ve collected my clothes off the floor and quickly put them on me as Hassan showered. It was a walk of shame as I, looking thoroughly messy, exited his apartment in silence and without even saying goodbye. Not my proudest moment, repaying his kindness by acting like an asshole.
As soon as I was out of his home, I rushed back to mine. Coming in the apartment was an emotional moment and I didn’t know what to expect. Would Samer still be there? Could we maybe still talk about everything and find a solution? This whole marriage bullshit couldn’t be real.
But, it was even worse than I thought. Entering our living room/bedroom I quickly realized that he indeed was gone, his stuff was gone too. The only thing belonging to him that was still there was his t-shirt that he usually worn to bed and seemingly forgot under the pilllow.
I felt dizzy from it all. I mean I know what I told him, and that it was to expect of a man like him to actually stand behind his words. But still… Loving him and missing him were the only feelings that I could feel. The more I missed him – the more I loved him, and the more I loved him – the more I missed him. I sat on the bed where he slept and took his t-shirt from under the pillow. His t-shirt was so soft. I smelled it just to feel his presence one more time. It’s all I had left of him. While enyering the kitchen to get me some water, I could see an envelope on the kitchen table. It had my name written in Arabic alphabet. I opened the envelope and was shocked to find approximately 1500 Euros and a letter that said:

“This is the money for rent. I lived here with you for months and it is important for me to repay your generosity and not use it endlessly. I hope you understand why it ended like this. Take care.”

I never wanted him to pay the rent. The only thing I wanted is for us to live together, like a couple. In good and in bad times. It saddened me even more that he felt the need to pay for anything. This was never, ever, an issue.
That night I’ve spent in his bed, hugging his pillow and smelling his shirt.

The next day I’ve decided to turn my phone on again only to find a shitload of messages and notifications from Hassan. It is bitchy to say, but I really couldn’t care less. I know many of you have thought that I am a hero in this story, but sorry to disappoint you – I am just a regular person who sometimes does good and sometimes very shitty things. It is clear to me that ignoring Hassan wasn’t nice, but it is what it is. The only person I wanted to get a notification from was the only person I didn’t get it from: Samer.
Even my parents tried calling me a couple of times, but Samer didn’t.

The next day I’ve decided that I’m going to call him and just talk about anything with him. I needed to hear his voice again. He didn’t pick up the phone.

Another day has passed and I’ve sent him a message now as well, asking him something silly like how he’s doing and so on. Still, no answer.

So let’s just jump back to the moment when I began the retrospective of the few days in between. It’s the moment when I decided to be alone for a while. And it’s the moment when fate has again decided to take the wheel and complicate things.

I was in the shopping mall later that day, just got a haircut and decided to get to the grocery store at the -1 floor. While waiting for the elevator, I sense a familiar presence, a feeling like I’m being watched and observed. I raise my head and I see Samer standing 50 meters away from me, obviously weirdly surprised to see me. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was accompanied by an older stranger. Judging by the fact that he went away to marry someone’s daughter, I instantly realized it was probably that man’s daughter too. I panicked for a moment and felt really ashamed of myself for even being there in that moment. It felt like I’m ruining this for him. But then I snapped out of it, gave him a look, turned around and walked away.

As I was walking away I noticed him walking behind me, on a safe distance, looking at his phone. I turned right to the toilet and went inside a stall. Soon, I hear steps in the toilet and I am the only one here with closed, unlocked, doors. After a couple of seconds that seemed like an eternity, the doors of my stall open and there he is, Samer, still the most beautiful, most damn sexy guy I have ever met. He paused for a moment and then rushed in the stall locking the doors behind him. All of a sudden he is taking my shirt off and kissing my body, touching me, grabbing my chest. I feel his breathes as he secretly smells my skin while kissing my chest area. I feel the warmth of his body. Oh damn Samer how I missed you and your manly touch, I was thinking to myself. He starts biting my ear as I feel his hand going gently into my pants and underwear. I grab his hand and stop him. Whispering, I tell him to stop confusing me. He just fights my hand away as it is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard and pushes his hand deeper in, with his fingers grabbing my ass cheeks and subsequently touching my hole. As he pushes himself closer on to me, he forces his finger in my dry hole, making me quietly squeek in discomfort. Going deeper with his finger the discomfort turns into a kinky pleasure as I look him in the eyes while he is fingerfucking me.

“You’re still mine down there, I feel you’re still my whore…” – he whispered to me with the hottest self assured smile on his face.
I confirmingly nodded to him and as I did that, he pulls his finger out of my ass and puts it in my mouth to lick it and put it back in my ass again.
With him, the less words said, the better the sex was. Samer is a man. He is a real man; his touch and how he manages to guide me from discomfort all the way to extreme pleasure is one of a kind.

“Please come back home.” – I blurted out while he had his fingers deep in me.
Almost instantly he pushes me away, turns around and starts unlocking the stall doors in order to leave.
“I am sorr…” – as I attempted to apologize for my words he turned around and spat on me forcefully.
“Fucking faggot.” – he said as he angrily left the stall and closed the doors in front of my face.
“Please, stop!” – I desperately begged him as he was leaving.
“I need to talk to you…” – I almost whispered as Samer was stopping and turning around.
“What?! Speak!” – he yelled at me at the same moment when a disgruntled person entered the toilet and looked at the both of us in shock.
“Not… Here… Obviously.” – I rolled my eyes in the direction of the guy who just came in.
“I will see you at 8pm and we will talk.” – he said and left the toilet.
A guy that came in looked at me, still confused about this situation.
“Did this guy just try to rob you or something? Should we get the security?” – the guy asked.
“No, thanks, it’s fine, don’t worry, I know the guy.” – I answered and turned around. I could feel his judgment as I walked away, and it didn’t really matter what was it about. It was either about me being friends with a refugee guy or about me being gay. While walking home, I was thinking of how all of this reminded about the fact that in spite of me being different and my friends being different, I still lived in a community that, much as Samer, still couldn’t really understand and tolerate anything or anyone different than the mainstream “normal” stuff. My community was just being less brainwashing or aggressive about it than the one whom Samer grew up with.

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