📘 Ten Days in Tunisia: Part One – Sousse

Oct 22, 2021 | 10 comments

Based on true events.

It had been four long months in the French Alps. I was working for a tour operator in a ski resort during winter. I hadn’t seen or felt a Muslim cock in all that time. I had a confidante named Jean-Pierre and we shared the same passion, the same addiction: Muslim cock. I was being posted to Spain for the summer but, before I went, I had ten days’ holiday. I needed Islamic cocks and Jean-Pierre told me the place to go was Tunisia. With my blonde hair and smooth body, he said I couldn’t fail; it sounded like the perfect idea.

I landed at Sousse airport in early April on a warm, sunny afternoon. Collecting my luggage from the carousel, I went out into the car park and was approached by about twenty different taxi drivers offering to take me to the resort. I opted for one who was around my age – early thirties –who was handsome, with his trimmed beard and short hair, wearing a loose white shirt, several buttons open to reveal a hairy chest, slim but defined. In the taxi on the way to Sousse resort, we made conversation. My four months in France had been useful in that I could now speak conversational French, nowhere near as good as my Italian or Spanish, but at least I could be understood – and understand a lot of what was said to me.


The conversation turned to why I was on my own. I told him I was there for work. He then asked me if I was married or had a girlfriend. When I said no, he turned his head over his right shoulder to look back at me in the back seat. He asked me if I liked Tunisians. He didn’t specify whether he was talking male or female and yet when I responded with “I don’t know yet,” he smiled in a knowing way. As we approached the hotel, halfway between the town of Sousse and Port El Kantaoui, he asked me what I was doing the next day. I told him I would probably stay around the resort. He asked if he could have my phone number and meet me. Instinctively, I knew what this meant and I willingly gave him my telephone number which he programmed into his own mobile phone. As he dropped me on the doorstep of the hotel, he said,

 “I’ll text you tomorrow and meet you,” and he grinned and looked me up and down as I stood there with my case.

I had only been in Tunisia a little more than an hour and already I realized that what Jean-Pierre had told me was true. As I checked in, the receptionist made a point of saying he had selected my room especially for me, as if he already knew me before I arrived. He told me I had a beautiful sea view. It was as though he was saying that he had done something for me and maybe I could do something for him – that Arab custom of reciprocity that is ever-present in the Middle East and North Africa. The look in his eye that lasted longer than it should have between receptionist guest told me that he was looking for something in return. He got the bellboy to take my cases. I took the stairs and the boy went by lift with the bags. We both got to my room at the same time. He opened my door, took in my cases, opened the curtains to show me the view, and offered to show me the bathroom. Going ahead of me, he pulled back the shower curtain and then turned around and grabbed his crotch, asking if I liked Tunisian ‘banana’. I laughed at this and he smiled and said,

 “When you want Tunisian banana, I’ll come to you.” 

I couldn’t believe how my holiday in Tunisia had started: not even two hours after landing in the country, I had been flirted with three times. It was going to be quite a vacation.

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After I showered and had a bite to eat in the restaurant downstairs, I decided to go out for a walk. Jean-Pierre told me the place to head for was the Corniche. I knew roughly where it was and set out walking by myself towards it. Not far from the hotel there was a parade of shops, all of them open-fronted with the shopkeepers talking to passers-by to ply their trade. I passed a couple of cafes and a shop selling souvenirs and leather goods and I saw on my left-hand side that there was a gap, like a passageway, between the shops. It was dark, but I could see at the end that it opened up onto the beach and I noticed the moonlight shining onto the water. I turned off the main path and went between the shops and came out onto the beach. I walked a few steps and stopped to look at the moon’s reflection on the sea. At this point, I heard the soft crunching of footsteps in the sand behind me and I turned around quickly to see a man with a loose blue shirt and chinos coming onto the beach. I turned back to look at the water, thinking that he was just a random stranger, coming to look, the same as I was doing, but he spoke to me. He asked me in French what I was doing and I said,

 “I just came to look at the beach. I have arrived in Tunisia today and I’m finding my way around.” 

He introduced himself as Jamel and offered to show me along the beach. As we walked, he smoked a cigarette, but brushed his left arm against my right, while asking me why I was alone. They seem to be the question the Tunisian men asked lone foreign men all the time. We went through the same replies of, “No, I’m not married” and “No, I don’t have a girlfriend.” After we had walked for a few minutes close to the back of the shops on the parade, which was separated from the beach by a fence, he asked if I wanted to sit on the sand. I said I would prefer to sit close to the sea but he said, no, he wanted to be in the dark. I sat down on the sand and he beside me. He took his last drag from the cigarette and threw it by the fence and at this point, he put his hand into my shirt and tweaked my nipple. I sat there and looked at him but didn’t resist, giving him a sign that he could carry on.

He stood up, loosened his belt, and dropped his trousers. He had nothing on underneath. In the dim light, I could see that he had a fine erection, a smooth long penis, cut of course. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled it up towards his cock. I moved onto my knees and licked the swollen head of his manhood and began caressing his shaft with my fingers until I was ready to take all of him in my mouth. Very quickly, he thrust his cock between my lips and moved it in and out in rapid strokes. After a few minutes, when I was already aching in the jaw because it had been so long since I had given head, he beckoned me to stand up. Loosening my belt and unfastening the buttons on my jeans he pushed my trousers to the floor he then grabbed my underpants and dragged them down too. I slipped out of them and left them at arm’s length on the side. He told me to get on all fours on the sand and he moved behind me. The sand felt cold on the palm of my hands and on my knees as he got into position. He spat on his fingers and applied basic lubrication to my anus and then again to his cock.


Four months without a cock meant that my ass was tight and when he tried to push into me, he found it really hard. He lifted me by the thighs so that my ass was in the air and he spat on my ring several times. Dropping me back onto all fours, he pushed at me again and this time I managed to take him and he entered me, slowly and steadily but yes, he slipped inside. At first, it was painful as he moved in and out of me. He slapped the cheeks of my ass several times and began to ride me. As he thrust into me, my hands sank in the beach and I grabbed handfuls of sand and clenched them for comfort. I was gently moaning now as I felt him deep within my body, this stranger. As his breathing became heavier, I heard a sound, the shuffling of footsteps in the sand and then there was a light and, as I looked up from my doggie position, it shone directly onto my face. Jamel stopped fucking me but stayed inside and I found myself looking at a security guard in a khaki uniform and with a gun in a holster. The guard spoke in Arabic to Jamel and then to me in French and said, 

“You are breaking the law. Do you know that?” 

I became very nervous and replied, 

“No, I didn’t know that. I am sorry.”

The guard shone his torch on my ass where Jamel was balls deep, then back onto my face and said, “You have to pay a fine.”  I told him I had very little money on me because I had only gone to walk, and he tutted and nodded in thought, as though considering some other option. Finally, he said, 

“Okay. I am going to be lenient and you’re going to pay my way now” 

He turned off the torch. I felt Jamel begin to move inside me again and I realized that everything would be all right. I looked up and saw the security guard open his trousers. As he unzipped, his long dark penis popped out. He was bigger than Jamel, and throbbing. He moved towards me and as Jamel built up speed, pumping my ass, the security guard pushed his large tool down my throat and began jabbing at me. Several times, I wanted to choke, but he grabbed my chin and simply forced his cock deeper. As I sucked on him, Jamel really banged my anus and I wanted to call out loud but I knew that would get me into trouble. It felt so good to be serving two Muslim masters after months in the wilderness. These two masculine strangers were perfectly synchronized now and spoke a few words to each other in Arabic.

As Jamel was thrusting into me very quickly, the security guard was doing the same to my mouth and, in perfect harmony, Jamel groaned and pushed as deep as he could into my rectum, filling my ass with a good spurt of his hot sperm. At the very same time, the security guard arched his back, looked to the sky and a good helping of his thick semen ran down the back of my throat and swelled up my mouth. As I swallowed and cleaned him off with my tongue, squeezing his penis to get every drop of that wonderful Islamic juice, Jamel finished himself off with a few final thrusts and stayed inside me for a moment. They both pulled out of me at the same time and the security guard knelt down and pushed me from my position on my knees and hands onto my back on the sand, signaling me to remove my loose shirt so that I was completely naked. My trousers and my underwear lay on the beach next to me and I placed my shirt with them.

The men now stood over me, calling me “chien and “pute. For a moment I was afraid they were going to kick me, but as I looked up in the half-light, I saw them position themselves over me, one on each side, each holding their now semi-flaccid penises and suddenly I felt a rush of warm water all over me as they urinated. They sprayed me with their piss onto my chest, legs, and face, all the while saying “chien”. When they had finished, they shook themselves off over me and pulled up their trousers, and walked off, leaving me there. I had served my purpose as a receptacle for their holy seed. I lay for a few moments, nude on the sand. I couldn’t simply get dressed and go back to the hotel smelling of urine, so I picked up my underpants and put them back on, gathered my trousers and shirt, and walked down to the sea. I intended to bathe in my underwear then come back to the dark area, remove them, put back my trousers and shirt, carrying my underwear in my hand, and return to the hotel, but it did not work out like this.

In the cool night air, the sea was quite pleasant, not warm, but certainly not cold. I dipped below the waves and came out of the sea smelling of saltwater instead of piss. As I walked out onto the beach where I left my clothes, I saw a silhouette coming towards me and, as the moonlight caught him, I could see he was an older man with a beard, barefoot, wearing what every man seemed to wear here – loose shirt and casual trousers. He approached, smiling broadly, waving his hand and asked me,

 “What are you doing here on your own?”.

“I was just having a swim,” I replied. 

He asked me where I was from and, as I went to collect my trousers from the beach, he picked them up and said, 

“Come with me, my friend. I have something for you. I know you like the plaisir.  

I wondered what he meant as he scuttled off with me keeping up behind him nervously in just my underpants, carrying my shirt that I had managed to scoop up from the sand. Looking ahead to where the back of the shops were, I could see there was a slight bend in the fence which followed the contours of the curved beach, between the dark area where I just been fucked and another dark area on the left, each not visible to the other, and beyond that I could see the lights of the Corniche. We were heading for the dark area towards the left. As we approached, I could see small red lights darting around and men in shadow. As we got closer, I could see it was a group, most of whom were smoking, hence the red lights. There was some chatter and I could hear someone moaning, as though being fucked.

As we approached, the men in the group turned to see who was coming and they parted to allow us to go into the middle. I saw a fair-haired young man kneeling unclothed on a cracked and grubby, white plastic chair, his ass pushed out and leaning over the seat back. A man was standing in front of him holding the boy’s arms steady, while he rubbed his hard cock over his face and pushed it into the lad’s mouth. Behind him was a middle-aged man with his trousers around his ankles, penetrating the boy who was clearly feeling that he was being well-and-truly taken. Other men stood around, making conversation in Arabic and watching and waiting for their turn. Now, some of the men looked at me, standing there almost naked.

There was another break in the circle of men as someone dragged in a sun-lounger, old and dirty and lifted it at the back so that the head end was practically vertical. The man who had found me on the beach pulled at my wet underwear and jerked it down to my ankles, holding my arm while I removed it. He then grabbed me around the waist and positioned me so I was standing over the lounger with my hands on the back of it, and my legs spread either side of the body of the sunbed, my ass protruding. Some quick comments in Arabic from a couple of the men, and the older man who had brought me here got behind me, spat on his hand, lubricated his cock and pushed at my entrance.

He slipped inside easily. He was already as hard as he could be and at the same time that he plunged into me, a younger man stood in front of me and forced his tool between my lips. The old man came very quickly inside me and he was replaced by someone else, who unloaded in a minute or two, the younger man still feeding my mouth. They gave the younger man the chance to inject his man juice deep into my body, which he did rapidly after entering me, groaning loudly as he ejaculated his virile, youthful cream inside me. Next to me, the young European man was crying out as he took what I think was his fourth cock since I arrived, and had most likely taken a few before I got there. I could see men on their mobile phones sending text messages and, as one man would blow his load, you would hear them greeting another one or two who would come along from the Corniche to breed these two young Europeans. I think I must’ve taken about six loads when the boy next to me said in English, 

“I can’t take any more please.” 

He had what I think was a German accent. Another man got in place behind him and I translated into French and said that the young man had said it was enough. The man backed off and came towards me and, as he did so, the boy with the German accent sighed and a huge blob of cum shot out from his ass onto the sand. As some light from the street behind shone through gaps in the fence, I could see the boy’s legs were shimmering, the cum was running down all the way onto the sand where it was soaked up. He got up, wiped himself with a rag, dressed and left. I could see there were at least another five men who had not drained their balls, and I took an educated guess as to where their hot sperm would end up. I received another two or three and they ejaculated into me quickly. I think these men had not orgasmed in days and this was a quick release. There was one man who was different to the rest. He was darker, taller and muscular and, although the light was poor, I could see his features were dissimilar to the others. I asked him in French if he wanted me, but he didn’t understand. Someone translated into Arabic and I guessed that he wasn’t Tunisian at all.

Unlike the others, he didn’t want me kneeling. With his big hands he moved me onto my back on the sun-lounger and dropped the back of it so that I was almost lying flat. He then pushed up my legs, undid his trousers and pulled out an enormous, dark cock that was surrounded by the sexiest bush of black hair. His cock reminded me of one of my first Muslims in Morocco, Menani, when I had found it hard to take such a big erection, but I knew that after all the loads I had received this evening, it would be easy. He pushed his penis into me as deeply as he could. Unlike the other men, he wasn’t desperate to shoot. He penetrated me more slowly and enjoyed each stroke.

The others had been so quick that I had barely felt them deep inside me but this man I really did feel as he bored into me, a few other men still around, watching, still not having relieved themselves. This big man looked me in the eyes as he moved in and out and I wanted to moan heavily but again, I tried not to. I felt he had penetrated me so much that, when he would breed me, his semen would stay in me for days. The other men seemed to be irritated that they couldn’t release their seed and, although I didn’t understand the words, I think they were asking him to hurry up. At this point, he did pick up speed and was taking deep breaths through the mouth. Although my ass was very loose and full of the cream of many men, I did feel this man’s ejaculation when it came. He let out a cry of relief and shot a really good helping of Muslim seed deep inside me. The remaining men now put me on my knees on the lounger and fucked me like a dog until they were satisfied.

All men now having bred me, they walked away, relieved, and left me, about an hour after my body had absorbed the old man’s orgasmic juice – he who had brought me from the sea. It had been quite a night. Jean-Pierre had been right: it had been easy –  and this was just the first day! My ass felt so full like it was going to burst, but I didn’t want to squat on the sand. I wanted to see the Muslim sperm of at least a dozen loads that had been deposited in me. I rolled up my underpants and pushed them into the crack of my ass, put back on my jeans and my shirt and made my way slowly back to the hotel, mincing so I could control my sphincter. As I collected my key from the reception, the same male receptionist that checked me in asked me what I was doing now. I said I was tired and I was going to rest. He said,

 “I finish at ten,” and he smiled broadly and lustily. 

On any other day, I would have asked him to come to my room but I really could not take any more cum this evening. Upstairs, I released a stream of glorious Muslim semen into the toilet bowl and I was shocked at how much there was within me. I think they really had been desperate to empty their balls after having accumulated a few days’ load each. As I prepared for bed, I knew there was no way I could see the taxi driver tomorrow. My ass needed time to heal: it was too loose to be taking another cock tomorrow and if had I tried, it may have ended up messy and that would have been disrespectful towards him. If he texted me, I would tell him I would see him when I returned from the Sahara in three days. During the night, I had to get up several times to expel yet more sperm from my anus and the next day my ring was very sore, but what a great start to my holiday: what a welcome to Tunisia. Next stop: Douz

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  1. Justin S

    Wow a true story or

    • Anonymous

      “Based on true events.” 🙂

      • Adam West

        Yes. I changed names and a few minor details but it’s true. Next chapters coming soon.

  2. ahmet said nursoy

    hello. why does the gay guy never speak of his cock? In other stories too gay people emrace that they are less than men and they expect understanding and respect. Ok let’s show respect and try to understand each other, but why does the main charachers of these stories never want reciprocity? Does to be gay mean to deny that you have a cock and please other cocks? It deserves explanation why. You might think this form of sexual fantasy assumes certain things and there is no need for explanation. I think that how the characters play out is, how they accept and enjoy everything that comes from muslim men is kind of unrealistic. How did they get so used to the same pattern? Yeah it is possible to get used to but is getting boring. I’m a Turkish gay and following this page for years. I want to read not descriptions of the feelings of pleasure and pain. I want to read why these happen to these people. If to accept being disrespected deserves respect, show us there reasons that create these situations and how sex transforms people. It is hot to show how people contradict their own beliefs. After a while it loses this effect and needs resolution. To get there we should be informed why the characters act as they do, explanations. Thank you.

    • Adam West

      Hello Ahmet

      I appreciate your analysis. These stories are my lived experience over many years, though there is space between each story – sometimes years. I have speculated as to why I like to be submissive and I haven’t come up with an answer. In some of my stories, I have written about my pleasing myself too, but I have also found that many (in my experience, most) Muslim men, do not want reciprocation and, for me, that is often the turn-on. I know many people who have had similar experience and also enjoy it. These stories are not meant to be in-depth studies of the psyche, rather they are intended to titillate and add a little cultural awareness too, as I have travelled widely in the Arab world (and Turkey). After all, the website is called ‘Islamic Cock’ – I think a lot of readers come here for a reason. I’d be interested if anyone else can write a piece about why certain gay men crave being treated the way that I do by Muslim men. All I know is I love them to be masterful and strong and to fulfil their needs. I have lost count of the times I have picked up a Muslim man who has orgasmed and simply left. Rare are the times when I have been able to engage in more mutual acts. Granted, for many this is not gratifying but, to me, it is. When I have finished these stories about Tunisia, I’m going to write a retrospective piece about what I’ve learned while meeting Muslim men.

      • Ahmet Said Nursoy

        I overemphasized the quest for explanation. I accept that you don’t have to put explanations in these stories.

        And I have to make it clear that I do not disbelieve you. I wanted to compain and it may came across as disbelief. You really have undergone these. I had similar experiences. I do not consider the narrative as unreal. Yet they sound tride now. As more time I spend the more boring they get. However, I keep coming back because I recognize that they are still sexy, you are sexy. Yet I come here more for an answer.

        My real question was how humiliation in sex deserves respect in social life? At the center of your response is the claim that you are submissive. This misses my point. Note that I’m not excluding acts like golden shower from the definition. It is the manner of the so called muslim men that defies the terminology of submissive and dominant. To be treated badly is sexy in these stories. This story and many more is not simply about the experiences of a submissive. They play or tingle the senses of us by somehow embracing the inferiority of gay identity. Even the sharpness of the distinction between gay and man disturbs me, but I get how it can be sexy too. We are drawn to raw and contradictory ideas. You may say that you don’t really accept but downplay the wordings that downplay homosexuality, I’m not sure. Am I taking things too seriously?

        Think about why do you write about these experiences. This question comes from someone who raised by Muslim parents and now living in Turkey. And someone who doesn’t condemn homosexuality. I believe that you want to expose something disturbing and get released from some burden, your denial of pleasure. Or maybe it is just me.

        • Adam West

          Hi Ahmet. Thanks again for your comments. I actually don’t talk about my sex life with anyone else so I am not asking for social acceptance for myself. However, I don’t really see any shame in admitting that one likes to be humiliated sexually or otherwise. I know plenty of people (gay, straight and otherwise) who like to subservient and are open about it. No one I know disrespects them for it. There are hundreds of sexual tastes out there and I wouldn’t condemn anyone for their personal preferences, as I know you aren’t doing either. There are many facets of gay identity too – I don’t seek to portray every gay as I am. These are simply my preferences (and they are not unique either). I have met affectionate men (Muslim and otherwise) and had fulfilling relationships with them. In fact, in part four of my current story, I meet one such man who treated me with care. Part of my make up is that I like to be the servant in a Master-Servant sexual encounter. Many of the men with whom I engage do not consider themselves to be gay. This is a particular attraction for me of some Muslim men – that they do not see the active role as in any way homosexual.
          As for exposing something disturbing, I am not quite sure what you mean. On this website and elsewhere you can find articles about why certain Muslim men turn to sex with other men, especially when they live in a strict environment where woman are not freely available. That perhaps explains why I find it much harder to meet a Muslim man who wants sex with another man in European countries. You say that maybe I need to be released from some burden and you may be right. I do get a sense of relief after these acts but I cannot equate it with anything in my past. I just know that I enjoy it and the men who dominate also like it. I am not saying that all Muslim men have to be defined by these acts: it is simple what I look for and have found.
          I am sorry you find the stories boring now. That is totally your right to say. If I don’t get the readership, I shall stop writing. In fact, after part four of this story, my next piece will be more of a reflection and you may be interested to read what I have to say about the contrast between by ‘out’ life and my sex life. I hope this is a suitable reply to your comments. I appreciate your taking the time to write them and wish you well. Adam

    • IC Admin

      Hi Ahmet,

      First of all, thank you for being a part of IC and visiting the site!

      As Adam said, this is a matter of story-telling process of what he’s lived through and how he has experienced it.
      I think that it’s pointless to explain the origins of any fetish / passion or how every person acknowledges it because the roots of it are unique to every person. However, if you wish to explore it a bit more – I can suggest the following: About the fetish and what it means: https://islamiccock.com/archives/1189
      Also useful is the YOU4IC category that offers a few articles written by our readers from all over the world: https://islamiccock.com/you4ic

      Hope this helps answer your questions a bit more.

  3. Anonymous

    Really hot. I can easily imagine the scene

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