๐Ÿ“˜ The Life of Transgressing (Part 3)

Dec 30, 2019

The next day I was working the late shift again and it was a sausage fest, as per usual. Not because we had sex or something like that, but because it was always just guys. So Hamza knew. And when I came into the restaurant I could see the smirk on his face, and his eyes on me as I passed next to the kitchen. But I had felt another pair of eyes on me that day, just wasn’t sure who’s it was. I had that feeling that everyone knew. Our shift is really fun usually and everyone makes fun of everybody, jokes about somebody being gay are something that happens on hourly basis, and some grabbing by the crotch as well. It’s just a guy thing, a hetero thing, a completely normal thing in this middle-eastern or west Asian melting pot that I was also a part of now.

So halfway through my shift, I went to make my break and as I was getting my stuff out of my backpack in the locker room, Mohammad enters the locker room and just stands there looking at me like a weirdo.
“…hey…” – I said totally creeped out by his presence.
As I said it, I took a better look at him, he was a shorter guy, sturdy and strong, had a similar figure to the guy from the woods. Shit. It’s him. I’ve sucked Mohammad from the kitchen. Makes sense. He is friendly with Hamza, I saw them a couple of times on the street near my apartment building together and I know they lived in the same street or something like that.

Mohammad is also an Afghan man, but being around 30, he is much younger than Hamza. It is hard to know how old any of them really are since they lied in their application for German refugee documents and always said they were younger to make the positive outcome more likely for them. Allegedly it has something to do with Germany accepting younger people more easily. For me, I always asked myself if they were aware that by taking 10 years “off” of their age they would have to work 10 years longer into their old age to qualify for a pension. Or were they just so desparate to get the documents?
Anyway, as soon as I realized that Mohammad is the guy, I just smiled to him and told him that I have to go to my break. But he pushed me into the shower room and locked the doors behind us.
“Please, just touch him again… I don’t have a lot of time…” – Mo said as he put my hand on his crotch.
“Man, this is not the place or the time to do stupid things like that. I didn’t know it was you. Just unlock the doors now and we’ll talk later.” – I said in a very decisive manner.
As soon as I finished my sentence I could hear doors of the locker room opening and somebody stepping inside. Mo looked at me and signaled me with his hand to be quiet. As if I really planned to scream for help and cause a scene. Somebody was literally standing a couple of meters from the door of the shower, but I couldn’t hear him doing anything. He was just standing there. And then after what seemed like an eternity he went away.
Mo opened the doors immediately and I took off as fast as I could. As I stormed out of the locker room I stumbled upon Hamza who, again, gave me another dirty look. This was indeed becoming very very exhausting, even though at the same time it was very hot.

While having my break I was thinking of Mohammad and how I always considered him hot, ever since I started working here. He was a really hot guy, perfect black hair, sexy shorter beard and hairy arms. He was one of those guys who had visible veins on their arms even though they didn’t necessarily do fitness, but they were just very fit. And then I was thinking about Hamza, how it’s totally hit that he already has some grey hairs here and there, the scene with the towel was not leaving my mind.
But breaks being always too short, mine was over way too soon so I had to go back to work. Thankfully, the rest of the day was intense with work and time flied. As I finished way before the guys from kitchen, I was already home when I received a message from Mo, telling me he’s done with his shift now and that he will be on his way to my apartment building (he knew where I lived from the conversations in the pre-woods times) and that he just wants to see me. My roommate wasn’t home, but I still didn’t want to let him come over, so I told him that I am already in my bed and that he cannot invite himself over like that. He stopped answering.

Just as I was preparing myself for some Netflix binging, my phone starts to ring. Mo is calling. Call declined. Rings again. Call declined. Text message arrives: “I am downstairs, please come see me.”
Knowing that it will be pointless to argue with him, as Muslim men don’t really handle hearing opposite standpoints, I put on my shoes and went downstairs to hear him out.
As I descended the last flight of stairs, I could see him all dressed up in a nice sweatshirt and some tight jeans. Note that we usually always see each other just in work clothes so it was a new thing for me.

“What?” – I asked in a semi annoyed tone.
“Nothing, can I come upstairs?” – he asked and already started attempting to go through the house doors.
“No.” – I said determined to stop him and blocked his attempt to pass by my hand. As soon as I blocked him, he intentionally came closer to me, grabbed me around the waist with his arm and put his other hand in my pants on my ass cheeks.
“Let me go.” – I said in what might have been a bit of a too soft of a tone. The truth is, I liked his hand grabbing me and his firm touch of determination to take what he wants.
“The only way I will let you go is when I am finished.” – he said and once again pushed me, right through the door with his hand still in my pants, me going backwards, literally tripping.
“Can you just let me walk upstairs like a normal person first?” – I asked him and immediately he took his hand out of my pants and smiled so beautifully and so sexy that I had no doubt in my mind… This guy can have me.


As soon as we entered the apartment, he just started to undress himself, took his shirt off and revealed hot hairy chest and belly. He had a big sexy tattoo of a knife on his right shoulder. And taking down his pants revealed something that was already known to me, his beautiful Muslim dick.

“Can I just fuck you?” – Mo asked, but already started to put his dick between my ass cheeks. This guy didn’t like waiting for an answer, and a question wasn’t really a question, it was more of a notification of what he intended to do anyway. I couldn’t answer. It was both a yes and a no in that moment. Did I want it? Yes. Did I want to give out my ass so easily once again? No. Would it make things complicated at work? Probably.
“Arrrgh!” – I shouted in discomfort as Mohammad entered my ass in a simple but efficient thrust. Five seconds and eight thrusts later I could just feel something that felt like a soft burn in my ass. He stopped fucking me, and his dick fell out totally flaccid.
“Did you just finish?” – I was aware he did, but I still asked, for whatever the reason.
“Yes, sorry, I needed to empty myself.” – he said as he started to put on clothes.
“I am so sorry for this, I have to go now. Sorry.” – he continued as he walked out of my apartment before I could even realize what was going on.
“OK, bye…” – I said to the doors that were already shut.

Speaking of doors that were shut, let’s go back in time to my proposal to Hassan.
As you know, I popped the question and have given him all the right explanations and reasons. Or so I thought. The truth was, Hassan was kinda offended by my offer. First of all, he said it was his role to ask me this question. Secondly, he would want me to marry him for love and not for making bureaucracy easier for him. And third, he would like this commitment to be forever and to be well thought through. He was kinda annoyed by me for, as he stated, not learning anything from my own mistakes. He was really angry at me for not understanding that there are people who would abuse my offer and possibly me as well, and after everything that happened to me he was even more pissed at me for not getting that on my own. But most of all, I realized he was disappointed because this marriage offer didn’t come from love. The love he would like and expect. Not the friendly friends kind of love that I had for him…
So in the end I apologized for not thinking things through and for offending him. We agreed to never speak of this situation ever again. But the fact was, I was determined to leave my country for good and that meant leaving Hassan behind.
“For now!” – he said.
“Yes, we will continue where we left off soon enough!” – I answered.
We both knew it is probably the biggestje we have ever told each other. But it was easier that way. We talked a bit more, had the dinner, and as soon as he left and closed the door behind him, I suddenly felt very alone.
“Goodbye my friend!” – I thought to myself as a tear rolled down my cheek. He was the perfect one, but unfortunately not the one for me.

Going back to the future now again. As I was standing by the wall, the same wall that three minutes ago Mohammad fucked me against, I realized that I cannot escape my destiny. Was it a destiny or was it a grudge, I wasn’t sure. All I knew is that Mo literally fucked me for 5 seconds, shortest sex in my entire life. Probably the worst by any standard. Yet, I felt like it was great. And I felt happy about it. It was so sexy to me that this guy literally couldn’t endure more than 5 seconds fucking my ass. It felt powerful, and I have felt like I had the power over him.
“Magic ass.” – I’ve thought to myself.
As soon as I got ready for bed, I typed him a text message.
“See you tomorrow at work, or are you going to be too ashamed to come?”
He read the message, but didn’t answer it. I liked his silence. It just meant that something good was cooking, and I was totally in the right mindset now to experience whatever it was to the fullest.


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