It’s hard to say that all of this happening didn’t make me think of Samer and Hassan. The one that got away (and destroyed my life) and the one who I’ve pushed away (although he made my life better). I missed Hassan as well. He was my best friend in a way when no one else was. We still talked occasionally, and I’ve invited him countless times to come visit me in Germany, the invitation that he always refused. I know he is too proud to say that, but I believe I hurt him the most by leaving, the last chance for us died by doing this and he has to move on. And I totally get it.
I don’t know what to tell you, dear reader. Yes, sometimes my feelings get the better of me and I start to really miss Samer, as well as all of the crazy stuff we did and the entire weird life we’ve had together. He was the first. And you may judge me for my foolishness, but be fair with your judgements, as you always remember all the firsts of the things that were important or amazing to you. I remember when I first tasted the pomelo fruit, I remember my first visit to the cinema, my first childhood crush, my first boyfriend. And Samer.

It wasn’t just love, it was also an obsession and craziness. And, honestly, even after what he did, I’ve missed him. I don’t think I could ever love anyone, ever again. Whatever happened between us, I just felt like we belonged together but still weren’t completely compatible. Sometimes I’d just go to Whatsapp and take a look at his profile pic. He hasn’t changed it in years, it’s still something written in Arabic. He also comes online sometimes, and every single time when I see this I feel a rush in my veins, my heart beats faster and I just get this weird feeling inside of me. I guess it’s better if I stop talking about it for now. You’re definitely not ready to hear the rest of it yet.

But, I must excuse myself for this digression. I didn’t intend to get off the track, I just sometimes think that you deserve or want to know, as many chapters before this one brought you here and, since you’re reading this, you’re obviously still following my life’s story for a reason.

The situation with Mo and Hamza got deeper and more complicated each day. I was staying as much away from Hamza as I could. But it wasn’t really easy since we worked together, and the encounter we had at the workplace toilet just made it much more difficult to ignore him and his, sometimes very obvious, seductive looks pointed in my direction. I was just happy that Hamza was married, had kids and had literally zero knowledge of technology. For the reasons of wife and kids he never called, and for the reason of being technically illiterate he also wasn’t texting me. I had my peace. However, I wasn’t the only one noticing his seductive looks. Mo has been increasingly aware of Hamzas attempts to seduce me and to say he wasn’t happy about it would be an understatement. As both of us lived with roommates, we couldn’t meet. And the truth is, he is a guy who likes to think that he owns another guy so his frustrations were growing as he didn’t use the toy that he owned. Sure, there would be an occasional blowjob here and there, but there was no possibility of us having sex with enough time and privacy to just enjoy it in a way he obviously wanted and needed. He told me that Hamza has a garage that he set up as a loveshack for fucking young slutty German girls, but since the girls weren’t really so easy going as he hoped, he would just use it to fuck faggots. They were generally easier to find and served their purpose. Mohammad was also using it as a courtesy of Hamzas, but since they had stopped being friends, he also wasn’t able to use the garage anymore.

“Maybe you should talk to Hamza and just settle your differences?” – I asked Mohammad.
“No, there is nothing to talk about. I see how he is looking at you. He wants to have you.” – he said in a very determined manner.
“If you actually talked to him directly, maybe you could get back on his good side. You know, otherwise it’s just blowjobs and occasional quickies for the foreseeable future.” – I persisted. Honestly, I really wanted to see their alleged loveshack and also I enjoyed stirring up the pot, even though last time I ended beaten up for doing it.
“There is no talking to this man, he has no respect and for this any attempt to talk to him is worthless. I can’t stand him looking at you in this perverted way.” – said Mo and turned his head away from me. I was looking at his beautiful black hair as the sunrays made it shiny. I really enjoyed looking at him, especially when he would have this 3-4 days unshaved beard on his face. Anything longer than that had to be shaved off as we were working in a restaurant and basically any type of uncovered hair is a big no-no of course. Still, he looked so sexy, regardless of being shaved or unshaved. And he looked very peaceful, but also like a timed bomb in a way. I know his ways now, so I am always a bit precautious.
“Why me? Why now? You fucked guys before and moved on. Why am I the one that you are so unwilling to share, or better yet, so willing to own? – I dared to ask.
“All of them before I fucked just to fuck and empty my balls. I fucked them all with condoms, some even with two condoms. I found them disgusting. But you get it, you understand what I like and need. This makes you special. Hamza also knows this. Because we saw your sex video, the one where you serve an Arab man.” – he said and looked me directly in the eyes as I felt shame and looked away.
“No, no, don’t look away. It is weird that you have this video, but what you are makes you a priceless worth to a man like me. I can’t believe the Arab man let you go.” – Mo added.
“I don’t want to talk about that.” – I tried ignoring him, but to no avail, as he is as persistent as a Muslim man usually is.
“You don’t understand. It is not bad. It is beautiful. I want that too. I want you to serve me.” – he said.
“It’s not exactly the same. The guy in the video and me, we lived together. You and me, we don’t even have a damn fuck garage. It is just so different.” – I opened up a bit.
“We went to deep into this conversation. We are in a park but still someone can maybe hear what we are talking about.” – he was stressed by talking about all of this in public, but he didn’t seem to mind until I told him that it’s his time to do something about it and just deal with it by talking to Hamza.

I soon realized it was pointless to talk about it so I stood up and told him I’m going home to get ready for work. He had a worried face as I left. Half an hour later my phone starts ringing; it’s Mo.

“Hello?” – I answered the call.
“I hit him, I hit him in the fucking face, I broke his nose! I fucked up! I’m screwed if he calls the police, I might even get deported back.” – he was almost breathless.
“What the fuck? Why did you hit him?” – I asked.
“I wanted, I tried to clear the air with him but we ended up fighting in the end.” – he answered. I could hear in his voice he was very upset. This was serious.
“OK, I’ll call Hamza and try to calm him down.” – I told him and hung up the line.

A minute later I had Hamza on the line. He was sounded very angry although he tried to keep a cool tone.

“Tell your boyfriend that I’m here with waiting for the police and I’m going to report him. He tried to make a fool out of me, well now he will answer for it.” – he said.
“I… I… wanted you to understand how bad I feel in all of this, I feel like I’m the cause of your fight and your broken friendship. If you report him, he will get a record and maybe even get deported. I know you’re angry, but just think about if it’s really worth it. You’ve gone through lots of stuff to get to Germany, imagine if one mistake could be the one that sends you back? ” – I tried to reason with him.
“I am waiting for the police to come, tell your boyfriend to call me and apologize, I might just rethink reporting him if he does everything right by me.” – he answered as I thanked him and directly sent a message to Mohammad instructing him to apologize and set the record straight with Hamza.

An hour passed and I had to go to work. Calling and texting Mohammad for the past hour to no avail made me feel desperate. I didn’t know what was going on. I called Hamza again and he rejected my call. As I walked to the restaurant I have noticed that none of them were there. This is not good, it means they’re probably both at the police or something, who knows. I asked the manager if he knew where they were and he literally told me to mind my own business. It was a real mess, I could just feel how nothing good would come out of this.
Another hour or so later, Hamza walks in and goes to the locker room to get changed. His face looked badly beaten up and his nose was patched. It didn’t look like just one hit to me. Still, for whatever reason, he decided to come to work. However, still no sign of Mo.

Unfortunately, the hours passed and I couldn’t get the chance to get Hamza alone. The restaurant was crowded and there seemed to be more customers than time to even breathe, but it might have just been my anxiety kicking in. I really hoped nothing happened to Mo. With all the recent talks I started to develop a sort of a feeling that I really am his, for all the right or wrong reasons. However, it might just have been too late.

💵 DO YOU WANT A SUGAR DADDY OR A SUGAR BABY?

Some time later, the manager invited me to his office.
“Why did you ask about Hamza and Mo? What do you know? And why?” – he asked.
“I just saw they both weren’t there and I was afraid we’d be short on workers for the evening rush. What, is there something to know?” – I played dumb.
“The one comes with the broken face and says it happened because he slipped, another one doesn’t come to work or even call at all. Surely it’s not a coincidence. But, if you don’t want to tell me, I respect that. However I just wanted to tell you to stay away from both of them, because neither one of them is normal. Hamza is known for being aggressive and has even threatened his wife on multiple occasions, and Mohammad is a guy that’s been through a lot of shit and it just made him very unreliable I guess. You’re not one of them, you’re better, European, educated, you have more of a life and chances ahead of you.” – he said and told me to get back to my place of work. I thanked him and went out of his office. I saw Hamza along the way as he winked at me and smiled.
As the shift passed, I finally checked my phone and saw that Mo has tried calling me and has sent me a message.

His text said: “He didn’t report me, we solved the problem. I have to talk to you. Please call me.”
I instantly gave him a call and he answered after just one or two rings.
“Can we meet?” – he asked directly.
“Sure, where?” – I answered.
“The park next to the city hall, I’ll be there in 15 minutes.” – he said and hung up the phone.
As I arrived to the park, I could see him waiting for me at the bench. He looked pale and worried.
“What the hell happened?” – I asked.
“I apologized and we came to an agreement so he didn’t report me…” – he said in a very unusual tone.
“So, he didn’t tell anyone that you’ve beaten him up? Wow, that’s generous. So are you friends again?” – I asked as I was really surprised by the fact that they finally managed to settle their issues with one another.
“Friends? Hmmm, no, I wouldn’t really say that. We just made a trade.” – he answered, still in a very unusual, almost lower tone.
“What kind of trade?” – I asked. I don’t really know why I asked because at that moment the answer was already clear and in the air.
“I traded you for his silence, and he wanted me to quit the job as well.” – he said.

And even though I presumed that I was traded, I really didn’t expect for Hamza to ask him to quit the job on top of that too. Not knowing what to do, I offered myself to him, to pleasure him with my mouth and help him ease off the tension. He declined and told me it wouldn’t be right as he can’t and doesn’t want to have any more ties with me at all. I stood up from the bench and told him goodbye as I walked away. He didn’t answer. It was a weird dominance play for them, and I’m the one that was stuck between the fire.

As much as I was glad that Mohammad was actually not arrested or even worse, I still couldn’t really play along the trading part of their deal. It’s not like I can be traded off. It’s all just a game anyway, a fetish maybe, a powerplay.
As I was walking home, I opened and read through all the messages that I had from Samer. Weirdly enough, I still felt like if anyone could have the right do it, then it’s him who is the only person that could trade me off.
On the doorstep of my apartment building as I unlocked the main entrance door, I hear someone approaching me from behind.

“Get in the car.” – said Hamza.
“What is wrong with you? It’s 3am, leave me alone. You guys are insane.” – I answered as I noticed him holding something shiny in his hand.
“You will do what I say or we will have a big problem here.” – he answered and took the entire knife out of his jacket.
My legs froze and I did as he said. My heart was racing and all I could think about is that this guy had a real fucking knife in his jacket.
“I came to collect the debt.” – he said as he started the car and drove us off into the night.