Morocco - Sex Stories

Morocco

Morocco byOttoRank© I am thinking about that time in Morocco. It was a dangerous time in 1930. You and I went to visit Alexis and her lover Pytor in the lower side of Tangier. We had a wonderful afternoon strolling the long narrow alleyways browsing for nicks and knacks. The streets were filled with cinnamon and oranges. Small boys rushed about in bandit ways. It was a bustling African port city. Women dressed in Muslim fashion glanced out of black dress. Small boys ran in and out playing games of tag or petty crime. The sun was hot and cast dark shadows into the back of shops. Eyes peered out of the darkness. Alexis took us to this sunny café for a little luncheon and we talked of her expatriate life and drank wine. She was dazzling in her youth and richness. Her old European money, which on one hand she rejected with Marxist philosophy, and on the other, bought her the lifestyle of the bohemian artist, and her artist lover, the blond Russian. They were both so beautiful, She so blond and English, he so blond and chiseled, a tree. After the wine, we smoked a little hashish from the hookah that Alexis purchased from some depth in the back of the café. It was a warm and wonderful afternoon. The sun and the conversation did lull you, I noticed. You were staring out at the bay looking at young Egyptian sailors rig sails. You were happily sloppy, a far away look in your eyes in a far away place. I suggested a nap for the afternoon, and we all agreed that lunch had lasted too ...

... long. We set a date for dinner at midnight at Alexis's flat and said our goodbyes. The hotel Alhambra had given us a wonderful suite of rooms. High bright windows cast the afternoon sun in long beams across the marbled floors. A breeze rustled the lace curtains and brought in the fragrances of the street. Cardamom, lemons, sage. A magnificent bed lay in the sun's light to one side of the large room, easy to the breeze, and the sheets were very white. You gazed for a while at the street four flights below. You were d***k, and high. "I love this place," you said, "it's so hot... and I feel it to my heart". You smiled and dropped the dress from your shoulders. Your flesh blazed in the sunlight against the window. You were hot. Your skin glistened with the afternoon heat. " I feel like a cat," you giggled, and then slipped onto the sheets naked to nap. "I'm going down for a newspaper and some cigarettes... I'll be back in a while, my sweet," I said, leaning across you to nuzzle your neck. You reached out and caressed a place at the top of my legs. "Bring me back a little of this before supper," you laughed, and then you rolled on your side. "Ohh. I'm so high..." and you were asl**p. In the lobby, I passed a girl selling flowers and oranges. She was talking to Hamid, the tall young man who worked as the hotel's bellman. I gave her a few franks and asked her to bring a bottle of water and some oranges up to our room. She smiled and said she would. The tall youth smiled as well. I went ...