A Taste of Arabian

A Taste of Arabian
By Jimmy Gordon

He was always polite, greeting me warmly whenever I pulled the Volvo up to the pump. He spoke very little English, but always enough to say “Hello” and “Thank You Kindly“.
His uncle Abdul owned the Gas ‘n Go station he worked at. He had brought Asif over from somewhere in the Arab world when he turned 18. Now 25, he had matured into a striking young man. His sultry olive complexion was flawless under a mop of curly black hair. Asif’s eyes were large and smoldering brown and his eyelids darkened as if they had been shaded with kohl. His broad smile beamed out from beneath a thick, black moustache and neatly trimmed goatee that made his incredibly white teeth seem to glow.

My wife Susan never trusted him, always checking the total on the pump as he pulled the nozzle from the side of the car. Asif was always very careful, and never gave Susan any excuse to complain. She just had the typical middle-class fear of anything foreign or exotic, and certainly Asif’s dark brooding good-looks set off her internal alarms. He would take my card carefully, as if it were made of gold. He would return it to me clipped to the board, the pen offered to me in his strong calloused hand. And always that big engaging smile. He set off alarms in me, too, but I didn’t understand their meaning at the time.

I loved that Volvo, but even the best automobiles fall prey to the ravages of the road. There came day when I heard a noise coming from under the hood, and the engine died. Luckily, I was on a residential street so I coasted as far over as momentum would carry me and stopped in a parking zone. My cell phone was charged, thank God, as I’m the type to let it drain down in my briefcase until it’s useless. I have AAA programmed into speed dial, so in just a very short time the pickup came rumbling towards me from the Highway. I hadn’t asked the auto club for a station in particular, but I was relieved to see it was the familiar Gas n’ Go truck, and Asif’s Uncle Abdul was driving.

The old man had the Volvo hooked up to the back of the truck and we drove off into the evening gloom. I used the phone one more time to call Susan. Of course I got the third degree. Instead of understanding, she acted as if the breakdown was my fault! There goes her dinner. We were supposed to go to the Mall tonight. Now what will she do? Always about Susan...

Two huge fluorescent pole lights lighted the station, and a set of white neon lights hanging from the canopy over the pumps. The garish light made everything look ugly, sallow and dirty. A pimply kid of about 18 was pumping gas into a blue Mercedes, but the repair shop seemed to be closed. I noticed the repair bays were shut and deserted, except for a dark figure sitting at the desk inside. The old man opened a door, backed the car into an empty bay and unhooked it. The big truck growled as it pulled out of the station and sped around the corner and down the block. The man in the office came around to the garage and into the pool of light. It was Asif.

He was wearing a pair of very grimy coveralls. A day of working on automobile engines had left him covered in grit and grease. His hair was matted but still shiny and black, his face smudged with tire dirt and oil. His impossibly white teeth glowed in the dim light as he greeted me.

“Mr. Jordan! My goodness, what has happened to your vehicle? Open the hood, I will take a look to see!”

I reached out to shake his hand, but he pulled back, explaining that he didn’t want to soil me with his greasy hands. My eye wandered from his face to his thick neck, and the broad shoulders that filled out his coveralls. I could see that he was shirtless under the coarse denim fabric, his silky black chest hair escaping from the open collar. I felt my dick stir in my flannel trousers. What was happening here?

Asif stuck his head under the hood, and I came around the side to see what he was looking at. He mumbled and fussed with some cables and tubes, muttering in his native language. I couldn’t help checking him out as he bent over the side of the car. His shoulders were broad, and even in the rough coveralls I could see that his back tapered down to a slim waist and broad hips. His ass was full and large, like two firm rock-hard boulders. I stepped closer to see the engine. He reached behind him for the dirty red hanky that hung from his back pocket like a flag. Standing close, I could smell the gasoline and motor oil that covered Asif. I inhaled deeply, the exhilarating scent of this man making me light-headed. He turned around wiping his hands, and smiled. 

“Would you like to see your broken timing belt, Mr. Jordan?“

I leaned in as he stood next to me. I sensed him pressing against my hip as I stooped under the hood of the car. His crotch touched my ass as we leaned in, pointing out the broken rubber belt. Asif closed his hand around my waist and pulled me closer. I trembled at his touch. We stayed like that for just a couple seconds, but it felt like minutes. Finally I pulled away from him and went into the office. This was insane. It couldn’t be happening. Susan was gonna kill me.

I saw his muscular body framed in the darkened door as he followed me into the office. He was still smiling, but somehow his expression had changed. He knew I wanted him! His coverall was opened further than before, his chest and stomach revealed. He took my hand and placed it on his hairy torso. His nipples were dark and large, rising out of the soft black hair that drifted across his chest and ran down his abs. Asif’s sleek coat of hair spread across his belly and continued under his waistband. I began to pull away, but Asif held my wrist firmly. I began to caress his muscular pectorals. He put his other hand under my chin and pulled my face to his. I gazed into his deep brown eyes as he drew me into a kiss. His mouth was hot and fragrant. It was unbelievable. I never kissed a mustached man before, and the sensation was beyond description. I was soon aching to have Asif, and I was ready to do whatever he wanted me to do.

My, my, Mr. Jordan, what are we to do? I think you want me to make love to you, yes? I think I would like that very much too, Mr. Jordan!

He held my head firmly by the back of the neck, rubbing my cock through the soft flannel fabric with his other large hand. His fingers flexed and grabbed at my erection. I put my arms around his shoulders and nuzzled my head into his neck. The scent of gasoline was intoxicating. He pulled me into a hallway leading to a couple back rooms behind the office. The first room was a bath, and Asif stopped in front of the doorway.

“Go into the other room, and make yourself naked. You will wait for me there. I will clean myself so I do not offend you.”

I was too far into this to pull out now. I couldn’t imagine what was going to happen. I had only been with a couple men in my entire life. (In fact, very few women. Susan had been my childhood sweetheart, and we married long before I was aware of my ambiguous sexuality.) As Asif cleaned up, I nervously stripped. I pulled my pants off, exposing my smooth white legs. I continued by unbuttoning my shirt and pulling the athletic tee over my reddish-blonde hair. In the dim light I looked at my hairless chest. Good definition, not bad for an old married guy! My chest was solid, my stomach flat and lean. I thought of Asif’s iron hard chest covered in a flurry of black hair, and shuddered. 

I shivered naked at the edge of the cot and listened to the sound of the shower in the room next door. Through the grimy window I saw the skinny gas pump jockey hanging out at the light post, joking and laughing with some neighborhood friends. I wondered what he would think if he looked in the window right now. The water stopped, and I heard a door open in the hall. Asif came into the room with just a yellow towel wrapped around his waist. He was magnificent. The water dripped off the rich dark locks on his forehead. His smooth amber skin stretched across a truly muscular body, accentuated with dense mats of glossy black hair that tapered off across his chest and abdomen. His arms were powerfully developed, lined with veins that traced across his enormous biceps. He rubbed his broad palms into the downy hair on his belly, and the towel dropped to the floor. Asif grinned as he stepped towards me. I was stunned, like a deer in the headlights. What did he want me to do with that incredible eight inches of stiff engorged dick? Thick and richly textured, it was much darker than the rest of his golden skin. His immense cock grew out of a mound of glossy black curls, and his potent balls dropped heavily between strapping thighs. He faced me in front of the cot, and holding me by the shoulders, pulled my face into his crotch.