Blown in from the Sahara

I don't suppose I am any different to any other gay guy in the way that I look at chaps that I find attractive. I suppose the same is true also of how straight men look at girls except they can make themselves more obvious. When I see someone I think is fanciable I try to see them from all angles. A slim body is what usually draws my attention first and if this is enhanced by well-fitting clothes, so much the better. I do not find the current fashion of jeans worn around the buttocks attractive. I much prefer them to be crutch hugging so that the outline of the genitals behind show through. Next I look at the chest hoping to see some sign of a physique filling out a fairly tight t-shirt. And if the arms do not look too much like matchsticks then this balances the body and gives a good indication that the chap keeps himself fit. Of course sometimes all these criteria may be fulfilled only to find that the face and hair have no character at all and then the bloke becomes less attractive in my eyes.

But despite the way someone looks physically sometimes I see someone who I find sexy and who I fancy like mad. That happened to me just a few years ago when I saw this young lad, aged possibly about eighteen. He walked straight past me and the first thing I saw was his face which had a naturally dark complexion from which the whites of his eyes seemed to gleam like diamonds. He was maybe of Arab or Mediterranean origin, I thought. Then I saw his hair which was black and nearly down to his shoulders but mostly covered by a woollen hat. My eyes went a bit lower and I noted that, for a jacket, he was wearing only an unbuttoned leather waistcoat so that his arms and chest were visible. That's when I saw that he was covered all over in tattoos.

I have never been a fan of tattoos but on this young man they looked really good. They had obviously been professionally drawn on his skin, which was as dusky as his face, and carefully chosen to match the contours of his body. I saw in particular that his shoulders and arms looked like they were clothed in fine material died in yellow, purple green and red. They were, in fact, quite bare but the tattoos covered every almost area of skin. His chest was visible from time to time as his waistcoat flapped opened when he moved. He was not exceptionally muscled but the shape of his upper chest was apparent and it too was covered in this unique patterning. The same was true of all of the parts of his body which were visible.

As I mentioned he was walking past me and I observed all this detail simply because he appeared so sexy to me. I smiled at him and he saw it and smiled back. In my case it was a smile to say, 'I like the look of you and I would like to know you better.' I couldn't interpret his smile but to get any positive reaction from a total stranger who stirred feelings in both my brain and my loins was a bonus. There was no time to follow him and see where he was going, who he was meeting or anything else that might add to my assessment of his personality. I did turn once he had gone by and this time I saw that the black jeans that he wore hugged his narrow hips and showed of his bottom to perfection. It was enough to make me lust after him.

Of course I didn't for a moment think that either of us would meet again or that if we did it would only be under the same circumstances of two people just passing in the street. However it was just a couple of days later that I was sitting in a park having something to eat at lunchtime when I saw him heading towards where I was sitting. He was on his own and I looked at him as he got nearer to where I was sitting. I was just going to smile at him like before but as he got within a few yards of me he spoke.

'Hi,' he said and smiled broadly. 'Do you mind if I sit here?'

He was well spoken and I concluded from that that he was probably well educated.

'Please do,' I said. 'There's plenty of room for two.'

I had a load of sandwiches with me and offered him one. It pleased me more that he took one than if he had refused.

'Are you hungry?' I asked as the sandwich disappeared in no time.

'I'm a bit skint at the moment,' he said. 'I've just started as a student at college and it's not easy making ends meet.'

'Maybe that's the reason he wanted to sit near me,' I thought. 'He sees me as an easy meal ticket.'

If this was his motive I was not offended. In fact being fairly well off I was not averse to giving a lad a handout it he was prepared to give something to me in return.

'When was the last time you had a good meal?' I asked him.

'A couple of days ago. And it was one of my mates who paid for that,' he replied sounding sorrowful at having to rely on other's generosity for his subsistence.

'Don't you get a grant?' I asked.

'I get virtually nothing because my parents are well off. But they will not support me as I am studying art and not some other useful subject as they would put it.'

He emphasised this last part and I could tell from his voice that he was telling the truth.

'So how are you expected to support yourself?' I seemed to be asking a lot of questions but he did not object and was willing to talk.

'I literally beg,' he said sounded somewhat ashamed of the admission.

'Is that what you're doing now?' I asked.

'In a way,' he responded. 'I would really like to find someone who would sponsor me through college on the basis that when I am a successful artist I can pay them back.'

'Do you think I might be that person?' I asked. I was conscious that this was my sixth question in a row but he had no hesitation in replying.

'I like to judge people in the first few seconds of my seeing them and I thought you looked like the type who would look favourably on a poor artist.' he said rather enigmatically.

'I like to assess people in the first few seconds of my seeing them as well and I think you certainly stand out from the crowd,' I said. 'When I saw you the other day I thought how distinctive you were.'

'Because of my tattoos?' it was his turn to ask a question.

'If you like, yes,' I replied. 'But I saw more than just a body that had been painted all over. I saw a good looking youth with an honest face and a sexy body.'

If he caught onto the implicit meaning of my last remark he didn't mention it.

'You smiled and it was a sincere smile. It made my day,' I continued.

He turned to me and gave me the same smile.

'I was just practising,' he said.

'Practising for what?'

'Selling myself,' he replied without hesitation.

'Selling your talent?' I asked.

'In a kind of way but not the artistic talent that I have but my ability to give men a good time. I'm gay and I can use that fact to make money.'

'So you're rent?' I asked, not at all shocked.

'Yea, maybe. Being gay is another reason my parents won't support me. They think that if I am forced to fend for myself it will make a man of me. That means become a straight man as far as they're are concerned.'

'You've guessed that I'm gay as well I suppose.'

He looked at me and said, 'I've been on the gay scene and going with men for a couple of years now and you develop a second sense about who is gay and who is not. When I saw you the other day eyeing me up and down it was easy to guess you were gay.'

'And you think I'm the sort who needs to pay for sex?' I asked. There might have been a hint of bitterness in my voice.

'The way you undressed me with your eyes, yes, you might be,' he replied.

He was right of course. When I first saw him my first thoughts had been to wonder how far his tattoos covered his body..

'All over, except my face, palms, soles of the feet, cock and balls.' he said although I hadn't voiced the question that was forming in my head.

'I might like to have proof of that,' I said smiling at him.

'It'll cost you,' he said also smiling.

'I'll pay,' I said and now we were both grinning from ear to ear. 'How much?'

'Let's say a meal and a roof over my head,' he said.

'I've only one bed,' I said.

'Even better then, I won't have to worry about keeping warm.'

It was nearly time for me to return to the office.

'I've got to go but I will be finished work at five. Let's meet back here just after then. By the way what's your name?'

'Sirocco, but my friends called me Rocco,' he said. 'My parents reckoned I was blown in by the Sahara wind.'

'So you origins are from Africa?' I said.

'Yea,' he said. 'My mother's from Tunisia and my father's English.'

That explains your good looks,' I said truthfully. 'My name's Jeff. See you later, Rocco.'

'Ok, Jeff' he said.

I still had a round of sandwiches left and I gave it to him. I also gave him a fiver from my wallet.

'Go and get something proper to eat it will be a long time till dinner tonight,'

He pocketed the money without a word and walked off in the direction from where he had come. I wondered if I would see him again. I had a feeling he would turn up as arranged. There was something enigmatic but honest about him.

It was quite difficult to concentrate on work for the rest of the day and my mind kept wandering to this mysterious boy who was entering my life. I had been left a small fortune so was reasonably well off and had no ties. I didn't even have parents anymore to interfere in my chosen lifestyle. I wondered if Rocco was really who he said he was or whether he was just a hustler and one that would take the money and run. I decided I could afford to find out.

I left the office spot on five and walked to the bench I had occupied at lunchtime. My faith in human nature was restored when I saw him at a distance sitting there.

'Hi Jeff,' he was the first to speak. 'I expect you wondered if I would turn up.'

'The thought had crossed my mind,' I said. 'Did you get something to eat?'

'Yea, I went to one of the cheap caffs and had a fry up.'

'Let's get back to my place,' I said.

As soon as we were through the door he asked if he could have a shower.

'I've haven't had a good wash for a fortnight,' he explained. 'I've been having to sneak into a mate's room to sleep and he's in digs with an eagle-eyed landlady who would know if anyone had more than one shower. I've only managed a quick strip wash now and then. I must stink.'

He didn't actually. When I was close to him I could smell the muskiness of his flesh and it turned me on. Nevertheless to make him feel more comfortable I gave him a towel and showed him where the bathroom was. I also left some underwear to put on when he was finished as he had no change of clothes with him. I told him to join me in the bedroom when he was finished.

He spent a good ten minutes under the shower and when he had done and dried himself he reappeared just wearing the pants I had given him. I could see most of his tattoos now and he looked fantastic. Every part of his body was a work of art.

'Who inspired those fantastic designs?' I asked.

'I did,' he replied. 'I drew and painted what I wanted and gave it to a tattoo artist to copy. Some of these have taken weeks to finish.'

I could believe it. His smooth dark skin had been the perfect background for the intricate patterns that matched in some places and complemented in others. These were not the crude pictures that are usually seen on the bodies of those who when drunk have decided to mutilate themselves. I wanted to touch them as they seemed to invite tactile examination.

'You can take a closer look,' he said to me. Once again he had guessed what was in my mind.