Chapter One

After almost ten years of not seeing one another, my friend in San Diego decided it was time to meet up. He planned to visit Spain in March but was keen to go somewhere hotter for a few days. Stuck in a tiny Welsh village throughout the winter, I was more than eager for some sun and to catch up with my old friend Sean.

Sean was American, and we met in South Africa in 1998. Having lost touch for a few years, I thanked the internet for connecting us in 2008, and we managed to see each other every year until the desire to finish my memoir took a front seat. Any more visits to fantastic San Francisco and Los Angeles got derailed by the nasty pandemic. Sean was married to two kids, and I was still happily single, gay and free to roam, so if you have dirty thoughts about our friendship, hold that whip right there, okay?

Sean made the hotel and social bookings, and I was happy to go along with whatever he had in store for us. He chose Marrakech in Morocco, a place I had never visited before, and hoping for a surprising and pleasant experience, I packed a bag for the week away. Sean warned to expect sunny days at the pool, mountain or quad bike rides, and a desert dinner. I was not an experienced rider but got caught up in the upcoming desert trip.

It was a three-hour flight from Manchester, and while he flew from London, our landing times were close, so he waited for me to arrive. Seeing him again after many years was great, and since we were strangers in a foreign land, I looked forward to our time together. He seemed no different, a bit bulkier and muscular from working out, keeping fit, and eating healthier.

We left the airport close to sunset, and it took the cab a few minutes to fight through the line of taxis outside the airport. That was the least of our worries because I was unprepared for the mass of bikes, bicycles, and cars fighting for space along the darkening streets. Traffic lights seemed inconvenient to drivers and pedestrians as we jerked and jolted towards our hotel for three hundred dirhams, close to twenty-three or twenty-nine pounds and dollars, respectively.

The posh four-star hotel was an all-inclusive adult-only place surrounded by palm trees about three kilometres from Marrakech's medina or the old part of the city. Despite the short flight, I desperately need a refreshing shower and luckily, we were in time for a snack before the dining area closed for the night.

I guess two men checking in was par for the course but with my painted fingernails, I felt they must think we were one of those odd city couples. Sean looked super straight, while not a poster boy for campness, my nails gave the game away in the largely Arab country. Maybe, I simply felt self-conscious for no reason at all, but a silent yet polite gentleman wheeled our bags as we walked to the rooms.

Entering mine first, he left the bag and stood to attention, and I realised he expected a tip, but in my hurry to leave the airport, I forgot to withdraw any money and sent him to Sean who had local currency.

Left alone, I opened the balcony door, overlooking the pools, blue but empty since swimming was not allowed after seven in the evening. Before I made it to the shower, a door opened and Sean poked his head into my room, but I was shocked at the connecting door. Was this a decent adult-only hotel or was it one of those where anything was possible? He asked if he should stay on his side and lock the door, but I had no issue with it being used for whatever reason, not expecting any saucy fireworks for the duration of our stay. Well, on my side of the cool brick walls of the expansive hotel.

If he wanted to sleepwalk through doors and walls, how would I react? It was a long shot and in all the years of visiting him, we kept our short-lived dalliance in the past. Sometimes I wished our first meeting could be reset so I could let human emotions take their course. Naked under the cool shower, my mind raced through various scenarios, past and present, real and imagined as I promised to enjoy this short time with my friend.

Sean was already in the dining area, and I picked something light to eat, marvelling at the vast collection of salads, meals, and desserts. The place was packed with guests, and from the accents, it seemed mostly English, some European and American. Other than English, there were equal amounts of French and Arabic speakers.

A mixed set of old, young, smart, or casually dressed diners filled the huge eating hall. Attentive waiters dashed around, collecting used cutlery and crockery, mistakenly whisking away a half-eaten meal while the guest stepped away for a water or juice refill. Taking in the sight, smells, and sounds, I stepped out of my comfort zone as far as travelling went to meet Sean in a strange country.

Sipping on orange juice while we ate, we got up to speed over the lost years as he laid out our itinerary for the next five days. My last bicycle ride was in 2012 but felt assured I could ride a bike along the dusty mountain paths. After eating, we strolled around the pools before going to our rooms and unpacking. At eleven, the music ended but the bar remained open until twelve, but rowdy parties were out of the question. Everything was chilled and sedate, the guests happy to relax as their voices, different accents, and languages carried in the cool evening air. 

Connected to the hotel internet service, I heard or felt my mobile phone vibrate multiple times, assuming friends wanted to know if I landed in one piece. Off course, they were much more interested in what I planned to do with my married friend in this foreign country. Assuring them of no hanky-panky, I let the phone buzz while I emptied my case. Too hot to get under any covers, I hopped into bed and started checking and answering the many messages.

Sleeping in a strange bed or new environment was my biggest curse, and I thought Sean would walk into my room through the connecting door. Tossing and turning well into the morning, it was the sound of chirping birds that woke me, but the heavy curtains kept the room dark despite the bright sun. Having left a freezing Welsh village behind, I welcomed the humidity and heat as it prickled my bare chest and legs.

My first morning in Marrakech, and it felt surreal. I listened for movement from the adjoining room but heard none and stepped under the shower and prepared to face a day of sunshine and lounge around the place. On the bedside table, my phone buzzed away, and I jumped at a sharp knock on the door, the muffled voice on the other side telling me to meet him at breakfast.

Despite the sunshine, there was a cool breeze, so I wore light sweatpants, a short-sleeved orange top, and rainbow-coloured flip-flops. Grabbing my phone, I left the room and saw a message on the gay app. That was quick, but I thought it might be from someone from England but stopped in my tracks and read the inquiring note in the yellow-framed chat box.

DID YOU CHECK IN WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND LAST NIGHT?

Chapter Two

Wanting to enjoy my breakfast, I decided not to reply to Belgian Guy, one of many pictureless profiles and a person who chose to remain hidden. Did he see us at check-in, in the dining room, or while walking around the pool area before bedtime? Rushing to meet Sean, the hot sun felt amazing and semi-naked bodies were already posing, preening, and relaxing around the pool areas.

The eating area was filled with diners, sheer sarongs, or dresses covering bikinis or swimsuits, but there was ample skin on show. Male eyes surreptitiously followed scantily clad females as they collected a meal or drink. From my seat, I noticed some men who were obviously sitting on my side of the bright gay fence and wondered which one was the Belgian Guy. I never told Sean about the message as we made small talk and took in the atmosphere.

There was a vast array of breakfast meals to enjoy. Like the night before, a mixed bunch of polite and friendly male and female waiters rushed around us, making sure tables and areas were cleaned before a new set of late stragglers arrived. A day of rest and lounging around the pool sounded ideal and after eating, we returned to our rooms and changed.

Despite enough time before leaving home, I left my bright orange swimming shorts and black walking tights in wintry Wales. Damn it! The shorts I brought along were for walking and would cling to soaked skin, but I had no option but to join those decked out in their finest poolside clothing. Even though the sun was high, the pool water was chilly, and the bubbling jacuzzi no different, but it did not stop me from hopping in for a few minutes while Sean relaxed and tried to finish reading his fantasy novel.

There were many pale-skinned bathers sprawled on deck chairs and lounges, some reading magazines or a book and newspapers. Sunglasses and dollops of sunscreen protected them from the sun's rays, and I guess they could admire the perfect bodies from behind their darkened lenses. It was only human and there were many nice human forms and shapes to look at indeed.

A sudden thought filled my head. Was Belgian Guy also at the pool, watching us, and did he fancy the straight and serious Sean or bright gay old me? At fifty-five, I was no spring chicken and Sean was but a few years younger and still in his forties. I would find out later when responding to his question.

A few feet away, one bare-chested hunk played table tennis and he was pretty damn hot to look at as I floated around in the pool. Another muscled and tanned married daddy sat close by, and my eyes were spoilt for choice. Soft eighties music from speakers floated around us, and everything appeared serene and calm. Without kids, this place was a quiet haven for adults to unwind and chill during the day and night.

Drinks and fluids were included in the price, so it was pretty much an open bar from sunrise to sunset. Known to be an enthusiastic dancer after a few drinks, and with no wild entertainment on site, I stuck to non-alcoholic beverages. Our breakfast was hardly digested when lunch was being served and then back to the pool to rest, but I opted for a walk around the hotel grounds. There were two tennis courts, a workout area, a spa with a lovely, heated pool, a gym, a sauna, and a steam suite. A tarred service road was used as a walking or running track.

With no need to venture away from neat palm-filled soil, except to be a tourist, it felt good being stuck in this oasis, the sound of traffic heard near the entrance gate. I relayed my discoveries to Sean, who was keen to hit tennis balls, but the sun began to fade, and it was time for supper again.

After the night meal, guests trekked to the bar lounge as a singer played his guitar and entertained us with live music. Sipping on mocktails, Sean and I played some more catching up, and I never said a word about the early morning message. As if reading my mind, the phone buzzed and there was another message from the profile with the name Belgian Guy.

I THINK YOU GUYS ARE BOTH HOT.  

Chapter Three

 I burst out laughing, and Sean asked what the matter was. I said someone on a gay app sent a message inquiring if he was my boyfriend and now thinks we are both hot! He too cackled in mild surprise and asked if I knew the person. Explaining how the app worked, I mused that the stranger could be any of the European- looking men in the place. Let him watch and wonder about us I thought and remained a silent chat companion.

Sean decided to go back to his room early, but I chose to stay for a few more drinks. Perhaps, Belgian Guy would make an appearance. After a few days of alcohol celibacy, I chose a vodka cocktail and sat down facing the entire bar to watch the other guests. With no sense of urgency in the air, the soft music and cool temperatures were joyfully soothing. I must have gulped down my drink and went back to the bar, and imagined eyes watching me.

It has been ages since I touched another man, naked or intimately, and my face grew hot at the thought. Not that I was in the mood to start soon, but the idea warmed my skin. Should I reply to Belgian Guy and see how far we go? He was being secretive and somehow, I liked the cat-and-mouse game. He can stew and wonder a bit longer. What will make him pop out in person?

The singer mentioned it would be his last song for the night and I finished my drink, got up, and walked out of the huge bar lounge. I strolled around the pool area, texting friends and taking pictures, enjoying the quiet night air. Couples or groups of people sat outside drinking and chatting, with the odd pair following my lead for a good night shoot. Pity there were no intoxicating blooms or incense smells to add texture to the place.

Walking to my room, the palm trees, buildings, and sparse poolside lighting created an eerie backdrop, but it was far from scary. Someone walked ahead and we entered the brick building, making our way to the single flight of stairs. The tall gentleman looked back and we both smiled in greeting but climbed each brown cemented step in silence.

My eyes drifted to his tight well-fitting jeans while looking for a wedding ring on his finger. It was an instinctive habit of mine because married daddies have always been my weakness. Even if he was not gay, a bit of admiration is needed. He was not the one I saw at the pool during the day, but he was just as fine-looking I must say.

‘Are you enjoying your holiday’ he asked, and I jumped at the sound of his voice. Mentioning I arrived yesterday and the first day was awesome, he smiled and without warning, he stepped closer and bravely pulled me closer. Closeted against the cool brick wall, he dropped his head and kissed me, my mouth opening on cue.

Pulling me closer, I felt his pelvis rock side to side, the growing bulge pressing against my belly since he was slightly taller than my five-foot-ten inches. Daringly naughty, I clung to him but my ears listened for any footsteps, and hearing none, we stayed locked together for a few minutes. The man knew how to kiss as his tongue moved to my neck and ear, gently tickling and increasing the heat of my skin.

I felt his cock twitch a few times, thick and heavy with blood, but I made no move to touch it. What a marvellous feeling indeed. Was he alone or did he have someone waiting to receive his delicious thick manhood before bedtime? If so, he would need to explain the rock-hard cock after a few drinks at the bar? For now, I simply wanted to enjoy the sensations before I crept into my bed, alone and very horny.

Kissing a stranger in a hallway was not what I imagined on day one of my holiday, but I took the time and opportunity. He probably read the admiration in my mind as we ascended the stairs, or perhaps he was the Belgian Man!

Too engrossed in his kissing and mighty bulge jeans, it slipped my mind. If this was his way of formal introduction, I would not complain. In less than five minutes, he managed to set my hormones and loin on fire with a few kisses and a tantalising feel of his daddy crotch. Saying goodnight, he walked ahead and entered the room opposite Sean’s.

Taking a deep breath, I stumbled into my room and saw a sliver of light from under my neighbours door. Sean was awake or reading, so I brushed my teeth and as I dipped into bed, the connecting door opened, and my dark-haired friend grinned devilishly at me. Did he know what just happened or was he being silly? Playfully telling him to stick to his side of the door, but wanted him to get into bed with me, I mentioned my time alone was nothing unexciting.

‘Did Belgian Guy make his move on you’ he wanted to know because my cheeks seemed a tad flushed. I laughed and blamed it on the few alcoholic drinks and he stared at me for a few seconds and he too said goodnight and shut the door. I never heard it lock and put my head on the pillow, the blood rushing through my veins. Horny was not the word. Should I watch porn and wank, but what if Sean suddenly opens the door and finds me beating off?

Trying to sleep in the dark, I took one last look at my silent phone and saw the all too familiar yellow messenger warning.

WAS YOUR HANDSOME BOYFRIEND WAITING NAKED IN BED FOR YOU?

Chapter Four

Well, I think the riddle got solved a few seconds before I entered my room. Or else someone else was watching us. Finally, I typed a response and waited for Belgian Guy to own up to his forwardness and horny kissing skills.

Me: Did you just kiss me by the stairs?

Belgian Guy: If not me, who else is after your tasty lips?

Me: Hahaha, no one, I lied sweetly. So, it was YOU. 😊

Belgian Guy: That is hard to believe, you are a handsome man.

Me: I am far from handsome but thank you.

Belgian Guy: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I think you hot and so is your boyfriend.

Me: He is not my boyfriend.

Belgian Guy: WHAT!!! You are kidding me for sure?

Me: Nope, the truth. He is married with two kids. 😊

Belgian Guy: AND??? that means nothing. Do you guys have a connecting door to your rooms?

Me: Yes, but he stays perfectly well-behaved on his side.

Belgian Guy: I would not be like that with you next door to me.

Me: But you hardly miles away, are you now?

Belgian Guy: Is that an invitation to visit your room young man?

Me: Hahahaha, young man? Thank you again, but I should be sleeping.

Belgian Guy: I promise to be good, and keen to see if you really are alone! 😊

Me: I am indeed alone in my room, and you may pop in to set your mind at rest.

Belgian Guy: My mind is far from restful, along with something else.

Me: Well, what can I say. 😊 😉 😊

He gave me no time to change my mind and tapped lightly on my door. With my window ajar, I could hear guests chatting and laughing outside. I tiptoed to the door and found a fully dressed man smiling at me. While I wondered who he left behind in his room, he seemed shocked to find out the truth from my side. He was surprised to find me alone, with the middle door firmly shut but unlocked, something I kept hidden from him.

There was no need to whisper, but we did and moving towards the bed, I sprawled down and he took it as some invitation and dropped beside me. Lying on his back, he rolled me over him, and I wiggled so our lips were level and kissed him. He tried hugging me, but I pushed his arms away, while I raised myself and kept him imprisoned under me. A blue shirt tucked into his jeans, I dropped my pelvis and felt his bulge, gently rolling my hips from side to side, all the while kissing him softly.

I hoped Sean did check on me since he must have heard the door open and close. I think the danger of being caught or found out made it somewhat more exciting. Belgian Guy was very relaxed, letting me use my mouth on his neck and lips, occasionally pushing his crotch against mine. His heavy dark blue jeans scraped my flimsy sleep shorts, and I felt every inch of the bulge.

Moaning into his throat and the sensation, I dropped my hips and pressed into him. My body vibrated with pleasure. His hands cupped my butt cheeks, pulling me closer. I wanted to groan aloud but thought of Sean on the other side.

‘Are you sure your boyfriend is not listening at the door,’ my visitor whispered into my ear and instead of laughing out loud, I nipped at his nipple through the shirt. Mistaking it for an invitation to undress, I stopped his hands at the second button, not intending to do more than a kiss, cuddle and grope. Seeing the golden band on his finger, I looked into his eyes and before he said a word, I kissed him into silence and submission.

Should I know who waited for him across the hallway? It could be a boyfriend, husband or wife. Even with many guests milling about, he picked me out, while I never laid eyes on him. A stalking scoundrel indeed, but wrapped in his arms, I was not complaining about anything, except make myself pretty and sensually comfortable on his tight crotch and bulge. We remained silent, our hearts beating steadily as if we were ready to fall asleep, but the tightness in his jeans was hard to ignore. Someone or both men on the bed wanted something badly. As if reading my thoughts, he asked a question in my ear.

WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO STAY THE NIGHT?