+18 years

Bangladesh, Check, 138

When my eyes meet his eyes. I recognize himI can’t remember his name, he is happy to refresh my memory: Asif, from Bangladesh.

Bangladesh banana, Why not ? Photo by Moritz Kindler on Unsplash


After a little dry spell, I’m out again. No space cookies this time, just a good old bottle of wine and that’s it.
This Friday, I’m tired and tomorrow, I’m supposed to wake up at 7:30am to help in an orphan animal shelter. So no question of drinking too much and a reasonable outing on the program…

Well, okay, one drink finally leads to another… I’m ready to go out, a little drunk too, and more excited than I thought…

For those of you who may be wondering, the orphan animals have had to do without me…

Direction the Mustang, the tail finally passed, we start to wiggle on commercial music sung by a band of musicians. It’s not always just vocally, but it doesn’t matter, we sing, we dance and we have fun.
I thought I was just enjoying my friends, without any desire to hunt… My eyes are already on the lookout for prey. If my eyes are wide awake, my confidence and my mojo remain at half-mast. The fangs aren’t sharp enough tonight, I might come home empty-handed. Besides, there’s no gazelle on the horizon… I’m about to give up when…

When my eyes meet his eyes. I recognize him, he recognizes me, we smile. He walks up to me, asks about me.


I can’t remember his name, he takes pleasure in refreshing my memory: Asif. We’ve already spoken, already kissed, right here, about 4 months ago, the night I met Max. He is Bangladeshi, we had discussed about Bangladesh, which I know well, and he had kissed me. He’s cute, not very tall, well built, very pretty eyes and a very nice smile.

Four months ago, I left him with my number, promising to see him again. Then Max showed up and let’s just say my promise vanished, and his messages went unanswered.


He doesn’t seem to hold it against me, because after talking for five minutes, he already kisses me. I’m letting it happen. The kiss is a little wet, but not unpleasant.

And then suddenly, my desire rises, relentlessly, in the hollow of my loins, his too, judging by the hump of his trousers. It doesn’t take long before we decide to join his hostel. Fifteen minutes of walking later, here we are. He’s got the room all to himself, it’s big. It’s a bit of a mess, but it looks clean and it’s spacious. He puts two mattresses on the floor and starts kissing me again.

He’s soft, maybe too soft, he takes care of me carefully, studious. It’s not bad, but it lacks a bit of ardour. His head between my legs, I try to focus on my pleasure. He puts so much effort into it, yet my little fruit doesn’t wake up…


Then the hand-to-hand starts, my desire decreases as the act goes on. I don’t know if it’s the small size of his penis or his softness but something is missing. It’s as if he was reciting a lesson learned by heart, it’s technical, he’s careful, but it’s mechanical, it lacks naturalness. He changes positions in an agreed way, I try new things, he is lost, he goes back to his routine.
Definitely he lacks vigour, he’s too cute, he’s not passionate enough. It doesn’t last very long, but it’s enough for me.

He lies down next to me, draws me towards him, we stay in each other’s arms for a while. He’s too frail for me, I feel like I’m holding him in my arms. Sorry my little Asif, but this is the first and last time.


After a few minutes, he gets up to eat a small snack, I decline, but I take the opportunity to get dressed.

His face can not hide his disappointment. He offers to drive me back to the Mustang.
The entrance is no longer accessible, I wait outside for my friends to come out. He stays with me, we kiss to pass the time. A touch of guilt runs through me. I know I won’t see him again, but I promised again.

When my friends go out, we leave each other, he offers to see him again on Sunday night. I stay evasive, honesty will be for another time.

I should have ended my evening on that note of disappointment and guilt… Except that, um…

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