A Foreign Experience

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I was in the Atlas Mountains in Morocco, northwest Africa towards where the Mediterranean and the Atlantic meet. I’m a photographer and was there on a contract from a major, national magazine. I’ve done photography in Outer Mongolia and Antarctica and the Himalayas and the heart of equatorial Africa and other out of the way places. In part, I get hired because of the photos. I sometimes think, though, that the clue to success is to expose huge amounts of film. If you shoot two thousand pictures, a half dozen have to come out pretty good. The other reason is because I’m willing — in fact I like — to go off the beaten track and live like a native. Most aren’t interested in the tough life.

I should also mention that I’m big. Six feet eight inches tall, 250 pounds in weight. That sounds heavy but in fact I’m very fit. Have to be to do what I do. My size has advantages and disadvantages. In the Atlas Mountains it was an advantage.

There were three of us plus two mules. One was my guide, the other my translator, by official definition. In fact, the three of us played any role required and were very interdependent. This has tended to be true on each expedition I’ve been on. Here, in the Atlas Mountains we were in some desolate terrain. And we were at altitude much of the time. The peaks where we were go up to 12,000 – 13,000 feet although we never got much above 7,000. The natives, the Berbers, or Amazigh as they call themselves, were like natives everywhere; suspicious of strangers to the point of being hostile. Yet, when things went right, they could be the most hospitable people possible.

The natives live much as they did a thousand years ago. There is no electricity, running water. No doctors, no corner store to buy what you need. No paved roads, mostly just trails. Staying alive is hard work. They grow what crops they can, have what animals they can. Mostly goats. It’s a tough life and just about everyone is armed. We were also. Had to be or we’d be robbed and likely killed with no one outside any the wiser.

We walked. Our mules bakırköy escort carried our supplies and, occasionally, one of us that needed it. We took almost two months to cover a little over 200 miles. We were threatened at times. In small villages, when one of my guides knew someone, we were treated as welcome guests. Outside, we slept in tents. In homes, we slept on carpets and ate the home owner’s own stew. Most homes were stone, two floors. The animals were on the ground floor, the people on the second.

To us, the people appeared dirty. But they really weren’t. In order to stay alive, some rudimentary hygiene was needed. Oh, working hard outside all day everyone got dirty. But they cleaned up. Clothing tended to be layers, seemingly anything they could get hold of from modern Nylon jackets to hand woven wool. We happened to attend a wedding, a feast. People wore their best. The women were actually very attractive. Clothing on the younger, unmarried girls was designed, just as it is in developed lands, to make them attractive to potential suitors. People who work hard aren’t fat, they’re very fit.

Okay, the point of this story. Somewhere, out in the middle of nowhere, after a couple days of walking with no sight of civilization., we came across this house. A typical two-story stone house in what seemed to be good repair. Turns out, it holds a woman and her son. Her husband is off, in civilization somewhere, earning some money. She’s keeping things going, caring for the crops and the goats. She and her son, perhaps thirteen or so. She’s very wary. If we’re the wrong kind, she’s in big, big trouble. Even though she doesn’t truly trust us, I think she decides she hasn’t much choice. If she’s unkind we may just kill her and her son. My guides talk to her and convince her of whatever it might be, so we’re invited in. We can stay there and she’ll even feed us. We’ll pay her, although the money is of limited use to her.

Then comes the twist to the story. After a meal, my friend, the translator, tells beşiktaş escort me, “She wants you to make a baby for her.”

“What do you mean?”

He says something more to her. She’s sort of bright eyed. She replies, nodding. “You’re so big. She wants a big, healthy child like you, so since you’re here she wants you to put a child in her.”

“But what about her husband?”

“He’s not here. He won’t be here for several months.”

I look at her. I never really had before. She’s most likely about thirty, maybe less since this hard life ages you. Dark hair, trim body, perhaps not beautiful but certainly not ugly.

“I want to be sure. I’m to put my cock, my penis, into her vagina, and move it around until I load my sperm in her. Is that right?”

He talks, she answers. I think she’s actually smiling. These are serious people, they don’t smile easy.

“Yes, that’s exactly right. She also says that you’re to do it over and over as often as you can to make sure she gets pregnant.”

Well, her husband may or may not like this but by the time he finds out, I’ll be thousands of miles away. I’ve always enjoyed a good fuck, so why not?

She arranges that her son will stay in the room with my two guys and she and I will be in the only other room. We’re to be in the kitchen/bedroom, they’re in the living/dining room. She takes all her clothes off and indicates that I’m supposed to. Weird, neither of us knowing the others’ language. Then, with a large basin and some water she washed herself and then starts to wash me. She’s actually very attractive. Not huge breasts, but they’re there. And they’re firm and not sagging. Flat stomach. Hips. Shapely legs. Very hairy muff. She spends some time on my cock and balls, smiling at me as I get more and more erect. She’s obviously not washing anymore, but being sexy, trying to get me aroused.

When I try and hold her breasts she moves to stop me, And when I try to pull her close, to perhaps kiss her or have some foreplay, she turns and bends beylikdüzü escort over, reaching behind herself to point at her pussy. I guess I’m to fuck her. I step up to her, holding my cock, get it up under her pussy and move it back and forth, running it against her vaginal lips. She’s actually ready! I can feel her lubrication, her juices. She squirms around and I can tell, I’m supposed to get in her. So I do. A little, then a little more. She’s fairly tight, I don’t just slip in easy. But I’m soon all the way in. I then pull back a little and then back in, and on and on. I lean over her and reach around to hold her breasts. She doesn’t stop me. I continue pushing into her. She’s shoving her hips back at me. She’s into this, all right. I move one hand down across her stomach to get my fingers to her clit and start diddling it a little as I continue pumping into her.

It doesn’t take long and I explode in her. She obviously can feel it. She continues to pump her ass at me until I’ve completely finished and started softening. Then she pulls forward and I’m out. She lays down on her back and lifts her hips up, her knees up. I think she’s trying to make sure my sperm gets up in her.

I do get some sleep but by morning I’d fucked her three more times. I can’t remember ever going four times in one night before. I probably wouldn’t have here except she made it obvious that she wanted more.

The next day, my translator told me that she wanted us to stay another night. She wants to make sure she gets pregnant from me. So, I took several photos, climbed around the local hills some and then had a repeat of the first night. I never kissed her. She didn’t want that. I did manage to finger he pussy a little and suck on her nipples a little but she didn’t seem to really want that, either. She just let me do whatever would keep me occupied until I could unload more sperm in her.

I don’t know the mating habits in the Atlas Mountains. I don’t know what she and her husband do with each other. I think she was refusing to have me as a lover, as a replacement husband, and was just using me as a sort of portable sperm bank. I also don’t know — or don’t remember, if I was ever told — her name. Or, whether she ever got pregnant. I don’t think I want to go back to find out. If she has a huge child and a similar looking huge man shows up, her husband might not like it.

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