"More spit," I plead. "OK, he says, but it'll hurt again." He exits, spits some more spit onto his dick. Another thrust, another painful explosion,...as predicted. "Ooh, no," I yell, my eyes filled with tears.He's unmoved, his member still inside. "Give it a moment, you'll see." The pain relents indeed, faster than the first time. "Better?" he asks. "Yes," I say. "Gently," I say. He's pushing ever so gently now. "Five inches to go," he's counting down, "four. three." If I would have words. Aziz told me that his older brother Mohammed and his wife Kareema were enjoying a second honeymoon in Barbados, and they left little Bashir in his care for a week. It hasn’t been easy, Aziz confessed, as he ran his hand through Bashir’s hair. I smiled at Aziz and Bashir, shaking my head. Damn, who says all the good ones are taken? I was about to say something when my phone rang. I excused myself and checked. It was my brother Washim. What does the fool want now? I texted him that I’d call him. More

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