Bader

1

It’s 11pm at the bus station. I arrived at 10 PM from the capital city, a five-hour journey from my accommodation. I was paying a visit to my cousin who just came back from the Philippines on a vacation. The temperature was at 10 degrees centigrade, a little windy and I was chilling even with my thick jacket. I stood there in front of the station for an hour with those taxi drivers and s*x scavengers digging in on me to have a ride with them. I have to admit that in this part of the Middle East where I work there are locals who scavenge on men, particularly fair-skinned Asians especially if they are clean-shaven. I’ve had several encounters with those types of men. Usually they stare at you and if you lock stares with them, then it’s when the action starts. I usually ignore them. I had a Bader already.

A few more minutes and I sighted Bader in the corner of the road standing. He was wearing a white body-fit shirt which exposed his sculpted chest, a grey jacket, and straight-cut jeans. As he saw me, he signaled in an air of authority for me to follow him into his car. I immediately obliged. I trailed him towards the parking area, just beside the road.

He opened his red sports car, new one he just bought a month earlier from his year’s savings and a help from his dad. He got into the driver’s seat as I went for the opposite door and got in beside him.

“What took you so long? Do you know I was waiting there for an hour dying of hunger, hypothermia, and fear of hovering s*x maniacs thinking if you’d come to pick me up or not?” I said in an angry and suspicious tone. “I called you in your number and there was no answer. Where have you been? I could have died from mental torture figuring out what’s going on!”

Bader just sat there calmly and silently started the car without looking at me as if he did not hear anything.

“Bader! Did you hear me?” I shouted.

“I had a damn flat tire in the middle of the road. I had difficulty fixing it, and I left my cell phone in my room,” he explained as he turned his head towards me. “Happy now?” giving me a sharp and intimidating look.

I suddenly turned down my voice. “Sorry, I thought you again…” I said as I sympathize the poor guy having his bad day and having to undergo that sacrifice for me.

“Again…. What?” showing in front of my face his huge fist as if he were ready to smash me.

It’s just a playful gesture, just to end a conversation. It was his way of telling me that I should shut up because he was either tired or pissed off with something.

“Nothing!” I answered playfully pretending I was afraid.

He parked the car in the nearest McDonalds, we got in and he went straight to the counter, ordered spaghetti and hamburger for me, French fries for him and two soft drinks while I went to select a table just beside the glass wall overlooking the highway. He wouldn’t eat anything from McDonalds. We just went there because I always told him I like it there. He would say its foods are prepared in a way not compatible with the standards of his religion, but that he could bear with me there just to drink soft drink, satisfying himself with the fries while I would savor the spaghetti and the hamburger. After an hour of sitting and some “interrogation” with my activities and people I went with during the trip, we would proceed to my accommodation, 50 kilometers from the station where he picked me up.

It’s what we usually do whenever I would go to the capital city or other places needing me to commute to-and-from the bus station. He sends me off and picks me back to my accommodation. It was a huge sacrifice for him to do that at his own expense, and considering that his place is forty-five-minute drive from my accommodation and he still had to still report for work the following morning. While I would already be asleep, he would still be driving on his way home. “I am at your service as driver and bodyguard,” he would say with a grin on his face or an air of sarcasm, depending upon his mood.

Two years earlier, Bader was one of the many Arab trainees under me. I was 25 then. Under the nationalization program, every company with expatriate employees is required to train locals who would later on take over the jobs from the expatriates. He was one of those given the chance to be trained. At that time he was newly-hired, twenty years old, and never knew how to speak English. He was tall at nearly 6 feet, a gym-addict, and unlike most locals, he adopted some Western practices. He maintained a clean-shaven face and his skin was pinkish than reddish. He had light brown eyes with long, curved eyelashes, thick eyebrows, and slightly wavy hair with bangs dropping to both sides of his face. He was pretty a good-looking guy, I would say the most good-looking personnel in my company. I could even say that he looked more like an international heartthrob. “I am not a pure breed. My mother has a Lebanese blood, and my father has a combination of Syrian and Turkish,” he said.

My friendship with Bader started on his second day of work. Punching his daily time record “in” should be done before seven in the morning. But it was already 6:58 and he could not locate his time card. So he rushed towards the lecture room and when he was already in front of my desk, I could see him gasping nervously and gesturing something I could not totally figure out.

“What is it… a paper? No? Ball pen? No? Notebook? No? A bomb? No?” I figured encouraging him to gesticulate some more like we were playing charade under time pressure and laughing together every time I give the wrong answer while his face would change from scared, to delighted, and to being frustrated. Later, I was able to get what he meant when he pointed to his watch and gestured his palm as if he inserted it into something with a matching sound, “Tick!”

“Ok, I got it, time card!” I shouted as his eyes bulged in complete excitement. I immediately ran to the office, gave him a spare card, and signed it to prove to his superior that he lost his card and that he came on time.

Since that time, Bader would come to the training room to visit me during his break, asking me to teach him English and even Tagalog. Since I was based at the training room alone most of the time, there was no problem.

A few months after that incident, he was officially enrolled into my training class. Our paths became closer having to see each other at least four hours in a day. Even after class, he would stay behind to talk, sometimes offer me foodstuffs or anything prepared by his family. And because of his persistent to speak English, he gradually improved.

Like anyone his age, Bader was very enterprising. He was full of energy and afraid of nothing. He wouldn’t mind running his sports car to top speed even inside the worksite, earning him some caution notice for safety violation and disturbing the peace and quiet of the workplace. He had his skull punctured due to a fall, he had a huge scar in his left thigh due to a car accident, and a mark on his scalp when an angry friend hit him with a metal rod during a fight. I think he was kind of a happy-go-lucky person. He had a simplistic approach to problems too. “If you are hungry, eat; if you are angry, sleep!” He advised me when I complained that something in my job annoyed me. Sounds funny but I guess there is a point to be learned.

Gradually, Bader and I became more intimate. For a local and a Filipino to be that close, eyebrows would raise if you would tell people that there’s nothing more to the relationship. But between me and Bader, it was just pure friendship, not because neither one of us liked it but I promised myself never to do stupid things in that part of the Middle East. For one, I was afraid of what it could bring me, and two, I wanted to keep a standard of self-respect and dignity in my position. I knew that I had a special place in Bader’s heart. I could sense it in the suspicious eyes of his local co-trainees when they see Bader staying behind after class. They would even tease Bader in their language. I could feel that some of them were jealous. There were some who would attempt to flirt with me but I ignore their advances.

Before Bader came, I already had a straight three years of clean record; no s*x, no alcohol, no flings, no romantic relations, nothing. Everything was purely professional. It was kind of boring but that’s how it was “Why should I break that record now?” I told myself.

One day, Bader invited me. “Mr. Mike, please come with me to my home, visit my farm, and I’ll introduce you to my family – father, brothers, cousins, friends, and nephews. We’ll stay in my farm overnight on Thursday until Friday.” In the Middle East, weekends fall on Thursdays and Fridays.

“Sorry… I can’t”

“Why not? Please Mr. Mike please…?” He pleaded.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t…”

“You know what? I got a feeling that you are afraid with me … until now you still don’t trust me? Nothing could happen if you are with me, ok?” He explained in an air of seriousness. “Why, don’t you trust this?” He flexed his right bicep and pointed it to me smiling.

“It’s not about that, Bader. It’s the people” I said pleadingly. “What will they say if they see me hitch-riding with you, sleeping with you, and returning back the following day, still with you? Can you stand the feeling having people give you a suspicious look?”

“Ah…” he nodded. “Well, first of all, I don’t care what the goddamn people say. Second of all, if you consider me to be your friend, then you wouldn’t mind how the heck people look at you, would you? And third of all, remember this, it’s very seldom that a local would bring an expatriate to his home and introduce him to his family. It could only happen for reasons of great respect and pride, regardless of the judging eyes around. And I respect you. I am proud of you. And I could just care less if people look at me contemptuously.”

“Ok, ok…. For your best-actor dialogue, I’ll go,” I finally succumbed, touched by his explanation but also tired of his prodding. But I did not really mean to take my word that seriously.

He was so happy.

On his way to the door, I accompanied him, as he arched his left arm into my shoulder pressing me tightly into his body. I didn’t know what suddenly came into my mind and I teased him saying, “Ops, you got a huge hard-on there!” as I threw a glimpse into his front.

He was surprised with my expression. And probably trying to catch how I happened to notice his bulge said, “s**t, I got… I don’t know how to stop it” staring at me with a huge naughty grin on his face.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t look at me like, that Bader, I know what it means and I don’t do that!”

“Yeah, I know, but s**t… I got to let it go or it kills me!” unzipping his fly, lightly shoved his pants and white undershorts down, and released his huge c**k right in front of my startled eyes.

I ran to lock the door lest somebody would suddenly knock or open it. “What are you doing?!” I said as I rushed back to my table trembling.

That was the first time I saw an Arab p***s. His was about 7 inches, with a thickness of nearly 2-inch diameter evenly distributed from the base up, tight-knit skin, shaved pubic hair, and really rock-hard.

“Mr. Mike, just let me do it here, I can’t stand it, Ahhhhhh!” hurriedly stroking his hard-on. Then he totally shoved down his pants and shorts to the floor and removed his upper uniform exposing his huge chest, biceps and sculpted abs, trembling, waggling his body right in front of my eyes. His right hand started stroking his huge hard-on while his left hand caressed up and down his chest and abs, and his eyes like he had a seizure, occasionally giving me a glimpse. He stayed in that motion for about a minute. “Mike please come here, I just want to hold you…”

“No way! Do your stuffs, as you wish and I have none of it!” I said firmly even though my mind screamed to come up and help him. I remained glued just fascinated by the sight of him showing off everything.

After a few minutes, his moan started to become louder. “Haaaah! Haaaah!” as he reached for the trash can and squirted his semen into it, Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhh!

When he was done, he came to my desk, still in his naked body, his right hand held his c**k.

I was stupefied just staring at what he was doing. He picked a tissue from on top of my table and wiped his d**k. When he was done, he went back to where his clothes were scattered and put them back on. And as if nothing had happened, he went straight to the door, opened it. “Bye Mr. Mike! See you tomorrow!” as he went out.

(To be continued)