THUS the beautiful Scheherazade saved her life and married the Caliph by telling wonderful stories.

THIS IS NOT ONE OF THEM

Know then, O readers---

Oh, to hell with that---we’ve done that bit already. Let’s jump right in

I took the lid off the bottle.

Of course I did.

Well, wouldn’t you have done the same, if you had been in my place?

Because, it must be said, my place at that time was not very interesting. Following the first Gulf War, photographs had revealed the site of previously unknown ruins somewhere near the borders of Kuwait, Saudi Arabia and Iraq. Volunteers had been sent to investigate and for several weeks we had all been digging, collecting and photographing right, left and centre. Luckily we were near an oasis and it was there that we had set up our camp.

On one particular day, everyone else had taken an opportunity to leave the site, All were making the two hour plus journey to the nearest town to re-stock on food and other supplies. Some were there to report to Governmental bodies, financial advisors and sponsors, and most to enjoy other civilized delights in the city, like ice-cream or worse.

I had done some work collating and putting information into a computer (I had!), but a two-hour lunch break under the trees was too tempting. I thought of checking out my new videos. I had “Rowed to Ejaculation” (how a rowing team came and went faster in a long narrow boat) or, “Gang-bangs of New York” (a title which seemed self-explanatory) But no---eyelids grew heavy. I wanted to doze. Sleep was averted, however, when flashing light caused irritation and, moments later, investigation.

Sunlight was being reflected from the dark green glass of a bulbous bottle, half hidden in the sand, just outside the perimeter of the oasis. I walked over to it, inspected it, noticed a sort of movement within it and, of course, took off the top. I fell back in amazement as grainy smoke roiled from the opening.

Instantly my mind went back to some old movies I had seen as a child, a teen-ager and a student. They were called “Sword and Sandal” or “Sand and Beefcake” and I remember seeing most of Steve Reeves in some of them. There was one where a young boy, marooned on a desert island, opened a bottle and out poured smoke which eventually resolved itself into a 30 foot high djinn or genie which, though genial, was a bit terrifying at first for an eight or nine your old child.

This one was not so tall. It stopped growing at about six foot six inches. I looked and marvelled. He (oh, it was definitely a he---I could tell) stood there for a moment, naked, casually adjusting the position of his cock. He glanced upwards at the cloudless sky, shielding his eyes from the brightness of the sun with one huge hand. He looked around in wonder, pleasure and thankfulness. At last he was finished with imprisonment and like a child he scampered around, looking at the trees, the bushes, the pool and the ruins. He stopped suddenly when he saw me, still clutching the bottle top. His face lit up and he ran to me, throwing his arms around me, the delight causing him to lift me from the ground. Equally suddenly, he put me down. His face was contorted in pain. He grabbed some huge leaves from nearby bushes and disappeared into the greenery at the far end of the oasis, leaving me to think about what I had just seen.

Dark brown closely cropped curls topped a café au lait, strong but merry face. Dark flashing eyes were complemented by a dark moustache, thin but definite which, together with the suggestion of a goatee, gave this being the swashbuckling look of a pirate. His neck was buttressed by thick traps that swept outwards to marvellously defined delts. My eyes followed the curves to the thickness of his arms. His triceps had horseshoes so distinct they could be used on any racing stallion. His biceps were impossibly dense with a curve in towards his elbows so abrupt I wondered if he could bend his arm. But, I remembered, I had seen the arm bend to shield his eyes and I had seen the biceps jump and bunch and curve and split. The vein cord had thickened like rope and that smooth smooth skin was patterned with delicate etchings as blood flowed through the muscle.

Some master sculptor had fashioned his pecs. They were so wide but separated from each other by a gulf I could swim in and surrounded by the even wider lats. At the point where the hard, taut pec rolled over towards the abs a beautiful rosebud decorated the muscle. But the size of those pecs! On any other man they would have appeared ludicrous. Some unappreciative viewers might have expected him to fall forward, but I saw that on him those pecs were (just) proportionate.

He appeared from the direction of the pool. His skin glistened as water drops reflected the sun. He saw me and his face lit up. He chuntered towards me, his pecs bouncing up and down with each step. His cock bounced too, in time with his pecs until, catching a foot in some strong bush root, he promptly fell forward onto the sand. I rushed to him but I need not have worried. He giggled for a moment, then roared with laughter. It was just that he had to remember how to walk properly again after being bottled up for so long. (Sorry)

I put my hands out to help him to his feet. He clasped them both, put his forehead to them and, standing quickly, easily, chattered happily to me in his own language. He pointed to the bottle, the sky, the trees and finally flung his arms about me so tightly my legs left the ground, again. Somehow I could tell he was pleased to be free from the confines of the bottle. And, that close, I could enjoy the width of his back, the bumpy roads of his serratus and the dusting of fine, dark hair on his pecs like chocolate powder on the froth of a café au lait.

I gasped and he quickly put me down, chattering, questioning. I mimed pain in one shoulder, which, to be truthful, was there, but not nearly as bad as my theatrical performance suggested. Recognition of the problem dawned in his eyes and he smiled and indicated that I should take off my T-shirt. I did so and was inspected. He must have approved of what he saw because he pointed to himself and stretched his fingers, then pointed to me and to the ground. He was going to massage my shoulder and I could hardly wait. I walked to my sleeping tent, turned and beckoned to him. As I shucked off my desert shorts I was again aware of his interest. I lay on the large mattress, (my one luxury) and watched him with his head thrown back as he concentrated on the task in hand.

Oily pre-cum oozed from his beautiful cock. He was milking it, willing the pre-cum to appear with a minimum of motion, watching it fill his cupped hand. He looked at me and I knew he wanted me to be lying on my stomach. As I turned, he dropped to his knees between my legs and carefully applied his oil to my shoulders. Fingers explored my delts, stroked the muscles, discovered knots, and soothed away aches and pains. He grunted as he ground his fingers into the delt separations and talked to himself as he decided what to do next and how to do it. What little pain there was disappeared and I started to turn, but one hand restrained me from moving. A moment later oil, the warm aromatic oil sprinkled all over my back. As he leant forward to continue the massage I noticed the warmth of his rising cock trying to probe that space between my legs.

I realised very quickly that I was in the hands of a master masseur who was enjoying himself. He was so precise, so careful where fingers, hands and forearms went, He judged to perfection the lightness or hardness of touch. Although I wanted a different kind of closeness, I could feel my body appreciating the completeness of the massage. I could feel my cock growing beneath me. He finished the shoulders, milked and this time there was enough for him to massage my lats, one at a time and both at once. He kneaded them and I needed him---and I felt sure that there were signs. His hands were moving from my spine outwards and, as I lifted my body from the mattress, they passed my lats to touch, so slightly, my responding nipples. Another grunt and this time, speech with overtones that were definitely erotic were precursors of his cock sliding over my ass crack, a move that nearly produced fountains of cum, but I controlled myself. His hands moved lower and my ass cheeks were stroked, punched, squeezed, pummelled and, yes, I’m sure, licked. Oiled fingers drifted lazily between my legs, hardly touching the flesh. Then, changing the tempo, hard fingers dug deeply into my hamstrings and calves.

He tapped my ass. I had to turn over.

My cock stood hard, longing for attention. He grinned, moved forward a little and sat on my rod, crushing it (pleasurably?) to my abs. He reached for my pecs, his cock dripping oil and proceeded to use fingers, thumbs and palms as though he wanted set the pecs on fire. He was pretty rough---testing me, I wondered? And he was even rougher when he attacked my abs. It was as though he wanted to gouge out six pack definition with his iron thumbs. I was soon twisting in agony and loving every moment. When my abs were burning, his hands moved lower to massage my quads. He moulded the muscles like a craftsman creating a pot. His hands, one sliding one way, the other in the opposite direction, climbed my leg towards my groin. They searched that cleft between leg and balls, never quite touching them. Then he started on the other leg and was I aroused? Yes, quite frankly, I was and by now I was talking as much as he was. Fuck, yes.

He stopped, No more rough stuff, I thought, and I was right. His hands slid from neck to ankles and back a couple of times then came to rest. He took my balls in both hands. His touch was feather light. There was a questioning look in his eyes---Do you want me to go further? Of course I did. I lifted my upper body, put my hands on his shoulders and took a bite-size nipple into my mouth.

It was his turn to gasp with joy and he laughed out loud then whispered the equivalent of, “You’all ready for this?” I was ready, he was ready and hitch cock entered me like a train entering a tunnel, At the same time our mouths opened and we joined together for a little tongue massage. He slid over me with a slowly increasing rhythm and I reached between that tangle of legs, bodies, and arms to feel those fun-filled balls, to press the base of his cock and to grab that muscular butt. I pulled him deeper and deeeeper within me. He increased his speed. We were together now, a glorious combination of closeness, sweat sliding, deep throat kissing, finger exploration, laughter, grunting and pounding. Then I felt his balls harden (God--- they were huge!) and rise. His body became taut and he pushed his tongue down my throat as his cum sprang from his cock into me again and again. Well, it was his first time in a few years.

Later, we lay together, facing each other quietly, enjoying tender touching. He was thinking of something important, I could tell, trying to find a way to convey his thoughts to me. He pointed to his mouth and spoke his own language. The he pointed to my mouth. I was mystified. He tried again and the penny dropped. He wanted to learn to speak my language. Not realising what was to happen, I spoke and pointed to his mouth. Pleased, he nodded and nodded again, then returned to thinking. This time, after several attempts, I realised he was thinking of what to give me in return---what about a gold bracelet or a bag of jewels? What would I like? I looked for my wallet and showed him a picture of a well-known body-builder. Yes, I would appreciate having a little bit of a djinn make-over, some cosmetic magic---an extra couple of inches in height, muscles that were muscles and perhaps two extra inches on my cock length. (He was greatly interested in the photograph) and I showed with my hands just what I desired.

We knew what we both wanted, but I was wondering how we would achieve some result. I thought he might produce a complete weight-lifting set from out of nowhere. He wasn’t worried. He kissed me deeply, stretched my mouth open wide with one gentle hand and with the other, closed my eyes. I felt his chest against mine and a hardened nipple against my teeth. The hand remained over my eyes as the nipple softened, lengthened and dissolved. A soft sand-smoke entered my mouth and my being. Surprised, shocked, amazed I froze as a warm gentle breeze flowed into me. The touch of the hand disappeared but I kept my mouth open until all movement ceased. Careful? Yes---I didn’t want anything unusual caught between my teeth!

Finally, I opened my eyes. I was alone. Was he---? No, of course not. Reason dismissed the thought, but if he was not inside me, where had he gone? I started to prepare some food, but---

Something was happening to my balls. They were becoming thicker and fuller. It was as though I was being massaged from the inside. It was a bit painful. And now those fingers were stretching the base of my cock. I could see it lengthening. I could see it thickening. Wow, and other appropriate words. I could definitely describe myself as officially HUNG.

I could swear I heard a grunt, but at that moment as the change pain became unbearable I passed out---by choice, or was I pushed?

I awoke

Or rather, I was awakened.

An insistent rich baritone voice was singing inside my head---

“Good morning, good morning “I’ve worked the whole night through “Good morning, good morning “To you----

It was him. Instinctively, I knew it.

“I’m not Him”, the voice said, “Call me Shafiq, if you like”

“My name is Jeff”, I said, and we both added in unison song

“But you can c-a-l-l m-e A-l”, and laughed together.

“This is all very well,” Shafiq’s voice said, “But, no offence, I would like to get out of here”.

“Of course, you would,” I responded.

“But I better stay where I am until I know that you are satisfied with the New You”

The New Me!

I remembered everything and, hardly believing, I looked along my supine body, but my gaze was blocked by two solid looking pec mounds, each topped by a bounteous amount of nipple. I sprang to my feet. Yes, I could see growth that I could never have imagined in calves, quads and hamstrings. The mass, the density and the definition just blew me away. But, (never satisfied), I wanted to see the complete body. I wanted to see the bulk, the insertions, the proportions---and I did not have a mirror.

“Nothing simpler,” said a voice in my ear and I was lifted from the ground. Yes, I could believe a man can fly, as I was taken horizontally to look into the oasis pool from about five feet above it. The change was amazing. Shafiq had done just enough. I looked good, rather than overpowering.

“Don’t want you to get a big head” said Shafiq and dropped me into the warm water That’s one way to cut a man down to size. I scrambled out and as I dried I listened to his instructions. “I must ask you to be very careful. Don’t shut your mouth and whatever might happen, don’t sneeze or parts of me will finish up all over the place. OK? Now, close your eyes if you want to, open wide and stroke your cock.”

“Why should I stroke my cock?”

“So you are ready to fuck me when I appear.”

Everything went to plan and, a few minutes later, he was standing in front of me.

“Ah, you look HOT,” he said, “Good work, yes?”

“Very good work, “I answered, flexing a biceps in a way that made his eyes open wide.

He was very close and, when I said that I didn’t know how to thank him, he murmured, “I know one way”, and sang in a small Betty Boop voice: “I want to be fucked by you “By you and nobody else will do “I want to be fucked by you-ooo-ooo-oo “Boo, boop a do”

It was revolting and I thought –I’ll have to fuck him just to shut him up.

I grimaced, “Shoulder bothering you again?” he asked with a sly smile. I smiled back and opened my arms. Suddenly he was all over me. His fingers were running down my arms, his arms were around me. His fingers were exploring my balls, his mouth was tasting my ass. At one point I realised he was levitating upside down for an exciting vertical 69. His tongue was in my mouth one moment, warming my balls the next. He wanted to be fucked and I wanted to oblige. He sucked my cock as though he was sucking lemonade through a thick straw. I was panting. He was grunting tiny, tiny noises filled with sexual excitement. He stepped back. I saw the hop and the skip and I thought, I’ll fall, I know I will. But I planted my legs as he jumped straight into my arms. He locked those giant thighs around my waist, the quad tear drops clear and hard. He let his ass slide slowly down my body until he impaled himself on my cock. It went in so easily. It had found a home. Together we sank onto the mattress and I was on top. I was doing press-ups with my cock sliding into and out of him as though I had done it hundreds of times before. Every time I went into him our lips and tongues met with electric satisfaction. My hands were on his traps and he flexed his muscles as I reached the end of each kiss so that the press-up was easier. He started to claw at my back and suck my nipples. I could feel my cum boiling in my balls. I lowered my body until his swollen cock caressed my abs. A hand touched my balls, which flew towards my groin, hard and full. His eyes closed tightly for a moment then opened swiftly. That glance told me all. His legs tightened and his body writhed as he came. The warmth of those cum spurts triggered my massive eruption inside him. For one brief moment it seemed I could see every muscle in his body defined beyond belief and amazingly I unloaded another pint or two in sheer pleasure.

After another cleansing romp in the pool, we talked problem solving---where to find clothes, how to explain his presence and what to do with the bottle. I was told that if I destroyed it, he would no longer be a djinn and that was how he wanted it. Nothing would change his mind so, after the other problems were solved, I took an archaeological hammer and carefully retaining the pieces in an old towel we later buried beneath the oasis pool, I broke the bottle.

He gave a long sigh and kissed me deeply as we thought about what was to happen next. But that’s another story. •