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Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Hanafi: An Unfinished Tale



Somewhere in the lands south, between Salah Salem and Merghany, on a warm winter day in Cairo, the eccentric morbid queen, met every girl's fantasy man, Hanafi, the contractor.
Hanafi was a short, beefy, muscular man, with a goatie, an infectious smile and a sex drive of a fourteen year old adolescent boy. Primarily identifying himself as "straight" (straight to bed honey), he didn't seem to mind to tap Egypt's gay treasure trove. All those gay bitches, desperate for a man, throwing themselves at his feet, it was overwhelming, exciting and partly creepy. A contractor by profession, Hanafi was every girl's dream: earthy, cheeky, completely untrustworthy, and a man whore of unrivalled measure.
He took special pleasure in highlighting his weakness for carnal pleasures, and his unnatural prowess and stamina once he "gets going", "I could go all day", he said. The eccentric morbid queen stumbled upon this well-seasoned piece of man beef  by accident on one of those ungodly smartphone apps. Legend has it that Hanafi was only seeking "girls" on that app, and after being harassed by a few call girls, for some mysterious reason decided to remove the filter and include the gays. His rationale was that, they might be less of high maintenance and at the very least will not ask him to top up their phones with credit.
At this moment, fraught with so much sexual potential, the encounter between the hunky contractor and the eccentric morbid queen happened. It was a moment of pure sleaze and shameless sexual desperation. After a very brief exchange, Hanafi offered the eccentric morbid queen a chance of a lifetime: A ride on the Hanafi train. The eccentric morbid queen was speechless. Could it be? Is it he? Have his dreams of sampling Egyptian prime beef come true? Was it the time that the eccentric morbid queen was finally sexually vindicated (in your face Kiki) that he wasn't only a servant of the evil white master?
Not one to hesitate or miss out on awkward sexual experiences of any kind, the eccentric morbid queen decided that he and the hunky contractor should meet on the morrow. And with a lot of anticipation and a quick sexteting (and two happy endings on Hanafi's part), they both went to bed dreaming of the experience of a lifetime.
The next day the eccentric morbid queen woke up excited, frightened and incredibly horny. Many questions raced through his mind: Is Hanafi for real? Is it safe to actually meet up with Hanafi? What if he turns out to be a serial killer? What if he turns out to be not the studly contractor he thought him to be (can all those porn videos be wrong?)?
Before too long it was already passed midday and the hunky contractor started calling the eccentric morbid queen incessantly: where does he live? which street? Is he alone? are they really going to do it?
After allying his fears and doubts, the Egyptian Casanova finally made it to the lands between Salah Salem and Merghany. Running to catch his construction rake, the eccentric morbid queen met him not far from his house and they walked back to his place.
Hanafi was worried and anxious, it was his "first time" hooking up with gay bitches off a smartphone app. He was outside his "comfort zone". Doing her best to calm his blue-collar stud, the eccentric morbid queen assured him that nothing is going to happen that he doesn't absolutely approve of or at the very least enjoys.
Once settled, they engaged in a friendly chit-chat, the beefy contractor was actually a funny, sweet man. A sex-crazed nymphomaniac, but sweet nonetheless. He explained his encounter with the sleazy app, describing it as a "trick of the devil". One co-worker of his spent all his money soliciting sex workers off the app (paying on average 300 EGP for one joyride - if all you girls out there want to consider a career change *wink wink*). Hanafi, however, was not thrilled about the idea of paying for sex. He found hooking up with women off the app a bit too problematic and not really worth the hassle. This is when he decided to give "the gays" a chance. And despite the more than warm welcome (around 35 messages in the span of a few hours and countless offers of a sexy time), he was scared. He was perplexed and intrigued at how ready "the gays" were, to drop their pants at a drop of the hat. He wasn't sure how serious were their offers, and if he should take them seriously. Is their a parallel universe where sex can be so readily available? It sounded too surreal and good to be true. But there was, and its called homoland. Trying to explain the delicate and rather sticky fabric of the gay universe, the eccentric morbid queen carefully deciphered the foundations of the gay community, twink (skinny bitches under thirty on the look for sugar daddies), shemales (transvestite bitches anywhere from twenty something and forty something on the look for sugar daddies), ladyboy (cross-dressers under thirty on the look for sugar daddies), and so on. Hanafi was like a kid on his first day of school, giddy with excitement and yet filled with dread as to whether he will able to retain this information for later, much needed use. His gullibility and agreeableness made the eccentric morbid queen warm up to him in no time and before they both knew it, they were both disrobed and frolicking like two dogs in heat.
Although a  stranger to the arts of gay sex, Hanafi was a man ruled by instinct (which failed him a few times, when he discovered profound anatomical differences between men and women) and did not immediately fall into the trap of thinking that gay men, are only women with no souls nor an advanced nervous system. Contrary to his expectations that labouring hunk was actually gentle and caring and made sure that the eccentric morbid queen gets her share of fun too.
A slight difference in height made things a little bit challenging but that didn't stop those two lecherous individuals from doing what they set out to do.
What even came as more of a surprise the fact that Hanafi liked to cuddle! Not only that, but that he revelled in pillow talk. He couldn't get enough of  sharing his many epic sexapades. One of which involved a nice lady living not far from where the eccentric morbid queen lives, who only could orgasm twice in one session. Touched and nauseated at this generosity of sharing so much of his personal and sexual memories, the eccentric modrbid queen tried to distract the beefy stud by having more sex, but the flesh was weak. It was over for the day and the charming contractor had to go.
On a promise that they shall meet again and that the eccentric morbid queen will usher Hanafi into the wondrous world of gay sex, they parted, seemingly more sated and less anxious about the future.
But being the working class son of a bitch he is, Hanafi disappeared. Called once, but then deleting his profile and leaving the eccentric morbid queen at the center of a cruel, unforgiving world of smartphone apps and perhaps less sweet and generous kinsmen.
Hanafi exemplified everything the eccentric morbid queen hated about Egyptian men: capricious, inconsistent and sometimes inconveniently short
Despite her disappointment with this steaming, short lived, sordid affair, the eccentric morbid queen emerged a bit more aware of the dangers of taking porn seriously and yet none the wiser about the male sex.