Couple of sketches

Both feature me - but in the one above, which one?

Why do I find Indian men so damn sexy?

Even when it comes to dubious organisations like the RSS here, when I see a group of them like this, or individually,  I feel I'd be putty in their hands. Naturally, in their high-kick positions like in this photo they are just asking me to imagine myself putting my hand up their roomy shorts, stroking their hot, brown-hooded cocks till they harden and then to toss them off. (I wonder if some of them are not wearing anything underneath? I bet a significant number aren't.)
In videos, at least, Indian men don't seem to have the same hang-ups that we Brits have, treating man/man sex as perfectly normal and natural, which, of course, it is - added to the fact that they're so fuckin' randy too! Also love to see them fooling around in horseplay, stripping each other and laughing and giggling at the victim's discomfort and embarrassment, though he usually takes it in the fun spirit it's intended. Only usually see that sort of thing on other videos when the group is drunk, whereas Indian young guys are much more matter-of-fact about their bodies and their sexuality.
   Often wondered if, in my infancy in India outside my memory, I had my young private parts 'manipulated' by a good-looking, native Indian male (khaki-clad?), and this has given rise to this lifelong attraction, which I don't mind in the least. In fact I love it!. However, that possibility must remain a fantasy, though an intriguing thought. 

Should my bum be spanked or fucked?

How about BOTH - repeatedly! And, between spankings, being licked all over with lots of warm spit, to ease the pain.
Fantasy - having a long queue of burly soldiers, some in uniform, others stark bollock-naked, being ordered to, one straight after another, get their weapons cocked, to mount, penetrate, ride hard, and then fire their 'silver bullets' as far as they can, deep into the dark - then withdraw and retire to the back of the line till their turn comes round again, by which time they'll be expected to be ready to repeat the action on command. This continues right until all that bollock-generated, goopy man-cum is drooling out of my mouth - and ears!

Question: Why was my Scout Troop forbidden to wear underpants under our shorts?

I don't know how many of you were in the Boy Scouts, but my brief membership had a profound effect on my life which has lasted to this day.
We didn't question the rule that underpants were NOT to be worn under our shorts because that was also the case during our P.E. classes where, if the gym master suspected that we were wearing anything under our black gym shorts, we'd hear something like the following exchange:-

"You boy! Have you got anything on under your shorts?"
" N-n-n-o, Sir."
"Come here! Let's see."

The boy would then apprehesively approach him and stand nervously while the sadistic master pulled out the elasticated shorts waistband, peer down, and then, invariably, let it snap back cruelly onto the boy's body. We'd always hear the boy's "Ooooo-yah!" or "Ouch!" while the rest of the class would try to hide their sniggers. This ritual was quite funny for us other boys witnessing the scene, but for the 'victim' it was a brief moment of sharp pain, as well as being humiliating. It happened to me just the once, but that was enough to know how it felt. (To be fair to the master himself, nasty bugger though he was, he always pulled the boy's shorts out on the side before looking down - never, as far as I know, either front or back.) The punishment if ever a boy was found to be wearing underpants was, after removing them, being made to take off one of his gym shoes, made to lie stomach down over the vaulting horse, his shorts then pulled down, and then given six sharp, severe slaps on his bare backside with his shoe. I saw it done only twice in all my years at school, but that punishment was so humiliating in front of all the class, even without the pain, that one had to wonder why a boy would ever chance being caught. It was far less humiliating to remove the underpants before the gym class started so you wouldn't have to face the possibility of this happening.

Anyway, that's all leading up to my saying that, as we saw scouting, like P.E., as essentially to do with physical activities, as far as I know no questions were asked about this odd requirement at the time. It was only later that I found that the 'no underpants' rule in our Scout troop was not only unusual, it was practically unknown elsewhere. If I'd known about this before joining it might have saved me a lot of anguish as it turned out that this practice was to contribute to an excruciating sexual humiliation for me during Scout camp, at the vulnerable and impressionable age of 12 - and which may not have happened at all if underpants had been worn. Details of what happened will have to wait until a future blog. Actually it'll cover a number of them as the details of that fateful Summer camp will take some time to tell, and it would be unfair if any readers of my blog were not to be told ALL the details, painful as it is to me to relate it.

Now after many years of discreet enquiries and research, and failing to find any other scout troops which had this 'no underpants' rule I'd come to the conclusion that it must have been pretty well unique to my own Troop which was, incidentally, run by Catholic priests. One can make an assumption about the reason for this rule, after the secret activities of a significant number of priests have now been opened up to the world, that this  was applied for their own shameful, randy purposes. But again to be fair, I never ever heard of any of these sorts of goings-on at any time when I was a pupil, though one can argue that if things actually were happening, would it have been widely known anyway?

I never heard of any scouts defying the rule, or even questioning it. What I do recall is a group of them, among the smutty laughs of boys their age, saying that you have to avoid farting as this will give rise to 'skid marks' inside the shorts. In fact they would sometimes laughingly refer to their khaki shorts as 'cacky shorts'. (In colloquial English, 'cack' is another word for 'shit'.)
Not wearing shorts did have one advantage, though. When a scout had a piss, instead of undoing the fly-buttons and then re-doing them up afterwards, he could just lift up the shorts leg and piss out from under it. This also lessened the chance of getting the shorts wet. Because of the light colour, any drops not properly shaken off would soak through the drill material and show up clearly on the outer surface of the shorts, causing amusement and teasing from other scouts, and huge embarrassment to the victim.

Now, right up to date. Only quite recently, someone contacted me by e-mail, having seen one of my previous postings on this topic on another site, and he assures me that the 'no underpants' rule was certainly not unique to my Scout Troop. This is very interesting indeed, and comes as quite a revelation after so many years. Currently, as he's busy, I'm awaiting precise details of what he knows. If there's something worth posting I'll do it here on my blogs. Meanwhile, this opens up the subject very tantalisingly. Watch this space!

 

Self-portrait

My cock has been in a lot of mouths and up quite a few bumholes since this photo was taken - and I'm nowhere near finished yet!

Cocks galore! - at MY kind of religious festival.

I

I doubt if these Hindu saddhus would appreciate my comment, but I find them so damn sexy.  In this pic especially the two on the extreme left and the whitened-up guy in the centre brandishing his big stick. If I was walking along with them stark-bollock naked like this, seeing their cocks bobbing up and down and their bare bums so freely available to view (Though not to touch. Such a fuckin' shame!), I wouldn't get very far without betraying a conspicuous boner. Once again, India shows the world how to do it!

Did this shithouse drawing change my entire life?

I would have been just 13 years old, maybe 14 tops, when I went to a public shithouse to have a shit for the very first time in one of these strange, creepy,  rundown little buildings - and burned deep in my memory is this crude drawing on the wall in the cubicle. I'm quite certain that this representation is very close to being accurate - the dotted line of an outlined stiff cock, the 'unusual' shape of the other guy's hard cock on the right.
I was at that time very nearly totally 'innocent' (apart from the sole incident of my being sexually humiliated in the Boy Scouts, but that's maybe a story for a future blog)..Being so ignorant of sexual matters, at first I couldn't work out what the drawing was supposed to be showing. Although I'd heard of the word 'circumcision' I had no idea what that process entailed - so I assumed that that strange shape on the right was a circumcised cock! I wondered if circumcision meant that a chunk was removed from the actual cockhead.
I also, at that tender age, had never seen, let alone touched, a rubber johnny - though why the cock on the right in this situation should have had one on at all didn't occur to me.
   There were, of course, lots of scribblings of 'dirty' words and stories as well as other drawings on all the wall surfaces and the back of the cubicle door all over, but it was this particular drawing that had the most profound effect at that moment, and indeed, on all my life since.
   Can't recall if, in my astonishment, I ever did have the shit that I'd come in for, but after realising what the drawing was, and feeling both total horror and disgust, my initial feelings gradually changed over the ensuing period.Those feelings of disgust gradually diminished. They became an interest, then a curiosity,  and then finally this became a fascination - a burning one! Had I really seen what I thought I'd seen? I had to go back to investigate, just to be sure for my own satisfaction. So I returned - again - and again. I  read the sexy stories and I got really involved. Soon I found I had a craving to read more and more. Christ, it seemed the whole world was having sex, sex sex - apart from me! It was not that long before I dared myself to start adding my own contributions on the wall, both crude drawings and stories, depicting things I'd never (yet) done. The more I went to these shithouses (Note: not just the one - it was now an addiction to visit them ALL) the more I started noticing that there were oddly behaving men hanging around in these places, sometimes whispering to each other, other times just waiting looking round and waiting for something. Sometimes when I was in there avidly lapping up all the filthy stories and drawings they'd knock at the cubicle door. Then some days they'd even try to push the door open, which was quite scary to a young lad like me - and when there was no bolt (which, if there was, was almost invariably broken) I'd have to push back hard to keep them out. But, inevitably, because of my then tender age, it wasn't that long before the attraction of my younger body to other guys became too much for me to resist. They just wouldn't take 'no' for answer. So I started my active sexual life with an attitude so unlike the unwillingness I'd tried my best to maintain (unsuccessfully) in that scout-camp incident. (I'll have to talk about the struggle with my own conscience shaped by my strict Catholic education at some other time.)
   So, was this drawing of a man with his cock up another man's bum the 'tipping point' at which I was 'corrupted'? Maybe. Or maybe the tipping over actually took place earlier with the sexual initiation and humiliation which I've referred to. Who knows? But to whichever guy had drawn this (I feel sure it was a lad in his mid or late teens), after a lifetime of great sex-crazed experiences, many of which took place in or were instigated by public shithouses, I'd like now just  to say "Thank you!"  .

Q & A - about my shithole.

Q. Well, Mr Khakibum, you've kindly agreed to answer some questions about the activities of your arsehole. We all know what comes out, but our current interest is in what has entered it. So may I begin?
A. Yes, go ahead. And by the way, you can just call me 'Khaki'.

Q. Thank you, Khaki. Now to start with, can we talk about foreign bodies pushed into your hole i.e. inanimate objects? Is that a big thing with you?
A. Not quite as big as it used to be. You know, when we were younger, in our early teenage years, I think all boys liked to experience those new-found feelings of sexual pleasure and experiment with them. I don't think I was any different from most lads in pushing small objects like smooth stones, pieces of coal, bits of soap, up my bum. As I grew I looked for new sensations, pushing the necks of bottles up there too. One of my early 'findings' was to push the corks from bottles inside me, later tied with a piece of string so that I could pull them out easily rather than shitting them out, which could be rather painful if one got too carried away with the initial insertions. Then I progressed to carrots and then further to candles, but found that although they were ideal in terms of shape, one's own body-heat would tend to melt them inside, sometimes with pieces breaking off. Not always so pleasant! Then, as an adult, of course I progressed to butt-plugs and rubber cocks or dildos with batteries that vibrated. But, as I say, it was never really a great interest with me as nothing can beat a real, big, hard, greased-up cock.
Oh, and I ought to just say that, having had a strict Catholic education there was always a mental tussle going on between my desires, which I knew to be 'sinful', with inverted commas (Laughter) and the need I felt to satisfy these urges. It hardly needs saying which one usually won, but for years I was blighted by feelings of guilt, thanks to our Holy Mother Church, I don't think! (Applause)

Q. Well, that's a really full description of your activities in that area. But now getting to the really interesting part, can you tell us, up to today, how many cocks have entered your hole? Just approximately, of course! (Laughter)
A. Actually not all that many in total, as I've always preferred the oral side. But to answer your question, I'd have to divide that question up. Firstly, the number of rubber-johnnied cocks which have been up me is, frankly, rather less than I might have wished. On the other hand, the number of 'bareback riders' I've allowed in is a bit greater than I ought to have allowed. But, you know, when one has had a few too many drinks one gets carried away and you behave in ways which, totally sober, you would have considered unwise.

Q. Yes, I know what you're referring to. But clearly you've been very lucky considering some of your past experiences.
A. Yes, I'm shit-sure that I've been very lucky indeed.

Q. Now, how many tongues have been there?
A. Do you mean actually entered, or just licked and slurped around my hole?

Q. Well, both.
A. Not enough of both! (General laughter.) It's an activity I just can't get too much of. I fuckin' LOVE it!

Q. Well, well! That's clear enough.
A.  And can I just add that my other end - my tongue - is never satisfied in having too many bumholes to penetrate. If a guy's naked hole is presented to me I've just got to lick it all round and gently push my tongue in and lick all I can inside. I like to lick the shit out of guys - literally!  (Applause.)

Q. Now can I just ask you one further question on that? You may not wish to answer but if you'll just allow me to ask it anyway. Using both your arsehole and your tongue in an activity which you clearly love to engage in, have you ever experienced any nasty after-effects, if you get my meaning?
A, Yes, I certainly do know what you are referring to. I must once again thank my uncanny luck. I have never once experienced any trouble at either end as a consequence of this particular activity. At least so far. I certainly don't intend to give up doing it, but am always aware that any day my luck may change. But, as I say, so far, the gay bum-sex gods have been looking kindly on me, though any day they could turn round and give me a really nasty bite on the arse.

Q. Ah, that's excellent. Thank you, Khaki, for giving us the time to speak so frankly to us on this delicate but fascinating subject.
A. Not at all, Sir. It was a pleasure. Now, (licking lips) turn round, drop your pants and bend over! Ha ha!

(General applause and cheers.)
 

My (long ago) teenage shiny purple-head nob.

Even at my then tender age I'd have been longing for a man willing to suck this off for me - rolling it round and round in his wet mouth like a large boiled sweet (a gob-stopper, literally!), lashing, stroking and licking it with his tongue until it spurted my 'cream' into that spitty receptacle, and me watching to see his Adam's Apple bob up and down to show that he'd swallowed all my precious 'gift' gratefully.

When first shown this I nearly pissed myself.......

......not only because I thought it funny (I think it'll raise at least a smile on my blog-readers' faces), but because this depiction of army corporal  punishment being meted out to a hapless squaddie has firm resonances to my own experience in the boy scouts (even the uniforms are similar, while their colour is identical), when I was given the caning of my life during a country camp just after my own sexual humiliation by older boys, and immediately prior to being permanently and ignominiously expelled from that illustrious organisation. In my case, though, I had to bend over a low-hanging tree branch whilst trying to keep hands on knees - and the sadistic bugger who gave the caning was the Scout Troop Leader who also happened to be an Irish priest. It was delivered in front of the entire assembled troop as a warning that any future 'gross misconduct' (of which I was totally innocent) by ANY scout would have the same result. Was it any wonder I turned out the way I am? But this blog is running too far ahead. When I get round to it I might give fuller details in future blogs, probably in instalments as it's a l-o-n-g story.
But back to this drawing. I hope you all like it as much as I do.  Ha ha ha!!!

Calling all MEN! Fancy a lick? FREE for all men with a tongue..

If you want more than a lick, that should be possible. If it's unusual it might have to be the subject of negotiation but I'm sure an arrangement could be made (depending on if I'm pissed at the time and to what extent). But even totally sober I am quite broad-minded.

Btw I am NOT a male slut! I'm just a humble, khaki-skinned chap offering assistance to other guys wishing to experience simple pleasures.

If this man in khaki came at me, waggling his lathi........

.......would I get on my knees? Hell, sure as shit I would!!!! And not only that, I'd do WHATEVER he commanded me.

Sunny Deol (in film 'Jo Bole So Nihal') - sexy as hell with a beard - but, for me, not nearly so without it.

Why all this KHAKI?

Well to start at the beginning.......
Because of my ancestry, my skin has a sallow-swarthy complexion. At school I was not only the darkest in the class I was also the only non-white face in the entire school at that time.
One day in our geography class our master (one of several Irish priests) picked me out to answer one of his questions, which I did correctly. His flippant comment was "Yes, that's right, you little khaki bomb!" Of course the whole class erupted with hilarity at this witticism, which I'm sure was meant to be jocular rather than offensive. I was more discomfited by the attention put on me than the words said. But that was the very moment when my lifelong association with khaki began.
Of course, boys being boys, they weren't going to let the remark be forgotten. In the ensuing recreation periods wherever I went I was greeted with the new nickname which was sometimes 'Khakibomb' but was soon transformed into 'KhakiBUM'!' I was asked several times - "Hey there, is it right that you've got a khaki bum? Ha ha!" . This sort of remark continued for some time to my annoyance. Now I ought to mention that up to that point, in the same manner that someone called Robinson will be called 'Robbo' , or a Smith will be called 'Smithy', my class nickname was already 'Carty', playing on my actual surname. As the sounds of that name and 'khaki' were very close, one quickly and easily got changed into another. The 'bum' part was dropped, and I began being called just 'Khaki', which, after a while, I started getting used to. This continued for the remainder of my school life.
After leaving school and starting work the nickname dropped out of my life apart from with the three of four school mates I'd continued to have contact with. After a while, when fully an adult, I decided to resurrect it and use it generally - and have been known as 'Khaki' by lots of friends and acquaintances ever since. I like the word, the stuttering sound of it, the spiky look of it when written, the musty male smell of it, the gritty taste of it, the rough feel of it, the blunt, work-a-day functionality of it, and its masculine colour - though its military associations I don't care to dwell on. The single word itself wasn't available as a name for this new blog of mine, which would have been my first choice, so for the sake of uniqueness I've reverted to the now gently self-mocking title of 'Khakibum'. So now you know.

Oh, I can just mention that back at school after this new name became established it was suggested that with a name like mine it would be especially appropriate if I should seriously consider joining the boy scouts and wear their uniform (hence the picture at the top of this entry).. I was initially reluctant, not being a very sociable animal, but the repeated suggestions grew in volume which eventually led me to join that 'illustrious' organisation - a decision that would seal my fate and get me caught in a particular khaki web of fetishism from which I've never been able to escape, though I enjoy it too much to really want to disentangle myself - and NO, it's emphatically NOT to do with boys!!! . Intriguing? I hope so. But details of what happened next in my development will have to wait for a future blog.......

They're off!

Testing.....testing. Here I come.